Page 83 of Love at First Fright

I kept my face completely straight. Completely innocent. “Absolutely unhaunted by any malevolent creature, yes.”

Charlie carefully manoeuvred his hand out of mine, which was quite impressive, what with how tightly I’d been gripping it.

“Okay,” he said. “So. How do we get them to stop?”

What?

“Brad and I are here to stop the ghosts from haunting the place. That’s our job. You know that, right?”

I crossed my arms. “Oh, I’m very aware.”

“So?” Charlie spread his hands. “How can we do it? Do we need to like, move you all on or something?”

“We’ve only just met and you’re already trying to get rid of me?” I said it like a joke, but it came out all wrong. Sharp as glass. Bitter.

Charlie’s expression shifted. “Bat—”

“You don’t understand. We’re doing important work here,” I said, defensive now.

“Important work?”

“We’ve made it our job to make sure this place is never inhabited again.”

Charlie stared at me. “By terrorising all the workmen away?”

“Precisely.”

“Apparently you almost killed someone. A carpenter. With a flying hammer.”

“That wasn’t me! That was Vivian. She has terrible aim. And she felt awful about that. And she did try to say sorry to him, but that didn’t go down terribly well either.”

Charlie leaned against the wall, studying me through his glasses. “But why do you have to scare everyone off? Who cares if this place gets turned into a luxury hotel? It might be entertaining for you guys, occasionally spooking a guest or two.”

The words stuck in my throat. How could I explain? The weight of it, the responsibility, the fear that had soaked into these walls like damp.

I glided away down the corridor, hoping he’d follow.

He did.

I stopped at the basement door, ground-floor corridor. Heavy oak, not thick enough for my liking. My hand hovered inches from the surface without quite touching it.

“It’s because of what’s down there,” I said quietly.

Charlie’s breathing hitched. “What’s down there?”

“Something bad. Something very bad. Which is why I had to possess Brad last night. The idiot wouldn’t stop trying to get through the bottom door.”

Charlie pressed his palm flat against the door. “So there’s something like… locked down there?”

“Exactly. And it needs to stay down there.”

“Why?” Charlie whispered.

I slowly moved my hand to rest on top of his. The connection snapped into place like a circuit closing.

Darkness. Cold that burned. A presence that pressed down like drowning, like suffocation, like the air turned solid in your lungs. Rage that wasn’t rage, not quite. Something older. Hungrier. A thing that fed on fear and pain and—

Screaming. Always screaming. Someone screaming and screaming and never stopping and—