Page 6 of How I Met Your Murderer

Helplessly intrigued, I lingered in the foyer, floating up near the massive crystal chandelier they’d shipped in from Waterford and studied the new guy with the bulky shoulders and red hair as Caoimhe rattled off a bunch of stuff I already knew:

“We bought the place three years ago, but it took a while to get a business plan together and find the right companies for the reno, especially since we were still working from Dublin,” Caoimhe said, tucking her phone into the pocket of her dark, tailored trousers. I’d always been more of a jeans guy, myself, so I guess it was lucky I had died in them. At least I was wearing something I liked for all eternity, even if this particular style wasn’t popular anymore.

“Are you any relation to one of the castle’s original owners? Or perhaps to Lord Ardruin himself?” the stranger asked the siblings, his voice straining slightly as he cast a wary glance up toward the chandelier.

Huh. There was no way he could see me right now, and yet, with the way he had just blanched, he sure looked like someone who had spotted a ghost.

Oblivious to the moment that seemed to have already passed, Jordy shook his head, his light eyes sparking with mischief. “Only in a story I wrote that’ll never see the light of day. I’m a history buff, and this place has plenty of it. Bloody battles between warring clans. Covert poisonings of kings and queens. Passionate affairs. Secret rituals in the woods that border the old stables. Tragic tourist mishaps . . .” He grinned, bashfully, as if realizing he’d gotten sidetracked. “Anyway. Caoimhe’s the one with all the business sense. She saw what this place could be, and I came along to see what kind of artifacts we might turn up while renovating. Also to taste test the menu. And to be the one to greet guests.”

He and his sister exchanged a knowing look.

From what I’d observed over the past few years, that last part made a ton of sense. Jordy was friendlier than his sister, who didn’t seem to know the first thing about small talk. And honestly, good for her. I respected her, for the most part, even though she wanted all the castle ghosts to clear out. But it probably wouldn’t hurt to have someone giving the guests a genuine welcome when they were spending their money here.

Jordy, on the other hand, was the kind of guy I didn’t want to scare, even as a harmless prank. He seemed like he would have been a welcome addition to the table for one of my D&D campaigns, or my original stuff that came later.

“We’ll take you around to all the locations where any incidents have been reported. The ones I described in my email that you must have missed,” Caoimhe went on briskly, sweeping all the personal talk aside in a single breath. “But you’ll have to pardon our dust. We aren’t quite as far along as we’d hoped, given how the activity has gotten so much worse lately. We’re lucky ExorSquad finally expanded their service area to the whole of Ireland this year.”

“Well, ‘dust’ is sure a way of putting it,” Jordy added as he rubbed the ears of the demon dog, as I called him, who he carried under one arm. The beast was tracking me as usual, eyes fixed on the chandelier where I lurked. “The ghost keeps exploding the pipes, breaking mirrors, raiding the kitchen. Oh, and rearranging the furniture . . .”

The stranger folded his arms over his chest and frowned, apparently not very excited to be here, not impressed by ghostly antics, or maybe annoyed at being called out for not having thoroughly read Caoimhe’s email. I wondered if he already knew what happened to the last guy who sauntered in here in those same black overalls, who was now one of us. Trapped where he had died, stuck in those overalls forever, unable to take a step farther than the edge of the castle grounds.

I wasn’t exactly sure what had killed him, even though he had been here for a few months now. He wasn’t much of a talker, still resentful about his untimely end—almost like he blamed one of us for it. But if you asked me, we were a pretty friendly crew, even if we were only united by one thing: none of us wanted to call this place home.

“Do you all stay here full-time, then?” the stranger asked the Dolans after sweeping his gaze around the foyer for a long moment.

“We used to,” Caoimhe sniffed. “But even with earplugs, it was impossible to sleep through all the banging and wailing. We’ve a flat in the village for now.”

“Right,” the stranger said, scrubbing a hand through his red-brown hair. It was thick and wavy, curling around his chin, and in need of a good brushing. His overalls were wrinkled, and there was a sauce stain drying on the leg. He looked like he slept in his van, but somehow he still had the kind of presence that commanded attention in a room. He was also taller than me by a good few inches, his broad frame packed with muscle to rival the castle’s many workers in their hard hats.

“Sounds to me like you have a poltergeist—and maybe a banshee, too,” the stranger suggested, thoughtfully. “Two-for-one classic haunted castle special.”

This sweet summer child didn’t know the half of it, even if there were no banshees here. But I was sure he would gather all that soon—if he stuck around long enough and didn’t run screaming toward the village, never to return, like the first ghost expert had.

I was a little confused how ExorSquad managed to stay in business if they employed people like that. But such earthly concerns weren’t supposed to be mine anymore, so I didn’t think on it too hard.

Sounding more confident, the stranger spoke again, his attention on Caoimhe. “You’ll find I have some . . . unusual methods for dealing with spirits. Little tricks I’ve picked up in my time with the company that might not be what you’ve come to expect based on your prior experiences. But as long as you don’t mind me getting creative, I’ll sort your spirit or spirits out before Halloween, guaranteed.”

“Just warn me if I’ll need a stiff drink first,” Caoimhe said, and a rare smile crossed her face as she ushered the stranger toward the stairs to begin the grand tour.

I followed.

Of course I did.

You try being dead for sixteen years and seeing the same stone walls and unchanging faces, hearing the same stories and songs repeated day in and day out, and not find yourself curious when presented with someone new. Someone with a sort of charm to him—a little broody, but in a good way. Someone who made brooding attractive.

To be clear, I had only become aware of my surroundings and the castle’s other permanent occupants about three years ago, a few months before the Dolans bought the place. It had been kind of like waking up after a long sleep. I remembered a lot about my old life in Boston: my big family and my small group of close-knit friends, my three cats, my love of the ocean and all things sweet, and the passion for tabletop games I had turned into a slowly but steadily growing business after college.

But there were other things I had forgotten. And some—like the details of how I had actually died—never fully came back.

That whole day was a stubborn, foggy blank. I could only remember the night before, having a pint with my dad—we weren’t Irish, but mostly Greek and Italian on Dad’s and Mom’s side respectively, though we enjoyed the local culture we’d traveled for—and talking about my plans to explore the ruins above the village the next morning before the rain, hoping to find some inspiration for my latest campaign.

Apparently, I had fallen off the highest balcony overlooking the foyer. One second I was standing there, studying my surroundings, and the next I was plummeting over the banister. Lady Síofra saw the whole thing, and while the ancient noblewoman definitely needed therapy she wouldn’t find in the afterlife, I didn’t think she would outright lie to me. I was one of the only castle residents who went out of my way to compliment her whenever she manifested in the mirror, and I even let her style my hair once in a while on the restless nights we passed by talking about life and death and everything in between.

So either I had had some kind of medical emergency, or I had jumped. And that definitely didn’t make sense.

I had been, from what memories remained, more or less happy. By the time I was twenty-two, I was taking my share of our family’s wealth and investing it into creating my own tabletop gaming system I hoped would one day be as classic as Dungeons and Dragons. Five years after that, I still had so many big ideas that I was excited to try to get the word out there—like putting videos of the gameplay online. I loved my sisters, loved hanging with my cats and going for night walks by the harbor with my friends. Was proud of myself and what I was building, even if my parents didn’t think creating fantasy games was a serious endeavor. They just measured success a lot differently than I did.

I mean, sure, I got lonely sometimes. Dated a girl or two, nothing serious or lasting, and longed to find the right guy to form a connection with so we could try things out. Had days where I texted my three healthy sisters for a venting session, because being a type one diabetic since age five sometimes still got the better of me. Argued with my parents too often about what I was doing with my life at twenty-seven and how I was wasting my engineering degree. Wanted and wished to finally be held by someone who really saw me, not just my family’s money or a face that was usually half-hidden by a book.