Page 19 of The Ghost and the Graveyard (Knight Games 1)
"Coffee," I said to myself. "I need coffee now."
I walked to the end of the hall to the stair landing, but instead of continuing down the stairs to the kitchen, an uncontrollable impulse tipped my face in the opposite direction. I hadn't noticed before, but the stairs continued to what I presumed was the attic. That's where she had come from, the legless freak of nature who'd chased me out of my house. I remembered the shrill creak of the door before she'd appeared at the top of my stairs. A sudden chill goose-pimpled my flesh, and tingles radiated through my scalp.
Compulsively, I climbed the staircase. I had to know. I had to face this fear. My legs shook and moved like dead weight step by step toward the painted white door with the cast-iron handle. With shaking hand, I gripped and turned. Locked. I tugged a little harder, jostling the knob, but it wouldn't budge. The keyhole was the old-fashioned kind, crafted to house one of those long, roundish keys. I'd have to ask my dad if other keys came with the house. I needed to know what was in there.
One thing was for certain; no ghostly old ladies were attacking me. This was just an ordinary door to an ordinary attic. I still wasn't sure what had happened last night. Exhaustion? Stress? Radon poisoning? (I'd have to ask my dad about that one.) But it wasn't ghosts. It couldn't be, or how could I come to terms with staying here? No, this was mental. Mind over matter.
I bounded down the stairs, feeling silly I'd ever entertained the idea that there were actually ghosts in the house. Yet, as I approached the foyer, a noise from the kitchen snapped me back into jumpy mode. I crouched down, slinking around the banister, and used the island counter as cover. Who the hell was in my house?
When I realized the sound was the coffeemaker, I stood, confused, and eyeballed my kitchen. The machine percolated away, sending wafts of hazelnut in my direction. My laptop glowed from the counter, plugged in and powered on. The screen was cracked. Ouch. At least it looked usable. All of my work forms were carefully stacked on the counter. What had happened last night? An icy chill ran the length of my body. I wasn't mental. My screen was cracked for a reason. Either my house was haunted, or someone was fucking with me.
But why the coffee? I needed to decide between three possibilities. One, I had lost my mind and actually made the coffee and cleaned up myself. Two, the same ghosts who scared the bejeezus out of me made coffee and cleaned up the mess. Or three, there was another living person in my house.
I went with three. "Rick?" I called. Maybe he'd stayed the night. That would explain the voice, as well. "Hello? Is someone here?"
Silence.
Tears of frustration burst the dam of my lower lids, and I grabbed the sides of my hair. "Who is in my house?"
"I am. But I don't want to scare you," the man said, definitely not Rick. This time I recognized his voice as the man from last night. My stomach clenched.
I was afraid, but I was more afraid of losing my mind. "Please," I said in barely a whisper, "I need to see you."
An orb of light in the middle of the living room floated toward me, the kind of thing you see every day, dust reflecting the morning glow that seeps through the slats in the blinds. This one, however, grew as it approached in a way that made the room feel like a dark tunnel, and the orb, the light at the end. The brightness made me blink, and by the time I opened my eyes again, the transparent form of the smoking man from the night before leaned against my counter.
Several questions raced through my mind at once. Things like, why was he in my house? Was his body somewhere nearby? Did he mean me any harm? But the only thing that came out of my shocked mouth was, "I can see through you."
"Ah, I'm stronger at night. It's taking an enormous degree of effort for me to hold this form right now. I should be sleeping, but I wanted to make sure you were all right. What Prudence did last night was unforgivable."
My pulse pounded in my temples. Instinct told me to run. But where would I go? I swallowed hard and rolled with the conversation. "You're a g-ghost?"
He lowered his eyes. "Yes. But don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you."
Well, that was a relief-said no one after seeing a ghost, ever! I took a few steps back until my ass hit one of the kitchen stools. I sat, less by will and more because my knees gave out. "How many of you are there? "
"Just the two of us."
"You and the old woman from last night. Prudence."
"Yes. I'm sorry we scared you."
Was this real? Was a ghost really apologizing to me? He seemed friendly. I tried to think of friendly ghosts, like Casper, to keep from peeing my pants-which, incidentally, were yesterday's scrubs. I seriously needed a shower.
"And you switched the wine and made me coffee?"
"You said you needed the coffee, and that wine choice was a travesty. I had to do something."
I wrinkled my brow. "Are you some kind of phantom food critic?"
"No. To be honest, I don't know what I was before I died. There are lots of things I don't remember. But Pinot gris is definitely the better choice with salmon." The corner of his mouth curled up in an uneven smile I found oddly endearing.
Swallowing hard, I tried to calm my racing heart and focus. "What do you want? Why are you in my house?"
"Technically, you moved into our house. Prudence and I are waiting for someone. We thought you might be her."
"Waiting for someone to do what?" I asked. "Wait, Prudence asked if I was the sorter last night. What does that mean?"
"If you were the sorter, you would know."
