Page 13 of Squad Ghouls

“Comforting, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, the sarcasm not just ignored, but taken out back and shot before it even reached Owain’s ears. “Down the hall is Popty’s room, but you won’t see him much. He hangs around the kitchen mostly, if you want to catch him. Listen for the ping.”

“The ping?”

“On the microwave.”

“He haunts the microwave?”

“Where do you think the name came from?” Owain laughed.

I stared at him blankly, trying to keep up. “Mars? Whatever planet you beamed down from? The great beyond? I don’t know!”

“Popty ping is what my grandmother used to call the old microwave oven. I guess it’s a Welsh thing.” Owain shrugged. “But Popty likes it.”

“Does he?”

A distant ping sounded from downstairs and Owain gave me a smug look that made me want to slap his arse.

“Did he die in that microwave?” I asked, and immediately got my mouth slapped shut by two hands.

We fell back into the wall, Owain pressed all against my front. I reflexively grabbed his hips. His face was so close to mine we would have been kissing if Owain’s hands weren’t blocking our lips.

Which was distracting as all fuck…but for once not enough to rid me of my good sense as the very foundations of the house reacted.

The walls and floors shook around us, creaking and moaning like the building was a sentient thing about to spring chicken legs and start moving. Owain seemed tense as he listened, like he was hearing words I couldn’t.

The temperature dropped to freezing and I could see wisps of my breath streaming out from between Owain’s fingers, the hairs on my arms standing on end as darkness crept in around us.

For the first time since all the weirdness started happening, I got the very real sense that there was something dangerous residing here. Owain’s bright, cheerful nonsense might have masked it for a while, but this was a taste of something far more sinister.

I stared at the side of Owain’s face as he waited it out. This insane person who was risking his life every day to befriend things from beyond the grave and our scope of understanding.

My resolve hardened.

I needed to figure this situation out before he became another ghostly guest who couldn’t leave.

Owain’s eyes found mine again, the intensity in them magnified by his glasses. “We don’t bring up you know what. Popty doesn’t like it.”

I could certainly feel the anger in the air, waiting for a spark.

What I had assumed was a level-one or -two entity was certainly something much greater. And Owain had given it a harmless name like Popty Ping.

I nodded. I was stubborn and hot-headed, but I didn’t have a death wish.

Owain slowly removed his hands from my mouth.

There was no point asking Owain to see reason—he had clearly grown used to the way things were. In fact, he was looking at me like he was expecting me to change my perspective despite the fact that a microwave ghost was on the rampage.

“Are we safe to move?” I asked.

“We should give it a moment. He’s never angry for too long. The last time was only two weeks,” Owain whispered, fiddling with the straps of my tank top at the tops of my shoulders. He didn’t even seem to be aware he was doing it, just looking at me with his big, earnest eyes.

“I guess we’d better buckle in for an exciting time, then. If we’re really lucky, we might be able to watch some paint dry.”

“Walls can be fun in the Last Resort. Just as much fun as floors or ceilings!” Owain said in his best proprietor voice.

“They can in a different position,” I said slyly.