The Glass Scientists micro-fanfictions

Ghosts?

Dr. Robert Lanyon was a man of science, and so he would very much like to think that he was not one to fall victim to silly superstition or fantastical whims of fancy. For all the oddities in his life, he was able to find a reasonable scientific explanation as to the meaning, and on the occasion where he could not, he was securely surrounded by those that could offer him the explanation that he could not find himself. He had been quite content with this way of life, and there had been nothing to throw the metaphorical spanner into the works.

Or so it had been until that morning.

Now, Robert did not believe in ghosts. Not in the sense of the souls of the dead walking the earth forever seeking whatever meaning their life had lacked, not in the sense of howling spectres in rooms that were known to be empty and long abandoned. Sure, there were others that were so inclined to believe what he deemed utter hooey, seeing shadows of death itself clinging to darkened corners of each and every room.
Ordinarily he would scoff at the concept of hauntings, but that was very much different when he was the one being haunted.

It started small enough, as the typical hauntings often did in literature, his teacup knocked to the fall as if from a particularly strong gust of wind, pages of his work going missing, only to turn up again just after he gave up hope and prepared to redo them entirely, doors open when he was sure he had left them closed or closed when he left them open. This was odd enough, but not inexcusable if he tried, open windows could account for things falling and doors moving on their own, and a tired mind was a safe explanation for misplacing things.
But what good ghost would ever keep their ghostly goings on to simple little things that could be passed away as simply the breeze?
It was the footsteps next. Tramping up and down the hallways late at night when the Society was as still as the grave, making the man wish that this was not the one night that Henry had been called away on urgent business. Perhaps he was simply imagining things, making mountains out of molehills, anything of the sort, but with the growing frequency of sounds over the course of the night and with no other living soul in the hallways, which he searched thoroughly more than once when he had grown fed up with it all.
Even once he was quite positive that something had grasped at his arm when he was alone in his office!

Robert did not believe in ghosts, but he supposed he could be made to believe in a ghost. He did not have any concrete evidence for any of the ghostly tales told to him, but his own personal experience was something different entirely. This was, of course, much the same explanation that others that were lead to believe they were experiencing something ghostly would make, claiming everyone but themself just happened to be mad while their own experiences were perfectly rational. They were perfectly rational after all, only madmen and children believed in ghosts.

He was entirely unprepared when it came to handling the dead, especially those that decided to hang about after they ceased to be alive, and so there was only one thing that he, a man of science, could do. Read. Thankfully the Society had an extensive collection of books on subjects that ranged from perfectly mundane to exceptionally bizarre. It was an added benefit that one of the Lodgers, a pleasant enough fellow by the name of Dr. Maijabi so happened to require the knowledge of spirits, correctly located in the realm of the dead, precisely where Lanyon believed all spirits would be, and so he had an extensive collection to thumb through. He had briefly wondered if something that Maijabi had been working on had gone wrong or gone too right, but the man in question had been away on extensive research for nearing on a week and nobody had access to his equipment during his absence.
If Lanyon was to find a way to rid himself of a pesky poltergeist, his best means would hopefully be hidden away between the covers of one of the many books vaguely on the topic.

If all went well, he would be able to handle this before Henry was to return in the morning and things would be perfectly well and with nothing he needed to worry about.

One of the books fell from the shelf. Then another, then a third. None of them were close enough to the doctor to be able to use his presence there to explain anything falling from its place. Thankfully he was alone in the room, for this made the man jump and let out a yelp that was far from dignified. His excuse was that it was late and that he was tired, but the whole ordeal was spooking him. In fact, it spooked him so much that after putting the books away - spooked as he was he wasn't going to leave them laying around - he marched right back to his office. If he was to be frightened, he would much rather be frightened in a space that he could seek out comforts if the matters came to it.

"Robert?" came a familiar voice at the door not all too long after he sat down, a gentle knock accompanying before the door swung open.

"Oh Henry!" exclaimed Lanyon, relief washing over him, "You would not believe the night I have had! As silly as it might be, I swear to you that I am being haunted!"

"Haunted?" Jekyll asked the frazzled man, this coming with no judgement, which was a relief to the man who was more than ready to chalk himself up as mad.

Things seemed to be working in his favour for the first time that night, for silence had only just taken a hold on the room before the trampling footsteps sounded in the visibly empty hallway. Henry did not look perplexed, however, but rather a look of absolute disapproval crossed his featured.

"Dr. Griffin!" Jekyll called into the nothingness, "This is childish, you are a man of science, so I do wish you would behave as one!"

From the evidently not empty hallway, Dr. Jack Griffin, who had been having a blast bothering and pranking Lanyon over the course of the night, let out a cheek, mischievous little laugh, proving that it was not a ghost at all but just a scientist.