A Ghost in the Guest Room

Chapter 1

"Lockwood!" I screamed at the still figure in front of me.

The boy in question was staring blankly into space, coat flapping in the spectral breeze. His unruly dark hair and pale skin were awash in the blue glow of the Visitor between us. Normal as he appeared, he was passive as the ghost reached toward him. 

If you want the specifics, it was a Specter: an uncannily realistic representation of the deceased before their death. This one took the form of a young woman with cropped brown hair clipped above her ears. Her knee-length skirt was still despite the gusts of wind buffeting us. She looked alive, like I could reach out and touch her face.

Of course, if I did, I'd swell up and turn blue. So I didn't.

Shouting Lockwood's name again, I flung a salt-bomb at the girl. It did little more than fizz on contact. I muttered a curse and prepared to play human shield for my catatonic colleague. Scampering between the two, I lobbed another salt-bomb; a hiss of steam and the smell of burning plasm were the only indications I hit my mark as I turned around to face her. 

God, she was detailed. I could count the moles on her neck and see each fleck in her wide brown eyes. So similar to mine, those eyes. It was like looking in a mirror--granted, one that disregarded time altogether. The girl could have been my sister...shit.

The pang I felt thinking about my sisters brought me back to reality. I shook off the ghost-lock and fumbled for my rapier with clammy fingers. In one less-than-smooth motion, I pulled the sword from my belt.

Lockwood will tell you I spend too much time trying to understand ghosts when I should just be working to destroy them. He'd much rather skewer the Visitor and be done with it. Though I'd never say it to his face, I believe the dead deserve some compassion, even the angry and violent dead. 

What did Shakespeare say? These violent delights have violent ends. He was referring to love when writing that, but it could just as easily apply to Visitors. Violence in life begets violence in death. 

As a result of that philosophy, I often attempt communication with the ghosts we fight. Today's case was no different, although the stakes were a bit higher, what with Lockwood's unfortunate timing. 

Careful to keep my rapier between myself and her, I spoke. "Who are you?"

"Gone..." she breathed. 

I huffed a sigh. Nobody said the angry and violent dead were eloquent. "What's gone? Or who?"

"Gone...he's gone..." she repeated. Now that was more helpful. "He's gone...GONE!"

The ghost girl's form brightened as she let out a piercing shriek and rushed at me. Unfortunate, that. She came straight for my blade. Hemming her in with a ward-knot proved to be easy--I split her down the middle with one swift motion. Her form dissipated. The last I saw of her was my own face leering at me from beyond the grave.

I dragged my ghost-locked companion back to our iron circle and took stock of the situation. Lockwood was staring blankly at where the girl was standing a moment before; the color was gone from his face, leaving him pale as bones and about half as useful too. I suppressed a groan. 

This case should have been an in-and-out job. 

But there we were.

Distinctly not an in-and-out job.

Quite the predicament we got ourselves in.

~

That's the first chapter! I technically have the rest of the story written but I wanted to see if anyone was interested before dumping the whole thing onto the unsuspecting patrons of Wattpad. Thanks for reading this. <33

Much love,

Clxmentine