A Ghost in the Guest Room

Chapter 2

Before I go on, let me explain how we came to be in that hellish guest bedroom in the first place.

George was out of town visiting his mother, leaving Lockwood and me to hold down the fort.

That Tuesday, we were contacted by one Samuel Greer, complaining of a quote "dark presence" in his guest bedroom. He gave few other details, just his address and when he expected us.

George's absence threw a wrench in the research works, but our impatience won out in the end. As far as Lockwood and I were concerned, dying of ghost-touch sounded preferable to dying of boredom in the Archives.

The aforementioned Greer house was a shabby thing, all peeling paint and obviously very little maintenance. Lockwood knocked on the door politely and we were greeted almost immediately by a tall, thin man in his seventies. 

He ushered us in and shut the door firmly. After locking all four locks and ritually touching no less than seven silver wards nailed to the inside of the door, Greer turned to face us.

"So you must be wondering what happens here after dark."

"Yes, that is generally what we do," said Lockwood, flashing a signature gigawatt smile.

Mr. Greer's face remained stony. "I'm haunted by a sinister force," he began.

I fought the urge to yawn and adjusted my duffel bag on my shoulder. When old folks use the words "sinister" and "force" to describe ghosts, especially in conjunction with each other, it usually means we're in for a healthy serving of wishy-washy ghost-cult bullshit. 

The people old enough to remember a time before the Problem are almost always the ones attracted to...unconventional explanations for it. Be it ghost-cults, increased religious allegiance, or outright refusal to believe, they possess a startling amount of denial.

"It appears every night, from six to seven in the morning." he continued.

Lockwood and I exchanged a glance. That was a very long time for a ghost to be active. I guess this one wasn't just an old cultist getting his undies in a bunch over a Shade. We're lucky he didn't try to "commune" with it.

"I am quite obviously too old to see it, but I feel it. An overwhelming mix of grief and longing."

"I see..." Lockwood mused. "Where is the haunting focused?"

"Guest room, specifically the bathroom. It flings things around in there every night and the room just has an air. An atmosphere of dread. You agents know the feeling," Greer said.

I spoke up. "Does the house have a history of violence? Murder, suicide, the like."

"I wouldn't know. Just bought the place a couple of weeks ago, completely unaware I wasn't the...only resident."

"Lovely. Thank you for your insight, Mr. Greer. Would you care to show my associate and I to the guest room?" Lockwood asked.

Greer shuffled down a bleak hallway and stopped in front of an unvarnished wooden door. I nodded to him and stepped inside.

Before we could technically start our investigation, we had to follow agency procedure: iron circle, temperature readings, and weapons check. Lockwood set up the circle and took stock of our duffel bags while I took readings in the corners and center of the room. It was quite cramped, small enough that we didn't have room for an iron circle in the room itself. Instead, we settled for an ugly but efficient chain oval squashed in the doorway.

It was abysmally small, barely large enough for the twin bed and nightstand across from the entrance. To our left was another sad-looking door, presumably leading to the guest bathroom. 

"You think we should lace the bathroom doorway with salt and iron?" I asked Lockwood, breaking the silence.

"Hm? Oh, yes, it wouldn't hurt," he replied after a moment.

I moved to do that, thinking. Lockwood had been preoccupied all day. I mean, he's not exactly what you'd call loquacious normally, but he was even quieter than usual. That was his way, I guess. The highest highs and, evidently, the quietest lows.

As soon as I reached the bathroom door, it was like being thrown in ice water. Shit! It wiped any thoughts of Lockwood's moods from my mind.

"Greer's story checks out, Lockwood. I've got a cold spot here. Forty-eight degrees, a whopping ten lower than my room average. Cut straight through me."

"That's good," he said, flashing the briefest but most genuine smile I'd seen all day. "We wouldn't want another Lavender Lodge situation, now would we?"

I laughed. "Or a Red Room."

"Yes, we do keep getting ourselves into such predicaments, don't we, Luce? I don't think all adults are lying to us and actively trying to have us killed, yet we keep running into all the ones that are."

The tension in the room lessened. As always when I was around Lockwood, I felt my spirits lift. We could face whatever was in that bathroom.

I asked Lockwood if he could see any death-glows, but in my gut, I knew the main event was behind the door in front of me.

"Well, there's really nothing left to do but open the door," I said.

"I suppose. Plan J would work."

Scrambling to remember what the hell Plan J was, I hesitated.

Lockwood gave me a look that managed to be both scathing and pretentious at the same time. "Plan J. One agent in the line of fire and one opening the door. Made for multiple agents but two will be fine."

I scoffed self-consciously and flushed. "Obviously. That Plan J."

Lockwood took his usual place in the line of fire, pulling out his rapier with a rasp of velcro. I did the same and put a hand on the doorknob.

"One, two," I counted softly, "three!"

I flung open the door, and so the night began.

~

HOLY CRAP GUYS PEOPLE ARE READING THIS??? I know it's like 35 people but it's about 35 more than I thought would. Thanks. 

Stay tuned, I guess. More to come.

<3 Clxmentine