Lockwood and I moved carefully, lucy trailing along behind us, our footsteps muffled by the worn floorboards beneath us. For almost an hour we traversed the airless corridors of this aged structure, our torches flickering intermittently to illuminate the mysteries lurking in each shadowy nook. The damp smell of history clung to the walls and echoed the echoes of lives long forgotten.
In the heart of the kitchen, we left an oil lantern burning, surrounded by a small arsenal of candles, matches, and an extra torch. It is an important principle in our line of work to have a sanctuary of light—an easy escape route should the unexpected arise.
Resuming our exploration, I felt an unsettling chill straying into the atmosphere as we moved back toward the hall. Lockwood shuddered noticeably, and the hairs on my arms prickled as the temperature dipped sharply—down to nine degrees now. My gut twisted in apprehension; the air felt alive, charged with a hidden potential for dread.
At the front of the building, we came upon two distinct rooms flanking the hall. One was cluttered with signs of modernity—a television, a sofa, and two welcoming armchairs—offering warmth that brought the temperature back up, reclaiming the amiability of the kitchen. We listened intently, but found nothing to warrant alarm.
On the opposite side lay a formal sitting room, enveloped in a coolness that caught my attention. The luminous dial read twelve degrees, cooler than the adjacent chamber, inviting a contemplative pause. Closing my eyes, I focused on the silence, trying to perceive any whispers or movements that would betray the presence of something unnatural.
Lucy, look!" Lockwood's sudden hiss jolted me out of my reverie.
Heart racing, I pivoted to find Lockwood, casual yet intense, hunched over a photograph on a side table. The beam from his torch illuminated the frame, revealing a couple beaming amidst a backdrop of greenery. "There's Mr. Hope!" he exclaimed, the name twisting in my chest along with apprehension.
"My heart nearly stopped!" I gasped, seeing Lucy with her rapier half drawn, a classic defensive stance.
'You idiot!' she hissed. 'I might have run you through.'
Lockwood chuckled lightheartedly, "Oh, don't be so grumpy. Take a look. What do you think?"
The couple in the photograph was striking—grey-haired and smiling widely, they appeared vibrantly alive. Mrs. Hope, a round-faced woman with an infectious grin, seemed to radiate warmth; her husband, Mr. Hope, stood tall by her side, both hands intertwined with hers. They were an idyllic portrait of companionship.
"Seem cheerful enough there, don't they?" Lockwood said, his tone teasing yet intrigued.
"Perhaps," I replied, catching a flicker of suspicion in my voice. "But there's bound to be a reason for a Type Two. George says a Type Two always means someone's done something to somebody."
'lets go upstairs' i said
YOU ARE READING
ghost hunter
FanficValentina x Lockwood In a London ravaged by a ghost pandemic, Lockwood & Co. takes on a new recruit, Valentina, a resourceful homeless girl they've rescued from the streets. As she joins the agency, Valentina and Lockwood grow closer, their bond ign...
