THE HAUNTING OF BEA NEVILLE

Chapter 7

Bea's breath hitched as she stared at the figure standing apart from the family, the boy whose presence made her blood run cold. Oliver. She couldn't explain how she knew it was him, but the recognition hit her with such clarity that she couldn't look away.

His eyes were locked on hers, unblinking, filled with something Bea couldn't quite decipher—sadness? Anger? Or maybe something else entirely. The room around her buzzed with life, voices warm and welcoming, but all of that faded as her pulse pounded in her ears.

"Bea?" Tamsin's voice broke through her trance, and Bea blinked, tearing her gaze away from Benji's spectral form. "Are you alright, dear?"

She forced a tight smile, her heart still racing. "Y-yeah," Bea stammered, quickly scanning the room again. Five living people. Six total.

Bea didn't wait for the awkward silence to stretch too long. As soon as Oliver introduced himself and the weight of his presence registered, her pulse quickened, her chest tightened. Six people. Not five. There was no logical explanation, and she couldn't ignore the creeping dread that climbed her spine like icy fingers. She needed air—space. Without a word, she turned on her heel, her boots clacking against the wooden floor as she made a beeline for the door. She barely noticed the puzzled glances the Trevelyans exchanged or the worried look in Tamsin's eyes as she swept past.

The door creaked as she shoved it open, cool sea air rushing in to meet her. Her feet hit the stone path outside, and she didn't stop, didn't slow down until she was halfway across the garden. The wind whipped at her hair, and the wild tangle of the coastal flowers blurred in her peripheral vision. It wasn't until she reached the weathered swing at the garden's edge that she stopped, hands braced on the ropes as her chest heaved. The waves crashed below, a constant, rhythmic roar that barely registered in her mind.

It felt like everything was closing in—this house, the family, the ghost.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the cool rope of the swing, trying to steady her breathing. How had she not realised sooner? How could Caro have brought her here knowing that—

The sound of footsteps crunching over the gravelly path made her wince. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"You're good at running away when things get difficult," Caro's voice sliced through the air, smooth and biting. "Just like your mother."

Bea's knuckles whitened as she gripped the swing tighter, fighting the instinct to snap back. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay calm even though her heart was hammering against her ribs.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Bea muttered, finally lifting her head and turning to face Caro. The witch stood a few paces away, her coat flaring slightly in the breeze, dark eyes locked on Bea. "Did you not think—with my ghost-seeing abilities—that a family with a recently deceased son might not be the best idea?"

Caro's expression faltered for a split second, a flicker of surprise crossing her sharp features. She took a step back, her lips parting slightly. "You can see him?"

Bea let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. "Yes."

For once, Caro didn't have a quick retort. Something changed in her gaze, the corner of her mouth twitched, though the hardness in her posture remained. "You're going back inside," she said, voice firm but lacking its usual sting of superiority. It wasn't a suggestion.

Before Bea could protest, she felt a sudden chill, colder than the sea breeze whipping through the garden. Her eyes darted to the side, and there, standing just beyond the swing, was the ghost.

Oliver.

He looked almost... normal, if not for the translucent shimmer that outlined his figure, making him appear slightly faded, like a photograph left out in the sun too long. His dark hair was windswept, as if he had just come in from outside, and his clothes—jeans and a soft grey sweater—were casual, unremarkable. If it weren't for the faint glow around him, he could've passed for any other teenage boy.