ghost hunter

annie ward

My heartbeat thumped loudly in my ears as I watched Lockwood, engage with Lucy. His smirk and piercing blue eyes, illuminated by the flickering candlelight, gave him an almost mystical appearance. "Alright, Lucy," he said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice, "Choose a door. Trust your instincts."

Standing a few steps behind them, I could feel Lucy's nervous energy pulsing through the air. It was palpable, almost so thick I could reach out and touch it. I couldn't help but roll my eyes slightly. Sure, i wasn't the easiest person to scare, but even I felt the heaviness of the atmosphere. The house felt charged with uncertainty, a strange mix of history and the supernatural that set my teeth on edge.

After a moment of hesitation, Lucy pointed to the door at the end of the hall, the one cloaked in shadows. "That one," she murmured, attempting to exude confidence despite her visible anxiety. "It's the scariest one."

Suppressing a snicker, I felt a smirk creep onto my face. "Great," I replied, lacing my words with just the right amount of sarcasm. "Because obviously, the scariest door is the one we should start with." It was more for my benefit than hers—sometimes, courage was just a fragile facade against the unknown. Yet, as I glanced at Lucy, curled up tightly like a spring, I couldn't shake the surge of curiosity about what lay behind that daunting threshold.

Lockwood approached the door with his usual dramatic flourish, his sturdy frame a reassuring presence as he positioned himself before the brass doorknob. I noticed him flash a quick glance my way, like he was gauging my reaction. I crossed my arms, leaning against the wall, my stance a mix of confidence and readiness for whatever might come next.

With a quiet intensity, Lockwood turned the knob and pushed the heavy door open. What greeted us was a room seemingly frozen in time—a forgotten office crammed with dust-covered books and assorted relics. Moonlight streamed through the narrow windows, illuminating the particles that danced like spirits around the room. The scent of aged leather and parchment filled the air, and even I, with my metaphorical armor against the supernatural, felt a chill ripple down my spine.

Lockwood crouched down, examining the wooden floor, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Val," he called softly, "have a look at these." His voice, though low, had an intensity that resonated in my chest. He pointed to faint scruff marks on the floor.

Curiosity piqued, I moved closer. As I peered at the scruff marks on the floor, my analytical mind kicked into gear. "Could be from a bed," I suggested, my eyes following the pattern of the marks diligently. "You know, when something heavy has been in a place for a long time..." My words trailed off into silence, the implication lingering in the air—what exactly had once inhabited this room?

Lockwood nodded, appreciation shining in his expression, though a flicker of caution glinted in his deep-set eyes. "Good eye," he said, offering a quick smile that didn't quite reach the depth of his gaze. I could sense the undercurrents of his thoughts—ever the thinker, always weighing possibilities against the shadows of doubt. "Let's not jump to conclusions, though."

Then, without hesitation, he turned to Lucy, who was still lingering uncertainly by the doorway. "Go grab our bags from the kitchen, will you?" he instructed, his tone brisk yet gentle. She nodded and left.

I stood in the dimly lighted room, watching the shadows of our touchs dance. Lockwood leant in towards me and I could feel his seriousness. He murmured, "Look, I know you're not thrilled about having a new team member," obviously trying to heal the rift that my reluctance had caused in our friendship.

Thrilled would be an understatement. The idea of having Lucy join our small group sounded like a call to mayhem for the delicate balance we'd managed to preserve. I found Lockwood to be both frustrating and fascinating because of his remarkable capacity to find the positive aspects of everyone.