The Living Ghost

The Theft

           

"We should do that again sometime," said Lockwood as we stepped, side by side, through the front door into the hallway of 35 Portland Row. "Maybe get a bite to eat or something." He smiled at me, and that dazzling, mega-watt grin filled me with a familiar warmth. "Just the two of us."

I smiled back at him, feeling my cheeks flush and my heart fluttering and the weight of the sapphire necklace pressed warmly against my chest. "Yeah," I said. "I'd like that."

We parted ways on the upstairs landing as he went to help George with painting and I went to drop off my coat in my little attic bedroom. I paused for a moment, my hand on the doorknob, trying to quench the little bubble of excitement in my chest; he probably wouldn't be there, after all. It was still light out.

Still, as I pushed open the door, my eyes automatically darted towards the window, where I hoped to see the grey ghost of a youth, perhaps slouching against the wall. Instead, what I saw made my blood run cold.

The skull was gone.

I swallowed down the thick panic rapidly rising in my throat. I stood frozen to the spot, my eyes scanning the rest of my room. No, the skull's disappearance was the only change. 

"GEORGE!" I called.

"WHAT?" came the reply.

I stepped out of the doorway to lean over the banister. "Did you... did you take the skull?"

George scratched at his head with the end of his paintbrush, inspecting his handy work and splatting paint on his bruised face in the process. "Why would I take the skull?"

"I don't know! To experiment on him?!" My voice was rising in volume now, sounding frantic, but for some reason, I couldn't help it.

"And risk the possibility of him coming back and killing me?" said George. "No thank you!"

"But, then..." I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to think over the sound of my heart thumping against my chest. He couldn't be gone. Not again. "Did anyone come in?"

"I don't know. I went out."

I stared at him. "What?"

"We ran out of paint... and biscuits."

I was already charging down the stairs from my attic bedroom. "HOLLY!" I yelled. "QUILL!"

"They're not in," said George.

I halted halfway to the staircase that lead to the hallway downstairs and turned to him. "What do you mean they're not in?!"

George seemed a little apprehensive towards me now, but then I guess he's seen me get upset many times, so he was right to be. "Calm down, Lucy. They just had to get more building supplies, that's all."

Lockwood came out of his room then, all kitted out in an old t-shirt and pyjama bottoms for painting in. He took in my frantic state and frowned in concern. "Everything alright, Luce?"

I ignored him, still interrogating George. "How long have they been out? How long has the house been empty?"

"I... I don't know," George stammered. I guess he was expecting me to throw or punch something any second, which I was tempted to do. "No more than twenty minutes."

I turned and hurtled my way down the stairs, briefly registering the sounds of Lockwood and George chasing after me and of Lockwood imploring me to tell him what was wrong. I didn't slow when I got to the landing. I tore my way down the corridor and threw open the kitchen door. And stopped.