The Bertie Mansion

V

Lounging on his bed, he examined the next journal, but his patience with reading had vanished. He flexed his knee to get the stiffness out, pulling his leg close to his body and then relaxing his muscles until his leg was flat on the bed. Other than the stiffness, it felt fine, thank goodness. He had begun to get worried he had hurt himself again, although his trick knee was probably another game his mind was playing at the moment.

"Yay, you're healed," he told his leg. He got up and quickly did push-ups off the wall, then a few off the floor. "Now stay that way."

Curiosity was getting the best of him. His mind wouldn't let it go; he had to know if there was anything in the attic besides a few lost squirrels. He hit the switch for the lights, took a deep breath, and traversed the frail stairs. He stopped below the trapdoor for a moment, pressing his hands to it in preparation. Then he raised it a few inches. He narrowed his eyes and peered around, soldier mode activated.

Any and all creaking stopped as if his reappearance froze the movement of someone or something. Very interesting, he thought. Very, very interesting. He crawled onto the attic floor, closing the trapdoor after him to make sure the thing couldn't escape. On his previous attempt the creature didn't dare to show its face to him as he called out, so a trap had to be laid. Jeremy knew exactly how to do it.

He dug around for the paintings and pretended to be distracted in his search, all the while keeping his ears and eyes open for stray movement. It was mostly his ears on the job because the bulb above him was having trouble cutting through the darkness of the night.

He was surprised to find a few earlier abstract paintings which had never been displayed in his grandfather's home. They were oddly dark in color and feeling, and stood next to a rope hanging from the ceiling, a loop at the end of it. A shiver threatened to go down his spine but he held it back. He was getting too deep into this place.

He began showing signs of being tired, which was half true. The long day of searching had taken a toll. But the other half was an act part of his elaborate trap that he would spring with the utmost precision.

He rubbed his eyes, stretched his arms over his head and then placed his hands on the small of his back to relieve the tension in the muscles there. He enjoyed the stretch and gave a sigh of contentment.

The final, crucial detail was a thorough search for a comfortable chair. It had to be plush, large, and most importantly, containing as little dust in the fabric as possible. Sneezing would throw the plan immediately.

Jeremy settled himself in the chair of his choice, picked quickly, but not too quickly. Now he would wait. He closed his eyes and evened his breath, hoping that the creature wouldn't be able to tell he was still awake.

He could not be certain how long it was before the creaking of the floor approached him, and he didn't bother opening his eyes to find out. He needed to maintain the guise of being fast asleep in order to accomplish his goal. There were many paths through the attic. Oftentimes two people, three meters apart as a squirrel stuck in the attic could jump if the space was clear, could be invisible to each other.

Suddenly, a hand was playing with his hair. It was a light touch, like a cool breeze, meant to keep him in his sleeping state. The creature gasped and let out a breathy whisper.

"Exactly the same." The hand moved to his chin before leaving his face, the touch barely there and like water more than a solid shape. "Jeremy. But not!"

Jeremy opened his eyes, though kept them narrowed, to get a good look at the creature. It was a ghost, or a human covered so completely in flour that it appeared like a ghost. It seemed to be a he, upon further inspection as Jeremy lowered his gaze from the ghost's face.

He had short hair, a buzz cut of military standard. His clothes consisted of a soldier's uniform from the Great War, similar outfits sitting around this very attic to compare to, and the left shoulder had several medals hanging from it. The colors of the ribbons and anything that determined rank were white, as he was a ghost, but the medals still indicated a life of high esteem.

Jeremy had mentally prepared himself to see a ghost, though that prep failed him now. He had expected this experiment to fail and to prove that he was hallucinating. Having a real spirit in front of him seized his muscles to a standstill and his eyes to widen.

The ghost noticed he had woken and fell into a fighting stance, his knees bent and arms up to protect his face. Then, realizing there was no threat, he observed the human before him.

"Even the eyes. He had the same eyes," said the ghost, voice low but not as cautious because the damage had been done, the human was awake.

Jeremy just stared in shock. He wanted to move, run, anything, despite his promise to himself that he would be brave and not be scared off by a measly soul of a dead guy. How dangerous could it be? It was like a giant, human-shaped marshmallow, ready to be the center of a jumbo s'more.

Eventually he got his mind to control his body and stood, stepping closer. The ghost had remained where he was, though wearily.

Jeremy held out his hand. "Apparently you know who I am. What's your name?"

The ghost hesitated. Then he smiled and stepped forward as well. "Rob."

Jeremy moved to shake hands and Rob consented. When it came time to actually grab each other's hands, Jeremy's hand slid right through, resulting in a clenched fist instead of a firm grip on something solid.

His fisted hand seen in Rob's now slightly transparent white body knocked sense and some reality into his brain. He had tried to shake hands with a ghost. There was a ghost in his attic, being friendly and quite possibly ogling him when he was supposed to be asleep. He ran out of the attic and didn't stop running. Perhaps he was screaming and disturbing the neighbors, not like it was new to the Downys for them to hear this, but he didn't care. The ghost let him go.