The wind was kicking up something fierce as Claire Wallis grabbed the last of the sheets from the clothesline. Fat droplets of rain were beginning to fall as she rushed for the door of the old Victorian that she’d turned into a bed and breakfast.

Once inside, Claire stepped into the sitting room, grateful to find it empty. Sometimes, guests would gather there, and she would have felt obligated to sit down for a chat. She quickly folded the sheets, stopping a few times to bury her nose in the folds to breathe in the scent of fresh air. There wasn’t much that could rival the smell of it, honestly. Well, maybe freshly baked bread could give it a run for its money, she supposed.

Out in the foyer, the staircase creaked, and, anticipating one of her guests to appear, Claire’s mouth settled into a welcoming smile as she turned to the doorway. A few moments passed, but no one appeared. She moved over to the doorway and peered around the thick mahogany casing. The foyer was empty.

A sudden, cold draft made Claire rub her arms briskly as she grabbed up the stack of laundry and moved down the hall to the storage room. She put the sheets on the shelves, trying not to allow her thoughts to settle on her fears. She was being ridiculous, is what she was being, she decided. There was no such thing as ghosts, even in an old Victorian that had had a reputation of being haunted.

The bell out at the service desk rang, and Claire popped her head out and looked down the hallway, relieved to see that Thomas Moreland, one of her guests, was standing there.

“Mr. Moreland, how can I help you?” Claire strode towards him.

A troubled look swept across his face, causing Claire’s friendly smile to quickly turn into a worried frown. She’d only been in business for less than a year, and she strived hard to keep her guests happy, “Well, whatever you need, Mr. Moreland, I can assure you that I’m here to take care of it.” she rushed to assure him, as she swept around him and stepped behind the desk.

“Of course,” he grimaced, “But I’m not sure if you can fix this, actually,” Mr. Moreland paused, clearly weighing his words, “See, my wife, Verity, well, she says that she saw someone in our room last night …”

Claire’s eyes widened in alarm as she reached for the phone.

“No, no, no, it’s not what you think,” he rushed to assure her, “It wasn’t an actual person see, …”

“What?” Claire exclaimed.

“Verity believes that she saw a ghost, Claire.”

“A ghost,” Claire tried to keep her voice calm, even as her alarm grew by leaps and bounds. This was what her older brother, Jonathan, had warned her about, when she’d insisted on buying and renovating the place as a bed and breakfast. He’d told her that he’d heard rumors about the place being haunted, but she’d insisted that he was being silly because there were no such things as ghosts, after all. She took a long, deep breath as her mind searched for an angle, “A ghost, you say? How quaint, Mr. Moreland,” Apparently, she was going to go with the ‘I’m sure you’re wrong, but I’ll go along with it just to humor you’ angle, “Victorian houses have always been known to harbor a few guests of the ephemeral kind, I hear.” she told him, with a wink and a nudge thrown in for good measure.

Mr. Moreland nodded and chuckled in a relieved sort of way, “Yes, that’s what they always say, isn’t it?” He tapped the counter, commandingly, “I let you know, which is what Verity wanted. Thank you for humoring me, my dear.”

“Of course.” Claire watched him climb the elaborate, creaky staircase. She waited until she heard the door close at the top of the stairs before she furrowed her brow in consternation. What the hell was she going to do now? What if Mr. and Mrs. Moreland started telling people that they had seen a ghost here? She could lose business, and she didn’t have that much business to begin with. Maybe Jonathan had been right. Rook’s Mill was a quaint, charming town, granted, but, aside from Win Lake and Haverston College, it didn’t have a big draw, exactly. There were the festivals, though, and Rook’s Mill did them up big, that was a fact. Indeed, the Halloween festival was coming up in three weeks, and she had been hoping that her bed and breakfast would be fully booked. Now, the rooms might be sitting empty, along with her bank account, she thought, morosely.

*****************************************************************

“Go out the door and take a right down Peach Street until you reach the stop sign, take a left, and you’ll head right into the heart of downtown, Mrs. Sandstrum,” Claire explained, as the elderly woman nodded her understanding, “You’ll find Francesca’s Fabrics right next to McClain’s Hardware store.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Sandstrum looked anxiously at the antique Grandfather Clock, “I’m afraid that I’ll be a little late.”

“Not to worry, Mrs. Sandstrum,” Claire picked up her cellphone and dialed Francesca’s Fabrics, “I’ll let her know that you’re on your way. She won’t start the knitting class without you, I promise.”

Claire talked briefly to Fran, as she watched the elderly lady step outside. She put her phone down, thinking that it would be amazing if the town had a working streetcar like they used to, so her guests could take it downtown, when a horrific scream echoed from up the stairs.

With her heart beating like a steel drum, Claire zipped around the guest counter and bounded up the stairs two at a time. Jessica Tingle was standing at the far end of the hallway, her face pale and her mouth ajar.

“Ms. Tingle,” Claire charged down the corridor towards her, “What happened? Are you okay?”

Jessica’s head was trembling ever so slightly, as she slowly turned and pointed out the ornate, Gothic window that overlooked the expansive back lawn, “I – I s – saw a man …”

Claire hurried over to the window and looked out, “You saw a man?”

“No. I mean, yes. Yes, I did see a man, but, but he wasn’t …”

Claire turned to face Jessica, her hands automatically reaching to wrap around the young woman’s shoulders in a soothing gesture. She was so confused. She needed more information, but she didn’t want to alarm her guest any further, either, “It’s fine. You’re fine. Just take your time.”

“I saw something,” Jessica began again, “I think it was a man, well, I mean, it sort of looked like a man, only he – he was transparent, and he was wearing strange clothes …”

“A transparent man? Wearing strange clothes?” Claire was trying to keep it together, but, honestly, she didn’t know what to think anymore.

“He was going towards the building there,” Jessica’s tone was growing defensive as she jabbed her finger against the glass, “And then – then he just sort of – he sort of went through it.”

“Went through it?”

Jessica turned wild eyes on Claire, “That’s what he did! He just sort of disappeared through the, uh, the wood.”

Claire scratched her head as she peered down at the old carriage house that she had elected to keep intact when she’d brought the property. It was a bit dilapidated, and, granted, tearing it down would have made the lawn that much larger, but she’d fell in love with the character and charm that it added to the place. She didn’t see anything moving down there, much less a transparent man wearing strange clothes. Still, Jessica obviously had seen something, and now it was up to her to disprove it, or, at the very least, try to assure her guest that there was nothing to fear. She plastered a ‘can do’ expression on her face and started off down the corridor decisively, “I’ll go have a good look, Ms. Tingle. I’m sure there is nothing to worry about, alright. In the meantime, why don’t you go on down to the sitting room. I’ve put out some lovely cream scones and lemon tarts for afternoon tea.”

Once outside, Claire stomped resolutely to the carriage house and immediately saw that the lock was still firmly latched. She unlocked it and stepped inside the gloomy interior. Old, moss covered cobblestones lined the floor, and cobwebs sparkled in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. On the face of it, the place was empty, but she cautiously stepped towards the back, where there were two horse stalls, and had a quick look behind the partitions. Empty, just as she had known they would be. She was just about to leave when something caught her eye. It was an apparition of a man reaching for something on the wall, though there was nothing there to reach for. And, just as Jessica had said, he was wearing Victorian era clothing. Claire bolted for the door. She didn’t take another breath until she was safely back inside the house.

********************************************************

Apparently, there wasn’t a high demand for ghost hunters, Claire mused, as she scrolled through the listings on her computer. There were only three, and two of them looked sketch, honestly.

“Guess I’ll go with Perry’s Paranormal Guidance and Management, LLC..” Claire said, as she dialed the number. While she waited for someone to answer, she tried to convince herself that what she was doing was completely in the realm of responsible business ownership, and not the stark raving mad dealings of a person that was on the verge of losing their footing in reality.

“Perry’s.” A masculine voice quipped.

“Uh, yeah, I, uh, I was wondering if you do ghosts.” Well, that didn’t come out the way she’d hoped, Claire grimaced.

“Do ghosts?” the man behind the deep voice chuckled, “Is that a thing?”

Claire sort of died inside. She took a deep breath and tried again, “What I meant to say was do you help get rid of ghosts?”

“No,” the man snapped, but quickly added, “You don’t get rid of ghosts, ma’am. You can ask them to leave, but it has to be at their discretion.”

“Okay,” Claire wanted to hang up, but what would that solve. She plowed on, “Well, I guess that’s what I need help doing then. I need someone to ask the ghost to leave, and, maybe give them a very firm push, if I could. Do you do that?”

“Sure, I could do that. I just need your address and we can set up an appointment for me to come out and have a look around.”

*******************************************************

“I’m Ronan Perry, and this is my assistant, Curt Lomax.”

Claire stared, agog, at the men. They were wearing headlights strapped on their heads, and had all sorts of strange electronic devices strapped all over themselves. What in the world would her guests think if they came across these two? She could kiss her business goodbye, of that she was sure.

Claire stepped around the counter and pulled them into the drawing room. She closed the door and hissed, “I’m afraid we’ll have to put this off until another time. I have guests right now, and I can’t have you guys frightening them half to death.”

Ronan acted as thought he hadn’t heard her. He was staring all around the room, and the other man, Curt, quickly flipped on some hand held gadget. A second later, red lights zipped across the machine and both of them grew very excited.

“Look, I need you both to leave, okay. We can arrange another time for this.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, ma’am,” Ronan said, as he held another gadget up into the air, “Whoa, that’s off the charts, C.,” he gushed, “I’ve never seen it that high, have you?”

“No way, man. This place is haunted as hell.”

Claire felt lightheaded all of a sudden.

Ronan took notice and quickly grabbed her. He eased her down into one of the velvet settee’s and stared worriedly down at her.

“Go find her something to drink, C..”

As Curt left the room, Claire shook her head, “It’s okay. I’m fine, actually. I just, I just …”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, you still look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Ronan grinned.

Claire noticed how beautiful his smile was. It lit up his entire face, and made his eyes crinkle in the most delightful way. She sat upright, suddenly aware of how crumpled she must look. Crumpled and pale, too, apparently.

“Here you go,” Curt rushed into the room and handed her a glass of water, quickly followed by Verity Moreland, “It’s a good thing that one of your guests knew where the kitchen was. This place is a maze.”

Claire inwardly moaned, as Mrs. Moreland eyed the men up and down with interest. Great. Now the cat was out of the bag and her business was doomed.

“You’re ghost hunters, aren’t you?” Verity exclaimed, “Real ghost hunters! How exciting.”

“They were just about to leave, actually.” Claire slammed down the glass of water and stood up.

“Leave? Why?” Verity turned to Ronan, “This place is definitely haunted. Mark my words. I’ve seen a ghost with my own eyes.”

Ronan’s eyes met Claire’s, “It’s her decision,” he said, “But I’d like to have a word alone with you, if that’s okay?”

“Let’s step outside,” Claire suggested. She led him down the hallway towards the back of the house, where the kitchen, dining room, and pantry were located, “I can show you the carriage house, I suppose.”

They stepped out the back door onto the walled patio. Immediately, Ronan’s machine started lighting up.

“This is crazy, Claire,” he exclaimed, excitedly, “I’ve been doing this for close to ten years now, and I’ve never gotten this many hits in one location before.”

Claire sat down on the stone wall and started crying, much to her horror. Apparently, the stress was starting to get to her, and she couldn’t manage to hold it in any longer.

Alarmed by her sudden tears, Ronan stood awkwardly beside her. At first, he just let her cry, but eventually he reached out and patted her shoulder, “Hey, I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t mean to upset you. Honestly, you aren’t the first person who has found out their place has a ghost problem.”

Claire sniffled as she shook her head, “No, that’s not – that’s not why I’m crying,” she glanced up at him through tear spiked lashes, “It’s that I’m going to lose my business once it gets out that this is,” she started crying anew, and even made an awful snorting sound as she tried to contain her tears, “is – is a – a gho – ghost house!”

Ronan’s hand had somehow worked it’s way up to her head, which he was now patting, much like someone patting a dog. He realized what he was doing and yanked his hand away in embarrassment. What was wrong with him? In his defense, though, he’d never had a client actually break down in tears. He sighed and sat down beside her, “So, this is a bed and breakfast?” he asked her.

Claire nodded and tried to wipe her nose surreptitiously on the back of her hand.

Ronan’s eyes scanned the property, noting the gorgeous gazebo on the enormous lawn, the croquet and bocce spaces for the guests to wile away a few languorous hours, and the stunning carriage house that still had all of its gingerbread woodwork intact. He leaned in closer to Claire, until his arm touched hers, and a spark of electricity seemed to jump between them. He pulled away, but he couldn’t help notice that she didn’t. His eyes met hers again. They were still wet with tears, but now there was a question in them. He didn’t know how to answer, so he said, “Actually, I was thinking that maybe your ghost problem doesn’t have to be a ghost problem at all. Not if you spin it right.”

“Spin it?” Claire sniffed again, with as much delicacy as she could.

“Believe it or not, Claire, there are loads of people that would fall all over themselves wanting to stay here because it’s haunted. You should hype that shit up,” he winced, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cuss.”

Now it was Claire’s turn to chuckle. She ruminated on his words for a minute. Maybe he was right. Maybe she could use the ghost problem as a way to gather more attention. Granted, the idea of staying in an actual haunted house would probably scare some people away, but not all of them, “Okay, I can see the possibility of what you’re saying, but I still want to see if I can ask the spirits to leave, just in case they want to go.”

“Sure,” Ronan stood up, “Tell you what, it would be better if I could come back tonight and have a walk through, see exactly what we’re dealing with. In the meantime, I’m going to head over to city hall and see if I can find some history on this place.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Claire stood up, too, “I’ve actually got a library full of historical documents upstairs. I’ve been meaning to go through it all, but …”

“I could have a look if you want.”

Claire looked at her phone, “I have to get the afternoon tea set up out in the gazebo, actually, so, if you don’t mind, I would love it if you had a look.”

“I’ll send Curt home and you can point me in the right direction.”

***********************************************************

It was after dinner before Claire finally found the time to seek out Ronan in the library. The room was the quintessential experience of what a library should be, with floor to ceiling bookshelves spanning most of the walls, and lots of comfy, padded chairs to curl up in. In the center of the room, atop the threadbare, Persian rug, was a mahogany library table that Ronan had covered with books and old newspapers.

He glanced up as she entered the room, “You’re not going to believe how many people have died here, Claire.” he said with an unusual amount of enthusiasm.

“Yay, I guess.” Claire muttered.

“Seriously, I’d say your spirits could be any number of people,” he moved a leather bound volume towards her, “The town of Rook’s Mill was founded by James Rook, back in 1857. His brother, Harris Rook, was the one who built this house the following year, in 1858, and brought over his new bride, Malvina, from England. They had eight children over the next twelve years. One of them, a son, Walford, died here at the age of four, when he fell down the stairs, and then, unfortunately, a daughter, Louisa, tragically died at the age of fifteen from smallpox. Apparently, that was the final straw for Malvina, because, according to the newspapers and what I’ve garnered from this family history, she killed herself in the room at the top of the stairs …”

Claire gasped. That room was the one that the Moreland’s were staying in. Could Verity have seen Malvina? A cold tremor shot up Claire’s spine at the thought. She pulled the heavy chair out from under the table and took a seat.

“It’s crazy, I know,” Ronan moved around the table to stand next to her. He moved some of the books aside and placed another newspaper in front of her, “After that, old Harris decided to move his remaining family back to England. He sold the place to a man by the name of Lucius Fermoy and his wife, Lillian.” Ronan leaned over and tapped the yellowed newspaper photograph of the couple.

Claire could barely take note of the picture on account of how taken she was by his nearness. Even after spending hours locked up in this room, he was still so focused on his work. Or was it her work. Either way, she found his tenacity kind of sexy.

She cleared her throat and asked, “So, what did the Fermoy’s do with the place?”

Ronan moved the chair closer, “Mind if I take a seat?” he asked, and Claire nodded. He sat down and his knee knocked against hers. She acted like she didn’t notice so that she could leave hers touching his. It was strangely intimate and she was liking that it was making her forget all about ghosts.

“Okay, so the Fermoy’s were something of a big deal around these parts,” Ronan plucked another newspaper from the pile and spread it out across both of their knees, “She was the daughter of a shipping magnate, and he was the heir to a dry goods dynasty. But this article here is where it gets interesting. Let me read it to you.”

Claire nodded as, underneath the paper, she moved her other leg closer to his. She looked up at him and saw his eyes widen as their legs touched. She smiled innocently, though her thoughts were far from it.

“On Thursday, September 13th, 1879, the law was called to investigate a murder at the Lucius Fermoy residence. Upon arrival, the body of one, Patrick Simmons, aged 44, was found dead by a shot to his head. After investigation, it was discovered that the lady of the house, Mrs. Lillian Fermoy, aged 38, had killed Mr. Simmons. Mr. Simmons had been a carriage driver and stableman in the Fermoy’s employ. Mrs. Fermoy was taken to the jail for questioning, and admitted that she and Mr. Simmons had been having an illicit relationship until she discovered that he had been having another relationship with one of her maids, whose name shall remain unprinted. In a fit of rage, Mrs. Fermoy took possession of her husband’s firearm and proceeded to kill Mr. Simmons. The Honorable Judge Royston Shelton was due to arrive on Monday, September 17th, to try the case and Mrs. Fermoy was released in her husband’s care until then. On Saturday, September 15th, however, Mr. Fermoy called the law to his residence once again, after he discovered his wife’s body hanging from an oak tree on the property. It was determined that Mrs. Fermoy had hanged herself while awaiting trial for the murder of Mr. Patrick Simmons.”

“It was him.” Claire whispered.

Ronan raised his brows.

“The ghost that I saw in the carriage house. It was Patrick Simmons. I’m sure of it.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Okay, what’s the next step then?” Claire asked him, as she tried to avoid looking down at their interlocked knees.

“I’d like Curt and I to pull an overnight on the property. We need to document sightings, energy readings and that sort of thing. When, and I say when because I’m certain we will get spirits here, when we do, then we can ask a medium to come and do a cleanse, if you’d like.”

“This weekend,” Claire stood up just as Ronan did, and they awkwardly found themselves standing face to face, and chest to chest, “Oops,” she said, “Sorry about that.”

Ronan’s mouth broke into a slow smile, “Don’t be sorry.” he said, as he stepped back and gestured for her to go out in front of him.

It was everything Claire could do to maintain herself as she led them back downstairs. She stepped behind the counter and consulted her calendar, “My current guests are due to check out on Saturday morning, so Saturday night would work.”

“I’ll see you, and the ghosts of Rook’s Mansion, on Saturday night, Claire.”

“Rook’s Mansion?”

Ronan sauntered towards the front door, calling back, “I’m telling you, you need to capitalize on your ghosts, Claire. They’re a gift, not a burden.”

Claire’s eyes rolled, but her mouth smiled.

****************************************************

Claire stepped outside, pulling her cardigan tight against the chill in the air. October had settled in properly, and her feet were kicking up the falling leaves as she shuffled towards the carriage house. The sliver of silvery moon wasn’t casting much light, but the vintage style hanging bulbs above the patio lit her way. As she reached the building and prepared to open the door, she heard Ronan call out, “I’m over here.”

Frazzled, she turned and spotted him standing in the shadows of the gazebo. She went over to join him.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked him.

“I’ve got the equipment set up over in the carriage house, out in front of it too, but I wasn’t getting any hits, so I thought it was time to hide.”

“Ah,” Claire sat down beside him, “You’ve been out here for awhile now. I wonder if Curt’s found anything.”

She felt him shrug, as he said, “It’s like that sometimes. When you want to see ghosts, you don’t, and when you don’t, you do.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, each of them looking hard in the direction of the carriage house, each of them acutely aware of each other’s nearness. Finally, Claire whispered, “So, you really think I’d get any business if everyone knew that the house was haunted?”

“I do. There’s always going to be people who flock to a place like this, and the non believers, well, they won’t care anyway.”

“Huh.” Claire shivered as a stiff wind blew through the gazebo.

“Cold?” Ronan put his arm around her.

Claire was on cloud nine as she allowed herself to snuggle closer to his warmth. She was sincerely hoping that she was reading the signs right. This was a sign, right? It had to be. Right?

“Better?” he asked her, his timbre low and warm, making Claire shiver again, only not from the cold.

She managed a nod, intoxicated as she was from his scent. She wanted to stay like that forever, but eventually her curiosity got the better of her and she asked, “It’s kind of a strange business to get into, isn’t it? Ghost hunting.”

“I was twelve when my grandpa died,” Ronan said, wistfully, “We’d always been super close. Like two peas in a pod, my mom always said. Anyway, one day while we were visiting my grandma, I went out to the garage where me and grandpa had always hung out, and I felt his presence. It was real, Claire. So real that I can still feel that exact feeling right now.”

Claire was listening, she really was, but she was also distracted by the way that his fingers were running up and down her arm, “Go on.” she managed to say.

“That was how it started, I guess. I kept trying to find him again. His presence. His spirit. And eventually I opened the business and brought Curt onboard. It’s mainly a part time gig.”

“What do you do besides ghost hunting, Ronan?”

“Curt and I also own a home remodeling company. Maybe you’ve heard of it, it’s called C & R Home Works.”

“Seriously? Wow. Yeah, I’ve seen the commercials ..”

Suddenly, Ronan’s phone beeped and he jumped up, “That’s the alarm. We’ve got a hit. Come on.”

They moved quickly across the lawn, and when they reached the carriage house, Ronan eased the door open and held it for Claire, but she shook her head and hissed, “Un huh, you go first.”

Ronan grinned. He flicked on his headlamp and grabbed her hand, leading her into the building. It was eerie as hell with only the single, bluish beam that bounced around the empty space as Ronan turned his head to have a look around. And then, Claire caught a flicker out of the corner of her eye and she turned; the ghost of Patrick Simmons was there in the carriage house with them. Terrified, she shot a look at Ronan, but he was watching the ghost with a fascination that told her that he wasn’t worried at all. She felt her heartbeat slowly return to normal.

The ghostly apparition didn’t seem to take any notice of them as it moved around the carriage house.

Claire wanted to ask what it was doing, but she didn’t want to scare it off. Could you scare a ghost off?

Ronan fiddled with his equipment, his breath coming out in puffs that Claire could see. The temperature inside the building was much colder than it had been outside.

The specter suddenly moved quickly towards the door, but stopped short and then disappeared altogether.

Claire waited a beat, and then whispered, “Is it gone?”

“I think so. Damn. That was freaking amazing, wasn’t it?” Ronan was grinning ear to ear, “Wait until I tell C. He’s going to be so jealous.”

“It was something.” Claire agreed as they stepped outside and started for the house.

“Claire, what’s wrong?” Ronan stopped walking.

“I guess I just started thinking about him … the man that he used to be, you know … before, well, before he was murdered.”

Ronan put his arm around her and pulled her in for a hug, “I like the way you think, Claire.”

“You do?”

He nodded.

“I like you, too.” 

“Can I kiss you, Claire?” Ronan asked, as the hanging bulbs flickered behind them.

“You can.” she whispered.

He did.

******************************************************

The Halloween festival was in full swing as Claire walked arm in arm with Ronan down Main Street. All of the shops had been festooned in Halloween swag. Flying witches were tacked up on the light poles, and hay bales were piled with pumpkins of all sizes, shapes, and colors. There were carnival games, apple bobbing, and jack o’ lantern stations. And the smell of hot apple cider and cinnamon donuts drifted up and down the street, making everyone’s stomach rumble in anticipation.

Claire spotted one of her guests playing cornhole with her family and she smiled. Every room in Rook’s Mansion had been sold out for weeks now, and the reservation list was growing longer than she could have ever hoped. It was exactly what Ronan had said would happen. 

Her business was thriving, and she was crazy about her ghost hunter. What more could a woman want. Ronan stopped in front of the caramel apple stand. Okay, fine. Sometimes, a woman wanted a caramel apple, too.