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.

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