A floorboard creaks. Not drunken stumbling this time—something slower, heavier. Footsteps. I spin toward the door, every muscle locked tight. Someone’s just outside.
The steps grow closer.
I bite my lip hard enough to hurt. Glance back at the ghost. Instead of floating menacingly—or whatever ghosts are supposed to do—he’s shifted into a fighter’s stance. Legs braced. Shoulders squared. His entire body is coiled with tension.
Like he’s ready to protect me.
Which is ridiculous. He’s a ghost. What’s he going to do—haunt them away? And yet, something about his presence steadies me. Whether it’s the determined set of his jaw or the fierce concentration in his eyes, he radiates capability. Strength.
Another creak. A clatter. I hold my breath and squint though the peephole. Two figures. A man and a woman. His voice is a deep, inaudible hum. Then—a giggle.
I exhale with a little laugh. The couple from down the hall, returning for the night.
I turn back to my ghost.
He’s glaring at the door, holding a sword now, braced in both hands. The stance is so natural, so practiced. Like a soldier from another time, ready for battle. Ready to fight for me.
A strange calm washes over me. I’ve got myself a ghost guardian.
“It’s okay,” I say unsteadily. “Just the neighbors.”
His shoulders ease. His gaze returns to me, and the weight of it hits like a physical thing.
I lean against the door, body hot and cold all at once.His eyes.I hadn’t noticed the color before. Gray—almost silver. Is it that he’s a ghost? Is he gray all over?
I let my gaze roam, taking him in. His broad shoulders and strong build. He carries himself like someone who’s seen real fighting.
When my eyes return to his face, he nods once.
“What’s your name?” My voice comes surer now. Less afraid. More…enthralled.
He begins to waver. A blur at the edges.
Is he fading?
I step closer. “Wait?—”
But he’s gone.
I dart to the window, open the curtain, and peer outside. Nothing but night. Dark and ordinary.
Am I in shock? Shouldn’t I be scared? I can’t make sense of what just happened. What it means. All that’s left is a strange sensation. Not quite companionship. More like…not-aloneness.
And I’ve become so accustomed to the aloneness.
One thing’s for sure: I won’t tell anyone this time. Whatever just happened, it was only for me.
I sit on the edge of the bed and attune myself to the night, waiting for any sign of his return.
The inn is silent, but outside, the weather is picking up. The wind has begun to howl, rattling the glass. Tree branches scrape against the building.
Yet I never do shut the curtains.
I lay down and think about tomorrow. Janet will turn up again. She usually does. Like a bad penny, Poppa would say. Only now, I find I’m no longer in such a rush to leave.
That was a ghost. An actual ghost. And he made me feel…safe.
Will he come to me again? Might he speak to me?
