Page 3 of A Haunting at Keystone Manor

Kayla looks up from the computer. “Mr. Covington! Is there anything I can do for you?” she asks, biting her bottom lip.

Without missing a step he says, “No, Kayla, I’m fine. Just family drama.” He keeps walking, not sparing her a glance. Kayla focuses her attention back on the computer, his dismissal clearly stinging.

“You’re supposed to let them down gently, you know,” I tell him as we walk into the kitchen. It’s just as massive as the rest of the house, and definitely the most up to date room. A chef would probably love this kitchen; it’s a shame it’s almost never used. In another life, this hotel would be a bustling getaway for travelers, and we’d have a live in chef to cook amazing meals for them.

I spot the clock on the far wall. 10 o’clock. “It’s a bit late for dinner.” He pours himself a glass of water and sits down on a chair at the massive island, dropping his head into his hands with a groan. He looks so worn down that I want to comfort him. I’d give anything for him to be able to see me right now. I’m not the best at platitudes, but I give a mean hug, and he could definitely use one.

“Get it together,” he tells himself. I slide my hand along the counter but stop just short of trying to touch him. I would give anything to be able to comfort him, but he wouldn’t feel it anyway.

Just then Kayla walks in and interrupts us. Feigning shock, she says, “Oh, Mr. Covington. I didn’t realize you were in here. I was just getting a snack. Did you want to split a bag of popcorn? I can never eat the whole thing.” She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

“He’s not going to Netflix and chill with you Kayla, relax.” I chide her and her obvious flirtation.

He looks up at her. “Sure. And my name is Jake.”

She bobs her head as she heads to the pantry. I wonder if ghost possession is a real thing. I could possess Kayla, and then I’d be able to talk to Jake. Touch him, if he wanted.

I let my mind wander to the logistics of that scenario while Kayla works. Jake doesn’t say anything else, and Kayla doesn’t push him.

Once she’s done making the popcorn, sprinkling it with a healthy dose of salt, she hands a bowl to Jake.

“There you go! I hope you like it.”

“Thank you, Kayla.” He takes the bowl with an appreciative smile. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“It’s no trouble. Jake.” I swear she blushes a little as she says his name. “This is just about the only thing I know how to cook.”

He laughs at that. “Well, you’re ahead of me, at least.”

“So, is everything okay? Anything I can do?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “It will be,” he says simply. She doesn’t press him further.

We all sit in a comfortable silence as they finish their snack. They’d make a cute couple, I think with disgust.

“I think I’m going to retire for the night. I appreciate the snack,” Jake tells her. With that, he walks off, clearly wanting to be alone.

“You’re welcome, Jake!” she calls after him.

As much as I want to follow again, I give him his privacy. Whatever he’s working through, he doesn’t need me hanging around gawking. Not that he can see me. Kayla and I both sigh.

***

The next night another guest arrives at Keystone. I didn’t realize we were expecting anyone else. We’re popping off, I guess.

I study the guy as he crosses the lobby. He walks in like he owns the place, not smiling as he stalks up to the front desk. He’s huge and covered in tattoos. Jagged lines, faded ink. They look like prison tats.

“Is Jacob here?” he asks in a thick Russian accent, and it almost sounds like a demand. I’ve seen enough movies to know that this guy is trouble, and I’m wondering how Jake is involved with him. He seems more like the kind of guy to get down and dirty with politicians or businessmen, not what looks like Russian mafia.

Kayla tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, looking nervous. “Andrei! I wasn’t expecting you. He’s in his room…”

“Give me key,” he demands and holds his hand out expectantly. She looks around the room, biting her lip. She knows better than to give out keys to guest occupied rooms.

“I can’t just—” she starts to say, but is cut off when he smacks the desk with his palm.

“I do not have time for this. Please give me key so I can check on him. He left the house very upset earlier.”

She grabs a spare from behind her and sets it down on the desk. Something about this guy tells me he doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.