Page 9 of Purrfectly Haunted

James stares at me before dropping his bag by one of the porcelain sinks. “Honestly, I have no fucking idea, but it’s an unsettling thought.”

I shiver. Time to think of something else. The Burning Crone creeped me out enough for one evening—for life, if I’m being honest. And yet, tomorrow we hunt again.

“Which one are we doing tomorrow night?” I ask, pulling my shampoo and towel out of my bag.

James understands what I mean. “I don’t know. We’ll need a decent plan this time, so we might do some digging first. I don’t like being caught unaware like tonight.”

He was terribly efficient for someone caught unaware.

I’m used to showering with twenty-something guys, as part of the rugby team, but I’m wholly unprepared when James takes his clothes off. He’s heavily tattooed, not only on his neck but on his arms, chest, and back. They are quite artful. There is a snake, a spider lily, and Japanese tattoos. He’s surprisingly fit, too, though not as bulky as I am. He’s on the leaner side and his muscles are well defined.

My body flushes all over, and I turn my back to him. As a gay man in sports, I’m used to controlling my erections around naked men. But it probably helps that my teammates aren’t usually my type. James is... dangerously close to being my type.

Oh fuck fuck fuck. Keep it together, Ewan. Think about ghosts.

A vision of the Burning Crone, the skin melting off her face, is enough to get my lust under control. I take my clothes off and step inside one of the stalls, goosebumps pebbling my skin. The back of my neck prickles, and I can feel eyes on me. Is James checking me out, too? Probably not. Guys like him are usually straight. And even if he isn’t, I’m certainly not what he’s looking for. A giant like me, they all expect me to be dominant, to use my large hands to hold them down and fuck them and—

I sigh. I’m not really like that...

I turn the water on and wait for it to warm up. James has taken the stall beside mine, on my right, and the shower is already running. I need to hurry or he’ll leave without me. I groan as I walk into the hot spray, the tension finally leaving my shoulders. I didn’t realise how wired I’ve been since the Burning Crone’s attack.

James chuckles from the other side of the wall. “Having fun, big guy?”

I blush. “No... I mean, yes... I’m just tired...”

He doesn’t say another word, and I slather my hands in shampoo, close my eyes, and rub it into my hair.

What a night...

Then I feel the flutter of touch on my left leg. I look down, confused. A wee hand has reached from the gap under the stall on my other side. The skin is pale, almost gray, and the nails have a bluish tint to them. It grabs my ankle, grasp as cold as death.

I blink. Stare. Then scream.

I step away and fall backwards through the door of the stall as it slams open. My ass hits the green tiles, and the impact makes my teeth rattle. I scramble away until my back slams against the sink behind me. A little boy is staring at me from the shadows in the next stall. His dark hair is plastered to his face and his torn clothes are dripping water on the floor. His eyes are wide and black, and his lips are blue. When he opens his mouth to talk, water spills out instead of words.

The Urchin... Lana’s notes said he might have been a boy who drowned in the Water of Leith, the river that crosses Edinburgh, during the eighteenth century. A boy who never had the chance to grow older, now haunting Lynch Hostel.

James comes out of his stall naked and soapy. “What?” he roars. He’s brandishing his bottle of shampoo like a weapon.

I point towards the dark shower stall. Without hesitation, he throws the bottle at the threat—funny how he’s so good at throwing things, maybe he should join a sport team. The shampoo explodes on the tiles, the Urchin is gone.

“What was it?” he asks, helping me to my feet with a firm hand.

I’m shaking all over—again. “Did you see him?”

James shakes his head. “It wasn’t the Crone?”

“No... It was the child... the Urchin. I think.”

He glowers at the empty stall. “Well then, you’re the next one on our shit list, kid! Tomorrow, we’re coming for you!”

I gape, impressed by how brave—or crazy—he is.

That’s when I realise we’re both entirely naked and wet, and I’m still clutching his hand.

“Sorry...” I say, letting him go. I focus my eyes on his collarbone to avoid looking at his cock. Don’t make things weird, Ewan. You’re used to it, just picture him as one of your teammates.

I’m about to step back into the stall and finish showering, but I can’t bring myself to. What if the ghost grabs me again?