I feel I ought to begin this tale by asserting that I do not and have never- have nearly never - believed in things supernatural. On the matter of an afterlife or of God I remain cautiously agnostic, but when it comes to ghosts, goblins, ghouls and all things that go bump in the night I am a hardened skeptic. I am also, however, in possession of a vivid imagination which tends to run away with itself; a reasonably open mind; and, most importantly, an impish devil named A. J. Raffles... Such a combination on a dark and stormy All Hallow's Eve would prove enough to shake even the firmest of disbelievers, even if for only a moment; and I confess that I was shaken, that night. Of other unexplained phenomena I remain rationally skeptical; but I cannot deny that certain things happened that on, dark and stormy night which neither I nor A. J. were ever able to explain. I doubt that we ever will.

'It's certainly kicking up a storm out there, rabbit,' Raffles said, pulling back the curtains and looking out at the rain as it hammered against the glass in fat droplets the size of marbles. 'I won't be surprised if there are some more trees down, tomorrow.'

'The river will probably flood, too, if it keeps up like this,' I replied, absently, not looking up from my writing.

'And I'd wanted to go out tonight,' A.J. said with a sigh, closing the curtains against the chill once more and coming to sit on the corner of my desk. 'Burglary on Halloween is always great fun; though it does take a bit of the risk out of it. If you get caught in your mask, you can just claim you are a less-than-sober young blood lost on his way home from a costume party.'

'I doubt many people will be venturing out in this weather,' I said, not looking up from my work. 'Even if we did brave it, I doubt anyone else would be so foolish, so there would be barely any empty houses; and everyone stays up late on Halloween on the look out for ghosts - doesn't sound like an ideal night for it to me.'

'You speak so sensibly about crime these days, Bunny; anyone would think you were discussing a job in a bank!'

'Mm,' was all that I replied. I only had a few hundred more words to go, and I dearly wanted to get it out of the way before the clock struck eight. Not for any reason; my pen wouldn't turn back into a pumpkin, or anything like that; it was simply that eight had been the arbitrary goal I had set myself for finishing, and I was loathe to miss it.

'Though you are quite right; rainstorms are not the cracksman's friend,' Raffles said, leaning over my shoulder. I don't know what interest Raffles had in Florence Cook, whom my tedious article was to be on, but he was reading my words even as I wrote them. It was extremely annoying.

'Raffles, can you not?' I snapped, scribbling out the third sentence in a row. 'It's impossible to concentrate with you haunting my every word!'

'Ah, but you forget,' he said, leaning in close and whispering in my ear, running his fingers up my arms as though they were spiders, making me shiver, 'I am a ghost. Twice over!'

This produced several conflicting and contradictory responses in me, but the one I listened to, for the sake of the poor article I had been slaving over for two long days, was irritation. I shrugged Raffles off impatiently. 'A.J., please.'

'Please what?'

'Go away! Look, I really won't be much longer,' I added after I noticed his expression, relenting almost immediately in the face of those clear eyes, shining in the candle light, buckling beneath the gentle pressure of his hand upon my shoulder as he rose to leave.

'All right, I'm sorry,' he said, drifting to the door. 'I'll leave you in peace, old chap.'

'I really won't be long,' I persisted; now that he was giving me what I wanted, I realised that being left alone wasn't what I'd wanted at all. If I didn't have to finish that damned article- 'I'll be finished with this in-'I skimmed over my page and groaned.

'That bad, Bunny?'

'Worse,' I replied. 'But I'm not working on it later than eight. will have it finished by then. ...I will probably have it finished by then.'

'What a hardworking rabbit it is!' Raffles said from the door, tilting his head with what seemed at the time to me mock sympathy. 'No time at all for play - you want to watch that, Bunny; it's not healthy.'

'Yes, well, neither is missing yet another deadline and losing out on yet another pay cheque.'

'You know we don't need the money, rabbit, if that's what you're worried about.'

'But it does help, A.J., for us to have some visible source of income, for me to have an obvious profession - it's not much of a protection, but it's all that I can offer. Except I can't even do that if I can't finish it -!'

'Well, I'll leave you to it, then,' Raffles said, and upon those words did as he stated, leaving me alone in my room to write. I banged my head on the desk.

Some while later - and after only marginal progress made on my article - I heard a crash come from somewhere down the hallway which nearly made me leap out of my skin, sending a jagged blue line across the page. I jumped to my feet and dashed into the hall.

'A.J.? Are you all right? What happened?'

A curly white head peeked out from his bedroom door wearing the brightest and most mischievous of grins. 'Come and have a look what I've found, Bunny!'

His room when I entered it was a mess. I don't know what he had been doing to occupy himself whilst I was squirrelled away working, but it looked as though he had been waging a small war against the furniture.

'Raffles, what the hell have you been doing? Mrs - will kill us if she sees this mess!'

'Not her dear old Mr Ralph, she won't. Anyway I'll put it all back before she sets eyes on it - but look! Look!'

He gestured impatiently for me to join him as he scampered over the bed and across to the other side of the room. He had pulled out his wardrobe, and there behind it was a little cupboard door built right into the wall.

'What do you make of that, Bunny?' Raffles asked, all excitement.

'Why did you move your wardrobe?'

'I dropped a box of candles and some rolled beneath it,' he shrugged.

'What did you want with candles?'

'Bunny, how do you always manage to latch on to the most irrelevant aspect of any situation? Anyway, it's a bit of luck that I did want candles, or I'd never have found this little mystery. Go on, open it - I already have, so there aren't any monsters waiting to jump out at you. I didn't think the walls between your room and mine were so thick as to house a cupboard, though it isn't a terribly deep one. It's covered in cobwebs, but I can't help but wonder whether it goes all the way through; a sort of doored tunnel rather than a cupboard. Perhaps plastered over on the other side, we'll have to have a look. Old houses like this often have all sorts of architectural anomalies. I say, I wonder if I could crawl through it? It's a little tight, but perhaps if I took off all my clothes first... Just like old times, eh?'

'Don't you dare; what if you got stuck halfway? A fine time we would have explaining that to Mrs - ...What's that inside?'

'Ah! Yes!' he exclaimed, immediately, though I doubted permanently, distracted from his crawl-space plan. 'That's even more mysterious, rabbit! Take a look; you'll like it.'

I did look; though I'm not sure whether I liked what I found. Contained within the previously hidden cupboard was a stack of browning letters written in some kind of coded language, an old, locked, rusting tin box, and a photograph in a cheap, thin frame.

'Good Lord; how long have these been in here?'

'I don't know; a fair old while, judging by the dust, but within the advent of the camera at any event. I had a look through the letters but I can't make head nor tail of them; they're in some sort of hieroglyphic. But I reckon we could crack it given a little time. But look at the photograph a little more closely, Bunny. Tell me what you make of it.'

I did so.

'A girl,' I said, perceptively. 'Who is she?'

'No idea,' Raffles replied. 'I suppose she is the same person who wrote the letters, or the letters were written to her, perhaps. But look behind her, Bunny. Now, what do you make of that!'

Raffles laughed again as I gasped in spite of myself - for standing behind the sitting young woman who was the main focus of the photographic portrait, there was a ghostly, blurred image of a young man, hard to notice at first, but once you saw him, impossible to unsee.

'A ghost?'

'It does look like that, doesn't it?'

'But ghosts aren't real,' I muttered. 'Don't be ridiculous, Raffles.'

'You suggested it, not me, Bunny!' he chuckled. 'I didn't think you were the superstitious type.'

'I'm not! I just said, didn't I? Ghosts aren't real. No, what I meant to say, was - Regardless of how it looks it's clearly just - double exposure, or the boy was in the scene but moved away before the image had time to develop, or - It's clearly an old photograph; the clothes the girl is wearing are at least thirty years out of fashion; cameras weren't so good in the sixties as they are now.'

Raffles shot me a wry smile as he leaned up against the wall beside the open cubby hole.

'What?' I asked. 'Why are you looking at me like that?'

'Paranormal Detective Rabbit, solving the Mystery of the Ghostly Photograph! Oh, don't look at me like that, Bunny; I mean it affectionately! Perhaps you ought to join the Society for Psychical Research as a free-lance?'

'You know I don't believe in the supernatural, Raffles.'

'So you say; yet your mind still leaped to a supernatural explanation first, didn't it?' he teased - or, at least, I think he was teasing.

'That doesn't mean I believe in ghosts, A.J.,' I protested, taking his bait. 'It's Halloween. You've been talking about ghosts. I've been writing that damned biography piece on that spiritualist - I'm being positively haunted by the occult tonight, of course that'll leap to mind. Doesn't mean I believe in any of that nonsense.'

'I do,' he said, flippantly, and I scoffed.

'Don't be ridiculous. You do not.'

'I might,' he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching down on a smile.

'Yes, but you don't , do you. This current craze for the supernatural is nothing more than a ridiculous fad, pushed by - by charlatans and and fraudsters preying on the vulnerable. None of it is evidenced, actually evidenced, and more spirit mediums have been proven as fakes than I can count - and I've had to count, for this bloody article. I'm sick to death of it all.'

'Ah, well, I don't deny the existence of fraudsters and conmen - and conwomen. But can't you concede that there are things that we don't yet know; things that science and rational thought still can't explain? There are more things in heaven and earth, Bunny, than are dreamt of in your philosophy! Don't you ever wonder about it?' Raffles pushed himself away from the wall as he spoke and circled me, leaning in ever closer as he spoke, near enough for me to feel the warmth radiating from his skin, but never quite touching me, sending a pleasant shiver down the back of my neck. 'Don't you ever enjoy the thrill of mystery?'

I swallowed and bit my lip whilst he couldn't see my face, and then composed myself before turning to face him. When I did, I met his puckish gaze with a determinedly cynical one of my own. 'No,' I said, shaking my head. 'No desire for mystery, no yearning for gothic horror, none of it. If it is a Catherine Moreland you are after, Raffles, you're with the wrong person.'

A cheeky grin replaced the would-be enigmatic expression on Raffles' face as he pressed a rough kiss to my forehead. 'A Bunny Manders is quite good enough for me,' he chuckled. 'And I'm quite glad to hear that you don't go in for all of that - if you were a frightened little rabbit who believed in ghosts, it would be much harder to convince you to do the spirit board with me. As it is, you'll have no objections!'

'Spirit board?' I frowned. 'What spirit board? Who said anything about a spirit board?'

'Remember that one I found in that old desk drawer last week; the one that Mrs - had lost the key for, so I picked it.'

'You shouldn't have done that,' I muttered.

'Oh, it's all right; I told her I worked as a locksmith in Australia. But again, Bunny, I find that you are focusing on the least interesting aspect. I've still got the spirit board; I thought we could have a go with it, what do you say?'

'She asked you to get rid of that, Raffles. You promised her you would.'

'I promised her I would take it out of her possession, Bunny, and so I have; now it's in my possession, and any demons that also possess it are my responsibility, not hers.'

'That's a low way of twisting your words. You're lying in every way but technically!'

Raffles waved away my habitual chastisement and flopped down onto his bed. Pawing about beneath it, ever the oversized child, with his head over the side and his hair, grown far too long, tumbling like white water over rapids, he pulled out the spirit board he was supposed to have gotten rid of. 'Look at it, Bunny,' he said when one more upright. 'It's a work of art! I couldn't be expected to destroy or discard something so beautiful! It's sacrilege!'

'I'm not sure destroying a spirit board would be considered sacrilege, A.J…'

'Blasphemy, then, against all of the Muses and Art herself!'

'And you want us to use it?'

'It's All Hallows' Eve, Bunny, Samhain. What better night for it?'

'You aren't serious?'

'I'm always serious, Bunny.'

'I'm not doing a spirit board with you!'

'Why not? Tonight of all nights, if folklore is to be believed - and disregard it at your peril - the veil between worlds is thin; the ghosts and witches and ghouls are all out to play… And here we are, stuck indoors out of the lot of it. What else are we going to do in this weather? And you need a break, rabbit. You work yourself far too hard. This is just the thing!'

'But a spirit board , A.J… Why can't we just - I don't know, read, or talk, or- anything.'

'If you're too frightened, old chap, just say so.'

I knew he was deliberately provoking me, but I still fell for it. 'I'm not frightened!'

'I really won't think any less of you if you are…'

'I'm not !'

'Well, come on then!' he grinned, and I knew I'd lost. Raffles sprang to his feet and caught me by the wrist.

And of course, as always, I let him lead me away.

I am sure you do not need to be told that Raffles is a theatrical creature; he enjoys the performance of crime almost as much as the danger of it - though he would deny it, I'm sure. But he was as much the performer at play as he was professionally, and so I was little surprised when we half-tumbled into the living room (for I may have waylaid him slightly in the hall…) to find the room set up with tens of candles, an upturned (empty!) fishbowl, presumably intended to resemble a crystal ball, and a black lace shawl - God only knows where he found that - thrown over the coffee table with pillows strewn on the floor around it. It was ridiculous. It was raffish. It was just a little bit romantic.

'Good God, A.J., it looks like a Parisian whorehouse.'

'How would you know?'

'...I've read books.'

'Well, the wrong ones, clearly,' he frowned, and I felt bad for making fun of his efforts. He really had, in a relatively short space of time and with few tools at his disposal transformed our cosy living room into a Bohemian fortune-teller's den. And all as a distraction for me.

'You did all this?'

'Yes, well, atmosphere matters, Bunny. You have to get the art of the thing right; no self respecting ghost is going to make an appearance if you haven't at least put in some effort. At least none that I want to talk to, anyway.'

'I appreciate … this ,' I said gesturing to the room, 'But you do know that no ghost is going to make an appearance either way . Ghosts aren't real! Spirit boards are just - ideomotor movements! You know that; you were the one who showed me that article about it; when the mind is cleared, the body makes tiny movements we aren't even aware of, that's how these things work - when they aren't being tampered with by complete charlatans. Spirit boards manifest nothing but your own imagination, your own thoughts.'

'So if a ghost begins telling me how irresistible I am, I shouldn't worry, you mean?' He winked at me, and I laughed in spite of myself. There was always something so infectious about Raffles' enthusiasm; he sparked with gaiety and humour and life. I did love him in these moods, even though they often resulted in trouble of one sort or another - or followed it. But still, trouble or no, this was Raffles at his best, and I could no more resist his sincere charm than I could turn into a bat and fly out of the window.

'Oh, fine,' I said taking the board from his hands and placing it on the low table. 'But don't be disappointed when nothing happens. And can we at least turn on the small electric lamp? I can hardly see in here. How did anyone ever get by with only candles?'

'You did, until not long ago!'

'Yes, and dark days they were!'

That quip earned me a kiss - for just as Raffles' masterful charm never failed to win me over, my capability for puns had a similar effect upon him - and I was beginning to feel that this evening was taking a decided turn for the better. Eight o'clock had long since gone and I still hadn't finished my article, but for once I didn't care. It was Halloween; to hell with it. I didn't want to write; I wanted to sit on the floor with Raffles and play silly, childish games.

Raffles acquiesced to my request to turn on the smaller of the electric lamps, and, once done, we sat down on the pillows before the spirit board.

'You know how to use it, Bunny?'

'Yes,' I said. 'I've had to read about them a great deal, recently. Do you?'

Raffles nodded, and I wasn't surprised. 'Are you ready then?'

Suddenly I found I was feeling irrationally trepidatious. I knew that it wasn't real - at least, I knew that it wouldn't summon real ghosts, because I knew that ghosts weren't real; but still, there was a chill in the air and the candles were flickering, and though I didn't truly believe, something in me, just for a moment, seemed like perhaps it might .

'Yes,' I said.

Together, Raffles and I placed our fingers onto the planchette.

'...Do you know what we are supposed to say?' I asked.

'Anything, I suppose,' Raffles shrugged. 'Hello?'

'Is anyone there?'

'Any spirits feel like some light conversation?'

We stared at the board, and nothing happened.

'I told you,' I said, shaking my head, pretending not to feel relieved - pretending more not to feel disappointed. 'Nothing.'

'You're so impatient, Bunny,' Raffles chastised. 'You have to give them chance. You don't rush to answer the phone if someone calls you and you're busy.'

'You don't; I do.'

'Maybe we just need to introduce ourselves,' Raffles suggested. 'Formally. Bad form, really, to go demanding people speak with you when they don't even know who you are.' He cleared his throat and turned his eyes toward the ceiling. 'Good evening, ghosts, ghouls, spirits, and whatever and whoever else might be out there; my name is -' Raffles stopped addressing the empty air above us and turned instead to me. 'Do you think I should give my real name, Bunny?'

'Do I think you should tell the empty room your real name? I think it might be just about safe... Although, do you think we can trust the grandfather clock not to go running off to the Yard to spill our secrets? And that ceramic dog on the mantel always looked shifty, to me.'

'Yes, I never liked that dog,' Raffles agreed, eyeing it critically from our place on the floor before snapping back to attention. 'But you're right; if there are ghosts here, then presumably they know all, anyway.'

'...All?' said, glancing back toward the hall, and Raffles cleared his throat.

'I was thinking more along the lines of our burgling, Bunny…'

'Oh. Yes. Me too.'

'Moving on…' Raffles said, shaking his head at me. 'Good evening, ghosts. My name is A. J. Raffles - yes, that one - and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Bunny?'

I sighed and humoured him. 'Hello, ghosts. I am Harry Manders, Bunny. I'm A.J.'s - well, essentially I'm his husband, by all measures except legally, so anything you may or may not have seen really isn't quite as scandalous as-

'For goodness' sake, Bunny!'

'Right, yes. That is to say ...Nice to meet you?'

Raffles tutted at my prosaic words. 'Spirits in our presence: We are here seeking communion with you on this dark and stormy Halloween night. If you are here, please make yourself known. We'll wait.'

We waited.

And waited.

And nothing happened.'

'Perhaps we need to ask something? I suggested. Does anyone need our help?'

My question won me a soft smile from A.J.; though it was short-lived as almost immediately the planchette began to quiver beneath our fingertips, before darting with alarming rapidity to YES. It felt as though my hand was being physically dragged across the board by the inanimate pointer of wood. I knew that that was impossible, but that was exactly how it felt. Evidently Raffles felt it, too, for after a moment of surprised silence, we both began talking at the same time.

'Bunny, if you aren't-'

'Raffles, it's not funny-'

'-going to take this seriously-'

'-I know you moved it, I felt you pull-'

'-then there's no point in us doing -'

We both stopped and looked at one another.

'You didn't move it?' I asked, and Raffles shook his curly head.

'Nor you?'

'No. Why would I move it; you're the one trying to convince me to be more open minded. You swear you didn't Raffles?'

'I swear,' he said.

'Ideomotor movements?' I said, uncertainly. 'I didn't think they were so strong, but…'

'Or ghosts,' Raffles replied, eyes flashing. 'Come on, Bunny, buy into the spirit of the thing, and rationalise it away after, if you must. It's much more fun that way.'

I looked him over, and sighed. 'Is there a ghost communicating with us now?' I said into the air.

The planchette dipped and bobbed back onto the YES , and Raffles eyes lit up.

'Well, that's a turn up for the books. All right; we have introduced ourselves, it's only sporting you do the same. What is your name?' Raffles asked.

And the planchette began to move again, in jerky motions at first, though becoming increasingly more smooth as though it were getting into its stride.

D - O - L - L - I - E

'Dollie,' I murmured, more to myself than anything else. 'Your name is Dollie, and you need us to help you?'

The planchette flew back to YES barely before I'd finished speaking. I pulled my hand away as though the thing were red hot.

'That was quite emphatic,' Raffles said coolly.

'Raffles, do you swear to me that you aren't moving it? I won't be cross with you if you are; I know you are just trying to cheer me up. But I - Are you moving that planchette?'

'Not deliberately if I am, Bunny,' he said, quite seriously, though his eyes were still a-glitter with the thrill of it all.

'Promise me?'

'I can't speak for those ideomotor movements we read about, but I can swear to you now on all that I hold holy that I am not to my knowledge consciously moving that planchette. I promise Bunny; you know I wouldn't lie on that. And you aren't, either?'

'Of course I'm not.'

'Well then,' he replied. 'We'd better find out what Dollie wants to say, eh?'

I steeled myself up, reiterating in my thoughts once more that no matter how it appeared, none of this was real, and put my finger back onto the planchette besides Raffles'.

'Now. Dollie. I have a quick question, if you could answer just to satisfy my curiosity - are you by any chance the young lady in the photograph?'

For a moment the planchette wavered, seeming first to pull toward YES, and then toward NO, before stopping again in the middle.

'I think she's confused,' I said. 'You need to be more clear.'

'This photo,' Raffles repeated, reaching over to pick it up and waving it in the air, as if that would help the "ghost" to see it, 'are you in it?'

YES

'Good thinking, rabbit,' Raffles said to me with an approving smile. 'You're a natural at this. So, Dollie is the girl in the photo. I must say, I'm rather glad about that. Always nice to put a face to a name.'

'I wonder if she can help us decipher those letters?'

'Good idea, rabbit!' Raffles cried, brightly. 'Did you hear that, Dollie? Can you tell us the key?'

NO

'Oh. Jolly unsporting of you. Why not?'

Raffles was beginning to chat to the board as though he were talking to an old pal. I wasn't sure whether I found that worrying or adorable.

P - R - I - V - A - T - E

'Understandable,' I said, thinking of my own cipher-coded journals. I wouldn't want to give the key to that out to strangers either, even if I were dead.

S - E - C - R - E - T, the planchette spelled out.

'Yes, so I gathered,' said Raffles. 'You're sure you don't feel like some after-life confessional? Good for the soul, I've heard, though I've never gone in for it myself.

T - H - I - E - F

'Dollie was a thief?'

NO … Y - O - U

I glanced at Raffles; a steely glint had entered his eyes.

'Thief? I prefer cracksman, personally; or prince of professors for first choice. Thief sounds so common.'

'What's that go to do with anything?' I added, defensively - I was speaking defensively to a piece of wood with letters carved onto it. 'Are you threatening us?' I didn't take well to being threatened, not even my figments of my own imagination.

'Bunny, calm down old chap!' Raffles said with a light laugh and a shake of his head. 'Perhaps dear old Dollie here is complimenting us, rather than threatening!'

I - K - N - O - W

'That A. J. Raffles is a cracksman? You and most of the English speaking world, my dear girl,' said Raffles with characteristic cool. 'I suppose you can still read newspapers in the afterlife.'

'I'm not sure I like this ghost, Raffles. I don't like her tone.'

'Tone, Bunny? It's letters on a wooden board.'

'You know what I mean. Why, of anything they could say, are they saying this? Why are you telling us you know about our - profession?' I asked in challenge to the empty air.

F - A - N

'What?'

F - A - N

'Fan of what?'

A - J

Raffles burst out laughing. 'Oh, you might not like this ghost, but I certainly do. Thank you, Dollie. Which are you a fan of, the crime or the cricket?'

B - O - T - H

'Clearly a young lady of culture!'

P - R - E - T - T - Y

'What's pretty?'

A - J

'Now hold on a moment!' I said, indignant.

A - N - D - Y - O - U

'Oh, for God's sake…'

'I am liking this apparition more and more by the minute!' Raffles chuckled. 'Bunny is an exceptionally pretty little thing, isn't he?'

YES

'Shouldn't we get back to the point?' I complained. 'Dollie, you said you needed our help with something?' I'm ashamed to say that by that point I was becoming quite drawn in to it all, in spite of my better judgement. Raffles was right; it was good fun, even if the ghost was flirting with Raffles right in front of me.

YES

'What do you need help with?' Raffles asked.

The planchette flew to the top of the board. For a moment Raffles and I both stared, perplexed, at the board; for the place the planchette point had emphatically landed showed nothing more than mere decoration and embellishment. And then, amidst the painted flowers, I saw the letters hidden among the ornamentation.

'Rest In Peace,' Raffles said beneath his breath, and hearing the words spoken allowed sent a shiver down the back of my neck - and not in the pleasant way as when A.J. was teasing me. This felt cold. 'You want to rest in peace, but you can't? That's what you need help with. How devilishly romantic. I suppose you are dead, then?' he asked.

YES

'Of course. Stupid question, really.'

YES

'When did you die, Dollie?' I asked.

NO

'Wrong question,' Raffles said, furrowing his brow. 'How did you die, Dollie?'

S - H - O -T

'Dramatic,' Raffles said, with a low whistle. 'Suicide?'

NO

'Murder?'

YES

'A.J., I don't like this. It was fun, before, but this is getting dark.'

Raffles ignored me. 'Here ?' he asked the - well, he asked.

YES

'Raffles! We should stop, I don't like this.'

'Shh, Bunny. How can we help you rest in peace, Dollie? What do you want?'

R - A - C - H - E

'Rache ?' I read aloud.

'Isn't that from-'

'-that detective book?'

Raffles and I caught one another's eye. 'A ghost who is a fan of modern crime fiction?' I said, and Raffles shrugged.

'You want revenge, Dollie? On who?'

'The murderer, obviously,' I said.

'Never assume things, Bunny.'

NO

'No? No what?'

R - A - C - H - E - L

I sighed. 'This is stupid. It's just coming out with nonsense, now.'

'Who is Rachel?' Raffles asked.

S - A - Y - H - E - L - L -O

'Say hello to Rachel?'

NO

'This doesn't make any sense,' I complained. 'We've broken it.'

'Who do you want us to say hello to?'

M - E

'...Hello?'

NO

'What, then?' Raffles said, the same exasperated tone entering his voice as when he was fielding more questions from me than I cared to answer.

M - Y - B - O - D - Y

And at that point I pushed the board away from us and scrambled backwards with a sharp exhalation that was not a yelp.

'All right there, Bunny?'

'All right! All right! Raffles, a murdered ghost just asked us to say hello to her dead body! I don't like this. It's far too morbid. I'm going to have nightmares for weeks.'

'I thought you didn't believe in ghosts?'

'I don't! I- But- Look, you know how I get with things. I don't believe in vampires either, but remember what happened after I read Dracula?'

'But you still read it to the end, didn't you?' he replied. 'Come on, Bunny, admit it: You are at least a little intrigued. And you hate a mystery as much as I love one; don't you want to get to the bottom of it?'

I hesitated. Raffles was, as he so often was, quite right; I was curious. I was also scared. But it was a fear worn on the surface; it crawled around under my skin, making my hairs stand on end and heart race; it didn't seep into the bones of me. It didn't touch the rational, sensible part of me which, I knew, come morning would be confused and embarrassed that I had ever been frightened at all. It was fear, yes, but it was also thrill. And thrill, as I and A.J. both knew only too well, was an addictive sensation, and devilishly hard to resist.

And so was Raffles' smile.

'If we get murdered by poltergeists, Raffles…'

'Then we'll come back and haunt Richmond together, just the same as we do now, what do you say to that? I can't do it without you, Bunny, so if you stop, I'll have to stop, too.'

'Oh, fine,' I relented, touching the board once again.

'That's my rabbit,' he grinned. 'All right, then, Dollie, you want us to… say hello to your corpse?' - and even Raffles winced as he said that - 'Why? Were you not buried properly, or something?'

YES

'All right. So you were murdered, and then not buried in the way you'd have preferred. Not to sound callous, old girl, but what exactly do you want us to do about that?'

F - I - N - D … RIP … RIP

The storm was still raging outside, rattling the windows and drowning out all normal sounds of Richmond life. Our landlady had gone away to visit her niece, and so we were quite completely alone. Except for the Dollie.

'But how on earth are we supposed to do that?'

L - O - O - K - D - O - W - N

' Fuck !'

'Bunny, mind your language! Ladies are present.'

'No,' I said, shaking my head and moving backwards so that my back was pressed up against the base of the armchair behind us. 'No they aren't. No one's here, it's just us, this isn't real. Ghosts aren't real. There is not a dead body buried beneath the house.'

'Of course there's not, rabbit,' Raffles said, shifting over beside me and putting his arm around my shoulders. 'I'm sorry; this was only supposed to be a bit of fun to cheer you up. I should have known our combined imaginations would make it disturbing. We are rather disturbed souls, aren't we?' he laughed, rubbing my arm.

'Yes,' I said. '...Sorry.'

'What ever for?'

'Ruining the fun.'

'You rabbit,' A.J. laughed, kissing my head.

'It really is so silly,' I continued, nestling my head against his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his waist. 'I know it's not real. I know it. But I still get so -'

'You're a writer, Bunny. Suspension of disbelief is part of that. And I love you for it; it would be much less fun if you stuck at being skeptical.'

'I am skeptical,' I still insisted, even whilst my hands were still shaking from childish fear. 'It's all explainable. If ghosts were real, why would they need spirit boards, and people to move the planchette, in order to speak? Why wouldn't they make their presence known by themselves? If there are ghosts, they should prove it without us having to do anything!'

And then the electric light flashed and went out, and a freezing draft extinguished all but three of the candles. One for me, one for A.J., and one for... whoever else.

Raffles and I looked at one another through the darkness.

I was on my feet in seconds, dragging Raffles with me, and stumbling as fast as I could through the darkness, fumbling against the wall for the light switch. Raffles let me pull him along, giggling like a schoolboy as we went.

'There's no use; I think the electrics have blown, Bunny. It's probably the storm. Here, take a candle.'

I didn't speak, but merely snatched up a candlestick with the hand that wasn't clinging on to him, and whirled us both down the hallway and into my bedroom, where once inside I slammed the door shut and locked it. By this point Raffles was near doubled over from laughing.

'Bunny! ' he said through his chuckles, setting his candlestick down on my desk, pulling me into his arms. 'What a reaction to blown electrics! And what good do you think a locked door will do against a ghost? Oh, you are adorable! '

'Shut up,' I snapped, still panting, thoroughly annoyed at my own ridiculous reaction. 'It's your fault, Raffles. I don't even believe in ghosts. I should never have let you talk me into it. It was foolish, and childish, and I am very cross with you,' I said, even as I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his shoulder. 'I'm never going to be able to sleep again. I won't ever be able to get the image of a body beneath the floorboards out of my head.'

'Poor Bunny,' he said, kissing the top of my head. 'I am a wicked, terrible villain, aren't I?'

'You are,' I agreed, nuzzling against his neck, feeling better already now that I was in the safety of my bedroom; now that I was in the safety of his arms; though residual nervous energy was still coursing through my veins, leaving me on edge.

'I'll have to find some way to make it up to you, hm? Now - are you going to unlock that door, rabbit, or we both going to be camping out here for the night?'

I opted for the latter, and received no complaints from Raffles.

Needless to say, neither Raffles nor myself were murdered by poltergeists in our sleep; and I didn't even have trouble sleeping as I had anticipated; snuggled up in A.J.'s strong arms I soon felt as safe, happy, and secure as ever I did. And, come morning, I could, as expected, see the silliness of the night before for what it was, and wondered at my own gullible credulity.

But then, a few days later, our landlady returned home from her time away.

'Oh, Mr Ralph!' she cried one afternoon upon finding the photograph from the hidden cupboard in Raffles' room stowed away in a drawer, 'where did you find this?'

Raffles glanced at me. 'Just in a cupboard. Why, who is it?'

Our landlady smiled with great fondness at the photograph, and I found myself stepping closer to listen in.

'That's my younger sister,' the old lady replied warmly. 'Ah, she was so young, there. Eighteen, I think. She was so pretty, don't you think? A firecracker, but very pretty. All the boys wanted to court her, but few could handle her spirit!'

'Your sister, by Jove!' Raffles murmured. I looked at him, and he caught my eye. 'What was her name?'

'Sarah,' our landlady smiled, and I exhaled breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. 'It's her daughter I've just been down to see! She's just had a little one of her own, you see, and I wanted to meet my grand-niece. Bonny little baby she is, Rachel Elizabeth, looks just like Sarah did as a baby. Sarah is over the moon - though this is her first grandchild and I think she is feeling a little old, bless her.'

'Your sister is alive ?' I said, and Raffles pinched me.

'Alive! Of course she is alive! What a thing to say, Mr Manders!'

'Sorry,' I mumbled. 'I - you were just so happy to see the photograph, I thought that perhaps…' and I trailed off as Raffles pulled a face at me when our landlady wasn't looking.,

'Oh dear me, no,' she said. 'It's just that I didn't know I still had this photograph; I thought it was lost. Sarah was a real troublemaker, back in those days - nothing serious, you know, but she was into her mischief. Our parents wanted to take us to have portrait photos taken - they were the latest thing back then - but Sarah was so stubborn, she'd refuse to smile; this was the only image the photographer got where she wasn't poking out her tongue or crossing her eyes. And of course it was the one where that little devil of a best friend of hers ran onto the scene just after the exposure started and pulled a face. See? You can just about make him out; looks as much a cheeky devil as he was in earnest; though it drew a smile to our Sarah's face. Oh, it does my old heart good to see this, how can I thank you for finding it, Mr Ralph!'

As Raffles waved away her gratitude, I sighed. 'So it's not a ghost in the photograph, after all.'

'Is that what you thought?' our landlady chuckled at me. 'No, little Dollie was as alive a lad as ever there was, though he did always have poor health, bless him. But such an imp! He and Sarah were inseparable, you know. Everyone always thought they'd marry, but I always believed he wasn't the type for that.'

'I'm sorry,' Raffles interjected, 'Did you say Dollie?'

'Oh, yes, that was his nickname. Sarah started it, and it just stuck. She was two years old, you see, when little Theodore was born to our mother's cousin - they were best friends, you know, and lived in the nearest house over from this one. And as soon as little Sarah set eyes on the wee baby, she declared him to be her dollie, and that was that; Dollie he always was for the rest of his days. And he really was her little doll, though a doll possessed by a demon at times. Such a wicked sense of humor, that boy; though I blame that on Sarah's influence as much as his own nature. It really was such a tragedy what happened to him, poor thing. He was so young.

'Tragedy?' Raffles said, and I could have sworn his voice sounded strained.

'Oh, yes, such a tragedy,' the old lady said, sadly, shaking her head and making the sign of the cross over her heart.

'Was he shot?' I said, stupidly, and Raffles kicked me.

'Shot ? Good heavens, no! You do come up with some strange ideas, Mr Manders-! But I suppose that is because you are a writer, so I must forgive you. No, no, nothing like that; it was the Scarlet Fever that took him. Dollie always was a weak child, in body if not in spirit, and he was still weak when he came of age - caught the fever and within two days, that was it. Sarah was distraught; they were two halves of one soul, I always said. She still visits his grave every year.'

'His grave,' I repeated back.

'Yes, Bunny, his grave,' Raffles said, shaking his head. 'It's not that difficult a concept. I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs -, and your sister's.'

'Oh, it was so very long ago; I haden't even thought of dear Dollie in so long - I'm quite glad you revived him in my memory. A person is never quite gone whilst his ripples are still in the world, don't you think?'

'That's very poetic, Mrs -' I said. Our landlady was a very unexpected woman, at times.

'Ah, look at me, being so sentimental. I'm sorry, my dears,' our landlady smiled apologetically, 'I'm afraid I'm being a touch morbid, aren't I?'

'Not at all,' Raffles said, laying a kindly hand upon the old lady's arm and smiling warmly. 'It's always a joy to hear your stories, Mrs -.'

'Oh, Mr Ralph, you are such a charming man. I am so glad that you and your brother are here; I felt so secure leaving the cottage to the both of you whilst I was away, you know, knowing it was in such good hands. So much better than the last tenants I had who left that horrible spirit board. I knew they were no good, dabbling with forces they oughtn't. Not like you lovely boys. You boys know right from wrong! Now I think of it, you both remind me so much of dear Dollie, in many ways. You're good boys,' she reiterated, patting us both on the hand in a motherly fashion, before bustling off with the promise of baking us cakes for being such exemplary tenants.

Later that night, when all was quiet, I lay in my bed thinking upon the disconcerting revelations our landlady had laid before us earlier that day. My thoughts were drifting to ghosts, and I just as I pulled the blankets up under my chin to stave off a shiver, I heard a quiet knocking coming from the wall behind my chest of drawers. At first I ignored it - the pipes in that cottage had a tendency to creak - but then it began to hammer out a recognisable tattoo.

'Hallo?'

Upon hearing the muffled voice, I froze, and a moment later the banging returned, only louder and more aggressive this time. For a moment I considered darting next door and getting Raffles - but then I thought better of it. And instead I took a deep breath and slipped out of my bed, and walked towards the knocking.

'Who's there?' I said in an angry stage whisper. 'What do you want?'

'What do you mean who's there?' said the muffled voice in the wall. 'Who do you think it is, you ass! Whatever's in front of me, can you move it? I can't get this blasted thing to open!'

'Raffles!' I cried, before making haste to shift my dresser. Once done, I found that there was a door in my wall identical to that in Raffles' though half covered over by cheap plaster and paint; and after a few good kicks from inside, in a cloud of old plaster dust the thing creaked open on its hinges to reveal Raffles', covered in cobwebs - and little else.

He sneezed.

'Told you I'd fit,' he grinned after crawling out of the tiny tunnel feet first and tumbling in a heap to the floor.

'Oh, for God's sake, A.J.,' I said, half laughing, half telling him off. 'Whatever are you playing at! You almost scared me half to death!'

'Thought it was a ghost coming to get you?' he said, getting to his feet and putting on the dressing gown I'd handed him. 'I suppose it is, in a way,' he grinned.

'You're freezing, you idiot. Get under the blankets.'

'That was my plan, Bunny,' he smirked, making me roll my eyes. Still, I gladly climbed into my bed beside him, and pressed my warm feet against his icy cold ones to warm him up. After a few moments of cuddling - and picking cobwebs out of his curls - I turned to look at him, and asked him the question I'd been mulling over for the past hour.'

'What did you make of that, then?'

'All of what, Bunny?'

'All of that business with Sarah and the baby Rachel and Dollie? I can't figure any of it out. What do you make of it all?'

'I don't make anything of it. Why should I?'

'What? How can you not? I suppose there was just as much that proved false, but so much was right, the name, and the baby, and the photograph - and the fact of you finding that little cupboard behind your wardrobe on Halloween, as though you were fated to find it in the first place!'

'It's a mystery, Bunny,' A.J. said, as though that were any kind of an answer. 'Life is full of them.'

'How can you be content with that?'

'What would you be content with?'

'I-' I stopped answering before I'd started, and thought on his question. '...I don't know,' I admitted after a few moment's thought. 'I still don't believe in ghosts, and one strange personal experience won't change that, but…'

'...but the possibility is tantalising?'

'Essentially, yes.'

'Then let it be, Bunny. We can't know everything; and there is such a thrill in the unknown, don't you think? Who are these coming to the sacrifice? We don't know, can never know - that's part of the beauty of it all.'

'That's all well and good, but I like knowing things,' I muttered.

'I know you do, you rabbit,' he chuckled softly, gazing into my eyes and brushing a strand of hair away from my face.

'There is one thing I know for certain, though, A.J...'

'Mm? What's that?'

'Our landlady is going to kill you if she finds out you've kicked a hole in her wall!'