Chapter 2

Another Boy's Mistake

He stepped into the bright kitchen light. If he was a dangerous thug with intent on ransacking the place, he was awfully ill-dressed and boyish looking. How many criminals had a bad gingery-blonde dye job and skinny jeans? Maybe on the streets of London, she'd suspect him for something on the more devious side, but even that would've been stretching it. He looked like the guy you might see at the club at two in the morning. Drunk off his ass and dancing like a proper fool with two left feet, but not starting brawls or hitting on girls who clearly had boyfriends at least.

"Are you a ghost?" he inquired, cautiously drawing nearer.

"No, I'm Emma. I live here." she said, slightly haughty. Even though she'd technically just asked him if he was the ghost, she'd found some offence in his simple question.

"Since when?"

"A few hours. What's it to you? Why the hell are you in my house?" she snapped back, quickly.

"It was a stupid dare. A few hours ago we were drunk off our asses and my mates—Wyatt and Gavin—dared me to spend the rest of the night in the old Heelshire place." he replied, desperately. He quickly eyed Emma up and down with an unfading sense of surprise that Paul had given her earlier. Who in their right mind would attempt to take up residence in the Heelshire manor? "I didn't expect there'd actually be someone mad enough to live here."

"Aren't you a little old for that kind of idiocy?" Emma jabbed, blatantly ignoring his comment insulting her sanity.

"Look—Alcohol generally makes you act either ten years younger or ten years older. I don't make the rules. It's science." he insisted. The icy cold look of distain and disbelief weren't fading from her expression as fast as he hoped. Better to make a hasty escape before she realized that the knife block was within arm's length of where she was standing. "I'm really sorry. I'll just go now—"

"What's the cost?" Emma inquired, suddenly. Although, she'd done nothing but chide the intruder, she couldn't help that his presence was a comfort while the house was busy sleeping. It was nice to have someone to talk to at least. She would be devoid of any human contact until Paul returned next week with more groceries. Maybe she could stall him for a few more minutes.

"They're planning on shaving me bald if I chicken out, but really it's fine. My trim is garbage anyway—I mean, have you seen it! I don't know what I was thinking wanting to go only partially blonde…" he answered, pulling at his bangs as if they already weren't catching the light in awkward patches. Emma eyed the back of his head and just noticed it was naturally a mousy brown color that successfully hid in the shadows. It was honestly a terrible haircut already and then she imagined him without any hair at all. She started snickering a little, trying to silence herself, before she let out a loud cackle and woke the house up. He noticed her feeble struggle to contain her laughter. "It's not that funny. Are you alright?"

"Sorry, I just didn't really notice how ridiculous it was, until you brought it up." Emma wheezed, trying desperately to turn away from hysterics.

"Well, when you see me around town without hair, I'd appreciate it if you not be on the ground laughing if that's at all possible. You're going to ruin my credibility."

"Keep your trash hair. I like it and I could use the company anyway." she smiled, already heading back for the kettle to heat up some more water and grab an extra mug.

"Really?" he asked, in clear disbelief. Despite his high suspicions about this odd situation, his body had decided to stay and was already sitting himself down at one of the seats at the kitchen counter.

"Sure, I'm going to be up for a while, and you seem like a sufficiently non-threatening guy." Emma reasoned.

"Insomnia?" He checked the kitchen clock by the windowsill. Now, that she'd mentioned it, two in the morning was a bit of an off time to have found her sitting in the kitchen fully awake.

"I've just flown in from America and my internal clock hasn't adjusted yet." she sighed.

"Thought you sounded kind of odd. So, you're American then?" he smirked, jokingly. She fake-pouted as she brought two full mugs back to the counter for them. "From what I've heard, America is a half-decent place most of the time. What on earth made you want to move to the middle of nowhere?"

"Free mansion. Apparently, I'm one of the last Heelshires."

"I thought they were the last." he added, gesturing out into the foyer. He'd probably caught a glimpse of the giant family portrait of the Heelshires on the way in.

"I'm a very distant relative from a very distant land." Emma said, trying to sound mystical and grand. Her image of the Heelshires were ostentatious and not based in enough reality. She imagined this house being run by a happy family, truly alive and brimming with entertainment. However, she frowned and suddenly forced herself to confront why when she claimed their heritage it sounded so fake instead. "To be honest, I'm not quite sure I believe it..."

"Why not?" he asked.

"It's a little too convenient. I wanted to leave, and the letter appeared like magic." she replied. Emma didn't want to go full conspiracy theory on a guy she just met, but she felt like she needed to voice her growing opinions to someone in order to demolish them. "I think I might've been brought here for some other reason."

"Ghost-busting?" he smirked, again. She cracked a small smile as he started to hum a familiar tune.

"The house isn't haunted." she insisted.

"If you swear, but I'm still not sure you're real." he admitted, taking a large swig of his tea. "For all I know, this is a hallucination—I mean, I walked in here, expecting horrors unknown, and then the next thing I know I'm invited in to drink tea in the middle of the night with a cute girl."

"Well, it looks like you've figured me out. That's not actually tea. You've been drinking bog water for the past thirty minutes." Emma chimed. He looked her dead in the eyes and took another prolonged sip. She couldn't help but grin. "You and the grocery boy probably get along well."

"Paul?—Hardly!" he scoffed, spitting some of the tea he hadn't finished drinking when she'd mentioned him. "Don't get me wrong. He's pretty cute too, but he's also a real awkward loner who reads too many fantasy novels and tends to haul up in his house, when he's not at work. I like people who are a little more adventurous."

"Then, you won't like me. Once you stop hallucinating and the sun comes up, you'll realize I'm not some glamourous, American ghost. I'm boring..." Emma sighed.

"Alright, the fact you can even don the title 'Glamourous American Ghost' makes you automatically an interesting person." he reasoned, in her own defense. She looked at him in disbelief about his clear conviction. Emma considered herself to be the most boring person ever. People often treated her like a puzzle cube. They'd put all this work into solving her and getting to know her, then set her on a shelf and promptly forget about her existence. Automatically unexciting once all the challenge is gone. Eventually, he'd come to realize she was nothing but an empty shell once he coaxed out all her mysteries. She was used to losing guys on dating apps because she was unable to think of interesting anecdotes or express her secretly outgoing personality to anyone who was not a close friend. "Who shot down your self-confidence?"

"No one. It's always been extremely shitty." she mumbled.

"It was a bloke, wasn't it?" he grinned, tauntingly.

"I'm not talking about this in the middle of the night with some stranger."

"We're not strangers."

"You forgot to introduce yourself while you were breaking into my haunted house."

"I'm Alex." he said, suddenly extending a hand. She stared at him blankly. Fate was playing cruel tricks on her yet again. It was a dreadfully common name, but why did it have to be that one? Of course, it'd been a bloke. She'd been run out of the country by a bloke named Alex and here was another one, possibly ready to do the same.

"Oh…" she mumbled. She quickly tried smiling and taking his hand, but her disappointed reaction had been too obvious and couldn't be glossed over so easily.

"What?"

"I have a friend named Alex—that's all."

"It's a common white guy name. I know like five in town alone."

"I've got two now." Emma stated. She wondered if he would question her about the other one, intent on solving all of her mysteries. But, he thankfully remained silent. "—And they're both idiots!"

"I mean, I can't argue that…" Alex laughed. "Care to give this simpleton a tour?"

"Well, alright. We've got to be quiet though. The house is sleeping."

"Yeah, I really don't want to make a ruckus and wake up the other ghosts. Something tells me they might not be as friendly as you."

Emma procured them an extra flashlight from the cabinet under the sink and they ventured off together to explore. Like most large Victorian era houses, there was a room for everything. Guest rooms, family rooms, informal dining room, breakfast room, etc. All filled with fancy little things that looked like they'd never been touched. Emma couldn't help but think of that poor little boy and how he was most likely sequestered here, yet unable to touch any of it. After a quick gloss over a variety of rooms, where Emma and Alex would merely translate their commentary through sly looks, they tried sticking to the more interesting rooms. They got caught up in the library for the longest time presenting ridiculously titled old books like: "A Book of Scoundrels". Emma enjoyed the ones about a woman's etiquette because they were comprised of the most ridiculous standards of womanhood.

Eventually, it was dawn. They decided to boil some more tea and watch the sunrise on a stone bench in the graveyard adjacent to the garden that Emma hadn't gotten the chance to explore yet. It was a small peaceful moment that would draw their bizarre macabre night to an end.

"Oh my gosh! I can breathe again." Alex sighed, as they settled, heaving a huge breath to replace with the fresh morning air.

"Alright, I wasn't being that severe. You could've banged pots and pans together and I wouldn't have given two shits." Emma claimed, with a pouting frown. Part of her liked the silent interactions they had managed between them, however, another part wished she hadn't told him to be so quiet.

"Well, I suppose. But, the longer we spent poking about, the more it started to feel like a bad idea." he answered, trying his best to sound serious and foreboding. He looked off into the direction of the woods. "It felt like we weren't alone."

"Oh, enough already! You're not being funny anymore." she added, playfully hitting his arm.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself." he laughed. "I like your graveyard. Where's yours?"

"Idiot—have at least a little respect…"

"Is that why you haven't boarded up that room yet?" Alex asked, suddenly. She looked puzzled for a moment. All the rooms were nearly identical in design, except one.

"You mean Brahms's room? When did you get in there?" Emma asked back at him.

"While we were exploring upstairs. As interesting as the fourth bathroom is, I couldn't help but notice you intentionally skipped a room. At first I thought it was yours." he explained. "I'm surprised you didn't notice. I nearly shit myself when I saw that doll in the rocking chair. I know I've mimed this sentiment to you like fifty times tonight, but that thing is definitely pure sin. Throw it in a fire."

"Oh, I'm not too worried about haunted dolls. I worked in an old toy store that used to be part of the underground. All the tourists used to ask me if I'd seen anything weird and I lied and told them what they wanted to hear." she replied, simply. "I never saw anything."

"So, you kissed him goodnight, then?—Can I get one too?"

"Oh god, you saw that cursed list of rules." she groaned. It was embarrassing and surely Alex would think she was mad now that he'd seen it. "That can go directly into one of the seven fireplaces. I don't know what the heck they were thinking."

"The old couple were mental, which isn't something I really fault them for. It's just a shame they were locked up in this house and weren't able to get the help they needed." he explained. Emma sipped her tea with a quiet nod of agreement as the conversation suddenly took a graver tone. "It's a bit silly, but I'm sure their hearts were in the right place when they wrote it."

"They were thinking about him…"

Emma suddenly disappeared back through the kitchen door, but came back a few minutes later with a fresh cup of tea. It might've not have been the most proper way to perform such a sentimental ritual, but supplies was limited at the moment and it would feel wrong to pour something alcoholic onto the boy's grave when he didn't even live long enough to drink. She knelt down in the damp soil and emptied the cup over the bit of earth.

"Pouring tea on a little boy's grave is the most English thing I've ever seen, and I grew up in this country." he added. Emma pouted at him. He sighed and joined her on his knees in the soil. He poured whatever was left of his cup onto the grave as well.

"I'll cut him some flowers later or something. I just wanted to pay my respects to him for letting me live here and allowing me to start a new life." Emma stated.

"Okay, are you the burglar? Only criminals on the run use phrases like that." Alex remarked, once again with a foolhardy and joking tone. She didn't answer him, but replied with another scathing look. "All right, then. Keep your secrets."

"The sun is up and it's time for you to go back to wherever the hell you came from. I have work to do." she said, quickly getting to her feet and lifting him up with her.

"I'm going, I'm going." he insisted. He handed her the extra tea cups and they made their way towards the front driveway together. Emma noticed everything seemed to be bathed in a new light compared to yesterday. Sometime in the night, she'd started to feel just a little more at home. It had to have been his influence. "We've had a sufficiently fun evening, wouldn't you say, ghost girl?"

"I might say that."

"Will I be able to call on you again?" Alex inquired, to her relief. He handed her his phone and she couldn't help but smile like the biggest dork. He wanted to see more of her, even after such an odd first meeting. For now, it was a swelling and joyful feeling, that she pray wouldn't turn nauseous. Maybe this time could be different. "There isn't much of a night life in town, but a couple drinks down at the pub might be nice once in a while. You really shouldn't be stuck out here alone."

"My number—for now that's all you get." Emma answered, passing back the phone with her new UK cell digits. Getting the landline setup was one of the many things she had to do today.

"Until next time!"

She waved him off as he slipped back through the gates and down the road. She turned back into the house and couldn't help but take a little moment behind the closed doors to smile to herself. Despite not having slept like at all, she was brimming with energy. Emma considered the idea of going on a quick run before making breakfast, however, she glanced down at the line of shoes she'd set up just yesterday and her running shoes weren't there. She swept over the surrounding areas; quite certain she'd placed them by the door with the rest. She couldn't imagine Alex taking them. They weren't very expensive or easy to conceal. Emma shrugged it off, assuming she still had them upstairs or something, and went back into the kitchen to make breakfast.

She'd just put two slices of bread into the toaster when, suddenly, there was a large slam, followed by a loud crash from the next room. She rushed out to see what had fallen and saw the library had been reduced to a pile of books on the floor. She cursed, sighed, and took a little moment, before beginning to pick them up. It must have been a mini earthquake tussling with an already loose infrastructure. Oh well… At least she knew there wasn't any Phantom of the Opera style rooms hidden behind the shelves that could only be accessed by pulling a particular book forward. And, although, she and Alex had gotten pretty familiar with the different titles, this at least would be the chance to completely put her mark on the place. Organize things in her own way. She began to hum softly while she worked from top to bottom, completely forgetting that breakfast was growing cold. Her voice was beautiful and harmonious after years of lessons, but was now rarely heard by anyone else.

However, for today at least, there was someone listening to her.