A/N – "I'm going update weekly." Monday, Tuesday, what's the difference? On a side note, I'm officially done with school – forever. My next book, my third novel, hits the indie market shelves October 6th. I've doing a free giveaway in the form of Amazon gifts; for more information about that, visit my author site. It's linked on my profile, I think.

Also, thank you all for being awesome readers! I'm glad you're enjoying this story that I almost didn't write because I had others also in the works. You're great!

X

Chapter 16

The next day, Hiccup helped Fishlegs carry his stuff to his car. With a short goodbye, Fishlegs backed down the drive and started home. Hiccup stood on the porch and watched until he couldn't see the blue of the car. Had he done the right thing? He glanced over his shoulder at Astrid. She stood in the doorway, a wistful look on her face, not unlike how she'd watched Eret leave. She met his gaze and smiled.

Hiccup sat down on the top step. Would things have been different if he and Astrid had been born in the same time? Would they have felt the same toward one another? Would he have been a contender for her hand? If she had been born in his time, would they have met? Been friends? Been lovers? Would she have gone in a different direction in her life? Would their paths even have crossed?

Still, doubt plagued his mind. If he hadn't gone back in time and met her, she would not have thought herself mad, wrote about it to her journal, and her father wouldn't have gotten angry at her – he wouldn't have shouted – he wouldn't have accidently killer her.

Truthfully, if their paths hadn't crossed, things would have worked out better for her. Maybe for him, too. He didn't know.

Expect, Hiccup didn't know what he would have done for work in 1880. He could have written, but the paranormal wasn't a popular genre to work in back then. He might have been seen as a witch and burned at the stake, like HesaCow45 said. He liked books, nonetheless, and might have found a nice career in the local library. He could have been a reporter. Maybe he could have written stories regardless. Historical books. Travel books.

Astrid appeared beside him, a shimmer in the sunlight. Still, her voice sounded beside him, ghostly and sweet, "What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about what profession I would have been in had I been born in your time," he said. "I doubt 'paranormal writer' would have gone very far."

She smiled and shook her head. "You don't know. You might have revolutionized the field. Been a pioneer in the study. Written the books that others looked to for guidance."

Hiccup thought of the books HesaCow45 supposedly horded. He imagined his name across a worn leather tone in gold, almost faded, with yellowed, even pages that whispered of wisdom and forgotten knowledge. He liked the idea.

"When is your other friend arriving?"

"I wish I knew," Hiccup said. He both looked forward to and dreaded HesaCow45's visit. The person behind the screenname was a mystery – Hiccup didn't know what to expect. He had no name, age, gender, or even a country of origin – he had nothing. He barely had a personality. HesaCow45 was smart, intelligent, and had a wide understanding and knowledge of the paranormal. Hiccup felt both intimidation and awe toward the person.

Hiccup stretched his neck. All this worry tensed the muscles there. He could use that yoga class he'd taken in college (he needed a course worth one credit, and it seemed the easier choice than the kickboxing class.)

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Hiccup said, hand on his shoulder. "I'm just stressed. A lot has happened in a short amount of time, and I'm not used to it. I think I need to move around and work some of it off. There's some things in the house I've been putting off and stuff I haven't unpacked. I think I'll do that today. I'm too worked up to write anything."

"Then let's go," Astrid said, standing. She walked to the front door and beckoned him inside.

Hiccup obeyed her summons, and followed her in to the house. While waiting for HesaCow45's visit, he tidied up the house. He did minor repairs and maintenance that he'd been putting off, and made a list for future repairs, restorations, and alterations that would require further supplies. He went from room to room noting walls to be painted, molding to be replaced, the slow drain in the guest bathroom, and the cracked mantel in the upstairs parlor. All the while, Astrid walked with him. She told him about each room, its prior uses, tenants, and stories from her childhood.

"My brother Robert spent most of his days in here," Astrid said of the sunny second-floor parlor. She gestured to the balcony doors. "Mother thought the sunlight and fresh air would do him good and treat his poor health. It didn't, as you know."

Hiccup hesitated, then asked, "Do they know what he died from?"

Astrid shook her head. "No. Robert was a sickly child from the moment he entered the world. He slept most of the day, coughed and wheezed when he was awake."

Hiccup tried to think of some condition that would fit that descriptions, but none came. He'd never done well in the biology and health classes.

"See this mark?" Astrid ran her slender fingers along the painted paneling. Hiccup looked closer and saw where a long dent had been painted over. "I was up here reading one afternoon. I'd been up here a while when my mother found me. She scolded me for skipping chores and threatened to burn all the books I had. I can't remember the rest. We fought and argued. I threw the book I had and it hit here."

They finished the upstairs and wandered down to the kitchen. Hiccup refilled his coffee cup. He leaned back to sip it when he noticed Astrid standing at the table.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She looked to him, and at once the worried look vanished from her face. She said, "Of course, I just… remembered. I've been remembering a lot these past few days."

Did he have something to do with that? His brain, heart, and gut agreed; he had everything to do with it.

"What do you remember?"

"In here," Astrid said, motioning in the general direction of the table. "I watched my mother poison herself."

Hiccup choked; he gasped, "What?"

"I was… already like this. I watched my parents grow older. Father lost most of his hair. My mother turned gray. I sat beside her every morning, and I think she knew I was there, sometimes. She grew worse as she aged. Her sorrow grew like weeds. One day, while my father was outside, she poisoned herself. She was sick. My father took her into town. He came home without her."

"I'm sorry," Hiccup said. He sat his cup down and walked to her. He reached for her arm; he felt the warm of her and the coldness of her ghostly skin. As he focused on her, his touched felt solid on her arm. He pulled her into an embrace and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She held gingerly onto his middle. "I can't imagine what that must have been like."

Astrid exhaled into his shoulder. Her cool breath seethed through his shirt. "I expected to watch my parents grow old and eventually die. I just thought I would also be growing older."

"I'm sorry," he said again. "It must have been lonely."

She didn't answer; she didn't have to. He knew. He didn't know, but he could imagined.

"It's been nice having you here," she said.

"It's been nice being here," he said, and it had. Regardless of how stressful it had been.

He laced his fingers with hers. He didn't want her to be lonely anymore. She didn't deserve it. She deserved to be loved and held and warm for a century, or two. However long forever was. Hiccup leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead.

"You've still gone some to unpack," she said quietly.

He didn't argue; hand in hand, they walked into the living room where he still had a dozen boxes unopened. It was nothing necessary, mostly plates, dishes, more towels, extra sheets, clothes, a few knickknacks; he unpacked it and carried it where it needed to be, for Astrid couldn't hold onto things for very long without it slipping right through her hands. Hiccup flattened the cardboard and set them beside the trash. He'd slice them up on trash day.

"Have you been to the cellar?" Astrid asked. She pointed to the paneled door in the little alcove between the pantry and the backdoor.

"Once. The woman that I bought the house from refused to go down there. I just looked down the stairs."

"Well, the ghost is up here, so it's not haunted," Astrid said, smiling. "It's not pleasant, though."

Hiccup opened the door and turned on the light, a singular, bare lightbulb on the ceiling. It wasn't a full basement; it was the size of the kitchen. Like the attic, the basement had that unfinished look. The floor was packed dirt in most places, with loose wooden boards and plywood draped over it. He climbed the wooden stairs one at a time, and stopped halfway down.

"Mother stored food there. It wasn't spacious enough to play, and she was afraid that we would break the jars," Astrid explained from the top of the stairs.

"Any stories of the attic?"

"It was supposed to be Willie's room," Astrid said. "Then my father wanted to turn it into a study. Eret stayed up there when he lived here."

Hiccup started back up the stairs and switched off the light, drenching the basement again in darkness. He reached for the broom handle and grasped it lightly. "I've been meaning to ask you about him."

"Eret?"

He nodded.

"I can't say that I didn't love him," Astrid said. "Or, I thought I did. But…it wasn't the same. Not like you. He was a way out of my house, a way into womanhood. He had a stable job. A house. I could move to the city. I could talk to him. He never yelled or laid a hand on me. He was…a good man. He would have been a good husband. But, he is in the past."

"Do you miss him?"

"I did for a while," Astrid said. "But it wore off. I…fell out of love, I guess. I heard my parents talking…after I'd died. I remember them talking about him marrying. He'd had children. He came out to see them a few times with his children. Delightful little people, lovely, too. His wife never came."

"I'm sorry," Hiccup said. "I can't imagine how that must have been."

"It was strange," she said, sitting down at the table. "I didn't know what had happened at first. I remember waking up outside. I came back into the house, but no one could hear me or see me. I tried to throw a cup, but my hand went through it. It wasn't something that I ever thought I'd have to ask myself."

Hiccup laced his fingers with hers. She'd gone through something terrible. She'd been stuck in an invisible world while her parents grew old, died, and strangers moved into her house, time and time again. She'd suffered…all because of him, because he'd gone back in time, because of some force neither could control or understand.

"It is not your fault," she said.

"It feels like it," he said. "Everything that happened to you it was because I'd gone back. I just wish I understood why."

"Isn't it obvious?"

He blinked at her.

"If everything happens for a reason, what reason would there be for all of this to have happened?"

"I don't know."

She squeezed his hand, though not with the same force than a human would normally give. She said, "So that we could be here, right now, just as we are."

He thought that over for a moment. Was she right? Had it all been part of some overall picture? Were they supposed to have done everything they'd done? All so that they could meet, that he could move into this house, so that they could be sitting in the kitchen waiting on some mysterious stranger to bring her back to life?

It sounded like something from a fiction book. Chuckling at the thought, he said, "You know, I'm thinking about whether or not my next book should be fiction or nonfiction."

"The book you're writing about me?"

"Yes," he said. "Think about it. If this ritual works and you…come back, I can't rightly put that into a nonfiction book. People will think I'm crazy. That's not something I can boast about. I'll have to make up another ending, something more believable. But, this story, our story, could be told through the fictional lens. I mean, who doesn't love a good paranormal romance?"

"We're writing a romance?" If he wasn't mistaken, a ghostly tint of blush appeared on her pale cheeks.

"I am," he said. "I didn't set out to, but it's how it's gone. Of course, if it doesn't work out, and the ritual fails, I'm not sure if I could write such a book."

"Why not?"

"I'd be devastated."

"Hiccup," she said.

A knock landed on their front door. A heavy knock followed, then another. Three knocks. Hiccup looked at Astrid, and together they stood. She followed him to the door. He braced himself for whatever happened next.

He opened the door.

"Hiccup?"

Hiccup had been unprepared to receive his visitor, fearing someone dark and gloomy and utterly terrifying, but the forty-something year old man standing on his porch was, for lack of a better word, cool. He stood tall with dark brown, almost black, hair tied back behind his head. The end of the ponytail reached his shoulder blades. He was handsome in an old-movie kind of way, with a square jaw and strong brow. His skin was golden brown. He wore blues jeans and a button down flannel shirt over a black t-shirt. His eyes were piercing blue, almost gray.

"Yes?" Hiccup asked.

"You're Hiccup?" he asked. He smiled, a genuine, friendly smile. The man stepped forward and embraced Hiccup in a brotherly embrace. "It's good to finally meet you, in person, at least."

He had an accent, subtle but present. Hiccup couldn't identify it. Italian, maybe, or a little eastern European.

"You're… HesaCow45?"

"That's me, though it's pronounced coow, long o, but that's alright," he said, stepping inside. He glanced about the house. "Wow, this house is amazing. There's history in here." He walked toward the stairs and stopped as though he'd stepped on a nail. He stared hard at the floor, then pointed at it, and asked, "This is where she died?"

Hiccup nodded. "Yeah…how did you…?"

"It's complicated," he said. "My name is James, by the way."

Hiccup led James about the house, answering any questions he had about the activity; it felt strange to explain it with Astrid following them. Once or twice James glanced in her direction as if he saw her. Hiccup wouldn't be surprised if he did.

They arrived at the guest room and James took stock of the clean space.

"Ah, this will due," he said. "It's been a long few days; I suggest we hold off until the morning to discuss the matter at hand any further."

Hiccup nodded in agreement.

"I see why you fell for her," James said. "She's quite lovely."

Hiccup glanced behind him where Astrid stood in the hallway. She looked between Hiccup and James with suspicion.

"Can you see her?" Hiccup asked.

"I can, now and then, glimpses as she moves," James said, glancing toward where Astrid stood. "You can see her fully, then?"

"Yes."

"You've built up quite a connection with her," James said. "It takes a strong bond for a living person to see a ghost so clearly."

Hiccup half-expected him to toss the word love into the talk, but he didn't. They parted ways for a while so James could get some much needed rest. Hiccup retreated down to the kitchen with Astrid close behind.

"He's not what I thought," Hiccup said once they'd sat down.

"What did you expect?"

"Someone…creepier, I guess. Hesa…I mean, James, is normal. He's cool even, for a paranormal nerd. I mean, I don't want to talk bad about the community, but there are a lot of weird people in the paranormal field. I mean…people that think they can talk to the dead and tattoo pentagrams on their faces."

"That's a bit extreme," Astrid said.

"We don't do things like that," Hiccup said. "Which is why Fishlegs was against us doing this thing. We founded our site and our names in the field on science, on real evidence, not some he-said-she-said nonsense that we couldn't prove. We wanted to show that there is something happening."

"And you've done well," she said.

Hiccup took her compliment, then thought about it. He said, "How much do you know about what we do?"

"From my experience with you," she said simply. "You were respectful, kind, and sweet. I've met others that want to speak with the dead. They came in here and spoke in misty voices. They heard sounds that I didn't make and this old woman spoke for me, though I never spoke to them."

"Those types aren't ghost hunters," Hiccup said. "They're in it for the show. Did they bring a crowd of people with them?"

She thought back, then nodded. "Yes."

"They came for the show," Hiccup said. "It's all an act. They go into these haunted places and make sure that their guests get the frights they want."

"They're charlatans."

"That's exactly what they are," he said. "It's because of people like that, who make ghost hunting a show, that it's hard for people like me and Fishlegs to find credibility. People lump us in the same boat."

"Well, we will do this ritual and I can tell them all that you're not," she said.

"Astrid, no," Hiccup said, grabbing her hands. "Listen, if this works, and you come back, I think it's best if we keep it to ourselves. If we come out saying that we brought someone back to life, people are going to come out of the woodwork with demands for proof and questions. They'll want to haul you off to some lab and try to figure out how it works…and…it's best if we don't advertise this."

She took his words in and nodded. "Okay."

Hiccup and Astrid spent the day in his office, going over his book about the Hofferson house; he told her what he'd gotten down so far, and she would add her comments.

"I was named after my father's mother," she said. "She didn't travel to America with them. My father said she stayed because her own mother was ill, and she couldn't bear to leave her. They wrote from time to time, but she wrote in Norwegian and I never learned to speak it. She spoke some English, but not much."

By the time the sun went down, Hiccup felt much more confident about The Hofferson House. Heather would be too, he expected.

"We'll have to work out an ending," he whispered on his way upstairs to the bathroom. "I don't want to lie in my books, but I'll have to say you crossed over."

He'd have to explain to his nerdier fans that while the girl he'd been seen with did resemble the ghost of the Hofferson house, they were not the same; he'd met Astrid on a trip, or through a friend, and they'd connected.

Hiccup shut the bathroom door while he showered, shaved, and readied himself for bed. When he opened the door, wearing his pajamas, he found Astrid waiting patiently on the bedside. And for another night, he fell asleep with her in his arms. This time, he woke up with her in them, too.

He meandered down the stairs that next morning in good spirits. Then he spotted James at the table. He wore the same jeans and t-shirt. He'd already made a pot of coffee.

"Good morning," James said. "Come here and sit awhile. We've got a lot to talk about."