“Why, do you have ghosts in the house?” Jack asked with a chuckle.
“More than you know,” Shane replied, and the cool statement sent a chill racing down Jack’s spine.
“Yeah,” Jack nodded, “I do want to come in. If that’s all right.”
Shane shrugged. “Come on in. Want a cup of coffee or anything?”
“Do you have hot chocolate?” Jack asked.
Shane glanced at him, surprised. “I think so.”
Shane led the way down the wide hall, and Jack was about to ask if he should close the door when it seemed to shut on its own accord.
“That was Carl,” Shane informed him as they made their way to the kitchen. “He pretty much runs the house, even though I tell him I do.”
“Carl?”
Shane nodded. “Take a seat, Captain.”
Jack did so. He watched as Shane moved easily around the large kitchen. From behind him, Jack heard a soft scratching sound. He twisted in his seat and saw the door to the pantry. The same noise issued forth again, and Jack was about to say something when Shane passed in front of him and pulled the door open. The man glared down at the floor and snapped, “Knock it off!”
Grumbling, Shane slammed the door closed, shook his head, and went back to the stove.
“What was that about?” Jack asked. Is he mentally unhinged?
“You don’t even want to know,” Shane muttered. “No, you know what, I’ll tell you. They’re a bunch of pains. Every single one of them. I’ll have to send Carl down to deal with them because if I do it, they won’t be around anymore.”
“Carl?”
Shane pulled down a mug from a cabinet, set it on the counter, and turned to face Jack. “I thought you believe in ghosts.”
“I believe ghosts exist,” Jack stated. “I’m just having a little bit of trouble understanding how there can be so many in one place.”
“And how I can have a chat with them,” Shane concluded.
“That, too.”
“Do you think Carl is in here with us?”
Jack hesitated, and Shane smiled.
“I didn’t say that,” Jack began.
“You don’t have to,” Shane interrupted. Then, Shane spoke in a foreign language.
A man appeared beside him. He was scholarly and dressed in clothes that were at least a hundred years out of fashion. The man made a comment to Shane in the same language, and Shane nodded.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Herr Kapitän,” the man said, bowing politely at the waist. “I am very pleased that my young friend here has begun to collect living friends in addition to his dead ones.”
“Carl,” Shane sighed, and the ghost disappeared.
Jack shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Shane told him. “I’ve known Carl for decades. No lie, his bones are upstairs still. Well, downstairs, really. Anyway, yeah, that’s Carl. Dead German, all-around good guy. Puts up with a lot of my crap.”
“How many ghosts are here?” Jack asked, unable to stop himself from looking around.
“Hm? Oh, I don’t know. The numbers change. I picked up three when I was down in Connecticut. A set of triplets, in fact. Sad story. They’re out there running around right now.”
“Out where?” Jack asked.
“The yard,” Shane said, waving his hand toward the front of the house. “First week or so, they just sat in the front room. But, since they met Eloise, they’ve been having a grand old time of it.”
“I felt, I don’t know,” Jack said hesitantly, “that someone was watching me. It wasn’t exactly a nice feeling.”
“Probably Eloise, then,” Shane stated. “She’s not a fan of people. Kind of have to keep her in check. Some days, she’s okay. She has her act together. Other days, well, not so much.”
“Eloise?” Jack felt uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “The little girl? The dead child you told me about?”
Shane nodded. The kettle he had set on the stove whistled, and Shane took it off the burner, pouring water into a mug. Jack watched as he placed a spoon into the mug and carried it over to the table, setting it down in front of Jack.
“Careful,” Shane warned. “It’s hot.”
Jack nodded, somewhat distracted. He took hold of the spoon, stirred the hot chocolate, and asked, “What does she look like?”
“Eloise?”
“Yes.”
“Dead,” Shane answered.
There was no humor in the retired Marine’s face.
“Like Carl?”
Shane shook his head. “Nope. Not even close. Carl would win a beauty pageant when compared with Eloise.” Shane tilted his head, glanced over his shoulder, and muttered something in German. “Sorry, Carl’s complaining.”
Jack didn’t respond.
“Anyway,” Shane continued. “No, Carl’s in rough shape, but nothing like Eloise. Most ghosts appear to us the way they did when they died. Sometimes, that’s a good thing. You’ll see an old man standing there, wearing a chambray shirt and a pair of jeans. Looks normal. Others, well, if they died bad, you see it. Shattered skulls, severed limbs, all that good stuff. A few, not many, are able to adapt to how they look. Thing is, that’s where they get stuck. Eloise is a perfect example of that.”
Jack took a sip of the hot chocolate, winced at the heat of it, and set the mug back on the table. “How does Eloise look?”
“Mind if I smoke?” Shane asked.
“Your house, Shane.”
Shane grinned. “It is at that.”
Jack waited as the man took out a pack of Lucky Strikes, retrieved a cigarette, and then lit it with a Zippo. Shane exhaled the smoke through his nose, pulled an ashtray close to him, and spoke again.
“Right. So, Eloise, she died in the house,” Shane explained.
“Okay. A fall, something else?”
Shane shook his head. “No, Jack. There are servants’ passages and hidden doors. All the stuff you’d expect in a big old house like this one. She went into the walls one day, and she never came out. The house killed her.”
Jack waited to see if Shane would smile, crack a joke, or something.
The man didn’t.
“So,” Jack asked, “what does she look like?”
“Do you want me to tell you, or do you want me to show you?”
There was an unasked question implied. Can you handle it?
I’ve been a cop for decades, Jack thought. I can handle it.
“Show me,” Jack declared.
Shane nodded. Aloud, he said, “Carl, hole bitte Eloise.”
A chill passed by Jack, and he shivered as he picked up his hot chocolate. He ignored the still too-warm liquid and took a long drink, suspecting he would need the warmth.
A pleasant smile spread across Shane’s face, an expression of affection.
“Hello, Eloise,” Shane said, and it sounded to Jack as though the man was greeting an old friend.
Who’s to say he isn’t? Jack wondered. He grew up here.
Shane turned in his chair to face the sink, and Jack did the same. He saw spiderwebs of frost creeping over the window.
“Eloise, this is Captain Jack Thompson,” Shane explained. “He’d like to see you if you’re willing.”