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It started with a rat.
The morning that Alison saw a rat streak across the floor of her bedroom, she went into town and picked out the biggest, meanest-looking cat she could find at the animal shelter. It was a boy, an orange tabby with a fluffy tail who immediately started sniffing and prowling around the room when she let him out downstairs. Alison crossed her fingers for a quick dispatch of the rat and any of its rodent friends.
The ghosts, predictably, went absolutely apeshit. Questions and comments flew fast and furious. Over the din of Fanny's sniffing about cat hair on the furniture, Pat's squeal of joy, and everything in between from everyone else, Alison shouted, "Right! I got the cat because I have a rat living in my bedroom and I want it gone. Yes, he's very soft. No, I haven't thought of a name yet."
Immediately another clamor arose, each ghost calling out suggestions. After about thirty seconds, Alison raised her voice again. "I've just decided his name's Fluffy." Pat pumped his fist. "Now, I have to go get some actual work accomplished. So let the cat do his job, yeah?"
The cat chose that moment to flop on its side, licking a paw as Mary and Kitty pretended to pet it. Alison nodded, turned on her heel, and left the room.
Two days later, Alison woke to a dead rat on the pillow next to her.
After a perfectly normal amount of screaming, which brought most of the ghosts running, she put on gloves, a mask, and her big girl pants and disposed of the rat corpse. She gave the cat an extra helping of wet food in thanks for its rodenticidal services.
(Robin, disappointed that she didn't cook the rat for breakfast, went on a ramble about the best way to roast a rat over a fire. She ignored him.)
Life at Button House went back to what passed for normal. Alison turned book pages, set the TV to a tank documentary, and turned on the record player before getting to work on her latest DIY project.
That evening, she settled in her bed with a book, planning a relaxing hour or two before she dropped off to sleep. The cat, which aside from his brief bout of murder had turned out to be a cuddlebug, laid on top her, purring. The ghosts were...somewhere that was not her bedroom, which was good enough for her.
She was just starting to get sleepy when, from the corner of her eye, she saw something dark move across the room. "Not again!" she cried, slamming her book down and startling the cat. While she was aware that where there was one rat there was often more, it seemed unfair that she couldn't even get a full day of peace.
She made a little shooing motion at Fluffy. "Go on, go get the rat." The cat just looked at her and stretched on the bed, flicking its poofy tail. Unceremoniously, she picked him up and dumped him on the floor. "Rat. There. Go." She indicated the corner where the rat was sitting, apparently unconcerned about the predator in the room.
Fluffy let out a confused-sounding mrow? and stared at her.
"Do I have to do everything myself?" she muttered, starting to get out of bed.
And then the rat ran through the wall.
Alison took a second to process this. Then she put her feet on the floor and stood up, saying softly, "No." Then, louder each time as she marched to the door: "No. No. No. No! NO!"
She flung open the door, Fluffy streaking through her legs to get away from the noise, only to be met by Thomas's inquisitive face. "Are you all right?" he asked. "I couldn't help but overhear you shouting, and, well..."
"The cat has created a ghost rat," she seethed. "And that ghost rat is going to be here until it finishes whatever ratty business it has, which, judging by the ghost pigeon still flying around, will be a bloody long time! And the cat doesn't seem to see it, or maybe it does but it just doesn't care. Either way, I can't get rid of it now. I can't even touch it to get it out of the room." She sighed, her anger winding down. "I guess at least it can't nibble on the wiring like this."
Thomas stood up very straight and puffed his chest. "I will protect you from the ghost rat," he said. "Being dead myself, of course, I can chivvy it out of the room if it dares show its bewhiskered face."
Ridiculous as he sounded, she was touched nonetheless. "Thomas, I..." She paused and raised an eyebrow. "Why do I feel like that's just an excuse to sleep in my bedroom?"
"Alison!" he exclaimed. She raised the other eyebrow. A sheepish smile crossed his face, and a little hesitantly, he tried out one of Julian's favorite phrases. "You say potayto, I say potahto?"
Alison knew she shouldn't encourage him, though as the months passed at Button House it was getting harder and harder to remember why. Thomas could be...well, he could be a lot, but between melodramatic outbursts and declarations of undying love, he could also be very sweet.
She made up her mind. "Fine. But only because I really hate rats."
The sparkle in his eyes as he smiled made up for any misgivings she might have felt. Biting her lip to keep from doing the same, she walked back into her bedroom, Thomas following close behind.
While she headed for the bed, he eyed the furniture in the room. Eventually, he made for a battered, threadbare armchair in the corner. "This shall make an excellent post for my watch." He sat and immediately winced at how uncomfortable it was.
Alison considered this as he tried to find a comfortable position. The ghosts seemed to need sleep as much as any living person, and he certainly wouldn't get any in that chair. Before quite getting permission from her brain, her mouth said, "You can sleep in the bed."
Thomas's eyes grew huge. She quickly continued. "I wouldn't feel the rat if it got up in the bed, but you can. You can just get rid of it." Preferably before she woke up to a ghost rat in her face.
He still looked thoroughly stunned. Knowing a blush was rising on her cheeks, she said, "It wouldn't be inappropriate. It's not like we can actually touch each other."
After a long moment, he nodded and slowly stood. Despite what she'd just said, a shiver went through her. Perhaps this was the frisson he kept mentioning.
As he sat tentatively on the duvet, he eyed the bed warily. "Forgive me for asking such a question of a lady of your refinement," he said, "but do you...move much in your sleep?"
For a second, she wondered why the hell he would ask that, but then the meaning became clear. "Oh! You mean I might..." She waved in a way she hoped indicated move a limb through you and make you gag.
A solution quickly presented itself. She motioned him to stand up so she could pull the duvet and sheet down, then started laying her extra pillows down the center of the bed. Thomas watched curiously as she retrieved a couple extra pillows from the wardrobe and finished the line down to the end of the bed. "There," she said. "A regular wall of Jericho."
Thomas looked at her blankly. "A what?"
"You've never seen It Happened One Night, have you?" He shook his head. "Next movie night. You'll love it." She sat on her side of the bed and patted a pillow. "Anyway, this should keep us from any...passing through."
He nodded and, looking more relaxed, stretched out on the bed. She almost scolded him for not taking his shoes off, but then realized that was pointless. He could hardly get dirt on her sheets. She made a trip to the loo and then turned off the lamps in the room, leaving on the fairy lights that dangled from the canopy. They cast Thomas in a soft glow she pretended didn't turn his features from handsome to sublimely beautiful. God, it would be easier to remember he was dead if he didn't look so solid.
She got in bed and pulled the bedclothes up over both of them. The sheet and duvet fell through Thomas's body. Thomas's body, which was lying perfectly naturally on the bed. She paused, and he must have understood her confusion, because with a shrug, he said, "I've never figured it out."
Alison decided to save understanding ghostly physics for another day, or preferably never. She laid down and snuggled under the duvet. She'd left open space between their heads, reasoning she probably wouldn't headbang in her sleep, and their eyes met across the pillows.
For just a moment, she let herself imagine what it might be like if she'd been born 200 years earlier, or he 200 years later, and they'd just met...
Jesus, you need to get out more.
While she was imagining things that couldn't be, Thomas's face had creased in a slight smile. She asked, "What? What are you thinking?"
Amusement played in his eyes. "Something Fanny would disapprove of." Alison swallowed hard. "But let me hasten to add that Julian would consider it extremely tame."
There was a lot of territory between those two. Maybe it was better not to know.
"Good night, Thomas."
"Good night, fair Alison."
"Sweet dreams."
"Oh, they will be," he murmured as she closed her eyes.
Later that night...
"Rat! Rat! Oh, God, a rat! Alison! RAT!!"