Chapter Text
As far as Skull was concerned, the village of Dunstonly Proper was his domain. The historic village and its castle had long been abandoned by the living and Skull was the strongest ghost there was amongst the visitors haunting the place, making him the de facto leader of the settlement. Not that most of the ghosts were capable of arguing with him.
But Skull didn’t mind. He still felt powerful. And as far as he was concerned, that was what mattered. He strutted about the place like Bickerstaff had used to, aware the most alert ghosts were shying away from him.
And then he heard it, the sound of a child crying. Skull’s brow furrowed.
There were the ghosts of children in the village, of course there were, but he knew each of their cries intimately. They were death loops after all, just repeated whimpers that never changed.
This was a new cry. For a moment Skull thought they might have a new ghost, that another spirit had slipped through from the other side – that would not be at all unheard of – but Skull’s gut told him that was not true.
There was too much… life in the cry. It was the crying of someone who was living, who could be ghost touched…
Skull wanted to watch. He’d not seen someone getting ghost touched in so long. Unfortunately, most people were smart and they kept away from his village of the dead. He longed for just one person every so often to stray into his spider’s web, to actually give him something interesting to do.
And finally it seemed like his prayers had been answered.
Skull swooped through the air, determined to find the source of the crying before any of his fellow spirits could. They would steal his fun and none of them even had the intelligence to savour it.
It wasn’t hard to find the person who was crying. A little girl in messy clothing was crouching into the shadows, hands tangled in her dark hair. She was grubby and thin, looking like she had been alone for a long time.
Skull studied her.
As much as he hated to admit it to even himself, he was not a heartless creature. He was cold, yes - he was a ghost, they were all cold - but he didn’t take sadistic glee from killing. He didn’t relish in hunting children through the streets. He hadn’t even done that while he was alive.
And perhaps the child had suffered enough. After all, any person’s life had to have gone seriously off the rails for them to find themself so deep within the territory of spirits, unarmed and alone. For a child to have ended up there…
Skull was wondering what he could do when the girl peeled her hands from her face. Her dark eyes fixed onto him.
She blinked, her focus never leaving him. Skull saw the comprehension flash through them. She knew what he was, probably knew how dangerous he could be. But she didn’t flinch back.
Instead she managed a weak and wet “Hello.”
The very fact she could see him was startling to Skull. She had talent. Skull had always thought that children with talent were kept under lock and key until they were old enough to wear uniforms.
But the little girl was utterly alone.
“ Who’s meant to be looking after you? ” Skull asked.
“My mummy,” the little girl sniffled. “But she made me sit outside and I saw a ghost and got scared and ran away.”
Skull wanted to summon the intelligence that had made him such a powerful ghost but it had all abandoned him. He could do nothing but hang in the air and stare, slack jawed.
The little girl had heard him. She had heard him and she had responded to what he could say.
No one else had done that before. No one. Skull hadn’t even thought that was possible.
“ You… You can hear me? ” Skull managed.
The little girl blinked and nodded.
“I… I…” she began.
And then her words fell flat and Skull supposed it was natural. He could imagine that suddenly meeting a ghost was overwhelming enough for a little girl but a ghost who could have an intelligent conversation… That was practically unheard of.
“ What’s your name? ” Skull asked, hoping that might prompt more intelligent conversation out of her.
“Lucy,” the little girl said unsteadily. “Yours?”
“ I call myself Skull, ” Skull told her. “ No one else can talk to call me much of anything. ”
Lucy frowned, asking what he meant. Skull supposed that he had just hit her with a very confusing concept for a little girl. She probably had very little idea about how unintelligent other ghosts were. She knew they looked like people so she assumed they acted like people when interacting with other ghosts.
“ None of the other ghosts like to talk to me ,” Skull said eventually because it was easier than trying to explain.
A small voice in the back of Skull’s mind tried to remind him why he had come there in the first place. He was there to ghost touch the girl, to watch her skin swell and turn blue, to see the moment of terror in…
But she was a little girl. Skull wasn’t a monster. At least he liked to think he wasn’t. He liked to think that when he killed it was for a good cause, that when he had been alive him killing had been in the name of science, of pushing forward discoveries. And even if it hadn’t been, he’d not killed anyone interesting or worthwhile. Killing them had been his way of decreasing the surplus population, saving resources for those who were more worthy of them. It was an honourable task.
“ I should take you home, ” Skull said.
But then he stopped himself. The little girl could speak to him. She could understand him. No one else could. And clearly she wasn’t being taken very good care of if she had managed to get away from her mother, managed to get in such a state in the first place. He could take her in. He could take care of her.
He would get someone to talk to and she wouldn’t have to go back to people who clearly didn’t care about her.
Skull supposed that was immoral. She was someone’s child. She might be dearly missed. Still, Skull didn’t particularly care about morals. He had always found they got in the way a little.
Still Skull told himself it would be easier in the long run if he at least had the child’s agreement to stay.
“ You know, ” he said, “ you could stay here. ”
“Really?” Lucy gasped.
“ Yes. But only if you want to. I would be more than happy to take you back. ”
“My mummy isn’t very nice to me.”
“ She’s not? ” Skull frowned. “ I couldn’t tell. ”
“She’s so mean,” Lucy said. “And she shouts all the time.”
Tears were beginning to spring into her eyes. Skull floated down toward her, cautious to stay out of her reach.
“ Well, you can stay here. I’d look after you. I’ve never really looked after a little kid before but it can’t be that hard to figure out. ”
Lucy beamed at him, scrubbing away her tears. Skull told himself that it made him a good person. Yes, perhaps it was selfish to keep the child but he was going to take very good care of her. At least as good a care for her as a ghost could. And he was certainly never going to let her reach the point where she cried when she had to think about spending time with him.
And then, all of a sudden, Lucy went to throw her arms around Skull. He immediately sent a terrible gust of wind to blow him back.
“ You can’t touch anyone, ” Skull told her firmly. “ If you touch anyone, you’re… ”
And then Skull had an idea, a way he could stop the little girl from ever leaving. Then he would always have someone to talk to.
“You’re a special type of ghost, ” he said. “ One that can’t touch other ghosts. ”
The little girl’s brow furrowed.
“If I am a ghost, what’s my source?” she asked.
Skull scanned her up and down, seeing a bulge in her pocket.
“What’s in your pocket?” he asked.
Lucy reached inside, pulling out a shiny bottle cap. Skull supposed the little girl must have picked it up from the street somewhere, decided to keep it because she liked the way it looked.
“ That’s it. That’s your source, ” Skull said.
He watched as Lucy turned it and then smiled.
“It’s a very good source, isn’t it?”
Lucy didn’t remember that day. She didn’t remember what had come before it either but that didn’t particularly matter because the outside world didn’t matter so long as she was with Skull in Dunstonly Proper. And he always made sure to remind her of what had happened, how easily he could have killed her and how merciful and nice he was to have resisted the urge.
But Lucy doubted if Skull really had it in him to kill anyone. He talked a good talk, of course, always acting like he was eager to do it but he had never hurt Lucy. In fact, he had gone to great efforts to protect her. He had said it was simply because she was the only good company she had had in years – and Lucy had to admit she believed that given out the other ghosts around them didn’t talk much – but Lucy thought another ghost might have killed her without bothering to check what sort of company she was.
And Skull had become like a brother to her. Lucy was roughly the age she supposed he had been when he had died, perhaps even a little older. He had taught her to scavenge berries and catch fish in the river that ran through the village and helped her work out how to sew so she could make herself clothes to wear. She would also sew little hidden pockets in everything she made or modified to help her carry her source, ensuring she would always have it close.
She supposed she must have once upon a time had living parents but they had long since faded from her memory and they’d never come looking for her. It was just her and the ghosts. And she loved it there.
During the day she explored and she played with sources. During the night, she made her way back to the castle that overlooked the village, spent her time with Skull. She found that she didn’t need much in the way of sleep which was fine by her because she rather liked having adventures. She liked to root around in crumbling stone houses and find things that caught her eye. If they were sources, she would move them, just to mess with the ghosts. If they weren’t, she would take them back to Skull. He likened her to a magpie with the way she gathered up all the marginally shiny things in the village for her collection.
She would collect books too so she could burn them. Neither she nor Skull could read and very few of the books had pictures that held her attention for long. Skull taught her the importance of fire. It was for warmth – which she found herself eternally craving – or defence. Every so often a ghost would appear that was too dangerous for Lucy to allow to live in the village grounds. It tried hunting her whenever she turned her back. Skull had taught her to collect the source and throw it into a fire – the bigger the fire the better. He had taught her that salt was useful for harming ghosts and she had found that there were certain metals they didn’t like either so she kept a rusty pipe made out of whatever metal did scares ghosts by the large wooden doors to the castle which she could grab the moment she went out for whatever reason.
That particular dusk, Lucy was making her way back to the castle. It loomed forebodingly on the horizon, a great grey tower encircled by a thick wall. Lucy could see the windows of her room as she approached and wondered briefly if she might one day encounter the ghosts of the lords and ladies who had once called the castle home.
She and Skull had once tried to work out the history of the place but had soon given up and used what little clues they had to create stories instead. Lucy was sure their stories were far more exciting and interesting than whatever had really happened there.
In her left hand she clutched a burlap sack. Once upon a time it would have been filled to the brim with interesting things Lucy had collected by the village’s supply of interesting things was beginning to dwindle. She had spent the day in the pub, ripping scraps of fabric from the chairs. She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to make with such things but she supposed that she would think of something.
Perhaps a gift for Skull. He always appreciated when she made stuff for him.
In her right hand, Lucy carried her pipe. She swung it to and thro, enjoying the way it swished powerfully through the air. Only a particularly strong visitor would have the strength to be out so early and even then they would be a fraction of their strength but Skull had forced into her an acknowledgement of just how dangerous life in the village could be. One touch, just one. Just the slightest slip up and she would be dead.
Lucy continued down the darkening cobbled street, aware of the chill of the dusk creeping in. The wind whistled down the narrow road, creaking moulding wooden street signs and…
That wasn’t the wind. Maybe it was creaking the signs and the left open doors but the wind didn’t whistle a tune. It couldn’t.
All thoughts of returning to the castle were abandoned. All Lucy could think of was the whistling. She needed to work out where it was coming from.
Before she could think at all deeply about it, the whistling stopped abruptly, replaced by voices.
“I happen to think my whistling is very good,” one voice said. “Very merry.”
“And attracting any poltergeists in the area right to us,” another replied.
“We don’t have any guarantee there are any poltergeists in the village,” a final, older voice said.
He sounded a lot more tired than the other two, not willing to joke around with what they were saying.
But Lucy hardly cared what they were saying or even what they sounded like.
They were new voices.
Lucy was sure she had memorised everything anyone in Dunstonly Proper had to say apart from Skull which was no doubt the reason why he had been so eager to befriend her. He had spent years with no one he could have an actual conversation with. The thought of that made Lucy feel restless.
But that made her all the more sure that these were new voices. And if it was a set of new ghosts then Skull would want to know. He liked to feel in charge of his little domain and that meant knowing who was there all the time.
Lucy followed the voices, pressing noisily through the village. She knew every inch of the place intimately. Skull had made her vow to never leave the bounds of the town in case someone took her away from him. It was a little possessive but Lucy understood it all the same. She didn’t think she would be able to bear being that alone.
And then the voices stopped moving. Lucy closed in on them, ducking behind the grey plastered wall of one of the old cottages on the street. She peaked around the corner, seeing three people moving about in the village square, beginning to set up tents and unload supplies.
Lucy just stared. They couldn’t be normal ghosts. Ghosts didn’t build things. They just existed, trapped in a few moments.
Lucy was transfixed, studying each of the three in turn. One was a tall man wearing a level jacket. His dark hair was held back in a bun, stubble collected over the lower half of his face. He had a sword hanging from his side. He was focusing on setting up a large tent. Another, a shorter, younger man, with tightly curled hair and glasses, was standing a short distance away. He was holding some device that made appealing bleeping noises, wearing a thick, puffy coat. He kept calling things over his shoulders to the final of the three.
“Temperature is holding steady and I’m not sensing much. But it’s early.”
He was the one who held Lucy’s attention. He wore a suit and a large black great coat. His dark hair was quiffed and his skin was pale.
And he was nice to look at. He was nice to look at in a way that sat in Lucy’s chest, that made her face turn red. She wondered if she might be able to convince him to give up his source. She’d take it to the castle and then he’d be able to live there with her and Skull and all the other ghosts she had taken a liking to over the years.
She watched and waited, praying he would split off from the others, that she might be able to get him alone. She couldn’t take on three at once, she knew that. But if she could just trap him before the others noticed…
As if fate could hear the desperate desire of her heart, the pale young man turned to his companions.
“I’m going to take a look around,” he said. “You should set out the chains ready for sundown.”
“We’re not meant to go off alone,” the other young man declared.
“The man who set that rule has probably never been in the field in his life,” the pale young man replied. “He’s probably never seen an actual field either. That’s all to say I don’t think we should necessarily shackle ourselves to following his orders to the letter.”
They spoke intelligently. Both of them did. Lucy supposed that made sense. Skull had said the reason he wasn’t like the other ghosts was because he was more intelligent than them. Lucy hadn’t quite believed him, thinking it was big headedness on Skull’s part.
But clearly it was true.
Lucy had little time to dwell on the revelation, however. The one she wanted was peeling away from the others, beginning to make his way through the maze of streets. Lucy followed him for a moment, eyes tracing his progress. Besides Skull, she knew the village better than anyone. It wouldn’t be at all hard for her to find the perfect way to corner him.
She began to skirt around the village, following the young man.
He was like her, Lucy quickly realised. He too carried metal and did so without it harming him. However his was a sword and Lucy’s was a pipe. They had swords in the castle but Skull had never trusted her with them, saying that she was less likely to hurt herself with a pipe than one of their swords.
There were other things too. He didn’t glow like the other ghosts, even as the night began to set in even more. He didn’t float – instead he had to pick his way through the streets on foot. Lucy thought he had to be nimbler than her give the graceful way he navigated the collapsed ruins of an old cottage.
And yet there were differences too. He seemed to be able to see things Lucy couldn’t. Every so often his eyes would linger on a dull patch of cobble stones. He would tilt his head and kneel down and study it, a grim look on his face. Lucy wondered what could have been there when he had died to get such a reaction from him. She would have to ask once she had gotten him cornered.
The growing dark had a strange effect on him. Rather than growing more powerful, more confident, he seemed to become increasingly wary, eager to keep an eye on his surroundings. Lucy watched as his hand kept darting to his sword at the slightest movement.
He once even heard her following him. She’d knocked a small rock along the ground, hitting the wall. He’d drawn his sword as fast as lightning, turning sharply.
He squinted through the gloom, looking to and thro.
Then he turned back, continuing on with a fresh tension in his shoulders. The gloom grew more intense and Lucy could sense the air growing colder. Ghosts were going to start swarming soon. Lucy wondered how powerful he was going to become. If he was anything like Skull… She might be able to have a conversation with him. If she could, then she would have to keep his source. She just had to. And Skull wouldn’t mind for a moment. He would probably appreciate having more company.
She watched as the young man came to a stop, head tilting curiously to one side as he took in the building on his left. Lucy turned to it, trying to work out what could have caught his attention. She had been in that building a few times before to look around and see what was in there, unable to read the faded sign above the door. There were just planks of wood and bits of metal. Lucy had some understanding that those things were for building things but she had tried building stuff with Skull’s help and never been successful. She’d gathered up some of the interesting looking things though. There were metal things that matched with the metal that doors swung open on that Skull couldn’t quite remember the name of and things to put over your eyes and tools. Skull recognised hammers which Lucy thought was a very him thing to remember because it was a tool for smashing things up.
She watched as the young man moved inside. He dropped by the front door, grabbing an old, moulding wicker basket and beginning to patrol through the lines of items. Lucy followed him, watching as he picked up various items. He studied them with his keen eyes, choosing to drop some into his basket and others he put back on the shelves. Lucy crept after him, eyes playing over every inch of him.
He was alone. If she could work out what his source was…
He moved out of sight at the end of an aisle and Lucy hurried forward, trying to keep her footsteps silent on the hard flooring.
Just as she reached the end, however, a line of iron shot out and blocked her path. Lucy stared, following it to its source. It was the young man’s sword.
“Hello,” he greeted.
Lucy stumbled back. She was not prepared for a confrontation with an unknown ghost, not like this. She needed to put some distance between the two of them, work out exactly how she was going to handle him.
But he didn’t seem to be about to attack. Instead he looked at her curiously.
“How did you get in here? This place is meant to be sealed off.” he asked. “Sneak in through the fencing?”
Lucy said nothing because he could talk. He was actually talking to her, just like Skull could.
“No. No. I…”
She didn’t have the words. How could she not have the words? She had dreamt about meeting someone else she could talk to for so many years, longed for new connections. And now there was someone she could actually speak to standing right in front of her…
He offered her a glowing smile, nodding toward the bag in her grip.
“You scavenging?”
“Yes. I…”
He stepped closer and Lucy couldn’t help but stare. He was the most handsome person she had ever seen and she had seen photographs of Timothy Langsbury who was so good looking when he got crushed by a horse three women died of broken hearts - two of which still haunted the village.
“That can’t be very safe,” he said, reaching out toward her.
Lucy didn’t notice. Her attention was fixed on his face and his heart stopping smile.
And then his hand grazed against hers.
Lucy pulled her hand away like she had been electrocuted. She had seen what happened to people who touched the ghosts. They swelled up blue and died soon after. Skull had told her there was no cure for it.
Her eyes played over her hand, waiting to see the horror of the spreading blue colouring, the way her hand would swell into something bulbous. But it didn’t. Her hand remained completely the same. The young man watched her uneasily.
“Are you okay?” he began, stepping closer to her once more.
Lucy’s hand darted out. She skimmed his cheek with her fingertips and the warmth she felt almost burnt her.
And then something closed about her wrist and it was warm and inviting and Lucy couldn’t imagine something so comforting could ever be something bad that she didn’t dare pull away. She just stared at the young man.
And there was something in his eyes. Eyes had always been so interesting for Lucy because of the range inside them. There were some of her ghostly companions who had no eyes at all and others where their eyes were so faint and dead that they might not have been there. And then there were Skull’s eyes, that seemed to glisten with his intelligence and seemed so alive and sharp.
And Lucy had seen her own eyes reflected in puddles and glass and shattered mirrors. Hers looked like Skull’s in the way. They were keen and colourful and vibrant. She was the only person she knew whose eyes were brown and not some greenish translucent globe or some grey smudge.
The only person’s until she had encountered the young man. His eyes were brown and deep and as keen as hers. They were intelligent and caring and mournful and they reacted… They reacted to her.
They played up and down her face, catching on different places, seeming to try and work her out.
Lucy decided she very much wanted to keep the strange young man who felt like she had cornered a lick of fire and reacted to her. He had to be a ghost like her, the same rare type she was. She needed his source. If she had that, he wouldn’t be able to leave.
She wouldn’t have to be so alone anymore.
“Can you speak?” the young man asked.
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me your name?”
“My name is Lucy,” Lucy answered.
The young man smiled.
“My name is Lockwood. How did you get in here?”
Lucy didn’t know if she should explain. After all, he was unlike anyone she had ever met. Did he deserve to be trusted? Would he be angry with her for ending up staying in the village and never turning to her mother? But the concern in his voice felt so real and pure and Lucy couldn’t stop herself from telling him what she could remember. She decided not to mention Skull however.
“And you’ve been here by yourself? For years?” he managed.
“Yes.”
“How did you survive for so long?” he asked.
“You just don’t let anyone touch you.”
“And sleep during the day?” Lockwood pressed.
“Sleep very little,” Lucy said. “And during the day. Yeah. What are you doing here?”
The young man faltered.
“I… I’m not supposed to tell anyone. It’s top secret.”
He said that with such an importance that Lucy supposed she was meant to be impressed. And she was even if she didn’t exactly understand what he was saying. He just had a way of saying it that made everything he said sound very important.
“And I really don’t think I am allowed to tell you because you broke in here.”
He paused, looking her up and down.
“How about I escort you to the edge of the village and we say no more about this? You pretend you haven’t seen me, I pretend I haven’t seen you.”
“But I live here,” Lucy replied.
“But it’s really not safe to be living here. I can’t in good conscience leave you here alone.”
Lucy shook her head, backing away from him. She couldn’t make sense of him but she certainly didn’t want to leave. In fact, that was the last thing she wanted.
“You should come with me,” Lucy said. “I could take care of you. Just give me your source and-”
“I don’t have a source,” the young man protested.
Lucy’s brow furrowed and she shook her head, telling him that everyone had a source but her.
“Every ghost has a source. I don’t because I am not a ghost.”
“Of course you are,” Lucy told him. “The entire village is ghosts.”
Still Lockwood shook his head. He went to open his mouth and Lucy did the same. It wouldn’t be the first time a ghost had failed to notice they were dead. She tried to remember what she had said to ghosts in the past to get them to acknowledge the fact but couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. Clearly Skull was wrong about ghosts that were capable of speech being very intelligent. Surely if they were Lockwood would have been able to work out he was dead.
But before the words came, Lucy heard a noise like footsteps upon the floor. Her eyes widened, looking around. Lockwood looked the same way.
“You getting something?” he asked.
Lucy gripped her pipe tighter and swallowed hard. Her hands felt sweaty against the metal. She knew which ghost lived in that particular store and she didn’t like him. She normally took great efforts to avoid him. In fact, she was never normally out so late in that area because of him. It was why she hadn’t even thought to be concerned about his arrival. Only an insane person would be in that area when the ghosts awoke.
“Hammer-man.”
Some of the ghosts in the village, Lucy knew the names of. She had been able to get stories from Skull or overhear ghostly voices calling their names but most were nameless. Or, at least, their names had been lost to writing Lucy could not read. She had started given them new names so she could separate them in her head and tell Skull of her adventures.
The Hammer-man was one of the nastier ghosts. He was a short, balding man who wore suspenders and a grubby checked shirt. He had thick glasses and a blood splattered face and a hammer in his hand, also covered in blood. He had been shot in the chest which Lucy supposed had been what had killed him.
She tried not to speculate as to the cause of death of each ghost, on who they were and what they had wanted in life. Skull had told her not to, that it humanised them and why would anyone want that? Her protests that the ghosts had once been human fell on deaf ears.
But she wasn’t sure the Hammer-man had ever really been human in the first place.
“Hammer-man?” Lockwood whispered. “Sounds ominous.”
The footsteps were growing closer. Lockwood had his sword at the ready, staring down the aisle Lucy’s eyes were fixed down. And then the figure appeared. The Hammer-man never walked anywhere. That had confused Lucy at first. She’d heard approaching footsteps but there was no sign of the man actually walking.
Instead the Hammer-man floated, limbs sagging down like he was a puppet with cut strings. His head was tilted limply to one side like he was asleep but the moment his soulless eyes fixed onto the two of them he straightened up. His head pulled into position and Lucy felt a malice rolling off of him like waves. It reminded Lucy of watching a stray cat cornering a rat.
“We should run,” Lockwood said.
Lucy almost yelped as she felt Lockwood’s warm fingers tangling themselves in with hers. She looked down at her hand only to be roughly yanked backward. Lockwood slid himself between Lucy and the Hammer-man, slashing dangerously through the air with his rapier. Lucy watched as the ectoplasmic hammer was sent tumbling through the air toward Lockwood more than once. The young man skilfully dodged it once and managed to catch the man’s arm with the trailing end of his rapier to warn him off trying something like it again.
Still the Hammer-man refused to be dissuaded from his prey. He lunged again, letting out an inhuman screech. Lucy ripped her hand free from Lockwood’s to shield her ears, just as the Hammer-man sent his hammer crashing down toward Lockwood’s shoulder. Desperately, the young man threw himself backwards.
It was a misjudged move, sending him crashing into a display of screws. He tripped as he tried to twist away and fell heavily.
Lucy waited for him to get up but he didn’t move. He didn’t even let out a groan.
A nasty smile spread across the Hammer-man’s face. He glided through the air, hanging over Lockwood.
Who still didn’t move. Why wouldn’t he move?
Lucy watched as the Hammer-man moved toward Lockwood, lowering himself down so he hung a meter above his head. Then he readied the hammer, going to swing downwards.
Lucy didn’t exactly know what being ghost touched would do to the young man but one thing was obvious: something so cold was bound to steal his warmth from him. All of that precious, beautiful warmth that Lucy so desperately craved would be gone.
Lucy couldn’t let that happen.
She surged forward with a cry of rage, throwing her pipe. It cartwheeled end over end through the air until it passed through the distracted form of the Hammer-man. He fizzled and burnt away and Lucy let out a sigh of relief.
Still, she knew he wouldn’t be gone for long. He would quickly reform and she needed to get out of there before he did.
Which meant getting Lockwood out of there too. Lucy refused to leave him. She wanted to keep him. She wanted his company and his warmth and his smile
She raced to his side, not daring to touch him for a moment in case he had died. She didn’t know how long after a person’s death it became dangerous to touch them.
But she saw the steady rise and fall of his chest and realised he had to just be sleeping.
She nudged him, seeing if she would be able to get him to wake up but he didn’t react. Lucy frowned, unsure what to do. If he was asleep, he wasn’t going to be able to defend himself. Any of the ghosts could get at him and rob him of that warmth Lucy so loved.
But could she move him? He seemed light enough but Lucy didn’t know. And then she paused.
She had been to the back of the store. She had seen large flat beds on wheels with long handles for her to pull. If she could load him up into one of them…
Eyes sparkling with excitement, Lucy rushed into the back of the shop.