Page 43 of Monstrous Travels as Wicked as Sin

“Just at the end of the hall. Hopefully, we can avoid it.”

Their attention was called away by a rumble behind them. Two handsome faces flicked to the mantelpiece to see a large,heavy candelabra, shaking, more and more violently, until it was rocking side to side, edging closer.

Both hearts pumped fresh blood in readiness to dodge an assault, but the thing simply slipped to the floor with a sharp clang, and rolled to still in the dust.

“It is quite heavy, I suppose,” said Joe.

Percy laughed, threw an arm around Joe’s neck, and brought them back on track.

Every remaining room was much the same, in that each was completely different from the last. The same homely, chaotic, orderly disorder, over and over. Parlours, the library, the kitchen and bathroom, the occasional guest room. But wherever the building meandered, if it ran beneath those upper floorboards, the dust coated every surface, and remained totally undisturbed until they passed through. When they finally wound their way back to where they began, and to the base of a thin and uneven staircase by the living room, they felt marginally more confident that they were alone.

Until the top step creaked.

Percy’s foot was on the bottom stair, blade at the ready, eyes locked on.

Joe’s hand was on his arm. “It’s a ghost. It has to be. Unless there’s another way in upstairs?”

“No.” Percy gave a nod and slowed his movement. “You’re right.”

“So just… keep an eye out for flying objects. We’ll be fine.”

“Yes. Though…” Percy commenced the ascent, thinking out loud, “There wasn’t a poltergeist here before. There were—obviously it’s haunted, but never anything physical like the vase and the candelabra. That suggests it’s a new ghost and, well, you know what that means.”

“A trauma haunting.” Joe took Percy’s little finger into his hand, drawing his worried gaze. “We knew this was going to happen. Or that it was likely. That’s why we’re here.”

“It’s the ash, though. If it’s what I think it is…” He trailed off, not ready yet to reveal his full, grotesque thoughts to Joe. “What if it’s not ghosts?”

The floorboards above shifted, and a shimmer of powder fell between them.

“If it’s not a ghost, then what the hell is it?”

Percy shook his head in response.

Joe released Percy’s hand and let him be just as alert and ready for a fight as he needed to be.

The top of the stairs intersected with a thin hall leading away to the left and right. Carpeted, just as Percy said it would be, a deep and rich blue, with barely a hint of dust.

Percy checked both directions and led them off to the right. The hall continued, thinly, clad in faded cream and gold floral wallpaper to a barred window at the end. A painting shuffled, flew off the wall and smashed into the wall opposite. “This is different,” said Percy, ignoring the painting. He quickened his pace to the nearest door and stopped dead, bracing himself against the frame.

Inside was a spartan room. One bed, metal frame, bars on the window. He quickly moved on to the next. One bed, metal frame, bars on the window. Then again, then again, until he strode past Joe back up the hall to find exactly the same on the other side. “She’s turned it into a prison.”

There was, above, a third floor yet to investigate, but Percy moved around the stairs and to the base of this next flight, then dropped to the floor. He dug his dagger deep into the blue carpet and ripped it apart. He tore two long lines, parallel, then slit a path between them, flipping the carpet back to reveal the floorboards.

Dusty beneath that carpet.

He dug the knife between two planks and levered it back and forth until his dagger was like to snap.

“Let me.” Percy moved back, and Joe brought the crowbar crashing down on the old wood. He hit it three times, hard, gaining enough purchase on the splintering wood to slide the crowbar in. His hands and his wrists shook with the effort, until finally, the board snapped in two.

Percy moved strong fingers around the broken plank and wrenched it back with a loud crack.

Dust and more dust lay beneath the floorboard. Thick dust. Disturbingly thick.

Percy straightened his hand and pushed it in. Down and down his fingers sank, touching a solid surface only once he was in to the wrist. “That’s a lot of dust.” Percy’s harrowed gaze passed towards the expanse of the hall, his mind calculating just how many metres square that floor was, because it leaked the dust over every inch beneath. He ran his hand through the mess, searching, saying, “You’re a priest. Just how much ash do you think a cremated body makes?”

Joe had, for some time, been thinking the same awful thought. It only made things worse to know Percy had already come to that conclusion. “About three litres.”

“And less for a teenage girl, I’ll wager.” His hard eyes met Joe’s. “So, how many do you think it would take to fill this space?”

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