Page 9 of Spooked
“Depends if you like living dangerously.”
I chuckle. Huh, maybe I do.
The first room is absolutely brilliant. It’s a Victorian funeral parlor, complete with a coffin surrounded by weeping wax mourners. But it’s the details that really impress me—dust motes floating in beams of faux moonlight, velvet drapes frayed to perfection, a sheet music stand holding a requiem dotted with “blood” stains.
“This is fantastic,” I breathe, running a finger over a mourner’s lace handkerchief. “It feels…authentic. Not cheesy.”
Devin smiles. “Wolfe studied nineteenth-century mourning rituals for months. Every prop has a story.”
“Why go to such lengths? Most haunted attractions just throw up some fake spiders and call it a night.”
“Because for him, it’s not always about scares…though that’s a lot of it.” Devin adjusts a crooked candelabra. “It’s also about honoring the beauty in darkness.”
We move through rooms more elaborate than any movie set, a laboratory with vials of glowing “ectoplasm,” a library where books shiver on shelves, a ballroom filled with ghostly dancers. Each space feels somewhat alive.
“He’s an artist,” I say, staring at a fresco of doomed lovers painted across a ceiling.
“We tell him that often, but compliments make him grouchy. Last time someone said it he threatened to tear everything down and build a torture chamber.”
We shake our heads and laugh, as a cold breeze snakes down the hallway. Ghost appears, silent as ever.
“West wing’s leaking again,” he tells Devin. “Need you to check the Forgotten Souls exhibit’s wiring before it fries the ghosts.”
Ghost glances at us. “I can take over the tour.”
With that Devin departs and I follow Ghost. He’s surprisingly knowledgeable about both the manor's history and the artistry behind its transformation into a haunted attraction. Each room’s theme is meticulously crafted to elicit a specific emotional response—from the subtle disquiet of the Portrait Gallery, where eyes in paintings seem to follow you, to the pulse-quickening terror of the Plague Doctor's Laboratory.
"Devin tells me Wolfe designed everything himself," I say, genuinely impressed.
"Every detail," Ghost confirms. "He has a master's degree in fine arts, specializing in theatrical design. Did it online after his medical discharge."
This surprises me. "I didn't know that."
"There's a lot you don't know about him."
We pause in a hallway lined with antique mirrors of various shapes and sizes. My reflection multiplies and distorts as we pass, creating the disorienting sensation of being watched from every angle.
"Like what?" I ask. "His military service? The injury?"
Ghost stops walking, turning to face me directly. In the dim light, his expression is unreadable. "Why are you really here, Ash?"
"For the assignment."
"Thrill Seeker Magazine could have sent anyone. Why you?"
I frown. "What are you getting at? I got this gig because I'm good at what I do." I shake my head, genuinely offended. "I'm here to photograph a haunted attraction and its reclusive owner for a Halloween feature, not conduct some covert investigation."
Ghost studies me for a long moment. "I was there when he took the blast in order to save the six of us in his unit. Even after that he carried two to the medevac himself, bleeding out.”
My throat tightens. “I—didn’t...”
“The man saved my life. I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I didn’t cover all the bases. Protect him like he did me. He's been through enough."
"I'm not trying to hurt him," I say more gently. "I just want to do my job."
After another evaluating look, Ghost nods once. "I get a good vibe from you. But I wanted to be sure.” He smiles. “The Hall of Whispers is through here. It's one of our most popular attractions."
And just like that he’s dropped the subject.
