Chapter 2 Unseen Tenants
A hysterical scream burst from my throat before I could stop it. I leaped backward by reflex until my heel slammed hard into the edge of the wooden table behind me.
CRASH!
Grandma's keepsake ceramic cup slipped from my grip and shattered into pieces across the floor. The remaining golden tea splashed everywhere, staining the old wood I had just painstakingly swept.
My attention was completely shattered by the translucent old man still floating casually in midair. Instead of looking guilty or startled, the ghost plugged his ears tightly, looking deeply annoyed.
"Oh, good heavens! The frequency of your scream is bouncing off the wooden walls far too harshly, sweetie!"
"Y-You... you can talk?! You're floating?!" I shrieked, gasping for air.
The ghost stroked his translucent mustache with practiced elegance, as if attending a high-society tea party.
"Of course I can talk. And the name is Barnaby, not 'you.' Please respect what little dignity a former poet has left."
My heart pounded so hard it felt like it would leap out of my chest. An icy chill froze every joint in my body. This was no fever dream or wild imagination brought on by exhaustion.
The floating figure in front of me was literally a ghost.
"Barnaby! Can you tell that amateur human not to scream like a wild boar in the middle of the night?!"
A high-pitched, aristocratic voice echoed loudly from the direction of the winding staircase.
Before I could process this absurd situation, a female ghost in a puffy, royal-era gown glided down gracefully. Her layered evening gown glowed with a faint bluish tint.
In one hand, she held a translucent feather fan, waving it dramatically at her face.
"My beauty sleep has been utterly ruined by that uncultured screech," the female ghost complained, looking down at me critically from above.
My eyes bulged.
"T-There's another ghost?!" my voice squeaked, barely audible as my throat suddenly went bone-dry.
"Of course, sweetie. Allow me to introduce Lady Cordelia," Barnaby replied warmly, entirely unbothered.
Lady Cordelia snapped her fan shut with a sharp motion, pointing an ethereal finger right at my face.
"Look at my spectral makeup—ruined by your tacky outburst, Inn Girl!"
My legs shook so violently I had to grab the edge of the front desk to keep from collapsing. Before my brain could even register the overly dramatic noble ghost, the clatter of banging dishes echoed from the kitchen.
CLATTER! BANG!
Metal utensils collided in a noisy, chaotic chorus.
"Hurray! The Innkeeper girl can finally see us!"
From the open kitchen doorway, a transparent young boy in shabby clothes and a crooked newsboy cap shot out.
He spun through the air like a top, zip-zooming across the lounge at high speed. In one hand, he clutched my large wooden kitchen spoon.
Whoosh!
Without warning, the little ghost hurled the wooden spoon right at my forehead.
"Watch out!" I squeaked instinctively, ducking down quickly.
THUD!
The wooden spoon hit the stone wall right behind me with a hard bang before bouncing onto the floor.
"Pip! Stop that awful habit of yours!" Lady Cordelia scolded, slapping her forehead with her feather fan.
The ghost boy, Pip, just cackled, sticking his tongue out playfully as he floated upside down against the ceiling.
"Gotcha! Almost!" he cheered, completely unrepentant.
The remaining strength in my knees completely evaporated. I collapsed, slumping onto the cold wooden floor right beside the scattered shards of the teacup.
My vision blurred—no longer from the magic of the tea, but from sheer dizziness at this absurd situation. My newly opened inner eyes were forced to witness three invisible beings taking over my lounge.
My bewildered brain started connecting the dots behind all the strange occurrences in the Thistlewood Inn over the past months.
Why did the spoons and forks in the kitchen always move on their own? Pip.
Why did the rocking chair in the lounge gently sway even when the windows were shut tight? Barnaby.
Why was the blanket in the master bedroom on the second floor always neatly folded, smelling of antique wildflowers? Lady Cordelia.
"That tea..." I rasped, staring at the ceramic fragments on the floor. "Grandma's tea blend in the attic... it wasn't a normal fever remedy, was it?"
Barnaby drifted down silently in front of me, crossing his legs casually in midair just inches from my toes.
"Ah, you just realized? That was a sight-enhancing elixir your grandmother hid away in her secret chest."
I swallowed hard.
"How... how long have you all been in this inn?" I asked, my breath ragged.
"Since the inn was first built, sweetie," Barnaby replied with a warm, completely unbothered smile.
"We're the most loyal residents at the Thistlewood Inn!" Pip chimed in cheerfully, diving down to hang upside down from Barnaby's cloak.
"And we never charge a fee for our delightful presence," Lady Cordelia added, swishing her gown with pride.
A sudden wave of intense frustration flared in my chest. My head felt like it was going to burst right then and there.
For months, I had worked myself to the bone alone, crying over mounting tax bills, and desperate for a way to keep this place from being foreclosed...
Turns out I was living with three freeloader ghosts who hadn't paid a single copper in rent!
"I just want to faint," I muttered, squeezing my eyes shut and clutching my temples. "Please, just let me pass out right now."
Far from taking pity on my miserable state, the three ghosts crowded even closer around me on the floor.
Barnaby adjusted his translucent cloak, Cordelia whined about the dusty wooden floor, and Pip started tugging at the ends of my hair with spectral fingers that felt like ice cubes.
"Don't faint yet! We haven't discussed tomorrow's afternoon tea schedule!" Lady Cordelia prattled impatiently.
"Yeah! I want cinnamon cookies from Mabel's Bakery!" Pip added, clapping his hands.
"And I need a new roll of parchment to compose my weekend poetry," Barnaby added enthusiastically.
"Enough... please, just shut up for a second..." I whispered in defeat, burying my face in my hands.
BOOM!
A thunderous crash suddenly slammed against the front door of the Thistlewood Inn. The impact was so powerful that the wooden hinges shook violently, sending ancient dust showering down from the ceiling.
A freezing wind swept under the door frame, carrying in a thick fog that smelled of damp earth and oppressive, suffocating magic.
The noisy, ridiculous atmosphere in the room vanished without a trace in the blink of an eye.
Barnaby, Lady Cordelia, and Pip went dead silent. Their translucent forms dimmed rapidly as they stared at the front door with unusual caution and panic.
The carved old wooden door creaked open slowly with a long, agonizing groan. Thick night fog curled inside, sweeping across the floorboards and snuffing out half the candles in the lounge.
Standing in the doorway was a tall man wrapped in a heavy pitch-black coat. The aura surrounding him was icy, thick, and radiating an ominous magic pressure that made the hair on my arms stand up.
He stepped inside casually, revealing a sharp jawline, striking pale skin, and jet-black hair smooth as the night. His sharp, dark eyes scanned the room before locking onto me, still sitting limply on the floor.
His thin lips curved into a subtle, barely perceptible smile—a dangerous charm capable of stopping anyone's heart.
"Excuse me... is this inn still taking guests?"
