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The next two doors were sealed shut, their handles unmoving. As I reached for the last door, it swung open before I even made contact with the handle.

I hesitated, then stepped inside.

The bedroom was small but warm, the kind of space that felt lived in, and cared for. A double bed sat against the wall, layered in crocheted blankets and handmade quilts. The walls were clad in aged wood, bare except for the glass wall sconces, their candle flames flickering soft and golden. A table lamp sat on a knotted pine nightstand. A matching wardrobe and chest of drawers stood at the foot of the bed, completing the room’s quiet, unassuming charm.

I cleared my throat. “Is this, uh... my room for the evening?”

The table lamp flickered, and I took that as a yes.

Tentatively, I crossed the room, setting my cup of tea on the nightstand before lowering myself onto the bed. The moment I sank into the mattress, a low groan of pure bliss slipped out—it was easily the most comfortable bed I’d ever felt, and for an incubus demon, that was saying something.

I took a slow breath and shrugged off my jacket, letting it drop carelessly to the floor.

Instantly, the lamp flickered angrily, causing me to frown. Slowly, I bent down, picked up my jacket, and slung it over the bedpost instead.

The lamp pulsed once, satisfied.

So, the ghost is a bit of a neat freak. Noted.

With forced casualness, I stretched, feigning a long, dramatic yawn. “Well,” I said, settling against the pillows, “it’s been really nice getting to know you, ghost, but”—another exaggerated yawn—“it’s late, and I think I ought to retire for the evening.”

In response, the bedroom door creaked closed, the sound slow and deliberate.

I took the last sip of my tea, set the empty cup aside, and pulled the bedclothes around me—still fully dressed for a quick exit if needed.

The candles flickered, their warm glow softening for just a moment before, one by one, the flames extinguished themselves. I let out a slow breath, bracing myself for a very long, very restless night.

***

To my surprise, I must have fallen asleep almost immediately. The bed had a never-want-to-leave level of comfort and was totally worth the haunting.

I stretched lazily, my eyes squeezed shut against the offensive glare of morning light seeping through the curtains. Piercing morning light aside, I could get used to this.

Until I fluttered my eyes open and found myself staring directly into the empty, depthless void of the bedsheet ghost’s eyes.

Instinct took over. With zero hesitation, my fist landed directly between the ghost’s eyes. Except, instead of hitting anything solid, my entire forearm disappeared into the sheet. The ghost collapsed to the floor in a limp heap of fabric.

For a split second, everything was still.

Suddenly, the window rattled violently, flinging itself open with a loud clatter, an icy November wind whipping into theroom with ball-shriveling force. The bedsheet stirred, lashing into the air and thrashing violently.

“Sorry!” I yelped, throwing off the blankets and scrambling to my feet. “I didn’t mean to punch you! You just gave me a fright, is all!”

The sheet-ghost didnotaccept my apology.

It lashed out, snapping at my arms and legs, before whipping itself into the hallway. With a dramatic, furious flourish, it slammed the bedroom door shut behind it. A second later, from somewhere above me, the attic door crashed closed with enough force to shake the rafters.

Fuck this shit.

I grabbed my jacket and vaulted down the stairs, skipping steps in my rush to get the hell out of this house. The moment I crossed the threshold, the front door slammed behind me, shaking the entire porch.

With a sharp inhale, I summoned my shadows, reaching for the pull of my realm, willing the darkness to swallow me whole and take me home.

Nothing happened.

I clenched my fists, frustration prickling at my skin like static.

If I couldn’t figure out how to get back to my own realm, I was going to have a lot of making up to do to the ghost.