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“Those are, uh... lovely shutters you’re rattling.”

The rattling stopped instantly. One single shutter creaked open, slow and suspicious, like it was assessing whether my compliment was genuine.

Was I actually going to flirt with the ghost?

I sighed and doubled down. I needed to peddle my charm if I was going to have a roof over my head for the night. “Are they... original?”

The single shutter trembled excitedly.

Alright. This was happening.

“And the windows—positively sparkling.” I gestured vaguely. “Did you... recently have them washed? You shouldn’t hide such pretty windows behind shutters.”

The shutters quivered in delight. Then, all of them swung open at once, revealing the gleaming glass beneath, catching the moonlight as the house preened at the compliment.

I caught a glimpse of something above the door: a dust-covered security camera, barely visible beneath a layer of cobwebs.

For a brief moment, I wondered if the owner of this haunted house was sitting somewhere with popcorn, watching as one monster after another fled in terror, collecting footage of the chaos for their own amusement.

Well, they wouldn’t be getting a show from me.

Steeling my nerves, I stepped onto the porch, running a finger over the wooden pillar. Intricate carvings wound their way up the column—a delicate crisscross of brambles, twisting and curling around the grain. I exhaled softly, brushing my thumb over the design.

“This is beautiful,” I said, and—surprisingly—I meant it.

The front door swung open with a dramatic creak, and light exploded from within, candle flames bursting to life on every available surface.

A warm breeze curled around my legs, not threatening, but urging me inside.

I hesitated, sucking in a deep breath before stepping over the threshold, and found myself exhaling with a whistle.

The interior was breathtaking .

If I’d had the imagination for it, this was exactly what my home would look like in the Shadow Realm.

In fact, I was already mentally mapping every detail, committing it to memory.

Because once I figured out how the hell to get back to my realm, I was going to conjure a replica of this cabin down to the very last carved detail.

A cast iron woodstove crackled merrily in the stone hearth, its glow spilling warmth into the room. Above it, sprigs of dried herbs hung from the mantle, the heat teasing out their scent, filling the space with the comforting aroma of rosemary, thyme, and something faintly floral.

A couch—draped in what could only be described as an unholy number of blankets and throws—faced the fire, and I felt an almost overwhelming urge to collapse onto it, curl up in front of the flames, and alternate between sleeping and reading a smutty romance for the next century.

The coffee table looked hand carved, its angles slightly askew, as if someone had poured their love into the craftsmanship but not necessarily their measuring skills. Stacks of board games and jigsaw puzzles filled its bottom shelf, adding to the feeling that this wasn’t just a house, but a home.

I tried to shove aside the unsettling bit of information the old basilisk had hinted at—the tragic fate of the previous owners and their daughter.

A sudden whistling from the next room made me start, and I turned toward the sound.

The kitchen was just as big as the living room, all rustic charm and warmth, worn in the best way.

Aside from an old gas stove, where a kettle merrily boiled, there were no obvious appliances.

If there were any, they must have been cleverly hidden inside the cabinets.

It was perfect.

Right down to the handmade table, its carved brambles twisting elegantly up the legs.

The moment the whistling quieted, a soft clink echoed through the kitchen. A cup appeared on the counter, just as one of the cupboard doors swung open to reveal an array of jars, each brimming with herbs. My mouth watered as I spied a chamomile blend.

I hesitated, glancing around the very empty room before clearing my throat.

“Uh... is that cup for me?” I asked, feeling ridiculous for talking to empty space.

A soft swishing sound filled the air, and out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a billowing bedsheet vanishing behind the doorframe.

Okay. So not quite alone. And, so far, not in any immediate danger.

My fingers clasped around the jar of chamomile tea. I tipped a generous amount into the strainer and poured the boiling water over it, inhaling the familiar, soothing scent. If nothing else, this tea would at least help me sleep in a house with a ghost.

“This is wonderful,” I said, directing my voice toward the space where the ghost had been. “May I see upstairs?”

Instantly, candles flared to life in the far corner of the living room, casting warm golden light over the stairway. As I made my way to the stairs, I caught sight of the ghost peeking over the headrest of the wooden-framed armchair, watching me carefully as I explored its home.

The steps creaked beneath me, the weight of the ghost’s gaze lingering on my back.

The small landing at the top had four doors.

I placed a hand on the first, pushing it open.

Inside, the bathroom was rustic and inviting, dominated by a freestanding cast iron tub that looked so comfortable, I nearly abandoned my exploration on the spot.

If I survived the night, I was definitely going to have a long soak in it.

A climbing plant had claimed one wall, its vines creeping onto the ceiling, weaving between the wooden beams. Candles in ornate wall sconces cast flickering shadows across a large bathroom mirror, which sat above a deep ceramic sink.

I caught a flash of movement in the mirror, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end as I made eye contact with the ghost watching me from the landing. I exhaled, shook off the unease, and when I glanced back in the mirror, the ghost was gone.

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 the room 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 did not accept 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.