Page 20 of Grim

What’sinaName

“H ello.” The house ghost continues speaking as he waves innocently at the two of us.

I flinch so hard that I nearly fall backward into Kane’s very solid, very annoyingly silent form.

My hand shoots out on instinct, grabbing his arm for balance.

Evidently, that is a mistake because the moment I touch him, the warmth returns.

Not the gentle, oh, he’s wearing cashmere warmth, but the kind that seeps under the skin, coils around my ribs, and whispers, Stay .

He tenses immediately—as if I were fire and he were dry tinder.

He pulls away from me so fast that you’d think I’d slapped him. His face is blank, but his green eyes flicker just for a second.

I bite the inside of my cheek, keeping the rush of disappointment from leaking out.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” I mutter, mostly to myself. My heart’s still skipping around like I forgot to take my medication. I tell myself it’s because of the pint-sized ghost, but my body knows better.

“Um …” Kane stammers like a man who just woke from a dream and hasn’t decided if it was a nightmare or a fantasy. Probably the former. He clears his throat. “Well, lucky for you, you only have days left, so getting used to anything is frivolous at this po int.”

What a romantic.

“You are such an asshole,” I snap, brushing past him. My shoulder hits his as I go, and, damn it, there it is again—that low flicker of heat curling in my gut. I hate that it’s there almost as much as I hate that I like it.

And I really hate that he pulled away as if he felt it, too, and didn’t want it.

“Do you two not like each other?” the spirit asks a little too brightly.

“We’re growing on each other,” Kane says suggestively.

“Like bacteria,” I bite back immediately.

“The petri dish was invented in 1887 at Berlin University by an assistant to Dr. Robert Koch,” the diminutive spirit spouts out.

I blink. He’s standing in the kitchen doorway, hair messy, soot-smudged cheeks.

“Okay …” I draw the word out to fill the silence. I’m unsure how else to respond to that random comment.

“And how would you know that?” Kane asks.

The boy shrugs his small shoulders. “They have this invention called a tel-e-vision. Be surprised what facts you pick up on when it’s running.”

Despite myself, my heart clenches. This child has been terrorizing this home for as long as my family has lived here.

Flashbacks of terrified moments and pulse-pounding scares race through my mind.

Those adrenaline spikes aren’t ideal for me.

I rub at my chest mindlessly. I’ve spent countless hours over the past years cursing this specter that I can now see clear as day.

His pale skin peeks out from behind his charcoaled face, which also makes his innocent blue eyes pop even more brightly.

He can’t be more than ten , I think to myself, lost in the absurdity of this moment that feels so real.

That’s because it is real, Rue , I remind myself. This is your life now. Such as it is.

The fire from my previous exchange with Kane mixes with the confusion of facing the ghost who has haunted this house for generations, and my mind begins to spiral. I take a steadying breath, reminding myself that I don’t need to fix everything at once. Start small .

“What’s your name?” I ask the wide-eyed, hollowed-cheek boy on the opposite end of the living room.

“Haven’t got a name,” he replies matter-of-factly.

Well, this is off to a great start.

I glance over at Kane.

“Don’t look at me,” he says. “I just work here.”

“What do you mean, you don’t have a name? Everyone has a name. Mine is Rue.”

“That’s a lovely name,” he whispers. “Can I have that one?”

“What? No. You cannot have my name. What did your parents call you?”

“Haven’t got those either.”

“Everyone has parents, child,” Kane says only slightly dismissively. “It’s a bit of a biological necessity.”

“I never knew mine. Raised in an orphanage, I was. Managed to get meself on a ship headed to the ‘New World,’ they called it. The boat landed here, and I saw all these beautiful homes with these incredible chimneys. Thought to meself, Self, you’re small.

I’ll bet you could make a bit of coin cleaning those chimneys. Provide a useful service on top. ”

“How old were you? How old are you?” I ask, fascinated.

“They didn’t take great care with birthdays or recordkeeping at St. Stevens, so I don’t quite know how old I am. I think I mighta been nine when I came over and couldn’t have worked the homes more than a year before I met my end. Which turned out not to be much of an end in the end.”

“So, your age is unclear too. Wow.”

I think for a moment before the ghost boy interjects with more of his tale.

“Got stuck in the chimney I did. Got proper scared, but told meself it was just a little game of hide-and-seek and someone would come looking for me any minute. That helped with the fear, but didn’t change the outcome.”

“So, what are you still doing here? Why didn’t you cross over? And what is the deal with all the cabinets opening and plate throwing?”

“Oh yeah. I stayed because I’d never belonged anywhere before. Never had a home. It felt nice to feel like I was a part of something, tied to somewhere after a short life of wandering nowhere. Now I’m just a bit bored, I guess.”

“Shine wears off after a couple hundred years,” Kane mutters.

“I still feel a deep connection to the house that I can’t seem to shake, but I remember what it was like to disappear in that darkness, no one even bothering to look for me.

I’ve been trying to get someone’s attention ever since.

Been trying to play hide-and-seek for ages, and no one ever tries to find me.

So, I make a bit of noise to make it easier for them. ”

“Aside from being invisible to me until recently, you haven’t been that hard to miss,” I say, a bit awestruck at all of this.

“You two sure weren’t easy to miss with all the noises you were just making in here.”

I blush at the memory, and then my mind catches up with my mouth as I try to wrap my head around this specter’s sad story. “You never knew your parents. You never had a birthday. And you don’t even have a name. That’s awful.”

I look at Kane, who stares on, nonplussed. “Do something.”

“We all play the cards we were dealt, Mayday. Not everyone’s story belongs to the annals of time.

Most don’t, in fact. Most do the best they can with what little time they have and are forgotten faster than their bodies can cool.

If they’re even ever truly known in the first place.

Which, it sounds like, this poor chap wasn’t. ”

“That’s grim,” I reply. My feelings of pity and hopelessness overwhelming me.

“That’s life.”

“Or in this case, afterlife,” I mumble.

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” He speaks over me.

“Or in this case, the reaper.” My ire for Kane bubbles back to the surface.

“Grim. Reaper,” the young ghost coos on a light laugh, seemingly unfazed by his own doomed lot in life.

“The concept of a scythe-wielding skeleton of death originated during the Black Death in Europe, when robed figures began appearing in art meant to depict the savage destruction of a third of the population.”

“Weren’t you alive during the Black Death?”

“No. My story begins many years later, during a second epidemic in France in the 1600s. I’m not that old!”

“Well, either way, I think that’s a fitting name for your melancholic moodiness, Grim .”

“We’re not doling out nicknames when this poor child hasn’t even been given the honor of one name. Really, Rue. How very rude,” Kane deflects sardonically, but there’s a sliver of truth to his jab that hits me right in the solar plexus.

As I think back on all the things I’ve said to this faceless entity over the years, I blanch.

I am mortified that I spoke so hostilely to a mere child.

I never stopped to think about his circumstances.

It never occurred to me he could be anything more than a nuisance to me.

I used words that cut and wounded because I had no sense of who was causing this trouble.

He had no face. So, I treated him as if he didn’t have a heart either.

And now that I can see the warm gaze and friendly demeanor of this apparition, I feel terrible for the way I mistreated him in the past. We are so quick to show unkindness to that which we do not know.

Determined to do right by the family ghost, I decide to make up for past faults.

“You’re right,” I say begrudgingly to Kane, then turn my attention back to the boy.

“And you. I am very sorry that I’ve been so mean to you over the years.

The way I’ve spoken to you is unacceptable.

I never stopped to think of what you might be going through. ”

“It’s okay. How could you have known?”

“Well, I won’t let it happen again. We need to give you a name.” I think back to his tale for clues about a proper name. “What about Steven? In honor of the first place you remember living.”

“Don’t much care to remember that place. Bad memories there, to be certain.”

“Of course. That makes sense.” Then it hits me. “Since you don’t have to hide anymore, little guy, it’s your turn to explore. What about Seek? ”

“I like that,” the child says, his ash-stained face alight. “Call me Seek.” He beams with pride.

“And now you’ve been found,” Kane grumbles to my left, taking in the exchange between me and the child with something unfamiliar behind his eyes.

My eyes stay locked on Kane, who has gone eerily still, his jaw clenched so tight that I can see the muscles twitching. His hands are fisted at his sides, but it’s not anger I see—I don’t know what it is.

Is he mad at me? Is he upset over the kiss?

I swallow hard and turn away. “I’m gonna make some tea. Wanna help pick out the cups, Seek?”

“I’d love to!”

“The selection is limited on account of a certain ash-faced adolescent using the china for gravity experiments, but I’m sure we’ll find something.” I smile at Seek as we walk to the kitchen.

My fingers tremble as I reach for the kettle. I need to ground myself, focus on something real. Boiling water, tea leaves. My mind wanders where it shouldn’t. To Kane’s lips.

Those lips.

I lean against the counter and shut my eyes, trying to block it out—but it’s there, vivid as ever.

The way his mouth claimed mine. The press of his body. The sound he made—somewhere between a growl and a sigh.

He kissed me like he was dying. Or like I was. And now? He won’t even look at me.

I stare down at my hands. They’re still shaking. From the grief, from the boy’s story. From Kane.

I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know if he regrets it. But I do know this: I’ve never been kissed like that before.

Like I mattered. Like I was something to be treasured. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Even if he already has.