The Ghost Behind the Bookshelf

I hate staying in. I understand why we have to, and I’ve even argued with people who think this whole thing is meaningless, but that won’t stop me from hating it. I feel robbed, in a way, by the world. It’s my senior year, my last taste of childhood before I go into the world and leave home, and I’m spending it here, alone and wandering the halls of my house. It’s spring break, I should be throwing a football around with the boys or crashing Maia Welch’s annual spring bash and messing something up in her house to get her in trouble or at least make her life harder. Now, I get to roam long, empty halls in this ancient house.

My home is awful, but my friends all love it. Lio somehow finds the whole building romantic. He comes up with beautiful stories to go with the figures in the paintings attached to the wall, the paintings that may as well be considered a part of the near-ancient structure. The woman with her face forever stuck in a thin, disapproving line, Lady Patricia,  was certainly the former lady of the house, stuck in an unhappy marriage with her husband, the man who tries to have a pleasant face but has angry eyebrows and evil eyes, Lord Vincent. Every night, when the moon is at its highest, Lady Patricia sneaks away to the pagoda to meet up with her secret lover, Iris the scullery maid. There were no portraits for Iris, but Lio is certain she existed. I doubt any of it is even close to what the people were like, the names are almost certainly wrong, but Lio’s stories give me comfort. Everything about him is calming.

I hear what sounds like footsteps. Mom says it’s the house settling, though I have no clue why it isn’t already settled, considering it’s had over a hundred years to do so. Lio says its ghosts, Iris, Lady Patricia, Lord Vincent, and some others like Siorys the gardener and Pamela the cook. Whenever things go missing, like leftovers accidentally getting thrown away or my boxers getting eaten by the laundry machine. Pamela simply refuses to let us eat day-old junk food when she knows we can do better, and can I help it if Vincent is a pedo creep? The idea of a creepy ghost stealing my underwear should probably make me more scared rather than less, but hey, I’m in therapy for a reason.

I could follow the “footsteps” but it’s not like I’m going to find anything and besides, I have better things to do. Scratch that, I’ve been wandering around with no real plan for the past hour. I casually turn left at the next bend in the hallway, wanting to savor the feeling of actually having something to do. As I start down the hall, I see a shadow dance across the wall. My mom’s been on a bit of a scented candle kick. I think she just likes having something to do, lighting the candles every morning and putting them all out at night. I continue following the “footsteps”, the owner of which I’ve named Achille, the French singer who wants to seduce Vincent and kill him, though he might be a bit late for that. Achille leads me to the outside of the study that I doubt anyone’s been in since Lady Patricia’s time. 

Before entering, I decide to get my phone out to face time Lio so he can join me on my ghost hunting adventure. He picks up on the first ring, but he looks sleepy despite it being late afternoon. His hair is a tangle of auburn curls with some clips holding it back from his freckle-spattered face. 

“Good afternoon, sleepyhead.” He gives a grumble of acknowledgment. “Have a good nap?”

“Screw you, Alex.” He punctuates that statement with a yawn and tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

“Aw, you wish.” Another quiet grumble from him. 

“Ok, so I heard some creaking in the house and since I’m super bored I figured I might as well follow them and thought you’d want to come with me into its lair. I’m thinking it’s the ghost of a singer named Achille that wanted to seduce and assassinate Lord Vincent. ” While I’m saying this, Lio gets out of bed and brings me with him into his kitchen to pour himself a glass of iced coffee from a carton. With anyone else, I might feel embarrassed, but with Lio it’s alright. Unlike some of the other people in my life, Lio accepts all of me, and I feel safe enough to be myself with him.

“Interesting story. Alexander Elias Wallaker, I henceforth declare you Master of Stories.” He said this with a flourish, energized from the caffeine. 

“But Lionel Simon Hines, I thought you were the Master of Stories.” His nose scrunches up at that since he doesn’t really like his full first name all that much.

“I’m the Supreme Master,” he declares, taking up a dramatic pose, “you are my loyal underling.”

“So that’s what I am, your underling”

“Yes, you are. Now, underling, I command you bring me into the ghosts dwelling.” 

For Lio, this is like an episode of Buzzfeed Unsolved starring him and his boyfriend. I’m glad to see it make him smile because I feel really stupid as I whisper out a thrilling introduction. It’s just the two of us here, but whispering adds to the effect and Lio deserves the full experience. I gently nudge the door and look around. I point out the books pulled out of shelves, “proof” that Achille has been here, and make fun of the fact that he only reads murder mystery and romance. Lio pretends to be offended since that’s basically all he reads. 

I notice a curved shape in the dust coming from the corner of a bookshelf and show it to Lio. “What is it?” he wonders aloud, as if I would have any clue. 

“I’m gonna pull the shelf back.” I can see the disapproving look in his eyes, but I ignore it and set him on the table.

“Do you even know what’s back there?”

“I will in a second.” I grab the shelf and pull back. The shelf comes back on a hinge, following the pattern in the dust. Behind the bookshelf is a dark stone passage that smells like it has mold.

“This is really freaky, maybe you should leave it be. At least don’t mess with it alone.” He sounds worried, but I can’t give up now, I’m way too curious.

“I won’t be alone, I’ll have you.” I blow him a little kiss, hoping that will distract him. It does. 

I grab my phone and take him with me down the passage, footsteps echoing softly the whole time. It feels like forever, the hallway a downward slope as long as a football field. The hallway turns left and I see some light. At the end of the corridor, I stop, exposing just the camera of my phone and half of my face to whatever lies beyond. We see an old twin mattress covered with an array of sheets like what a child would have, with trains and butterflies and owls and the like. Lying on the bed is what appears to be a man. It’s impossible to tell if he’s in his late twenties or early fifties, all I know is that I do not want him to wake up. Throughout the room, if it can even be called that, I see all the odds and ends I’ve lost and never bothered to find. Old underwear, socks, and too-small T-shirts are neatly placed, as though part of a shrine. 

The whole thing freaks me out. Lio was right. I turn to leave, quickly but quietly. I’m too nervous to think straight and my phone slips out my grip, hitting the stone floor like a thunderclap. I hear a quick rustle of blankets and a mumble “Wha’s tha’?” I grab my phone quickly, refusing to Lio behind even if I wouldn’t really be leaving him behind, and start a dead sprint. My feet echo just as loud as my phone did, a pair of storm clouds unleashing their power. Soon, there are two pairs and I go faster. I need to make it out first, at least then I’d stand a chance of locking him in. I hear a third pair of feet move through my phone and the start of a car. Hopefully, I’ll still be alive by the time Lio gets here because this guy seems ready to scalp me.

“Stop, pretty!” His voice is rough and horrible with disuse. I hear a sharp scraping sound next to him but don’t bother to look, I just assume it’s the kitchen knife dad lost to the dishwasher last month and keep going. A screech of tires, Lio made the first of three turns to my house. I keep going, fast as I can. “You’re making me mad! I thought you loved me!” I’ve never seen this man in my life, and somehow hearing him think that I love him chills me to the bone. Somehow this corridor seems much longer than the first time I went through it. Going uphill certainly isn’t doing me any favors. I keep going, pretending I have the ball and am making a game-saving touchdown. I find running from the crazy person living under my house to be far more motivating though, so I stick with that instead. 

Second screech, he’s really burning rubber today, which I totally get and am grateful for. I’m out of the corridor, with him hot on my heels, of course. I briefly consider just running but decide against it because he’d just follow me. I whip around to face him. With all of my strength, I push the bookshelf closed. Before I get it closed all the way, I hear him slam into the bookshelf. He tries to slip through the small opening, which he’s definitely thin enough to do, but I swiftly kick him before moving my leg out of the way, not wanting to get stabbed. 

Third screech, he’s close now, I hope he doesn’t get a ticket though. I finally get the door closed, but I refuse to move from where I’m holding it shut. I don’t know what I’d do next if he got out. The nameless man pounds and pushes, but he’s skin and bones and I’m a football player so he doesn’t stand a chance. We stay like this, for how long I couldn’t say.

There’s a loud crash like glass breaking and I hear the door open. What I hope is Lio’s footsteps sound throughout the house. He runs straight to the study, and despite the situation, I’m thrilled to see him.

“Oh god, are you ok?” then, hearing the thumping from behind the bookshelf, “He’s trying to get out?”

“Yes to both. Can you bring the desk over here?” He salutes, and I laugh, before pushing the desk over. It seems heavy, heavy enough that the previous owners didn’t bother to take it with them, but I don’t dare help him. He struggles for a bit, but he gets it over in what’s probably record time for pushing heavy desks. I brave a few moments away from the shelf to get the desk situated. The shelf seems to open a sliver, but it quickly closes when we push the desk against it. Lio starts grabbing books and shoving them into the drawers. I quickly catch onto what he’s doing and follow suit, trusting his judgment since he’s probably read plenty of books with similar situations. Finally, when it seems super heavy and secure, we sit on top of it for good measure.

“Alright, are you really ok?” Lio cups my face in his hands and searches me up and down with his eyes, no doubt looking for scrapes and cuts. I’m fine, just tired, but I decide to mess with him a little.

“I’ve actually got this killer stab wound. I think the knife is still there” I laugh but Lio’s eyes get wide as he looks for the knife. “I’m kidding, I’m totally fine, just a bit worn out.” He draws me into a tight embrace.

“Not funny, I was really worried about you.” We stay there for a few minutes, listening to the sound of our heartbeats harmonizing with the crazy man trying to break free and murder us both. “We should probably call the police,” the ever-sensible Lio says, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah, probably.”