Haunted Hearts

22

Rufus clutched his leather satchel in his lap with his left hand and rubbed his face with his right as the carriage left Clifton and Ester Grierson's small home and rumbled down the cobbled street toward his next appointment.

Cases involving the sudden death of a child were draining, and this one had been no exception. Emotions on both sides of the veil tended to run high, making his task of communing with a spirit and deciphering what kept them there arduous.

But on that count, ten-year-old Junius Grierson was different.

When Rufus had arrived an hour and a half earlier, he'd known only three things about the situation he was coming to investigate. The family's name, where they lived, and that their only child had recently passed.

However, before he'd exited the carriage, Junius appeared directly in front of him with an exuberant smile, radiating peace and a sense of relief as he told him his name and showed Rufus—all in a matter of seconds—how he died from a sudden asthma attack.

Clifton and Ester later confirmed this after Rufus had finished conducting his investigation.

"He's here now, isn't he?" Ester tearfully whispered, glancing around the room.

Rufus nodded.

"Is he... frightened?" Clifton asked, his voice breaking.

Rufus looked at Junius and bit back a smile. "Only of spiders... and Mama's Victoria sponge, he says."

Clifton laughed and wiped the tears pouring from Ester's eyes before hauling her into his arms. "Ah, love... he's telling us he loves you, and he's all right." He met Rufus's gaze over Ester's head and hoarsely whispered, "He is, isn't he? That's why he's stayed around? Not to torment us for being unable to save him as some would have us believe?"

Rufus nodded and swallowed to dislodge the lump of emotion clogging his throat. "He didn't mean to scare you or make you worry... and," Rufus frowned and silently asked Junius to repeat what he'd said, but it still didn't make sense.

"What is it?" Ester sniffled, wiping her face with a handkerchief.

"Something about visiting you in your dreams?"

Ester's chin wobbled, and tears streamed down her face. She looked at her husband, then buried her face in her handkerchief and wept.

Clifton wrapped an arm around his wife and hugged her to his chest as he met Rufus's gaze and brokenly said, "It was the last thing she whispered in his ear before we buried him; she asked him to visit her in her dreams and let us know he was all right."

Junius had vanished shortly after, and Rufus had struggled to keep his emotions in check while he accepted payment for his services, climbed into his carriage, and left.

It was a thirty-minute drive past workshops and tenements, their doorways and windows packed with ghosts and living souls, all watching with forlorn eyes as Rufus's carriage rolled by.

Despair and loneliness permeated the air, seeping from the buildings like a gloomy shadow staining the bricks as effectively as coal ash.

When the carriage finally turned down the gravel drive leading toward his final appointment for the day at Buckley Manor, Rufus closed his eyes and took a deep, fortifying breath.

No two paranormal investigations were alike, but some were more uncomplicated than others. And with any luck, this would be a straightforward case—nothing more serious than a simple haunting involving one or two ghosts needing some help moving on.

But an hour after investigating Buckley Manor, Rufus knew two things with absolute certainty. First, the dwelling wasn't haunted, a rarity in London. And second, a member of the staff was responsible for the increasingly dangerous attempts at driving Sir Donaldson and his four children out of their new home.