Wyatt's Magical Wardrobe || ONC 2024

[Four]

I'm so bloody tired!

I barely slept after what happened last night and Becks is finally on her way. I rang her as soon as the ghost disappeared, but the horrible cow refused to come over until now-nearly freaking lunchtime!

Serves me right for buying an old decrepit mansion, apparently. She can be so brutal when she wants to be.

"About time, you horrible tart," I say, opening the door for her.

She rushes past me and makes a beeline for the kitchen.

"I've been busy doing some investigating, you big baby."

"I'd like to see how you'd react after a three hundred-year-old ghost pushes you to the ground in the middle of the night, and moves around your things-in your bedroom of all places."

She rolls her eyes at me and plonks her crap on my nice new Ikea table-it's a cute little round one that does not fit the space whatsoever.

"I bet you peed yourself, didn't you, ya baby?" She looks up at me from her chair and starts laughing.

"Shut your hole," I say, sitting at the table and getting a closer look at the pile of papers. "So what's all this then?"

"Well, when you rang freaking out about a ghost, I did some homework about the history of this place."

"And?" I ask. Becks and her stupid dramatic pauses.

"Are you sure it wasn't a girl you saw?" She asks.

"Unless she was dressed like an eighteenth or nineteenth century man, then no." I give her a deadpan look.

"Na, that doesn't fit anyway, the girl went missing about thirty-five years ago."

Hmm, missing girl, that doesn't sound great.

"You may as well start from the beginning and tell me what you found," I say.

"Okay, so, this house used to be owned by the Montgomery family, pretty wealthy by the sounds of it. They had a daughter-Louise."

I get up and heat some water on my camping stove to make some tea, while she talks.

"She was a few years younger than we are now and quite the looker. So anyway, she was studying business at Uni and had come back here for the summer holidays. Then one night in July, she just vanished, and no one has ever seen her since. Nobody, nothing."

"Whoa, crazy," I say.

I really hope she didn't die in this place. One ghost almost made me crap a tap, but two. No, thank you.

"Her dad died a few years after her disappearance, then the mum went nutty and became a bit of a recluse. She neglected the house and finally went into an old folks' home about five years ago now and it's been on the market ever since."

Probably why I got it for a steal.

"And no other family lay claim to it?" I ask.

"Na, looks like no one wanted anything to do with it. Too much work I suppose, plus with a history of a missing girl and her loopy hermit mother, I'd say most sane people would stare clear of a place like this."

I plop a couple of bags into my teapot and let it steep.

"Are you insinuating that I'm crazy?" I say.

"If the straitjacket fits..."

"I'm going to spit in your tea when you're not looking," I joke.

"As long as you don't have an infectious STD, I'm not bothered," she says, smiling at me.

"You're so gross."

We sit at the table, sipping our tea, looking over the printouts of newspaper articles she bought. There's a few pictures of Louise, she was definitely stunning. Poor girl.

"Wait, a minute! I think there's a picture of her in my room," I say sitting up straight.

"By the looks of what I've read, you're sleeping in her room. Ooh, that's creepy."

"You know what's even creepier? There's a man in the picture who kinda looks like my ghost."

I'm getting goosebumps. This is all so spooky.

"Well?" She says, lifting her hands.

"Well, what?"

"Go get the picture you numpty."

"Why don't you just come up with me?"

She sits back and crosses her arms and feet. "Nah, I'm quite comfortable here thanks."

"Now who's the scaredy cat?"

"I actually need to use the loo. You go and I'll meet you back here in five," she says, then walks out the kitchen.

"Whatever. But use the toilet under the stairs, the other one keeps blocking," I yell after her.

The sun is shining in my room; it looks beautiful, but it feels tainted now. At Least everything is still in its place, so no more ghosts messing with my stuff.

I can't remember where I put the photo, so I rummage around the desk and eventually find it under my laptop. Taking another look I can see it's definitely Louise. The man's hair looks light though, lighter than the ghost's. But the old school look is so similar. This is just all so random.

The floorboard creaks behind me, and I smile.

"So you put on your big girl panties and worked up the courage to meet me up here?" I ask.

When Becks doesn't reply I turn to look at her, but it's not Becks standing in my room, it's the ghost, and good lord he is handsome. I look at the picture in my hand, then back to the ghost, and back to the picture again. They look very similar, but different. It's not the same person, but they could be related. He's wearing the same white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and black trousers, with black boots.

"Are you a friendly ghost, or do I need to run?" I ask, gathering my wits.

"Neither," is his reply. It's the same deep, sexy voice from last night. Oh man, so bloody sexy.

"Excuse me, but what does that mean?" I ask, confused.

"I am neither a ghost nor here to hurt you," he says.

I am so freaking confused.

"Okay, you win, you cheeky co-"

Becks freezes in the doorway. She looks wide eyed at the hot dude standing beside my wardrobe, then turns her gaze to me before asking, "is this the ghost?"

"I am not a ghost," the guy says again.

"So then you are?" She asks.

"My name is Matthew Summerfield, the second son of the Earl of Summersby and I reside at Summerfield house."

I study the floral carpet and let the words sink in. But Summerfield house was sold by the family like, fifty or sixty years ago. The last Earl to live on the massive estate couldn't keep up with the mounting repairs, if I remember correctly.

I look up to find this Matthew guy staring in total fascination at Becks and her tatts. And she's watching him like a hawk, her eyes narrowed and body positioned to make a run for it, if need be.

Finally he speaks first after a very uncomfortable silence. "Could one of you kindly tell me what year it is?"

"Um, twenty twenty-four," I say, frowning. "Why?"

He lets out a slow exhale. "I wanted to confirm what my mother told me."

"And who is your mother?" Becks asks.

"Lady Louise Summerfield of Summerfield house and the woman in the picture you have in your hand," he says pointing to me.

Becks and I both look at each other in total disbelief. "Shut the front door!" We say in unison.

I look at the picture again. What on earth is going on?

Word count: 5437