Benedictsmiled gently. "From the beautiful state of your home, Isuspect you did a bit of remodeling when you moved in."
Mr.Whittle flashed a pleased grin, proud of his home.
"Idoubt the spirit minds then. It's not like you're planning to knock thehouse down, are you?"
"No, no. Nothing like that."
Theyreached the second-floor landing, and Mr. Whittle opened the first door to the right and disappeared inside."This is my daughter's room."
Benedict stoppedbefore he reached it, staring straight down the hallway to the veryend.
Emmelinestood there, staring up a narrow staircase. She seemedfrozen, stalk-still and holding her breath.
Mr.Whittle poked his head back out of the bedroom. "MisterLyon?"
Benedictignored him, taking measured steps toward her. Her lips moved, the faintest of whispers rushing out. Hecould nearly make out her words, the flood of them so hurried, almost hissing. Her head snapped to theside, gaze locking with Benedict's, and he jerked to a stop.
"What's up there?"he asked.
"Aplayroom for the kids," Mr. Whittle replied. "Haven'treally used it in years, not since theyoutgrew it. We'replanning to turn it into a guest apartment."
Benedictcontinued to hold Emmeline's gaze. She was unreadable, with too many emotions beyond the understanding of theliving. She turned away as though drawn from him in a trance and went upthe stairs. Benedict's stomach dropped,certain that something awful would happen as soon as she was out of sight.
He knewhe was frightening Mr. Whittle now, but he couldn't wait toexplain. He hurried after her with the older man on his heels.
Benedict took the stairs twoat a time and came up in the attic playroom.It was bright, lit from the half-circle windows dominating the triangular wallon the far side. A bright blue rugspread across the white-painted wood floor while mirrors and pictures dressedthe walls. A comfortable couch sat tothe left and little play furniture had been pushed to the far end of theroom. A large chest of toys and a stack of board games were arranged in thecorner. It was the sort of messy that looked designed, ready for a photoshoot.
"There's a child's ghost here,"Emmeline said quietly, staring at the corner with the games andtoys. "He likes this room the way itis but misses the other kids." Her fingers curled slightly, andBenedict realized she was holding thespirit's hand, pressed into the side of her skirts as though to hide it from him. She does that sometimes, hides ghostsfrom him. She told him once that not all spirits were harmful, thatthey're just not ready to go and need a little more time. She didn't like theidea of them being pushed out and would rather he leave them to walk about theplace between worlds until they faded on their own.
"He died in the woods outside. He got lostand couldn't find his way home. He was happy when he saw the other kidsplaying and followed them back here. He says he didn't do any of the badthings in the house." She pausedthen, a shadow of worry crossing her features when she looked down atthe apparition at her side.
Benedict couldn't see it. Only her.
"The boy says there is a…scary man."
Benedict pressed his lips.That sounded promising for the job but unpleasant for his ownsanity.
He swayedon his feet, eyes fluttering shut and hand going to histemple. Mr. Whittle jumped closer, catching Benedict'selbow to steady him. "Are you okay, Mister Lyon?"
Benedicttook an exaggerated swallow of air and steadied himself, pressing a hand to his chest. "You have alittle spirit here, in this room with us now…"
Mr.Whittle sucked a breath and turned, looking about as though he might spotit. His fingers pressed tighter on Benedict's arm.
"Achild," Benedict went on, gasping and opening his eyes. They wereteary. He could cry on command. He had mastered that little talent years ago tohelp sell the experience. "He's young, and he means you no harm. A tragic soul. He was lost in the woods, died there, andcontinued to search for a wayhome—unaware of his own state. He was alonefor so long, searching for the warmth of home, until one day he heardthe laughter of your children playing. Hefollowed the sound from those dark, lonely woods and came here." Heturned toward Mr. Whittle, catching his hand when it left his sleeve. "Your family has given him such a sense of peaceand safety," he said, peeringdeep into the older man's eyes and seeing that fear and pity blossominto pride. "He'll move on soon. He's so grateful to you for letting himbe here. For letting him come home."
Benedictgave himself chills with that line, and Mr. Whittle's eyesfilled with tears. "Oh," was allhe managed before rallying a question. "What's his name?"
"George," Emmeline prompted.
"George,"Benedict repeated with soft reverence. "And he promises that he hasn't been responsible for the loudsounds and broken things." Benedict paused, pretending to listen and laugh gently at something sweet the boysaid. "He says he's a good boy and would never mess up thehouse."
Emmelinerolled her eyes at him; he knew without even looking.
"Oh,"Mr. Whittle said again, eyes big and clear now, holding tight to Benedict'shand. "Then what is causing it?" he whispered, asthough the culprit might overhear him.
"It's another spirit," Emmeline answered.
Benedictglanced in her direction. She wasn't standing off to the side with the forgotten piles of toys anymore. She wasat the windows, chin down and gaze fixed outside.
"Thereis something else here…" Benedict said, gently moving away from Mr.Whittle and toward the window. He stood beside her,looking past her and out at the lawn slopingoff the back of the property. It led downto a large creek with a little dock and thick woods on the other side. Arowboat tied to the dock bobbed gently in the shade of a shed at the very edgeof the bank.
"He's out there," Emmeline said, her voice distant. He wished he couldtake her hand just to make sure she really waswith him still. But she was never reallywith him, not like that. His Emmelinewas dead. He had never held her hand and never would.
"I see him,"Benedict lied.
"He's big and soaking wet," Emmelinecontinued. "He's wearing a heavy jacket, and his breath forms inthe
