The estate agent walked through the door, her usual false grin stretched across her face. This time, she held her clipboard in her right hand, which only happened when the client was particularly wealthy. A scoff fell from Charles’ lips and he turned, finding Timothy wandering the hallway behind him.

​

“Timothy!” Charles called. Timothy stopped and looked at him, peering through his still fogged up monocle.

 

“What is it Charles?” the elderly man grumbled through his thick, white beard. “It can't be the evening already, I've barely been able to tour the upper floors.” Charles shook his head and sighed, pointing to the estate agent, who had now let a woman and man inside. The pair were presumably married by the way they clung to each other. Possibly newlyweds in Charles’ eyes.

 

“No, no,” Charles scoffed. “But that dreadful woman has returned with more…” he paused, trying to find the right word to describe the wide-eyed and eager couple that stood in the vast hall.

 

“Delinquents?” Timothy offered and Charles nodded in agreement, thankful his friend was here to assist him.

 

“Yes,” he sighed. “Precisely. Delinquents. The lot of them.” The estate agent moved forward, swinging her arm out, gesturing to the staircase that Charles and Timothy resided on. Charles scoffed again, almost a signature for the man now, and looked around at the hall, trying to see something wrong. But he couldn’t. The hall was perfect. The exact hall they stood in was Burnout Hall. Burnout Hall stood proud in the English countryside, somewhere south of Bampton, Charles was never quite sure. The house was constructed of beautiful sandstone and brick. Tragically, after a terrible fire in the 1930s, the southern wing had to be reconstructed. Charles remembered the fire all too well, the memory still hurting him even today.

 

Graciously, the estate agent moved the newlyweds into the dining room and Charles rushed down the stairs to join them, Timothy on his heel. The dining room was much smaller than the main hall, with tall strong beams of wood along the walls and bracing the ceiling above a long, ash table that several chairs could fit around. However, nowadays the chairs were used in other parts of the house, leaving the table looking empty and abandoned, a sight that always saddened Charles. Trying to be as quiet as possible, Charles rushed into the dining room to find the couple stroking the wooden beams against the walls, almost whispered to them.

 

“And this room was built in the 1800s,” the estate agent said. Charles gasped. “Built with sandstone and clay, it has a beautiful view of the grounds and the village in the valley.”

 

“If you trimmed the hedges, you could maybe see the church spire,” Charles huffed, glaring at the woman intently. She heard him and tried to contain herself. Luckily, the couple were still distracted by the wooden beams.

 

“And if you want more space,” she continued, gesturing for the couple to follow them. They did and the estate agent moved to the far wall and released two pins that were wedged in the ceiling and floor. “You can also create more if you ever want to entertain.” The couple ‘oohed’ as the estate agent gently pushed the wall and it folded outwards, Charles jumping back slightly as it hit the wall.

 

“Yes,” he scoffed, “but it's horribly drafty and if not used often enough, could rot and collapse.” The estate agent heard him again.

 

“Also, once again you have a beautiful view of the grounds as…”

 

“Again, you can just see the bottom of the nearest garden. The main grounds are on the other side of the room,” Charles cut in. Still trying to maintain her composure, the estate agent allowed the couple to look around the dining room for themselves as she stormed over to Charles, who yelped slightly and jumped into the main hall again, the estate agent running after him and closing the door behind them.

 

“What are you doing?” she hissed, eyes darting between him and Timothy. A sudden wash of pride swept over Charles and he stood himself taller and looked down his nose at her.

 

“Being honest,” he mocked. “Unlike yourself.” The estate agent growled and balled her fists.

 

“If you weren’t some kind of corporeal, ghostly entity, I would punch you,” she snarled. Charles jumped backwards, falling into Timothy, who steadied him.

 

“Young lady,” Timothy said, shocked by her words. “Is that any way to speak to your…”

 

“My name is Willow, not sodding ‘young lady’,” she hissed again, feeling the paper on her clipboard become crumpled. “What are you trying to achieve here? Annoy me? Because so far, it’s working!”

 

“We have no wish to annoy you, my dear,” Charles scoffed. “We just wish for you to be a little more honest when trying to sell our home.”

 

“Ah, you see,” Willow said, suddenly more confident. “It’s not your home. It was your home, but then you died and the world moved on. Your son sold it, and then that person sold it, and that continued until the current owner died and it was left to me to sell it. You have no say.”

 

“No say?”

 

“No say.” Before the men could add anything else, the couple emerged from the dining room with smiles on their faces, still hand in hand. Willow spun and grinned at them. “Everything alright?” she asked.

 

“Oh yes,” the man said, his eyes jumping to the staircase. “Just wondering if we could take a peek upstairs. See the master bedroom?” Still smiling, Willow nodded and gestured for the couple to follow her. As she turned to walk up the stairs, her smile dropped and she walked through the men, turning them to vapour before they reformed behind her.

 

“Rudeness that cannot be acceptable,” Timothy spluttered, checking himself to see if all of him has reformed.

 

“I don’t know what they teach in schools nowadays,” Charles added, shaking his head as Willow escorted the couple to the second floor. With a quick glance between them, Charles and Timothy darted up the stairs after them, joining them in a small, dark room. In Charles’ day, it had been the butler’s room. Ignoring them, Willow looked at the couple and smiled her fakest smile.

 

“This room is small and quite quaint,” she said, gesturing to the room widely, her words describing every aspect of the room. “Could be utilised as a storeroom, or maybe a nursery…?” she trailed off, allowing the couple to look at each other every couple did when posited that question.

 

“Oh, we’re a few years off that yet,” the woman said, holding her husband’s hand. “But I can definitely see it.”

 

“Oh yes,” the husband repeated. Charles narrowed his eyes at the man. He was getting the slight feeling the man had been told to stay quiet, not that he blamed the wife for telling him that, he didn’t seem like a man with much interesting to say. Turning his attention away from the couple, Charles looked back at Willow, who was trying to usher the couple along the hall to the master bedroom, which sat at the head of the house.

 

Although Charles wasn’t sure, he was convinced that the bedroom was built with the rest of the house was built around it. The way the room was shaped was clear to Charles that the house was built to be looked at, to be the heart of the home. The trio in front of him stepped into the room, Timothy and Charles remaining at the doors. They weren’t scared of it, just aware of it. Several times, the pair had walked in and seen some odd and grotesque things happen inside its wall, and even a murder. So, after a while, the pair agreed to stay away from the room, even when nobody was living there. But it seemed they would have some new residents to be aware of. Charles felt a tap on his shoulder and he pulled his eyes to Timothy, who wore an odd and unknown look on his face. It could have been mischief.

 

“What is it, my friend?” Charles asked. Timothy beckoned him away from the door. Frowning, Charles followed until Timothy stopped at the edge of the staircase. “Why have you dragged me here?” Charles asked, glancing back at the bedroom where Willow and the couple were still standing.

 

“We don’t want these people here, do we?” Timothy asked, rubbing his hands together evilly. Still frowning, and now a little worried about his friend’s health, Charles nodded. “Then why don’t we take a page from one of those ghost-horror films that those homeless people watched while they lived here?” Charles pulled back slightly, startled by the man’s words. He had never been so mischievous.

 

“I like where your head is at,” he said with a grin, “but I don’t think Willow will buy it. She can see us you know, for some God forsaken reason.” Timothy smiled and nodded in agreement. That fact had become annoying over the few months Willow had been showing people around the house, and every time she made eye contact with him, Charles felt a shiver run down his spine. He had gone decades without anyone seeing him, to have someone see and then speak to him was a very different experience. Until that moment, it had been only him and Timothy, but he was slightly glad about the change.

 

“Yes,” Timothy said, bring Charles back to the present. “But they can't.” He gestured to the couple who were now stepping out of the room, Willow in tow. Charles grinned and looked back at the man, nodding slowly.

 

“My friend,” he said. “You are brilliant.” Timothy gave a shrug of modesty. Before Willow could spot them, the two men dashed away, concealing themselves further down the staircase. Willow and the couple walked past, heading towards the rear of the house to inspect the gardens. Looking around himself, Charles tried to find something to aid them in their plan. His eyes then landed on an ornate vase that sat on a small table. With a smile, he leaned forward and pressed his hand against it, feeling its weight suddenly hit him. He gasped slightly at the feeling.

 

Since his death, and his miraculous return, he hadn't needed to move anything. The thought of haunting someone with the objects of the house didn’t even cross his mind. With a lack of requirement, he had lost all awareness of the various vases and artworks that decorated the house, only standing and marvelling at them with Timothy every so often. Now, it seemed, his lack of practice would be the downfall of their plan, and he cursed himself as his hand fell through the vase.

 

“Sorry, Timothy,” he said as he got back to his feet.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Timothy responded, quickly rushing to his side and placing his hand against the vase. He made contact with it and it instantly slipped off the table. The smash echoed through the grand hall and the duo quickly scarpered away from the crime scene and Willow turned the corner and looked at the mess.

 

“What was it?” the husband asked. “Ghosts?”

 

“Don’t be silly Harold,” the wife hissed, the husband falling silent. Willow smiled and turned to them.

 

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Just a vase falling off an old table in the grand hall. Shall we continue?” With a few mumbles, the three walked away and to the rear of the house. Slowly, and disappointed, Charles and Timothy emerged from their hiding spot.

 

“Well…” Timothy said, unsure as to what to say. “That didn’t work as well as we hoped.”

 

“Indeed,” Charles agreed. “But, nothing is to say we cannot try again.”

 

“Of course not!” Timothy said, now a little happier and more confident. Without telling him to follow, Timothy walked off down that hallway after Willow, scanning the walls as he did. Then, they came to a loose painting. It was of Charles’ great-grandfather, or so he was told, and it was one of the ugliest pieces of art they had ever seen. Charles was welcome to it finally coming down. Quickly, Timothy turned to Charles.

 

“Look down the hallway and tell me when they’re coming,” he hissed. Charles nodded and jogged down the hallway, peeking around the corner and seeing the couple meandering their way back, Willow behind them and occupied with her clipboard. Ticking the boxes for the couple’s interest no doubt. As the couple got closer, Charles jumped away and spun to Timothy.

 

“They’re here!” he hissed. As soon as the wife’s foot appeared around the corner, Timothy gripped the painting and pulled. In one swift motion, he pulled it into the air and dropped it. The painting hit the floor with a heavy bang, startling the couple. As quickly as they could, Charles and Timothy ran from the scene just as Willow turned the corner. She didn’t see them.

 

“It was floating!” the wife screamed, clutching her husband so tightly the man was turning red.

 

“I’m sure it…” Willow started.

 

“It was!” the wife shouted again, releasing her husband and running to the painting. “It was this high off the ground.” Gesturing, the woman over exaggerated how high Timothy had held it. Willow tried to smile and gave a huffed of air, calming herself before addressing the woman.

 

“I can assure you that there are no…” she said.

 

“Look,” the husband interjected, pointing a finger at Willow. “If my wife says that it was floating, then it was floating. Now, answer me this: Is this building haunted or something? Or are you just having fun?” Willow opened and closed her mouth. She was speechless.

 

“Oh God, it haunted,” the wife muttered. From the safety of their hiding spot at the other end of the hallway, Charles and Timothy grinned and nodded along with the words. Before Willow could explain anything, not that she would have explained it well, the couple grabbed each other’s hands and ran down the hallway, Willow following them. Once they passed, Charles and Timothy stepped out and brushed their clothes down with pride. No dust could collect on them, but it felt like the right thing to do.

 

“I must say,” Charles said, “excellent plan, Timothy.”

 

“Thank you,” Timothy replied. Together, they walked down the hallway until they reach the grand hall, where Willow stood with the couple, trying to calm them. But, it was no good. With a terrified look in their eyes, they gave the grand hall one final look before opening the front door and running out. With a deep, heavy sigh, Willow dropped her clipboard and leaned against the door. Seeing an opportunity, Charles started to descend the stairs, Timothy behind him.

 

“So,” he called. “How did it go?” Willow tensed and spun, glaring at the ghostly man. Instantly, Charles’ confident smile faded. In a flash, she ran towards them, sprinting p the stair two at a time until she reached them. Charles remained rooted, confident she would stop, but he was wrong. As she reached him, she threw herself through him and he yelped, his now misted self then re-joining to form his form. Back on her feet, Willow started swinging her fists wildly at him, each passing through and displacing him more. Behind them, Timothy stared, confused.

 

“I. Lost. The. Perfect. Sale!” Willow grunt with each swing. Eventually, she tired and collapsed on the stairs and Charles’ body reformed. Checking over himself, he looked back at the defeated woman.

 

“Perfect sale?” he asked. Willow shot him another furious glare.

 

“Yes,” she spat. “Perfect sale.” She sighed and stood, wandering back down the stairs to collect her clipboard. “They were rich, freshly married, possible chances of having children within two to three years.”

 

“But this place is much too big for them,” Timothy said. Again, Willow sighed.

 

“Then they would have demolished some of it or brought in some of their family,” she justified. “The husband’s mother is sick and needs constant care. He’s a nurse so he could have done it easily. It wasn’t just the perfect sale, it was their perfect home.” A wave of guilt crashed over Charles. He didn’t think about them, he just saw them as intruders, people who would come in and be different from the family he had living here.

 

“Can't we go out there and stop them?” he asked. Willow shook her head and fished the keys from her pocket.

 

“They are going to try looking on their own,” she said, sighing for the third time. “And I doubt they will listen to me.”

 

“I am sorry, Miss Willow,” Timothy said, standing at her side and rubbing her back gently as best he could.

 

“It's not your fault,” she said. Then, she frowned and shook her head. “No, yes. Yes, it is your fault. Well, half of it at least.” She looked up and met Charles’ eyes. “There hasn’t been any other interest in the property. Other than my uncle, but only wants to lease it out as a hotel, which I do not want to do to this place. It too beautiful.”

 

“Preaching to the choir,” Timothy muttered. Willow’s eyes widened and she looked at the man in disbelief. Rolling his eyes, Charles sighed.

 

“Forgive him,” he said. “He’s picked up a bit of ‘modern lingo’ from some previous residents and a couple of homeless people a few years back.” Willow cast a glance between the two men, nodding slowly in pretend understanding. “But that uncle of yours sounds like a good candidate,” Charles continued, hastily trying to move away from Timothy’s odd words. “Why not make this place a hotel? Or maybe something like that.” Willow frowned and looked between the two again. This time, Timothy was nodded to Charles’ words. It was clear to her now, despite having known about the two for several months, that Timothy wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, usually nodding along to whatever Charles was doing. It seemed rare for the man to have a plan of his own.

 

“Well, I mean,” Willow tried, running the thought through her head. It wasn’t a bad one. “I could try and take it down from a hotel to a family holiday-type thing,” she said. “People could rent the place for a certain amount of time throughout the year… That’s not a bad idea.” A smile spread across her face.

 

“So we would have different people here constantly over the course of a year?” Charles asked, trying to hide his annoyance.

 

“Exactly!” Willow shouted, her smile even wider. “That’s brilliant! Thank you, guys. Be back in a sec.” Before Charles could accept her thanks, the woman turned and sprinted out of the house, phone in hand and already engaged in a call. Timothy stepped towards Charles and folded his hands behind his back.

 

“I thought we didn’t want people here?” he asked. “Why would we get rid of a single family and replace it with several others? Ones who leave and never come back. What if I make a friend and he leaves?” Charles raised his hand and the barrage of questions stopped.

 

“Let us be honest here, my friend,” he said. “If you do happen to make a friend, their family probably won't approve of your friendship. And to address the other questions...” He paused. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “It’s a weird thing, you see. I don’t like her, not at all, but seeing her so upset about this home and that it wasn’t being used made me see that we were being selfish. We enjoyed this home when we were young. Now it's time for other families too.” He looked at Timothy and smiled. Timothy grinned back and gestured to the stairs.

 

“Do you want to join me on my tour of the upper floor?” he asked. Charles glanced at the stairs and then back at him, his smile widening slightly.

​

“I would be delighted, my friend,” he said and the two made their way to stairs and up to the upper floors.