“Alex?” Allie called, eyes cast downwards at the open math textbook in her lap. “What’s the equation for a logarithm?”

   No response. The sitting room remained quiet as Allie lounged upon a cream-colored couch, worn-in red sneakers carelessly propped against the arm. She flipped mindlessly through her textbook, chewing on the end of her pencil. She called again. “Alex! I need to -”

   A warm rush of air interrupted her as Alexander materialized at her feet. He glanced down at her muddy shoes with disdain before meeting her eyes. “Allison,” he said.

   “Allie.”

   “How could I possibly understand your schoolwork any better than you?”

   Allie swung her legs off the arm and sat up. “I don’t know, isn’t math the same, like, all through history?”

   “Yes,” Alexander replied, “But you know how I struggle with… remembering things. I doubt algebraic equations is amongst the things I can.”

   “Right. Sorry, nevermind. I’ll figure it out. Thank you anyway.”

   Alexander nodded and disappeared into nothing but a whisk of wind. Allie took it as a sign of “I’m not going to stand here and talk to you; you should be working.”

   She huffed. Two months into befriending a family of ghosts and they still expected her to do her homework. Communicating with the dead was honestly life-changing. How was she supposed to continue on, a tired student amusing the education system with reluctant algebra performance? Allie looked back down at the little black numbers and symbols. She couldn’t. Everything was so different now, knowing that a supernatural world existed, knowing that she’d crossed the boundaries of her own and found it. She pushed the book down onto the seat beside her and brought her legs up underneath her, deciding to ignore her homework and to instead, think back to the first moments which led her to the manor, and to the ghost boys who haunted it.

✧
 

   Allie had first heard of the manor at her cousin’s birthday party, a few months into the school year.

 

   Late into the night, her cousin and her friends had sat around in a circle telling ghost stories. After a long night of hearing about people she didn’t know, the stories immediately piqued Allie’s interest, and she shuffled in closer, eager to hear them all. Her cousin’s was the best, of course, as it had to do with the old manor atop the largest hill in Allie’s neighborhood. She knew of it, she’d seen its silhouette, but nobody in town spoke of it. After hearing the legend, she understood why.

   Apparently, a family had died there in the 1920s, and their spirits had never left. The mayor hadn’t turned the manor into a museum or tore it down in fear of angering the spirits. 

   Interested and eager for adventure, Allie fell asleep that night knowing that at the first chance she had, she’d explore the manor on the hill.

   Monday after school, Allie set off. She took the bus, in all its stuffy, uncomfortable glory, as close as it would go and walked the rest. As she hiked up the unfamiliar street, she noted an abundance of overgrown plants, flowers and vines painted the street in patches of color, casting the empty street as if it was purposefully forgotten. Indeed, there was no sign of active human life, no trailers or shops or houses. It was just a long stretch up a hill, a ghostly manor at the top.

 
   When she’d reached it, breathless, she took a moment to admire and inspect the manor itself. It definitely fit the 1920s rumor, as it was old in style and much of the wood had splintered and peeled. Despite this, it was grand, with a porch, multiple stories, and long, Grecian pillars supporting it.

 

  Noting the large, vacant field behind it, Allie assumed that the manor used to be a part of some long-dead plantation, and she’d pushed on through the enthusiastic plants and up to the wooden steps wondering how rich the family must have been. She had taken a breath, pulling the warm, dusty air of the American South into her lungs, and stepped up through the faded door.

   Allie shivered as she stepped into the foyer. It was shadowed and dusty, a few classic cobwebs strung between old beams like any rumored haunted house. She was surprised to find, however, that besides the dust and the spider silk catching in the small amount of sunlight, it wasn’t entirely… spooky. It was homely. The long staircase that rose from the foyer into two halves of the second floor had golden bannisters that children must have slid down, and the simple chandelier hanging from the ceiling swayed delicately in the breeze brought in with the open door.

 
   Unaffected by the eerie silence, she moved to the windows and swiped a hand down the grimy glass to let more light in. She wiped her palm on her thigh and turned, suddenly met, quite closely, with a stranger. She jumped back in surprise, sure that she’d been alone.

   “Who are you?” the stranger had asked. Allie, while startled, found herself studying his face. And, while she probably shouldn’t have, she found him to be quite handsome. Pale and sharp with dark, slicked hair and icy eyes.

   “I-I’m just…”

   “Answer the question.” The stranger bore down, relentless. The longer Allie took to reply, the taller he seemed to grow, until he was looming above her.

   She looked up at him, noting every furious twitch in his expression, before she dropped her gaze down. Where his legs should have been was a wispy, transparent tail, not unlike a tadpole’s. Allie, struck with the discovery, paid no heed to the spirit and the haunting wind he’d kicked up in anger. Resistant to fear, Allie’s eyes widened, and the stranger’s threat fell flat. “You’re a…”

   While he remained floating a few feet above her, his terrifyingly contorted face dropped into impassion and he sighed an empty breath, “Yes, I suppose I am.”

✧

   After that initial encounter, Allie was absolutely intrigued. She visited the phantom stranger every day after school, curious and eager for excitement, learning what little she could about him and his brothers. They were the Bellingtons, and, unsurprisingly, the most fascinating thing she’d ever experienced. After living in a small town, going to the same school with the same kids, and watching her parents’ relationship deteriorate like an unwatered plant in heat, this haunting adventure was the opportunity she’d been waiting for.

 
   She took it greedily, staying in the manor all afternoon and only heading home after dark. What she’d gathered as time went on was that the brothers knew little of their deaths, or if they did, they refused to talk about it. They didn’t tell her of their parents or anything surrounding the supernatural. They only talked of their world, decades past, and how it compared to Allie’s. She didn’t mind this one bit.

   She and Alexander, the ghost she’d met first, had quickly gotten along. He loved to tell her about the twenties, and she loved to hear it. It took about two weeks to meet Zackary, the youngest brother. Still a child, he was energetic and excited, bouncing off the walls when he didn’t tumble through them. Another week passed and Allie had met Roger, just a bit younger than her. He came across a bit rude when they’d met, and had continued to scare and tease her as the visits continued. Lastly, she’d met Roger’s twin, Adam, who cast the exact portrait of a shy ghost. He faded in and out whenever Allie looked his way, and getting to know him was damn near impossible, as he never spoke. Alexander assured her that he was just shy. Allie understood. If she’d been stuck in her home for ninety years, she wouldn’t want some stranger in a baseball cap to come in and make a mess of things.

   As with all friendships, relations improved over time. Allie would visit them often and never tell a soul in her world of the one within the manor. She visited so much, actually, that she had to bring her schoolwork with her in hopes of getting anything done.

   That brought her to here and now, as she sat on the couch with her textbook pushed aside, taking an undeserved break from math. She was lost in memory when a few notes from the sitting room piano slipped into the air. They continued lightly and sweetly, a pleasant melody, until Allie called, “Adam, that sounds lovely,” and the notes immediately fell. She smiled a small smirk at the boy’s shyness and knew that, even if she had rounded the corner of the guest room to find the piano, there would be no musician, though its keys would be pressed by invisible hands.

✧

   The next day, she’d hiked the familiar trek up to the manor and pushed through, shutting the door with her foot as she would her own home.

 
   “Alex?” she called into the beams, her voice echoing in the empty foyer. She waited a moment and pressed on into the guest room, in which she spent most of her time. Some of her belongings stayed there from the many days she spent, including her favorite potted plant and a few of her fantasy books. It truly was a home away from home. She set her backpack down, “Alex, I have to tell you,” and turned, “Jesus!”

   There he sat, that smug bastard, on the arm of a maroon armchair. “You have to tell me something?”

   “Please, please stop sneaking up on me.”

   Alexander cocked his head, “Not used to it by now?”

   “No, and I don’t think I ever will be.” She took a breath, urging her heart to calm. “Now I need to tell you something. I was thinking about visiting this shop in town, this sort of… witchy shop.

Supernatural stuff. I think whoever runs it might be able to help me with figuring it out.”

   Alexander stood on solid legs, ghost tail nowhere to be seen, clasping his hands behind his back. He raised his chin and looked down his nose at her. Allie tried to ignore the fact that he looked absolutely impeccable in his suit (died in formal wear, Allie supposed), his posture that of the perfect gentleman’s.

   “You still want to figure out what happened to us.”

   “Well, you’re not helping any, are you?” Allie shifted her baseball cap, tugging the brim. “Look, I’m probably the only one for a long time who’s in any position to help you, to figure out why you’re still here. I think this witchcraft place might be the best bet, as it probably has a bunch of ghosty… stuff.”
Alexander furrowed his dark brows. “Ghosty stuff?”

   Allie ignored him, instead pleading, “Just tell me it’s okay to go.”

   “Fine. But you have to do the research on your own. Don’t tell the shop owner or anyone else about us.”

   “I won’t,” Allie lied.

✧

   The shop, if it could be called a shop, sat on the corner between a hair salon and a pottery barn. The trinkets strung from the roof and the stone griffon statue outside the doorway had it looking more like a witch’s hoard than a business. She pat the head of the griffon and spun a dreamcatcher, watching it twist in the golden sunlight, before stepping in.

   The interior was far worse off in antiques than the outside, as the entire place was stocked with figurines and gems and beautiful glass vases. A few plants, too, in the windows and suspended in pots with twine, though they didn’t look like any Alabama plants Allie knew of. She weaved through, passing an old mirror with a golden frame. She critiqued her dusty reflection.

   Her long, dark hair lay twisted into a tight braid over left shoulder, her black and white ball cap trapping the unruly baby hairs at her hairline. She tugged on her green shirt, the blue letters across her chest faded and nearly unreadable. The satchel that she’d taken, should she be bringing books back, fell low on her hip against her gray jeans, her scuffed red Chuck Taylors completing her heedless look.

   The last time she’d been in front of a mirror this grand, she thought, was before her mother had sold theirs. Allie had stood before the mirror in the front hall, fixing her thick braid, when her mother appeared behind her, delicate hands on her shoulders.

   “Why’s my hair gotta be like this, mama?” Allie had said.

   “Your hair,” her mother replied, “Has been passed down by your ancestors. It’s strong, like us. It’s important.”

   “It’s annoying.”

  Her mother had laughed, a sound Allie realized she hadn’t heard in a long time. “I know, honey, sometimes it can be unmanageable. Don’t you use that hot comb I got you last Christmas?”

   “Takes too long,” Allie had said, looping a thick hair tie around the end of her braid. Her mother smiled as if it was something she would have said when she was fifteen and kissed her head.

   Allie shook herself out of the memory and gave her dark skin and kinky-curly hair one last critique before moving deeper into the shop. With her hands on the strap of her satchel, she eyed the walls. Faded, yellowed posters sat beneath hanging beads and wind chimes, most of them in a dialect Allie had never seen. She explored the aisles covered in old books, glass jars, and statues before approaching the counter, half expected a lazy black cat to be lounging across it. Instead, she found a fat orange tabby.

 
   Allie scratched its head, resenting her father’s allergy, before ringing the old golden bell on the counter. She studied the map of the Philippines behind the counter until a woman came out of a beaded doorway just to the right of it.

  “Sorry, sorry,” she said, wiping her mouth and flecking the butt of an instant noodle off her lips. “Lunch break.”

  The woman was pleasant in a soft salmon sweater, with a pretty round face and straight dark hair framing her face in a bob. She smiled with her lips pulled tight and tickled her cat’s stomach as she said, “How can I help you?”

   Allie stood a little taller. “I was wondering if you had any books on spirits? Ghosts?” It sounded so strange spoken aloud, as her life with the Bellington brothers had been a secret for many weeks. Yet here she was, about to break her vow and tell a charming Filipino woman all about it.

   Something crossed the woman’s dark eyes, something akin to mischievous excitement, and she cocked her head. “Yes, we do.” She gave the cat one final pat and moved around the counter, disappearing behind a bookshelf. Allie followed. 

   “We have a few books on spirits, why they may be earthbound and the lore of crossing over. Are you looking for anything in particular?” the shopkeep continued.

   “That sounds good, actually.” Allie watched as the woman traced a pointed red nail down the spines of various books, stopping on an emerald green one and pulling at it, releasing a puff of dust. She waved the cloud away and opened the book against the shelf, searching the index.

   “I don’t mean to pry,” she suddenly hummed, “but might I ask the interest in spirits?”

   “I…” Allie looked at the page the woman had turned to, a black ink sketch of a blurred figure stepping toward an opening in the sky. It made her stomach churn. Ignoring it, she stuck her hand out. “I’m Allie. I made friends with a family of ghosts, and I want to help them.”

   She woman looked at her, expression unreadable. Then she crossed a hand over the book, took Allie’s, and smiled wondrously. “Well, I’ll be.”

   The woman then took Allie and the book into the back room. They pushed through the hung beads and sat at the small table there, still adorned with noodles and apple slices. Allie looked around, liking its smell of lilacs and lemon.

 
   The woman cleared the table nervously as she spoke, “My name’s Celine, sorry if I didn’t say that before. You know, not too many people come in here. The ones who do just sort of look around and ask for directions. Sometimes the wives buy smelling salts and incense and maybe an old book on unicorns for their daughters. Otherwise, it hasn’t really lived up to its full potential.”

   “What’s that?” Allie asked, twisting her braid.

   Celine sat and spread her hands over the stacked books. Allie noticed she had a few colored rings, but not a wedding band. “A front for supernatural explorers,” Celine said.

   The gleam in the woman’s eyes would have been hilarious in its intensity if Allie didn’t understand it perfectly. She knew, from first-hand experience, what it was like to dabble in the supernatural. Anyone who did, survived the experience, and came out wanting more, would adopt that same gleam. Allie felt her lips tug into a small smile, unsure what to say. By the look in Celine’s eyes, however, Allie felt she had more to say, so she let her.

   Celine leaned forward, “Please tell me about the spirits you’ve encountered.”

   “Don’t know if that’s the right word,” Allie began. “More like... found. I found them. I sought them out.”
 

   Celine waited.

   “You know that old manor on top of Reynolds street?”

   “The Bellington Manor, I’ve read about it.”

   “Yeah, well… I met the Bellingtons.”

   Celine yelped, raising her hands to her face. “You didn’t!”

   “I did, I know I did. I’ve been visiting them for months. Funny, they always say ghosts visit people, not the other way around…”

   “Tell me, tell me what they’re like.”

  Allie shifted. “There’s four brothers. Alex, the oldest. I think he’s about twenty. Or, y’know, was.”
 

   Celine nodded.

   “And there’s two twins, just a bit younger than me. Adam and Roger. Roger’s kind of… snarky. Adam’s really shy. And then the youngest is Zack. He’s really hyper, and I don’t think he knows he’s dead.”

   “Good gracious. It’s just like I’ve read. Though, that is funny. You say Alexander is the oldest?”

   “Yes.”

   “I’ve read that there were five brothers. If I recall… The oldest had fought in the first world war, and exhibited symptoms of PTSD, which they had no term for at the time. Many soldiers suffered."

   “Oh my God.”

   Celine stood, “Here, I think I still have the article. I’ve always been fascinated with that manor, with the legend. Nobody here wants to talk about it, though. It’s like they know it’s haunted.”

   “Well, they’re not wrong.”

   Celine moved to a file cabinet beside a small antenna television. She pulled open the top drawer labeled A-G and began searching. Allie took the silence to turn the question on her, as she found it easy to talk to her.

   “Why are you so interested in this stuff, anyway?”

   “My grandmother,” she said, still flicking through the files. “Always had an affinity for the worlds beyond ours. I grew up here, but my mother often took me to visit her in the Philippines. When I did, she’d sit me at the foot of her chair and tell me all these urban legends, along with stories from her childhood. Yes! Here it is.” She pulled a file out and shut the cabinet with her hip. She looked extremely pleased with herself for keeping records.

   Moving back to the table, Celine finished her answer before opening the file. “Monsters, spirits, witches, demons. You might have heard of the white lady. That’s an old Pinoy tale. Anyway, it seemed to be the one thing she and I really had in common. My mother never liked to hear it. ‘Stop that nonsense, ina,’ she’d say.

​

   ‘You’re filling her head with nothing but fear.’ I’d tell her I wasn’t afraid, but she didn’t believe me. Even so, my grandmother and I would trade stories, back and forth, true or untrue, all the way up until she died.

 

   There’s not too much business in believing ghost stories, so of course I went to school for something else, but as I got older I wanted to open a shop, and at least in part dedicate it to my grandmother.”

   Celine’s eyes had gone soft and the faintest hint of a smile graced her lips. Then she brought them back up to Allie, who could see they were slightly misty, and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

   “No, no, it’s fine. That’s a lovely thing, you know, to honor her.”

   Celine gave Allie a real smile this time, and it seemed that even with their age difference, the two were well on their way to being good friends.

 
   “Anyway,” Celine said, “I have the article here. Take a look.” She slid the folder across the table, and Allie braced herself for whatever lay inside. No matter what it was, it was confirmation that the mysterious family she’d come to know had, in fact, been properly recorded, evidence of their time alive.

  She opened the file, an old newspaper article sitting front and center.

 

   BELLINGTON FAMILY MASS HOMICIDE! the title read. Allie’s gut twisted in fear, unsure if she wanted to learn of her friends’ gruesome deaths. She read it all the same. She read through the backstory, the mention of the parents’ potential kidnapping, and all the economic details until she reached the mention of the brothers’ deaths.

   “Oh, God, I can’t read this.” Allie choked, closing her eyes. Celine was about to say something, but Allie cut her off. “No, I have to.”

  She went on.

​

Thomas Bellington, eldest of the five brothers, had been diagnosed with shell shock, a disorder common among veterans. Something must have been terribly wrong inside young Thomas, for it seems, through exploration of the manor, that he murdered his four brothers and then killed himself. 

 

The author gave a little mention about how gruesome the next section might be, but Allie didn’t turn away.

 

Thomas Bellington’s body was found in his bedroom, the entire wing of the manor - burned. Experts say he lit the place himself and trapped himself in, dying in the flames. A horrifically brutal way to go. The soldier displayed twisted compassion; Alexander (19), the second oldest brother, had been shot in the back of the head. Most horrific is the death of six-year-old Zackary, who’d been drowned in the pond on Bellington property. The twins’, Roger and Adam (14), deaths are unknown.

   The article closed with something about “the demons inside all of us,” then recommended readers pay their respects to the dead.

   Allie flipped through the other two pages, which were photos of the manor, a close up of the burnt wing, and the family. Allie’s heart sunk at seeing each of their faces, including the smiling parents and a young, uniformed Thomas. Her friends, who she’d seen in various states of translucence, looked so alive and spritely. Adam’s smile was not timid at all, and Roger’s was genuine. Alexander looked more handsome than ever, and Allie tried not to look at his black and white portrait for too long. 

   When she finally released the file, she looked up and Celine and husked a shaky breath. “Journalists really have no compassion, do they?”

   “It was the biggest story of ‘25 - they milked it for weeks. That article is the first, and the most direct. The rest, as I’ve found, ended up spinning wild theories about Thomas and tried to find dirt on Alex.”

   Allie laughed, “All they’d find is that he’s a bit of a snob.”

   It was silent as the weight of it settled, then Celine spoke. “What’s it like? To know them?”

   Shrugging, Allie answered, “Like knowing anybody, I guess. Though it’s a bit more spooky. Also, they sneak up on you, and you’ll never get used to it.”

   The gleam in Celine’s eyes returned. “Wow, so they’re real. I mean, I knew they were real, but they’re really real.”

   “Yeah, they’re real. Real annoying. Well, Alex isn’t. Not all the time.” 

   Celine tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she waited for Allie to go on.

   Allie looked at the little cacti on the windowsill. She couldn’t see the manor through the glass. as she couldn’t in most parts of town, but she knew it was there. “I like Alex,” she hummed. “He’s charming and handsome.

 

   "And for some reason he’s always talking about hosting a ball. Don’t tell him I said this, but I think he’d make a great host. He’s a total gentlemen. I guess he’s my favorite, if I had to choose. But I also like Adam. He’s really shy, but I don’t blame him. Roger’s a bit of an ass, if you want to know the truth, so I don’t know how to feel about him. I can’t spend too much time with Zack. I get too sad. He’s so young. I don’t know, it’s a weird sort of thing, even if I choose to stick around.”

   “I can see how it’d get to be a lot. Especially if you’re the only one who knows.”

   “Yeah. It’s weird. I do love it there, though. It’s like, I can be totally alone but never truly alone, you know? Sometimes they bother me on purpose, spook me or flicker the lights on and off.”

“Really, the lights? They still work after ninety years?”

   “Alex says it’s electromagnetic energy. He doesn’t talk about spirit stuff a lot, if ever, but he told me the basics. They can’t leave the manor, they can’t talk about what happened, but they can manipulate electrical currents and objects, especially objects they’re attached to. Adam plays the piano, he actually plays it - the keys move and everything.”

   Celine sighed dreamily, as if all of the legends her grandmother had told her had accumulated into one massive story, and it was right here in front of her. Then she popped up, startled. She glanced above Allie’s head and gasped, “We’ve been talking for ages!”

   Allie watched as Celine collected the file and the books and stood. Allie followed, still a bit lost in reflection. “It’s fine, I could talk about it forever. I probably will.”

   Celine looked at Allie, books in her arms, and said, “You probably have somewhere to be, don’t you?”
“Not really. I’m just headed back up there after this.”

   Celine blanched. 

   Allie took a risk. “Do you… Want to come with me sometime?”

   “Oh my God, yes. I mean, wait. Do you think they’d want me to?”

   “I’ll convince them. Now, can I buy those books, or what?”

   Celine glanced down to the green and purple books in her arms. “For you?” She grinned, a truly ecstatic smile. “No charge.”

✧

    When she returned to the manor that night, entering and shutting the door with her foot like she would her own home, Roger immediately pounced her. She ignored his freckled face and ginger hair and continued through the hallway, knowing he’d follow her. He did, all the while asking her where she’d gone. She answered simply, “Researching.”

   Roger drifted through the air like a relaxed man in a hammock, hands behind his head, legs crossed.

 

   “Researching what?”

   “What happened to you guys.”

   Suddenly, he soared in front of her, rounding on her and blocking her way to the guest room. She dipped under him, as she recalled the one time she’d accidentally walked through Zackary and her entire body had felt like it’d been pierced by icy blades.

 
   “You shouldn’t be meddling around in what happened to us, it’ll just attract attention. You should’ve know better, Allie.” There was a ferocity in his voice which she’d never heard, but she was in no mood to deal with it.

   She set the new books calmly on the floor and removed her satchel. “Alex said I could go.”

   “Oh, Alex said, Alex said, isn’t he the one in charge!”

   The lights flickered. A small side table with a blue and white vase shifted a few inches on the wood floor.
“Calm down, Roger. You’ll blow the circuits.”

   “Don’t tell me to calm down! You’re the one who needs to calm down! You’re always meddling, doing all this because of your stupid crush -”

   “Roger!” 

   Allie’s heart jumped. Alexander had appeared, right before them, standing calmly as Roger floated angrily towards the ceiling.

   “Roger,” Alexander repeated, “That’s enough.”

   Roger went silent, though it looked like he wanted to bite back. He scowled at both of them and then disappeared, blowing one of the lamps out as he went.

   Alexander sighed. “He’s just moody.” He then sat at on the arm of the couch, “What’d you find?”

   “You know, I sort of don’t really feel like talking about it,” Allie snapped. She was a bit shaken from Roger’s accusation. He’d been so angry, she had no idea how he’d handle meeting Celine, if at all. She prayed he wasn’t the first to see her.

   “You don’t?” her friend asked, surprised. He always listened when Allie had something to say, something to question. He sounded a bit hurt at being brushed off, and Allie almost took it back.

   “Not really. I’d like to be alone. It’s been a long day.”

   Now, should someone request to be alone in someone else’s house, they’d have been regarded as rude and demanding. But, as it came to be, the manor was now as much Allie’s as it was the Bellington brothers’. It went unspoken that she should be allowed her time when she needed it. So, as he was a kind and honest gentlemen, Alexander nodded and left her in peace, exiting through the doorway as if denying the fact he could walk through walls.

   Once he was gone, Allie let out a breath and shook her head. Sometimes they were too much. Though it was a dark and temperamental business, disagreeing with the spirits hurt just as much as it did with living friends.
 

   She stood on trembling legs and moved through the guest room to the piano. She sat on the pink cushion and let her fingers fall against the worn beige keys, hoping Adam would join her, or at least play her a song of sympathy.

✧

   Like she’d promised, Allie brought Celine with her up to the manor the following day. As expected, Roger threw a fit. Alexander was upset with her for breaking her vow of silence, but at Celine’s elated shrieks and gleaming eyes, he’d given in. He let Celine ask him a myriad of questions until sunset, and then Allie sent her on her way. She’d thanked her tremendously, and Allie returned the sentiment, praising Celine for all her help, and for the books. After spending all night looking through them, Allie knew what she had to do.

   But she wasn’t going to do it yet - she needed more information. So, in the days after meeting Celine, she collected as much as she could. She sneaked through the manor, looking at old photos, peeping in closets. She explored it the way she hadn’t before, set on finding more about Thomas and what had driven him to madness. It was dangerous, she knew it, but she had to figure it out if she was going to help him and his brothers cross over. 

   However, something had suddenly come up.

   Her school was having a formal. A 1920s themed formal, actually. And while Allie would have loved to blow it off and spend another night in the manor, there was something about it that she couldn’t resist. Perhaps it was the fact that after she’d told Alexander of it, he’d presented her with an authentic golden dress and a pair of ivory kitten heels. She would have hugged him out of gratitude if he’d not slipped out of her arms and into the air, drifting off as he said, “It’s no trouble, no trouble at all…”

✧

   The night of the dance, Allie let her mother pamper her. She set her in front of the bathroom mirror as she twisted her thick hair into a spiral bun at the back of her head. She let two curled tendrils fall down the side of Allie’s face, placed a golden sparrow pin in her bun, and told her she could use some of her makeup if she wanted. Allie told her no thank you, she didn’t need any, but when her mother kissed her head and left her, Allie rummaged for her mother’s gold eyeshadow and dabbed some on her eyelids with the tip of her middle finger.

   The dance itself was disappointing. She stood against the wall, as did everyone. Nobody knew how to dance to 1920's jazz, so, a third of the way in, the DJ switched over to fast-paced pop and everyone leapt into a modern dance, still clad in vintage dress. Allie stayed for one or two songs. She’d rather be with people who experienced the 20's as reality, and not a theme.

   She took the bus, like she always did, but removed her heels to walk up the street to the manor. The cement was warm under her feet, and she stepped carefully through the dark. She put her heels back on when she entered the house, clicking softly down the hallway as she called for her friends.

   It was silent, unnaturally so, and she suddenly felt very nervous. None of the ghost brothers had seen her in anything but sneakers, jeans, and a ball cap, and here she was in a golden gown, rolling the beads of her dress through her fingers. She padded past the empty guest room and towards the only room with any signs of activity - the ballroom. 

   Reaching it, she found it was illuminated by golden light. The walls were adorned with loops of beads and streamers, and an old record player sat in the corner of the room, silent. She stared at it and watched as the needle dropped, a jazzy waltz crackling into the air. She smirked, the scene had Alexander written all over it.

   “It’s lovely,” she said into the empty room.

   Alexander materialized beside her. “So are you.”

   Blushing lightly, Allie looked at her feet. “Don’t - don’t do that. But thank you.” She looked back up, nodding to the decorated walls, “How did you do this?”

   “Celine helped.” Alexander ignored Allie’s questioning squeak, talking right over it. “She came to visit while you were in school. Do you like it?”

   In that moment, Allie felt overwhelmed. Here she was, standing with a friend who’d dressed an entire room for her, who most likely knew the school dance would be horrible and wanted to make it up to her. She looked at him, his face warm against the golden light of the room. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he quirked a dark brow and whisked in front of her, long legs momentarily replaced by his wispy tail. He swept his eyes over the ballroom as he began floating a few feet above the floor. Allie smoothed her hands down her beaded dress and rocked back on her heels.

   “So,” she said, “Where are Roger, Adam, and Zack?”

   “Hiding somewhere, most likely. Waiting.”

   “Waiting for what?”

   “For me to ask you to dance.” 

   Then, in a flurry of movement, Alexander swept down towards Allie and offered his arm. Allie took it shyly, surprised that he felt solid and real under her hand. He smiled at her in that smug, knowing way he often did, and brought her close to him. He pressed his hand to the small of her back, and, after waiting a moment for the music to begin its round again, he then waltzed her across the ballroom floor. They swept ‘cross it, Alexander’s hold of Allie’s waist firm but gentle. He danced with her with the confident ease of any gentlemen, and while Allie struggled to keep time, Alexander’s easy guidance had her feeling as graceful and elegant as any vintage beauty. Her head began to spin as they danced, the decorated ballroom blurring into swatches of golden and beige. Looking around to avoid the handsome smile of her friend, Allie swore she could see colorful figures of men and women waltzing around them.

   She furrowed her brows and blinked and the dancing couples were gone. Curious, she looked down at her feet, willing them to keep up the good work. At the sight of her heels, she found that Alex had surrounded their feet in a shroud of a ghostly golden light. The ballroom floor was many feet below, as they were effortlessly dancing on air.

 
   Allie’s stomach clenched, the smallest sound trapped in her throat. She felt Alex chuckle, but before either of them could speak, the ballroom rumbled furiously, and crashes and bangs sounded from above them.

​

   Alexander faltered in his movements, record player scraping to a halt, and gently brought them down from the air. Once safely on the ballroom floor, Allie and Alexander shared a glance. Allie would have asked what the sound was, but Alexander’s face confirmed her suspicions.

   “It’s Thomas, isn’t it?”

   The lights flickered, and Alexander knit his brows. “How do you know that?"

   Allie quickly clicked across the ballroom, knowing that if she stood helpless any longer, she’d lose her courage. “I just do. Come on.”

   Alexander swooped in front of her. “No, no, you are not going up there.”

   “Yes, actually, I am.” She pressed on, leaving the ballroom with her head held high. She continued on through the hallway, Alexander quick behind her as she confessed, “I haven’t told you this, but I know how to help you. You need to cross over.” 

She didn’t stop until she got to the stairwell. She’d gone up it, exploring one half of the manor, but never the other. She looked towards it now before she kicked off her shoes, left them at the foot of the stairwell, and ran up. Ignoring Alexander’s shout, focusing solely on the increased rumbles, she padded towards Thomas’s wing.

   As she drew nearer, she could feel a shift in energy. Downstairs, in the guest room, there lived a thriving hum of comfort. It was homely and warm, but here… Here in the west wing… It was barren. Suddenly drained, her eyes went blurry, her bones began to ache, and while she kept walking over wooden floors, her bare feet seemed to think they were slicing on blades. On top of the intense physical pain, Allie felt a sense of dread come over her, as if no amount of positive reassurance would remind her that a new day would come. It was a mix of anger and sadness and regret and loneliness, and it nearly overwhelmed her.

 

   Still, she pressed on, perhaps more out of a strange magnetism towards the scorched wooden door at the end of the hallway than anything else. She approached it, struggling to encourage her body and mind, and watched as the door trembled and shook with the force kept within it. Faintly, Allie could hear Alexander from behind her, but she didn’t turn around. She only willed herself to remember that she was real and standing on two feet in a hallway, not in whatever hell Thomas’s pain had placed her.

   Allie knew that she was experiencing his pain, his anger. While she wasn’t witness to the murders of his brothers through hallucinations, she could feel the surges of rage and regret, a wish for death, and scorching, red-hot relief. With electric fire in her nerves, heart burdened with Thomas’s heaviest sorrows, Allie could feel him inside her. His power had her crying, gasping, swaying as she went, but none of it stopped her from calling out.

   She had to get through to him, she had to end this. “Thomas! Thomas Bellington!”

   With the mention of his name, the energy spiked, and a sharp spark pierced Allie’s left shoulder. Thomas’s energy flared up to silence her like a heavy wool blanket tightening around her from the inside. Allie could only hear the blood in her ears and strange, metallic echo. Then, distant and hollow, she caught Alexander’s voice, pleading his brother not to hurt her.

   It reminded her that she was not alone, as much as she felt it. She was here to help them, she had to help them. Filled with determination, Allie clawed through the thick air, hitting her palms against the hot wood of the bedroom door. “Thomas,” she rasped, “You have to cross over. You - you’re not supposed to be here anymore.”

   Allie must have broken through because the vice of dread around her ribs loosened, and Thomas finally bellowed back, “Get out.”

   His voice sounded strained and stringy, a mesh of ten thousand warped voices underlying the deep baritone of a young man. Allie sensed the poltergeist’s desperation beneath his wrath, and she pressed on.

   “Please, I know what happened. I know you killed them. But you have to believe me that it wasn’t you. It wasn’t really you. There was darkness in you… Traumatic stress disorder, no helpful treatment - it took over you. Something demonic overcame you. It wasn’t you, Thomas, it wasn’t you.” Though every word she spoke took unbelievable strength, she knew she was getting through. Thomas was listening.

   Allie felt a crackle in the energy, and the presence of the other brothers materialized beside her. She didn’t look at them, but she knew they were there - Alexander holding Zackary against him, Roger and Adam in the rafters, watching, waiting.

   “Your brothers are here, Thomas. I can’t say they forgive you, but they need release. They don’t belong here, neither do you. You’re earthbound, tied to this house, bound by what happened, but you have to let go.”

 

   Thomas surged, smoke crawling from the space under the door. Allie ignored it, wet cheek now pressed to the wood. “You have to move on. You have to. It’s no use now, no use to stay here. I know you don’t believe me, but you have to. You don’t belong here.”

   They were going around in circles, and it wasn’t working. Allie breathed the mirage smoke into her lungs, urging herself to try something else. “Listen, Thomas. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’ve seen the things you’ve seen, I’m sorry your parents were taken, and I’m sorry for your brothers. You didn’t deserve that pain, and you don’t deserve this. I’m sorry that violence made you violent.”

   Then, in response to Allie’s apology, the air stilled. The heat of the wing mellowed as the gray smoke thinned, and the hallway came back into focus. Allie was left leaning against the door, forehead sweaty, still in her formal dress but so, so far from dancing on air. She looked across the way at the other brothers. They were watching her. On their faces was something she’d never seen. It was relief, sorrow, and wonder all at once. It was relaxed brows and parted lips and deep, breathless breaths. Alexander was the first to smile, just a quirk of lips.

   He didn’t say anything as his eyes fell on Thomas’s door. He moved towards it, Zackary and the twins following close behind. Allie stepped back and stood strong, though she felt like collapsing.

   Standing with his three brothers before the door of his fourth, Alexander turned back. “Thank you, Allison,” he said.

   “Allie.”

   He huffed a small laugh, “Allie.”

   And then the Bellington brothers were gone. They’d faded into the air on the whisk of a breeze, leaving Allie alone. Everything went deathly still, as if the brothers were truly dead.

  Allie waited, hoping to hear Zackary’s light childish laughter, Adam’s sweet melody, or Roger’s snark once more, but nothing came. She slunk weakly to the floor, golden dress bunching at her middle. Softly, she cried.

 

She pressed her palms into her wet face, breathing damp, breathless little sobs into them. It was a long while, just sitting in the hallway of the empty manor, before she raised her face.

“Goodbye,” she said.