Zo grabbed a candle from off her wall and Claire quickly assisted in lighting it, before they creaked open their incredibly heavy chamber door. They padded along the cold, hard floor of the second story barefoot. Another chamber door burst open, and out came someone else jogging down the hall ahead of them.
When the three reached the room they guessed the scream had come from, its door was locked.
Claire banged on the door. “Was that you? Are you okay?”
“It … was me,” came a quivering voice.
“Open your door,” said the third person, who they now saw was Frank.
The intricately carved doorknob turned, and before them stood a short balding man, clad only in his pajama bottoms, his face looking nothing but pale in the light of Zo’s candle.
“What on Earth happened?” Zo inquired.
“I saw her,” he choked out.
“Who?” the three asked.
“Isobel. The woman they say is haunting the old cemetery.”
Frank’s excitement visibly deflated. “This is what you screamed about? This is why you got us up?”
Lenora and Beth soon showed up, each with their own candle and nightcap.
“You two stayed the night?” Claire asked them.
“Fog,” Beth answered, and then turned to the terrorized stranger. “You say you saw Isobel?”
“Y-yes,” the little pot-bellied man with a fringe of hair surrounding his bald head, stammered. “She was in my room a moment ago. She had long black hair and a nightgown, just like the legend says.”
Claire stepped into the room and turned in a circle. His chamber was round, with not even a bathroom attached—he’d have to go down the hall for that. Occupying the space was just a bed and nightstand, with a suitcase neatly waiting under the window. “Could you have had a nightmare?” she asked.
“No.”
Frank said at the same time, “Yes!”
“I swear she really was here. I could even smell her lavender scent,” the little ol’ man said.
Everyone took some sniffs and apparently couldn’t verify any scent.
“I was fully awake,” he went on. “All my senses are awake, although I feel a little sleepy.”
The ghostbuster sighed heavily after inspecting the room himself and looking out the window. “Not possible,” he swiftly concluded, before pushing his way between Lenora and Beth on the way out. He said over his shoulder, “Quit reading ghost stories!”
Claire looked down at the man, as she was a full head taller than him, and asked, “Are you going to be okay?”
“I-I think so…”
Lenora and Beth went to either side of him, looking him over intently. “We haven’t seen you here before,” Beth said.
“I’ve been busy seeing the sights, though I checked in here a couple days ago. Sorry, it’s just that I wasn’t expecting a real ghost. Actually, it’s something for my diary. I, uh, keep a diary.” He still looked shaken.
“Are you going home now?” asked Zo.
“No way! I just screamed because I-I was surprised. I’m not really worried.” He gave a weak laugh.
“Okay.” Claire was certain he was more concerned about losing some man points. “If you’re really okay.”
“Oh, dear … I do wish I had Elmer with me.”
Zo asked, “Your son?”
“No. He is my parrot. Nothing gets by him. Well, I guess I will go back to bed.”
“What’s your name?” Zo asked the still-fearful man.
“Gus Federbal.”
“Well, Gus, you see how fast we got here,” Zo said, nearly patting him on the head, but went for his shoulder instead. “All you have to do is yell again if you need us.”
Zo and Claire exited. Lenora and Beth seemed happy to be alone with him, waving the mother and daughter away while shutting his door.
“So, since we saw Frank here, who’s the man nosing around in the cemetery?” asked Claire to her mom.
“Who knows. I don’t care if some daredevil wants to see a family grave before he takes off to Kansas on his wee-hour road trip.”
Zo had taken to expounding her feelings ala Sam Spade, and this seemed like a right moment for it. “Everything screams that if I have any grit I’d go out there and confront the dark figure walking the cemetery floor. But, at three o’clock, in the gloomy shadows from a white moon, I’m choosing better wisdom, to leave the man to the loonies, goonies, and things that pierce your throat in the night. Oh, I’d go down in the morning to call the coroner all right, but tonight I am going to dream about the taste of bacon and orange juice for when morning comes conscious again.”