Page 40
A round of gasps and spontaneous applause breaks out because of it, too.
The tour takes us to our final destination inside this haunted abode—the grand room, and I actually stop dead in my tracks when I get a good look at the room.
Floor-to-ceiling mirrors cover every wall, reflecting the crowd back at itself in infinite iterations. And are those ghosts in the mirrors floating among us?
A crystal chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling covered in gossamer and thick layers of dust. Crimson velvet furniture is arranged in conversation clusters. And strangely enough, a blue mist moves around the floor, and I don’t see a single mechanism that might be providing this paranormal flair.
Miss Kitty stands front and center, and the crowd gathers around her in a semicircle as the lights begin to quiver and dim. The air grows so cold you could hang meat in here. And the scent of dusty roses fills the air.
“This time of year, we like to call this room the séance parlor.” Her voice drops to its lower, far scarier octave. “This is where the spirits like to appear. And if you’re lucky, one might just hitch a ride home with you.”
Oh, for Pete’s sake, Fish mewls. That’s the last thing we need.
It depends, Sherlock counters. Does that spirit know how to get his hands on a few sweet treats?
Kitty gestures to the mirrors as the lights dim yet another notch, and we watch as shapes start to form in the reflections.
A Victorian woman in a white dress illuminates near the ceiling.
A man in a top hat and tails appears on the other end of the room.
A child with hollow eyes that make my stomach drop waves at the crowd, and half of us scream. I would be one of the screamers. Just because I’m a mother now doesn’t mean I’m immune to creepy children.
Soon enough, there are dozens of luminescent beings, and they’re walking through the mirror reflections, moving around the room, but when I look at the actual space where they should be, there’s nothing there. Just empty air and fog.
It’s actually a pretty nice trick.
Hey? Maybe I should look into something like this for the inn? As if we needed any more tourists looking for a morbid good time. It’s bad enough my poor inn is practically shuttling people to the afterlife. We probably shouldn’t have a bus that brings them back.
The crowd is gasping, taking photos, pointing at the mirrors and laughing with delight.
“The spirits only appear in this room,” Miss Kitty explains. “No one knows why. It’s one of the great mysteries of Ravenswood Manor.”
I’m scanning the mirrors, the walls, the ceiling. I’m looking for hidden projectors or hologram equipment or anything that explains what I’m seeing. But there’s nothing. No obvious tech. No visible machinery. And I’m getting frustrated because I can’t figure out how this is being done.
“How are they DOING this?” Georgie whispers.
“I don’t know,” Mom says, and she actually sounds unsettled. “But I don’t like it. I have a strict policy about mingling with people who don’t have a pulse.”
If only your daughter did, Fish muses and my mouth falls open as I stare at her. I can’t believe I can actually see them, Fish continues as she takes in the ghostly sight. They’re actually here.
Define actually here, Duchess says, cowering next to her.
I don’t like this, Sherlock whines, pressing against my legs. I don’t care if these ghosts want to lure us to a bacon farm. I think we should leave.
When Sherlock is willing to eschew bacon, that’s how you know he’s serious.
Georgie walks up to one of the mirrors and tries to touch the Victorian woman’s reflection.
And to our shock and surprise, her hand goes through it.
A series of screams go off at the sight.
Georgie pulls her hand back before trying it again. And yet again, her hand goes right through it.
It doesn’t bounce off, and it doesn’t hit the glass. Her entire arm seems to go through the reflection where the woman is standing.
“RED! BIZZY! DID YOU SEE THAT?”
