I started shivering — could've been the cold, could've been the looming threat of becoming a ghost's chew toy. But honestly? It was fear. Ordinary, full-body terror. Those clanking chains and that translucent creepshow gliding toward me took my breath away — and not in a romantic way. More like 'cancel my subscription to life' kind of way.
Had Elvira ditched me? Or had I just fallen behind? I could barely hear the faint sound of her footsteps somewhere ahead. Meanwhile, the ghostly moan behind me was way too close.
So there I was, standing in a dark corridor, while a ghost advanced toward me with the kind of chain-rattling soundtrack that really didn't need to exist. A pale, hollow-eyed shape drifted out of the darkness, long chains dragging across the stone floor like it was making a dramatic entrance on purpose.
I couldn't move. My limbs were frozen, like the air itself had solidified around me because this thing was nearby. I squeezed my eyes shut and did the only thing that made sense at the time — imagined myself myself as a crumpled pile of laundry. Wrinkled, forgotten, deeply uninteresting.
A few seconds passed before I dared to open my eyes.
The ghost was passing straight through me.
Cold. Tingly. Extremely unpleasant — but, thankfully, not painful nor fatal.
Then it drifted away into the darkness at the end of the corridor, chains fading into silence, and I finally remembered how breathing worked.
"You fell behind or what?" Elvira's voice boomed like thunder. I jumped and spun toward her.
"You'll get lost in here. And why'd you turn into the northern wing of the dungeon?"
"Was that… a bad turn?" I asked, brushing off residual panic.
"Not exactly. They usually use this area for zombiology practice. But it's off-hours. Anyway, how'd you like Ormie? Gorgeous, right?"
"You mean the ghost? That thing has a name?"
Elvira raised her hands like I'd asked if people normally eat.
"Of course he does. Ormie's been around for, like, three centuries. You'll get used to him… mostly. Just don't piss him off."
Sure. Harmless. Tell that to the soul-sucking eye sockets.
We kept walking. I couldn't help glancing behind every corner, expecting another ghost to leap out and start lecturing me in Latin.
"There are worse ghosts than Ormie," Elvira added, like she'd read my mind. "Some are sealed deeper down. Best not to mess with them. Not that you could — you'd need knowledge, magic, and finesse. You've got none of that. Yet."
"Reassuring," I muttered, suppressing a nervous laugh.