Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hannibal was paused in his circuit of the outdoor market, considering some dried hot peppers (they were locally grown and said to be a regional specialty) when his phone rang.

He stepped away from the produce stand and accepted the call. “Hello?” he answered, not yet noticing the man a dozen steps away but slowly, casually, inching closer. “She canceled?” Hannibal said, repeating the bad news relayed to him by his fellow producer. “Are you sure you can’t convince her to— ” Hannibal frowned as he was cut off, the man on the other end of the line near hysterics. “Yes,” Hannibal said once he finally got the chance, “that’s terrible for Madame Fischer, but we were supposed to start filming tomorrow. Is there no way to convince her—?” After getting cut off for the second time, Hannibal lowered the phone from his ear and took a breath, summoning whatever patience he could manage. He waited for the line to quiet, and only then rejoined the conversation. “Where do you expect me to find another centuries-old mansion on such short notice?” he asked. “Let alone one that will let a team of ghost hunters ransack the place.” Especially considering he wasn’t even the person in charge of scouting locations. “We’re already behind schedule as it is. I can’t work miracles, Frederick; I don’t know what you expect me to do.” He listened to Frederick’s reply. “Yes, I’ll get in touch with them.” Hannibal hung up with a sigh and put his phone back into his pocket.

“You hunt ghosts?” asked a voice from behind him. Hannibal turned to find an awkward-looking man, his glasses and bangs working together to obscure half of his face. The bottom half was covered in scruffy facial hail. His eyes—bright and lively despite their concealment in the shadows of Will’s glasses—bounced around Hannibal’s visage, taking in what he could about him, but keeping far away from Hannibal’s own eyes. “Sorry,” the man said with a shy smile, “I couldn’t help overhearing.”

Eavesdropping was considered quite rude to Hannibal. He’d have to see if this man had a business card he could find a nice recipe to pair with. He found Louisiana to be quite charismatic so far—he wouldn’t mind coming back again when he had more time to sample the local delicacies.

“I’m a producer for a television show about the search for the supernatural,” Hannibal explained. “Coast to Coast with Freddie Lounds?”

The man shook his head. “Never heard of it. But to be fair, we don’t get television out on my island.” He blinked then, eyes widening as he realized his social misstep. “Oh, hell. I’m sorry. Where are my manners?” He held out his hand. “Will Graham.”

Hannibal accepted his hand and shook it. “Hannibal Lecter,” he introduced himself. “A pleasure,” he lied.

“So, you don’t believe in ghosts, yet you’re sponsoring a show about ghost hunting.”

Despite the offense (and intrigue) he felt from Will making such a correct speculation about himself, Hannibal kept his face neutral. “You sound so sure that I’m not a believer. I’m curious what led you to such a presumption.”

“It wasn’t a guess,” Will said with complete confidence. “I’m sure of it.” Hannibal tilted his head in question. Will shrugged and explained, “You live in a haunted house, you start to be able to tell the skeptics with just one glance.”

Of course, Hannibal was interested now, if not personally, then professionally, which is what Will was aiming for judging by the small smirk caught in the corner of his lips. Hannibal wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking—not yet, anyway. “Well,” he said instead, “you are correct in your assessment.”

Will’s smirk grew into something almost resembling a real smile. “N’Orleans is bloodsucker territory. I imagine since coming here you’ve already been on a vamp hunt?”

“It was the first item on our itinerary,” Hannibal replied. “I believe we’ve been to just about every cemetery in and around the city.”

“You didn’t get bit, did you?” Will joked.

“Not by any vampires, no. The mosquitoes, however, quite enjoyed drinking my blood.”

“Oh, yeah. They breed like crazy out here, what with all the water. What you want is garlic. I don’t know how well it’ll help you against the vampires, but it does a decent job keeping the mosquitoes at bay.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m out all night searching for supernatural creatures,” Hannibal said, although he doubted the potency of such a simple home remedy against the insects’ absolute zeal for Hannibal’s blood. “I suppose now I have to ask you about your haunted house?”

Will smiled. “It’s an old colonial manor out on Moonscar Island. Been in my family for generations. Beautiful architecture. Twenty-six rooms. And the grounds are extensive—there used to be a pepper plantation, but I’ve branched out into other crops as well. I actually grow most of my own food in the fields. The rest I catch out in the bayou.”

“I see,” Hannibal said. It sounded promising so far. “And what of the ghosts?”

“Well, there’s Morgan Moonscar himself, for one.”

“The island’s namesake,” Hannibal inferred.

“Yeah,” Will confirmed. “Nasty pirate captain from the 18^th century, which is around the time the house was originally built. And you know, a house like that what’s been around so long: a lot of people die there. Not all of them die pretty. Therefore, ghosts.”

Hannibal, of course, didn’t believe that the circumstances of one’s death contributed to the circumstances of their afterlife. If that were true, he would have seen more than his fair share of ghosts by now. “And you, personally, have seen these ghosts?” he asked Will.

“Oh, yes. I’ve seen them. Swear it on my life. You can come by, if you like. Scout out the grounds. If you decide to stay the night, you’ll see them. I guarantee it.”

Surprised at the ease of the offer, Hannibal smiled. He expected Will to need a bit more convincing or, at the very least, to settle the question of money beforehand like every other negotiation he’d been a part of. Then again, someone living in such a large historic estate would hardly be concerned with finances. Which begged the question of why Will was so easy. “You’d let us film in your home?” Hannibal asked.

“Sure. My psychiatrist’s always telling me I need to socialize more.”

Hannibal perked in interest. Will was just one surprise after another. “You see a psychiatrist?”

“I talk to one on the phone. I don’t really get off the island often. Usually only when I need to go on a supply run.” Will pointed to a ten pound sack sitting a foot away from him on the ground. “Ran out of sugar,” he explained.

“Well,” Hannibal said, “one of us must be very lucky, then, for us to have met today.”

“You don’t seem the type to believe in luck,” Will observed.

Again, Hannibal was in awe of Will’s insight. He’d have to be careful around him. “I suppose that makes you the lucky one, then,” Hannibal said.

“I’m certainly starting to feel lucky.” Will wet his lip as he gave Hannibal a quick once-over. “We’ll see if it lasts through the night.”

Hannibal kept his face politely pleasant, letting a smile fade through. He wasn’t adverse to mixing his personal and professional lives, but he had yet to decide if he would kill Will. It was best not to have too personal a relationship with one’s victims, in case an investigation opened later. Either way, it explained Will’s behavior—he had been trying to flirt.

“I’ll get ahold of the rest of my crew and inform them of your offer,” Hannibal said. “Most of them are nearby—this was only supposed to be a quick stop on the way to our filming location."

“Sounds good,” Will replied. “I’ve got a couple more things to pick up anyway. Just find me when you’re ready to go and you can follow me out of the city.” He picked up his sack of sugar, balanced it on his shoulder, nodded a goodbye, and maneuvered his way further into the depths of the marketplace.

Hannibal needed to phone Freddie Lounds. Really, he should call Frederick back first, as he was the one to alert Hannibal to the situation in the first place, but Freddie—the busybody she was—would know exactly where everyone else was and could help him track them down them quickly. Also factored in was the fact that Hannibal dreaded having to interact with Frederick Chilton again. He’d get in touch with him after he did everyone else—it would irritate Frederick to know he was last. But first, Hannibal bought some hot peppers to take back home to Baltimore.

***

Freddie arrived at the meeting point with Beverly Katz, both sporting a dusting of powdered sugar caught along the bottom of their sleeves from the beignets they had at the café. Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller were next, arguing over whether the weather would stay nice enough for the shoot or if they would have to get out the tarps for the filming of the house itself. Jimmy was positive the sun would prevail for the rest of the day; Brian bet on the rain. Frederick was the last summoned and the last to arrive, rushing into the square at the last minute. Hannibal briefed all of them on the details of the new plan, having given only the basics over the phone, then they all caught up with Will and made polite introductions.

“Oh, by the way,” Will said as they walked to their cars, “I keep dogs. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

“I love dogs!” Jimmy cooed.

Will smiled in his general direction. “I’m sure they’ll be excited to meet you.”

Everyone piled into their respective vehicles—Jimmy, Brian, Beverly, and Frederick in the TV van, Hannibal and Freddie in Hannibal’s Bentley (Hannibal only allowed one passenger in his car at a time, and this time, Freddie won the rock-paper-scissors tournament for the privilege), and Will in his Volvo leading the way away from the city, over the back roads, and out to the bayou.

They came to a stop at the bank of the water where a ferry sat waiting at the edge of the dock. A man previously loitering against one of the poles holding a rope railing along the side of the dock lurched forward and approached Will’s car. Will stepped out to greet him, and Freddie also stood beside her car door for a better vantage point while everyone else observed through dashboards and open windows.

“Hello, Matthew,” Will said.

“Mr. Graham,” Matthew returned with a playful bow. He glanced behind Will. “You make some friends?”

“I met them at the market. They’re ghost hunters.”

Matthew approached the Bentley. “Oh, you’re going to love the island, then,” he said with a smirk. “Ghosts all over the place out there. At least, according to rumor.”

“So, you’ve never seen any ghosts yourself?” Freddie asked.

“I don’t spend much time on the island. I just run the ferry. Speaking of, if you’d all pull up onto the boat, we can get going.”

Matthew turned and strode onto the ferry while the others got back into their vehicles and drove over the dock, up the ramp, and parked on the deck. Everyone then exited and mingled while Matthew steered them through the water.

“What do you do for a living?” Beverly asked Will, attempting small talk.

Will shrugged. “This and that. Whenever someone has an antique car that needs fixing up, the local mechanic usually sends them my way. I’m pretty good with older machines. Comes from tearing apart and putting back together all of the decades old devices in the house, I guess. I prefer boat motors, though. I get a lot of business in the summer for boat repairs.”

“That’s fascinating. What can you tell us about all of the disappearances?” Freddie cut in, pen and paper in hand, ready to take notes.

“Disappearances?” Beverly repeated with a frown.

“I did an internet search on the way here,” Freddie said. “People who visit Moonscar Island tend to go missing.” She looked expectantly at Will.

Brian groaned, “You couldn’t have mentioned that before we got on the boat?”

Will answered the question with the poise of a politician. “Unfortunately, it happens. People— usually tourists from the city with no experience in the bayou—come to the island to take in the scenery, but they don’t know how to properly navigate the landscape and so they fall victim to the sinkholes or the quicksand or the gators.”

“Gators!” Jimmy exclaimed in excitement.

“Gators!” Brian exclaimed in horror.

“Sure,” Will said, either oblivious or indifferent to the haze of unease emanating from Brian Zeller. “If you look close, you should see some.”

“Look!” Chilton cried, leaning over the railing and pointing toward the shore. “I do think I saw one.” The boat swayed and Frederick slipped, wailing as he caught halfway over the edge and holding on for dear life. Hannibal, unfortunately, was the closest to him, so he ran over and pulled him back aboard, despite preferring that the man drowned.

“Thank you, Doctor Lecter,” Frederick said after he caught his breath.

“You may want to take a step back, Frederick,” Hannibal warned, “unless you wish to see the reptiles close up.”

Will moved closer to Hannibal during the commotion. “Doctor?” he asked.

“I used to practice medicine, and then psychiatry before leaving for the television industry.”

“Medicine to psychiatry I can see, but psychiatry to TV? That’s one hell of a career change. Can’t help but wonder why.”

“I imagine with your remarkable insights, you have an idea.”

Will hesitated. “I’m not a psychic.”

“No, but I think you see more than you let people think.”

Will frowned, but sighed. He recited his analysis as if he’d already had it waiting on the tip of his tongue. “You have money,” He intuited. “You live extravagantly, but you still have more than you know what to do with, so you decide to use your big bucks to buy your way into the television industry. It’s different from anything you’ve done before; maybe it’ll be what finally sates your boredom.”

The rest of the team stood around the two of them in varying levels of awe and disbelief. Hannibal smiled, impressed—especially by that bit at the end. “You are right on all counts,” he praised.

Frederick cleared his throat. “We should get some footage of the scenery,” he said with importance, trying to regain his composure. “Mr. Price, get your camera.”

Jimmy huffed, “I’m the sound engineer. Z’s the camera guy.”

Frederick brushed them both off. “Right, whatever. Someone start filming.”

Brian and Frederick went to set up the camera at the front of the ferry. Beverly, fulfilling her job as the director, followed behind, making sure they got some decent footage. “It sure is beautiful out here,” she said, admiring the greenery. “I can see how someone could get lost, though.”

“Oh, yeah,” Matthew called out the window of the cockpit, having been listening. “Real easy to get turned around and lose your way. That’s why Moonscar chose this location—supposedly—so no one could come after him.”

Brian turned to look up at Matthew, raising an arm to shield his face from the slivers of sun that shown through the leaves. “But you know where you’re going… right?”

“Of course,” Matthew assured him, although his tone and demeanor did little to reinforce his claim. “I’ve been sailing back and forth for years. I could get you there with my eyes closed.”

“Let’s not test that theory,” Frederick mumbled to Beverly.

Hannibal and Will continued to chat, Hannibal interested in Will’s “imagination” as he called it. He determined that what Will had was pure empathy—able to put himself in anyone’s shoes and understand them as well as he understood himself. Which was concerning considering Hannibal was the most notorious serial killer on the East Coast, if not the entire United States. But there was also the possibility that Will could see him, understand him in a way no one else in Hannibal’s life ever could. It was a risk he was willing to take. If needs must, he could always kill Will. That possibility was still on the table. For now, he was fascinated by the man.

Freddie Lounds, if asked, would use the word “enamored” to describe Hannibal’s current opinion of Will. It’s the word she used in her notepad. She was taking notes on their voyage, the scenery, the people around her. As a journalist, she found it prudent to take notes on anything that might be important later. And since she couldn’t see the future, she ended up taking prolific notes on many things. It gave her, if nothing else, plenty of blackmail material.

“Moonscar Island dead ahead,” Matthew called out as they approached the island. He leered out the window to the group gathered on the deck. “Last chance to turn back.”

“Stop trying to scare them, Matthew,” Will commanded with heretofore unseen authority.

Matthew grinned down at Will. “I’m only having fun. Surely they know nothing bad’s actually going to happen.” Will frowned down at Matthew, despite him having the high ground. The two held eye-contact, Hannibal was jealous to note, until Matthew turned away, looking thoroughly chastised, and then he was slightly less jealous.

The three cars were re-loaded with equipment and passengers and they drove off, with Will in front leading the way.

Halfway to their destination, they came upon a rickety bridge allowing passage over a deep drop into a rolling creek.

“It’s not too far, now,” Will shouted out the window to the cars behind him. “Just drive slow over the bridge. And, uh, be careful—the road after can be a bit bumpy.”

The bridge creaked and swayed, but ultimately held the weight of all three vehicles. More impressive, though, was Will’s definition of the word “road”. Clearly, it was different than Hannibal’s. Despite his careful driving, Freddie, in the passenger’s seat, held on for dear life, the seatbelt not enough of a comfort against the turbulence. Will drove through the woods confidently, as if he traveled it every day of his life, but that clearly wasn’t the case seeing as it was overgrown with the surrounding foliage. Once Hannibal got home, he’d be scrubbing mud out of his poor Bentley for days.

Finally, the procession of vehicles turned a corner and came upon a clearing and in the center, standing stately and picturesque, was Will’s centuries-old mansion.

Chapter Text

As soon as they parked and exited their vehicles, they were surrounded by dogs. Twenty of them were immediately visible in the clearing with more running out from behind the house and, looking closer, one could see more pairs of eyes reflected between the leaves of the brush in the surrounding wood.

“Woah,” Brian said, “look at all these dogs! Hey little guy.” He knelt on the ground and reached out toward a yellow and brown mutt. Ears back, the dog growled low in its throat. A few other dogs closeby started barking. Brian scrambled back to his feet, taking a few quick steps back and tripping over his own feet, nearly falling backward.

Jimmy swatted his arm. “You can’t just approach a strange dog! You have to let them come to you.”

Will whistled sharply. All of the dogs in the area stood at attention. He uttered a single command: “Behave.” At once, the dogs’ demeanors changed. They wagged their tails, lolled their tongues, and the ones closest to the humans rolled over showing their bellies. Beverly petted a spotted long-haired dog; Freddie, a small black-eared hound dog. Brian’s mutt begged until he hesitantly reached out again and pet it. Jimmy was swarmed by dogs big and small, trying exuberantly to pet as many as he could.

“Hey, Winston,” Will said, petting a spotted brown collie mix. “Did you hold down the fort while I was gone?” Winston snuffled what Will seemed to interpret as an affirmative. “Good boy.”

Hannibal stepped over to Will. “You have them trained well,” he observed.

Will shrugged. “Just like any other responsible pet owner. We don’t get many visitors out here is all.”

“Of course.”

Will turned back to the group, clearing his throat to get their attention. “So, uh, welcome.” He gestured an arm out toward the mansion, as if anyone could have missed it. “To my home. Just let me put my groceries away and then I can give y’all a tour?” He picked up his bags and entered the house, leaving the door propped open behind him so the dogs could come and go as they pleased. A handful entered behind him, Winston included.

The group converged in the kitchen. Will set his things down on the counter and opened a cupboard. He pulled out a stack of glasses. “Anyone want some apple juice?” He offered, taking the beverage out of the fridge. “Made it fresh just yesterday.” He poured their glasses. “And, um, there’s cookies on the stove there.” He pointed to a baking sheet sat atop the stove. “Help yourselves.” Everyone took one except Hannibal, although Will did pointedly hand him a glass of juice. Hannibal accepted it graciously. He took a polite sip, not letting the smile fade from his face as he forced himself to swallow. Finally satisfied, Will turned back to his bags.

“These are the best chocolate chip cookies I’ve had in my life,” Beverly said, savoring the sweets.

“Thank you,” Will said. “The secret’s a pinch of cinnamon.”

Once he had his groceries put away and the dogs’ water bowls refreshed, Will showed his guests the house, Winston following at his heels. They started with the dining room, since it was closest. There was a beautifully carved oak table in the center of the room dressed with a lightly stained damask tablecloth, a mid-19th century player piano positioned in front of a window, and antique china displayed on the walls; all lit by an intricate (if slightly tarnished) chandelier. There wasn’t a thing in the room that wasn’t more than fifty years old, contrasting to the kitchen which, while boasting some vintage glassware and gadgets, was filled with much more recent appliances—both small and large.

Next was the library, boasting hundreds—maybe thousands—of books lined along the wall-to-wall shelves. Classics and biographies, atlases and encyclopedias, poetry and pulp novels, things published hundreds of years ago and recent releases. Will had a more impressive collection than most libraries. There were also a few comfortable chairs set around the room to sit and read in, each with an end table and lamp sat beside them. All of this surrounded a large table in the center of the room, big enough to spread open a dozen books in a frenzy of research.

From there, their tour took them past the outer wall of the house, which was studded with a handful of windows that overlooked the gardens outside. Fruit trees, flowered bushes, and leafy crops flourished throughout the sprawling grounds beyond the mansion.

The next stop on the tour was the study, but first, they passed the hallway leading back to the kitchen. Frederick turned and considered stepping away for just a moment to steal another cookie. After the phone call with Madame Fischer, then worrying what to do about the show, then Hannibal calling him five minutes before they were set to leave with a miraculous solution to all their troubles, Frederick had completely missed lunch.

Well, Will was full of southern hospitality. Surely, he wouldn’t mind if Frederick took another one. Or two. Or three.

Frederick made his way into the kitchen and plucked up a cookie. He took a bite and nearly moaned at the flavor. Beverly was right—they were incredible.

A draft ran through the room, turning the air suddenly frigid despite the humid Louisiana climate leaking into the room from the open back door. Frederick turned toward the cold spot. He dropped the cookie and screamed.

The group in the study heard him all the way across the house and took off toward the noise to see what was the matter. They got to the kitchen in record time, filing into the room one right after the other. Winston, though, refused to move past the doorway, laying down, ears pricked, at the edge of the hallway.

There stood Frederick, blanched and panicked. “I believe Mr. Graham was not exaggerating in the slightest,” he said. “This place may just be haunted after all.”

“What do you mean?” Beverly asked.

He pointed at the wall. Gouged through the wallpaper into the wood behind it were the words GET OUT.

Hannibal glanced at Will, who was showing the minimum amount of surprise on his face necessary for someone in his situation. “Anyone could have done that,” Hannibal said. “It need not have been a ghost.”

Frederick shook his head. “I watched it happen,” the words wobbling out of his mouth like an egg rolling across the counter. “The letters carved themselves into the wall one at a time as if someone were scratching them in with a pen.”

Freddie gasped. “No shit? We need to get a shot of that!” she enthused.

Brian and Jimmy ran outside to get their equipment. Freddie pulled a compact out of her purse and touched up her make-up. Beverly stepped up to the wall, frowning at the letters as she traced them with a finger. Hannibal moved beside her. “It looks like it was done with a knife,” Beverly observed.

“Something sharp,” Hannibal agreed. If it wasn’t made by a ghost—and he was sure it wasn’t—then someone was running around the house with something that could surely be used as a weapon. Interesting.

The guys got back from the van and turned on all of their gadgets.

Freddie finished brushing her hair, and then stepped in front of the camera.

“Rolling,” Brian signaled.

“Here we are in Mr. Will Graham’s kitchen where we just had our first supernatural encounter with the spirits of Moonscar Island,” Freddie said, pointing to the wall behind her. “Ooh,” she gasped, hamming it up, “you can feel the chill in the air!” Her hair blew in front of her face, ruining the shot. “Cut!” she growled. “Too much chill! Who opened a window?”

“No one,” Jimmy said, pointing behind her. “Look.”

BEWARE was now carved into the wall below GET OUT.

“Who did that?” Hannibal asked. He’d been watching Freddie’s tantrum when it happened, but hopefully, someone else caught the culprit.

“The ghost!” Brian said, backing up toward the door.

“Keep rolling,” Beverly directed. Brian sighed and stopped moving.

“The ghosts do tend to get more restless as sunset approaches.” Will said blandly. “Then once night hits, they’re most active.”

“Perhaps we should come back tomorrow, then,” Frederick suggested. “Let’s just… what is that?” he asked, referring to the low droning sound that had begun to echo through the room.

“It sounds like a dial tone,” Jimmy said. “Did you leave the phone off the hook?” he asked Will.

Will blinked, then turned to the wall where the phone was supposed to be hanging on the receiver. Instead, it was floating a foot in front of it, the curled cord swaying slightly underneath.

Everyone stared at it in awe. When no one else made a move, Beverly went over to the phone and waved her hand above it, feeling for a wire. She moved it around the sides as well, but to no effect. Finally, she plucked it out of the air and held it to her ear. “… Hello?” she said into the speaker.

A raspy voice sounded from the other side of the line. “… Geeeeeeet oooouuuuuut,” it moaned into her ear. Ice ran down Beverly’s spine. She shuddered, then gingerly hung up the phone and backed away from the wall.

For a moment, Will’s expression collapsed into a frightful, downright murderous scowl. But then Hannibal blinked and Will had on his face the same benign slant of his lips and curl of his brow as always. For all appearances, he was no more than the same charmingly awkward host who invited them all to his home. Hannibal began to wonder what exactly it was Will was hiding beneath the mask he wore.

“Wrong number?” Brian asked warily.

Beverly opened her mouth to reply, but she was without words.

“We should review the footage,” Frederick suggested. “See if we can either verify or disprove that this is… what it seems to be.”

Hannibal said a sentence he never thought he’d speak genuinely, “That’s a good idea, Frederick.”

At Will’s suggestion, they all moved back to the library. Brian set the camera on the large table in the center of the room, and everyone gathered behind him, peeking over his shoulders as he rewound the video of Freddie in front of the kitchen wall. He zoomed in, tweaked the brightness and contrast and a few other adjusters, replaying the clip and repeating the process until finally, a figure appeared on the screen behind Freddie.

Freddie leaned over Brian’s shoulder, practically knocking him off the chair to catch a better view of the screen. “Wow!” she nearly drooled. “I can’t believe we got it. Photographic proof!”

“Wait,” Beverly said. “Back it up a little?” Brian rewound the tape. “There. It’s not just a misty shape—that’s a guy.”

The group huddled around the little display screen on Brian’s camera, staring at the paused image of a seemingly real ghost. It was a burly man with long hair and a beard, dressed in an 18^th century coat and hat and holding a sword against the wall.

“It’s Morgan Moonscar,” Will said. He picked up an old tome from one of his bookshelves. The yellowed pages fluttered beneath his fingers until he found the chapter he was looking for. He sat the book open on the table, displaying for all the printed image of an old painting of Morgan Moonscar; the page opposite began a short biography of the man. “See the half-moon-shaped scar? That’s how he got his name.”

Brian frowned at the picture. “That’s him alright. But why does he want us to leave?”

“I suppose we’ll have ask him the next time he makes an appearance,” Hannibal said, casting a glance to Will.

Will smiled slightly in return, as if sharing a secret.

“Wait,” Frederick said, “was that him on the phone, too?”

“The voice did just barely pick up on Freddie’s mic,” Jimmy said. “I could enhance it, but even then, how would we be able to verify it was him? Everyone who ever heard his voice would have died hundreds of years ago.”

The library fell to silence as they considered how to proceed. “We brought the spirit board, right?” Freddie asked.

“And the EMF detectors,” Brian said.

“And the spirit box,” Jimmy added, “though I doubt we’ll need that one since the ghosts clearly know how to use the phone. Pretty impressive for someone born before they were invented.”

“I mean, he had, what?” Brian argued, “Two hundred years to learn?”

“Okay,” Freddie said running to the door. “I’ll run to the van and get the rest of the stuff.” Before she crossed through the doorway, she turned around and addressed the room. “No one else get haunted until I come back!”

“So you’re not going to heed his warning?” Will asked before she left.

“Are you kidding?” Freddie replied with a manic grin. “This is the kind of supernatural encounter we’ve been looking for for years!” She practically skipped down the hall and away to the back door.

None of the others shared her enthusiasm. Frederick might have, if he were thinking of their show’s future ratings rather than the ghost pirate that could apparently cut through solid objects with his ghost sword. Brian and Jimmy were also worried about the ghost, despite any initial thrill they’d felt over actually seeing a real ghost. Beverly, although a skeptic, still recognized the danger present. Hannibal simply didn’t believe the supernatural was to blame for any of it, rather, he figured Will was pulling an elaborate hoax for some reason.

“Freddie’s right about one thing,” Beverly said. “We’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“A real live ghost,” Jimmy said. “Can you believe it?”

“No,” said Brian. “Because if it is a real ghost, then by definition, it can’t be alive.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

Freddie reentered the house with a large box of gadgets and doodads, some of them already beeping. It wasn’t a particularly heavy box, but it was awkward, the dimensions being what they were, so she sat it down on the kitchen table for a moment to readjust her grip. Before she did, though she was drawn back over to the wall. She studied the letters one by one, noticing some strange markings in the wood itself. “There’s something under there,” Freddie mumbled under her breath. She scratched her fingernail along the edge of the letter O. A small piece of the wallpaper peeled off, revealing more of whatever it was beneath—some other word, Freddie guessed. She needed something bigger than her fingernail. Across the kitchen, in a pitcher full of utensils, a shiny metal spatula glistened in the last rays of afternoon sun.

Freddie burst into the library without any of the equipment she was supposed to get, grabbed Will’s book still laying open to the picture of Morgan Moonscar off the table, and ran back out of the room toward the kitchen. Her coworkers called after her, and when she didn’t reply, they followed.

The wall looked a mess; the wallpaper had been ripped to shreds. Where, before, had been clearly written GET OUT and BEWARE, the words were less visible as now MAELSTROM was revealed to be carved professionally into the wood underneath.

“What is this?” Will stormed over to the wall to assess the damage.

“I think…” Freddie turned a page in the book. “Yes! Maelstrom!” She pointed to the text. “That was the name of Moonscar’s ship!”

“No shit. This house was built in the 18^th century. They probably used whatever materials they could find instead of shipping or manufacturing new lumber.”

“Well, that’s why he’s haunting the place, don’t you think? His ship was ransacked after his death and used for construction. He’s pissed about it.”

Will looked back at Freddie with a deadly glare, ready to rip her to shreds next, but before he could even open his mouth, Hannibal stepped in front of her. “My apologies for the actions of my coworker,” he said quickly. “It was incredibly rude and a horrid violation of your hospitality. I will, of course, pay for any and all damages.”

Will huffed. “You can give me as much money as you want, but that wallpaper was printed over one hundred years ago. It’s irreplaceable. I might have been able to repair a few scratches, but this?”

“I understand your distress,” Hannibal said gingerly. “And I promise to make it up to you however I can, but the important thing right now is that no one was hurt, yes?”

Will took a breath, and when he opened his eyes again, there was a faint smile painted over his lips. “Of course. I’m sorry I lost my temper. Everyone is alright?” He looked around the room. Jimmy nodded politely, Brian shrugged. Beverly frowned, but said, “Yeah. Fine.”

“This might be a good time for us to take our leave,” Frederick said. “Get back to the hotel and start fresh tomorrow.”

“I’ve canceled the rest of our stay at the hotel on the drive over,” Hannibal said. “Didn’t you hear? Will was kind enough to offer to let us stay here. That is, assuming his generous offer still stands?” He turned to Will with an expectant look.

“Of course,” Will said with a plastic smile. “I’ll be happy to host you all. I certainly have the rooms for it, which, if you’d like to get back to the tour, I can show you..?”

“Great,” Frederick said, unenthused. “Thank you, Mr. Graham, for your hospitality.”