The entry hall rose up all the way to the top of the castle. It was dreary and cold, despite a pathetic fire that smoldered in the huge grate to his left. Muddled tapestries hung limply from the walls, and portraits of dim ancestors rose to the ceiling, all so buried in dust and grime that Isaac could scarcely make out the details. The wall to his right was bare stone but showed an outline of a missing painting, the stone in the blank space brighter than the rest.

When the door slammed shut behind him, Isaac nearly jumped out of his skin. He was alone, in silence, in the gloom.

Then, right before his eyes, something materialized with a pop. Transparent, like gauze, and vaguely human, and, and . . .

Isaac swallowed, though his mouth was so dry there was nothing to swallow.

A blob floated three feet above the ground. Transparent, radiating cold, and making a soft whoosh.

And then the blob spoke, in English. “Well, we’re waiting, so don’t just stand there gawking.”

CHAPTER 14

Isaac

1942

Isaac had to lean against the door, his pack squashed between his back and the heavy wood.

“Now, that’s interesting,” the blob said. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?” Isaac whispered.

The blob looked him up and down. “Huh. He doesn’t know what he can do. Well, well.”

“You’re a . . .” Isaac began, “you’re a . . . ghost?”

The blob grew in size, as if the blob’s molecules were spreading apart (if the blob was made of molecules) and pulled closer—too close—to Isaac, and said (and Isaac thought that if they could spit the words, they would), “We are not a ghost.”

They drew back and pulled themselves together. Or togetherish. “We’re a wight. Which is an entirely different matter.”

Isaac pressed back further, reaching his hand for the doorknob. “Um, what is the difference?”

They sighed. “A ghost is a human spirit, the remnant of a human soul, stuck in this world. And generally not at all happy about it. Now, a wight,” and Isaac thought they preened a little, “is supernatural. We’re fearless, can see in the dark”—they widened what Isaac took for eyes—“and we collect collectibles.”

“Collect . . . what?” Isaac said. His hand was on the doorknob.

The wight moved right up close, the icy cold radiating from them. “That’s a very nice rucksack,” the wight said in a wheedling voice. “Can we see what’s inside?”

Isaac shook his head. He started to turn the knob on the door.