18. Seria is Afraid of Ghosts
Summer was approaching. As the weather warmed up, people naturally sought out something cool. Like a spine-chilling ghost story, for instance.
"Did you hear? That sound happened again last night."
"Over by the annex, right? This whoooong kind of noise."
"That place used to be a warehouse, but it got abandoned. Ghosts are definitely living there."
The maids' whispers filled the hallway. Seria and I were hiding behind the wall, eavesdropping.
"······Ghosts, Young Master."
Seria swallowed hard. Sword genius, future Sword Master, wild boar slayer. All great qualities, but this girl had one fatal weakness. The occult—ghosts, in other words.
"Pfft, ghosts aren't real. It's all just rumors."
I tried to play it cool, but honestly, a chill was running down my own spine. Sure, I didn't believe in ghosts. But this was a world of magic, right? Dragons existed, magic beasts roamed—why couldn't ghosts? Still, my default stance was skepticism.
"R-right? It's probably just the wind?"
"Obviously. Wind leaking through cracks in old windows can make sounds like that. It's called resonance."
"Reso···nance?"
"Yeah. It's science."
We nodded at each other, reassuring ourselves. But that peace didn't last.
"Young Master! Seria!"
The head maid spotted us and came rushing over.
"Perfect timing. The lord's out on patrol, and Captain Mason's on rounds too, so I had no one else to ask."
"Huh? What're you—"
"The annex. The maids are too scared to clean it. Could you two check it out for us?"
"······"
"······"
Seria and I blinked at each other. Go there? Right now? With the sun setting?
"W-we're still kids, though···."
"Seria, you're a knight. And Young Master, you're a mage."
"True, but···."
"Please! I'll pack some tasty snacks!"
The head maid shoved us along and vanished in a flash. Left behind, we stared at each other blankly.
"······Do we have to?"
Seria asked with a pout.
"Snacks, remember? And if we don't go, the maids'll stay scared."
"Ugh···. Fine. A knight can't back down."
Seria gripped the wooden sword at her waist—though her hands were shaking.
"Let's gear up."
"Gear up how?"
"We can't go in empty-handed. Let's prep thoroughly."
We bolted to our rooms. Ten minutes later, at the annex entrance to the Lord's Castle.
We showed up armed like a hero party off to slay the demon king. I'd draped garlic necklaces all over myself, clutching a cross in one hand and holy water in the other. (Just plain water, really.) Seria took it to another level: dual-wielding wooden swords, a pot lid strapped to her back like a shield, a furry hat pulled low over her head, and every talisman she could find plastered on.
"······Young Master. The garlic reeks."
"Deal with it. Dracula might show."
"This is the north."
"Quiet. Hold that pot lid tight."
We tensed up in front of the annex door. An old wooden building, dust blanketing it like frost. Every gust of wind made it creak: creeeak, creeeak.
"Alright, going in."
"You first, Young Master. Light up the view with magic."
"What? Knights tank up front. Don't you know MMOs?"
"I'm DPS. You're the leader."
"Hey! Leader only when it suits you!"
We shoved each other until we settled it with rock-paper-scissors. I lost. Damn.
"Hoo···. Here goes."
I grabbed the doorknob with trembling hands. Creeeaaaak—the rusty hinges wailed eerily.
"Eek!"
"Kyaa!"
We both screamed at the door's groan. We clung together, frozen for three seconds. Nothing happened.
"······What. Just the door."
"D-don't get scared, Young Master. I've got you."
"You let go of my clothes. They'll stretch."
Seria wouldn't peel off my back. We crawled inside. It was pitch dark. Dust and mold assaulted our noses.
"Light."
I whispered, and a glowing orb bloomed from my fingertip. Dim light illuminated the hall. Old furniture cast grotesque shadows.
"Y-Young Master. Something's over there."
"Where?"
"That corner. Something white···."
I shone the light where she pointed. Just a chair draped in white cloth.
"Chair. Chair. Don't freak."
"I'm not. Just checking."
Her legs were jelly, but her mouth worked fine. We headed down the hall toward the rumored warehouse source.
Then.
Whoooong—
"!!!!"
The sound from the rumors. Low, eerie, unidentified rumbling. I'd heard this somewhere before. Horror movies.
"Y-Young Master! Did you hear thaaat?!"
"Y-yeah. Wind, probably?"
"Wind doesn't sound that creepy! G-ghosts for sure!!"
Seria clamped my arm. Her grip was crushing.
"Ow! My arm's gonna snap!"
"Sorry! But it's scary!!"
Whoooong—grrrrk.
The noise grew louder, now mixed with scraping.
We huddled, trembling.
"Young Master, magic! Blast it with fireball!"
"Crazy? Wooden building! Fire means we're toast!"
"Freeze it then! Do something!"
"Okay, okay! Calm down!"
I took a deep breath. Detective Kalian. Think rationally. No ghosts. Physics.
"Let's check it out."
"Whaaat?!"
"Gotta confirm. Stick behind me."
I mustered courage and flung open the noisy door. The warehouse was crammed with junk. The sound came from a pile of old jars in the corner.
Whooong—clatter.
"Th-there!"
Seria squeezed her eyes shut, flailing her wooden sword wildly.
"Hya! Begone! Back off! Evil spirit, begone!"
"Eyes open! You'll hit me!"
I calmed her, shining light on the jars. And there, we faced the shocking truth.
"······Huh?"
A fat something was stuck headfirst in a jar mouth, wriggling. Striped tail. Plump butt.
"······Raccoon dog?"
Yep. The "ghost" was a chonky raccoon dog that got its head trapped hunting food. Its struggles made the jar resonate with that whoooong, and its claws scraping explained the creeeak.
"······"
"······"
All tension drained. We stared blankly at its rear.
"Is that··· the ghost?"
"Looks like it."
"So··· plump."
Seria muttered, lowering her sword. Relief buckled our knees.
"Let's help it."
We approached to free the raccoon dog. I held the jar, she grabbed its body.
"One, two, three!"
Pop! It popped free with a cheerful sound. It squealed "Kiiing!" and bolted through a window crack without a backward glance.
No thanks, just gone.
"So anticlimactic."
I flopped down. Seria sat beside me, unstrapping her pot lid.
"Tell me about it. Scared over that."
"Who got scared? I was just tense."
"You screamed, Young Master. 'Eek!'"
"You went 'Kyaa!' too."
We burst out laughing. Me loaded with garlic, her with a pot lid. No mirror needed—we looked ridiculous.
"At least it's solved."
"Yeah. Maids'll relax now."
We stood. On the way back, night air chilled us. Our hands brushed naturally.
"Seria."
"Yes."
"Wanna hold hands?"
"······If you're scared, Young Master."
"Yeah. I'm the scared one."
"Can't be helped then. Here."
Seria grabbed my hand like she was doing me a favor. But her sweaty palm betrayed her. Cute.
We left the annex hand-in-hand. The moon shone bright.
"Young Master."
"Yeah?"
"Today's secret."
"Duh. Pot lid for raccoon duty? Ruins the vibe."
"Promise."
We giggled back to the castle. Of course, next day bragging to the head maid, "We caught a raccoon dog!" got an "Oh, that's it?"—total letdown. But snacks secured: happy ending.
—
It was a normal morning. Birds chirped outside, sunlight warm.
"Young Master, time to wake up."
I opened his door routinely. The blanket lump should be squirming by now. Normally: "Ugh, five more minutes···" burrowing under pillows, or "Seria, what's for breakfast?"
But.
"······"
The bed was eerily still. Blanket unmoving.
"Young Master? Sleep in, no breakfast."
I drew the curtains, approaching. No response. Prank? Hiding under with a pillow decoy again?
I yanked the blanket sternly. "No pranks, get u—Huh?"
My heart dropped. His face was off. Cold sweat beaded his forehead, breaths ragged.
"Y-Young Master?"
I touched his forehead shakily. "Ah!"
Boiling. Like touching a hot stove.
"Young Master! Young Master! Wake up!"
Shaking his shoulders, he just groaned, eyes shut. Vision blurred. Was this the sky falling? Yesterday he was playing in the garden with me.
"L-Lord! Doctor! Call a doctor!!"