The following free story is a follow up of Specter Inspector: Dead and Back Again #1 (Barnes & Noble link). I HIGHLY recommend reading Specter Inspector BEFORE reading this short story as this occurs TWO WEEKS AFTER the events of the book.

Meaning, SPOILERS AHEAD.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, here’s a link to the first book of the Dead and Back Again series, a paranormal mystery with elements of Noir, Cozy, and Professional Sleuth sub-genres.

Supposing you’ve read the book, I hope you enjoy the following complimentary story.

I tailed Private Investigator Aeron Spade around as he bounced between gigs with Truth Locke, Head Investigator of their new agency, Visionary Investigations. One project included rehabbing an empty townhouse near my old haunt. I got on good terms with the residential spirit on site who ran the joint with a heavy say in how the place got spruced.

Come the first morning of the weekend, Aeron stepped out of his bathroom, looking like an actor for Sleeping Beauty’s woodland Prince Charming—a billowing cream shirt, fancy pants tucked into tall leather boots, and a silk vest decked out enough to put on the Ritz. No suitcase, no trunks, just a little sackcloth coin pouch for his keys and papers.

Of course, Morse already had the shotgun seat in Aeron’s roadster, so I ended up hogging the rumble seat in the back with my feet straddling the hump. The kid gunned the motor and barreled us out of Shigaqua, clean past Noir’s boondocks, zipped through the two-bit stretch of Cozy, then skidded us right up to the curb where Mystery surrendered and Fantasy picked up the road.

He parked his roadster and Morse into a lock-tight garage, waving goodbye to any other spirits following him. He had the routine dialed like clockwork as the border patrol took his passing like business as usual, tossing him a nod.

“Neil?” he asked blindly. “I’ve never had a spirit linked to me before, so…I don’t know how your powers may or may not be influenced in Fantasy. Give me a laugh if you’re still with me.”

I couldn’t resist giving my “creepy” chuckle right into his ear.

He yelped and swung his mitts at me like he could smack me away. Silly kid.

“I guess I asked for that,” he muttered. “But in all seriousness, I need you to refrain from using your gift of tangibility around others—especially my parents. They’ve had, um, experiences with poltergeists in the past, and…let’s just say it didn’t end well for the poltergeists.”

What was this? His old man and ma had met haints before—and beaten them? What kind of fuss would I cause if I picked up a pencil? A knife? A chair?

Terrible pranks filled my noggin as Aeron continued, “I’ll try to find a way to tell my parents about you so they’ll understand, but…my mom’s from Horror. She’s prejudiced against spirits in general, so she might need some time before accepting you. Breathe on my wrist if you understand.”

Right, my gumshoe link was more than Fantasy glitterati. He was half-Horror. I sometimes managed to forget that since his accent was subtle, and people from Horror came with fearsome reps. I breathed a disappointed sigh against his wrist, and he nodded curtly with satisfaction.

Slipping out a long candle, he said, “Last time I visited home, my mom gifted me with a traveling candle. Of course, she gave me something that I could only use in Fantasy as a suggestion that I visit more often. But this magic is akin to a spirit’s teleportation gift. I don’t know how your link works, if you’ll teleport with me or not. If you need to find me, I’ll be at Ruezdad, the royal castle in Eimad, capital of the Margen Duchy in Fairy.”

Did he say…royal castle?

With his last syllable, the kid vanished like he’d been hit by day-light, tugging my link with the weight of a ship anchor. I’d never been that distant from my link, and the sensation brought back every memory of hurling beans and a pain that nearly stole my noodle. I didn’t have a choice but to chase the pull across the Mysterious Mountains, past shadowed forests and valleys where giant eagles soared and dragons slunk, then over another rise to an old-school city perched by a lake.

In the center of that burg, a grand stone castle of blue-grey rock piled on a mount and dominated the view. My link directed me straight to it. I’d lost track of how long I’d glided, but the nauseating pull eased off as I closed in.

I flew over a stable that smelled of horses but sounded like a pub of neighing laughter. Knights—real, tin-helmeted heavies—swung broadswords in a courtyard while other toughs bent light into spells, shooting shafts of glowing energy. On the far side, laborers pruned flower gardens that glowed like spirits.

I slipped through the walls of the main part of the castle (the keep?) to find Aeron in a library with bookshelves climbing clear to the second-floor cornice. Sofas and chairs ringed a roaring hearth, and bright lights bobbed overhead like moths at dusk. There was a Medieval-looking ghost staring out the window and another two perusing the bookshelves, talking about the books they’ve read.

Aeron stood near the door with a cross-my-heart-and-hope-I-was-already-dead bear. Not any bear, but a seven-foot brown bruiser doing the upright bear-stand, decked in a martial-art gi like a dojo master. The animal rolled its shoulders like some conspicuous bodyguard from a fairytale with fists of fur, watching Aeron twirl a little missy.

The teenage gal wore a full-length maroon dress with sleeves stitch-tied to her bodice with pink ribbons. Her dress flared and trailed behind her movements like an echo of light.

As if they were in center stage instead of a library, Aeron hopped out a little swing-dance jig with the young miss. “I’ll need to show you this move I learned at a swing club. I think you’d love the big band music of Noir, Sam.”

Sam? Short for Samantha? Had Aeron mentioned her before?

Without any indication of a response from her, Aeron scoffed. “Bagh! You’re on summer break. Live a little. One of these days, I will hear you laugh out loud.”

I got it! She was Samantha, the Silent, Aeron’s kid sister! I’d heard about her ability to speak to (not read) minds, but meeting her in person finally explained her nickname. She didn’t speak—not a word—outloud.

I studied the siblings for their family resemblance and found none. Aeron was tall, dark, and light eyed, all suave like some big-time hepcat. Sam could have come straight out of a Snow White postcard—innocent like a princess, skin chalk-white, hair black as midnight, lips cherry-red, and peepers brown as dark syrup.

Aeron led her out of the library to a main entryway with a great winding staircase that rose up four flights to heaven. That seven-foot dojo bear padded along behind them.

“Are the ghosts friendly?” Aeron asked. Only hearing one side of their gab gave me zero clues to their conversation.

“Come on,” he said. “You need to give me something.”

She simply smiled back.

“But on that note,” he relented, “I have someone I want you to meet.”

Her eyes went bright and hopeful, and Aeron cringed.

“Er, no. He’s a man.”

Whatever the Silent Sam conveyed next made Aeron wince.

“Ew, no. I mean, no offense, Neil, if you’re around, but no. He’s too old for you.”

Say, just because something was true, didn’t give him a pass to chew on me like that. Sam looked like she’d just slipped into her teen years, early on at that, and I felt like a right-smart geezer, wobbling in my mid-thirties.

“Aeron, you’re home!”

I jumped as a middle-aged dame showed up at the door. Shoot, it was like she’d just appeared there. Not with any flash of light like with the candle, but more like she’d blurred into place.

“Mom.” Aeron smiled and spread his arms, like he was expecting a hug. Sure enough, she blurred again into motion, solidifying with her arms around Aeron’s waist, her chin perched over his shoulder. Now, I’d never met anyone from Horror before, but “dark” fit her hard features and harder smile. Her face’s left side was scarred by three thick clawmarks. Her clothes were something else too—thin leather pants under a dress that cut off at her knees in the front but hung down to her ankles in the back. Real strange look, but somehow it worked.

“Welcome home,” she whispered. “Have you seen your dad yet?”

“Not yet,” Aeron said.

Then the bear talked. Yeah. The bear. Talked. I had to make sure I wasn’t hearing things, but nope, the big guy was growling real words. “The marquis is currently meeting with the duke and lords.”

Aeron cringed. “A meeting with Father, Grandfather, and the lords would turn into a questionnaire about me returning to my duties as earl.”

My brain struggled to catch up between all the fancy titles. I didn’t know what a marquis was, but dukes, lords, and earls were…important people, right?

Aeron’s ma jerked her thumb toward the doorway. “I saw the lords gathering in the wine cellar, so they should be finished with their meeting.” She paused to look at her daughter. “Yes, but only one more chapter. Don’t be late for lunch again.”

Sam skipped off, back to the library, all grins, like this was just another Tuesday. Aeron trailed his ma down some stone hallway—guess this was what folks meant when they said “corridor?”—until we hit a little courtyard with this massive white tree. It had leaves like red cherries. Real strange. A real-deal thoroughbred-type horse clopped down from the far end.

“How was the meeting?” Aeron’s ma asked. The horse. She was talking to the horse.

“As expected,” he neighed back, all calm-like. Shoot, did everything talk in this place? “Ah, Aeron. How good it is to see you. Do you plan to stay long?”

“For the weekend,” he said with a friendly pat down the horse’s neck.

“Will you join us for lunch?” Aeron’s mom asked the horse.

“You must pardon me,” he said with a whuff. “I fear that I lack the energy today. Have my meal sent up to my room.”

“Okay,” she said with a nod—serious, like she was talking to some big shot. The horse kept on clopping past us, slow like a tired work horse, as Aeron and his mom continued down the corridor.

“Every year,” she sighed, “the duke’s health declines a little more. I wish there was something I could do for your grandpa, but…even modern medicine can’t solve the natural problems that come with age.”

I turned to sneak another look for the long-gone horse. That was the duke? That was Aeron’s granddad?

I thought I’d had Aeron figured—young gumshoe, maybe a little spiritually special, and Fantastical fancy. Turned out he was far more Mysterious—despite packing a Horror ma and Fantasy pa.

We stepped into this big wooden dining hall—real grand, with floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall letting in more light than was natural but without making people squint. The walls were covered in those fancy rugs you don’t walk on. Tapestries, I think they were called. Each one told some Fantastical story. One depicted a guy on a unicorn—yeah, a unicorn—waving a shiny sword at some dead giant in the background. Real dramatic.

At the head of a long table—big enough for a dozen—sat a lone man. Soon as I laid eyes on him, it clicked. Aeron got his height, build, dark brown hair, and those piercing blue-green peepers straight from this guy.

He gave his wife and kid a smile…then locked eyes on me.

Next thing I know, he’s standing and throwing up an arm like I was a threat. “Curses!”

“Theo?” Aeron’s ma said, already dropping into a stance like she was expecting trouble.

“What is that?” the man—Theo—asked.

I twisted around, figuring maybe he meant the unicorn-and-giant rug behind me. Aeron was also on the defense, guard up, eyes flicking to the rug.

“You see nothing?” Theo asked. “Curses, Pansy! A poltergeist is here!”

How the crapshoot was he seeing me?

“A—here?” Pansy asked, then ran out of the room with a blur.

“Wait—wait!” Aeron called his ma, but she was already gone. He stepped between his dad and where he expected I hovered. “I thought you couldn’t see my ghostly friends. You can see Neil’s aura?”

Was that how he saw me?

Theo frowned. “You know—”

“It’s okay,” Aeron said, all calm-like. “He won’t hurt you. How long is his aura? How dark are ours?”

His old man blinked like he’d just stepped out of a fog, eyes scanning each person in the room—including me—putting pieces together like a seasoned cop at a fresh crime scene.

“I cannot determine his aura’s length since I see only a dark shape with no body. However—”

Aeron’s ma came back like a rolling tornado—torch in one hand, a holy water sprayer in the other.

Crapshoot! Every instinct I had screamed to get out. There wasn’t much that spooked the dead, but a one-way ticket to the Unknown Beyond? That did it.

“Theo,” she asked, “where is it?”

Theo’s arm flicked toward me. “There, except he appears—”

She didn’t wait for whatever else he was going to say. She blurred into motion, leaving after-images like shadows as she tore through the entire space between Theo’s arm and the wall, dousing everything in her path like a priest at an exorcist convention.

Shoot! She nailed my elbow before I could dodge. Holy water sizzled on contact, burning through me like acid on old film. One drop wasn’t enough to send me packing, but it was plenty for my tastes. Pain shot through my form, and worse, steam curled off me, visible to the living.

So, I took the high road—literally. I floated up above them, barely skipping over the next splash she hurled my way.

“Mom! Please, stop!” Aeron yelled, trying to catch ahold of her, but she was moving like lightning wrapped in leather. He reached for her and came up with air.

If I wasn’t so busy dodging fire and brimstone, I might have been touched by Aeron’s concern. Meanwhile, Theo just stood there—watching me like I was some puzzle. Even after the steam cooled off of me and the sting faded, his eyes tracked me, subtle but sharp. Thanks to that, his wife had a fair guess where to aim next.

“She cannot hear us,” Theo said, “while tapped into her speed ability.”

Aeron pleaded, “How do we stop her? Please! I need Neil!”

Need? His voice cracked with raw, desperate honesty—real stuff, no polish. The kind that hits you square in the chest and warms the cold parts you forgot were there. Unfortunately, warmth didn’t mean much when his ma stormed in my direction like a divine blender set to obliterate.

Pansy lunged for where I was floating, swinging her combo of fire and water straight for my legs.

Theo finally moved. Giving his kid a confused look, the man waved his right arm in this weird, deliberate motion. It ended with a sharp jab toward his wife. “Pansy! Yield!”

Next thing I knew, a see-through blue wall snapped up around me, the lady, and her holy demolition routine. She spun into me right as I phased through the wall—her torch flames licking at my chest before I was out the other side. The flames, water, and Pansy’s fury stayed locked inside that open-topped magic box.

“Theo!” she shouted, slamming a fist into the barrier. Thankfully, the shield held. “What are you doing?”

“Our auras are light,” he said, squinting like he didn’t even believe himself. “We are not endangered by him.”

“What?” she shot back, pure disbelief.

Whatever he meant, it worked in my favor as Theo eased back. “Aeron, you knew about this Haunting? And you brought it here? Has it been following you?”

Aeron kept fiddling with that leather bracelet of his—clasping it, unclasping it. Kid was nervous, no question. “For about two weeks. Mom, when I called asking about poltergeists, that was right after I’d met Neil.”

“Neil?” his ma asked, her voice cracking like thin ice under a heavy boot. “You fraternized with a poltergeist?”

“I befriended him,” Aeron said. That simple, and the kid lit something warm in my soul again. “He uses his gift of tangibility to take notes for me, to help me remember what I learn while I’m with the spirits.”

“He helps you?” his father asked, doubtful.

“For how long?” he mother challenged. “How can you guarantee he won’t trick or betray you?”

I cringed. Couldn’t blame her for being skeptical—I had tricked and pranked Aeron more times than I could count. Daily.

Aeron looked her dead in the eye. “How can you guarantee that anyone won’t trick or betray you? You can’t. But we trust people anyway.”

“People,” she emphasized. “Not supernaturally condemned poltergeists.”

“Neil’s a person too. He just has an unsanctioned gift to interact with the physical.”

“To levitate and throw items—like weapons. To trip, push, and hurt people. To possess people.”

Each option she rattled off made me wince. Aeron had seen me do all of them.

“Mom,” he said, “I know Neil. He’s not a bad person. His birth in Paranormal, Mystery, gave him power to cry for vengeance after he was killed. His murder was written off as an accident until I found justice for him. Neil is my friend.”

Warmth.

Still, his ma’s face tightened like she’d bitten into a lemon laced with betrayal. “I…I can’t handle this. Excuse me. Theo, please release me and watch that…thing. I need a moment.”

Theo flicked his arm, curious and silent, and the shield-box around her cracked and vanished into the air like it was never there. She ground her teeth—hard—then ran out in a blur. Ghost-like. Almost poetic, if she hadn’t just tried to exorcise me.

Theo’s frown lingered as she disappeared. “I dare hope that she does not offend your…friend. She cannot see the safety of our auras, and…her past has given her many reasons to fear poltergeists.”

I’d heard stories—whispers—but I’d never met another poltergeist. What were her experiences with them?

Aeron gave a small gesture toward his dad. “Your name was also mentioned in Jonathaniel Mystery’s report on the poltergeist fought in Romance.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “That malicious spirit would have killed me if not for the aid of Horror’s supernatural angels. However, poltergeists frighten me less than other monsters of this world.”

Okay, now I really needed to know their story.

Theo fixed his eyes right on me—directly—and stepped toward me with that curious look men get when they’re about to take something apart just to see how it ticks.

Maybe if I pulled a few stunts—lifted a chair, tripped him, laughed audibly in his ear—he’d get spooked and back off.

He flinched. “Forgive me if I came too close. I suppose you are unaccustomed to being seen by the living. Could you raise your hand and spread your fingers for me?”

His request seemed harmless enough. No traps, no threats. Simply curious. I did what he asked.

“Hmm,” he whispered. Not with fear. Something else, like…awe. That was new. “Fantastic.”

“What is it?” Aeron asked.

“Right, you only see him while you sleep. You talk with your invisible spirit friends often enough that I forget that.” He lifted his hand and held it up to mine. His palm and fingers were a touch longer. “Despite his floatation, Neil is a few inches shorter than we are,” Theo said. “I may assume his hands are smaller. Spreading my fingers at the same angles, however, I can determine that Neil’s aura is just under three centimeters long. He may have some devious ideas, though he means no harm, at least to me.”

I blinked my peepers. He could see all that? Through my aura?

Aeron fidgeted with that leather bracelet again. “Father, you said his aura is dark? Doesn’t that mean he’s in mortal danger?”

“For the living, yes. The shading of my auras indicate when a life is endangered.” What was this? That seemed handy. “However,” he continued, “I have yet to meet an undead or cursed Haunting with a light shade. In fact, Neil’s was the lightest I had seen among the cursed, though it turned black as a hole during Pansy’s attacks. It is marginally lighter now.”

Aeron’s brows shot up, and his eyes gazed at my general location. Even when I floated an inch to the right to correct his gaze, he just stared glassy-eyed. Not like his old man who looked right at me.

“I wonder,” Aeron said, “if it has something to do with him helping me. Maybe his soul is less condemned because he uses his gift of tangibility to take notes for me—to help me solve Cases and serve justice.”

Uh, yes, please. I really, really didn’t want to end up on the bad side of the Unknown Beyond just because I spent a few too many years spooking folks at that rundown theater.

Theo gave this slow, thoughtful nod. “Perhaps. To confirm that theory, I would need to view more Hauntings. An unfavorable idea.”

“Or,” Aeron offered, “you can observe Neil whenever I visit for the next few months. If his shade grows lighter as he helps me more, that might confirm the theory.”

“Perhaps,” he said with another of those nods that said he was piecing together more than he let on. This time, he actually smiled. He turned right to me again (shoot, it was still weird) then lowered his chin in a slow, respectful way. What was this? Speaking to me, the Marquis of Margen said, “While my duties keep me preoccupied here, I am grateful for your watchful aid over my son. Regardless of your methods, thank you.”

Like I’d just done him a solid. Aeron looked just as shocked. From the way his face mirrored mine, I guessed this kind of royal gratitude wasn’t something the marquis handed out lightly.

Pretty little Sam came waltzing in with the perfect timing as the servants started filtering in from the kitchen, setting up the table for lunch.

I hung near the rafters, watching as they ate fancy omelets and chatted. Aeron’s ma was nowhere in sight.

Theo made a quiet request to the servants—take a meal up to the duke in his rooms, and, “I cannot say where Pansy went. You can try her drawing room—no, more likely the knight’s courtyard. I expect she is training to ease her mind.”

Aeron cringed just enough to say that was a bad sign. Sam threw a sharp look between her dad and brother. Theo caught her look and tossed it back to Aeron. I didn’t need Sam’s telepathy to catch her “Why?” and Theo’s “Your mess” to Aeron.

Aeron sighed. “I’ll explain after lunch. Somewhere without prying eyes and ears.”

Not long after, the marquis gave a polite nod and excused himself—said he had “duties.” He gave me one more piercing look before he left. When Aeron and Sam finished, I tailed them through the stony palace to another courtyard. How many of these did they have? The place was a maze wrapped in a palace wearing a castle’s skin. How anyone knew where they were going, I had no clue.

We finally stepped into a room that was a library-look-alike. Books from floor to ceiling, plush chairs like clouds of cotton, and scattered around were several musical instruments. There was also one of those big old art easels set up with a half-done painting. Looked like a bird resting in the hands of two different people. Poetic. Probably symbolic. I’d figure it out later.

Sam turned on Aeron with a direct stare.

Aeron answered her silence with a sigh. “I made a new friend, the one I wanted to introduce to you. His name is Neil.”

Sam blinked, and Aeron laughed. “No. Worse. He’s dead.” I frowned, wishing I could hear her.

“Yeah,” Aeron said, “Neil’s different. He’s, er…Neil, show her.”

Show her? Show her what? I couldn’t show myself—oh! I could write a message with her paints! I floated over to her paintbrushes and rolled it into my hand. Dipping it in the nearest glob of color, I started scrawling across a blank sheet of paper that had a fabric-like texture.

Shoot, writing with pencils was tricky enough—painting was awful. Wiggling, dripping, and inconsistent, I had to dip for more paint with every other stroke.

“Hello, Sam,” I wrote. Shoot, was that creepy? Maybe I should’ve led with “Don’t panic,” or something.

“Yes,” Aeron said, as if answering some unspoken question. “He can take notes for me and help me to remember important pieces of my dreams. But, more than that, he can interact with objects. Sam—” Shoot! He was about to drop the bomb on her, and my message wasn’t done! “—Neil’s a poltergeist.”

And boom!

Sam’s peepers went wide, locked on Aeron. I scrambled to finish my message, throwing penmanship to the wind to get the letters down.

I dropped the paintbrush, and Aeron gave a calm, almost apologetic gesture toward my note. “He finished his message.”

It read simply, 

Sam flicked her wide eyes back and forth: my messy little message, the air round-abouts where I was floating, and her brother.

Aeron chuckled. “Hardly. More accurately, he’s…he’s like an older brother. He teases me relentlessly and keeps me on my toes, but in the end, he means well and watches out for me.”

He nudged her like a classic older brother that he was to her. She shot him the stink-eye. When he was suitably scorched, she turned back toward my area and narrowed her eyes. Was she trying to see me? Did she have some version of her old man’s vision—that I-see-dead-people-even-while-I’m-awake kind of power?

No, she scrunched up her face and squeezed her eyes shut. She looked like concentration in its purest, most hopeless form.

She let out a huff of surrender. No dice.

“Either?” Aeron asked, surprised. “You’ve tried communicating with my other spirit friends?” Aeron folded his arms and started tapping his elbows—deep in thought. The kid had a whole Morse code of body language, if you know what to look for. “Because you don’t need to see someone to talk to them, but the better you know them, the farther they can be and still hear you, right?”

Huh, maybe if I…

I flipped the paper over, grabbed that wayward little brush again, and this time kept it simple. Two dots, half-circle grin. Classic smiling face.

I raised the paper up in front of my face like a mask. Aeron laughed, and Sam smiled.

“Hey, that’s actually helpful,” Aeron said. Score one for the friendly neighborhood poltergeist. “Father can’t see the auras of my other spirit friends, but he can see Neil’s… Yes, he confirmed that Neil isn’t dangerous. But maybe that means that one day you can strengthen your ability even more to communicate with Neil. In the meantime, you can always write to my spirit friends. They can read too.”

Neil Vs. Pansy © 2025 by C. Rae D’Arc is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0