Trevor couldn’t believe what he saw. He checked the EMF meter; it now displayed “Ghost Approaching, Safe Level,” then he stared at the ghost boy by the door. The boy glowed with a soft blue light, had an innocent face, and wore an old-fashioned tweed suit.
“Who are you?” Trevor finally asked.
“Richard,” the boy answered, moving closer.
Trevor checked the EMF again. Since the frequency level was stable at Safe Level, he felt his fear recede. “I guess you’re a friendly ghost? Are you lost?”
“I’m looking for my father. He left and never returned.” Richard sat down on the edge of Trevor’s bed.
“How long ago was that?” Trevor asked, confused by the sight. “And, I hope you don’t mind me asking, how can you pass through a door but still sit on a solid bed?”
Richard looked at him, surprised. “I can pass through the door because there’s space between atoms, and I can sit because of the electromagnetic force between atoms. Doesn’t school teach physics anymore?”
“Well,” Trevor paused, slightly nonplussed. It seemed the ghost could still hurt people—by mocking them.
“I saw too many people here tonight. I hoped my daddy was one of them,” Richard’s voice was calm, slow, and strangely devoid of emotion.
“How long has your father been gone?”
“More than sixty years.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe there was a reason he couldn’t come back,” Trevor offered gently.
“Who are you talking to?” Spion woke up, slowly sitting up in bed. “Why is there a boy in our room?”
“I think I’m older than you,” Richard replied in his emotionless voice. He then curled his lip into a grimace to mock Spion. “Son.”
Trevor chuckled, thoroughly enjoying Spion being ridiculed.
“What the—” Spion felt offended, but then his eyes widened in shock. “Wait… you’re a ghost!” He turned to Trevor. “Did you summon a ghost with those new gears?” Spion gestured at the unpacked Manchesters kit.
“No one can summon me; I’m a free ghost. I’ve lived here for a long time,” Richard stated.
“He’s looking for his father,” Trevor explained.
Spion got out of bed, still wearing his costume but without the fake beard and his boots. He approached Richard. “You look like the boy on the photo. You are dead.”
“Congratulations, you found out something obvious. You’re so smart,” Richard continued his mocking tone.
“I think you shouldn’t have mentioned that; you hurt his feelings,” Trevor teased Spion.
“I mean you look like the boy on the message board in the Storage Room. You were poisoned by chocolate in the sixties,” Spion said, ignoring the taunts.
“Thank you for mentioning my most painful memory. You are very kind,” Richard said. He suddenly leaned toward Spion, making a chilling face and feigning an attack. Spion yelped and fell back onto the floor.
Trevor laughed. He then turned to Richard. “Maybe I can help find your father. We have the internet now. What’s your father’s name?”
“I know about the internet. I just died; I wasn’t cloistered,” Richard said, lowering his head. “Dr. Grimm searched the internet for me thirty years ago but didn’t find anything about my dad.”
“Thirty years ago? Dr. Grimm?” Spion asked from his position on the floor. “That was the nineties. The information online can’t compare to today.”
“Dr. Grimm was a traveler who lived here thirty years ago when this place was a hotel. He told me he used a computer in the library to search for my dad but got no results,” Richard confirmed.
“There is much more information online now. I can search. There is an app on the EMF, Spiritpedia. I can take a photo of you, and it uses AI to identify you if others have seen you and recorded you online. It also aggregates related news and articles,” Trevor said. He opened the app on the EMF.
“This EMF looks cooler than others,” Richard observed, watching Trevor take a photo with the EMF’s integrated infrared camera.
“Boy, hope you don’t mind,” Spion said.
“Call me Rich, son,” Richard said with a mischievous smile.
“Em, Old Rich,” Spion grinned back. “Have you met any ghost hunters? Why haven’t they driven you away?”
Richard turned his head away in a pique of anger. “Humph. I’m a ghost of over sixty years; I can hide, or I can treat annoying hunters.”
“Spiritpedia has an article about you. It was originally written by Dr. Grimm, then updated and edited by Manchesters AI,” Trevor announced. “Richard Klein, a sixty-three-year-old ghost haunting the Golden Hudson Hotel (now called the Dressrious Salon). He died on August 25th, 1962, on his tenth birthday, after eating poisoned chocolate. He is described as kind, smart, but maybe a little naughty—(‘Hum,’ Richard groaned)—and known for being fearless when he was alive, by his own words—(‘That’s true, I fear nothing even now,’ Richard said proudly.) His unfinished business is to find his father, David Klein.”
Trevor’s eyes scanned the screen. “The article next is about how Dr. Grimm met you. You interrupted his writing first—(‘His typewriter made noise I didn’t like,’ Richard complained)—then he spent three nights with you, trying to help you find your father, but failed. Hey, there is a related link,” he clicked it, which opened an obituary from an old local newspaper:
“David Klein died on July 14th, 1996, at age 74. He was a former FIA (the Fae Intelligence Agency) agent who made great contributions to our nation during World War II and the Cold War. He never married, but had a son, Richard Klein, who tragically died in 1962. He retired in 1989 and moved to a retirement home in our town, where his son was buried. We will follow his wish to bury him in the same cemetery with his son.”
“Rich,” Trevor said to Richard slowly. “Your dad died in 1996. They buried him with your body in a cemetery in Springfield.” He showed the EMF screen to Richard and Spion.
“I guess so. It’s been a long time now. He carried my body out of this room that day. He couldn’t see me because of the daylight. He never knew I was trapped here because I just wanted to see him again,” Richard said sadly, though, as a ghost, he couldn’t shed tears.
“Wait, this room?” Spion choked out, his eyes wide with recognition.
“Yes, this room. I died right here. The decorations changed a lot, but the basic structure of the building never changed, so I remember it.”
Spion gasped for breath.
“Maybe we can bring you to Springfield to see the graves. Let me check Spiritpedia…” Trevor started typing on the EMF.
“No need. I can’t leave until my business has been completed. Now that I know my dad died, he’s probably in the underworld. No need to see the graves,” Richard said.
“Do you have another unfinished business?” Spion asked.
“Yes. I want to know why Uncle Barsky gave the poisoned chocolate to me.” Richard looked at Spion and Trevor, who were instantly shocked by his words. “He told me it was my birthday gift, but I needed to wait for my dad to come back so we could eat it together. I didn’t follow his words. I ate one piece, then I died. Why did he want to poison me and my dad?”