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There are houses that never release their dead.

And there are houses that never release the living.

Blackthorn Manor is the second kind.

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Peter Spencer does not believe in ghosts.

He believes in drafts. In old wiring. In rodents nesting inside the walls. He has an explanation for every rustle, every shadow, every breath of ice at his back.

He offers these explanations in the calm, patient voice of a man accustomed to not being believed.

He does not mention his family.
He does not speak of the accident.
He never enters the east wing — simply because "there's nothing in there."

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The hardest ghost is not the one that rattles chains and howls through empty halls.
The hardest ghost is the one who comes down to breakfast, orders eggs poached, and politely inquires about the weather forecast.