Mr. Pemberton's Ghost

New in town, Clare is looking for a suitable home for herself and her young son. Their needs are simple: a kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom and an art studio for Clare, a bedroom and a yard to play in for Jake. The charming house on Lake Circle checks all the boxes. But there's a catch; the historic home comes with a tenant, and he's been dead for years and years and years. Clare's ghostly housemate, quirky and irascible, immediately declares his property rights and insists Clare must live by his rules. None too pleased when Clare asserts her independence, the other-worldly poltergeist turns Clare's world upside-down. Clare lives day-to-day on high alert, protecting her son from the supernatural, and concealing the truth about the Lake Circle house from her ex-husband, who anxiously awaits a viable reason to assume sole custody of their son.

A slight breeze brushes my face. I stop. There's an electricity in the air, a sort of popping energy that wasn't there when I came into the room. It runs through me and around me and fills the space. I've never felt such an eerie sensation! I am suddenly frightened beyond reason and keenly aware I am not alone. Someone is behind me, watching, waiting. There was nobody in this room when I entered, but there's definitely someone, or something, here now. I feel it.
Slowly, I turn.
An old man, dressed in a black suit, stands across the room. Tufts of white hair poke out from beneath a rounded hat upon his head. It's a bowler hat, I think. His wrinkled skin is ruddy, like a man who has spent much time outdoors, and he's slightly hunched and leaning upon a cane.
I don't scream. I don't move. I am immobilized by utter shock and fear. I swear I can hear my heart thumping inside me. Conflicting thoughts spin in my head. What exactly am I seeing, a ghost or an intruder? This formal looking man is a solid, true form, quite "unghostly," but if he's a burglar, how did he get inside the house?
The floor seems to sway beneath me. The walls are closing in. I will myself not to faint and wonder fleetingly if I am dreaming. I have to be!
The old man smiles and tips his hat to me.
"Greetings," he says cheerfully and taps his cane upon the floor. "Alexander Pemberton at your service."