The Tour Guide

The black trench coat and worn leather boots had become my uniform. Every night they drew curious glances from tourists, but after five years of leading ghost tours through the old town, I hardly noticed anymore. Winter air clung to my skin, yet these streets felt strangely familiar, almost warm, as though they had long ago accepted me as one of their own.

The cold breeze brushed the back of my neck as I adjusted the old kerosene lantern hanging from my hand. The flame had long since been replaced with a cheap electric bulb, but my boss insisted it added "atmosphere." According to him, people didn't pay for history; they paid to be frightened.

One by one, they gathered beneath the abandoned courthouse.

Couples looking for a romantic thrill.

Families dragging bored teenagers who never look up from their phones.

Groups of friends dare each other to scream first.

They always arrived the same way, drifting toward the light of my lantern like moths.

Normally, I enjoyed my job. I loved watching people laugh one moment and jump out of their skin the next. But tonight was different. My head throbbed, my body felt heavy, and every breath carried an odd chill that seemed to come from inside me rather than the winter air.

Matt, my impossibly cheap boss, had called me in on my day off because Jeff had "called in sick." Matt would rather overwork me than hire another guide.

I should have stayed home.

---

"Welcome, everyone," I called, forcing a smile. "My name is Montemur, and tonight I'll guide you through the forgotten streets of this old town. Every building here hides a tragedy, every alley remembers a secret, and if we're lucky... perhaps we see something or someone from the past. If we do all, what they really want is someone to remember them."

A nervous laugh rippled through the crowd.

We wandered deeper into the old streets.

I told stories of murders, disappearances, and restless spirits. Every stop felt colder than the last. My headache worsened until every heartbeat echoed through my skull.

Then, halfway through another story, I looked up.

The group had stopped walking.

Everyone was staring at me.

Not smiling.

Not frightened.

Watching.

Only then did I notice something I should have seen from the beginning.

Their clothes were decades out of fashion.

One man's suit was stained with dried blood.

A woman wore a faded white mourning dress.

A little girl stood barefoot at the front of the group, a deep scar stretching across her pale face.

Her empty eyes locked onto mine.

"You got my story wrong," she whispered.

"My name isn't Lillian."

Her voice was calm.

"It's Liliane."

Another figure emerged from the crowd.

"You never told them how I died."

A woman in a torn white dress smiled.

"You left out my children."

Then another.

And another.

Faces surrounded me. Every ghost whose story I'd turned into entertainment stood before me.

I stumbled backwards.

"No..." I whispered.

"You wanted people to remember us."

The little girl tilted her head.

"So now..."

"You'll remember us forever."

The lantern slipped from my grasp.

The bulb shattered against the cobblestones.

Darkness swallowed the street.

The last thing I heard wasn't a scream.

It was laughter.

Dozens of quiet voices laughing all at once.

---

The next evening, Jeff cursed under his breath as he walked through the empty square.

Matt had spent all morning calling Montemur.

No answer.

By sunset, he'd given up.

"You're doing the tour tonight," he'd told Jeff. "He probably quit."

Jeff knew better.

Montemur wouldn't leave without saying something.

As he reached the old courthouse, something caught his eye.

An old kerosene lantern lay on the ground.

The same lantern Montemur carried every night.

Jeff frowned.

"That's weird..."

He picked it up.

The metal was ice cold.

A shiver crawled slowly up his spine.

Probably just the weather.

His headache started a few minutes later.

By the time the tourists began gathering beneath the courthouse, the pounding behind his eyes had become unbearable.

He looked toward the first stop of the tour.

For just a second...

He thought he saw a little girl standing in the shadows.

She smiled.

Then she was gone.

Jeff swallowed hard.

"Welcome, everyone," he said, forcing a smile.

"My name is Jeff..."

"...and tonight, I'll be your tour guide. Every building here hides a tragedy, every alley remembers a secret, and if we're lucky... perhaps we see something or someone from the past. If we do all, what they really want is someone to remember them."