Benjamin stopped and blinked. Did she actually...could...she actually hear him? This was wonderful news indeed! Beauty, which he could now safely call "April" after hearing Steven say it so many times, now held out her phone to him to speak to. Perhaps so she could turn up the volume? It was true that he'd witnessed technology grow through the years, but this was the newest he'd seen in a long time. There were no cords or anything. Perhaps they added recording devices? That must be what that was. He was finally able to speak to her.

He cleared his throat and leaned in to what he assumed to be the mouthpiece and decided to be short but concise, "My name is Benjamin. I was murdered in this house in 1847, though I don't know who or what did it or why." With a small quiver in his voice he added, "I'm hoping that once I find out I can...go."

Benjamin breathed a sigh of relief. It was working, at Beauty was by no means empty-headed. That, at least, was comforting. Now, she knew his name. He was a bit behind on the times in the sense that the last inhabitants that lived here lived here before whatever the "Internet" was, but he assumed it would be some other sort of useful technology. They'd certainly come a long way since his time period. He'd never had anyone call him 'Ben' before, it being considered in "incomplete" name, so it was disconcerting at first. But, April was smart and seeming to be more than willing to help so for her, yes, Ben would be fine. His eyes widened as he looked at the screen, it was like a "television" that he saw before, with the other families with the exception that the user could evidently manipulate the display.Fascinating, he thought before shaking his head and looking at the keyboard that she was indicating.Right. It's like a typewriter. I can do this. With concentration, he managed to get an "h" before the blinking cursor. He stopped to take a deep breath. This was energy consuming but he was going to make it. He had to make it. Finally, he hit the "ig" with one rush, finishing it off with the final "h". He had no idea why she would ask him to type that word specifically, but he'd managed. He turned to look at her to see if he'd done it correctly, or more importantly, if it showed up to her at all.

Benjamin nodded eagerly, momentarily forgetting that she couldn't see him, waiting for the next question of the interrogation. He'd have to hit twelve keys, but he reminded himself that he'd borrowed energy from the spirit before.

There was a pause before anything happened on the keyboard until finally numbers started appearing: 23/10/1846.

Two syllables. That was easier. That he could muster--every time he hit the keys it seemed to get easier. As far as pictures went, he was certain there were some in the boxes in the attic. He'd watched them pack it up when the new family came in.

In his life, he'd had a few portraits done. A couple were done as a lad (oh, the struggles they went through to keep him still!), and he'd been lucky enough to have one taken of him while he breathed. Two after his death. Now, he was amazed at the fact that anyone could take a picture any time any where. When he was a living breathing human, only the extremely wealthy and the dead ever had their photographs taken. He'd had two taken after his death, one that he was aware of. While he was still on the floor laying in his own blood and viscera. The ax that was used was there as well, discarded beside his concave head.

He pushed a key twice, the key visibly indenting as he did so: 22. He looked at her trying to gauge her reaction.

Benjamin swallowed and looked down. It was sad, wasn't it? He'd had his life in front of him. When he was alive, he was starting to gain traction as a playwright. Few people didn't know who he was when they saw him. He was, at one point, London's most eligible bachelor. He had it all, the looks, the wealth, and his kindness was known throughout the city. But, that was then. After his death, he watched as his loved ones packed their boxes to leave, lingering on certain trinkets that had certain meaning between them and Benjamin.

His room his parents attempted to pack together. He could remember sitting on his bed as his mother pulled his notepad out of his nightstand. It had been a Christmas present from her the year previous and it was nearly full by the time her hands touched it again. He could see her eyes mist over as she flipped through the pages, each containing some idea or other, usually those that came to him in his sleep that he did not want to forget.

She broke then.

And Benjamin? Well, he broke with her. Everything in him wanted to hold her and tell her that little boy was fine, even though nothing but the opposite was true. This left his father to go through his things, which he did methodologically, carefully keeping his eyes from anything that might hold too much value to their son. They left much behind for the next family to clean up, believing most of the items to be too close to Benjamin and wanting to escape the memories, they left it.

Benjamin could feel his eyes start to tear and instinctively reached up to dry them though he knew his new companion couldn't see them.

Finally he typed: yes.

Benjamin had to chuckle to himself. That might have been how it worked for some ghosts, but his case didn't allow for phasing--at least, not with the house as it was. He'd done some experimenting with this in fact. Having heard all the ghost stories from summer camping trips out of the city, he thought the same thing. But, when he tried it a couple of days after his death he'd found this, unfortunately, simply untrue. What he'd found he was able to do was apply pressure down. At least, that was the easiest. He could go up stairs, climb ladders, even sit down on surfaces. It was moving things or otherwise manipulating things that were unfortunate. Instead of phasing through the wall to get to the attic, he simply followed her up the ladder.

The mounds of boxes were a sight he'd grown familiar with taking his perch beside the window to watch the passersby. Most of the boxes left behind were from the last family, but there were those buried deepest that belonged to he and his family. Sitting cross legged in front of the computer he typed out: yes. by window. bottom. He couldn't figure out how to capitalize the beginnings of each sentences, and this part of the communication was bothering him. He was a writer who prided himself on being educated, possessing a mastery of the language. To be reduced to simple one and two word sentences lacking even so much as a simple capital letter was enough to drive him crazy.

But, it got the job done. The boxes that he was leading her to contained books, a lot of books, one or two journals from years prior (too painful to keep by his family), a portrait of him and even the photograph he'd had taken. That particular photo was meant to be sent to a woman who he fancied who at the time was living in one of the provinces outside of London. It was still in the envelope never to reach its intended, collecting dust with the other knicknacks.

As the envelope was still sealed, he realized that over the years, he'd been the only one to ever actually see its contents. April would be the first aside from himself. It was quite personal, it being a confession of love and he found himself blushing, wondering what April would say if she did actually find it.

Benjamin swallowed, peering over her shoulder as she lifted the lid to the box careful not to linger too close lest the Beauty catch a chill. He smiled seeing some of those books being unearthed. He could remember sitting curled up in front of the fireplace with them. His family learned long ago that books and things to write with were the gifts that he would be happiest with, and many of these were gifts from them. Most of the books had annotations scribbled in the margins, specific quotes underlined. If anyone wanted to truly know who I was, they'd have to look no further than those books, he mused to himself. To her statements he responded respectively: 'yes.mine.', and 'apologies inadvance.' nothing to her third statement as he was blushing and was a rather humble man, instead putting down an ellipses and freezing when he saw the envelope. Gulping, he followed her down.

April set the laptop out for him to type on while she read through his journal. He could see her irises moving back and forth raking in the words that he at one point poured over. Almost two hundred years later, someone was getting to know him through his written works. It was amazing to think about, though some of what she would read would be highly personal. April would see into his daily life, even inheriting mundane knowledge like what he'd had for breakfast the morning of May twenty-third. He'd documented everything.

Benjamin found himself blushing once more, not entirely sure how to respond. April was a very handsome woman and if she was always as kind (and forward) as she was treating him this instant he would have considered instantly becoming one of her suitors. He wrote down you're very kind. while she was reading. This one took him a little longer as he could feel himself getting weaker, getting less and less energy to manipulate things with, but he'd noticed something in the attic. When he was sitting under the light of the window he found that it was easier. The keys pressed more readily in the sunlight. Once the words were typed he moved to the window for a moment until she spoke again, producing his picture.

Again, he had no idea how to respond, so he responded with a question: boy next door/. He couldn't figure out how to put down a question mark, but he hoped that by seeing that the question and the / were on the same key that she'd understand. He couldn't help but laugh as he continued what about steven/.

Benjamin watched as she unfolded the letter and typed out, it's alright. she's gone now. If he would have been able to type more, he would have told her that she was old enough to be her great great grandmother and almost certainly forgot about him within a month of his death. But that was life, wasn't it? While you were there, you were remembered. After that, your name, your face, it disappears gradually with time. He still thought about her often, as one is wont to do with nothing but time on one's hands. He wondered how long it took her until she finally decided to find another suitor, if she had children, what those children looked like. To comfort himself, he would tell himself that she moved on relatively easily. That she was once caught in the throes of young love and was heartbroken for a little bit. That she found someone new. Someone better. Someone who treated her as well as, or better, than he did. Someone who would look at her like she had the stars and all of the galaxies spinning behind those blue eyes and shining smile.

No, she like himself, was dead now. But hopefully, she wasn't trapped.

Benjamin, having figured out that the sunlight seemed to give him energy, was rarin' and ready to write more. It was the first time he'd "spoken" to anyone for nearly two centuries and he wanted to get better. With the sex comment though he quickly typed out: sex/// without marriage///. The concept was foreign to him as he couldn't imagine hurting any woman's honor like that before the wedding night.

He listened as she spoke, thankful that she was leaving the computer in a spot that was decently lit by the sunlight so he could type all he wanted to while she was gone. It was so long since he last was able to write! Of course she would have to leave. She did have a life after all. So, he would use the opportunity as best he could. He glanced down at the photograph. Strange to think that this was once the best technology they had. He could see himself there, posed, serious. His lips were pressed in a thin line, his brow slightly furrowed. In the black and white photo, one couldn't quite gauge the exact shade of his hair save for the fact that it was too dark to be blonde, too light to be black. It was wavy, cut short about the ears. His eyes too were light, typical of an Englishman. They looked as though they could have been a blue or a green, perhaps hazel. Even with such a stern looking countenance, those who knew him would say that that wasn't Benjamin. That was some serious bloke. Couldn't have been the fun-loving writer they all knew and loved.

Tearing his eyes away from the picture, he focused on the screen and wiggled his fingers. He was going to write. Kind of. Certainly, he would be writing down a series of questions. Not necessarily the most creative of tasks, but he was up to it. He wrote:
what do you do for a living/
do i scare you/
can you find out where my parents went and if they were happy when they lived/ then added on the same line, i understand if not.
and finally what kind of books do you enjoy reading/

Benjamin listened intently as she prattled away sitting situated in front of the computer in case he needed to respond to anything. He could understand it being weird essentially talking to cold air, but some part of him hoped that her seeing his picture would put a face to the chill, so to speak. It obviously didn't, so maybe he would have to try. How would he go about that? Thinking really hard about being seen? He couldn't help but think about all of the trouble he'd gone through to simply get her to know that he was there, now he had to work to get her to see him? He'd never tried before, but he supposed it would be a nice gesture to try: this may take time. i have never tried before.

In response to the answer on his family he nodded glumly and typed thank you in advance for looking. it means everything to me. Of course, he wanted to know what happened to Elizabeth too, but he couldn't bring himself to bring her up. Benjamin was disappointed with the last answer, saddened that he'd made it this far into the future and had no idea what was being read these days. But, life was time consuming. Even he could remember that much from so long ago. With all the answers either typed up or having been answered audibly, he closed his eyes concentrating on visibility.

Benjamin was glad that she seemed to notice that it was getting easier for him as well as he could articulate somewhat more complicated sentences, closer to that of what he would have written in life. He tilted over his head peering over her shoulder and watched as the elusive question mark and capital letter were produced on the screen.Aha! That's it! He looked at the rest of the keys and figured that that would be how to write an exclamation point, a whatever the a with the circle around it was, a pound sign, percent, and even &. That would be easier for him to type than actually writing out the word "and".

Taking his station in front of the computer he now typed.The window helps, I believe. Maybe something to do with sunlight? Seeing the proper punctuation coupled with an actual question mark elated him. He held down the shift key and drug his finger across the second row producing !@#$%^&*()_+ He laughed. Finally, it was making sense.

April had been gone most of the day, but with the last rays of sun he moved to the proper window to get what he could from them and, standing beside the window, concentrated on making himself visible, hoping that it would work. If not, they would have to wait until the following day. But, he would make it work. He'd come this far. Why would he stop there?

Benjamin grinned and typed out Of course! making sure to make use of the newfound exclamation mark. He decided that her musings were more musings and to not use more energy typing and instead focused on revealing himself. Her eyes were on the window now, so if he was going to, now was his chance.

It lasted but a moment, but for an all too brief second, the flicker flared and he was there. In that moment, he turned to look at her a small, somewhat sad smile gracing his lips. He'd done it.

He just hoped she didn't blink.

Benjamin shifted over to the computer, thankful that she did see him. During the day, it was possible that he might be able to appear visible for longer periods, too, to enable for conversation. He wondered if maybe someday he'd be able to actually speak to her. For the moment though, he was forced to type.
You are quite handsome yourself, April. When will you get 'internet' set up? What is 'internet'?
The concept was new with the last owners of the house and there was no computer to speak of in the house. However, he'd seen technology evolve to an extent, he was just a couple of decades behind was all. The house sat empty for entirely too long, but it wasn't now, and the owner wasn't afraid of him this time.

Benjamin shook his head, again, as if April could see him; remembered; and leaned forward to type, Did 'handsome' cease to be part of the vernacular in reference to ladies? Pretty, then. He hoped the joking tone he was trying to convey actually translated and then sat listening to her description of the Internet. So, essentially, it was like the best encyclopedias got an upgrade but it was all available on this thing that he was now using to type. This day and age was amazing. He typed out a response to April's well thought out explanation: So the 'Internet' contains information on everyone past and present? Doesn't that seem...invasive? He wondered what the Internet told about him.

Of course much had changed since his life. He could see that even with the old constituents of the house. He watched it evolve as more and more technologically advance items started entering his household. The refrigerator was one of the more interesting ones. It was true that his family owned something similar, but in the 1910's the couple that owned the house brought in the first refrigerator he'd ever seen and the family that lived in his home in the 80's had replaced it. That was the one that squat in the living room now and he could just remember wondering why they put full meals in there and it took him days of watching to figure out that the contraption actually worked as a more efficient system than his own family used for food storage, him not being able to feel temperatures. He wrote, I'd be curious to know what other words have changed since my time. I have seen microwaves before, actually! The last family owned one. I am not sure I want to know about the dark side of the "internet". Of course, he'd be figuring it out soon enough. If the "internet" was used through this device, he might be able to power it himself while she was away, provided she did not take this fancy contraption with her.

Benjamin laughed again, sorry that they couldn't have an actual conversation. Granted, this was a conversation of sorts. They were communicating through a medium that he would have never expected, but she couldn't see him and he felt as though some of the feeling he would have liked to convey got lost through the cold text that appeared on the screen. Perhaps the following day he'd be able to muster up enough energy. Perhaps if he made it a point to sit by the window all day they could have an extended conversation. He might even be able to speak. For the time being, however, he typed:
No, I suppose there wouldn't have been. Our cook was very good and more than likely wouldn't let us eat anything that the lower classes would eat. Kind of silly, isn't it?

Benjamin placed one of his ankles over his knee turning slightly so he was facing April; efforts that would go unnoticed but nonetheless made it feel more real for him. He said nothing for a moment, deciding to give her a moment to eat her food.I should think you wouldn't; it was very different from anything you eat today. Would you like to know what I spread on my bread instead of peanut butter and jam?

Benjamin laughed and squared his shoulders as he typed the response, ready to gauge April's reaction.

My absolute favourite thing was a spread called Gentlemen's Relish. Have you heard of it?

Benjamin tilted his head, wondering how he could have possibly said anything naughty. If there was a euphanism there, it went right over his head. Naughty? How so? It's a spread that contains a variety of spices...and anchovies. The flavour is quite robust. It's one of those things that you either love or hate. He was still wearing an expression of pure amusement and hoped it came through in his words. They seemed cold sitting there on the screen like that.