He is heir to the earldom of Batheaston and lives in an elegant, stately home, but handsome twenty-something Freddie Lanyon is not a happy man. Not only is he gay and dreading coming out to his family, but he’s also troubled by ghosts that nobody else can see.
When Freddie’s impulsive purchase of an antique dressing case triggers even more ghostly happenings with potentially catastrophic consequences, he has to take action.
Freddie contacts charismatic psychic Marcus Spender for help and feels an immediate attraction to this handsome antique dealer –– a feeling that is mutual. But the pair’s investigations unearth shocking, long-buried secrets, which prove a major challenge to their task of laying unhappy spirits to rest and to their blossoming relationship.
Being brave isn’t one of Freddie’s standout qualities, but he’ll need all the courage he can muster to rid himself of wayward phantoms and get his life on track.
I didn’t expect A Plethora of Phantoms to feel as layered as it does. What begins as a fairly contained haunting gradually expands into something more complex, where the past doesn’t simply linger but presses in, shaping the present in ways that are not always immediately clear. The story doesn’t treat the supernatural as a separate element, but as something embedded in the lives of the characters, unfolding alongside them rather than around them.
Freddie’s experience of the haunting is not immediate or dramatic in the way one might expect. Instead, it begins with small disruptions—things moved, a sense of presence, moments that are easy enough to question if taken in isolation. What makes it effective is how those moments accumulate. Each one on its own might be dismissed, but together they create something far harder to ignore, especially as they begin to take on a more deliberate quality.
There is also a distinct sense that the haunting is not singular. Early on, there is a presence that feels almost habitual in its behaviour, interfering in ways that are unsettling but not immediately threatening. Alongside that, however, there are moments where something far more forceful makes itself known, shifting the tone entirely. The contrast between the two creates an underlying tension, as it becomes increasingly unclear what is being encountered at any given moment.
What I found particularly engaging is how the mystery is uncovered. It is not presented as something immediately visible, but as something tied to objects, places, and fragments of history that need to be followed through. The dressing case in particular becomes a focal point, acting as a link between past and present and drawing the characters into something they don’t fully understand at first. The more attention it receives, the clearer it becomes that it is not simply an object, but part of a much larger story waiting to be pieced together.
The long gallery stands out as one of the more striking locations in this respect. It becomes a focal point where the atmosphere shifts noticeably, and where the presence feels more concentrated. It is one of the moments where the story moves beyond quiet unease into something more openly confrontational, reinforcing the idea that whatever remains in the house is not entirely passive.
Marcus’s involvement adds another layer to this. While Freddie is the one most directly affected, Marcus is not untouched by what is happening. There are subtle indications that the supernatural does not confine itself neatly to one place or one person, and that sense of overlap broadens the scope of the story without making it feel overcomplicated. At the same time, the relationship between them develops quietly alongside the investigation, shaped by the same uncertainty and pressure. It never feels separate from the mystery, but part of it, deepening as everything else becomes more difficult to ignore.
As the narrative develops, the focus shifts from the question of what is happening to why it is happening at all. The past emerges not as background detail, but as something active, shaping the present in ways that have yet to be resolved. The more that is uncovered, the clearer it becomes that the haunting is tied to something incomplete, something that has not been allowed to rest.
By the final stages, the story moves towards resolution, but not in a way that feels abrupt or overly tidy. Instead, it brings a sense of understanding, where what has been unsettled is finally acknowledged. There is a quiet sense of balance restored—not just within the house, but for those connected to it, both past and present.
It’s not a story that relies on shock or spectacle, but on the slow accumulation of detail and atmosphere. That approach allows the mystery to settle in gradually, and makes the resolution feel earned rather than imposed. It leaves you with the impression that what has been uncovered matters, not just because it explains what happened, but because it allows it, at last, to come to rest.
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