House of Ghost Crap

For once, the only thing I wanted from the séance was to get it over with.

I’d spent twenty years of my life as a pro ghost investigator, or at least as pro as I could get moonlighting between shifts at Jupiter House. I couldn’t really tell you how I ended up there. I guess I could blame my friends for encouraging the leap from a homebrew gadget enthusiast into a ghost hunter and the situation just spiraled from there.

Maybe I could cop to some responsibility for it all. I had been really into ghost shows for years. I still imagined that I would crack the ghost world open someday and show the world undeniable proof of ghosts. I’d even get my own ghost show in the bargain. I always craved reassurance that I was special, that I saw things in the world that no one else could.

It never happened.

I did, however, make enough of a name for myself to attract a full house of tourists to my weekly séances. The income paid off all the gadget material I could ever and then some.

That night, whether I liked it or not, I would be on the hook for yet another séance in the backroom of the local haunt or else I was going to have to refund five hundred dollars to ten unhappy customers, but it would definitely be the last night. One more night and then I was out. I would shut down the website for good.

A vibration in my pocket alerted me to a fifty-dollar deposit for the next week’s séance.  

Okay, maybe just one more week.

I sighed as I rubbed down the leftmost silver cylinder of the La Marzacco for the fourth time. Jupiter House was having a slow day which meant I was being cursed to listen to my own thoughts for far too long, always a bad time.

“What’s the matter Beetsy?” Jazz asked casually from the drive-thru window. “Too excited for your ghost hunt to be bothered with the trivial work of the living?”

I rolled my eyes. I hated that nickname. On my first day, Jazz introduced herself with an offer to jump my bones in the freezer. I turned beet red and she snorted espresso out of both nostrils. Still, I didn’t call her Spresso. It hardly seemed fair.

“Sure. That’s it exactly.”

“Awe don’t be such a sourpuss. I’m sure you won’t do too bad. I’ll even be there for moral support.”

“You signed up?”

“Of course! I’m getting the friends and family discount naturally,” she winked.

“You’re going to the kid’s ghost thing? Really? You believe in all that supernatural crap?” Fernando slipped one arm possessively around Jazz’s waist.

“Sure. Why not? What are some sort of cynical atheist. You know I find boring men well boring right?”

Fernando frowned and pressed on bravely. “Religion, magic, ghosts, aliens, whatever, magical thinking is all pointless. Less than pointless really. It poisons your mind.”

“Well fortunately Beetsy isn’t some quack. He’s got real instruments. He’s doing real science.”

“Real ghost science?” Fernando raised one eyebrow.

I banged my forehead lightly against the metal. I really didn’t want to get into it, but Fernando kept staring down at me, not taking a hint.

“They’re EMF detectors. I try to capture hints of the paranormal with them.”

“Electromagnets? Really? You know there are EMF waves everywhere right? You give them off. I give them off. Every car and light gives them off. Hell, the whole planet has an EMF field. What possible science is being done by a little machine that beeps with every EMF fluctuation?”

Jazz glared at Fernado and I resisted the urge to dig the switchblade out of my boot and stab the ass forty-seven times in the chest. Instead, I held my tongue as I wiped the forehead print off of my reflection.

What could I say? He was right of course. I was a charlatan.

“I’m just saying it’d be more impressive if it detected ectoplasm or something that was actually supernatural, you know?” Jazz punched him and he finally shut up.

===

The sun had sunk into a thin red line by the time I rolled up to the hotel with my big bag o’ ghost crap. I sat down at the center table in the dusty ballroom and shut off all the lights except for the exit signs and turned on the fake candelabra and the electronic candles.

I used real candles for the first few séances but got a long lecture from the fire marshal after I accidentally burned up one of the Fantasma’s many faded, moth-eaten curtains, and I had to agree to stick to electronic lights. It’s not like I had any more luck with the real candles anyway, but I couldn’t help but think about how, as Fernando would point out, each of those flickering electronic lights were generated their own EMF field.

I pulled out my backpack and laid out each of my devices for the night. First up was Ol’ Reliable, a standard dial-type EMF detector made from an old voltmeter.

Second was Karen, an LED motion detector that flashed directionally when anything moved near it.

Third was Fantasy, a repurposed hotel service bell I found in the Hotel Fantasma months ago. All it did was ring when the EMF fluctuated up or down, but it had style points.

Fourth was Bumps, a seismogram that scratched out vibrations onto paper with a mounted fountain pen.

Fifth was Blinky, my magnum opus, a modified pager that used my own custom soft to transform EMFs into common words and phrases that appeared on the screen.

I hummed quietly to myself as I tuned my devices and tried different positions to zero out the local ambient conditions while my rookie ghost hunters filtered in. I greeted each of them vaguely without looking up.

I practically never had repeat customers. I had gotten used to the fact that my ritual, my performance really, was just a novelty for tourists who wanted to learn a bit about the history of the town and maybe gawk at the local kook at the same time so maybe there was no real harm. At least that’s what I liked to tell myself.  

I looked up from Blinky and smiled broadly at my guests as the last seats filled in. I slipped into my best presentation voice including a ridiculously over-the-top ululation on the vowels.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you all for coming.” Jazz smiled at me from the far side of the table, my smile grew and then faltered when I spotted a reluctant Ferdinand sitting next to her, arms crossed.

Seriously Jazz?

“I will start by giving you a brief overview of the history of this site and all the atrocities that have taken place here,” my script continued.

“You will soon understand how so many ghosts came to congregate around this specific point, this four-dimensional coordinate the very heart of…”

I tuned myself out as my body fell into the practiced gesticulations as my voice ran through the same historical fanfiction for the hundredth time until I reached the part where I was finally free to play with my machines.

“We will start the séance by introducing ourselves. As guests it is critical that we show respect to our supernatural hosts.” I clicked on each device. “I am Terrence, the host and spiritual guide for this circle.”

I held out my hand to the woman next to me and they introduced themselves to my instruments. Most of them eagerly. Bumps scratched softly in response.

That done, I passed around a top hat to gather up the personal belongings of my attendees’ dead friends and relatives.

I reached into the hat and pulled out a small baseball glove, a simple golden ring, and then a slimy, frozen pickle that slipped out of my hand. I heard Jazz giggle and found myself smiling in spite of myself as I shifted into my explanation of the importance of these objects and laid out the mismatched collection of rings, rosaries, hats, stuffed animals and a rapidly melting pickle in front of the instruments.

“Now remember I cannot guarantee that any one spirit will appear, but it increases the chances that a given ghost will appear if we provide them with an item that was important in life. Certain objects can still anchor them to the material world. It is all a matter of what they sunk their feelings into in life.”

I felt profoundly sad as I listened to the steady drone of my monotonous litany as it echoed off of the cavernous ceiling. I glanced down at the pile of sentimental miscellany.

I had performed my first ritual with a certainty that these séances would help people, bring them real closure or answers or something; but I had never succeeded, at least not to my satisfaction. If anyone left my séance feeling more fulfilled, more certain of the world hereafter then it was thanks entirely to their own imagination and gullibility.  

I looked up at the mix of faces ranging from eager to skeptical to amused. I felt like such a fool in that moment. What was I even doing in that dank, dusty ballroom? I could’ve just gone home and read a book. No one would be pinning their desperate hopes on me, no annoying devices would be beeping at me, I wouldn’t have to grapple with Jazz’s crazy mixed signals.

Wait, something was beeping. I looked down as Fantasy rang and Blinky printed out her first word of the night.

BRIDGE, I read aloud.

“This is the first message. The spirits are making contact!”

The entire circle leaned forward.  

“Is it Piper’s Bridge? That’s where Edward drove off the road.” an elderly woman with doe eyes asked.

“Maybe it means the bridge between our world and theirs,” offered a plump woman squeezing a cross.

“That may very well be,” I replied. “Please spirits what is this bridge you refer to?”

A few slow minutes passed in silence.

“Are you ready to speak now?”

Everyone looked around as if something was going to jump out at us, but nothing happened. Several guests began fidgeting. Fernando looked like he was sleeping.

I frowned at the devices. It was just so easy for me to get caught up in the hysteria all over again. It had just been another errant EMF. I was just spinning ghosts out of shadows.

Minutes ticked by and I looked awkwardly around the room.

“Let’s try another question shall we? Spirits of the Fantasma can you tell us your names?”

Silence.

“Can you tell us about the history of this building?”

Nothing.

“We have come to speak with you. Will you speak with us?”

Nada.

“We seek those spirits trapped in the netherworld between heaven and hell.”

Zip.

Several phones snuck out of pockets and softly lit the faces of my neophyte ghost hunters.  

“C’mon EMFs give me something,” I muttered.

I felt a cold sweat run down my back and pulled at my too tight collar.

A flash, a scribble, and a word on appeared.

LEMONS, I relayed with the utmost gravitas.

Someone stifled a yawn.

“It’s possible that the spirits are displeased with our setup. Perhaps if we moved the devices to the other side of the room we will have more luck?”

I stood and the guests stood with me. A few began eyeballing the door, I knew they begin moving surreptitiously in that direction and then it would just be a matter of time before the stampede. I’d seen it before.

“Wait—” I said when everything went haywire.

The electronic candles flickered and snuffed out just as every device lit up and then shut down simultaneously.

“Power outage?” someone asked as all the lights came on and then exploded with a break of glass. An ethereal green light suffused the ballroom.

My ghost hunters locked in as a current-like electricity ran through the air and all of my devices began flash, flash, flashing madly.

Bumps’s pen ran all the way across the page, broke off, and fell to the floor with a pile of paper. Ol’ Reliable and Karen both sparked while Blinky just kept flashing random strings of letters.

QPODA DKAP

QIWEPQI AKDA

ARE YOU

LISTENING

TO ME

I ASKED

WHAT THE

ZZTSKZZT

YOU THINK

YOURE

DOING

WITH MY

PAGER!

“Holy shit,” I said. “It’s a ghost.”

I felt terrified, but exhilarated. I had given up all hope that I would ever find a ghost, almost all hope that they existed at all, but now. Undeniable proof. It was right there. Right in front of my eyes.

I felt like the dog who’d caught the car.

What are you supposed to do after you actually find a real ghost?

I realized belatedly that everyone was looking at me while I was just gaping dumbfoundedly at Blinky. I coughed and fell into a slightly shaky version of my ghost detective voice.

“Um Mr. uh Ghost sir or ma’am? We’re err spirit evangelists.”

Would ghost hunters be considered offensive?

“We would like to ask you some questions. If that would be okay of course.”

I COULD

GIVE A

SKTZZZT

THE PAGER

“Oh right, sorry. I mean to say you must me mistaken. This is my personal invention for ghost communication. I built Blinky using a pager I found at Bee’s Flea…”

THAT SKTZZZT

EMILY SOLD

MY ZZBBTT

ARE YOU

BTOOOSZZT

KIDDING ME?

“Listen I can give you back your pager if you want, it’s no problem.”

NO.

FORGET THE

BSKKTSY PAGER

BRING ME

EMILY

“I don’t think I know…”

I looked around as if someone could help me. Fernando just stared back at me like a cow in a thunderstorm.

“Oh spirit, tell us about the other side! Is Edmond there?” the old woman jumped in.

“Charlie. Please, just tell him I’m sorry—” half a dozen other ghost hunters started talking over one another.

The green lights flashed and a roar filled the room like I was standing on the precipice of a giant waterfall.

SILENCE

LISTEN

PAGERBOY

I WEAKEN

SELECT

A VESSEL

“I will be the vessel!” the old woman wailed. “Please just help me find—”

The woman slammed face first into the table. A thin trickle of drool poured out of her mouth. Her body went completely limp. Her neck was twisted into an unnatural angle and her glassy eyes stared up me accusatorily.

“Oh shit.”

TOO WEAK

ANOTHER

“Oh fuck this,” a man with the baseball cap stood up and made it halfway out of his chair before ragdolling, bonelessly onto the floor.

BETTER NOW

BRING ME

EMILY

I WILL KEEP

I lost my focus in the chorus of screams. An avalanche of people stood up, fell down, and crawled away from the table at once.

A dozen doors slammed shut simultaneously around the house and the screams grew a few notches shriller as my ghost hunters slammed their bodies vainly against the heavy oak.

I just sat there. I felt detached, like I was floating above the fray. I looked down at the bedlam. People crawled over one another, chairs and table floating around, and an otherworldly laugh echoed through it all.

The waiver isn’t going to cover this.

I blinked and looked across the table at Jazz who was sitting alone, white knuckling the opposite end of the table. Something was forming between us. It was a green pulsing light.

“DO SOMETHING,” she mouthed.

I felt like shrugging. I was just a charlatan after all. I wasn’t equipped to actually deal with the supernatural. I was just another victim waiting to get soul sucked by the ghost I stupidly called with my stupid ghost pager.

Another guest screamed and collapsed. The green light seemed to be forming into the approximate shape of a man. The pulsing vibrated the air, and the light became blinding.

I looked down as the vibrations knocked a ring off of the pile of junk in front of me and onto the ground. It spun around and around far below.

What was that tripe I was saying about all this junk?

Anchors!

I grabbed Blinky in one hand, ripped the switchblade out of my boot, and swung it around in one smooth motion.

NOOOOOOOO

An invisible sledgehammer slammed into my chest, but it was too late. The screen cracked under the blade with a crunch and the green light vanished.

I realized that we were floating half a second after we stopped. We fell straight down along with a hundred other tables, chairs, and plastic candles.

I groaned and rolled over. The room was trashed, the fire sprinklers were running, and my ghost hunters and I were left completely alone, speechless.  

“That was… unusual.”

===

One month later I was back to work at Jupiter House. The autopsies attributed all three deaths to heart attacks. No criminal charges were filed, but I was sued by everyone minus Jazz and Fernando. Fernando did quit Jupiter House though.

I ultimately settled out of court with the families of each of the ghost’s victims. The fees drained all my bank accounts, and they would be garnishing my wages for the rest of my life. However, I wasn’t going to prison, so I’d say I got off lightly.

My attorney wanted me to take all of them to court. He figured there was no way they’d get a judge on board with their version of events considering the supernatural nature of the killings, and he would get to pad his hours considerably while they tried, but I took the settlements. I was guilty after all. I got those people killed.

I jumped as I felt sharp teeth clamp down lightly onto my ear. Jazz laughed.

“Hey Beetsy I’m craving a chilly dilly in the freezer. Whaddya say?”

I grinned and wrapped one arm around her waist.

“You’re on.”