There was a figure on the camera. That in itself wouldn’t be groundbreaking, that’s the whole point of having cctv camera’s in the first pce. No, the problem was, I could see through it. A figure in what looked like a long, flowing dress, slowly descending the staircase down into the main downstairs living area of the cabin.

  “Lemme see” Sandra walked over, leaping on the distraction. “Yup, that’s a ghost.”

  “So are we going to do anything? Talk to it?”

  “Why?” Sandra seemed puzzled for a moment. “Oh, right, ghost hunting. Let me check.” She pulled out her cell phone.

  “Not like that!” Gabe shouted. “Use the radio.”

  “Ah, right.” She keyed up the rge unit on top of a server rack.

  “Yeah, uh,” She turned to the two guys here. “Do I really have to use that stupid call sign?”

  “Unfortunately. You talking about her’s or-”

  “Both.”

  “Yup.” Sandra looked like she had bitten into a particurly sour lemon.

  “Enchantress, this is Bond, come in.” She released the button on the handset, the speaker pying static.

  “Bond?” I whispered to Gabe.

  “Her ancestor was John Dee. Amy loves teasing her about it, since he was the ‘original’ 007. Some sort of numerology crap.” I nodded, looking back down at the monitors. The ghost was pacing back and forth across the room, passing through the table we had sat at hours before. The radio’s static was interrupted by our dear, kind of dickish leader’s voice.

  “Bond, this is Enchantress Actual, we got you Lima Charlie. What’s the question? Over.” That call sign just screamed ego.

  “Yeah, one of the interns saw an apparition in the monitor. Like, one that was clear enough for a mundane to pick up on. What are we supposed to actually do about that?… Over.”

  “Well, is it doing anything? And is it a ghost, a demon, or some other sort of entity? Over.”

  “A ghost. And it’s just pacing back and fourth… menacingly. Over.”

  “Obviously not that menacingly or you would have exorcised it. Well, we knew our dumbass former station chief with the sticky fingers wasn’t the only person getting up to shit here. Investigate it, Over.”

  At this Jeff shook his head and grabbed for the radio’s handset from Sandra.”

  “If you’re going to be so anal about radio etiquette you really shouldn’t cuss. You don’t want to bring the FCC down on us Enchantress. Over.”

  “Well, Treehugger, this is encrypted, and on a military frequency, I doubt we’ll have to worry about some dipshit HAM boomers foxhunting us and reporting us to the FCC for being some naughty potty-mouths. Though if you want to have some fun…” She paused, but clearly hadn’t ended the transmission, based on the ck of ‘over.’“The FCC can suck my magical witchy tits while I tie a spell onto their stupid dickhead boomer pdogs and compel them to fuck those fun police Over.” Jeff snorted.

  “Now you know that compulsion like that is a felony, Enchantress. Plus you were trying what too hard with that one, over.”

  “You mess with one boomer’s repeater and they freak out and try fining you. Bunch of sanctimonious cocksuckers. Over.”

  “We’re getting off topic here, what do you want us to do with the ghost? Over.”

  “Figure out what the hell it wants, obviously. A pce like this, a ghost being visible enough for the normies to see is something we need to look into. Over and out.”

  The static returned to the radio, soon fading into the regur background hum of the computers and other equipment while Sandra opened up her notebook.

  “Got anything on talking to ghosts in there? Performing necromancy’s usually outside our purview.” Gabe asked.

  “Nope, just angels. A tiny bit on exorcism as well, but Mrs. Thorne is closer to being the expert on stuff outside of the standard angels and demons. But you have people trying to do it on tv shows all the time, it can’t be that hard.”

  She reached into a bin, pulling out candles and incense, all while muttering under her breath.

  “So…” Anna stepped forward before thinking better of it. She might have been offended by the words “amateur hour” being audible, or she might have just been deciding to let the antisocial… witch? Sorceress? Weirdo. Let the antisocial weirdo vent her compints into the bin crowded with various occult-looking objects.

  I’m sure Anna’s internal monologue is using a much nicer term. There’s no accounting for taste. And with taste like that I’d put her at maybe number two for chances of falling for the evil succubus stalking through the night, after that poor woman who fell for the enigmatic Mrs. Thorne. The fact that Jeff and Gabe were concerned about the thing means they weren’t, like I had initially suspected, actually gay but instead were an actual, rare, real-life example of ‘very close friends.’ Maybe the power of their friendship could save them.

  Is it rude to be ranking how likely my comrades/coworkers/overlords would be to be attacked by the ancient Mesopotamian demon? Yes, but it’s my mind and I can do what I want in it. Or can I? There could be some sort of mind-reading magic, but the fact that people are still acting normal around me is a sure sign that no one here at least is reading any minds. Especially Gabe. I mean, sure he’s short, but he’s nice. Unless I misjudged… Yeah, no, the odds against chance on literally everyone here but me being gay are astronomical.

  “Hey, get your head out of the clouds and grab that spirit box.” She pointed at the device that looked kind of like if someone was trying to make a 1980’s radio look more cool and up to date.

  “Do these actually work?” I had done some research of my own on ghost-hunting, and I had heard plenty of mixed opinions on them.

  “Hell if I know, once you get deep enough into the practical side of magic you don’t really need this sort of thing. But the practice should help with our cover.” Sandra said. “Now follow me. We need to get the séance set up.” She grabbed a tote with candles and went out the door, forcing the rest of us to rush afterwards towards the house.

  “How many séances have you done?” I asked out of curiosity.

  “This would be my first. Maybe I should have practiced making knocking noises.”

  “That’s for faking a séance.”

  “Good to know. I used to be a skeptic myself, so there’s some gaps in my knowledge.” How reassuring. You’d think someone calling themselves a former skeptic would know about people faking ghost encounters during séances. That’s like skeptic 101. “You’re carrying the least amount of stuff, could you grab the door for me?

  I reached for the doorknob, not thinking anything of the request. At least not until I remembered the whole reason we were heading into the house in the first pce. Right behind that door was a ghost. An actual ghost.

  Not a “I heard something spooky or thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye” kind of ghost. Not a “I heard from the friend of a friend” kind of ghost. It was an actual ghost. Clear enough in those monitors that if a recording had been presented to any of those aforementioned skeptics, they would immediately disregard it ciming it was a photoshop. Hmmm, now that I think about it, that expins why skeptics might be so adamant that there’s no proof of the paranormal. They probably just ignore any bit of proof as “clearly fake” and use that as evidence to support their own position. Talk about a hell of a bias.

  I took a deep breath, bracing myself for what y beyond. It was scary, but not nearly as scary as that demon. God, an actual demon! I should be running as far away from here as I can right now. But, as Mrs. Thorne said, I did technically volunteer even if I hadn’t been told everything. And this right now is what I volunteered for. I muttered quietly to myself.

  “I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.”

  Then I opened the door.

  Nothing.

  “But I just saw-”

  “Didn’t you want to be a ghost hunter?” Gabe asked. “Spirit photography is a big part of that.”

  “It’s still here.” Sandra said. “Gabe, Jeff, if you could help set up the candles.”

  “You know the Church frowns on this.” Gabe muttered.

  “A two-millennia long stick up their asses will do that.” Sandra said. “But our team leader says we have to. Come on, a little ‘heresy’ hasn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Says the world-shattering heretic.”

  “Less talking, more candle-lighting.” And soon enough, the candles were lit, and we had taken our pces in a circle around the table. In the center I had pced the spirit box, where it let out varied static as it cycled through various radio frequencies.

  “So what next?” Anne asked with a grin from her seat next to Sandra

  “If I remember right, we hold-” Sandra stopped. It was hard to tell in the dim candlelight, but I’d swear she was blushing. Was this really the pce for this? I elbowed Gabe.

  “If you’re worried about things your Church wouldn’t approve of…”

  “They don’t technically approve of it but they’ve taken a pretty hands-off approach in recent years. Personally I don’t have a problem with it. Love is love after all. But not on the fucking clock. Isn’t this ghost supposed to be old? You might scare it away.” The second part was clearly directed at the intern and the disaster lesbian who was supposed to be leading the séance.

  “Ahem. Everyone, hold hands.” Sandra managed to sound professional. I looked closer. She and Anne had already beaten the group to the punch. Not only that, but they full-on had their fingers interlocked. How lewd. If this manuscript wasn’t already secret and hidden, the story would have to be for adults only.

  I grabbed Sandra’s free hand, and then Gabe’s, feeling his firm, calloused grip. Gabe’s other hand grabbed Jeff’s, fingers interlocking as they let out a snort. Jeff and Anne completed the circle, then Sandra spoke again.

  “Spirit, make yourself known.” She spoke, but her voice was different. Gone was the ft, abrasive tone. Gone was the shyness. The surly twenty-something vibe she gave off was blown away like a pstic bag in the wind. What repced it was a tone that felt like a rock-slide, a rumbling, unstoppable force that demanded your attention. It wasn’t like those ghost-hunting shows, where they call out and ask for the spirits to respond. She spoke with power and with the expectation that she be given what she demanded.

  With this, this voice, it hardly surprised me with a quavery spoke through the spirit box.

  “W-why are you in my home?” The staticky voice, feminine, and with an enunciation that few modern people have, asked.

  “It’s no longer your home. And I’m the one asking the questions. Why are you here?.” We get an actual, intelligible answer from the ghost beyond the “one knock or two” ghost hunters usually do, and she starts arguing with it?

  “I’m waiting. I want to be here when, if, they come home.” The candles flickered as she finished speaking, then died down almost to the point of being extinguished before fring back up again to twice the usual amount of fme.

  “Who are you waiting on?” Sandra again demanded an answer. I was beginning to feel bad for the ghost, having such a rude person barging in and commanding her about. All the stuff I had read on ghost hunting said you should be respectful when attempting to contact the spirits, and Sandra was deciming and demanding with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop.

  “Beauregard. And Maud.”

  “What happened to them.”

  “I- I had head the tales from the old country. I had heard them, but I thought they were ungodly superstition. I just wish I-” the ghost trailed off into staticy weeping.

  “Dammit.” Sandra muttered.

  “A dy shouldn’t use such nguage! A dy also shouldn’t-” The spirit sobbed out an admonishment, but was cut off.

  “I’m far from some stuck-up dy. How can you be sure you’re...children? Were taken?” The authoritative tone was back, the feel of power vibrating through it and causing the candles to fre.

  “There was a stand of thornapple. I was walking with them one day, when they said a small man was asking them to dance. I tried to call them back, but they ran off into the bushes and, and.” The weeping continued.

  “Can you show us this stand?” This was the first question Sandra asked that was actually asked as a question, and not an order.

  “I can’t, if they come here while I’m out I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “They wont. They’re gone, and you’re only chance to see them again is if you go to your afterlife. Now, will you show us the stand?”

  “Will this help? Will showing you where they disappeared help stop this from happening again?”

  “I wont make promises I can’t keep. But it may help.” Sandra almost sounded sympathetic there, like she had gone through the same thing. Like-

  I was startled by the appearance of a woman at the head of the table. The same woman I had seen in the monitor, spectral, and her appearance coincided with an icy breeze that blew out the candles. She motioned towards the back door of the house, and Sandra rose, breaking the circle. Despite my shock I noticed she only let go of my hand, the other was still firmly grasped by the frightened Anne. The two followed after the ghost, with Sandra jerking her head at Gabe and Jeff.

  We followed the spirit out into the dark, a blue luminescence like a beacon luring us onward towards our target. I hoped. There was nothing to say this ghost wasn’t trying to harm us but her own word and Sandra’s presumed ability to command it. It walked into the dark, and the seconds felt like minutes, the minutes felt like hours. Then it stopped by a clump of bushes.

  “Thank you for your help.” Sandra told the spirit. It nodded. “Do you need help finding your way onward from here?” It nodded again. Sandra began to mutter, a string of unintelligible and quiet words vibrating the air with the same weird power as before. Then everything became blindingly bright, and as I attempted to blink the spots from my eyes...I couldn’t see anything.

  “I should have warned you about that.” Sandra spoke apologetically.

  “Like hell you should have!” Jeff shouted. “That absolutely fucked our eyesight! What did you do?”

  “She needed a guide. I summoned one for her. Surely Gabe’s church approves of that much, guiding lost souls to Heaven.” She spoke sarcastically.

  “They feel ordering angels about is incredibly presumptuous, actually.” Gabe said wryly. I still couldn’t see anything, due to the- well, I really don’t want to think about that. “But overall you probably did the right thing. So, what’s with this missing children’s case?”

  “It’s another ‘fuck’ in this clusterfuck of a case. We have ourselves a fairy-fort.”

  Announcement[author]Sorry about the dey. I'm working at getting back to regur updates, but there's still a lot going on on my end. [/author]