Ghost Log #1: New Realities (Part One)
The night was black. Central Ohio Undead and Ghost Hunting (COUGH) was having its first monthly meeting of the new year when we heard our phone sound for the first time since we’d been forcing ourselves to come to these meetings three years ago.
The three of us sat silent for the first couple rings when Nick decided that he was the only one of us not completely shaken by nerves. Nick wasn’t the bravest, or the most talkative, but he loved doing this more than the rest of us and had been waiting for this day more than anything else.
I could only hear one side of the call, but from the way Nick’s face dropped I knew this was big. He hung up the receiver, turned to us, and asked me to cancel the pizza delivery for that night; we were going out.
The client was Shelly Globke, an 81-year-old widower living in German Village. He invited us into his home and sat us down in a room lined with heavily worn books and dull light provided by a single antique lamp on the verge of death. There were four fresh glasses of tea waiting for us on the coffee table.
Suddenly remembering my position as leader of the group, I asked Shelly why he called.
“Well,” he rasped, “you should first know that my dear Evelyn passed just last week. She was all I ever cared about. She… I think she’s back.”
Now I understood why Nick had been so solemn on the phone. This was just a sad, lonely man that lost his only companion. He’d entertain any fantasy to have her back. We’d humor him.
“I’m so sorry for your loss Mr. Globke. Would you mind if we have a look around before you tell us how the spirit manifests itself? It’s best we do this before you go into detail so that we aren’t influenced.”
“Of course. Do whatever you need. I’ll be waiting here.”
As we left the room to grab our gear Mr. Globke began to thumb through an old photo album and tear up. We weren’t built for this.
“We can’t actually do this,” yelled Dan. “I sympathize with the man, but I can tell what you two are up to and I won’t support an old man’s delusions. He needs to move on. No one wants to find a ghost more than me, but this is ridiculous.”
“Let’s just give it a chance. This is the first time we’ve ever been called out. Besides, I’m in charge here so it’s my call. Let’s look around.”
We swept though the house and took every reading that we could. Whenever I passed the doorway leading to Shelly’s study I gave him a nod and a smile, but I knew this was helpless.
I could hear Nick running upstairs.
Shelly started crying.
Appearance: Otherworldly pale and super fizzy. A flash of a white head is gone before you can get your god damn camera out of your god damn drawer. Clear. Like distractingly clear.
Smell: A flooded basement one week after cleanup.
Taste: Water and a tiny bit of corn syrup.
Overall: Fuck this beer. 2/100
Up Next: Something nice.