Memorial Services

The phone's been ringing more than usual today. You know this because you've answered it every single time, listening to a veritable fountain of spiritual issues. And, every time, informing the person on the other end that, yes, their issue was very spooky and serious but until someone nearly lost a limb or something, you couldn't get involved.

Not to say you wouldn't help them all if you could, of course. But you weren't the sort of gentle touch a lost, scared spirit needed. Friendly faces and carefully applied abilities and helping them deal with their hangups. You were the one who was supposed to come in when that DIDN'T work.

You absentmindedly finger the pendant around your neck. The gift you'd gotten, so long ago, the mark of a love that you'd been told would "defy death itself". You'd taken her seriously, because if a Medium couldn't be taken seriously when they said that you had no idea who could.

She just... hadn't bothered to inform you what she'd come back as.

It was more than a little difficult dealing with picking up where she'd left off. She'd been gentle, positive, capable of making even the surliest ghosts at least let her get a word in edgewise. So, when you'd revived the business, people assumed it would be more of the same. And a month in, you were still carefully attempting to guide people to your contempararies while not explaining why you couldn't do the jobs.

I mean, would they even believe you? "Yeah, sorry, I'm not actually an exorcist, I just use my dead girlfriend's Wraith to tear ghosts who won't listen to reason into bits of ectoplasm."

Shit, you think they'd call the cops, actually. There have to be laws about ghost slavery. You don't think the police would just believe she sacrificed a happy afterlife to be your undead attack dog. Wait, she was literally a dog. Was... was that racist of you?

The phone rings again, distracting you from your thoughts. You pick it up, and immediately hear someone's obviously panicked babbling about a spirit in their attic. You somehow get them to slow down, and ask your usual litany of questions.

"Okay, have you seen this spirit?": Yes. They resemble an older gentleman, in a suit, complete with tophat.

"Are they just there? Do they do anything odd, or do you just get an ominous feeling?": The caller informs you that, apparently, the spirit exudes an aura that removes sound and color from the area.

"Have they expressed any hostility? Physical attacks, mental intrusions, potential possession?"

They go quiet for a moment. You almost wonder if this is the "Realizing they just wasted your time" silence before they softly inform you that their brother went upstairs to try communicating with the spirit a few hours ago, and when they checked the attic later he was... gone.

You take a deep breath. Okay, that was a bad sign. A remarkably bad sign. The pendant grows warm against your chest. You inform them of your current rate for an exorcism, and  they're either rich or desperate because theu don't even hesitate before they tell you to come as soon as possible.

You hang up, and mutter a quick prayer to whatever divinity may be listening because there's no way this is going to end well. Sure, you needed to keep the lights on, but you'd probably just live under a bridge the rest of your life if it meant ghosts like this weren't an issue.

But you can't, and they still are. Which is why you swallow your guilt at what's about to happen and step out into the night. People said there was no rest for the wicked. And tonight, you were gonna prove them wrong again.