Page 82 of Purrfectly Haunted

The nurse floats through another room, sobbing. From what we’ve gathered, this abandoned hospital used to be haunted by dozens of ghosts. Unsavoury things happened here a few decades ago. Influencers and YouTubers sometimes film videos here, attracted to the popularity of the uncanny.

But tonight the veil feels calm, as if the nurse is the only spirit left.

“Where did the man who ate your patients go?” I ask her.

She whimpers and floats away from me. “He was made of darkness contained in skin... He was ravenous... but I escaped...”

“Where?” I shout at her.

She points a shaky finger. “He went out the north entrance and walked through the forest at dawn yesterday.”

North. So he’s still following this particular Ley line and devouring all the powerful ghosts he finds on the way.

Earl Lynch’s motives are still unclear to us. He seems to wreak havoc in the paranormal community wherever he goes, but his purpose stays murky. Tracking him was made difficult by the fact that he only walks to his destinations, and it sometimes takes him days. He avoids public transportation, out of confusion about the modern world or by choice, we don’t know.

And all the while, we have no idea how Ewan fares, and it’s eating me up. All we know is that possession isn’t usually deadly to the host, as long as the ghost doesn’t actively throw both of them over a cliff.

Yes, I have nightmares about that, too.

“Why the long face, sweetheart?” the nurse says to me. “What ails you?”

“A broken heart.” I sigh.

I’m about to leave when the ghost tilts her head in that unnerving manner again. In the dark, she glows faintly, like most spirits.

“I can help with that,” she says, pulling out a phantom syringe—a massive one.

Pearl hisses from her perch on my shoulder.

“Lady, you don’t want to do that,” I warn.

But the poltergeists, of course, never listen to the living.

Just as she surges forwards, I grab a salt bomb from my satchel. These were Shirley’s idea. She bought a batch of colourful smoke bombs online, the kind used for photo shoots and birthday parties, and she tinkered with them for a few weeks until she was satisfied with the result and the bombs released their usual cloud mixed with fine salt powder. Then she slapped ghost stickers on them and nicknamed them tough-love bombs, for some reason.

Tonight, the tough-love bomb I randomly picked is pink. I pull the pin and the smoke explodes as I throw it to the ground. The spirit is engulfed instantly, and it takes her but a second to wail and disappear.

I quickly exit the room, now filled by a pink cloud. Pearl meows angrily. The bombs always leave a fine layer of salt on her, matting her fur, and she hates it. I’ll have to brush her tonight. An experience we both despise.

“I know, I know,” I say, petting her. “I’m sorry.”

We make our way down the dusty stairwell and through the abandoned lobby. I pull my phone out.

Lana answers on the second dial tone, even though it’s two in the morning. “Rejoice! He’s still alive.”

“If I wasn’t, you’d know it. I’d haunt your ass already.”

She chuckles. “You missed the last hour’s update text. Shirley was having a small panic attack.”

“Sorry, I got sidetracked by a crazy nurse.” Every time I’m on a hunt, I try to send them updates every hour, else they worry. “We’re on the right track, he was here last night. He’s still following this Ley line. I need a list of all the most haunted places north of here. He’s getting hungrier by the day.”

“On it. I’ll ask the ghosties. How’s my baby doing?” she asks.

Pearl meows from my shoulder.

“Being a useless little shit, as always. I don’t know why I put up with her.”

Lana laughs. “Stop pretending, we know your heart. You love her.”