Page 108 of Love at First Fright

The furry little beauty landed on the bed with surprising grace, seized the spider in its jaws, and—

Crunch.

I pressed my hand over my mouth, fighting nausea. Eight horrible legs being crushed between tiny cat teeth. Sliding down its throat in a mangled, twitching mass.

The cat looked pleased with itself. Tail wagging like a dog’s, whiskers twitching. It settled onto the duvet and stared at me expectantly.

Praise me. Pet me. Acknowledge my spider-murdering prowess.

I approached the bed cautiously, as if the cat might suddenly reveal itself to be another supernatural entity with questionable motives. But it just sat there, orange eyes tracking my movement, tail continuing its pleased little wag.

As much as I wanted to throw myself onto the bed, I was well and truly sick of my stupid uniform by then, so I stripped it off to pull on my pyjamas. They were, tragically, Spider-Man themed, a joke Christmas present from Emily and Lily that I did not find funny. They’d been the only clean option when I’d packed my bag.

“Hello, you.” I slid onto the mattress, and the cat immediately curled up on my lap. Warm weight, soft fur. “At least you haven’t disappeared on me.”

The purring started up like a tiny motor.

I stroked its ears, letting the repetitive motion calm my still-racing heart. The panic faded to background noise. My breathing evened out.

What could I do to help myself?

Right. The handbook.

I grabbed the ExorSquad manual from the bedside table, flipping through pages of Gerald’s questionable advice. Surely there had to be something useful in here. “What to do if a cute ghost kisses you then literally ghosts you” would be ideal, but I’d settle for anything remotely relevant.

Surprisingly, there was nothing for that particular problem.

I flicked to the final page to see what nugget of wisdom it offered.

Rule #666: When All Else Fails, Wail

If your equipment’s broken, your salt depleted, and that Entity Five is looking at you like you’re a three-course meal, there’s only one thing left to do: scream your fucking lungs out. Loudly. Repeatedly. Without shame. Will it help? Probably not. Will it alert someone nearby that you’re about to be violently disembowelled? Maybe. Will it at least give you something to do in your final moments? Absolutely. So, take a deep breath and let it rip. If you’re going to die on the job, you might as well die loud.

Super helpful, that, Gerald. Ten out of ten, no notes.

I scanned through again, looking for anything about graves, bones, curses. The pages crinkled under my fingers. Most of the rules focused on equipment maintenance, client management, and creative ways to avoid death. Standard stuff.

Then—

Rule #243: Cursed Ground and Hungry Earth

Some burial sites retain the malevolent energy of those interred within. These locations are characterised by:

Refusal of plant life to grow

Unusual coldness even in summer months

A sensation of being “pulled” or “watched”

Living persons experiencing breathlessness, panic, or phantom choking

Do not attempt to dig up cursed remains. You are a Spirit Extraction Specialist, not an archaeologist. Disturbing cursed bones often releases whatever hex or malevolence was meant to stay buried.

If a client insists on exhuming cursed remains, refer them to a licensed occult archaeologist and remove yourself from the premises immediately. ExorSquad accepts no liability for operatives who ignore this rule and end up injured, dead, or incorporated into the cursed ground themselves.

I snapped the handbook shut, tossing it to one side.

Hard to concentrate on the investigation when Bat had disappeared on me.