Page 4 of Love at First Fright

I laughed nervously, the sound echoing strangely in the cramped space.

“But… ghosts and such aren’t actually… real.”

Gerald sighed, a deep, weary exhale that suggested he’d had this conversation before. Many, many times.

“Then what exactly do you think we do here?”

Con innocent, desperate people out of their hard-earned cash with elaborate theatrical performances and manufactured evidence.

“You… uhh… put people’s minds at ease. Like a placebo effect. A valuable service!” I managed what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “People find comfort in the rituals, the sense that something’s being done about their… concerns.”

Gerald leaned forward suddenly, his milky eyes fixing on mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl.

“It’s very important you understand, Charlie, that the entities we deal with are very real indeed. And if you intend to work here, you’ll need to accept that fundamental truth.”

A shiver ran right through me despite the stuffy warmth of the office.

I swallowed hard.

“Well… I’m… I’m very open-minded, sir. It’s one of the things I pride myself on most.”

Gerald reached into his jacket and produced a cigarette packet. Without any preamble, he lit one and took a deep drag.

I blinked in disbelief. I couldn’t remember seeing someone light a cigarette indoors since I was about seven, back when my granddad used to smoke in the living room while watching football.

The smell hit me immediately, acrid and sharp, making my stomach lurch with nausea.

In the reception area, a phone started ringing, muffled by the door but still painfully shrill.

“Ted!” Gerald bellowed.

No response came.

“Ted! The phone!”

Nothing.

“For fuck’s sake, the kid has one job.”

Gerald snatched up his own phone from his desk, the receiver crackling as he barked into it.

“Thank you for calling ExorSquad, where all your hauntings go to die.”

Angry shouting erupted from the other end of the line, loud enough that I caught fragments of what sounded like threats and accusations.

Gerald’s eyes widened. He slammed down the receiver with enough force to rattle the bizarre ornaments on his desk.

“Spam call,” he muttered. Panic flickered across his features like a candle flame in a draught. “Be right back.”

He shot out of his chair and zipped from the room far quicker than I’d thought possible for a man his age, slamming the door behind him with enough force to make the stuffed raven wobble on its perch.

Well. He’s certainly… something.

Alone in the cluttered office, my eyes wandered across the accumulated oddities. Jesus, this man was mad. How did he live like this? He needed to get Ted onto tidying his desk for him. A newspaper clipping caught my attention, wedged between a stack of invoices and what looked like a Victorian dentistry catalogue. I gently freed it from the pile.

MANCHESTER EXHIBITION HIGHLIGHTS MISSING DEE ARTEFACT

Three years on, priceless obsidian mirror remains unfound