Page 89 of Purrfectly Haunted

I roar the next lines. We're on the right track. Lana lets my hands go just long enough to crack a match and set his belongings on fire. During the first week when we arrived at the hostel, back when we were still green ExorSquad team members, I wanted to see the earl's journal burn. Now I'm glad it's going up in flames, just as the the ghost's screams turn feral. Let it all turn to ashes, his spirit included.

But he's fighting it. As he bends forwards, there's an audible crack as Ewan's arm breaks. Shirley screams.

"Motherfucker!" I say. "Keep going, it's working!"

"He iiiiiis miiiiine...!" the ghost shouts. "My boooody…"

"Fuck you!"

I'm so enraged, I wish I could rip the entity apart with my own two hands.

Glowing spores escape Ewan's mouth as he cries out, followed by blood. The ghost would rather kill his host that release him.

"Oh no, you fucking won't," I say.

I let their hands go and step inside the circle. Both women try to pull me back, but I order them to keep chanting. I step over Ewan's writhing body, and the spirit looks up at me from his borrowed eyes.

"I wiiiill… not… relinquiiiish… this… liiiife…"

"You're long dead, you fucker. There's no coming back from that, and there's no room for you left in this life. Give him back to me," I say.

I grab the large bead of salt I keep in my pocket. This is the tool we didn't want to use, for it's extremely risky for the host, and extremely painful.

"I'm sorry, my love," I say to Ewan. "I promise I'll make it better."

Then I open his jaw with my hands. The spirit tries to bite my fingers, but I push the bead between his lips and drop it down his throat. Then I close his mouth and use all my strength to keep it that way. He bucks under me like a wild horse, and he almost manages to eject me twice. He even headbutts me, and I feel my nose crack, but I hold on. Blood pours on the both of us, and the coppery taste touches my tongue.

Salt, when in ingested in great quantity, can be deadly. As of now, it's burning it's way down Ewan's gullet. I spent days researching the subject and weighing the beads of salt carefully, hoping to find the right dosage.

And yet, in his weakened state, it might very well kill him. But we have time before his body starts to digest it.

Please… Please… Please…

The ghost of Earl Lynch explodes out of Ewan's body in a writhing, black mass. Ewan suddenly goes limp, and I fear I have killed him anyway. I curve myself on top of him protectively, just as Earl Lynch engulfs us both. He tries to get a hold of me, thinking he can just switch host, but I've been ready for that eventuality for months now. An intricate tattoo joined the others on my back, one made of runes and symbols similar to the stencils we put on Ewan. It forbids entry to spirits and protects me from possession.

The ghost roars in anger, spouting toxic spores. Luckily, we installed air purifiers in the basement months ago, and hopefully they're doing their job. Shirley turned them on earlier.

The cats surge from the dark in a wave of claws and fangs, their eyes aflame. They fall on the creature of darkness like avenging guardians.

"This house isn't yours anymore!" Lana shouts. "And you have no power here!"

The cats bite and tear and claw, shredding the spirit's unsubstantial body. Earl Lynch is diminishing, fading away like smoke under the sun. The felines are doing to him what he did to the nāga.

At last, his voice dies down, and the spores float away harmlessly. The light in the basement flickers bright, the house fighting back as much as her furry minions.

Earl Lynch, original owner of this house and centuries-old pest, sputters like a dying candle. I raise my hand and give him the finger one last time.

Ewan shakes in my arms, taken by a coughing fit.

"Water!" I shout nasally, blood still running down my face. In the matter of seconds, Lana pushes a bottle in my hands. "Help me." The two of us force him to drink as Shirley unchains him. "Drink, baby," I say to him. "Drink and we'll make you puke the salt bead."

He chokes and sobs. Once I'm satisfied he has ingested enough liquid, I push my fingers down his throat to make him vomit. It all comes back up, and I cringe when I see all the blood. I don't know if it's from the salt, the spores, or even the ghost invasion, but it's terrifying.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry…" I kiss his forehead.

He whimpers, cradling his broken arm now that he's unchained.

"I'll go get the gurney," Shirley says.