Page 10 of Hot Ghost Summer

I scan the nearby environment for anything that might help, but there’s nothing; this building is only a partially constructed shell. Even our bag of equipment is downstairs.

Then, suddenly and vividly, I recall a similar incident from when I was a kid, maybe twelve years old. It’d been harvest season, and the man who owned the neighbouring farm had been out with a chainsaw on a boom cutting back the apple trees on his property. According to how folks told it, he wasn’t even near the overhead pylon, but the electricity in it was powerful enough that it jumped the five or so meters from the cable to the saw, and straight into Eddie.

Thankfully, Eddie hadn’t been out there alone that day, but I remember being told that when his buddy had gone to help him, the electricity had struck him too. It was only because his friend had had his phone in his hand—with the emergency number already selected—that anyone knew to help them.

The ordeal triggered a wave of safety notices and protocols to be released to help reduce instances of farm workers versus power lines. And it’s all those warnings that flash through my mind now.

Five meters—I grab the plasma ray in case an errant spark sets that off, and scramble backward.

Securing my phone in my uniform pocket, I retie the sleeves and search for that hole in the floor we came up here through. Scooting closer to the top of the ladder, I pause with my arm outstretched. It’s metal, so probably, it’ll carry a latent charge. Like Eddie did.

I eye the drop… Maybe three meters; I’ve jumped from higher.

When I glance back, more sparks cover Hollis than before. Brighter. Now that the ringing in my ears has faded, I can hear the humming noise they emit. I also realise that the rapid clicking isn’t the sparks, but the EMF Meter maxing out. Its LEDs are flashing so fast that their light is pretty much continuous.

From here, I’m powerless to do anything other than watch in chilling horror as each tiny blue crackle that fires into Hollis’s body now turns his grey skin to ash. As flakes break free, they rise into the air, making invisible channels of static charge visible.

More and more, Hollis’s body resembles a log that’s been in a fire for a couple of hours, and my stomach revolts. I swallow it down.

I need to hurry and get help. If I don’t, then Hollis…

With a sharp rap to the side of my hard hat with my knuckles, I cut that thought off. Nope. That can’t happen.

“Hollis?” I call again. “I’m going t’ get help.”

What that help actually is, I have no fucking idea.

Whirling on my heels, I drop through the hole and land so hard on the ground below that it knocks the breath out of me. Forcing myself to calm so I can drag in a breath, I focus on the sting of my bruised fingers from where they got trapped between the plasma ray and the concrete when I landed.

Pushing up on shaking legs, I run out from the shadow cast by the only wall on Plot 47, and in full sun, I streak across the worksite toward the shipping container office.

Yanking open the door, I step inside, but fuck if it isn’t sweltering. The haunting visual of tiny fragments of Hollis’s body turning to ash and drifting into the air knocks any pity I might be feeling for myself right out.

Dumping the ray gun on the table creases the paper scrolls beneath it, and with trembling and stinging fingers, I retrieve my phone.

“Come on… Come on…” I’ve never wished so hard for public service in my life.

Bouncing and rocking with impatience, I wait until three of the five signal bars show, then immediately spam the call button for the ExorSquad office.

It rings, once, twice, three times, and my anxiety rises with every repeat of that sound, until… finally.

“Welcome to ExorSquad, where all your hauntings come to die.”

“Oh my god! Ted? It’s Ted, right? That’s you? It’s Theo.”

“Theo…?” he muses.

“Yeah, Theo. I started this morning. Listen, Ted, I need—”

“Oh, yes, Theo! Hello, hi. How’s your first haunting going? You’re very lucky to be paired with Hollis—his family is very highly regarded in our field.”

“Yes, I’m calling about Hollis, actually. I need some help. Is Mister Pickett available.”

“Well, I’m not sure… I haven’t seen him since you left.” There’s an odd grating sound down the line, like teeth grinding.

“Can you put me through?” I pace up and down this tiny cabin office. “It’s urgent.”

“I could try, but he’s a very busy man. Perhaps I can help, hmm?”