Page 1 of Squad Ghouls

one

The boo-ty on that ghost

Ryan

Istared at the majestic building in front of me in awe. Its three floors stretched into the sky, the stained glass sparkling and the beautiful, sunny Pembrokeshire coast providing a scenic backdrop behind it. The water was crystalline, the clouds fluffy, their snowy colour matching the immaculate paintwork and inviting atmosphere. It was a dream of a place.

As I moved the picture away from my face to reveal the absolute state in front of me, I knew it really was a nightmare.

The actual building before me looked like it was one seagull shit away from plummeting off the cliff and crashing into the waves. It was held up on precarious stilts in some places, like that cake from that tired princess movie, to stop it from sliding down piece by piece. It curved over at the top, the back of it not even resting on solid ground like it had fallen away a long time ago. The sea behind it was angry and the sky was entirely grey, fog blurring the view after a hundred feet.

This went far beyond a case of false advertising and well into an outright jail sentence.

How did the owner of this shithole think they were going to get away with posting such doctored images? Were they hoping all their customers would be blind?

A chilly breeze swept past and the B&B groaned and visibly swayed, the swinging sign reading Last Resort mocking me. I could have sworn I could hear the screams of tortured souls trapped in this place.

I shouldered my duffel of equipment with a snort. Well, at least this looked more like a place ghosts would hang out. I’d been extremely confused after receiving this job, looking up the place on the web, and finding what looked to be something you stuck on an aspirational board as your ‘dream house’ as the search listing.

I’d assumed some posh twat was having their bottom line messed with, which was why they’d called ExorSquad in to solve the issue.

Apparently, the ass in my assumptions was ass-over-tit wrong.

I approached the entrance and tested the step before I put my weight on it. I didn’t want to be the thing that tipped the scale of this deathtrap.

My boot went straight through the wood with a brittle snap.

“Oh, fuck no.”

I paced back a few steps toward my shitty van and ran my hand over my messy hair. A four-hour drive into sheep country to die on the front step?

“They can send some other doughnut to do this. Ghosts are one thing, but plummeting to my untimely death off a cliff? That old windbag can’t be serious.”

I strode around the side of the building toward the cliff’s edge, where a fence had one stake left, the rest hanging down like a sad noodle. Vertigo and an extreme awareness of my own mortality washed over me as I looked at the craggy rocks below, cradled by the roiling surf. I’d never had a problem with heights as a general rule, but maybe I just hadn’t been high enough.

Feeling sick, I hurried back, refusing to admit that my knees were quaking and a little bit of wee wanted to come out.

I imagined a raucous laugh on the breeze and peered out into the distant fog on the water. There was a large ship-shaped shadow in the distance. Too small to be a cruise liner, too pointed to be a normal fishing vessel. It looked like one of those old-timey ships you saw in pop-up books, with sails and a flag.

Creaking filled my ears, like the slow sway of a ship drifting closer…

I saw a shadow move from the corner of my eye and my hair stood on end as I spun to look back at the building, my gaze moving from slanted window to slanted window, the frilly curtains ripped and grey, the shutters hanging on for dear life.

I squared my shoulders. I had been trained for this. Sort of.

Okay, not at all.

My first haunt, I nearly died.

My second haunt, I nearly died.

My third haunt, I actually got through unscathed, until a poltergeist I hadn’t spotted snuck up on me and I nearly died.

All in all, my track record was great compared to some of the previous ExorSquad employees. Three months in and people seemed impressed, like it was some sort of achievement to get so far.

I looked longingly at my van again, but the pressing weight on my shoulders kept me rooted in place.

Debt.