Ghost Protocol

“Thank you for calling Ghost Be Gone, this is Nathan Graves speaking. What can I vanquish for you today?” The twenty-three-year-old two-time college dropout paused the TV and pushed aside a stack of to go containers. Kicking his feet up onto the cluttered coffee table he held the phone with his shoulder.

“Mmhm,” he hummed, “haunted you say? Well, that's no good.” He picked a sesame seed out of his teeth and flicked it across the claustrophobic room he called a studio apartment. The walls were dingy, begging for a new paint job, and the floorboards creaked in a way he claimed added ‘ambiance’.

“Let me check my schedule.” He didn’t move. Just paused for a moment, inspecting his fingernails with half lidded eyes. “Looks like I can be there tomorrow. Does noon work for you?”

“Perfect,” Nathan said, grinning. “Just send over the address and any unusual activity you’ve noticed. Cold spots, flickering light, blood coming out of the faucet. The usual.”

He ended the call and tossed his phone onto the couch, where it disappeared into a graveyard of wrinkled laundry.

This would be an easy gig. He could tell by her voice. Rich, lonely, bored, and most importantly paranoid.

He sighed.

“I hope she’s not the clingy type. Maybe less theatrics this time...”

He should probably get more salt.

The mansion loomed like an open wallet. Gaudy, oversized, and practically begging to be robbed. Nathan had made sure to pack the appropriate gear. His duffel bag was filled to the brim, bulging awkwardly at his hip.

Most of it was just for show. The salt, the holy water, the ghost hunting gadgets. It was all part of the act. What really mattered were the speakers, the sparks, and a few dabs of glow in the dark paint.

Nathan didn’t plan on staging a haunting but if the house turned out to be a dud, he liked to come prepared.

A magician never works without his props.

With the confidence of a man who’d done this a thousand times, he sauntered up the marble steps and rapped the brass knocker against the door. Nearly a minute passed, and he was about to knock again when a middle-aged woman cracked open the door.

She looked frazzled, long blonde curls sticking out in all directions. The dark purple rings beneath her eyes told him everything he needed to know. It was almost enough to make him feel sympathy.

Almost.

But her troubles would be gone soon, and her pockets much lighter for it.

“I take it you’re Nicole Livingston? Unless she has a younger sister no one told me about.” He flashed a smile. The kind that, on his best days, made grannies blush, and on his worst, got him a drink to the face.

She rolled her tired eyes, but he caught the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Yes, I’m Nicole, please come inside I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

She stepped aside, opening the door wider.

Nathan took three long strides in, admiring the crystal chandelier above. The entryway alone was bigger than his entire apartment. The furniture was tacky in the way only the abhorrently rich managed to pull off, and he had to fight down a grin.

“Not to worry ma’am, I know I don’t look it, but I come from a long line of exorcists. You’re in good hands.”

No, he didn’t. Nathans mother had been waitressing as long as he could remember. His father did a variety of construction jobs when he was sober enough to hold one down. As far as he was aware neither of them had so much as touched a Ouija board, but what Mrs. Livingston and her multimillion-dollar mansion didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside while I do my inspection, the spirits here are aggressive. My spiritual presence will only make it worse.”

She shot him a wary look, clearly not keen on the idea of a stranger lurking around her home unsupervised.

“I don’t know...” She looked as though she was going to say more but as if on cue the chandelier began to flicker and a distant door slammed shut.

Nicole yelped, face draining of color.

Nathan was unfazed.

He lowered his eyes, voice serious. “Better scurry along now.”

She nodded fervently and rushed outside into the warm summer air.

The door clicked behind her, and once Nathan was sure Mrs. Livingston was gone, he paced around the entryway.

“Alright,” he muttered, cracking his knuckles, “showtime.”

Twenty minutes later, Nathan swung open the front door, expression grim. Nichole nearly jumped out of her skin.

“It’s worse than I thought,” he said, wiping imaginary sweat off his brow. “You’ve got at least two spirits, maybe three. They’re not happy with us.”

“Oh my god,” she breathed, clutching her pearls. Yes, her actual pearls. Nathan had to bite back a laugh.

“Don’t worry I can handle it. I don’t usually do this on consultation visits, and it will cost you a pretty penny, but the situation is dire.”

Nicole nodded without hesitation. “Whatever it costs. Just... please.”

Nathan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to make this right, but I’ll need your help.”

She audibly gulped but nodded swiftly.

The two returned inside, the entry way was at least ten degrees colder than it had been before. Nathan rubbed his hands up and down his arms and shivered.

“Can you feel them?” He whispered. “They’re getting closer now.”

Then the lights went out.

Mrs. Livingston screamed. In the dark a message was illuminated on the wall:

You’ll join us soon.

“No!” Nicole cried, and she began to weep.

A low moan reverberated through the dark. Nathan struck a match; the weak light did little to brighten the hall. He laid out three dollar-store candles in a triangle and lit them, mumbling what sounded like Latin under his breath.

“Spirits!” Nathans voice cut like glass through the darkness and the air went still. “Your presence is not welcome here. With the power passed down to me I command you to leave this place.”

He spread his arms wide, like he was about to take a bow. The moan persisted, rising in pitch, the ground trembled.

Nathan pulled a handful of salt and bang snaps out of his pocket.

“Begone evil!” He cried, scattering the mixture across the room.

Tiny explosions danced across the marble floor. Nicole shrieked and stumbled backward, shielding her face. The moaning stopped. The house fell deathly silent.

Nathan smiled to himself. He was particularly proud of that trick, always a crowd pleaser.

He lowered his arms slowly, letting the silence stretch. The flickering candlelight cast long, spindly shadows across the walls.

“It is done.” He whispered.

Nicole dropped to her knees, sobbing.

Nathan crouched beside her, voice gentle. “They’re gone now. You’re safe.”

“Thank you,” she gasped between hiccupping sobs, clinging to his hands like a lifeline. “Oh my god thank you.”

He helped her to her feet with a solemn nod. “This is what I do. The energy should settle by sunrise, but I’ll leave you with some complimentary incense in case you still feel their impurities.”

Nicole wiped her blotchy cheeks and nodded. “How much do I owe you?”

He pretended to consider, counting on his fingers. “Well, for an emergency three spirit cleansing, I’d normally charge thirty-five hundred,” he said smoothly. “But for you, I’ll knock it down to three. Friends and family discount.”

He shot her a wink. She smiled like it was pocket change.

Nathan pressed the incense into her hands and bowed. “It’s been an honor Mrs. Livingston. You don’t need to worry anymore.”

As he stepped into the warm night air, his phone buzzed with the payment confirmation.

All in a day's work.

Three weeks passed before Nathan had another client. The problem with his line of work was job stability. Summers were especially slow but come fall and winter hauntings were sure to ramp up. People became paranoid with the change of the seasons.

The house was older than his usual jobs, clearly belonging to someone of generational wealth. Not his typical clientele but Nathan had never been one to shy away from a challenge.

He approached the elegant oak doors hesitating. Something was holding him back, like a weight in his wrist.

Before he could knock the door swung inward, groaning at the effort. Nathan almost laughed. Before him stood an honest to God butler complete with a tuxedo and cufflinks.

This had to be a joke.

“Mr. Graves, I presume?” The gentleman before him asked and Nathan was disappointed at his perfectly normal American accent.

“Please, call me Nathan,” he said, collecting himself.

“Very well Nathan,” he said, like the sound tasted foul in his mouth. “Mr. Barclay is waiting for you in his office. Please follow me.”

Nathan chased the butlers literal coattails down the hall, taking note of the various brass and gold trinkets along the way. His fingers itched.

Mr. Barclay’s office was vast, bookshelves stuffed full of leather-bound copies and decorated with marble busts lined each wall. In the center was a massive mahogany desk. Mr. Barclay sat in a plush leather seat like a Bond villain; thin hair combed over a bald spot that shone in the yellow light.

“Mr. Barclay, the exorcist has arrived.”

Mr. Barclay nodded, shooing the butler away with his hand and he was gone in an instant.

Nathan stood there suddenly self conscious in his worn jeans and sneakers.

“Nathan Graves, I’m here to vanish your troubles.” He said flourishing his hands theatrically.

“Hm,” Mr. Barclay observed him over his glasses. “And you’re a real exorcist?”

“As real as they come!” Nathan grinned, approaching the desk. “Can you tell me what exactly has been happening at your estate?”

Mr. Barclay’s fingers steepled. “All kinds of nonsense. Whispers in the halls, slamming doors, my maid claims to have seen a face in the mirror that wasn’t hers.”

Nathan tilted his head. “Was it prettier?”

Barclay didn’t laugh.

“Yeesh tough crowd,” Nathan muttered, clearing his throat. “Any history of spiritual activity? Strange objects? Anyone die on the property?”

Mr. Barclay raised an eyebrow. “It’s a two-hundred-year-old family estate. You think no one’s died here?”

Nathan chuckled weakly. The air in the room felt odd, heavy in his lungs. Static danced up his spine.

Weird.

“Well,” he said, adjusting the strap on his duffel. “No point in waiting. Let's get started, shall we?”

Mr. Barclay gestured to the hallway behind him. “It seems to manifest near the east wing. I trust you don’t need me to hold your hand.”

“That costs extra.” Nathan winked and turned on his heel before Barclay could react.

Outside the study that damned butler was waiting for him, still like a statue. Nathan jumped.

“Something the matter Graves?” He peered down his nose at Nathan like he were a petulant child.

“Nope. Just headed to the east wing, Barclays orders.” Nathan rocked on his heels.

“I’ll escort you. It's down this hall.”

Nathan moved to protest but before he could the door of Barclays study slammed shut with enough force to shatter the frosted glass.

“Guess we aren’t waiting for the east wing.” Nathan muttered, swinging his bag around to reach for the salt. Before he could grab the zipper, the lights went out.

Nothing new there.

He pulled out his candles, debating what shape to arrange them in this time when something brushed against the back of his neck.

Cold and wet.

He nearly dropped the candles, hands fumbling before he regained his composure.

“Alright nice try but I don’t scare that easily.” He cringed at the way his voice shook around the edges.

Distantly he could hear Mr. Barclay and the butler shuffling in the dark.

“Be still,” Nathan whispered. “I need complete silence.”

“This is nonsense!” The butler exclaimed. “You expect us to sit here while you play pretend-”

“Silence!” Mr. Barclays voice rang out, echoing in the dark. “Let him work.”

He decided on a star with the tallest candle in the center and five short ones surrounding it. When he was satisfied with his work he stepped back, nodding.

“Alright spirits, it’s time you go ho-” Nathan couldn’t finish his sentence. The wind was knocked out of him as an invisible force flung him into the wall. He landed hard and clutched his ribs fingers shaking.

Someone gasped in the dark.

“What the hell?” He wheezed.

Fuck, that was going to seriously mess up his back.

Nathan staggered to his feet, brushing dust from his jacket. “Fair enough,” he coughed. “If that’s how you want to play.”

The candles flickered wildly, then extinguished all at once. Nathan groaned.

“Really?” He muttered in the pitch-black room. “This again?”

A chill swept past him, followed by a guttural moan. Low and ragged. A marble bust of some old dead guy flung across the room, shattering against the wall behind Nathan.

He grimaced, that wasn’t good.

The butler shrieked.

Barclay backed into the wall, arms raised. “What is this? What are you doing?”

Nathan ignored him. His mind raced. This wasn’t the usual smoke and mirrors.

The flames flared back to life on their own. Every candle Nathan had placed now burned ten times brighter, casting a stark red glow.

“Spirit!” Nathan called out, “I sense your anger, but your time in this place is over.”

A howl seemed to echo from every corner of the room.

He dug into his bag, producing a thin strip of paper etched with runes. “I bind thee by sacred seal! Depart from this world!”

Another gust of air rattled the windows as books began flying off the shelves.

Nathan flung the paper into the flames. The fire flared a bright green. The walls groaned.

“BEGONE!” He bellowed, tossing the last of his salt into the air.

Then, silence.

The tension snapped like a rubber band. The weight in the air lifted. The old house felt... normal.

The butler collapsed.

Mr. Barclay stood frozen, mouth agape.

“It’s done.” Nathan whispered.

Barclay blinked. “And... it won't come back?”

Nathan shook his head. “Not unless you invite it. Keep your doors and windows locked, and don't use Ouija boards. You’ll be safe.”

Barclay reached for his check book. “How much?”

Nathan cracked his neck and smiled. Rich people always ask the price after the job is done.

“For a full-body manifestation? Dangerous entity? That's a premium cleanse. We’re looking at five grand.”

Barclay didn’t even flinch as he signed the check.

Nathan spent the rest of the night on his couch trying not to move. His ribs still ached, and bruises were beginning to bloom along his spine. He groaned, reaching for a beer.

“I hope you know your little stunt is going to keep me couch bound for the next week.”

The lights flicked.

“What don’t tell me you’re mad at me.” Nathan cracked the top off his beer and took a sip.

“Mad?” A voice echoed hollowly from behind the TV.

“Kid, mad’s when someone steals your dame or keys ya car. This? This is betrayal.”

A translucent figure in a pinstripe suit phased through the wall like it was water. Frankie adjusted his tie, even though it wasn’t real.

“You threw me into a wall Frankie!” Nathan winced, holding his ribs.

“I gave you a nudge! You needed some showmanship. Those high society types weren’t buying your dollar-store crap.”

“They were too.” Nathan protested.

“Puh-lease. That Barclay stiff had you pegged the second you opened your mouth. I gave you some razzle-dazzle.” Frankie wagged a ghostly finger. “Also, not for nothin’, but you forgot my death day.”

Nathan dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus, that’s what this is about?”

“You said we’d hit up Vegas! You and me? We’d have a serious edge. Maybe I finally haunt a craps table into giving us a win.”

“I meant to, Frankie. We’ve just been busy.”

Frankie scoffed, floating upside down with his arms crossed like a pouting child. “Busy blowing all our cash on lo mien noodles maybe.”

“Soon, Frankie. Just a few more gigs and I’ll get us a nice hotel, right on the strip.”

Frankie huffed, sending a chill down Nathan’s spine. “I want a room with a balcony.”

Nathan winced and took another sip. “Fine. No more body slams, and we’re getting one with a mini bar.”

Frankie grinned, drifting lazily toward the ceiling fan. “You drive a hard bargain, kid.”

The lights flickered once more.

Nathan groaned. “Seriously. Stop doing that.”