gerard butler
New member
Not finished, need ending, any ideas?
I hang up the phone, and let out a deep sigh, a sigh filled with wariness; another suspicious husband. I consider my drab office; what I would give for a real client, for real money. I take a long drag from my cheap cigarette, and watch the smoke dance through the air, always dancing out of reach, evading, mocking. Cruel world. Paranormal investigator, it’s a dog’s life and I am a dead dog, with no mourners in the world. Abandoned, like an unwanted child at the steps of a stranger’s house. I chuckle to myself, enough analogies for the day.
A knock on the door startled me out of my inner monologue and caused my cigarette to drop from my surprised mouth, and down my shirt. I jumped and scrambled as the ashes tumbled against my bare skin, and let out a vigorous string of curses before I noticed a dame gaping at me from the doorway. In mid-jump, I swiftly clasped both hand in front of me, squared my shoulders and landed with all the dignity of a professional investigator, smouldering flesh be damned.
“Goddamn bloody shi -cough- Good evening, Omar Little, private investigator of the paranormal.”
She stared, frozen, as I maintained my posture, my eyes slightly cross-eyed as the cigarette settled around my midsection.
"Excuse me," she whispered, "Are you really a detective? A ghost detective?"
“That’s right ma’am,” I said, lighting another cigarette. She wasn’t too sharp this one.
I immediately observed her expensive clothes and impeccable sense of style. She carried herself like the type who got everything they ever wanted; born with her hand in somebody else’s pocket. Young, pretty and spoiled, a classic daddy’s girl. Harmless enough, if you didn’t catch her eyes that is. You can apply some fine makeup and slip into your best Sunday dress, but if your eyes say ‘trouble’ there’s not a powder, dye or skirt that’ll cover it up.
“My name is Rhonda Pearlman, and I think my house is haunted.” She said, “I assure that you will be well compensated if you would but look into this case”
Although suspicious, her promise of compensation convinced me enough to hear her out. She unloaded a story about night-time disturbances that have plagued her family since moving into a new house. Mysterious footsteps, whispers, unexplained injuries; her disturbances fit the profile of a haunting, only, they fit them too well. Something about this case stunk.
“Listen lady,” I interrupted, “I don’t care if Casper the friendly ghost is haunting our house, because this case looks like a setup from a mile away, and-“
“Ten thousand dollars, plus expenses," she said. "Is it starting to look a little better now?"
A stronger willed man would have chucked her out that instant, but I bet a stronger willed man wouldn't need ten grand quite as much as I did. Without a word, I accepted her check and as I did, a sense of unease settled over me. It had to be a setup, what else could it be?
Besides, its not like ghosts exist.
Alone in Pearlman’s house, I lie down in the darkness, soaked in nervous sweat. I try to dispel the thoughts that pound through my head. Ghosts can’t be real, but then again…the tests all showed positive readings. Electromagnetism, temperature drops, the proof was all there. More than the tests though, ever since I set foot in the house, I sensed tension in the air, as if something was watching me and wanted me to leave. But more than the tension, I felt the anger. I still feel it, except now its not just anger; its rage.
My thoughts were cut short as an unearthly howl drifts down from the attic. Every nerve in my body froze, my breath stuck in my throat as the low howl develops into a scream, only to break off, abruptly. Heavy footsteps clamour across the ceiling, until it stops directly above me. I lay terrified, not daring to move a muscle until finally; I release my breath and turn on the lights with trembling arms.
The ghost runs down starts pounding on the door
ygh, really tired, i think i need help most on the 2nd part of the story
I hang up the phone, and let out a deep sigh, a sigh filled with wariness; another suspicious husband. I consider my drab office; what I would give for a real client, for real money. I take a long drag from my cheap cigarette, and watch the smoke dance through the air, always dancing out of reach, evading, mocking. Cruel world. Paranormal investigator, it’s a dog’s life and I am a dead dog, with no mourners in the world. Abandoned, like an unwanted child at the steps of a stranger’s house. I chuckle to myself, enough analogies for the day.
A knock on the door startled me out of my inner monologue and caused my cigarette to drop from my surprised mouth, and down my shirt. I jumped and scrambled as the ashes tumbled against my bare skin, and let out a vigorous string of curses before I noticed a dame gaping at me from the doorway. In mid-jump, I swiftly clasped both hand in front of me, squared my shoulders and landed with all the dignity of a professional investigator, smouldering flesh be damned.
“Goddamn bloody shi -cough- Good evening, Omar Little, private investigator of the paranormal.”
She stared, frozen, as I maintained my posture, my eyes slightly cross-eyed as the cigarette settled around my midsection.
"Excuse me," she whispered, "Are you really a detective? A ghost detective?"
“That’s right ma’am,” I said, lighting another cigarette. She wasn’t too sharp this one.
I immediately observed her expensive clothes and impeccable sense of style. She carried herself like the type who got everything they ever wanted; born with her hand in somebody else’s pocket. Young, pretty and spoiled, a classic daddy’s girl. Harmless enough, if you didn’t catch her eyes that is. You can apply some fine makeup and slip into your best Sunday dress, but if your eyes say ‘trouble’ there’s not a powder, dye or skirt that’ll cover it up.
“My name is Rhonda Pearlman, and I think my house is haunted.” She said, “I assure that you will be well compensated if you would but look into this case”
Although suspicious, her promise of compensation convinced me enough to hear her out. She unloaded a story about night-time disturbances that have plagued her family since moving into a new house. Mysterious footsteps, whispers, unexplained injuries; her disturbances fit the profile of a haunting, only, they fit them too well. Something about this case stunk.
“Listen lady,” I interrupted, “I don’t care if Casper the friendly ghost is haunting our house, because this case looks like a setup from a mile away, and-“
“Ten thousand dollars, plus expenses," she said. "Is it starting to look a little better now?"
A stronger willed man would have chucked her out that instant, but I bet a stronger willed man wouldn't need ten grand quite as much as I did. Without a word, I accepted her check and as I did, a sense of unease settled over me. It had to be a setup, what else could it be?
Besides, its not like ghosts exist.
Alone in Pearlman’s house, I lie down in the darkness, soaked in nervous sweat. I try to dispel the thoughts that pound through my head. Ghosts can’t be real, but then again…the tests all showed positive readings. Electromagnetism, temperature drops, the proof was all there. More than the tests though, ever since I set foot in the house, I sensed tension in the air, as if something was watching me and wanted me to leave. But more than the tension, I felt the anger. I still feel it, except now its not just anger; its rage.
My thoughts were cut short as an unearthly howl drifts down from the attic. Every nerve in my body froze, my breath stuck in my throat as the low howl develops into a scream, only to break off, abruptly. Heavy footsteps clamour across the ceiling, until it stops directly above me. I lay terrified, not daring to move a muscle until finally; I release my breath and turn on the lights with trembling arms.
The ghost runs down starts pounding on the door
ygh, really tired, i think i need help most on the 2nd part of the story