Orson woke me up at five in the evening, which was fine. How he woke me up was not. Ectoplasm, all over my face. Whether it was Orson’s or Charlie’s, I can’t say for sure since I have conflicting accounts, but Orson was having a good laugh at the whole thing.

  He insisted it was Charlie.

  As I washed up, the closet door burst open.

  “It was Orson,” Greg whispered, slowly shutting the door while staring at me.

  “Shut up, Greg!” Orson shouted. “You worthless pile of bones!”

  “IT’S GRIM!” Greg shouted.

  Cleaned up, I went back to the sofa, avoiding the soiled cushion. I made a mental note to clean it up later or, at the very least, flip it over.

  “How’d the possession go?” I asked.

  “Well, Charlie didn’t do anything but sniff around. I was a little disappointed, but I handled it. By the time I was done, they were scared half to death.”

  “Okay, but did you possess anyone?”

  “I ended up not even trying.”

  “What? Why not?” I asked, a little annoyed. It was the whole point of the trip.

  “The more I thought about it, the more it felt wrong,” Orson explained. “I just kept thinking how violating it would feel to have something take over my body and do stuff I don’t want. I guess I’m just not that type of ghost.”

  I thought about that for a minute and felt a little icky about it myself.

  “Eh, good point. Still, do you think we’ll get any business? Or do you think you might have incurred the wrath of Morma?” I asked.

  Orson looked at me, confused. “Who the hell is Morma?” he asked.

  “Morma. You know, the Mormon god?”

  He looked at me funny, then said, “I’m not gonna pretend to know how Mormonism works, but I’m pretty sure Morma isn’t their god.”

  “Then whose god is she?”

  “She?”

  “Yeah. I feel like that should be obvious.”

  “I’m fairly certain Morma is something you made up and convinced yourself was real.”

  I mulled it over. Perhaps I did make up Morma. But I’m like ninety percent sure she’s real.

  “Irregardless,” I said, “tell me all about it.”

  “Okay, to set the scene, we went to the nicest neighborhood near a temple that I could find. And let me tell you, these were nice homes. Too nice. Like God might be angry at how opulent these people were living.”

  “Alright, big money,” I said, rubbing my hands together.

  “Yep,” Orson continued. “We went to the biggest house we could find.”

  “Okay, let’s hear it,” I said, scooting to the edge of the couch.

  Before Orson could say anything, there was a knock at the door, followed by Calista’s voice. “Hey, anyone home?”

  I smiled a little too much. Orson rolled his eyes.

  “Yeah, just a sec,” I said. When I opened the door, she was standing there in her comfys, smiling at me.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I said, realizing I was feeling a little nervous. Followed by the thought that maybe she was trying to suck my soul out of my penis.

  “Hey, just came to see if you wanted to hang out.”

  “We’re kind of in the middle of something,” Orson huffed. “Work stuff.”

  “Oh? What do you guys do, anyway?”

  “Well, come have a seat,” I said, stepping aside. “It’s not like it’s a secret or anything.”

  I heard Orson groan.

  “Hey!” Greg shouted from the closet. “Is that Calista?”

  “Hey, Grim,” she said. “How are you?”

  “I’m great! Thanks for asking,” he replied. “You’re so nice, unlike these guys.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Yeah, well, we’d be nicer if you paid rent,” Orson grumbled.

  “I am Death incarnate! I pay rent to no one!” Greg replied.

  “Oh my god,” Orson said, shaking his head. “The delusion on this guy.”

  “I heard that!” Greg said.

  “Good!” Orson replied.

  “Anyway,” I said to Calista, gesturing to the couch, “have a seat.”

  She walked around the coffee table and went to sit down but stopped and scrunched up her face before looking at me. “Um, what’s this stain?”

  I instantly regretted not having flipped the cushion just moments ago. “It’s just ectoplasm,” I said nervously, which I’m sure really sold it.

  She smiled and gave me a narrow side-eye. I felt like I needed to explain.

  “Orson here thought it would be funny to mess with me while I was sleeping.”

  “Okay,” Orson replied, making a face.

  “I swear,” I said, holding up a hand like I was in a courtroom or something. “Here, let me just…” I went around the coffee table and flipped the cushion, patting the clean side once I set it back down. “There ya go. Good as new.”

  “Thanks,” Calista said with a smirk, then took a seat.

  I sat beside her, far enough that it wasn’t awkward and close enough that it wasn’t weird. The Goldilocks Zone, if you will.

  “As I was saying,” Orson said, raising his voice, “we found the biggest house in the neighborhood and started haunting it.”

  “Wait, what do you guys do?” Calista asked.

  “Oh, yeah, sorry. Orson haunts houses, I leave a flyer offering my ghost-hunting services, and then I pretend to rid the house of the ghost.”

  Calista broke out in a fit of laughter. I smiled, but Orson looked annoyed.

  “Sorry,” Calista said once she settled down. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. Not because you’re tricking people—which, as a demon, I find amusing—but because you actually aren’t pretending at all.”

  “Well, it’s fake, so we are pretending,” I said.

  “No,” she clarified, “because Orson is the ghost, and you come to get rid of him. It’s like starting a house fire, putting it out, then telling the owner you saved them. That’s great.”

  Orson folded his arms. “Can I tell the story now?”

  “Yes,” Calista and I said at the same time, which elicited a sigh and an eye roll from Orson.

  “Okay,” Orson began. “It’s a two-story house with a basement. Seven bedrooms, six bathrooms, a husband, his wife, and their six kids, each only a year or two apart. It was more work than I expected.

  “I started with the youngest. He was watching videos on his tablet. I tapped the screen. It flickered. I kept on until he was good and angry. Then I grabbed it, lifted it into the air, and dropped it.

  “When he ran for his mom, I found a ghost-hunting video and let it play. When the two of them came back, she told him that ghosts aren’t real and took away his tablet.”

  “In a way, you probably helped that little boy,” I said. “Kids are always on their tablets. I know for a fact having your parents ignore you is no good.”

  Listen to me.

  I sound like an old man.

  “Then what happened?” Calista asked, genuinely excited, which Orson appeared to like.

  “Well, we went to one of the girls’ rooms—the younger of the four. She was singing to herself and coloring.”

  “Oh, I know where this is going,” I said.

  “Yep,” Orson continued. “I sat across from her at her little table. I slid a piece of paper over, which she didn’t notice, then picked up a black crayon. I started slow at first. It didn’t take long for her to notice. She sat there, wide-eyed, without saying a word as I started scribbling.”

  “What did you draw?” Calista asked, with more enthusiasm than I expected.

  “First, a shadow man growing from a little stick kid’s feet. Then I drew a page that was all black except for two eyes and a smile,” Orson said.

  “And she just sat there?” I asked.

  “Yeah, up until I finished the second drawing. That’s when she went running to find her mom. I hung out and waited for them to come up and see my artwork. Mom was freaked out and asked her daughter why she’d draw something like that,” Orson said with a laugh.

  The more I listened, the more I started to feel sort of bad about it. Not that it wasn’t a little funny imagining generic horror movie plots, but the fact that these were real people started to eat at me a bit.

  “What next?” Calista asked.

  “So, they have this pet ferret, right?”

  “Oh no,” Calista smiled.

  “Oh yes,” Orson smiled back. “I picked that wiggly little thing up and flew it around. Even slinkied it down the steps—gently, of course. But the end? That was a sight.”

  “Spit it out already!” Calista practically begged.

  “Dad came home,” Orson said. “And do you think he believed his family when they said the house was haunted?”

  “Nope,” Calista and I said. We exchanged glances. Her smile was sweet, and I started to forget she was a demon all over again.

  “Of course not!” Orson yelled. “So while they’re trying to convince Dad, I’m behind him, gently nudging things around. The whole family would scream and point, but when Dad turned—nothing. I went on like this for an hour before I decided to let him see.

  “While he was looking, I slowly scooted a family photo off the mantle. He comes over real slow. When he reached out and touched it, I stopped moving it just before he could.”

  “Okay, that’s a nice touch,” I admitted. A real haunting classic.

  “That can’t be it, though, can it?” Calista asked.

  “Hell no!” Orson replied. “I grabbed Dad and lifted him up!”

  Calista burst out laughing.

  “I didn’t know you could lift a whole person,” I said.

  “Neither did I, but I was really hyped up about the whole day. Until I met you, I never did any proper haunting. It was fun.”

  “How high did you get him?” Calista asked.

  “I took him up about four feet. I didn’t want to hurt the guy. Then I floated him toward his family with his arms pinned to his side. They were losing their shit! When I finally dropped him, he didn’t even try to land. He just sorta plopped onto the floor.”

  “I bet they’re itching to find a ghost hunter now, huh?” Calista remarked.

  “Well, it wasn’t their first choice,” Orson replied. “They wanted to call their bishop, but that’s to be expected for the religious ones. I think if we swing by tomorrow and drop flyers, they’ll call us for sure.”

  “Oh, can I come?” Calista asked, bouncing in her seat a little.

  “No,” Orson said seriously, looking a little annoyed.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to split the money a third way, that’s why.”

  “I don’t need a cut. I swear.”

  “Well,” I said, butting in, “it would be nice to have someone our clients can see and not keep forgetting exists. I think she could be useful. At least in helping me out.”

  “Fine, she can come. But don’t blame me when the dad gets hypnotized by her.”

  I looked at Calista. “Wait, you can’t turn it off?”

  She shook her head.

  “What if we disguise you?” I said, then looked to Orson. “Just like that movie—She’s the Man. A hat, tuck in her hair, put on a fake mustache. You know? Could work.”

  “Maybe,” Calista said. “I’ve never tried it before, but men are usually attracted to me when I look at them, so maybe some sunglasses to be safe?”

  “Ugh! Fine,” Orson finally agreed. “You can come.”

  I wish I could tell you it was gonna be fun, because that’s how I felt at the time. Unfortunately, I’m usually wrong.

  Morma isn’t the Mormon god. It took like ten seconds to look it up.