OK, look. The paranormal does not exist.
My name is Tempest Michaels and I am a paranormal investigator. I spend my working life politely pointing out how deluded people are. I'll give you some examples: Is the cold draft a client feels by their kitchen door the ghost of their granny? She died right there you know. I show them the hole in their refrigerator seal. A different client engages me to capture the monster living in his pond; I capture the neighbor's labrador having a nice swim.
Despite this daftness I do get cases with real merit. The owner of Barker Steel Mill has died; the coroner says natural causes, but the rich widow is convinced otherwise, and the mill has a phantom that has been held responsible for accidents dating back to 1912. The staff are genuinely scared and someone is to blame.
With Amanda's assistance I plan to find the truth and expose the phantom, but I am really quite distracted by the contents of Amanda's shirt, my mother wants help planning a baby shower for my sister (don't I need a vagina for that, Mother?), I desperately need to hire an assistant to do admin, and I have an actual date with an actual girl to consider.
The paranormal. What a load of nonsense.
©2017 Steven John Higgs (P)2018 Steven John Higgs