I'm definitely afraid of this ghost…

Chapter One

I've always enjoyed a good ghost. That is, until I actually got haunted by one.

It started fairly innocuously – a noise here, a cold breeze there. I'd wake at 2:00am, hearing banging. First I'd assume it was a door caught in the wind, or the neighbours undertaking late night repairs. After a week or two, it was harder to lie to myself. I'd roam the apartment at night, trying to find the source of the strange sounds resonating within. I'd see doors closing by themselves and thrust them open, armed with a torch and my trusty baseball bat and find… nothing. As time went on, I convinced myself that I was slowly going crazy.

But then, finally, I found an answer. The answer. The "Ghostbusters" saved New York and suddenly my fears seemed less crazy. More realistic. I had a ghost.

After a particularly difficult night when I was woken on the hour, every hour, I called in sick for work. It was time to take action. My fingers hovered over the keypad of my phone, and I willed myself to dial. It's harder to rationally believe that you're being haunted in the cold light of day.

Shaking, I finally dialled the number. It rang… and rang… and rang. Finally, a husky male voice announced that I'd reached the "ghost-women… busters".

"Hi! I have a… ghost?"

"How may I direction your call?"

"Um… I have a ghost. I need someone to deal with my ghost?"

"Right you are! Hold on a minute while I grab a…"

Then, a dial tone. Right. Maybe they'd quit ghostbusting? But then why not say that over the phone? I summoned my courage, and dialled again.

"Ghostbusting ladies at your service!" The same enthusiastic voice in my ear.

"Hi – I just called! I have a ghost! I need help!"

"Right-O – found a pen – can I confirm your location?" FINALLY! I recited my address and cell over the phone. I heard a loud bang in the background, and a yelp, and then the phone went dead.

Suddenly the phone in my hand transformed from being innocent plastic to scalding hot. I dropped it, my palm burning, and ran to the faucet to rinse it under cold water. Right. Okay. This will be fine. Someone is on their way

I waited two days, and still nothing. I'd taken the week off of work in the expectation of someone, anyone, coming to deal with my supernatural problem – all for nothing. Finally, on the third day, the phone rang.

I picked it up gingerly. "Hello?"

"Hellooooo… is this the haunted residence?"

"What? Who is this?"

"Dr Jillian Holtzmann. Ghostbuster extraordinaire. At your service."

"Oh. Okay. Right. Does this mean someone's coming to help me?"

"Possibly. Please confirm the snack situation at your residence? Are there Pringles? I'm really in the mood for some chips."

What. The. Hell.

I'm being haunted, and she's worried about snacks? I took a deep breath.

"Look – I have been at home waiting, desperately, for you to show up. I have a ghost, who has burned me, kept me up all night, and generally made me miserable. I have had enough. Get here, now, and get rid of this… this… thing!"

"Well now darlin', don't get your panties in a twist – we're on our way."

And abruptly, again, there was the dial tone.

Forty minutes later and I'm still pacing the hallway. The buzzer sounds harshly, and I run to the door.

A dark-haired woman pushes past me, all business, brandishing what looks like a space-age pasta fork.

"Where's the ghost?"

Shocked, I point her towards my bedroom door. She's quickly followed by a slight red-head. I watch the pair of them wave the pasta-fork around my apartment entrance.

They're quickly followed by a tall, black woman who smiles broadly at me. "Happy to be here! Beautiful building. You been here long?" She high-fives me and then joins the others, focused on the pasta fork.

I hear a bang, and then suddenly a petite blonde is bounding up the steps to my apartment, what looks like a modified rifle slung nonchalantly over her shoulders and a bulging beige carry-all loosely clutched in one hand.

"Rig's parked!" she yells, then winks at me. She mock-points the rifle at me and then heads into my apartment, patting me on the shoulder reassuringly. What the hell?

I follow the women into my apartment, not sure what to do next. "Can I get you coffee?" I ask, confused.

"Well darlin', that's mighty sweet of you, but we're just gonna bust and go," the blonde advises.

"Right. Of course." I shuffle into a corner to get out of their way. The pasta fork is spinning and flashing lights in the brunette's hands. The redhead proceeds into my bedroom while I watch. The air is icy cold and forbidding. Once again, the blonde pats my shoulder, before venturing into the kitchen. The brunette is barking directions, so I do my best to press myself against the wall and let them get on with their work.

Suddenly all activity stops. The pasta fork has stopped moving, and the temperature regulates back to normal.

"False alarm!" the redhead shouts, striding back down the hallway. Wait, what?

"What's going on?" I ask, confused. All four are retreating down the hallway, shoving gadgets back into their pockets.

"Ghost's gone, job done!" smirks the blonde, scratching her head. "Back to the studio!"

"What? But… but you didn't do anything! It's still here!"

"There's no evidence of an ongoing paranormal presence," states the redhead. "Believe me, if there was a ghost here, we would know."

"But wait! The fork! It was doing stuff! I know that means something's going on – you wouldn't have the fork spinning if there was nothing. There is a ghost here!"

The blonde leans against the wall. "Look. There might be something, but it's weak. It's not a problem, it's not a danger. There's not even enough oomph in it for us to catch it!" She grins at me and slings her gun back over her shoulder. "Trust me. Nothing to worry about. We'll waive the call-out charge."

The four of them file out of the apartment. I linger in the doorway, watching them leave. Guess maybe I am crazy.