Chapter One
"No, Frank! Look out!"
These monosyllabic words often woke Frank Bannister, and this morning was no different. Bleary-eyed, he examines his half-finished house while running his fingers through his short, uncombed hair. Even the slickest realtor couldn't sell this place. It was covered with blue tarpaulins, littered with old house and home magazines, and featured a lonely and dilapidated basketball court. Frank's appearance was only marginally better. His boyish looks couldn't conceal his careworn state, and he did nothing to alter this image. His oversized and wrinkled wardrobe emphasized both his youthfulness and impassivity. Unlike his house, if Frank put an ounce of thought into his looks he would be considered presentable, maybe even handsome. Frank didn't give a damn about any of that. He already had one foot in the grave.
He pulls on a ratty tan jacket to combat the draftiness of his home, and makes his way to his so-called kitchen. The walk requires him to maneuver through rusty toolboxes, tattered blueprints, and cheap liquor bottles. While an educated man of certain highbrow tastes, he was never selective when it came to booze. He passes a coffee table where a freshly printed statement sits. Surprisingly, the wind hasn't taken his job termination letter. This hardly matters, as Frank has decided to take on a new line of work, though he's unsure how to use his new talent.
After his wife's tragic death, he had developed the ability to see ghosts. He was undecided whether this was a blessing or a curse. Could he help earthbound ghosts? Could he console grieving people through séances? Could he somehow communicate with his dead wife? Rather than the newly visible spirits, these were the things that haunted him at night. Only one thing was certain to him; he could potentially make a buck with this skill. His services would be more than difficult to market. Most people viewed death with fear and distrust, especially in the seemingly quaint town of Fairwater.
He locates a relatively clean spot to sit, and begins reading a day old paper. On its bottom right corner is a perfectly round coffee mug stain.
"Who wants yesterday's papers? Nobody in the world…" Frank says to himself.
The Fairwater Gazette features an innocuous front page story about a local artist. While known for its journalistic integrity, many of its front pagers matched this insipid story. Other than the Johnny Bartlett killing spree some thirty years ago, the town has seen very few dark days. Frank flips over to the classified ads and job listings. He is struck by the sheer number of jobs.
"What the hell is a haberdasher?" He gruffly mumbles.
As if this inquiry summoned him, Stuart enters the room. Not through a wall or an appliance, but through an open door. While an emanation, he still did many tasks in a human manner.
"A haberdasher deals in dressmaking, normally men's clothing."
Stuart was a double major in his lifetime, a fact he would constantly remind his cohorts. He was a textbook nerd with his slender frame and thick spectacles. He was somewhat of a whiner, but also a loyal companion and a well-read individual.
"Hah! Of course you would know a stupid word like that!" Another voice erupted from the other room.
This was Cyrus, a cool cat from the seventies. He donned a white disco suit, and had an impeccable afro. He would always speak his mind, and had an affinity for cigars. Unlike Stuart, Cyrus entered the room through a partially finished wall. Cyrus was far more comfortable in his ghostly form.
Due to their many differences, the two spirits initially didn't like each other. Time and necessity have made them decent companions, though this hasn't stopped their occasional bickering.
"A solid vocabulary is one of life's necessities!" Stuart argued.
"Please, nobody needs to know a word like haberdasher." Was Cyrus's quick retort.
After a few laborious minutes, Frank is able to steer the conversation to a more productive manner.
"Listen, when I freed you guys from that cemetery you promised me…" He pauses briefly as he realizes the absurdity of what he is about to say, "…that you would help me make a living."
"We would still like to be your business partners, Frank, but what would we do?" Stuart said earnestly.
"We might be a real hit at parties!" Cyrus joked.
Frank starts carelessly thinking out loud. "Maybe you guys could inspire me to write a few ghostly paperback novels. Give them really gruesome names like Abattoir or…"
"Haha! You'd be a true ghost writer! Get it? Get it?" For having a brilliant mind, Stuart had a dull sense of humor.
Cyrus interjects. "An author? Yeah, that could lead to fame and fortune! And who knows? Maybe you can meet a pretty girl this way. Has been a while!"
Frank didn't offer a response. He simply stormed out of the room, if you could classify it as a room.
Cyrus yelled after him, "What? You think some cute little doctor is just going to pop into your life? You gotta get out more, man!"
Somewhat petulantly, Stuart looks at Cyrus and says, "You sure know how to get on Frank's good side."
"It's been long enough where I should be able to talk straight to the man!" Cyrus didn't hold back. "I feel like I'm in some lame-ass gimmicky sitcom featuring a depressed architect and a ghostly bookwork! We need some action up in here! I'm telling him my scaring idea! And I'm going to do it right now!"
Stuart was already aware of Cyrus' idea. He had severe misgivings, especially without the help of the Judge. Still, he supported his hotheaded friend.
"Sure you can talk him into it?"
"Well, to use one of your dumb idioms, 'the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.'" The spirit being Cyrus, and the flesh being Frank.
This made Stuart smile. Not only did it confirm that Cyrus listens to him, but it also suggested that he won the vocabulary debate from earlier.
While Stuart had been better educated, Cyrus had some savviness of his own. He was sharp-witted when it came to business matters, and he thoroughly enjoyed a good scheme. It got him in many a trouble during his earthly life. He was confident he could convince Frank of his plan.
Cyrus goes through the room to catch Frank taking a sip of his flask. Frank quickly stuffs it in his back pocket when he notices Cyrus' presence. Cyrus ignores this and immediately goes for the sales pitch. Never one to beat around the bush, he simply blurts out, "My man, let's go scare the shit out of some people! Easy money!"
Frank has had a similar idea for a while, but didn't want to admit it. Was he actually having the same depraved thoughts as a 1970's gangster? "God, I'm with the wrong crowd." he briefly thought. Despite their identical train of thought, Frank acts dismissive to the idea.
"What, are we going to follow some elaborate plan where you bang the toilet seat up and down, while Stuart flickers the light switch on and off. No, it's silly." He crosses his arms.
"Let's start out small, do some reconnaissance work. I've already got some ideas for suckers, uh I mean, potential customers." Cyrus flashes a wide grin.
"Like who? An old lady with a bad ticker? A kid who's afraid of the dark? The town wine-o? Enough already!"
"How about the one, the only, Mr. Buck Bukowski?"
"That trashy car salesman?" Frank said befuddled.
"Yep, the guy's a total asshole. He deserves a scare."
Stuart was listening in, and finally decides to make his entrance. In typical Stuart fashion, his attempt to enter the room through a wall was unsuccessful. His upper body made its way to the living room, but his lower half was still in the kitchen. A regular occurrence, this doesn't stop him from telling his story.
"Oh, I would agree with that. On my way to the library I heard that Buck fellow angrily barking orders to one of his lowly employees. He wanted him to roll down the speedometer numbers on an old Ford. Then on my way back I heard him tell a customer that the Ford had low mileage, and he said it in the sweetest-sickly tone you can imagine."
Frank looks back at Cyrus and asks, "So we would be swindling the biggest swindler in Fairwater?"
"Now that doesn't sound too bad does it?" Cyrus chuckled. "Sort of a supernatural version of the Robin Hood tale, right?"
"I wouldn't go that far. We would be the only ones benefiting." Stuart responded.
This was entirely fine with Frank. He felt it was time for some sort of payoff. If he was going to continue living, he might as well live for himself. The sleepy town of Fairwater was about to be introduced to a new profession, paranormal conning.