Hello. My name is Anthony John Lockwood. I am head of my own ghost hunting agency called Lockwood and Co. Pretty creative, right? You see, there's this problem in London. A ghost problem, actually, and only kids can detect and dispose of them, so adults are pretty useless nowadays. I'm fifteen and own a house and a life-threatening business. If I had to describe myself, I would say that I'm tall and slim with a flop of dark brown hair and dark eyes. I'm mature, agile, and intelligent. My assistant, George, also tells me I'm humble. I live at 35 Portland Row, which is also the centre for this agency. And we've been doing fine, too. That is, until last week. We were out on a case, George Cubbins, Robin Atkins, and I. We were fighting a nasty type-two spirit when we lost Robin. Now I'm in need of some more help. Cases have been piling up, and I wasn't sure of what to do. That is, until George suggested that we put an ad in the paper saying that we require some additional assistance. He helped me write it. It read:
"Lockwood & Co.,the well-known Psychic Investigations agency, requires a new Junior Field Operative. Duties will include analysis of reported hauntings and the containment of same. The successful applicant will be SENSITIVE to supernatural phenomena, well-dressed, preferably female, and not above fifteen years in age. Unsuccessful applicants will include time-wasters, fraudsters, and persons with criminal records. Apply in writing, together with a photograph, to 35 Portland Row, London W1."
Yes, I know we aren't exactly a well-known agency. However, you can't get people by saying you're not well known, right? Anyway, with the ad in the paper, all we had to do was wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
Finally, after what seemed like years, we got our first letter. Then the second. We got a total of fifteen applicants. George and I sat at the thinking cloth, a tablecloth where we write down notes and draw doodles, and examined the letters.
"How about this one?" George asked as he held up a letter.
I examined it closely. "Hmm… no. She doesn't have her Fourth Grade qualifications. How about this one?"
"Lockwood, the photo she submitted was a mugshot! She's not well-dressed, looks way over fifteen and is a time-waster, a fraudster, and a person with a criminal record."
I clear my throat. "Ah, yes, I knew that."
And so is how the rest of the day went. We sorted papers, looked at applications, then finally settled on five people to bring in tomorrow for interviews. I was in the midst of putting the letters in the applications folder, then something occurred to me. "Er, George, what exactly are we going to do for the interviews?"
George glanced over at me, looking up from his comic book. "Well isn't it obvious? We set up haunted relics and have them use their talents to tell us the backstory of it. Haven't you ever been to an interview before?"
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Er, no, I haven't George. I worked here my whole life."
"Oh right. I forget sometimes." He gets up from his chair. "I'm going to go get some relics from the basement to use for the tests. Come help me?"
"Sure." I get up and follow George. We found four supernatural items, and one of George's toothbrush cups. I had the idea to test the applicant's honesty. If they can admit that they don't sense anything wrong with the cup, I know they are trustworthy. We have that, a watch, a ribbon, a penknife, and a ghost-jar. We set the items up on the thinking cloth and went to bed, ready for tomorrow.
It hadn't gone as well as we had hoped. The first one lied on her application. She said she has the talent of listening, so I asked her to tell us what she heard from the watch, and she just stared at me as if I grew a third arm. Let's just say that that interview didn't last very long. The second one started out fine, until we got to George's toothbrush cup. The applicant, I think her name was Elizabeth or something, told us that the cup was from Edgar Allan Poe, and he was drinking out of it when he passed away. I guess she didn't notice the £2.99 sticker on the bottom. The next one said that there was a string of murders attached from the cup. Another said it was my cup, at which I was relieved. Maybe this one will tell the truth. But no. Instead she formed this wacky theory that it was my cup from when I died in 1892, then I came back as a ghost fifteen years ago, and that I was a raw-bones, but the corpse was perfectly intact somehow. She then proceeded to then try and stab me with her rapier which I easily deflected. Finally it was down to the last person, a girl named Charlie. I told her to wait outside for a moment while George dragged me to the kitchen.
"Alright Lockwood, this is our last person. If we don't get her, I don't know what we will do. So you better be on your best behaviour."
I stare at him, not sure if I heard him correctly. "I'm sorry, I should be on my best behaviour? What about you?"
George rubs his glasses on his shirt. "What do you mean, 'what about me'?"
I roll my eyes, as it isn't obvious enough. "Listen, George, you aren't exactly the best when it comes to manners. For starters, you have a tea stain on your shirt, you called one of the applicants stupid, and told them a duck could tell the psychic traces of that watch faster than them, you roll your eyes behind their backs, and worst of all, you don't make any tea for them. How do you expect them to like and respect us if you don't even give them a proper spot of tea?!" I take a deep breath. I can't get mad at George. He's the reason this company has lasted so long, but don't tell him I said that. "Look, I'm sorry." I say as he gives me a look of pure betrayal. I feel so bad. "It's just that I'm stressed about this whole thing, and honestly, I don't know what we're going to do if this doesn't work out. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. Now, if you're ready, we can get started with this interview. Is that alright?" I wait for George to shout at me, to tell me he quits, and leaves me all alone. Instead, a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"You get so sappy when you're upset, it's just so funny." He starts to giggle. "We've said far worse things to each other before. Remember the doo-doo Lockwood?"
Now it's my turn to smile. "What about toilet head Cubbins?" George starts to laugh. He laughs so hard he falls to the floor. This started to get me to laugh, and before you know it, we were both on the floor laughing our heads off. I believe we would've laughed all day, too, if we hadn't been interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.
I jump to my feet. "Oh, I forgot all about the applicant! Do you think she's mad at us?"
George shrugs his shoulders. "I'm not sure. But if she is, tell her I've gone to get some doughnuts from Ariff's store. I hear he's got a new intern."
"And are you going to get some doughnuts?" I ask.
George stares at me. "What kind of question is that? I would never pass up the opportunity to get some delicious, sugary, baked goods. Do you want one after this last interview?"
"Oh, I doubt it's the last one. I'm sure we've got at least one more person after."
"Oh yeah? How sure are you of that?"
I flashed him a smile. "I bet you two strawberry cream filled doughnuts that there's at least one more person."
"It's a bet then." George toward the front door to greet our applicant, confident that he'll be two doughnuts richer.
If I'm being completely honest, I don't think there is anyone after her. What I told George was just a bit of wishful thinking, trying to boost our morale. If this interview doesn't go well, I don't know what we'll do. No, scratch that, sadly I do know what will happen, and It's something that I've been thinking about and dreading for a long time.
If this last interview doesn't go well, we'll have to shut down the agency.