Two full days passed without another peep from Eric. Vincent sat at his computer, staring blankly at his appointment calendar.

  Maybe he should have played along with the fake haunting. So what if some people were scammed out of their money? Vincent got nothing out of debunking sham hauntings. He’d be seen as a fraud either way.

  Eric’s card sat on the corner of his desk, a brown half circle down the middle from Vincent using it and the other junk on his coffee table as a coaster. The Spirit Searchers channel had under a hundred followers despite it being active for nearly fifteen years.

  The footage from the Old Victorian wasn’t posted yet, so most of the recent videos were Eric and another man, Ben, exploring allegedly haunted locations together. According to the comments and the few vlogs, they were a couple.

  “Whatever,” Vincent muttered. “I don’t care what he does.”

  He closed all his tabs with an overly forceful click of the mouse and went to get changed for his only appointment for the day.

  Around noon, a trio of teenagers came in, solemn and eyeing Vincent nervously. The older he got, the more he grew to dislike teenagers. He had to ban recording sessions because of the countless unflattering (or uncomfortably flattering) edits of him on social media.

  “Welcome,” Vincent started in his fake, wispy voice, “You’re here for a séance, correct? Who are you trying to speak with?”

  “Shouldn’t you already know?” one boy asked, earning an elbow to the ribs from his friend.

  “Sorry, ignore him. This was my grandpa’s. I heard you can talk to dead people if you have something of theirs.” The boy in the middle, short and timid-looking, his eyes looking anywhere but at Vincent, held up a tarnished locket on a long chain. If he was the one that made the appointment, his name was Martin.

  “Come inside and sit.” Vincent waved the boys toward the table and set out two more folding chairs for the extra visitors. He felt a weak presence attached to the necklace. So weak, that it seemed unlikely the person died within the past decade. There was a strong possibility no one was left for him to talk to.

  He sat across from the kids and held his hand out for the locket. Once in hand, the presence grew a bit stronger. “What was your grandfather’s name?”

  The telltale hesitation in Martin’s answer, less shyness and more lie, made it tempting to cancel the session. “Steven. Yeah, his name was Steven.”

  Vincent met each boy’s eyes. The owner of the locket still refused to make eye contact, the first smartass looked away fighting a smirk, and the last boy only raised his eyebrows impatiently.

  “Well? Are you going to summon a ghost or what?” the impatient boy asked.

  “You seem to misunderstand what a séance is,” Vincent answered. “If the spirit answers and wants to speak with you, you’ll be able to hear him.”

  “What do you mean if the spirit wants to speak with us? It’s his grandpa!” The rude kid folded his arms and scoffed.

  “Spirits are just human souls, and like the living, they don’t always like speaking to people they don’t know.” Vincent narrowed his eyes at Martin as the boy grew more nervous by the second.

  “I-I mean, I was barely in elementary school when he died, so maybe he won’t remember me…” Martin muttered. This time, his rude friend jabbed him in the ribs.

  “Well, in any case, I sense a presence in this locket, so at the very least, we can send him on his way to the other side.”

  Vincent dimmed the lights to take strain off his eyes and flipped the switch of the crystal ball to light up the table. “Steven?” Or whatever your name is, Vincent continued in his head. “These boys want to speak with you. Can you hear us?”

  The presence in the locket flickered, then dimmed, like an old car trying to start. Vincent pried open the locket, its hinges practically rusted shut, to reveal a cracked, black and white photo of a young woman with her hair curled and rolled into a tube on the top of her head. My Victoria was etched on the inner side of the locket.

  “That’s my grandma,” Martin pointed out. “Victoria.”

  “You mean Veronica?” Vincent asked, pretending to squint at the locket.

  “O-oh yeah, Veronica.”

  “Sorry, I misread. You were right the first time.” Vincent found some joy watching the boys squirm. “Victoria.”

  Victoria…. A voice echoed, sounding both miles away and inside the room at the same time. This was a woman’s voice.

  The impatient boy, arms still folded, huffed. “If you can’t summon ghosts, what did we pay all that money for?”

  “Most pay for closure and to ensure their loved ones go safely to the other side.” Vincent looked directly at Martin again. “What is it you want?”

  “J-just want to talk to him, I guess. Like… is he watching over me and stuff.”

  “C’mon, man, stop being such a pussy,” the rude friend hissed in Martin’s ear.

  Vincent closed his eyes and tried to find that voice again. “The spirit attached to this necklace is a woman.”

  “Is it his grandma then?” The impatient friend swiped a hand through the air to rush Vincent along. “I just want to see some paranormal activity, so hurry up.”

  “You won’t see anything. This spirit has been dead and ignored for years and has almost faded to nothing. If she was more active in the past, maybe you can ask your parents what they witnessed.” Vincent had given up on his soft, fake voice. He just wanted the kids to leave.

  “So you can’t even talk to her? You’re just some grifter?” The rude friend shot to his feet, puffing his chest out to look as menacing as a skinny, acne-prone teen can.

  “I can hear her, but she’s too far gone to have a conversation.” Vincent held out his hands regardless. “Take my hands and you might hear her too.”

  “Gross, I’m not doing that gay shit,” the impatient friend spat, leaping out of his seat like Vincent shot a cobra from his sleeve.

  “I bet Martin’s aunt lied, too. No way this guy talked to Mateo,” the rude friend added, standing shoulder to shoulder with his equally unpleasant friend in further effort to appear intimidating.

  Meanwhile, flashes of Mateo’s final moments reentered Vincent’s mind. He could still feel the rough hand lifting him by the neck and the feeling of his life leaking out through the wounds in his chest.

  He wiped his hand over his face, pushing the memories away. “Mateo was your cousin then? Stay away from whatever friends he had. As shitty as these two are, they’re better than the people Mateo ran with.”

  “The police said he was mugged. What are you talking about?” Martin met Vincent’s eyes for the first time.

  Shit. Vincent bit his tongue. Any further information would only bring police to his door. “Just… keep your nose out of other people’s business.”

  Martin pursed his lips like he had more to say but couldn’t find the words. His impatient friend smacked his shoulder to get his attention.

  “Let’s get out of here. He’s either a fraud or a freak and this was a waste of time.”

  Vincent grabbed his phone to turn the lights back up, his other hand closed tight around the locket. Martin didn’t move at first, no matter how much Vincent silently willed him to give up and leave.

  “Yeah,” Martin agreed, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and stood, knocking the chair back. “Yeah, let’s go. He probably just followed cops and told my aunt whatever the hell he wanted anyway.”

  Vincent followed once he heard the door close behind the kids. As he locked up, he heard them laughing and saw them snap a few pictures of his house. They didn’t even take the locket with them.

  The woman’s voice had become clearer to the point Vincent could hear her incoherent babble without even holding the necklace. He glared at it, releasing the frustration he held in while the teens were there.

  “A fraud or a freak. Insane, delusional, attention-seeker…” he muttered as he snatched the locket from the table. “Why fucking come here then?”

  He threw the necklace to the floor, making the cover pop off the locket. To sour his mood further, his fit helped the spirit bound to that locket materialize. An older woman with pin curls wrapped neatly under a scarf and wearing a long, polka-dot dress with matching jacket appeared over the necklace. She faded in and out, lamenting her inability to grasp her locket.

  “Victoria, my dear, I miss you so…” she cried.

  Vincent, ashamed of his childish tantrum, gingerly lifted the pieces of the necklace and held it out to the woman. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to break it. Is this your daughter or sister or something?”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  The woman placed her hands over Vincent’s, channeling her longing and affection into him, making his heart ache for this long dead woman. As they stood together, the spirit grew more coherent and acknowledged Vincent’s presence.

  “Goodness! Are you talking to me?” The woman adjusted her headscarf and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “My Victoria, she was… we were old spinsters doing what we could….”

  “You were lovers.”

  The woman pressed her hand over her heart and sputtered excuses, but Vincent felt the love she had for this Victoria.

  “Times have changed, for the most part. You can even get married.” He didn’t need to trouble her with what hadn’t changed since she died however many decades ago.

  “My…. Married? Oh, wouldn’t that be a dream.”

  “It doesn’t have to be. I’m sure she’s waiting for you.”

  “Yes, I’ve kept her waiting so long….” The woman smiled, gazing down at the photo of her lover. The love in her eyes darkened for a split second before she covered that new emotion with a smile. “And I think I can keep her waiting a while longer.”

  “…What? Why?” Vincent sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What do you still need to do?”

  “Oh, nothing at all, dear.” Before Vincent could press further, she patted his hand. “But look at you. Unmarried, with no one to take care of you at your age. Maybe I’ll stay here and watch over you a while.”

  “Look… ma’am—”

  “Call me Gracie. What’s your name?”

  “Vincent, but you can’t—”

  “Well, Vincent. I’ll be here when you need me.” With that, she faded away again, going dormant within her locket.

  “I need you to pass on…. You better not start throwing shit in my house.”

  As he went inside, he tried to put the cover back on the locket to no avail. Gracie didn’t seem too upset by it, so he just stuck it on the bookshelf outside his office next to a red-eyed porcelain unicorn figure.

  With the rest of his afternoon free, Vincent changed into his most comfortable sweatpants and switched the TV on to his mindless reality shows. When it was all behind a screen, he loved the endless drama and over the top personalities.

  In the middle of a pointless fight, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Without sitting up from his curled-up position, he balanced his phone on his cheek and answered, “Vincent Fey, readings and séances. Are you making an appointment or calling about a previous appointment?”

  A beep from the caller pressing a number was the only response.

  “…This isn’t an automated message.”

  Eric’s voice came through the phone. “Oh, is this just your business number?”

  “I only have one phone number.”

  “So you even answer calls from friends like that?”

  Vincent wasn’t going to answer that. “What do you want?”

  “I have another job that’s definitely real this time. In her video, stuff was flying around and she seemed upset and genuinely asking for help,” Eric explained. “I’m like 85% sure she isn’t faking it.”

  This time.

  Eric still believed him?

  “Vincent? Are you still there?”

  The psychic huffed to mask his surprise. “Aren’t you glad you have a freak on call now? Maybe your videos will get more than two views.”

  “Does that mean you checked out my channel?” Vincent could hear the smile in Eric’s voice. “And you’re not a freak. You have a gift!”

  Vincent was struck silent again. A gift? Delusions, lies, fantasies, insanity….

  “So? What did you think? Were any of those—”

  “Just tell me where to go.”

  “I’m outside already. I’ll give you a ride, so just come out when you’re ready.”

  ~*~

  Eric’s car rattled and hummed in front of Vincent’s house. In the daylight, it looked one pothole away from falling apart. One of the side mirrors wobbled and the front bumper was held in place with zip ties. The paint was scuffed and scratched, one tire looked like it needed air, and faded stickers of characters Vincent didn’t recognize lined the back windshield and trunk.

  The inside of the car was surprisingly clean, save for a few dark stains in the back seat. Covers printed with blue butterflies hid the gray fabric of the front seats and a small glass bottle of oil hanging from the rearview mirror filled the car with the scent of lavender and vanilla.

  Eric lowered the upbeat pop music playing via Bluetooth as Vincent got into the passenger seat. He held up a muted video on his phone. The camerawork was shaky, but it clearly captured a set of dining room chairs being shoved out into the walls by some invisible force.

  “This is what she posted the other day. It’s crazy, right? I DMed her and said I knew a psychic that could help. She agreed right away.” Eric smiled and dropped his phone into Vincent’s lap as he shifted into drive.

  “Must be desperate,” Vincent muttered, watching a woman flip the camera to her tear-streaked face and shout voicelessly through the screen.

  “She… did say that too. But I vetted her and this whole thing this time!” Eric reached over and tried to switch to another app on his phone, poorly steering with his other hand. “You can check my notes….”

  “Just drive. I don’t need to see your notes.” Vincent turned of the screen and dumped the phone into the cupholder between them.

  “You seemed upset that the last place was a bust, so I wanted to make sure this haunting was legit.”

  Vincent’s voice came out softer than he intended. “You believed me over the owner?”

  “Of course! You pointed out a lot of obvious tricks and, when I did a reverse image search of some of that supposedly antique haunted furniture, the exact same thing popped up on a store’s website.” Eric sighed and slumped against the steering wheel. “I should have done that research beforehand, but I got too excited. I wanted to see you work firsthand.”

  “You wanted to see me summon ghosts?” Vincent muttered, resting his head against the window. Half faded spirits wandered around the gates of a cemetery they passed, some visibly panicked as cars went right through them.

  “Is that something you can do?”

  Vincent didn’t reply and let the car fall into silence, the soft music and noise of traffic the only sounds around them. Eric couldn’t withstand the quiet long.

  “Why do you take the trains everywhere? Your services aren’t cheap, so I’m sure you can afford a car. I never paid you for the Old Victorian, now that I think of it….” Eric’s brow furrowed as his thumbs picked at the already peeling leather around the steering wheel.

  “I didn’t do anything to get paid for,” Vincent replied. “I failed my driver’s test and never bothered trying again.”

  “You look about my age…. So the past ten or so years, you never tried again? It’s so much easier to just go where I want to go without thinking about where the stations are or when the trains come.”

  “Are you a car salesman or something?” Vincent snapped. Eric shut his mouth and slumped slightly in his seat. With a sigh, Vincent explained, “Back then, I couldn’t always tell the dead from the living. I’d see someone in the street and slam on the brakes, but the instructor never saw anything, obviously. Even now… sometimes it’s hard to tell, so I just don’t drive.”

  “Oh… sorry. I didn’t know….”

  “Forget about it. Tell me about this supposed haunting.”

  Eric’s eyes lingered on Vincent for a long moment, causing the car behind them to honk as they sat at a green light.

  “I went back through all the owners that I could find for that house and, while none of them died in the house, one couple did die in an accident. The bank took the house, since they didn’t have children or relatives to take care of it. Every owner since then reported strange things going on, but the current owner, Amy Tanikawa, her claims are way worse. It’s the first time it went past creepy to dangerous.”

  “Doesn’t seem like it’ll be a waste of time, at least.”

  Eric hummed along to the song playing, allowing Vincent to close his eyes and rest a while. Once he was fully relaxed, the humming stopped and Eric let out a loud Oh with a slap to the steering wheel.

  “You checked out my channel, right? What did you think? Did you subscribe?”

  “I looked,” Vincent grumbled when his heart was out of his throat. “What are you even trying to do in those videos?”

  “Trying to prove the existence of the paranormal and maybe communicate with some spirts. It probably seems silly to you….” Eric’s enthusiasm deflated at the realization.

  Vincent shrugged. “As long as you don’t upset them, I don’t care what you do.” He closed his eyes again and a question slipped out, “Why doesn’t your partner come on these excursions? Does he think I’m a scammer too?”

  Eric didn’t respond at first, staring straight ahead and picking at his steering wheel again. When he spoke up, his voice was quiet. “He… we don’t work together anymore. Creative differences, I guess….”

  The tenseness in Eric’s shoulders and jaw implied their break up was more than creative differences and that he wasn’t going to elaborate further. Vincent just gave a noncommittal hum and turned his attention to the boring scenery of the highway.

  They spent the remainder of the twenty-minute drive in silence. Eric pulled into a quiet cul-de-sac and parked in front of a light blue two story house. It was the smallest of its neighbors with a well-manicured front lawn and a few flowering shrubs along the walkway. From outside, nothing seemed amiss.

  However, once Vincent stepped out of the car and into the driveway, a wave of loneliness swept over him. He couldn’t pinpoint where the spirit was, only that they were certainly upset enough to affect their surroundings.

  “There’s definitely a spirit here and they aren’t happy,” Vincent told Eric’s backside as his front was buried in his trunk again.

  “Vincent,” Eric whined, “Can’t you wait until I have the camera to say that?”

  “Fine, hurry up, then. I don’t know why you need all this…” Vincent muttered. “Also, start telling people I take payment in advance.”

  “Can you do installments? Hold out your arms for a second.”

  Vincent held a hand out for, what he thought would be one thing, and was soon encumbered with two different camera bags, tripods, lights, and a box of what looked like land mines.

  “I take credit,” he snapped. “What the hell is all this? Are you setting traps for the spirit?”

  “That’s the camera equipment. The box was just in the way. I don’t need those since I have you.” Eric hefted his backpack onto his shoulders and shoved the box into the trunk. “All this stuff is to pick up on changes to electromagnetic fields and temperature drops or record sounds the human ear can’t always catch.”

  “Does any of that ever work?” Vincent asked, following Eric up to the house.

  “They beep and react, but we never have real proof they work without actually knowing if spirits are present….” Eric glanced over his shoulder to Vincent, then past him to his car. Thinking better of whatever plan he concocted, he rang the doorbell.

  “You’re Eric?” A young woman with her long hair tied in a lopsided bun on the top of her head and heavy bags under red, puffy eyes stood in the doorway. “And the psychic? You’re sure he can exorcise this thing?”

  “Spirits aren’t things and I’m not exorcising anyone,” Vincent cut in. The woman looked on the verge of tears from the moment she answered the door and his tone wasn’t helping her mental stability. “I’m going to help the spirit move on. They’re just confused.”

  Amy let out a shaky breath, looking no more or less stressed than she did when she opened the door.

  “Is it still okay to film? As long as you’re not in the video, right?” Eric asked.

  “Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll stay out of your way.” She stepped aside to let them in and gestured to a shoe rack behind the door. “You can put your shoes here.”

  Vincent fought to keep his balance and take off his shoes while holding Eric’s equipment. He tied the laces of his sneakers tight to avoid the back rubbing against his Achilles tendon when he walked. Eric, who slipped his shoes off and put them on the rack without even bending over, eventually took his camera bags and left Vincent behind.

  “I thought you’d be in charge since you’re the psychic.” Amy offered to hold the tripods so Vincent could remove his shoes.

  “Why? I don’t have any interest in recording all this.” They strolled to the living room where Eric was recording some sort of intro. “Where have you noticed the most activity?”

  “Hey! I was going to ask that on camera,” Eric complained.

  “If she doesn’t want to be recorded, how would you do that?”

  “I’d just use her voice and apply a voice changer….”

  “Um, should I answer or…?” Amy looked between the two men, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.

  “Yeah, Vincent say something about the spirit and ask Amy that again,” Eric instructed, clipping a mic to Vincent’s hoodie string again and pointing the camera at his face.

  Vincent scowled through the camera at Eric and sighed. “There’s definitely a spirit here. Where have you noticed the most activity?”

  “That video I posted with the chairs flying across the dining room was the worst. Other than that, it’s mostly been this creepy crying at night. And, I’ve had nightmares ever since I moved in here a couple months ago.” Amy rubbed her arms, visibly shuddering as a chill overtook her.

  The camera stayed focused on Vincent’s face and Eric offered no further instructions. They only stared at each other until a shiver shot up Vincent’s spine. Energy surged through the house and glass shattered in another room, followed by a weepy, childlike voice calling out to them.

  Mommy, don’t ignore me….