theattic | PSL: You don't have to go home

So do I.

"Don't worry about it." He moved to stand up and leave the booth, still holding his phone to his ear. "For now, might want to get started asking around. You have any ideas for where to start? Otherwise I could just try talking to people in here, seeing if they've noticed anything odd."

The dead man drifted after him.

"I'm not sure you're going to get anywhere talking to these people...they like to pretend nothing's wrong. Especially Ernie." Maurice sagged into a pout and folded his arms, reclining and frowning over at the cheery bar tender. "It's like nobody was brutally murdered twelve feet behind 'em out back or nothin'."

A plaque on the wall rattled as he fumed.

But he didn't want to focus on that. He wanted to think about the nice man who was helping him. "Isn't there a ritual you can do?"

He nodded slowly. "Can't say I'm surprised... seems like that's how it works a lot of places. People don't tend to be all that eager to accept when something like this is going on."

Ginko gave a slight shrug as he dug around in his wallet, counting out the payment for the beer that he drank maybe a quarter of, using his shoulder to keep his phone trapped against his ear. "...Technically, yes. I could try to summon the spirit directly, communicate with it to find out what's going on. But this one is likely dangerous; trying to face it right away, without any more information, would be incredibly risky."

Maurice eyed that beer and let out a gusty sigh. Man. If he could just have one sip.

"I guess you got a point...it might make you into a ghost too. Then we'd be back to square one."

At least he'd have somebody to talk to. Wow. That was a grim thought. He shook himself out and disappeared, reappearing on the other side of the room to watch this 'investigation' from afar.

"Exactly."

Ginko let himself glance around briefly to check where Maurice had gone, then put his phone back in his pocket. He approached the counter and set down the money before speaking up, getting the bartender's attention again.

"Excuse me; does this building have a basement?"

Ernie was cleaning this time around when the one-eyed weirdo appeared. He glanced up, saw the money, and decided to humor Mr. Ghost Inspector.

"Storage, sure."

He nodded. "Would it be alright if I looked around down there? And around the premises."

Ernie just looked at Ginko like an entire live lobster just crawled out of his mouth.

"Of course you can't look around down there!"

"If you'd be more comfortable sending someone down with me, that's fine. I've confirmed that I was called over here, and I just need to look around to complete my work."

He spoke as quietly and non-confrontationally as he could; the last thing he wanted was to push too much.

Of course, sometimes it was hard to tell when he had pushed too much, but he could try.

"Confirmed?" Ernie's face pinched up like biscuit dough. "Who? Who's drawing weirdos that don't even have the goddamn decency to bring a camera crew with 'em to my bar?"

He said this loud enough for this supposed contact to hear and take a hint.

Ginko winced a little, responding quickly and very intentionally quietly. He was just glad that the other patrons here didn't seem like the types to get too riled up over this... yet, anyway. He really hoped he could wrap this up quickly.

"Someone who is concerned for your safety and that of your customers. I don't want to cause alarm here, but I can assure you that I am merely trying to help, and I would appreciate it if you would let me."

"That someone is a paranoid loony." Ernie leaned across the bar. "I like a good horror flick as much as the next guy, but there aint no such thing as ghosts."

A shout unheard by all ears but Ginko's came from across the room where Maurice hovered in growing frustration. "TELL 'EM YOU KNOW ABOUT THE BODY!"

The medium paused and glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to Ernie. This could either work or go very badly, but at this point Ginko was running out of options.

"I know about Maurice Hutch."

Ernie's face changed from one of frustration to one of steady, quivering anger. And guilt.

"Yeah! Uhn! That's what I thought!" The ghost on the other side of the room kept shouting. "SUCK IT, ERN!"

The bartender rolled a few words around in his mouth until he found a couple that he liked. "Get out."

Ginko frowned uncertainly at the look on the bartender's face. Then he shot a glare over his shoulder at Maurice. Was there ever any chance that that was going to help here?

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I've really got to look around. I'll be quick."

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Earnie leaned further over the bar until his skoll breath was in Ginko's face. Suddenly an expensive bottle of liquor burst behind him and showered the shelves with glass and alcohol. He spun around with a swear. The hairs on his arms stood on end.

People in the bar started muttering to each other.

Maurice folded his arms and set his chin. He hated to do it. He'd loved that stuff when he was alive. He also didn't want to give whatever was lurking around here a chance to act out first.

He jolted back as the bottle burst, staring up at the shelf. Then his gaze dropped back to the bartender, and he stepped back from the counter, his expression totally blank.

"Call me if you change your mind," he muttered, dropping a card with a name and number on it on the counter. With that, he turned and hurried out the door before this could get more out of hand.

He didn't go far; he moved around the side of the building before dropping down to sit against the wall, shoving his fingers through his hair with a sigh - and, after a moment, pulling off that dumb eye patch and just brushing his bangs over the empty socket.

"Dammit... now what." Somehow, he doubted that Ernie was going to make use of that business card; maybe he should have just been glad to get out of there without any new bruises, but it was looking like this wasn't going to be an easy case.

Ginko wasn't alone for very long. A whole herd of people suddenly appeared around Ginko. They were in varying states of sobriety and panic.

"Are you a preacher?"

"Are you here to get rid of the ghost?"

"Carol Mincey is in the hospital."

"Are we gonna be on TV?"

"My lighter exploded in my pocket last week!"

"The animals on the walls move at night."

Well that was unexpected. Ginko scrambled to his feet, his one eye wide at the sudden commotion, but, alarming or not, he wasn't going to complain.

"Uh-- alright, hold on, one at a time." He took a deep breath, trying to sort through what all he was just told.

"First off, no, I'm not a preacher, and I'm sorry, I have no connections to any TV stations. But I am trying to help with the ghost, yes. How many of you have personally seen something strange happen to you here in the past few months? Or seen it, for that matter. Please don't all talk at once."

Each person raised their hand. The woman whose lighter had exploded spoke first.

"The Pit Bull's always been a great bar. Good food, good people. T'be honest, the place always felt like it was sorta lucky...until about a month ago. Somethin' about it changed, I thought I was just bein' superstitious."

A man in a ball cap spoke up next. "Naw, you was right, I felt th' same thing because I remember the Bull started feeling strange th' day before the transmission in my truck tore up."

"Carol's my aunt," said another man. "I was there when the beaver hit her. I saw it with my own eyes come a good foot off the wall before droppin'."

Ginko nodded, taking out his notebook and pencil again; now that he was over the initial shock of the crowd, it wasn't hard to drop back into business mode. Exploding lighters, wrecked transmissions, taxidermy being pulled off the wall... It was no surprise that someone had been hurt badly already.

"Did anything strange happen nearby before all this started? A break-in, even just a large storm. Anything at all out of the ordinary."

The little group grew quiet and looked to one another. They'd all been so wrapped up in their own stories they hadn't paid attention to each others'. But finally the woman who had hoped that they would be on television's face lit up.

"There was a storm. Or an almost-storm. Dry lightning."

Everyone started nodding and murmuring at once, gesturing to their arms and remembering how charged the air had been. It had even made the paper.

"Dry lightning... right." That might have been a lead. He wrote it down, then turned to the man whose aunt was in the hospital. "Where is the hospital, and do you think I could speak to Ms. Mincey?"

"She's in Bluebonnet, but things aren't looking good," said Mr. Mincey. "Th' whole family is there and it's still touch-and-go. Here--" He tugged out his phone. "Give me your number and if she gets where she can take visitors, I'll give you a call."

Ginko nodded and tapped his number into the phone. "Thanks. And best of luck to your aunt."

He handed the phone back and turned to look over the small crowd, reaching into his pocket to pull out more of those business cards. Closer inspection would reveal that they had been printed on posterboard and probably cut out by hand, but they had a phone number on them and that was what mattered. "For that matter, if any of you hear anything else, or if there's anything you would rather discuss in private, call me at this number."

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