Page 23 of Unalive On Air

Until it’s right outside my room, dangerously close to zapping the trees below.

If one of those goes, it’ll take out the entire west wing of the hotel. And yet, my self‑preservation skills seem to be somewhat lacking, and by that I mean entirely non‑existent, as I climb off the mattress, stroll over to the closest window, and press my face against the glass.

An earthquake in Britain. What are the chances?

The room falls deathly quiet. It’s at once respite for my overwrought senses, and also totally fucking unnerving. It feels like the calm before the chaos, the eye of the storm.

CRACK!

Something smashes into the windowpane. I scream.

A bird. Black and bigger than a crow. A raven maybe, or an owl. It squeegees down the glass and drops out of view.

Fuck, this is getting weird. Also . . . ew.

I’m not frightened. I’m definitely not frightened. There are logical explanations for all of this. The whispered name, the microphone tipping over, the chandelier rattling, the light bulb failing, the kamikaze night fowl. I’m definitely not weirded out to the point of wanting to crawl under the covers and wait for this all to blow over.

Lightning snaps right outside my window. The closest it’s been all night, and the entire room’s thrown into daylight. At most, it lasts for one second, but it’s long enough for me to glimpse a figure in the room with me.

The silhouette of a person or person-adjacent . . . thing looms over me. A shadow, yet solid. I can’t explain it, but the shape has a male presence, an underlying sense of hurt and anger. Suddenly, the air temperature drops as though someone has thrown open all the doors and windows. As though it’s January, not one week outside of August.

As soon as the lightning is over, the figure’s no longer there.

I’m not scared, but I definitely run back to stand beside the bed. Was it a person? Or am I hallucinating? Did I accidentally ingest drugs? I’m kinda hoping it’s the latter. If Helga’s indications are correct, the kitchen here doesn’t have a great track record. Maybe there were some suspicious shrooms mixed in with my risotto tonight.

Helga . . .

There’s another possibility, that the figure was her. She’s certainly tall and broad enough to fit the specifications. I can’t explain how she vanished so quickly, but one revelation at a time. This could all be an elaborate ruse to prove to me that the ghosts of The Paragon Hotel really do exist. And perhaps if I turn around and blame everyone’s death or disappearance on phantom phenomena, that would help to . . . cover her tracks.

“Gaaarry,” the whisper says again.

I take a deep breath. “I’m not falling for it.”

And with that, the lights flick themselves back on. The room stops rattling. I am indeed still alone. Now all I can hear is the rain hitting the glass.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” I say, walking over to my holdall beside the desk. “I’m onto you. If anything, this proves that you’ve got something to hide.”

I’m not frightened. I don’t believe in ghosts. Helga’s a crackpot and most likely guilty of multiple murders, and I will prove that.

Even so, I reach for two things. The PolterPulse and the tub of Sainsbury’s own brand table salt.

Not worried in the slightest, but with the salt, I draw a ring around the four-poster bed and toss a handful towards where the shadowy would-be apparition appeared.

I climb onto the mattress—fuck donning my PJs or sliding under the covers, I might need to make a quick getaway—and I flip through the ExorSquad employee manual to the part about weapons and how to use them, and if it comes to it, how do I exorcise this fucking thing.

Section 1894.3.11.a The PolterPulse 33X

The PolterPulse 33X is the strongest, most powerful anti-apparition device on the (albeit extremely limited) ghost removal market.

Simply unclip the safety valve, point, and shoot.

Remember, the only proven method to permanently remove an entity, levels one through three, is to solve their unfinished business. In which case, chatting to it may help. In the unlikely event the spirit is feeling talkative, please do not forget rule number one: ghosts always lie.

If the spirit presents as level four or higher, I’m afraid you’re fucked on your own, buddy. My suggestion would be to run and/or burn the place down.

Helpful.

How do I know what level the entity is?