Page 12 of Purrfectly Haunted

“Is she going to be mad about the chandelier?” I turn on the machine again to make another coffee. It’s not less loud the second time around.

Shirley raises her voice to talk over the noise. “Nah. We’re used to occasional damage at the hostel. The ghosts are getting more aggressive over time. If you got rid of her for us, then it’ll be worth replacing the chandelier.”

We sit around the table with the other three, and Shirley places breakfast in front of us—fresh bread, butter, jam, ham, and fruit. I must admit, she’s growing on me like a tumour. Ewan falls on the food ravenously—it must take a lot of calories to maintain such an impressive body.

Once I’m sufficiently caffeinated, I feel human enough to function. Ewan insists on cleaning the dishes—fuck, if I don’t want to bend him over the sink while he does it—and we exit the staff kitchen to go find Lana. The cat, Pearl, leads the way. She runs up the stairs to Lana’s office, her fluffy tail like a flag guiding us.

The hostel owner and crazy cat lady is lounging on a chair by the window, reading what appears to be a romance. Monster romance, to be exact, judging by the tentacles on the cover. When we knock on the doorframe, she hides the book under a pillow before getting to her feet.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen! I heard you did some good hunting last night.”

I nod. “It was difficult, but we managed.” I see no point in lying. We got attacked by an old witch on fire, after all.

“The cats didn’t wake me, so it means you had the situation under control. Good job.”

“Sure,” I say, wanting to share a glance with Ewan.

The big oaf, of course, is still obsessed with Pearl, who’s rubbing her annoyingly pretty face on his legs. When she notices my attention, she stops purring and stares at me with her unnerving blue eyes.

“How did you manage to exorcise the Crone from the house?” Lana asks, walking around her mahogany desk. Today, she’s wearing a flowy silver dress with matching high heels and glasses. Her red hair is up in a fancy hairdo.

“Sorry, we can’t tell you that. Trade secrets,” I lie.

I just have no fucking clue how we did it, but we can’t really admit it. We’re supposed to be the experts. I realise I should probably have attended the ExorSquad training sessions. Did they even offer to train me? I don’t remember.

Lana smiles. “Of course. Don’t blame me for trying. I know a few of my ancestors tried to kick the ghosts out, but they are quite tenacious and attached to the house.”

“About that...” Ewan interrupts. “I was wondering if you knew more about why the ghosts are bound to this location and not the one where they died.”

I try my best to hide my surprise. Did Ewan get some training?

“I do, yes,” Lana says. She gestures towards a glass case by the bookshelf. We get a closer look. Inside sits what looks like an old leather-bound handwritten journal. “This is my great great great—I don’t know how great, really—grand-father’s journal. Earl Fergus Lynch. He’s the one who summoned the ghosts to the house.”

“The Ghost Tour bus is right?” Ewan says over my shoulder.

“Oh, yes. I’m the one who gave them that intel when they came around the house a few years ago and asked questions. I didn’t see the point in hiding this knowledge, and it’s good for business to have ghosts. People even talk about Lynch House in their paranormal podcasts now!”

I stare at the yellowed pages. “How old is this journal?”

“One hundred and eighty years, give or take.”

I whistle. “Bloody hell.”

“Older than the Titanic...” Ewan whispers.

I chuckle. What’s up with his interest for the Titanic?

“Indeed,” Lana says. “It took me a while, but I transcribed most of it. My ancestor was a massive asshole, and obsessed with the occult. He started dabbling in the dark arts not long after moving into the house. Seances were all the rage back then, and he was more than happy to oblige. He summoned ghosts from all over Edinburgh. Don’t ask me how he did it, his grimoires have been lost to time. I found his journal in a hidden compartment in his desk.” She points towards the massive desk in question. “One of my cats kept scratching at it, and it sounded hollow.”

I stare at the centuries-old book, wanting to set it on fire. “So what we know about the ghosts is actually close to the mark?”

Lana nods. “Pretty much. Earl Lynch made sure to question them at length, even if they were often difficult to make sense of. I wrote all the important stuff in the notebook I gave you.”

I step away from the glass case. “Thank you. It makes our job easier.” I’m full of shit, of course. We have no fucking clue what we’re doing. “We’ll be off then. We have to prepare for tonight.”

“Of course. Thank you for your hard work,” Lana says with a gleaming smile.

Pearl gives a loud meow.