Though Nick and Esmee were only two out of a ghostly multitude that assisted Ernst, Morton, and Glass, they were the only ghosts who worked regular hours for the manesologists and thus made regular paychecks. Nick liked to spend his paychecks on various edible oddities he would ask others, usually Joseph, to eat in his place and describe the flavor to him. Because of Nick, Joseph had consumed most of what could be found in a zoo.

Esmee liked to spend hers on artwork. Her house on Curant Street was filled with paintings, mostly portraits by pre-Raphalites. She loved how they used color, especially when it came to flesh. The women they painted were no more human than she was, but they looked more human, and so she was in awe of them. They looked warm in their red and yellow skin, and when she looked at them she could almost feel her ectoplasmic caul sweat, or tickle, or itch with the memory of blood and pores. Her current favorite painting was Elaine by Emma Sandys. It depicted Lancelot’s wife from Arthurian myth. Her eyes were wide and youthful and her skin had a warm, golden hue.

Nick hovered by Esmee’s hand. She stroked his flames and he sat on her forearm like a loyal hawk.

“It’s so nice to hear that people are still coming to the office.” Esmee said. “I was worried with how many electrograms we’ve been getting that people would stop visiting altogether.”

“Our client is named Mr. Carter.” Matthew said. “He’s a gentleman from Essex and his haunting is that a group of manes leer silently at him every night.”

“Has he asked what they want?” Joseph asked.

“He has not. And he doesn’t believe he should. He’s rather shy about manes.”

“Oh. Another one.” Joseph rolled his eyes.

“It’s alright.” Esmee said. “We’ll be in the back, like that time we had the chef over.”

“Mr. Carter sees manes as fundamentally unpredictable, random entities.” Matthew said. “He doesn’t want anything to do with his manes. He simply wants his manes gone. Because he hasn’t so much as attempted communication, we’re going to need to illuminate him.”

Illumination was what manesologists termed exposing a person or object to olprt radiance to uncover the influence of ghosts.

“And if the illumination reveals that he’s as haunted as his property, we’re going to have to convince him to work with us on the investigation.” Matthew said.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, assuming the illumination reveals something.” Joseph said. “No matter how ghost-shy a man is, he’ll do what you ask him to do if you show him a shadow sticking to his body. But how long exactly do we have before Mr. Carter arrives?”

“Probably not long.” Matthew answered. “They were entering the city when Teddy started making the screw vibrate. Mr. Carter should be here any minute now.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say something earlier?” Joseph stood up, took his coat from a coat rack, put it on, and took up his walking cane. “He’s probably walking up to the door right now!’

“What does it matter?” Matthew asked.

“I like to meet the shy types outside. It helps to thaw them out and convince them to come into our haunted house. Remember what that lady I didn’t meet outside did once she came inside and saw Nick floating?”

“And I bet you want to do your cheap fortune teller gag as well.” Martin said.”You know, the whole “How did you know my name, Dr. Morton?” “Oh, I have my ways.” bit.”

“I do find that very fun..” Joseph said.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

“Just don’t scare the poor man.” Matthew said.

“I’ll be nice to him.” Joseph walked to the front door.

“Oh, and Joseph--” Matthew stopped Joseph right before he opened the door. “Don’t bother the watchers outside. They seemed to be in a very foul mood today, I don’t know why. Several of them were staring daggers at me when I came into the office this morning.”

“Hm…I wonder what’s gotten them so angry?”

“Don’t ask, don’t find out.” Matthew said. “Just ignore them for today.”

“I will.” Joseph said. And he was determined to make an earnest attempt for Matthew, though he doubted its success.

“I mean it, Joseph. Don’t start anything with them, not with a client on his way.” Matthew said.

“I shall not initiate hostilities.” Joseph said.

“But what if they initiate hostilities?” Martin asked.

Joseph didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the door and stepped outside to meet the watchers.

The watchers, as they were called, had watched the doors of the offices of Ernst, Morton, and Glass ever since they moved into the building.

A few of them were journalists hungry to report on Ernst, Morton, and Glass’ latest cases. In the beginning, a few of them worked for Illustrated Phantom Stories, but they left after Matthew made an arrangement with the publishers: Matthew would share with them his reports on (almost) every Ernst, Morton, and Glass case, and in exchange, they would not only remove themselves from the street but publish a little educational section in the back of every issue titled From the Desk of Matthew Ernst. In this way, Matthew hoped that Illustrated Phantom Stories’ readership would get a little manesological education with their lurid ghost stories.

The vast majority of the watchers were private investigators in the employment of various insurance companies who wanted to know who had hauntings, because haunted people, or even just regular people with haunted property, called for higher premiums.

It was a simple matter of mathematics. Those that associated with ghosts, in any capacity, ran the risk of supernatural danger, and those that didn’t associate with ghosts, didn’t. Ernst, Morton, and Glass paid a small fortune every month for their insurance, but they saw no reason to place such a burden onto their clients.

Ernst, Morton, and Glass protected their clients through surreptitious means. The watchers stood as close to the building as the law would let them, taking notes on whoever walked in and out of the front door, but those that arranged to meet with Ernst, Morton, and Glass through mail or by electrogram found that there were secret ways to enter the offices, and even those that walked through the front door learned that there were ways to leave the building unseen, which protected them from the watchers following them back to their haunted home or property and relating the matter to their insurance company handlers.

Joseph found the watchers to be in just as foul a mood as Matthew had warned. Some of them squatted, or sat on the ground. Some of them brought chairs. Some leaned against the wall of Peckham’s Caskets And Funeral Arrangements next door, though they had been told time and time again not to do so. Joseph considered reminding them not to touch the building, but he remembered what Matthew had told him, and so walked on.

The watchers glared at Joseph.

Joseph smiled back.

“Morton.” a watcher with long, mop-like black hair said.

Joseph stopped.

He wasn’t going to start anything, but he wasn’t going to slink away when his name was called, either.

“Where are you going, Morton?” the watcher asked.

“I’m off to investigate a haunting at the jellied eel stand down the street. Something keeps rolling around in the tins, so they tell me.”

“Going to the tunnels, are you?” another watcher leaning against Peckham’s Caskets and Funeral Arrangements asked. “I bet you’re going to your secret ghost tunnels.”

“You lot can follow along, if you like. I’ll even buy each of you a tin. It’s the least I can do. You blokes are the reason there’s such a wide assortment of vendors on the street in the first place.”

The plan was, of course, to lead them down the street and then vanish into what seemed to be a normal wall on the side of Gilbert’s Antiques and Curios. It was, like many walls around the city, empowered to permit passage to those that knew the right way to knock on it, and then appear as nothing more than a normal wall. Joseph hoped that would give the watchers something to fuss over while he circled back to meet with Mr. Carter.

“Is that a dig at our poverty, Morton?” the first watcher asked. “Are you making fun of us, you giant ape?”

“I bet he is!” a young watcher with a grubby face said as he stood up from a trash bin serving as his seat. “That would be just like him, to put on airs, the big gorilla!”

“He’s the reason times are hard!” the watcher on the wall of Peckham’s Caskets and Funeral Arrangements thumped his heel against the wall. “Criminal. Outlaw. He’s just a big rat crawling underneath Blackwall in those ghost tunnels.”

The watchers murmured their approval.

“Lads, lads!” Joseph held up a hand, palm out. “My friends told me that you were in a foul mood today, now let’s talk about that, what’s the problem here, exactly?”

Joseph turned to the watcher that first spoke his name. “I don’t recall your face. Are you a new member of the group?”

“I am new. I’m new because you got some of the old guys fired.” he gestured to his mates. “No results, no work, they said. Or didn’t you notice a couple of faces missing today?”