A phone rang in the Leyline Scriptorium, the sound reverberating throughout the ancient library. The ghostwriters—spirits bound to the library to unburden their souls through writing—paused their work. A unanimous thud echoed through the room as if the ethereal figures had dropped everything they were doing, suddenly trying to act “normal,” a futile attempt to mimic the behavior of the living. Part of the contract they had signed with their employer, Kastimir Blackwood, was to ensure that no ghosts revealed their existence to any mortal visitors—unless, of course, Kastimir gave them permission.
“Relax. It’s just a phone call,” Kas said, his voice cool and unruffled as he adjusted his vintage spectacles. He sat behind an old mahogany desk cluttered with receipts, enchanted bookmarks, and stacks of paper waiting to be book bound. With a slow, deliberate motion, he reached for the receiver.
“He-hello?”
“Kastimir Blackwood, at your service. May I know from where you chanced upon this number?” he asked, his tone polite yet slightly amused by the oddity of the situation.
“Uhm, hi, I’m Silva, I—I found it on a paranormal website,” a frantic voice replied from the other end of the line. “You’re an exorcist, right? Can you—can you help me?”
“A website, huh? Hold on just a minute.” Kastimir clicked his pen and pulled open a dusty drawer. He fished out a thick binder, its pages yellowed with age, and flipped through it with a practiced hand. “Ah, yes. I see. You’re calling for an exorcism, then?”
“Yes, please!” the voice on the phone nearly squeaked. “I just moved into this house, and it was sold for dirt cheap. I— I do enjoy horror films and thought I could handle a little history, creaky floorboards, and all that. But last night, the thing wouldn’t let me sleep! It was like the house was struck by a hurricane. Please, I promise I’ll stop watching horror films if you just take it out!”
Kastimir smirked slightly at the mention of horror films. “Ah, a rush job? That’ll cost you extra, I’m afraid.”
“Two hundred bucks! Plus fifty more if you can solve it by tonight!” the woman interrupted eagerly, her desperation obvious.
“Deal!” Kastimir said with finality, sealing the bargain. “I’ll take care of it. Let me just gather my things.”
After working out the details of her location, the woman’s residence was situated in a small, remote town a few miles from the city proper—quiet and quaint, much like the typical haunts of the strange and inexplicable. Kastimir grabbed his trusty lantern, keys to his fleetwood, and a receipt pad. With a sharp nod to the ghostwriters, who resumed their work with a resigned sigh, Kastimir set off on a four-hour journey.
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The small barn-like house stood at the edge of a field, bathed in the soft glow of twilight when Kastimir arrived. The wind was still, and there wasn’t a sound except for the occasional creak of the wooden planks underfoot as he approached the front door. He wasn’t here to waste time; he had a problem to fix.
The woman—Silva—opened the door before he even had a chance to knock. She was frantic, pacing back and forth with a hand pressed to her forehead, her hair disheveled.
“I didn’t expect you so soon! It’s worse than I thought!” she blurted, eyes wide.
Kastimir raised an eyebrow. “Describe the ghost in detail.”
Silva led him inside, her face strained with frustration. She gestured toward the stairs, her voice trembling. “It’s a monster. It’s always growling and running around the house like it’s chasing something—only it doesn’t stop. My new futon was torn to shreds, and now there’s a tear in my rainbow flag too! It’s like the place was hit by a storm. Please, just make it stop!”
Kastimir listened carefully, his sharp eyes taking in the details. He noticed deep scratch marks marred the freshly applied wallpaper, and a collection of stuffed toys lay scattered around the room, their limbs missing, their button eyes wide in eternal surprise. His brow furrowed as he processed the scene. He had never dealt with a “monster” ghost before. Was it some ancient, malevolent spirit? He couldn’t help but wonder—what kind of creature had been alive when it was still human, if it had ever been human at all?
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
A sudden sound—a faint, almost imperceptible shh—made him look up. Dust fluttered down from the ceiling, and the air in the room seemed to thicken, as if the house itself was holding its breath.
Kastimir’s eyes narrowed, his instincts kicking in. “Stay outside,” he instructed, his tone shifting to one of authority. “I’ll handle this. You don’t need to be near when it shows itself.”
Silva hesitated, but nodded, retreating to the porch without another word. Kastimir, now alone, moved quickly. He clicked open the latch of his lantern, a tiny green flame flickering to life, casting long shadows across the room. The atmosphere grew heavier, the air charged with an electric tension. He unbuttoned his shirt collar, rolled up his sleeves, and stood still for a moment, focusing on the shifting energy around him.
He had come prepared for an exorcism of the most traditional kind, but this felt different. He didn’t want to resort to violence, but if it came to it, he would.
“Playtime’s over, pal,” he muttered to himself, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Your days of tyranny are about to come to–“
Before he could finish his sentence, the house gave a slight shudder. The floor creaked, and a blur of movement shot past him—something fast, ethereal, and filled with wild, untamed energy. Kas instinctively jumped back, his heart pounding as the air crackled with ghostly speed. He caught a glimpse of it—an amorphous shape, like fog wrapped in a streak of light, darting through the hallway.
“There you are!”
Kastimir called out, his voice both frustrated and exhilarated. He gave chase, instinctively throwing his lantern forward and running after the blur. With the cumbersome weight of the lantern in his hand—he had chased ghosts before, countless times, and he had learned to be nimble, but with the added weight of supernatural energy hanging in the air, it was a challenege to move.
In his breast pocket, he felt something stir: Ana’s bookmark. It had been a gift from one of his more… enthusiastic past clients—a spirit who had ascended but left behind a piece of herself. The bookmark glowed softly, imbuing him with a rush of agility, the kind of grace that Ana had possessed in her mortal life. His body seemed to lighten, his movements faster, more fluid. He vaulted over obstacles, his boots skimming the floor as he pursued the ghostly blur down the hallway.
The blur whipped around a corner, its energy growing more erratic, its ghostly tail swishing like a whip through the air. Kastimir cornered it expertly, his breath quickening as he came to a halt, lantern raised, casting a harsh light into the corner.
And then, in a moment of clarity, he saw it.
The “monster” that had terrorized Silva for days was, in fact, no monster at all.
“You! You’re—” Kastimir panted, finally catching his breath, his exhaustion and disbelief mingling. He blinked, his confusion turning to realization. He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “–a dog.”
The ghostly figure stopped abruptly, its tail wagging furiously, an ethereal glow surrounding it. The creature was a dog, or at least it had been once. Now, it was a mischievous spirit, wild and unrestrained, but undeniably a dog.
“Ruff!” it barked, the sound playful and loud, as though it had no idea it had been wreaking havoc. It sat down in front of Kastimir, its glowing eyes bright with an unspoken joy.
Kastimir stood still, staring at the dog, a deep sense of incredulity settling in his chest. He had expected an ancient, vengeful spirit, a terrifying monster—but instead, he had found a hyperactive ghost dog with no sense of boundaries.
“Of course,” Kastimir muttered under his breath. “This is just great. A ghost dog… I should’ve known.”