Back from my Paranormal Vacation
The thumbprint was not Andy’s. I found that out by comparing the print on the note to a print I lifted from the trunk of his car while he was out in his field getting high. Well, I assume he was getting high, he may have just been burning some underbrush. But the smoke was thick and I heard him cough.
Anyway, he was back in his garden by the shed and couldn’t see clear to the driveway so I figured it was a prime opportunity for a covert op. Wasn’t sure if I’d find any prints but the car is pretty dirty so I figured I’d get lucky. I did.
There were several to choose from along the edge of the trunk lid so I took a length of clear tape and carefully laid it across the line of prints. Voilà, a perfect sample.
Later at home, under my desk lamp with a magnifying glass, I compared the prints on the tape with the print on the note. No match.
So the question remains, if Andy is not the mysterious note leaver, who is? And who was Andy chasing off with his shovel? Was that strange figure the note-leaving phantom? I may never find out. But I’ll keep working on it. Mysteries for another day.
The reason for my two month absence was that I was called away on business to a town which will remain unnamed — at the town’s request of course, to avoid unwanted weekend ghost hunters and gawkers in search of paranormal weirdness — and I decided to mix in a little mini vacation along with the trip.
It may be evident from this website that I am an investigator of paranormal activity, by which I mean anything seemingly unexplained and apparently not normal, including, but not limited to: UFO sightings, aliens (from outer space), alien abductions (meaning people abducted by aliens from outer space and not the other way around), cryptozoological creatures like your common Sasquatch varieties, Bigfoot, Mothman, Nessie, etc.; and let’s not forget good old-fashioned ghosts and haunted houses! Hooray!
Early in June I received a call from a woman who began nervously babbling on about a paranormal entity she guessed had taken up residence in her home. She seemed frantic and serious, so genuinely scared that I felt compelled to at least try and help her out.
I don’t believe in ghosts. Not at all. So when someone calls me up to investigate their haunted house I feel that I have an obligation to help them understand what they are really experiencing. I look for the facts and explain it so that they can understand what is really going on.
However I am no psychologist, so if they do happen to be plumb crazy they’re on their own.
When I found out who the hell gave her my number I was pissed. The lady didn’t want TV cameras or any of that nonsense so my publishing agent, Alfred, knowing I was a low-key investigator in need of a little extra cash, felt it was okay to pass along my contact information. Real nice Alfred.
He told me he figured I could use the extra money since sales have dropped off on my latest book. Hey Alfred, if you’re listening… you’re my publishing agent, do your job. The novel was your idea anyway.
So I arrive at the “haunted house” and knock on the door. The house is located right next to a creepy old cemetery. What better location to foster spooky thoughts. Personally I love cemeteries, because they are spooky and I love spooky shit. Simple as that.
While waiting I scanned the porch and surroundings. Someone needs to clean a little bit more around here. Dusty cobwebs hung in the rafters and drifted sluggishly in a slight breeze, the silken threads heavy with the funk of ages. Dry leaves were caught up in one of them, a long dead moth in another.
Something weird: a small doll sat in a corner behind an old rickety rocking chair. Generally speaking small dolls aren’t weird, but when they have an X carved in their head and an inverted pentagram painted on their dress with maroon nail polish I’ll concede the notion.
What the fuck?
Is it near enough to October to have Halloween decorations set up already? Maybe that explains it. Or maybe not.
I heard a muffled cough from inside. Then the door creaked open…