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It is Sunday, September 13th, 1987. The air is crisp and cool, and most of the trees have turned orange.

Pine Hollow Paranormal Investigations has been hired for a minor clean-up job, removing ectoplasm causing paranormal occurrences left by a recent cleansing. The few employees there are ones missing hours, though the rest have the Sunday off. Things go well until Bill, their irate sasquatch manager, receives a concerning message.

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"Why do you think they call Nessies Nessies if there's others besides the one in Loch Ness?" Oz asked, speaking over the vacuum. "I mean, I guess they call Jersey Devils that because that's where they were discovered, but the Loch Ness Nessie wasn't the first. It wasn't even the biggest, now that you think about it."

Bill didn't respond. He was preoccupied with running a vacuum through a small crawlspace to clean it of any residual ectoplasm that had been left by a recently exorcised ghost, and was hoping that his lack of any response would make Oz think that he couldn't hear him over the vacuum.

"And you know what else I think about? Alright so, you hear 'Chupacabra', and the first thing you think is Mexico, right?"

Bill shut his eyes for a moment, gathering an abundance of patience. He wasn't even supposed to be doing this job. The building was practically older than the dirt it was built on, and Bill's Sasquatch proportions meant that he had been squatting nonstop in the small space. However, Oz arrived for cleaning that day in white pants, and so his job had consisted mostly of holding the frayed extension cord of the vacuum up and off of the flammable, ectoplasm-soaked floors above the crawlspace.

"But they're not specifically from Mexico! I was watching it on a documentary last night. They're actually just reptile-like mammals that live in deserts. A lot of 'em in West Africa too. More than Mexico! Ain't that something, Bill?"

Even with a literal floor separating them, Bill found himself unable to hide from the magician.

"Yep. That's something. Say, how bad is it down there?"

Bill clicked off the vacuum and raised it up the small entryway for Oz to grab, turning around for a moment to admire his work. Today was a "Make-up day", for the few at Pine Hollow Private Investigations who were missing hours that quarter due to sickness. Even Bill, who was rarely even late, wasn't safe from make-up days. He had taken two days off weeks ago for to attend an old college professor's funeral, and was now working on the last few hours he hadn't already made up with overtime.

The crawlspace was now clean, albeit stained green from the ectoplasm that had seeped through the floorboards. A poltergeist had been exorcised in the house a week ago, and the residual ectoplasm was still causing what PHPI had been hired to clean -- A Class III Haunting, the most minor of the three to come up. They were usually caused by ghosts or the remnants of poltergeists, such as the foggy, cotton-like bits of ectoplasm Bill had been vacuuming, and only made for minor occurrences; Floating spoons, books falling off shelves, spooky messages written on bathroom mirrors after showers, et cetera. PHPI mostly covered Class III's nowadays. A month ago there had been a Class II, and a few weeks before that they had been hired to take down a mother Wendigo, but other than that, the PHPI hadn't handled any major cases in years.

Bill sighed -- Not a worried sigh, but a content one. When all was said and done, he preferred things stay quiet.

"You coming outta there, Billie? Billie Jean? You still in there?"

Bill sighed again. This time, an exasperated sigh.

"Is this some kinda bigfoot hibernation thing? Should I leave?"

Adra pulled up infront of the old house and checked her map. It had been a heck of a drive but at least it hadn’t been that difficult to find the place. Adra stifled a yawn as she sat in her oversized van. It sure wasn’t the most stylish thing with its “I’m a serial killer” exterior but it certainly made things easier when it came to moving personnel. Checking her watch Arda kicked her feet up on the dash and took the revolver off her hip by sliding the leather holster off of her belt and settling it in the console next to her. Still in easy reach. Not that Adra expected all that much fuss any time soon but it paid to be cautious because you never knew when something was going to try and eat you. Closing her eyes and leaning the seat back Adra settled in for a nap, she still had maybe forty minutes until Oz and Bill were suppose to be done and the 4 am shift had been a real drag.

Before she went for her nap; Adra flipped open a weekly planner and scanned her schedule. She’d been relatively lucky with her shift for the county that it didn’t interfere with PHPI. It also helped that she worked on call for the county most of the time since the Sheriff didn’t have that many bodies to deal with. Which meant Adra largely helped with other things around the County Sheriff’s office and then spent the majority of her afternoon’s and evenings working with PHPI when they had cases. Putting it that way, she really did work on call for both agencies. Not that PHPI had really had all that much to deal with lately in terms of the supernatural. Adra kept flipping to see if there were any important dates. None came up other than her weekly feeding. Guess it was back to the Pine Hollow Lake resort. It was a real drag to drive all the way out there but letting her beast loose in Pine Hollow proper could spell trouble since a large portion of the residents were supernatural and it was not good form to feed on their nightmares. Best simply to make the drive, scare the bejesus out of some drunk resort goers, remind them that the depths of the lake we NOT safe, and then make the drive back.

With that Adra settled in for a power nap. The area she was in was wholly uninteresting from the primal dream so instead of jumping to her Lair she simply went right to sleep. Straight down into a black dreamless nap while she waited on her two co-workers.

Minnel had slept his night well.

Before sleeping he had hosted another poker night with his neighbors, though this time he had passed the games and simply acted as a dealer. Like usual he took a small fee for people entering and in return offered some decent sour punch with some jelly to accompany it. After one bowl of punch down and the winner was clear, they had continued the night with some good whisky from Minnel's homeland. Stories had been passed all the way until midnight, when people had one after another thanked for the evening and left. Minnel put the place back in order before sleeping.

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It was a golden room he was in. Floor was made from golden coins, and the furniture was simple. Table, chair and some tea pottery. Minnel sat on the chair and drank tea from his cup and smiled after every sip he took. There was a window and outside it was sunny, with green land surrounding him everywhere. He was happy, Minnel thought.
"I am feeling fine", Minnel said.

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When he woke up, he smiled. It was very common for him. Today was going to be a good day, he thought. "Today is going to be fantastic", Minnel said. And so he changed his green, white striped pajamas to comfortable woolen trousers (white) and red sweater with white stripes going around the chest. This morning he didn't go to shower; it was Sunday, after all. He broke the eggs and made himself an omelet with lots of mushrooms in it. To accompany it, he boiled some water and made fine Earl Grey tea. And after enjoying the breakfast - which he very much did - he opened the door and welcomed the September's chilly Sunday.

Today was a special day. He was going to do gardening. It was also a "Make up-day" for those that would have been sick at Pine Hollow Private Investigations, but Minnel hadn't been sick, so he enjoyed his day off. He was a leprechaun and like all happy little gnomes he didn't get sick easily. And even if they were sick, they would still work. Gnomes can't help it. Neither could Minnel, who kept his mobile phone ready in case they needed him back at the office. Weekend bonus was a weekend bonus that a leprechaun couldn't resist.

But enough about greedy nature of leprechauns. Minnel's plan was to kill off the bugs and take off weeds before the winter came. They would become quite a trouble during next spring if he didn't poison them out. And he gladly did it. He had bought some tough weed wacker he had and some sprayable bug-poison that coated the leaves and branches and pedals of his roses and bushes. Minnel shook the can of poison sprayed and smiled as the deadly mist came over the petals and covering some unfortunate bugs. This day couldn't fail, he thought.
"This day won't turn out sour", he said.

“Cold.”

“Is it?” Sadao said, looking sidelong at the man who’d spoken. Members of the local Sheriff department and animal control hustled and bustled around the tiny, rundown shack of a house. They carted out carcasses of dogs, cats, birds, ferrets, rabbits- anything that could be a pet, or had been, anyhow. The Animal Control member beside him sighed and let his breath smoke out on the cold, cold air. Sadao’s breath went nowhere these days, least of all inside any lungs of his. How long had it been now? More than twenty, that’s for sure. Another animal control officer thrust a thumb over his shoulder.

“Where do these ones go?” He asked, tone more like a bored clerk than a bleeding heart animal control officer hellbent on bringing animal abusers to justice.

“In the fuckin’ truck, Dave.” The officer beside Sadao said. Sadao supposed it happens, though, the gradual wearing down of one’s ability to care the more honest the world gets about how cruel it is. Those dogs will find loving homes, and he was glad for that. The whole day wasn’t lost. On another metal pole similar to the ones some of the dogs had to be kept on, a sickly pale woman was brought kicking and screaming over the threshold of her front door. Almost no one reacted, leaving the woman’s screams and gurgles to echo out into the thick forest beyond. “Hard to believe, huh?”

He would’ve said yes if he was human still, shielded from the world so close, yet so far. A world filled with monsters and black magic. Some days, he did feel that way, still coming to terms with waking up on that beach, stared at by painted faces and dark-skinned women dancing around his stone bed, tits flopping, bundles of sticks smoking on the air, clutched in the hands of grim-faced, warbling priests. And the fear of it. And the swimming, months of swimming, losing chunks of himself all along the way. He turned to the man, “No.” He shook his head.

“I guess this is just a normal morning for you boys in the Paranormal Police, huh?” The officer chuckled. “We don’t get much calls like this, I tell ya.”

“Investigations.” Sadao muttered.

“Huh?” The man turned to him and sniffled.

“Paranormal Investigations. We’re not police. More like…” Sadao eyes would’ve looked up as he thought, he crossed his arms, “Exterminators? We take care of the things you’d shit yourself at.”

“That so, huh?” The officer crossed his own arms and shrugged, nodding appreciatively, “You done much pants shitting, then?”

“Not for a while.” He tugged off a glove from his boney-bare hand and wriggled the long, white fingers so they clacked together in front of the man’s face before removing his sunglasses, revealing the pale blue lights in his eyesockets, “Have to be able to eat to be able to shit, friend!”

“What the fuck!” The man stumbled back and clutched at his chest like his heart was going to give at any moment. He sat, huffing and puffing big clouds of breath into the air. “What the fuck?”

“I get that a lot.” He looked back to the screeching woman and the sound of a sigh came from his skull’s smile, still hiding behind the black scarf around his face. He replaced his glasses, that was enough fun for the morning, he guessed. Hardly seemed an appropriate time for any kind of fun. The case he’d been working was missing pets. At first, they only suspected coyotes, or maybe bears or mountain lions. They lived in the middle of the forest, after all. But no bears or any kind of animal had been sighted by hunters or other locals. PHPI took it, gave it to him, and Sadao thought it was a chupacabra, or maybe a wendigo. They’d dealt with one a while ago, so it was unlikely another had moved in, especially after they cleansed the area with that ritual. Finally, he got an inkling it was one of his reanimated brethren. After all, wasn’t much of a leap to think some of the zombiefolk liked their food wriggling and fresh, as disgusting as it was. Trouble was, people are apt to miss a dog more than they will a buck licking at a stream. A sad fact.

In a couple strides, he took the woman’s face between his surprisingly strong hands. Blame black magic. She had no choice but to turn her head his way, where he wanted it. The dead, glassy eyes stared at him and he stared back. Had he ever been so barbaric? So ghastly? So terrible? No. He’d had a long memory, and some barbaric, ghastly, terrible ones at that. But he’d never hurt another who didn’t deserve it. “You give us a bad name. Should send you to the chopping block, or a wood-chipper. I hope you died bad the first time.” He let go of her face after pushing her away from him none too gently. He should’ve felt sorry, maybe, some people handled being reanimated differently. But all he wanted to do was plug her with a few slugs. "Either way, I hope you die bad again." He threw over his shoulder.

He walked over to his car, opened the door and slammed it shut once he was in. “What a morning.”

And he was off down the road, back to the offices. He wished he could still drink.

“Did you find them yet?”

”Kid, I'm a ghost not a metal detector. If you hadn't lost the damned things in the first place we wouldn't be in this mess, ‘Detective’.”

“I thought I’d left them on the desk this morning.”

”Anyway, what happened to that trademark Nathan Bishop sixth sense you usually have going on when you’re working?”

“Oh come on, don’t start on th-”

Nate halted himself mid-sentence when he noticed the keys resting in one of the open drawers of his frayed wooden desk. He blinked for a moment to make sure he wasn’t just seeing things again - he’d already checked there earlier - and there they were. Glancing over to Gabe, who seemed to have something on his face, he realised he’d been had.

“You moved them.”

”Well, that depends Mr. PI,” A familiar shit-eating grin popped up, ”Am I under oath?”

“Ha-ha.” Nate folded his arms, grabbing the keys off the desk and popping open the filing cabinet adjacent to it. Another sheet of finished casework was still left in his electric typewriter, so he pulled it out and quickly dropped it in a folder before locking up the cabinet once more.

”What?” Gabe outstretched his arms, playing innocent. ”Must be a ghost that did it, I’m sure.” The way he said it laid it on thick.

Nate smirked, “Yeah, maybe I ought to go around knocking over a certain ghost’s gravestone in town - walk over a burial plot or two.”

The dead man shrugged. ”Ah, c’mon. I needed an excuse to pick something up - being dead can drive ya’ a little stir-crazy sometimes.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to feel that second-hand..” Nate shot back, before chuckling and pulling up a seat. Inside the same drawer where his partner had stuck the keys was a bottle of tequila that he’d yet to touch. Deciding now was as good a time as ever, he cracked it open and grabbed two glasses from the same drawer. Pouring just one glass, he pushed the empty one towards Gabe with a smug look on his own face. “Thirsty?”

”Hah, fuck you too.” The late detective saw the funny side in that one. ”Last time I tried that was a waste of good scotch.”

Nate shrugged, before wrapping his fingers around the glass. “In that case, don’t mind if I do.” He offered a toast to the spirit and raised the glass to his late partner, before downing it in one go. A couple moments later, Gabe rubbed a hand across his etheral jawline and noted, "Would've sworn I could taste that."

Nate arched an eyebrow quizzically, "Wait, really? What do you think?"

"Good taste." Gabe opined, like a connoisseur tasting a fine wine.

"I wasn't talking about the taste, I meant.. ah, screw it. Nevermind." Shrugging, Nate decided it wasn't worth asking and grabbed another sheet of paper from the available tray and stuck it on the typewriter, opting instead to ebb the next hour by to the sound of the soothing clicks of the machine.