Halloween special

-Spoopy to Spooky-

Summary: Dregg, Polly, and Tira are sent to investigate a house supposedly haunted by a ghost. They assume it’s a false report, but they can’t seem to find a rational explanation for it…

Warnings: some Squick regarding murder details, but nothing graphic. Canon-typical violence, guys.

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Hannah Baker was a professional.

“So, why are you selling?” she asked, picking up her clipboard. The couple in front of her shook their heads frantically.

“It doesn’t matter,” the husband said. He shuddered, and his wife’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “We don’t want it. We can’t want it.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Hannah said, confused. She put her clipboard down. “You bought this house two days ago, and you already want to sell. Is there something wrong?”

                “Yes,” the wife spoken up. She shakily brushed a lock of hair from her face. “There’s something wrong with this place. Horrible, horrible things. There’s a presence, or….something. I don’t know. Sell it for anything, we don’t care. We just want to get rid of it.”

                Hannah stared. “Are you – are you telling me this house is haunted?”

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“Holy shit,” Dregg said. “This house is huge.”

“According to the report, it’s also meant to be a studio,” Polly said, examining the report. “Seems like the current – sorry, the previous owner – was an artist. Pottery and sculpture specialist.”

Tira jerked a thumb at a garden gnome. “Doesn’t seem to be a good one, though.” The gnome she pointed looked like its face was melting off. The paint was uneven and badly applied, its bulbous nose was crooked, and the smile was…the smile…

“Dear god,” Polly said. “Dregg, I think we finally found a smile that can rival yours.”

“Impossible,” Dregg drawled. “Want the compare the two right now? It’s Halloween, so I’ve been practicing. I gave my neighbor a heart attack the other day because he saw me through the window.”

The door opened, revealing a woman wearing a cream-colored blouse with a dark green skirt.

“Hi,” she said. She eyed their orange capes. “Are you from the police station?”

“Yes,” Dregg confirmed, moving this coat aside to reveal the badge pinned to his chest. “We’re here to do an investigation of the house, since there was a report of a...a ghost?”

“Sounds ridiculous, I know, but it’s the only explanation that makes sense.” The woman opened the door further. “Come in. You’ll want to meet the owners.”

As the trio stepped in, the woman introduced herself. She was Hannah Baker, she said, the real estate agent for this piece of property. She’d been working for ten or so years, but this was the first house she worked with that seemed to actually be infested with a spirit. Haunted houses, apparently, were a dime a dozen in Rightia, but most of them were falsely reported or benign. Dregg agreed. His house was apparently used for black magic before he bought it. It was now being used to hoard stores of alcohol and draw up elaborate plans for post office destruction, which he decided was a much nobler purpose.

There was a couple sitting on the sofa, who looked up as Hannah led the officers in. “Hello,” the man said, nodding at them. “You’re the cops, right?”

“So, where’s the ghost?” Tira asked excitedly. “Let me assure you, I am the #1 ghost-wrestler in Rightia. I held one in a half-Nelson once. Couldn’t escape at all. Granted, it was Polly in a sheet, but my point stands.”

“Uh…”

“We’d like some information on the ‘ghost’ you mentioned in your report,” Polly clarified, shooting Tira a dirty look. “But introductions first. I’m Officer Polly Abbott. Nice to meet you. The loud one is Officer Tira Lawford, and the drunk one is Officer Dregg Moriss. Let me apologize in advance for their behavior.”

“Thanks,” the man said. “I’m Jonathan Leighman. Call me Johnny. And this is my wife, Laura Leighman.”

As they conversed, Dregg stepped into the kitchen area, where Hannah was standing. She had a pensive look on her face as she looked over her clipboard.

“So,” Dregg said. “You’re a real estate agent, but your name is Baker?”

She looked up at him. “Don’t rub it in, officer. I’m good at my job. And I won’t hesitate to punch you.”

“I believe it,” he replied. “What makes you think this house is haunted?”

“I didn’t, at first. But then there were these…these scratching sounds on the walls. One time I thought I heard footsteps. Chills, too. I still don’t know, though. As a child, I had an overactive imagination, and I still do, a little bit.”

“Have you considered that there might be traces of drugs around the house?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I certainly hope not. According to the report from the house inspection” – she removed a sheet of paper from her clipboard and handed it to him – “everything is in order. The house is structurally sound. No pests. No drugs. Some chipped paint, but that was easily solved. It was done last week.”

“Good to know,” Dregg said, taking the paper. “Anything else you can tell me?”

“Nothing relevant, I don’t think,” Hannah said. “If the owners didn’t tell me that they thought the house was haunted, I wouldn’t even have noticed any sounds. They’d give you a better idea why they think there’s a spirit floating around. It must be pretty bad if they only took two days before they wanted to sell.” She unclipped another sheet of paper. “Before I go, here’s a copy of the floor plans. It’s just one floor, which should make your investigation easier. If you have any other questions about the house itself, I’m right here.”

He found Tira examining a vase of leaves on the fireplace mantle.

“Did you pick all the flowers from that for your imaginary boyfriend?” he quipped. She stiffened, then slowly turned to face him, her eyes filled with rage. He ran for his life.

Dregg woke up spread-eagled on the carpet. His face hurt like hell.

“Ow,” he groaned.

“Are you going to say that again?” Tira was a black and orange blur.

“No,” he said meekly.

“Good. Get out of my sight.”

Dregg got to his feet and knelt by the fireplace. The logs were charred slightly, and there were ashes scattered in the hearth. He opened the ash compartment. It was about half full. Nothing else of note.

The fireplace was used recently. The owners would know more about what happened.

Next, the office. The bookshelf contained nonsense such as Stealing a Wedding Cake, A Practical Guide to Knitting Sweaters for Horses, Underwater Basket Weaving, 101 Ways to Destroy a Math Textbook – oh hey, that one is actually useful. He looked over a row of How To guides. There didn’t seem to be anything hinting at a secret doorway.

That’s a weird collection – it’s got everything from Pink Cheese and Crackers to Basics of Gardening. It’s oddly varied…

The desk didn’t seem out of the ordinary, save for a small sculpture of a lion sitting on the surface. The drawers were empty. The oil lamp on the desk was empty. He knelt down and examined the legs for signs of rats, when…wait a minute. The floor was scratched. He looked closer, disturbed. It was as if someone had raked the hardwood flooring with their fingernails. Suspicious.

“Tira?” he called. “Come over, would you?” He examined the scratches again. It was impressive, really, how deep some of these were, since the floor was so polished. Why would anyone go to the trouble of destroying perfectly good flooring?

“What is it?” Tira was here. “The desk?” Dregg looked up, only to see that Tira had taken a seat in the cushioned chair. She leaned against an armrest and faked a mustache twirl, doing her best impression of a high-class sleazebag. Like a lawyer, or a post office employee.

“Hilarious,” Dregg said. “I am thoroughly unimpressed and there are weird scratches on the floor. Any reasons why someone would do that?”

She shrugged. “Maybe it was the ghost. Or a cat.” She pulled open a drawer. “Anything in here?”

“Nah. I checked already. And it can’t be a cat. There are ten marks here, one for each finger.”

“Hold on.” Tira was now on all fours, examining the floor on her end. “You missed something, blindass. Part of the floor here is raised.”

“Maybe it’s a button?” Dregg stood up. “Try pressing it.”

“Sure.”

A loud clap echoed through the room as the door slammed closed. Tira’s head shot up from under the desk, and her eyes met Dregg’s as the sound reverberated through them. A moment of silence passed between them as they stared at each other in shock.

“What was –” and those were the last words out of his mouth before the floor gave way under his feet.

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He landed in some kind of net, nearly hitting his head, and immediately tangled himself up by thrashing. Swearing loudly had no effect.

The darkness and the net was suffocating. His fingers grappled for the floor, searching for something, anything. Something pricked his thumb. A shard of broken glass! He furiously hacked away at the netting, only to finally tumble onto the ground. He blinked, dazed. Someone was calling his name.

“Dregg?!” It was Tira. Only someone with her lung capacity would be able to scream at him from so far. “Do we need to call the undertaker?!”

“I’m alive!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Regrettably!” The hole he fell from was now a small square of light above him. He looked at the net. It was a flimsy thing. If he hadn’t tucked in when he fell (some reflex he gained from the Defense Academy, no doubt) he probably would have hit his head. Maybe died.

“I’m gonna go get Polly!” Tira yelled at him. “Just rot there for a while, okay? We’ll fish you out.”

“I need a light!” A book of matches hit him on the head in response. He lit one, letting the tiny flame illuminate the room slightly. Fantastic; his surroundings were now dark gray instead of pitch black.

I need something to light on fire. Shame there aren’t any envelopes.

The net would do. He ripped off a portion and threw it on the ground, then tossed the match into the pile. It instantly lit ablaze, giving him a better look around the room, and he recoiled in shock.

There was blood splattered against the stone tiles.

An accident…or a murder. The couple had only bought this house for two days, right? That was plenty of time for blood to dry. No. Wait. He unfolded the floor plan given to him by Hannah. No one knew this basement existed. He scanned the room again. There was no body. Striking another match, he found a nearby wall torch and lit it. The room illuminated once again, revealing a set of stairs leading upward.

“Excellent,” he muttered, heading towards the stone steps. His foot hit against something, and it clattered across the ground. It was a small cylindrical figurine, made of brass and inlaid with a copper leaf wrapping around it. There was a complicated-looking “M” carved on the flat end. He pocketed it and ascended the stairs, pausing at the top. It was blocked by another trapdoor.

“Hey!” he yelled, banging on the wood above him. “Open up! Sesame!” He heard a muffled “what was that?” and some shuffling of feet. He hit the trapdoor again. Now his hand hurt.

I’d use the matches, but then I’d just burn the whole house down…is it worth it?

He tried another tactic. “Polly, get your ass over here before I tell everyone what happened after your first breakup!” There was a panicked yelp, then the thud-thud-thud of footsteps, followed by a scrabbling above him. The trapdoor opened, revealing a much too bright outside. He winced, rubbing at his eyes.

“What happened in there?” Polly asked, looking him up and down. Tira hovered nearby, arching a brow as Dregg clambered out of the hole. “You’re covered in dust.”

“There’s a basement down there,” he grumbled, sweeping some dirt off his coat. “I think someone died.”

“Excuse me?” Polly’s voice rose an octave. I think his wife’s rubbing off on him…

“There’s blood on the tiles. I fell into a net. The trapdoor was triggered by a pressure plate – that’s evidence enough something’s up.”

“You told me to press it,” Tira pointed out. “Who’s the killer? The ghost?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Dregg said. “Do any of you have an actual light? We can’t examine the scene properly otherwise; it’s that dark down there.”

Polly looked over his shoulder. “I’m sure we can borrow one. Wait here.” A few moments later, he came back touting a lit oil lamp. “After you?” Tira rolled her eyes and entered in first, followed by the two men. 

It was worse than he’d thought.

As Polly raised the lamp, spilling an eerie orange glow over the walls, Dregg sucked in a sharp breath. The blood had long dried, a dark reddish-brown stain, but it stretched across the tiles in a pool too large to be an accident. It dripped from the walls in nightmarish patterns, like a gruesome parody of graffiti.

“This is…” Tira trailed off. Polly lowered the lantern, shaking his head. He turned to Dregg.

“Do you want to interview the Leighmans? I’ve finished talking to them, so you can go ahead while we investigate…” He grimaced, casting a general hand towards the blood. “…this.” Tira knelt down, already examining the bloodstain.

 “Alright,” Dregg said. He turned heel and headed back up. He made a mental note to conduct this own search of the basement later.

The Leighmans were in the living room, sitting on a sofa. They glanced at Dregg, worried expressions on their faces.

“Please,” the woman said. “Take a seat.” She gestured toward a nearby armchair.

He declined. “I’d rather not. There might have been a murder in this house.”

Her hands flew to her mouth. “A what?”

“Please, tell us what you know,” the man said, leaning forward. “I’m Johnny. This is my wife Laura.” Dregg noted that he had slight bags under his eyes, while Laura wore a lot of makeup.

“First things first,” Dregg said, breaking out his notepad. “Did you know about any basements in your home?”

“Never,” said Laura, blinking confusedly. “It wasn’t in the floor plan when we bought it. That was where you just were, right? There was quite a ruckus earlier.”

“Okay.” He jotted down the information. “That’s all I needed to know regarding the murder. My next question: what made you think your house is haunted?”

“Oh,” said Johnny. He exchanged glances with his wife. “It’s a long explanation. You’ll want to sit down for this.” He gestured at the armchair. Dregg took a seat.

“We bought this house two days ago. It was large on the inside, with a large backyard as well. Plus, it was a former artist’s home that also functioned as a studio. It seemed perfect. We moved in right away. But something went wrong our first night. After we ate dinner, we snuggled up near the fireplace. We had a pile of blankets, a hot cup of tea, everything. We had a roaring fire going, and it was warm and fuzzy, and then that’s when we started seeing things.”

“Seeing things?” Dregg leaned in. Great. It’ll just make my day if it turns out these two are actually escaped mental patients. Scratch that, they’re just gullible to the extreme. No one calls the police department on a freaking ghost.

“It was beautiful at first, but then it turned into monsters. Twisted pools of colors. Sounds I’ve never heard in my life – something between nails on a chalkboard and a sweaty hand on a window. It was like a nightmare, but we were awake. I felt like I was losing my mind.” He shuddered. Laura patted him on the back in reassurance.

“And that was just the first night! The second night was even worse. We didn’t use the fireplace that night, but when we went to bed that night, demons visited that night.”

A demon? What, has Ina been sneaking out?

“What do you mean by demons?”

“I woke up in the middle of the night. There was a shadowed demon looming behind me – I could hear it breathing and shifting around. It cast a spell on me, too. I couldn’t move at all, you see. I was terrified to my bones.”

“It was the same for me,” Laura said. “A dark presence. It held me down and moved to strangle me.” She rubbed her neck, remembering. “I don’t remember what happened after that. I woke up later, still feeling that thing’s hands around my neck.”

“And that was that,” said Johnny. “Visions on the first night, demons on the second – that could only be the work of a malevolent spirit.  We called Hannah – she was in the area and heard us screaming our heads off this morning after the demon, and she happened to be a real estate agent. Then we called you in to really confirm it. And you said there was a murder here, right? That’s probably the ghost that’s tormenting us.”

“Sure,” said Dregg. “Let’s go with that.” I should introduce them to Sigh. If he gets interested in them, maybe he’ll stop trying to use me as a case study. You’d think a psychologist would know about ethics, but all he does is betray patient confidentiality by writing creepy diaries and terrible novellas.

“Dregg!” Polly, this time. It seemed he had finished his investigation of the basement. He beckoned Dregg over from around the corner. “Could I talk to you for a moment? Ah, Mrs. and Mr. Leighman. My deepest apologies for interrupting you.”

“No worries,” said Johnny. “We were just about done talking.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Polly hissed, “Well? Do you believe them?”

“That there’s an evil spirit floating around?”

“Yeah. What do you think about that?”

“Has Vilrole welcomed me in his house with open arms?”

“Okay, so we’re on the same page.” Polly paused for dramatic effect. “There’s no ghosts. Just some very illegal drugs. They were hidden in the fireplace, and the smoke gave them hallucinations.”

Dregg shook his head. “I searched the fireplace. Nothing came up.”

“All of it burned away that night, then.”

“No.” Dregg pulled out the house inspection certificate. “See this? It was made two weeks before they bought the house, and it came clean. Nothing suspicious was found.”

Polly took it. “Who did you get this from?”

“Hannah Baker. The real-estate agent.”

“Couldn’t she have something to do with this? The previous real estate agent hid them here, then sold the house. Then Baker retrieves them and ships them forward to the next location.”

“Are you saying Baker is working for a smuggling ring?”

“It’s possible.” Polly adjusted his glasses. “But she didn’t account for the owners to move in so quickly, or burn the drugs up in the fireplace. She was ‘just in the area’? Suspicious. Talk to her, would you? Get her testimony. I’m going to go pull up some files.”

“Sure,” Dregg said. “Actually, if you can, get the previous owner’s file too.” He turned over the little brass figurine in his pocket. “I have a feeling whoever it was is involved somehow.”

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“The previous owner?”

Dregg nodded. “Do you know anything?”

“Not much.” Hannah placed the lid on the teapot. “His name was Castor Moulde. Artist, specializes in pottery and sculpture. Did a collection of porcelain plates once, sold for about 400. You’ll need to poke around in government files for more. Why?”

“Felt that it could be significant.”

“You’re not wrong. This place was also his studio. There’s even a kiln in the backyard – the only thing in the backyard, actually. There’s no outdoor plants, just tile. This house came fully furnished, with silverware, plates, art, flowers, all of that. You buy the house, you also buy some of his art pieces. Good deal, I’d say.”

“Why’d he sell? Seems like a waste.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Never met him.”

“Did you know the previous real estate agent?”

“It’s not in the files I was given, so no.” She poured herself a cup of tea. “Would you like some? Johnny and Laura enjoyed theirs.”

Dregg made a face. “Hell no.” Alcohol for life. And death. Although I don’t think Hell had a bar…that’s what made it Hell, though.

“Not a tea person, then.” She sipped. “Anything else?”

“Did you know about the basement?”

Hannah shook her head. “It wasn’t in the floor plans. I never knew it existed.” She took another sip. “What happened down there? I’d take a look down there myself, but if you came out looking like that –“she gestured at his now dust-covered clothes – “I’m not about to risk ruining my new blouse.”

 “Murder,” Dregg said. “Maybe.” He turned heel and ignored her frantic questions.

I think Tira and Polly are finished with their sweep of the basement. I should go check it out too.

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There was already someone in the basement, and it wasn’t Polly, Tira, or anyone else he knew.

He stared. “Can I help you?”

The figure turned around, waved, and said, “Hello, sonny! You can see me?”

That was a red flag.

“Who are you?” It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be –

“A ghost, I think,” the figure said. “I remember dying. But here I am. And I said hello to the other two that snooped around here, but they saw through me.” The figure giggled at its own joke. “And what about you? I wasn’t the most educated guy in life, but there’s something odd about you. You can see me. And you have this…this aura – “

“You remember dying?” Dregg was eager to change the subject.

“Aye,” the ghost said. “My name was Hugh Fresco. I was killed, but I don’t know by who.”

Dregg sighed. “The owners think there’s an evil spirit haunting this place, and they want to get rid of it. I suppose that would be you. Any way to make you go away?”

The ghost laughed. “Well, they’re right in that there’s a ghost swooping about! I don’t know about them, though. I woke up a few minutes ago, when some fellow suddenly crashed in.” Dregg winced as the specter continued. “Lemme make you a deal, sonny. You let me know who killed me, and then I can move on. I’ll help you however way I can.”

Of all the things the universe tosses at me on Halloween, it’s a ghost. Go figure.

“Deal,” Dregg said. This wasn’t the most traditional way to exorcise a ghost, but it would do. “Let’s start with who you were in life.”

“I was Hugh Fresco,” the ghost said. Its features became clearer, revealing a cheerful middle-aged man wearing a raggedy brown coat. “I was a painter, but I was poor. So I shipped drugs to make up for my losses. But I was an addict – sleeping meds – at the same time. I’m dead, you see, so there’s no point in hiding these things. You can’t arrest a ghost.”

“Point taken.” Dregg wrote it down on notepad. “Why were you in this house when you died?”

“Ah, well, the owner was my best mate!” Hugh grinned. “We were both artists – Old Castor was my buddy since we were children. I dragged him into the drug business too, and we made some pretty hefty profits. Hell, look at this house! Pretty grand, no? We mostly worked alone. The other folks in the business didn’t bother us none since we were so good at it.”

Something dawned on Dregg. “What kind of drugs?”

“Ach, something that gave you fun visions. Relaxed you. I forget the name, now, but when burned, it releases a happy smoke.” He chuckled. “Castor had a knack for hiding things. He had this cellar, and that’s where he stored most of the goods, although it looks pretty empty now. But let me tell you a secret – he’d hide them in other places too, for, say, a traveling customer. The best idea I’d ever seen was when he hollowed out a log for storage. Ha! The authorities would never think to look there.”

Write that down, write that down!

“So, you were killed in your best friend’s home…and you don’t think the killer was your best friend?”

“Of course not! We trusted each other. We’ve known each other since forever. There’s no way, copper.” Hugh’s face turned wistful. “I thought we had something a little more, actually, but I couldn’t confirm it. But I’m tellin’ you there’s no way. That’s how close we were.”

“Do you remember the events leading up to your death?”

“Oh, a bit, a bit. Not enough, just the part where someone dragged a knife across my throat. What day is it?”

“Halloween.”

“Hm! It was a little more than a month ago, then. Mid-September?” The ghost flickered again, the features growing clearer and clearer. “If you give me some time, sonny, I think I’ll remember more. But my body’s here. Souls linger near their old shells.”

“Thanks,” said Dregg. He fished the figurine out of his pocket again. “Do you know anything about this? I found it in this basement.”

Hugh recognized it. “Aye, that was my best mate’s. Musta dropped it here on one of his visits to retrieve the goods. Happens to the best of us. And copper? If you want to arrest Castor, you got no hope. If he sold the house and left, he went out and got a new identity. We’re dealers. We have the resources to – and the resources to make your life a living hell.”

“Noted,” Dregg said, gritting his teeth. He got the message – don’t chase after Castor. There was no way to get this testimony either then. Wonderful. A couple things were confirmed, though. There was definitely a murder, and the slit throat explained the copious amounts of blood on the floor and walls.

As soon as he exited the basement, Dregg found Polly (who was already back from the archives, it seemed), tapped his shoulder, and made a beeline for the fireplace.

“What are you doing?!” Polly growled, his purple cape flaring as he followed him towards the hearth.

“Get the logs,” Dregg ordered, taking one and trying to smash it open. Polly did the same. “I have a theory that these logs are actually…eurgh…ah!” The wood split open; Dregg scrambled backwards to avoid the small explosion of splinters. “That the logs are actually fake,” he finished lamely, brushing a wood chips out of his bangs. A few other crumbs of wood stayed there, refusing to be dislodged. He looked down. In front of him were the remains of the firewood, cracked open and contents exposed.

“What the….” Polly trailed off. The log was hollowed out, with two wrapped packets in the empty space.

“I think we found the drugs,” said Dregg. He peeled open a packet, revealing a compressed block of white powder. “Yes. Yes we did.”

Polly groaned. “Great. I have to submit a report now.”

“Sucks to be you,” Dregg said. “Did you get those files?”

“Mm-hm. Nothing suspicious. Although the previous owner had a much lower average salary than I thought he would. You think he was the one selling these?”

“Very likely,” Dregg said. He didn’t mention the ghost – he could already hear Polly saying “alcohol-induced hallucination” if he did. “I should talk to the owners about this.”

“The basement is empty,” Polly said, “and we still haven’t figured out where the body is from that murder. The house inspection report was inaccurate – I bet there was sabotage.”

“If the previous owner was a drug dealer, he had the resources to threaten the inspector,” mused Dregg. “Or bribe him. Look at all the empty space. You could easily fit another packet in there.”

Polly put his face in his hands and groaned. “Honestly, this was just supposed to be a fake ghost investigation.” He stood up and dusted himself off. “If someone was willing to take bribes, then…” A sigh. “I should go.” He headed off.

Dregg found the couple fawning over a vase in the living room. Laura turned to him when he approached.

“Hello, officer,” she said. “Isn’t this beautiful? It’s a rare breed, and one of the most difficult houseplants to nurture. I hope I can take care of it just as well. It’s actually one of the reasons we bought this house.” She gestured to the flowers. It was a pot of orchids, its petals striped with vivid yellow and dark magenta.

Dregg knew nothing about flowers. Cayla raised a few potted ferns, but the only plant he would ever consider growing was cacti, for throwing at people. He had considered raising porcupines for the same purpose, but deemed it too expensive.

“Speaking of the house,” he said. “We found drugs in the fireplace, hidden in the logs. It causes hallucinations when burned.”

Her eyes widened. “We swear we didn’t –”

“I believe you,” he interrupted. “Previous owner was probably a drug dealer. His average earnings seems too low to have gotten this place.”

“Okay,” Johnny said. “We’ll accept the drug explanation for the visions on the first night. But what about the demons on the second night?”

“That –” Dregg stopped. “I don’t have an explanation for that.”

“Well, we’d prefer if you did. It was absolutely terrifying.”

Laura nodded. “I agree. Cold, clammy hands, around my throat – please, officer. If that’s not a ghost, what is it? We just wanted a good night’s sleep. We couldn’t have that the day before because of those visions.”

Well, there is a ghost, but that’s not the source of your problems….

“You didn’t sleep well on the first night?”

Johnny shook his head. “Nope. We’d just experienced a nightmare while awake. We couldn’t sleep at all after that; we were too scared. So both of us pulled an all-nighter. And the second night, we didn’t have those visions, so we tried our best to sleep – only for that demon to pay us a visit in the middle of the night.”

That explains the eyebags on Johnny. I assume Laura put on more makeup to cover hers up. Hm…alright, I think I have a general timeline now. The first night, they experienced hallucinations because of the drugs. Then they didn’t sleep all, leaving them sleep deprived on the second day. On the second night, they were supposedly visited by a demon.

How do I justify the demon? I doubt the drugs’ effects lasted that long…

“I think there’s an explanation for all of this,” Dregg said, looking them in the eye. “I need some more time to confirm my theory, though.”

“No problem,” Johnny said. “If it’s a ghost, though, let us know. We’ll call a priest you can’t exorcise it.”

I have two goals in this case. The first is to solve the murder of the ghost. Polly and Tira are looking for evidence of the body, but I’m the only one who knows the ghost exists. My second goal is to explain the “demon” the owners saw on the second night. Ugh, I need a drink.

He looked around to scan for witnesses, then took a swig from his flask.

“Aha! Drinking on the job again, are we?”

Dregg sighed. “Tira, not now.”

“By the way, I read those files Polly gave me. Nothing that suspicious, but there’s a lot of donations to a charity, Agape for All. The latest donation, and the biggest one – wow, that’s a large sum – happened three weeks ago. I guess he’s generous. So why are you looking up stuff on the previous owner? You think he’s the killer?”

“It’s a possibility.” Dregg walked past her to the fireplace again and knelt down. “The guy had a kiln, right? He could have cremated the body, though I'm not sure if the temperature is high enough to get rid of all of it. But we don’t have any proof, which is the problem. Do you have a copy of those files?” She handed a folder to him, and looked toward the mantle.

“You know,” Tira began, “this species of plant is known for producing a ton of flowers around this time of year. Weird, which is why I bought it. But here it’s just a bunch of leaves. It’s not even well-kept. They’re yellow around the edges.”

Dregg looked up. “Really?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I have one of these at my place. Crazy easy to take care of, so I dunno what happened here.”

Easy to take care of? But the orchids from earlier were difficult to maintain. How’d the previous owner mess up so badly with these?

“I also talked a bit with Hannah,” Tira continued. “She showed me around. What kind of nutcase needs six entire tea sets? The files say the man lived alone.”

“Well, the guy had a lot of books,” said Dregg, moving toward the office. “I think there was something on gardening on the shelves. Try not to drop me down the death-hole, would you?”

“No promises,” Tira said flippantly. She sauntered past him into the office, immediately reaching for the bookcase.

A few minutes of searching later, Tira found the plant species they were looking for. It indeed produced a lot of flowers around late October. Dregg, meanwhile, scanned a passage on fertilizer.

“’Plants need three main nutrients: nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium, abbreviated as N-P-K. Fertilizers enhance the growth of plants by providing these nutrients….’” he flipped a few more pages.

“Anything helpful?” Tira closed her book.

“Trying to. ‘Too much fertilizer can have negative effects. For example, too much nitrogen fertilizer will…’” he trailed off. “I think I found it.”

“Where?!” The book was snatched away. “‘Too much nitrogen fertilizer will result in more foliage growth and less in other areas, such as flowers. It can take water away from the plant, dehydrating it and burning the leaves…’” She faced him. “You know what this means, right?”

“The previous guy killed his houseplant by using way too much nitrogen fertilizer,” Dregg confirmed. “And that’s extremely unusual, given how careful he is with the orchids in the living room.”

“Exactly,” Tira said, smug. It suddenly faded. “Wait. That isn’t relevant. Ugh!” She shoved the volume back on the shelf and walked out. “I’m gonna go bug Polly.” Shrugging, Dregg retrieved the book and reread the passage on nitrogen fertilizers.

Common nitrogen fertilizers are made from ammonia. Natural nitrogen fertilizers include animal waste (manure and urine), seaweed/kelp, coffee, ground feathers (feather meal), and ground…

He shut the book, his heart pounding. How to hide a body. If they could test the soil…

The question, now, was whether it would be enough to convince the ghost.

He needed to get to the basement. Surely the ghost remembered more now.

“Mr. Moriss?” It was Hannah. “Are you alright?”

He spun around, realizing he had been standing there for the past five minutes, a gardening book in his hands, while fixing the wall with a thousand-yard stare.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he answered. “Actually, I have a few questions for you.” He followed her to the kitchen and took out the brass figurine from his pocket. “Do you know anything about this?”

Hannah frowned, taking it in her hands. “It seems to be a stamp or seal of some sort. I feel like I’ve seen the design somewhere…oh!” Opening a cupboard, she selected a teapot and brought it down. 

“A teapot?”

“Yes. Mr. Moulde seemed to have many tea sets – six, in fact. I’m not sure why he needed that many. But that’s not the point.” She turned it over, exposing its bottom. Engraved there was the same design on the figurine. “There, see? It’s the seal of the maker. Looks like it was stamped in before firing.” She placed it back in the cupboard. “All the teapots have the same thing on the bottom.”

Dregg examined the brass stamp again. “Someone told me this seal belonged to the previous owner.”

“I guess he handmade all his own tea sets, then. It makes sense, given his specialties in pottery and sculpture.” She smiled wryly. “These must have been difficult to make. They’re high-quality bone china – the process is more complicated, and it’s a stronger, lighter, and better product than regular porcelain. I’ve always wanted a set, and this man has six! Made them himself, too, by the looks of it. I took a pottery class myself, once, but I was terrible.”

“I’m sure you were.” Suddenly, he froze at the revelation. “Bone china?”

“Yes. You can tell since it’s slightly more translucent than regular porcelain. It’s also much sturdier and less likely to break.”

“Do you know how it’s made?”

“Not really, though I’ve heard it involves real bones, usually from a pig or a cow. A butcher’s leftovers.”

“I see,” Dregg said. His mind was racing. “How long does it take to make a something like this?”

“I don’t know. If it takes someone inexperienced like me a month to make a bowl, a professional like Mr. Moulde should have taken around the same time for something like a tea set, assuming he’s very efficient.”

“How long was the period between when the house was first on the market and when it was sold?”

She chuckled. “Less than a day! It was the fastest I’d ever seen something sell.”

He nodded slowly, writing the information down. If my theory is correct…ugh. No wonder Arc got corrupted with people like this running around.

 “Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Baker,” he said. “On another note, I think you should either change your surname or your occupation. It’s more confusing than seeing my niece and nephew robbing confectionaries on our giant pet dragon.”

The expression on her face was torn between scowling at him and inquiring more about Ina and Mina’s exploits on Mr. Snuggles. Didn’t she say she had a big imagination? He’d let her think about that second one for a bit longer.

---------------------------

 

                “Mr. Hugh Fresco,” he addressed the ghost, his voice echoing slightly. The specter’s pale visage appeared.

                “Yo, it’s the cop!” came the cheerful greeting. “I remembered some things!”

                “Good to know,” said Dregg. “Let’s start with Castor Moulde.”

                “I told you,” the ghost said. “He was my best mate since we were kids.”

“Anything else?”

Hugh rubbed his chin. “He liked tattoos. He had one done if he ever had a big purchase from a customer. Like a little ‘yay me!’ trophy.”

A trophy for himself after something big happened, huh.

“Your body was never found,” said Dregg. “Can you think of a reason why?”

“It probably got burned up in that kiln of his,” Hugh said. “I’m pretty sure my body is ashes in one of his vases. I was his best buddy, after all. Even more than that.”

Dregg understood the implication.

“I don’t blame him for cremating me. I was killed more than a month ago – there’s no way he could’ve kept the body from not smelling for so long without burning it up.”

Still can’t accept that this friend didn’t kill him. I need more information.

“You said you remembered more details about your death, right?” Dregg asked. “What happened?”

The ghost sighed. “A big deal came in. A very, very big deal. It wasn’t enough to let us retire, but it was plenty enough for our purposes. By the way, you cops should investigate some normal organizations once in a while. You never know if it’s a mafia in disguise. I know which ones are which.”

Dregg frowned, thinking back to a previous clue. “I’ll remember that. What next?”

“I arrived at his place to discuss the deal, and we had tea.” The ghost smiled. “He had a beautiful tea set. It was his most prized possession – he only had one of them. It was irreplaceable.”

“He only had one tea set?” It couldn’t be…

“Oh, yeah! It was handmade, he said, crafted with care.”

“Are you sure there weren’t more than one?”

“Definitely. We were best friends! We knew each other’s darkest secrets. How many tea sets he had is barely a drop in the lake.”

“…okay. What happened after the tea?”

“We went into his office and talked some more. I was standing in front of his desk, he’d just sat down. Suddenly, the door slammed closed, and his face changed to that of fear. He ran at the door, banging and hollering. I stood there in shock, not knowing what was going on, until the floor dropped from beneath by feet. I clung to what was left of the floor for as long as I could, but it wasn’t enough. When I began to slip, Castor ran to help me. He caught my hand as I fell, but he wasn’t strong enough to help me up. I remember, as I was hanging there, he was yelling and screaming ‘how could you!’ to the door – I guess there were folks outside. And those were the last words I heard before our hands slipped, and I fell.”

“And that’s when you died?”

“No. I blacked out for a few seconds. When I woke, I was barely awake and sluggish, and I couldn’t see, though I felt the warmth of a flame on my face and eyelids. I moved a little, trying to wake up, and that’s when I felt an edge against my throat. Then I actually woke up here, and ta-da! I'm a ghost!" Hugh spread his hands like a magician at a birthday party. Then his expression turned solemn. "One thing I’m sure of, though? Castor, my best friend, didn’t kill me. He tried to save my life. Someone else must have tried to sabotage the deal, so they tried to kill me by making that trapdoor. So tell me, copper. Have you figured it out yet? I’d like to move on already.”

“Yes, I have.” Dregg put his notepad away. “Hugh Fresco. Castor Moulde killed you, no one else. And I can prove it.”

---------------------------

“Let’s summarize what happened. You entered the house to discuss a collaborative deal with Castor, whereupon you drank tea with him. After that, he and you entered the office. In the middle of your meeting, the door closed on its own, the trapdoor activated, and Castor tried to escape by banging on the door and yelling. Meanwhile, you were hanging on for dear life. Castor tried to save you from falling, but failed. You fell, blacked out, woke up blind, and that’s when your throat was slashed.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. You died in mid-September. The house was sold in late October. You said a little more than a month passed between your death and the house being sold, and you believe your friend found your body and cremated you after you died.”

“That’s correct. A funeral pyre, a tribute to our lasting friendship.”

“Just needed to confirm.” Dregg paused. “First question: why did you wake up blind?”

“I dunno. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t really awake.”

“Possible, but I think I can provide a better explanation: the tea was drugged. Methanol does the trick – you only need 10mL to destroy the optic nerve. Now, best friends usually don’t drug each other, but that’s beside the point. Why did he drug you? He had a motive, and that was money.”

“Money?” Hugh frowned and crossed his spectral arms. “What for? The deal would have given us both enough.”

“Would it have?” Dregg took out the financial records. “Here, you can see your friend made several payments to a charity called Agape for All. Do you know about this organization?”

 “Agape for All? That’s actually a criminal syndicate –oh. You don’t mean….” Hugh gasped a little and lunged for the papers, but he passed through them. He withdrew, looking a little embarrassed, then shook his head furiously. “No!”

“You told me yourself there were several mafias pretending to be normal organizations. Your friend was paying them off. The biggest payment made was three weeks ago, which was after your murder, and should be after your deal was scheduled to be completed.”

“It-it was.” Hugh looked unsure now, a worried crease forming on his brow. He quickly lost it. “So he had to pay up to them. Sure, that gives him a reason to, but that doesn’t mean he did it willingly! He tried to save my life, remember? When I fell down the trapdoor? He was yelling and screaming at the door – that must have been the debt collectors – so they forced him into it! He didn’t want me to die. Agape for All must have installed that trapdoor and killed me to threaten Castor and take the money away!”

Dregg shook his head. “It wasn’t the collectors. I’m sure of it.”

“What?”

“I fell down too, remember? The trapdoor wasn’t triggered from the outside.” He stared at Hugh, refusing to break eye contact. “The trapdoor was activated by a pressure plate under the desk. All you had to do was step on it, which is what your friend did as soon as he sat down. The door slams closed first. Then a delay lasting for about a second, giving your friend time to act out his rage against the nonexistent people behind the door, and then the trapdoor opens. You land in a net – if your reaction time isn’t fast enough (and it shouldn’t be, given the shock of the situation), you end up hitting your head, either blacking out or dying outright. If you black out, the laced tea means you wake up blind. No matter how long it takes to kill you, you will never be able to see who your murderer is.”

For a second, Dregg was terrified the ghost was lash out at him out of anger and disbelief. But he was the Conqueror of Death, and the Conqueror of Death does not fear ghosts. As the Conqueror of Death, he helped departed spirits move on. As a member of the Rightian Police, he uncovered the truth, no matter how painful it was. His name was Dregg Moriss, he hated the post office, and this was what he was meant to do.

“It can’t be…” Hugh murmured, looking forlorn. “Castor was my best friend. He was…he was more than that! He wouldn’t have…” He shook his head in desperate denial. “He was my best friend. He couldn’t bear to kill me. I-instead of dumping my body in a river or using me as flower bedding in some dog park, he cremated me and placed me in one of his precious vases! That’s why my ghost is in this house instead of some other random place. You have to believe me, copper!”

The truth is cruel. The truth, no matter how difficult, must be heard.

“He didn’t treat your body with respect,” Dregg said. “Tell me, you were killed a little more than a month ago. How many tea sets did he have?”

“I already told you,” Hugh said, confused at the sudden change in subject. “He had the one tea set. A fancy thing, bone china. That stuff is expensive. It was his most precious possession – he made it himself, the master craftsman.”

“Yet, come late October, there are six tea sets in his home, all of which are bone china,” Dregg said. “All of them are marked with the same maker’s seal. The other five seem to have appeared after your death.”

“What are you trying to say?” Hugh’s voice was low, dangerous. Ragged breaths, fire in his eyes.

“I’m saying,” Dregg flinched despite himself, unable to stop the shudder of horror caused by simply thinking of the possibility, “your ‘best friend,’ Castor Moulde, made the extra five tea sets after your death, from the bones pilfered from your freshly created corpse.”

Hugh Fresco howled, a cry of despair, desperation, and disbelief. Dregg covered his ears. It would be nice to be someone who couldn’t see or hear spirits, he thought, wincing as the ghost’s scream pierced through his ears. Hugh’s face blurred and faded, his form trembling and unraveling as he – no, it had lost what humanity it held by this point – struggled to process the revelation.

“No!” The ghost doubled over, flickering. It was crying now – Dregg didn’t know that ghosts could cry, but this one managed. Ectoplasm tears rolled down its face. “They weren’t….they weren’t my bones! He got them from the black market or something! He couldn’t have…he didn’t use my bones!”

“Even if he ordered bones from the black market, how long do you think it would have taken for him to receive them? The black market works quickly, but they’re not instant. It takes about a month for an amateur to make a bowl. For a ‘master craftsman’ like your best friend to make five bone china tea sets? It should take a little more than a month – which fits the timeline exactly. He was the only one who had the time, resources and skills to pull it off. It’s the truth. Your friend defiled your corpse and used it to make a teapot.”

“No! No, no, no, no…”

“And that’s not all.” The oil lamp left by Polly earlier flickered, casting an ominous shadow over Dregg’s face. “Castor was good with flowers, you know. There’s a rare, hard to maintain breed of orchid on display in the living room cultivated by him. It’s a mark of a meticulous, careful man.”

“Where…” the ghost hiccuped between sobs. “Where are you going with this?”

He pretended he didn’t hear anything. “On the fireplace mantle, there’s another plant. It’s meant to produce a lot of flowers around this time of year, but it’s all leaves. Barely any flowers, or even buds. The leaves themselves are a little yellow around the edges. It’s a sign of too much nitrogen fertilizer. A careless mistake, made by a careful man. How did he mess up with such a simple plant when he could grow those orchids so masterfully?”

“Huh…?”

“Most nitrogen fertilizers are made with ammonium. But there are natural sources as well. Animal manure and urine. Ground up seaweed. Ground up feathers. I suspect one of the highest sources of nitrogen in a natural fertilizer was used for the plant on the fireplace mantle.”

He paused. The oil lamp flickered again.

“Blood meal. A powder made from dried blood.”

The ghost barely reacted. It had curled up on himself in a catatonic state, reduced to muttering “no, no, no…” repeatedly.

The truth is cruel. The truth, no matter how difficult, must be heard. He thought it in a mantra.

“Castor Moulde was not your friend or your lover,” he spat. “You said he and you were privy to each other’s darkest secrets, but you didn’t know he owed debts to the Agape for All crime syndicate, while he knew of your secrets, like how you were also a drug addict. He manipulated you into a position of trust and respect, then drugged and murdered you for money. He built an elaborate trapdoor system with a pressure plate for the sole purpose of killing you in cold blood. He took your half of the money and used it to pay his debts. Then he mutilated your corpse, using your bones for teapots, and your blood for fertilizer.”

A sniffle, then a whisper. “He killed me. He really…he really killed me.”

“Yes.” The truth is cruel; the truth is harsh. The truth shall set you free.

 The ghost exhaled. A shimmer passed through it, as if to say it was finally at peace. It looked up at Dregg.

“Thank you, Conqueror of Death. I can move on now.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “I have one last question for you. You said you were addicted to sleeping medications. What was the disorder?”

“Narcolepsy,” the ghost said. It shimmered some more. “That was already debilitating enough, but it apparently led to more frequent bouts of sleep paralysis.”

“Sleep paralysis,” Dregg echoed. “Do you know of anything regarding a shadow demon illusion visiting people in the middle of the night and strangling them?”

“Of course,” the ghost smiled. “That’s what sleep paralysis is.”

“I – What?”

“Well, mine just sat on my chest, slowly suffocating me, but yes. Bad sleeping schedules habits make it more common.” It shuddered a little, destabilizing even further. What was left of its features disappeared, leaving behind a formless specter.

“Thanks.”

In a final burst of light, the ghost vanished.

It wasn’t a happy ending. Castor wasn’t arrested, nor was he tracked down. Agape for All was still out there, doing God knows what. But it was all he could do for now. Dregg blinked a couple times, picked up the oil lamp, then headed upstairs.

---------------------------

“Sleep paralysis?”

All of them were gathered on the couch. Hannah had her legs crossed, clipboard on her lap, while Johnny had his feet up on the coffee table. Laura leaned against her husband contently.

“The symptoms are similar to your description,” said Dregg. “A shadowy figure visiting you in the middle of the night. You’re awake, but paralyzed. Bad sleeping schedules, including sleep deprivation, I’d assume, increases the risk. I’d visit a doctor to confirm it.”

“The police are going to do another sweep of this place starting tomorrow,” Polly informed them. “After all, we did find evidence of illicit drugs and a murder. There’s an inn down the street that can accommodate you two for the time being while we investigate the premises.”

“We’ll complete it as fast as we can, naturally,” added Tira. “After we’re done, the house is still yours. Ghost-free, of course.”

Hannah folded her hands in her lap. She and the owners were a little pale ever since Dregg told her about the teapots. “I suppose my overactive imagination acted up again, then. It’s good to know there were no ghosts. Still, the tampered inspection…I’m going to have to report it to the committee. I’ll let your chief know if the corruption is deep enough to warrant an investigation.”

Johnny laughed heartily. “Happy ending, then! No worries about the inn.” He turned to Laura. “Let’s go pack our things, honey. We can use this opportunity for a vacation.” They left for the bedroom, chatting happily.

“I’d better get going too,” said Hannah. “I have a meeting with another client in half an hour. Before I go…” she laid down three business cards on the coffee table. “I hope you’ll consider my services if you ever sell your house. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She stood up and walked to the front door. “Thank you all, and goodbye.” She exited.

 “That’s that, I suppose,” Polly remarked. “We’d best return to Headquarters, submit that report.”

“And then HALLOWEEN PARTY!” Tira cheered.

“I heard the rookie’s bringing cookies,” Dregg said. “Courtesy of her killer grandma.”

“What did you even do to piss her off that one time?”

“…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ask him again after he gets wasted! He’ll spill then.”

“Yeah, I’ll spill everything. The list of your boyfriends and the time amount of time you spent officially ‘together,’ the percentage of your salary you dedicate to Princess Sarah merchandise…”

“Thanks, Tira! Now he’s threatening us.”

“Now we’ll really need to kill him. I’ll break his legs. You chop off his head.”

“It’s Halloween. I’ll come back as a ghost and haunt you with hallucinogens and sleep paralysis.”

“And we’re back to square one…”

-End-

 

Author’s note:

Aaaand that’s a wrap. This is my first attempt at writing fiction that hasn’t been a standard classroom assignment, so any and all feedback is appreciated.

In other news, I need to rest my brain. I had to keep going back and I kept finding plotholes. So many plotholes. Parts of this fic feels extremely rushed to me – I wasn’t sure how to transition between certain scenes, especially since the game depicts Dregg just…running around, which doesn’t translate well to the written word. Also, my sense of humor has dramatically deflated ever since school started. I have no idea how VasantJ comes up with so many mysteries – huge respect to him.

I hope you enjoyed this oneshot. Let me know what you think of it in the comments!

Happy Halloween!

Extra notes: Amber is witch, Polly is vampire, Tira is pirate, Ada is Red Riding Hood (with a wolf mask) and Dregg is...smile. Terrifying, I tell you.

- Toffee

Email: jesfu919@gmail.com

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