Ghostwriter

Neeta stepped off the bus and took a deep breath, a small voice inside begging her to retreat. She ignored that voice. She might feel silly lugging a typewriter around and she might have to endure more taunts, but Neeta was not going to let herself be scared off by that.

She adjusted her grip on the typewriter as she approached a building large enough to be an airplane hangar, the corrugated metal on its outside a cheerful pine green. The bright orange lettering above the sliding glass doors read "Gram's Grocers" and was topped with a morning dove nest despite the plastic owl sitting in the "G" of "Grocers." Neeta couldn't help but frown at the sign, that small voice inside cursing her for breaking her vow to never return.

But Gram's Grocers had left a sour taste in her mouth. It wasn't that it ended in a screaming match ‒ a lot of Neeta's jobs ended that way ‒ and it wasn't that her coworkers rubbed her the wrong way ‒ she was used to that. It was the thing that lurked in the bookable meeting room. The thing that everyone joked about, but never believed, despite the many occurrences proving otherwise.

She stepped through the sliding glass doors, out of the sweltering July heat and into the frigid produce aisle of the store. The walkway of the mezzanine was above her, shading her from the large fluorescent lights that dangled from the 20 ft ceiling.

Neeta glanced around, hoping that no one who recognized her was working that day. She'd already would have to deal with Horatio, but he at least was too uptight for taunts like "Ghost Girl." The taunt didn't sting ‒ they rarely did ‒ but Neeta found this one particularly stupid and knew she wouldn't be able to stop herself from arguing with Clarence or Betty or whoever about how idiotic it was.

She never said that the thing was a ghost. She wasn't some blubbering TV star blaming a flickering flashlight on the souls of the dead because they didn't understand how thermal expansion works. She said that there was something paranormal going on. That it was bizarre that frost grew on the meeting room's windows despite how stuffy and warm it was. That the handprints they had to keep cleaning off were of impossible sizes and heights. That dust just doesn't cling to normal handprints. That office chairs didn't just magically move by themselves. Calling whatever it was a ghost would be jumping to conclusions, but there was something there. If they were going to mock her for having basic observational skills, they should have called her "Paranormal Girl" or "Supernatural Sleuth." She wouldn't waste her time with arguments over those. Hell, Neeta even liked the sound of "Supernatural Sleuth."

Seeing no one she recognized, she walked deeper into the store, turning left into the deli aisle where the beige metal stairs led up to the equally beige mezzanine. The keys of the typewriter in her arms waved back and forth with each step. She frowned as she glanced down at the typewriter. If it weren't for it, she would have backed out of her current endeavor at the sight of the Gram's Grocers sign. Entering the accursed building just to prove everyone wrong, to prove that there was something in the meeting room, would have been too much hassle. Especially because Neeta already knew she was right.

But she had already been through too much hassle to back out now. Neeta had spent too much time at flea markets and pawn shops searching for a good typewriter at a price she could afford ‒ and that was the easy part. She had spent weeks modifying the typewriter, adjusting it until it was just right; she wasn't about to let those weeks go to waste. Not yet, at least.

Horatio was waiting for her at the top of the stairs, standing in the space between the door to the bookable meeting room and the aging elevator. The elevator had a faded "Oops! Out of Order" sign taped to it. On the other side of the door, was a long series of plexiglass windows that, if it weren't for the Little League schedules plastered on them from the inside, would have allowed someone to peer into the meeting room from the outside. Horatio was dressed like he always was, hair gelled back neatly, the pine green polo shirt that was the store uniform tucked into well ironed khaki pants.

He frowned as he unlocked the door. "Never thought I'd see you come back here," Horatio said, holding the door open for her.

Neeta just shrugged, holding back a retort. She told herself that she would play nice this time, not make things harder for herself. Besides, when she proved him and everyone else wrong, she was bound to get famous. He'd see her on TV and regret getting her fired. He'd regret putting belligerent customers over his coworkers. He'd regret letting everyone call her "Ghost Girl." All the while she basked in success. It would be the best revenge.

"Well, you know the rules. Just follow them. Please," Horatio sighed as she entered the room, shutting the door behind her.

The meeting room contained a large table made out of fake wood surrounded by a dozen mismatched office chairs. Two of the walls had plexiglass windows. One set of windows overlooked the barren wasteland that was an average parking lot, while the other set was the one made functionless by the large Little League schedules plastered over it. Without the Little League schedules, Neeta would probably be able to see the deli section from the meeting room.

Neeta carefully placed the typewriter on the large meeting table. She frowned as she pulled out some crisp sheets of paper, readying herself for the task at hand: loading the typewriter without accidentally typing.

Most typewriters didn't type by themselves. This typewriter didn't type by itself either, but the key levers had been modified to push the type bars at the slightest touch. A breeze could type on this typewriter. A breath could type on this typewriter.

A ghost could type on this typewriter. If they existed.

She placed the sheet of paper behind the cylinder. The paper was thick and stood straight up without flopping over. Neeta held her breath as she slowly turned the knob, rolling the paper into place around the platen. The whole room was still, the air stale and humid. She grabbed the carriage and slid it to the right, her movements snail-like. The keys did not move.

It was done.

She had fully loaded the typewriter without typing a single letter. Neeta almost let out a sigh of relief. Almost. As she felt herself relax, she widened her eyes and clenched her jaw shut. A breath could type on this typewriter. A ghost could type on this typewriter.

If ghosts existed.

She moved away from the table, only stopping when her back brushed against the concrete wall. Then she loosened her jaw and let herself breathe. Slowly. She would not compromise her experiment. She would not leave any open avenues for mockery.

She stepped over to the camera she had set up on a tripod and turned it towards the typewriter, focusing it on the blank page, while making sure the whole room was in view. She pressed record. Then, took a seat, far from the typewriter but in full view of the camera.

"Hello. You can use the typewriter to talk," she spoke quietly, unsure of who or what, she was speaking to. This place was whispered to be haunted, but those whispers barely left the automatic sliding doors of Gram's Grocers. No one wanted to hear about office chairs spinning the mundane grocery store. No one wanted to hear about dusty handprints on the window than a decade old. Without the glamour of time or a grisly death to pin the haunting to, it didn't really make a good story.

But soon, good story or not, Neeta would have her proof. She'd show everyone how wrong they were. How she was right about there being something in the meeting room. No one would call her foolish ever again. For once, she would be envied, not pitied.

Neeta stared at the typewriter.

The keys did not move.

She waited.

The keys did not move.

She kept staring at the typewriter.

The keys still did not move.

She waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Soon, she was staring at the inside of her own eyelids. Her breaths, which she had tried so hard to control, came out in uncontrollable snores.

Neeta awoke to the sound of knocking on the door. She jumped out of her seat, the first thoughts running through her head, There's a no trespassing sign. Everyone knows to keep away. No one should be knocking. Her heart thundered in her chest.

Then she saw the fiberboard meeting table surrounded by office chairs with worn cushions. She wasn't home alone with an unwanted guest at the door. She was in the bookable meeting room of Gram's Grocers. She was hunting for ghosts. Or at least a paranormal something. Her racing heart slowed.

The knock repeated itself, louder this time. "I'm sure whatever it is you're doing there is important and all, but we've got a schedule to keep," Horatio's voice grumbled from the other side of the door.

"Yeah, and the world will end if the crochet club doesn't get their space in time," Neeta snapped, sticking her tongue out at the door. So much for playing nice, she thought, but then shrugged. It was bound to happen. It always did. She was never good with people.

He knocked on the door a third time. "If you don't come out in ten seconds..."

Neeta glanced at the typewriter. She half-expected to be blank. But, to her delight, two letters were neatly typed on its surface.

hi

Two letters meant little. A coincidence perhaps. Maybe there was a small earthquake. Maybe she had kicked the table in her sleep. Maybe someone came in to play a prank on her. But meaning little was more than meaning nothing.

She carefully unloaded the typewriter as Horatio counted down from ten. She snatched her camera off the tripod just as he opened the door. Behind him, a line of teenagers waited, each carrying a small bag filled with crochet hooks and yarn. They chatted to each other as Horatio glared at Neeta. "Out. Now," he said.

She sneered at him as she stuffed the camera and paper into her backpack. She then retrieved her tripod and typewriter. The keys clicked and clacked as they waved back and forth.

"Uh, I think something's wrong with your typewriter," one of the teenagers said.

"I know," Neeta grunted.

Then she was gone. Running down the stairs and out of Gram's Grocers, into the wide expanse of the parking lot. She had footage to review.

The footage yielded nothing. The camera's battery had run out before the letters were typed. All that was recorded was a still typewriter and Neeta's snores.

She returned a week later, managing to snag the booking slot before the crochet club again. This time she made sure that the camera's battery was fully charged and had brought a cup of coffee with her. She would not be thwarted by her own body again.

Neeta set the typewriter down and when its keys stilled, she underwent the laborious process of loading the paper. Then she hit record on the camera and took her seat, coffee in hand.

"Hello again. Can you tell me who you are?" she asked, gesturing at the typewriter.

Then she waited.

The keys were still.

She sipped her coffee.

The keys were still still.

She continued to drink her coffee.

The keys did not move.

She kept waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

And...

Click.

Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the letter i on the typewriter depress.

Click...Click...Click...Click...Click...Click...Click...Click...

Every thirty seconds or so, a key on the typewriter would depress. Neeta was transfixed by it, each movement causing a smile to spread across her face. She had done it! She had caught her evidence!

She could already imagine the looks on everyone's faces, the headlines in the papers. "Sprits are Real" and "Scientists Laud Ghost-Catching Woman" they would say. Neeta could see herself appearing on daytime talk shows. Maybe she'd make so much money she'd be able to quit her dishwashing job. People would stop caring that she had a backbone. They'd stop avoiding her. Maybe even the arguments themselves would cease.

She let herself dream as she waited for the typing to stop. It was only when the keys stilled that she dared to stand up. She shuffled over to the typewriter, holding her breath as she prepared herself for what she might read. Maybe it'd be gibberish, dashing her hopes. Maybe it'd be coherent. Maybe she'd find a chilling threat.

i am here

A grin spread across her face. It was no threat, but it was far from gibberish. She stepped over to the camera. She'd review the footage. Confirm that she got what she thought she did. Bask in the glow of her success. Neeta looked at the small screen and...

It was dark.

She pressed one of the buttons. The camera did not respond. The battery was dead. Neeta groaned.

SMACK!

Something hit the window behind her. On the window overlooking the asphalt wasteland, dust had collected into the form of a handprint. Neeta frowned. It may have been the way it had been smeared, or the way the dust had collected, but it seemed to be over a foot long.

Like before, the battery had died before any typing could be recorded.

"Why do you keep coming back here?" Horatio asked as he unlocked the meeting room for Neeta. Her hands were full with the typewriter, and two tripods were strapped to her backpack, which now contained not only two fully charged cameras, but four extra batteries. A tall travel mug was snuggled into one of the side pockets.

"Because outside of your yammering, it's quiet." She could tell him the truth, but she didn't think he deserved it. Besides, she didn't want to earn another mocking. Not until she had clear evidence to wave back in everyone's faces.

"So's the library," he muttered as he slammed the door shut, leaving Neeta alone to her devices.

She set the typewriter on the table and underwent the lengthy process of loading the paper. She then set up both cameras side by side, pointing them both at the typewriter. She turned one on and hit record but left the other off.

Neeta took a seat behind the cameras this time, her eyes trained on the battery level of the recording camera. She wasn't going to let dying batteries stop her from getting her evidence. She took a quick sip of her coffee.

"Hello again. I know you're here. Can you tell me who you are? Or..." she trailed off, her gaze shifting towards the parking lot. The dusty handprint had been scrubbed off the window. Yet, she could still feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "...what you are?"

Click. Click. Click. Click.

It had only been a minute since she set the typewriter and cameras up, but already there was typing. She snapped her gaze back to the recording camera, only to find its screen dead and dark. "Shit," she muttered as she reached over to the other camera, turning it on and setting it to record as fast as she could.

It was not fast enough. The typewriter stopped typing. All the camera caught was the chair nearest to the typewriter shifting slightly. Neeta glanced at the paper.

i am

She frowned. "Am what? A ghost? An interdimensional being? Something else?" she asked as she reached into her backpack. She wasn't sure how long the second camera would last before its battery died too. If she could replace the other camera's battery, then maybe‒

Clicka-clicka-clicka-click-click.

The keys moved in a quick spasm. There was no time to change the camera's battery. Neeta could only hope that the spare camera could catch it, but when she glanced over at its screen, it had gone dark like the first. She groaned. First the entity wanted to take its time, now it didn't want to give her a chance to catch up. Neeta stole a glance at the paper. A single word was added onto it.

alive

The seat of the chair closest to the typewriter spun back and forth, as if someone was sitting in it, fidgeting out of boredom. Her frown deepened. She opened her mouth to ask another question but stopped herself. Not yet. Not until she could get one of the cameras recording again. Not until she could get her evidence. She turned her focus back to her bag. It would only take her a few seconds, and then she would ask her‒

Ka-chunk.

That was the carriage return lever. The entity had started a new paragraph. She had modified and tested the lever to minimize vibration, but the sound of it moving caused her heart to sink. What if she wasn't good enough at it? What if it was another failure? What if it ruined everything with an inky smear? Neeta swallowed the worries down. There was no time. She needed to catch her evidence. Or else it would all be for nothing. All the hours tinkering, all the hours searching, all the taunts, all the screaming matches, all for nothing.

Neeta snatched a battery and flung her arm towards one of the cameras. She had to act fast. Soon the‒

Clickaclickaclickaclickaclickaclickaclickaclickaclickaclickaclickaclicka-click-click.

The keys typed wildly as she struggled to swap the batteries in the camera. She managed to get the fresh battery in partway through the typing spree, but the camera wouldn't respond. Was this battery dead too? She had charged them all before she left.

The keys stilled themselves.

"Can't you just let me record this? It's important!" she shouted, her breath coming out in small clouds of fog. She glared at the typewriter.

Then she saw what was written on the paper, unsmeared by the carriage return lever.

what are you

"Human," she breathed, a small smile playing at the edge of her lips. For a moment, she forgot the dead batteries as her mind raced through the possibilities. She was not dealing with a ghost. Something else. Maybe an interdimensional being. Maybe some other spirit from folklore. Maybe something else altogether. She licked her lips. Then asked, "Did you ever die?"

There was no response from the typewriter.

SMACK!

Neeta jumped up and spun around. There was another large handprint on the window, motes of dust beginning to cling to it. Frost grew outward from its edges.

She dropped the battery she was holding and took a step forward. Thoughts of collecting evidence were shoved even further into back of her mind. She reached out to trace the handprint's edges with her fingertips. She wasn't alone. She was with‒

Something small dropped on the ground behind her. She spun around to find the marker that sat on the inner window's sill floating in mid-air, its lid lying on the carpeted floor. She stared at the marker in dumbfounded awe. She expected something, but never this. The marker began to scrawl over the little league baseball schedule in slanted letters.

I AM HERE

I AM ALIVE

The marker dropped to the ground with a small soft thump.

"Can you not vandalize the baseball schedule this time? Don't you know how many complaints I got?" Horatio grumbled as he let Neeta into the meeting room. She carried the typewriter, but no cameras. She just had her laptop and its webcam in her bag. The video quality would be subpar, but she could plug it into the wall and bypass the need for batteries.

She shot Horatio a glare but said nothing. As much as she would like to defend herself, he wouldn't understand the truth. He never did. She would get her evidence first. Then he'd be forced to understand.

He rolled his eyes. "Right. Well, try to do it in pencil this time."

She answered him by kicking the door shut.

Then she was alone. Or at least appeared to be alone. It didn't feel familiar like it normally did.

Again, Neeta set the typewriter up on the table, loading a blank piece of paper. She set her laptop on the table next to it, orientating the webcam to face the paper. Then, she plugged it in and pressed record. She smiled, giddiness rising in her chest. The whole building would have to lose power for her to lose footage this time. This time, she'd get her evidence. Maybe she'd even record it lifting that marker again.

"Hello again," Neeta called out, "You were quite chatty last week. Sorry I yelled at you. I was getting frustrated with my equipment." She shot a sheepish smile at the room. She wasn't sure where she should be smiling at.

The typewriter was still.

She took a sip of her coffee.

No keys moved.

Neeta waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Caffeine soaking into her brain, she managed to keep sleep at bay and kept waiting.

But still, nothing happened.

The clock hanging above the door read 7:38 and did not tick, its battery long dead. Unmeasured, time still went by.

Neeta shifted in her seat, her travel mug gone dry. Her time would soon be up. Then Horatio would come knocking, demanding her to vacate for the crochet club. She glared at the typewriter. "Look, do you want to talk or not? I can camp out somewhere else."

The typewriter did not respond.

But the laptop did. Its screen started to shift, slowly downward until it snapped shut. Neeta watched it happen, a sour frown forming on her face. Part of her wanted to get up and pull the laptop open, get it recording again. But another part of her knew that if she did that, there would be no response from the typewriter.

Click... click... click... click... click... click... click...

A single word typed itself onto the paper.

voyeur

Neeta threw her hands in the air. "Don't you want people to know you exist? That you are here?"

The typewriter was still, silent, and almost sullen.

There was a knock at the door. Her time was up.

Horatio said nothing as he opened the door for Neeta. He just frowned as he glanced at the bag of batteries she carried. She wasn't sure if it was a frown of curiosity or judgement.

He pulled the door shut behind her and she was left to her work. She plopped the typewriter onto the table and it made a loud clanging noise, its keys waving back and forth like baseball fans at a game. She loaded the paper into it, but did not take care, smearing a smattering of random letters onto the page. Neeta was not here to film today. Another day, hopefully. She had to make the entity tolerate being filmed first. Only then would the evidence be hers.

Ka-chunk.

She hit the carriage return lever, starting a fresh line. She gestured to the bags of batteries she had brought and dumped them out on the table. Some stray triple As rolled off its edge and onto the floor. "Eat up. We're going to have a little chat, you and I," she called out. She wasn't actually sure if it "ate electricity" but the ghost hunters on TV seemed to think they did. Beyond the entity screwing with her, she didn't have a better explanation for her battery problems.

Click... Click... click...

The typewriter reacted almost instantly, the keys moving slowly but methodically.

why

"Because I'm trying to figure you out." Her breath came out in small clouds as she talked. Neeta smiled. That was a good sign. She had a feeling that it would be chatty today.

Three more letters were typed onto the paper.

why

"Because..." she trailed off. There wasn't exactly a good reason she could give it. She wanted to talk it into being filmed. She wanted to prove it was real. She wanted to prove everyone else wrong. She wanted to be listened to for once. She wanted people to stop dismissing her. She wanted to be heard.

Ku-lick. Click. Click. Click.

The shift key was depressed. The same three letters were typed.

WHY

"Because!" she shouted, struggling for words, "Because... because... look, I just want to, okay?"

The keys waved back and forth.

liar

Neeta glared at it. It was the truth, but she wished the entity would be a bit more polite about it. Then they could have a conversation about what it was and its nature instead of arguing about intentions. She crossed her arms. "What difference does it make?" she snapped, "You're just going to lurk here and... and I don't even know what it is you do!"

exist

"Well, why are you existing here instead of somewhere else?"

The typewriter was sullen and still.

She sharpened her glare. "You saw me come in here first day with the camera. You knew what I was after. You could have easily left the page blank and let me sleep the day away. Instead, you typed. You spoke. Why?"

This time, the typewriter responded, its keys whirling away.

why do you exist

"I don't know, I'm not a philosopher!"

The typewriter did not stop typing as Neeta responded, its keys a blur, the carriage return lever waving back and forth.

why do you talk to fill the silence to fill the void

Ka-chunk.

to echo the electricity bouncing around your brain

Ka-chunk

to hear the sound of your own voice

Ka-chunk.

to achieve glory

Ka-chunk.

why do you talk why do you exist why are you here

Neeta's frown softened from anger into confusion as she watched the stream of letters type themselves onto the paper. The entity hadn't used a word longer than six letters before, its sentences short and down to the point. Now, it was a constant stream of diction. It was talking around something. Away from something. Neeta rubbed the back of her neck. "I talk to communicate. I don't know why I exist. You know why I'm here. Do you not know why you're here?" she spoke softly. The air tasted like frost.

The chair in front of the typewriter began to shift, but its keys were still.

Neeta held her breath as she waited.

The chair shifted a little more.

She continued waiting.

Ka-chunk.

The carriage return lever flicked down for a moment, a new line started.

i am here i am alive

"And? That doesn't answer much."

KA-CHUNK!

The carriage return lever was forced down almost violently. The keys on the typewriter typed quickly, all the while the shift key was depressed.

I AM NOT AN ANSWER

Neeta opened her mouth to respond. She wasn't sure with what. Just something, anything to keep it talking, to learn more. But, before she could find out, there was a loud SMACK! on the window behind her. She jumped but did not turn around. She knew it was just another dusty handprint.

She could hear the windowpane wobble behind her. She crossed her arms, refusing to turn around, refusing to show fear despite the goosebumps crawling across her skin, despite the cold sweat running down her back. If an entity like it was dangerous, someone would have gotten hurt long ago. She refused to be afraid.

The entity kept hitting the window. Neeta wasn't sure how long it would continue. Until she turned around? Until the window shattered? Until it tired itself out?

Eventually she got an answer: until Horatio opened the door.

"What in the blazes‒" he started to say, but then trailed off, staring at a fixed behind Neeta. The color drained from his face.

She supposed she should try to turn around. Yet, she couldn't find the willpower to do so. Instead, Neeta closed her eyes.

The sound of the window being struck stopped. Then, after a minute of grim silence, after a minute of listening to her own heartbeat, the sound seeming to fade in and out like ocean waves, Horatio slowly shut the door.

Eventually, Neeta found her lost will and opened her eyes, spinning the office chair she sat upon to face the window. It was covered in dust and frost, the parking lot beyond barely visible.

A large part of Neeta wanted to quietly pack up. To go home. To return to the peace and quiet of solitude. To forget finding evidence. A small part of her wanted to stay and keep pressing forward. A small part of her wanted to know more. About what the entity was.

And who.

She listened to that small part. "What do you look like?" she whispered, blurting out the first question that came to mind.

The typewriter answered.

ask him

Neeta and Horatio managed to find a relatively clean booth at the nearby bar, Howard's Hovel. Despite the no-smoking policy instituted a lifetime ago, the scent of cigarette smoke lingered, baked into the bar itself. The chipped table in front of them was covered in decades worth of carved initials and stains. The cushions had their cotton innards contained by generously applied duct tape. In front of Horatio was a pint of lager, barely touched as dew condensed on the outside of the glass. Neeta clutched a mug of Irish coffee, strong in more ways than one. The typewriter and her bag sat in the booth next to her.

She had always thought of Horatio as a snob who clung to hierarchy and order as if there was nothing else keeping the world afloat. And she still did, but when she told him they needed to talk, she expected him to sneer and brush what happened off as nothing more than an elaborate joke. Instead, he just gave her a quiet nod and mumbled something about needing a drink.

And now they were at the nearest pub. To talk. Except neither of them were talking. Horatio just stared at his lager and Neeta sipped her coffee, struggling to find the best way to broach the subject. To tell Horatio the truth. She never had been good at that.

Eventually, he reached out and grabbed his lager, taking a large swallow. He put it back down on the table and looked up at Neeta. Dark circles hung underneath his eyes. They must have always been there ‒ it had not even been half a day since he saw the entity ‒ but this was the first time she had noticed them. "What... what was that thing?" he asked.

She shrugged. "That was what I kept trying to, y'know before..." she said. When she had worked at Gram's Grocers, she had always sworn there was something off about the meeting room. Her coworkers always joked about the Ghost of Gram, but whenever Neeta tried to bring it up in earnest, the best she got were strange looks. The worst was name-calling. Eventually, she stopped trying to talk about it. "It..." she trailed off. The entity had told her what it was, yet it did not at the same time. "...it isn't human."

"No shit, Sherlock," he muttered, before shuddering. He took another drink from his lager, his hand shaking a little as he did so. "Sorry, I..." He looked down into his drink.

Neeta shrugged, more confused than offended. She had never heard Horatio swear before. Nor apologize to anyone who wasn't an eternally right customer. "You saw it. I didn't. What did it look like?"

He groaned and downed the rest of his lager. "I wish I hadn't seen it. You don't want to know."

"You know I do. And I won't stop asking until you tell me."

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, you never knew when to let something go. Fine, I'll tell you. But I want another one of these first."

Neeta nodded. It seemed like a fair trade. She went to the bar and returned with a second set of drinks. She placed the lager in front of Horatio and sat down with her own Irish coffee, sipping it as she waited from him to drink or talk.

Horatio didn't touch his lager. He just stared at it again.

Neeta waited patiently. She had gotten a lot of practice lately.

Several minutes passed.

She finished her second Irish coffee.

Then, Horatio began to speak, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "It's not human, but it's shaped like one. Tall... it had to hunch over ... it seemed to be made of... made of metal..." he shuddered, "Its ribcage was open - forced open. Like what they say the Vikings used to do. Where'd they split the ribcage open, exposing the lungs. Except it doesn't have lungs. I don't think it has many organs, just the ribcage, a heart, and..." he paused, taking a large gulp of his lager, "...and those eyes."

"The heart beats. With each beat something changes. It... everything... becomes solid.

"But that's nothing compared to the eyes... they looked like normal eyes. Normal. Grey. Eyes. But it's the way they looked into me.... I couldn't move ... and... and fuck, this is going to sound crazy..." he trailed off, then took a large gulp of his lager.

"Say it anyways," Neeta said, clutching her empty mug.

"I felt a static shock... in my brain... and... it's with one word. Not spoken aloud. Not one of my thoughts. Something from... from it..."

"What was the word?" she whispered.

"Hello."

"No. You're not doing this again. You're inviting that ‒ that thing in! I can't..." Horatio held the key to the meeting room in his trembling hands.

Neeta sighed. "I'm not inviting it in if it's already here," she said, trying not to tremble herself. It was only the day before she managed to bring up the will to book her usual spot in the meeting room and return to her search. The entity had done little, but there was something about Horatio's reaction to it that distilled dread in the pit of her stomach. But she wasn't going to let that stop her; she was pretty sure if Horatio described her to someone else, they'd think she was some shrieking demon that clawed its way up from the depths of hell.

"Well, I'm not letting you!"

She smirked. "Are you disrespecting the store? You know things don't work like that. Do I need to report this to the manager?" she said, quoting the very words Horatio said to her shortly before the argument that led to her firing.

His cheeks went red. "N... no... I've got enough to do. I won't let things break down. But I'll stop this. Somehow..."

"Right." Neeta meant to say the word lightly, but instead it came out heavy and hung in the air. She told herself that she didn't want him to stop her, but it was a hollow thought. Part of her wanted him to turn her away.

But the better part of her knew that she would not be able to sleep soundly without looking the entity in the eye. Without understanding its existence. Without talking to it. Never before had she actually looked forward to a conversation and she wasn't about to give that up. Neeta would go on. She would not let herself break down.

She entered the meeting room and Horatio closed the door behind her. She did as she had done before, setting the typewriter up next to a buffet of batteries. She put the camera on the tripod and pointed it at the typewriter but did not turn it on.

She sat down and sipped her coffee from her travel mug. "Hello again," she said, "You gave Horatio quite a scare."

The typewriter keys moved slowly, as if out of indecision.

ha

She frowned. "Did you mean to scare him?

Two letters were typed again, but the keys moved quickly, giving a sharp cli-click!

no

"What did you mean to do, then?" Neeta had to stop her voice from shaking as she spoke. The entity wasn't being chatty, but it was responding quickly, like it had done prior to last week's storm of activity. She could almost feel the static in the air. She wondered if it would show itself to her, if she could begin to understand the nagging sensation that plagued her while she had worked at Gram's Grocers. She wondered if she would walk away and quietly shut the door like Horatio had, putting herself as far away from it as possible.

The typewriter was still for a moment. But then, it began to type. With each keystroke, the temperature in the room seemed to drop a degree.

make him solid

Her frown deepened. "He's already solid? Except maybe some bodily fluids, but you get the point."

Again, the typewriter paused, before typing.

he is not real

Neeta glared at the typewriter as she pulled out her phone. "Of course, he's real!" she barked as she dug through her emails, searching for ones from her brief stunt as a cashier, "See!" she waved the phone at the typewriter, as if the entity sat in front of it. "He signed this email! And..." she continued to scroll, downloading a photo and waving it around, "Here he is! At the store picnic! He's as real as I am!"

The typewriter was fast in its response.

yes

"Are you saying I'm not real?"

yes

"Well, of course I'm real!" She crossed her arms and sniffed. She wasn't sure why she let Horatio make her feel so afraid of this thing. It was just playing games with her. As soon as she got the footage, she would leave it alone. "Why don't you think I'm real? Are you not real?"

ha

Shortly after the two letters were typed, the carriage lever flicked down with a dull ka-chunk, starting a new line.

dream myself real

"What does that even mean? Sounds like a bunch of..." Neeta started to say, but then noticed her breath coming out in small white clouds. "I don't... I don't believe you..." she said, her voice shaking a little. She tried to stop it from shaking. To sound confident. It was just playing games with her. There was no reason to be afraid. Yet, her hair stood on end and out of the corner of her eye, she could see frost creeping along the windowpane.

The typewriter was still, but the air was not. Something by the typewriter seemed to pull in on itself, small shadows twinkling before expanding into a metallic form bent over the table. It was humanoid, with long limbs, and a slender torso from which metallic ribs jutted out. Between the ribs was a heart that appeared to be made out of dark purple flesh. And as the heart beat, the metallic humanoid did not change. Instead, the world did, pulsing from the solid and real to the foggy and ethereal. When Neeta looked down, she could see her own body flicker in and out of existence.

She found herself trying to cry out only for the sound to die in her throat. Her heart raced in her chest yet at the same time, she could not feel it. She looked up at the entity, making eye contact with it only to be trapped by its grey gaze. There was a glint in its eyes, though Neeta could not tell if it was out of mischief or rage. It pointed at its heart and, like a scream, a series of words so loud they eclipsed her thoughts, took hold of her mind.

I AM REAL. PROVE YOUR OWN EXISTENCE.

Then, as if nothing happened, the entity disappeared, and the world returned to the way it was, solid and stable. With shaking hands, Neeta packed up her things and rushed out of the room. She dared not think about what had just happened. Not until she left Gram's Grocers. Not until she was within the safety of her home. Then she'd think about it. She'd think about how real it was. About the dark heart and the grey gaze that froze her. About the scream in her mind. About not being able to. Then she'd let all the tears spill forth.

"What did you do?" Horatio hissed, "The crochet club fled the room after fifteen minutes." Though his voice was stable, he kept failing to fit the key into the lock of the meeting room door.

Neeta shrugged. "I talked. It talked. That's all," she said, keeping her gaze fixed on the typewriter. She dared not look him in the eye. She dared not show him her own fear.

"Well, it's not going to be talking for long," he muttered, finally managing to get the key into the lock, "I found an exorcist. He's going to get rid of the demon next week."

She twitched and gripped the typewriter tighter. "What makes you think it's a demon?"

Horatio pushed the door open. "Well, what else could it be? It's not human."

Although she had a dozen retorts at the ready, Neeta said nothing. She did not have the energy to argue. She barely had the energy to convince herself to continue on.

She set the typewriter on the table and loaded it with a fresh sheet of paper, before placing a bag of batteries next to it. She did not bother with the camera. She barely thought about it. She barely thought about the evidence. Instead, she kept thinking about those grey eyes and that dark beating heart. About watching the world fade in and out. About the words screaming through her mind. About how she wanted to leave it all behind but could not find the will to do so. About how despite it all, she thought she could get used to the world fading in and out. About how she wanted the entity to keep talking.

Neeta sat down beside the typewriter. She opened her mouth and then shut it.

She gulped.

She opened her mouth again, but no words came out. She reached for her travel mug and took a sip of coffee.

The typewriter spoke before she did, its keys moving gently.

hello

"...hi," Neeta whispered, and then the rest came spilling out in a quiet tumble, "How do I know what's real? How do I know if I'm real?" Her grip tightened on the travel mug.

She had not been able to sleep well since her last encounter. It was not the entity that scared her, but how the world seemed to bend around it, the way it felt to fade in and out of existence with the heartbeat of another, the realization that the ground which she stood upon wasn't as solid as she thought it was.

The keys typed quickly.

you cannot

"W-what? Didn't that philosopher guy say, 'I think therefore I am?' There has to be a way!" she sputtered, her voice rising from a whisper to a yell.

ka-chunk. The carriage return lever pressed down and the keys clicked away, typing faster and faster until they were a blur.

what are thoughts but electrochemical signals shot around by a tangle

ka-chunk.

of neurons how do you know that they are not the predictable end

ka-chunk.

result of a complex chemical reaction how do you know that something

ka-chunk.

else is not pipetting them into your brain as they set the stage for

ka-chunk.

a 64 bit play

Then the typewriter was still. Neeta stared at it for a few moments, her breaths coming out in small white puffs of fog as she took in the words. She frowned. "Sixty-four?"

The typewriter paused, still as the chair in front of it spun back and forth. Then it typed. Slowly.

we are worth more than two bits

"We?"

ha

ka-chunk.

you caught me

"You're as real as I am," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

yes

"But you said... how do you know?"

The typewriter was still, but, like the week before, everything else was not. From behind her, on the window, Neeta could hear an almost bell-like crackling noise as frost crawled up its edges. The room filled with the prickle of static. She expected the air to start flickering in front of her, for the entity to take form.

Instead, something grabbed onto her wrist. It was cold, like a metal post on a winter's night. Neeta jumped, her breath caught in her throat. She looked down to see long metallic fingers wrapped around her forearm. She knew that if she looked up, she would find herself trapped by its gaze again, with words screaming through her mind.

But, if she did not look it in the eye, would she spend forever staring at the fingers grabbing her wrist, suspended in fearful animation? She gulped and turned her attention upwards.

Again, there were those grey eyes staring at her, freezing her into place. Neeta wanted to look away, but found herself unable to, her heart quivering as it beat cold blood through her veins.

Then the entity looked away, freeing her from its stare. It still gripped her wrist.

Neeta gasped, letting out the breath she had been holding. She instinctively looked down, watching the world pulse in and out of solidity with each of the entity's heartbeats. She braced herself for the dizzying sight of her own body fading in and out, but her legs remained solid and stable. Her heartbeat slowed as she looked up again, this time finding the will to do so not so difficult.

The entity was still looking away, its attention fixed upon the typewriter. It reached out with one hand, pecking away at the keys. The typewriter faded in and out of existence with the rest of the world, but when it touched it, the typewriter stabilized, solid as it sat upon the intangible table.

"I'm solid. I'm real," Neeta said, almost breathless.

The entity stopped typing and turned its head towards her. Again, its grey eyes froze her in place. Slowly, it nodded. Then turned back to the typewriter, releasing her from the stillness that gripped her. Again, Neeta gasped for breath as the world around them pulsed, ethereal like a ghost.

The entity stopped typing and pointed at the typewriter.

She peered at the paper and read the words fading in and out with it.

believe it

She frowned. "That's not an‒" she started to say, but stopped, interrupted by the entity turning its head towards her, freezing her in place with its gaze again.

It shook its head, then looked away. Neeta could feel the fingers around her wrist loosen, about to let go.

Instinctively, she reached out, snatching the entity's wrist before it could let go. Her eyes widened in surprise at her own actions. It was better to communicate with it without having to stare at the ribs jutting out of its chest, without being frozen by its gaze, with solid ground under her feet. It may even be better not to talk to it at all. Yet, Neeta found herself not wanting to let go. Not wanting to shut her eyes to the ethereal world around her. Not wanting to shut her eyes to the entity. Despite the side effects of its gaze, it was nice to have someone familiar look at her with something other than pity or disdain.

The entity jumped, almost shuddering at her touch. As she made contact, the world around them solidified. Its heart still beat, but the world around them did not change, remaining stable. It was still for a moment, then it reached out and tapped the table, almost as if it were testing it. Then it touched the table again, running its fingers along the laminate surface, before moving onto the typewriter, feeling the metal of its chassis and keys.

The entity nodded slowly and pulled its wrist out of Neeta's grip. It vanished from view, leaving her in a room with a typewriter, almost as if she was alone.

She sat there in stunned silence for a few minutes.

Then, she spoke, "Well, I think we've both learned something new."

The typewriter was still, but there may have been nothing to say.

She glanced at her phone. She was nearing the end of the time she had booked. She wondered what she would do next week. Try and see the other side again? Return to trying to catch something on camera? Neeta found that the dream of fame and fortune had begun to fade; even if she got what she wanted, it wouldn't rebuild the burnt bridges. Keep talking with the entity? That would be nice, though she hadn't the faintest clue as to why. Horatio wouldn't be happy with any of those things. He said that‒

Her eyes widened as she remembered what he told her. He couldn't! Not now! "Horatio's getting an exorcist. I don't know if‒"

ka-chunk. Click. Click.

She glanced at the typewriter.

ha

"You're not‒"

The typewriter continued typing.

film it

"But I thought you didn't like cameras?"

In a flurry of movement, it typed out one final sentence.

it will be funny

When Neeta asked to film the exorcism, Horatio was not happy with the idea, but he did not want to show it. She watched him grin, cross his arms, and say "I don't know. I'll have to check with Benny," before getting his phone out to call him.

She watched his grin fade into dejection. Benny was delighted with the idea.

She expected Benny to be a priest. Or maybe one of those TV psychics wearing ten different varieties of quartz. Instead, the man that came strolling into Gram's Grocers to meet them looked more akin to a time-travelling magician. His short hair had frosted tips and his flared jeans were bedazzled. His baggy button-down shirt, which normally would not have been out of place in an office environment, was unbuttoned, revealing a large chunk of orange calcite dangling from a silver chain. Slung over his shoulder was a duffle bag and tucked underneath his arm was a bulging Hello Kitty binder.

Neeta said nothing.

"This was the only one I could get," Horatio whispered, as if to defend himself against a comment she did not make.

She shrugged.

"Everyone else was booked up."

She shrugged again.

Horatio opened his mouth again, but Benny had closed the distance, holding his hand out. "You're the duderino from Craigslist, right?"

Horatio daintily shook Benny's hand and nodded. "Horatio."

"Right-i-o, daddy-o."

"Horatio. Don't call me daddy-o."

"Right-i-o, Hora-ti-o." Benny shot him a sheepish smile and turned to Neeta, "You must be that‒"

Although Neeta was greatly entertained by the two different worlds Horatio and Benny occupied colliding, she did not want to be called any variant of "Mommy-o." She thrust out her hand and interrupted him before he could finish. "I'm Neeta! I'm here to document."

Benny grabbed her hand and shook it firmly. "So, where's this ghoulie you got?"

"Right this way!" Horatio said. He sped up the stairs, to the meeting room. Benny followed at his own leisurely stroll. Neeta trailed behind, taking the time to turn her camera on. It was showtime.

Through the camera's view finder, she watched Horatio unlock the door and enter, followed by Benny. She walked in after them, holding her breath as she awaited the entity's next move.

The room was quiet and although it was bathed in sunlight, Horatio flicked on the fluorescent lights. They filled the room with an ominous buzz.

Benny plopped the duffle bag and Hello Kitty binder on the table. "Right-i-o. So, I'll start with the easy part and see if this ghoulie has an anchor. If it does, then all we gotta do is toss it out," he said as he dug through his duffle bag. He pulled out a small box which Neeta recognized as an EMF reader, used to measure the intensity of magnetic fields. She focused the camera on it. He turned it on.

The EMF reader was dead silent. Its LED lights were dark, and the digital display read "0.00 mG."

Benny frowned and stood up on his tiptoes, holding it close to the lights and waving it around.

The EMF reader stuck at a steady "0.00 mG."

"Hold on, this thing might be borked. I'll grab the spare."

Horatio peered over Benny's shoulder as he dug through his bag again. "Do those devices fail often?" he asked, his voice cracking a little.

Benny shrugged. "First time it's happened to me, but crap fails all the time. Metal switches rust, a good knocking around can push stuff out of alignment, and sometimes things just wear out." He pulled out a second EMF reader and switched it on. Neeta shifted the camera to focus on it.

The second EMF reader also read "0.00 mG."

Horatio pulled at his shirt collar as Benny stared at the EMF reader in silence. Neeta zoomed out, capturing their reactions. She couldn't help but smirk, knowing who was responsible.

"Maybe zero is a normal reading?" Horatio suggested.

Benny shook his head. "Not in this day and age, it's not. Fiend or no, I should still be getting at least a tenth of a milligauss in here." He began to pace around the room, waving the EMF reader at every nook and cranny. Horatio loosened his tie and began fidgeting with it. Neeta was the only one who was unfazed, though this hardly seemed like the entertainment the entity had promised.

After he had made a full lap around the room, Benny shook his head again. "Still nada... odds are both aren't borked, which means..." He turned towards the door and pulled it open, stepping into the mezzanine outside.

Almost immediately, the EMF reader began to emit a soft beeping. Neeta followed him and although she did not have time to capture it, she could see the EMF reader's LED lights were blinking green and its screen read "0.71 mG."

"Well, I'll be damned," Benny breathed.

"Is it working?" Horatio called out.

Benny turned back into the room, almost bumping into Neeta as he did so. He was grinning, and something gleamed in his eyes. "Hells yeah it is," he said, "And, before you get upset, remember if this exorcism isn't successful, you'll get your money back."

Horatio gulped. A bead of sweat slid down his forehead.

Benny opened the Hello Kitty Binder and flipped to a blank page. He grabbed the frog pen stuck inside its cover and began scrawling on the paper, making a new entry. Neeta stepped towards him, hoping to catch what he was writing, but, just as quickly as he started writing, he stopped and began rifling through his bag again.

The frog pen lifted itself up into the air and began scrawling on the paper. Underneath Benny's notes about the complete absence of magnetic fields, Neeta could see the letters "h," "e," and "l" start to form.

She opened her mouth, wondering if she should say something, then shut it. She was here to film, and she was already getting amazing evidence. She would let it write, let Benny and Horatio squeal in horror as they fail to banish it from the Earthly realm. Then she'd show her evidence to the world. Both she and the entity would become famous. She'd get rich and everyone would flock to see the entity. She could already see how they would dare each other to enter, how they'd beg for it to show itself, calling out for the "demon" to hurt them for their own piece of evidence. They'd probably call it all sorts of names. Neeta suddenly felt her stomach do a flip.

"Uhhh..." Horatio squeaked, pointing at the notebook.

Benny froze. "Where?" he asked, his voice calm and even.

"Notebook..." Another "l" formed on the page as Horatio spoke.

Benny's grin widened and his shoulders tensed as he readied himself. Neeta took a step back. She lifted the camera to try to get a good angle of both Benny and the notebook but found herself hesitating.

A good angle turned out to be impossible. Benny moved too fast for that.

One moment, he had his hands in the duffle bag. The next, he was swinging an iron fire poker like a stage fencer in the general area of the notebook. "A-ha!" he cried out.

The frog pen continued writing, adding an "o."

"Not fae, eh?" he said, licking his lips, "Doesn't matter. I'll get ya. I'll get ya good."

Despite what the entity had said, Neeta found her stomach doing more flips as her camera captured the wild look in Benny's eyes. What if he was successful? What if he got rid of the entity? What would happen to it?

The frog pen answered by adding a smiling face into the o, finalizing the word "hell☺."

Benny dropped the fire poker. He ran a hand through his frosted tips. "Oh ho ho ho, you're a tricksy one, aren't you?" he said, his eyes fixed not on where he was reaching, but on the floating frog pen, "Well, thing is, I'm a bit tricksy myself, because I‒" he cut himself off, whipping out a small white cardboard box. His thumb flipped a metal tab on its side as he swung it in a wide arc. Pouring out of the box was a wave of salt, blanketing everything like snow.

Neeta gasped and tried to take a step back but found herself caught in the salt assault. She tried and failed to shield her face. Tears streamed down her face as they purged the seasoning from her stinging eyes.

"Hey! Stop it! You caught Neeta! And someone's going to have to clean this all up!" Horatio shouted.

Benny just laughed. "Wouldn't you rather this thing gone? The salt trick always works. This ghoulie is probably... oh..."

Neeta wiped the salt and tears from her eyes and looked up. She saw Benny staring up at an invisible form partially outlined by the salt that stuck to it. A large hand at the end of a long arm pinched the frog pen between two fingers. Her camera was pointing at the floor. She supposed she should try and capture the salty entity with her camera. She'd get the holy grail of evidence and then become famous. Then she wouldn't have to talk to the entity anymore. She wouldn't have to talk with anyone anymore. Neeta found that she had to force her arm upwards.

In the view finder, all Neeta could see was Benny's wide-eyed expression and the blurry suggestion of something that could be called humanoid, but most would dismiss as a camera glitch.

"Well, I'll be... damned? Is damned the right word? All ghoulies hate salt. All except... ohhh..." Benny said. Neeta was unsure if he was talking to himself, Horatio, or the entity. "Well, I got more tricks up my sleeve, don't you‒"

The picture in the view finder started to stutter just as Benny cut off. Neeta stared at it in confusion but then noticed something. Every second or so, she was not just looking at the view finder, but through it, seeing the ghostly image of her fingers beyond. The camera still recorded, but the footage had a quality akin to the earliest models of film cameras, where each frame was just a bit too slow, giving it a jerky quality.

Her breath caught in her throat and in the moments when the world was solid, Neeta could feel her heart race in her chest. From the other side of the room, Horatio let out a small whimper. There was no response from Benny. He was locked in the entity's gaze, goosebumps prickling up his exposed chest.

Meanwhile, the entity was rifling through his bag, picking up random objects and waving them in front of Benny's face before tossing them onto the floor. The entire time it did not stop staring at him. Rage glinted in its eyes. It steadily threw each object with more and more force. The box of salt exploded. The fire poker got stuck into the carpeted floor. Cinnamon was ground underneath its heels. The EMF readers burst, spilling their electronic innards. It would not go away peacefully. Its existence was nothing to toy with.

Neeta stared at it. The entity was not looking at her. She could move. She could tilt the camera up and film it, get the evidence she sought. The world would know that she wasn't lying when she said there was something in the meeting room. The world would know that she was right. The world would listen to her.

All she had to do was steel herself and tilt the camera upwards.

Then it would be over. She wouldn't have to spend her Saturdays sipping coffee and talking to a typewriter. She wouldn't have to look beyond the veil of perception, feel the dizzying sensation of being and not being at the same time. It would be all over.

Neeta dropped the camera. She didn't want it to be over. Despite the dread she felt, she looked forward to speaking with the entity. With having the space to be honest with it, not having to hide what she thought was going on. She didn't want fame or glory. She just wanted to face what few dared to even acknowledge. She just wanted someone to listen. And she did not want that to go away, whether it was by an exorcism or by legions of ghost hunters demanding it to speak.

The camera made an awful crunching noise as it hit the floor.

Neeta surged forward, rushing towards the entity and Benny.

Benny just stood there, frozen.

The entity took out a sprig of holly and waved it in front of his face.

Neeta grabbed the entity's wrist. She felt a sudden jolt of electricity as she touched its ice-cold form. The world that pulsed in and out of existence snapped into solidity.

The entity stiffened, dropping the holly. It fluttered to the ground like a piece of paper. It stopped looking at Benny and turned its gaze down to the falling holly. He gasped and started sucking in deep breaths, finally free.

Horatio squawked and backed into the window, pressing himself up against the frost covered glass, his hair soaked in sweat.

"You can't get rid of it!" Neeta shouted, her voice cracking, "It's just ‒"

"It's just what?" Horatio barked, "I'm not going to have that THING haunt work, damn it!"

"Oh man... it's real..." Benny gasped, still catching his breath.

"I don't care if it's real or not! Just get rid of it!" Horatio squealed.

"No!" Neeta protested, "It's just minding its own business! How would you like it if someone just banished you one day?"

She could feel the entity stiffen in her grip. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see it reach for the Hello Kitty binder, feeling the edges of the paper.

Horatio went red and opened his mouth but said nothing. He looked at Benny, as if he could back him up.

Benny shook his head. "Even if I wanted to... I can't... how should I put this? Let's just say demon is the right word for it if you wanted to use the wrong word. As far as I know, there's never been a right word." An uneasy smile spread across his face. "The most I can do is walk away. I hear bits and pieces about these things when I do research, but nothing much. I thought they were some old wives' tale. Ghoulies that are immune to salt. Ghoulies that seem to get more powerful the more news spreads about them. There isn't exactly a singular name for these things. Just accounts of people running away from places scared shitless, calling them whatever seems to stick best at the time. Demons, fallen gods, death omens, poltergeists... take your pick."

Again, the entity stiffened. The temperature of the room seemed to fall ten degrees. The page it was holding ripped.

"There isn't anything that can be done?" Horatio squeaked.

Benny shrugged. "It's not a demon. I can't blab the right words to make it bounce. The only thing I can think of to destroy it is to forget about it. The more you think about them, the more powerful they get. Stop thinking about them and they won't have enough power to exist. It's a bit like the Game! The only way to win is to forget you were playing it in the first place." He paused, a serious frown forming on his face. Then, threw his hands in the air and exclaimed, "Ah balls! I lost the Game! I was winning for like a week too!"

Neeta blinked. Was he referring to that game teenagers liked to play? The one where you lost every time you remembered you were playing and then had to loudly proclaim that loss?

"You... you don't' mean..." Horatio began to say.

"Yup! Y'all just lost it too! We're all losers in the Game together! All three..." he glanced up at the entity, who had taken a cautious step behind Neeta, its lanky form hunching a little more than usual, "Er... four of us..."

"But... but.... what about..."

"Yeah... sorry about that. Normally I knock crap out of the park. Quite literally sometimes. But I haven't had to deal with..." Benny gulped, "Uh, you know what the right wrong word might be the wrong word afterall. I'm just going to call it a false demon if that's coolio." He shot the entity a pair of finger guns.

It did not respond.

Benny ran a hand through his frosted tips. "Well, I haven't had to deal with a false demon before. Ever. I've read about them, sure. Didn't absorb anything though, 'cause they weren't supposed to be real. They were supposed to be exaggerations of real demons and crap garbled by history's great game of Telephone. The only way I know how to get rid of them is to forget about them. And that's only if what I remember is right."

Neeta grinned. She let herself relax a little but kept her grip on the entity's wrist. It moved, but only to stare at the wall, pointedly away from everyone else.

"I can't even forget what I had for breakfast last week! Let alone... let alone..." Horatio sputtered, his gaze fixed on the floor. Not once did he look at the entity. Not when it showed itself. Not when Neeta grabbed its wrist and the world became solid. Not ever.

Benny's smile faded. "Yeah, I'd say it is definitely the fifth most memorable thing I've ever experienced. I think I would have shit myself if my bowels weren't as frozen as the rest of me." He looked up at the entity, whose wrist was still in Neeta's grip, torn paper pinched between its fingers. And then he shifted his gaze towards her.

Neeta stiffened. She prepared herself for the barrage of accusations that went along the lines of "what the hell were you thinking?" and "you better start trying to forget!"

Instead, Benny's voice was calm. "Yeah, it's not getting forgotten any time soon. But if it's any consolation, your friend is probably closest thing you got to an expert on it."

The entity slowly pulled its arm away from her and soon, Neeta's grip was empty. It vanished. Although the room began to feel a few degrees warmer, everyone's breath still came out in bursts of fog.

"W-what?" Horatio said.

She shrugged, struggling to act calm, cool, and collected. This was a first for her. She thought she would be standing tall and proud, but instead she found herself fighting the restless feeling of having no idea what she was doing. That she didn't belong to the spotlight, not like this. She was something to be awkwardly shoved underneath the rug and forgotten about.

"It's not going to hurt you. It's always been here. You remember what I kept talking about," she eventually said.

"This stuff wasn't supposed to be real. You were supposed to be pulling my leg, finding another thing to keep me on my toes." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Screw it. It was hard enough to deal with when it was some joke. I can't fight it when it's real." He peeled himself away from the window and began stumbling towards the door. He paused in the doorway and looked back at Neeta. "Do what you want. Just... keep me out of it. Please," he said.

She nodded, unable to will words to leave her lips. Horatio left.

Benny shot Neeta a sly smile. "That's my cue I guess... mind if I pick your brains about this later? Most people who come face to face with a, uh, false demon run away screaming. I would have too, except..." He shrugged.

Neeta nodded but refused to meet his eyes. Even when they exchanged phone numbers.

Benny gathered up his things, shoving the broken remnants of his tools back into the duffle bag, and left. Neeta was left alone in the room, covered in salt.

Except she wasn't alone.

Cold fingers wrapped around her wrist and when she looked up, she found herself frozen by a grey gaze, while the rest of the world faded in and out of existence. A series of warm words shouted in her mind, drowning out her thoughts.

THAT WAS POINTLESS. BUT NICE. THANKS.

After the failed exorcism, Horatio gave Neeta a copy of the key under the condition that if she ever got caught, she would lie about it. She was happy to keep that promise, and he was happy to never set foot into the meeting room again. That was three months ago.

Neeta set the typewriter on the ground, before digging around in her pocket for a key. The keys on the typewriter waved back and forth. Soon, the lock clicked, and she was able to push the door open. Propping the door open with her foot, she grabbed the typewriter and entered.

She didn't bother turning on the lights. It was now autumn, but the sun was still out for long enough to let light in, even on cloudy days. She set the typewriter on the table and loaded it with paper.

"Hello Mira," Neeta called out into the seemingly empty room. It was the name the entity had picked out after they had spent hours pouring over dozens of baby name websites. It was the only one Mira liked the sound of.

click. click.

The keys on the typewriter moved at a leisurely pace.

hi

Neeta glanced at the typewriter as she opened up her bag and began digging through it. "They were all out of Ds, so I had to get double As," she said as she pulled out a battery pack. Mira didn't really need the batteries, but she enjoyed playing with electricity. She said it was a lot like humans doing crochet. "But the brand's your favorite this time." On the battery pack was the company's mascot, an armadillo playing a keyboard. Neeta liked to think it was playing techno music.

thanks

"I got 'Attack of the Three-Headed Shark.' I don't think we've seen this one yet," she continued. Before the exorcism, Neeta had a goal and that was something to generate conversation. After that, she wasn't sure what to talk to Mira about, just that she wanted to talk. So, Neeta started watching movies with her. Soon, Mira had taken a liking to monster movies, particularly ones with bad CGI. When Neeta asked her about it, Mira said something about the special effects being mesmerizing.

cool

"It's two hours long, so we just have enough time to watch it before I have to run. Benny has me helping him out tonight. He needs me to negotiate a ceasefire again."

A few days after the exorcism failed, Benny interviewed Neeta about Mira, more for the sake of his curiosity than to learn how to exorcise her. Neeta thought that would be the last she would hear from him, but not even a week later, he called her in tears. He was locked in a closet, out of reach from his precious salt, while something very angry beat at the door. She spent three hours trying to get "the Lord of Fifty-Two Spiders" to trust her and another fifteen minutes negotiating the safe release of Benny under the condition that Benny not call the Lord "a fae, whatever the fuck that is" and stopped trying to hit him with a fire poker. It turned out that although the exorcist field was filled with those who could banish supernatural entities, there were very few that bothered to understand what these entities actually wanted. Neeta had a unique skill set in that manner. She knew how to be patient. She knew not to dismiss their demands and rantings, no matter strange or trivial they seemed. She knew that sometimes all they wanted was someone to listen. Neeta was now making herself known in underground circles, not as ghost hunter, not as an exorcist, but as a paranormal diplomat.

The keys on the typewriter moved quickly as Neeta got the movie setup on her laptop. They spent the afternoon like they spent many Saturday afternoons: talking and watching a bad movie. Neeta enjoyed it. There was nothing like spending time with a friend.