1. Charlie #2
Shelves lined the walls, crammed with dusty books, ceramic skulls, twisted pieces of metal that might have been talismans, and glass jars containing what looked suspiciously like pickled…
things. A stuffed raven perched on top of a filing cabinet, its glass eyes reflecting the sickly fluorescent light.
Strange symbols had been carved into the wooden desk, and candle wax dripped down the sides of various holders like frozen waterfalls.
What the actual fuck? Was it too late to hightail it out of there?
The whole place reeked of tobacco and something else—something musty and old, like forgotten attics. I forced myself to step forward, extending my hand in what I hoped was a professional gesture.
“Charlie Hayes. Pleasure to meet you.”
The man finally glanced up, revealing milky blue eyes that instantly pierced right through me. He didn’t stand. Instead, he reached across the desk with tobacco-stained fingers, his handshake surprisingly firm for someone who looked like he survived purely on cigarettes and spite.
“Take a seat, Charlie.”
I did, perching on the edge of a wooden chair that creaked ominously under my weight.
Gerald—I assumed this was Gerald, though he hadn’t introduced himself—rummaged through the paperwork scattered across his desk. After what felt like an eternity of rustling, he produced a single sheet of paper that looked suspiciously like my CV.
A too-long silence stretched between us as he studied it.
His eyes moved slowly across the page, as if he were reading it for the very first time.
My heart pounded like I’d been summoned to the headmaster’s office.
The gaps in my employment history glared up at me from that piece of paper—all those three-month stints I’d conveniently omitted, replaced with fictional charity work and travel adventures.
Helping injured lion cubs in Africa. Building schools in Guatemala.
The sort of noble pursuits that masked the embarrassing reality of being fired from a call centre for arguing with customers about their insurance policies.
“We’ve been struggling to recruit quality candidates,” Gerald said finally, his voice carrying the rasp of someone who’d been smoking since the womb.
“Oh? Well, I have to say I was surprised that I couldn’t find your job advert online…”
Gerald frowned. “Online? Right. Well, I’ll have to get Ted to look at that. Anyway.” He leaned forward, steepling his fingertips. “So, tell me, what attracts you to this role, Charlie?”
The competitive salary you apparently offer, accompanied by the fact I’ve eaten instant ramen for dinner three nights running.
“Well…” I cleared my throat. “This position certainly sounds… unique. And I love the challenge of learning new skills.”
That line had served me well in many other interviews. Yet Gerald’s expression didn’t change. “Do you have any interest in the occult?”
“The occult?”
“Supernatural phenomena. Spirits. Entities that exist beyond the physical realm. Communication with the deceased.” He leaned back in his chair, studying my reaction. “That sort of thing.”
I laughed nervously, the sound echoing strangely in the cramped space.
“But… ghosts and such aren’t actually… real.”
Gerald sighed, a deep, weary exhale that suggested he’d had this conversation before. Many, many times.
“Then what exactly do you think we do here?”
Con innocent, desperate people out of their hard-earned cash with elaborate theatrical performances and manufactured evidence.
“You… uhh… put people’s minds at ease. Like a placebo effect. A valuable service!” I managed what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “People find comfort in the rituals, the sense that something’s being done about their… concerns.”
Gerald leaned forward suddenly, his milky eyes fixing on mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
“It’s very important you understand, Charlie, that the entities we deal with are very real indeed. And if you intend to work here, you’ll need to accept that fundamental truth.”
A shiver ran right through me despite the stuffy warmth of the office.
I swallowed hard.
“Well… I’m… I’m very open-minded, sir. It’s one of the things I pride myself on most.”
Gerald reached into his jacket and produced a cigarette packet. Without any preamble, he lit one and took a deep drag.
I blinked in disbelief. I couldn’t remember seeing someone light a cigarette indoors since I was about seven, back when my granddad used to smoke in the living room while watching football.
The smell hit me immediately, acrid and sharp, making my stomach lurch with nausea.
In the reception area, a phone started ringing, muffled by the door but still painfully shrill.
“Ted!” Gerald bellowed.
No response came.
“Ted! The phone!”
Nothing.
“For fuck’s sake, the kid has one job.”
Gerald snatched up his own phone from his desk, the receiver crackling as he barked into it.
“Thank you for calling ExorSquad, where all your hauntings go to die.”
Angry shouting erupted from the other end of the line, loud enough that I caught fragments of what sounded like threats and accusations.
Gerald’s eyes widened. He slammed down the receiver with enough force to rattle the bizarre ornaments on his desk.
“Spam call,” he muttered. Panic flickered across his features like a candle flame in a draught. “Be right back.”
He shot out of his chair and zipped from the room far quicker than I’d thought possible for a man his age, slamming the door behind him with enough force to make the stuffed raven wobble on its perch.
Well. He’s certainly… something.
Alone in the cluttered office, my eyes wandered across the accumulated oddities.
Jesus, this man was mad. How did he live like this?
He needed to get Ted onto tidying his desk for him.
A newspaper clipping caught my attention, wedged between a stack of invoices and what looked like a Victorian dentistry catalogue. I gently freed it from the pile.
MANCHESTER EXHIBITION HIGHLIGHTS MISSING DEE ARTEFACT
Three years on, priceless obsidian mirror remains unfound