Chapter 5: Demon on the Run

Actually, while they talked, a little angry spirit was squatting nearby, but I didn’t want to scare the girls.

I gave the ghost a look that said, "Behave," and it scurried away.

“We just graduated, we’re broke, so we have to tough it out. Can’t afford a pro. I thought, since you’re so good, maybe you could help. And since you don’t have a place to stay, you can live with us. We’ll share a room, you get the other.”

When I heard they were broke, I felt a deep kinship. No one can out-broke me.

I smiled. "Broke girls unite. I’m in."

I got their address and went to check it out.

The place was exactly as advertised: dim, musty, and buzzing with ghostly energy. But it beat the bridge.

The whole basement was full of bad energy. Five little ghosts stood in a row, looking up at me with bright eyes.

They looked more curious than angry, which was a relief. Still, I kept my guard up.

Only those who died tragically and with great resentment get stuck like that. But these five seemed lost, just shaking their heads.

They tugged at my sleeve, eyes wide and pleading, but didn’t say a word.

I decided to check the afterlife’s records at night.

I promised the girls I’d handle it, then set up my things in the spare room. Not exactly the Ritz, but I’d slept in worse.

The little ghosts weren’t dangerous, but with me, there were now six ghosts in the basement—definitely not a place for people.

The air was thick, but I kept the mood light, joking with the girls about "roommates from another realm."

If the girls stayed, they’d be affected.

I could already see their energy fading, dark circles under their eyes. Not good.

I used their phone to call the landlord, saying if he refunded the girls’ rent, I’d clear the place out.

The landlord tried to play dumb, but I wasn’t having it. I dropped just enough details to scare him straight. Seriously, dude?

At first he denied everything, but when I said five children had died there, he caved.

His voice shook as he promised a full refund—plus a little extra for "emotional damages."

The girls thanked me and insisted on tipping me on TikTok before moving out.

They hugged me, tears in their eyes, and left a glowing review on my profile. Suddenly, I was a hero again.

Now I had a place to stay and five little ghostly roommates. I couldn’t be happier.

It was crowded, but cozy. The ghosts kept me company, and the basement was finally peaceful.

The only weird thing was, I couldn’t find anything about the five little ghosts in the Book of Life—they’d been erased.

That set off alarm bells. Ghosts don’t just vanish from the records. I made a note to investigate.

My streaming business boomed. I had to limit daily readings. On fans’ advice, I raised my fee to $100 a reading. I also started passing messages to relatives in the afterlife—if they hadn’t moved on yet.

With the new rates, I could finally afford takeout and a real pillow. My DMs were packed with requests for readings and afterlife messages.

I bought a digital scale to weigh my penny, watching it tick up gram by gram, both thrilled and frustrated.

Every night, I’d place the penny on the scale and cheer when it budged even a fraction of a gram. Progress was progress.

After all, I needed it to hit two pounds.

I calculated—at this rate, I’d be here another decade. But hey, hope springs eternal.

At night, I’d slip back to the afterlife. When the Devil saw me coming, his face turned green.

He groaned every time I showed up, muttering about "clingy ghosts" and "overachievers."

He finally just lent me all the records, telling me to take them away and stop coming back every day.

He practically shoved the files into my arms. “Just take them. Don’t bring them back.”

A little ghost passing by told me that after I left, the Devil’s Hall finally stopped leaking.

I snorted. Maybe I was bad luck, after all.

I said I needed to find ghosts for my message-passing gig, so he gave me the numbers for the Grim Reapers and told me to just call them—they’d help as long as I stayed away.

I saved the numbers as "Reaper Squad" in my contacts. They even had a group chat. Someone immediately posted a meme of the Devil running away from me. Nice.

So convenient—I saved their numbers and took my records back to the human world.

I spread the files out on my bed, feeling like a supernatural detective.

The five little ghosts didn’t remember their names, so I called them One, Two, Three, Four, and Five. Now they were my staff.

They each picked a number they liked best. It was weirdly adorable.

With their help, my efficiency soared, and I could handle dozens more readings daily.

They scurried around, fetching files and relaying messages, happy to have a purpose.

Of course, I couldn’t let them work for free. I promised to help them recover their memories and move on.

They nodded solemnly, trusting me completely. My heart ached for them.

While making money streaming, I also kept tabs on major crimes, checked afterlife records, and tipped off the police. First, I got reward money; second, I racked up karma—double win.

It was a win-win. The police started recognizing my number when I called.

After a while, I became a regular at the Chicago PD, getting along with the officers.

They even saved me a seat in the break room and let me have first pick of the donuts.

One day, Captain Anderson called me into a meeting.

He sounded serious on the phone, so I put on my cleanest hoodie and tried to look presentable.

A bunch of officers sat stiffly at the table. As soon as I walked in, all eyes turned to me. I wished I hadn’t shown up in shorts and flip-flops.

I tugged at my sleeves, wishing I’d splurged on jeans instead.

The Captain hurried me to the center.

He grinned, clapping me on the back like I was his star pitcher.

“This is the consultant I told you about! She’s helped us crack a bunch of cases.”

He sounded proud, which made me stand a little taller.

The folks across the table looked skeptical.

One guy raised an eyebrow, the other just frowned.

“Captain, I know you want to solve this, but come on. We all want to catch the guy, but this is a stretch.”

I could feel the tension in the room. Not everyone believed in ghosts, or in me.

“We’re detectives. We solve cases with evidence, not… this.”