Big. Yellow. Scary.

  Reg sped through the tattered pages of his father’s old field journals, searching for the slightest mention of something similar. Hazy darkness filtered in from the nearby window, broken by the occasional flash of yellow light from the busy street below. A siren wailed in the distance. The hour was late. Both Reg’s head and stomach ached, pleading with him to call it a night. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He refused. Compulsion had him in its iron grip and the only way to beat it was to find what he was looking for or pass out trying.

  He’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to. He knew that much. But what? Reg unconsciously chewed the end of his pencil all the way through the eraser and into the wood, depositing a pile of yellow shavings on the page. He swept the shavings onto the floor and flipped to the next entry.

  Something flashed past the window. Reg lifted his nose from the journal, his heartbeat doubling as a cold sweat slickened his forehead. His apartment was on the twelfth floor. There wasn’t any reason for something to be outside at this height. Unless…

  No, no, no. Don’t go there. It was just a bird. Or a bat, maybe? Those lived in the city, right?

  “Are you still at it?”

  Reg jumped in his chair. He put a hand to his chest, steadying the rapid gallop of his runaway heartbeat. Tera stood in the doorway wearing a set of clothes freshly pilfered from his closet.

  “There was nothing in the books.” Reg gestured over his shoulder to the haphazardly arranged bookshelf at his back. A combined three hundred and forty-two textbooks, studies, and paranormal catalogs, and not a single mention of a giant, yellow ghost. “I’m going through Dad’s old field notes now.”

  Reg knew he hadn’t returned the journals for a reason. Not at the time, perhaps, but now he did. His answer was here somewhere.

  Tera slumped against the doorframe. “Why don’t you just call him?”

  “Because he and Sylvia are on a two-week retreat reconnecting with nature.” Figures, the one time his old man took a vacation happened when Reg needed him the most. “I left a message but I don’t think there’s reception where they are.”

  “Oh, darn. Guess you’ll just have to call it quits and come watch TV with me.”

  “Go ahead and start without me.”

  Reg snapped the journal shut and reached for another. This was only the first box. There were another three on the floor behind him. Something flashed at the window again. Reg turned to catch a glimpse of the phantom before it disappeared. His spine went rigid against the back of the chair. The apparition hadn’t disappeared. It was outside, lingering on the other side of the window. Its bright yellow light flooded his office, obscured by the cheap sheer curtains.

  “Reg, hello? What are you staring at?” Tera stepped into his line of sight, waving. She followed his wide-eyed stare to the drawn curtains. “For the last time, nothing followed you home.”

  Tera approached the window, determined to prove her point.

  “Tera, wait!”

  She drew back the flimsy curtains, revealing the obnoxious yellow glow of the hotel sign across the street.

  The suffocating tightness in Reg’s chest eased. Had that sign always been there? How had he never noticed before?

  “You’re doing it again.” Tera’s hands went to her hips. “This is the whole reason we made the change, remember? It took over your life. You threw yourself into every new case until nothing else mattered.”

  “This isn’t like that.”

  “This is exactly like that!”

  Reg’s hand hovered over another journal, torn between what was right and what only felt right. He could feel Tera’s eyes on him, watching, waiting, hoping against all odds that he’d come to his senses.

  “You lost friends, Reg. Time you could have spent with your family.” Tera added, softly, “Lilly.”

  That did it. Stick a fork in him, he was done. Except instead of a fork Tera had gone straight for the steak knife and drove it into his heart. Deservedly.

  Reg raised his palms in defeat as he pushed the rolling chair out from under his desk. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t need to hear it from him to know, certainly not twice, but it was a good start. He owed Tera that and so, so much more. She was one of the few that had stuck around after the breakdown.

  Relief flooded her eyes. She didn’t say anything, only stared at him like a bystander watching an injured animal limp across the road, silently praying it’d make it to the other side without getting struck by traffic. It was the sort of blatant pity that made his skin crawl.

  Shuddering, Reg stood and slipped out the door into the hallway, calling over his shoulder. “I’m going to take a shower first. Pick whatever you want. I’ll be out in a tick.”

  Tera’s voice followed him into the bathroom. “You showered when we got home.”

  Reg wriggled out of his shirt and let it drop to the floor. His socks and pants soon joined the growing pile leading to the bathroom. For Tera’s sake, he left the boxer shorts as they were. “One wasn’t enough. I’ve got ectoplasm wedged up my nose. I can smell it.”

  “Gross.”

  “Be grateful I didn’t mention where else it’s wedged!” Reg closed the bathroom door behind him. Safely inside, hidden from those damn prying eyes, he pressed his shoulders against the wood. It took all of his dwindling willpower not to sink onto the warped linoleum and stay there for the rest of the night. He couldn’t, though. Tera would come looking for him eventually, and he’d already caused her enough heartache for one night. Enough for a lifetime, really.

  His eyes darted to the mirror. The gaunt face staring back at him was one he didn’t recognize. The plucky, starry-eyed dreamer from his youth was gone. After years of a never-ending uphill battle, his true colors were finally starting to show. Reg had awakened the monster and no matter how he tried, it refused to be shoved back in its cage.

  Reg’s gaze drifted lower to the floor. There was a tank shoved up against the bathtub, serving as a temporary home for his amphibian guest. Tonic toads required a moist environment and the bathroom was the only room in the apartment that wasn’t as bone-dry as his step-mother’s cooking. A stab of pain lanced through Reg’s chest at the sight of the tank. It had belonged to Lilly, originally. Just one of the many items left behind. He had vowed to get rid of her things, eventually. When he was ready.

  Until then, Lilly’s items remained stashed throughout the apartment, little haunting reminders of what his obsessive nature had taken from him.

  Sighing, Reg turned on the water and cracked open the window. His hand brushed the line of salt barricading the sill, spilling the white granules to the floor. Just his luck. Cursing under his breath, he knelt and rummaged through the cabinets under the sink, looking for the spare canister of salt he kept on hand for just this reason.

  The air whooshed behind him.

  Reg froze. Every hair on the back of his neck stood on end. A sea of invisible spiders crawled across his skin.

  “Stand and face me, little monster.” The voice was deep and velvety, blessed with the sort of natural timbre podcast hosts everywhere only dreamt about.

  Reg turned around, slowly, bracing himself for the worst. Still knelt on the ground, he found himself face-to-face with a part of the body that was most definitely not a face. Knees maybe? Good gods, how tall was this thing? Reg’s horrified gaze lifted. Up, up, up it went almost all the way to the ceiling. A phantom yellow mug glared menacingly back down at him.

  Terror stirred in the pit of Reg’s empty belly. Dark energy wafted from the apparition’s translucent form, filling the bathroom with the stench of sulfur and burnt electricity. One whiff and Reg knew what the entity was—or what it was about to become, specifically. The apparition looming dangerously over the top of him was on the brink of corruption. A spirit turned vengeful after fully corrupting. You didn't want to mess with a vengeful spirit. Reg had only ever seen the aftermath of one, but it'd been enough to convince him to avoid the supernatural beings altogether. A single push was all this one needed, and poof! The whole twelfth floor would be gone in a flash. Taking Reg out along with it.

  The apparition’s mouth parted, but whatever words it wished to impart were drowned out by Reg’s shrill scream. He didn’t mean to. It came out on its own volition, regardless of his mixed feelings on the matter.

  “Silence, mortal.” The apparition leaned menacingly closer. “Cease your—”

  Reg startled backward. He struck the sink and fell, spilling the bathroom toiletries from the open cabinet. The salt canister rolled out onto the floor next to him.

  The apparition’s heated expression pinned Reg to the floor. Its sickly yellow color glowed brighter. “I only want to—”

  It was cut off again, this time by Tera. Her concerned voice called from the other side of the door. “Reg? Are you okay in there?”

  The apparition turned its head, following the sound of her voice.

  No, no, no! He couldn't let it get to her.

  Reg poured a handful of salt into his open palm and whipped it at the apparition’s face. The salt crackled and popped in the air, forcing the spirit into a retreat. Snarling, its attention focused back on Reg, where it belonged. Quick as a flash, Reg shifted planes and jetted out the open window. His phantom form caught the wind and soared up over the building. He didn’t need to go far, just high enough to ensure the spirit didn’t take out any buildings the moment it erupted into a raging inferno.

  He slowed to a hover and watched the scene below. The world around him was as it was before, except void of color. This was the spirit plane, the overlapping space that existed between two dimensions. It served as the invisible barrier that separated life from the beyond. Here, pieces of both worlds intertwined. All lost souls that wandered the Earth existed on the spirit plane, including the one hot on his trail.

  Reg watched the apparition’s telltale yellow glow barrel out of the apartment after him. The corner of Reg’s phantom mouth twisted into a smirk.

  That’s right. Take the bait.

  While all ghosts possessed the ability to fly, few did it well. It was like tossing a human into a volatile current and expecting them to swim. They had the ability, theoretically, but none of the practice. Reg had been flying since before he could walk. He’d let the vengeful spirit chase him, staying just tantalizingly out of reach until the damn thing tuckered itself out. That, or exploded. Reg was fine with either outcome.

  A pair of large, sail-like wings unfurled from behind the apparition’s shoulders. With a single beat of its powerful wings, the glowing apparition shot skyward.

  That was…unfortunate.

  Reg took off, streaking across the dark sky like a fallen star. Most ghosts only knew how to hover or float. It was just his luck that, out of all the spirits to encounter in the great big world, Reg ended up with the one that already knew how to fly! His plan hadn’t accounted for this.

  Reg glanced behind him and immediately regretted it. Not only could Mr. Big and Scary fly, but he could do it well. The yellow apparition was gaining on him.

  He would have to settle for out-maneuvering him. Reg dove low and shot between two gray buildings. He banked right and then left, and left again. His conscience gnawed at the back of his mind. He knew leading a corrupting spirit through the city ran the risk of taking out an unsuspecting building along the way, but the alternative meant letting it take him out instead. Reg was too much of a coward for that. While life hadn’t always been easy, he wasn’t ready to give up on it yet.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Stop this at once!” The apparition sounded entirely too close for comfort.

  Reg zigged and zagged recklessly between buildings. He cut it a little too close and nicked the corner of a parking garage. Pain spasmed through his body. He pressed forward, ignoring the pangs of agony coursing through his phantom limbs. Unlike ghosts, Reg belonged to the land of the living. He had a physical body to return to. Any damage he sustained in the spirit plane followed him back into the physical world. Because of this, he had to be careful. Returning to his solid form missing an arm or, worse, a head was not a gamble he could afford.

  “You are acting like an idiot!”

  “What a coincidence!” Reg shouted over the wind whistling through his phantom ears. “I am an idiot!” Okay, maybe not his best comeback, but he was too distracted trying to outmaneuver the big, scary yellow thing to come up with something better.

  “I mean you no harm.”

  A second glance confirmed that Mr. Big and Scary was nearly within arm’s reach. Reg panicked, pouring everything he had into his getaway. “No harm? You’re three seconds away from turning into a raging ball of fire!”

  “I would be calmer if I was not being forced to chase an idiot across the city!”

  The strain was too much. He couldn’t hold it. Reg’s energy sputtered out, threatening to deposit him back into the world of the living mid-air. He had no other choice but to touch back down before gravity did the work for him. Reluctantly, he slowed to a crawl and drifted down to the nearest rooftop. His feet were already solid the moment his bare toes made contact with the frozen cement. Color returned to the area around him as Reg crossed back into the living plane.

  “Cold, cold, cold!” He leapt from foot to foot, shivering in the blistering wind.

  Mr. Big and Scary landed on the roof beside him. The apparition folded his wings as his blocky facial features set like stone in a disapproving frown. “Finally.”

  Reg glared up at the apparition, realizing at long last what sort of being Mr. Big and Scary had been pre-mortem. Reg felt slightly better about not identifying his species sooner. After all, he’d never seen a gargoyle up close. Certainly explained Mr. Big and Scary’s enormous stature.

  “Well.” Reg shivered, trying to encourage feeling back into his fingers with the warmth of his breath. “You’ve got a captive audience, don’t you? What do you want?”

  “To talk.”

  The tips of Reg’s pointed ears burned hot against the blistering cold. Talk? He’d nearly killed himself trying to get away and all the big dummy wanted to do was talk? Reg snapped, “And you didn’t mention that before because?”

  “I did. Multiple times.” The gargoyle gazed back down at him as if it were the most painfully obvious thing in the world. “I cannot help that you were screaming like a small child and did not hear.”

  All good points, Reg conceded. Not that he was going to admit that aloud. “Well hurry up then. I’m not going to last much longer out here like this.”

  “We could adjourn back to your apartment if you would prefer.”

  “Not a chance.” There was no way in hell Reg was bringing an actively corrupting spirit back to his place. “Here is fine.”

  “Very well. I need your help. I have a problem that only you can solve.” As an apparition did not possess working lungs, and therefore did not breathe, Reg could only assume Mr. Big and Scary’s pause was for dramatic effect. “I am dead.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Happens to the best of us. Can I go now?”

  The gargoyle’s blocky features furrowed into a deeper frown. “Must you interrupt so much?”

  Reg had already moved on from the interrupting phase well into ‘let me just stop you right there’ territory. He raised his hand for silence. “Look, I don’t care what you’ve heard, but it’s not possible. Forget it. I can’t bring you back from the dead.”

  “I do not want you to necromance me,” the gargoyle said. “I was murdered. I want you to find my murderer and bring them to justice. Hear my case, at the very least, please.”

  For an actively corrupting spirit, Mr. Big and Scary was unusually polite. Perhaps it was the exhaustion, the cold, or the simple fact that Reg was standing in nothing but his boxer shorts, but his resolve cracked like the layer of ice beneath his numb toes. “Fine,” he said, bitterly. “But I am only going to listen. Nothing more, understand? And if I bring you back to the apartment, you have to swear not to blow it up. Deal?”

  Mr. Big and Scary appeared offended by the very suggestion. “I would never.”

  Reg squinted up at him, unable to read the apparition’s broad, phantom features. “Would never what? Blow up? Or agree to such a deal?”

  The wording on these types of things could not be overlooked. That’s how one ended up blown to indiscernible bits inside the smoldering remains of their apartment.

  “Blow up.” The gargoyle repeated, exaggerating the length of each syllable in a way meant to come across as demeaning. It was effective.

  Dear gods, what on Earth was he getting himself into? Shaking the numbness from his hands, Reg channeled the last of his strength and shifted planes once more. He didn’t have much energy left, but it’d be enough to get home. Hopefully. His phantom body felt as if it’d been filled with wet sand. Reg rose, slowly, until he caught the current, allowing the wind to carry him homeward. Mr. Big and Scary glided effortlessly alongside him.

  The bathroom window was open, as Reg had left it. Much unlike the bathroom door, which was now lying scattered in various pieces across the scuffed linoleum floor. Tera’s doing, undoubtedly. Reg suddenly feared what the rest of the apartment looked like.

  Mr. Big and Scary materialized through the open window beside him. The gargoyle swept his head from side to side, studying the paint-chipped walls curiously. “Tell me,” his voice rumbled deep inside his translucent chest, “why did I have such difficulty entering your home before?”

  “The walls and doors are charmed against ghosts.” Reg snatched the towel from the nearest hook and wrapped it around his shivering shoulders. “I keep the sills salted, but I broke the line opening the window. It created a breach, which is how you got in.”

  “Is this level of paranoia normal for you?”

  “You’d do the same if you had ghosts trying to break down your door all hours of the day.”

  “Hmmm.” The glowing apparition pushed past Reg into the hallway. He took in the piles of clothing scattered across the floor and bare, colorless walls. “You can tell much about a person from their home. Do you want to know what yours says?”

  Reg did not.

  Mr. Big and Scary told him regardless. “You distance yourself from society. You keep your life small and yet, somehow still chaotic. You have convinced yourself that you prefer it this way when, in reality, you are quite lonely.”

  Rude. No one had the right to see through him so easily! That was the sort of privilege that came from years of exposure. Forcing his numb feet one in front of the other, Reg grudgingly followed the gargoyle out into the hallway. “Is that all?”

  Evidently not. Mr. Big and Scare continued, “You are, as they say, a loser.”

  “That’s it, I’m getting the salt!”

  “Reg, is that you?” Tera’s voice prevented Reg from stomping back into the bathroom. Her silhouette appeared at the mouth of the hallway wielding a rather intimidating-looking firearm. It was Tera’s mouth, not the gun, that opened fire, fortunately. “What happened? Where have you been? Are you alright?” Her concerned gaze dropped lower. “Where are your clothes?”

  “I will explain everything, Tera. I swear. But you have to promise me one thing first.”

  Tera narrowed her eyes. “What?”

  “Don’t shoot.”

  She lifted the firearm defensively. “You brought something back with you, didn’t you?”

  As they were already wasting valuable time on pointless questions, Reg supposed it was only fair he asked one of his own. “Where did you get a salt gun, anyway?”

  “Rifle,” Tera corrected. “And here, obviously. I keep one stashed at your place at all times. Don’t worry. I made sure it was somewhere you’d never look.”

  How concerning. Reg liked firearms almost as much as he liked unwelcome houseguests.

  Tera proved once more, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was still the same terrifying fireball of unpredictability that Reg had come to know and love. Admittedly, there was a healthy dose of fear involved as well. Probably the reason they got along so well.

  Reg, hunched and shivering, wagged his finger at her, reiterating, “Do. Not. Shoot.”

  Whatever happened next was up to fate now. He rendered the gargoyle visible before shuffling inside his bedroom and kicking the door shut. Two sweaters, his fluffiest sweatpants, and a double layer of socks later, Reg reemerged dressed for a blizzard. Ridiculousness aside, it certainly beat shivering to death in his underwear.

  The household was suspiciously quiet. Not quiet-quiet, as he hear could low voices coming from beyond the hallway, but there was a noticeable lack of shouting and the telltale ricochet of salt pellets. Reg dragged his aching carcass into the living room to find Tera sitting wedged in the corner of the couch. The salt rifle leaned against the coffee table near her knees. Mr. Big and Scary’s translucent bulk took up the rest of the faded, flower-print sofa. With nowhere else to sit, Reg settled for the floor.

  “Nick filled me in while you were getting dressed,” Tera said to Reg. “He’s been murdered and apparently you’ve agreed to listen to his case?”

  Tera was doing that thing where her words did not match her intended meaning. Normally Reg was quite adept at decoding her hidden messages, but he couldn’t work past who the hell was Nick.

  Tera scoffed, gesturing to their guest. “You didn’t even ask his name, did you?”

  “He did not,” Nick replied.

  “Oddly, it didn’t come up,” Reg said. “What, with all the screaming and fleeing for my life.”

  Tera took it upon herself to make the official introduction. Her outstretched hand jumped from one to the other. “Reginald Harrows, meet Nickabott Dare.” She repeated the motion, this time in reverse. “Nick, Reg.”

  Calling a gargoyle ‘Nick’ seemed so…ordinary. Plain. Wrong. Shaking his head, Reg folded his hands into his lap, sorely missing the fact that he didn’t have a desk. Desks made everything so much more official. Chairs, too, for that matter. He addressed Nick. “Let’s get this over with, shall we? Tell in, in as few words as possible, how you came to be murdered and why.”

  Tera facepalmed.

  Nick leaned over, whispering, “He is very bad at this. Is this why you went out of business, Tera?”

  Unwilling to remove the hands currently concealing her face, Tera simply spoke through her fingers instead. “Do you remember how you died, Nick?”

  “I do not.”

  Nick went on to explain that the last thing he remembered was returning home from work. He recounted an uncanny feeling upon entering the house, followed by an intense fear, but he couldn’t recall why. Everything after that was hazy, bits and pieces of broken details adrift on a shifting tide—anger, a numbing cold, a sea of undulating darkness, and then nothing. He awoke in a strange field outside of the city the next day, filled with rage.

  For the life of him, Nick couldn’t remember how or why he’d ended up in a field. He was a creature of habit. He followed a very strict routine, one which certainly did not include random escapades to the countryside. Confused, Nick took to the air, determined to find his way home and make sense of what had happened. Eventually, he reached a part of the city he recognized. But every time he drew close to home, his surroundings warped around him, depositing him in another random part of the city. Nick tried over and over again, to no avail, each failure inadvertently fueling the fire that had awoken him on that first day in the field.

  It was the same with his place of work. Venture too close to any of his familiar hangouts, and he’d soon find himself magicked elsewhere. Nick tried to seek help, but no one acknowledged him. Day by day, week by passing week, his anger festered until, at last, it manifested into his current, sickly yellow glow. Lost, confused, and desperate for somewhere familiar, Nick sought refuge by wandering the halls of the local hospital. He’d worked there as a security guard many, many years before. It was the only place left that felt a little bit like home. That’s how he’d come to learn about Reg. Nick had been in the old surveillance room, idling watching the screens, when he noticed the strange little man who could talk to ghosts.

  “Huh,” Reg said when all of Tera’s questions had been satisfied.

  There was definitely something there. The inability to return home, in particular, reeked of enhancement. A banishing spell, most likely. Reg’s pulse quickened as the hot rush of adrenaline flushed beneath his skin. It gnawed like a mouse along the edges of his mind, urging him to sink his teeth into the case and not let go until he had all the answers.

  And that’s precisely why the next words out of his mouth were: “You need to go to the police, Nick. Haven Burrow has an entire department dedicated to solving paranormal crimes. They can help you.”

  “No.”

  “It’s their job,” Reg said.

  Nick leaned forward with a scowl. “In life, I was treated as a monster. Why would death be any different? You said so yourself, I am days away from corrupting. Do you think the authorities are going to stop and ask questions? Hear my side of things? Or are they going to take one look at my decaying soul and incinerate me on the spot?”

  The latter, Reg conceded. “Point taken.”

  Vengeful spirits were not something to be trifled with. Nick’s spirit hadn’t fully corrupted yet, but he was well on his way. Alas, there was little room for such nuance when it came to protecting the city against otherworldly threats.

  “I do not want the authorities, I want you,” Nick said. “I saw you help that boy from the accident. You helped him pass on peacefully. I want you to do the same for me. Find my killer and my unfinished business will be concluded.”

  And if Reg didn’t, he’d be left with a vengeful spirit on his hands. Great. Lovely. Simply spectacular! Help me or face the consequences of my corrupted spirit—that was the gist of the deal being offered.

  There was only one thing left to do. “Tera,” Reg said, “can you search the missing person’s database? Check if Nick’s been reported yet?”

  She looked conflicted. They’d agreed no more cases, not just for Reg’s sake, but hers too. Tera was a people person. She got invested. It had started to chip away at her mental health, causing her to shut down for weeks anytime a case went belly up. Tera’s gaze moved from Reg to the ghost taking up most of the couch beside her. She sighed, her bleeding heart getting the best of her one last time, and then pulled out her phone to look up the answer.

  “No missing person’s report.”

  As Reg expected. “Let’s start there then.”

  Nick lifted his head hopefully. “You will take the case?”

  “No. I told you I would listen to what you had to say, and that’s what I did. I’ll report you missing, make some calls to the station, and pass on everything you’ve given me. But my involvement ends there. The police can take care of the rest.”

  Tera’s stiff shoulders relaxed, visibly relieved. Still conflicted, perhaps, but glad that Reg had made the call and not her.

  Nick was less appreciative. He sat back against the couch, drumming his clawed fingertips on the worn armrest. The stench of sulfur and burnt electricity clogged the air as his yellow aura burned brighter. His velvety voice rumbled deep in his chest. “I do not share your optimism, Reginald.”

  “Not my problem.” Reg shrugged.

  “Very well. Then I will stay here in the meantime. If the authorities are as competent as you claim, then you have no reason to worry.” Nick mimicked the way Reg shrugged his shoulders. He made it look far more terrifying. “After all, I am only days away from corrupting. What is the worst that can happen?”