The Adventures of Dick Ecto, Ghost Detective!

[TwoKillerMockingbirds]

And now, straight from the studios of Specterclean incorporated, comes the heart-pounding, action-packed, undead exploits of everyone's favorite P.I. of the paranormal...

This is the Adventures of Dick Ecto, Ghost Detective!

Episode one; The Wineglass Matter

Friday, March 13th
10:00 pm

The rain beat against my window like the hooves of countless headless horsemen. It was a dark night, a stormy night. A superstitious night as well, which was good news in my business. I could really do with a bit of paranormal paranoia here abouts.

The name's Dick. Dick Ecto, for those who haven't heard. Private investigator by nature. I take on those cases that are a little too bizarre for the police to handle. Hauntings, possessions, spooks, those type of things. Business had been quiet recently. A little too quiet for my tastes. Too quiet for my landlord as well, who never hesitated to stop by and remind me of that last rent's bill is still apparently 'in the mail.'

I sighed, and lit up a cigar, leaning against the grimy wall of my less than dignified establishment. I glanced out the lone, long window by the door. The rain was still coming down in buckets, soaking those poor figured huddled under piles of raged, stained jackets. The neon signs above them flickered, casting a wavering red light through the flooded streets. Across the road, the signs prominently declared "Chi Evaluatons" and "Pam Readins" with several of the letters blown out long ago. Next door, there was a sleazy little bar called "The Catscratch." Not exactly the most tasteful of joints, but some of the local undesirables that collect there pick some ripe fruit off of the downtown grape-vine. It wasn't exactly my kind of quarter, but my calling wasn't exactly noble anymore. But it's a living, and someone had to do it. Who was I to question Fate when she pointed her spindly little finger at me and said, "You're it."

The storm let loose another clap of thunder, and my window rattled as if possessed by ghostly chains. Normally I'd be home by now, but the rain hadn't let up enough, and besides, callers often come at strange hours and I'm not at the point where I can turn down a case on account of business hours. An eerie silence settled upon the room, and with the next flash of lightening all my hair stood on edge. Something was going to happen tonight- I could feel it in my bones.

Then, as if on cue, the phone rang. I let it ring once more before answering.

"Hello?"

"Ah, yes... This is one Dick Ecto, no?" There was a broad on the other end of the line- nothing unusual. It's usually the ladies that tend to notice something's awry, and don't try to tough it out like the fellas. This one at least seems to be keeping her cool- which was nice. I've spent many a long night consoling dames. This particular client had an oddly thick Russian accent, sounded very upper-class. Good news for my reputation- and my pocket book.

"Speaking," I replied, "Offices for the investigation into paranormal crimes. What can I help you with tonight?"

"Yes, I have a rather... delicate matter which requires your special set of skills. I was hoping perhaps we could meet in person? As soon as possible, as well."

"..."

[Bloddyredcommie]

Put on a pot of coffee and ask her to come down to your office.

[PsychoKitty]

Ask the lady's name before you get down to business.
Then put on some shades to live up to your name.

[TwoKillerMockingbirds]

“Of course. How about you come down to the office? The weather isn’t exactly the best, but I can certainly vouch for your privacy here.”

The lady paused for a moment, then spoke up. “Yes, alright. I will be there in a short time. Thank you, Mr. Ecto.”

She promptly hung up the phone, before I even had time to give her the address. I stared at the receiver a second, then shrugged. She probably had her own ways of taking caer of these things. All the dames do- especially those high-class ones. It’s the high-end broads you have to watch out for.

“What, Dick, inviting a lady over?” The silky voice behind me made me jump.

Talk about watching out for dames. Sitting on top of my desk, dressed in her finest furs, was none other than Irene Vespière.

“Irene.” I gave her a tired glare. “I thought I’d ask you not to sneak up on me.”

She pouted sullenly. “Oh, Dick, you know sneaking’s the only way I do things, anymore.” She hopped off the bureau, leaving the papers completely unruffled. Irene began waltzing around me, silently. Her fur trimmed cape seemed to float off the ground, the edges of her figure giving the illusion of mist. “What, with my footsteps being so light… My touch so delicate now…” She stroked my chin with one finger, leaving nothing but a chill. Then, Irene loosed one of her deadly smiles. “Don’t you just want to hold me, Dick?” She whispered in my ear, leaning onto my shoulder and slowly falling through, passing through my arms like nothing but so much smoke. The cold filled my whole body.

“I think that you really enjoy being a ghost too much, Irene.”

One sharp laugh was all she gave, and a gold curl fell over her icy blue eyes. “A girl’s got to have some fun, nowadays. Being dead is so delightfully dull. No books to read, no art to admire, no men to bait.” There was that grin again. “I must attempt to reap all the joy I can from my post-mortem existence, and a good deal of that is generated by tweaking your little P.I. nose.” She gave my nose a coy tap. Her finger was like an icicle.

“I’ve noticed. I’m glad your tricks at least amuse one of us.”

“Oh, cheer up Dick. No need to be so tight about it. Although I bet it has to do with that woman coming over. So soon after us, too.”

“Firstly, we were never a thing, Irene. It was just another of your little games, and we both know that. Secondly, she’s a client, thank you. And thirdly,” and I shot her my most hard-boiled glance, “You’re dead.”

She waved her hand as if to disperse the rumors in the air. “Oh, such a trivial detail, death. Never seemed to stop me.”

“More’s the pity.” More coy pouting. “Look, Irene, we just established I got a client coming over, and I gotta get this place cleaned up. I can’t have a client see me arguing with the air, alright?”

She lifted her chin, shooting me a haughty glace down her nose. “Fine, Dick. I shall make myself scant.” With an unearthly grace, she stalked off into the wall, and disappeared.

I sighed. Irene was handful. Even more so dead. In life, she was what you would call a femme fatale- that is, until things turned fatal. She was a manager at the Catscratch, working her way up from being nothing but a dancer to one of the most beautiful women in the whole city. She had men wrapped around her fingers, playing games, until she broke the wrong heart. She died with a bullet in hers.

Now that she was out of the way, I focused on straightening up the place a bit, putting away some papers- especially that bill. I threw on a tie, fixed up my suit, and of course, donned the hat.

The rain continued to pound when I saw headlights cutting through the storm. A car pulled up to the curb, and a dame in a long black coat exited. She walked up nervously, glancing about her. I held the door open once she approached, and bade her enter. Upon seeing me, she gave a relieved smile.

She was a tall drink of water, nearly my height, with high cheekbones, pale, pale skin, and piercing grey eyes. I took her cloak from her, hanging the wet garment up to dry, and pulled her out a chair.

I took my place at my desk, resting my cigar in the ash tray. “So, ma’am, what exactly can I do for you tonight?”

“I have come to ask you about a case, Mr. Ecto. My name is Doreen Zakharova, and some… strange things have been happening recently.” She paused, pursing her lips. “Where should I begin?”

[PsychoKitty]

From the end

[Bloddyredcommie]

Ask why she's coming to you instead of the police.

[TwoKillerMockingbirds]

Announcer: Specterclean Incorporated is proud to The Adventures of Dick Ecto, Ghost Detective. We’d like to remind our listeners to use Specterclean brand cleaning products for all their household cleaning needs.

[A door squeaks open, and footsteps are heard]

Husband: Margaret, I’m home! Did you remember to pick up th- Margaret? W-what are you doing?

Wife: B-bill! You’re home early dearest. I’m just cleaning the carpet here. I, ah, spilled a little red wine [Nervous chuckle] Clumsy little me.

Husband: Wine? This early? Wh-what’s that streak of red. Oh, oh God, that’s blood. Margaret, what happened? I’m hanging up my coat and calling the police!

Wife: Bill no, don’t-!

[Dramatic music, a door opens and a thumping sound. Husband screams]

Husband: [frantic] Oh God! God God God. M-margaret, there’s a corpse in the closet, there’s, there’s-

[Silence except for the click of a pistol being cocked]

Wife: [coldly] I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t want to drag you into this too. Rest in peace.

[A gun shot is heard]

Announcer: Poor Margaret. Here secret found out because of a simple little bloodstain that just wouldn’t come out. That’s because Margaret wasn’t using Specterclean brand cleaning products. Specterclean’s domestic cleansing items come with a guarantee to remove all incriminating evidence and leave your house with a guilt-free shine. Let’s see what would have happened if Margaret had been using Specterclean brand products;

[Flash-back harps]

Husband: Margaret, I’m home! Did you remember to pick up the tickets like I asked? [pause]Hmm, is the carpet a little wet here?

Wife: Oh, yes dear, I took the liberty of cleaning while you were out

Husband: Well, the place looks spotless as ever. I can always count on you, hun. So how ‘bout those tickets?

Wife: Why, I picked them up from the office, just like you asked.

Husband: Marvelous, marvelous. Let me just hang up my coat and we’ll get ready for the show, hmm?

Wife: Oh now Bill, let me take that. You’ve still got that stain on the collar, see? I’ll take it to the dry cleaners in the morning.

Husband: I can always count on you dear.

Wife: [slyly] Well, ‘till death do us part, they said. [chuckle] Let’s get ready for that show.

Announcer: He never has to know. That’s the power of Specterclean products

Announcer: Specterclean; Because the skeletons in your closet deserve to shine too

We now return you to The Adventures of Dick Ecto, Ghost Detective!

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I hope to do these little commercials from time to time. Give a little bit of old-radio feel. I also apologize for the pause- I hope to get a proper update up before the weekend

[TwoKillerMockingbirds]

“Why don’t you start at the end?”

“Excuse me?” She asks, slightly perplexed

“The end. Why bother starting at the beginning of the story?.” The lightning struck outside my window, the flash like a bad paparazzi hoping to get a glimpse of the dame here. She, herself, looked the part. A scarf was wrapped around her head, her eyes low, staring at the floor. Shadows fell all across her cold expression. With an icy demeanor like that, Russian she had to be, and I knew this was a skirt I wasn’t looking to mess with. I headed to the coffee maker. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black, please.”

“Then again,” I continued, sliding back into the desk, handing the mug across to her, “I already know how the story ends. An elegant Russian dame pays a visit to a dark, lonely quarter, stooping through the mud and flooded streets to pay a visit to my little establishment. So perhaps that a better question,” I leaned forward, staring into her icy blue eyes. “What’d you need me for? Why not head over to the police? I’m sure that they’re more qualified for a lady of such stature as yourself.”

Doreen sighed, and lifted herself from the stained brown chair. She was covered in layers of fur and cloaks, no doubt hoping to avoid detection, but I couldn’t help but admire the grace she carried herself with. I mentally thanked God that my petit phantom had decided to take the night off. There’s no way she’d take kindly to this client. “Mister… Ecto. I am not at the Police station for two reasons. One, I prefer that such personal details about my family remain treated with the confidentiality I assume a dignified person of your profession is endowed with. Secondly…” Another growl of thunder echoed, and the lady stared out the window, parting the shades with two delicate fingers.

“They would believe me if I told them.”

“When I was a child, my family fled our Russian estate. I do not remember much about it. I remember my father growing disgusted with politics, some mornings he would slam the newspapers down against our tables and storm out in a rage. My mother became more and more nervous as she saw unrest growing in the villages. And one night, I must have been nine, we packed our bags in the night and left everything we had. My parents, my uncle, my two brothers and I.”

“Most of our belongings were left at our estate. God knows what’s happened to them now. But there was one thing we could not stand to part with. It was the most beautiful wine cabinet I have ever seen, an heirloom passed down through our family for generations. Birch, inlaid with all sorts of imported woods, precious metals, gorgeous ornate carvings. I can’t imagine my childhood without remembering my father, before dinner, carefully choosing the perfect vintage.”

Thunder like a ghostly train roared through the city streets, born by the winds of the storm.

“We managed to smuggle it out of the motherland, but not without a cost.”

The story seemed to be picking up with the storm, I nodded attentively, took another swig of my coffee, and reminded myself to make sure that thunderclap wasn’t actually a ghost train. The things have the most inaccurate schedules.

“Lemme guess-“ I interrupted. “Someone died that night and now they’re possessing the cabinet?”

“Not exactly, Mr. Ecto. Not exactly.”

>____

[Shadow Phoenix]

"We had to get help from a specific individual to smuggle it. And we couldn't keep our end of the bargain"

[Whimbrel]

>You later found out that the cabinet was ALREADY possessed

[TwoKillerMockingbirds]

The dame sighed again- I could tell this wasn’t exactly pleasant history.

“Someone did indeed die, but not that night. As you may well know, many family heirlooms don’t exactly have the most… pristine past. Ours was no exception. It saw several wars and might have had a history of possession before, if our records were any indication. We wrote it off as early superstition.” She smiled sadly. “It would have drawn too much attention, and taken far too much time to attempt to remove the wine cabinet legally. So, we called on a friend of ours, a trader, owning ships around the ports near Leningrad, now. He agreed to smuggle the cabinet for us, but at a cost. He wanted us to take his wife over to America when we left.

“She was a beautiful woman, exquisitely fine-featured and soft-spoken, from the little I remember of her. I know that she and her husband deeply loved each other. I also knew travel was dangerous for her. She was a hemophiliac, Mr. Ecto, with rumors of a royal heritage somewhere in her lines. Her husband wanted her sent on the finest ships, under our supervision. He planned to later join her.

“But, there was, of course, an issue. A violent storm hit, not too unlike the one we are in now. The boat was shaking awfully. It was horrible, Mr. Ecto, and a horrible mistake on our part. We had left Vera- that was her name- alone in her room. As the ship tossed, some of the furniture broke loose from where it was bolted to her. She bled to death and she had been dead for hours before we found her.

“When we arrived at the states, her husband was there to meet us. And all we could present him with was a corpse. He made good, delivering us the cabinet unharmed. He stayed to have her buried, over here, and then…” Doreen shuddered.

“Then he killed himself.”

I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach- I thought I saw where this was going. “And the wine cabinet, since then…?”

“Yes. It has been possessed. Ever since that day, all those years ago, any wine placed in that cabinet has been turned to blood.”

“But why come now? This, after all, happened some 20, 30 years ago. What changed?” I pressed

“My mother died,” She said bluntly, a shadow crossing the icy blue eyes of hers. “Before, e steered clear of the cabinet, all was well. But my mother…” The dame, for all her strength, lost her composure, returning to the grimy chair as she sipped her coffee, regaining control. “I’m sorry,” she said, almost monotone. “My mother’s last will was for her ashes to be kept in the cabinet. She was adamant.”

Realization dawned on me. “And you’re afraid this spirit will harm your mothers ashes.”

“That is it exactly.”

“Ms Zakharova,” I said, “I am truly sorry for your loss, and I will do all I can to help your mother rest safely.”

We then got down to business. Supernatural investigations were tricky, since my average clients were often unable to tell the nuances, and could misinform me. What someone sees as a poltergeist me be a tricky Fey, very different problems. In addition, investigating must occur as well as solving the problem, which can be as simple as an incantation or as difficult as tracking down a golem’s puppeteer. Sometimes, after learning the details of the situation, my clients choose to not even go through with any sort of purification. So I’d developed a system to best serve my clients.

I start with a flat consultation fee per day I spend investigating the ins and outs of any given situation. I find out all I can, then explain to the clients the problems, and my suggested manner of dealing with them, and let them raise any question they may have. Then, actually dealing with the supernatural crisis is charged by the hour, on a fee agreed upon by me and the clients.

The dame agreed that she’d send me up a car in the morning, to begin investigating the cabinet. With that I bid her goodnight, and settled into my shadows. The storm seemed to be letting up some, so I lit up another cigar and pondered some.

The thing possessing that cabinet definitely seemed like your typical ghost, not any boggart or other mischief creature. Demonic possession was unlikely, but it’s been long enough since I’d tackled a straight, vengeful spirit case that it couldn’t hurt to look over some variants.

In the far corner of the room, there was a rickety bookshelf with a few dust-bound tomes. It tends to go unnoticed- most people’s subconscious preferred to reject it than bother accepting the books malignant aura. Something a supernatural PI tends to get over real fast. The correct book was not hard to locate, bound in black leather with red letters marking out the title, The Compendium of the Strange, Supernaturale, and Aetheriale. A little gaudy, but the casters strong enough to bind magic books have the right to do whatever they wanted, even it that meant ending every adjective with the letter ‘e’

This book did gave one of the more interesting inventory systems, I recalled. The trick was to think about your situation or what you needed info on, close your eyes, and flip a page. It opened up to the section you needed, though the ink on the page shifted around. Putting a bookmark in did not open up the section you were at last, and if you managed to open without thinking about anything, odds are you’s see a blank page. Opening the book while lost and thought could send you to some, ah, interesting places.

So it was important I focused on what it was I felt like knowing, before heading out tomorrow.

>_

[Whimbrel]

"Variations on the Human Ghoste; Hauntings Thereby"

[Shadow Phoenix]

"Unsettled spirits bound in objects"
"Vengeance loci"
"Russian ghosts"

[suomynonAyletamitlU]

"Malevolence and You: How to Detect Evil Intent, Banish Spirits, & Keep Those Unwanted Pounds off your Waistline!"
"Grief Counselling for Dummies: Consoling Wicked Spirits with a Bare Minimum of Condescending Detachment"
"Empathy 101: If You Knew How Hard It Was To Write This Book, You'd Clean It Now And Again You Ingrateful Swine"

[TwoKillerMockingbirds]

I placed my hand on the cover, and thought very, very hard

Ladies and gentlemen, step right up, take your bets, the demon book is about to open. And…

Bingo. “The Human Ghoste”

Well almost. There was a subtext beneath, in a sprawling cursive. “The shelf could use a little dusting.”

Right.

Humans are odd little buggers, and ghoste- I mean, ghosts, are no exception. Most every thing on the earth has got itself figured out when it comes to what they’re made of. Animals, despite whatever those touching periodicals say, are strictly in the material plane, along with rocks, sky, ocean, and all that jazz. It’s mirrored on the spiritual plane, so the animists were partially right, but the two never touch. Things on the spiritual plane find that unless they take form, they cannot exist, and unless they wrap themselves in something material, they last even less long. They start to fray like old, scratched records. There are plenty of things that exist strictly on the spiritual planes. Most souls hike up there, along with ideas and feelings and God only knows what manner of creatures (A statement more than true, depending on your belief)

Humans, though, are spirits that got it in their head that they should be material. So they wrap themselves up in flesh, and when that goes, you had better hightail it wherever you’re going to go in the spirit realm.

Some spirits don’t quite get the hightailing down, though. Those, are what we come to know ghosts- spirits of the dead.

There’s a couple of ways one does not pass on to the great beyond, you see. Three main categories. There are ghosts that don’t want to leave, ghosts that can’t figure out how to leave, and ghosts that are forced here.

Ghosts that want to stay are the most straight forward. They’re kind of what you’d call completionists. They never got to see the Grand Canyon, they need to make sure junior can successfully raid the Sith, that kind of thing. They can’t stick around for very long, though it varies with the strength of spirits.

Some souls that choose to stay take on another form. Those are your supernatural creatures. The ones generally designated Fey tend to be the most common spirit-receivers. The thing is, they last for very long periods, and the souls are often damaged, so they lose much of their human identity in there new forms. There’s a lot of question as to how each individual species comes to being, which they mostly keep under lock and key, and I’m not one to pry. The little I’ve gathered, though, is that they convert soul into body, but that means once they’re dead, they’re just… gone.

Not a pleasant thought to me, but eh, each their own.

Then there are souls that can’t, or don’t know how to leave.

Firstly, you have your lost souls, typically little kids, that just don’t know to walk into the light. Entirely non-threatening, though they can cause damage if spooked.

Then, there are souls bound by unfinished duties. Sometimes, that duty may be vengeance. Often, these souls are stuck near a particular object which hold their form, and can stick around for exceedingly long periods of time because of the solid aspect. They are, however, bound to a radius of that aspect. These aspects can be anything, a bottle, a birch wine cellar- tombstones were common too. I glanced at the second nameplate hanging on the door. Tombstones were far too common

Lastly, there are souls who can’t let themselves leave. They’ve some sort of subconscious block tying them down that they don’t want to admit. Our dearest Irene is one of these. Forced to walk the night scene ‘till she gets her act together.

I wouldn’t bet on that happening any time soon.

And… Then there are spirits forced to stay on the mortal plane. I shut the book. There were some things I personally couldn’t handle, and those necromancing sickos were among them. Brutal death, soul extractions- It sent shivers down my spine.

That was probably enough reading for tonight. With a little more information, I could do some more reading later. I tucked the book politely away, where it promptly tried to hide itself from my mind. Or my mind from it, depending on how you looked at it. It was just about time to lock up here, unless there was anything else I needed to do before the morning.

[Shadow Phoenix]

Seems we have a case of unfinished duties... or vengeance?
Yeah, better hope for that one. Since it seems the death of the girl was accidental, it should be possible to put her soul to rest... but beforehand, you'll have to interrogate Doreen a second time to ascertain nothing, nothing ugly especially, was hidden from you. Doing it in the vicinity of the unrestful spirit may help!

But better check your classics. Will Irene follow you on the job?

[Bloddyredcommie]

Do vengeful spirits usually manifest like this? It sounds like her death was a tragic accident, not the fault of the family.

[suomynonAyletamitlU]

What, you don't have a damp cloth to wipe down the shelf with? Maybe if you were a little bit nicer to your mysterious evil books they wouldn't use dark magic to screw with your thoughts more than once or twice a day, I mean it's part of what they are, but you could be polite is all I'm saying.

Some people.