Chương 1: Exorcisms can be boring

'I never know what to do in those situations,' I thought, looking at the widow and her family's tears.

'Should I just lie to them? Put on the standard fake exorcism, take the money, and go?' It's not like I cared much about the morality of the whole thing, and even if I refused, they would probably find some charlatan to "help" them. Someone who parodied rituals steeped in history and tradition that they couldn't begin to understand, just for a quick buck. Giving any business to those people wasn't on my to-do list, even if that meant scamming someone myself.

'Or do I tell the truth and hope this will be the end of it? No more money spent on exorcists, energy experts, or some other crystal-healing-adjacent professions,' I wondered, looking forward with an unfocused gaze. With the widow's second loud sob, my train of thought came to a screeching halt. I took another look around me, hoping that an actual ghost or demon would pop out from somewhere. But all I saw was an old family house with dark wooden floors that creaked with every step.

To my left was a kitchen, connected to the living room in which we all stood. The slightly creepy atmosphere of an old Victorian house was further enhanced by the many gray family pictures hanging on the walls. I stood facing a big window overlooking the backyard, with about ten family members and the widow herself standing to my left. And to my greatest disappointment, no otherworldly entity in sight. The only thing haunted here was a blindingly bright pink dress worn by one of the women.

"So, to clarify, Miss Lena, you said that after your husband's funeral, his favorite rocking chair sometimes moves on its own, and you now have nightmares about him?" I asked in a calm, even voice, not letting my thoughts affect my professional demeanor.

"Y-yes, I-I was peeling the vegetables as always." She started again on a story we'd all heard at least a couple of times by now. But I did not stop her. I knew better.

"And then I looked toward the chair, where he would sit and read the newspaper while I made him dinner. A-and t-the chair—" She stopped to blow her nose again, accompanied by reassuring words from the family. After a deep breath, she continued.

"It was rocking back and forth, as… as… as if…" Another deep breath, "as if he were waiting for his dinner." She finished with a new bout of tears flowing from her eyes. The supposedly haunted chair stood in front of me, and looking at it, I couldn't help but sigh. The object of ghost activity was made of wood, with the seat and backrest made of a material stretched between the frame.

The whole thing seemed very light, so light that it could probably be moved by a gust of wind, especially since it stood next to a window. An open window…

'Should I just tell her?' I wondered. But in my experience, people rarely accept their mistakes. Usually, it ended with something along the lines of 'How do you explain the nightmares?' or 'I felt his presence' or some other unprovable symptom. But if she could arrive at the answer by herself, maybe I wouldn't have to put on the stupid show.

"So, Miss Lena, does the chair always stand in front of that window?" I pointed, hoping to give her a nudge in the right direction.

"Yes, ye... Oh my God," she started crying again.

'Maybe? Did she get it?'

"He always sat next to the open window. D-d-do you think this is a sign?" the woman asked, her voice shaking.

'Well, fuck me.' I sighed on the inside. Not that I entirely blamed her for seeing the things she wanted to see. That was natural, but people were sometimes tough to understand. My particular condition did not help my empathy, making some emotions even harder to identify with than they already were. Finally, letting go of any hopes of escaping the scam, I made up my mind and started the good exorcist routine.

"Please, ma'am, do not despair. I can certainly help you." I spoke with all the sincerity I could muster before starting the show. I then turned toward the offending chair and closed my eyes.

"I can sense the residual turmoil of emotions left by your husband."

"Oh, wow," said one of the spectators from the family flatly, clearly skeptical about my mystical powers. I had to stop a chuckle from escaping. The powers were real, but the situation was fake. I was working with what I had. I then raised my arms as if conducting some invisible orchestra in a slow waltz.

"Yes, yes, there is a lot of unwillingness to leave without you, yes," I said, and suddenly turned my head toward the kitchen.

"Some anger? No, no, not anger, more like pain. Yes, pain. Did he have any medical issues?"

"Yes!" she cried upon my revelation. Well, he was 87 years old, so of course, he had medical issues. Who doesn't at that age? This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Hmm, some of those negative emotions were left behind. I have to disperse them so he can leave in peace. Please give me some space," I said, pulling a medallion from my pocket with a strange symbol. It was an inside joke among real mages. The medallion was used to lead a fake exorcism. The mysterious symbol was a real rune, part of a complex alphabet used in spellcasting. But this particular symbol used to chase out fake ghosts just said, 'fuck off.'

I started chanting, using some words from actual spells mixed with Latin and the drunken babbling of my dwarven friend. And after just a few moments of speaking in tongues, lighting candles, and using mysterious special incense—the cheapest I could find online—it was time for the finale. The medallion was not only a joke but also a prop. It had a strong magnet on the side, and if I held my hand with a metal ring on my finger next to it, it would jump into my grasp.

My chanting reached a high point, and I spoke in English, "Leave this house. I release you!" With that, I brought my left hand closer, and the medallion obediently jumped to my palm, the whole thing accompanied by gasps from the family. I rocked on my feet a bit, now acting like I was suddenly tired.

"The ghost has left." I paused for a laboured breath.

"I think your house is clean now. However, the things that were associated with the deceased may act as beacons for the remaining energy, making the atmosphere uncomfortable. If you insist on keeping the chair, please move it to the basement or the attic so that it does not remind you of the one who passed." I finished in a tired voice full of wisdom, and the woman, now in tears, just nodded energetically.

"Oh, t-thank you. I-I don't know how to thank you," she said through her tears, patting herself down for money. Finally, one of the family members tapped her on the shoulder and handed her an envelope.

"This is all I could gather for you," she added, stretching her hand with the money in my direction.

"The agreed-upon $1, 800 with $300 extra for your service and giving me peace." I stretched out my hand and touched the envelope. But before I took it, I stopped, just for a fraction of a second. In that moment, I waited for a sting of guilt for scamming the old lady, an uncomfortable pressure in the pit of my stomach, or maybe disappointment in myself. But as always, nothing. The part of me meant to feel those things was hollow. A price paid long ago, a part of myself given to become something… more.

But even now, I still waited for the emotion that would not come. My father told me that it was one of the things keeping our family sane and ourselves human. Well, relatively human. Without the contact lenses in my eyes, I would probably not have been let into the house. I stopped my musings and bowed a little.

"Thank you for your strength and for calling me. Reaching out a helping hand is a reward in itself." After that, I said goodbye to the rest of the family and set out for home. The drive from the nice suburbs took a while, as I lived in a supposedly "bad" part of town. Apartment prices were relatively low, courtesy of several local gangs and drug dealers, and people kept to themselves.

'Well, not all people,' I thought to myself as I watched the old lady opening her door as I passed by her apartment on my way to my own.

"Oh, Steve, honey, have you seen my cat?" asked the lady.

"No, Miss Helen, you should check under the bed," I responded calmly. Immediately after, she thanked me and closed the door, ending the short talk that was now an inseparable part of my routine. As for the cat, it was dead. It died of old age years ago. Also, to that day, I had no idea who Steve was. From what I knew, the old lady was sent to live there so she wouldn't bother her family.

And now she was something like an almost-friend of mine, an unlikely friendship, but there was a reason for it, and it was the side effect of her disease. While it caused her to lose touch with reality, it also allowed her to do what most couldn't—look directly into my eyes. The feeling of connection with another human at that moment was weirdly pleasing, like an itch that I didn't know I had until it was scratched. After twisting the key in the old lock, I entered my place.

A small one-bedroom apartment was all I could afford, considering I had to pay upkeep on a tightly protected storage unit where most of my family's actual wealth lay. I could probably live in luxury if I sold any of the things there, but it would be like selling a part of myself. My thoughts were filled with spells and arcane knowledge as I went to the bathroom and carefully pulled out my contact lenses. I couldn't risk any damage to them.

They were specially made and expensive as hell, but they did the job quite impressively. I appreciated the eyewear as I looked into my own eyes, now reflected in the mirror. In the past, when tales about my family were told, most people thought that our eyes would be deformed. Red reptilian slits that would curse you, or cause anyone who made eye contact to have a bad harvest. But that was not it. It was the presence of Our God reflected in them that scared most away.

The iris itself was a deep, pale blue, with no deformity visible. I took a deep breath, breaking eye contact with my own reflection, and slowly went to make myself something to eat before bed. The phone rang as I was about to lie down for the day. Unfortunately, it was my work phone. I immediately recognized the caller as my broker. Sadly, not exactly someone it was a good idea to ignore, so with a groan of someone made to go back to the office after leaving work, I picked up.

"Q'Shar," I sighed into the phone.

"Why are you calling at this hour?"

"How was the exorcism? I heard you did an outstanding job. Scamming people so well, they thank you for it. Impressive," came a chuckle from the other side as I groaned again.

"If you know how it went, then why ask? An honest day of dishonest work has me tired, so get to the point."

"Well, I have a new job for you," came an oddly excited response, considering scamming people wasn't exactly exhilarating.

"I paid my rent this month. I'm not in the mood for another scam."

"Yes, you're in the mood for sitting in that warehouse of yours, trying to figure out a way to cast third-circle spells or trying to summon some fucked up creature of myth."

"I'm not denying anything, but it's still better than scamming some old people out of their money."

"She's young this time," Q'Shar replied, still excited.

"Oh, that changes eeeeeverything," I said with as much sarcasm as I could fit into the short sentence.

"Should I heal her with some crystals while I'm at it? Give me the address, and I will be there in an hour."

"Aaaaaand..." This was getting annoying.

"It's not a scam this time." I could practically hear him smiling from the other end.

"It's a real haunting."