《Ghostwriters' Library》


 Chapter 1: The Leyline Scriptorium

    The bell above the door chimed softly, an ethereal sound that seemed to carry the weight of forgotten memories. It was the only announcement the outside world would receive when entering The Leyline Scriptorium, an old, sprawling library tucked away on a quiet street. To anyone who didn''t know better, it might appear as an ordinary place ¡ª shelves lined with books, heavy black curtains with gold linings draped the windows, and the faint scent of amber perfume hanging in the air. For those who dared step inside, the setting was anything but ordinary.


    Kastimir Blackwood, the librarian, sat behind his desk, a heavy volume of one of the newest arrivals propped open before him. His fingers absentmindedly stroking a yawning black cat on his lap. He takes a sip of coffee while his eyes traced the words on the page, unbothered by the occasional whispers in the empty sections of the library. He got used to the occasional rustling of pages, the creaking of the old wooden beams, and the hushed sighs of the souls wandering the library hall.


    "Louise, we''ve been over this," Kas reminds, his tone casual. "Books need to be returned after they are read." The sound of hurried footsteps echoes through the empty room, though only Kastimir and cat is present. A book, seemingly of its own accord, floats off the table and drifts back to its rightful place on the shelf.


    "Ana, your shift is today. Please begin dusting the shelves," Kastimir said, his tone polite yet firm. When the feather duster remained still, he sighed. He pulls out a logbook and sure enough, a pair of bookmarks with Ana''s name on it was there, with a little farewell note, "I wanted to say my goodbyes to you last night, but you were deep in slumber and I wouldn''t like to cause you more trouble than I already had."


    Kastimir pauses for a moment, he wore a gentle smile as he made his way to the library section where Ana used to write. Surely enough, there appeared a shelf dedicated to display her very own magnum opus¡ª a collected of books that speak volumes of her life, "I suppose she''s moved on to the afterlife. Good for her. Ezekiel, you¡¯re up."


    Books began to fly off the shelves, Ezekiel''s blatant tantrum over the shift in responsibility. Kastimir raised an eyebrow. "Enough. Life¡¯s unfair¡ªwhy should the afterlife be any different? And those books? You¡¯re responsible for your own mess. Clean them up."


    To this, the cat purred as if in acknowledgment of the movie line Kas just used.


    ¡°Not my words, I know. But every good story deserves some embelishment, no?¡±


    The black cat purred again. First was Pirates of the Caribbean, then Lord of the Rings. Kastimir has always been intrigued by the cat''s wide knowledge of books and popular media, yet among all the events that transpired within the halls of this mysterious library, the cat purring paled in comparison¡ªit has always been dismissed in the back burner of his mind.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    The ghosts, the ones who had passed but lingered for reasons unknown, often took form in the library¡¯s many volumes. Each one, a ghost who¡¯d been bound by unfinished business in life, given the peculiar opportunity to recount their story in full. In exchange, they could slowly unburden themselves, their souls lightening with every word written, until¡ªwhen the tale was finished¡ªthey could at last pass on, free from the shackles of their mortal regrets.


    That was Kastimir''s work: he gave them the space and the silence they needed to write their stories. In return, they offered him company and aid with menial tasks... and something even more elusive¡ªa decadent opportunity, one that granted him access to confidential details so extraordinary, they were beyond the reach of even the boldest writers.


    These stories were unfiltered truths, filled with emotions so pure and real that they often left him breathless. Kastimir had no interest in writing. That was a burden he had long since discarded, and yet he finds solace in reading.


    The books filled the void that had been left behind when a woman he once loved slipped away. Her name still lingered on the tip of his tongue, but he no longer said it aloud. She was gone, yes, and yet he still remained, hoping for her soul to one day find its way to the library''s doorsteps.


    A flashback flickered in his mind¡ªa quiet, sunny afternoon. In their little house, tucked away in a quaint little town. The house despite lacking grandeur were filled with warmth, laughter, and the comforting presence of the dog that ran in circles, its paws pattering softly against the wooden floors. It wasn¡¯t a grand life, but it was theirs, and it felt complete. They hadn¡¯t been blessed with children, but their love had created something even more profound¡ªa simple joy of shared moments.


    He remembered how she¡¯d smile, always with a hint of sadness in her eyes, warning him about the days to come. She didn¡¯t have long to live, but he loved her anyway. He loved her with a fierce, unquestioning devotion, knowing that one day his heart would shatter. Even then, even with the inevitable loss hanging over them, he loved her, the way a man loves a fleeting moment of grace¡ªfully, recklessly, with no thought of the pain that would follow. He cherished it all, knowing that one day, the echoes of her laughter would be all that remained.


    ''So you had no regrets at all? Even after leaving me?''


    Kastimir breathes a sigh. He may be walking amongst the living, but his heart is as cold as the dead that roamed these halls. The same question would haunt his waking hours, and although he asked it so many times, the agony remained painfully familiar.


    So instead, he lost himself in the lives of others, those who had endured heartbreak, betrayal, loss ¡ª and, in some strange way, he found this process rather therapeutic.


    The Leyline Scriptorium was known far and wide for its collection of hauntingly vivid volumes, each one filled with the restless energy of those who still clung to their earthly existence. People from all walks of life are drawn by rumors of books that could make you feel the life of the writer ¡ª every joy, grief, passion and regret. And Kastimir, though weary of human interaction, found himself curiously detached from the crowds. They came for the stories. He stayed for the ghosts.


    Kastimir may have given up on writing, but deep in the recesses of his heart¡ªwhere the painful truths are often buried¡ªhe longed for closure. Unconsciously, he stayed, hoping that, like the ghosts that haunted his library, he too might one day be able to let go.

 Chapter 2: Unsettled Matters

    The afternoon sun had just began its slumber when the usual patrons bid their farewell to the librarian, each headed off to their other nightly business¨C the living ones atleast. The other wandering souls however, grew more active with their furious scribbling, the rest leisurely perusing the bookshelves. Each one shared the noble pursuit of crossing the afterlife through the aid of the Scriptorium.


    It is also during this time when Kastimir would get a glimpse of what each ghost truly looked like. Unlike most mediums, our main character has a curious flaw. Despite being employed as a librarian for years, he is, in fact, unable to see ghosts. Kas had to rely on the library''s various implements. Artifacts steeped with mysteries. Some of which, he is able to wield.


    Among these artifacts are the mysterious bookmarks that appear after a ghost finished writing its life story, and the other one, a lantern bearing an ethereal flame.


    The flickering glow of the lantern perched on his desk cast long shadows across the room, its light growing dimmer as night truly took hold. The artifact was an object of peculiar power¡ªit could only be used after dusk, and when lit, it allowed Kastimir to see the souls of the departed. The flames within it were born of magic, not fire, and in their flickering glow, one could gaze upon a ghosts'' true form.


    The soft, ghostly hum of a figure resonated in the air before him. Slowly, a form began to materialize¡ªfaint at first, but solidifying under the lantern''s ethereal light. He was tall, with broad shoulders and the kind of elegance that suggested a life once full of passion and purpose. His face was sharp, yet a deep sadness haunted his eyes.


    The ghost looked up at Kastimir, an expression of surprise crossing his translucent features.


    ¡°You... can see me?¡± the figure asked, his voice strained, yet filled with a resigned curiosity.


    Kastimir smiled gently, a familiar, unspoken understanding passing between them. ¡°Ironic isn''t it?,¡± he replied. ¡°You look like you saw a ghost.¡±


    The ghost blinked, confusion flitting across his expression before his gaze fell to the floor. ¡°I felt inexplicably drawn to this place, going here felt... natural.¡±


    Kastimir raised an eyebrow. "All the ghosts that came before you said the same thing. I don''t know either, but one thing is for certain, folks like you come here to finish their unfinished business, I''m Kastimir by the way, librarian and ghost administrator of the Leyline Scriptorium."


    "Like an afterlife agency? Do ghosts still pay taxes?"


    "Not quite. You see, as ghosts the only currency you have at your disposal is your soul. Of course, I do not charge your entire soul, that would be cruel, but the emotional baggage that you bear, work wonders in keeping this business going. Like some sort of energy."


    "So you want... My burdens?"This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    "Yes. You''re a smart one, most ghosts have muddled memory induced by pre-mortem trauma. But you still have your wits about you. Call me impressed."


    The ghost nodded slowly. ¡°I was supposed to be a celebrity pianist. Playing the piano felt as natural as breathing to me¡­¡± His voice cracked slightly, as if the memories themselves were raw, aching. ¡°But then my brother. He was younger than me, and yet he always had more passion for the craft. I couldn¡¯t... I couldn¡¯t bear to outshine him. He was the one with the dream of greatness, the one with the drive. I settled with being a music teacher instead. A quiet life.¡±


    The ghost''s image shimmered, as though the weight of his decision was too much to bear. ¡°But it was never enough. Not for me.¡±


    Kastimir felt the flicker of something familiar, an echo of his own lost chances. He had seen this before¡ªthis feeling of letting go of one¡¯s true path for someone else¡¯s sake. It was a kind of quiet sacrifice, a burden no one truly saw, but one that destroyed the soul over time.


    ¡°You gave up your dreams for your brother,¡± Kastimir said gently. ¡°But what did it cost?¡±


    The black cat purrs.


    The ghost¡¯s expression softened with regret. ¡°I gave up the chance to be who I really was... for fear of losing him. For fear of seeing him fall apart. I didn¡¯t want to be the reason he couldn¡¯t be great.¡±


    Kastimir could feel the burden in the air, thick and suffocating. There were moments in every life when one had to choose: to follow the course of their own heart, or to allow love and loyalty to drag them down, through winding paths, losing pieces of themselves in every turn. The ghost had taken the latter path, and in doing so, had condemned himself to an eternity of sorrow.


    But there was something else too¡ªsomething Kastimir''s keen observation allowed him to deduce. A shadow in the ghost¡¯s soul, something left unsaid.


    ¡°You never got the chance to tell him, did you?¡± Kastimir asked. ¡°The truth about your sacrifices.¡±


    The ghost¡¯s eyes welled with sorrow. ¡°He never knew. He never could. And I¡­ I couldn¡¯t bear it. He is on his way to stardom you see. February 14th, his piano skills will be demonstrated in front of the whole world. If he knew about the truth, I thought he¡¯d hate me. If I told him I gave up everything for him. Everything I loved."


    The lantern¡¯s flame flickered brighter for a moment, as if it, too, wanted to reveal the truth. Kastimir stepped closer, his eyes never leaving the ghost. ¡°But you¡¯ve been hiding, haven¡¯t you? You decided to live as a music teacher but have never once interacted with your brother. Instead of facing him, you just decided to hide from the truth, from your brother, and from yourself. And now you¡¯re trapped within the cage your built yourself.¡±


    The ghost winced, the realization settling in. The pain, the regret¡ªit was all because he had never truly been honest. In his efforts to protect his brother, he had erased himself, and in doing so, he had erased his chance for reconciliation, for healing.


    Kastimir exhaled softly, feeling the weight of the words in the air. "It¡¯s not too late to let go,¡± he said.


    "It isn''t as simple as that."


    "That''s where I come in. You''ll never know what other emotions lie dormant until you meet him again. You may never find the courage to see him, but I''ll go with you. I''m sort of, a veteran when it comes to these things. All you have to do is to subscribe to my services."


    "I''ve been hiding all my life. I''m not about to hide again in death. How do I avail your services?"


    "You have met the conditions for transaction," Kastimir stated in a serious tone.


    As if summoned by his words, a phantasmal ledger materialized before them. Kas flips over to a blank page, ready to write their agreement.


    Kastimir handed the ghost a fountain pen. ¡°Fill in your details, and we¡¯ll get started.¡±


    The ghost took the pen, his eyes still filled with uncertainty, but a glimmer of hope began to form, sparked by the possibility of redemption.

 Chapter 3: Never Enough

    The night was still young when Kastimir stepped away from the Scriptorium, lantern in hand, casting a glow that fluttered softly over his path. Gian, the ghost of the pianist, had made his decision. He was ready to confront his brother, Sean, and perhaps, in doing so, lay down the weight of his unspoken sacrifices.


    Kastimir hops in his 1996 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham while Gian phases through the front passenger seat. It wasn¡¯t long before they found themselves at the mansion that belonged to Gian''s family, a place the ghost once called home. Gian had led him here, and despite the stillness of the house, Kastimir could feel the tension hanging in the air.


    As our librarian was about to picklock the antique door, when his ghost companion phases through and unlocks it from the inside, granting Kas passage.


    The first sound they heard was the soft, melodic strains of a piano, an otherworldly concerto that seemed to transcend both time and space. The music was hauntingly beautiful¡ªGian¡¯s own piece, yet the notes ended abruptly, the current musician, Sean, can''t seem to find the appropriate resolution that befits this masterpiece¡ªafter all, it wasn''t his.


    Kastimir glanced over at Gian, who stood beside him, eyes fixed on the grand piano through the music studio''s door, There was a certain peace in Gian''s expression now¡ªalmost as though the music had begun to untangle the knots in his soul. But seeing his brothers'' condition¡ªthat peace was fleeting.


    Both bear witness to Sean''s silent frustrations. He seemed distraught, liquor in one hand and unfinished musical notes on the other.


    Kastimir surmised that perhaps the unfinished musical notes are connected to the unsettled matters betweem brothers.


    Kastimir, noticing the distress in Sean¡¯s face, stepped forward. ¡°It¡¯s a beautiful piece, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Sean stiffened, a frown pulling at his lips. ¡°Who are you?¡± His gaze darted to the door, his shoulders rigid. ¡°Is... is that you, Gian? I thought I was finally done with this...¡±


    Kastimir raised an eyebrow, sensing the deep layers of anger and pain within Sean¡¯s voice. ¡°I believe your brother wanted you to hear his final composition,¡± Kastimir replied, offering a soft smile. ¡°He said it was for you, after all. He wanted to give you something you could never truly understand when he was alive.¡±


    At this, Sean''s face grew pale. ¡°Stop. Don¡¯t you dare mention his name to me,¡± he snapped, his voice low and furious. ¡°You have no idea what he did.¡±


    Kastimir remained calm, observing Sean with quiet precision. ¡°I believe your brother¡¯s sacrifices were born from a deep love and regret. It¡¯s a tragedy, really.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Sean turned away, his breath shallow. ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that?¡± he hissed, his voice edged with bitterness. ¡°Gian was always the perfect one, the one everyone adored. He was everything I wasn¡¯t. When he decided to live his own life, I was left to cover for him. Do you have any idea how hard it is? Carrying the entire family''s expectations just because your brother ran away?!" Sean tosses the bottle to the wall shattering it into a thousand pieces.


    There was an awkward pause, neither Kastimir nor the ghost knew how to proceed. They just stood there quietly.


    "And when he died, I thought I was finally free. But now... now our family kept trying to remind me of all that I could never be.¡± He slammed a fist against the wall, frustration and jealousy flooding through his body. ¡°His unfinished piece... they wanted me to play at his funeral, ha! such audacity! I don¡¯t need to hear his music. I don¡¯t need anything from him.¡±


    Kastimir tilted his head. ¡°What¡¯s truly bothering you, Sean? That your brother was better than you?¡±


    Sean whirled around, eyes burning with barely contained rage. ¡°You don¡¯t understand. You¡¯re just a stranger, and you¡¯re trying to pit me against him all over again. I was always the one left behind. I was the one who had to pick up the pieces of his perfect life, the one who had to pretend like I was fine with being overshadowed.¡±


    Kastimir paused, allowing the silence to stretch between them. Then, quietly, he spoke. ¡°It¡¯s not the being overshadowed that¡¯s bothering you, is it? It¡¯s the fact that deep down, you knew all along that your family will always compare you with your brother. That, even though he has long departed, they are still unable to see you. And that jealousy... that resentment, has been festering inside you for years.¡±


    Sean froze, his face contorting with rage and shame. ¡°No. I... I never resented him. I loved him, but I hated myself for never being good enough.¡±


    Kastimir watched as the younger man¡¯s fa?ade crumbled. He could see it now¡ªthe years of buried resentment, the silent competition that had driven Sean into a corner. The truth was too painful for him to accept, and so he had buried it, buried his jealousy beneath the lies he told himself about loving his brother.


    ¡°You never allowed yourself to grieve, did you?¡± Kastimir continued, his voice gentle, yet firm. ¡°You didn¡¯t mourn your brother¡¯s death. You didn¡¯t even mourn the fact that you could never live up to him. All you did was bury those feelings deeper and deeper until they consumed you."


    "Get out before I call the cops. I don''t know your connection with my brother, or how you managed to get in this house. I suggest you tend to your own business, sir."


    "We shall take our leave then."


    "What do you mean we?"


    "Oh sorry, must''ve been a slip of the tongue. I won''t be bothrring you further," Kastimir gives a curt bow and walks away, the ghost of Gian followed suit.


    "What now? You didn''t solve anything," the ghost wailed.


    "Oh you sweet summer child. Oozing with talent but so painfully oblivious! The human heart does not operate that way, especially when it had been scarred far too deep," Kas shot back.


    "What do you suppose we do? that can''t be all there is to it? Surely there''s something else!"


    "But of course. It''ll be your turn soon enough. We just need to pay a visit to your relatives and... we''ll do what ghosts do best."


    "-and what do ghosts do best?"


    "A good ''ol jumpscare."

 Chapter 4: Ghost Visitation

    "911, what''s your emergency?"


    "I think a man will soon have a heart attack at Taylor Residence on South Swift Avenue."


    "Hold on¡ªa possible heart attack? What makes you think that?"


    "Just a hunch..."


    Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream tore through the line. It was so sharp, so visceral, that the call agent on the other end of Kastimir''s payphone flinched, hearing it as if it were happening right next to them. The scream was followed by a horrible silence, and then the agent¡¯s voice, strained but focused, came through, speaking quickly. "Right, I¡¯m sending an ambulance immediately. Stay on the line."


    Kastimir looked over his shoulder, expecting to see a ghostly apparition, but what he found instead was the ghost of Gian already settled in the passenger seat of his car, as if he¡¯d always been there. Kas hung the phone and went in the drivers seat.


    "I... I guess I overdid it," Gian said, his voice uneasy. He looked at Kastimir, a sheepish, almost childlike expression on his face.


    Kastimir sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "No shit Sherlock. Ghosts are practically built for jumpscares. It''s like an inherent talent. It¡¯s your whole thing. You might wanna dial it back a little next time."


    "I... didn¡¯t know," Gian mumbled, staring at his hands in his lap as if they were foreign to him now.


    "Look at you¡ªsuffering from success," Kastimir said with a half-smile, the edges of his tone sharp but not unkind. "No wonder Sean had such... mixed feelings about you. Loved you, hated you, loved and hated you... Siblings, man. So complicated." He waved a hand, shaking his head as if it were a puzzle too confusing to solve. "Anyway, our job here is done."


    "Just like that?" Gian¡¯s voice was full of hesitation. "Do you think he¡¯ll be alright? After all that?"


    "So you do care about your old man, huh?" Kastimir asked, glancing over at him, his eyes softening just a touch.


    "Of course," Gian answered quietly. "I''m a ghost not a monster."


    Gian¡¯s words hung in the air for a moment, and the silence that followed felt dense, like the air had thickened between them. His eyes were distant, and he seemed lost in thought. As they drove through the quiet streets, Kastimir could feel the weight of the moment, the lingering tension. Finally, he broke the silence with an observation, his voice steady but carrying the hint of a deeper understanding.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Let me guess," Kastimir said, eyes still on the road. "The moment your father saw you, he probably denied your existence. Pretended you weren¡¯t really there."


    Gian turned to look at him, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief. "How¡¯d you know?"


    Kastimir shrugged, his gaze never leaving the road. "Call it a hunch. I¡¯m good at reading people. After that, when he realized it was you, he was probably furious. All that time wasted, all the things you could¡¯ve done. And in his eyes, if you¡¯d survived, everything would¡¯ve been better. He probably yelled at you, didn¡¯t he?"


    Gian¡¯s face tightened, and he looked away, almost as if the memory itself was a wound too raw to revisit. "No way. That¡¯s exactly how it went down."


    Kastimir nodded, understanding in his voice. "And then... he probably asked you what he could do to get you back. Make it all right somehow."


    A deep, painful sigh escaped Gian. His eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, his voice trembled as he spoke. "I hated him for that. I hated him for... everything. For not seeing what I¡¯d given up, what I¡¯d done for my brother, for him. My love, my sacrifices¡ªall of it gone because he couldn¡¯t see it. I wanted him to feel it, to know my pain. But when I looked at him... for the first time, I saw fear. Real fear. Not the stoic mask he usually wore. And in that moment, I knew... I knew my feelings had finally reached him."


    Kastimir¡¯s eyes softened as he glanced at Gian. He slowed the car as they neared their destination, letting the weight of Gian¡¯s words sink in. "Sounds like a turning point. You got through to him. Maybe it¡¯ll take some time, but things might get better now."


    Gian was silent again, and this time, the quiet felt heavier. It was as if the words he didn¡¯t say were louder than the ones he did. Finally, after a long pause, he spoke, his voice thick with uncertainty. "Do you really think that was enough? Do you think... I said what I needed to?"


    Kastimir nodded firmly, turning into the quiet driveway of the Scriptorium. "Yeah. You did. Your father¡¯s gone through the stages of grief, whether he knows it or not. He¡¯ll be angry, sad, depressed... but eventually, he''ll accept it. You said your piece. The rest will come with time."


    The Scriptorium loomed ahead, its old, ivy-clad stone walls a quiet testament to the passage of time and the stories contained within. Kastimir pulled up to the familiar stone steps and parked the car. The weight of the moment still lingered, but there was something about the stillness of the place that felt... right. He got out, walking toward the massive oak door with the same ease as if he¡¯d done it a thousand times before.


    Inside, he went to the shelves, his fingers brushing against the spines of countless books, each one containing untold stories. He pulled out a blank book, its pages crisp and white, waiting to be filled. He turned to Gian, who was still seated in the car, looking out the window, lost in thought.


    "Ezekiel," Kastimir called softly, and as if on cue, a bottle of ink and a somber quill soared across the room, landing in Kastimir¡¯s hands. He handed them over to Gian with a quiet gesture. "Now it¡¯s time to unburden your soul. Write whatever you need. Whether it¡¯s for your brother, to let go of your frustrations, or just to reflect on your journey. In this place, you can write as long as you need, until your story is finished."


    Gian looked at the book, the quill, and then at Kastimir. His expression softened, his voice quieter now. "Can I also borrow your piano?"


    Kastimir smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "Be my guest. I¡¯m sick of the endless wailings of lost souls. Your music... it¡¯s more than welcome here."

 Chapter 5: Monster

    A phone rang in the Leyline Scriptorium, the sound reverberating throughout the ancient, dust-filled library. The ghostwriters¡ªspirits bound to the library to transcribe forgotten tomes and endless scrolls¡ªpaused their work. A unanimous thud echoed through the room as if the ethereal figures had dropped everything they were doing, suddenly trying to act ¡°normal,¡± a futile attempt to mimic the behavior of the living. Part of the contract they had signed with their employer, Kastimir Blackwood, was to ensure that no ghosts revealed their existence to any mortal visitors¡ªunless, of course, Kastimir gave them permission.


    ¡°Relax. It¡¯s just a phone call,¡± Kas said, his voice cool and unruffled as he adjusted his vintage spectacles. He sat behind an old mahogany desk cluttered with receipts, enchanted ink bottles, and scrolls of ancient spells. With a slow, deliberate motion, he reached for the receiver.


    ¡°He-hello?¡±


    ¡°Kastimir Blackwood, at your service. May I know from where you chanced upon this number?¡± he asked, his tone polite yet slightly amused by the oddity of the situation.


    ¡°Uhm, hi, I¡¯m Silva, I¡ªI found it on a paranormal website,¡± a frantic voice replied from the other end of the line. ¡°You¡¯re an exorcist, right? Can you¡ªcan you help me?¡±


    ¡°A website, huh? Hold on just a minute.¡± Kastimir clicked his pen and pulled open a dusty drawer. He fished out a thick binder, its pages yellowed with age, and flipped through it with a practiced hand. ¡°Ah, yes. I see. You¡¯re calling for an exorcism, then?¡±


    ¡°Yes, please!¡± the voice on the phone nearly squeaked. ¡°I just moved into this house, and it was sold for dirt cheap. I¡ª I do enjoy horror films and thought I could handle a little history, creaky floorboards, and all that. But last night, the thing wouldn¡¯t let me sleep! It was like the house was struck by a hurricane. Please, I promise I¡¯ll stop watching horror films if you just take it out!¡±


    Kastimir smirked slightly at the mention of horror films. ¡°Ah, a rush job? That¡¯ll cost you extra, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°Two hundred bucks! Plus fifty more if you can solve it by tonight!¡± the woman interrupted eagerly, her desperation obvious.


    ¡°Deal!¡± Kastimir said with finality, sealing the bargain. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of it. Let me just gather my things.¡±


    After working out the details of her location, the woman¡¯s residence was situated in a small, remote town a few miles from the city proper¡ªquiet and quaint, much like the typical haunts of the strange and inexplicable. Kastimir grabbed his trusty lantern, keys to his fleetwood, and a receipt pad. With a sharp nod to the ghostwriters, who resumed their work with a resigned sigh, Kastimir set off on a four-hour journey.


    The small barn-like house stood at the edge of a field, bathed in the soft glow of twilight when Kastimir arrived. The wind was still, and there wasn¡¯t a sound except for the occasional creak of the wooden planks underfoot as he approached the front door. He wasn¡¯t here to waste time; he had a problem to fix.


    The woman¡ªSilva¡ªopened the door before he even had a chance to knock. She was frantic, pacing back and forth with a hand pressed to her forehead, her hair disheveled.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you so soon! It¡¯s worse than I thought!¡± she blurted, eyes wide.


    Kastimir raised an eyebrow. ¡°Describe the ghost in detail.¡±


    Silva led him inside, her face strained with frustration. She gestured toward the stairs, her voice trembling. ¡°It¡¯s a monster. It¡¯s always growling and running around the house like it¡¯s chasing something¡ªonly it doesn¡¯t stop. My new futon was torn to shreds, and now there¡¯s a tear in my rainbow flag too! It¡¯s like the place was hit by a storm. Please, just make it stop!¡±


    Kastimir listened carefully, his sharp eyes taking in the details. He noticed deep scratch marks marred the freshly applied wallpaper, and a collection of stuffed toys lay scattered around the room, their limbs missing, their button eyes wide in eternal surprise. His brow furrowed as he processed the scene. He had never dealt with a ¡°monster¡± ghost before. Was it some ancient, malevolent spirit? He couldn¡¯t help but wonder¡ªwhat kind of creature had been alive when it was still human, if it had ever been human at all?


    A sudden sound¡ªa faint, almost imperceptible shh¡ªmade him look up. Dust fluttered down from the ceiling, and the air in the room seemed to thicken, as if the house itself was holding its breath. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Kastimir¡¯s eyes narrowed, his instincts kicking in. ¡°Stay outside,¡± he instructed, his tone shifting to one of authority. ¡°I¡¯ll handle this. You don¡¯t need to be near when it shows itself.¡±


    Silva hesitated, but nodded, retreating to the porch without another word. Kastimir, now alone, moved quickly. He clicked open the latch of his lantern, a tiny green flame flickering to life, casting long shadows across the room. The atmosphere grew heavier, the air charged with an electric tension. He unbuttoned his shirt collar, rolled up his sleeves, and stood still for a moment, focusing on the shifting energy around him.


    He had come prepared for an exorcism of the most traditional kind, but this felt different. He didn¡¯t want to resort to violence, but if it came to it, he would.


    ¡°Playtime¡¯s over, pal,¡± he muttered to himself, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ¡°Your days of tyranny are about to come to¨C¡°


    Before he could finish his sentence, the house gave a slight shudder. The floor creaked, and a blur of movement shot past him¡ªsomething fast, ethereal, and filled with wild, untamed energy. Kas instinctively jumped back, his heart pounding as the air crackled with ghostly speed. He caught a glimpse of it¡ªan amorphous shape, like fog wrapped in a streak of light, darting through the hallway.


    ¡°There you are!¡±


    Kastimir called out, his voice both frustrated and exhilarated. He gave chase, instinctively throwing his lantern forward and running after the blur. With the cumbersome weight of the lantern in his hand¡ªhe had chased ghosts before, countless times, and he had learned to be nimble, but with the added weight of supernatural energy hanging in the air, it was a challenege to move.


    In his breast pocket, he felt something stir: Ana¡¯s bookmark. It had been a gift from one of his more¡­ enthusiastic past clients¡ªa spirit who had ascended but left behind a piece of herself. The bookmark glowed softly, imbuing him with a rush of agility, the kind of grace that Ana had possessed in her mortal life. His body seemed to lighten, his movements faster, more fluid. He vaulted over obstacles, his boots skimming the floor as he pursued the ghostly blur down the hallway.


    The blur whipped around a corner, its energy growing more erratic, its ghostly tail swishing like a whip through the air. Kastimir cornered it expertly, his breath quickening as he came to a halt, lantern raised, casting a harsh light into the corner.


    And then, in a moment of clarity, he saw it.


    The ¡°monster¡± that had terrorized Silva for days was, in fact, no monster at all.


    ¡°You! You¡¯re¡ª¡± Kastimir panted, finally catching his breath, his exhaustion and disbelief mingling. He blinked, his confusion turning to realization. He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. ¡°¨Ca dog.¡±


    The ghostly figure stopped abruptly, its tail wagging furiously, an ethereal glow surrounding it. The creature was a dog, or at least it had been once. Now, it was a mischievous spirit, wild and unrestrained, but undeniably a dog.


    ¡°Ruff!¡± it barked, the sound playful and loud, as though it had no idea it had been wreaking havoc. It sat down in front of Kastimir, its glowing eyes bright with an unspoken joy.


    Kastimir stood still, staring at the dog, a deep sense of incredulity settling in his chest. He had expected an ancient, vengeful spirit, a terrifying monster¡ªbut instead, he had found a hyperactive ghost dog with no sense of boundaries.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Kastimir muttered under his breath. ¡°This is just great. A ghost dog¡­ I should¡¯ve known.¡±