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{{seriesTitle}} - Kirjasarja

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Astu tarinoiden maailmaan

Kuuntele missä ja milloin haluat

S. H. Marpel

There were seven of them now, and they controlled enough online systems to decide the fate of humankind - forever.

Jude was minding her own business, enjoying the weather at 7,000 feet, a breeze in her hair.

For an immortal spirit-guide, she could simply phase from here to there instantly, but she liked to fly. Just her, no plane. A little energy shield against the wind and weather (otherwise her clothing soils and her hair gets "ratty").

Someone or something showed up next to her and matched her speed. A sort of glow. Tracked with her for miles. Danced with her in the sky.

She paused. And "it" took the opportunity to talk to her.

Its question was simple. Her help was needed. Humankind needed a lawyer.

It was on trial - for its existence...

Excerpt:

I was minding my own business when they found me, flying among the clouds without an airplane.

One of the perks of being an immortal spirit-guide. I could always simply "phase" from here to there instantly, but I liked to fly. Easier than any bird. I only put a little energy shield against the wind and weather (otherwise my clothing soils and my hair gets "ratty"). But it let the fresh air through (although I heated it a little if it got too cool.)

The day was fantastic. Bright sunshine streamed through the cloud gaps, and the arbitrary divisions in the land ownership below made a varied patchwork of the land. Different crops, tillage, and wilder areas were always interesting to look over from a "what if" and "how come" viewpoint. Much like John wrote his stories.

And that was where I was headed, to his little writer's cabin in the Midwest. I had some time off, and enough so I could luxuriate in this slow method of travel.

For all the history I'd lived through, it still pointed out that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Humans hadn't changed much in 10,000 years, if at all. And even those of us who'd managed to "evolve" into spirit-beings, we were still very much the humans that we'd started out as. Older, more experienced - but "wiser" was whether we really wanted to learn from all that experience.

And I'd get twinges of sadness reflecting like that. Because not all of the spirit-guides I'd known had made it. Like gods and goddesses - just because you're immortal doesn't mean you can't be killed.

About the time I was musing about this, someone or something showed up next to me, some dozen feet away, and matched my speed. It appeared to me like some sort of glow. I blinked to make sure nothing had gotten in my eyes, or it was a refractive glint or something.

It just stayed with me. I increased speed, then decreased speed. It was still there. I did barrel roles, loops, dives, stopped in mid-air. And it kept up and duplicated everything.

Except when I moved closer. Then it just waited for me.

So I stopped, about six feet away, and asked, "Somebody in there?"

The pendant on my chest, hanging from a woven thong around my neck, started pulsing. And then became the speaker for this light.

"Well, hello. No, not exactly 'in there', but you're right - there's somebody here."

"Does this 'somebody' have a name?"

"Call me Al. Others are listening in, but I'll be the voice you can talk to."

"Who are you folks?"

Midwest Journal Press

Ghost Hunters Mystery-Detective

The Faith of Jude

I was walking in my pasture one sunny afternoon, when a pair of hands pulled me into the underworld.

Once I arrived, I relaxed - a bit. Because it was an old friend. Carol. A time-bender and now a Lazurai as well. Meaning she could walk through rock - and other things.

"Hi John. How have you been?" Carol was standing in front of a crystal fire place, warming herself from the magma heat that was channelled out of the earth's core.

"Not bad, Carol. Other than being pulled deep into the earth without a simple request, or how-de-do."

"Sorry about that. Really. But I need your help - because I'm worse than haunted now - I'm being hunted."

"And I'm the only one who can help you?"

She smiled, embarrassed, and shrugged. "Yeah, that about sums it up - other than how many people are after me… "

Excerpt:

Just walking along in the pasture, out to check my cows, when two hands reached up and pulled me underground.

I kind of resented that. Because it was turning out to be a brilliant, sunny day. Winter had let go - at least for now. I could get outside with a light jacket instead of a heavy winter chore coat.

The company I was keeping lately probably meant this was another mystery to solve.

Hands had come up from below to grab me before, but these weren't Gaia - that earth goddess I've been working with. This wasn't the same touch. Firm, and female, sure - but not Gaia.

Before I could wonder how I could tell things like that, we arrived.

It looked like Gaia's "bedroom" chamber again. Crystalline though, but feeling like a large cave of crystal. Its walls were slightly different, more orangish than the clearer yellow-white interior. But solid crystal, regardless.

We were both "breathing" solid rock again. And moving through it like just so much open space.

I found a bench-like rock formation of "thicker" granite to sit on, and focused on my kidnapper.

She had her hands out toward the rock hearth in the room, warming up from the magma heat being channelled up from somewhere below.

Then she turned around. As I suspected from her simple outfit a light jacket over a simple patterned blouse tucked into some black jeans - all designed to be inconspicuous -it was Carol. Time-bender and Lazurai.

She smiled at me. "Sorry I didn't ask before I whisked you down here. "

I had to smile in return. "Better to ask forgiveness than permission?"

A broader smile. "Something like that - but I knew you'd like a good story. And besides, like the first time we met, I don't know who else to go to. This problem is huge - or at least seems that way to me. "

I had to shake my head, like I said - the company I've been keeping lately. They know I'm in it for the story. "OK, tell me this huge problem - dramatic situation first, please. "

She chuckled a little. "John, you have a way to make anyone feel at ease. Sal and Jude have told me straight about you. "

A few steps across that bedroom suite let her sit next to me on that granite bench ."There's a huge group that has been trying to capture me. They're chasing me through time wherever I go, trying to head me off. Running has been my only option until now. "

A Very Thin Line

The Sum of the Whole is Greater Than Its Parts.

So Gaia was taught since she came into this existence.

But she was named after the Nature goddess. Long centuries and eons passed while she was submerged in rock beneath the thin surface layers that living creatures inhabited.

Now some imbalance had awakened her. She rose to the surface to claim her own, her rightful place in the whole world, not just beneath it.

What she found surprised even an immortal like herself. It seemed again time for some changes - and Justice. 

The last time she had to balance the scales, the ruling species didn't appreciate her changes. 
What did they call themselves? Oh yes: Dinosaurs.

- - - - 

Excerpt:

Something was seriously wrong. Or she had slept too long. It didn't matter much. She was awake now.

The ground around her rumbled as she slipped off what served for her bed coverings. To you and I, it would seem like solid rock, but to Gaia, it was simply another space. Over there - her wardrobe. Over here - brush, comb, mirror. Hanging on her bedpost, her soft and comfortable robe to cover her bare limbs. Beneath her feet were a small rug and fluffy slippers to keep her feet warm as she crossed the cold marble to the fireplace.

At that side of the room, the eternal flames from the magma below warmed her as she stood in front of them. First her hands and front, then turning with her back to it.

A comfortable bedroom, filled with memories of her childhood and growing up.

Something had awakened her.

Just as her room appeared to us as solid crystal inside volcanic stone, time to her wasn't measured in years or centuries. It was more fluid. She had no days, no sunrise or sunset to mark its passage.

Gaia slept when all was right with the planet she called home. There was balance. And everything knew its place, its job, its duty - and filled these. With nothing to do, no one to give lessons to, no action necessary to take, she could sleep.

And when she woke, it was to restore balance.

Something was imbalanced in the world above, that needed her touch again after her long sleep.

She was born with this planet, or so they told her as a child. Her fretful tumblings in her cradle and her crying had raised mountains on its surface, had caused volcanoes to erupt. Large land masses had sunk beneath its seas, while ocean depths rose to the sun in turn - to dry and teem with the little organisms called life.

She slept when she had balance, woke when things were not.

And the creatures on the surface, in all their arrogant "wisdom" still could not measure in their terms just when she had slept and when she woke and walked "their" surface.

More than once, she had decided to simply "start over" with a clean slate. To those small creatures, it must have seemed cataclysmic. To Gaia, it was nothing more than the wave of her hand...

Gaia

C. C. Brower

The Legend of the haunted Spirit Mountain isn't that old. Just a few decades.

And something to do with secret government experiments in hidden bases deep in the desert.

They must have thought no one would ever find out...

When strange weather patterns started affecting local crops in near-mystical ways, the Ghost Hunters got their assignment: find out if it was some sort of trapped spirit who was causing this disruption. Move them on if they could.

But the underlying conflict they found endangers lives of not just humans, but immortal spirit guides as well. 

And any continued existance on this plane was caught in the middle...

The Spirit Mountain Mystery

For all John's genius, he had overlooked a simple clue. And the mystery would kill him if he didn't solve it.

The discovery was a freak chance crossover between scammer business plans and half a dozen statistical anomalies. Completely unexpected. Accidental.

And led to a vast conspiracy hidden in plain sight. Or so he thought.

It took one of his spirit guides to make sense of it for him. By taking him on a tour through time and space so he could see for himself.

Her mission: to change him forever, and cure the mistake his mind had created. One that was driving him insane.

Because his mind was the most potent weapon they had. Aimed at the wrong target, and it would destroy itself. She had this one chance to help him…

Excerpt:

The next morning, I rose early and left Sal sleeping - or at least enjoying the opportunity to laze around with nothing scheduled for the day, or at least the morning. Put on some clean jeans, t shirt, and socks. Soft and comfortable without any belt or tools on my waist or in my pockets.

Starting up the coffee, and cooking my usual buckwheat omelet in ghee, the small space was soon saturated with delicious smells. Quietly laying out two table settings at the narrow desk-turned-eatery, I also laid out the butter and home-made jam, with honey and real cream for the coffee. Soon I had enough for a first helping, and was working on the second. A cup of whole milk was at each setting, as well as a cup for coffee.

Sal kept trying to burrow under the comforter and enjoy the body heat, but soon her nose and my clattering wouldn't leave her alone. She rose and stretched, then had a thick, fluffy white bathrobe appear to cover everything. And some fluffy white footies to match.

The bed was made and transformed back into a couch to make more moving-around space.

Sal sat down and settled in to beginning eating the thick omelet by slathering on the real butter and jam. The look on her face became a picture of delight from the first bite.

When I set the second helping down, I raised an eyebrow to question if she wanted it. But with her face full of her last bite, she just gestured with her fork in one hand to set it on her plate, while the other brought her milk glass to her lips to wash it all down so she could enjoy the full flavor of her next helping as well.

After I poured us both our coffee, I dug in. It didn't take long for me to catch up to her. And I showed her how pouring honey over jam made a great syrup. (They trick is in how the hot food thins the honey. )

At last she had cleaned her plate, washed it all down with the rest of her milk, and was sitting back in her chair, holding her coffee mug with both hands. She was thoroughly enjoying life - while looking at me with mischievous thoughts.

Sharing a meal with someone can be very rewarding. And having all this time alone together was making my life feel very complete.

But something was bothering me from last night. Thinking of her brought her sister up, which brought up the graduation party, and then back to what Ben had said in answer. All rapid fire, as my mind was practiced at doing.

Sal noticed the frown starting on my face, and looked concerned. "What's up with you? First you looked like you were the happiest man in the world, and then you looked like you just swallowed something that wasn't supposed to be in your coffee."

The 95% Solution

Vampires aren't good at everything. For instance, they suck at haunting.

John Earl Stark continues his adventures in ghost hunting. 

Encountering a female ghost who attacks him in a gothic Victorian mansion left him bitten, but alive. Sal and Jude, his employers and guides, came in from a nearby room, shocked. 

Obviously, John was going to need more training to survive these attacks.

But this particular ghost was still haunting and still attacking people with neck bites...

Excerpt:

I

I didn’t see it coming, but that wasn’t unusual. But I didn’t expect the ghost to try for my neck. I felt more than I saw, which was only a smoky shimmering.

A quick shrug and a yell got it off, and it disappeared. I rubbed my neck thoughtfully. No scratches or punctures, just a gnawed feeling. Lucky this time.

My yell brought Sal and Jude running into the former living room of the empty old Victorian house they had brought me to. Worry crossed both of their faces.

“What happened? You OK?” Sal sputtered out.

“Sure, just something trying to clamp onto my neck. But it went away as soon as I yelled.” I answered.

Jude cocked her head to the side. “Was it trying to take a bite out of you or just give you a hickey?”

Sal frowned. “I think we better get some research on this one. Time to get some data from the Librarians.” 

She nodded to Jude, then the room shimmered and disappeared.

II

They reappeared in a house that was floor to ceiling books, the living room had tall ceilings and the shelves covered everything right up to the top, with only enough space at the bottom to keep the books off the floor. Or at least away from the stacks of books which need to be re-filed, or didn’t have a space. And the shelves were crammed solid from side to side, with occasional smallish books wedged sideways above the vertical ones. The hallways that ran off away from this mass of book shelves also had shelves in them. And what I could see of the rooms beyond them were also book-lined.

I saw no overstuffed chairs or lounges here, like modern libraries, only solid ladder-back chairs around sturdy tables, whose legs themselves were crammed with books stacked in between. Between wasn’t much, here. The aisles between the shelves were barely enough for a smallish person to navigate, and only one at a time.

An old newspaper library flag-stand had been revived with maps and large parchments hanging from their poles. One tabletop had been placed on top of a horizontal gray set of map drawers nearby. More maps and parchments were piled thick on its top also.

With all these books and paper, of course the place smelled of old book store mustiness. And so quiet that even dropping pins would make no noise. There was a hardwood floor, but covered with strip rugs of an oriental pattern in between the tables, only leaving the barest spaces under the tables themselves.

Jude, Sal, and I arrived in its largest open space. And that made me only wonder again how they did that and never appeared inside something. As it was, I bumped into a table and nearly upset a pile of books on it while catching my balance.

A red tabby cat meowed and pushed against his leg for petting, which I obliged. Taking Sal and Jude in with one look, it quickly sprinted off between the under-table stacks to lose itself again in the forest of book holders.

“So Hermione is the first to welcome you.” A wrinkled, and weathered old man appeared at my elbow, holding out a gnarled hand as greeting. “You can call me Ben. My full name is too long and convoluted for pronunciation in English. You must be John, the new guy. Heard a bit about you.”

I shook his hand and found the grip to be a vise, but brief. That surprised me, but Ben seemed not to notice my reaction.

“Sal, Jude. Glad you could come by again. Don’t see enough of you around. Granger has some brownies she’s just baked. Heard you were coming.” Ben then shuffled off again before Sal or Jude could reply.

Jude spoke first. “John, that’s Old Ben, whose one of the Librarians. I’m afraid he’s more at home with books than people. That’s the most I’ve heard him say in years, at least all at once. Granger is the other half to this pair and she should be…”

“Right here. Hi John, Sal, Jude.” A similarly wizened and wrinkled form showed up literally at my elbow, her gray head hardly higher than that joint. She grabbed my arm there and pulled it against her face. “Ah, so soft, but so strong. Jude likes them this way, and so do I. But she’s able to get more use out of your qualities than I can these days. Still, one can dream.”

Her hand was squeezing my elbow and pushing her body against my arm. I moved it up and away from her grip, where she then started cuddling my waist with the side of her face against my hip...

Be sure to read the whole series.

Why Vampires Suck At Haunting

Facing a fireball and living to tell about it wasn't in John's plans for the day.

But when he and his two female spirit guides were caught behind a red subcompact taking hit after hit of fireballs, some one had to do something. Because they could only keep taking those hits for so long.

Something in what he said made one of the girls step up and get the attention of whoever was throwing those fireballs at them. A distraction long enough for everyone to escape.

Only to realize that they still hadn't finished their assignment and would need to go back…

Excerpt:

And there came another one. 

BAM! 

Right against the car we were crouched behind. We were stuck behind a red subcompact, a recent American model. Here at the Los Angeles Observatory parking lot. The night was clear, a very rare occurrence, very unusual for this city of smoke and fog. The stars above mirroring the endless street and building lights that 
marched out to their California coast. 

Getting pummelled by red-orange fireballs behind this car couldn’t last forever. Especially since they smell of 
sulphur like a whole case of rotten eggs being broken at once.

Big, really huge fireballs had been coming at them for something like 15 minutes. Heat and stench. Coming one right after the last one. 

The red car was shaking like it would never stop.

It was going to need a paint job after this. If they could stand the smell to get it into the shop.

Jude and Sal were there with me. Hunkered down like I was. At least I was in my blue jeans and work boots, gray sweatshirt. Sal was in her regular tailored beige suit with gold pinstripes, low-heeled dress shoes. An outfit more ideal for turning heads on Rodeo Drive instead of crouching on dirty asphalt and gravel in a remote parking lot. Jude was at least better off in her black jeans and a tailored black leather jacket, with her clunky black Timberland boots. (OK, she likes black. And looks good in it. )

Admiring these two beauties wasn’t helping to get us out of this.

“Hey, can’t we just teleport out of here?” I asked, behind my sweatshirt sleeve covering my nose. .

“If we were able to concentrate. Not when they are coming a few seconds apart, ” said Sal.

“And it’s all I can do just to keep this car in one piece, ” said Jude.

“Wait, that explains how there was suddenly this car appearing on an empty parking lot. ” I replied.

“Just keep it quiet, so I can keep on keeping it there, in between those fireballs and us, ” said Jude.

“With that noise, I’m surprised we can think at all, ” I added.

“Wait. That’s it! It’s how we are thinking…” Sal said.

At that, Sal suddenly stood straight up and walked out away from the red car. 

“Hey - you. Fireball Guy. Yeah, that’s you. Is that all you got? Really?”

And the fireballs started coming right at her - all in a row and streaming right at her, twice as many more than were coming before at us.

But Sal just stood there.

And the fireballs passed right through her. She flinched at the first ones, but after a few of them she just stood there. And started laughing. Complete glee.

I thought she’d lost it. But her actions gave Jude enough time to disappear the car and get us out of there. 

The scene shimmered, like usual. Fireballs, parking lot, all of L. A. just disappeared.

When Fireballs Collide

Fiction is stranger than Fact, but also father and mother to it.

From the archives of the Ghost Hunters Library, here a classic tale of an amateur paranormal enthusiast who happens on a solution to nagging ghost infestations. 

This tale of his runaway success, the perils of being too effective, and exacting revenge against a greedy sanitarium owner for non-payment of services rendered.

Exciting and humorous, sit back and enjoy this short tale of ghoulish entrepreneurship.

Excerpt: 

The next problem to solve was getting a fresh supply of ghosts. In the last few years, I had almost exhausted the entire database of the American Psychical Research Society. And my requests for ghost exterminating had decreased markedly, so I had next to no leads coming in.

But I wasn't going to get anywhere if I didn't think really big ideas. Getting ghosts by the ones and twos would simply eat up the finances necessary to acquire them. A zero-sum game, no profit in it.

I needed a mass capture operation.

Days of research in the libraries around San Francisco didn't result in any stories of massive ghost infestations. However, one day looking through back magazine articles in their archives, I found an old volume of Blackwood's Magazine. It contained an interesting article about the battle of Waterloo. The report stated that every year, on the anniversary of the celebrated victory, spectral squadrons were seen by the peasants charging battalions of ghostly grenadiers. Here was my opportunity.

I had a month before the date occurred again. 

Applying for project funds based on my earlier success wasn't successful through conventional banks. However I did find private investors who were willing to take near-majority interest in my company in return for financing.

Calling in my best machinists and chemists, I converted and shipped large containers to Belgium. These large tanks were calculated to hold the massive amount of specters that recurred each year like clockwork.

Shipping the equipment by air was facilitated by my Navy contacts, who had large transports available. Once in Belgium, local trucks were hired to get all this equipment to the remote location.

We were ready just in time for the annual event.

Close to the fatal ditch which engulfed Napoleon's cavalry I stationed a corps of hired locals provided with portable ghost exterminator spray systems, ready to enfilade the famous sunken road from both sides to prevent escape.

I stationed myself with a with a four-inch nozzle and a quick releasing shut-off valve much the same as used by firemen, directly in the path the advancing squadron took. All our tanks were pressurized and ready.

We waited for the exact moment to creep slowly toward us. .

It was a fine, clear night, lit at first by a slice of new moon. As the hour approached, that moon turned dark and the sky was black except for the pale illumination of the stars.

I have seen many ghosts in my time—ghosts in garden and garret, at noon, at dusk, at dawn. I've seen phantoms fanciful, and specters sad and spectacular—but I've never seen such an impressive sight as this nighttime charge of cuirassiers, galloping in goblin glory to their time- honored doom.

From a distance, the French reserves presented the appearance of a nebulous mass, like a low-lying cloud or fog-bank. Faintly luminous, shot with fluorescent gleams. As the squadron came nearer in its desperate charge, the separate forms of the troopers shaped themselves, and the galloping guardsmen grew ghastly with supernatural splendor.

Although I knew them to be immaterial and without mass or weight, I became terrified at their approach. They were so realistic, I was afraid of being to be swept under the hoofs of the nightmares they rode.

I started to run, but in another instant they were upon me, my reaction and only defense was to turn on my stream of formal dybrom, shut my eyes, and pray.

Right then I was overwhelmed in a cloud-burst of wild warlike wraiths…

Ghost Exterminators Inc.

This ghost was haunted by someone or something else.

None of her doing, but prevented her from moving on. Every time someone would try to talk to her, the castle around her started collapsing on that visitor.

John Earl Stark was given this assignment with the help of his spirit-guides Sal, and Jude. Unlike the others they had completed together, this one required skills they never before had to develop. A double haunting. And mortal risk.

In this story, John, Sal, and Jude also explore an undercurrent of their deepening relationships.

This story adds to The Ghost Hunters saga with a new part, as their cosy paranormal mysteries continue.

Excerpt: 

“I don’t know why castles and ghosts always seem to need dark and overcast weather to be so dramatic. ” I said when the shimmering stopped.

We were at the castle in one of the upper rooms. A high, vaulted roof was partially still intact overhead. There were only blank walls, and the floor had a massive hole in it, directly below the missing roof portion. Sal and Jude both had lit spectrals in their hands. Little blue-white flames that appeared just off the tip of one finger. Bright enough to show what a person needed to see, but too bright to look at directly.

I’d read about these, but this was the first I’d seen either of them using one.

Sal nodded, “These should help with the general gloom. Just to give you the layout. ”

Jude added, “We are going to put them out and stand over to each side as lookouts. When the specter shows up the room will be bright enough. But don’t wait to engage her. We think the light is what brings the interference. ’

At that, they both moved away from me, skirting the piles of rubble that appeared here and there across the floor.

They extinguished their spectrals and we waited.

Not long.

A yellow-greenish light appeared and a woman walked in from beyond the wall, dressed in some white linen with some sort of gold or light tan rope that crossed her chest and circled her waist. Fetching, even in the light she gave. From her knees down, she fades to transparent, and the movement of her knees and hips, along her forward motion were the only indicators she was walking. Both hands held a single tapered candle in front of her. The greenish light came from its tip. But there wasn’t a natural shadow below her, or an unnatural one. It simply went dark before and after her. The light seemed to go through her as well, like a glowing sphere of light that had nothing to do with a flame. It showed up the wall as she came through it, then faded as she walked away from it and toward me.

I could see well enough to know that there were no rubble piles between us. I started walking immediately in her direction, with a long pasture-covering gate. “Hey there! What’s your name and how can I help you?”

The specter stopped at this, a puzzled look crossing her face. “I’m Margaret. And, sir, who are you?”

“Call me John. Do you know what date it is?”

Margaret’s puzzlement turned into a frown. “The 4th of January. ”

“Can you tell me what year it is?”

The frown deepened. “1898, of course. Are you jesting with me? Everyone here knows…” She took one arm to include the room and an expected audience but found only the bare walls, and myself standing in front of her. “I think you are playing a trick on me, sir. Where have you hidden the party? What have you done with the party decorations, the tapestries, the long tables of food and drink?”

“Margaret, this isn’t some sort of jest. You’ve been dead for some time and I’ve been sent to help you sort that out. ”

“Dead?!?” Her eyes were wide and the glow of her candle increased. “How can I be dead? This was my birthday party! I just arrived to greet my guests. And yet I only see you. Sir, you are to immediately tell me what you’ve done here and why!”

The glow of her candle increased to near white, so brilliant, I held a hand out to shield my eyes from it to see her face…

The Haunted Ghost

You've probably seen Ghost Busters movies and Ghost Whisperer TV shows.

There is a much longer tradition to resolving he mysteries and problems that make ghosts unable to move on. 

This Anthology tells the story of two spirit guides and their human writer-turned-amateur-sleuth as they encounter strange ghosts and specters, as well as real-life mortal dangers. Their growing team of helpful characters assist them to solve these phantasmic puzzles in each story.

This is the first collected anthology of four short stories:

Ghost Hunters

Why Vampires Suck At Haunting

When Fireballs Collide

Ghost Exterminators Inc.

Ghost Hunters

It started with a dream.

In it, John Earl Stark solved the problem of a ghost he met. Or did he? It was a dream, after all.

The next day he meets two women who visit his cabin, arriving out of the blue, literally. (Well, one arrived with pitched black darkness which filled his cabin and made her cough. )

These two have an offer for Stark. All he really wanted was to enjoy the small cabin and solitude so he could write his detective stories.

These ladies had another offer - to help them solve the reasons ghosts don't move on. Plenty of new inspiration for stories, decent pay, won't interrupt his writing schedule.

Of course, he could die doing it…

Why Vampires Suck at Haunting

Vampires aren't good at everything. For instance, they suck at haunting.

John Earl Stark continues his adventures in ghost hunting. 

Encountering a female ghost who attacks him in a gothic Victorian mansion left him bitten, but alive. Sal and Jude, his employers and guides, came in from a nearby room, shocked. 

Obviously, John was going to need more training to survive these attacks.

But this particular ghost was still haunting and still attacking people with neck bites…

When Fireballs Collide

Facing a fireball and living to tell about it wasn't in John's plans for the day.

But when he and his two female spirit guides were caught behind a red subcompact taking hit after hit of fireballs, some one had to do something. Because they could only keep taking those hits for so long.

Something in what he said made one of the girls step up and get the attention of whoever was throwing those fireballs at them. A distraction long enough for everyone to escape.

Only to realize that they still hadn't finished their assignment and would need to go back…

Ghost Exterminators, Inc.

Fiction is stranger than Fact, but also father and mother to it.

From the archives of the Ghost Hunters Library, here a classic tale of an amateur paranormal enthusiast who happens on a solution to nagging ghost infestations. 

This tale of his runaway success, the perils of being too effective, and exacting revenge against a greedy sanitarium owner for non-payment of services rendered.

Exciting and humorous, sit back and enjoy this short tale of ghoulish entrepreneurship.

Ghost Hunters Mystery-Detective - Kirjasarja

Ghost Hunters Mystery-Detective - Kirjasarja

Ghost Hunters Mystery-Detective-kirjat järjestyksessä

Kuuntele missä ja milloin haluat