The Blue House of 1478 (4) (Patreon)

"So. This is where Leviticus Blue lived."  Hunter is smiling like a little old man, perfectly pleased at trespassing if it means satisfying a curiosity of his.

I exhale in the most unenthused way that I can manage, staring alongside him at a perfectly unremarkable house.

"Oh, I know,” I tease, pinching at Hunter’s bicep beneath the weirdly thick material of his parka, “We should start a drinking game with the amount that I've heard his name today. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

The only reason that I agree to a ghostly outing after the town meeting with Hunter, a self-proclaimed spirit hunter, is that Paranews is accepting photographs and columns for this month's contest.

I am, of course, hoping to write the column and relying on Hunter's eye for hauntingly stunning photography to do so.

"It's so weird how everyone is pissed at the guy — just because he isn't a ghost."

But… I didn't expect the outing to be here.

Life is funny like that sometimes. Other times, I realize, that maybe it's just trying really damn hard to break my heart.

"Yeah, well Sleepy Birch sucks sometimes."  The house in front of us is small and tired.  It's perched too close to the lake, where the grass grows tall and thick, and the trees hang heavy with solid branches and bright leaves. It’s a wonder it hasn’t crumbled into nothing.  "Everyone gossips. You'll get used to it."

Leviticus' previous home is weather-worn, with damp wood and moss growth.  It hardly looks livable. But. That isn't the part that hurts. It couldn’t be, could it?

What hurts is past that little, decaying home, just to the left, large and looming. I won’t look at the bridge. If I don’t look at it, I can pretend that it doesn’t exist.

"You sure?  Because... Man, I don't think I'll ever get used to this weird-ass town," Hunter scoffs, waving his weather-proofed device into the air, "... The EMF reading was off the chart on that old bridge the other day.  I don't know about here, though."

The sound of rain hitting the hood of my waterproof jacket muffles Hunter's voice into something distant. I trudge after him anyway, boots digging into the wet earth and overgrown grass, staining the toes of them with a mixture of marsh and sand.

I glance towards the structure he speaks of, a pale bit of eroding architecture in the background — one that's unassuming at best.  Hunter doesn't know better.  He doesn't know all the ways that I hurt and that's why I like him.

I like existing in half-truths. I like that — right now, he isn’t worried about me, like someone else would be. It’s another way to pretend.

"The ground is going to swallow my rain boots."  I feel like yelling is unnecessary at most, but I cup my mouth and gaze ahead the best that I can with rain spattering my vision. "How could Leviticus live out here?  There's no road to his house!"

Can I be normal like this?

The bridge doesn't seem significant, even to me, like this, yards away, fog reaching upwards from the river that extends and divides from the coast without contact —

Almost like it's the ghost.

Perhaps it is.  It's Something intangible, faded, misleading, and full of the lingering shitty-ness of the memory it serves.

My friend ignores me for a moment, readjusts his EMF reader's weatherproof guard, and frowns. I grimace at his back, impatient for a response.

"And why are we posing as the next Sasquatch sighting out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere when we could be on the bridge — the bridge that had the readings?"

Why do I ask that?

Am I some sort of masochist?

"Damn, chill. You sound like Kia." Hunter's laughing. "I went solo the other day and took a couple of trails around here," he shrugs, waving the device towards the wood line.

"Solo?  Here?"  I sigh, "Hunter, that's dangerous."

"Well.  It only got louder the further down lake's edge. There's no cell tower or town nearby to explain that, either."

"And?"

"And I got spooked, okay? I needed someone to come with me," Hunter snorts a bit, looks back at me with a boyish grin that is mostly concealed by his parka, "so if there's any risk of possession, I could push them towards the entity and run. The sassier you get, the less guilty I'll feel about it too."

I laugh at that, the tenseness in me faltering for a moment. And for a moment, I forget the all of it.

I instead look back at Leviticus' house.  It looks like — he abandoned his first garden, even though it seems like he put quite a bit of effort into it.  Actually, the rain probably didn't do him any favors, here by the lake.  The flowers must have drowned.

I pull my attention back to my friend.

"Oh, so am I ghost-chow to you?"

"People just love Latino food." Hunter shrugs. “Maybe ghosts are the same."

"Oh, very funny." I roll my eyes, and Hunter hums to himself, tinkering with the placement of one of his knobs. "How long have we been walking?"

"Long enough that I'm starving. Why is an artificial lake this fucking huge?" Hunter grumbles, his excitement momentarily lost. He takes a bite from the soggy granola bar that he dropped in the lake twenty minutes prior.   I grimace. “There's no use to it."

"... Jesus, that's disgusting."

Hunter grins at me, smacks his lips, and wet granola crumbles down his parka.   I roll my eyes heavenwards,

"The use is that it was aesthetically pleasing to incoming tourists." I grab onto his sleeve to pull my boot from a particularly wet spot, “As if the ocean ten miles from here isn't enough."

"It's not aesthetically pleasing anymore.  Now that you guys have the new bridge, it's just creepy." Hunter shivers after he takes another bite. 

His face pinches up at the taste.

"But I love it." He adds, his expression resembling nausea.  "It's the best part about this place.  The creepiness — that is.  Who knew coastal towns could offer so much of it?"

I chew the inner part of my cheek, my thighs sore from the journey through the wetlands.

"How's that granola taste?"

"Like algae." Hunter huffs at the realization. "You think I'll get a parasite?"

"Isn't that a late thought?  Let's just turn around and get some food — we can come back when I'm not starving."

Hunter throws the remaining part of his granola bar at my chest.  I snort,

"Why can’t you just starve a little, huh? Where's your sense of adventure?"