by Corey Edward
We were all this city needed.
“I knew you could do it,” Enisa said. “I always did.”
“I had a little help,” I said. “From my fellow paranormal investigators.”
“Does that mean we’re official now?” asked Frankie.
“Yes.” I smiled. “I think we are.”
The entire city was waiting outside, clamoring for answers as to what had just happened. I lifted Rusty into my arms as we walked out to face them.
Sirens were everywhere. So were people, thousands of Bostonians converging, asking questions, shoving phones into our faces.
“What happened in there?”
“Why did the power go off?”
“What was that light?”
“Was it an explosion?”
One came closer than the rest.
A woman in business casual, filming with a handheld camera, eager to get a start on the viral story of a lifetime.
The story of us.
“Who are you?” she asked.
For the first time, I knew the answer to that question.
“We’re Rusty Paranormal Investigations,” I said. “And we’re open for business.”
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Epilogue
It’s been two weeks since the defeat of Narlothotep.
Two weeks since I founded Rusty Paranormal Investigations and changed my life forever.
The office looks different now. Empty spaces have been filled. Where once there was chaos, there is now order. Where once I saw my father, I now see myself.
It’s crazy how the weirdest people make the closest friends. The staff of Rusty Paranormal Investigations has proven that time and again. And with their help, I plan to transform this small family business into an extended family business.
We’ve developed a sort of routine, the four of us: we swing by the Brew after school, pick up our coffees, and then head straight for the office. There we sit, studying and researching and waiting for the phone to ring.
At first, things were slow. A poltergeist in a furniture store. A haunted computer sending threats of violence to its owner. A weird invisible entity that seemed to operate by eating socks.
As word-of-mouth spread, business picked up.
One cloudy Saturday morning, I was sitting in the shop with my friends playing Mario Party when the phone rang. Frankie dove for it, picking it up before Enisa, Molly or I even had a chance.
“Rusty Paranormal Investigations,” he quipped. “What’s your haunting?”
He grabbed a notepad as the rest of us leaned in for a listen. He scribbled while the person on the other end spoke, clearly distraught with whatever problem had forced her to call in. I could hear her weeping on the other end of the phone.
“Mmhmm,” Frankie said, scribbling. “Yeah. Got it. So is the blood coming from the sink in the bathroom, too, or just the one in the kitchen?”
I looked at Enisa and Molly, expression blank. What in the name of Merlin was going on?
“So the scratches,” Frankie continued. “How big are we talking? Are they grizzly bear scratches or angry-cat scratches?”
“Frankie,” Enisa hissed. “Who is this?”
“And you saw the horned figure in your daughter’s bedroom,” Frankie said, as if Enisa never spoke. “How many eyes did it have? Four, you say? That’s a lot. Sure it didn’t have glasses?”
He fell silent as the other person continued speaking, nodding his head and taking notes. And then, after a full three minutes of listening, he finally hung up the phone.
“Well?” I said. “Who was it?”
“A family of three living over on Hazelwood Drive,” he said. “Claims they moved into a new house and it’s haunted as hell. Blood drips from the walls. Objects fly around the room. The air smells like rotten meat. They’re getting scratched.”
“Sounds like the next Amityville,” said Molly.
“Sounds like fun,” I said. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”
And so we did.
It may have been the next Amityville, but we were the next big thing.
Acknowledgments
Friday Nightmares is a work of love that would not have been possible without so many countless people.
Thank you to my loved ones: my family and friends who have been there for me from the beginning.
Thank you especially to my parents, Colleen and Chuck Zallow, who taught me the value of hard work, determination and education.
Thank you to my students, who inspire me as much as I hope to inspire them.
Thank you to my YA writing circle, especially Dr. Barnhouse and Jacqueline Lipton. The novel would not have left my head were it not for Rebecca Barnhouse, whose class was the start of Henry's adventures. She is simply the best.
Thank you to my game night buddies for many nights of endless laughter and love.
Thank you to FyreSyde Publishing, who believed in my story enough to see it all the way through to the end.
And finally, I'd like to thank my readers. I never thought others would want to read the silly little stories I dreamed up in my office.
You will all live in my heart forever.
About the Author
Corey Edward is an English teacher who lives, works and writes in Ohio. A graduate of Youngstown State University who recently earned his M. A. in English, he has a passion for education, hot chocolate, ghost stories and Halloween. Friday Nightmares is his first novel, but it won't be his last.
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Twitter: @coreyedward2
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/coreyz25
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