sometimes, things just happen. Like the ghosts of every human who
ever died suddenly materializing and making the whole world haunted.
That was a bit of a surprise.
sketchy experimental procedure later, he has left his body behind and
become a ghost. And that’s when things start to go wrong.
body has mysteriously vanished. And whoever took it will do anything
to make sure he never finds it. Now Ryan has just ten days to race
across the ghost-infested world and get back into his body, or be
obliterated forever. Also, he missed breakfast.
Hundred Billion Ghosts is a “hilarious and compelling”
paranormal mystery thriller with “just the right balance of
humor, poignancy, and twists”.
“You’re the one who finds missing ghosts, right?”
“That’s what it says on my business card! ‘I find ghosts!’” Lowell Mahaffey answered with a grin that he always assumed came off as winning. He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair so far that his knuckles pressed into the window blinds and wrinkled them out of shape. His chair made a tightly coiled spring noise that threatened to snap any second and topple him out the window into the street six floors below.
The client scanned his desk with a perplexed expression. “You didn’t give me a business card.”
“I don’t actually have any right now. But that’s what it says on them. And there’s an exclamation mark.”
The client flicked her eyes around his office as though wondering if she had somehow overlooked part of it. It was an impressive size—luxuriously spacious, even—but most of the furniture had been removed long ago, so the emptiness of it had a presence, like a five-hundred-square-foot stalker looking over your shoulder. But on the positive side, it was devoid of ghosts, which made it feel nice and private. He had bargained with the ghosts years ago to take off during the day when he was with clients, and they were mostly sticking to their end.
And he still had his desk. The desk made this room an office. The desk gave clients confidence. It said, “Here is a man who needs a surface to write on. Here is a man who has office supplies that need to be in drawers that might even be locked.” Aside from the desk there was only his own leather desk chair, and the plastic folding chair he kept across from him for clients. But the desk, Lowell thought, was undoubtedly the most significant feature of the decor.
“Is that a dentist’s chair?” the client asked, staring.
The desk, Lowell thought, was undoubtedly the most significant feature of the decor—aside from the large, disconnected dentist’s chair balanced on its single metal leg in the corner.
“Why is it here?”
“Because I don’t have room for it in my condo.” That was true, especially given that he didn’t have the condo anymore.
something written by DM Sinclair. He’s done more than a hundred hours
of that stuff, and will happily take the blame even for shows he
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