The Ghost Host

Chapter 1 - Echo

1: Baffled

(Echo)

I'm not scared of cameras, just the rogue ghost trying to force his way onto my webshow. My two best friends, Holden and Zara, rush around the set trying to work out all the last minute details and camera setup. I am considerably less helpful as I stare at the cameras, twisting my hands nervously.

This is usually the best part of my week. That was before the rogue ghost showed up last month and started stalking me. The black fear and raging anger he carries around instantly put me on edge. I've been doing my best to avoid him, but the attacks are getting worse every day.

Noticing my reticence, Zara stops next to me and squeezes my arm. "Hey, it's gonna be fine. Holden has the whole area circled in salt. He'll close it as soon as your guest steps inside the circle. No one else will get in."

I nod, but not even the knowledge that my friends have my back and the presence of the salt reassures me. I have a feeling that ordinary precautions won't cut it against the rogue.

"Two minutes, people!" Holden shouts as he races across the room to lock the door against unexpected interruptions. Tonight, I'd actually welcome someone barging in over something else's appearance.

Zara moves away from me and grabs an eraser to get rid of the show notes from earlier this week. She sprints back to one of the cameras a second later, missing as she tries to toss the eraser back onto the tray. The blackboard is still smudged with chalk dust, but I set the eraser back on the tray and face the desk and chair waiting for me. Taking a deep breath, I walk over to it and take my seat by the time Zara starts the countdown. I'm semi-composed as her last finger drops and she signals that we're live.

"Welcome back to The Ghost Host," I say with a smile that's not quite as genuine as usual. "I'm Echo Simmons and we've got an extra special show tonight. We're going back in time to talk to a ghost who hasn't seen the inside of a high school in at least half a century.

"As always, everything you see tonight is real. We use old school chalk and blackboards so you know we're not interfering digitally, and we stream live so there's no time for special effects. The responses you see will be straight from our guest, communicated through me by automatic writing. You're welcome to believe me or not. It's up to you."

Having gotten through my memorized spiel, I smile again, feeling a bit more confident that this will go well. Saying that we stream live is a small fib since Holden delays the broadcast by about thirty seconds just in case one of the ghost guests try to break the rules, but we've learned it's essential from past experiences. Better safe than sorry.

I glance toward the blackboard. My mom really couldn't understand why I wanted one last year when every other born and bred California girl I went to school with was asking for shopping trips or surf boards. She was unwilling to refuse me for fear of things going bad again, and presented it to me on my seventeenth birthday with a shake of her head. Dad gave up trying to figure me out a while ago. He's supportive so long as things keep going well.

Turning toward the blackboard, I nod to the elderly woman waiting just outside the salt circle and ignore the usual crowd of ghosts hanging around in the periphery. She showed up about a month ago, but stayed in the background, almost like she was trying to figure out whether or not I was legit. It wasn't until earlier this week that she attempted contact and made it clear she had a message to pass on.

Since I've been burned in the past by ghosts not being on the up and up, rule one for the Ghost Host show is that guests have to give me a preview of their message before coming on the show so I can make sure it's not going to cause trouble for anyone still living. This lady's thoughtful approach and clear respect paired up with her innocuous message made it easy to say yes.