Ah…the rain. Only small droplets at first but became larger after a few moments, caressing my face gently. In this enveloping darkness it was my only comfort. The pavement was extensively cracked, missing in places, giving me the unnecessary opportunity to take a tumble to the ground from time to time.
The street was remarkably unkempt. Only the odd street light shone its orange glow across my path, flickering dangerously. The houses, sandwiched together, bore no character; their walls scribbled with mindless graffiti and frames of jagged glass where there were once windows.
I patted my pocket, feeling the reassuring bulge of the pepper spray can. It was in my nature to be overly careful and my frequent journeys through such unsettling neighbourhoods only encouraged me. It was quite ironic that I was more prepared for the attacks of the living than the dead; I would more often see a lost spirit than pass a man in the street. But there was no room for chance in my line of work, especially as a young woman frequently alone on dark, deserted streets. There were few who had the choice to pursue such a career but those of us that did were almost obligated to do so. There weren’t many who would choose to guide lost, confused and angry spirits away from their lives…and towards their deaths.
I quickened my pace as the rain hailed down around me, a crack of thunder booming in the distance. Spirits were often drawn to a place of particular sentimentality but that was no guarantee that they would stay there. Then I’d have to track down the blasted thing again.
Rounding a corner, my eyes scoured the street, finally resting on a building that was not as dilapidated as its neighbours. The red brick walls had so far escaped any spray paint but cardboard covered the broken windows, dark spots of rain soaking through the half hearted replacement. I slid my torch from my belt and hurried to the door; hanging precariously on one hinge.
My heart beat against my ribs, warning me. Spirits were as dangerous as humans, especially if they had mastered their supernatural potential. Memories of tables, chairs and all other manner of objects flying towards me flashed before my eyes…the work of a particularly nasty poltergeist.
Stepping cautiously into the pitch black room, I listened intently. Only the patter of rain upon the roof was audible. The light of my torch scoured the room, revealing a dusty front room; rotting floorboards and upturned sofas and armchairs was all to be seen. I swallowed hard as I continued my careful journey to the next room. I knew for a fact this spirit had only been wandering for a few weeks…but sometimes that was long enough to get the gist of what they were capable of. The ones that learned fast were the worst; they were smart and power hungry. It was often all I could do to drag them kicking and screaming to the afterlife.
An ominous creak sounded on the floor above. Darn. I had been hoping for a ground floor confrontation; it was always less of a concern if I happened to be thrown out of a window. I tiptoed through the kitchen, cobwebs strung from the low ceiling, brushing my face. I reached the foot of the stairs, the carpet worn down to the underlying fibres.
I paused momentarily…the unmistakable sound of sobs carried down the stairwell. Excellent. The sad, lonely spirits were the easiest to persuade. Taking a deep breath, I ascended quietly. I winced furiously as a step creaked beneath me.
“Who’s there?” Anxiety coloured the male voice.
Odd. What kind of spirit was fearful of a physical being? But then, weeks of isolation trapped in a world not equipped for you would be scary for anyone. Especially when this world housed all your treasured memories.
“My name is Sabrina,” I called up to him. I dared to take a few more steps until I reached the hallway, black as night bar my miniature light source.
