For a Ghost Free Time, Call: Episode Two

By Sean Kelly

For a Ghost-Free Time, Call is an episodic supernatural adventure set in the emerald city of Eugene, Oregon which follows a young man, who–since he was a boy–has had the irritating ability to see ghosts all around him. Episode Two follows the strange events of the previous installment, knocking over dominoes that will seek to destroy Jared’s life as he knows it...

In the weeks following the mysterious events of Episode One, Jared’s life has all but returned to normal, as normal as it can possibly be when you see ghosts everywhere you go. Although he’s content to slip back into his old life, Jared is continually haunted by the strange reality he was recently confronted with and his curiosity will get the better of him, compelling him to test paranormal boundaries that some would say are better left alone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mythic Tale Studios
• Release date: Jan 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215964729

Book preview

For a Ghost-Free Time, Call

Episode Two

Mythic Tale Studios

2023

Published by Mythic Tale Studios

© 2016 by Sean Kelly

All rights reserved

Written and Published in the Pacific Northwest

Second Edition, 2023

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations, reviews, and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests email Sean Kelly and Mythic Tale Studios at the email address below:

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Cover art by Emerald Inkwell

Book format & design by Sean Kelly

For a Ghost-Free Time, Call

Episode Two

I

SIX LONG DAYS had passed since my visit to the house of horrors with Dizzy, and I hadn’t seen or heard from her since. I still wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t just screwing with me and I was actually on Candid Camera or Punk’d. Stupid reality shows like that have made me perpetually paranoid. That and, you know, the whole I see ghosts and shit thing. The day after we fled that country home in Camp Creek, I sat around waiting for her to show up at my doorstep, but that never happened. A few days passed and I decided that she must have drugged me and we went on the wildest acid trip I’d ever experienced. So, I just let life drift back to the way it was supposed to be.

That mute jackass, Toby, was still following me around everywhere—I think we all know that’ll never change. Whatever that rich lady’s name was, she never tracked me down again, which meant that she probably stopped knocking shit over all the time and blaming it on the vengeful plantation hand that was, in her mind, haunting her mini-mansion. I know I told you about how Jane invited me into her apartment that day and you might be asking yourself, What happened with her? Well, nothing worth telling you about really, and since then, we’ve hung out a couple of times, but only casually. That night I had just gone over to her apartment and we ate some lukewarm orange chicken before she fell asleep on the couch while we watched The Notebook, her favorite break-up movie. She made a point to mention that as she popped in the DVD. She said something about how it made her believe that there was a Noah out there somewhere, writing her love letters every day; she just hasn’t read them yet. Having just broken up with her—let’s just call him douchebag—boyfriend, I didn’t really have the heart to tell her that was easily the dumbest thing I had ever heard.

Anyways, back to where I was going with all this. A week after I met Dizzy, my life was back to normal—you know, as normal as my life is. I grabbed a bagel for breakfast in the mornings, now that I was flush with a little cash. I caught up on and even prepaid a few months of rent. What I’d neglected over the last week, however, was laundry. Like, it had been a really long while. On top of that, most of my clothes were torn or dingy and gross. I hadn’t had much cash until after I pulled that job with the rich lady. Which meant I needed to procure some new threads. So, I grabbed my three favorite shirts and my only other pair of jeans that fit comfortably and threw them into a plastic grocery bag. There was a laundromat I frequented a couple of blocks away and it was a quick walk over there. It was still early and the streets were more or less empty and I didn’t see any apparitions stalking people down the street or lingering near their dead-spot—a term I liked to use to reference the exact spot where someone died. Get it? Anyway, no wanderers, but I did see one on the way there, and I’ll tell you, there are few things funnier than a ghost riding shotgun in a pretty BMW, eyeballing the shit out of the driver for some unknown reason. Personally, my money is on angry dead wife or hooker killed in Vegas, but there’s no way to know for sure.

At the laundromat, there were the usual suspects: an old Chinese lady I always saw when I hit the wash on Thursdays and a middle-aged woman with a newborn that was there literally every time I’ve gone. This time there was also some young, college-aged guy I’d never seen before, laid out on a bench near the windows with a striped beanie pulled down over his eyes. Then there was the chubby girl that tended the shop in the mornings. I actually really liked her; her name was Amelia and while she had to weigh something like two-seventy, she