02/25/2026
Issue #2: The Spirit of Fun
Well, I’m still here. So I guess that counts for something.
I gotta be honest. After I dropped my first case file here last week, part of me was a bit worried. The government ain’t exactly keen on having their secrets spilled. But I guess I’m not quite as much of a threat to them as I thought I was. I mean honestly, I can’t blame them. What’s one washed out detective gonna do against the whole government? If nothing else, taking it down would only make it look more suspicious I guess. To most this probably just sounds like the ramblings of a mad man. Or some made up story.
Well, if they ain’t gonna stop me. Then I might as well keep posting them. It's not like I’ve got any shortage of stories to tell you. Been working this job for well over 50 years by this point. 50 years, at least two or three cases a week…. The stories start to build up.
Last time I told you a pretty simple story. A story where I got in and out pretty easily. The Spirit of Sea Trash. I wanted to start with that one to demonstrate a few things. One, that spirits really can inhabit anything. Two, that I generally know what I’m doing. And three, that even the smallest slip up can cause you a lifetime of pain in this line of work. That tiny little cut I got on my foot from the Spirit of Sea Trash? Yeah. I’m still pulling bits of plastic out of it to this very day.
This time, I’m gonna tell you a story that shows something a little different. Last time I demonstrated a case where I, generally, had things under control from the start. But this time I’ll tell you the opposite. This is a case where I almost got myself killed, because I came in thinking I could handle something big all on my own. I got cocky and I almost lost everything because of it. This tale is here to demonstrate the more… Abstract things a spirit can form from. And also to demonstrate just how dangerous a spirit can be… Even to someone experienced.
Case File: 11-13082127A
Date of Case: August 21st, 2013
Location: Evan Park, Florida
Active Agents: Agent Isa
Case Subject: The Spirit of Fun
It was a hot and humid summer that year. Especially down there in the swamps of Florida. I grew up down in the south though, so it never bothered me quite as much as it did others. I was born and raised in that sweaty, sticky place. I much preferred it to the cold, anyways.
This was one of those cases where I had no reports or witnesses to go off of. You see, there’s one of two ways I find cases to go after. The much more common of the two, is that I get a report across my desk or sent to whatever motel I’m crashing in. The big wigs upstairs vet through hundreds, if not thousands of statements every day. And then those statements are turned into reports, and sent out to one of the 26 agents that deal with whatever field it pertains to.
But the other way it happens, is when I’ve got nothing on my plate. Which is rare. That’s why this method ain’t used as much. There’s almost always something going down somewhere. But on occasion, things do slow down. But do I get a vacation during those times? Hell no. If you sit idle for too long, you get a citation. So sometimes it's necessary for us to find our own work.
Do any of you out there know about dowsing? It's a psychic ability used to find things. It used to see a lot more usage, but the practice has died down quite a bit. It's an archaic psychic method compared to things like remote viewing. From what I understand, the practice originated in Japan, I think. I learned it from my mentor though. It's tricky, and I ain’t the best at it. Probably because I don’t get much practice. The way I use it is by sprawling out a big, detailed map of the USA in front of me. Then I hold out my hands in a triangular pattern, kinda like a planchet with my hands. Using this I can dowse the map, and track down any spikes of spiritual activity. It kind of turns the map into a spiritual GPS if you will. That’s the idea anyways. Doesn’t always work.
But this time it did. I got a rather large spike in the town of Evan Park down in the deep center of Florida. As much as I wanted to stay and relax in my nice motel room, I couldn’t ignore this one. The energy readings I got from that point on the map were almost off the charts. Concerningly so. So much so, that I considered the possibility that I made a mistake. A spike that big surely would’ve been reported by someone already.
But it hadn’t. So that’s how I ended up in a shitty little town in the middle of the swamp.
The place was about what you can imagine. I wouldn’t exactly call it “poor”, but it was a far cry from England Cove, that was for sure. The buildings here were all small and old. With cracked and dusty windows. I remember the grass crunched under my foot with every step. It was dry and brittle, like hay almost. The sun and humidity certainly didn’t help matters. The air was as likely to choke you as any of the thugs walking around on the street.
Funnily enough, I felt quite comfortable there. It reminded me of home.
After stepping off the bus, I was left to my own devices. No leads, no suspects, no nothing. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if my dowsing had been correct yet. But this wasn’t my first rodeo on a case without a lead, or even a crime. So I did what I always did to get information.
I headed to the bar.
Back when I was still green around the edges, I would head to the police station to try and get information. But I learned pretty quickly that local cops didn’t usually like cooperating with the FBI. But bar patrons just loved to run their trap to anyone that would listen. Especially a stranger who just bought them a drink.
I ended up in a place called The Turkey's Tavern. Small hole in the wall joint, but nicely put together I suppose. The place was dim, with no windows. Thick with the smell of booze and the chatter of patrons. It was Friday, so the place was crowded as hell. It was a double edged sword. On one hand, more people meant I was less likely to be singled out. Also meant there were more people to question. But on the other hand, big crowds can be tough for psychics. If you think bars can be loud for regular people, just imagine what it would feel like if you could read minds.
I stood by the doorway for a few minutes, surveying the crowd. I was trying to pick out someone that might make a good target for questioning. But nobody stood out immediately. I decided to make myself at home at the bar. I threw my briefcase up onto the counter and put in an order for a drink. Hey, figured I might as well since I was already there, yeah?
The bartender brought me my whiskey. I started nursing it while I looked around the bar one more time. Sometimes all you need is a change in perspective to find what you didn’t even know you were looking for. And that’s what happened when my eyes snagged a bulletin board near the back wall. One that had been hidden behind the throngs of people from the front.
I left the counter behind, as if drawn in like a moth to a flame. The bulletin board was covered in missing persons posters. I’m talking edge to edge. And in a small town like this, even just one person going missing was cause for concern. Let alone what looked like two dozen of them. I sipped my drink and looked them over, taking a mental note of all of them. Something jumped out at me though as I was taking my mental photograph.
These weren’t official posters. I had to look closer, but sure enough they were all handmade. They were uniform in design, for the most part. But they lacked that authenticity that real missing posters had. I’m sure to the average person, they wouldn’t look any different. But I had a lot of experience with missing posters, as you might guess.
I was still mulling the mystery over, when a voice spoke up from behind me.
“Scary, isn’t it?”
The voice belonged to some young guy. Hearty looking, clearly had a few drinks in him by the way he was standing. I nodded in agreement and asked him if he knew anything about it. The kid told me they were made by some guy from town. He said it had become a bit of a song and dance. The guy would come in here and put up his posters, then the cops would come in and take them down.
Certainly a…. Weird turn of events. I don’t think I’d ever heard of someone putting up custom missing posters. I asked the kid why the guy did it. If it was some kinda sick art project or something. But the kid just shook his head.
“Nah, the guy genuinely thinks they’re all missing.” The kid answered me. He had such a…. Non-chalant way of talking about it. I can’t really explain it, but it put me on edge. “But they’re not.” He continued. “They’re just having fun at the carnival.”
I like to think I have a good nose for the strange, and I was starting to get a good whiff of it in this town.
“If they’re just at the carnival then why does he bother putting up these posters?”
“Dunno. I think he just hates fun or something.”
The kid wandered off after that, called back to his little gaggle of friends to keep drinking their brains out. It left me with more questions than answers, which was usually not the point of coming to a bar on a case. I brought my eyes back to that board, studying it again with the new knowledge in mind.
Of the two dozen people here, they’d all gone missing over a wide range of dates. The oldest was a month ago, and the newest was just yesterday. If these people were just at the carnival, then what was with all the days?
I was either dealing with something strange here, or just some looney having a mental break. Either way, I needed to follow up on it. It was the best lead I had. Even though it wasn’t much of one. I knew “some guy from town” came in here and put them up every night. But since the board was already full, I took it to mean he wouldn’t be back till tomorrow. And I didn’t feel like waiting around that long.
I had to figure out who this guy was. It seemed to me like that kid knew him. I guess it probably would’ve been easiest to just read the guy’s mind. But when given alternatives to psychic invasion, I take it. Always.
I found my way back to the bar and set my now empty glass on the counter. I waved down the bartender and ordered another. While he was fixing my drink up, I nodded to the missing posters on the back wall.
“You know anything about that?” I asked, attempting to seem as nonchalant as possible.
The bartender cast his eyes towards the board, before they grew sour with anger.
“A damn mess is what they are. I’d tear them down myself, but the cops said to stay out of it.”
“What can you tell me about it? Not everyday you see someone handmaking missing posters.”
“Depends on what you wanna know.” The bartender had a sudden gleen in his eyes. One that told me I had found the right man to talk to. This bartender was a bonafide gossip. And gossip is just what I needed right now. He slid me my drink, I caught it and took a deep swig. This was starting to sound like it was about to be a long day.
******
I had finished two more drinks by the time I left The Turkey Tavern. Stepping out of that cool bar and into the sweaty, Florida air was like diving into a hot pool. It hit me like a wall, but there was no time to sit around.
As I walked down the sunbleached streets, I held a hand to my temple and reached out with my thoughts. A psychic ringtone if you will, and I was hoping a certain someone would pick up on the other end.
Isa, Baby. Wasn’t expecting a call from you so soon. The suave voice of Agent Dagaz filtered into my head. Dagaz, or Dag as I called him, was my main hotline back to the headquarters for the FOTF. And the closest thing to a friend that I had.
Heard you were out on a hand picked mission. Where are you now?
Down in Florida. I got a huge energy spike on the map in this town called Evan Park.
You’re in Florida? I could practically hear the look of disgust on Dag’s face. I can’t deny it brought a smile to mine. Well, I certainly don’t envy you then. You wouldn’t catch me dead in a place like that.
Well, I’m hoping I don’t catch anyone dead down here. There’s definitely something happening around here, something weird.
Oh, do tell? You know I love a good story, Zed.
Well, I don’t have much to tell you right now. Look, I need you to find someone for me. He’s the best lead I got.
You got a face? Or a name?
Both. His name is Dean Packer. I pictured in my head the image the bartender had shown me of the guy. He’d been all too keen to tell me all about the town’s local weirdo, Dean Packer. Including showing me a number of photos he took of him putting up the missing posters.
He was a short guy, pretty round. Had a mat of blond hair on his head that hung down to his shoulders. His face was a red collage of creases, acne, and freckles. He wasn’t exactly the kind of guy you’d pin for arguing with the law. I sent the images mentally over to Dag, making my memory his.
Got it. One second. The line went quiet for a minute while Dag worked his magic. You see, Dag was the best locator we had on the team back then. Psychic powers are just like any skill in life. You have people that are better at certain things than others. I was an ace at reading minds and using telekinesis, you see. And Dag was a master at using remote viewing.
If you’re unaware, remote viewing is the ability to see things from miles and miles away. All Dag needs is a picture, or a name, or something like that. The more details he has of course, the better the results. But I’d see Dag pull a location from just a scrap of cloth, I’d seen him locate people just from a single discarded cigarette. He was that good at it.
Bingo. That was almost too easy. I could sense that he yawned on the other end of the line. I rolled my eyes at his cockiness.
Your target is about a mile east of your current location. He’s in a gaudy yellow house, making a sandwich. You won’t miss it. Has the name Packer on the mail box. Looks like the address is…. 418 Dumont Drive. Gotta say, this kid looks harmless, Zed. You really gonna scare him with a visit from the FBI?
That kid knows something about the case, so yes. Ain’t no skin off my back if I spook him. Sometimes that’s even for the best.
Oh, you’re such a brute. Say, how about when you’re done playing in the swamp, you and I catch up sometime? I feel like it's been forever since I’ve seen you in person.
Haven’t been to headquarters in about six months. Busy. This was normal for someone in our group. There’s so few of us, and so many cases, that oftentimes we bounce straight from one to the other. Some of the agents, like me, didn’t even have a permanent house. Not even back in DC. It just wasn’t worth it when you’re always on the road like that.
I’ll see what I can do, Dag. Thanks for the catch on this guy.
No problem, babe. How about this? You and me, August 28th. Gives you a week to get back up here. We’ll hit the town or something for the night. I know a great bar around here. Serves one of a kind drinks.
If I can make it back in time, sure. But no promises.
Fine, fine. But at least promise me you’ll stay safe down there.
I didn’t answer him. That was a promise I couldn’t make either.
******
A short walk later and I was sitting inside of Dean Packer’s kitchen. Dag was right, the kid was scared shitless when I showed up and flashed my badge. If you don’t look too closely, FOTF badges look the same as regular FBI badges. The kid probably thought he was going to jail or something. But once I got down to business, he seemed to loosen up a bit. In fact, he seemed all too ready to tell me what was going on. And after hearing it for myself, I can’t say I blamed him.
The kid told me that about a month ago, a carnival had rolled in outside of town. Folks were all excited. Things like that didn’t normally stop around here. So people started going out in droves. But that’s when things started going wrong.
Dean still remembered the first person it happened to. It was a classmate of his from community college. A girl named Natalie Tark. She went to the carnival, but never came home. Of course, Dean wasn’t really involved in it. He knew Natalie, but they weren’t really friends or anything.
But then it happened again, and again, and again. Dean started noticing more and more people were going in there and never coming back out. And the strangest part was that nobody ever seemed to really be bothered about it. Even the police.
Dean only really got involved when it struck close to him. His mother went off to the carnival one day while he was at school. And just like that, she was gone. It was at this point that Dean personally went down to the police station and reported it missing.
But he said the cops came back to him, and told him there was no problem. I still remember the words he used exactly.
“The cops came back, and said there was nothing they could do. They said she was just down at the carnival. Just having fun.”
It was then that he started putting up those posters of his own accord. Since the cops apparently saw nothing wrong with staying at a carnival 24/7. Whatever was going on here, it gave me a shiver of concern. If this really was a spirit, then it was affecting this whole damn town. Or at least the people that came into the carnival. And that meant this was no laughing matter. People were getting stuck in there, and whatever this was it was preventing others from seeing a problem with it. Aside from Dean, apparently. I couldn’t really tell you why. Some people are just resistant to that kinda thing, I guess. Maybe he had latent psychic abilities, or a metal plate in his head, I don’t know. And frankly, I wasn’t too concerned at the time. A big mistake on my part, considering what happened next.
I got the directions from the kid and headed off towards this so-called carnival.
******
The place was right where Dean said it would be. A few miles outside of town, I probably could’ve found it even without his help. The road there was covered in billboards and advertisements for the place. Saying such subtle and innocent things like:
“FUNNEST PLACE ON EARTH”
“ENDLESS FUN!”
“YOU’LL NEVER WANT TO LEAVE!”
“NEVER GET TIRED OF PLAYING!”
I guess whatever this place was, it wasn’t into subtetly. Seeing these brought me no end of new concerns though. You see, a spirit on its own typically wouldn’t be able to do something like this. Put on a whole show, and make advertisements and what not. I won’t say a spirit could “never” do something like that though. Because you just never know. But in 90% of cases, a spirit isn’t really capable of that kind of thing. They don’t think that way. Stuff like this usually indicates that the spirit has garnered followers. It's not uncommon for more powerful spirits to gain a sort of cult-like following. And that’s what I was worried about here. In hindsight, I really was a moron for not calling in some kind of back up. I should’ve had Detective Eihwaz on the phone immediately. He specializes in cult activity, you see.
But I was feeling a bit too confident that day. I strode right up into that place. I paid for my ticket and walked past the dead eyed looking kid running the counter. The carnival on the inside was about as standard as you could imagine. Rows of cheap and rigged carnival games, a few sketchy looking rollercoasters, a little petting zoo, some tents…
It brought me back to a simpler time, I can’t deny. I have fond memories of going to carnivals with my dad before he passed away. That nostalgia is probably why I was so vulnerable to the spiritual energies in that place.
As I walked through the rows and dodged around people, I started to notice more and more that things weren’t quite what they seemed. Particularly, the guests. Most of the people walking around were perfectly fine, but every so often I’d stumble upon someone that looked like death itself.
The first one I noticed was a man by the milk bottle game. You know, the one where you throw balls at weighted bottles? He looked gaunt and ragged. His clothes, hair, and skin were so coated with sweat that he looked like he’d just come back from a swim. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks looked hollow. The guy could barely manage to stand. I watched him swaying on his feet, trying his best to throw the ball, but his arms were so skeletal and weak that he couldn’t even manage to throw it more than a few feet in front of him. But it didn’t seem to deter him. He just kept going. Every time the ball would leave his hand, he’d pick up another and throw it again.
The strangest thing of all though, was the giant grin that split his face. Blood had stained his lips and chin, where his cracked lips had split apart. Every so often he would let out a hoarse laugh. It sounded like he hadn’t drank anything in days.
After I saw the first one, I could pick out more and more of them in the crowd. They were scattered among the games. A lot of them looked just as ragged as the first man I saw, but even the ones that still looked relatively normal stood out to me. Because they all had that same smile stretched across their face.
I paused at the milk bottle booth, with the dying man. I stared at him for a good long minute, before closing my eyes and conjuring up the mental photograph I took earlier. The one of the missing persons board. The image popped into my brain like a photo loading onto a computer, and suddenly it was like I had it right in front of me again. This was a psychic skill called “Mental Photography”, the ability to take a picture with your mind’s eye and keep it stored for later. I cross referenced my mental photo with the man in front of me. And sure enough, he was one of them. His name was Carl Edwards and he’d been missing for two weeks.
Had he really been right here this whole time? Playing this carnival game over and over again?
It was around that point that I noticed the guy running the game. He was a clown. Literally. This was before I had my fear of clowns, so him being there didn’t really bother me. But his aura did. The guy was pouring off psychic energy, it was so strong I could practically feel it rippling in the humid air. He was giving me a hard look, and truth be told I wasn’t in the mood to fight off a cultist, so I backed away. I disappeared back into the crowd and started trying to find out my next move.
I didn’t think that clown had natural psychic powers, it felt different from that. Different types of energy feel different, you see. Spiritual energy and psychic energy don’t necessarily have the same feel to them. And that guy was pouring off spiritual energy. Which at least confirmed to me that I was on the right track.
I found a nice quiet spot behind one of the circus tents and set down my briefcase in the dead grass. I popped it open and withdrew my Paragraph, the device I use to detect spiritual readings. As soon as I fired the thing up it started going haywire. The readings here were off the charts, as I expected. The whole place was crawling with spiritual energy, every last crack and crevice of this place was oozing it. The Paragraph was picking it up so frequently, that it didn’t really help much. But as I pointed the thing around me, I noticed an ever so slight up tick when I pointed it towards a tent to my east.
I set my Paragraph back into my briefcase and started making a beeline for it. This whole situation was going off the rails. We had a strong spirit on our hands. One that was inhabiting this whole damn carnival, and affecting what seemed like several people. I had to take this thing down immediately, or else it might get even worse. This thing was probably already a greater spirit, and if it had any more time to cook… Well, let’s just say you don’t wanna know what happens to a spirit when it reaches the final portion of its lifespan.
But it was as I was heading for that tent, that everything went to hell.
I made the mistake of traveling through the main thoroughfare of the carnival. It had seemed like the quickest way there at the time, so I took it. But that exposed me to damn near every game and ride in that park. And before I even knew it, one of them had caught my eye.
It was one of those old test your strength style games. Where you had the hammer, and the big bell on top of the pole. Just seeing it sent a wave of nostalgia through me, so much so that I stopped dead in my tracks. The memories came pouring over me. My father used to always play a game just like that when we’d go to the carnivals together. I remember sitting and watching him swing that hammer over and over again until he finally rang the bell. I remember thinking how cool my dad was. How much I wanted to be just like him.
I wonder if I’m as strong as he was. I wonder if I could ring the bell. That was the thought that drifted across my mind at that moment. And that was the thought that nearly killed me.
Before I knew it I had diverged from my destination. And there I was standing in front of the test of strength. It all happened so fast that I don’t even remember paying for the game or picking up the hammer. All I remember is lifting over my head and swinging it downwards. I remember the heavy thunk of the hammer against the pressure plate. I remember the weight bouncing up its pole, but not quite hitting its mark.
And I remember the cold smile that started to stretch across my face.
That’s the last thing I remember for a while. Bits and pieces have come back to me over the years, but honestly I wish they didn’t. It's not something I’m proud of. Though it's not really something to be embarrassed about, per se. Agents in my field run the risk of falling victim to paranormal powers every day. I’ve known colleagues that have gotten hit with way worse. But you’re always harder on yourself when it happens to you.
We all go about our day thinking no way will something like that happen to me. Sure, the risk is always there. But… Well, truth be told I never thought I’d be clumsy enough to fall for it. But there I was. That time is a blur of hammer swinging, bells, and laughter. I honestly think I would’ve died there if it weren’t for a conversation that happened nearby.
I was still laughing and swinging that damn hammer, when two girls nearby started talking to themselves. I wasn’t really aware of them, but I could hear them. And that was what mattered.
“Hey, don’t forget our assignment is due tonight by midnight. It's our first big grade of the year.” One girl had said to the other.
“I thought it wasn’t due till 11PM on the 28th?”
“Yeah…. Today is the 28th, genius.” As the one girl started panicking, and the other started laughing… I started thinking.
Something about that just didn’t seem right to me. The 28th? The 28th of August? That didn’t make any sense to me at the time. It was the 21st, the 28th was still a week away. I had plans with Dag on the 28th, I was going to try and make it there no matter what. It couldn’t be the 28th. Not so soon.
It was then that everything hit me all at once. The fatigue, the thirst, the hunger…. I collapsed into a heap right in front of the game. I was gasping and struggling to even stay conscious, but not a single person even looked at me. My whole body felt sore, but especially my face. My throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper.
I crawled my way over to a nearby spigot and turned it on. The water that came out was hot and tasted like metal, but I didn’t care. I sat there and drank, and drank, and drank till I felt like I was about to puke. Then I collapsed onto my back, staring up at the blazing sun overhead.
I shakily checked my watch. And sure enough. A week had gone by. I cursed myself for my idiocy. And I cursed that damn spirit for causing all this trouble to begin with. I don't know how I wasn’t dead already. After not eating, drinking, or sleeping for a week straight, I really should’ve been. But if I was still kicking, then maybe that meant the others would be too.
I should’ve called for backup. I know I should’ve. But in that moment all I could think about was pure, unsatiated revenge. I wanted to take down that damn spirit with my own two hands. I pushed myself back up. It took everything I had in me at the time, but I wasn’t going to give up. Thankfully, my briefcase was still where I had set it down a week ago. I grabbed it and took out my spirit camera with trembling hands.
I gritted my teeth, righted myself as best I could, and marched towards that damn tent.
“Sir, you can’t go in here.” Two bouncers tried to stop me from entering it. They were big guys, and I was certainly not in the best of shape. But thankfully, I didn’t need physical strength to use my mind.
I placed my fingers to my temple and without so much as even a word, I attacked. I sent a shock through the mind of the one closest to me. He yelped and clutched his head as splitting pain shot through his skull. It wasn’t enough to kill him, or even really to damage him. Just enough of a migraine that he couldn’t focus on anything else. I was pissed, but I wasn’t about to become a murderer.
The next guy went for the gun on his belt. But before he could, I reached out and yanked it away with my telekinesis. The gun flew through the air and clattered down in the grass somewhere nearby. The man looked at me with pure terror, before I gave him a shock as well, and sent him crumbling to the ground.
With both of the guards dispatched, I threw open the flap to that tent. And came face to face with the spirit that had been tormenting not only me, but this whole damn town. I didn’t need my Paragraph to know that I was staring the spirit dead on.
It was sitting in the middle of the tent with a big old spotlight beaming down on it. Beneath the light, a child sat on an old wooden chair, his hands folded neatly in his lap. He wore a yellow jumpsuit, decorated with purple polkadots. And upon his face was a porcelain clown mask. A chilling grin stretched across its glassy cheeks.
I gotta say, him taking on the form of a child certainly threw me off my game a little. But I knew what I was looking at wasn’t a real kid. It was a spirit. And a nasty one at that.
Have you come to play? The spirit spoke directly to me. I’d had it happen a few times before, but it still unnerved me whenever they did. A spirit gaining the ability to speak, meant it was dangerously close to becoming something else. It's hard to describe what a spirit sounds like. They don’t really sound like anything, at least not at this stage. They speak to you telepathically. They can’t use real words at this stage, though they might be able to trick you into thinking they can.
I didn’t humor the thing with any words. I let out a wave of psychic energy towards the spirit. It crashed into them flying backwards out of their little chair. I tried to focus on their spiritual energy, rather than their physical form. Feeling like I was beating up a kid would just throw me off my game.
That’s so fun! The spirit chirped in my brain, it pushed itself up onto all fours. There was this… Sound that reverberated around the tent. It took me a second to realize it was a cruel mockery of laughter. It sounded like a dozen different people cackling all at once, as though there was a crowd watching us. I could’ve sworn I even heard my own laugh in that crowd…
Come on! Laugh with me! Have fun with me! The spirit suddenly reared back up on its hindlegs. It wasn’t really standing like a normal kid would, it looked more like a dog standing up. I watched the spirit’s chest swell, and then it let out a strange humming noise through the air.
It caught me off guard and sent a similar buzzing through my own body. Before I knew it, I was cracking up. I was laughing so damn hard that I couldn’t even stand up straight. I was doubled over, hands on my knees, laughing so hard that my weakened body started to cough and choke.
We’re going to have fun here forever! Laughter is good! Laughter is healthy!
I fell to my knees, still laughing. I brought my hand to my temple and summoned a shield of psychic energy around myself. Though the shield wouldn’t protect me from physical attacks, it certainly did well to protect me from spiritual ones. Within my little bubble, I felt my laughter begin to subside. I gave another great cough, this time spitting up blood. I knew I had to end this soon.
That’s not very fun! The spirit’s voice still echoed in my head. Its chest swelled again and I could feel that buzzing energy outside of my shield. It was trying to break through. But its onslaught failed.
As I watched the thing’s chest retract, I suddenly had an idea.
I waited carefully for it to happen again. The second it started to puff out its chest, I reached into my coat and wrapped my fingers around my trusty pistol. As soon as the spirit reached its peak, right before it unleashed its energy, I whipped out my gun and unloaded it into the creature’s chest. Since the bullets were physical, they went straight through my psychic barrier. The bullets ripped through the spirit’s chest, leaving gnarled, bloodless holes in its body. I saw it rapidly deflate like a balloon, the air it was sucking in now sputtering out through the holes in its body.
The spirit collapsed back down to all fours, and at the same time I lowered my spiritual shield. I gave a primal roar and pinned the thing down with my telekineses. I had one hand outstretched, shaking with the sheer strain of keeping it down. My other hand had dropped my pistol, and grabbed my spirit camera. The spirit writhed and screamed and threatened me. But it all stopped the second I pressed down on the shutter.
The swirling green light filled the air as my spirit camera went off. I could practically feel the pressure being sucked out of the room as the spirit was ripped out of this world, and deposited into its new prison. I dropped to my knees, gasping for air. My camera whirred, and spat out the photograph. The last thing I did before passing out, was clutch that photograph as tight as I could.
******
The aftermath of that case was a bit of a mess. The FOTF had to bring a whole bunch of suits down here to clean up the mess. Not only did they have to deal with the public, but also thre remnants of the spirit’s little cult. There was a lot of memory wiping, a lot of interrogation, and in my case, a lot of scolding. The big wigs really let me have it for that mess. That was a major mark on my record. Something that would come back to bite me in the ass later on.
Dag I think was the most furious. At first I thought he was just mad that I missed our plans. But he seemed a lot more worried about my wellbeing than anything. I wish he could’ve come down there in person. I really could’ve used a friendly face in all that mess.
I was restricted and quarantined in a local hotel room for a while. They wanted to monitor me and make sure there were no lasting effects of being exposed to that spirit’s energy for so long. I started calling it the Spirit of Fun, and it seemed to catch on.
It was later that night that I remembered the photograph. I had tucked it away into my pocket. I was about to lock it away in my photo album, when I took my first real good look at the picture.
The Spirit of Fun was locked in the photograph, an eternal freeze frame of the carnival tent. And on its face was the biggest, most angry, most hateful stare I’d ever seen. A look I imagined wasn’t too dissimilar to my own when I charged in there. It was quite ironic. A spirit that had been trapping people in an eternal loop of laughter and fun, now trapped in a freeze frame of anger.
I gotta admit. It made me laugh. But after that fight, laughing just never felt the same. Ever since then whenever I laugh, it just feels hollow. Sometimes I remember hearing the sound of my own laugh reverberating back at me inside that tent.
And it makes me wonder.
Was a week of time really all I had stolen that day?
