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    Ghost Hunters Anthology 01 Version 2.0: Ghost Hunter Mystery Parable Anthology
    Ghost Hunters Anthology 01 Version 2.0: Ghost Hunter Mystery Parable Anthology
    Ghost Hunters Anthology 01 Version 2.0: Ghost Hunter Mystery Parable Anthology
    Ebook123 pages1 hour

    Ghost Hunters Anthology 01 Version 2.0: Ghost Hunter Mystery Parable Anthology

    By S. H. Marpel

    ()

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    About this ebook

    You've probably seen Ghost Busters movies and Ghost Whisperer TV shows.

    There is a much longer tradition to resolving the mysteries and problems that make ghosts unable to move on. 

    This Anthology tells the story of two spirit guides and their human writer-turned-amateur-sleuth as they encounter strange ghosts and specters, as well as real-life mortal dangers. Their growing team of helpful characters assist them to solve these phantasmic puzzles in each story.

    This is the first collected anthology of four short stories:

     - Ghost Hunters

     - Why Vampires Suck At Haunting

     - When Fireballs Collide

     - Ghost Exterminators Inc.

     

    Ghost Hunters

    It started with a dream.

    In it, John Earl Stark solved the problem of a ghost he met. Or did he? It was a dream, after all.

    The next day he meets two women who visit his cabin, arriving out of the blue, literally. (Well, one arrived with pitched black darkness which filled his cabin and made her cough.)

    These two have an offer for Stark. All he really wanted was to enjoy the small cabin and solitude so he could write his detective stories.

    These ladies had another offer - to help them solve the reasons ghosts don't move on. Plenty of new inspiration for stories, decent pay, won't interrupt his writing schedule.

    Of course, he could die doing it...

     

    Why Vampires Suck at Haunting

    Vampires aren't good at everything. For instance, they suck at haunting.

    John Earl Stark continues his adventures in ghost hunting. 

    Encountering a female ghost who attacks him in a gothic Victorian mansion left him bitten, but alive. Sal and Jude, his employers and guides, came in from a nearby room, shocked. 

    Obviously, John was going to need more training to survive these attacks.

    But this particular ghost was still haunting and still attacking people with neck bites...

     

    When Fireballs Collide

    Facing a fireball and living to tell about it wasn't in John's plans for the day.

    But when he and his two female spirit guides were caught behind a red subcompact taking hit after hit of fireballs, some one had to do something. Because they could only keep taking those hits for so long.

    Something in what he said made one of the girls step up and get the attention of whoever was throwing those fireballs at them. A distraction long enough for everyone to escape.

    Only to realize that they still hadn't finished their assignment and would need to go back...

     

    Ghost Exterminators, Inc.

    Fiction is stranger than Fact, but also father and mother to it.

    From the archives of the Ghost Hunters Library, here a classic tale of an amateur paranormal enthusiast who happens on a solution to nagging ghost infestations. 

    This tale of his runaway success, the perils of being too effective, and exacting revenge against a greedy sanitarium owner for non-payment of services rendered.

    Exciting and humorous, sit back and enjoy this short tale of ghoulish entrepreneurship.

     

    Get Your Copy Now.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLiving Sensical Press
    Release dateApr 2, 2018
    ISBN9781387714278
    Ghost Hunters Anthology 01 Version 2.0: Ghost Hunter Mystery Parable Anthology
    Author

    S. H. Marpel

    Get Your Copy Now Visit https://LiveSensical.com/books for more entertaining, educational, and inspiring stories that you can read over and over, time after time... Investing in your entertainment is better than just spending.

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      Book preview

      Ghost Hunters Anthology 01 Version 2.0 - S. H. Marpel

      Ghost Hunters

      I

      WELCOME TO THE WORLD of John Earl Stark. A wonder-filled world. Seriously.

      It was another gloomy night and there I was, out on the pasture with dungarees stuffed into mudboots, arms and chest inside my chore jacket, and head covered by ball cap. Somewhere there had been a calf bawling and wouldn’t shut up enough to let me sleep. The tall grass and brush was making my walk tough. A stumble now and then. At least my feet were staying dry and warm. But the odd tree branch would catch my hat or whip my face from out of the dark.

      I didn’t like tending cattle in the dark, but I’d forgotten any flashlight. My cedar staff in one of my leather-gloved hands was helping me find my way. The other was out in front to find those tree branches.

      A thick root caught my boot, and my staff only helped slow my fall instead of keeping any balance.

      Landing with my other hand out, and rolling to my shoulder kept my face out of the muddy ground. Knees were soaked through from cold mud instantly. And I was on my back where my long chore coat at least was keeping my butt and shoulders dry - for now.

      So I rolled back over to knees and hands, using the staff to get myself back upright.

      And saw the ghost.

      Typical lightish form, almost like thick smoke that was holding together somehow.

      OK - who are you and what do you want? I asked.

      And a typical moan came back to me. This one wasn’t going to cooperate.

      So I spoke again, Look, you can talk. Use your English.

      Well, you don’t have to be snippy. was the reply.

      You saw me in the mud and you know it’s cold and wet out here. The only reason I’m out here and not in my warm, dry bed is because of some over-vocal calf. You didn’t have something to do with it?

      A short of shrug seemed to take place in that form. Slowly it morphed into something that looked like a body.

      Oh, sorry. Yes, that was me. Hope I didn’t cause it too much upset. Another shrug. But I was told you could help me.

      Me, help you? How about coming during the day time? Maybe in dry weather? I snipped back.

      Again, my apologies. There just isn’t much time. Now the face and body of the ghost showed. A younger girl, wearing a flowered sundress.

      OK, back up. Tell me your name and we’ll see.

      I’m Amanda, or was. And I have to figure something out before they come and get me. A tremble in her voice told her fear of whoever they were.

      Amanda, relax a bit. Focus on what you have to figure out. What can you tell me about it?

      I don’t know if he loves me... Her hands went up to her face and she started sobbing.

      Not knowing how to console a ghost physically, I was forced to use my wits.

      Amanda. Listen to me. Focus on my voice. You’re here in the woods near a cow pasture. I’m here with you. She quit sobbing and wiped the tears from her face, and sniffed.

      That’s a good girl. Now, you love someone and want to figure out if he still loves you, right?

      She nodded, her hands clasped in front of her chin, fingers interlocked.

      What’s the last thing you remember?

      We were walking. I’d been writing in my diary and he surprised me. So we were walking back to the village. We stopped on a bridge over a creek. He got curious about the diary and tried to grab it from me. He finally got it and when I tried to get it back, I lost my balance and fell off the bridge. She then started sobbing again, head in hands.

      Amanda. Look at me. There you go. Now, what can you recall after that?

      I was looking down at my body in the creek and he had run down the bank to get it out of there, and then pulled it over to the bank and tried to push the water out of its lungs. But then he saw the blood on the back of my head and backed away. At that point he scrambled back up the bank and started running down the road away from me and the bridge. The last thing I remember is the diary laying open on the bridge by itself. I tried to pick it up and and couldn’t. She was looking at me directly now, her grief was through, even though her teary eyes remained.

      So, he was trying to save your life, even though he put himself at risk to get you?

      Amanda nodded.

      Meaning that you meant quite a lot to him.

      She nodded again.

      And his running away was probably to get some help for you?

      She nodded and smiled.

      Does that answer your question? I asked.

      Amanda smiled. Well, yes. I guess it does. Thanks.

      She looked off into the distance and a light brightened her face, coming from somewhere. She turned back and smiled at me again. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

      Then she stepped toward whatever light she was looking at. And vanished.

      Then I woke up in my bed, completely dry. I sat up. Jacket was dry, hanging on the wall with my dungarees. Mud boots below them were also dry, no mud anywhere.

      My knees and feet were dry and warm under the blankets.

      I could use less dreams like that.

      And I’d forgotten to ask who sent her to me - or who was after her...

      II

      I WAS JUST CLEANING up after breakfast when I met the two of them. Sure, they appeared like ghosts, but were something more. And when you don’t believe in ghosts that gives you a bit of a start. Or a bit of an edge.

      Well, it’s not that I didn’t believe in ghosts, I just believed in life more. To me, ghosts were just another part of life. But that’s getting ahead of ourselves.

      Anyway, I was cleaning up after breakfast,  A white Corelle plate, a ceramic mixing bowl, and cast-iron skillet. All I needed to prepare most meals. Meanwhile I was nursing a chipped white mug of coffee with two spoonfuls of honey in it.

      This remote, minimalist, 96 square foot tiny-home cabin had everything I claimed to own in it. Well, except for a 20-year-old dark blue pickup truck that sat outside it, the one that took me to town every week or so.

      Because the point was to write, and read, and write some more. No other distractions.

      All the writing I could do, when I wasn’t checking the livestock and their fences, part of the deal for living here on this remote farmstead.

      My needs were few. A Thoreau type of living.

      There I was, standing at the basin I used for a sink, and had just rinsed off the last of the dishes, setting them out to air dry on a folded flour-sack dish cloth. I’d already wiped out the skillet with a paper towel and set it to cool.

      It was then I heard the knock at my front door.

      I started at that. I don’t get many visitors and usually hear a car or truck drive up. Even with the heavy outside door shut (which it wasn’t) I should have heard an engine wind-down, the gravel smooching under the tires, the vehicle door open and shut.

      This visitor just showed up. Well, at least she knocked.

      A measured average female voice came after that knock. "Hello. Hope I didn’t startle you

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