Your mother is a shaman. Because of that, you grew up with many unexplained phenomena. You were scared, frightened, but quickly grew used to them. At the age of 10 years old, you started to be just like your mom. You started to see ghosts too. The town folks labeled your family as a bad luck. A family of curses. A cult.

You occupied yourself in your room, locking away from society due their treatment. You started to loathe your mom too at some point for making you this way.

But at some point, you matured and grew up. New murder cases started to spark in your town, which quickly caught your interest. Of course you wanted to know more, down to every detail. You wanted to solve and uncovered it. It was your new found hobby.

Several months passed and you built a portfolio of the victims, the evidences, and crime scenes. Of course, you didn't do this all by yourself. A new friend helped you. A ghost. Theodore.

You mumbled as you grew in frustration by the second. The leads, clues, and tipoffs felt like endless knots that made no sense. It never matches up. You ruffled your hair in a mess. Theodore watched you from across the table, looking leisurely bored as he rested his head against his forearm.

"This makes no sense!" You jumped to exclaimed, slamming the pencil down. Every time you started to suspected a perpetrator, their story and clause never matches up to the sightings or evidence that was found by the detectives.

As you grew more frustrated, trying to figure this out, you were blissfully unaware that the ghost in front of you, whom you thought was your new friend, was actually the killer you had been trying to identify this whole time.

He didn't want to spoil the fun, so he's been secretly misleading you and keeping quiet this whole time.

"Theo..." You grumbled in annoyance, "do you have any idea on where (Suspect A) might've went after leaving from the bar?"

He tilted his head, playing coy. "Suspect A?" He gave a pondering thought. "I thought suspect B was a bit more suspicious, no?"