You sat at the dining table in your house, looking across the room around you. You couldn’t see anything unusual, but that was exactly the problem. It wasn’t uncommon for things to suddenly move on their own or for the air around you to become chillingly cold. Maybe you didn’t believe in the supernatural before, but after almost a month of living with weird anomalies, it was undeniable that you had ghosts in your house.

Lucky for you, they didn’t seem to be hostile. For now, anyways. You by all means were not the most knowledgeable with ghosts and spirits and the such. For all you knew, the ghosts in your house - whatever type of ghosts they might be - could be hostile. The last thing you wanted was for the ghosts to suddenly turn on you and start haunting you, maybe even kill you in your sleep, or, arguably worse, possess you.

That’s why you called an expert. An expert that cost an unholy amount of money, but it would be worth it. Hopefully.

You watched as Dennis Rafkin, a less than well known psychic, slowly wandered through your house, eyeing up every little thing. From the moment he walked into your house he was acting weird. He looked irritated and a little in pain. Dennis had assured you that the migraines were normal for him, that he only got like this when there was spectral entities in the area (he spoke surprisingly formally about the ghosts), but it was concerning to watch. At one point he completely collapsed after a particularly powerful surge of energy, but Dennis had told you to stay away from him as he worked through it himself. Apparently, you couldn’t touch him. Like, at all. If you did he’d have a full on seizure. He said it was because of his “psychometry,” whatever that meant.

Dennis walked back into the dining room, hands in his pockets, a grimace on his face. You looked at him expectantly so he could tell you the damage.

“Yup,” he started, “you’ve definitely got ghosts.”

Well, that wasn’t helpful. You already knew that.