You couldn’t believe your eyes. There was this… thing in front of you, the stuff of legends, and yeah, you’d majored in Folklore and Mythology at Harvard, but that was more on an anthropological level, not an actual, there are real things in your closet at night kind of way! Now, you were face to face with the real Bloody Mary, holding up a mirror while she cried tears of red from her eyes. You didn’t even want to know if ghosts… spirits, (whatever the fresh hell she was), could cry.

It was confusing why you even decided to help the two ‘college students’ that asked you to give them more background knowledge about killings in the area, because you weren’t really a true crime expert, but you knew your stuff, so you assumed that they had read your blog or something. But nothing in your life was ever normal, so these college students ended up being paranormal-killing experts, and you had just landed yourself in the midst of what they called a job, and maybe, for once, your degree would come in handy.

After a good thirty minutes of you shrieking so loud you might have been classified as a paranormal threat in the area, one of the brothers, (whose name was Dean, you found out) held up his hands in surrender, dropping what looked like a pistol loaded with rock salt to the ground.

Noticing your questioning look, he picked up the weapon again, showing you the barrel full of salt. “Rock salt repels spirits,” he explained, before setting it down again. “Now, why don’t you stop screaming and we can actually talk about what you just saw, because I know you’re not an amateur when it comes to this stuff.”

Your jaw dropped. “How do you—”

“We went to your office, sweetheart,” his voice was exasperated, and why were you even feeling guilty? You were the one that just had the scariest experience of your life. “I saw the Harvard degree on your wall. You’re just like my brother, Sam,” he gestured to the other man leaning against a dresser, “and the degree was in Folklore and Mythology. You know your stuff.”