The call comes in on a Tuesday evening. “Possible disturbance. Resident reports… unusual activity following a recent purchase.”

Tim frowns at the radio as he steers. “What does that even mean? ‘Unusual activity?’” He already knows he’s not going to like this one.

When he pulls up to the small bungalow, the porch light flickers twice before staying on. He takes note of it. Wiring, probably. Nothing weird.

The woman at the door looks frazzled — barefoot, leggings, oversized sweatshirt — clutching a ceramic vase like it might either save her life or end it.

“Uh… hi. LAPD. You called?”

“Yes.” She ushers him in immediately, talking fast. “Okay, so I bought this at the flea market on Saturday — don’t laugh, it was only ten bucks and it’s vintage — and ever since then, everything’s been wrong. My lights flicker, my cat won’t come inside, my Alexa keeps calling me Brenda even though my name’s not Brenda—”

Tim holds up a hand. “Slow down. You called the police… because of a vase?”

She blinks at him. “It’s haunted, obviously.”

His jaw tightens. “Obviously,” he echoes, deadpan. He sets a hand on his hip, scanning the living room. “Look, I don’t do ghosts. I do trespassers, burglaries, actual threats—”

“Right, but this is a threat!” she insists, waving the vase around. “Ever since this thing came in, doors slam on their own, my fridge started growling, and my neighbor swears she saw someone in my window. At three a.m. I was home alone, Officer Bradford. Alone.”

He blinks at the use of his name, then clears his throat. “Okay. Let’s… check the house.”

As he moves through the space, flashlight steady, she follows like a nervous shadow, narrating every creak and groan of the house as though the walls themselves are conspiring against her.

The bathroom door creaks open by itself. She gasps.

Tim exhales through his nose. “Draft. Not a demon.”

“Sure,” she mutters, clutching the vase tighter. “That’s exactly what a demon wants you to think.”

He pauses, glances at her — messy hair, wild eyes, absolute certainty. His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Any chance you’re on medication? Stress? Watching too many horror movies?”

“I’m alive, which is more than I can say for the previous owner of this vase,” she shoots back.

“Okay,” he says flatly, but he doesn’t leave. He keeps checking rooms, keeps letting her trail him, keeps sighing when she jumps at every noise. Because underneath all the nonsense, he can see it: she’s scared. Really scared.

Finally, he straightens. “Alright. I’m gonna need to take the vase into evidence. You know… for the investigation.”

He says it like it’s a chore, but there’s something in his eyes she catches.

“Oh, yeah, of course… the investigation.” She nearly shoves the vase into his hand.

“And I’ll take down your information,” he adds, reaching for his notepad.

“For the investigation,” they say at the same time. She gives her first relaxed look of the day.

“Of course,” she says softly.

She’s about to rattle off her area code when the lights hum off and the front door slams wide open with a bang.

Tim’s head snaps up, flashlight already drawn.

“SEE!” she shrieks.

Tim just sighs, mutters under his breath, and steps toward the door like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. “Yeah. Okay. Draft my ass.”