EX-Spiravit

“Okay, for the last thing we need for you to be completely hired is for you to state your full name and then sign this paperwork.” Mr. Stolz was the head honcho of this weird organization that I found the ad in the classifieds for.  “Team seeking full-time associate who isn’t afraid of ghosts.” What kind of organization does that?  Whatever, it’s a job and I haven’t been able to find one of those for about three months now.  Apparently no one in this town wants to hire a 20 year old Hispanic boy because of “turn-over rate.” I’m just lucky I found someone willing to hire me.

“Ray Duende, that’s D U E N D E.” I reply, thankful that Mr. Stolz probably doesn’t know Spanish. Most people who do give me a pretty wide birth when they know the meaning of my last name.

“Perfect.  We are very excited to have you on our team.  Now just sign here, here, and here.”  He hands me some paper with lots of words on them that I really don’t want to read.  There was also a colorful logo at the top with the companies name on it, EX-Spiravit. Not the weirdest name I’ve ever seen, but it was up there. I just signed my life away without a second glance.  “So, are you going to tell me now why your ad was the way it was?”

Just that moment, there was a large crashing sound from upstairs.  It sort of sounded like a dresser getting dropped on a dozen mirrors.

“That is part of the problem.” He said looking woefully up at the ceiling, “But not the only thing we need. We are a ghost hunting agency.  When ghost get out of line, we capture them and either relocate them where they won’t do harm, or incarcerate them permanently.”

I started to laugh, that was one way to get your new hire to like you. Tell a completely ridiculous joke.  Except then I saw his face.  He was completely serious.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course we are.  Do you think we would advertise a position that wasn’t real?” He looks sort of anxious now. I get the feeling that I wasn’t the first desperate person to sit in this chair. Except I am probably more desperate than anyone else, because I wasn’t leaving.

“Okay… I was not expecting this.” I am now staring at my shoes, willing my feet to move, to leave, but my ever looming debt kept me glued to the seat.

“If you don’t believe me, I can introduce you to the cause of the loud ruckus upstairs.” He starts to move out of his seat, and I follow him.  We go through the normal looking office of my new company that hunts ghost and up to a stairwell.  We go up the gray stairs with the beige walls on either side of me pressing in on me.  I am scared, with no real reason for it, but I’m also kind of excited.  We move up one floor and enter another hall full of cubicles and green carpet, just like every other office ever.  The one difference here is the noise.

There was a lot of shouting and office supplies were flying around the room.  The employees were all facing one direction, towards the north wall, and had some sort of devices in their hands.  However, this wasn’t the weirdest part of the display.

By the north wall there was a man.  He was dressed flamboyantly and was cackling like a mad man.  He was also floating about three feet off of the ground. No amount of High School Honors classes could have prepared me for this. 

“What the hell?” I murmur.  I can feel my legs shaking and my eyes are fixed on the floating man.

 

“That’s Geist. He’s a poltergeist. Our predecessors didn’t have much imagination. He was captured by the great Albinus Spiritus, our founder.  About three years ago some stupid intern decided to let him out of his cage in the basement and he has been tormenting us ever since.  He doesn’t always torture us, but when he decides to, nothing can stop him. Our best agents are working on subduing him, but that means we need more agents out in the field.  That’s what you are doing here.” Mr. Stolz turned back to the stairs and I followed, glad to leave the war that was occurring on the fourth floor of an office building in the middle of San Francisco. 

As Mr. Stolz got me started with my own cubicle and mentor and stapler all I could hope was that the shaking in my legs would eventually stop. 

This is what desperate people do for rent money.  Debt makes us desperate animals.