The squirrel's mockery still ringing in his ears, Leo found himself scrolling through the UPS forum post about Blackwood Manor, a morbid curiosity overriding his better judgment.
He was sitting on the same park bench, Milo now pointedly ignoring him, grooming his acorn-dented pride with furious licks. Leo needed a distraction, something to wash the taste of woodland-creature sarcasm out of his mind.
He found it in a post by EctoElara.
The title was written in frantic, blinking red text: "Urgent! Major spectral disturbance in the old Blackwood Manor! Poltergeist activity off the charts!"
Leo's eye twitched. 'Off the charts' was Elara's baseline for a car backfiring down the street.
He opened the thread.
The post was a masterpiece of paranormal melodrama.
"Brave souls of the Urban Paranormal Society!" it began. "I have confirmed a Class-4 Ectoplasmic Manifestation at the site of the old Blackwood estate on the edge of town.
Preliminary readings from my Dowsing Rod of Spiritual Truth indicate intense emotional residue and high levels of psycho-kinetic energy. We are talking whispers of ancient despair, cold spots the size of a minivan, and potential object levitation!"
She went on, her text a breathless torrent of pseudo-scientific jargon and dramatic assumptions.
"The entity seems to be anchored to the main house, a classic case of territorial haunting. I am seeking a team of experienced investigators for a high-risk, high-reward paranormal cleanse. Bring your spirit wards, your salt circles, and your courage! This is not a drill! This is the big one!"
The replies were a mix of uncritical enthusiasm and gentle skepticism.
SpiritSeeker88 replied: "Wow, Elara! A Class-4! Did you try to communicate with it? Sometimes they just want to tell their story!"
GovtIsWatching added: "Be careful. Blackwood Manor is on old government land. Could be a containment breach from a Cold War psychic experiment. Look for strange wiring."
RationalAlex had chimed in: "Elara, have you ruled out drafts, seismic activity, and raccoons? My uncle had a 'haunted' attic that turned out to be a family of very clever raccoons."
Leo had to smother a laugh. Alex, ever the voice of reason in a sea of madness.
He should have closed the laptop. He should have taken his insulted cat home and tried to forget the entire conversation.
But he couldn't.
Despite the ridiculousness, a single phrase had snagged his attention: "intense emotional residue."
He thought of the stray dog from the other mansion. The 'ghost' that turned out to be nothing more than a terrified, spiritually unstable animal. The memory of its raw, psychic pain still pricked at him.
What if Elara, in her bumbling, over-the-top way, had stumbled onto something similar? What if some poor creature was trapped in that decaying mansion, its spiritual distress being misinterpreted as a "Class-4 Poltergeist"?
He looked down at Milo. "What do you think? Feel like doing some ghost-busting?"
Milo opened one eye, gave him a look that clearly communicated you have got to be kidding me, and went back to sleep.
Ghosts? his disdainful aura seemed to project. More like 'lack of premium tuna' causing spiritual despair. My nap is far more important than human ghost stories.
"Come on," Leo coaxed. "It could be fun. Spooky old house, mysterious energy…"
Milo didn't even twitch a whisker. He was a furry statue of indifference.
Leo sighed. It was time to pull out the heavy artillery.
He leaned in close and whispered, "I hear the ghosts in this particular mansion are known for hoarding… gourmet, salmon-flavored, spectral treats."
Milo's ear twitched.
"They say," Leo continued, warming to his ridiculous theme, "that these are no ordinary snacks. They are ghost-busting snacks. Infused with the very essence of… ectoplasm. Very savory."
Milo's eyes snapped open. A flicker of interest. A glimmer of pure, unadulterated gluttony.
Ectoplasm? the cat's inner monologue seemed to hum with intrigue. Tell me more, human. My spiritual appetite is intrigued.
"One-of-a-kind flavor profile," Leo said, sealing the deal. "You can't get it anywhere else."
That was all it took.
Milo stood up, stretched with the fluid grace of a creature contemplating a multi-course meal, and leaped silently from the bench, landing softly on the pavement. He looked back at Leo, his expression now one of focused, professional interest. He was no longer a pet. He was a culinary adventurer, a gourmet ghost hunter on a mission.
Leo shook his head, a reluctant smile playing on his lips. He was bribing his demigod cat with imaginary ghost snacks to investigate a haunted house reported by a woman who used a stick to find spirits.
This was his life. And it was, he had to admit, getting weirdly interesting.
They arrived at the edge of the Blackwood estate as dusk began to bleed across the sky.
The mansion stood on a hill, a dark silhouette against the bruised purple and orange of the sunset.
It was a gothic nightmare. The facade was crumbling, with dark, empty windows like vacant eyes. Gnarled, ancient oaks clawed at the sky, their branches casting long, skeletal shadows over the overgrown lawn.
A profound stillness hung in the air, a silence so deep it was tangible.
The only sounds were the rustle of unseen leaves and a faint, unsettling hum that seemed to emanate from the desolate walls themselves.
It was a place that whispered secrets. A place that felt like it was holding its breath, waiting.
Leo felt a genuine shiver of unease. "Okay, this is… significantly spookier than I expected."
Milo, however, seemed unfazed. He was sniffing the air, his whiskers twitching, not with fear, but with a hunter's focus. He was on the trail of his promised ectoplasmic snacks.
He looked at the crumbling facade of Blackwood Manor, a place that whispered secrets into the twilight. "Gourmet ghost-busting snacks," Leo muttered to Milo, his voice barely a whisper. "Let's hope they're worth it."