I awoke at the sound on my phone buzzing on the bedside table.

Hello? I said grogly.

You're that paranormal hunter, right?

I had the website changed, new business cards made up, and even sunk some money into an ad campaign.

Still.

All callers insisted on referring to me as the paranormal hunter.

The term originally coined by tabloid papers who made me out to be some sort of monster-fighting hero.

It wouldn't be so bad if it didn't negatively affect my livelihood.

Those articles made me a laughing stock to skeptics everywhere, including the local authorities

that I sought to work with on occasion. Actually, it's paranormal consultant.

Right, sorry. I need your help.

She sounded like the rest, scared, confused, and at the end of her rope.

I was the last call anyone made in the situation like this.

A desperate cry for help when all else failed. It's as if dialing the number was some

admittance of insanity, or worse, a confirmation that the things that go bump in the night

are really out there, waiting in the shadows to pounce on their next victims.

I'm here to help. What can I do for you?

She let out a long sigh before continuing.

Well, you're not going to believe this.

That's what they all say.

I received this odd list of rules in the mail.

I didn't pay it any mind at first, thinking it's a mix-up of the post office, but now, every

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