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If someone told you a week ago that you would be talking to a ghost, you'd think they were high on something. This is your life now, you guess. You vaguely remember your mom believing in ghosts. She used to tell you stories all about ghost encounters she had as a little kid herself.
Before her mind went—no, don't dwell on that.
What she told you, from what little you can remember, is no one happy becomes a ghost. You can only hope that this is a sad, moping specter instead of a spirit blinded by rage.
"Who are you? Are you Researcher 'REDACTED'?"
<span class="mu-r">The room is engulfed in a blinding light.</span> The slime on the lightbulb starts to boil from the sheer heat radiating from the lightbulb. Edward yelps out a flurry of mumbled, barely coherent swears. "FUCK! TURN THE LIGHT OFF, TURN THE LIGHT OFF!"
You cover your eyes in a vain attempt to avoid being permanently blinded. "Okay, okay, we get it! You're not REDACTED!"
And with that, the light turns back off.
Black spots dance across your vision as your eyes recover from the sudden bright light. You rattle off the three names you read about to see if they get a response.
You hesitantly check the lightbulb with every name you utter.
Johnson: Lightbulb turns on. (No.)
Callie: Lightbulb stays on. (Also no.)
Caspian: Lightbulb <span class="mu-b">turns off!</span> (Yes!)
Okay, you got a name now. That's better than nothing.
"Alright." Edward finally recovers from the impromptu lightbulb flashbang. "Caspian. We're not here to hurt you. We just want to talk." It's not like he could hurt a ghost even if he tried, but Caspian appreciates the gesture, you think? Hard to say when you can't even see 'em.
"Why are you haunting this place? Is it because of something that happened here?"
The lightbulb turns on.
"Is it because of something inside this room?"
The lightbulb turns off. "Is it because of the documents Vincent here was reading?" The lightbulb is still powered off. "Did [REDACTED] have something to do with it?"
The light briefly flickers as if the ghost isn't quite sure how to answer it. The flickering stops, leaving the lightbulb dark.
Edward wipes some sweat off of his brow. He's getting nervous. "Were you murdered?" He knows this is a risky question to ask but it seems like the most obvious one.
The flickering returns but that's not all. The temperature, which was already pretty cold, rapidly drops until you feel like you're stranded in the middle of the artic. You can see Edward's breath as he tries his best to steady his breathing.
The spit inside your mouth is starting to solidify into a thick, icy mass. It's getting hard to breath.
Then, as if nothing happened at all, the temperature in the room goes back to completely normal room temperature. The light is still off, meaning that's an affirmative.
"Hoo boy." Edward forces out a laugh. "Welp. Ever played Clue before, Vincent?"
You spit out the ice cube of spit that formed in your mouth. Eugh, awful. "Once or twice, why?"
