This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments or actual events is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except for the use in anqy review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means is forbidden without the express permission of the author

BiadeForla
Hadow
Cadec007,
Solomombrown64,
Theblessedman
Jomagibs...
drstainlex
nkemdave
tunjilomo
Ultimategeneral .
Osasnidas
Nightie
rosalieene
Afz9095,
that's the few that I know and if you mention your friends to read the story I will be grateful

Preciousbouy:
BiadeForla Hadow Cadec007 Solomombrown

thanks front seat taken....

Preciousbouy:
BiadeForla
,
Hadow
,
Cadec007,
Solomombrown64,
Theblessedman
Jomagibs...
that's the few that I know and if you mention your friends to read the story I will be grateful

thanks mate, **takes a seat beside cadec007 with my family size popcorn.

Cadec007:
thanks front seat taken....

Yeah its my pleasure. Will make sure you enjoy the story

Preciousbouy:
Yeah its my pleasure. Will make sure you enjoy the story

ok....

Preciousbouy:
BiadeForla
Hadow
Cadec007,
Solomombrown64,
Theblessedman
Jomagibs...
drstainlex
nkemdave
tunjilomo
Ultimategeneral .
Osasnidas
Nightie
rosalieene
Afz9095,
that's the few that I know and if you mention your friends to read the story I will be grateful

gucciqueen38, Ellabae, correctguy101, adesina14,

“A man plans his course, but
The Lord determines his steps...”
- Proverbs 16:9



CHAPTER ONE

October 4th, 2011.
Cambridge, Ohio.
Michael sat alone at the bar with a double whiskey, though he wasn’t drinking
so much as staring into it trying to establish what it was that had brought him on
this journey from Columbus.
Yesterday’s newspaper article had read that four teenagers over the space of
seven days had thrown themselves from their dorm windows at State Park
University. Although the authorities were treating it as some sort of suicide
pact, Michael suspected otherwise. People don’t just throw themselves from
buildings for the sake of it and, knowing what he knew now, he wasn’t about to
ignore it.
Michael Warden is an investigator.
Not your usual, ordinary type of investigator−like the ones who track down
criminals or follow people suspected of having affairs and such−but an
investigator of the paranormal kind. Some might say a Demon Hunter; a Ghost
Buster. If only it was as simple as that.
He read the page that he’d printed out from the Daily Tribune’s website
again to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Then he folded it up and placed
it back into his worn, black, double breasted coat pocket. He knocked back his
whiskey and made his way out of the bar. It was early evening in Baltimore,
MD, and a slight mist had started to settle in. Michael still had a little over three
hours’ drive ahead of him to get to where his reservation was: a small place
called The Sunshine Motel a couple of miles outside of Garrett Co. He’d
planned on having an early night so he could make a start on his new
investigation early the next morning, but he’d made an unscheduled stop for
some food on the way.
He crossed the rush hour traffic and headed towards his car. The dusty,
beige, 96 Chevy Cavalier (which had seen much better days) was parked up on
the other side of the street. He reached for his keys and was about to unlock the
driver’s side door when he heard a female voice cry for help behind him. He
looked back to see a young woman struggling to hold on to her purse as one of
three hooded youths attempted to prize it from her hands.
“Hey!” Michael shouted over the noise of the traffic, loud enough for the
youths to notice him as he immediately ran back to help. Two of the hoods ran
off, leaving one−who had succeeded in his goal−fumbling with the woman’s
purse. He looked up at Michael, dropped it in a panic onto the sidewalk, and ran
like hell.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked as he passed the young woman her purse
from the floor. She nodded, clearly shaken by her ordeal, but instead of staying
with her and waiting while the cops were called, he decided to do something
about it himself. After he’d visually checked her over, he turned and ran after
her attackers.
The group of youths made a right turn down a dimly lit alleyway between
two tall office blocks. Michael followed them. A few faint street lights
highlighted a row of dumpsters down one side; the heavy stench of their rotting
contents filling the air. They reached the end of the alley, and faced with
nothing but a high fence which split the dark space in two, they began to get
visibly agitated.
“You might as well give it up boys,” Michael shouted to them after he
realized they were trapped. One of them began to climb up the fence and easily
managed to pull himself to the top. Then he jumped down the other side. “Come
on!” He gestured for his buddies but they were bigger and heavier than he was and were having some trouble executing the climb with the same ease as their
friend.
Michael caught up to them and grabbed hold of one of the boys−now half
way up the fence−by his waist and pulled him down to the floor. “Get off me!”
The boy shouted as Michael grappled with him before managing to pin him to
the ground. Too busy batting the youth’s hands away as he tried desperately to
lay one on him, Michael hadn’t noticed that the other boy−the largest of the
group−had jumped back down from the fence. Suddenly a thick arm wrapped
around Michael’s neck, dragging him to his feet and holding him back long
enough for the other boy to jump up, grazed and bloodied. As he did, he pulled
a blade from his inside pocket and held it out in front of him pointing the
dangerous end right at Michael.
Michael managed to break free from the large boy’s surprisingly strong grip
after elbowing him right in his diaphragm. He paused for a second and looked at
the knife: nothing special, just your everyday Smith and Wesson pocket knife
with a three inch blade, but Michael started to back away. There was no point
getting into something he wouldn’t be able to explain to the authorities,
especially as he still had a long journey ahead of him. The boy had obviously
seen it as a weakness and lunged straight for him, causing Michael to jump back
out of his reach until his back hit a wall, which stopped him from going any
further. “Son of a. . . ”
The youth never stopped and at the last minute he lost his footing. Falling
forward, his knife plunged straight into Michael’s stomach, causing him to gasp.
His eyes widened with surprise.
The boy looked down at what he’d done and his face instantly paled.
Michael saw a moment of panic as he stared straight into the boy’s deep indigo
eyes. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen years old if he was that. After
a moment, the boy let go of the knife to leave it sticking out from Michael’s flesh. He stood frozen to the spot, his mouth working like a goldfish with no
sound escaping.
“Come on dude, let’s go!” the boy’s friend urged as he grabbed him by the
arm. “We gotta split before anyone sees us. Leave him, come on!” That was
enough to snap the boy into action and they both ran back down the alley to the
street, leaving Michael standing there looking at the knife as blood soaked
through his gray T-shirt spreading outwards from the wound. There was no
pain, though. In fact, he’d hardly felt a thing which hadn’t surprised him too
much.
Now all alone in the alley, with nothing but the sound of dripping water
from a leaky gutter nearby and the distant traffic noise, Michael placed his hand
around the black handle, held his breath and pulled the blade out slowly. It felt
strange, not like he’d expected at all. It was almost numb with a slight scratchy,
pulling sensation as the cold steel exited his flesh. He dropped it to the floor and
lifted his T-shirt to assess the damage. There was now a deep slit right under his
ribs on the left-hand side, but he felt okay. There was no panic because he knew
he’d be perfectly fine.
Under different circumstances, though, he knew that right about now he
would be dropping to the ground and waiting to die from such a lethal wound.
He’d already lost a lot of blood and was pretty sure that the knife had punctured
his kidney.
That wasn’t about to happen to him though. You see. . . Michael was no
longer human. The body he walked in wasn’t his. Neither was the name he now
used. Both used to belong to someone else−a young man. Someone who’d been
down on his luck, who’d had no family to care about him, and his misfortunes
had led him to choose a dark path. Fortunately for Michael, who now inhabited
it after discovering he could borrow a body. Which he had many times. This
one, however, was more of a permanent thing. After discovering that using
someone’s body could ultimately lead to their deaths, Michael had managed to
find someone close to death, who wouldn’t need theirs anymore. So, that man
was the reason he was standing in the alleyway at that moment instead of being
hauled off in a body bag.
He assessed the damage to his shirt. “Shit!” he said, poking his finger
through the tear. “This was my last decent goddamn T-shirt.”

hadow:


thanks mate, **takes a seat beside cadec007 with my family size popcorn.

*grabs bottle of vodka, turns to hadow* would you love to share your popcorn?

Cadec007:
*grabs bottle of vodka, turns to hadow* would you love to share your popcorn?

there is enough pop corn to serve four theatres but wait till the movie starts.

it has started, hey mate pass d vodka

Preciousbouy:
[i][/i] “A man plans his course, but
The Lord determines his steps...”
- Proverbs 16:9



CHAPTER ONE

October 4th, 2011.
Cambridge, Ohio.
Michael sat alone at the bar with a double whiskey, though he wasn’t drinking
so much as staring into it trying to establish what it was that had brought him on
this journey from Columbus.
Yesterday’s newspaper article had read that four teenagers over the space of
seven days had thrown themselves from their dorm windows at State Park
University. Although the authorities were treating it as some sort of suicide
pact, Michael suspected otherwise. People don’t just throw themselves from
buildings for the sake of it and, knowing what he knew now, he wasn’t about to
ignore it.
Michael Warden is an investigator.
Not your usual, ordinary type of investigator−like the ones who track down
criminals or follow people suspected of having affairs and such−but an
investigator of the paranormal kind. Some might say a Demon Hunter; a Ghost
Buster. If only it was as simple as that.
He read the page that he’d printed out from the Daily Tribune’s website
again to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Then he folded it up and placed
it back into his worn, black, double breasted coat pocket. He knocked back his
whiskey and made his way out of the bar. It was early evening in Baltimore,
MD, and a slight mist had started to settle in. Michael still had a little over three
hours’ drive ahead of him to get to where his reservation was: a small place
called The Sunshine Motel a couple of miles outside of Garrett Co. He’d
[b] “A man plans his course, but
The Lord determines his steps...”
- Proverbs 16:9



CHAPTER ONE

October 4th, 2011.
Cambridge, Ohio.
Michael sat alone at the bar with a double whiskey, though he wasn’t drinking
so much as staring into it trying to establish what it was that had brought him on
this journey from Columbus.
Yesterday’s newspaper article had read that four teenagers over the space of
seven days had thrown themselves from their dorm windows at State Park
University. Although the authorities were treating it as some sort of suicide
pact, Michael suspected otherwise. People don’t just throw themselves from
buildings for the sake of it and, knowing what he knew now, he wasn’t about to
ignore it.
Michael Warden is an investigator.
Not your usual, ordinary type of investigator−like the ones who track down
criminals or follow people suspected of having affairs and such−but an
investigator of the paranormal kind. Some might say a Demon Hunter; a Ghost
Buster. If only it was as simple as that.
He read the page that he’d printed out from the Daily Tribune’s website
again to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Then he folded it up and placed
it back into his worn, black, double breasted coat pocket. He knocked back his
whiskey and made his way out of the bar. It was early evening in Baltimore,
MD, and a slight mist had started to settle in. Michael still had a little over three
hours’ drive ahead of him to get to where his reservation was: a small place
called The Sunshine Motel a couple of miles outside of Garrett Co. He’d
[/b] “A man plans his course, but
The Lord determines his steps...”
- Proverbs 16:9



CHAPTER ONE

October 4th, 2011.
Cambridge, Ohio.
Michael sat alone at the bar with a double whiskey, though he wasn’t drinking
so much as staring into it trying to establish what it was that had brought him on
this journey from Columbus.
Yesterday’s newspaper article had read that four teenagers over the space of
seven days had thrown themselves from their dorm windows at State Park
University. Although the authorities were treating it as some sort of suicide
pact, Michael suspected otherwise. People don’t just throw themselves from
buildings for the sake of it and, knowing what he knew now, he wasn’t about to
ignore it.
Michael Warden is an investigator.
Not your usual, ordinary type of investigator−like the ones who track down
criminals or follow people suspected of having affairs and such−but an
investigator of the paranormal kind. Some might say a Demon Hunter; a Ghost
Buster. If only it was as simple as that.
He read the page that he’d printed out from the Daily Tribune’s website
again to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Then he folded it up and placed
it back into his worn, black, double breasted coat pocket. He knocked back his
whiskey and made his way out of the bar. It was early evening in Baltimore,
MD, and a slight mist had started to settle in. Michael still had a little over three
hours’ drive ahead of him to get to where his reservation was: a small place
called The Sunshine Motel a couple of miles outside of Garrett Co. He’d

Triple post

hadow:


there is enough pop corn to serve four theatres but wait till the movie starts.

it has started, hey mate pass d vodka

kk *grabs vodka passes it to hadow* wow boss ur pop corn is tasty

Cadec007:
kk *grabs vodka passes it to hadow* wow boss ur pop corn is tasty

hehehe made it myself

Cadec007:
gucciqueen38, Ellabae, correctguy101, adesina14,

am here already

Waiting for chapter two but nobody to buy me popcorn to relax

hadow:

Triple post

Have corrected it bro. Sorry about that

nice start dude, followed

Nice update

Cadec007:
gucciqueen38, Ellabae, correctguy101, adesina14,

Thanks..

Good morning

Gucciqueen38:
Thanks..
Good morning

UWC dear hope u brought biscuits.

Ellabae:
Waiting for chapter two but nobody to buy me popcorn to relax

pop corn any one?

Vodka anyone?

Cadec007:
pop corn every one?

I don't want again, where have u been?

Ellabae:
I don't want again, where have u been?

on FB, livescore and systematically on my books. You missed me?

Cadec007:
on FB, livescore and systematically on my books. You missed me?

No

Ellabae:
No

haba!! Liar liar:-P:-P

* * *

Forced to change his plans and find a motel room for the night−aptly named Comfort Motel−just on the edge of the city, Michael had cleaned himself up in
the shower and was standing facing the bathroom mirror, naked, staring at the slice in his stomach. He already knew he felt no physical pain and was stronger than he should be, but this was the first time he’d ever been stabbed. He’d had punch-ups and clashes, of course, that had been almost an everyday situation for him since becoming what he was, but this was the first time anyone had gotten
that close to killing him−or trying to, anyway. He hadn’t thought about what would actually happen when they did. It was ironic that a human would deliver his first, fatal blow given how many monsters he’d fought in the past ten months.

He was quite used to his new, thirty-one year old body by now−even though it was still strange seeing himself with dirty blond, choppy hair and not his own
black, sleek style−but he still found it hard to accept that it was indeed him that stared back from the reflection as he stood before it.

The wound had finally stopped bleeding as he examined it in the mirror. His lean, athletic body had been in quite good order anyway for someone who’d
abused it in such a way, but was now bigger, more muscular due to his regular steam releasing sessions at the gym. Now, though, he was going to have a pretty decent sized scar which would join the faded needle marks on the insides of his arms from his body's previous host’s drug habit as he ran his fingers over the small, white scars, he couldn’t help his mind wandering back to the darkest period of his life so far: the day he’d woken up dead.

After making a success of his life—good career, lots of good friends and family around him—it was hard to adjust to being so alone now. His success had taken him to places far and wide and it was something he never took for granted. He’d finally been in a place where he’d stopped hating his life, and then one day, someone took it all away from him.

He’d been murdered. That much he knew, though the reason, and his killer, still remained a mystery. With no recollection of what happened, Michael had awoken in a place he thought only existed in nightmares. A place he’d never believed existed at all until now.

Hell.

He leaned his hands on the sink and dropped his head, hating that his mind would throw the sordid memories up to him whenever possible. He hated
Remembering how much of a tortured soul he’d been down there in the pit−a demon along with the rest of the damned, even though he hadn’t been worthy of the punishment, given the honest life he’d led. He had no memory of how he’d died, and no justifiable reason as to why he’d ended up being punished in the worst ways imaginable. But he was also glad that he couldn’t remember much of what went on while he was in Hell. All he was left with were flashes of memories of what he could only describe as an excruciating inferno of pain that he’d endured right up until the point when he’d lost himself, as though the burning fire and the torture had finally become too much for his body and soul
To bear and he’d simply passed out.

Afterwards, he’d awoken to a different kind of nightmare. The visions of which were playing out right now as he stood in the dingy motel bathroom.

He was back on earth, no longer a prisoner, but not as he once was. He looked down at his body which wasn’t real anymore. There was no flesh or bone, just a spectral image that was lost in a parallel world where he had no more human interaction, just ghostly beings who were as lost as he was. Spirits
of the afterlife who−for whatever reason−hadn’t managed to find their peace either. He was lost, afraid, broken. How could this have happened to him?
He shook himself, determined to push the unwanted memories away. But even when he wasn’t seeing them plain as day, they were there, always.

Ghosts and entities weren’t the only beings that Michael had had to deal with during his time in that in-between world. He quickly learned that other
creatures existed alongside the spirits, creatures he’d already encountered, who knew he was there but would ignore his spiritual form like he was nothing but dust blowing on the wind. But it was only then that they’d taken no notice of him. He’d had no such luck since being corporeal.

The memories of the torture and suffering he’d endured were all that he was left with. He’d tried and tried to forget, but there was no way of blocking them out; so much so that they’d become the reason he hardly slept anymore, not that he needed to, but when he did those memories would become vivid enough for him to mistake the nightmares for a reality that he just couldn’t endure again.

His existence was now haunted by vengeance; had been that way every day since he’d been back on earth and the only reason he’d kept his sanity through all of it, was the determination to find out what had happened to him and the hope of catching his own killer someday.

Hopefully soon.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed his laptop and powered it up at the small dresser by the window. He had quite a bit of work to do, including faking some papers for himself. The best thing about acquiring a dying man’s body, and nobody knowing that the poor guy had died, was the fact that Michael had inherited the man’s whole life not just his physical form. He now existed, which meant he was in the system. If he was going to find out who or what was causing the students to make like lemmings and jump to their deaths, he would need to get inside the university. He’d decided the easiest way would be to work there. That way he’d be on campus for most of the time and could have a good
Look around without question.

In his life, he’d been a qualified computer programmer with his own successful business and now having so much time on his hands allowed him to improve on his skills which came in very handy for situations like this. He successfully hacked into the university’s database and struck lucky. There was already a transfer in place for a substitute to fill in for someone who was due for maternity leave in three days, so he changed the name and then set about faking some documentation. All he had to do after that was reach one of his contacts−who just happened to be in Kent, OH−send him to find a Mr George Cole, and persuade the guy to take a little vacation.

When he was done, he leaned back in his chair, placed both hands behind his head, and smiled with smug satisfaction that he’d just created a new career for himself in a matter of minutes without a glitch. After finishing his research, Michael glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. It was almost midnight. He figured he’d leave for Garrett County at around six that morning so he decided to get some sleep. Not that it was necessary for him to sleep; he needed it about as much as he needed food, which was never, but it passed the time and he’d inherited a lot of that since he’d died.

And as for the food thing, well, not needing it didn’t mean he didn’t want it. He could still taste food just as well as before, so that was a bonus if ever there was to be one in this arcane situation. Truth was, he needed to hold on to as much of his humanity as possible if there was any chance of him remaining sane. He climbed into the bed and pulled the musty blankets up to his waist, switched off the lamp and lay on his back staring at the ceiling.

The darkness wasn’t as dark for him anymore−another thing he’d acquired: night vision. Although the world was more insipid, almost colorless to him, when the lights went out he could still see quite clearly. Great when he needed it, but now, in this quiet motel room, he’d give anything to have that darkness back. Sleep didn’t come as easy to him as it used to. His body or mind never tired, so it was now something he had to will. He thought back to his life and how much simpler things like sleep had been to him back then. Closing his eyes, he thought about how he’d get home late in the evening after a long shift at the office, switch on his computer and work some more, often accompanied by a large glass of whiskey. Then he’d fall into bed and sleep without even trying−another one of the many things he yearned for: to feel tired again.

Wondering what tomorrow would bring, he lay quietly and hoped that sleep

would soon take him.

Eventually, it did.

Chapter 2 comes in some hours time..... Enjoy

Preciousbouy:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Except for the use in anqy review, the reproduction or
utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic,
mechanical or other means is forbidden without the express permission of the
author

following sir

IAmAmbrose come take a sit here

Preciousbouy:
IAmAmbrose come take a sit here

gbamm i don land...... Abeg bring the kunu aya and pop corn... Meanwhile let me be

.... And wait for my order

Ellabae:
Waiting for chapter two but nobody to buy me popcorn to relax

oya bring the popcorn to my room