Jason Wendell, a 24 year old Ghost Hunter

“Ah, fuck! God damn it!”

Jason hissed through gritted teeth as a sharp pain flared in his hand. He stumbled back from the workbench, knocking over his desk chair in the process. It clattered to the floor behind him as he bolted for the tap outside his garage, clutching his hand tight against his chest.

He twisted it open and shoved his hand under the cold stream, the sting biting harder before it dulled to a throbbing ache.

From somewhere outside his view, a voice called out, loud and worried.

“Jason? Are you alright down there?”

“Yeah, I’m fine! Just… just a little accident!” he shouted back up at the window above him, though his voice came out strained and unconvincing as he walked back to pick up his chair.

A few moments later, the front door to the apartment complex creaked open, and out shuffled Mrs Stewart, his elderly landlady. Her wiry grey hair frizzed around her face, and she leaned heavily on a wooden walking stick as she peered in through the open garage door.

“Oh, heavens, Jason,” she gasped when she spotted his hand. “What on earth have you done to yourself?”

Jason winced and turned off the tap. “It’s nothing, really. I was just messing with a piece of equipment I got. I’ll be fine, Mrs Stewart.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure you will after we get that hand bandaged up,” she said firmly. “Come upstairs.”

He sighed, exasperated but too polite to argue. “Seriously, I’ll be alright. It’s just a little mark.”

“Nonsense,” she huffed, already hobbling toward the front door.

Knowing she wouldn't take no for an answer, Jason reluctantly followed her up the communal stairs and into her apartment. The smell of old wood and lavender oil filled the air as they entered her small open-plan kitchen and living room.

“It's no big deal, really. I'm alright, Mrs Stewart,” Jason pleaded, but she continued to ignore him. She opened a tall cupboard and pulled down a battered metal first-aid tin, its paint chipped and shape dented from decades of use. Inside was a jumble of medical supplies: faded bandages, gauze, tiny bottles of antiseptic, and unfamiliar tools that looked older than Jason himself.

He eyed the kit warily, wondering if half of it was still sterile, when suddenly her cool, wrinkled hand gripped his arm. “Come on, dear, sit down,” she said firmly, guiding him to the small floral sofa.

Jason sat, resigned. Mrs Stewart tugged up at the sleeve of his old green tactical jacket and clucked her tongue.

“Honestly, I’ve no idea why you insist on wearing this old thing all the time, in the summer, no less!”

He chuckled weakly. “Just a habit, I guess.”

She didn’t answer, already dabbing a glob of antiseptic cream onto his burn.

“Ow, ow, ow!” Jason winced and flinched, pulling back slightly.

“That’s not the sound somebody who’s ‘alright’ would make, is it, young man?” she scolded lightly, eyes twinkling.

Jason sighed. “Right, I get it. Thanks.”

Mrs Stewart chuckled and shook her head as she began wrapping a clean bandage around his palm with surprising precision for someone her age.

The room was quiet for a moment except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the soft rasp of the bandage being tightened.

“I swear, you are almost as bad as that young lady upstairs, not a day goes by that I don't see her bandaged and bruised,” she said, sounding fairly worried, “I have no idea how she manages it. But she is no stranger to this chair, I'll tell you that much,” she said while faintly chuckling.

“You know, maybe you should try and talk to her sometime, she’s about your age, and she seems just lovely, if a little bit lonely”, she said with a hint of sadness.

“I could, I have seen her around a few times, so I guess I could pop by to say hi,” he replied a little awkwardly.

“Oh, I'm sure she’d just love that, she doesn't often have company,” she said just as she gave the wrap a final pat. “Okay, there. That should hold. Keep it clean, and don’t go back to poking at whatever burned you in the first place.”

“I’ll try,” Jason said with a half-smile. “Thanks again, really.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, lowering herself into the armchair across from him. Her cane rested against her knee, and for a moment she looked thoughtful.

“You remind me of my husband when he was young; he was always tinkering with something in his shed, burns and bruises were no strangers to his hands.”

He smiled at the thought and began to explore the room with his eyes. As his gaze wandered toward the mantelpiece, he noticed an old photograph in a wooden frame. The image depicted a younger Mrs Stewart standing next to a man in a crisp suit, both of them smiling in front of a small brick house. Although the edges of the photo were faded, the warmth in their faces made it feel vibrant and alive.

Mrs Stewart followed his gaze, and her expression softened. “Yes, that was my Henry. We were married for fifty-three years before he passed away, you know.”

Jason hesitated, sensing the weight in her voice. “He looks like a good man.”

“He was,” she said simply. Then she smiled again, lighter this time.

“Now go wash up properly and have some tea before you get back to whatever project you were working on. And be more careful this time, I’ll not have you burning the place down.”

Jason stood and gave a small, sheepish nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

---

Jason closed Mrs Stewart’s door quietly behind him, the faint scent of lavender following him into the hallway. His bandaged hand throbbed as he descended the stairs, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were already somewhere else.

The garage light buzzed faintly when he switched it back on. His desk was a complete mess, covered in scattered tools, scorch marks, and coffee stains. The camera that he had left rolling after leaving in such a rush sat on its side, clearly he’d knocked it in his panic. He leaned in to grab it and check the small display.

“Great, that's one of the spare batteries for tonight dead already,” he let out a groan.

Jason returned his attention back to his desk. In the center of the chaos he’d left behind was his new toy: the ghost catcher.

Quite frankly, he hated that name; it just sounded so infantile and made him feel immature for owning it, but that's what the seller called it. Seeming fake at first, he dismissed it as a scam for gullible idiots, but the more he talked to them, the more convinced he was that this was the real deal.

He ran his good hand along the cool metal casing, feeling none of the heat that had blistered his palm earlier. He paused for a moment, reflecting on what Mrs Stewart had said about the girl upstairs, but quickly pushed those thoughts aside, remembering his goal for the night.

With a grunt, he lifted the heavy cube; it was denser than it appeared, the weight pulling at his shoulders as he lowered it into the large black case waiting on the floor. He slotted it in and gave it one last inspection, checking every edge. Satisfied, he closed the lid with a solid click.

He paused to listen to the faint buzz of the overhead light, then rubbed his temple and turned to the clutter around him. The shelves held old, labelled boxes: Sensors, Cameras, Audio, Thermal. He opened each one, checked the contents, and packed them into two battered suitcases. The routine was calming: tape this down, coil that wire, double-check the batteries. By the end, the room could almost be called tidy.

Suddenly, a low rumble from an engine disrupted the stillness. Headlights illuminated the garage window, casting long beams of light across the wall. Jason straightened up, frowning.

The sound ceased, followed by the sharp click of a car door. A few moments later, a voice echoed faintly through the open air.

“Jason? You there?”

Her voice echoed through the half-open garage door, light yet sharp. Jason sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and stepped out from behind the workbench.

Cool night air slipped in, carrying the faint scent of rain. His stepsister stood in the driveway, arms crossed, phone in hand, with her car’s headlights cutting through the downpour.

“Stephany,” he said flatly. “What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too.” She replied, rolling her eyes as she walked into the garage without waiting for an invitation, her heels clicking on the concrete. “Wow, this place somehow looks worse than usual. Planning another one of your ‘ghost hunts’?” she teased.

He shut the garage door behind her with a heavy sigh. “They’re called paranormal investigations,” he corrected her.

“Uh-huh,” she said with a smirk. “And I’m guessing this ‘paranormal investigating’ is what got you that bandage?” Her tone softened slightly as she nodded toward his hand. “What happened, Jason?”

“It’s nothing,” he replied too quickly, pulling his hand back. “I-I just burned myself on some equipment.”

She frowned. “Can you please just stop this? It feels like every time I visit, you’re bruised or hurt after one of your ‘investigations.’” She sighed. “I don't want to have to drive you to the hospital again.”

Jason turned away, pretending to check the latch on one of the suitcases. “I’m fine, Steph. And that was only one time! You don’t have to drive all the way here just to nag me every other week.”

“Someone has to…” she said, her voice softer now. “You’ve barely spoken to Dad.” Sadness crept into her words.

“Your dad, you mean,” he said without thinking, a hint of venom in his tone.

Steph’s expression faltered. “You know that’s not fair,” she replied quietly. “He still helped raise you Jason, and he still asks about you…”

Jason closed the suitcase with a sharp snap. “Yeah, well, he sure moved on fast enough, didn’t he?”

“That’s not what this is about,” she said, stepping closer. “You have shut everyone out for years. When was the last time you came to a family dinner? Or even had a conversation with Dad?. Now you’re spending your nights chasing whatever this is.” She gestured toward the workbench. “Ghosts, spirits, whatever it is. None of it is helping you.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his jaw tightening. “It’s not about helping myself, Steph. It’s about finding proof.”

“Proof of what?” she asked, exasperated. “That she’s still out there? That she’s haunting you? Do you think if you catch a ghost, you’ll feel better about losing her?” She regretted saying this as soon as she shut her mouth.

Her words hung in the air like dust in the beams of her headlights. Jason didn’t look at her or respond. He just stared at the black case on the floor.

“Jay, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You’re chasing something that will never bring you peace,” Steph said softly.

He finally looked at her. “And what if you’re wrong?” Without waiting for an answer, he took a deep breath, grabbed a suitcase, and dragged it to the door. The wheels scraped against the concrete, breaking the silence.

“Where are you going?” she asked, following him.

“Out of town,” he replied flatly.

“Where? Do you even hear yourself? You can’t just keep mysteriously disappearing every night,” she scoffed.

He popped the trunk of his car and set the suitcase inside with a thud. “Yeah, I hear myself just fine,” Jason replied.

He slammed the trunk shut and started back toward the garage for the second suitcase, but Steph wasn’t done.

“Dorothy is far too kind to you, you know that?” she said, folding her arms. “Most landlords would’ve kicked you out months ago for the noise alone.”

Jason paused, one hand on the handle of the suitcase. “Mrs Stewart is fine with me. She understands what I’m doing.”

Steph gave a dry laugh. “Understands? Jason, she’s eighty-six. She probably just pities you—or maybe she’s gone senile.”

He shot her a glare over his shoulder but didn’t reply. The wheels of the suitcase rattled as he dragged it across the floor.

Steph stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You can’t keep pretending this is normal. Spending nights alone in the middle of nowhere. She wouldn’t want this for you— nobody wants this for you.”

Jason froze halfway to the car, his jaw tightening. “Don’t tell me what she would’ve wanted.”

Steph opened her mouth to respond, but the look on his face silenced her. The anger there spoke volumes.

She swallowed hard. “Jay… I just don’t want to get a call one day saying you’ve gone missing… Or worse.”

He didn’t look at her, just kept walking. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “That’s what you always say.”

Jason reached the car and lifted the second suitcase into the trunk beside the first. The metal groaned under the weight as he pushed it closed and stood there for a long moment, his reflection caught in the dark glass of the rear window.

Steph lingered near the garage, arms still folded. Her voice was quieter now, uncertain. “You could still come back to Dad’s for a while. Just until your birthday? Take a break. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

He turned to her, finally meeting her eyes. “If I stop now, everything I’ve done so far means nothing. I can’t.”

There wasn’t much left to say after that. Steph’s shoulders dropped in defeat. “Then promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I’ll try,” he said, and it almost sounded like he meant it.

She gave a short nod, stepping back toward her car. “Call me when you get there, alright?”

Jason didn’t answer; he just nodded and watched her get into her car. He climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and waited for her headlights to fade in his mirrors before pulling out of the driveway.

---

As he left town, the night swallowed him quickly, street lights grew scarcer, the road stretched ahead endlessly, a slick ribbon of black under the beam of his headlights.

The wipers beat a steady rhythm, cutting through the drizzle, while the low hum of the engine filled the silence.

After nearly an hour had passed, he turned off the main road onto a narrow lane, gravel crackling under the tyres. Trees arched overhead, their branches scraping the roof in passing.

He caught glimpses of old stone walls behind the brush, illuminated by the headlights, along with a warped wooden sign that read 'Holloway Hotel'

Jason slowed the car as the path curved sharply before opening up onto a wide clearing, with the hotel in the centre of it looming over its surroundings. Three stories of cracked brick and rotted wood, windows black and empty, walls wet and glistening in the moonlight.

Killing the engine, he sat in silence for a moment. The air was damp, smelling of rotting leaves. He grabbed his camera and flashlight from the glove compartment, stepped out, and set the camera to record, framing the hotel.

He took a deep breath and started his vlog.

“September 15th, 2025”

“I’m outside the old Holloway Hotel, just off Route 19. Recently, there have been reports of strange happenings here; flickering lights, moving shadows, and bumps in the night. Now I know that's nothing new, but something about this place feels unique, and I'm here to find out why.”

He relaxed his shoulders, grabbed his portable camera and hung it around his neck. Then, he retrieved his gear from the car: two suitcases, the heavy black case, a backpack of devices, and his tripod.

As he crossed the clearing, the hotel loomed above him, its dark windows glinting faintly. With each step on the cracked path, his footsteps echoed against the walls, the gravel and broken glass crunching beneath him.

At the base of the wide stone steps, Jason set down the tripod and adjusted the camera angle upward toward the front doors. One of the doors hung slightly ajar, the lock smashed clean through, with jagged metal jutting out like a broken tooth.

He muttered under his breath, “I wish some people would show a little class when breaking into abandoned buildings. They give us all a bad reputation.”

After carrying the rest of his gear inside, he flicked on his flashlight and turned the camera back to face himself. The beam trembled faintly as he steadied his breathing and locked eyes with the lens.

“Alright, I’m inside the Holloway Hotel. The front door is broken. It looks like kids or squatters have been here a few times. It’s damp and freezing in here,” he said, shivering as he spoke. He quickly zipped up his coat before continuing.

Grabbing the camera, he turned it around to face the interior of the hotel, holding both it and the flashlight steady. He then slowly panned the camera across the grand lobby. The faded wallpaper peeled from the walls, the carpet was torn and water-stained, and a large chandelier hung at an angle above him.

The place had been shut down ten years ago due to safety violations like faulty wiring and unstable floors. While there were no reported deaths, locals claimed something strange was happening, and Jason could feel it too.

He shone his flashlight at the reception desk and pressed the tarnished bell. The faint ding echoed in the eerie silence.

“Surprised that worked,” he said dryly.

“I’ll set up base in the lobby,” he continued, preparing temperature sensors, EMF detectors, and motion triggers. “If anything’s here, we’ll find out.”

Jason placed his camera down on an old, battered coffee table, pointing towards him and efficiently set up the gear, small green lights flickering to life on the monitors.

“Now that that’s done…” he muttered, picking up his camera again.

“Alright, sensors are active. The EMF is showing a clean baseline with zero interference. The temperature is steady at about thirteen degrees Celsius—colder than I expected, but nothing crazy.”

He pans the camera toward the sensors, each tiny LED blinking faintly in the gloom.

“I’ll keep the base here in the lobby while I check the upper floors. If there’s any movement, they’ll log it. The cameras are set to record overnight. So far, so good.”

“I also have a new piece of equipment for tonight’s investigation,” he said with a tinge of excitement, showing off a large black box.

Suddenly, a loud creak echoed from the upper hallway, followed by the slam of a door. Jason jumped, his pulse spiking.

“Holy crap! Did I get that on camera?” he shouted while grabbing the camera to hang around his neck, making absolutely sure it was still recording before sprinting toward the stairs, forgetting to set down the black case.

He started climbing quickly, the flashlight beam shaking with each step. “First time anything interesting has happened in months,” he muttered between quick, uneven breaths.

The shrill buzz of his phone erupted from his pocket, startling him. He fumbled for it, his attention shifting for just a second long enough that he didn’t notice the warped board ahead of him.

His boot came down hard on the cracked step. The wood splintered beneath his weight, and his leg plunged through the gap. The sudden drop threw him off balance, sending him tumbling backwards. His shoulder hit the railing, then his head struck the next step. The camera spun from his hand, clattering down the stairs as everything went black.

---

Jason awoke sometime later, feeling dazed and disoriented. His head throbbed faintly, but there was no real pain. For a moment, he lay still, trying to remember what had happened. When he finally opened his eyes, he froze.

He was still in the lobby, or at least it looked like a lobby. But something was wrong. Scratch that, everything was wrong.

The first thing that struck him was the light. It was bright, almost blinding. Had he slept until morning? No, that made no sense. He had been inside; there shouldn’t even be sunlight here.

As his vision adjusted, Jason realised it wasn’t sunlight at all. The light came from above, from the chandelier that had once hung in pieces. Now it gleamed brilliantly, every crystal perfectly polished.

Slowly, Jason sat up. The entire room had changed. The torn carpet had been replaced by deep red velvet, and the wallpaper was flawless, freshly applied, and patterned with gold trim. Every railing and doorframe glistened with new paint and varnish.

He glanced down and found himself lying on a red velvet sofa, something he was 100% certain hadn’t been there before. Something he also took note of was the fact that he was still tightly clutching the black case he had ran up the stairs with.

“What the hell happened?” he murmured.

In an instant, every light in range was extinguished and a spotlight shining from seemingly nowhere illuminated the centre of the room. A loud drumroll started to fill the silence, as smoke began to appear from thin air covering the floor across the entire room, and out from it rose a shadowed figure.

Fireworks exploded around them as 2 more spotlights appeared to illuminate this figure from the front.

“Harem Hotel, of course—wait, what?”

Just as soon as it had started, all the fanfare just seemed to stop and then promptly vanish, along with the lights returning to normal.

The ‘woman’ stood in the centre of the room, her skin a smooth shade of blue that shimmered faintly under the chandelier. She wore a too-small top hat tilted at an angle, a neat bow tie, and a fitted ringmaster's waistcoat over a low-cut top, exposing a cavern of sapphire cleavage. In her hand, she held a slender cane tipped with silver.

“That wasn’t your line!” she said with an exaggerated pout. “You were supposed to say, ‘Where am I?’ You’ve ruined my whole intro now!”

Jason just stared, speechless, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing.