spirit on the premises.
He'd calm down, think it through, collect potential evidence. Approach it like he would research for a book, and see if any other incidents occurred.
Back in the living room, Ian went to the window and stared out at nothing in particular as he tried to clear his mind and put thoughts in order. Maybe when he had the security guys in to install sensors and such he would have them put a couple cameras inside the house as well as out. Not only did it make sense to do so from a security standpoint but also from an investigative one; he might catch the flesh and blood person or the ethereal ghost responsible for the odd happenings.
Get evidence instead of jumping the gun.
And he wouldn't bring it up to anybody just yet, especially Toby. His friend would never let him live it down if Ian started claiming a haunting and it turned out to have a more mundane explanation—like renegade mice in the walls.
But could a horde of mice rustling around and squeaking, sound in any way like someone whispering his name?
On the other hand, it wouldn't hurt to reach out to some people in the know just in case. He'd have to sleep on that thought. Ian didn't want any of those alleged paranormal societies on the property, much less in the house. Having watched a couple programs on television and seeing some of their “investigative methods,” he wouldn't trust them to do anything more than possibly piss off the ghost, if there was one, and leave him in a worse position than he already was. Nope, not permitting any paranormal investigations.
And speaking of sleep; he needed to catch up on his sleep. Normally he didn't sleep more than the average person; he simply slept at a different time, staying up until three or so in the morning and sleeping until eleven. After functioning on less sleep than usual, he might have to sleep in until the afternoon...if he could.
His second reviewing/editing process of his new manuscript was nearing completion and would be on its way to the publisher. Jumping immediately into one of his other story ideas or manuscripts didn't sound so great and he decided to take some much-needed time for himself. Ian wanted to save his time off so he could enjoy a leisurely holiday season in the new house; that didn't mean he couldn't take a week or two for himself after he completed this book.
A great yawn—one which made his jaw crack—reminded him he needed to put the ghost business to bed, no pun intended, and crawl under the covers himself. Between all the hours spent working on his book, the lack of sleep for the last few nights, because of anticipation before the move and then the business with the shadow pacing outside last night, and staying up way past his bedtime again, Ian risked turning himself into a bloodshot-eyed zombie.
If he wasn't careful, he'd be staggering around and moaning, doing a grand impersonation of the resurrected cadavers in Romero's classic film.
He didn't bother turning off the lamps when he left the room. Grasping the handrail, Ian practically pulled himself up the stairs. Feeling himself fade with every step, he hoped he made it to the bed before his body decided to just say the hell with it and shut down whether he was ready or not.
The pillow seemed to become him, all but singing a siren song as soon as Ian walked into his bedroom. Believing he'd fall into a deep coma of sleep if he even came close to the bed before getting undressed, Ian gave it a wide berth as he walked to the other side of the room and closed the drapes. He hated being awakened by the sun shining in and trying to blind him.
Being so tired, a coma sounded like ethereal bliss, and he grinned at the stupid thought.
Unzipping his pants and taking off his shirt couldn't be done fast enough. He grabbed a pair of boxers, slipped them on, and climbed into bed. The chill
He'd calm down, think it through, collect potential evidence. Approach it like he would research for a book, and see if any other incidents occurred.
Back in the living room, Ian went to the window and stared out at nothing in particular as he tried to clear his mind and put thoughts in order. Maybe when he had the security guys in to install sensors and such he would have them put a couple cameras inside the house as well as out. Not only did it make sense to do so from a security standpoint but also from an investigative one; he might catch the flesh and blood person or the ethereal ghost responsible for the odd happenings.
Get evidence instead of jumping the gun.
And he wouldn't bring it up to anybody just yet, especially Toby. His friend would never let him live it down if Ian started claiming a haunting and it turned out to have a more mundane explanation—like renegade mice in the walls.
But could a horde of mice rustling around and squeaking, sound in any way like someone whispering his name?
On the other hand, it wouldn't hurt to reach out to some people in the know just in case. He'd have to sleep on that thought. Ian didn't want any of those alleged paranormal societies on the property, much less in the house. Having watched a couple programs on television and seeing some of their “investigative methods,” he wouldn't trust them to do anything more than possibly piss off the ghost, if there was one, and leave him in a worse position than he already was. Nope, not permitting any paranormal investigations.
And speaking of sleep; he needed to catch up on his sleep. Normally he didn't sleep more than the average person; he simply slept at a different time, staying up until three or so in the morning and sleeping until eleven. After functioning on less sleep than usual, he might have to sleep in until the afternoon...if he could.
His second reviewing/editing process of his new manuscript was nearing completion and would be on its way to the publisher. Jumping immediately into one of his other story ideas or manuscripts didn't sound so great and he decided to take some much-needed time for himself. Ian wanted to save his time off so he could enjoy a leisurely holiday season in the new house; that didn't mean he couldn't take a week or two for himself after he completed this book.
A great yawn—one which made his jaw crack—reminded him he needed to put the ghost business to bed, no pun intended, and crawl under the covers himself. Between all the hours spent working on his book, the lack of sleep for the last few nights, because of anticipation before the move and then the business with the shadow pacing outside last night, and staying up way past his bedtime again, Ian risked turning himself into a bloodshot-eyed zombie.
If he wasn't careful, he'd be staggering around and moaning, doing a grand impersonation of the resurrected cadavers in Romero's classic film.
He didn't bother turning off the lamps when he left the room. Grasping the handrail, Ian practically pulled himself up the stairs. Feeling himself fade with every step, he hoped he made it to the bed before his body decided to just say the hell with it and shut down whether he was ready or not.
The pillow seemed to become him, all but singing a siren song as soon as Ian walked into his bedroom. Believing he'd fall into a deep coma of sleep if he even came close to the bed before getting undressed, Ian gave it a wide berth as he walked to the other side of the room and closed the drapes. He hated being awakened by the sun shining in and trying to blind him.
Being so tired, a coma sounded like ethereal bliss, and he grinned at the stupid thought.
Unzipping his pants and taking off his shirt couldn't be done fast enough. He grabbed a pair of boxers, slipped them on, and climbed into bed. The chill
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