It had been two months since Danny and Samuel started their ghostbusting vlogs. In that short time, they had made a name for themselves in the online paranormal scene. Their videos had gone viral, racking up millions of views within weeks.
Social media buzzed with questions about ghosts, spirits, and supernatural events—questions that, oddly enough, always seemed to have answers hidden within the mysterious Hell Book. They kept the momentum going, releasing more videos, each one more popular than the last.
They knew they had made it.
YouTube monetization? Check.A growing fanbase? Check.Money on the horizon? Almost there.
As long as they kept this up, success was just around the corner.
But right now?
Samuel was exhausted.
He lay sprawled on his bed, drained from hours of staring at screens—replying to endless comments, filtering emails, and managing their growing audience. The Hell Book rested open on his face, shielding him from the morning sunlight.
Just as he was about to drift off, his phone rang.
Groaning, he blindly reached for it, answering in a half-asleep mumble.
"Hello, Department of Paranormal Entities. How can I help you?" he muttered, voice laced with sarcasm.
A deep, slightly hesitant voice came through the line.
"Hi, I'm Danish. I have an issue at my farmhouse. You see, I want to sell the place, but… something very wrong and powerful is there. I need your help cleansing the house. How much do you charge?"
Samuel frowned. "Ah-ha, someone trying to prank me," he thought.
"Danish, huh? You know, your name sounds like my favorite web novel author." He stretched, still half-asleep. "How'd you even get our number?"
"Oh, so you've heard of me," the caller responded casually. "I am that Danish. I got your number from James, journalist. He interviewed you last week."
Samuel smirked, deciding to play along.
"Oh wow, really? That's great. That's great. If you want us to cleanse the house, we need to visit the place first to assess the issue. Drop a deposit of RW3K, and we'll come over for an inspection. Once we identify the problem, we'll let you know the final charges. Price depends on the type of entity, you know."
"Oh, okay. That's great. I'll make the payment and share all the details with you. Thank you."
The call ended.
Samuel barely had time to process the conversation before a WhatsApp message popped up on his screen, asking for bank details.
"Damn, this guy is serious about the prank," he muttered, yawning.
Without much thought, he forwarded Danny's bank account details and immediately dozed off.
Two Hours Later…
Danny barged into the room, shaking Samuel awake.
"Dude! Wake up! Wake up!"
Samuel groaned, waving him off. "What is it?" he mumbled, still half-asleep.
"I don't know how, but someone just transferred RW3K into my account! And get this—my bank deducted my pending car payment of 1.5K right after. Damn it! I don't even know whose money that is!"
Samuel sat up sluggishly. "Should be your dad, man," he replied vaguely, trying to go back to sleep.
Danny smacked him on the head. "You know I never keep more than 500 in that account because of the car payments! The bank automatically deducts any pending balance as soon as money comes in. Now they took out three months' pending payments!"
Samuel's brain finally clicked. He bolted upright. "Shit. How much did you say got transferred?"
"Three thousand. And 1.5K got deducted immediately."
Samuel scrambled for his phone and checked his messages. His stomach dropped. The "prankster" had already sent a bank transfer receipt, along with the farmhouse location and a long-winded message about his experiences in the house. His inbox was completely flooded.
Samuel slapped his own face, trying to wake up. "Shit."
He quickly recounted the phone call to Danny.
Danny paced back and forth. "We need to return the money. We're not actual exorcists, man. We should find another 1.5K and send it back before things get out of hand."
Samuel quickly intercepted. "Dude, don't forget—he said James the journalist gave him our number. We gave a pro-level interview last week. If we reject this request now, that journalist might find out we are fake ghostbuster. And if word gets out that we scammed, everything we built these past three months? Gone—down the drain."
Danny exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So what do we do?"
Samuel stared at the screen, mind racing. There was no turning back now.
"We need this money too. Why don't we just go and do the inspection? There's got to be a logical explanation for everything. We go in like pros, analyze the place—maybe find some loose screws making noises, wind drafts, or wild animals messing around. It's a farmhouse, right? People always assume it's a ghost before checking for real reasons." He raised an eyebrow. "I say we do it—and bill him another two thousand bucks."
Danny scratched his head. "I don't know, man… hmm. Then let's make it believable. We should shoot the whole thing as content!"
Samuel laughed. "That's a great idea!"
A Few Days Later…
The two were sitting at a roadside restaurant not far from the farmhouse, having breakfast. It had been a long ride to get here, and before dealing with any "haunted" nonsense, they needed food.
Samuel flipped through the Hell Book, trying to absorb as much information as possible. Despite his confident presentation earlier, Danny still wasn't convinced about this whole fake exorcist plan.
"Relax, man," Samuel said, not looking up. "Like I said, I'm sure there's a logical explanation for everything. There are no ghosts or spirits, just human psychology playing tricks."
Before Danny could respond, a sweet, melodic voice interrupted them.
"Oh, really? So you think ghosts are just people's imagination?"
Both guys turned toward the voice.
A girl stood in front of them. Beautiful. Angelic. The kind of beauty that made them momentarily forget how to breathe.
She waved a hand in front of their faces. "Hello?"
Samuel snapped out of his daze, his inner playboy instincts kicking in.
"Hey, you know, it's rude to eavesdrop on people's conversations. But… I'll let it slide since it's you." He flashed a grin. "I'm honored to have someone as beautiful as you listening in."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. I'm too old for you to flirt with. Just answer my question—why do you think ghosts and spirits don't exist?"
Samuel gave an awkward smile. "Well, you see, I'm 23. In these 23 years, I've traveled to many places, and not once have I seen a ghost. There's always a logical explanation for supernatural sightings."
Danny leaned in. "Yeah? Like what?"
Samuel smirked. "Alright, take pareidolia, for example—your brain sees faces in random patterns, like a shadow in the corner looking like a ghost."
Danny added, "Or sleep paralysis! You wake up, can't move, and suddenly, you see a creepy figure? That's just your brain messing up while waking up."
The girl smirked. "So you're saying it's all in the mind?"
Samuel chuckled. "Most of the time, yeah. But if ghosts do exist… well, they're probably watching us right now."
She smiled. "I overheard your conversation. Are you going to that farmhouse nearby? The one that belongs to author Danish? I know about that house. It's really haunted. I can prove to you that ghosts are real! Do you mind if I join you?"
To be continued…