Chapter 3: The Only Living Girl

I’m not petty. If there really is evil at work, having another professional is a good thing, as long as he’s not a fraud.

“It’s fine, let’s go in.”

“Yes, yes, good!”

The Carsons led the way, I followed behind. We passed a vegetable patch, then crossed a small wooden bridge with no water underneath, and that counted as entering the town.

The bridge creaked under our weight, and I caught the scent of mint and damp earth. The absence of water beneath the bridge made the whole thing feel like a prop in a ghost story.

Townsfolk who saw the elders return greeted them from afar.

But I stopped.

Drip. Cold sweat ran down my face.

All I could see in the town were ghosts.

Unlike the ghosts I’d seen before, these all had consciousness—their actions and behavior were exactly like humans.

They bustled about, carrying groceries, chatting in clusters, even scolding children I couldn’t see. It was like watching a play where everyone forgot their lines but kept moving anyway. Was I the only one seeing this?

“Sir, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you moving?”

I patted the flask. Allie shook violently inside, meaning I should be ready to fight for my life.

With my right hand, I secretly loosened the cork of the flask, so Allie could come out and help me at any moment.

“Sir, let’s go.”

The two elders kept urging me. Running wasn’t an option now. Behind me was pitch darkness and mountain roads—could I outrun ghosts?

My mentor got swarmed by vengeful spirits. Wore him down. That’s how he died.

And those were all mindless evil spirits. If these ghosts wanted to harm me, I couldn’t escape at all.

“I’m just tired, catching my breath.”

Bracing myself, I followed the elders deeper into this bizarre town.

Every house had its lights on. Some folks—ghosts—were running somewhere, quick and urgent.

After a few words with the elders, they stared at me curiously.

Luckily, no one—no, no ghost—did anything out of line.

“My daughter is over there, another master is exorcising her. Sir, you…”

“It’s fine, let him go first. If he succeeds, great. If not, I’ll try.”

“Good, good, sir, you are truly generous.”

Squeezing past the crowd of townsfolk, I saw the daughter of the Carsons, Emily Carson.

This was a place like the town square.

In the center stood a large wooden gazebo, probably used for town meetings.

Its beams were carved with faded initials and the remnants of old campaign posters. I could almost hear echoes of laughter and gossip from years gone by.

Emily Carson was chained by the neck with an iron chain as thick as an arm, the other end fastened to a post.

The metal gleamed in the lamplight, cold and unyielding. It looked like something out of a nightmare.

Her clothes were tattered, her hair a mess, her face covered in bloody scars.

Her teeth were yellow and black from eating rotten meat. She kept snapping at the man in front of her.

But the chain was too short—she was always just a few inches away.

She was human—the only living person in the entire town.

The man in front of Emily was a preacher, not wearing robes, but rough khaki work clothes.

He looked like he’d just come in from mending fences or digging a grave, not performing a ritual. There was a quiet strength about him, the kind you see in men who’ve spent their lives working the land.

He sat cross-legged on the ground, softly chanting something, probably scripture, but I couldn’t make it out.

His voice was steady, a low hum that seemed to vibrate in the air. It wasn’t any hymn I recognized, but the cadence was soothing.

As if sensing something, he looked back at me and nodded.

I squeezed through the crowd and walked up to the preacher.

He stood up, gave me a nod, then looked into my eyes. “You a believer?”

His accent was pure Appalachian—gentle but unwavering. I caught the lilt, felt the challenge in his gaze, but it wasn’t unkind. I hesitated for just a second, caught off guard by the warmth in his voice.

I smiled. “Used to be.”

“And now?”

“Still am.”

He blinked. “The folks I know don’t talk like that.”

“Well, I lost my power.” I waved my hand. “Which church are you from?”

“No church, just a wandering preacher.”

He looked at me, I looked at him—the feelings in our eyes were different, but the meaning was the same.

We both knew what it was to be an outsider, to carry burdens no one else could see.

This guy in front of me didn’t seem very reliable. Something about his easy smile made me keep my guard up.

“It’s fine, you continue.”

I wasn’t picky about the ground, so I sat down beside the preacher. He calmed himself and continued chanting.

The more he chanted, the more irritable Emily became. I couldn’t blame her. After a while, even I felt annoyed—it was just too much.

The words droned on and on, blending into the night sounds—crickets, distant thunder, the soft shuffling of ghostly feet. I fought the urge to doze off.

Just as I yawned for the seventh time, he finally finished.

“How should I address you, friend?”

“Sam Foster. And you?”

“This humble preacher’s name is Reverend Miles.”

I nodded.

“This preacher’s faith is lacking. Friend, would you like to try?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I have no power. Try for what?”

He smiled and said nothing.

“Preacher, can I ask, what were you saying to Emily just now?”

Miles didn’t expect me to ask, but still explained.

“For her to find peace, to escape her suffering.”

“And?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s it?” I widened my eyes. “So you nagged for so long, just to say that one sentence?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Geez, my mentor always looked down on preachers, said you exorcise ghosts by nagging them. Turns out it’s true. You just talk the ghost into peace?”

Miles wasn’t angry. “We perform deliverance. You exorcists banish spirits, directly destroying them. It’s fast, yes, but it upsets the balance.” I felt a prickle of annoyance—there was a real difference between us, and he wasn’t shy about it.

I looked at Emily, who had been nagged into dark circles, feeling a bit sorry for her. “How many days have you been at this?”

“Three days.”

“Three days? How many days do you plan to go on?”

“Seven…”

“Seven days?”

“Forty-nine days.”

“Come on, even a good person would lose their mind from your nagging.” I pointed at Emily. “She’s human, can’t you see?”

“I can.”

I was worried the preacher was bluffing me. “Then can you see where the ghosts are?”

“I can.”

“Tell me.”

Miles’s lips didn’t move, but his voice was exceptionally clear in my ear: “In the whole town, except her, all are ghosts.”

He whispered straight into my mind!

This preacher’s got skills!

I put away my contempt. “Since you know everything, why are you preaching to a living person?”

“Because the root cause still lies with her.”

After speaking, Miles tipped his hat to Emily, then me. “Friend, I’ll rest now. If you have a way to resolve this, you’ll have my respect. I’m staying in the old house at the top of the hill. You can come to me if needed.”

The preacher left, but the townsfolk didn’t disperse.

After all, there was still me. They wanted to see if I had any real skills.

Actually, I understood their thoughts. They didn’t really care about saving Emily—they just wanted to see me wave a cross, ring bells, burn sage, and sprinkle holy water.