Chapter 4: Dirt on the Bedroom Floor

“You mean, she crawled out of the grave? Even came home and lay beside you for a night?”

I tried to keep my tone even, but it’s not every day you hear something like that, even in my line of work. The cold wind outside rattled the tent walls, and I found myself glancing at the door, half-expecting a chill to creep in behind her story.

As he recalled this, Derek’s forehead was beaded with sweat, his eyes still full of fear.

I slid a box of tissues across the table. His hands shook so hard he almost missed it. Even after all this time, trauma like his can break a man down to his bones.

“Yes... I know it sounds insane, but when I ran out, I saw the floor was covered in dirt.”

He rubbed his hands together, as if trying to scrub away the memory. There was a wild look in his eyes, the kind I’d seen in war vets and folks who’d lost everything in a fire.

As things got weirder and weirder, Derek realized the people he’d hired before were useless. So after finding me, he resorted to this last measure—using Lillian’s birth details to have her fortune read.

He said he’d spent nights combing forums, scrolling through Reddit threads and late-night Facebook groups, until my name came up. At that point, he was willing to try anything.

He also said that after that night, he’d found three more mediums to read Lillian’s fortune—some said good things, some said bad.

There’s a whole cottage industry of psychics willing to tell you whatever you want to hear. But none of them picked up on the truth that was gnawing at Derek’s conscience.

But none of them realized Lillian was already dead.

That part made my stomach tighten. No real reader should have missed it. Maybe they just wanted his money—or maybe they were too scared to dig any deeper.

“Sir, you really know your stuff. Please forgive my earlier behavior. Can you tell me what I should do now?”

His voice cracked, the weight of hope and fear pressing down on every word. He looked at me like a drowning man reaching for a rope.

I tapped the table lightly, signaling him to calm down. Although Derek’s earlier actions were disrespectful, he was truly in deep trouble.

I made a show of taking a breath, letting the air settle. Grandpa always said, "Never match a client’s panic—give them your steadiness." Derek needed that right now.

Then I understood why his features were so contradictory. Fate had led him to me today—I was here to help him survive this ordeal.

I remembered Grandpa’s words: "Sometimes the dead come knocking to remind the living there’s still work to do." I resolved then and there that I’d see this through, no matter how strange it got.

“After you ran out, what happened to Lillian’s body?”

I tried to keep my tone gentle. No need to spook him further, but I needed to know everything.

Derek replied, “I never dared to go back, nor did I dare to talk about it. After all, my family owns a business; if word got out, it’d be a disaster.”

His hands twisted the ring on his finger, his knuckles white. Small-town gossip travels faster than wildfire—he wasn’t wrong to be afraid. But secrets like his can rot a man from the inside out.

I nodded, thought for a moment, and decided to go to his house and take a look.

The only way to solve a haunting is to face it head-on. I was ready. I’d packed my kit for less, and besides, something in Derek’s story rang true.

“Sir, should I... go too?”

He sounded about twelve years old in that moment, voice thin and scared.

“You have to come. If you stay with me, you’ll be safest.”

I leveled my gaze, making it clear that he wasn’t getting out of this easy. Some things you can’t run from.

Derek was extremely reluctant to return. He was terrified of seeing that ruined, half-plaster face of Lillian again.

He tried to argue, but I stood my ground. Sometimes, the only way out is through. I promised I’d be there every step of the way.

After I guaranteed his safety, Derek finally made up his mind.

He let out a long, shaky sigh and squared his shoulders, like a man walking to the gallows. “All right,” he said. “I trust you.”

“Then I’ll have to rely on you, sir.”

He hesitated, then looked me in the eyes, silent as a prayer. That kind of trust is hard to come by, and I didn’t take it lightly.

He pushed a credit card toward me, saying it was a deposit, and there’d be a generous reward once everything was resolved.

The card glinted under the neon lights. For a second, I pictured my empty fridge, the overdue bills stacked on my kitchen counter. But some rules, you don’t break. Normally, I’d jump at an offer like that. But I remembered the rule—never take money from someone with one foot in the grave.

I knew he wouldn’t be stingy, but I pushed the card back—not because I didn’t want it, but because his fate was still uncertain.

“Let’s wait until you’re safe,” I said softly. “That’s what matters right now.”