Ash sat on the worn bench in the town square, his notepad resting untouched on his lap. The dullness of this forgotten town hung thick in the air, like a fog refusing to lift. He tapped his pen against his knee, watching life move at an agonizingly slow pace a stray dog sniffing lazily at an overturned trash can, a vendor arguing over two cents, and the distant hum of a farmer's tractor.
"Big scoop, my foot," Ash muttered under his breath. "This place couldn't generate a headline if it tried."
He was about to leave when a loud commotion pulled his attention to the fountain at the center of the square.
"You're insane!" a woman shrieked, waving a broom at a man who stumbled backward with his arms flailing.
"No, no, no! You don't understand!" the man yelled, holding up a strange, blinking contraption. His disheveled hair looked like it hadn't seen a comb in years, and his shirt was partially tucked into mismatched pants.
"This area is a paranormal hotspot! I'm here to help!" the man proclaimed, but the villagers weren't buying it.
Ash raised an eyebrow, watching the drama unfold. A tomato flew through the air and splattered against the man's chest.
"Really?" the man muttered, looking down at the mess. "That's just rude. This is my only shirt without holes."
Ash suppressed a smirk, leaning back on the bench. At least something entertaining was happening.
The man, seeing no sympathy from the mob, darted toward Ash and dropped onto the bench beside him. He clutched his contraption tightly, panting.
"Hey," the man said between gasps, "you look sensible. Tell me you believe in ghosts."
Ash turned to him, his expression flat. "No."
The man groaned, running a hand through his already chaotic hair. "Figures. You're the type, aren't you? Serious, skeptical, too cool for the supernatural. Let me guess you're a journalist or something."
Ash's eyes narrowed. "How did you.."
"Journalist vibes," the man interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm Hugo, paranormal expert and misunderstood genius." He stuck out a hand, sticky with tomato juice.
Ash didn't take it. "Ash Bennett. Journalist. And no, I don't believe in ghosts, paranormal 'experts,' or anything you're selling."
Hugo grinned, as if Ash's rejection were a personal challenge. "Oh, we'll see about that. You're sitting in one of the most haunted towns in the country, my friend. And I have proof."
Ash snorted. "Your proof got you chased out of town square by a woman with a broom."
"Small-minded people fear what they don't understand," Hugo said dramatically, standing up and brushing off his pants. "But you? You're different. I can tell. You're curious. You're skeptical. And that's why I need you on my team."
Ash stood as well, grabbing his notepad. "I work alone, thanks. Good luck with your...whatever this is."
Hugo blocked his path, holding up his contraption. "Wait! Hear me out. The graveyard just outside this town? There's something happening there. Something big. You help me investigate, and I guarantee you'll have a story that'll blow this whole town wide open."
Ash crossed his arms, unimpressed. "And if there's nothing there?"
Hugo shrugged. "Then you can write your article about the crazy ghost guy and how he's wasting everyone's time. Win-win."
For a moment, Ash considered it. Hugo was ridiculous, but his mention of the graveyard picked Ash's curiosity. Then again, partnering with someone this...d didn't sit well with him.
"No thanks," Ash said finally, stepping around him. "I don't chase fairy tales."
Hugo's grin didn't falter. "Suit yourself. But when I uncover the truth and become the most famous ghost hunter in history, don't say I didn't warn you!"
Ash didn't respond, already walking away. Hugo turned in the opposite direction, whistling a tuneless melody as he disappeared into the crowd.
They went their separate ways, unaware that their paths would cross again.