shanmonster | The Mysterious Case of the Missing Psychic

So I'm working at the Monkey's Paw on Wednesday night as usual, just putting away a few books and stuff, and it's almost closing time, and in walks this old guy. Not to judge or anything, but he really doesn't look like the sort of guy who just wanders into an occult shop. He's wearing a suit that looks about as old as him, and probably has a higher polyester count than a Malaysian sweat shop. He's kinda balding, his tie has a bit of ketchup on it, and he walks in with a look of resigned determination: you know, the same sort of look you might have when you go to the dental hygienist.

"Merry meet," I say, because that's what the Wiccans expect, and though it sounds pretty weird, it's not gonna confuse anyone who frequents this sort of store. He looks a bit thrown, though, but maybe it's just because my shirt has a lot of safety pins in it. I may have gone a bit overboard this morning. I bought a whole package of safety pins at the dollar store and spent my entire English class pinning them to my shirt just so, until they looked like a Lovecraftian Elder Sign. It's pretty wicked, if I do say so, myself.

Anyhow, Lotus sashays into the room with her jingly coin scarf and she greets him by name. Then they start talking about psychics.

Now, I love Lotus, love her to death, but in my expert opinion, psychics aren't her area, if you know what I mean. She's more about Kirlian cameras, and the life and times of famous occultists, and all sorts of fascinating occult trivia. But I don't think she could tell the difference between a real psychic and a fake one, unless their cold reading went something like, "I see someone important to you with a vowel in their name...."

So yeah. This guy, who's name is Frank Brooks, is trying to find a good psychic. And before I can make a useful suggestion, Lotus goes and recommends Lady Judith, the channel 52 charlatan. Frank may as well spend all his per minute cash on a peep show for all the use Lady Judith is gonna do him, but I'm good. I keep my mouth shut, and hope my rolling eyes don't make too much noise. The way I figure, Lotus must have an arrangement with Lady Judith or something. Maybe she gets a bit of a commission or something. I wouldn't know for sure; I'm not psychic. Yet. Give me time, though, and I'm sure I'll sharpen up those powers of clairvoyance which are lying in wait.

Ends up Frank is a detective. A bona fide PI, just like on tv. I never met one before. He's a bit of a disappointment. I don't see him carrying a gun or anything. I thought all PIs carried guns. In all the oldie movies, PIs wear fedoras. He isn't wearing a fedora. He doesn't even have a soup-strainer moustache. I feel let down, but I manage to refrain from calling him a dick (that's what people call detectives, right?).

Frank is investigating an old case. He says it's not that interesting, but he's wrong. It's about an old-time psychic who went missing way back before colour tv or antibiotics were invented: 1989. It all happened when Ambrose Grant, the famous Chicago psychic, fell off a yacht and vanished. He was discovered floating in Lake Michigan a few days later, alive but paralyzed. He was admitted to a psychiatric hospital, and some time later, he just up and vanished. Poof.

This story seems anything but boring to me. Famous psychic, mysterious yachting accident, loony bin, and then a paralyzed man vanishes. How is that uninteresting?

Anyway, Frank leaves with Lady Judith's number in hand, and I decide to start researching shit on my own. I try to find everything I can about Ambrose Grant. I find out a bunch of stuff, but none of it seems very useful. He studied theatre in Fordham University back in the stone age, and was in a musical in the 70s. I go looking for his house because I think maybe I can take a Kirlian camera and get some spirit photos if he's dead and haunting the place, but there are just a bunch of cookie-cutter condos in that spot now.

I phone up Norman Laramie, but he's on full crackpot mode today and tries telling me that Ambrose Grant up and disappeared to become David Copperfield, because real psychics don't age. I'm a bit skeptical. I could be wrong, of course, but I just don't see psychics as on par with the Count of St. Germain. Who knows, though? Maybe the freaking Fountain of Youth is somewhere near Chicago. It must be in Gary. Yeah, that's right. :P

So then I start looking up information about psychics who've gone missing after a stay in hospital, and I find a few across America, but can't figure out any sort of pattern to it at all. I don't get much more useful information about searching for paralytics who go missing, either.

I research Frank Brooks, next. He used to be a cop, once upon a time, then got an honourable discharge after a few demerits for insubordination. He comes up pretty clean on a search. He wasn't involved in any sort of lurid scandals or anything.

After a week or so, I finally stop researching this stuff and working on my homework for a change. I'm totally bombing English, so I've gotta study sometime, you know? As if I'll ever need to know the difference between a predicate and a suffix. Pfft. Whatever.

Back at the Monkey's Paw on another Wednesday night, Frank comes back in around closing time again, and this time he asks me for [i]good[/i] books on psychics. I take pity on him and hand him the two actual decent books on the topic and ring them in. And then he starts futzing around with his laptop, and that's when I score myself a second part-time job. The poor guy is in way over his head. His stupid little Windows box has its arteries clogged with all sorts of viruses, and I don't think he's ever cleaned the fan on the thing. Poor little laptop was a huffing and a puffing like the Big Bad Wolf.

I start work at his office that next night. I go in and start fixing up the computers at his office. It's a big job. No one seems to know how to use directories, and when I suggest they trash their Windows in exchange for Linux, I just get blank looks. Le sigh.

Ah well. It's a job, right? Gotta fund my esoteric occult addiction somehow!