The Bremen Ghost Hunter

Richard didn’t have a very distinct personality. He was basically just an amalgamation of paranormal investigation documentary presenters. He absorbed these affectations through late night TV programs, and then regurgitated them enthusiastically. People rarely leave an impression on Richard, especially if they don’t know what an EMF meter is.

Today he was being evicted from his council house apartment. He was being evicted simply for being himself. A note attached to his door read, ‘Advance eviction notice to the resident of apartment 12a. The council has decided to no longer house tenants who identify as nondescript life forms.’

“I guess that’s it” he said to himself. “I suppose I’ll head on over to Bremen and try my luck there. I’ll finally get to check out Bremen’s legendary haunted house”. Picking up the July issue of Ghost Hunters Monthly to brush up on the details and mentally prepare himself he set off.

Blobbing out of his apartment building Richard started off toward Bremen. With a gurgle and a plop he puffed himself up, this was the beginning of his grand adventure. Into his diary camera he gave himself a stirring introduction, “Ladies and gentlemen welcome to The Corporeal, and Real, Anomalies Program. I am your host, the amorphously handsome, Richard G. Lobulous from the swamps of Tapioca”.

“Legend tells of a house behind a Bremen railway station. A house so terrifying its skewed awning and sunken roof are the bane of builder’s spirit levels. Its cruel angles drive geometry classes and architects raving mad. Shrubs do not dare grow there. Weeds grow upside down for fear of being seen in its presence. The house is said to be plagued by four foul creatures. Four monstrosities whose wails float heavily on the air as a song of death, and signal the twelve o’clock train to Bremen city centre” Richard continued to address the camera, occasionally looking around to check he wasn’t about to blob into a streetlight. He was excited to record hours of white noise, film empty rooms in infrared, and ponce about with an inflated sense of intellect.

Ever since he emerged from the simmering swamp pools of Tapioca as a mere blobling Richard struggled to fit in. Not to fit in to clothes, he knew that was never going to happen, but rather to integrate into human society. He found companionship in television and film characters. He looked to them for the answers to all his problems. He trusted celebrities over and above all else.

Richard oozed along the railway tracks; with each squirm forward his limbs swept back and forth flinging globules of gelatine in all directions.

“Oh look a spineless pudding, who are you supposed to be then?” came a voice from the side of the tracks. Richard squidged himself to the left and saw a bone lying on the ground. “Yeah that’s me ya big jelly” the voice said.

“Remarkable,” Richard said to the camera, “an actual bone. Sometimes remains are a way of opening communication with the other side”. Addressing the air he said, “Hello, is there a ghost around, can you hear me? My name is Richard”.

“Why are you talking like that”, replied the bone, “of course I can bloody hear you, I’m right here. I might be highly calcified but you don’t have to enunciate every word like a total prat.”

“I was a hunting dog, but I got minced by a train in 1982. I met up some other old souls and formed a band … ” the bone was laboriously explaining.

Richard couldn’t believe it, his meniscus was tingling. “Viewers if I had hair it would be standing on end. I can definitely hear a kind of breathing noise. I’m going to take this bone back to the lab for forensic examination.” Richard popped the bone in his bum bag and fastened the strap tightly around his middle, which created a gloopy muffin top that folded over and joined with the blubbery mound underneath it.

Up ahead was the train station. Richard had been slimeing along for what felt like hours now. When he reached the haunted house he could barely look at it. Such acute angles offended his fluidic sensibilities. Strewn around the yard were piles of hay and kitty litter. Pulling out some ridiculous looking specimen jars Richard took samples of both.

At that moment two shapes rose up out of the ground in front of Richard. A large spectral donkey and a smaller, yet no less spectral, cat. The donkey stepped right up to Richard and whispered in his ear region, “What are you doing loitering on my property with such corpulent viscosity?”

Pointing the camera at his gormless face Richard said, “Wow the electromagnetic field analyser just registered a blip, which is definitely an indication of a ghost in the vicinity”. The two ghosts looked at each other and shrugged. “Is this guy two cups short of a puddle or what?” said the cat. After trying to get Richards attention for a few minutes they both gave up and went inside.

The door opened with an impressively long creak. This was due to Richard’s rotund nature causing the door to bounce off him several times. Once he was inside the door creaked its way shut again, revealing a rooster standing behind it. The rooster had obviously died from being roasted into a delicious meal for some lucky vagrants. It stood there plucked and without its red comb, which might have explained why it was so mad.

Cradled in one of Richards globular appendages was a small device which ‘measured EVPs’. He was insufferably explaining to his imaginary audience—with the enthusiasm of a coked up talk show host—how it was “capable of measuring electronic voice phenomena as low as 20 decibels”.

The rooster walked up to Richard, who was fiddling with his various gadgets, and said, “Has anyone ever told you that you have the charisma of a fetid bubo, and the intelligence of a nematode?”

“Whoa did you hear that viewers? It sounded like footsteps approaching up the hallway”.

The rooster slapped the bum bag off Richard’s waist and wrenched the front door from its hinges.

As Richard slipped over on an uncharacteristically grippy piece of floating floor, he dropped his bumbag and was aghast as the door broke, seemingly from old age. And then his bravado was finally shattered as he experienced an unexplained change in temperature. Richard frantically fled the haunted house, all the while filming his daring exploits—and the trail of ooze he left—however, there was no footage of the bowel defiling cause for his fear.

Now finding himself homelessand subsisting on any ectoplasm he finds lying around the streets of BremenRichard G. Lobulous had no choice but to seek shelter with his comrades in the paranormal investigation community.

The Ghost Investigation Tribunal of Bremen welcomed Richard and his ‘wealth of evidence’ with open arms and quickly went about producing him his very own television show.

Meanwhile the ghosts of the donkey, rooster, dog, and cat had to move house due to the influx of people—inspired by Richards show—invading their sitting room and waving around gadgets.


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