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John Watson had it easy. At least he played second fiddle to someone with an intellect. What do I get? An American. And not the most intelligent one at that.

Oh, but where are my manners? I haven’t introduced myself yet.

My name is Johnny Toast. You may have heard of me? I was on TV a while ago, flogging my book on paranormal investigation. That’s my job, you see. Paranormal Investigator Extraordinaire.

Trust me, it pays a lot better than you think. Not that I actually need to get paid. If anything, I’m paying everyone else. I was the one who set up the business, I taught him the ropes. I don’t know why he’s the one complaining that I’m the fan favourite, when he’s the one whose name always comes first. Of course, I can afford it. But it is frustrating, not getting the recognition despite doing twice the amount of work as the other guy.

It’s the people that get you down. The first thing that was said to me when I came back to America was “Do you know the Queen?” I just say “Yes, I’m her grandson.”

Everything that’s happened recently just seems to be a blur. First the McDonalds burnt down and I got arrested (and that imbecile Fred “Spooker” Acachalla took over my place. Honestly, that guy hasn’t the first clue about Paranormal Investigation. I’ll bet anything he didn’t read my book.), then Johnny Ghost busted me out and we had to hold the headquarters from the police (Several times, Johnny kept using the time machine, or so I’m told. And where did everyone get this idea that I’m a macaroni dealer?), just recently, I got attacked by a werewolf. I think I’m alright now. I hope. To tell you the truth, I can’t really remember.

And the worst part is, I think I’m starting to become one of them.

The Americans.

My accent is slowly changing. I haven’t had a cup of tea in 3 months, I haven’t shaved in 6. My stomach is becoming more pronounced.

And according to my partner, I drag up really convincingly. That’s what scared me the most.

That really has nothing to do with Americans, but I digress.

It’s ironic, isn’t it? I’m supposed to be a fearless ghost hunter and I’m scared. Not of the ghosts, but of myself. What I’m becoming.

You see, that’s why you should never eat the local food.

What happened to my life? When I started this business, I was barely out of my teens and married. I’m in my 30’s now. And a widower.

That’s nearly 10 years of my life gone. Not to mention the rest of Mary’s.

And you wonder why I drink. That’s not even half of the story! My family neglected me, I was bullied mercilessly at school.

I never understood how all my other siblings could afford places like Oxford, Eton, Harvard, Cambridge… What did I get? North Carolina Elementary.

And any time I would get a shadow of a glimmer an ounce of happiness, some inexplicably cruel and unusual twist of fate would rip it away from me.

So anyway, my partner. His name is Johnny Ghost, which is not a coincidence. Again, that’s another story.

Johnny Ghost. What can I say about him? Tall, lean, brooding. Has an unaccountable fear of birds. Always looks worried about something. Comes up with these insane, confusing and nonsensical theories that more often than not turn out to be correct.

Oh yeah, and his split personality is also a knife-wielding sociopath.


Don’t worry, he’s much better now. In fact, we haven’t had a Jimmy Casket encounter for… Oh, it must be about… I’m not sure, but it seems a long time. I’m always worried that he’ll resurface sometime soon, but recently he seems to have subsided. I hope this time for good.

But I’ll be ready if he should ever rear his head again. I have to.

I promised.

There was never just one.

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