The Long Island Anti-Medium
or, Ectogasm
"Hey guys, it's on again." The thin one stood in front of the glowing television with the remote in his hand, grinning like the devil inside him. What had become their favorite TV show was playing its opening narration and background theme.
"I'm Janna Diana, the self-descr5ibed 'Long Island Anti-Medium'." A pause. The scenes cut, showing a busty, plump brunette woman in night vision, traipsing through various locales with a team of people and camera crew. There were shouts and awestruck phrases scattered behind the music and the narration. She kept talking. "I've always been a sucker for a good ghost story, and I have set foot in some of the most haunted places in the world." Scenes flashed across the screen, along with her sultry, husky voice declaring names- Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, Mary King's Close, the Lizzie Borden House, and more. "I believe in the presence of spirits and the supernatural- and people close to me have had experiences. Here's the thing, though."
The thin one watched hungrily as the others stepped up next to him, similarly mfascinated by the figure on their television. One tall and broad, the other taller but petitely built. This was their favorite part of the opening:
"I have never had an otherworldly encounter."
That's right, this ghost hunter's bit was that she herself had absolutely no sensitivity to the supernatural world, even when people standing right next to her did.
"I might walk into a room and feel something's wrong, but I don't feel the cold spots. I don't see or hear the dead. No spectral hand has ever touched me, and I have never witnessed the passing of a ghostly figure. It doesn't matter how bad you might want something if you're the opposite of a channeler. I have traveled across the world to see if I can be touched by a spirit, and have yet to disprove my theory that I am immune to undead influence."
All of this carefully presented and framed, of course, to emphasize the entire premise. Janna Diana was the opposite of a skeptic, but she also purported to block spirits, and maybe even expel them.
The three had found this amusing even before they made their deal. There were so many ghost-hunting shows, but none of them ever claimed to drive away the subjects they sought, and almost all of them wanted to present evidence to convince their audiences that hauntings were real. Janna Diana may not have been intending to debunk the existence of a paranormal world, but she sure did approach her quest with a blunt honesty that gave her moderate stardom more weight.
"Still, I can only speak for me. It's up to you, watching these travelogues, what to make of the events I present for yourselves."
The three chuckled when the intro finished. The episode was a repeat- the Catacombs of Paris- but they simply enjoyed watching her plead with haunts and entities to make contact, right alongside accompanying friends and guest psychics who were getting that contact. It was a curious thing. Janna herself had tons of equipment, as did her team, but she herself never scored EVPs, and results from her scanners, readers, or cameras, were minimal at best. She never even had much luck with the spirit box, despite her own crew getting incredible stuff through it minutes before or after.
In some episodes you could see Janna's frustration, but she played it comically, and always provided the historical facts surrounding each locale she explored. The formula of the episodes remained the same: Janna introduced the location, traveled to it with her crew, met up with guides, hosts, witnesses, and/or local mediums to do interviews and get information before the lockdown happened. After that began, it was Janna and her partner investigators as well as their camera crew.
In all four seasons of the show, anyone who accompanied Janna on her excursions had had at least one personal experience or encounter- except Janna herself.
"We've got to get her here," the bulky, large, imposing one with the long wild hair (and the axe in his hand) said, lip curled up. "Test out this supposed 'immunity' to spirits and prove to her completely that she's right."
His friends laughed.
"She wants to be touched by an otherworldly presence?" The grizzled, thin, wizened one with the feral madness in his eyes smirked, flexing his long fingers as though the very bones itched. "I'll touch every fucking part of her."
"Inside and out," added the final man. He was the sleek, deathly beautiful one, as seductive as all fabled predators of dark legend were. "She won't keep that impenetrability long. Not when we pour ourselves into her and give her the same gifts we took."
"Won't it destroy our favorite show?" Their dark-headed compatriot snickered.
"Will it matter when the show is in our hands and crushed beneath us every night?" The brute retorted, licking his lips, catching the light off the TV with the head of his axe. His brothers laughed again, harder this time.
"Maybe, but I guess it all depends on how real she's being on the screen," his beauteousness answered, voice dripping with venom and charm. "These shows can be very manufactured, you know."
"A chance we'll have to take. The hapless little hostess of this slice of reality television has been far too interesting for her own good."
"It's time, guys," said their blond god, tossing his radiant locks. "The deadline is coming close, and we need to know if she'll be able to handle her destiny with us." He waved his hand to the mantle above their fireplace, where a jeweler's bust took center stage, displaying a necklace. One composed of multiple strands of tarnished silver chain, with sparkling if small precious stones (rubies or garnet) plus beadwork interspersed tastefully throughout, and a cameo pendant hung in the center. It was a rather morbid cameo (from its original time) of a skeleton's bust, an elaborately coiffed updo perched on the skull and further detailed with withered flowers. An elaborate necklace dating even further back than the one sitting on the mantelpiece was engraved on the bare bones. The cameo itself was skillfully carved of ivory, set on black velvet.
The three men had found it- or were given it- in the mine nearly five months ago. A sign, they thought; especially after buying the property more than two years prior, and the fateful night they first stumbled into the old shaft. It started as just an interesting investment. Buy up the lands underneath an old ghost town and create an attraction. People loved shit like that. Tourists would flock to the area and they could make easy money. Hell, when they bought the dusty old relic, abandoned mines were a given. It was Fayette County, West Virginia for fuck's sake.
None of them expected the old, sunken-in, half-buried mineshaft right at the edge of the two acres they had reserved for themselves, where an old farmhouse that could be renovated and preserved still stood. Nevertheless, they found it. They also found what was inside, what waited for them there.
And they made a deal.
