It started as all bad days due at the worlds most haunted hotel, and that was with yet another so called skeptic - whom swore up and down that he would be able to spend the entire night in the worlds most haunted hotel suite without experiencing a single paranormal event – having a psychotic break; thereby forcing the worlds most overworked hotel manager into having to call emergency services yet again. Which would mean another call to their families. families who would want monetary compensation. which was really starting to get on the manager’s nerves. after all, what did they expect? it wasn’t like they didn’t know what they were getting into. The fact that the suite had demons wasn’t once hidden, in fact, it was promoted, it wasn’t their fault that the skeptics didn’t believe them. Hell, everyone who requested that room was forced to sign a waiver, a aiver that laid everything out in black-and-white. They were literally told that the chances of them having a mental breakdown was near guaranteed and still they came.

Idiots.

Jolene Howard, a woman of slim build and red hair, stormed into her managerial office once she had seen the latest ambulance off. Immediately going towards her complementary liquor cabinet. It had come with the job. And grab the first bottle her gaze landed upon. it was whiskey. Forgoing the glass, she turned to her desk and pulled out the overly comfortable computer chair,and heavily sat down upon it with an equally as heavy sigh. Opening the bottle, she took a swig before addressing the empty room.

“ OK you little bastards, you can come out now.”

Nothing happened.

Jolene took another swig, her fingers tapping against the desk as she waited patiently. Not so patiently. Only managing another 20 seconds of silence before slamming her bottle down and getting to her feet once more. Resting her hands a top of the desk, she leaned forward and repeated in a stern voice boardering on a growl.

“ Get. Out. Here. Now.” another moment past.

Then, almost sheepishly - if you could call puffs of smoke sheepish - approximately a dozen puffs of said smoke began to manifest in a small cluster before her desk. The smoke quickly vanishing after it appeared, revealing in its wake, approximately a dozen bashful looking imps. Each of the little hell spawns either holding a pitchfork or a skull maraca- since when did they have musical instruments? - and wearing clothes. that ranged from tattered Togas to equally as tattered loincloths. All except for one, the leader, whom wore a sensible pair of khakis and a blood red polo shirt.

it was him that Jolene focused on.

“ What happened, Reginald?”

Reginald’s gaze darted away, yellow eyes focused on anything and everything that wasn’t the angry redhead in front of him. Tapping his fingers together nervously, his jaw worked in silent contemplation before his mouth opened and he attempted to answer.

jolene cut him off with a raised hand.

“ Wait, wait, wait. There’s meant to be 13 of you and I’m only counting 12…”

Reginald gave an anxious squeak, his hands wringing together even more furiously as he shifted from foot to foot. Taking another deep breath, he tried to speak again.

And again, the redhead cut him off.

“ Stephen! That’s whose missing! Where is Steven?”

It was with those words that the world’s most overworked hotel manager Came to an abrupt realization and froze. Taking a cleansing breath, jolene barely managed to grit out through clenched teeth.

“ Please tell me, that Stephen isn’t possessing that poor man.“

Reginald looked away.

Fuck! She had to call the local exorcists now too.

Today sucked.