“It’s oh-thirty-one. I’m in the library at the Dead End Inn just outside of Bleu Falls, where I’m hoping to make contact with whoever still exists in this place. The artificial lights are off, but the fire gives off a good glow I’m hoping is comfortable and familiar for any entities from the past.”

“Wow, you got a gift,” said a familiar voice from the door.

Rob swung his camera around so fast to point at Edward, he nearly dropped it. Nearly shat himself, too, with shock, but then, over his few years with the SIPS he’d learned to mask most of his startles.

“What?” hissed Rob.

“You can definitely sell it. Your monologues must be why your group’s popular online.”

As Rob gaped at him, Edward grinned and hefted up his own camera.

“Came to scope this room out. Saw some activity on the upstairs camera.”

As if waiting for Edward to mention it, the walkie-talkie Rob had went off. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him the Ghoul Me Once group also would have placed a camera in the library.

“You shut off the library footage?” asked Chris, annoyed, but with an underlying tinge of hope that Rob hadn’t.

“Nah. I think there’s something here, though.”

“Oh, that was me, my bad,” said Edward, although his tone was unapologetic.

“What?” hissed Rob again.

“Oh, you know, a bit of friendly competition,” said Edward, shrugging. “I switched your camera off. Sad, really. You missed out on Ned proof from earlier, when he was talking with the happy couple.”

“You got proof --?!”

“Oh, yeah. He’s hazy, but he’s there.”

“You turned off --” began Rob, pissed. He stepped directly up to Edward, who reacted too calmly, too confidently.

“Like I said. Friendly competition.”

“It’s not friendly if you turn our equipment off!”

“Can you please turn the camera back on?” asked Chris. His voice crackled over the walkie-talkie. “And tell the asshole hands off our property.”

“You heard,” said Rob. He made sure to frown at Edward’s smarmy grin. “Hands off SIPS equipment. We’re not stopping you from gathering evidence.”

“That’s courteous of you.” Edward seemed to ignore Rob, panning around with his own camera, taking readings with his EMF device.

Irritated, Rob moved to their camera in the corner near a window, turning it back on.

“Better,” said Chris.

“Ned,” said Rob, hoping to elicit some response before Edward did, “or whoever you are ... I know we’ve disturbed this area a lot recently ... But can you give us any kind of sign you’re here?”

“Seconded,” said Edward, panning his own camera around. “We’d love to connect with you. Any sign, anything at all you can give.”

In the pause where they waited, Rob felt strange. This was not like previous investigations, and it was entirely because of Edward’s presence. It was odd -- had Edward been on his team, he’d think things were going well, that they’d established a decent back-and-forth when it came to the ghost, the petty bickering aside. Yet Edward was also a rival, sabotaging their setup, trying to take as much proof for his group as he could.

Ned -- or whoever the ghost was -- decided he wasn’t petty enough to avoid them despite everything, and gave them golden proof. Not thirty seconds after Edward spoke, something thudded to the carpet covered hardwood.

“Hear that?” asked Rob as Edward spun his camera around and muttered, “Hell, yeah!”

The noise had come from a book, forcibly ejected from one of the shelves. It was, however, to Rob’s disappointment, a cookbook. His disappointment evaporated again when he inched closer and the pages started moving like someone was turning them, faster and faster.

“You getting this?” he asked. For a moment he and Edward weren’t rivals at all, but two people sharing an intense experience.

“Fuck yeah.” Edward leaned closer, so that he was nearly bumping up against Rob as they both recorded. “Ned…what are you telling us?”

The pages stopped turning. Rob leaned over the book, peering at what it had been opened to.

“Simple Everyday Waffles?”

He was so surprised by the recipe he glanced at Edward. For once, the man seemed caught off guard. He blinked at the cookbook, and when he turned to look at Rob, he actually seemed confused.

“Did the guy choke to death on a waffle?” asked Edward.

Rob smirked at him, enjoying turning the tables, being the one in the know for once.

“He’s messing with us. Dane told you he’s mischievous, right?”

“Yeah ...”

Rob felt the chill in the air behind him an instant before the voice spoke.

“Cockwaffle.”