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Moana surveyed the house. It looked pretty normal for these parts - unnecessarily large and ostentatious. And, alledgedly, haunted.
"You know, most 'hauntings' are caused by technical issues," she informed the owner, some CEO or another, who raised a brow.
"You're awfully skeptical for a ghost hunter," he commented. Moana shrugged with just a little condescension.
"I'd hate to waste everyone's time over some bad wiring."
The CEO gritted his teeth.
"Just get in there and do your thing," he ordered. Moana shouldered her pack.
"Alright, alright, I'm going," she patronized, "If I don't make it back out, don't bother looking, just move."
One of these days, I'm going to have to not come back, she thought. Do it somewhere with squatters' rights, and bam, I'll have a house.
Moana pushed open the front door, which swung open silently. Decent house maintenance, nice. Made it easier to put on a good show.
The lights were off, the central air silent. The curtains were open, at least. So many houses were left in the most haunted-looking condition possible for no reason.
A quick sweep of the front rooms found only faint traces of energy, the sort that even a dead ant could leave. Really, ants just didn't know when to quit. They were on Moana's "do not engage" list.
Moving towards the back, the sparks became more frequent. Moana hummed. Maybe they'd had a rat problem.
She opened the door to the kitchen. She closed the door to the kitchen.
"Every time," she muttered, rubbing her dazzled eyes. "Every. Single. Time."
The entire kitchen had been tracked back over dozens of times, until the stainless steel shone with ghostly light. The effect was similar to shining a spotlight in a hall of mirrors, for those who could see the energy.
Moana sighed. A staticky breeze ran over her shoulders. Her head shot up.
"Hello?" Moana called.
No response. Alright. Gonna do this the hard way, then.
The ghost had already moved out of sight, probably sneaking through the walls or ceiling. Moana took a deep breath and let herself just sense for a second. Her gut feeling pointed her upstairs.
The back stairs - because this place had multiple sets of stairs - were tracked in a neat little footstep pattern, like the ghost enjoyed prancing up the steps. Which, fair. A lot of ghosts were little kids who weren't ready to let go.
Moana crept warily up the stairs. Nothing creaked or clicked, which was odd. Most ghosts who could would set up atmospheric pranks like that, either because of pop culture or genuine strategic thinking. So this probably wasn't her usual ghost. Fun.
The upstairs was dark, the windows covered. A cool breeze ran through the hall. Moana shivered involuntarily.
The plush carpet glowed softly with the traces of a thousand steps, offering no easily followed trail. But to the south, an office door stood ajar. Of course. What else did she expect in a rich house like this?
Moana peeked into the office. The books had been pawed through, the drawers inspected. Moana had no idea how she was going to explain this to the homeowner without looking suspicious as hell. The office, however, did appear to be currently unoccupied, so she withdrew. Immediately, she was bowled over.
Ghostly static engulfed her in an instant, wrapping her in fuzzy laughter as the hall lights flashed madly. There was a hum and a whoosh as the air conditioner kicked on at full blast, and a shattering that was probably a lightbulb breaking. It took a few bone-shaking moments for her usual ghost to pull herself into a more distinct shape, perched on top of Moana's prone form like Hei Hei.
"This guy is really blackmailable :D I have pictures, we're gonna get so much money from this ;)"
Loto then bounced down the hall, fuzzing in and out of form. Moana, still shackled by this mortal coil, rose more slowly.
"Don't wreck the electrical too much, okay?" she reminded her partner in Samoan. "I still need money that isn't laundered for food and gas."
The shimmering bob of sort of-there curls was just as reassuring after eleven months of this scam than it had been at the beginning, which was not very. The "oh boy >:D time to fuck shit up, WITH SCIENCE" laugh pretty much negated any confidence Moana had in not getting billed for damage. She sighed and pulled out the flash gun.
"Time for the show," she called. There was a click as the security cameras flickered back on, then Loto's best mad scientist laugh echoed through the house. A lightbulb burst above Moana, and she dove for the side of the hall.
"And that's why I have the leather jacket," she muttered. Louder, she called out, "Hey, kea bird, try not to kill me!"
"It's just some lightbulbs!" Loto shouted back playfully. Moana rolled her eyes and moved to follow.
"Every single time, I swear." She raised her voice. "You're going to be the beautiful death of me!"
"I'll keep you here!"
"That's really not all that ethical," Moana pointed out, flicking a curtain away from the wall to look behind it. Loto's next comment came from right behind her.
"Petty mortal concerns, ay?"
Moana swung around.
"Fuck- you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days!"
Already, Loto was merrily darting down another hall.
"Do you think that's how I died? Cardiac arrest?"
"I'm telling you, you discovered cave gas with a torch," Moana teased, running after. Loto suddenly cut to the side, through a wall, and then the lights were pulsing rhythmically.
"Walking epilepsy trigger!"
"Earn your pay!"
There it is. Moana flicked on the flash gun. Playtime was over for her.