He couldn’t describe it. Maybe it was becoming an addiction, this ghost hunting thing. Every cell in his body came alive on an investigation. His blood thrived on the adrenaline rush it produced, pumping through his body and seeping out of his pores with his sweat. The fight was a part of it. The drive. The hunger. He was starved for it. He began to crave it; thirst for it. Every lockdown, as they got closer and closer to the investigation site, his nerves lit on fire.
Addiction seemed like an appropriate word. Ghosts became his drug of choice. Investigations were the vessel through which they were delivered. His body ached for it. Living with the past in his home wasn’t enough sometimes. Other times it was too much. Too much. Maybe there was something that had nested in his soul; connected too much with him that drug him along and forced him into dangerous situations, screaming out at spirits he knew he couldn’t control. But that was half the fun of it, wasn’t it?
Now, though, they had been on hiatus and he couldn’t take it anymore. His soul was starved. His body needed that adrenaline rush, that momentary feeling of invincibility and danger. Instead, he would go to the strip and walk around. Or just walk anywhere. He needed to get out, find something to entertain himself so he didn’t start twitching like a crack addict. If he stayed home, those that he had brought with him from previous investigations started talking, their voices getting louder as the days dragged on, begging him, enticing him, wanting him to open up to let them in.
Some days the offer seemed interesting. Other days, he remembered what had happened before and where it got him now. Alone.He hated being alone when he felt this starved for the hunt. The temptation was there along with the means. He needed someone to pull him back, keep from achieving and reaching for his drug. But it itched. The dreams became more vivid the longer the hiatus took. The calls from the other side came through crystal clear in his mind. He wanted to give in. He wanted to go and meet them where they stood, but that would be the point of no return. And that would not be a good time to be alone.
Hunger. Maybe that was the best way to describe it. It was a simple need that could be satisfied the same way. Just a taste. Listening to old EVP or watching previous episodes sometimes could quench the initial rumbling, but eventually he needed to indulge. He needed to find that sweet spot that he could go and just experience. But he knew better. It was dangerous to satisfy the hunger each time it came. It would just come back stronger and fiercer, the voices louder, the need almost unbearable. That’s what scared him. That one day when he would no longer be able to satisfy it. Maybe that’s when he would finally be able to taste it himself… Sweet death, to live with those whom he hunted.