Contrary to popular belief
When you have a spirit-based emergency
You don't call Ghostbusters.
You call Azrael and Daniel Barton
These two may have... interesting... techniques
But they're effective
Daniel Barton was tired. He’d always been quite a night owl, and he’d been told time and time again to get out of the habit of staying up until three in the morning and waking before nine. And he’d tried before, of course---once he’d gone to bed at eleven thirty and was wide awake by one, then up for another two and a half hours. In truth it did make him relatively lethargic in early afternoon, and thus, made him careless in what he might be doing at the moment. Now, though, it was relatively early. He left the house he shared with his brother and stretched his back a bit as he went down the way to the sidewalk. Before passing the gate, he paused and pulled a small set of clippers from his pocket, leaning into the red rose bush he himself had planted a few years before. Curiously, even in the dead of winter it always had at least one healthy-looking bloom on it. Cutting it at the bottom of its stem, he hung the clippers on the gate as he left the shaded yard and got onto the just-as-shaded sidewalk.
Large shade trees were planted down the street both ways, offering a burst of bright green life to what would otherwise have been a boring, similar town landscape. With his rose in hand, Daniel walked left. Not far away from the shady residential street was a wide open field, mostly taken up by a very old cemetery. One would probably find it odd that a couple of paranormal investigators would live so close to a place of death, but they did. Well, it was easier on Daniel’s brother than on him---Daniel was the one who could specifically see spirits, hear them, feel them, and almost feel as though they weren’t dead. But they always gave off that same cool sense of loss, as though there were an open window behind them and cold air were drifting in gradually to a very warm room.
Crossing the street, Daniel made it to the old, rather mossy brick wall separating the dead from the living. He had to walk a while more, but as the drooping willow trees became thinner, a break in the stone appeared, closed by an iron gate. He pushed it open and stepped inside, closing it after him and walking down the now-cobblestone walkway. The place looked very old, the trees here tall and thick, sometimes covered in moss or small white mushrooms. He got off the pathway and onto the dry, springy green grass, and passed a few smaller headstones to one in the shape of a cross. It was old, the etched writing worn away. He crouched, then sat on the grass. “Promised I’d visit.” He muttered, brushing his almost-white blonde hair out of the way of his glasses before setting the rose on the small patch of dirt at the base of the cross stone. “I always keep my promises, don’t I?” He chuckled, knowing he’d get no answer. The man buried there had already passed on to the other world, but Daniel had promised to visit his long-forgotten grave at least once.