Cameras record it. Alarms announce it. We make the intruder leave, quickly, with nothing they didn’t bring. Three families of haunting, a specialist for nearly every building, and the Empty-Handed Guarantee on all of it. Pay in souls, gold, or favors. Dollars accepted, reluctantly.
Three ways in, and a specialist for nearly every kind of building. Find yours below.
Guards the liquor and the cash drawer, the two things thieves actually want.
Watches the used cooking oil bin all night. Stolen oil is a real crime, and almost nobody guards against it.
A cold spot beside the medication fridge, exactly as cold as the fridge and no colder.
Asks every intruder for a hall pass. Most adults still freeze when asked where they are supposed to be.
A specialist for every aisle, who notices the moment their own inventory goes missing.
At 3 a.m. the carts roll into the corral in a line. Loud enough to draw attention to loiterers, tidy enough to save a shift.
Waits at the dock after the last truck leaves and makes the empty bay feel occupied. Pallets are easy to take from a dock that is not watching, and hard to take from one that is.
Erases the strategy diagram you forgot on the wall.
Haunts alongside the cleaning crew and watches the doors they prop open. Never the star of the night shift: the crew is.
One ghost, four buildings, one shared cost. All buildings must be reachable without crossing a bridge.
A spectral dog on the fence line that barks for nine hours without pausing for breath.
Drifts over the rows after dark, minds the equipment shed and the farm stand, and keeps the crows honest.
Shushes anyone after hours. People who have been shushed whisper, and whispers are very easy to hear.
Enforces the posted closing time to the minute. Nobody has ever stayed.
A troll covers the far side of any bridge and meets the Horseman at a lantern. Coverage is continuous.
Real businesses, real mornings, plain reports.
I get a report at eight every morning. Most days it says nothing happened. Some days it says a man left in a hurry. I keep both in a folder.
The carts used to end up in the creek. Now they end up in the corral. I asked what changed and was told not to look into it. I haven’t.
The copper stopped disappearing and the lamp stays on. I leave tea on the back table. It is always cold by morning, which I take as thanks.
Every service on this page was designed by the person who performs it. The Proprietor signs the contracts and approves the lantern budget. The rest is the team.
Abigail CraneDirector of Operations
