The Spectral Agent is my first full-length novel and an experiment. We are independent creators, publishing chapter by chapter as a podcast and text. It’s designed to be heard. We’d love to receive your feedback so we can tell stories better.
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⚠️ Content Warning: This chapter contains scenes with gunfire, hallucinations, paranormal activity, and death.
Viktor reaches out to his coworker, Zoe, to get information about someone who recently died. The details lead him to think that the case feels off.
He investigates an old crime scene, hoping for clarity, but instead finds an ordinary object that triggers disturbing sensations. Curiosity gets the better of him, and a surreal moment challenges everything he believes about what’s real. By the end of the night, he’s no longer alone.
Chapter 3
“Zoe? I need some help,” I said to my colleague over the phone. I was sitting at home the next morning.
“What kind of help? You know I’m at work right now…”
She replied, kind of annoyed.
“I need you to find a file for me,” I spoke quickly and efficiently. “Have you heard of a man called Chai anywhere?”
“Vik-tor…”
She replied hesitantly, slightly sighing.
“Aren’t you on leave? You shouldn’t be thinking of this stuff right now. Get some rest.”
“It’s important,” I cut through her unease with my words. “This is about uncovering the truth.”
“Ah, yes, your unsatisfied quench for justice, right?”
She sarcastically remarked. I was not impressed, “Zoe, you’re the only one I know who can retrieve this information. Just look into it for me. Please?”
“Fine. But this is the only time I’m doing you a favor like this.”
After we hung up, I had nothing to do. So, I made some coffee and opened the psychology book I had been reading. My mind wandered. A mix of psychological theory, my own mental state, and Olivia's murder.
A chime sang out from the corner. Huh, what time was it? I went to my desk and opened my laptop. Zoe emailed me some information. I sat at the desk to look over the details.
Chai Saetang. The name leapt off the page. His death was tied to a botched robbery that succeeded despite his dying. It was technically an accident, but it also wasn’t without purpose. So, I was right, his death wasn’t normal.
I continued clicking through what Zoe had found for me, reading through every seemingly minuscule detail. A gang. A robbery. A dockyard. A death. Each sentence felt like a piece of a puzzle, of a greater story.
The more I read, the more questions I had. If this was just a random case, why did it feel like it was connected to the crow—to Olivia?
I leaned back in my chair, trying to sort through my thoughts. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a whisper echoed faintly—They went... over there... I didn’t know what it meant yet, but I was going to find out. I decided to go to the scene of the crime.
✹✹✹
The air hung thick with salt and oil, carrying the distant sound of foghorns. Waves lapped against the concrete walls that lined the shore. The dockyard stretched out, inhabited by stacks of rusted shipping containers looming like the skeletons of industrial decay.
The scene of Chai Saetang’s death. This place didn’t just feel haunted. It felt like death itself had sunk its claws into the ground and refused to let go.
If my hallucinations led me to clues in the past, maybe they could lead me to more now. My breath clouded in the cold air as I moved forward, my flashlight sweeping across the rusted edges of the containers and the debris-strewn ground.
The more I ventured into the dockyard, the more I felt like I didn’t belong here. Like this was a place that a cop would never go to other than to investigate a crime scene. I guess that’s what I was doing, though, just in my own way. Why did I have to come here at night?
The outlines of a crime scene long since abandoned were still visible. Bullet holes marred the side of one shipping container, clustered and erratic, telling the story of a chaotic firefight. A scorch mark near a half-crushed barrel hinted at a fuel explosion, while dark stains on the ground spoke the tale of lives violently ended.
I crouched down, deeply observing the area. “Chai,” I whispered, calling out to the idea of him. Then I saw it. Near the edge of a crate, something glinted faintly—though it was half buried in the dirt.
I reached out and picked it up and wiped away the grime. It looked like a necklace pendant—a cross made of black metal, simple yet large. The moment my bare fingers closed around it, a feeling grew over me that couldn’t be shaken.
◦◦◦
The world around me seemed to grow darker. I heard screaming and the sound of gunfire. The sounds were loud and covered with a layer of noise. It felt so distant, yet it also seemed like the people were screaming directly into my ears.
◦◦◦
I stumbled back, clutching the pendant tightly. The weight of the place seemed to grow unbearable. Was I imagining this, too? Just as suddenly as it started, the sensation stopped. I was alone again, the dockyard silent except for the continued white noise of lapping waves.
I didn’t know what else to do, so I put the pendant into my pocket and made my way home.
✹✹✹
I didn’t even bother turning on the overhead lights when I got to my apartment. The lamp in the corner of the room was enough for me to navigate the small, cluttered space.
I pulled the pendant out of my pocket and placed it on the nightstand next to my bed. It looked out of place there, its black sheen absorbing the faint light. I stared at it for a long moment before giving in to my curiosity.
The screaming from before was unpleasant, but maybe this time the pendant could lead me to more secrets. I pressed my hand against the smooth surface. Nothing.
I picked it up and held it tightly. The sound of static over a radio crept into the back of my mind. It sounded like talking, but I couldn't make out any words.
It reminded me of my father's old radio. He would often make me hold the antenna to boost the signal. Sometimes I'd stand there for what seemed like forever while he listened to the play-by-play announcers of some sports broadcast.
Perhaps there was a way to tune in to the signal of the pendant better. I tried twisting it. Nothing. I touched it to different parts of my body to no effect. The moment I touched it to my forehead, the world shifted again. But this time, it was more intense, more real.
◦◦◦
The room seemed to collapse in on itself, the walls folding into darkness. A figure emerged from the void, illuminated by a faint, ghostly glow.
It was of a tall man, with a muscular build and a cocky smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The apparition’s hair was wild, one side shaved, the other curling around the face like a wet mop, and a full sleeve of tattoos adorned one arm.
I had seen this man before when I met the woman on the bench in the park—the woman the red crow led me to.
The figure's clothes were the same as the ones I’d seen in the photos on her phone and in police records. Its outfit consisted of a tattered off-white tank top and baggy sweatpants. A necklace ducked below the tank top, where the faint outline of a large black cross showed through.
“Guess it’s time we finally met,” said the apparition, its voice low and rough, tinged with something that sounded like pain. I stumbled back, hitting the edge of the bed and falling to sit on it. I jerked my hand down to catch my fall. As soon as my hand and the pendant left my head, the apparition vanished.
Out of all of my hallucinations, this was the most realistic-looking one I had ever seen. They rarely talked. I sat for a minute, dumbfounded. Something in me compelled me to speak back. I raised the pendant back to my forehead so I could see the apparition.
“Who... who are you?” I said, half to myself.
“Chai,” it said simply, crossing its arms.
“The guy who died at that dockyard. The guy who’s been stuck in your head ever since—since you found Olivia dead.”
My mouth went dry. Why would just a hallucination be this detailed and this related to what I have been investigating? “What do you mean by that?” I managed to speak.
It gestured vaguely, pointing its finger at my head as its form flickered slightly like an old television.
“I don’t know how it works, okay? I died, and instead of moving on, I ended up here. With you. All I know is I can’t leave.”
The shock of pain and noise buzzing in my head when I touched Olivia's body came back to me. Was this the cause of it? “This—this thing, it can’t be real,” I muttered under my breath.
“Hey, it’s not nice to call a man a thing—unless he wanted to be called that, of course. Which I don’t.”
It, or should I say he, spoke. I can’t believe this. How was I supposed to? If he was real or not, he seemed to know information that I didn’t, so I asked him a question. “The dockyard, what happened to you there?”
“A... setup?”
His smirk faded, replaced by a haunted look.
“The old man sent me on a job to steal something from a rival gang. Just another mission, right? Except the rival gang knew we were coming.
Someone tipped them off. Turned the whole place into a slaughterhouse. I wasn’t even supposed to be there, you know? I was just the lock-picker. Just the guy opening the door. And then… bang! Gone.”
I felt a lump in my throat. This wasn’t a hallucination—wasn’t a trick of the mind. This was real. He was a... ghost? Either way, he was here, talking to me. “And now you’re… stuck with me.”
“Guess so...”
Chai said, shrugging as if it didn’t bother him. But his eyes betrayed him. There was anger there, sadness, and something deeper I couldn’t quite name.
“My life was finally coming around. I had a job. Sure, it was for a gang, but it was work and money. It was better than my so-called acting career was going, and then...
But hey, this isn’t all bad. You’re looking into the same people who killed me. Maybe we can help each other.”
I stared at him, my mind racing. This wasn’t just about Olivia’s death anymore. This was bigger, darker—more dangerous than I’d realized. Now, I had a ghost in my head, and neither of us had any idea of how he got there.
I bolted off the bed. "Wait a minute! I haven't been hallucinating. The crow... that was you."
"Took you long enough. I was flapping around, and you would never pay attention. For an aspiring detective, you're quite oblivious."
I sat back down on my bed. A heavy weight had pushed me down. But not a real one, it was an emotional one. One that was stronger than any other blockade I’d met before.
“Why me?” I asked.
“I don’t know, I told you. But now we’re stuck with each other.”
Continue to Chapter 4.
