November 13, 2025
10:00 PM CST

Jack Harrow stood in the dimly lit town accountant’s office, eyes fixed on the book before him. His hands trembled, despite the years spent hunting restless spirits and tormenting ghosts with his haunted gear. But this wasn’t just any ledger. This was something darker.

The ledger was blackened at the edges, scorched as if it had been forged in Hell itself. And as he opened it, the pages seemed to shift in the dim light, the ink twisting like snakes before settling into legible form—always in red. Each page was filled with names: people he knew, people he had helped, and names he could’ve sworn he’d never seen before.

Then, the final page.

His own name. Jack Harrow.

He froze. The ink burned brighter. His debt.

A cold laugh echoed from behind him.

“Not a fan of paperwork, are you, Harrow?” The voice was smooth, too smooth, like oil sliding over glass.

Jack spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for the iron charms at his belt. But it was too late. The man who stood before him didn’t need them.

The man was dressed in an immaculate suit, the sort of thing you’d see in a bad 1950s horror film. His eyes glowed faintly red, and his grin revealed far too many teeth.

“I’m Mr. Crill,” the man said, tipping his fedora with a mock bow. “I’m here to do some accounting for you.” He snapped his fingers, and the ledger floated toward him.

Jack felt a chill run down his spine. “You’re a—”

“An auditor. Infernal, of course,” Mr. Crill interrupted, flicking through the pages. “We’ve been watching you for a while now, Harrow. Seems like you’ve been a busy boy. Ghost hunter. Debt collector. But it all comes due.” He smiled, the teeth too sharp. “It’s time to balance the books.”

Jack swallowed hard. “I’ve got no debt to pay.”

Mr. Crill chuckled darkly. “Oh, you’ve got more than you think. See, that’s the beauty of this ledger—it shows things you can’t see. Things you don’t remember.”

The ledger slammed shut with an audible thud, as if to underline Crill’s words.

Jack took a step back. He wasn’t a stranger to the supernatural. He’d dealt with vengeful spirits, cursed objects, and even the occasional demon. But a debt—a moral debt? That was a new one.

“I don’t remember anything,” Jack muttered. “I’ve settled every score.”

“Oh, have you now?” Mr. Crill’s smile widened. “Let’s see if your ledger agrees.”

Crill snapped his fingers again, and the book levitated into the air. The pages began to flip rapidly, faster than Jack could follow. The names blurred. But one name caught his eye: Sarah Moore.

The room seemed to dim, the shadows stretching unnaturally as Jack’s heart sank. He knew her. He owed her.

“She’s dead,” Jack rasped, his throat dry. “It was an accident. I couldn’t have—”

“Is that how you remember it?” Crill’s voice was like velvet, soothing but cold. “Tell me, Harrow, how do you feel about missteps? Or convenient forgetfulness?”

Jack’s breath quickened. His mind raced, flashing back to the incident. Sarah had died in a storm years ago, and he had failed to save her. But had he tried? Had he done everything he could?

“Enough with the games,” Jack growled, reaching for his phone. “I’ll call Rook. He’ll help me—”

“I’m afraid your call won’t go through.” Mr. Crill raised an eyebrow, snapping his fingers once more. The phone in Jack’s hand dissolved into smoke, leaving only a faint, sulfurous scent.

Jack cursed under his breath. He needed to think, and fast. He had faced many things—wraiths, banshees, even trolls—but this was different. He didn’t know the rules. Didn’t know how to fight back.

But he knew one thing: Mr. Crill wasn’t alone.

Rook had been a spirit—once. Now, he wasn’t quite a ghost, not quite human. He was… something in between. A former demon, Rook had swapped his chains for better tailoring, but his loyalty? Questionable.

He appeared in Jack’s vision like a faded memory, standing just outside the door with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“Took you long enough,” Rook said with a lazy grin. “He’s got you good, doesn’t he?”

“Rook,” Jack muttered, his voice tight with frustration. “I need your help.”

“Fine, fine,” Rook replied, unfazed. He stepped forward, eyes glowing with a faint blue light. “You’ve got yourself tangled up in corporate hell, buddy. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill haunt. This is a contractual issue. Legal loopholes and all that jazz. You know, the kind that makes Hell’s lawyers laugh.”

Jack gritted his teeth. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we need to find a way to break the contract,” Rook explained, eyes scanning the ledger. “Or stall. That’ll work too. You have any experience with legal loopholes?”

“Legal loopholes?” Jack repeated in disbelief. “I’m a ghost hunter, not a lawyer.”

“Well, get ready,” Rook said, smirking. “You’re about to learn how to outsmart the Devil’s finest auditor.”

The next few hours were a blur of frantic scribbling, reading ancient texts, and digging through long-forgotten papers. But when Mr. Crill returned, his confident smile faltered for the first time. Jack had found the loophole—a clause buried deep in the Infernal Code that allowed a temporary delay in judgment.

“I’ll need time,” Jack said, standing firm.

“Time?” Mr. Crill sneered. “You think you can buy time with some ancient paper trail? You think Hell doesn’t have entire departments dedicated to loopholes?”

Jack didn’t flinch. “I’ll take my chances.”

Crill’s eyes flickered with something between anger and amusement. “Very well. You’ve bought yourself some time. But don’t think this is over.” He turned to leave, but then paused. “Just remember: debt never disappears. It only grows.”

As Crill disappeared into the night, Rook turned to Jack with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, that was fun. But you know this won’t be the last time we hear from him.”

Jack nodded grimly. “I know.”