io9 is proud to current fiction from LIGHTSPEED MAGAZINE. Once a month, we characteristic a narrative from LIGHTSPEED’s present difficulty. This month’s choice is “Bhatia, P.I.” by Shiv Ramdas. You can learn the story beneath or listen to the podcast on our web site. Enjoy!

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Bhatia, P.I.

It’s a couple of minutes earlier than seven on a chilly October night and I’m simply reaching into the underside drawer of my desk for the Old Monk and my well-thumbed copy of The Big Sleep once I hear footsteps hurrying up the steps. A brand new case, needs to be. I sigh, give the drawer a regretful look and shut it once more. I sit up, awaiting the knock. It by no means comes. Instead the door swings open, slamming into the wall, sending plaster chips flying all over the place. Then I see her standing within the doorway.

You can inform lots a few shopper by taking a look at them. How they stroll, speak, gown, all of it tells you one thing. Like how a lot you may cost. The girl on my threshold is silver-haired and brief. Typical West Delhi aunty, the type who calls for her son depart work to play driver when she goes vegetable procuring after which spends an hour negotiating a one rupee low cost on peas. Somehow she’s bought previous my secretary. I make a psychological be aware to have a phrase with Sandhya later. Back to the girl in my doorway, she’s sporting a pastel-pink salwar-kameez, fake-gold earrings, and an unpleasant frown. The kind of look I’m all too conversant in. A badge on her kameez spells out her title.

I rise to my ft. “Mrs. Bhatia, I presume.”

“You presume? I’m your mother, you good for nothing lout! Have you applied for a job yet?”

“But Ma, this is my job!”

“No it isn’t, Zorawar! A job pays. In money. Not promises or silly advertising posters. ‘No case too small,’ it seems. What a clichéd line. Almost as stupid as paying for silly business cards that don’t make sense.”

“It’s not my fault they misprinted my cards! I’m using them anyway, aren’t I?”

“You’d better. I’m not paying for you to print new ones. Did you apply for jobs or not? I’m telling you, if you don’t start paying me rent by the end of the week, you can go find another place to stay, understand?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“I could be renting this flat for so much money!”

“Flat? It’s a one room studio with no bathroom.”

She glares at me. “It’s a great location!”

“In Vikaspuri?”

“Well, it has a great view. People pay a lot for view.”

“It has one window. That overlooks a slaughterhouse.”

“Suresh at Mother Dairy said he knows someone who’ll give me 5000 rupees a month for it. If you don’t give me at least that much by the end of the week, I’m telling him he can have it. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“Good. I’ve had about enough of you pretending to be a private investigator or whatever up here.”

I sit up and repair her in a glance that’s hopefully each chilly and harm. Curt.

“I’ve told you so many times, I’m not a private investigator, ma, I’m a paranormal investigator. Bhatia, PI.”

“You’re a pain in my backside is what you are. Paranormal it seems. Abnormal, more like it.”

She cackles, happy at her personal wit. “Worse than abnormal. What a disappointment you have turned out to be. With such great expectations your dear departed father and I called you Zorawar, thinking you too will do great things like that general from history, instead you have fully wasted your name, thoo.”

“I’m telling you Ma, once word gets out, my services will be in demand. It’s going to be the next big thing. I’ll be the pioneer in the industry.”

“Oho, what a great pioneer. Go explore some other place then. And why is Sandhya here? I pay her to cook for me, not waste her time playacting with you.”

“She’s already finished her cooking for the day. And she’s my secretary.”

“Secretary? Do you even pay her?”

“I do, as a matter of fact. She’s an equal partner in the firm. Fifty percent of all earnings.”

“So, nothing?”

“Well, actually, what happened was—”

“For the past three months you’ve been squatting here pretending to be some hotshot detective, but enough is enough. Have you even had one person hire your services?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“Other than that fellow who came here by accident thinking you were a real estate agent?”

I look coldly at her. “I’ll get you your rent by the end of the week.”

“5000 rupees.”

“I’m not paying 5000 for this. 3000.”

“3500.”

“Are you a mother or a slum lord?”

“Are you a son or a cabbage?”

We stare at one another for a protracted minute. Finally, I nod, eyes suitably lowered. She’s bought me.

“Fine, 3500.”

She emits a happy grunt. Or possibly it’s a snarl, it’s laborious to inform the distinction when your thoughts is consumed with monetary worries. She turns to depart, then stops. “Oh, and throw away that stupid detective novel. That’s what’s putting all this kachra in your head.”

I draw myself up very straight, mustering what dignity I’ve left. “I’m not discussing my taste in literature with you,” I say. “You’ll have your rent by Sunday.”

She appears laborious at me for a second. “Sunday, Zorawar.”

And with that, lastly, mercifully, she’s gone, though I can hear her yelling at Sandhya downstairs about not encouraging foolishness.

I stroll over to the door and slam it. It swings again open. I slam it once more. It opens as soon as extra. Now I see {that a} hinge is busted—it gained’t shut, prefer it’s mocking me too.

I disregard the insubordinate door and return to my desk. I attain into the drawer, grabbing the Old Monk and a glass. I pour myself a peg, knock it again, feeling the welcome burn of low cost rum. With a look on the door in case she’s returned, I defiantly attain for my copy of The Big Sleep. Then I pour one other peg.

I’m elevating the glass to my lips once I hear the knock and see Sandhya poking her head in, her thick black hair oiled and pulled neatly again right into a plait, a pair of vivid inquisitive eyes taking a look at me from above a mouth which as at all times, has the trace of a smile about it, as if its wearer is perpetually on the verge of amusement. I beckon her in; she doesn’t transfer.

I flip again to look glumly at my drink. “You heard all that? This is it, Sandhu. We’re pretty much fu—”

“Yes, I know we’re full up, sir.”

“Full? Full of sadness, that’s what. No, what I meant to say was we’re fu—”

She clears her throat loudly, interrupting me once more.

“We can discuss scheduling later, Mister Bhatia.”

Something’s off. Emphasis aside, she by no means calls me mister. I flip to her once more, and as I do, she steps again to offer me a very good take a look at the person standing behind her.

“We have a new client, sir.”

It takes all my self-control to not rush over and provides her a high-five.

“Ah, yes, of course,” I stammer, rapidly propping the e book in opposition to my glass, hopefully obscuring it from view.

Sandhya leads the person in. He’s tall, slim, fifty-something, with a nervous face solely partially hidden by his neat goatee. He’s sporting an impeccable hand-tailored swimsuit. Hand-tailored, thoughts you, and I don’t imply by a type of masterjis with the transportable stitching machines down by the Metro station both. As he strides ahead, snakeskin sneakers leaving a path of footprints on the dusty flooring, he glances at a gold watch. Definitely not from Vikaspuri.

“Have a seat,” I say in what’s hopefully an informal tone, waving a hand on the plastic backyard chair on the opposite facet of the desk.

He appears at it distastefully. “I think I’ll stand.”

“Of course, of course.”

“You are Mr. Bhatia, I take it?”

“Yes, yes, the one and only. Well, not only, I was reading an article in the Times of India today that says Bhatia is the third most common surname in Delhi, but I’m the only one here.”

I chuckle. He doesn’t. This isn’t going in addition to I’d deliberate.

“Here, have my card,” I say, handing him one. He appears at it, his brow scrunching up like spinach wilting in a tawa.

“Isn’t there just one N in the word investigator?”

“A misprint,” I say rapidly. “Never mind, you can just keep the card. And what can I do for you today, Mr—?”

“Duggal. Amit Duggal. And I’m not sure if I’m actually in the right place-”

Thankfully, Sandhya takes cost. “Of course you are, Mr. Duggal. Now don’t be shy. If you came all the way here, it’s because you have a problem, and a serious one. As paranormal investigators, we’re the last resort, and our clients know this. As do you, Mr. Duggal. How did you hear about us anyway?”

“I saw a poster. No case too small, it said.”

I file away a triumphant glare to throw at Ma later. Meanwhile, Sandhya’s nonetheless speaking to him. “. . . and I can promise you, if anyone can aid you, it’s Mr. Bhatia here. It’s what he’s best at, helping people.”

She’s even stated it with a straight face. What a marvel this girl is. And she isn’t finished but.

“But we can’t help you if you won’t let us, can we, Mr. Duggal? Now, just stand over here, like so, and I’m going to sit here, and write down everything you tell Mr. Bhatia, OK? Don’t worry, everything you say is strictly confidential.”

The man sighs and wipes his brow with a elaborate lace handkerchief. I look at Sandhya, who gestures in direction of Mr. Duggal along with her eyes.

“Yes, tell me,” I say.

He sighs once more. “It’s my son.”

“Yes, what about him?”

He shakes his head. “It started about two weeks ago. And it’s been getting worse ever since. My wife is beside herself with grief.”

“What’s getting worse?” I ask.

He wipes his forehead once more. He’s really sweating, I realise. In October. He leans down over the desk, eyes locked on mine. When he speaks he’s whispering so softly I can barely hear him.

“Mr. Bhatia, do you have any experience dealing with possession cases?”

I wave a nonchalant hand. “Oh yes, many times. The trick is to never admit it’s yours and then unless they can prove—”

“I think Mr. Duggal is referring to demonic possession,” says Sandhya rapidly.

I cease and take a look at Mr. Duggal. “What? Are you sure it’s demonic possession?”

“Of course I’m sure!” he snaps at me. “He rages, he screams, he blasphemes, he uses the foulest language at us, his own parents!”

“How old is your son?”

“Nineteen.”

“Well, it could just be typical teenage behaviour.”

“Could a typical teenager levitate? Or pick up a grand piano and throw it on a roof three stories up?”

I ponder the query. “Well, not a typical teenager,” I admit. “How did this begin? Tell me everything you can remember.”

“We thought he was just acting out, but it got worse and worse. We called in doctors, specialists, psychiatrists, nutritionists, everyone we could. None of them could do anything. But once I discovered the truth it all made sense.”

There’s a heavy silence within the room.

“We can’t even stay at our own house anymore. We’re desperate, Mr. Bhatia. Can you help us?”

Before I can reply, Sandhya does. “Of course we can! This is what we do, Duggal saab.”

“So you’ll take the case?”

“Certainly we will,” says Sandhya, glancing at me. My flip.

“Yes, yes, certainly, certainly,” I say, sporting my finest welcoming smile.

He appears like he’s about to cry in aid, however recovers himself.

“Excellent. Follow me, please.”

“It’s like Sandhya said, this is what we—wait, you mean now?”

“Of course. My car is outside.”

I blink. There’s one thing about the way in which Mr Duggal’s been speaking, like this isn’t the kind of simple job I’d envisaged. I shoot a nervous take a look at Sandhya however she’s already following him down the steps. With some reluctance, so do I.

We descend the steps in single file, as a result of they’re too slender for the rest. Right earlier than we attain the underside, Sandhya turns to face me, beaming, and flashes a triumphant thumbs-up signal. I don’t return it, I’m too busy recalling what Duggal stated about chucking pianos onto roofs. I can really feel some kind of obstruction in my throat.

“Hold on,” I name out. “I just remembered something.”

I scamper again upstairs, head straight to the desk and knock again the deserted drink.

A minute later I’m again outdoors, the place a uniformed driver is opening the door of a luxurious automotive. I get in, having fun with the texture of plush leather-based in opposition to my again. Quite the welcome change from my plastic chair. Then I realise there’s another person within the automotive, a tall, stately girl, wearing a chiffon sari.

“This is my wife Noor,” says Mr. Duggal. “Noor, this is Mr. Bhatia and his secretary, Sandhya. They’re ghosthunters.” He arms her my card. Her face assumes a well-recognized disapproving expression as she reads it.

“Investigator is spelt with only one N.”

“A minor printing error,” I begin to say, after which realise I’m speaking by gritted enamel. Sandhya as soon as once more leaps in to fill the breach. I depart her to it and, for the umpteenth time, make a psychological checklist of all of the issues I wish to do to Sapna Printing Press.

“Where to, sir?” asks the chauffeur.

“Home. The Aurangzeb Road house, Nitin. Fast as you can.”

I whistle. Aurangzeb Road. We’re in some high-flying firm. As we drive, I flip to the Duggals.

“When did you realise your son was possessed?”

Mr. Duggal sighs. “We didn’t, not for a long time. Until my son fought off the beast long enough to send my wife a message from his phone.”

“May I see it?”

Mrs. Duggal appears at me, reaches into her purse and pulls out a cellphone. She hits a number of buttons and arms it to me.

“Poor baby! He fought the demon long enough to send me this. My Monty’s still in there, I just know it.”

I take the cellphone and begin studying.

“No more doctors. Find an exorcist. Please.”

“GO FUCKING DIE YOU OLD HAG”

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t me. Please help. It’s getting worse.”

“YOURE UGLY!!!!”

“I’m getting weaker. Hurry! Please!”

That’s it. I hand the cellphone again.

“Well?” says Mr. Duggal.

“It clearly appears to be written by two authors. You’re right, he’s fighting it. What happened next?”

“I did what it asked,” says Mrs. Duggal. “I called in the family priest to look at Monty and he told us our son had been possessed by a demon.”

Mr. Duggal interjects. “Then Panditji went back into the room and never came out. We never saw him again. When we sent Nitin to the temple looking for him, his wife said he hadn’t been back.”

I gulp once more, glancing out the window. The automotive is choosing up velocity.

“Then I screwed up my courage and went upstairs to Monty’s room. And do you know what I saw, Mr. Bhatia?”

“Tell us,” says Sandhya. I shoot her a glance however she ignores it. She’s really having fun with this.

“Blood. The pandit’s blood. Everywhere.”

I make a high-pitched, involuntary squeaking sound, and switch to the window as soon as extra. We’re on the freeway now, and the automotive’s transferring too quick for me to leap out. Plus, the doorways are locked. We draw alongside one other automotive, a blue sedan. I lean in opposition to my window and stare hopefully on the sedan driver, a kind-looking aged gentleman. He turns to face me. Our eyes meet.

“Help me,” I mouth.

He appears sadly at me for a second, then provides me the center finger as we overtake him.

The automotive retains going, quicker and quicker. And I’m trapped in it.

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It’s over two hours later after we pull up in entrance of the big iron gates on Delhi’s most costly avenue. I’m so sick of the site visitors by now, I’d virtually fairly face this demon. While we make our approach down a winding, paved drive to the large white home, I work on our exit speech. The Duggals lead us up the portico stairs to a big entrance door. Its designer had not lacked diligence, judging by the intricate nature of the hideous coat of arms in its centre. As a of completion, the not-so-original motto of “Together Forever” was emblazoned beneath. I flip away from the nightmarish door, eyes squeezed shut, however once I open them once more, it’s nonetheless there.

Mrs. Duggal notices me staring. “Oh, you like it?” she says proudly. “We designed it ourselves. We’re in the real estate business, you know, so we really understand these things. You’ve heard of Amit’s company, I’m sure. Duggal Enterprises? We do all the best work. You like the design?”

“Very nice,” I hear myself say weakly.

Mr. Duggal unlocks the door with a big key. He reaches to push it open, then hesitates. I don’t blame him, I wouldn’t wish to contact that door both.

As he does, from someplace in the home, a low howling sound resonates. I soar, and once I return to earth, I see each the Duggals trying shaken.

“Your dog?”

“No,” says Mr. Duggal. “We don’t have a dog.”

“Wolf?” I counsel hopefully. They shake their heads.

“We don’t have any pets,” says Mrs. Duggal. She factors up on the second flooring. “It’s coming from Monty’s room.”

“I see.” And I do, as a result of so far as I’m involved that just about settles it. I take a look at Mr. Duggal.

“Look, sir, there’s been a mistake.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You see, I’m not sure we can take this case.”

“You have to take it! Save my son! I’ll pay whatever you want. How much do you want, anyway? Ten lakhs? Twenty? It’s yours!”

“No, the thing is we’re—did you say twenty lakhs?”

“Not enough? Twenty-five then.”

“I am at your service, sir,” I say, bowing with a flourish. “Don’t you worry, we’ll be—”

I’m interrupted by a high-pitched shriek.

“Maybe we should take it from here,” says Sandhya rapidly.

“Didn’t you hear that, Sandhya?” I say.

“Yes of course. Time to go to work. Now you both just wait in the car, okay? We’ll be back shortly.”

I open my mouth to protest, after which it hits me. Smart woman. She’s discovered a approach for us to sound skilled whereas saving face too. Now we are able to get in, wait on the opposite facet of the hideous door for a couple of minutes, then get the hell out of right here, hopefully with a session payment.

“Yes, indeed,” I say.

Mr. Duggal’s face collapses with aid.

“Are you sure?” says Mrs. Duggal.

“Of course they’re sure,” snaps Mr. Duggal. “Let’s not argue with professionals. We’ll wait in the car. It might be dangerous inside.”

Sandhya pushes the door open and we go inside, getting into a big drawing room.

The within the home appears prefer it’s been finished by the identical artist because the door. For the inside, he’d apparently been given free entry to a number of buckets of colors and one among LSD, with directions to ensure he completed all of them. I hear Sandhya gasp audibly and with some effort, I shut my mouth.

“Who . . . did this?”

“The Duggals,” I inform her.

“Are we sure it wasn’t the demon?”

Right on cue a bloodcurdling scream comes from upstairs, adopted by a voice raised in apparent ache. Apparently he’s observed the decor too.

“I can’t take it anymore!”

“You and me both, buddy,” I mutter.

“Help me! Please help me!”

The voice breaks off, changed by a continuing, low moan.

“Let’s wait he—” I say, then cease speaking, as a result of Sandhya’s already began up the staircase in direction of the moans. I hurry after her. No approach I’m staying alone in that drawing room.

“What are you thinking?” I hiss. “This is clearly something beyond our—”

I cease, surveying the carnage round me.

Books lie scattered on the ground, torn pages fluttering within the breeze from smashed home windows. The carpet and work are stained throughout with spots of one thing darkish and crusty. Deep scratches mar the paint on the partitions, operating all the way in which right down to the closed bed room door on the far finish of the hallway.

The moans are coming from behind it.

I rapidly seize Sandhya by the arm and level. “Over there. That window’s big enough to squeeze through, it’s not too far down and with a bit of luck we could be well clear of this place while those two are still sitting in their car and dreaming about their door.”

“Why? This is what we wanted.”

“To die in the world’s ugliest house? Speak for yourself.”

“Well, you started this detective agency.”

“Yes, to do a few stakeouts in abandoned houses, expose a fraudulent astrologer or two, that sort of thing. This is a real demon!”

“If it is a real demon.”

“You think it’s a hoax?”

She shrugs. “That’s the most likely explanation, isn’t it?”

“He threw a piano on the roof!”

“Or so they think. Maybe it’s an elaborate insurance scam or the kid faked it to bunk exams. We won’t know till we get in there and look.”

With that, she wrenches her arm free and is off down the hall.

With a final, longing take a look at the window, I comply with her. There actually isn’t the rest to do, in need of abandoning her to no matter’s in there. Much as she deserves it, I can’t do this.

With every step, Sandhya’s phrases make increasingly sense. Demons aren’t actual. Must be {the teenager} pranking his of us to keep away from school. Part of me regrets not pondering of this once I was in class. The extra I dwell on the thought, the extra sense it makes. By the time I attain the top of the hall I’m feeling positively rejuvenated. Taking a deep breath, I slowly flip the doorknob and comply with her in.

The very first thing I discover is the boy, flat on his again, levitating within the air two ft above what appears like a blood-soaked mattress.

I can see the writing on the wall. No, actually. Macabre purple lettering, spelling out one thing indecipherable in an historical script.

A creeping sense of terror grows in my chest as I stand frozen, eyes transfixed to the phrases on the wall. It’s not till I discover myself mouthing the phrases that I realise with a horrified thrill that in some way, not possible, unfathomable as it’s, I’m standing right here studying a mystical language I by no means knew existed. Then it dawns on me that it is because the writing on the wall isn’t an historical script, only a sentence in actually unhealthy handwriting:

“BRING ME PLAYSTATION 5.”

I look accusingly at Sandhya. “Scam, huh?”

As we converse, the boy sits up. His eyes flip open and so they’re fully white. A gradual smile spreads throughout his face. “At last! Someone’s finally here.”

It’s a deep, low, rumbling voice, and but it’s frenetic in some way, like somebody put pebbles in a blender and cranked it as much as max. I recoil, whirling in direction of the door. The boy-demon gestures and it slams shut.

“Wouldn’t want us to be disturbed,” says the boy.

He’s floating in direction of us now.

Only one factor left to do. “Help! Help!”

“Exactly,” agrees the boy-demon. “After all, that’s why I sent for you.”

“Help!!”

Sandhya steps ahead. “Stay back, demon!”

“Demon?” he says indignantly, swiveling his head 180 levels to frown at her. “Demon? There’s no demons here. Djinn, if you please.”

“Sorry, did you say djinn?”

“I did say djinn.”

“Djinn?”

“Djinn. Now will you be quiet and listen? We’re running out of time. I’m holding that creature off for now, but he could be back any moment.”

Even with all that’s happening, this bit of stories calls for my consideration.

“Holding him off? So you’re not the demon?”

“Again you call me demon! What demon? Who do you think you’re calling a demon? Told you, I’m a djinn.”

I clutch at Sandhya. “He’s back! The demon’s back!”

“For the last time, I’m a djinn! And not just any djinn, either! I tried not to say it, the attention gets so embarrassing, but you leave me no choice, so I shall.”

He clears his throat.

“Mortals, you are in the presence of Wahid the Great. Yes, the very same, the one and onl—”

“Who?” says Sandhya.

“Excuse me? Did you say who?”

“Yes, who?”

“Wahid the Great. You’ve probably heard about me.”

“No, not really.”

“You’ve never heard of Wahid the Great, Igniter of Flames?”

“Nope.”

“Well, you probably know me by a different name. What about Mahasura, Thief of Time?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry.”

“Nagadanga, Breaker of Walls?”

“I’ve never heard any of these names.”

His smile fades. “Typical,” he mutters. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Bottom line, I need your help.”

I blink. “You need our help?”

“Exactly. You see, there’s been a bit of an administrative accident. A bureaucratic bungle, if you will. You might even call it a coordination catastrophe. Bottom line, there was a mistake and I’ve been trapped in this boy ever since and I’ve had enough.”

“You mean Monty?”

A glance of anguish spreads over his face. “Don’t say his name! If he hears you he might wake up!”

“Who, Mon—”

“Didn’t you hear me? I’ve had enough. He’s horrible. Absolutely insufferable. Most traumatic experience of any of my lives. I can’t take it anymore. I need to get out.”

“Let me get this straight,” I say. “You need our help getting out of the body you possessed in the first place?”

“Yes, exactly. You have no idea what it’s like, being stuck in here inside this kid! All he does is complain and whine, and demand things he’s done nothing to deserve, and say horrible things to hurt people and look for attention over his imagined problems and be awful to everyone. It’s unbearable. Do you have any idea what it’s like sharing a mind with an internet edgelord?”

“Who, Monty?”

His face contorts, prefer it’s preventing with itself, after which settles right into a self-satisfied smirk.

“Feminazis! Fuck your feelings!”

His options contort once more. “No, I won’t be silenced! Freedom of speech! This is reverse casteism! Fuck you, beta cucks! I’ll—”

He stops, mouth jerking back and forth like a centrist politician asking for civility, after which emits a low howl. Finally, his face stops transferring round and settles into an aggravated look.

“Didn’t I tell you not to say his name?”

Sandhya and I take a look at one another.

“That was the Duggals’ son?” I ask.

“Yes! He’s an absolute monster. Get me out of here, please! I’m begging you!”

“Wait—so it wasn’t him who sent for us?”

“No! What’s wrong with you people? Why would he send for you? He’s sharing his body with Wahid the Great!”

“So it was you?”

“Well, duh!”

I flip to Sandhya.

“I think it was this djinn who sent for us.”

“That’s Wahid the Great to you, thank you very much.”

Sandhya research the boy’s face. “Well, Wahid doesn’t seem evil.”

“No, not at all,” he says, floating nearer. “Far from it.”

“Oh yeah?” I say. “What about the priest then?”

“What prie—oh that one? He jumped out of the hallway window and ran away.”

“And this blood?”

“Fake. From Amazon. Look, if I was evil, I wouldn’t even be allowed here. Even us supernatural beings of immense power have to follow the rules.”

“Hold on,” says Sandhya. “If you’re a supernatural being with all these powers why don’t you just leave?”

The boy’s head droops a bit, trying defeated. “It’s not that simple. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“What do you mean?”

He pauses. “That’s personal.”

“And the rest of this isn’t?”

“Well, it’s like—Look, do I have to tell you?”

“If you want our help.”

“Fine, fine, if you really must know, the spirit realm is a little beyond my means these days. There was a time I could afford to live beyond the veil, but those days are over. And there are plenty more like me, I’ll have you know. Just way too many supernaturals and not enough room. The market’s gone through the roof.”

So Wahid too had fallen prey to a spirit-Suresh who’d rendered him homeless. I nod sadly. “Rent is a curse.”

“A stain on the supernatural realm,” agrees Wahid.

I pause. “A pox on people.”

“A plague on paranormal society.”

I beam at him. “A blight on beings everywhere.”

“A curse on the cosmos.”

“Yes, I already said that.”

“No, you said curse. I then vastly broadened the scope by introducing the concept of a cosmos.”

I’m not beaming. “Yes, well obviously I meant cosmos when I said—”

“Hold on, you two,” says Sandhya rapidly. “Wahid, when you say there are plenty more like you, you mean here? Around us?”

“Where else? If you lot only knew just how many of your fellow humans were a lot more than that, well . . .” He chuckles briefly. “But that’s enough about that, I’m not going to recite the history of every event to have befallen me since my . . . ah . . . departure, yes let’s call it that, that’s a nice way to put it.”

“So you can always recognise if a human is possessed by a djinn?”

“Can I? That isn’t half of it! I mean, I knew times were hard, but I had no idea just how many folk had moved here. Some you’d never have expected to see here either. Why, just the other day I saw, well, anyway, you wouldn’t know, would you, you don’t even know Wahid the Great.” He sniffed.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” says Sandhya. She certain cares in regards to the vagaries of the djinn housing economic system unexpectedly. Me, I’ve extra urgent points to fret about. Such because the housing economic system right here and the twenty-five lakhs that may forestall me from turning into Wahid 2.0, however with out powers or the flexibility to own something. More like Wahid 0.02. Time to chop to the chase.

“So what do you want us to do?”

He beams. “Now. You’re talking. That’s simple. You’ll just need to find me a new host.”

“Come again?”

“A new host,” says the boy, talking very slowly. “Look, I know you lot aren’t smart or anything, but this can’t be that hard to follow.”

“Why can’t you just find another for yourself?”

“Consent.”

“Huh?”

“Consent. Don’t humans have the concept? I need my new body to consent to me being there, or it’ll just be me forcing my will on whoever I inhabit, and let me tell you that never turns out well. I mean, look at my situation now. It’s not like one just takes over a body, you know? It’s a constant effort at collaboration, cooperation, you often have to discuss and negotiate. Not an easy task, no sir. I’ll need a body I can work with, one that’s suited to my personality.”

“Your personality. I see.”

“Yes, exactly. It’ll be easy as anything, I’m sure there’s no shortage of mortals desperate to share with Wahid the Great. Who wouldn’t want the benefit of my talents, after all, and mind you, I’m supposed to share them.”

“Supposed to?”

“Yes, by law. Djinn with hosts must compensate for the hospitality. If we don’t, well, we have to, there’s no choice. We can exercise discretion in the how, but we must compensate or else.”

“I knew it,” I mutter. “Rent is a curse.”

Sandhya rolls her eyes.

The boy appears about to go on, however then his face twists up, nostril lurching about back and forth, eyes rolling violently.

“He’s coming back!” he shouts. He waves a hand, and the door flies open. “I’ll try and hold him off as long as I can. Get out, now! Hurry!”

We begin transferring in direction of the door.

“And don’t forget my new body! I’m counting on you!”

We get out of the door, and there I pause, glancing again at him.

“Cocksucker!” he snarls at me. The subsequent second a potted plant is flying at my head. I duck, and it smashes in opposition to the wall, sending earth and disemboweled flowers all over the place.

“Run!” I yell at Sandhya.

We race down the hall and pound our approach down the steps and thru the home, ignoring the screeches and banging noises behind us, not stopping until we’re again on the automotive, collapsing into the backseat subsequent to the Duggals.

The iron gates to the compound are rattling. I can hear the screams all the way in which from the home.

Mr. Duggal appears startled. “What’s happ—”

“Drive!” I yell. “Drive! Now!”

Nitin hits the accelerator and we zoom off, screeching down Aurangzeb Road and again into the bustle of site visitors, leaving the hideous home with its much more hideous inheritor within the distance.

---

My cellphone is ringing. I look at it, then set the ringer to silent and flip it again over on my desk, face down.

“Mr. Duggal again?”

“Who else?”

We’re again in my office-cum-flat, the place I’ve been ever since we bought the Duggals to drop us off and leapt out of the automotive, mumbling guarantees of how we’d get again to them.

“He’s been calling you for three days. Don’t you think you should answer it?”

“No.”

“You can’t avoid answering the phone forever, you know.”

“I can try. Anyway, I’m still not done trying to find a solution.”

“You mean a body.”

“It’s not a body if it’s alive, Sandhya. It’s a person. And you’re not being very helpful, you know.”

“Because you playing around on Facebook all day is helping?”

“I’m not playing, I’m recruiting. I’ve posted in job offer groups, Help wanted groups, real estate groups and even in one writing forum.”

“How’s that working out?”

“Way better than I hoped. I’ve had at least two dozen responses. Just let Duggal put down the phone and I’ll show you.”

We wait, after which when the ringing ends, Sandhya friends over my shoulder at my cellphone as I pull up the Facebook app.

“Okay, that’s quite a few.”

“And most of them have even posted their phone numbers. Time to start making some calls.”

“Who will you start with?”

“This guy here. Rahul Srivastav. Look at his profile picture. Smart, well dressed, and it says here he’s a financial expert specializing in investments. That’s just what we need, a career man with drive and verve. Could be just the match we’re looking for.”

I dial the quantity. Nobody picks up. I hit redial.

It rings for some time after which a vivid, enthusiastic voice solutions.

“Hi!”

“Am I speaking with Rahul?”

“Good afternoon, sir! Thank you for calling!”

“Hi Rahul, this is Zorawar Bhatia, calling from—”

“Are you a father or mother with kids?”

“What? No.”

“Looking for a secondary source of income?”

“Well, more like a primary source but here’s why I called, Rahul. You responded to my post on the Jobs For YOU Facebook page and so I’d like to discuss whether—”

“If you want to support your financial situation through binary, you’ve come to the right place!”

“What does that even mean? Am I speaking to a person?”

“Just contribute 5000 Rupees and within one week get back 15,000 Rupees guaranteed and tax-free!”

“I—”

“We also have a Special Offer Just For You! If you invest 50,000 Rupees you can take home over five crore Rupees within just seven days!”

I hold up.

“What happened?” asks Sandhya.

“He’s a scam artist. No matter, I’ll call the next one. Plenty to choose from.”

The subsequent quantity seems to be a lady who desires me to know I might make as much as 3000 US {dollars} a day posting social media accounts. The one after that wishes me to ship him 25000 Rupees for a particular cargo of a single bottle of Available For First Time Ever And Guaranteed To Work penis enlargement drugs. The subsequent two calls I make are each answered by Rahul once more. The third one goes straight again to him too, solely this time he’s additionally providing penis enlargement drugs.

I begin to throw my cellphone throughout the room after which I keep in mind I can’t afford one other. I toss it disgustedly on the desk as an alternative and switch to Sandhya. “Is everyone in Delhi a scam artist?”

“You’re sounding like an American tourist now. Maybe you should talk to him.”

“I don’t want—”

A uninteresting banging sound interrupts me. I cock my head to the facet, and we each hear for it, however simply as rapidly, it’s gone.

I flip again to Sandhya to complete my sentence.

“I don’t want penis enlargement pills.”

It sounds much more ridiculous with out the rapid context of her query, however to her credit score, she solely smiles a bit.

“No, I don’t mean Rahul. Mr. Duggal. At least tell him.”

“Tell him what? That for some inscrutable reason literally nobody’s willing to sacrifice their body to free the djinn that’s trapped inside their hellspawn? It’s hopeless, I tell you! We’re fuc—”

The cellphone rings once more. I sigh.

“Fine, I’ll tell him.”

I flip it over and hit a button. “Mr. Duggal! I’m afraid I have some bad news. You see, we—

“Duggal? Calling me Duggal now? I’ll give you Duggal, you ungrateful wretch!”

“Ma?”

“Ah, he remembers his mother’s voice. I should feel so honoured.”

“Listen, Ma, I can’t talk now, I have a client—”

“No, you listen, and don’t feed me your lies about clients! I need you to vacate the flat by tomorrow, OK?”

“Vacate the flat by tomorrow?”

“Yes, by tomorrow.”

“What? But, Ma, you said Sunday!”

“Yes, but that was long back.”

“Long back? It was yesterday!”

“Yes, anyway, doesn’t matter, I’ve changed my mind.”

“Changed . . . your mind.”

“Exactly. And stop repeating everything I say, Zorawar, you sound like an echo. Anyway, I’m giving it to Suresh’s friend, he’s increased his offer to 6000 but he wants it immediately.”

“But Ma!”

“Ma, ma, ma! You sound like a goat! It’s my flat and I can give it to whoever I want, can’t I? Yes, I can! And I’m giving it to Paras. He seems like a really nice young man, and unlike you, he has a real paying job. Works with a real estate firm. Duggal Enterprises, I think it was called.”

“Did you say Duggal?”

“Yes, that’s what it was called. Very good company, I believe the owners actually live on Aurangzeb Road or something. They have a beautiful house there, Paras was telling me.”

“Beautiful.”

“You’ve started repeating everything again, is it? Anyway, I already took deposit from Paras, so make sure you’re gone by twelve tomorrow, OK?”

“But, Ma—” I begin, however she’s already hung up. I begin to throw the cellphone throughout the room, then keep in mind I don’t have the cash for one more so I toss it onto the desk in disgust.

“Well, we’re screwed now, aren’t we? She wants me gone by noon tomorrow. With nowhere to go. Me, her own flesh and blood!”

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t go around boasting about that bit.”

“But what do I do? I have nowhere to go. I’ll be as homeless as that djinn if he left the hellchild’s body. And probably die faster because I don’t even have superpowers, like not freezing, and what, what is it?”

I cease as a result of she’s clutching at me, positively quivering with pleasure.

“I’ve got it.”

“Got what? The ague?”

“No, I know how to fix everything.”

“You do? How?

Sandhya’s eyes narrow, and now she’s smiling at me.

“You, of course,” she says.

“Me? What do you—Oh no! No way! Absolutely not!”

“It’s the best option.”

“It’s not an option! I’m not giving myself up to be some receptacle for a demon!”

“He’s not a demon, he’s a djinn. He was rather insistent on that point, if you recall”

“I’m still not doing it.”

“Because you’d rather freeze?”

“I’ll find another way.”

“No, you won’t. This is the only way we can fix this—and make some real money for a change. Money with which we can open a real office, in a real proper area, and open a real business with real prospects.”

“And you know all this because?”

“Because you heard the djinn. He can recognise other djinns. There’s lots of them. More streaming in every day, looking for compatible hosts. And a city full of unhappy people we can connect them to. Statistically, at least some will be rich, see? Rich enough to give us lots and lots of rupees to help them out. It’s not just win-win, it’s win-win-win.”

“Easy enough for you to say. You’re not the one who has to give up your body as to a dem-ah- djinn like a bloody supernatural guest-house.”

“Just think of yourself as a paranormal innvestigator then.”

I fall silent, musing on the injustice of all of it.

“Oh come on, It’ll even mean you won’t need new business cards!”

And that’s when it hits me. She’s proper. This actually simply would possibly work.

Right then, we’re interrupted by my cellphone ringing. I take a look at it. It’s Ma once more. She’s reconsidered! I knew it. She could be crotchety and imply generally, however a mom’s love at all times shines by in the long run.

“It’s Ma”, I say triumphantly to Sandhya. “So much for this scheme of yours. Excuse me, I need to talk to my mother now.”

“Hi, Ma,” I say, answering the cellphone.

“Zorawar? I just called to say don’t forget my desk and chairs. Bring them before one, I have a kitty party to go to. Okay bye!”

There’s a click on, and I’m left holding a cellphone on a line that’s virtually half as lifeless as me on the within.

This time I do throw the cellphone throughout the room.

“Good thing we cancelled the plan then.”

“Oh, shut up.”

We sit in silence for some time, whereas I’m going over scheme after scheme in my thoughts, every extra assured to fail than the final. Finally, my shoulders droop, I hold my head, and from that place I search for at Sandhya.

“Fine, I’ll do it. I hope you’re happy.”

“I am. And you’ll be too, trust me.”

“I don’t know about this supernatural matchmaking idea.”

“As opposed to the booming paranormal detection trade we just spent three months in? Think of it as real estate if it makes you feel better. We’re borrowing from our friend Mr. Duggal. Paranormal Properties—come to us, and no being will ever live rent-free in your head again. Even the ads write themselves.”

“I’m really glad you have this all figured out,” I say bitterly.

“Oh, I do now. All of it. “

“What do you mean?”

“There’s one little thing I’ve been wondering about this since the beginning and I think I’ve finally figured it out.”

“So now we go talk to the djinn?”

“No, now you call Mr. Duggal, tell him to get that twenty-five lakhs ready. Tell him we want it in cash.”

“Cash?”

“He’s a Delhi property dealer, what do you think?”

“Cash it is.”

“Also tell him we’ll be there to pick it up soon.”

“And then?”

“Then we go talk to that djinn.”

---

We’re again in entrance of the World’s Ugliest House, exiting the modern black automotive.

“Should I wait, sir, madam?” asks Nitin.

I shake my head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Very good, sir,” he replies.

“Just a moment, Nitin,” says Sandhya.

“Madam?”

“I just had one quick question for you.”

“Yes, Madam?”

She leans ahead, so her head is sort of by the motive force’s window. “How much did that priest pay you to say he was missing, Nitin?”

“Madam!”

She smiles. “It’s ok. I won’t tell your employer.”

She pauses. “Unless you lie to me, of course. Did he pay you to say he was missing?”

Nitin appears exceedingly sad. A bead of sweat seems on his brow. His eyes flicker back and forth, like he’s in search of someplace to run to, which is fairly foolish, contemplating that if he actually wished to run away, all he needed to do was hit the accelerator.

“No Madam.”

“Nitin. Do you want me to talk to Mr. Duggal.”

“6000 rupees, Madam. To say he was vanished and in case Mr. Duggal wanted me to file police complaint, to say I had done that also.”

Sandhya smiled with quiet satisfaction. “I thought so. Thank you, Nitin. You can go now.”

She’d barely completed the sentence earlier than the automotive zoomed off with a screech, abandoning a tyre path and the scent of rubber. Nitin had been solely too desirous to comply.

I look admiringly at Sandhya. “How did you guess?”

“Well, there had to be some explanation for the missing priest. For one, his family didn’t seem too concerned, did they? Just said he was missing and that was it? I’m not that stupid, even if the Duggals are. Also, what happened to the body? There was no smell in the room, or anywhere in the house. Bodies rot. This one hadn’t. And Wahid didn’t strike me as the sort to be murdering priests anyway.”

“I’m so impressed right now.”

“Why, thank you, Zorawar Bhaitoa. Now, let’s go talk to our djinn, shall we?”

A couple of minutes later, we’re strolling into the room with the levitating boy once more. He sees us enter and instantly begins showering us with abuse.

“SJWs! Beta cucks!”

“Hey, Wahid,” says Sandhya. “If you’re in there, we need to talk to you.”

“Snowflakes!”

“Wahid?”

Once once more, the face does its left-right-left fast march earlier than settling into a glance of equanimity. Wahid beams at us.

“Ah, you’re back. Finally! I thought you’d abandoned me. Wouldn’t be the first time a human’s been a disappointment, you know. Brought me a body?”

“Maybe.”

He’s not beaming. “Maybe? What happened to our deal?”

“It’s not a deal if only you get something out of it.”

“I saved you from Monty! Twice! Thrice counting just now!”

“After begging us to come back? I think not. You’ll have to do better.”

Wahid’s face falls. “Typical,” he mutters bitterly. “Just like a human to kick you when you’re down. And they call us djinn mercenary.”

“Who does?”

He waves a dismissive hand. “What does it matter? You’ll just use it against me. What do you want? Money? Jewels? Beautiful lovers?”

“You can get us those?” I hear myself ask.

“No, of course not. I mean, I could steal them, but I’d still need a body. But isn’t that what humans usually ask for?”

“Not these humans,” says Sandhya.

“Now hold on a minute,” I say rapidly.

“He literally just said he can’t get them.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Excuse me, shouldn’t you be talking to me instead of each other?” says Wahid. “A little attention here, hello? Thank you. Now, what are your terms? What do you want from me in return?”

“Cooperation,” says Sandhya.

He eyes us suspiciously. “What does that mean?”

“It means that if we give you a new body, you’re going to help us find other djinn.”

“You wish me to point out others like myself to you?”

“Exactly.”

“Certainly not! You think I’d just betray my kind? My brethren? My very family? Just to benefit myself?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re right. But I want it known that I only do so reluctantly.”

“Well, we wouldn’t actually need you to out all djinn. Just the ones looking for hosts. And the ones who, like you, are trapped with incompatible hosts. And we’ll help them find a match . . . um . . . ‘better suited to their personalities,’ I believe the phrase was. And I’m sure you’d be pretty good at figuring that out too.”

“I’m good at almost everything. So I do everything? What do you do?”

“Put up with you. Think of it as the rent we pay if it helps.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Yes, rent is like that. So, do you agree or not? It’s this or Monty.”

There’s a protracted pause after which he sighs closely.

“I agree to your terms.”

“So, we have a deal?”

“Yes, we have an accord.” He smiles. “Well, at least you’ll be a more interesting mind than most I’ve had to suffer with.”

“Yes, of course, your new host.” She factors at me. “Here he is.”

The smile vanishes. “Oh.”

I’m feeling mildly insulted by the shortage of enthusiasm, however I swallow my pleasure. “Yes, I’m game. I’ll be your host.”

“No, hold on. Is this really the best we can do? Is there no one else?”

OK, now I’m correctly insulted. “What’s wrong with me?”

“What isn’t? I’m used to higher standards, you know.”

“Like Monty there?”

“Yes, take advantage of a poor djinn in a terrible situation. That’ll get you classified as a good soul for sure.”

“Hey, he’s not so bad when you get used to him,” says Sandhya. Even she’s miffed. The thought makes me completely happy at first, till I recall we’re actually negotiating handing my physique over to a supernatural creature.

“So no deal? Ok, fine, we’ll just be off then.”

She turns, and I comply with swimsuit.

“No, wait!”

We flip again round, taking a look at Wahid.

“I accept your terms,” he says, considerably sulkily. “Now, are you ready?”

“Yes. No, wait! You’re sure I can share space with you, right?”

“Of course.”

“And you being there won’t hurt or anything?”

“No, no, not at all. The pain will be all mine, I assure you. But this is how one learns humility, I suppose. As for you, you won’t want me gone. After all, I am Wahid the Gre—”

“Yes, yes,” I say rapidly. “I get that.”

“Very well, then. We shall commence.”

The boy’s eyes roll again and again in his head, like marbles rolling down a slope. A wierd blue gentle begins to construct, bathing his face in an eerie glow.

“What the—” I say.

And as I do, a ball of blue gentle programs from the boy’s face, into my mouth. I can really feel it, bouncing round my throat, like a gob of very heat rum.

“Oops,” says the voice of Wahid in my head. “Wrong turn.”

I really feel the bouncing transfer upwards, again up my throat, by the roof of my mouth, and into the highest of my cranium, the place it settles. Slowly it settles, leaving me with this barely lightheaded, heat, fuzzy sensation, like I’ve simply taken an enormous puff of ganja, and I imply precise ganja, not that crap Mathur sells me for ten bucks a pudiya.

“There we go,” says Wahid in my head. “Lots of empty space here, huh? Nice, I like it when there’s room to spread out a bit.” I can hear, no really feel a moist, squelching sensation, spreading throughout the within of my brow.

“Here, what are you doing?” I ask

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m fine. We’re fine. We’re a team now, you see?”

“Zorawar!” cries out Sandhya, a warning be aware in her voice.

We search for, Wahid and I, collectively, as one, and see Monty, eyes trying regular, with an expression on his face ugly sufficient to have been a part of the décor downstairs.

“Who the fuck are you?” he shouts. “Get out of my room! I’m calling the cops!”

“I’ve had enough of this brat,” mutters Wahid. And I agree.

We carry a hand, a shockwave leaves it, blasting the boy again onto the mattress, the place he bounces off the mattress and onto the ground.

“Zorawar!” says Sandhya.

“What did you do?” I yell at Wahid.

“Sorry,” mutters Wahid to me. “Just need to calibrate things a bit, shouldn’t take too long.”

“You killed him!”

As I say it, Monty jumps again as much as his ft, face now contorted with rage. “Motherfuckers! Cocksuckers! Bloody jihadis!”

“Unfortunately not,” says Wahid.

“Cucks! Antinationals! Immigrants!”

“We’re leaving now,” says Wahid. And then, with out phrases, I do know what he desires to do, and I agree.

We attain out, seize Sandhya, and crash out by the window, with a lot power the backdraft knocks Monty onto and up and doing once more. And then we’re flying, by the window, hovering up and out. And we’re flying, hovering up, up, till we begin slowing, and ultimately cease transferring totally.

Now we’re falling, plummeting straight down, I can see Sandhya screaming, solely I can’t hear her as a result of I’m screaming louder.

Then with a gut-wrenching jerk we cease, a dozen ft or so from the bottom, hanging within the Delhi air like noxious particulate matter.

“Oops,” says Wahid.

“The hell are you doing?”

“I think I’d like to walk,” says Sandhya firmly.

“Relax, relax, it’ll be fine,” says Wahid, as we start to rise upwards once more. “Told you, we just need some calibrations. Where to?”

“Home,” I feel to him, and we veer off, over the gardens and Aurangzeb Road. zooming away from that hideous home and its terrible occupant, crusing away throughout the sky and again residence.

“Hold on!” yells Sandhya. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Home.”

“No, head to that hotel! We have twenty-five lakhs to collect.”

She’s proper, so I financial institution left, in direction of a happier future.

“And after that?” asks Wahid.

“After that?” I echo.

Sandhya smiles. “After that we get to the good bit. We’re going to see your mother.”

“I thought you said it was the good bit.”

“It is. Because I’m going to tell her she needs to find a new cook. And then you’re going to tell her she can find a new occupant for that flat. There’s a great office space available for rent in Malviya Nagar, by the way.”

She smiles. “I made a call earlier. They’re expecting us tomorrow, to look over it.”

“You’re incredible,” I say.

“I know,” she says.

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs. I don’t know once I final felt this cheerful.

“Hey, Wahid,” I say. “How would you like to meet my mother?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Well, you’re going to.”

Still arguing, we sail away, throughout the smoggy sky.

And in order that’s how I ended up with Wahid the Djinn residing in my head. And the flexibility to fly, and shoot bolts from my fingers, and a complete lot else, together with a brand new flat, workplace and profession, and the whole lot that got here with them.

But that’s a special story.

---

About the Author

Shiv Ramdas is an Indian storyteller. His brief speculative fiction has appeared in Strange Horizons, Fireside, Podcastle, and different publications, and has been nominated for the Nebula, Hugo and Ignyte Awards. He at the moment lives and works in Seattle, USA. You can discover out extra about him at shivramdas.net or discover him tweeting as @nameshiv.

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Please go to LIGHTSPEED MAGAZINE to learn extra nice science fiction and fantasy. This story first appeared within the March 2022 difficulty, which additionally options work by Merc Fenn Wolfmoor, Nicole D. Sconiers, Daniel David Froid, Maria Dong, Robert Reed, Alyssa Wong, Julianna Baggott, and extra. You can await this month’s contents to be serialized on-line, or you should buy the entire difficulty proper now in handy e book format for simply $3.99, or subscribe to the e book version at this hyperlink.

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