Tia Ramelan had never opened a business before.
She'd worked in cafés, dog-walked for a woman who owned seven poodles and one suspiciously hairless raccoon, and once sold handmade soaps shaped like famous cryptids. But she had never, ever tried to run a haunted bed-and-breakfast out of a condemned Victorian house full of emotionally needy ghosts.
First mistake: announcing the B&B idea out loud.
Within minutes, Lady Eugenia had pulled out ghost-blueprints from a secret compartment in the library fireplace.
"This will be the drawing room-slash-seance salon," she declared, floating across the room with an enthusiasm that could kill a Victorian man from excitement alone. "And the piano must be tuned to C-minor—no one wants to be haunted to the wrong key."
DJ Deadbeat kicked a box of ectoplasmic flyers across the floor. "I'm making t-shirts! Front says 'SLEEP WHEN YOU'RE DEAD' and back says 'STAY AT RAMELAN HOUSE!'" He paused. "You think ghosts wear shirts?"
Ellis, the ghost child, stood silently beside a chalkboard, already drawing up a menu titled "Breakfast, but Haunted."
Mr. Floofers was asleep on top of the toaster, which occasionally screamed.
Tia stared at them all. Then at the haunted house around her. Then back at her phone, which still had zero service.
"This is either the beginning of a really weird dream," she muttered, "or the best startup pitch I'll ever regret."
Step one: Make it legal.
Tia spent the next day in town, filing paperwork at the East Bay City Paranormal Licensing Bureau—an office located under the bowling alley and operated by a ghostly receptionist named Rhonda, who'd died during a Zumba class and never stopped wearing her sweatband.
"So you want to register a… what now?" Rhonda asked, squinting over her translucent glasses.
"A haunted bed-and-breakfast," Tia said. "With ghost staff. And ghost guests. Hopefully human ones, too. Maybe influencers. Do ghosts use TikTok?"
Rhonda nodded. "Surprisingly big on DIY potion hacks."
Three hours, eight signatures, and one blood oath later, The Ramelan Rest-Stop (Est. 1892 / Reopened 2025) was officially a licensed establishment. Tia even got a certificate.
It immediately caught fire, but Rhonda said that was normal.
Step two: Attract guests.
Tia turned the old study into a "marketing office," which mostly meant clearing out cobwebs and trying to convince the typewriter to stop typing HELP ME in all caps.
She made a website: StaySpooky.netShe made a tagline: Where the beds are haunted, and so is everything else!She even offered themed packages:
"Specter Sleepover" – Includes ghost tour and pillow that moans at midnight.
"Cursed Couple's Retreat" – Includes romantic fog, haunted bubble bath, and DJ Deadbeat's mixtape.
"DIY Exorcism Weekend" – You bring the holy water, we bring the ghosts.
Then she sat back, proud, and waited for the bookings to roll in.
Nothing happened.
"I don't get it," she muttered to Mr. Floofers, who was currently floating upside-down over her cereal bowl. "I made a website. I used keywords like ethereal, rustic, and blood-stained charm."
The ghost cat sneezed ectoplasm on her laptop.
Ellis walked in, handed her a note, and floated out again. The note said:
"Try Craigslist. Weird people live there."
The first booking came two days later.
Tia stared at the reservation email, trying not to hyperventilate.
Guest Name: Marco & Janine McDarnellRequest: One night. Ghost-themed experience. Allergic to gluten, mirrors, and passive aggression.Special Notes: Janine is an amateur psychic. Marco is skeptical and carries a taser.
Tia read it three times. "Oh no," she whispered. "They sound… prepared."
She turned to the house. "Okay, gang. Show time."
The ghosts went into overdrive.
Lady Eugenia redecorated the guest room with floating candelabras and floral wallpaper that occasionally wept. DJ Deadbeat rigged the attic with sound effects like "random whispering", "sobbing violin", and "unexplained goat." Ellis set the thermostat to "poltergeist cold."
Mr. Floofers threw up a glowing hairball under the guest bed. Tia tried not to take it personally.
When the McDarnells arrived, the entire house buzzed with tension.
They were in their forties, wore matching ghost-hunting shirts, and had a GoPro strapped to a homemade EMF reader. Marco sniffed the air like a man who watched too much reality TV.
"Smells haunted," he muttered.
"Smells like garlic and unresolved trauma," Janine corrected.
Tia greeted them at the door in her least-wrinkled outfit and a name tag that read Host & Human (Probably).
"Welcome to Ramelan House!" she said brightly. "We guarantee spirits, screams, and a complimentary breakfast cursed by at least one Victorian ghost."
Janine squealed. Marco glared. Ellis waved from the shadows.
The evening was… weirdly successful.
Marco got chased by a self-playing piano. Janine screamed with joy when the mirror reflected a version of herself with fangs. They both recorded Lady Eugenia floating down the stairs while DJ Deadbeat played eerie synth music from the attic.
Mr. Floofers even appeared in their bed and stared into their souls. They tipped him $20.
"Best haunted night we've ever had," Janine declared over breakfast (ghost-shaped pancakes). "Five stars. I'm putting this on HauntedHunters dot com."
Marco grunted. "Still think it's a scam. But the cat was convincing."
Tia was flying high—until Ba'zaroth showed up again.
He materialized in the kitchen at noon, holding a scroll labeled "Profit Audit – Week 1." His eyebrows were on fire. So was his tie. And his briefcase.
"Well, well," he said, tail flicking. "You've made… seventy-two dollars and a ghost coupon for salsa lessons."
"It's progress!" Tia argued, ducking a floating spoon. "People liked it!"
"One couple," Ba'zaroth said, checking something on a burning clipboard. "You need seven hundred spiritual units minimum by the deadline."
Lady Eugenia glided in with a tray of cursed croissants. "More guests are booked for the weekend. And one of them is a blogger."
Ba'zaroth rolled his eyes. "If your business fails, the house is mine. And I already have plans."
"What kind of plans?" Tia asked.
He grinned, showing way too many teeth.
"Condos."
After he vanished, Tia collapsed onto the couch, exhausted.
Ellis brought her tea. Mr. Floofers settled on her chest. DJ Deadbeat played soft ghost jazz on a keytar. The house creaked in what might have been approval.
"We're really doing this, huh?" she said aloud.
The ghosts nodded.
"Alright then," Tia muttered. "Let's haunt some hospitality."