Ghost Hunters by Sam Witt

We’ll get Mickey, then we’re getting the hell out of here.”
    Troy nodded, relief washing the tension out of his face. “I didn’t slip, you know that, right, man? It grabbed me. Tried to pull me over the edge.”
    Dick gave Troy’s shoulder a squeeze. “Let’s get you up.”
    They struggled under the camera’s cold, white glare. Troy whimpered and went limp whenever he put any pressure on his leg. Every time Dick thought he had the tech geek up, the little guy would fold up on him. The third time, his collapse was so sudden and complete he almost knocked Dick right off the ledge.
    “Okay, that isn’t working.” Dick knelt on the ledge and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I’m going to try and drag you off this ledge, Troy.
    Dick noticed Amy watching them, chewing her gum with steady, even chomps. “You gonna be okay?” she asked, without much real enthusiasm.
    “Dandy,” Dick shot back. He hooked his hands under Troy’s armpits and started backing along the ledge, being extra careful to keep his left side up against the wall. It was too easy to imagine Troy flopping around and going over the edge or, worse, knocking Dick off balance and into the abyss. He licked the sweat off his lips and did his best to ignore the shooting pains in his backs and thighs. Dragging Troy was awkward and exhausting work.
    Randall suddenly yelped like a chihuahua with its back legs caught under a rocking chair. The camera’s light swung around in a wild arc, flashing like a stroke of lightning over the chasm. The light came back around, accompanied by Randall’s sharp bark of surprise. “Amy,” he started then let out another surprised shout.
    Amy’s scream echoed Randall’s alarmed hollering. Dick saw her jump back from the ledge then dart forward again, raising her foot and stomping down hard. An inhuman screech rose from the chasm, and a pale, damaged hand spasmed under Amy’s heel. She ground down hard, twisting her heel until blood spurted onto the stone. She hopped back and stomped again then again. The hand disappeared back over the ledge, leaving behind a red smear and a pair of cracked fingernails that had peeled off like cheap decals. She ran toward Dick and Troy, mouth open wide as she screamed, “Go!”
    The groping hand reappeared and slapped bloody handprints along the ledge. Dick dragged Troy back from the thing, but it was gaining on them. He tried to go faster, but his feet slipped and caught on one another.
    The hand was three yards away and closing.
    Dick switched his grip on Troy. He grabbed the young man’s skinny wrist and turned so he could watch where he was walking. He improved his pace, but every step wrenched a pained cry from Troy. Blood spurted from his injured leg, puddled on the uneven stone, and drooled over the ledge.
    Two yards away, close enough for Dick to see the long fingernails chipping against the stone with every swipe.
    “You’re killing me,” Troy wailed.
    Anger flared in Dick’s heart. He thought about just letting go, dumping Troy and letting the hand have him. Then he remembered the camera on him and how fucking awesome this was going to look in prime time. “Hang on, Troy, we’re going to make it.”
    One yard away, and Dick realized he wasn’t going to make it. They were only halfway across the ledge, and the hand was too fast. He dropped Troy’s hand.
    Troy twisted at the waist and stared up at Dick. “Don’t leave me,” he choked.
    Dick wrenched the pistol out of his waistband and thumbed the hammer back. He lowered the barrel, swinging it down toward Troy. He stared down the sight, eyes cold and still. He took a deep breath, held it.
    The hand slapped down inches from Troy’s foot.
    Dick squeezed the trigger.
    Troy screamed. Blood flew into the air, spritzing the wall and the ledge. It was startlingly red in the camera’s dead white light, glistening against the dark stone.
    A trio of mangled fingers twitched on the ledge, just beyond Troy’s foot. The