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a bunch of places around your house at once, like they'll knock every book off your shelf in one go. Usually they're incorporeal but can affect the corporal, our world. Usually you just suck them up into a spirit orb and you're done.”
    “You're saying 'usually' a lot...” noted Ashley, as a sickly feeling started bubbling in her stomach.
    “Yeah...” said Hannah “That's the small problem we're having. Your guy isn't all over one room, he's isolated to one area, then moves to the next. You said he pulled books off the shelf one at a time – that's not how poltergeists roll.”
    “But he is a poltergeist?”
    “Probably.”
    “Yeah.” asserted Anna. “Totally probably. We're just going to need some more time to work out how to deal with this fucker.”
    “How much time?”
    “Can you find somewhere to stay for the rest of the week?” she asked.
    Ashley looked up at the house, the curtains in their bedroom were wide open, and even though there was nobody visibly standing there, she knew she was being watched.
    “Yeah.  I'll find somewhere.”

 
6
     
     
     
     
    'He was covered in blood. So much blood. It might not have been his, but that only made him angrier.'
     
    The narration was also making Jon angrier. He was staring down the three aptrgangrs that had just snatched the kitten from his hands and proceeded to rip the delicate little thing apart in front of his very eyes, showering him with its entrails.
     
    * * * *
     
    Aptrgangrs, or 'monoliths' as Jon called them, based on their sheer size and his lack of confidence about the pronunciation of the old Norse word, were one of the largest unliving sub-species. Standing at least seven foot tall, they preferred destruction over sating the hunger-lust that afflicted the corporeal undead.
    Monoliths were often juicers and steroid abusers in their living state, and something in the course of their transition into unlife had accelerated the effect of the drugs coursing through their systems, hulking them out to the size of giant, decaying bears, with the aggressive attitude to match.
     
    * * * *
     
    “You shouldn't have done that.” he said to them, hands at his baton holsters, like an old west gun-slinger.
Jon didn't know the three aptrgangrs by (rotting) face, nor by name, but knew he'd met them before and who they would likely answer to. He recognised them mostly for their sheer size, each of them standing at least two feet taller than him.
    “What'cha gonna do 'bout it, law-man?” scoffed the first monolith “Ain't we all got a fleshparty to be at?”.
Jon might not have known their names, but decided he'd call them Denty , Legless and  Eletrotwat .  Withdrawing the two batons from his holsters, he extended them with a flick of his wrists, sparking them to life.
Denty smiled a decaying grin, his green teeth lined with blackened gums. Before the three giants knew what hit him, Denty was on the floor, spitting out pieces of his smashed cheekbone.
    “Who's next?” asked Jon.
Legless rushed at him, only to have Jon sidestep, whipping both batons into the front of his kneecaps, one leg cracking as the knee folded forwards, the other ankle detaching completely, left standing straight up on its own, as if posed for a grisly still-life painting. Jon decided the monolith's new name was Hoppy .
Electrotwat growled a fearsome roar, which swiftly became a girlish scream, as two batons impacted with his microscopic testicles, inflicting tens of thousands of volts on impact.
    Jon walked away from the three corpses left in various states of injury. He had a meatdrop to be at.
     
    * * * *
     
    The meatdrops were scheduled twice a week in London's Dead City. They barely lasted a day, let alone two to three, but Jon's request for more regular deliveries were denied on every occasion. He arrived just in time for the crane to swing its beak over the walls, pallets laden with meat in its grasp, donated from every supermarket and butcher within the M25.
It