Ghost Girl (Abandoned)

Welcome to Midnight

AN: I am just floored by the love and support I've gotten so far, not only by you guys on Wattpad, but also on the Facebook group! Thank you for deciding to join me on the crazy ride that is Ghost Girl. I can't wait for you too read this chapter, and future ones, and fall in love (again) with this Sang and her boys, new characters, the Pacific Northwest, and Scooby Doo! Special shot out to shayschiesler for helping me figure out a few things. Love you all!
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Monday

I watched the minutes on the clock tick by. 4:01, 4:01, 4:01... 4:02. I let out a groan, running my hands through my tangled hair. I just wanted to go home (well, to Fiji's home at least) and sleep. I hadn't slept since Friday, except for a few cat naps, and I felt like I was dying. The heat wasn't helping either. A sudden heat wave had hit the Pacific Northwest, and the temperature kept rising, with no sign of stopping. And besides my newfound insomnia and the heat wave, the editor and owner of the Medley, Dr. Howard C. Moon, had assigned me a new project: to document my own exorcism.

When I had arrived at work this morning, the red light flashed on my answering machine, and I let out a shriek of victory. Finally! I thought. Those Scooby-Doo bastards finally got back to me! After a few, well, stiff (for a lack of better word) conversations with Owen Blackbourne over the phone, he had agreed to send down three members of his team to check out my haunted house. When I turned around, I saw the gleeful eyes of Dr. Moon.

"Come on, Sang," he had pleaded, the fifty-year-old professor sounding like a little kid. "It'll bring a lot of traffic to the Medley's online publication," he coaxed.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "So you basically want to make money out of my misery, Doc?" I asked flatly, raising an eyebrow.

"Exactly! I knew you were a smart girl!"

So, here I was. Wasting away at my desk, waiting for three members of the Scooby Doo bastards to show up and exorcize my house.

"Sang Sorenson?" Well, speak of the devil and the devil may appear.

I turned around slowly to see three on the most handsome men I had ever met. The first was big. Like Chris Hemsworth big. He had black hair and sinfully dark eyes that looked like pools of chocolate. He wore a perpetual frown, his skin a honey tan color, looking to be of Arab descent, with only the merest hint of stubble on his jaw. And he wore all black. In this heat? I wondered, before my attention fell on the next man.

He was a few inches shorter than the other man, maybe 5'10, 5'11. He had chocolate brown hair, and emerald green eyes hidden behind a pair of black glasses. He exuded confidence and serenity, from the way he held himself, to the way the two other men positioned themselves around him. He wore a forest green shirt, paired with a pair of khaki shorts- the good kind.

And the man standing next to him was perhaps an inch shorter than him, with wavy chocolate hair and dark eyes that I could only describe as fire eyes. He had light, bronzed skin, and appeared to be of Hispanic descent. He had a small build than the other two men, with prominent collar bones peeking out of his shirt. He wore a navy button down shirt that appeared to be high end, and a pair of red shorts.

To summarize: these men were some of hottest creatures I had ever seen and I was flabbergasted.

"Yes?" I got it, and just then I realized how disgusting I must look. My hair fell in thick, flat blonde sheets around me, and I had prominent purple circles under my eyes. I had thrown on a pair of denim shorts, a red flannel, and, oh shit, a see through yellow crop top that I was positive you could see my black, lacy bra through. Damn you, Fiji, I silently cursed in my head, my eyes going wide.