Chapter 2: The Dumbest Idea in Paranormal History

"Okay, so what exactly does 'the luckiest talisman ever' even look like?" Joshua asked, peering over my shoulder as I prepared my workspace. He had the same annoying curiosity as a cat watching you try to assemble IKEA furniture.

I shooed him away from my desk. "First of all, personal space. Second, it's not that simple. It's not about just drawing a 'super-duper lucky' symbol. It's about the intent, the materials, the energy you pour into it."

"So... you're gonna have to, like, really want the ghost to be lucky?" he asked, scratching his chin.

"Essentially, yes," I said, grinding a block of golden ink on a stone slab. This wasn't the cheap stuff; this was ink mixed with actual gold dust and blessed under a full moon. It was usually reserved for talismans meant to bless the opening of a new business or a wedding. Using it on a ghost felt like using a bazooka to open a pickle jar. "I have to channel an overwhelming sense of fortune and positivity into the brush strokes. I need to imagine the ghost winning the lottery, finding a perfect parking spot, and getting a surprise free upgrade on its flight to the afterlife, all at once."

Joshua’s eyes glazed over. "Whoa. That's a lot of luck."

"It's a ridiculous amount of luck," I confirmed, picking up my finest wolf-hair brush. "Which is why this is a terrible idea. We're about to inject a being of pure ectoplasmic misery with the spiritual equivalent of a triple espresso shot of sunshine and rainbows. The reaction could be... unpredictable."

"Unpredictable is my middle name!" Joshua declared proudly.

"I thought it was Bartholomew," I deadpanned.

He waved a dismissive hand. "A minor detail. Now, work your magic, oh great talisman master!"

I took a deep breath, trying to ignore his idiotic commentary. I centered myself, clearing my mind of everything except pure, unadulterated luck. I envisioned promotions, perfect weather on vacation days, finding a bonus fry at the bottom of the bag. My brush touched the delicate, golden-threaded paper.

The air in the room grew warm. A soft, golden light began to emanate from the tip of my brush as I painted the complex characters for 'Celestial Fortune' and 'Boundless Joy'. It was a custom job, a combination of symbols so potent that it was purely theoretical. No one had ever actually needed this much good juju in one place. The characters seemed to sing as I drew them, each stroke resonating with a gentle hum.

By the time I was finished, I was sweating. The talisman on the table wasn't just a piece of paper anymore. It was practically vibrating with positive energy, glowing with a soft, warm light that made the whole workshop feel like a cozy hug. It was, without a doubt, the most powerful fortune talisman I had ever created.

Joshua stared at it, his jaw hanging open. "Dude... It's so... shiny."

"This," I said, carefully picking it up with a pair of bamboo tongs, "is a spiritual anomaly. It's too much. It's like trying to cheer up a sad person by setting off a confetti cannon in their face. It's just going to make a mess."

"A glorious, glittery mess!" he cheered. "Now, where do we find a test subject?"

He unfurled a map of our town, which he had covered in red X's and little skull-and-crossbones doodles. "According to my research," he began, tapping a spot with a dramatic flourish, "the old Blackwood Bridge is haunted by the 'Wailing Woman of the Woods'."

I rolled my eyes. "You mean Old Lady Hemlock? The story says she was a lonely widow who lost her prize-winning petunia in the creek and wails about it every night. She's not exactly a terrifying specter."

"Perfect!" Joshua exclaimed. "A low-level ghost is the ideal starter specimen. If she explodes, the paranormal fallout should be minimal."

"You keep saying 'explode' like it's a good thing!"

"We have to consider all variables, Amy. That's the scientific method."

Half an hour later, armed with the glowing talisman, a high-powered flashlight, and a bag of sour gummy worms (for morale), we were standing at the edge of the creaky, moss-covered Blackwood Bridge. The sun had set, and the woods around us were filled with the chirps of crickets and the ominous rustle of... probably just squirrels. But still. Ominous squirrels.

A cold breeze swept across the bridge, carrying a faint, mournful sound.

"Woooooe is meeee... My precious Petunia... lost to the cruel currents... woooooe..."

It was a pathetic sound, less terrifying and more just... depressing. A shimmering, translucent figure of an old woman in a nightgown was floating near the middle of the bridge, dabbing at her eyes with a spectral handkerchief.

"That's her," Joshua whispered, his eyes wide with excitement. "Target acquired. Operation: Slap-A-Ghost is a go."

"Don't call it that," I hissed, but he was already creeping forward.

"Remember the plan," he stage-whispered over his shoulder. "I'll distract her, and you get ready with the goods."

He cleared his throat and stepped onto the bridge. "Excuse me, ma'am?" he called out.

The wailing ghost of Old Lady Hemlock stopped and turned. Her form flickered. "Who goes there? Have you seen my Petunia? A prize-winner... Best in the county..."

"A lovely flower, I'm sure," Joshua said with the confidence of a seasoned diplomat. "But have you considered... upgrading your luck?"

Before the ghost could even process that bizarre question, Joshua gave me a frantic signal. It was now or never. I took a deep breath, clutched the ridiculously overpowered talisman, and ran.

The ghost's eyes widened as I charged at her like a linebacker. Joshua ducked out of the way, and with a surprisingly loud smack, I slapped the glowing golden paper right onto her translucent forehead.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then, the world exploded in light.