Ignorant Asshats

Kai does not believe in ghosts.

Nor does he believe in curses, karma, or horoscopes. Though he is happy to be taken by the hand and led down the rabbit hole of conspiracy theories, but only if presented with quantifiable facts, like:

Cause and effect.

Measurable results.

Reason and rationale.

So, on reading a peer review on his latest EMF research paper suggesting it is a ‘nod to Flat-Earthers, Ufologists, and New World Order conspiracy theorists,’ Kai can do nothing more than choke on his lukewarm coffee. He stares into the space of his computer monitor as the sun, already low, disappears behind the thatched roofs of the Oxfordshire countryside behind his window.

The facts are there, gawking at him; the statistics, the study. He has solid results—data, which in turn means evidence. His peer goes on to reject the paper for the good of Kai’s career, or, in his so-called-friend’s own words: publishing this would be career suicide. In truth, Kai’s career is already half dead since switching from data science at a globally respected conglomerate to becoming a self-employed electromagnetic testing technician.

“The truth’s too bloody inconvenient, that’s the problem.” Kai says to Mabel.

Mabel ignores him and jumps down from his lap, sashaying her hips as she saunters away. As a final insult, she lifts her tail, giving him the arse.

Cats can be such heartless arseholes.

He reads the intro into his findings one more time, if only to placate himself:

An epidemiological study to determine whether there is a correlation between the act of suicide and the electromagnetic frequency (EMF) environment arising from the implementation of 5G towers and extremely low frequency magnetic fields (ELF) at the domicile of the victim.

“Ignorant asshats, the lot of them.” Kai says, rising from his desk and following Mabel into the kitchen towards her food bowl. His running shoes squeak on pristine tiles and his stride is stilted, muscles sore from his daily run. “The whole world’s gone to shit on a brick, Mabel. If your research doesn’t profit global corporations, you might as well research pixie dust.”

Mabel mewls, and Kai takes this as a concurrence. “Exactly! Who cares if people are dying, right? So long as they’ve got fast internet and bulging pockets?”

Mabel stares at Kai. Those judgmental amber eyes are all he sees in the dusky darkness, her black fur disappearing into shadow.

“Jesus Christ,” he says. He doesn’t believe in Jesus Christ. He doesn’t believe in any religion; as far as he can tell, they are based on fairytales, not facts. “I sound like a bloody nut job. Pass me the tin foil, Mabel.”

Mabel looks down at her empty food bowl, then back to Kai—she really doesn’t care.

“Alright, alright.” Kai turns on the light to illuminate an immaculate white kitchen. He opens a cupboard to nine perfectly stacked rows of exorbitantly priced cat food, ordered by colour and use by date—and pops the nearest tin, turning his nose against the almost putrid smell. He empties the contents into her bowl with a spoon; her spoon. She has nine, also neatly stacked, side by side in a drawer he keeps specifically for Mabel.

He strokes her nine times as she purrs and gobbles her feast.

From the other room, a ping rings out from his computer—hardwired, not WIFI. He is not usually a slave to his emails, but he can do with a distraction, and so settles back into his desk chair.

Sender: [email protected]

To: Kai@*******.com

Subject Line: EMF Consultation Request

He breathes a sigh of relief; Kai only has one other client booked for testing this week and he could do with the moral support as much as he could the cash.

Message:

Hi. Not sure if you can help, but does your EMF consultation include paranormal investigation?

Kai’s eye roll is almost audible in its magnificence. He lets out a deflated sigh and would pull his hair out if he hadn’t already shaved it off with a number two all over. He is not sure if he is humoured or angered by the sender’s ignorance. He lets his fingers decide as they click and clack along the keyboard.

Message:

There is no such thing as ghosts.

He doesn’t press send, he presses the backspace that gobbles up his explosive tone that wouldn’t come across in email anyway. His wounded ego switches from insult to defence:

Message:

My website explicitly states that I am a qualified Electromagnetic Radiation Testing Technician with further certifications in electromagnetics and low EMF wiring from the IBE. My work involves creating a natural and safe, low-EMF living space. I’m a scientist, not an exorcist, and by the way, there is no such thing as ghosts…

Mabel is back now, curling herself around Kai’s legs before pouncing to land delicately on the desk. She purrs, smelling faintly of sardines as she rubs her head into his chest. He doesn’t know how the batty old cat does it, but Mabel helps ease the tension knot between his brows, reminding him he is only being overly sensitive due to his paper’s rejection. So, he does what he usually does when ignoramuses contact him, thinking that EMF has something to do with ghost hunting; he ignores the email and moves it into his trash, just another ping rings out.

This time, it’s a Google Alert, one he set up years ago. Back then, the alert was regular, way too regular. But it hasn’t gone off for—he shuffles through the pages of a notebook he keeps specifically for this morbid but necessary search, and checks the date—two years. But wait… There’s another search result, one he must have missed from a couple of weeks ago.

Interesting.

The headline on the most recent ping reads: In a town previously shattered by teen suicides, another teenage girl takes her own life.

It’s funny, Kai thinks. Not funny-ha-ha, but funny-strange, that after a two-year respite, the ‘Death Town’ as it was once coined, should be home to another tragedy. Kai can’t help himself. He types into the search bar, trying to connect the dots: Find 5G Tower Map by Location.

A map of the British Isles pops up and Kai moves the mouse from his location in the Oxfordshire countryside to the small village in the back of beyond. The long-ago nicknamed Death Town.

Bingo! A new installation. Coincidence? Maybe—but Kai doesn’t believe in coincidences. He’s thinking about the paper his peer just annihilated.

“If it’s more evidence they want, it’s more evidence they’ll get.” Kai tells Mabel.

He doesn’t need to consult his diary; apart from a client in one of those swanky London homes tomorrow, his schedule is abysmally free.

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The House is Always Watching