Overton Manor Poltergeist
Clairsentient vs Poltergeist
"For as long as I can remember, I’ve been able to smell out-of-the-ordinary things. Imagine being able to sniff out lies, scent intense emotions, and smell ghosts, demons, and other paranormal entities… This ability is called clairscent or clear smelling. Because of this paranormal skill, I am considered a clairsentient, and the sense of psychic smell is the most rare of clairsentient supernatural talents.”
“Lucky me,” said Fiona Delacroix after a pause. She lifted on shoulder in a rolling shrug and shot a sheepish smile in the direction of the dot of red blinking light out in front.
“Here in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, our team will be investigating paranormal activity at Overton Manor. I’m Fiona Delacroix, I’m sixteen, and I want to welcome you to Haunting Reality’s Clairsentient versus Poltergeist episode.”
From behind the camera, the rest of the team applauded.
Cheeks flushed warm and heart fluttering like sparrow wings under her chest, Fiona dropped her head. Thank goodness that was so over with. The intros for the feature shows were the hardest for her. Except for the episodes showcasing her abilities, for the most part, she was able to just be herself and use her talent, while ignoring the cameras.
From the brick-fronted, two-story Overton Manor, the backdrop of the scene they’d just shot, a so-not-natural foul scent wafted.
“Hey, gang, there’s a bad smell,” she aimed a thumb over her shoulder, “oozing out of the manor.” Sniffing, she tried to describe the odor as close to normal smells as she could. “It’s like burnt popcorn with a hint of boiled cabbage smell underneath.” Nostrils flaring, Fiona wrinkled her nose. “From the smell of it, what’s inside is going to stir up a real stink.”
“Now, that,” the show’s host and producer clapped his hands in loud slaps, “is the money shot I was anticipating.”
Ducking her head again, Fiona glanced over her shoulder at the looming structure and gulped against the phantom smell clogging her nose and the fist-sized wad of dread stuffing her throat. Head lowered and long, purple-tipped hair curtaining her face, she hurried to join the group and braced against the menacing sense of foreboding snail-crawling down her spine.