The Call

The tranquil atmosphere of the Santorini police station was abruptly shattered by the piercing ring of the phone. Officer Petros picked up the receiver, his tone calm and collected, typical of someone used to handling the occasional tourist mishap or minor dispute.

“Santorini Police,” he answered, expecting the usual—perhaps a lost wallet or a noise complaint. But the voice on the other end was anything but ordinary.

“There’s been a murder! At Mr. Angelos’ villa! You need to come quick!”

Petros’s eyes widened as he hastily jotted down the address, signaling to his fellow officers. Within moments, the small squad was mobilized, their sirens cutting through the evening air as they raced to the scene.

Detective Theodoros “Theo” Karras followed shortly behind, his vintage Fiat rattling along the winding roads. Theo, the island’s most eccentric investigator, was known for his peculiar methods—quirks that made him both a legend and an enigma among his peers. Despite his oddities, his reputation for noticing even the smallest details was unmatched.

As Theo approached the villa, the serene landscape of Santorini’s cliffs contrasted starkly with the dark event that had unfolded. The villa, one of many on the island inhabited by writers seeking solitude and inspiration, stood perched on the edge, overlooking the vast Aegean Sea. Tonight, however, it was no sanctuary of creativity—it was a crime scene.

The officers were already at work, securing the perimeter and beginning their investigation. The villa’s blue domes, usually a symbol of peace and beauty, now loomed ominously over the scene. Theo parked his car and made his way inside, his sharp eyes taking in every detail: the slightly ajar window, the faint scent of incense still hanging in the air, and a single, out-of-place footprint on the freshly swept terrace. He scribbled notes in a small, worn notebook, his mind already piecing together the puzzle.

Inside, the living room was a hive of activity. The body lay at the center, covered by a white sheet, while officers methodically gathered evidence. The housekeeper, visibly shaken, sat on a nearby chair, wringing her hands and mumbling incoherently about “curses” and “dark omens.”

Theo’s arrival brought a brief pause to the activity as the officers looked to him for direction. He was, after all, the island’s best detective—though his methods often left others scratching their heads. With a nod, he gestured for them to continue their work, then turned his attention to the room itself.

The villa was decorated in a style that mixed modern comfort with traditional Greek elements. White walls were adorned with paintings—some abstract, others more classical in style—all likely the work of Mr. Angelos, who was as much an artist with a brush as he was with words. A grand piano stood in one corner, its lid open, sheets of music scattered across the top. A bookshelf, overflowing with volumes, dominated one wall, each book carefully selected by the late writer.

Theo moved closer to the body, the scent of lavender and old paper mingling in the air. He noticed a glass of wine tipped over on a nearby table, the deep red liquid pooling on the marble surface. There were no signs of a struggle—no overturned furniture, no broken objects. Everything seemed almost too orderly, too undisturbed, except for the lifeless figure under the sheet.

Before he could pull back the covering, a voice—soft yet distinct—cut through the noise of the room.

“What’s going on here? Why are all these people in my house?”

Theo froze, his eyes scanning the room for the source of the voice. It was clear and close, as if the speaker were standing right next to him. But there was no one there who could have spoken—no one visible, at least. The officers continued their work, oblivious to the voice that had startled Theo.

“Can you hear me?” the voice asked again, louder this time, tinged with impatience.

Theo’s gaze shifted, and finally, his eyes locked onto the impossible: a man, middle-aged, with a perplexed expression, standing—or rather, floating—a few feet away. He was dressed in a rumpled linen suit, his hair tousled, as though he had just awoken from a deep sleep. The man’s eyes darted around the room, growing more confused with each passing moment.

Theo’s throat tightened, but he managed a subtle nod, careful not to attract the attention of the officers who were just feet away.

The ghost—because that’s what he had to be—drifted closer to Theo, his expression now a mix of curiosity and frustration. “Why is everyone in my house? What’s happening?”

Theo’s mind raced as he tried to make sense of the situation. This ghost, this apparition, was none other than Mr. Angelos, the famous author whose works had captivated readers around the world. And yet, here he was, completely unaware that he was dead.

The ghost’s gaze fell upon the covered body, and for a fleeting moment, realization seemed to dawn on him. His voice quivered as he asked, “That’s me, isn’t it? No, it can’t be… I was just working on my new book…”

Theo swallowed hard, maintaining his composure as he nodded slightly once more. The ghost—still struggling to accept the truth—floated closer to his own lifeless body, his hand reaching out instinctively, only to pass through the sheet.

“This has to be some kind of sick joke,” the ghost muttered, his voice now tinged with panic. “I can’t be dead… I have deadlines!”

With a quiet sigh, Theo gently pulled back the sheet, revealing the lifeless face of Mr. Angelos. The ghost recoiled, his form flickering as if it might vanish, but he held firm, a cry of anguish escaping his lips.

“This can’t be happening! I’m supposed to be alive! Writing! Not lying here like this!”

The officers glanced at Theo, puzzled by his sudden stillness and intense focus. He quickly masked his reaction with a cough, waving them off as if everything was perfectly normal.

Hovering above his own body, the ghost’s panic shifted to anger. “Who did this? Who killed me?”

Theo, keeping his voice low and even, murmured, “That’s what we’re here to find out.”

The ghost’s eyes bore into Theo’s, a desperate plea for answers. “You can hear me… see me… Can you help me?”

Theo nodded, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. This was going to be one case for the books—a dead writer who didn’t know he was dead, a ghostly companion who was more exasperated than terrifying. And only Theo could see and hear him.

The ghost continued to hover near his own body, his translucent hands clenching and unclenching as he attempted to grasp the reality of his situation. His voice, which had been strong and assertive moments ago, now trembled with uncertainty.

“I had so much more to do… so many stories left to tell,” he lamented, looking at Theo as if the detective could somehow reverse his fate. “This can’t be the end. I need to finish my novel. It was going to be my best work yet.”

Theo remained silent, his mind racing with thoughts of how to handle this unprecedented situation. He had encountered his fair share of strange cases over the years—cases that had baffled even the most seasoned investigators—but this was different. This was supernatural, and Theo wasn’t sure how to proceed.

The officers around him continued their work, oblivious to the ghostly presence in the room. One of them, a young officer named Dimitri, approached Theo with a notebook in hand.

“Detective, we’ve gathered some preliminary evidence,” Dimitri said, his voice cutting through Theo’s thoughts. “It looks like Mr. Angelos might have been poisoned. There’s no sign of a struggle, and the glass of wine over there… well, it’s possible the wine was tainted.”

Theo nodded absently, his attention still focused on the ghost who was now hovering near the bookshelf, his eyes fixed on one of the volumes.

The ghost floated closer to the shelf, reaching out to touch the spine of a book, only for his hand to pass through it. “My memoirs,” he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. “I was just about to finish them… My entire life’s work, all the secrets I’ve kept… and now they’ll never be told.”

Theo’s eyes flicked to the shelf, curious about the significance of the book. He made a mental note to examine it later, but for now, he had more pressing concerns. Turning back to Dimitri, he asked, “Anything else?”

Dimitri shook his head. “Not yet, but we’re still searching the villa. It’s a big place, and Mr. Angelos had a lot of… interesting belongings. We’ll let you know if we find anything unusual.”

Theo thanked Dimitri and dismissed him, returning his attention to the ghost. The poor man was now pacing back and forth, his agitation growing with each passing minute.

“Why can’t they see me?” the ghost demanded, his voice rising. “Why am I stuck here, invisible, when all I want to do is finish my work?”

Theo took a deep breath and, for the first time, addressed the ghost directly. “Mr. Angelos,” he began, keeping his voice low to avoid drawing attention from the officers, “you need to understand something. You’re no longer… among the living.”

The ghost stopped pacing, turning to stare at Theo with wide eyes. “What are you saying? That I’m… that I’m dead?”

Theo nodded, his expression gentle but firm. “Yes, I’m afraid so. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find out what happened to you. I can help you, but I need your help too.”

The ghost’s shoulders slumped as the reality of his situation finally sank in. “Dead… I’m really dead,” he muttered, more to himself than to Theo. “This is… this is unbelievable.”

Theo felt a pang of sympathy for the man. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to suddenly find oneself in such a state—trapped between worlds, with unfinished business and no way to complete it. But sympathy wouldn’t solve the case. He needed to focus on the task at hand.

“Mr. Angelos,” Theo said, trying to redirect the ghost’s thoughts, “I need you to think. Do you remember anything unusual before you died? Did you have any enemies? Anyone who might have wanted to harm you?”

The ghost furrowed his brow, deep in thought. “Enemies… no, not really. I mean, there were always critics—people who didn’t like my work, but that’s part of being a writer. I never thought anyone would want to kill me.”

Theo nodded, understanding. “What about the wine? Did anyone give it to you, or did you pour it yourself?”

The ghost seemed to grow even more transparent as he concentrated, trying to recall the events leading up to his death. “The wine… I remember opening a bottle. It was a gift, I think. Yes, that’s right—a gift from one of my readers. They often send me things, you know. Fan letters, gifts, wine… I didn’t think anything of it.”

Theo’s mind raced with possibilities. A poisoned bottle of wine, sent by an admirer—or perhaps someone pretending to be an admirer. It was a classic method, almost too obvious, but effective nonetheless. He would have to look into Mr. Angelos’s correspondence, see if there were any clues hidden there.

“Did you keep the letter that came with the wine?” Theo asked, hoping for a lead.

The ghost shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. I read it and… well, I didn’t think it was important. I tossed it.”

Theo suppressed a sigh. This was going to be a challenge—investigating a crime with no physical evidence, relying only on the memories of a ghost who hadn’t even realized he was dead until moments ago. But Theo had never backed down from a challenge before, and he wasn’t about to start now.

As he pondered his next move, the ghost hovered closer, a newfound determination in his translucent eyes. “You said you could help me, Detective. I want to know who did this to me—and I want to stop them before they hurt anyone else.”

Theo met the ghost’s gaze, his own eyes filled with resolve. “I will help you, Mr. Angelos. Together, we’ll find out who did this. But you’ll need to stay with me, and I’ll need your insight. There might be things only you can see or remember.”

The ghost nodded, his form solidifying slightly as his resolve strengthened. “Thank you, Detective. I… I don’t know what else to do. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

With that, the partnership was sealed—a living detective and a ghostly writer, united by a shared goal. The room around them seemed to fade into the background as they focused on the task ahead.

Outside, the night had fully fallen, casting long shadows across the island. The villa, once a place of creativity and inspiration, now held the secrets of a murder—and it was up to Theo and his new, spectral companion to unravel them.

As they stood over the lifeless body, the faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below, the mystery began to unfold. The story of Mr. Angelos’s final chapter was only just beginning.

And so was the strangest investigation of Theo Karras’s career.