It was a tiny room. In it sat a single person bed. Butted up between the short distance between the side of the headboard and the wall was a humble little desk. On it sat a kerosene lamp, a dusty top hat and a modified pair of goggles. Propped up against the far wall, if you could call it far, was a large cross shaped trunk. Inside of which, was a series of compartments varying in size. Harold slept soundly as the sun began to rise in the sky. Last night he was officially granted the right to study the supernatural on his own. The head master, brother Dominic, had deemed him worthy. After spending all of his life learning the ways of the order, Harold felt it was about time.

A soft knock fell upon the door. Followed by several increasingly louder knocks. Harold sleepily rose from his bed and dragged himself to the door. He opened it to reveal initiate brother Maynard, holding a small piece of parchment. Harold took it from the man, smiled and thanked him. The sunlight was beginning to stream through the tiny window as Harold sat down at the desk to read the note. It was his first official assignment. Harold smiled to himself. He continued reading. It was just to investigate minor specter activity in a butcher shop in London. He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. While learning how to handle different supernatural situations in the relative safety of the monastery was one thing. Actually putting it to practical use was quite another. A simple specter shouldn't be too difficult for his first assignment. At least that is what he hoped.

Harlod slowly stood up and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and put it on. He strapped it down over his chest and wrists. He slipped on his finger less gloves and donned his top hat. He walked over to his cross and opened it up. He rifled through a few things, until he found a pair of lenses. They would allow him to see in the ectoplasmic spectrum. Which was the way to identify ghosts and different specters. He placed the lenses in the goggles that were strapped to his hat and closed the cross. He hauled the cross up onto his back and headed to the stables. As he walked with the large cross on his back, he appeared to be heading to his own crucifixion. It was surprisingly light despite it's size and all the items it carried in it. While Harold took solace in scientific knowledge, he carried the cross out of superstition that supernatural beings hate any object that resembles a holy relic. Even though no proof existed of such, Harold considered himself "better safe than sorry".

Harold reached the stables and untied his horse, Buttercup. He hoisted himself onto her back and strapped the cross to his. He spurred her along the trail that would lead to London. It was a thirty minute ride to the city. Harold took that time to admire the forest he rode through and the view of the city as he rode down the hill towards it. It was a fairly cool morning with a slight breeze that kept the bugs away. The ride went a little quicker than Harold would have liked. He knew it was his job now to make sure the citizens of London weren't plagued by anything supernatural. It didn't mean he didn't feel pangs of nervousness in taking this first assignment.

He slowed his horse to a walk as he entered the city streets. People were already bustling to and fro as the day got underway. A few people gave him odd looks, but most kept to themselves. He took the note from his pocket and reread the address again. A few minutes later he arrived in front of a small butcher shop. Where a stout bearded man sat in front of the door, looking dejected. "I say my good man." Harold called out. "Might you be the proprietor of this establishment?" The man looked at him oddly. Then a look of joy spread across his face and he stood up and walked over to Harold. "Did they send you?" He asked. "Did they send you to help save my shop? There's some strange business been going on for the last few days in there." Harold dismounted his horse and tied her to a post. He walked to the door of the shop and stopped. He than began to examine the outside of the shop intently.

"Tell me what has been going on." Harold said to the man, still studying the outside of the building. "Well," The man started. "It started a few days ago. I noticed things were moved around the shop. I thought it was odd, but shrugged it off. Then, two days ago, a ham randomly flew up and hit one of my customers in the face. A ham! That's when I wrote you." Harold turned around to face the man and smiled. "No need to fear. I shall have this little problem of your taken care of." Harold said. He turned back and opened the door to the shop. He unstrapped the cross and leaned it up against the door as it closed. He lowered his goggles over his face as he opened the cross. The hummed a little as he grabbed the items he would need. He grabbed a piece of chalk, a vial of salt, and a small silver spoon.

He closed the cross as he began to explore the shop. Even in the bright light of afternoon, the shop was dark. It smelt of random assortments of meat and had a film of dust over the floor. Harold began walking around and talking out loud. "Hello good sir spirit. You are troubling this shopkeeper and he wishes you gone from the premises. No one wishes you any harm, but we would like you to return to the spirit world." He stopped walking as he spoke. There was no sound to be heard. As the seconds past and nothing was happening, Harold began to grown uneasy.

Suddenly the room grew cold. Harold looked around intently. At first, the room appeared empty. As he continued looking he saw a shimmering figure slowly floating through the air. It had no discerning features other than it was human shaped. Harold was taken aback for a moment as the being just floated randomly too and fro. He quickly ran to the middle of the store and drew three concentric circles on the floor. He held the small silver spoon towards the floating figure. Silver was always a good go to for protection from the supernatural. 

The figure than began to float towards Harold and stopped and hovered slightly in front of him. "If you could, uh, just get in that circle please good sir?" Harold motioned towards the circle with his spoon. The figure slowly floated away towards the counter. "I command you good spirit. Get in the circle and return from whence you came!" Harold ordered, a little shocked by his own bravery. The figured stop floating just above the counter where the butcher kept all his cuts of meats. Before he had a chance to react, the figure began lobbing cuts of meat at Harold. Harold was so flummoxed that he couldn't avoid being hit in the face with a chicken breast. He wiped the slimy residue of his face with disgust. 

He gained his composure and began to avoid the flying meats. All the while continuing to try and command the spirit. After a few minutes of getting nowhere, Harold began to throw pieces of meat back at the spirit. To his surprise, he noticed that it followed the flight path of whatever meat was thrown at it, and returned fire. With that Harold had an idea. He slowly circled the spirit while still throwing meats and avoiding being hit. Until the spirit was between him and the circle. Harold lobbed a piece of meat that landed perfectly in the circles. As the spirit floated down to grab the meat, Harold quickly ran and poured salt around the circle to contain the spirit. He stepped back and saw the spirit remaining perfectly still in the circle.

Harold laughed to himself. He had succeeded at his first assignment. He looked back at the spirit. What was he to do with it? He couldn't leave it trapped in the store. An idea sprang to mind. He walked over next to the circles and began to sprinkle salt over the spirit. As it fell, it pushed the spirit down into the cut of meat. He then slowly picked up the piece of ham and observed it. Through his goggles he could see it glow with spiritual energy. He went and put the ham into his cross, dusted his hands off, and walked out the door. He tipped his hat to the owner as he got on his horse. "Your shop is back to normal." As Harold trotted away he could hear the owner yelling something behind him. "Probably just thanking me." Harold grinned. As he rode, something made Harold look to the right. For a second he thought he saw a cat, just staring at him through an alleyway. He blinked and it was gone.