Peeq Chronicles, Ep. 1 – Lady Peeq, Ghost Negotiator

Lady Peeq, Ghost Negotiator

Part exorcist, part flirt…Lady Peeq tackles gushing devices at a haunted Tenebris Quay townhouse.

By nightfall, she’s darting back to her houseboat, where séance candles burn low and guests are reflected a hundredfold in antiqued mirrors.

A heat-inducing brush with the Fisher Fox sets his lantern eyes gleaming…but it’s off to tame the haunted where the veil grows thin.

But first, meet Scene Specialist A.P. Meringue…

A Note to Readers from A.P. Merinque

Observing crumbs, cataloging curiosities, and monitoring spectral mischief

Before beginning Lady Peeq adventures, it is scientifically prudent—and deliciously recommended—to set your snack stage. Proper preparation may enhance both enjoyment and perception of subtle, ghostly cues.

Mood Snack: Heart-shaped cookies or chocolates, tiny candy trinkets, pastel or gold “love dust.”


Placement: Scattered across a table, windowsill, or any surface that seems mysteriously convenient.


Instructions: Nibble thoughtfully. Let your fingers linger on a trinket here, a chocolate there. Observation suggests this may increase attention to haunted clues or sudden swoons.


A.P. Aside: Crumbs cling to surfaces and possibly spirits. Spectral allergies may manifest; I accept no liability.

Tchochke Townhouse, Fall 2025

The Bleak Reach was quiet that evening, the river a mirror of black glass under fog curling around moored boats like the breath of a skater on a rink. Tenebris Quay’s cobblestones gleamed wet, soaking up lamplight like coins tossed into the dark. Only a single foghorn sounded from the harbor’s edge—a city ordinance, she’d been told, since the locals had threatened mutiny at the thought of more than one.

From the car Lady Peeq moved through the mist with the kind of gait that said she was both at home here and faintly amused by its theatrics. She tapped a knuckled rock rhythm on the polished metal railing. Dusky rose velvet pants caught the lantern glow, a Tencil tee layered beneath her favorite pleather jacket. She walked like someone already late and unapologetic about it, propelled by the future reward of her favorite red twists in her pocket. Two lucrative jobs and delayed gratification set her alight.

Her destination: a converted 1800s carriage house tucked behind an iron gate, where a nervous client paced like a trapped moth. The space was tucked on a quieter stretch of the quay, glass panels catching the last dying light.

“Thank goodness,” the woman breathed as she opened the door. “You must be Lady Peeq. I’m Colleen-Elizabeth.”

“Phew, I’m too lazy for that mouthful, okay if I call you CE?”

Colleen-Elizabeth tittered, “Whatever it takes…”

Her work nook was fresh—lush plants, a scattering of modern art books, furniture, landscapes and degrees complimenting each other—but Peeq’s attention was fixed on the machines, both about two years old. Ancient by IT standards. The paper unit churned steadily, spitting sheets into a half-toppled volcano on the floor. Tiny resin trinkets littered the 3D print bed and windowsill.

“I see now what you meant by your printers wooing you, gushing even.”

“Best way to put it. They were quiet all night and most of today, then it started again an hour ago. Wish I could flip the switch on the whole mess…but I swear they’re already unplugged.”

CE fidgeted by the window, eyes darting between a gurgling 3D beast on the desk and an inkjet hissing out a sheet of gothic verse on the opposite corner. “I don’t know what to do,” she fretted. “It’s like someone’s trying to woo me, but it’s…hardware.”

Lady Peeq deadpanned, “Two machines dueling for your attention. Coming soon to an office near you—an electro-dystopian love triangle starring obsessive tech with bad manners.”

She plucked a page off the floor and read aloud from the curling sheet:

What drowns is not gone

the river remembers.

Meet me where fog 

threads the Bleak together.

She didn’t flinch. “Wow, who knew mere output devices could have a morbid sense of humor,” she quipped, voice dry but amused. “Alexa, add ‘ominous laughter’ to my grocery list.”

Lady P picked up a butterfly forged of translucent polymer, turning it between her fingers and rolling her eyes a fraction. A paper printer attempting to effervesce was one thing. A 3D printer with a taste for kitsch was…not a thing.

She turned to CE. “You’ve been wooed by worse, I hope.”

The client wrung her hands. “I live alone, and right now wooing is off the table. No surprise lovers here. And preferably no phantom lovers who spring surprises.”

“Yet your office looks like a tiny GI Joe troop air-dropped a cache of the world’s least romantic Valentines.”

Peeq examined more offerings. The 3D unit had produced a miniature rose, so finely layered the petals caught the light, and a key no bigger than her thumbnail, with an old-fashioned flourish to its bow. Plastic, opaque, smooth.

“Cute,” she noted flatly. “Though if it starts producing rings, get a lawyer before you say yes.”

Colleen-Elizabeth shivered. “Is all of this real?”

Peeq tilted her head. “Real tchotchkes, yes. Live ghost, red-blooded stalker, or a manifestation in your machine…let’s find out.”

The inkjet clicked and hummed. Another page slid free, joy-soaked words in an antique font that didn’t seem to belong to that model, the ink settling like powdered black sugar.

The client hugged herself, whispering, “It smells like waffles. But it’s not for me. It can’t be for me. It spelled the cat’s name wrong. Again.”

“Poetry rarely arrives by accident,” Lady Peeq said, her brow furrowed. She crouched beside the worktable, where she saw scratches on the power strip, as though plugs were yanked and jammed back in multiple times. A stuttering light caught her eye.

She scanned the spaghettied cords to the hidden modem, shoved behind a drawer, half-connected and likely mangling archived print jobs together. A glitch of outdated software, she suspected. Modern devices kickstarted by interference from radio waves that usually made blast caps ejaculate prematurely. Result, old love letters rearranged into objects of fear.

The timing was uncanny. Computers didn’t usually empathize with each other without a network, and CE’s had no hard connection or shared bluetooth.

She tugged drawers open, moved a file box. Outdated, dust-streaked manuals, an aging dust bunny in need of a grooming brush…and the lifelines of CE’s combatting contraptions still firmly plugged in. She disconnected both and counted to ten.

“You tried rebooting?” she asked.

“Twice. It only made them cough up more baubles and BS.”

Lady Peeq waved her hands over the dual setup with near-theatrical technophile precision. The ‘tech touch’ that friends jokingly envied coaxed compliance the way some coaxed cats. A few adjustments, a flick at the modem, a power cycle.

The 3D modeler’s arm froze, shivered, reset to home, and fell silent. The ink printer let out a final breezy ka-chunk, coughing one last sheet of verse into the tray: part poem, part string of meaningless code, as if sighing farewell.

Miss deep 8y3 l0v3ly

She folded it and slid it into her pocket. “Specters are persistent lovers,” she said, straightening. “But now I’m thinking machines may be worse. At least these two can be bribed with a reboot, for now. I strongly recommend the latest updates every quarter to keep ghosts out of your gadgets.”

The client sagged in relief, though doubt lingered in her eyes. Lady Peeq set the rose and key back on the desk, almost tenderly, before collecting her fee with a quick-draw smile that prevented further questions.

Her cherry-cola Genesis G80 waited below. The mist licked its sides like a pastry brush handled by a spirit. She slid in and let the driver do her thing. A darkened Tenebris Quay rolled by in blurred lamplight reflections on rain-slick stones. The foghorn echoed, lonely, then faded across the quay.

In minutes they reached the canal, where she slid her window down. She let her eyes linger on the neighboring barge as they pulled in. The Fisher Fox was there.

A hunk with silvered hair, the pleasure cruises he ran had kept him as fit as the vessel he owned. Their gazes lingered a beat too long, appreciative without words. Lady Peeq’s pupils dilated just a touch.

His boat—sleek, polished wood and brass fittings that gleamed even in fog—was moored directly beside the houseboat HalfLight. He was coiling a line with the same ease he wore his vintage tee. Thick hair caught the lamplight, a jawline too steady to be softened by age. His boat looked as sleek as he did, a vessel maintained by someone with means and care.

He noticed her long look, and smiled—not presumptuous, not demanding. Just appreciative. The sort of grin that suggested he saw her owning velvet and Tencil, exiting a chauffeured car, and approved without reservation.

Lady Peeq stepped out. “Evening.”

He tipped his head, “Good evening, Lady Peeq.” His voice was low, amused. He was the only man on the quay who said her name without doubt, as though she’d been born to it. “The river’s quiet tonight.”

“Too quiet,” she lamented. “I’m late to go tell people otherwise.”

His chuckle carried. “Don’t let the Bleak have the last word.”

She grinned. “Never.”

She started towards her boat as her car pulled away, darkening the lantern-lit deck. She didn’t look again—though she knew, with certainty, that he did.

HalfLight rose from the fog like a vision, a floating salon of mirrors and candlelight. The interior echoed the dusky tones of her velvet pants, burnt maroon drapes over soft chenille, pops of deep reds everywhere. Guests clustered outside with flutes of champagne, daring each other with giggles and mock gasps over “fake séances” like some whimsical game. Lady Peeq’s pulse quickened, not from nerves, but from anticipation. She knew the first few moments were everything.

The brass plaque gleamed at the entry: L’Obscurité – Evenings of Phantasmic Delight. Guests murmured, curious, amused, slightly anxious.

She vaulted aboard, Tencil skimming the deck rails, velvet brushing past brass fixtures. Inside, trays of sugared confections gleamed on a mirrored buffet. Antiqued glass reflected endless candlelight, a hundred Lady Peeq’s waiting to be summoned.

A costume change, details checked last minute, makeup refreshed, top and hair smoothed with efficient precision. The guests’ laughter floated through the walls, warm and eager.

A candle sputtered on the table, smoke curling. The mirrored wall fogged faintly, though no one was inside yet. A shadow flickered at the porthole, there and gone.

Lady Peeq froze just long enough to notice it, then straightened, shoulders squared. She didn’t flinch, only noted the anomaly for later, a puzzle for after the curtain. A playful scowl tugged at the corner of her mouth. If it was a trick of the mist, she would own it.  Machines might be predictable. Shadows… less so.

Outside, the fog twisted along the rail, moving like a living thing. Peeq didn’t look; she didn’t need to. The shadow, whatever it was, remained a question mark in her mind, a punctuation before the performance she was about to give.

“They say what goes into the Bleak doesn’t always stay drowned,” she breathed, lips quirking. “Here’s hoping that includes the purse I dropped last week…and my banker’s rising optimism.”

The guests filed in, chatter bubbling, summoned by instinct. The fog pressed tighter against the glass.

And Lady Peeq was ready.

Curtain.

Read Peeq Chronicles Episode 2, HalfLight Séance ->