Urban Fantasy/Paranormal

We’ve all done it — you’re sitting on the couch, half-watching a paranormal documentary and half-scrolling your phone, when suddenly you think… “If my lights flickered right now and my dog started growling at an empty hallway, who the heck would I call?” And of course I don’t mean 911. I mean fictional men who have experience dealing with pissed-off spirits and mysterious ancient curses. So yeah, I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time ranking popular guys from movies and TV to determine exactly who would get that panicked late-night call. (It’s research. Totally legitimate writer research.)

First guy that immediately came to mind was Dean Winchester from Supernatural. You know he’d answer his phone even if it was 3:37 AM because that man literally doesn’t sleep. He’d probably grumble “what did you do this time?” before even saying hello, but then he’d grab the keys to the Impala and be at my front door in four hours flat with rock music blaring and a trunk full of salt rounds, iron crowbars, and holy water. I feel like he wouldn’t even need the backstory — I could just point at the creepy antique mirror and he’d be like “yeah… that thing’s cursed” and immediately smash it. Five stars for efficiency, though negative one star for probable property damage.

That then reminded me of Fox Mulder (The X-Files). Love Mulder with all my nerdy heart, but let’s be honest — if I called him first, I’d end up getting abducted by aliens halfway through his five-hour PowerPoint presentation explaining why the poltergeist in my kitchen is obviously a government conspiracy. He’d bring up crop circles and Roswell before we even stepped into the living room. Very enthusiastic, though. If I want moral support and complicated theories about why a ghost might haunt a waffle iron, Mulder’s definitely the guy. But if I want something actually banished, I’d probably save him as my “third option” emergency contact.

And then there’s John Constantine (the Matt Ryan version, not the Keanu Reeves one — though I’d honestly call Keanu for a different kind of crisis if you know what I mean). Constantine would absolutely show up in a rumpled coat smelling faintly of cigarette smoke and regret. He’d roll his eyes at the situation, mutter something Latin under his breath, and casually kick a demon back through a portal while insulting it. The downside here is that Constantine always has, like… baggage. He might fix the situation, but I’d be left wondering if I now owe a favor to some random Hell lord. Risky. But if things are crawling out of the walls and speaking in tongues? Yeah, I’m texting Constantine.

Now if we’re talking pure emotional support plus spirit-punching capability, Geralt of Rivia (The Witcher) is actually a solid contender. Sure, he might not answer his phone (because, uh, medieval fantasy setting) but if I could summon him with a coin toss or whatever, he’d probably handle a demon like it was mildly annoying breakfast prep. Also, Geralt is unfazed by literally anything. I could point at a floating corpse in my kitchen and he’d just grunt, nod once, and start brewing a potion with random herbs from my spice rack. Also, major bonus: he brings his own sword. No Jeep full of gear necessary.

One guy I’d absolutely not call first is Jonathan Harker from Dracula. Listen, love him to bits, but the man nearly lost his mind over a few vampire brides and couldn’t even get out of a castle without having an emotional breakdown. I feel like he’d just faint if a ghost whispered in my doorway. He’s a solid support character but not your “first on the scene” guy.

Another one I would call? Egon Spengler from Ghostbusters. Not Peter. Not Ray. Definitely not Venkman. Egon is the secretly competent one. He’d show up with stacks of notes, gently place scientific sensors around the house, and quietly trap the ghost without a single dramatic speech. Then he’d mutter something deeply scientific about ectoplasmic density, hand me a containment unit, and politely leave. Honestly? Kind of perfect.

And of course, Blade (yes, the vampire hunter). He’s probably not great with ghosts, but if the supernatural crisis involves bloodthirsty immortal creatures, he’s my first call. He’d scowl at me for being stupid enough to invite a vampire in (“I thought he just wanted coffee!”) and then he’d calmly decapitate the problem before disappearing back into the night. Efficient. Zero small talk.

So if I had to rank them? Constantine first if it’s definitely demonic. Dean Winchester if it’s a vengeful spirit or haunted crayon drawing. Geralt if it’s some sort of ancient cursed entity that requires sword-based diplomacy. Egon if the house just needs high-tech ghost eviction. Mulder if I need moral support and wild conspiracy theories. And absolutely never Jonathan Harker unless I want someone to panic with me in matching Victorian nightshirts.

Anyway, I feel like everyone should have a “supernatural crisis phone tree.” It’s just practical. You never know when a cursed doll is going to blink at you from the bookshelf, and trust me — you don’t want to start scrolling through your contacts at 2:00 a.m. trying to decide between “demonologist” or “witcher.”

…The Psychology Behind Why We Love Ghost Stories

I still remember the first time I scared the absolute crap out of myself with a ghost story.

I was maybe seven or eight, tucked under a blanket fort with a flashlight and a battered copy of Mystery of the Witches’ Bridge. You know the one—the one with those sketchy ink illustrations that look like they crawled straight out of a haunted fever dream. I got to one part and something about that story made my skin crawl so badly I didn’t sleep for two nights. It was also about that time that I read “The Ghosts” by Antonia Barber which had the same effect on me.  I found it spine-tinglingly scary and had to start sleeping with a nightlight.

And yet… I went back for more. I always do.

So what’s that about? Why do we love ghost stories when they make us flinch at our own shadow or check behind the shower curtain at midnight like total weirdos?

Let’s dig into it.

Fear Without the Fallout

Psychologists say that part of the thrill comes from something called benign masochism—that sweet spot where we enjoy fear because it’s controlled. When you read a ghost story or watch a paranormal movie, your brain lights up like it’s under attack… but your body knows you’re safe on your couch with snacks.

Basically, it’s fear in a fun-sized wrapper (though Poltergeist was more fear than fun).

I think of it like a haunted house you walk through on purpose. You get the rush of adrenaline, the spike in heart rate, but there’s no actual demon dragging you into the basement. (Hopefully.)

It’s the same reason we scream during The Conjuring but then immediately rewatch it with friends, pointing out the moments we jumped. We like to feel brave. Or at least pretend we are.

Ghosts as Emotional Mirrors

But ghost stories aren’t just about thrills and chills. A lot of them are secretly about grief, guilt, or unfinished business.

Think about The Sixth Sense. It’s not just a ghost story—it’s a story about loneliness, about communication, about helping people find closure. Cole sees dead people, sure, but what hits me harder is how broken the living people are.

Same with The Haunting of Hill House (the Netflix version, not the old black-and-white one—though that one’s got its charm too). The Bent-Neck Lady? That twist crushed me. That entire series was basically a psychological study in family trauma dressed up in creepy ghosts and jump scares.

We love ghost stories because they haunt us emotionally. They take things we’ve buried—loss, shame, regret—and give them form. They make us look at them.

Telling Stories Around the Fire

There’s also something communal about ghost stories. They’ve been around forever. Like, literally forever.

Even ancient Mesopotamian texts mention spirits who wander the Earth. Every culture has its version of the ghost story—La Llorona in Latin America, the yūrei in Japan, the White Lady in Europe. Ghosts are the world’s oldest campfire gossip.

I grew up hearing about Resurrection Mary, the hitchhiking ghost from Chicago. My cousin swore she saw her once near Archer Avenue. Of course, she also swore she saw Bigfoot in Indiana, so take that with a salt lick.

But that’s part of it—ghost stories create shared experiences. Whether we’re watching a movie together, listening to a podcast like Lore, or swapping creepy tales on Reddit at 2AM, they give us a reason to connect (and maybe keep the lights on a little longer).

Safe Spaces for the Unexplainable

I think ghost stories also give us space to talk about the unknown without needing to solve it.

We live in a hyper-rational, hyper-scientific world. If something creaks in the house, we Google “HVAC noises at night” instead of just saying, “Welp, it’s haunted again.” But ghost stories let us suspend that rational voice. They give us permission to believe in something bigger, stranger, less tidy.

Even if we don’t believe in ghosts (I’m still undecided, personally), we’re drawn to the possibility of something more.

The Last Little Haunt

So yeah, I still love ghost stories (not surprising, given that I write them as well). Not just the heart-racing kind, but the ones that sneak up on you emotionally—the ones that leave you unsettled long after the credits roll.

There’s something oddly comforting about being scared in a safe way. Something satisfying about facing the unknown, even if it’s through the eyes of a fictional character holding a flickering lantern in some creaky Victorian house.

And honestly? I think a little haunting now and then keeps life interesting.