Margot didn’t look surprised. She tapped the screen. “That, love, is why you called me specifically. ‘Drain clearance near me’—but you didn’t notice the fine print, did you?”
Margot packed her gear. “That’ll be eighty quid. Plus the Victorian surcharge—haunting removal adds fifteen.”
Ethan looked at Margot. “We have to help him.” drain clearance near me
“Third-floor blockage?” she asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
Out stepped Margot. She was seventy if she was a day, wore steel-toe boots with purple laces, and carried a snake camera like a seasoned warrior hoists a sword. Margot didn’t look surprised
“What the hell is that?” Ethan whispered.
“Your flat,” Margot continued, feeding more cable, “was built on the site of a Victorian curiosity shop. The owner, one Professor Alistair P. Grunge, dabbled in trans-planar plumbing. He believed every building had a ‘weep-hole’—a drain that led not to the sewer, but to the spaces between walls. Lost rooms. Forgotten memories. Occasionally, a trapped soul.” ‘Drain clearance near me’—but you didn’t notice the
Ethan grabbed the receipt off the fridge. Underneath the bold lettering, in font size six, it read: We also clear interdimensional sump junctions, time-loop U-bends, and residual psychic residue from previous tenants.