So, here’s something they don’t tell you in ghost-hunting school (which isn’t real, but should be): sometimes hauntings don’t just fade away—they calcify.

I’m not talking about normal haunted junk like dolls or cursed mirrors. I’m talking about Lament Amalgamations—basketball-sized ivory clusters that form when too many spirits get tangled together for too long. Imagine if every ghost in a five-mile radius had an emotional meltdown and decided to become modern art. That’s a Lament Amalgamation.

They usually grow in deep, forgotten places: tunnels, crypts, subway basements, places with bad ventilation and worse history. When one forms, it turns the area into a spiritual warzone. Lights flicker, gravity gets weird, and your shadow starts arguing with you. But if you can find the core and remove it, the hauntings stop completely.

Now, most exorcists destroy the things. Morizumi Shimada? He collects them.

He says he’s “preserving the echoes of despair for research.” I say he’s got the world’s creepiest hobby. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen his fireplace in Baltimore: a huge marble mantle lined with glossy, ghost-packed spheres, each faintly humming like they’re still complaining about something.

The first time I visited, I swear one of them sighed when I walked by. I asked him why he kept them there.

“They’re aesthetically pleasing,” he said. “And I like symmetry.”

“Bro, you’re displaying haunted souls like they’re Air Jordans.”

He gave me that serene, unbothered look. “I do collect those as well. Different shelf.”

To be fair, watching him extract one is… impressive. We once found a cluster under a Roman bathhouse—eight fused together into a writhing ivory mass the size of a small car. Morizumi just stepped forward, touched it with his palm, and it turned solid in an instant, like it was scared to move.

I asked what he planned to do with it.

“Display it,” he said.

“Where?”

“In the foyer.”

Because of course he did.

Now, every time we enter a new haunted site and the EMF spikes off the charts, I can see that glint in his eyes—the same one sneakerheads get when a limited edition drops. And when he finally pries one free, I can practically hear him thinking: Another one for the collection.

I’m telling you, one day that manor’s going to revolt. The spheres will roll off the mantle and form a ghost union. And when that happens, don’t say I didn’t warn him.