The Ghost Experts

Tony Belgrave’s fascination with ghosts and demons was one of many secrets he hid till he left for university. In his final year, two film students come to him for help with a sketch satirising ghost-hunting TV programmes.

That's where it starts: Mocking crackpot conspiracy theorists, boobs-for-brains actresses and money-hungry, manipulative producers. But over the next two years, Tony’s, Natalie's, and Jules’ caricatures consume them and a joke becomes a wildly popular YouTube series with aspiring ghost hunters clinging to its every lie.

Tony’s friends’ hunger for success brings them to Lansfield Hall. The ruined mansion’s legacy is a cesspool of cliché ghost stories, but there's one fact nobody can deny: Everyone who steps past its threshold winds up dead. The rest of the crew brush away Tony’s concerns; after all, they know ghosts aren’t real. They’re there to act. Only Tony knows they probably won’t need to.

And before long, he’s fighting for more than just the truth.


Author's note

Hello! This is now the THIRD rewrite of my very first novel. I don't know if anyone'll be reading this who really remembers the first one, but if you do, please expect MAJOR changes! You remember Philip? Well, he doesn't exist anymore; he's been replaced by Dave's twin sister Julianne, who was in the original for about five seconds to chain-smoke and yell at news crews. I loved her and wanted her to be in the book for way longer, and where else to put an inconsequential joke character than at the forefront of the entire operation? You remember Gerry and Travis? They also no longer exist. There is only Kevin. Andy's still obsessed with himself, Jean's still a manipulative douchebag, Kevin's still a flimsy sweetheart, Tony and Dave are still extremely gay for each other, and they're still all stuck in a mansion with a bunch of vengeful ghosts, so it's not an entirely different book, I suppose. Anyway, enjoy! I'll go away now. Jem :)
(Oh, Jean's name is also Natalie now. I guess that's kind of important.)

4. Sir Grope-a-Lot

We rarely visit places full of people to film, and normally, when we do, the people make it feel more welcoming. Not here.

The King’s Head Inn, which has crouched like a loyal pet at the foot of Ely Cathedral since it was built in the early 1600s, is tiny. Smaller than a good-sized house, with six rooms on the upper floor and seven more underground, below the pub. The smell of stale beer reaches every corner of the building, seeping into the dark polished wood surfaces and ratty burgundy carpets. It’s old, and it feels old. It’s clean, but it feels dirty, dark and impossibly claustrophobic.

I haven’t felt this optimistic about a place since Ledgely Infirmary five months ago.

The owners didn’t seem all that happy to see the four of us when we arrived, with our scruffy street clothes, black equipment bags and cheerful smiles, but we’re used to not quite fitting in in the workplace by now. When Jules called to book us two rooms for the night- one for me and Kevin and one, room twelve, the haunted one, for herself and Natalie- they told her she’d have to pay them triple the regular rate to film. She grinned and said no problem, and when they hastily asked for it in cash, she repeated herself.

Jules quit her waitressing job last week, just after we filmed our video thanking our seventy-five thousand subscribers for their loyalty. Natalie and I were perfectly happy to tell the cameras we felt humbled. Our boss, meanwhile, reportedly told her manager she was going to be rich and he could kiss her solid-gold diamond-encrusted arse on his cold walk home every night. She’s still living on her student loans, but admittedly, at the rate our channel’s growing, it won’t be long before all four of us- including Kevin, who’s more or less a permanent member of the team now- can get by on it alone. When we first started making the money, I tried to refuse it, but Jules wouldn’t let me. Now it’s a living, and not just fun, I feel like it’s getting out of control. Jules has so many books and stacks of paper on the channel’s finances in her desk now you wouldn’t find a single worksheet for her course if you searched her room all day.

 “Alright,” Jules says through her gum, cracking her knuckles as she walks into the twelfth room. “So this is where Sir Grope-a-lot lives.”

I look at her, then over into the broom-cupboard-sized bathroom. “Uh. Yeah.”

Sir Grope-a-lot is the name Jules has used for the purported ghost of Samuel Sanders since I first suggested filming at this location. He was the sixteenth century’s definition of a scoundrel, an unmarried alcoholic notorious for getting a little too handsy with the women in his favourite pub whenever he got sloshed. Then, in his middle ages, in his favourite room in his favourite pub, he slipped on the wet bathroom floor and smashed his brains out on the side of the bathtub. Ever since then, his ghost’s been stuck in that bathroom- the one we’re staring at right now- doing its best to carry on his legacy. I originally suggested the King’s Head as a joke, not expecting it to be nearly as strange inside as it really is, but it was Natalie who wanted to come. Her boyfriend wouldn’t like it, she said. That’s all she said. But here we are.



Jules comes out of the bathroom, combing her hair with her fingers. “It doesn’t work,” she says with a grin, dumping herself onto the bed next to Kevin and picking up the remote.

Kevin’s the tallest man I’ve ever seen in my life, and he’s had to bend nearly double to get through every doorway in this inn. He’s in Jules’ year on the filmmaking course, though he looks about twenty-six or twenty-seven, with dark skin, a well-kept mop of black hair and a neat beard, and everything he wears, even his glasses, looks expensive. His sheer height and unfair good looks might have intimidated me, was it not for the fact he’s so shy that in the year we’ve known each other, I’ve heard him say about ten words.

He doesn’t look up at Jules as he says, “What didn’t work?”

“There’s no ghost in that bathroom.”

When Kevin doesn’t reply, I murmur, “Maybe Natalie needs to try.”

Jules jerks her head towards me with mock indignation, then hits me over the head with the thick pile of scripts she’s editing. Natalie bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop till we’ve all turned to look at her.

“Sorry,” she says. She pulls a face at Kevin, then lowers her head to her lap. Jules and I look at each other. Natalie’s been getting quieter these past few months.

“How’s Andy Pandy?” Jules asks, and Natalie glowers at her. Jules has been teasing her about the phone conversation she overheard between Natalie and her new boyfriend since last week.

“He’s fine.”

“Good, good. Y’know, you two seem pretty into each other. But you’ve hardly said a word about him to me, even though I’m your best friend. That’s okay. You can tell me all about him tonight, when we’re sharing. When do we get to meet him?”

“Soon, maybe. S’long as you swear you won’t call him Andy Pandy.”

“Sorry. You’re right. I’m sure he’d prefer Pumpkin.”

“Shut up.”

A couple of seconds pass. Then, they both start laughing.



“Hey, we’re almost ready. Kevin, you good?”

Kevin nods behind the camera.

Jules slaps him on the shoulder. “Tony, you ready to go? Natalie?”

We both nod too.

Just before Jules says ‘Action’, I realise she’s not holding anything. She used to film whilst Kevin was in charge of the practical effects; then, perhaps due to the same desperation for control that made her tell Kevin to repeat things till the movement was exactly right, they switched places for a while, with him filming and her tormenting us. Then, for the videos where we didn’t need extra effects, both of them would film, from two different angles. I notice Jules’ camera mounted in the window, looking into the room.

Natalie and I finish filming the intro to the video, explaining the history of the King’s Head whilst seated at the edge of the bed together. I’ve developed a habit of silently ticking off fuel for the shippers as it comes. This one’s a definite. A couple of videos back, in my desperation to kill the Natalony fever taking over our comments section, I made a joke about being gay. Jules cut it out. At first, she said it was irrelevant, then gratuitous, but I knew she was determined not to quench the fire. She doesn’t even seem to care about us being ‘cute’ together or not- in fact, she’s been watching a lot of reality TV lately, declaring relationship drama, especially the bad kind, is a fantastic selling point. I don’t know what she’s hoping for.

 “Cut. Shit, where’re my cigarettes?” Jules looks around for a smoke alarm. “Tony, could you try to be a bit more, I dunno, playful in the next few takes?” she says absently as she rummages in her bag.

“Jules, you can’t smoke in here.”

“Sure I can. There’s no alarm.”

“There’s a sign.”

“Fuck that rude-ass Wilford Brimley manager, I’m gagging. It reeks of smoke in here anyway.”

“That’s from the bar. Also, you quit smoking six months ago.”

“Oh.” Jules stops rummaging and stands up straight. She steals a look at the shot over Kevin’s shoulder before standing back in front of us. “You’re right.”

“What d’you mean, more playful?” I ask, changing the subject.

Jules looks at me, her eyes working like she’s trying to remember what I mean. Then, she remembers.

“You know. It’s not that you’re exactly deadpan right now; it’s just we’ve got a pretty funny ghost story here, and Natalie’s laughing it up, and you’re not. You look like you’re somewhere thirty sweet old grannies were massacred, not a pub where some drunk old perv smacked his head open on a toilet bowl and died with his pants down.”

“Well, I mean, it is still a ghost,” I say uncertainly, as Natalie quietly giggles. “And no matter how he died, we are still kinda exploiting his death for views. I dunno, maybe I feel like laughing over it’s a step too far. I dunno.”

“Oh, you need to learn to have fun,” Jules says. “I’ve thought that for a while.”

“I hang around with ghosts for a living. How’s that fun?”

She looks at me. “You’re the one who used to get the most fun out of it.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

After Jules has lost interest in the conversation, and turned back to nitpick Kevin’s camera work and rummage in her bag for her gum, Natalie shoots a glance at me, then looks away.

She’s right, isn’t she? I have lost all sense of joy related to this. Maybe it’s all the views. Maybe it’s the money. Or maybe it’s just… boredom.

One thing’s for sure; I don’t really feel self-conscious about lying anymore. Just like Natalie, I’ve managed to build myself a character, not a completely different persona like Natalie’s but a version of me who cares more about ghosts and less about people’s feelings, and stepped into it so well the seams don’t show. And just like Natalie, I think I might’ve forgotten how to get out.

“The thing is, Tony,” Jules says from Kevin’s side. “There’s a good reason why I really need you to get into the jokiness of this place.”

“Oh, really?” I say uneasily. “What’s that?”

“Well, because this video’s gonna be the ghostiest yet.”

“It’s gonna be the what?”

“You know; you’ve read the script. The craziest experience yet.” Jules spreads her arms. “Maybe with half a dozen exclamation marks and question marks after it. Not in that order. Now we’ve got the audience hook, line and sinker, we can throw anything we want at ‘em and they’ll cling on. We’ll get more, too. Thousands more, if we go crazy.”

“I was confused when you told us that,” I say, wringing my hands in my lap.


“Cos of the place you chose to do it in.”

“I chose this place cos it’s not what people would expect,” Jules explains. “Fakers trying to make a crazy one-hit wonder would pull out all the stops, and they’d pick a huge big-deal location, like some of the ones we’ve been to before. It all adds to the realism. That we’ve got content in those places, and crazy paranormal content, but didn’t choose to put it together.”

“It’s still a huge risk, isn’t it?” Natalie says seriously. “Doing multiple big things in one episode? I guess I’m kinda nervous we can’t pull it off.”

“Don’t be. You could act your way outta high-security prison, Natalie. You can handle it.”

“But what if the viewers call bullshit?” Natalie says. “This is way more paranormal activity than usual not just for our channel, but for any kind of video like this. And you said you wanna start doing videos like this more often, right? Videos where crazy shit happens? That’s gonna put a real strain on people’s trust for us.”

“I have an idea,” I say quietly.

Jules, Natalie and Kevin turn to look at me. “What?”

“I have an idea,” I say again. “I had it when you first suggested making all the videos more intense. The way I saw it, you were saying we had to choose: either, one crazy video every once in a while, or lots of videos with mild activity. Well, we might not have to choose if we can figure out how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Well…” I say nervously. I pause. After this, I can never again claim to be the morally righteous group member. After this, I’ll be the worst of us. Well, maybe second-worst. After Jules. “Why don’t we tell our viewers we’ve been experimenting with techniques, to provoke more paranormal activity than all the other channels? Instead of just waiting for stuff to happen to us, like the rest, we could pretend we’ve pioneered a way to get ghosts to communicate with us more. So it only makes sense that we can do it, and nobody else can.””

Jules is staring at me, her hand on her chin, thinking. Seeing her like that reminds me of the first night in the abandoned dorm at the university, when she watched me talking and finally asked me to be in her film.

“What kind of technique are we talking, here?” she asks me.

“Yeah, Tony. That sounds even riskier if you ask me,” Natalie adds. “Sounds like something they’ll call bullshit on instantly.”

Kevin doesn’t say anything.

“Maybe,” I say. “And it’s probably a stupid idea. Even if it did work, we couldn’t use it every video. It’d just be an excuse for why when stuff does happen, it happens a lot. Y’know?”

“But what are you suggesting we do?” Jules asks.

“Nothing,” I say.

She frowns. “Nothing?”

“Nothing on-camera. So nothing at all. We could tell the viewers we’re doing it off-camera. Perhaps it’s something really time-consuming, like spending six hours just sitting in the room talking to the spirit before we begin the sessions. That way they’ll understand why we don’t show it. Or perhaps it’s something to build up trust, like telling the spirit, I dunno, really intimate secrets. Just something they’ll believe we’re capable of doing, but that they won’t want to actually watch us do.”

I look up at her, and when I see her expression, I nervously add, “It’s a stupid idea. I went on for too long. It probably won’t work.”

She smiles at me. “Tony, you may not believe in ghosts as much as you did when I met you, but you’re even more cream-crackers than ever.”

I frown. “What?”

“Mad. It means mad. You’re cream-crackers. You’re mad. And I love it. I’m going to write it into the next script and give you our silver play button to hang on your bedroom wall.”

I stare at her. “Uh, thanks?”

“Okay, we’d better move on. Natalie, go squeeze your skinny ass into that bathroom for the next scene. Tony, the EMFs, please?” She looks at me as I pass her. “Boy, how I’ve changed you.”

Half-heartedly, wondering whether I’ve doomed us or not, I smile back.

As I watched her set up for the first shot this evening, and realised she didn’t have a camera so she was freer to run to us to change positions, rearrange microphones, equipment, ornaments on the bedside table, I asked Jules inside my head, How big do you want this to be?

And now I know. It’s there in her eyes; her eyes that burn with the ambition she’s always had, and the hunger of the phony producers and directors she used to detest. There is no answer to that, Tony. Because there is no limit. None.



Several hours pass, and filming goes by with barely a hitch; barely, besides the manager coming up to complain about the noise only for Jules to bully him away, and the numerous times she halts takes to pick at tiny details, making us repeat ourselves over and over again till we’re exhausted and she’s at least a little happy. As every scene involving paranormal intervention goes by- a tap on a window, the shower spontaneously starting, doors and windows closing, me pretending to hear whispering voices in my ear- I find myself thinking it’s not that big of a deal. It’s not like we’ve got stuff flying around and people getting possessed like the final act of a horror B-movie. After a lot of discussion back at the house, Jules even ended up omitting Natalie getting groped from the script, saying it was too obvious.

We’re filming what I think, and hope, is the penultimate scene now. Exhaustion is sticking my eyelids and drying out the roof of my mouth, and Natalie, at least between takes, looks the same. We’ve finished all the effects sections now and we’re sitting on the floor recording the EVP, listening to each audio track back as we go.

“Cut. Tony, hold it together.”

“I know, I know.” I stifle a yawn, which causes Natalie to yawn as well. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Remember, we haven’t been filming all night. It’s been two hours.”

“It’s been…” I check my watch as my words roll away from me. “Seven hours.”

“To the viewers, it’s been two.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Just go from the conclusion again.” Instead of saying action, Jules, who looks exhausted herself, nods to tell us to begin.

I look up at Natalie. “Well,” we chorus, then laugh. “That was disappointing.”

“Yeah.” Natalie’s voice is suddenly full of energy, her eyes wider, her movements wild and dumbly fascinated. “With all the activity we’ve been getting tonight, I was expecting at least someone to come through on the recording. Huh.”

“Yeah,” I say, launching into the section Jules added after our conversation earlier. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we’ve been getting so many reactions because of how much time I spent in here earlier.”

Natalie laughs. “What d’you mean? You told me you were just getting changed.”


“Your drink was going cold.”

“It was beer, Nat.”

“Going warm, then.”

“Yeah; I was actually up here, um…” I shyly take my glasses off and fiddle with them in my lap. “Talking to Samuel. Hoping he’d answer me. Even though we weren’t filming. I guess I thought maybe it’d make him trust us more.”

Natalie’s eyes widen even further. “And it did work!”

“Maybe,” I say. “I’ll have to try again next time.”

“Yeah, sure.”

I breathe an invisible sigh of relief as we make it through the section without Jules stopping us.

“Anyway,” I say to the camera. “Thank you all so much for watching; we hope you were sufficiently spooked; in fact, we’re sure you were this time!” Natalie laughs behind me as she gets to her feet, and Jules watches her, frowning slightly. “If you enjoyed this, make sure you like, share and-”

Natalie screams.

I jump and turn around as she stumbles into me, clutching my shoulders. “What? What’s wrong?”

Natalie stares at me for a long time. Neither Jules nor Kevin says a word. I don’t take my eyes off her, my heart suddenly pounding far too hard as I see the look in her eyes. They’re wild with terror. Real terror.

Or, at least, it looks like real terror.

“Hang on…” I say shakily to the camera. “Something just happened to Natalie. What? What was it?”

“Something…” She straightens up slowly, removing her hands from my shoulders. I notice one of her hands instinctively wandering to her chest; she’s wearing a higher-necked shirt than usual to hide the swelling around her fresh tattoo. The other hand hangs above her rear end for a second before she stuffs it into her pocket. “Something… touched me, Tony.”

“What?” I say, bewildered. Has she forgotten we cut that scene out? The outro was the place Jules originally planned to have Natalie grabbed by the lecherous ghost’s hands, but… Natalie read a new version of the script this morning. She knows the groping scene was out.

“Something touched you?” I say. “You don’t mean…”

“Oh, my God, I’m shaking!” she giggles, walking away from me and leaning against the sink. She looks up at the ceiling and exhales a deep breath, still smiling a little. “Oh, my God. Okay. Okay. Geez…”

Her knuckles are white.

“Are you okay?” I ask her uncertainly. Jules knows this wasn’t planned- it was either ad-lib or something else- but she hasn’t stopped filming or said a single word. “Do you need a minute?”

“Yeah…” She breathes out again. Then, she turns to the camera. Jules is grinning at her, ear-to-ear, and she forces a grin back. “I’ll tell you guys what happened to me in a minute, okay? But right now, lemme beg you to like and share this video if you enjoyed it, and subscribe if you wanna see me get groped again. Okay? Okay. Bye, guys, and we’ll see you in the next video.”

“Bye,” I add half-heartedly, still staring at her back.



Later, I sit on the bed near the window along with Jules and Kevin, watching as Natalie films her explanation of what happened. She’s wearing her skimpy silk pyjamas- a touch suggested by Jules. To add realism, she claimed. But when I saw the outfit, I, once again, doubted her motive.

Natalie holds the camera at arm’s length. “I’d just gotten to my feet,” she explains. “Tony was doing the outro, and I was picking up the recorder, checking it over, putting it back in our little bag. And then, I… I… oh, geez, how graphic can I be? I don’t wanna jeopardise our monetisation, guys. I felt these… these… hands starting to crawl up my leg; I thought it was just the shower curtain at first, till I paid proper attention. Oh, God. They were really cold.” She chuckles a little. “You know, guys, I’ve experienced a lot of ghosts in my time. You know; you’ve seen it. But having one touch you? Oh, my God. I’ve got chills just remembering it.” She giggles again. “I think Jules, on the camera, was the first one to notice something wrong. I sort of froze over a bit, didn’t I?” She looks past the camera.

“Yeah, you froze dead, Natalie,” Jules says, and they both laugh again. “You went white. Like, paper white. White as a ghost.”

“And I didn’t really stop it when it kept coming,” Natalie says, looking shyly down. “I mean, I guess you can see where it touched me, from where my hands go after. Apart from all over poor Tony. Ugh, God, it was sooo weird! Insert flashback here.”

From the way she’s acting- giggling, joking- I’ve decided it was just an ad-lib. There’s no way anything actually scared her. I’d be willing to stake my life on that.

“Anyway, let’s just say, for the sake of the PG rating on this… insane video, guys, I’ll leave it there,” Natalie says. “I guess you can say I’ve officially been groped by a ghost! Geez, you can tell times have changed since the sixteenth century. I’d smack a guy one if he touched me like that nowadays, and I hope all of you out there would do the same. My boyfriend’s gonna see this and want to fight the ghost for that. He’s always fancied himself a tough guy. I wonder if he’ll think he can beat up empty air.” She laughs again, and Jules falters at the mention of the boyfriend. I know she was looking forward to the audience’s reactions to Natalie grabbing hold of me as she fell. “It’s getting seriously late right now. Everyone else wants to go to bed. Maybe it’s a mistake sleeping in this room tonight, guys, but I’m sure I can manage it. Bye, guys.”

She sighs as she finishes filming and shuts off the camera.

“Are you… okay?” I ask her after a couple of seconds of silence.

“Course I’m okay; what’re you on about?” Natalie grins at me. “Pretty successful improv, don’t you think? I was expecting Jules to cut me off, but I just felt like right then was a good moment. Sorry if I ruined your flow.”

“No, it’s… it’s okay.” I don’t know why my heart’s sinking again.

“But, Tony… I was actually thinking…” Natalie struggles to force her words out. “Seeing as how this room’s haunted and everything… would you want to sleep in here tonight?”

“What? Why?”

“No reason. Forget it.”

“No, it’s…” Hope sparks in my chest again. If she persists, I decide, it might not have been improv after all. “It’s okay. You can have my bed, as long as Kevin’s fine with it.”

Kevin shrugs. “Yeah, I’m fine with it. Whatever makes you feel comfortable, Natalie. I mean, all my stuff’s already in the other room, so I don’t know if, um…”

“It’s no problem.”

Jules groans. “Ugh, I’ve got to share with Tony? But he’s such a talker…” I hit her. “Ow. Besides, you promised to tell me about Andy. Your boyfriend who’s so strong he’ll fight a ghost for your honour.”

“Oh!” Natalie exclaims, her hands flying to her hair as she looks over at Jules. “I mentioned Andy, didn’t I? I’m so sorry. D’you want me to do it again?”

Jules looks at her. “No, it’s… it’s fine,” she says quietly. “Natalie, does Andy really watch this?”

“Religiously,” Natalie says, a little grimace showing on her lips. “I can’t tell whether he’s into it, or just into me, y’know?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

There’s a long pause.

“I was actually thinking he might say something after this,” Natalie says, visibly forcing herself to sound cheerful. “He’s always been pretty overprotective.”

“What, he believes in ghosts?”

“No…” Natalie trails off. “Not exactly. Maybe he doesn’t exactly know.”

“Sounds like an ace relationship,” Jules says.

Natalie laughs. “I know! But, I dunno… he’s asked a couple of times if he could come with me to these places. Maybe it’s the shippers.” She shoots a glance at me. “Maybe he’s insecure. He’s even asked if he could be in them once or twice. Just as a cameo, y’know?”

I’m not watching Natalie as she says this. I’m watching Jules, and the machinery working behind her eyes. All this talk of relationship drama, and now, I’m remembering a passing comment she made a few weeks ago, about all the good paranormal investigation shows having three investigators, not two. “One for the nerds,” she said, glancing at me; “one for the guys, and one for the girls.”

“You said Andy’s unemployed, right?” Jules says.

Natalie looks at her, leaning forwards as she gets the meaning. “Yeah, why?”

“Does he…” Jules trails off. “Do you have a picture of him?”

I can’t help smiling to myself as I watch Natalie dig her phone from her pocket. She only has to scroll through a couple of photos before finding one to show to Jules. When her eyes settle on the phone, Jules’ mouth drops open and her eyes widen impossibly, then narrow. Natalie giggles.

“Jesus fuck, girl! That man’s carved like a Greek statue! Does he want a job?”

Just as I crane to get a look at the photo, Natalie puts her phone away again. “Yeah,” she says, grinning from ear to ear. “I can bring him to meet you all tomorrow and talk about it.”

“Good, good.” Jules is red in the face as she looks down at her notes. “Okay, okay. Natalony’s dead. That’s fine; that’s fine. The viewers we’ll get from that one’ll make it all up and then some.”


“Aw, can it, Tony. You’re the one who hated being shipped with her,” Jules says. “You’re the nerds’ type, but that man’s everyone’s type.”

“Unless he likes ghosts he’s not my type,” I say stubbornly.

“We’ll get enough relationship drama without you. Natalie, are you and Andy likely to break up any time? Are you serious? Do you love each other? Or are you gonna break up and make up and break up and fuck up my programme?”

Natalie opens her mouth, then closes it, clearly faltering. “Uh… you want the truth?”


“Probably the latter. We’re a bit of a mess.”

Jules grins again. “Perfect.”

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