The Club Of Lost Causes #1: The Resurrection Frat by Witch of Hellridge at Inkitt

Story Notes

The events, persons, and unexplained phenomena contained within this narrative are entirely fictional.

Any resemblance to actual people, frat houses, or cursed mirror portals isn't intentional.

Summary

A missing fraternity pledge. An empty coffin. And a house that smells of fear long after the party’s over. Bob Robson, a grizzled ex-FBI investigator, isn’t in the market for partners — especially not Stephen Hopkins, a British academic who treats hauntings like they’re peer-reviewed, or Aiden Pierce, an ex-military mechanic who’d rather dismantle a problem than talk about it. They shouldn’t be able to work together. By all rights, they shouldn’t even try. But when the trail of Leo Velasquez leads through rusted storm hatches, forgotten WWII tunnels, and a campus hiding more history than it will admit, the unlikely team expands to include Ginger — a feral hacker with a skateboard, a grudge, and a talent for finding trouble that doesn’t want to be found. Somehow, the mix works — well enough to uncover a network built for more than escape. And the deeper they dig, the clearer it becomes: this isn’t just about a missing student. It’s about whatever’s still moving in the dark, and how fast it’s learning to use them.

Genre: Mystery/Fantasy

Author: Witch of Hellridge

Status: Complete

Chapters: 22

Rating: 5.0 2 reviews

Age Rating: 18+

# 000

Five years before things got weird, Bob got fired from the FBI for “attitude problems” — which, to be fair, he still had.

Five months before anyone started asking questions, a college kid vanished.

Five weeks before the dean started sweating, the frat boys at Delta Omicron Theta started reporting ghosts, glitches, and spontaneous nosebleeds — not necessarily in that order.

Five days before the cops got involved, one of the brothers yeeted himself out a third-floor window. He lived. Unfortunately.

And five hours before anyone could talk Bob out of it, Stephen showed up with five EMF readers, a folder labeled “Demonic Vortex Theory,” and a very compelling PowerPoint.

That’s when they decided to take the case.

Or, more accurately — Stephen decided.

Bob just wanted his coffee black.

Chapter Notes

Dedication:

For the ones who summoned this chaos.

To Melchior — Game Master, resident chaos deity, and original high priest of the plot spiral. You rolled the dice, unleashed the weird, and somehow became my husband. Turns out “let’s play a game” was actually a proposal in disguise. Well played. No take-backs.

To Celestyn (a.k.a. Stephen, Lord of Elegant Brain Damage) — thanks for announcing your mental instability like a weather report and still convincing all of us to gather semi regularly to fight eldritch horrors. You’re the reason this story exists. Also probably the reason we need therapy.

To Mati (our Aiden) — you let us invade your house, your fridge, and occasionally your sanity. We owe you more than snacks. You never said no. You never said much at all. That’s love, in the quiet way.

To Waszku (Bob in flannel and actual paperwork) — thank you for reminding us what America really looks like when it isn’t on fire, glowing, or haunted. You gave our fiction a spine. And you never even flinched.

This book started as a game.

Then it became a family.

And somehow, against all odds, a love story snuck in.

So here’s to dice, ghosts, and the long con of falling in love with your co-player.

– A.K.