A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
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The Melancholy Spirit
Kathryn Lacey
mysticaldragonmagic
Dio the Awesome
Reffy
MoiraofWords
Kalon Ordona II
Ragter the junior greeter
Ab'Sinthe
Hello Danger
Sunwolf007
Kædai
Sighlent
Fate Flyer
18 posters
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Fate Flyer Fri Oct 30, 2009 10:57 pm
Here's my story for the fun of it. 
It's actually over 6,000 words, but since mine obviously doesn't count, I guess it doesn't really matter. XD
You would think, by now, I’d be used to the idea of working in L.A. for a multi-million dollar ghost hunting organization known oh-so-chessily as P.R.O.O.F., or rather, the Paranormal Response Official Outreach Foundation. I know – it’s a bit of a mouthful. Having been a PI (which is just a cool and nifty abbreviation for paranormal investigator) for nearly a year now, I’ve come to see my fair share of oddities. Take, for example, my very first day on the job.
I had just been introduced to my partner in crime – er – investigating, Virginia West. Virginia is a straight-edged woman, the sort that would rather wait to check the handbook before reacting to a dire situation. Though, admittedly, she’s a beautiful girl, with short, straight brown hair and a tiny body, she hasn’t got a funny bone in her body, at least no decent ones that she reveals to me. I don’t know if the boys up top knew from the start that the two of us were complete opposites and just wanted to give the new guy a hard time or if they really and sincerely thought our opposing traits would be each others’ strengths, but I have to tell you – I was not so convinced back then. While P.R.O.O.F. normally operates by dispatching assigned teams of five on missions (four paranormal investigators and one team leader as their superior), my first job was literally a joke, and so they had Virginia take me out alone to get my feet wet, so-to-say.
We arrived bright and early at the ancient abandoned house, and I mean this place was a dump – completely mold-infested and rotten to the core, in more ways the one. According to our briefing, the old lady that had lived there supposedly died after having fallen down the stairs while coming down from her bedroom one morning. The part where it gets strange is, she had an identifiable oozing, black substance secreting out of her…well, out of nearly all the openings in her body. This viscous substance, which I had come to learn was ectoplasm, meant that the woman was a medium and had been undergoing a real intense spiritualistic trance in an attempt to summon a spirit (my guess is her dead husband). The endeavor ultimately killed her, as many such efforts do, and so, to my dissatisfaction, no ghosts or entities were even able to make an appearance. Our job, therefore, was to essentially be the clean-up crew and collect all the goopy, gel-like ectoplasm that we could find.
I was a little hopeful that perhaps they had missed something, that maybe a real ghost had been summoned. Call it first-day eagerness, but I, like most rookie paranormal investigators, just wanted to see my first ghost.
As we entered the old lady’s bedroom on the top floor of the house, Virginia with her eyes carefully peeled for ectoplasm (like this job was the most important thing in the world that she could be doing for P.R.O.O.F.), I started rummaging around curiously, as if I’d actually find a ghost under the bed or inside the dusty closet filled with granny clothes – that is, until I came across the old woman’s garbage can.
“Oh, good Lord!” I yelled, possibly a bit too abruptly, as I had caused Virginia to jump in surprise. I fell back away from the trash, my nose pinched shut, no doubt a look of disgust on my face. “This is my first day on the job! Here I was, expecting to find some ghosts, have a chat with the dead, or maybe enjoy a nice hunt around the ol’ haunted house…not fish through Granny’s wastebasket of forbidden Depends and skin treatments.”
“Oh, for goodness sake!” exclaimed Virginia, rolling her eyes with a bit of relief, having apparently thought I came across something that she’d consider really nasty. “You know that only one in every twenty investigators ever actually sees a real materialized spirit.”
It was this bit of information that, rather than discouraging me, gave me real hope. Of course, it also was presented as bit of a challenge too, I must admit, since I wanted to be able to say that I was one of the few PIs that was fortunate enough to at least catch a glimpse of a restless soul of some unlucky, deceased bastard. After having learned that even Virginia had managed to not only see one real ghost, but two, I knew I’d be making it my own personal goal to one-up her.
After a week on the job and being shown the ropes, I was given my standard P.R.O.O.F. equipment, which included the Leech Handgun (the only known weapon against ghosts, which has the power to drain their energy and send them back into the Spectral Plane), a Sparkler Gun (which, when shot, reveals, to some degree, all the hidden ghosts in the vicinity), a digital voice recorder (for capturing and documenting EVPs – electronic voice phenomena), a video camera (for documenting footage of paranormal entities and phenomena), a digital EMF meter (for detecting fluctuations in the electromagnetic field), and of course my handy-dandy flashlight (there’s nothing special about it). Of course, after receiving all these nifty gadgets and gizmos, I wanted to try them out in the field. Like always, a case was ready and waiting for us the next day, and this time it would be an assignment for the entire team.
The other two PIs working with Virginia and I are Beverly Carrington, a fine and fiery redhead with enough self esteem to make Miss Universe jealous, and Dustin Sinclair, the man that started out freelancing as a ghost hunter and who invented the Sparkler Gun (show off). While Virginia is my partner, Beverly is his, but lucky Dustin, since Beverly is an authentic, bona fide psychic, able to foresee certain events and even, at times, speak with the dead. Introducing the two of them to me was our team leader and mentor, who I had previously met, Sawyer Tripp, or as I like to call him, Pops. Although he still has a full head of hair, it has all turned gray, despite him still being in his late forties. (The fossil likes to call me names like Kid and Sonny, so I have to give him crap.) He was FBI when he was recruited by P.R.O.O.F. (No doubt they gave him some sort of offer he couldn’t refuse.) I’ll never forget the moment when Pops had first introduced Beverly to me.
She extended her perfectly manicured hand, but all I could see were her big, beautiful…eyes. “Hi, I’m Beverly. Nice to meet you,” she said generically.
“Hi,” I replied, taking her hand. “I’m…turned on.”
Hey, what can I say? When you got it, you got it.
“Please,” beckoned Virginia, flushing with discomfort and leading us all into the decrepit, vacant church, where our operation centered that day, followed closely by ‘Old Man’ Sawyer.
The first thing I noticed was the hot and sticky humid air that filled the stuffy building. It seemed to have been permanently trapped there, even after we opened the large, wooden double doors. It engulfed us, along with an array of less-than-pleasant smells, most of which consisting of a mixture of mold and dead animals. Flies buzzed around annoyingly, landing on us as we took our first steps inside. It was enough to make us recoil in distaste.
“Damn, I wish I had a cheeseburger!” I declared, breaking the sudden silence and causing the others’ noses to wrinkle at the thought of food, given the foul order that was present.
In a teasing sort of explanation for my behavior, Virginia said wittily, “You can’t blame him. He has special needs. We’re not even sure if he has good enough aim to not miss the toilet!”
She seemed rather proud of herself for thinking this one up. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t think of it on the spot and rather had been sitting on that one since we met. Much to my pleasure though, no one even uttered so much as a small snicker.
“Hah-hah,” I mock laughed, a little taken off guard by my seemingly serious partner. “I wasn’t aware you had a sense of humor, Virginia.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t aware you had sense, William,” she shot back dangerously. What the hell did I do to piss her off?
“Ouch,” said Beverly with a smirk, immerging into the dimness of the church alongside Dustin. “Look at you, Virginia. I didn’t think bitchiness was in your nature.”
Virginia’s eyes flashed threateningly toward the other woman. “Oh, stay out of it, Ms. Beverly Hills.”
“Girls, girls,” I said with a laugh, walking between them casually, “let’s not fight over me... Well, on second thought, let’s!”
“When are you going to grow up?” Virginia lashed out at me, her temper having raised more than I had anticipated. Something clearly was bothering her beyond this entertaining conversation.
“When are you going to…grow?” I replied, always the jokester, especially in times like these.
“Real mature, Will,” she frowned, “just like you.”
“Will, Gin, Bev, everyone, come on,” urged Sawyer, his damn gray hair and steely eyes enough to intimidate me into being respectful and behaving myself.
We were to investigate claims that two semitransparent men in long, dark jackets or cloaks were seen loitering there, up to some suspicious activities. Teenagers had called in, complaining that their usual hangout for parties (go figure) was haunted, since they’d hear high-pitched screams coming from the alter or below the floorboards, echoing all around them and through the rafters. One such teen had reported an incident to P.R.O.O.F., claiming that the pews had been thrown and shoved dangerously aside, apparently on their own accord, when he tried to investigate strange noises coming from within the church. He, of course, bolted at the sight of this. Sure enough, when we entered the abandoned church, all the pews were haphazardly and disorderly thrown against either wall.
Suddenly, we were all caught off guard (no thanks to Virginia’s immaturity – which, by the way, is my job). Gospel music started playing, despite the speakers being in disarray like the rest of the church and lying unplugged on the floor. A chorus of singing could be heard from what sounded like all around us, as if the church was playing back one of its days in history when it was still in use.
“Wow,” piped up Dustin, combing back his long, sandy-blonde hair with a hand, as he would normally do when uncomfortable, as I would later come to recognize. “I didn’t realize this place would be so…lively.”
“And yet we’re the only ones that are living,” noted Virginia.
“Mmm, mmm!” I exclaimed cheerfully, hoping to see some ghosts, my signature sideways grin ever-present on my undeniably handsome face. “I love the smell of dead people in the morning!”
Though I love to kid, we were all professional and quick about getting a hold on the situation. Using a mixture of all our equipment, Beverly’s convenient medium abilities, and our own intuition, we were able to get to the bottom of the old church haunting. The pastor and deacon that worked there (who had been the men in the robes that were seen) had kept a dark and sinister secret. They had taken advantage of a young girl one evening, but when she threatened to report them, they all had a hand in killing her and disposing of her body in the church’s cellar. No doubt the screams that could sometimes be heard were the poor girl’s, or rather, her restless spirit, begging us to find her and bring her to justice. We were able to locate the pastor and deacon too, and I have to say, seeing two real ghosts at once wasn’t as cool as I thought it would be. Perhaps it was the knowledge of who they were and what they had done, but they lost some major badass points from me that day.
Draining ghosts of their energy is one thing, but P.R.O.O.F. invented and patented a device that looks like some sort of gun from Star Trek and is capable of capturing the spirit essences of ghosts inside of capsules attached to the gun (yeah, you heard my right). No official name was ever specified for them to me, but everyone calls them Snatchers. I was told that they’re top secret though, so any mentioning of them to the general public is strictly prohibited. You got me on what exactly they do with the occupied capsules once we hand them in back at headquarters. So, that’s exactly what we ended up doing on this mission. Since the pastor and deacon were too violent to be left wandering the church any further, we decided to use the Snatchers to take them back with us. Beyond wondering aloud just how the Snatchers worked, I didn’t ask any questions, and neither Sawyer nor anyone else seemed keen to answer them, if they even knew any more than I did.
“But I haven’t really figured it out yet,” I began asking Virginia a few weeks later as we were headed back from another successful assignment together, “just why and how are we – people with bachelor’s degrees or, heck, less – working as paranormal investigators for one of the biggest and most talked about controversial corporations in the country and making more than enough to satisfy the majority of us?”
Without skipping a beat, Virginia answered me immediately, apparently having understood the answer to that question for some time now. “Because we’re the idiots running in while everyone else is running out. Guess they expect us to not make it one of these times and become just another casualty in the sea of victims, and what good are great minds when they’re buried six feet under?”
That made sense to me, and I excepted it at face value. Virginia had a point, and despite the risk involved in the business we do, I felt I had been given the opportunity of a lifetime. So too did Dustin. He had only been working for P.R.O.O.F. for a few months before I was hired on, I had learned.
When he had been in his twenties, Dustin was the lead investigator in what he likes to refer to as ‘a serious paranormal investigation team,’ which, frankly, is just a nice way of saying ‘a bunch of overly dedicated guys getting together and spilling their paychecks into something they thought would be cool.’ Granted, Dustin and his gang did manage to capture quite a lot of intriguing evidence, which he kindly let me see firsthand. He had even managed to see a fully materialized ghost, so I have to give him credit for that. They went on a new investigation almost every week, and it had become a major hobby for the guy. He once even confided in me that the rush of being on an investigation was more exciting than any other thrill-seeking thing he had done, which included bungee jumping and sky diving. I guess he was the adventurous type, always looking for something new, that is, until he started getting more involved in paranormal investigation. It was everything he wanted, and he did a bang-up job from the very start. The EVPs he and his group captured were also of great interest to the folks up top at P.R.O.O.F., but it was his invention, the Sparkler Gun, that really earned him a place amongst us as true paranormal investigators. Unlike most corny, ghost-detecting inventions, his actually worked, and it was soon being manufactured and distributed out to all the PIs working for P.R.O.O.F. As a result, Dustin became a very, very rich man.
Beverley, on the other hand, came from the very bottom of the totem pole in terms of her income. I haven’t talked to her about it personally, but I heard from a few others that Beverly was as low class as you can get (which, looking at her today, came as quite a shock). Her mother was a heroine addict, and her father apparently came and went all too frequently and had an addiction of his own – dirty prostitutes. She lived here on the outskirts of L.A. in a small, run-down apartment. Ever since she was a little girl though, Beverly could not only see, but communicate with dead people. It wasn’t a constant thing however and was never predictable, but when she tried talking to her mother about it, her mom threw her out, horrified by her own daughter, and she had only been thirteen. From there, the story of Bev’s life gets a little hazy, but some say she got into drugs and alcohol and lived in a whorehouse. I’m not saying it isn’t true, but I can’t see Beverly ever stooping that low. She may be a lot of things, but a junkie and a prostitute? No way. In my opinion, the other story makes more sense. The way the other one goes is, she ran off to live with her grandparents who taught her how to hone her skills in her art. According to this story, her grandma had also been a medium, and it was something that was passed down through the women in the family. Her mother, too, was psychic, but she simply had forced herself to ignore it since she was young. When she was older, Beverly made the news when she made a hefty prediction that her boss at the time would commit suicide by jumping off the top of his apartment building. She called the police twenty minutes before it happened. They had arrived on the scene and attempted to stop him, but he ultimately ended up jumping. The thing they couldn’t understand was that her boss had not made any phone calls that day and apparently had not confessed his suicidal plans to anyone. On top of that, Beverly was forty-five minutes away in her own apartment. Beverly’s skills were put to the test, and she was immediately hired by P.R.O.O.F., making more money than an entry-level PI.
We all have a story, and Virginia’s is no less interesting. When Virginia was just seven, she witnessed the murder of both her parents at the hands of her psychopathic older brother. He had been having major behavioral issues for the past few years, having drank, smoked, killed the neighborhood pets for fun, and the like. Her parents had been debating whether or not to put him in a mental institution. Well, unfortunately for them, her brother had overheard them talking on the phone about it one night, making preparations to have him be taken care of there. In a fit of outrage, he grabbed their kitchen knife and slaughtered the both of them right before little Virginia’s eyes as she sat watching TV in the other room. Virginia was terrified and ran for it, never looking back. She remembers her brother’s maniacal laughter as she bolted out the back door and ran to the safety of the neighbor’s house. Her brother was old enough to be tried as an adult and is now spending the rest of his days behind bars. Virginia had to live with her godparents, her aunt and uncle that lived in Los Angeles. So, she packed up her bags and moved from Oregon to this lovely city. She became interested in ghosts and EVPs when TV shows like Ghost Hunters started becoming popular. She thought that, perhaps, something like that would be her opportunity to really tell her parents how much she loved them and to tell them goodbye. Investing in a nice digital voice recorder, Virginia began trying to contact her parents with little luck. For a long while, she obsessed over it, until she began to capture more and more voice anomalies of other spirits. She eventually gave up on trying to find her parents and instead took an interest in talking with the ghosts that she could contact. She wrote a couple of books and made a few guest appearances on some local news stations and eventually became pretty well known throughout L.A. for her large array of great-quality EVPs. P.R.O.O.F. took notice, and the rest is history.
When it comes to Sawyer, or ‘Pops,’ I can’t really say I know much. He was an FBI agent working in Los Angeles where he lived all his life. He has a wife and an eighteen-year-old daughter who, according to him, is growing up too fast. His father before him had been a local cop and had lost his life on the job. He had been gunned down during a gang shooting when Sawyer was in his teens. Sawyer always says he wants to be just like his old man. Doing what he does now for P.R.O.O.F. and having seen him in action, I think it’s safe to say his father would have been proud.
As for me? William Ransford… Well, there’s not much to tell. I grew up in a middle class family with two wonderful parents. I had a twin brother named Weylin. Though we were twins, he was always my complete opposite. Weylin was always reckless and quick tempered one, while I was that cool and calm class clown. As a kid, he was always a bit of a bully, picking on others that were smaller than him, which sometimes included me. I can’t say I didn’t love him, but man, that guy had issues. (I’m sure he would have gotten along great though with Virginia’s brother!) My parents never understood what was wrong with him, and they blamed themselves. He didn’t seem to mind. When he was old enough to live on his own, Weylin got a place somewhere in the city, though none of us ever were invited over. He never attended college, but according to some of his buddies, I heard he was doing well for himself. I never saw much of him after that. Weylin ended up committing suicide by putting a gun to his head when we were twenty-two, which was three years ago now. I knew it immediately when it happened. It was early one morning, around four-thirty. I woke up, and I just knew. I guess what some people say about that whole mental link between twins might hold some credibility. I always seemed to know when Wey was in trouble or was in need of me. I used to visit him every once in awhile (despite him never inviting me), and I probably saw him once or twice a year until his death. My parents only ever saw him a couple of times over the holidays after he left, when he wasn’t too drunk or too high to forget. I can’t say his suicide wasn’t unexpected. He talked about killing himself almost every time I saw him. The guy was a complete mess. He hated himself, and I think he hated me for being so different from him. I always seemed to make him angry whenever I was around, so I never stayed for long. My parents, of course, were devastated, but it didn’t take us all too long to get over him, though they’d never admit it. Weylin had become just a distant echo in our minds long before his death. Afterward, I went to his place to collect his things so that his apartment to could be rented out to some sorry sucker, and I found myself screaming at him and the blood stain where he had shot himself. I guess I was releasing all my pent-up anger from over the many long years. I cursed his name and spat on his things. He pissed me off, and the pain he caused my parents initially only made me more furious. To my shock though, out of nowhere, a glass bottle of beer flew across the room, nearly hitting me square in the head, and shattered against the wall. I saw it with my own eyes. Next thing I know, the window flung open, and a deathly cold breeze was chilling my very bones. I panicked and left as soon as I could. That’s when I began researching ghosts, which later lead me to meeting a man that worked as a supervisor at P.R.O.O.F. He offered me the job, and not being happy working in a cubicle, I accepted.
Looking over the past year, we’ve all grown a lot in a variety of different ways (some more than others). Today, Beverly and Dustin are…well, let’s just say they’re somewhat involved. I saw it coming from a mile away. With Beverly’s flirtatious attitude and Dustin’s passive personality, they are a perfect fit. The two of them together look like models in a clothing ad. It’s rather sickening at times. Nothing against the girl, but I just had to ask Dustin why he was so attracted to her.
He answered simply and truthfully, “Beverly is self-absorbed, manipulative, snobby, she only cares about herself, and she’s just a plain bitch most of the time…but it’s intoxicating.” I had to hand it to the guy for being able to put up with her. Beautiful and attractive as that redhead is, she’s a lot to handle.
As for myself, well, I’m still flying solo, though I can’t say it’s not from lack of trying. I’ve been on a couple of casual dates here and there, as usual on the weekends, but so far, I haven’t kept any of the girls’ numbers. I know when I feel it and when I don’t; it’s as simple as that. Sitting here in the darkness of a luxurious hotel presently though, with nothing on except for my tidy whiteys, I can say with some certainty that I’ve not felt this way about anyone else since I’ve met Virginia. She is standing in front of the dresser mirror facing away from me as she redresses, her expression unreadable. I don’t bother to put on my own things, as I’d much rather take in every moment of her, every little detail, from her long, thin legs, which shift her weight around, to her curvy hips, the elegant way she makes putting on a watch look, all the way up to her magnificent green eyes, which are no match for my dull brown ones that gaze at her imploringly. She scoops up her earrings that are lying on the dresser and reattaches them to her ears, not once looking at my reflection staring back at her. She pretends as if I am not there. It has always been this way.
We have been sleeping together for the past month now, unbeknownst to the rest of the team. P.R.O.O.F. employees are not permitted to have relationships, after all, since they can not only be dangerous to the mission, but can also distract and create tension. Of course, that never stopped Beverly and Dustin, but the two of them could probably get away with murder and come out as if they were the victims. It all started with Virginia and I when we were sitting in the company car together, alone, on a ghost stakeout. We ended up arguing over something stupid, which normally happens if the two of us are around each other for too long, and after the disagreement was over, we nonverbally agreed to not speak to one another. I don’t know why it happened or how, but I found myself unexpectedly embracing her. All I could think about were her lips and how badly I wanted them. I realized I had wanted them for a long time now. To my shock, she didn’t turn down my advancements. I can’t say what it ended up growing into has been all that healthy. We certainly aren’t anywhere close to dating. Whenever one of us simply gets an itch, the other is there to scratch it. When it’s over though, then it’s over, fully and completely, until the next time. It’s been this way from the start. As I said, I’ve never felt anything like this in my life, this rush, this desire, this affection that runs so much deeper than lust. It’s Virginia that seems repulsed by me after our encounter is over. I’ve tried speaking to her about us, but each time I bring it up, she pretends nothing ever happened or quickly changes the subject. Perhaps I’m just the loser that’s being used here, and any rational guy would have ended it after the first time. I just can’t say ‘no’ to her though. She even haunts my dreams.
“Do you have a map?” I suddenly ask with a twinkle in my eyes and a smile across my unshaven face.
For the first time since she’s been out of bed, Virginia looks up at me. “What?” she asks my reflection in the mirror.
“I just keep getting lost in your eyes.”
She sighs, not the sort of sweet, happy sort of sigh, but the one that immediately lets me know I shouldn’t have said anything.
“What?” I ask challengingly. “I can’t be witty and charming at the same time?”
“Not when all I can see are your boxers,” she says, turning around and raising a brow.
I dress, and eventually the two of us are back pretending again to be merely just coworkers, partners at work and nothing more. To the outsider, we don’t even appear to like each other. We go to work and begin our next assignment. Today, our team will be investigating an apartment that I am pretty familiar with, since I had visited it on rare occasions when my brother was alive, as he used to live there himself. There have been reports of everything from the odd shadow being seen to tenants’ beds being straight up lifted off the ground or shaken. A few people have even claimed to have spotted full apparitions, and the general feeling toward the spirit or spirits has been very negative. I’m not exactly sure what to think about this one, but I’m not entirely comfortable revisiting this shit hole. Can’t turn your back on a job though, right?
Pops escorts the four of us – Beverly, Dustin, Virginia, and I – to the small town known best for its dirty nightclubs and bars. Whenever he drives us, we always simply call him ‘Driver.’ He doesn’t seem to mind. Sawyer’s a good man, and he helps to put us in not only a better mood than usual, but also the right mindset for our next assignment. By the time we get to the apartment complex, we’re all ready to go, even Virginia and I, who have not made eye contact since getting in the car together. The owner, the man who initially called us, is waiting for us out front. He is wearing a cheap suit and has a gut that not even his leather belt can hold in. He approaches us all anxiously and shakes our hands. He tells us his name, which I immediately forget, and then allows us inside to do our thing. He says the people that live in the building have been informed of our arrival, and most have gone elsewhere for the afternoon to give us room to work freely, despite our not being allowed access into any individual apartment. We thank him and proceed inside, each of us carrying a few items of equipment.
An hour later, and I’m on the floor, bleeding and out of breath, a thermal camera in one hand and Virginia in the other. She has a gash that doesn’t seem to want to stop bleeding across her head. I know that head injuries always bleed the most and look the worst even if they’re not that bad, but I can’t help but worry sick over her. I try my best to remain calm though, but I know she can see right through me. To humor me or just to be nice, Virginia seems to try and stay cool in response. We both don’t know where Sawyer is (the last time we saw him, he was firing a Sparkler Gun down the hall a floor above us), but Dustin and Beverly are in the cellar somewhere together. We can only hope they’re doing better than us.
Things got out of hand fast, and before any of us knew it, the paranormal activity erupted into chaos. The threat here proved to be far worse than what we were told over the phone. I now understand just why the owner was so uneasy when we met. Whatever entities are here are extremely upset and violent, not to mention powerful. Of course, being Paranormal Investigators for P.R.O.O.F., we are all trained for situations like these, but had we of known that the situation was this dire from the start, we would have come far more prepared, each of us armed with Snatcher guns. Each partner team is merely armed with Leech Handguns for self-defense, one between them both.
We cower in a corner on the second floor near the back exit, injured, shaken up, and at a loss for just what to do at the moment. Virginia looks like she’s on the verge of tears, whether from terror or pain, I’m not sure. I squeeze her close, my heart racing for more than one reason. I pull out my Leech gun from its holster and set it beside us as I scan the hallway with the thermal camera, trying to pick up any abnormal heat or cold signatures. It’s as if all the activity suddenly just died or moved elsewhere onto someone else. I’m not sure which frightens me more.
“Boy, I could really go for a Bud Light right about now,” I joke uncomfortably.
Virginia suddenly opens her mouth to speak, sniffing and blinking away her tears. Her gaze is determinedly on me as she begins to talk. “You know Will, you are immature, sarcastic, you make stupid jokes and try to be witty during serious situations, not to mention you speak way too much for your own good…” she pauses, “but you make me laugh, not always on the outside, but you do. I admit that, despite all that we’ve been through and all that we’ve said.” She looks up at me as I hold her, and I can tell that she is being sincere. “I really do have feelings for you,” she says in a low voice.
After a moment of silence, it becomes clear that the room fills with a paranormal presence. We can both feel it approaching. However, I reply to her in an equally low voice, yet with an unmistakable smile in my voice. “Just shut up, and shoot the damn ghosts.”
Virginia cracks a laugh and, in one swift movement that can only a trained professional like her could achieve, grabs the Leech Handgun from off the floor and takes aim at the materializing specters. Powerful shots are fired that blast through the silence, absorbing the spirit energy, causing them to disappear instantly, and just like that, the entire building is back to be surrounded by a number of indiscernible sounds. We both then can make out loud, banging footsteps coming down the staircase next to us. To our surprise though, it is Sawyer that appears on our floor, looking the worse for wear but in fighting shape nonetheless.
“Will,” he gasps. “Virginia. What’s the status on this floor?”
Virginia twirls the Leech Handgun in her hand smugly and stands. “Good to go…for now.”
“You two okay?” he then asks as he notices our injuries.
“We’ll live,” I reassure him. I then notice the funny look he’s been giving me since he reappeared. “Pops?”
“Will, man,” he says, shaking his head. “I saw you. I mean, I saw you…up there,” he says, pointing up, as if to indicated the third floor that he just came down from. I frown, confused, and he continues. “I mean, it looked like you, but it wasn’t. It was a ghost, no doubt about it. Will, do you think…?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I stop him. “Wait a second. You mean to say,” I swallow, “you saw my brother?”
“Well, William, never thought I’d see you again.” suddenly says a voice from directly behind me, so close that I feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickle up.
I leap aside and swing around so fast, that Virginia has to dodge out of the way just to avoid being hit. Standing there in front of us, fully corporeal, is none other than my dead twin brother, Weylin. His coloring seems off, as if his entire body, including his skin and clothing, has been desaturated. His eyes are dark and hollow and seem empty inside. He just plain looks dead. I don’t know why, but I feel my face grow hot and my eyes begin to water. I have to put my arms above my head to breathe. I turn around and take a few uneasy paces toward Pops, whose standing there at a loss for words, clearly able to see him too, before turning around to gaze upon my twin again. He truly is here, right now. He doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t exactly look distressed either. His expression is emotionless, unreadable.
“What? No hug?” he asks in a mock-disappointed tone. Shrugging, his ghost sighs. “Fine. That’s just fine.”
“What the hell, Wey?” I finally manage to ask. It’s the only thing I can think to say in this situation. I look him up and down again, in disbelief. “Shit,” I curse.
Without any warning, an immense bolt of white light streaks past me and collides with Weylin, engulfing his form and devouring his energy. We all whirl around to find Dustin and Beverly standing at the end of the hall, Dustin with a Leech Handgun held up pointing at my brother. I swing around just in time to see Weylin disappear completely, his eyes never leaving mine, but for a split second, his expression changes from blank to complete and utter rage, an evil look that distorts his features into something dark and unnatural. Then, as if he had never been there at all, he is gone, and the room becomes much lighter. Everyone starts to breathe easier. The building itself seems to lighten, as if a weight has been lifted.
The next day, our team finishes the report. I still can’t get Weylin’s furious expression out of my mind, as if it has been burned there permanently. We all seem to be quieter than usual. Virginia is bandaged up but hasn’t lost her fiery determination. We don’t talk, but we all know what we’re thinking. My brother is still out there, and he is not only angry, but he is far more powerful than anything any of us has personally ever seen. We all know that we’ll cross paths with him again someday, it’s just a matter of when. But when that day comes though, we’ll be prepared.
We get our next assignment, which is small fry compared to the day before, and we’re off with Driver leading the way. Today, we get to investigate a beach mansion on a cliff overlooking the ocean. I think it’s safe to say I’m not the only one happy to be able to get away from the city and to be out in the open with the smell of sea salt in the air.
As if reading my mind, Virginia says from the backseat next to me, “Don’t expect this to be a pleasure cruise, people! We have business to do.”
“And things to kill,” adds Dustin, smirking to Beverly.
“Yipee…!” I say sarcastically.
We laugh somewhat bitter sweetly, and Sawyer speeds up down the winding country road through the mountains.
It's actually over 6,000 words, but since mine obviously doesn't count, I guess it doesn't really matter. XDDoppelganger
You would think, by now, I’d be used to the idea of working in L.A. for a multi-million dollar ghost hunting organization known oh-so-chessily as P.R.O.O.F., or rather, the Paranormal Response Official Outreach Foundation. I know – it’s a bit of a mouthful. Having been a PI (which is just a cool and nifty abbreviation for paranormal investigator) for nearly a year now, I’ve come to see my fair share of oddities. Take, for example, my very first day on the job.
I had just been introduced to my partner in crime – er – investigating, Virginia West. Virginia is a straight-edged woman, the sort that would rather wait to check the handbook before reacting to a dire situation. Though, admittedly, she’s a beautiful girl, with short, straight brown hair and a tiny body, she hasn’t got a funny bone in her body, at least no decent ones that she reveals to me. I don’t know if the boys up top knew from the start that the two of us were complete opposites and just wanted to give the new guy a hard time or if they really and sincerely thought our opposing traits would be each others’ strengths, but I have to tell you – I was not so convinced back then. While P.R.O.O.F. normally operates by dispatching assigned teams of five on missions (four paranormal investigators and one team leader as their superior), my first job was literally a joke, and so they had Virginia take me out alone to get my feet wet, so-to-say.
We arrived bright and early at the ancient abandoned house, and I mean this place was a dump – completely mold-infested and rotten to the core, in more ways the one. According to our briefing, the old lady that had lived there supposedly died after having fallen down the stairs while coming down from her bedroom one morning. The part where it gets strange is, she had an identifiable oozing, black substance secreting out of her…well, out of nearly all the openings in her body. This viscous substance, which I had come to learn was ectoplasm, meant that the woman was a medium and had been undergoing a real intense spiritualistic trance in an attempt to summon a spirit (my guess is her dead husband). The endeavor ultimately killed her, as many such efforts do, and so, to my dissatisfaction, no ghosts or entities were even able to make an appearance. Our job, therefore, was to essentially be the clean-up crew and collect all the goopy, gel-like ectoplasm that we could find.
I was a little hopeful that perhaps they had missed something, that maybe a real ghost had been summoned. Call it first-day eagerness, but I, like most rookie paranormal investigators, just wanted to see my first ghost.
As we entered the old lady’s bedroom on the top floor of the house, Virginia with her eyes carefully peeled for ectoplasm (like this job was the most important thing in the world that she could be doing for P.R.O.O.F.), I started rummaging around curiously, as if I’d actually find a ghost under the bed or inside the dusty closet filled with granny clothes – that is, until I came across the old woman’s garbage can.
“Oh, good Lord!” I yelled, possibly a bit too abruptly, as I had caused Virginia to jump in surprise. I fell back away from the trash, my nose pinched shut, no doubt a look of disgust on my face. “This is my first day on the job! Here I was, expecting to find some ghosts, have a chat with the dead, or maybe enjoy a nice hunt around the ol’ haunted house…not fish through Granny’s wastebasket of forbidden Depends and skin treatments.”
“Oh, for goodness sake!” exclaimed Virginia, rolling her eyes with a bit of relief, having apparently thought I came across something that she’d consider really nasty. “You know that only one in every twenty investigators ever actually sees a real materialized spirit.”
It was this bit of information that, rather than discouraging me, gave me real hope. Of course, it also was presented as bit of a challenge too, I must admit, since I wanted to be able to say that I was one of the few PIs that was fortunate enough to at least catch a glimpse of a restless soul of some unlucky, deceased bastard. After having learned that even Virginia had managed to not only see one real ghost, but two, I knew I’d be making it my own personal goal to one-up her.
After a week on the job and being shown the ropes, I was given my standard P.R.O.O.F. equipment, which included the Leech Handgun (the only known weapon against ghosts, which has the power to drain their energy and send them back into the Spectral Plane), a Sparkler Gun (which, when shot, reveals, to some degree, all the hidden ghosts in the vicinity), a digital voice recorder (for capturing and documenting EVPs – electronic voice phenomena), a video camera (for documenting footage of paranormal entities and phenomena), a digital EMF meter (for detecting fluctuations in the electromagnetic field), and of course my handy-dandy flashlight (there’s nothing special about it). Of course, after receiving all these nifty gadgets and gizmos, I wanted to try them out in the field. Like always, a case was ready and waiting for us the next day, and this time it would be an assignment for the entire team.
The other two PIs working with Virginia and I are Beverly Carrington, a fine and fiery redhead with enough self esteem to make Miss Universe jealous, and Dustin Sinclair, the man that started out freelancing as a ghost hunter and who invented the Sparkler Gun (show off). While Virginia is my partner, Beverly is his, but lucky Dustin, since Beverly is an authentic, bona fide psychic, able to foresee certain events and even, at times, speak with the dead. Introducing the two of them to me was our team leader and mentor, who I had previously met, Sawyer Tripp, or as I like to call him, Pops. Although he still has a full head of hair, it has all turned gray, despite him still being in his late forties. (The fossil likes to call me names like Kid and Sonny, so I have to give him crap.) He was FBI when he was recruited by P.R.O.O.F. (No doubt they gave him some sort of offer he couldn’t refuse.) I’ll never forget the moment when Pops had first introduced Beverly to me.
She extended her perfectly manicured hand, but all I could see were her big, beautiful…eyes. “Hi, I’m Beverly. Nice to meet you,” she said generically.
“Hi,” I replied, taking her hand. “I’m…turned on.”
Hey, what can I say? When you got it, you got it.
“Please,” beckoned Virginia, flushing with discomfort and leading us all into the decrepit, vacant church, where our operation centered that day, followed closely by ‘Old Man’ Sawyer.
The first thing I noticed was the hot and sticky humid air that filled the stuffy building. It seemed to have been permanently trapped there, even after we opened the large, wooden double doors. It engulfed us, along with an array of less-than-pleasant smells, most of which consisting of a mixture of mold and dead animals. Flies buzzed around annoyingly, landing on us as we took our first steps inside. It was enough to make us recoil in distaste.
“Damn, I wish I had a cheeseburger!” I declared, breaking the sudden silence and causing the others’ noses to wrinkle at the thought of food, given the foul order that was present.
In a teasing sort of explanation for my behavior, Virginia said wittily, “You can’t blame him. He has special needs. We’re not even sure if he has good enough aim to not miss the toilet!”
She seemed rather proud of herself for thinking this one up. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t think of it on the spot and rather had been sitting on that one since we met. Much to my pleasure though, no one even uttered so much as a small snicker.
“Hah-hah,” I mock laughed, a little taken off guard by my seemingly serious partner. “I wasn’t aware you had a sense of humor, Virginia.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t aware you had sense, William,” she shot back dangerously. What the hell did I do to piss her off?
“Ouch,” said Beverly with a smirk, immerging into the dimness of the church alongside Dustin. “Look at you, Virginia. I didn’t think bitchiness was in your nature.”
Virginia’s eyes flashed threateningly toward the other woman. “Oh, stay out of it, Ms. Beverly Hills.”
“Girls, girls,” I said with a laugh, walking between them casually, “let’s not fight over me... Well, on second thought, let’s!”
“When are you going to grow up?” Virginia lashed out at me, her temper having raised more than I had anticipated. Something clearly was bothering her beyond this entertaining conversation.
“When are you going to…grow?” I replied, always the jokester, especially in times like these.
“Real mature, Will,” she frowned, “just like you.”
“Will, Gin, Bev, everyone, come on,” urged Sawyer, his damn gray hair and steely eyes enough to intimidate me into being respectful and behaving myself.
We were to investigate claims that two semitransparent men in long, dark jackets or cloaks were seen loitering there, up to some suspicious activities. Teenagers had called in, complaining that their usual hangout for parties (go figure) was haunted, since they’d hear high-pitched screams coming from the alter or below the floorboards, echoing all around them and through the rafters. One such teen had reported an incident to P.R.O.O.F., claiming that the pews had been thrown and shoved dangerously aside, apparently on their own accord, when he tried to investigate strange noises coming from within the church. He, of course, bolted at the sight of this. Sure enough, when we entered the abandoned church, all the pews were haphazardly and disorderly thrown against either wall.
Suddenly, we were all caught off guard (no thanks to Virginia’s immaturity – which, by the way, is my job). Gospel music started playing, despite the speakers being in disarray like the rest of the church and lying unplugged on the floor. A chorus of singing could be heard from what sounded like all around us, as if the church was playing back one of its days in history when it was still in use.
“Wow,” piped up Dustin, combing back his long, sandy-blonde hair with a hand, as he would normally do when uncomfortable, as I would later come to recognize. “I didn’t realize this place would be so…lively.”
“And yet we’re the only ones that are living,” noted Virginia.
“Mmm, mmm!” I exclaimed cheerfully, hoping to see some ghosts, my signature sideways grin ever-present on my undeniably handsome face. “I love the smell of dead people in the morning!”
Though I love to kid, we were all professional and quick about getting a hold on the situation. Using a mixture of all our equipment, Beverly’s convenient medium abilities, and our own intuition, we were able to get to the bottom of the old church haunting. The pastor and deacon that worked there (who had been the men in the robes that were seen) had kept a dark and sinister secret. They had taken advantage of a young girl one evening, but when she threatened to report them, they all had a hand in killing her and disposing of her body in the church’s cellar. No doubt the screams that could sometimes be heard were the poor girl’s, or rather, her restless spirit, begging us to find her and bring her to justice. We were able to locate the pastor and deacon too, and I have to say, seeing two real ghosts at once wasn’t as cool as I thought it would be. Perhaps it was the knowledge of who they were and what they had done, but they lost some major badass points from me that day.
Draining ghosts of their energy is one thing, but P.R.O.O.F. invented and patented a device that looks like some sort of gun from Star Trek and is capable of capturing the spirit essences of ghosts inside of capsules attached to the gun (yeah, you heard my right). No official name was ever specified for them to me, but everyone calls them Snatchers. I was told that they’re top secret though, so any mentioning of them to the general public is strictly prohibited. You got me on what exactly they do with the occupied capsules once we hand them in back at headquarters. So, that’s exactly what we ended up doing on this mission. Since the pastor and deacon were too violent to be left wandering the church any further, we decided to use the Snatchers to take them back with us. Beyond wondering aloud just how the Snatchers worked, I didn’t ask any questions, and neither Sawyer nor anyone else seemed keen to answer them, if they even knew any more than I did.
“But I haven’t really figured it out yet,” I began asking Virginia a few weeks later as we were headed back from another successful assignment together, “just why and how are we – people with bachelor’s degrees or, heck, less – working as paranormal investigators for one of the biggest and most talked about controversial corporations in the country and making more than enough to satisfy the majority of us?”
Without skipping a beat, Virginia answered me immediately, apparently having understood the answer to that question for some time now. “Because we’re the idiots running in while everyone else is running out. Guess they expect us to not make it one of these times and become just another casualty in the sea of victims, and what good are great minds when they’re buried six feet under?”
That made sense to me, and I excepted it at face value. Virginia had a point, and despite the risk involved in the business we do, I felt I had been given the opportunity of a lifetime. So too did Dustin. He had only been working for P.R.O.O.F. for a few months before I was hired on, I had learned.
When he had been in his twenties, Dustin was the lead investigator in what he likes to refer to as ‘a serious paranormal investigation team,’ which, frankly, is just a nice way of saying ‘a bunch of overly dedicated guys getting together and spilling their paychecks into something they thought would be cool.’ Granted, Dustin and his gang did manage to capture quite a lot of intriguing evidence, which he kindly let me see firsthand. He had even managed to see a fully materialized ghost, so I have to give him credit for that. They went on a new investigation almost every week, and it had become a major hobby for the guy. He once even confided in me that the rush of being on an investigation was more exciting than any other thrill-seeking thing he had done, which included bungee jumping and sky diving. I guess he was the adventurous type, always looking for something new, that is, until he started getting more involved in paranormal investigation. It was everything he wanted, and he did a bang-up job from the very start. The EVPs he and his group captured were also of great interest to the folks up top at P.R.O.O.F., but it was his invention, the Sparkler Gun, that really earned him a place amongst us as true paranormal investigators. Unlike most corny, ghost-detecting inventions, his actually worked, and it was soon being manufactured and distributed out to all the PIs working for P.R.O.O.F. As a result, Dustin became a very, very rich man.
Beverley, on the other hand, came from the very bottom of the totem pole in terms of her income. I haven’t talked to her about it personally, but I heard from a few others that Beverly was as low class as you can get (which, looking at her today, came as quite a shock). Her mother was a heroine addict, and her father apparently came and went all too frequently and had an addiction of his own – dirty prostitutes. She lived here on the outskirts of L.A. in a small, run-down apartment. Ever since she was a little girl though, Beverly could not only see, but communicate with dead people. It wasn’t a constant thing however and was never predictable, but when she tried talking to her mother about it, her mom threw her out, horrified by her own daughter, and she had only been thirteen. From there, the story of Bev’s life gets a little hazy, but some say she got into drugs and alcohol and lived in a whorehouse. I’m not saying it isn’t true, but I can’t see Beverly ever stooping that low. She may be a lot of things, but a junkie and a prostitute? No way. In my opinion, the other story makes more sense. The way the other one goes is, she ran off to live with her grandparents who taught her how to hone her skills in her art. According to this story, her grandma had also been a medium, and it was something that was passed down through the women in the family. Her mother, too, was psychic, but she simply had forced herself to ignore it since she was young. When she was older, Beverly made the news when she made a hefty prediction that her boss at the time would commit suicide by jumping off the top of his apartment building. She called the police twenty minutes before it happened. They had arrived on the scene and attempted to stop him, but he ultimately ended up jumping. The thing they couldn’t understand was that her boss had not made any phone calls that day and apparently had not confessed his suicidal plans to anyone. On top of that, Beverly was forty-five minutes away in her own apartment. Beverly’s skills were put to the test, and she was immediately hired by P.R.O.O.F., making more money than an entry-level PI.
We all have a story, and Virginia’s is no less interesting. When Virginia was just seven, she witnessed the murder of both her parents at the hands of her psychopathic older brother. He had been having major behavioral issues for the past few years, having drank, smoked, killed the neighborhood pets for fun, and the like. Her parents had been debating whether or not to put him in a mental institution. Well, unfortunately for them, her brother had overheard them talking on the phone about it one night, making preparations to have him be taken care of there. In a fit of outrage, he grabbed their kitchen knife and slaughtered the both of them right before little Virginia’s eyes as she sat watching TV in the other room. Virginia was terrified and ran for it, never looking back. She remembers her brother’s maniacal laughter as she bolted out the back door and ran to the safety of the neighbor’s house. Her brother was old enough to be tried as an adult and is now spending the rest of his days behind bars. Virginia had to live with her godparents, her aunt and uncle that lived in Los Angeles. So, she packed up her bags and moved from Oregon to this lovely city. She became interested in ghosts and EVPs when TV shows like Ghost Hunters started becoming popular. She thought that, perhaps, something like that would be her opportunity to really tell her parents how much she loved them and to tell them goodbye. Investing in a nice digital voice recorder, Virginia began trying to contact her parents with little luck. For a long while, she obsessed over it, until she began to capture more and more voice anomalies of other spirits. She eventually gave up on trying to find her parents and instead took an interest in talking with the ghosts that she could contact. She wrote a couple of books and made a few guest appearances on some local news stations and eventually became pretty well known throughout L.A. for her large array of great-quality EVPs. P.R.O.O.F. took notice, and the rest is history.
When it comes to Sawyer, or ‘Pops,’ I can’t really say I know much. He was an FBI agent working in Los Angeles where he lived all his life. He has a wife and an eighteen-year-old daughter who, according to him, is growing up too fast. His father before him had been a local cop and had lost his life on the job. He had been gunned down during a gang shooting when Sawyer was in his teens. Sawyer always says he wants to be just like his old man. Doing what he does now for P.R.O.O.F. and having seen him in action, I think it’s safe to say his father would have been proud.
As for me? William Ransford… Well, there’s not much to tell. I grew up in a middle class family with two wonderful parents. I had a twin brother named Weylin. Though we were twins, he was always my complete opposite. Weylin was always reckless and quick tempered one, while I was that cool and calm class clown. As a kid, he was always a bit of a bully, picking on others that were smaller than him, which sometimes included me. I can’t say I didn’t love him, but man, that guy had issues. (I’m sure he would have gotten along great though with Virginia’s brother!) My parents never understood what was wrong with him, and they blamed themselves. He didn’t seem to mind. When he was old enough to live on his own, Weylin got a place somewhere in the city, though none of us ever were invited over. He never attended college, but according to some of his buddies, I heard he was doing well for himself. I never saw much of him after that. Weylin ended up committing suicide by putting a gun to his head when we were twenty-two, which was three years ago now. I knew it immediately when it happened. It was early one morning, around four-thirty. I woke up, and I just knew. I guess what some people say about that whole mental link between twins might hold some credibility. I always seemed to know when Wey was in trouble or was in need of me. I used to visit him every once in awhile (despite him never inviting me), and I probably saw him once or twice a year until his death. My parents only ever saw him a couple of times over the holidays after he left, when he wasn’t too drunk or too high to forget. I can’t say his suicide wasn’t unexpected. He talked about killing himself almost every time I saw him. The guy was a complete mess. He hated himself, and I think he hated me for being so different from him. I always seemed to make him angry whenever I was around, so I never stayed for long. My parents, of course, were devastated, but it didn’t take us all too long to get over him, though they’d never admit it. Weylin had become just a distant echo in our minds long before his death. Afterward, I went to his place to collect his things so that his apartment to could be rented out to some sorry sucker, and I found myself screaming at him and the blood stain where he had shot himself. I guess I was releasing all my pent-up anger from over the many long years. I cursed his name and spat on his things. He pissed me off, and the pain he caused my parents initially only made me more furious. To my shock though, out of nowhere, a glass bottle of beer flew across the room, nearly hitting me square in the head, and shattered against the wall. I saw it with my own eyes. Next thing I know, the window flung open, and a deathly cold breeze was chilling my very bones. I panicked and left as soon as I could. That’s when I began researching ghosts, which later lead me to meeting a man that worked as a supervisor at P.R.O.O.F. He offered me the job, and not being happy working in a cubicle, I accepted.
Looking over the past year, we’ve all grown a lot in a variety of different ways (some more than others). Today, Beverly and Dustin are…well, let’s just say they’re somewhat involved. I saw it coming from a mile away. With Beverly’s flirtatious attitude and Dustin’s passive personality, they are a perfect fit. The two of them together look like models in a clothing ad. It’s rather sickening at times. Nothing against the girl, but I just had to ask Dustin why he was so attracted to her.
He answered simply and truthfully, “Beverly is self-absorbed, manipulative, snobby, she only cares about herself, and she’s just a plain bitch most of the time…but it’s intoxicating.” I had to hand it to the guy for being able to put up with her. Beautiful and attractive as that redhead is, she’s a lot to handle.
As for myself, well, I’m still flying solo, though I can’t say it’s not from lack of trying. I’ve been on a couple of casual dates here and there, as usual on the weekends, but so far, I haven’t kept any of the girls’ numbers. I know when I feel it and when I don’t; it’s as simple as that. Sitting here in the darkness of a luxurious hotel presently though, with nothing on except for my tidy whiteys, I can say with some certainty that I’ve not felt this way about anyone else since I’ve met Virginia. She is standing in front of the dresser mirror facing away from me as she redresses, her expression unreadable. I don’t bother to put on my own things, as I’d much rather take in every moment of her, every little detail, from her long, thin legs, which shift her weight around, to her curvy hips, the elegant way she makes putting on a watch look, all the way up to her magnificent green eyes, which are no match for my dull brown ones that gaze at her imploringly. She scoops up her earrings that are lying on the dresser and reattaches them to her ears, not once looking at my reflection staring back at her. She pretends as if I am not there. It has always been this way.
We have been sleeping together for the past month now, unbeknownst to the rest of the team. P.R.O.O.F. employees are not permitted to have relationships, after all, since they can not only be dangerous to the mission, but can also distract and create tension. Of course, that never stopped Beverly and Dustin, but the two of them could probably get away with murder and come out as if they were the victims. It all started with Virginia and I when we were sitting in the company car together, alone, on a ghost stakeout. We ended up arguing over something stupid, which normally happens if the two of us are around each other for too long, and after the disagreement was over, we nonverbally agreed to not speak to one another. I don’t know why it happened or how, but I found myself unexpectedly embracing her. All I could think about were her lips and how badly I wanted them. I realized I had wanted them for a long time now. To my shock, she didn’t turn down my advancements. I can’t say what it ended up growing into has been all that healthy. We certainly aren’t anywhere close to dating. Whenever one of us simply gets an itch, the other is there to scratch it. When it’s over though, then it’s over, fully and completely, until the next time. It’s been this way from the start. As I said, I’ve never felt anything like this in my life, this rush, this desire, this affection that runs so much deeper than lust. It’s Virginia that seems repulsed by me after our encounter is over. I’ve tried speaking to her about us, but each time I bring it up, she pretends nothing ever happened or quickly changes the subject. Perhaps I’m just the loser that’s being used here, and any rational guy would have ended it after the first time. I just can’t say ‘no’ to her though. She even haunts my dreams.
“Do you have a map?” I suddenly ask with a twinkle in my eyes and a smile across my unshaven face.
For the first time since she’s been out of bed, Virginia looks up at me. “What?” she asks my reflection in the mirror.
“I just keep getting lost in your eyes.”
She sighs, not the sort of sweet, happy sort of sigh, but the one that immediately lets me know I shouldn’t have said anything.
“What?” I ask challengingly. “I can’t be witty and charming at the same time?”
“Not when all I can see are your boxers,” she says, turning around and raising a brow.
I dress, and eventually the two of us are back pretending again to be merely just coworkers, partners at work and nothing more. To the outsider, we don’t even appear to like each other. We go to work and begin our next assignment. Today, our team will be investigating an apartment that I am pretty familiar with, since I had visited it on rare occasions when my brother was alive, as he used to live there himself. There have been reports of everything from the odd shadow being seen to tenants’ beds being straight up lifted off the ground or shaken. A few people have even claimed to have spotted full apparitions, and the general feeling toward the spirit or spirits has been very negative. I’m not exactly sure what to think about this one, but I’m not entirely comfortable revisiting this shit hole. Can’t turn your back on a job though, right?
Pops escorts the four of us – Beverly, Dustin, Virginia, and I – to the small town known best for its dirty nightclubs and bars. Whenever he drives us, we always simply call him ‘Driver.’ He doesn’t seem to mind. Sawyer’s a good man, and he helps to put us in not only a better mood than usual, but also the right mindset for our next assignment. By the time we get to the apartment complex, we’re all ready to go, even Virginia and I, who have not made eye contact since getting in the car together. The owner, the man who initially called us, is waiting for us out front. He is wearing a cheap suit and has a gut that not even his leather belt can hold in. He approaches us all anxiously and shakes our hands. He tells us his name, which I immediately forget, and then allows us inside to do our thing. He says the people that live in the building have been informed of our arrival, and most have gone elsewhere for the afternoon to give us room to work freely, despite our not being allowed access into any individual apartment. We thank him and proceed inside, each of us carrying a few items of equipment.
An hour later, and I’m on the floor, bleeding and out of breath, a thermal camera in one hand and Virginia in the other. She has a gash that doesn’t seem to want to stop bleeding across her head. I know that head injuries always bleed the most and look the worst even if they’re not that bad, but I can’t help but worry sick over her. I try my best to remain calm though, but I know she can see right through me. To humor me or just to be nice, Virginia seems to try and stay cool in response. We both don’t know where Sawyer is (the last time we saw him, he was firing a Sparkler Gun down the hall a floor above us), but Dustin and Beverly are in the cellar somewhere together. We can only hope they’re doing better than us.
Things got out of hand fast, and before any of us knew it, the paranormal activity erupted into chaos. The threat here proved to be far worse than what we were told over the phone. I now understand just why the owner was so uneasy when we met. Whatever entities are here are extremely upset and violent, not to mention powerful. Of course, being Paranormal Investigators for P.R.O.O.F., we are all trained for situations like these, but had we of known that the situation was this dire from the start, we would have come far more prepared, each of us armed with Snatcher guns. Each partner team is merely armed with Leech Handguns for self-defense, one between them both.
We cower in a corner on the second floor near the back exit, injured, shaken up, and at a loss for just what to do at the moment. Virginia looks like she’s on the verge of tears, whether from terror or pain, I’m not sure. I squeeze her close, my heart racing for more than one reason. I pull out my Leech gun from its holster and set it beside us as I scan the hallway with the thermal camera, trying to pick up any abnormal heat or cold signatures. It’s as if all the activity suddenly just died or moved elsewhere onto someone else. I’m not sure which frightens me more.
“Boy, I could really go for a Bud Light right about now,” I joke uncomfortably.
Virginia suddenly opens her mouth to speak, sniffing and blinking away her tears. Her gaze is determinedly on me as she begins to talk. “You know Will, you are immature, sarcastic, you make stupid jokes and try to be witty during serious situations, not to mention you speak way too much for your own good…” she pauses, “but you make me laugh, not always on the outside, but you do. I admit that, despite all that we’ve been through and all that we’ve said.” She looks up at me as I hold her, and I can tell that she is being sincere. “I really do have feelings for you,” she says in a low voice.
After a moment of silence, it becomes clear that the room fills with a paranormal presence. We can both feel it approaching. However, I reply to her in an equally low voice, yet with an unmistakable smile in my voice. “Just shut up, and shoot the damn ghosts.”
Virginia cracks a laugh and, in one swift movement that can only a trained professional like her could achieve, grabs the Leech Handgun from off the floor and takes aim at the materializing specters. Powerful shots are fired that blast through the silence, absorbing the spirit energy, causing them to disappear instantly, and just like that, the entire building is back to be surrounded by a number of indiscernible sounds. We both then can make out loud, banging footsteps coming down the staircase next to us. To our surprise though, it is Sawyer that appears on our floor, looking the worse for wear but in fighting shape nonetheless.
“Will,” he gasps. “Virginia. What’s the status on this floor?”
Virginia twirls the Leech Handgun in her hand smugly and stands. “Good to go…for now.”
“You two okay?” he then asks as he notices our injuries.
“We’ll live,” I reassure him. I then notice the funny look he’s been giving me since he reappeared. “Pops?”
“Will, man,” he says, shaking his head. “I saw you. I mean, I saw you…up there,” he says, pointing up, as if to indicated the third floor that he just came down from. I frown, confused, and he continues. “I mean, it looked like you, but it wasn’t. It was a ghost, no doubt about it. Will, do you think…?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I stop him. “Wait a second. You mean to say,” I swallow, “you saw my brother?”
“Well, William, never thought I’d see you again.” suddenly says a voice from directly behind me, so close that I feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickle up.
I leap aside and swing around so fast, that Virginia has to dodge out of the way just to avoid being hit. Standing there in front of us, fully corporeal, is none other than my dead twin brother, Weylin. His coloring seems off, as if his entire body, including his skin and clothing, has been desaturated. His eyes are dark and hollow and seem empty inside. He just plain looks dead. I don’t know why, but I feel my face grow hot and my eyes begin to water. I have to put my arms above my head to breathe. I turn around and take a few uneasy paces toward Pops, whose standing there at a loss for words, clearly able to see him too, before turning around to gaze upon my twin again. He truly is here, right now. He doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t exactly look distressed either. His expression is emotionless, unreadable.
“What? No hug?” he asks in a mock-disappointed tone. Shrugging, his ghost sighs. “Fine. That’s just fine.”
“What the hell, Wey?” I finally manage to ask. It’s the only thing I can think to say in this situation. I look him up and down again, in disbelief. “Shit,” I curse.
Without any warning, an immense bolt of white light streaks past me and collides with Weylin, engulfing his form and devouring his energy. We all whirl around to find Dustin and Beverly standing at the end of the hall, Dustin with a Leech Handgun held up pointing at my brother. I swing around just in time to see Weylin disappear completely, his eyes never leaving mine, but for a split second, his expression changes from blank to complete and utter rage, an evil look that distorts his features into something dark and unnatural. Then, as if he had never been there at all, he is gone, and the room becomes much lighter. Everyone starts to breathe easier. The building itself seems to lighten, as if a weight has been lifted.
The next day, our team finishes the report. I still can’t get Weylin’s furious expression out of my mind, as if it has been burned there permanently. We all seem to be quieter than usual. Virginia is bandaged up but hasn’t lost her fiery determination. We don’t talk, but we all know what we’re thinking. My brother is still out there, and he is not only angry, but he is far more powerful than anything any of us has personally ever seen. We all know that we’ll cross paths with him again someday, it’s just a matter of when. But when that day comes though, we’ll be prepared.
We get our next assignment, which is small fry compared to the day before, and we’re off with Driver leading the way. Today, we get to investigate a beach mansion on a cliff overlooking the ocean. I think it’s safe to say I’m not the only one happy to be able to get away from the city and to be out in the open with the smell of sea salt in the air.
As if reading my mind, Virginia says from the backseat next to me, “Don’t expect this to be a pleasure cruise, people! We have business to do.”
“And things to kill,” adds Dustin, smirking to Beverly.
“Yipee…!” I say sarcastically.
We laugh somewhat bitter sweetly, and Sawyer speeds up down the winding country road through the mountains.
Last edited by Fate Foretold on Sat Oct 31, 2009 10:56 am; edited 5 times in total
Fate Flyer- ★ Administrator & FoG Mother ★
- Join date : 2009-05-12
Posts : 4525
Age : 37
Location : Milky Way Galaxy, Sol System, Earth, USA, Illinois -
Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Deadman - D17 Sat Oct 31, 2009 12:57 am
Hmmm.. I wrote this more for fun, to help build up the background for an actual novel I'm drafting to write, than for the actual competition... but hey, let's see how it is
Gonna break into two parts for ease of reading, so here be part 1
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
"Do you believe in ghosts, my dear?"
"Ghosts? Ha!" The derisive snort turned heads at the bar, and even more as it evolved into a full-blown fit of laughter. It was several long moments before the storm subsided at least, leaving the woman gasping for breath, tears glistening in her azure eyes.
"Wha... What's next? Demons? G... Ghouls? Things that go... bump in... in the night? Oh... you're rich! You don't think I believe such.... such kid's tales... now.. do you?"
"I take it that's a no, then?" The figure sitting across from the mirth-stricken woman smirked, leaning back dangerously in his chair, legs crossed and resting on the table between them both. The brim of a worn straw hat hung low over his eyes, the end of a black ponytail laying draped over one shoulder. His calm, quiet demeanor stood in stark contrast to the ivory-haired woman across from him, oh-so casually fingering the coinpurse she had stolen from some passerby outside the bar. "Eh? Neera?"
"No? By the moons! You bet 'no'!" She had calmed down somewhat, though still a chuckle escaped every now and again. The cackling firelight swirled across her face, a twisting, writhing dance of reds and blacks that at once revealed those sharp, strong features, and abandoned them to Teraxx's ever-patient gaze.
Truly, it was a strange night. The emerald moon flew high in the heavens, while his sister Pyxrax hung back along the horizion, the crimson stone's passion merely subdued for this cycle. And indeed, the echoes still lingered, the nights where she reigned supreme still fresh in everyone's minds, still reflected in their actions. It was no different for Neera, sitting there at the table with some stranger she had never met nor seen before, talking as if she had known him all her life.
It helped that he had gotten her out of that jam back there -the guards here had sharper eyes than she remembered- not to mention paying for their drinks as well. Damn, even the conversation was good... if ridiculous.
"And what about you, my mystery man? Hm?" She took another sip from the glass before her -small, never waste it if its free- before leaning across the table, pushing his feet off with a playful grin. "Do you believe in ghosts and ghouls and such dreams of fools?"
"Well, you know?" It was his turn to chuckle, teetering on the back to legs of his chair for a moment, before leaning forward himself, front legs meeting the floor again with a *thud* that made the innkeep wince. "I don't think I've seen one, so I can't say for sure."
"Can't say-?" Another incredulous chuckle. "What do you mean? Of course you've never seen them! They don't exist!"
"Are you so sure?"
"Wha-?"
"Think about it..." His feet were back on the table again, nearly making her jump out of her seat as twin boots landed but inches from her face. The grin faded from her lips, even as it seemed a permanent fixture on his. That grin, not smug, but simply there, as if it had nowhere else to go.
"Before today, I had never seen you before. So, if someone in a bar had asked me 'do you believe in Neera?' Would I laugh and say 'Of course not!'?"
"That's different," Her eyes narrowed, the striking blue sparking out from behind ivory locks. "That's the name of a person, my name."
"Let me finish, please? I promise I won't take too long. Besides, the longer we sit here, the more free drinks you get! So there's no real loss for you, right?"
"..."
"Thanks. Now, as I was saying, just because I hadn't seen you before doesn't mean you don't exist. In fact, there's no way I can tell if you do or not until I see and speak with you, like now. The same goes for the mountain nomads. I've never seen them, so do they exist? I can't say."
"Yes, but-" She froze as he raised his hand, but he only sighed, motioning for her to continue. "But you could have met someone who knows me -hopefully not- or someone who knows the nomads. Have you ever met someone who has seen these 'ghosts'?"
"Ah, an excellent point." The grin returned. "And true, of course. If no one's seen a ghost, can it still exist? After all, it would be nearly impossible to hide from everyone, but still... my answer would have to be.. possibly."
"What? How can- okay.... go on..."
"You're too kind. But let's go back to our meeting. Now that I've met you, I know you exist. I see you, I hear you, I'm talking to you, it's a pretty sure thing. However, once we part ways? I know you existed when we met, but once I no longer see you? I can't be sure.
You see." He lifted his own mug, holding it up to those grinning lips for a moment, before lowering it back down to be cradled before his chest. "The only way you can prove, beyond doubt, that something or someone exists, is too be able to see them or it. Otherwise, it's just a matter of probabilities. Is it probable that, once we part ways, you will cease to exist? Hardly, but the chance is still there."
"So, what you're saying is," Neera cocked her head to the side, a small smile of her own growing across her mouth as she took another sip of her drink. "Even though no one's actually seen any of the 'undead legions', you can say that it's probable they don't exist, but you can't just deny them outright?"
"Exactly."
"Hmm... there's a flaw in your logic, though."
"Oh?" He raised the mug back to his lips, the white pupils of his eyes just visible out from under his hat. "Really? Do tell."
"Why, of course." The brimming confidence of her own smile more than matched his challenging smirk.
"You say the only way to prove the existence of something is to see it, which I can understand. However, by your reasoning, it becomes impossible to prove that something doesn't exist."
"And your poi- ow!" He let go of his mug with one gloved hand, rubbing his cheek where Neera had just leaned over and slapped it.
"I. Wasn't. Done. Yet. Now, by your reasoning, someone or something exists only while you can see them, and otherwise, it's only probability. So, couldn't you turn that around? If you say something only exists if and when it is seen, that means at all other times, it doesn't exist, it's only probable that it might exist."
"Hmmm... a little dark-" She only nodded, running one free hand through her hair. "But I see where you're going. Please, continue."
"The rest is simple, really. Since no one has seen any ghost or ghast or such, by your own logic, they don't exist! They're a 'thought', a 'probability'! So then, when you say 'I can't know', are you accepting that your logic is flawed? And, therefore, seeing something isn't the only way to prove it exists?"
"So then, you have no problem with the fact that, after we part ways, you wouldn't exist to me until I see you again?"
"You're avoiding the question, my mystery man.... and no, I would have no problem with that."
"Well." He set the mug back down on the table before placing both hands behind his head, leaning back even more. "I must say, you have me.... ack-.... ughhhh...."
Gonna break into two parts for ease of reading, so here be part 1
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
"Do you believe in ghosts, my dear?"
"Ghosts? Ha!" The derisive snort turned heads at the bar, and even more as it evolved into a full-blown fit of laughter. It was several long moments before the storm subsided at least, leaving the woman gasping for breath, tears glistening in her azure eyes.
"Wha... What's next? Demons? G... Ghouls? Things that go... bump in... in the night? Oh... you're rich! You don't think I believe such.... such kid's tales... now.. do you?"
"I take it that's a no, then?" The figure sitting across from the mirth-stricken woman smirked, leaning back dangerously in his chair, legs crossed and resting on the table between them both. The brim of a worn straw hat hung low over his eyes, the end of a black ponytail laying draped over one shoulder. His calm, quiet demeanor stood in stark contrast to the ivory-haired woman across from him, oh-so casually fingering the coinpurse she had stolen from some passerby outside the bar. "Eh? Neera?"
"No? By the moons! You bet 'no'!" She had calmed down somewhat, though still a chuckle escaped every now and again. The cackling firelight swirled across her face, a twisting, writhing dance of reds and blacks that at once revealed those sharp, strong features, and abandoned them to Teraxx's ever-patient gaze.
Truly, it was a strange night. The emerald moon flew high in the heavens, while his sister Pyxrax hung back along the horizion, the crimson stone's passion merely subdued for this cycle. And indeed, the echoes still lingered, the nights where she reigned supreme still fresh in everyone's minds, still reflected in their actions. It was no different for Neera, sitting there at the table with some stranger she had never met nor seen before, talking as if she had known him all her life.
It helped that he had gotten her out of that jam back there -the guards here had sharper eyes than she remembered- not to mention paying for their drinks as well. Damn, even the conversation was good... if ridiculous.
"And what about you, my mystery man? Hm?" She took another sip from the glass before her -small, never waste it if its free- before leaning across the table, pushing his feet off with a playful grin. "Do you believe in ghosts and ghouls and such dreams of fools?"
"Well, you know?" It was his turn to chuckle, teetering on the back to legs of his chair for a moment, before leaning forward himself, front legs meeting the floor again with a *thud* that made the innkeep wince. "I don't think I've seen one, so I can't say for sure."
"Can't say-?" Another incredulous chuckle. "What do you mean? Of course you've never seen them! They don't exist!"
"Are you so sure?"
"Wha-?"
"Think about it..." His feet were back on the table again, nearly making her jump out of her seat as twin boots landed but inches from her face. The grin faded from her lips, even as it seemed a permanent fixture on his. That grin, not smug, but simply there, as if it had nowhere else to go.
"Before today, I had never seen you before. So, if someone in a bar had asked me 'do you believe in Neera?' Would I laugh and say 'Of course not!'?"
"That's different," Her eyes narrowed, the striking blue sparking out from behind ivory locks. "That's the name of a person, my name."
"Let me finish, please? I promise I won't take too long. Besides, the longer we sit here, the more free drinks you get! So there's no real loss for you, right?"
"..."
"Thanks. Now, as I was saying, just because I hadn't seen you before doesn't mean you don't exist. In fact, there's no way I can tell if you do or not until I see and speak with you, like now. The same goes for the mountain nomads. I've never seen them, so do they exist? I can't say."
"Yes, but-" She froze as he raised his hand, but he only sighed, motioning for her to continue. "But you could have met someone who knows me -hopefully not- or someone who knows the nomads. Have you ever met someone who has seen these 'ghosts'?"
"Ah, an excellent point." The grin returned. "And true, of course. If no one's seen a ghost, can it still exist? After all, it would be nearly impossible to hide from everyone, but still... my answer would have to be.. possibly."
"What? How can- okay.... go on..."
"You're too kind. But let's go back to our meeting. Now that I've met you, I know you exist. I see you, I hear you, I'm talking to you, it's a pretty sure thing. However, once we part ways? I know you existed when we met, but once I no longer see you? I can't be sure.
You see." He lifted his own mug, holding it up to those grinning lips for a moment, before lowering it back down to be cradled before his chest. "The only way you can prove, beyond doubt, that something or someone exists, is too be able to see them or it. Otherwise, it's just a matter of probabilities. Is it probable that, once we part ways, you will cease to exist? Hardly, but the chance is still there."
"So, what you're saying is," Neera cocked her head to the side, a small smile of her own growing across her mouth as she took another sip of her drink. "Even though no one's actually seen any of the 'undead legions', you can say that it's probable they don't exist, but you can't just deny them outright?"
"Exactly."
"Hmm... there's a flaw in your logic, though."
"Oh?" He raised the mug back to his lips, the white pupils of his eyes just visible out from under his hat. "Really? Do tell."
"Why, of course." The brimming confidence of her own smile more than matched his challenging smirk.
"You say the only way to prove the existence of something is to see it, which I can understand. However, by your reasoning, it becomes impossible to prove that something doesn't exist."
"And your poi- ow!" He let go of his mug with one gloved hand, rubbing his cheek where Neera had just leaned over and slapped it.
"I. Wasn't. Done. Yet. Now, by your reasoning, someone or something exists only while you can see them, and otherwise, it's only probability. So, couldn't you turn that around? If you say something only exists if and when it is seen, that means at all other times, it doesn't exist, it's only probable that it might exist."
"Hmmm... a little dark-" She only nodded, running one free hand through her hair. "But I see where you're going. Please, continue."
"The rest is simple, really. Since no one has seen any ghost or ghast or such, by your own logic, they don't exist! They're a 'thought', a 'probability'! So then, when you say 'I can't know', are you accepting that your logic is flawed? And, therefore, seeing something isn't the only way to prove it exists?"
"So then, you have no problem with the fact that, after we part ways, you wouldn't exist to me until I see you again?"
"You're avoiding the question, my mystery man.... and no, I would have no problem with that."
"Well." He set the mug back down on the table before placing both hands behind his head, leaning back even more. "I must say, you have me.... ack-.... ughhhh...."
Deadman - D17- Mist
- Join date : 2009-06-20
Posts : 50
Age : 33
Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Deadman - D17 Sat Oct 31, 2009 12:58 am
And now, 2
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
The victorious expression on Neera's face was gone faster than it arrived, melting away to sheer horror. Slowly, so slowly her gaze following his own down to his chest- and the vicious, barbed spike protruding from it.
"That's all nice and interesting, really." Her shock only grew as she recognized the man rising to level a blade across her impaled newly-met companion's throat. It was him the one who she had pinched earlier, the whole reason she had ended up in this bar talking with, the man who... now... was... dear moons...
"Maybe you should double check who you're robbing, hm?" The grin on the man's face wasn't normal, wasn't sane. His eyes gleamed crimson, sharp even under Teraxx's subduing gaze. "As for you?" Those terrible orbs now shifted to the gasping form of her companion. "Terrible luck, it seems, oh well."
And before she could react, before the disbelieving eyes of her and everyone else at the bar, he drew the blade across.
A flash of steel, and that was it. No cry, no blood, just a flash, and the head of the man she had been speaking with was suddenly lying on his lap, that hat adding some macabre comedic value to the whole horrific scene.
"Oh my, did I do that?"
"Bastard! Monster!"
"Oh, oh yes I am, my dear." She leaped to her feet as he came closer, but could move nor farther. She was frozen in fear. The entire world seemed to slow before her eyes, every second a year, every moment a lifetime. Her eyes never moved from that blade in his hands, that clean, glimmering piece of metal. Sharp, so sharp, and now, he- it- was coming... for her...
"Cut my purse? I cut heads," No one else at the bar moved. It was all too strange, too surreal. It wasn't right, this, now. Last cycle, such action would have been commonplace. But now? Here? The emerald glow froze everyone, everyone except... him... "seems fair, right?"
"Actually, no, not really."
Wha-? Who?
No...There was no way...
"Then again, those born under the blood moon are rather well known for their skewed view of justice... I should know. Might I assume someone didn't relish in their share of blood last cycle?
At least you had the sense to go for me first. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to do anything to help Neera."
It couldn't... It couldn't be...
But... it was.
He stood up, the man she had been speaking with, the one who she had watched die. He stood, that wicked spike still glinting in his chest, his head held under one arm, grinning at his 'killer'.
"Now, my good sir, could you please put that blade down?"
"Down? Down!?" She didn't know what scared her more, the fact a dead man had just stood back up or the maniacal laughter from the second. "Oh, I'll show you down!"
If the man's cry, or leap affected the dead man at all... his decapitated head made no sign.
"I bet you will..."
A sidestep, that's all it was. A shift out of the way, a foot trailing behind just long enough to be caught by the man's crazed charge, and it was done. A resounding *crack* jumped everyone from their shock, first blood spilt as it leaked from the man's now-broken nose.
"You guys should be able to keep him down now, right?" Dumb nods all around, everything hadn't quite sunk in yet. "Good."
He left for the door, laying his free hand on the shoulder of a stunned, horrified, unbelieving Neera as he passed.
"You know, you're right." He chuckled from the crook of his arm. From where she was standing, she couldn't help but notice the stump of a neck that used to hold his head... no blood, but instead, the horrendous wound leaked faint opalescence, faint residue that shimmered in the light, until it fell through the floor below.
"I guess ghosts really don't exist at all."
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
The victorious expression on Neera's face was gone faster than it arrived, melting away to sheer horror. Slowly, so slowly her gaze following his own down to his chest- and the vicious, barbed spike protruding from it.
"That's all nice and interesting, really." Her shock only grew as she recognized the man rising to level a blade across her impaled newly-met companion's throat. It was him the one who she had pinched earlier, the whole reason she had ended up in this bar talking with, the man who... now... was... dear moons...
"Maybe you should double check who you're robbing, hm?" The grin on the man's face wasn't normal, wasn't sane. His eyes gleamed crimson, sharp even under Teraxx's subduing gaze. "As for you?" Those terrible orbs now shifted to the gasping form of her companion. "Terrible luck, it seems, oh well."
And before she could react, before the disbelieving eyes of her and everyone else at the bar, he drew the blade across.
A flash of steel, and that was it. No cry, no blood, just a flash, and the head of the man she had been speaking with was suddenly lying on his lap, that hat adding some macabre comedic value to the whole horrific scene.
"Oh my, did I do that?"
"Bastard! Monster!"
"Oh, oh yes I am, my dear." She leaped to her feet as he came closer, but could move nor farther. She was frozen in fear. The entire world seemed to slow before her eyes, every second a year, every moment a lifetime. Her eyes never moved from that blade in his hands, that clean, glimmering piece of metal. Sharp, so sharp, and now, he- it- was coming... for her...
"Cut my purse? I cut heads," No one else at the bar moved. It was all too strange, too surreal. It wasn't right, this, now. Last cycle, such action would have been commonplace. But now? Here? The emerald glow froze everyone, everyone except... him... "seems fair, right?"
"Actually, no, not really."
Wha-? Who?
No...There was no way...
"Then again, those born under the blood moon are rather well known for their skewed view of justice... I should know. Might I assume someone didn't relish in their share of blood last cycle?
At least you had the sense to go for me first. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to do anything to help Neera."
It couldn't... It couldn't be...
But... it was.
He stood up, the man she had been speaking with, the one who she had watched die. He stood, that wicked spike still glinting in his chest, his head held under one arm, grinning at his 'killer'.
"Now, my good sir, could you please put that blade down?"
"Down? Down!?" She didn't know what scared her more, the fact a dead man had just stood back up or the maniacal laughter from the second. "Oh, I'll show you down!"
If the man's cry, or leap affected the dead man at all... his decapitated head made no sign.
"I bet you will..."
A sidestep, that's all it was. A shift out of the way, a foot trailing behind just long enough to be caught by the man's crazed charge, and it was done. A resounding *crack* jumped everyone from their shock, first blood spilt as it leaked from the man's now-broken nose.
"You guys should be able to keep him down now, right?" Dumb nods all around, everything hadn't quite sunk in yet. "Good."
He left for the door, laying his free hand on the shoulder of a stunned, horrified, unbelieving Neera as he passed.
"You know, you're right." He chuckled from the crook of his arm. From where she was standing, she couldn't help but notice the stump of a neck that used to hold his head... no blood, but instead, the horrendous wound leaked faint opalescence, faint residue that shimmered in the light, until it fell through the floor below.
"I guess ghosts really don't exist at all."
Deadman - D17- Mist
- Join date : 2009-06-20
Posts : 50
Age : 33
Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Fate Flyer Sun Nov 01, 2009 5:55 pm
Thanks for all your submissions, and we look forward to reading and judging them!
I, myself, have read the first 5 stories now, and I am incredibly impressed!
These stories each are vastly different, despite having one shared general theme, and all of them have been super engrossing. I can't wait to read the rest!
I, myself, have read the first 5 stories now, and I am incredibly impressed!
These stories each are vastly different, despite having one shared general theme, and all of them have been super engrossing. I can't wait to read the rest!
Fate Flyer- ★ Administrator & FoG Mother ★
- Join date : 2009-05-12
Posts : 4525
Age : 37
Location : Milky Way Galaxy, Sol System, Earth, USA, Illinois -
Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Kathryn Lacey Sun Nov 01, 2009 7:27 pm
I'm excited for you to read the rest, too. I still need to find time to read your story, Fate, and to read Deadman's story, but I was also impressed with the stories.
Even if I don't win, it was really nice to prove to myself that I was able to write a short story. I was just sad that I couldn't add as much as I wanted due to the word limit. ^;_;^
Even if I don't win, it was really nice to prove to myself that I was able to write a short story. I was just sad that I couldn't add as much as I wanted due to the word limit. ^;_;^
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Sunwolf007 Mon Nov 02, 2009 10:27 am
I would hate to have to be a judge on this contest. All the stories I have read have been really good. I read the first few and haven't had time to read the rest but those were good and I think the last few are going to be of the same quality. I can't wait to see the results!
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Kathryn Lacey Mon Nov 02, 2009 4:02 pm
Personally, I think it would be a lot of fun to be a judge, even if it's difficult. Having a challenge just makes things more interesting, and I feel more satisfied upon completion. Plus, batting around criticisms with others could open my eyes to ideas and stuff I hadn't noticed before I spoke with them. ^^_^^
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Sunwolf007 Mon Nov 02, 2009 7:42 pm
As much fun as it would be. And it would be fun for me. I am much more of the writing type than the reviewing type. I do both but I would rather at this point in time have people review my work than have people ask me to review theirs. I don't think I am good at it but I guess I might be because people still ask.
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Reffy Mon Nov 09, 2009 12:58 pm
Cannot wait to see who wins They were all extremely good
They were all extremely good
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Kalon Ordona II Mon Nov 09, 2009 5:04 pm
Not the 14th yet. 
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Reffy Mon Nov 09, 2009 6:03 pm
Kalon Ordona II wrote:Not the 14th yet.
I know, I know
Just getting excited lol Dying to know who. Judging must be tough :S Wouldn't wanna be in your spot right now
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Kathryn Lacey Mon Nov 09, 2009 6:09 pm
Aww. I'm excited to see who will win, too. Even though winning isn't something I care about so much for myself, I always like to see things through to their end, and discovering the winner will be that end.
However, the front page only says, "the winner will be announced no later than November 14th." It doesn't say that the winner cannot be announced until that day.
However, the front page only says, "the winner will be announced no later than November 14th." It doesn't say that the winner cannot be announced until that day.
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Kalon Ordona II Mon Nov 09, 2009 6:15 pm
Hmmmm... good point....
Well I can tell you that much progress has been made.
I've read them all, Weiss is going above and beyond as usual, and overall I think we already have a consensus.
So yeah, not long to wait, even if it does go all the way to the 14th. ^^
Judging is fun! xD
Well I can tell you that much progress has been made.
I've read them all, Weiss is going above and beyond as usual, and overall I think we already have a consensus.
So yeah, not long to wait, even if it does go all the way to the 14th. ^^
Judging is fun! xD
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Reffy Mon Nov 09, 2009 8:16 pm
Can we see notes this time? Like critique so we can improve?
(I love critique I can use to improve with - so long as its not too painful. Its like watching steady improvement for me. Its also pretty much the only reason I do the FOGcomps and AWRassignments)
Good luck fellow writers
(I love critique I can use to improve with - so long as its not too painful. Its like watching steady improvement for me. Its also pretty much the only reason I do the FOGcomps and AWRassignments)
Good luck fellow writers
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Kathryn Lacey Mon Nov 09, 2009 8:25 pm
I wouldn't mind seeing the critiques, either, but I think the forum in which they discuss this isn't viewable by us for a reason.
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Sunwolf007 Tue Nov 10, 2009 12:11 am
I agree the only reason I submitted my story was to get other people's opinion of it. I would like to see what other people thought of the stories. I think it overall makes us better writers if we know what people like and didn't like about stories that are written.
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Kathryn Lacey Tue Nov 10, 2009 12:17 am
I think that maybe if we request it, someone could PM the thoughts they had about our stories during the judging. I don't think it would be right if they displayed them for everyone to see since it really should only be for the person whose story is concerned.
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Sunwolf007 Tue Nov 10, 2009 12:45 am
I agree. Sorry if I made it sound like I wanted to know everything about everyone else's stories. I am a bit tired and wasn't looking at my sentences (all that close). I think it would be awesome to know what the judges thought of my short story and judging from the response of the other writers I think we all share the same idea.
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Kathryn Lacey Tue Nov 10, 2009 12:57 am
You didn't make it sound like that. I was just giving my opinion. I apologize for making you feel as if I was pointing to you as an example of my opinion. XD
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Kalon Ordona II Tue Nov 10, 2009 10:25 am
I know I wanted people to give opinions on my story in the last one. When we announce the winner, ask Fate if it's okay to share our critiques with whomever wants them. (Or she's probably seen this already. )
I would love to share critiques with anyone who wants them. We'll see how it goes.
)I would love to share critiques with anyone who wants them.
We'll see how it goes.
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Sunwolf007 Tue Nov 10, 2009 10:28 am
Kathryn Lacey wrote:You didn't make it sound like that. I was just giving my opinion. I apologize for making you feel as if I was pointing to you as an example of my opinion. XD
Yeah. When I get tired I know I shouldn't post because of my lesdyxia (dyslexia) but I sometimes do it anyway. Then I read things wrong or see it the wrong way. Anyway I am on the edge of my seat waiting to hear the results.
Kalon Ordona II wrote:I know I wanted people to give opinions on my story in the last one. When we announce the winner, ask Fate if it's okay to share our critiques with whomever wants them. (Or she's probably seen this already.
I would love to share critiques with anyone who wants them.
Also I will take you up on your offer after the winner is announced. So the planed announcement day is the14th?
Last edited by Sunwolf007 on Tue Nov 10, 2009 10:30 am; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : Respond to the post that was posted while I wrote this one.)
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Kalon Ordona II Tue Nov 10, 2009 10:44 am
The 14th, or apparently before, if possible. I think in all likelihood it will be all the way till the 14th, but like it says: no later. ^^
I think in all likelihood it will be all the way till the 14th, but like it says: no later. ^^
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Reffy Tue Nov 10, 2009 12:09 pm
I dun-mind if ya'll see my notes You may have something to add to them, or can learn from them too
C'mon 14th!
You may have something to add to them, or can learn from them too C'mon 14th!
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Sunwolf007 Fri Nov 13, 2009 1:16 pm
Ya know if there ever was a perfect time to announce a ghost stories contest winner it would be Friday the 13th.
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Kathryn Lacey Fri Nov 13, 2009 1:23 pm
hahahah I agree, but if they don't announce the winner today, they definitely will tomorrow because they promised. ^^_^^
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Sunwolf007 Fri Nov 13, 2009 1:33 pm
Unfortunately for me I think I may be away from internet access most of the day tomorrow. Maybe I can sneak on early on in the day and see what's up. Hopefully.
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Guest Fri Nov 13, 2009 1:56 pm
If you announce the winner today it may partially relieve anyone who suffers from triskaidekaphobia. Just puttin' it out there...
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Kathryn Lacey Fri Nov 13, 2009 2:06 pm
Unless of course someone who doesn't who suffers from triskaidekaphobia ends up believing they didn't win because it's Friday the thirteenth. =3
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Sunwolf007 Fri Nov 13, 2009 2:25 pm
That's right this could cause me a long future of suffering on the 13th of every month! 
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Re: A FOG Writing Contest - Ghost Stories *WINNER*
by Kalon Ordona II Fri Nov 13, 2009 7:50 pm
I want to announce it today!! xD
I've done my bit of the judging and voting. Now we just have to wait for Fate to finalize the decision and make the announcement, I think.
I've done my bit of the judging and voting. Now we just have to wait for Fate to finalize the decision and make the announcement, I think.
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