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3. Something's not right
🕑 Added 2025-08-29 21:10:37 +0000 UTCThe day at uni was a slog. All that was on my mind was the strange haunting that I was supposed to deal with. And as the last lecture ended, I bolted out of there like a bat out of hell.
With everything loaded and prepared I made my way into my old family car and drove to the meeting place. After an hour of driving, I arrived with 45 minutes to spare.
It was a warm, cozy cafe in Manhattan. It was decorated in a vintage style with old newspapers on the walls and some pictures of famous people. There was also an old TV in the corner set to the news channel. It was mostly for decoration as the sound was muted and only the news title showed that today's brodcast was about some sort of kidnapping. Not the best to set the mood.
Setting myself down, I took out my notebook and went over the case once again. The case looked like a typical haunting with one exception. It was not supposed to happen. There was nothing dating back to the era of myth involved, and for any spirit to solidify after death, no matter how pissed or resentful it was, mana was needed.
My working theory was that it was hard to detect, like a cloaking artifact that was still functional but leaking energy into the surroundings. Of course, that theory was not very good, considering that it would be among the first things the broker and his people checked for. And I was sure that Q’Shar was one of the best in the business. But maybe the artifact was so good that it went unnoticed even by the agents of Frumentarii.
Another possibility was that it was some kind of trap. It's not like there weren't people interested in my family's treasures. But again, an assassination attempt this elaborate without any info leaking, and on the territory of my broker, no less, was more unlikely.
The sound of opening doors stole my attention, and I saw a tall and muscular woman walk in. Her build resembled that of an athlete who you would expect to be full of energy and vitality. But that could not be further from the truth.
Although her body seemed well-maintained, her skin was as white as paper, looking sickly. Her hair was a mess, clearly not taken care of, and her posture was that of a tired office worker rather than someone young and energetic. But the most striking feature was her eyes. Lifeless, like dark pools of muddied water, once probably lively brown, now grayish with dark circles under them, a sign of the persistent problems with sleep.
She looked around and spotted me as I gave her a small wave. She made her way to the table, almost tripping when a loud bang came from the kitchen. Once closer, I noticed something else, something invisible to anyone normal, her aura. It was like looking at a dying candle, barely giving any light, seeming weak and feeble. Fear, uncertainty, a bit of desperation, and most of all, tiredness were radiating from her. Normally, people's auras are not that visible, not unless they are in strong emotional states, but hers was practically screaming that something bad had happened.
But I had to be on alert, not like an aura was hard to fake. I mean, hell, a first-circle wizard could do that.
“You must be Mister Samuel.”
As she extended her hand, I did the same, but my other hand made a small series of hand gestures behind my back. Shatter, I whispered in arcane speech, and I felt as a minuscule amount of magic left me.
Normally this attack, if used with an amount of mana much larger than the opponents, could injure or even cripple their magic but in the weak form, it would not do any harm. No, the other effect was what I was after. If she were hiding her magic, the attack would find purchase. If there was any magic present, it would try to disturb it. It was not the best method as I had to be in contact with the opponent.
It was crude but unexpected, and she had hopefully not prepared for it.
I felt my magic rush into her as she shivered a bit, but… no purchase. The mana dissipated. Hmmmm, so there was no magic in the client, as the broker said, or she was that good at hiding it.
“Yes, but there's no need for mister, just Sam,” I said without missing a beat, and gave her what I was hoping came out as a warm smile. “I heard that you’re dealing with an issue of an unusual nature, Miss Wilis.”
“Please call me Sarah then, and yes.” She shifted in her chair a bit, fidgeting. She looked around as if the right words to explain what was happening were written on the walls. Finally, after gathering her thoughts, she started to speak.
“So to start ummm. Look, I don’t really believe in all the ghost stuff. You know I’m-”
“Not crazy,” I finished for her. “Please speak freely, and trust me, I will not think you crazy. If the phenomenon could be explained by normal means, I would not be sitting here.”
I could see her shoulders relax a bit. Becoming a believer in ghosts overnight still makes you seem like a lunatic when talking about it aloud.
After that, I got the same story I heard in an abridged version from my broker. A guy she gave a chance, became an obsessed weirdo, which finally ended up in a shooting. And then the classical haunting started.
“Yes, I understand.” I nodded. “I have to ask some questions, and a few of them might seem weird or personal, but please do your best to answer them.”
I got a nod in return.
“You said that you now moved out into your mother's apartment, but the dreams and presence persisted, although lessened considerably. But did the smell of burning hair at the hour of the shooting also persist after the move?”
Her eyes widened, and after a second to think, she opened her mouth. “No... I don't think it did. I think now that I sleep at my mother’s house, the smell is gone.”
She looked like she was expecting me to know exactly what was happening, to make sense of this weird thing that was making her life a living hell. The hope in her eyes made them look like beacons, bringing some liveliness back to them. But to tell you the truth, most of the theories I had about the nature of the creature haunting her just said goodbye. The smell was one of possible phenomena accompanying the ghost materialising, but if it didn’t materialise in her mother’s house, how in the everloving fuck was it still haunting her.
“Did something out of the ordinary happen before the shooting, like some weird person or an object you came in contact with, Something that would leave an eerie feeling in you for no apparent reason?”. Like the one you get sitting with me, I finished in my mind.
A couple more seconds of thinking and a firm shake of the head.
“In these dreams, do you relive the shooting?”
“No, well, sometimes I do when I take a nap, but those are, I think, normal dreams. Those vivid dreams are different. It’s like I know I'm dreaming but can’t wake up.” I could see her shiver a bit, but she kept explaining, “I just walk inside my house without finding the exit. It becomes like a labyrinth filled with white swirling mist, and I just walk and walk endlessly. And then when I wake up, I’m really tired, like I barely slept at all. Also, I can sometimes see him at the edge of my vision speaking those weird words.” A couple more theories just disappeared from the list of possible explanations.
“Hmmm, are there any signs or sigils you see in those dreams?” I asked.
“No, nothing like that.”
“Are you sure?” I had to confirm.
“Yes, I remember those dreams very well, even if I try not to…”
“Did you have any unusual medical conditions show up after the incident? Something strange, like a rash in a weird shape, or maybe you ever spit up hair or fingernails??”
“No, yuck. Can that actually happen?” She asked with a clear disgust on her face.
“In some cases, yes," I confirmed, remembering a couple of people who ended up spitting hairballs.
"Do you have strange states of arousal? Like in really awkward situations that normally should not bring any sexual thoughts.”
“No,” A firm response. That was good to hear. Dealing with ghosts of that nature was usually disgusting.
“Tell me about your greatest fear? And I don’t mean metaphysical like ‘failing to fulfill my dreams’, I mean something simple, like spiders or a concrete scenario.”
“Well, it’s strange actually, but I’m afraid of not knowing where I am. I got lost once in a big city when I was a child. The city was like a labyrinth to the younger me, and I spent three hours wandering, panicked, before someone had the idea to call the police and report a missing child. Ever since, I’m afraid of not knowing where I am or being unable to find the way”.
“So the dreams must be especially taxing on you, being in your own house but also not at the same time.”
She weakly nodded her head. So, the thing was capable of learning the victim's fears. Most ghost-type undead were, so it was nothing new, but using her own house, where she was supposed to feel safe, as an unknown labyrinth was extra nasty. Whatever it was, it was good at mental work.
“Last question. Please give me all dates related to you, when you celebrate your birthday, name day if you celebrate one, and any other holidays related to you and you only.”
She listed all of them, and sadly, numerology or horoscopes did not have an answer, either. It was not like I was a master of them, but I knew the usual causes of hauntings. I took a few seconds to think, mainly to pretend for her like I had arrived at an answer.
“Don’t worry, I think I know what is happening, and I should be able to help,” I lied.
After some small talk, she quickly left, probably because my presence was slowly getting to her. Finally, I could drop the good exorcist act.
I stretched my fingers and popped my knuckles, thinking about the case. Honestly, the whole thing was a massive mystery. There were signs of typical haunting that would suggest a good old haunted house kind of scenario. But at the same time, the haunting persisted when she moved out of the house, which suggested an attempt at possession or haunting of an object she had on her not knowing about it.
But to counter that theory, the haunting was weaker when out of the house, which just doesn’t make any sense. If the house was haunted, it was a simple ghost or apparition, and they shouldn’t be able to make their way out of the haunting grounds. If it were a possession attempt, then it would be a lesser spirit most likely, and the place would not make any difference, maybe aside from a church, but unless her mother lives in one or on a blessed ground, then no.
I went over my knowledge of basic spirits, but nothing made sense. Now alone at the table, twirling my tea in the cup, I had a decision to make. Going half blind was dangerous, but on the other hand, I wanted to unravel the mystery, and a payday for anything supernatural was also a nice bonus. I had prepared the best weapons for any kind of dark spiritual being, so I should be good no matter what it was, even if I was not too keen on using them. And, well, who am I kidding? I was way too excited not to go. I needed to know what it was.
I told the woman to try to sleep that night with someone else in the room and to pray before going to bed. That was more for comfort than anything else. Also, she should cover the bed in salt and silver if she had any to make the spirit’s life harder if it wanted to send those dreams.
Now, I had an address and a ghost to deal with. I sent her a message that I would be dealing with it tomorrow.
Having made the decision, I drank the rest of the coffee and went home, still going over the possible scenarios. The most problematic part was the smell of burning hair. This was a sign of the ghost taking a fully material form, which meant that it was around a second-tier entity. It was not very powerful and without a fully formed consciousness, but it could be annoying.
Overall, ghosts and any other beings fitting the umbrella term of a ghost would usually have similar characteristics unless they had fully formed consciousness. They would always have an anchor, something that lets them stay and materialize in the normal world. This anchor can be a place, an item, or even a person. Ghosts can choose to materialize or not. However, once the night comes, the anchor is automatically connected to the world of the tangible, whether the ghost enters or not, allowing it to be destroyed or sealed. Usually, that's how exorcism rituals work. But what was the anchor in this case? I have no idea.
Well, there was the other method of dealing with ghosts, ripping them apart. If you used an attack that could hurt a spiritual being, you could go about it without an exorcism and just kill the ghost directly. The church frowned upon this method since it would not allow the soul to ascend to heaven, assuming one believed in it in the first place, but thankfully, I was not a priest, so this option was open to me.
This was a bit harder since ghosts could be elusive, but not to toot my own horn, I was one of the best when it came to curses and dark arts. So as long as I got my hands on the thing and it didn’t run, I should be able to do it without an exorcism. Hopefully.
With my mind set on the head-on battle, I went to bed. Ready for a dreamless sleep.
After a couple of hours of sleep, I finally woke up. Although my internal clock was telling me that I didn't get the full sleep, it was nothing a cup of coffee couldn’t fix. I opened my eyes and got up fro… wait, that’s not my house.
The place I was now standing at, with my bed that I could swear I was just lying in, nowhere in sight, was an old house. A classic American suburban home that anyone's parents bought when house prices weren't a cruel joke. The room I was in was a classic, cozy living room. There was an old piano in the corner that was more of a decoration and a photo stand than an instrument. Also, a sofa and a TV in front of it, with a coffee table next to the sofa.
But there were also strange things that didn’t fit. There were a couple of family photos on the walls and the piano, but all of them had their heads scratched out. The clocks in the room weren't working, all of them set to 2.34 a.m., and the windows had bars in them, cold steel bars that fit more in a prison.
The rest of the house was filled with dense white fog that seemed to swirl and move like a living being without any wind to be felt.
Wait, this seems familiar. But how? This was supposed to be the client's nightmare, not mine.
