Hey, guys just a little something I thought up while eating lunch one day. Ever wonder how the ghosts stay so angry and violent all the time?….read it and R&R PLEASE! THIS IS GOOD SHIT!

p.s. I got the dialogue in this first chapter from the actual arcane book from the 13 ghosts website, so it was actually put forth from the film makers themselves, hint hint…

Ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Ryan sat in his old basement cell with his arms wrapped as far around his knees as they would now go. He still did not like the straitjacket they had put him in, and as a result, he couldn't move his arms much farther back then it took to scratch one's own shoulder. He could barely do that anymore. He was lost, as always, in the days of his manhood, from the years 1886 or so to 1902. He had only been 26 when he died here. The thought saddened him that he had sought help and not gotten it. Instead, he had gotten something even he did not deserve; the disease of madness and the pain of a slow and tormented death.

Upstairs, Ryan could distantly hear the strains of someone singing, but in his fevered and confused mind, he did not heed it much attention. That it sounded like a woman singing did not bother him at the moment. He was re living his past. He could still remember as if it had been yesterday.

"We caught him, Doctor"

"Good work. Now get him back into the straitjacket"

"Unhand me!"

"And for extra security, put this over his head"

"No, not-"

"Let's see you chew through that, you maniac"

Suddenly, the sounds of someone moving about upstairs and the familiar, haunting sound of keys brought Ryan back to the physical world with an unpleasant bump. Had that horrible man, Cyrus Kriticos, been there at that moment, wearing those odd glasses, to Cyrus, Ryan would have suddenly popped into existence, for he had been floating in that netherworld that is home to all ghosts and wayward spirits; memory.

Ryan slowly unfolded his arms and shook the weathered, leather straps out of the jumbled knot they had been in, and stood up. His hair hung in his face, long, unkempt and far more gray then it had been in his lifetime. The stress and the severe strain had turned it prematurely. The wounds on his face that would never heal itched as if from far away but Ryan was far too used to this minor annoyance to care.

Right now there was the nuisance of the live one from upstairs.

He slowly glided up the basement stairs, walking around, over, and sometimes through the bodies in various stages of decomposition on the corridor floor. Bodies of his victims over the centuries. He reached the door and slowly opened it, the old fashioned hinges and black wrought iron latches just the same as he remembered them. If the live one heard or saw the door open, seemingly of its own accord, well, then Ryan would just have to hope they thought it was the wind or something. Live ones were just like that.

But you were live too, at one point, weren't you? His fevered mind tried reasoning with itself. He shook his head and focused his yellow-gazed intent on the boy he say standing with his back to him.

The boy was short, not much shorter than Ryan himself and he had long hair that was red streaked with black. It was mostly black. He was doing something…

When the boy turned to the side to do something, Ryan saw with dismay that he was wearing some sort of long, shiny black raincoat that reached the floor, and he was carrying a weapon. Not that weapons were of any threat, not anymore, but anyone who carried a weapon had to know what they were doing. And the boy had done nothing to irritate him just yet…Ryan sighed and retreated back into a corner to watch the boy for a time. He didn't always kill when he met a live one. Sometimes he sat back and simply watched them. Sometimes watching them reminded Ryan what it was like to be alive himself, made him feel younger.

The boy had odd movements for a boy, and as Ryan watched, he noticed that he carried some sort of long, black case, resembling a black doctor's bag, but with….

Then it struck him what the shape looked like. It wasn't a doctor bag, it wasn't even a coffin…it was some sort of guitar case, he saw.

When he had been alive, he had seen groups of these people standing on the side of the street, playing their instruments, but that had been in the richer sections of town, and his mother hadn't often taken him there. Sometimes, he had wandered off on his own and just watched and listened to them play for hours…

Then there was a hideous squealing sound, and Ryan covered his ears and screamed. The boy fumbled with something in one of his pockets and, bringing their hand to their ear, said "hello."

It was a woman!

Ryan laughed hysterically, and at the same time jumped up and danced around, screaming and laughing. It had been a woman all along! And to think that he had thought it a boy! How preposterous!

Just then, the woman in the black boy's clothes and the long coat turned at the sound of his laughing and frowned slightly. He saw that she was very pretty, and then dismissed her almost as quickly as another whore. Her eyes were an amazingly clear shade of green and her skin was creamy and soft looking. She had a small button nose and a rather square jaw and nonetheless managed to look like a pit bull anyway. She was obviously some sort of guard, but a guard of what? He wondered.

Never mind, just slash her throat out Ryan.

He shook his mane of grizzled hair out of his face and ignored the voices in his head once again.

"Can I call you back, Donny? I think I just heard someone outside." She said, in a somewhat deep voice. She pressed something in her hand and pocketed it once again.

"Hello. I wondered when I would be meeting you." She said finally. She was looking right at him. Dimly, he wondered if she was a friend of Cyrus Kriticos, come to take him away to some other horrible cell.

"I won't hurt you." She said then.

"Bah! That's what they always said, and then they threw you into a cell and fetched you some bread." He replied acidly, although he reminded himself that she couldn't hear him anyway.

"My name is A.J. I'm the caretaker for this place now." She said, after staring at him a moment longer. He was reminded of how, just a moment ago, he had stared at her.

Ryan didn't answer her and just giggled morosely to himself as he was again lost from her view, gone into that world of fantasies, that world of idealism, of hopes and dreams of a future that in Ryan Kuhn's mind had never come.