4~
It was seen and known, to great effect, that no assassin or force of arms could slay him. Death could not claim him, and so time was his to take at his leisure. As that was never an issue to him, Greenman feared no lasting failures that may have befallen him, for he always had time and his undying efforts to rectify them, in due course.
His crusade took months, in the Twenty-first Century, to plan, and centuries, in the past, to execute, but it was this moment in time that was the most fraught with promise. The time Greenman had, quietly, waited for the most. The moment when the history book he brought and secretly used, told him that the known world would never be as vulnerable as will be for the most decisive push he would ever undertake.
The year was 1348, two years before the Black Death, which was already sweeping its deadly hand across Europe, would visit his homeland of England.
Thus, he was spared the expense and effort of asking for an audience with his king, while he brought his countrymen home, while the wolf of death was stalking southern France, when a messenger, arriving in his camp in Brittany, had him recalled at King Edward III's command.
Days later, a page approached him, as he waited outside the throne room within Windsor Castle.
He followed him in, and, looking around at the courtiers and dignitaries flanking either side of the room, Greenman, who had never walked through the castle's halls in his, extremely, long life, could feel the political power that ebbed from here, the national, if not global, weight of consequences born from decisions, great and small, that were uttered in this chamber, the potency of royal blood and issue that this building contained.
"Come," Edward bade him.
Greenman knew enough about protocol to steer his eyes to the floor in the presence of the bearded man who sat high in the center of the room, as he, slowly walked his way.
"You may look upon me," the king allowed him. Greenman lifted his face, and a sense of pride that his sovereign would want to talk to him face-to-face, swelled within him.
"Thank you, Your Highness," Greenman said, suppressing a smile. "This is my first time being summoned here, and I must say that I love what you've done with the place."
Edward gave a slight nod. "Thank you. I decided to have some things done to it. A few add-ons and such. However, that is not what I summoned you for, Master Greenman. Since the days of Alfred the Great, our country had seen and heard of your forebears' fight to return this kingdom, and the world, to the days of the Druids, with a fair amount of martial success."
"That is true, sire."
"Your family's zealotry, however, was never decreed by me, or my forebears," the king said, simply. "Nor has England ever received any spoils from the sacking of foreign cities and the wholesale slaughter of its clergy, soldiers and recalcitrant citizens who supported faiths that you wanted to crush, including our own."
Inwardly, Greenman frowned. The talk started cordial enough. "Am I to be punished, then, my king?"
Edward looked onto his guest with a thoughtfully. Long seconds passed, and Greenman felt every eye in the room on him, before the king, finally, muttered, "I, truthfully, do not know. The only thing that has saved you from spending any time in chains is the fact that I am more delighted in the fall of my enemies to you, than my allies, whom I assuage by telling them that you are just some kind of mad malcontent who is yet to be caught.
"In fact, your most recent campaigns in France have actually been very good to me, and I have found you to be an excellent, if unexpected, vanguard, benefiting me, greatly, in the wars that I have waged. You and your odd followers have left both my foes and friends confounded and afraid, which, politically, is always good thing."
It felt as if the sun had risen in Greenman. He had narrowly escaped censure, or worse. Although he could not die, it would do his cause any good if he were arrested and confined. His people, his faith and his gods needed him far too much. Coupled with the fact that the king had, mistakenly, thought that this Greenman was simply picking up where his warring ancestors had left off, lent him an air of mystery, which didn't hurt, either.
'In fact,' he thought, deeply. 'I could mold this situation into something that could promote the cause even more.'
"I had no idea that my family's humble crusade would serve you so well, Your Majesty," he said, smoothly. "As a patriot, I would, of course, give my life unto your service, and for my first act of devotion, I must warn you of a great pestilence that is creeping across the face of Europe."
Amidst quiet murmurs of concern from his court, Edward raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"
"A black plague, sire, killing all it touches. The nobility and clergy of the other countries have no proof against it."
"And how, Master Greenman, did you come by this grave news?"
"I commune with my gods, sire. They told me this," Greenman answered. From what the king told him, earlier, concerning his 'family's' crusade, there was no need to hide his beliefs from him.
"Indeed, Master Greenman, and are we to be spared from this evil?"
"We can be, my king. This disease is spread by ships visiting Italy from the Orient. If you could institute a decree to cut off all trade, temporarily, from Europe, and instigate a program of self-sufficiency in the country, while we wait this illness out, then you shall have saved your people and gained their love for you a thousand-fold. Then, when the sickness has done its harsh work on your enemies, you will be able to sweep all resistance aside in your name, sire."
"And you gods whispered this into your ear, as well?"
"They have, Your Majesty," Greenman said, conveniently, omitting the use of a world history book, obviously.
The king sat back in his tall throne and mused. "A bold plan, Master Greenman, or shall I call you The Undying Pagan Emperor? That is what the people call you behind my back!"
"Sire?" The king's tone did not sit well with Greenman, and once again, the fear of a coming censure raised its horrid head.
"Do not feign ignorance with me, you heretical upstart," Edward grumbled. "My court has long told me of the tales the common rabble have sung about your exploits. The man who cannot die, blessed by the Celtic gods of old to be their champion on Earth. You seemed to be our people's hero, but to me and the church, you are a threat that needs to be stamped out, just as your followers will be, if they do not renounce you.
"However, I am a generous king, and because you have, unwittingly, served this country so well in the past, I offer you this one chance. Turn your back on your followers and your gods of the woods, and I will spare them. Refuse and I will have them cursing your name in the deepest pits of my dungeons. You have one week to obey. Now, leave me."
The censure did come, after all, as Greenman, humbly, backed away, and every eye followed him with disapproval, feigned or true, as he skulked out of the throne room, with a new purpose.
"Well, now that we've met, and you haven't brought the cave down with all of that screaming," Ghostly Marcie said, hovering, effortlessly. "Who are your friends?"
Daisy, hesitantly, answered, in case the shaken Marcie couldn't do it, herself. "My...name is Daisy Blake, and this is Nova." She pointed to the Cocker Spaniel.
The ghost peered at the two, for a moment, and then said, "Nova, the little dog? Do you know that ghost, Chiles, has been going and on about you for weeks?"
She then regarded Daisy. "As for you, Daisy, is it? I thought you looked a little familiar. I think I saw your double haunting around what's left of Crystal Cove Hospital. She looks like a doctor. Are you one, too?"
A bittersweet feeling came over Daisy, one of humility, surprise, and depression that another version of her had made something of herself of such a magnitude. That even though death had claimed her, she devoted years of her life in the pursuit of something great, something that helped people.
Daisy shook her head. "Nah. I don't really know what I to be, yet, honestly. But my folks would flip out, if they knew that I was some kind of success story, somewhere."
Daisy didn't know what she would do with her life in the future, but in the present, she decided that she could start by keeping the sudden knowledge of Doctor Blake alive in her, to preserve her mark upon this strange world and her own.
Marcie, still sitting on the cold ground, was trying to reconcile this as just another run-in with a strange creature from another timeline, no different than their detour to E-001, the gender-reversed Earth where she met her male counterpart, Maurice, or the alternate Nazi-conquered timeline where they met their Teutonic twins, before finally, finding their proper timeline and Old West Crystal Cove.
Thinking back to the Nazi Earth, she glance down at the defunct war machine nearest her, thought about her having to learn German in school, and wondered if it were all connected on some cosmic level, or just some odd coincidence.
Then, a thought occurred to her. "Ugh! I was so wrong. Kreigstaffe. It means 'warrior,'" she corrected herself. "Not 'war time.'"
"You figured it out, huh?" Ghostly Marcie said to her.
"Guess my conversational German's not the best, sometimes," Marcie admitted, not believing that she was having a conversation with a specter. She decided to force herself to roll with it. "Do you speak it?" she asked.
"No," the ghost shrugged, and then quipped. "But, that birdbrain Pericles did. Y'know, for a parrot, he sure loved to crow about those things."
It was then, that Marcie noticed something besides the bon mot, or rather, didn't notice something. There was no echo in the cave, at least whenever Nova, Daisy, or she spoke. Only when her double spoke, did she hear a slight echo.
"Wait a minute," she told the spirit. "Say your name and address." The ghost complied.
Marcie watched her pale, full lips mouthed the words, and reasoned that if she was a ghost, she no longer possessed lungs, a diaphragm, or a larynx, so it was impossible to summon the air needed, or have the organ necessary to make vocalizations. Yet, she and the others could still hear her talk. How was that possible?
Ghostly Marcie could see the wheels turning in her mind, as her living twin tried to fathom why they could hear her.
"Telepathy," she told them.
"Telepathy?" Daisy echoed, guardedly. "You're controlling our minds?"
"No. Telepathy. Mind-to-mind communication. It's how we speak. It just looks like we're talking. And since we're all having this lovely chat, where did you come from?"
Marcie and Daisy prepared to explain, but then, the ghost raised her hand and pointed at Nova.
"You've been pretty quiet since you've got here," she said to her. "It's okay. I know that you can talk. It's no big deal. I knew a Great Dane that could talk, when he wasn't busy stuffing his face. Weird, huh?"
"You know that I can speak?" Nova asked, guardedly.
"Yeah. I saw you and Daisy talking in the tunnels I led you down."
"Oh," Nova considered. "Alright, then. I am an Annunaki, an enemy of The Evil Entity. I brought Marcie and Daisy into this world to stop them from making a terrible mistake in their own."
Grinning, the ghost maneuvered closer to the dog. "Oooh, sounds juicy! What were they going to do?"
"Bring Mystery Incorporated back here."
The grin faded, quickly, and was replaced by a reproachful glance at the guilty-looking girls.
"Listen, I know about The Evil Entity," the spirit said, quietly. "Professor Pericles and Mr. E would go on and on about him, and the so-called 'Curse of Crystal Cove.' After that monster finished us off, everybody knew about him."
"The Nibiru Massacre," Nova said, soberly.
"Yeah, but that wasn't the end of it. See, because The Evil Entity was so, y'know, evil, when he was destroyed, he left such a dark, spiritual stain over Crystal Cove, that we souls can't move on."
Nova gave a thoughtful look. "Yes. That must have been what I felt when we arrived. The lingering presence of his evil. The dark chord that still echoes."
"That was bad enough, but then, one day, this Phanplasm creature blew into town and began hunting and feeding on the ghostly energy of any citizen he came across, growing more and more powerful. He calls Crystal Cove his hunting ground, and he hasn't left since!"
"We saw his juggling act," said Marcie, trying to wrap her earthly, scientific mind around the, increasingly, validating concept of spiritual warfare. "We were sent by the people trying to clear the town, to get rid of him, somehow."
"Really? Are you like Mystery Incorporated, where you come from?"
"What? No!" Marcie answered, a bit too quickly and defensively. "I mean...from what I've heard about Mystery Inc., they do this all the time. This is just an on again-off again thing for us."
"Got ya. But, if you're gunning for The Phanplasm, then you're going to need our help."
"Who's help?"
"Ours. The other citizens. That thing, up there, is snacking us up, left and right. If we don't help you, there won't be anybody left. Crystal Cove may be a ghost town, but I don't want it to be a ghost town, get it?"
"All right," said Daisy. "We'll have to go back to the surface, then, and get our car, plus we have to tell the chief about what happened to James. Know of any place that we can crash, afterwards?"
"I can think of a place," the ghost said, thoughtfully.
"Okay, let's go," Marcie said, then gestured to the spirit. "Wait, what do I call you? I can't just call you Marcie, it'll get confusing."
"Then, how about Ghost Marcie?"
"Or maybe G. M.?"
The apparition shrugged. "Works for me."
Nova climbed from the mouth of the hole in the street, first, shook the loose gravel and dirt from her honey-colored coat, and took in the open air, sniffing and searching for any trace of the Phanplasm.
As Marcie and Daisy were heard coming out, with G. M. following them, closely, she looked around, and saw only the creature's discarded cars. She couldn't detect him by sight, sound or scent, on the seemingly empty block where she and her companions eluded him.
"I don't think he's here," Nova whispered. "I don't smell him."
"I didn't know ghosts have a scent," Daisy asked.
"We don't," G. M. said. "Unless your nose can sniff out an energy pattern."
"Then, we better keep our eyes open," Marcie muttered, as they left the block and headed back towards the debris removal managerial site.
Along the way, the quartet passed through the neighboring block's commercial area, walking by abandoned boutiques, shops, and stores, their eyes busily scanning the empty facades, alleyways, and dark, storefront windows for a hunter that could strike from anywhere.
"Help!" a panicked voice, suddenly, screeched from above them, cutting through the quiet of the block.
The four froze and searched the sky for the sound, and it was near the second story of a small, nearby store, that they spotted the grim spectacle of a predator taking down his 'kill.'
"I didn't know he could fly!" Daisy gasped, as they watched the Phanplasm hovering in front of the edge of the store's roof, his eager arm, hungrily, outstretched. Pulses of irresistible, concentric energy snagged a frantic ghost, who screamed and thrashed, helplessly, in mid-air over the roof.
A ghost who wore a hard hat.
"James?" Daisy, Marcie and Nova gasped in unison, as the erstwhile construction worker, re-born into the world as a spirit, flailed above them, just as much out of confusion to his new condition, as to his fierce want to survive against the horror that drew him ever closer to his consumption.
Tiny balls of colored light began trailing from a fading James, his form dimming in the daylight, as he was dragged nearer and nearer to the Phanplasm.
"What's happening?" asked Marcie, both horrified and fascinated.
"He's going to feed on him!" Ghostly Marcie exclaimed, swiveling her head around, desperate for a weapon. "We've got to do something!"
A detached hubcap found lying on the street suited the ghost's urgent needs. She rocketed over to it, snatched it up, and flung it from her hand, hard, like a Frisbee, in the Phanplasm's direction.
The disc whizzed between hunter and prey, narrowly, missing and surprising the Phanplasm enough for him to jerk back, momentarily, breaking his concentration and halting his deadly tug-o-war.
"Fly away!" Marcie's dead double screamed at James. "Get out of here!"
Although, he wasn't familiar with his innate ghostly powers, as yet, he knew enough to let instinct take over, and propelled himself along the high breeze, using it, like a jet stream, to carry him farther and farther from the creature's immediate reach. Eventually, either due to distance, or a lucky command of being immaterial, James soon faded from view.
The Phanplasm glowered down at the interlopers, descending upon them, like an angry deity, his pupil-less eyes, coldly, studying the spirit who dared to thwart his hunt.
He pointed a clawed finger at a defiant Ghostly Marcie, as his touched down in the middle of the street.
"You will suffer inside of me for that affront, you meddling mist!" the Phanplasm hissed.
"You've got to catch me, first, you bed sheet!" she fired back, backing, cautiously, away from his vengeful approach.
He stopped his glide, raised his hand, and with a dismissive flick of the wrist, brought Ghostly Marcie down to the ground with a quick and punitive blast of draining energy.
It struck her for only a moment, but the effect was just as instant: fiery, inner pain that made her shriek, the deleterious properties of the pulse, brutally stripping the energetic cohesion from her flickering form, causing her to, painfully, shower small globes of her essence into the air.
The words, "Leave her alone!" flew from Marcie's throat in a frightened rage.
"If you fly, I will overtake you," he warned G. M., ignoring Marcie, as he stalked the apparition. "If you stand your ground, I will devour you, all the same. You should have hid in the ruins, like the others. At least, then, your true end would have been prolonged. Now, nothing can save you, not even these living wretches you ally yourself with."
Withering on the ground, G. M. frowned in thought. Facing the seeming futility of fight or literal flight, his warnings created an indecision took hold of her. Just as he probably wanted, she figured, grimly.
Privately, she carried no allusions that she probably couldn't hold her own against him, as she slowly stood up and hovered, unsteadily, but if her struggles could buy the other time to escape, then it would be for the best.
Hissing, The Phanplasm could still see the defiance burning, weakly, in her eyes, but it didn't matter to him. He raised his hand, again, his appetite sharpening with the anticipation of this feisty capture.
That clawed hand, then shot away from her, and he twisted in confused shock and annoyance at the vexing humans and dog behind him, as thick ice anchored onto the asphalt he was standing on, and creep, swiftly, up the base of his robes and flanks.
With a sound that was part reptilian sibilance, and part aggravated howl, the Phanplasm was pinned to the spot, fighting against the iron hold of the, now, melting ice.
Ignoring the creature's vows of delivering to her a slow and painful death, and an even slower and more painful feeding, Marcie threw more Insta-Ice capsules against the already formed ice block, thickening and weighing it down, significantly, the additional ice climbing further up the body and restraining one of his arms.
"Whoa! I never froze a ghost before, but we've got him!" Marcie crowed, preparing to lead the charge to unmask this strange hunter, if such a thing was even possible. "Okay, let's see who he is!"
The dull, muffled sound of ice being rent from within, stopped Fleach and the others in mid-stride. Cracks, spreading up and down the depths of the ice block, were so large that they could see them from where they stood.
"Uh, guys, I think we better put a pin in that," Daisy fretted.
Even Marcie, shocked at the strength demonstrated to start breaking through the layered ice with so little leverage, had to agree. The Phanplasm was still, technically, restrained, but it was clear that it wouldn't last, forcing them to err on the side of caution and escape.
"Hey, G. M.," Marcie called out to her double. "Time to make like a you, and disappear!"
Ghostly Marcie, astonished that an attack from humans new to the world, managed to stop a force that hunted and fed on ghosts with the impunity of a tiger in a cattle pen, saw past the struggling horror to Daisy waving to her to come with them.
With no more preamble, she flew over to join the others, in time for Marcie to throw a Discourager into the ice.
It cracked apart, flooding the spot with wide, chemical fumes. Although, it didn't deter the still squirming Phanplasm, it proved, yet again, to be an all-around effective smoke screen that seemed to stymie his senses.
By the time the sun had melted enough of the ice for him to, finally, shatter it into wet chunks across the asphalt, his prey took advantage of his incapacitation, and had escape him, once again.