A/N Another chapter...now that my computer is repaired! It died on me a few days ago, but my boyfriend has fixed it. Thankfully didn't lose any data. Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing this story! I hope you'll continue to do so, and enjoy this chapter. There is going to be a plot, by the way - I think it might become a ghost story I've had in my head for a while.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Carl chewed thoughtfully on his lip for a long moment, while Van Helsing waited, secretly anxious. If the friar refused, it would probably mean the end of his life - for Van Helsing could not imagine the friendly, talkative man surviving a lonely, bitter exile for very long. If he agreed, the outcome might still be the same, for all Van Helsing knew - but it gave more cause for hope. Carl looked up at him, blue eyes bloodshot and weary, but with a certainty in them that hadn't been there before. He had come to a decision.
"All right," he said simply. "All right. We'll give it a fortnight. If there's no improvement in my control of these new powers, then you leave me alone and go back to the Vatican. Agreed?"
"Agreed," said Van Helsing in relief, with no intention of going anywhere, regardless of what happened.
"Fine." Carl stared blankly at the table for a moment, then sighed. "You'll need somewhere to sleep. I refuse to share this room with you - you snore."
"So do you," the hunter retorted. "What's wrong with the bedrooms, anyway?"
"Ah," Carl became even more interested in the coffee table. "Er...I was going to mention that. You see, I rather think there's something up there."
There was a bemused pause. "Come again?"
"Something. Up there."
"What? Rats? Mice? An infestation of vampire bats?"
"Very amusing. No, I was thinking of something rather less corporeal. You remember I told you about those boys who tried to burn this old place down, because of its reputation for being haunted." Carl got up and stretched himself, his spine crackling. Night was drawing on; the old mansion was darkening, and felt damp and dreary. He lit an oil lamp and a few candles, then resettled himself on the sofa with an enormous yawn.
"You don't seem very concerned about it," Van Helsing remarked.
"I've been rather preoccupied," was the dry response. "But it bothers me sufficiently to prevent me from sleeping up there. You're welcome to try."
"What exactly have you experienced?"
Carl sighed. "Van Helsing - I'm exhausted. Can this wait? I haven't been sleeping at all really, but I fancy I might have a better chance of it tonight, now there's - well, some hope."
The hunter nodded, assuming that whatever paranormal presence existed in the house - if indeed it did at all, and was not a product of Carl's frazzled imagination - was largely harmless.
"Fine. But I'd like to sleep in whichever bedroom you tried and had trouble with. We'll compare experiences tomorrow."
"You won't get a lot of sleep," Carl remarked. "But who knows, perhaps it won't bother you. There's always the chance my marvellous new abilities have rendered me especially susceptible to spirits."
Wondering exactly what kind of night he was in for, Van Helsing left Carl in the drawing room half an hour later, and mounted the stairs. He found the appropriate bedroom to be the least musty and damp of all of them, with a reasonably well-preserved bed in the middle of it and a rotting night table. He had taken a candle with him, and placed it on the table while he undressed. Carl had stripped the bed of its mouldy sheets, which lay crumpled in one corner; Van Helsing replaced them with his own bedroll.
Though better than the other upstairs rooms, the bedroom was dreary; dank, oddly airless, with a pervading smell of - something - Van Helsing could not quite identify. Rotten curtains hung across the windows, barely blocking a full moon from view. Gazing at it, the hunter shuddered, remembering what another moon like that one had meant for him not so long ago. He remembered the power, the strength, the freedom the werewolf venom had brought, and how he had fought it, struggled to preserve his own mind inside the body of the monster. Carl had already faced and won a similar struggle. Van Helsing did not really fear for his friend, but an occasional doubt crept into his heart - would Carl be seduced by the power his new abilities brought him? Was he capable of using them for ill? Would he actually be able to control them? Many burdens were being placed on the friar, and on the hunter himself, who felt responsible for his friend's safety.
Now only in his underwear, Van Helsing laid his crossbow by the bed and slipped a long-bladed knife under his coat, which he was using as a pillow. Not that these weapons would make much difference against ghosts, but other fell creatures might conceivably make their undesirable presence known tonight. Feeling a sense of oppression he couldn't quite explain, and putting it down to the grimness of the room and the unceasing creaks and groans of the battered old house, he settled himself as comfortably as he could into bed, and closed his eyes.
Perhaps two hours had passed before he was awakened. Van Helsing had been sleeping lightly, half-expecting something to happen, and he was not disappointed or especially surprised when it did. The form of the awakening, however, did startle him. The crying of a child. High-pitched, anguished, but quite soft; he doubted anyone outside the room would be able to hear it. He had left the candle burning, and lifted it to look around the room; there was no sign of a child or anything else, for that matter. The sound, however, continued, sorrowful, pathetic, heartrending.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
No answer but the wailing.
"Who are you? Show yourself to me!"
No change for a moment, and then the sobbing was replaced by sniffles and whimpers.
"How can I help you?" Van Helsing tried, knowing that this creature might be no more than a clever poltergeist or manipulative demon, but responding with instinctive pity to what seemed to be a child in distress.
There was no response; the sniffling continued, then died slowly away. Footsteps followed; it was as though someone - a small, light someone - was pacing around the bed, but Van Helsing saw no one. He lay still, waiting, but there were no more sounds, no physical sensations at all, except, as the footsteps died away, a sudden and intense coldness. He shivered and pulled the blanket around him, rubbing his hands to warm them as his entire body was pervaded by the supernatural chill.
His pocket watch informed the hunter that it was three in the morning. Only a few hours until dawn, when any manifestations might ostensibly cease. Given that the real purpose of his presence here was to help Carl, Van Helsing decided to waive sleep in favour of a little investigating by himself. He rose, slipped on his coat over his underclothes, picked up the candle, and examined the room carefully, inch by painstaking inch. He found nothing telling; no drawings on the walls or floor, no bloodstains, no items of any interest. He turned to the night-table, opened it, found nothing at all inside apart from a couple of candles, perhaps left there by Carl.
Softly, Van Helsing made his way out of the room and across the landing. He entered each and every bedroom, examining them, peering into drawers and cupboards, and was finally rewarded with an object that might have some bearing on the situation. It was a child's toy, a Diablo, lying in the bottom of a large, otherwise empty wardrobe in the smallest bedroom. He picked it up.
Footsteps.
The child was here, or perhaps some other presence; but it felt like a child. No sobs this time. Turning to face the sound, Van Helsing said clearly but gently,
"Was this yours? Did it belong to you?" No answer. He held out the Diablo towards the place where the footsteps had stopped, just in front of him. After a moment, the spool was twitched out of his hands, and fell to the floor. Then footsteps again, running. Fading. Gone.
"I want to talk to you!" Van Helsing called after them, somewhat belatedly. He picked up the Diablo spool again, and put it and the accompanying sticks back into the wardrobe where he'd found them.
A search of the master bedroom, huge and once ornate, revealed other treasures. Van Helsing found a piece of red glass, the origin or purpose of which he could not imagine, except that it was pretty to look at and might have been kept by a child for that reason. Odd how the light reflecting off its angles was almost mesmeric, seemed to draw you in...with difficulty, the hunter pulled his gaze away and turned his attention to another find, a book containing writing he did not understand, but knew to be Japanese. He was unsure how he knew, but was becoming used to somehow knowing things he could not remember learning, and was more frustrated to realise he could not actually read the words than pleased at recognising the language in which they were written. Perhaps Carl would be able to translate. If not, someone at the Vatican certainly would.
Finally, with daylight beginning to filter through the house, rendering it a little more hospitable, Van Helsing returned to his room. There was no sign of any paranormal presence, and the room seemed warmer. He dressed, collected his things, and went downstairs to find Carl. The friar was awake and busy cooking breakfast on his little stove.
"You disturbed her," he said. "She'd gotten used to me."
"You hear the noises too? And how do you know it's a her?"
"You didn't actually see her, then?"
Van Helsing shook his head. "I heard a child crying, and footsteps, and a Diablo was knocked out of my hand. What did you...?"
"A Diablo?"
"I found it in the small bedroom."
"I think that was her room," Carl said, nodding. "I was too out of spirits to investigate - if you'll pardon the pun. I don't think she's dangerous, poor little thing. Did you find anything else?"
Van Helsing held out the book and the red glass. Carl took them from him - and yelped.
"What's wrong?" The hunter demanded.
"Nothing...cut myself on this thing." Carl stared with fascination at the glass, his hand bleeding all over the book. Van Helsing took a bandage and alcohol from the first aid kit in his pack, poured the latter over Carl's hand - he didn't even grunt with pain - took the glass away, and bound up the small but profusely bleeding cut. Carl's eyes followed the glass dazedly. Van Helsing shook him.
"Carl, snap out of it."
"Hmm? Oh, sorry."
"There's something odd about this," he held up the glass, avoiding looking at it. "It had the same effect on me, momentarily."
Carl nodded, himself again, and very curious. He opened the book.
"Oh, Japanese. That would make sense."
"This little girl is Japanese, then?"
"Oh, yes. Well, I assume so, she's a bit - shadowy. It's not easy to make out her features. But this book rather confirms it, doesn't it?" He turned a few pages, scanning the lines.
"Can you read it?" Van Helsing asked impatiently - then stopped abruptly as the smell of burning filled the room. "Carl, the bacon..." he began - and the stove went out. Carl didn't appear to notice.
"Well rescued," the hunter murmured, serving the bacon onto two plates and pushing one under Carl's nose.
"This is interesting," the friar remarked. "Oh, thanks for turning the stove off, I'd forgotten that."
"You turned it off," Van Helsing told him, tucking into his breakfast. Carl looked startled, then gave a watery smile.
"Useful, I suppose."
"Very. You can extinguish flames as well?"
"It appears so. But look at this," he held the book out, pointed at some words which were indecipherable to the hunter. Van Helsing shrugged impatiently.
"I can't read Japanese."
"No?" Carl seemed surprised. "All right - it seems to be written by our little friend. This passage reads,
"Where is Mother? I am all alone here. I wish she would come back. Father says she has gone to visit Aunty in America, but I do not believe him anymore. She would have written to me. I do not like it here, and there is something wrong with Father."
"And later,
"I am afraid for Mother. Father has gone mad, quite mad - he is tearing up the house. Why does she not come when I call her? I am afraid she will never come again. Why is Father so angry? What have I done to make him hate me? What has Mother done?"
"It ends there," Carl said. "Of course, there are many possibilities one might deduce from this, but I'd suggest that this poor little child's father might have murdered her."
"And maybe the mother too," Van Helsing agreed.
"How horrible," muttered Carl.
"Is there anything we can do about it?"
"I don't know - call in the spiritualists, perhaps? Have a séance? Exorcism? I somehow don't like the thought of trying to exorcise this little ghost. It might distress her."
"Then let's concentrate on you for the moment. I'll telegraph the Vatican this afternoon and inform them of our progress, as well as the - er - spirit situation." Van Helsing paused, watched Carl carefully. "Are you ready to start working on your telekinetic ability?"
The friar put down his bacon and sighed. "I suppose so. Though I must warn you..."
"You've warned me enough. I'll be fine, Carl, and so will you. How do you want to start?"
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
As night began to fall, Van Helsing decided to suggest that Carl give up 'practicing' for the evening. The friar's inability to let go once he'd started working on a problem meant that he'd spent all day struggling to control the movement of candles, mugs, and various other innocuous objects, without pausing to rest or eat, and with no obvious improvement. Objects moved, but randomly, shooting into the air, flying around the room, and occasionally just shivering slightly, as though resisting Carl's attempts to control them. To add to the friar's frustration, when his empty stomach had begun rumbling a dish of bread and cheese had flown across the room to land neatly at his elbow. He had glowered at it.
"I wasn't even thinking about food!" he exclaimed, irritably.
"Obviously some part of your brain was," Van Helsing replied, shrugging. Carl sighed, ate some of the bread and cheese, and agreed to give up for the night.
"There's one more thing I want to try first, though," he said, as the lamp lit itself, much to his chagrin. He took the piece of red glass Van Helsing had discovered and placed it on the table before him.
"Now, if you're about," he said clearly, "see if you can help me with this!" he focused on the glass. It rose slowly into the air, hovered a moment, then sank back to the table.
"Was that...?"
"Exactly what I intended," Carl agreed, with an odd smile...then his face softened, and he said gently to the thin air behind Van Helsing,
"Hello, Nanashi."
Van Helsing glanced round. "Nanashi?"
"It means 'without a name'," Carl replied. "Since we don't know what she's called."
"She's here?"
"Right behind you."
Van Helsing turned, but saw nothing - except perhaps the faintest dark outline, picked out in the light of the lamp. He heard no sound, no answer from the girl Carl was seeing. The friar smiled in an encouraging, paternal way. It would be difficult, Van Helsing thought, for any child not to respond to the kindness in that smile.
"Shall we call you something nicer?" the friar suggested. "Or will you tell me your name?" No reply. "It appears death does not provide a solution to the language barrier," Carl remarked. He repeated the words in Japanese (or at least, that was what Van Helsing assumed he was saying.) There was no answer.
"Well, she smiled at me," the friar remarked. "You really can't see her?"
"No, not exactly - there's a sense that she's there which is almost perceptual, but not quite."
"Hmm. If you won't tell me your name, shall I call you Kumiko?" Van Helsing found he understood that, to his surprise. Perhaps he had learned Japanese at some point in his life, after all. He was even more surprised when a soft voice, a whisper like gently falling summer rain, more felt than heard, said,
"Kumiko..."
"She seems happy with that," Carl observed. "I wonder why she won't talk to us properly, or tell us who she is."
"Maybe she can't."
"Did you get a reply from the Vatican?" Carl's voice was casual, his eyes still on Kumiko, but Van Helsing recognised the tension in it.
"Jinette has agreed to the proposal - or at least, one end of it. Two weeks, and then he wants you back, regardless of what's happened."
"I'm sure he does," murmured Carl. "And our friend?"
"Is she still there?"
"Yes, just watching us. She likes the company, I think."
"Jinette said to investigate the matter if we have the opportunity, but that our priority is developing your power."
"Right...oh, she's gone!" Van Helsing turned. Indeed, the vague outline of the child had vanished, and the room seemed a little warmer. Softly, from somewhere up above his head, Van Helsing heard, "Kumiko..."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Morning dawned bright and clear. Neither Van Helsing nor Carl were disturbed by Kumiko during the night, though Van Helsing did think he sensed her gazing down at him, just before he fell asleep.
When the hunter made his way downstairs, he found Carl curled up on his sofa, still asleep. He looked pale and exhausted. Van Helsing supposed the telekinesis wasn't as easy as it looked. He also noticed that the friar was holding Kumiko's piece of red glass in his hand.
Leaning over his sleeping friend, Van Helsing gently removed the glass before preparing breakfast and tea. He woke Carl with the latter, and the friar sat up, his always-untidy hair even more tousled than usual, and his eyes half welded shut with sleep.
"Mmthanks," he mumbled, taking the tea and almost dropping it. Van Helsing noticed that the mug hovered unaided in the air for an instant before Carl reclaimed it, rather than falling to the floor as it should have done. Carl did not appear to observe this.
"Sleep well?" Van Helsing wondered.
"Rather too heavily, thank you. Yourself? Any sign of our friend?"
"Nothing obvious."
Carl nodded, sipped his tea, winced as it scalded him, and put the mug down.
"What do you suppose this is?" Van Helsing waved the red glass under Carl's nose. "You were sleeping with it like a child with a doll."
"Was I?" Carl took the glass and rubbed it thoughtfully with his thumb. "Yes, there's definitely something odd about it - some force it possesses, though I don't know what. Magical, perhaps? Yes, it could be...imbued with some sort of power by a witch, or a warlock. We should be wary of it until we know its origins." He put the glass down, after tearing his eyes away from it with difficulty. It immediately floated back up to his hand again. Frowning, Carl put it back on the table firmly, then glanced down at his hand, the one previously injured by the same piece of glass.
"How is it?" Van Helsing asked casually, wandering over to the stove to check on the eggs he was boiling in a little black saucepan.
"All right, I think - I'm going to take off the bandage and give it some air." Carl unwound the dressing, and his exclamation almost made Van Helsing drop an egg.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing, it's just...well, that's a little odd."
"What is?"
Carl held out his wounded hand for Van Helsing to see. The cut had long since stopped bleeding, but a mess of dried blood covered the palm. The actual cut itself could not be seen beneath it.
"Doesn't look all that remarkable to me."
"It doesn't hurt," said Carl, quietly. "Not at all." He got up, a preoccupied expression on his face, and washed the hand carefully in a bucket of slightly stale well-water Van Helsing had brought in the previous evening. He held it up again, clean this time, and Van Helsing finally understood what had startled the friar so much: there was no cut, no blood, just a small white scar where the injury had taken place.
"That's impossible," the hunter said. "Unless...was part of Tallander's gift the ability to heal rapidly?"
"One way to find out," Carl remarked, and before Van Helsing could stop him he had made a thin slash across his other palm with one of the hunter's knives.
"Carl!"
"It's a scientific experiment," the friar scolded, washing the hand carefully and bandaging it in exactly the same way as the other.
"Now what?"
"We wait and see. Meanwhile, we eat breakfast and I'll see if I can't wash up using telekinesis." He smiled faintly.
Breakfast done, Carl settled down for another day of 'practice'. Van Helsing watched as the friar set out a mug, two candles, one standing upright on a plate, and an egg.
"I'm going to try lighting the candle," Carl explained, "and moving the egg into the mug without breaking it."
"Also without shooting it at me, preferably."
"If you insist," the friar replied, with a mischievous grin. It had been too long, Van Helsing thought, since he had seen that wicked little smile.
Carl took a few moments to compose himself, gazing at the objects before him. Then, the candle flickered into life, and simultaneously, the egg slowly and deliberately rose into the air, and settled itself comfortably and neatly into the waiting mug.
Van Helsing stared. Carl stared, too, apparently equally astounded.
"I've…I've never managed that degree of control before," he gasped, spellbound. He directed his gaze to a book lying on the sofa, and made a swift, come-here gesture with his right hand. The book floated over, landed neatly on the table. Then, Carl gestured at Van Helsing's bag of weapons, and the crossbow drifted idly across the room to land in the hunter's lap.
"Well done!" Van Helsing exclaimed. Carl was smiling dazedly, disbelievingly. He made another gesture, as though pulling a trigger, and the crossbow rose abruptly into the air, loaded itself, aimed, and fired a bolt into the wall. The two men exchanged amazed looks.
"That'll work!" they said, simultaneously, then laughed together. Carl's face was a transport of excitement.
"I can do it," he breathed. "I didn't think it was possible – perhaps with months or years of practice, but like this, so soon…" his face became thoughtful. "This isn't possible, is it? This power of mine couldn't suddenly come under perfect control like this. Something else is going on, something we don't understand…"
And from somewhere in the ether, a soft, childish voice whispered, "Kumiko…"
A/N Kumiko – 'eternal beautiful child', if the website I consulted was correct! This is a longer chapter than I expected. Please review and tell me what you think!And feel free to correct my usage of Japanese names; I'm basing it entirely on the name meanings I found online. Any ideas about where this story is going, and how Carl's new ability has developed so quickly? Who is the mysterious ghostly child?
