Ghost-Hunting: Skitter
*** Three days before Halloween ***
"So, while the light is still green right now, you should still try to anticipate and figure out what you'll do of it turns yellow," Michael said. "That way, you won't be faced with indecision if it does.
"It's not going to turn yellow, there's no cars in the other directions," I replied, keeping my hands firmly on the steering wheel.
"Agreed, but what if there's less visibility and you don't know whether or not there's other traffic?" he said.
"I'm using my bugs, I always-" I responded.
"Cheater!" the nun in the back seat interrupted happily.
"I'm the cheater? We're not even touching the ground when you drive! You don't even make corners like a normal person!" I jabbed back at her. Risen, formerly known as Rune, just smiled at me, far too happy with her power-applied driving skills.
"Eyes on the road!" Michael said.
"I literally have at least for thousand eyes on the road right now!" I replied.
"And unless you're in costume, the cops don't know that," he said. "And take a left here."
"But Fugly Bob's is to the East!" Risen complained.
"I didn't know nuns were allowed to say that word," I said as I readied myself for the next turn. A quick check with my bugs told me that the coast was clear, except for something moving in our direction from the edge of my range.
"Let's take a quick break," Michael suddenly said after our turn, and I parked the car, using my bugs to ensure I stayed in the lines of the parking spot. If Michael Carpenter suddenly wanted you to stop driving, it was probably a good idea.
"But I'm hungry," Risen complained.
"The Lord will provide," Michael replied, and I wasn't entirely sure whether it was a joke or not. Knowing him, a Taco truck could appear out of nowhere at any moment.
As we left the car, I felt the presence come closer. I couldn't figure out the exact shape, but from what I'd seen of her, this was probably Mockshow, riding one of her minions.
Not a minute later, my suspicions we confirmed, and a panicked looking Mockshow, wearing civvies and her mask, came around the corner on a twisted car wreck. I saw that she'd used the rubber of the wheels as padding for the legs, and the upholstery of the seats as cushioning.
"Mister Carpenter!" she yelled, and I managed to cover myself in bugs before she came close enough to see my face. One of these days, I'd figure out a veil to hide it, but until that point, I'd have to rely on liberal application of bees. Both Michael and Catherine had no secret identity, for different reasons, but I didn't want Chicago's biggest hooligan to have confirmation of my identity if I could help it.
"What's wrong Oli... Mockshow?" Michael asked with an eye on me and Risen. Did he know Mockshow personally?
"Well... You know that old mansion a few miles north of here? The one people think is haunted?" she said.
"I know the one... What did you girls do this time?" Michael asked, a worried look on his face. You girls? Was Mockshow part of a group somehow? If so, I hadn't been notified. I'd have to ask Tattletale about it.
"Well... Turns out it's actually haunted!" Mockshow said.
"Define haunted," I said. I'd read up on a bit of everything the last few months, and ghosts were one of the things I'd studied. The problems with ghosts, I knew, was that there were so very many different types of them. While all of them were, generally speaking, the psychic footprint of a dead person, Tattletale was a very good example of the rules not applying. Weaker ghosts were just phantoms, while more powerful spirits could take on substantial forms, drawing forth ectoplasm to form a body, and interacting with the mortal realm.
A Wraith was one type of special ghost. Without purpose of memories, a wraith was an empty spirit that devoured other shades in order to grow. Once grown enough, a wraith could gain the power it needed to interact with people, as well as with other spirits. Weak of will and relatively mindless, the books Ebenezar had lend me had told me of practitioners using wraiths as spiritual attack dogs, throwaway minions that could wreak general havoc.
More dangerous were the Lemurs. Rather than losing their mind, Lemurs were ghosts that had chosen to go evil, and were an order of magnitude more dangerous than Wraiths, mostly because they were active participants in battle.
Lemurs, however, were almost nothing compared to Specters. More powerful, and often dangerously insane, Specters hunted down and killed people. Like serial killers, but dead. Not entirely coincidence, because many serial killers left Specters behind.
Making all of that more complicated, was the fact that those categories weren't really natural law or anything. Strength and other such things varied between ghosts, with age making a spirit more and more powerful. That was, apparently, one of the reasons that ancient Indian burial grounds were so haunted. Not because the spirits were crazy or aggressive, but because they were old.
"Like I said, Haunted. Ghosts," Mockshow said.
"Spectral appearances? Moving objects? Cold air? Strange noises?" I asked, trying to be more clear.
"Yes!" Mockshow said, very helpfully.
"Is anyone in danger?" Michael asked, skipping ahead to the part he thought was important.
"Don't know… Everyone got out, but Judy's not responding to anything… She's not hurt or anything, just… I don't know…" Mockshow said.
Michael glanced in my direction. "Can you take a look?" he asked.
"I'll try, but, I can't promise anything," I replied.
"Good," he nodded, and I went back to the car, I saw him walk towards Mockshow. "And you…" he said, almost threateningly, before putting a hand on her shoulder. "Need to install blinkers on that mount of yours. It's a safety hazard like this."
"Yes sir," Mockshow replied, being rather uncharacteristically polite.
***
The MacMorgain manor was an old, dilapidated wooden mansion, half the wood rotting, the other half already rotted away. If you asked the people around here why it had been abandoned for so long, they'd probably give you a hundred different explanations. Perhaps they would tell you that it's part of a financial scam by a rich businessman trying to evade taxes, or perhaps there was industrial pollution and re-building anything here would be too expensive. The true reason however, was readily apparent. The place was haunted, and from the feeling of it, it was haunted by a powerful ghost.
Standing outside the front gate, my bugs covered the entire estate. A small wood, with a pond that approximated a swamp, three stories, each of them filled to the brim with spiders and cobwebs, and a cellar filled with…
I had to admit, I wasn't entirely sure of it, and I surely hoped it was something else. But from what my bugs told me… the cellar was filled with small bones. Human bones. Children's bones. What the hell had happened here? From what I could feel, the cellar was locked away from view to people, except for a hole in a plank on the first floor, torn by what must have been Mockshow's mount.
"Place gives me the creeps… And I've seen Cricket's trophy room," Risen said, standing next to me.
"I… I think it's actually even worse than you think," I replied.
In the corner of my eyes, I could see mister Carpenter talking to a blonde girl with a with dyed streaks in her hair. He seemed to be disappointed, while she was angry. It kind of reminded me of discussion with my dad. Was that how Mockshow knew Carpenter? Was she friends with his daughter? Small world, the Chicago cape scene. Then again, I'd somehow known Shadow Stalker's civilian persona as well.
"Skitter?" Michael said, his voice suddenly reaching our ears, even though he wasn't yelling. He had a good voice for stuff like that.
I walked towards them, my mask now attached firmly too my face, and my new cloak covering my body. Inspired by Harry's design, combined with the official apprentice robes he'd shown me. Made out of bleached light-grey silk, the cloak's hood covered my face, and stopped just above my knees, with sleeves protecting my arms. The front was open, normally allowing anyone to see my armor as Skitter, but right now just showing any onlookers a shirt from an obscure hipstery band that Lisa liked. She'd ordered the shirt before realizing she wouldn't be able to wear it, and somehow it'd made its way into my closet.
Besides being made from black widow silk, my cloak also contained inscriptions similar to those Harry used to reinforce his gear, and whereas before I had simply assumed I would be largely bulletproof, right now I was sure certain of it, one of the PRT-troopers had helped me test it.
Next to Michael, leaning against a car, sat the victim in question. A girl only a year or two younger than me, Judy looked pale, and she was sweating with her eyes closed. I went into a squat beside her, and opened up my senses. Not too much, not fully using my sight, but enough to get a bit of a read on the magic in the area.
One of the… disadvantages, I'd noticed since getting rid of the binding was that my senses extended so far. In this case, that meant that I could sense, for lack of a better word, what was happening in the old mansion, as well as what had happened to Judy.
The mansion itself was steeped in darkness and blood, and I got a quick look at it before making my bugs retreat, thus protecting me from what was in there. Given my general luck, the ghost responsible for whatever had spooked Mockshow was probably the person responsible for the corpses hidden in the basement.
Once I could no longer see inside the mansion, having evacuated the spiders, flies, cockroaches and other crawling things within the rotting wood, I fully opened my third eye, and took a good luck at Judy.
She was… not as carefree as I'd expected her to be. Her general condition reminded me somewhat of myself, but instead of school, it had been her home life she had not been happy about, and she had found an escape of sorts with her friends. Right now however, it looked like someone had taken a knife to her, slicing through her eyes, and leaving seeping wounds across her body. Metaphorical wounds, but wounds nonetheless. However, the damage was largely superficial, something she would eventually recover from, I was pretty sure. The worst was already over, and she had friends here to take care of her.
Which left whatever had done this to her. I closed my third eye, trying not to think about Harry calling it my ninth, and looked up only to see a small horde of teenage girls surrounding me. Just for a second, I thought back to the last time this happened, outside of mister Gladly's class. This time however, they weren't here to hurt me. Instead, they wanted my help.
"She's hurt, mentally, but she'll recover. Get her some hot coco, hold a slumber party or something, and stay close to her," I said, and I saw the relief spread on their faces. Strangely enough, I couldn't exactly share those feelings. I wasn't quite sure what I was feeling. Jealousy? Heart-ache?
"Skitter, any advice on this ghost thing?" Michael asked.
I stepped away from the girls. Somehow, even though they weren't that much younger than me, I didn't feel like this was something to say where they could hear it. When I'd limited my audience to Michael, Risen and Mockshow however, that feeling seemed to disappear.
"Something happened in this place. My bugs found children's bones in a hidden basement, and I'm afraid it's just as bad as that sounds. Good thing is, they're old, all the flesh long removed. Bad thing is, that means that whoever is responsible for this, has been dead for a long time."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Risen asked.
"Not exactly… Ghosts tend to get stronger over time, and I'm guessing it's been a couple decades here," I explained.
"So, big strong ghost. Sounds like a problem. How do we hit it?" Mockshow asked.
"You don't. I do," Michael said. "Skitter, how sure are you that the culprit and the ghost are linked?"
"Without knowing anything about the case? It's possible it's one of his victims, but I don't think the attack on Judy matches up with them. It was a girl getting mauled, not an abusive adult," I replied.
"I see…" Michael said, before becoming silent for a few seconds. Was he saying a quick prayer?
"Risen, you're covering the back-line. Be ready to evacuate everyone here if this goes sideways. Mockshow, I need you to send your minion along with me, I might need something to quickly break through rotting wood. Skitter, you're on overwatch. Make sure nothing sneaks up on us, and see if you can try to make sure of the spirit's identity. Also, help out Mockshow with controlling her minion, and help out in communication."
"Yes sir!" Risen said suddenly turning professional. Well, assisting Michael in missions was actually her job, so it made sense in a way.
"You need help with your minions?" I asked.
"Mostly line of sight," Mockshow said. "I can control them, just don't really know what they're seeing if I can't see it. Can't see through their eyes, not that they have them. Stuff like that."
"You ever try installing cameras on it?" I asked.
"Not really, that shit's expensive…"
"Weren't you hanging out with a millionaire werewolf or something?"
"Good point…" Mockshow replied. "I'll ask mister Carpenter about it. How'd you meet him anyway? I know you're a fucking biblical plague in human form and everything, but you never struck me for overly religious."
"He's a friend of Myrddin's," I replied. "It's a wizard thing."
"Right…" Mockshow replied. Whatever else, she probably wasn't entirely convinced about the existence of magic. "Love the cloak by the way, but why isn't it red?"
"Why would It be red?" I asked. Was she referring to me being overly violent or something?
"Red riding hood? You fought those small werewolf guys right?" Mockshow replied.
"Hexenwolves, yeah," I replied, as Michael was making his way up the lane towards the mansion, sword in hand, softly glowing. I made my bugs enter the mansion again, and grabbed an energy-seeing charm, softly chanting the words I needed to make invisible energies visible. Slightly more advanced than the one I had used for radiation back in New Delhi, this one allowed me to get what could best be described as a three-dimensional map of energy around me. Heat, electricity, heavy chemical potential like in batteries or gasoline, that sort of thing. I'd shown it to Harry, and when he tried it, he said it gave him far too much of a headache. Ebenezar, who had come by for some business in the city he wouldn't tell us about, had used it without many problems, and after discussing it with Tattletale, they'd decided it probably had something to do with my Shard allowing me to process ludicrous amounts of data, something Harry's mind was not yet capable of. Susan however, had decided it was because men couldn't multitask.
Seeing Michael work however, was impressive. He didn't prepare, didn't take a sneaky path in. He simply walked up to the front door, slammed it open, and didn't flinch as it fell to the ground afterwards.
He walked forward, stood in the middle of the room, and spoke.
"Show yourself," he said, energy blazing forth from his holy blade.
Within seconds, I felt the darkness surrounding the old mansion come together, a half-solid shape congealing in front of Michael, a short knife in its hands, and what looked like…
The ghost, specter, wraith, whatever that was standing in front of Michael was missing half its face, slowly seeping ectoplasm from what must have been a burn. It was a ghost with a wound, but in addition to that, it was a wounded ghost. What looked like barbed wire, made out of the foulest black, was wound around it's torso, cutting into it with every movement.
Michael's blade flared up even more, containing a near limitless amount of energy, and he held it out in front of him. The ghost lept forward, knife at the ready, slashing at his enemy with the spectral blade.
Almost without even trying, Michael sidestepped the mad specter's attack, hitting him in the back of the head with his pommel as he passed the knight. Michael turned around, two-handing the sword and bringing it over his head, ready to split the mad ghost cleanly in two. The ghost, whoever it was, responded by melting through the floor, reappearing in his psycho-killer basement.
"Break through the floor," Michael commanded, and as I relayed his orders to Mockshow, I spelled a message out on the floor in front of him. The basement is his place of power.
Michael read it, but ignored it. Given the absurd amount of strength in his blade, I could see why he wasn't worried about a single ghost. Or perhaps, it was because the amount of danger didn't matter, and he would've gone down there anyway.
Mockshow's mount smashed a hole through the floor, and jumped down, landing on wooden splinters. Less than a second later, Michael followed, blade in hand.
Again, the specter lunged at him with its knife, but this time, Michael caught its hand in his own, the blade just between two fingers. Then, holding on to the spirit, he brought down his blade, vanquishing his enemy.
Slowly, I could feel the energy surrounding the old mansion start dissipating, clearing up the air after a thunderstorm, so to speak.
"I think it's done," I said.
"Well, that was awfully anticlimactic then…" Mockshow replied.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you know… I was thinking, maybe a big light-show or something? Or the mansion falling apart now that it's dark master has been destroyed?"
"Don't say that! That's just asking for something bad to happen," Risen said.
"What, you mean like someone using some sort of enchantment to rile up an old spirit and make it attack people?" I replied.
"See Mockshow? See what dark tidings your actions have wrought?" Risen said.
"Dark tidings, really?" Mockshow replied.
"I'm trying to be more, you know, theatrical and shit. You know, Thou shalt not instead of You shouldn't."
"Guess it fits the outfit. Why do you wear that anyway? I'm pretty sure Halo doesn't dress like a nun."
"First of all, Halo is a baptist, I'm Catholic. Second, because it's fucking cute?" Risen replied, twirling around in place to show off her skirts.
Cute Nazi Nuns with superpowers, just what I needed in my life.
"So… what do we do now?" Mockshow asked.
"Continue driving? I need to complete my fifty hours so I can get my provisional," I said.
"So, do they put, like, a little picture of a spider on there?" she asked.
"I'm not quite sure," I admitted. "How about you?"
"Technically counts as a horse," she said, waving her arm towards the mansion, from which her metal minion was returning. "I can ride anywhere on the public roadways, excepting expressways and some highways."
"You don't need a license for that?" I asked.
"Nope, I could even text and drive if I wanted to!"
"Don't," I said.
Risen and Mockshow went silent, and we waited until Michael returned from the mansion, having climbed up the rubble path left behind by the construct.
"Skitter, can you inform the PRT about what happened?" he asked.
"Sure," I said, suddenly remembering my conversation with Revel three months ago. Would Revel get angry about this?
"And tell Revel I asked for your help, that should get her off your back," he continued.
I hoped it would work, but I wasn't entirely sure about it. Plus, I'd have to figure out what exactly was going on that made this spirit go crazy all of a sudden, because I did not believe that Mockshow and her crew were the first people ever to enter this old place. Something had changed, and that something had been done intentionally. By whom? For what reason? How? I didn't know, but with Harry's help and a combination of Bob and Lisa, I had everything I needed to figure out just what was going on.