There's going to be a lot of overlapping scenes in this chapter. There's a lot of stuff happening at almost the same moment. Some of the beginning section is even happening during the same events as the last chapter, during the end of Betelgeuse and Danny's fight scene. It should be easy enough to follow along hopefully.
Remember, Sanduleak is an evil and creepy ghost. And he's definitely about to prove it. But considering the rating of this story, I assure you that he won't get as far as he's hoping.
The deceased are resistant to the forms of physical harm that can affect the living. Manipulation of their bodies' appearances to mimic damages that would injury or kill the living are easy to achieve and effective tools for haunting.
The deceased are not invulnerable. Ghosts of all sorts can be harmed, though the manner to do so often varies greatly from the forms of harm that affect the living. While difficult to achieve, it is possible to cause pain, cause damage, or even destroy a member of the deceased though the use of an exorcism or other means.
-Excerpt from "Handbook for the Recently Deceased"
Lydia managed to reach the meeting place first, taking the time to tie her bike up in front of the donut shop. The place had a cute bike rack that was painted like a donut. She wasn't certain if Delia would have liked it, but Dad would have certainly chuckled.
She sat down on a bench as the owner of the electronics store closed up for the evening, leaving the girl alone with only a window display of silent and dark televisions sets currently on sale to keep her company. She wasn't upset about the isolation. She actually welcomed a moment of relative silence as evening fell. Even if she once lived in New York City, Lydia missed life in the smaller town of Winter River.
Soon she would have her friend back. With her journal and the book, she could undo most of the trouble Aunt Melinda caused. From there, they could figure out their next move. It might be hard to get him to work with Danny and his friends, but Lydia was reasonably certain she could convince him and it would help to keep some allies around rather than scare them off as they moved forward. They'd make sure that the Maitlands were safe from the woman and then they'd discover a way to stop her from repeating it with anyone else.
One of the streetlamps flickered on nearby as the red sky overhead began to dim to purple. She doubted she would be able to see the stars while in the city, but Lydia knew they would be starting to peek through.
She knew several of the normally visible celestial bodies. Her thoughts drifted casually over the stars and planets she'd seen through her bedroom window. Venus. Polaris. Scorpio. As her mental list moved towards Orion, her thoughts stuttered briefly and her head ached slightly. It was so odd. Lydia couldn't explain it any more than she could explain why she only remembered becoming interested in astronomy a couple of years ago, as if something sparked her curiosity of it abruptly.
"Lydia," called Sam, startling the girl.
Sam and Tucker were jogging down the sidewalk, waving to get her attention. Both looked mildly winded and excited to see her. The boy, however, also seemed vaguely uneasy. Lydia stood up, but didn't immediately start heading towards them.
"You made it," she said. "You found everything?"
"We found both books you mentioned in the safe," acknowledged Sam as they came to a halt as short distance away, "along with a ring."
"A ring?" whispered Lydia, frowning.
She didn't remember a ring. Not really. But there was something nagging at her, her head aching as she tried to figure out why.
"Yeah, a wedding ring," Sam said, patting her pocket. "We're not sure if it's yours or not, but we brought it anyway."
Tucker stepped forward, holding up his PDA, and said, "Sorry, but I've got to interrupt. I was doing a search on your family and came across something. Your mother's maiden name. And your aunt's maiden name. It's Showenhower."
While Sam looked shocked by the news, Lydia couldn't really see what the big deal was. It wasn't a particularly common name, but neither was Deetz.
"Ever heard of Frederich Isak Showenhower?" he asked.
"Uncle Freddy? Yeah, I've heard of him," she said uncertainly. "I've never met the man, but Aunt Melinda mentioned her little brother a few times."
"Freakshow's your uncle?" sputtered Sam. "No wonder your aunt has issues with ghosts. And probably why she was able to mess with your friend. He used to have a staff to mind-control ghosts, knows about other mystical artifacts, and has family-based ghost envy." She shivered from the approaching fog. "What are the chances that she has similar problems and tools?"
"Now I definitely know why Mom never mentioned her family," said Lydia, wrapping her arms around herself in an effort to fight off the chill of the mist curling around.
Wait a minute. Something was wrong. Something beyond the headache at the back of her skull was certainly wrong. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. The fog wasn't natural. It spread too quickly and the rest of the weather didn't seem right to be producing it. She knew when a paranormal force was at work.
"Which way to the library?" Lydia asked in a quiet voice, wanting to get off the street.
She could tell from the expressions on Sam and Tucker's faces that they were sensing something off too. They glanced around nervously. Because the stores were closed, the only light came from the streetlamp and it only went so far before being swallowed by the fog. Other than the three of them, the street was completely deserted.
And then they weren't so alone. Lydia spotted a shape approaching through the mist from across the street. As the shape drew near, it became clearer that it was a man. A tall man in a charcoal jacket, a white shirt, and a top hat stepped merrily into view. In one hand he held a walking cane, looking exactly like a fancy British gentleman. All he was missing was the monocle. His hair was a light brown that almost looked black when the light hit it wrong. His mustache and beard were neat and trim. He approached the trio with a jaunty stride and unconcerned about the knife buried in his chest.
"That's just creepy," muttered Tucker.
"He's a ghost," said Sam.
"He's a poltergeist," said Lydia. "No way has he been haunting the stores the entire time. Look at his clothes."
Coming to a stop in front of the trio, the ghost took a moment to remove his hat and gave a polite bow. As he straightened, his eyes shifted towards his audience as he grinned broadly. Lydia wasn't certain, but it seemed like his gaze lingered longer on her and Sam than it did on Tucker.
"Well, isn't this a jolly evening for a stroll? I was looking forward to a bit of fun. Perhaps I should introduce myself since we have much to do before we're done for the evening," he greeted, his accent definitely something from across the ocean. "I've had a lovely assortment of names, some of which are quite well-known, but my preference would be for you to call me 'Sanduleak.' I'm sure you'll be able to remember it."
"What do you want?" asked Sam awkwardly.
"Did you know," continued the ghost, "that I'm truly famous? People whispered and stared at my work. Even after my death, they continued to mention my name. Or at least the name they gave me. I didn't even write most of those letters. Just the one with the little surprise near the end. But they remember that name even today and across the ocean from where I had my fun."
He took a step towards them and Lydia instinctively backed away. Not all ghosts were dangerous, but she could tell that there was something off about him. And he was avoiding the question.
"But I may be drifting off topic. Now, I was originally hoping that we could handle our business in private. It would be simpler and neater, but I suppose a little company wouldn't hurt anything," said Sanduleak, the fog billowing around him before encircling the trio more thickly. "Would you like to know why I chose to visit your charming city?"
"Sight-seeing?" Tucker suggested, shuffling behind Sam.
Grinning cheerfully, Sanduleak looked directly at Lydia and said, "I'm afraid not. You see, we have a mutual acquaintance that I'm rather vexed with at the moment. Or rather, I've been angry with him for about a century. So when I heard the news, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to work through some of my issues." Taking another step forward while the girl edged further back, he said, "I came for you, his pretty Mortal Bride."
Lydia scowled momentarily at the title, finding it to be an annoying reminder of the disastrous near-wedding that everyone regretted. She was a little confused about the stunned look on Tucker and Sam's face. It might be an odd and confusing title to call someone, but it wasn't enough to explain their reactions. She tucked that thought aside for the moment, though. She needed to focus on the poltergeist instead.
"So he probably humiliated you at some point and you're too scared to face him directly, so you decide to go for some revenge by proxy," Lydia summarized. "Because you're a coward who can't face anyone who could fight back and possibly beat you."
"Perhaps I thought taking away his chance for freedom would be a far harsher punishment for the Ghost With The Most," he said casually. "He can't marry you and escape if I have things my way."
"Or we could stop you first," said Tucker abruptly, whipping out what looked like a thermos from Sam's backpack. "Thanks for the visit."
Light suddenly came out of the cylinder along with a noise erupting as the boy aimed it towards the ghost. Something about the sound and how the mist reacted made Lydia assume it was supposed to suck the target towards it. What it actually did was absolutely nothing, leaving Tucker and Sam slack-jawed.
"Non-ectoplasm ghost?" asked Sam.
"Non-ectoplasm ghost," Lydia confirmed.
"Figures," said Tucker dryly.
"Such a shame," remarked Sanduleak, twirling his cane. "It was a nice try, though."
An invisible force sent Tucker and Sam flying away from him, the pair vanishing into the fog with a shout of surprise. A second later, another invisible force slammed Lydia against the closest wall. The wind was knocked out of her briefly as she hit the small section of brick between the door and the large glass display window of the electronics store.
As Lydia coughed and tried to catch her breath, Sanduleak stepped closer and remarked, "Do you know what they used to call me during my final days of life? Jack. Such a common name for such an uncommon fellow, even if they picked it up from the fake letters. Of course, it sounds better when you include the entire name the newspapers used." Transferring the cane to his left hand, Sanduleak ripped the knife out of his chest with his right one. "Jack the Ripper. Memorable and provides a lovely description of what to expect, don't you think?"
Sam tumbled across the blacktop, completely out of control. She felt her arms scraping on impact, the sharp stinging contrasting with the dull ache of future bruises. As she finally came to a stop, there was a light tink.
Raising her head slightly, she caught sight of the wedding ring. It apparently fell out of her pocket at some point when she was tumbling. Further away, she could spot one of the books from her backpack. Tucker must have left it open when he pulled out the Fenton Thermos. Beyond that, all she could see was fog.
"Tucker?" she called, climbing to her knees slowly. "Tucker? Lydia?"
The thick mist swallowed her voice, leaving it sounding muffled and quiet before it traveled very far. She doubted anyone could hear her and she certainly couldn't see them. She couldn't even tell which way was back the way she was tossed from. The fog was too thick, she'd been flung wildly, and everything left her feeling disoriented. Only the blacktop beneath her hands and knees suggested she was in the middle of the street rather than the sidewalk from before. Beyond that, she had no clue.
"That's just perfect," muttered Sam, grabbing the ring off the ground. "Can't find my friends or Sanduleak in all this mess."
Reaching for the book, she spotted a shape staggering through the fog. She scrambled to her feet, tensing briefly as she prepared to throw the book at it. Other than her durable combat boots, "The Living and the Dead" was the closest thing she had to a weapon on hand. Before she could react, thankfully, the girl recognized Tucker and his beret stumbling out of the gloom.
"Sam?" he called, blinking owlishly. "What in the world just happened? Lydia's the Mortal Bride? And some other ghost is after her because of he knows the Ghost With The Most?"
"We'll figure it out later," said Sam quickly, ignoring that the same questions were flitting around her mind. "Any idea which way they're hiding?"
"None."
"Stupid fog," she growled. "Danny's not here, so we'll have to protect Lydia. Somehow."
No, not him. After a century of not thinking about the ghost he trapped in a well, the murderous freak showed back up. And even if he couldn't see her, the poltergeist knew she was there. Sanduleak would do exactly what he always did. Serial killers weren't known for change. And unless someone said his name, there was nothing the poltergeist could do.
"What's going on?" asked the boy abruptly, peering over his shoulder.
No time to find any loopholes about his name, but maybe he could do something. The other girl, Sam, was clearly important to the teenage ghost and the boy with glasses was probably a friend, classmate, or at least an acquaintance. And the strange part-ghost boy seemed to have a protective streak, one that might extend to a full-blown dumb hero complex. Even better, the kid could use the portal. He could reach her.
"Do you recognize this place?" asked the poltergeist, shoving the piece of metal into his face.
"Huh? Uh… yeah, I know it," he stammered in surprise. "Who's that?"
"Sanduleak. The guy who likes to murder women and doesn't like me," he said quickly. "He'll kill her. And probably your girl too. But unless I can get out, there's not a thing I can do to stop him at the moment."
The poltergeist expected to make a deal, to offer the boy something to convince him to protect her. It was the only thing he could try. He couldn't do it himself. He couldn't help her, so he could only bribe and bargain in the hopes the boy would agree. Everyone had a price. Anything the teenager wanted in return, the poltergeist would find a way to provide. The cost would be worth it. He just desperately needed the boy to protect her.
But before he could make an offer of any kind, the teenager's eyes narrowed in a stubborn expression. Then the boy gave a short nod and took off like a bullet through the portal.
Danny didn't know much about the Ghost With The Most, but he knew that he obviously cared about at least one person. And he knew that the poltergeist was angry, worried, and even a little scared about what was happening. If he was that upset about someone being around the girls, Danny was going to accept his statement that Sanduleak was bad news.
He flew through the portal, phased through his house, and took to the sky. Thanks to all of his ghost hunting rounds across the city, the halfa recognized the fog-enshrouded section of Craven Lane. The bike rack outside the donut shop with the painted-on pink icing and sprinkles was a distinctive sight. Danny flew as quickly and directly as he could towards his goal, the image of the Ghost With The Most desperate and frustrated expression at his inability to do anything continuing to haunt the boy.
The poltergeist stared after him a moment, honestly surprised by the selflessness. The kid didn't even wait to be asked. He didn't question what was in it for him. He just… went.
He never really appreciated the benefits of bumping into one of the crazy heroic types. Sure, they could be just as gullible and naïve as any other target he might try to con, but they weren't usually worth the effort to trick. But if it saved her, the ghost would have to cut back on his mental and verbal insults towards the stupidly selfless.
Reluctantly, he refocused on the chunk of reflective metal. At the moment, there was nothing else he could do. Sending the boy and waiting was all he could do. He hated it. He hated his limitations normally, but he especially hated them when they left him helpless. He hated that she was in danger and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
She could be hurt. She could be killed. And with his luck, she'd either move on or instantly be snatched up to work in the bureaucracy for some reason. She could be…
She was a child. A teenage girl, but still a child. He didn't realize it when he first met, but he knew now. She was in danger and the only way he could help her was to send another child, a strange ghost boy, to protect her. He could lose her.
And there wasn't a single thing he could do about it.
For all the power he possessed and all the knowledge he'd learned since his death, he was absolutely powerless to stop what was happening.
Fear replaced her previous nervousness and annoyance with the poltergeist. She was being haunted by the ghost of the infamous Jack the Ripper. His violent and visceral attacks on the women of Victorian London left Lydia with a pretty good idea of what he had in mind.
Her thoughts kept repeating themselves as she remained in place, stuck between the electronics store and the killer ghost. This was Jack the Ripper. He was going to kill her horribly. He was going to slice her throat, mutilate her body, and leave it there on the sidewalk like trash. It would be painful and bloody. He would do it just like he did to those women a century ago.
Sanduleak looked past her, briefly gaining a look of surprise before his expression shifted to one of pure smugness. He grinned towards his reflection, stepping close enough to the girl that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted. Or slash her throat.
"We have an audience," he said slowly, turning his predatory gaze towards the girl once again. "I don't mind. He can't do anything but watch. And if you try saying his name, I'll cut out your tongue on the first syllable."
Afraid to look away from the dangerous poltergeist for long, Lydia tried to catch sight of the reflection in the glass or in the numerous television sets behind it. She hoped to catch sight of him. She knew what he could do with mirrors. But the girl didn't see anything beyond maybe some vibrations across the glass, like someone pounding against the barrier in fury.
Sanduleak's arm abruptly moved, the knife pressing lightly against her throat. Lydia stiffened, the sharp edge hard to ignore. She didn't want to die. Not anymore and not like this.
"It is a shame, though," said Sanduleak, abruptly pressing himself against her in a way that made her skin crawl. The knife, however, didn't even twitch. "A pretty, young bride missing her wedding night? It wouldn't be fair for you to miss out on that experience. But I can take care of that. Perhaps not the wedding, but certainly what comes after. It should be fun. For one of us, at least."
Shivering slightly at the slimy tone and the contact with his dead body, Lydia's mind raced for an escape, but her body seemed frozen in place. Sanduleak set his cane next them against the wall. Then with his newly-freed hand, he ran his fingertips along her side and down to her hip. She was mentally screaming and begging herself to move, but she couldn't make her body react. As horrified as she was during the almost-wedding, this was worse. At least then she could convince herself to at least speak out, but her throat felt locked.
As his hand reached the bottom edge of her skirt, all the glass around her explosively shattered.
"Get away from her," he snarled, his grip tightening on the piece of metal. "You get away from her or I'll kill you again."
Sanduleak knew he was watching. The living couldn't see him in the reflections at the moment, but the ghost still could. The disgusting creature even had to gall to grin at him and comment on the audience. Sanduleak didn't even care. He probably even saw it as a bonus.
Hatred and fury boiled within the older poltergeist. He needed to get out there and destroy that serial killer. But mostly he needed to get that creepy ghost away from her. Even if he couldn't exactly see her, he saw Sanduleak place a knife whre her throat must be and he wanted that freak gone.
And just when he thought he couldn't get any angrier, Sanduleak touched her. He pressed himself against the spot where the girl must be standing, looking at her. Sanduleak spoke to her, discussing her missing her wedding night in a manner that left no doubts what he was planning. She was a child. She was his girl. She was off-limits. There was a knife in the creep's hand and a hungry look in his eye. Sanduleak was touching the girl, running his fingers down her invisible figure. How dare he? How dare he?
"No, no, no, no, no!"
The metal shattered in his hands, his fury causing him to pour far too much power into the mirror trick. It didn't hurt the poltergeist, but he shouted in frustration anyway. He didn't know what was worse; knowing what was happening to her while being helpless to prevent it or not knowing, but imagining what Sanduleak would be doing to her while still helpless to prevent it. Either way, there was nothing he could do and he hated the feeling of being powerless.
No.
He was not losing his friend because of that vile woman in white's meddling and a smug poltergeist with a talent for minor meteorological manipulation looking for revenge. He was the Ghost With The Most. No one would harm her as long as he had any say in it. Sanduleak would pay for even going near her. Even if he had to physically drag the younger poltergeist back to the Netherworld and throw the freak into the Lost Souls Room himself, he would pay.
Fury, worry, desperation, and even more fury burned and boiled through him as stubborn determination gave the emotions a direction, a purposeful goal. No one was going to say his name. Not in time to be of any use. They weren't going to let him out. But he wasn't going to let that stop him. He wouldn't let her be harmed. She was his. There was one other option available that he didn't like and wouldn't be easy, but he couldn't just wait around while she was in danger.
"Hold on, Babes," he said quietly, closing his eyes a moment before racing back through the portal.
Even though he was prepared this time, the poltergeist still hissed through his gritted teeth and nearly stumbled to the ground as the pain hit. Once again, he focused on all the power he possessed on keeping himself together as his body tried to rip itself apart. It hurt, but he forced himself regain his balance and even to step further into the strange basement. No turning back. He couldn't keep it up forever, but he could do it for a little while. He could do it for her.
Sensing other ghosts took practice, but it was a skill any ghost could learn. Usually it worked best for nearby ghosts, but some were easier to locate than others. Ectoplasm ghosts were the easiest to sense. Something about them just made it seem like they were walking around with a giant spotlight shining on them. And while the town had its share of specters lurking around, the partially-alive ghost boy was unique enough that following his trail would be simple. He'd lead the poltergeist straight to her.
Fighting against the painful sensation of everything trying to tear apart and collapse, he focused on where the boy flew off. Once he had the direction, the poltergeist used the tiny shred of power he could spare to follow. Ripping, tearing, burning, melting, collapsing crumbling, fraying, and generally coming apart at the seams with only pure stubbornness and protective fury keeping him in one piece, the Ghost With The Most went after his girl.
She needed him, so he'd get there. Even if it destroyed him.
First off, I did indeed make Sanduleak turn out to be Jack the Ripper. No, he's not based on any of the actual guesses on the killer's identity. He's a unique version of Jack the Ripper.
Anyway, here's some basic about the killer, just in case you're curious. Jack the Ripper is the best known name given to an unidentified serial killer or killers active in the largely impoverished areas in and around the Whitechapel district of London in 1888. Attacks ascribed to Jack the Ripper typically involved female prostitutes who lived and worked in the slums of London and whose throats were cut prior to abdominal mutilations. The removal of internal organs from at least three of the victims led to proposals that their killer possessed anatomical or surgical knowledge.
Rumors that the murders were connected intensified in September and October 1888, and letters from a writer or writers purporting to be the murderer were received by media outlets and Scotland Yard. Some or all of the letters are also rumored to have been simply created by the newspapers to stir up interest. One letter, received by George Lusk of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, included half of a preserved human kidney, purportedly taken from one of the victims. In this story, Sanduleak takes credit for only that letter. Considering the vastly different style of writing between the letters (grammar, spelling, etc.), it isn't hard to believe that not all the letters were written by the same person.
A police investigation into a series of eleven brutal killings in Whitechapel up to 1891 was unable to connect all the killings conclusively to the murders of 1888. Five victims: Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride ("Long Liz"), Catherine Eddowes and Mary Jane Kelly, all murdered between 31 August and 9 November 1888, are known as the "canonical five" and their murders are often considered the most likely to be linked.
Second, Betelgeuse is seriously ticked off and has basically decided to brute force his way to help Lydia. That's probably not the safest strategy for him, but it certainly is the quickest when time is of the essence.
And third, I have an e-book on Amazon called "Dead Man Walking" by A. R. Jones. I have a link on my profile (though the links offsite have lately been a little wonky, so you might have to do the search yourself. You can buy it for the Kindle or download the Kindle app thing for your smartphone. You can probably even download it on your iPad or other computer things. Just go out and support my original piece of fiction, please. Reviews are nice (and I always appreciate them), but fanfiction doesn't pay the bills. Thanks so much.