INTRO: "Brighter than the Sun" By Brick and Mortar

"Who else? What about pretty much any other Detective? Or the Police? But me?"

"The Police would never take our case seriously," Patrick replied, burying his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, a conniving half-smirk infecting his otherwise shadowy, tired looking face, "and besides ; you're not like any other detective in this country. The organisation I represent have been looking for a man just like you for some time now.."

I felt immediately intrigued by whatever offer this man was making. Sure, it might have been my ego taking over - but life's been beating me down for a while. I may as well try and throw a few punches back, right?

I narrowed my eyes, looking at him as he studied me with those dark puddles of brown in his eyes. The kind of eyes that betrayed no feelings behind them, like looking into a pair of camera lenses. Calculating, methodical, cold, mechanical.

'Is he suggesting that he was sent to seek me, specifically?'

I blinked. I shrugged. 'After all, this could be my lucky break!'

Immediately calm, I leaned back with my elbow against the glass panel of the bus shelter, nonchalantly examining my nails under the buzzing white fluorescent lights.

"So.. How much is this organisation willing to pay for my services?" I asked, confident and chilled out, rubbing my thumb to my fingers as if imagining the boundless cash filtering between them when I would soon be rich, "my skills and expertise DO come at a certain, price."

I looked up at Patrick, smirking confidently.

He, however, immediately scoffed out loud, as if I had just told him with all my heart that the sky is as green as the grass is blue.

"Expertise? Skills?" My smirk shattered, "Oh no Mr. Jones, you misunderstand. I'm not here to find a Detective. In fact , your skills as a Detective can barely be considered even fifth rate!"

The following silence was almost suffocating, if not for the chirping of crickets. Which aided only in making things feel awkward.

I crossed my arms, annoyed.

"So what are you doing harassing my friends to get to me? If I'm such a crap detective?"

"It's not your detecting we want, Mr. Jones. It's something more. Something residual within you. Something Cursed."

I coughed.

"Don't get started on this 'Cursed Energy' nonsense."

"What energy?" Benjamin interjected, obviously even more out of his depth than even I was. I softened my expression as I saw his face. He looked like a lost puppy.

"It's best to not get yourself involved with hooligans, mate."

"Hooliganism? I assure you, Cursed Energy is very real." Patrick spat, stepping towards Gibbs with his hackles raised like a threatened cat.

I put my hands up, trying to de-escelate the situation.

"I don't mean any disrespect..."

"I don't need a Cursed Technique to end you, here and now," Patrick growled, "remember that."

Whatever a Cursed Technique was, I knew he didn't need it to end me. All he'd need, realistically, would be the revolver which I noticed jutting from below his jacket. Nothing like a .445 caliber bullet to the chest to put an end to a disagreement. Of course, I'd still disagree with him - being shot would just shut me up.

"Okay, tough guy... Well, I'm only annoyed because all anyone seems to be talking to me about is this voodoo Cursed Energy stuff."

Patrick's ears seemed to prick up in instant interest, lowering his guard, his eyes locking with Gibbs'.

"Who else has talked to you about Jujutsu?" I hesitated at his question. My eyes darted from side to side.

"This is apart of an investigation, Mr. Jones." He suggested, as if I didn't already know that.

"Well, the same weirdo who put me in there," I jabbed back to the hospital with my thumb, "visited me again a couple days ago. Broke in to my room through the window. Mentioned this Jujutsu thing too - said something about Sorcerers or Summomers or something.. He's lucky I don't summon my fist into his face, that kooky prick-"

"Did he give you a name?"

I nodded.

"Said his name was Kellin."

"Any other details?"

"I'm sorry this is my case, do you know that? I'm the detective here, I do the question asking!"

"Oh, my dear friend, I'm afraid I'll be taking over as the investigator for this particular incident. I'll need as much information as possible if you don't mind."

Something told me he didn't really care whether I minded or not.

I opened my mouth to go to speak, but the grumbling sound of a gas guzzling engine became louder as a single decker bus pulled around the corner. It was painted mostly in a bright red - the dark windows were a strip above the red, and capping the bus was a roof painted in an off-white créme colour.

The digital sign upon the front of the bus glowed a quiet green, the bus's hydraulics hissing as it slowed to a halt in front of the bus shelter.

The slowly scrolling sign read 'Ramsey - Rhumsaa Via Crosby, St. John's, Peel, Kirk Michael and Ballaugh', alongside a big number 5.

"I'll pay for all three of us," Patrick said, walking up to the bus as a couple old women ambled to disembark, "it's to Peel, right?"

"You already knew that." I replied.

It wasn't long before we all had jumped on board the bus, gotten our fair share of funny looks from the bus driver and the couple other passengers before we came to our seats, a "booth" of four seats, two on each side facing each other.

Within a moment, the bus lurched forward, the engine coming to life as poor Benjamin was almost thrown forward right into the back seats.

The windows shivered gently as we rolled from the hospital, and out onto the main road at Union Mills. (this road itself linking Douglas and Peel)

Now Ben had finally claimed a seat next to us, scrabbling on anxiously as he panted and puffed.

Call it a main road, but there was nothing 'main' about it. With sheer darkness apart from the beacons of light produced by car headlights,

"I think you have some more details you need to fill in." Said Patrick all of a sudden, tearing me from my quiet contemplation of the night as I stared out the dark windows. I sighed frustratedly.

"Fine, I'll tell you everything about my investigation so far.." I rubbed my temples.

"It all began on the Twenty-third of June, when Joshua Errant-More waltzed into my office, hiring me to gather incriminating evidence about the folks living in the flat above his, who he said he was suspicious about.."

"Isn't that... illegal?" Ben asked. The bus hit a speed bump at full speed, lurching the whole vehicle up and down like a ship at sea, launching us all into the air by a couple centimetres. It seemed reckless driving was the real crime at play here.

I shuffled uncomfortably on the stiff seats.

"Is what illegal?"

"I mean, hiring out a detective not to solve a crime but only to gather incriminating evidence?"

"Well, the man said he'd pay me, so what am I gonna do? Not take on the case?"

"Keep going. We don't have all night." Patrick urged.

I filled him in on all the juicy details you've been reading over the course of this story. From my client suddenly not showing his head, to the letter, to questioning the neighbourhood, all the way to my encounter with Kellin at Pearl's house, his strange ability and me being blamed for Pearl's heart attack."

"So your friend - Sandra - The letter she decoded. I assume it will have valuable information to do with the case stored upon it?"

I nodded.

"It obviously was talking about a group being behind everything. I believe this group may be based up in Ramsey."

"Based on the statements you gathered, yes, that is likely.."

He narrowed his eyes and looked at me.

"But you're missing something out here. I know it. I can smell it. I'm not here for any other reason other than the fact that this is likely tied to a string of Jujutsu terrorism in Japan.. Did you see anything different than what you might be used to? Anything which might be normally considered as paranormal activity or a demon, poltergeist or apparition?"

The bus engine growled loudly, the driver putting his foot down, passing by a few houses and streetlights, a pool of light in the dark rural countrysides.

"Yes. I don't really remember what it looked like.. it was dark. But it was some kind pf creature that's true. I remember its scary eyes and the sickly feeling I felt all the way to my stomach. It felt like my entire body just loathed this thing's existence..."

"That'll be your body's reaction to the powerful Cursed Energy it exuded." Patrick replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Well, whatever that thing was, it was cursed. Look in a book for the definition of it, and you'll see a picture."

"That won't be the last time you'll see something like that, unfortunately for you Mr. Jones. That what you met was indeed a Cursed Spirit."

I heard that term used before too - also by Kellin.

"So what we're dealing with here, if your story is correct, is a group of Curse Users who have gathered on this unsuspecting island.. and somehow, they've attracted Cursed Spirits with them too.. which by all means should be completely impossible."

Patrick's hand was thoroughly massaging his temples, his face still mostly blank but for his upper lip twitching quite vigorously every now and then.

"Don't ask me a thing about all this," Benjamin interjected, staring glumly out the window, "I failed me Science GCSEs after all."

"No you didn't, you got Ds, right?"

"I got a U."

"Oh."

I turned to him.

"So why aren't you listening? If you follow my case, it'd be a big break for that internet newsletter of yours!"

"It's no use," Benjamin replied, "after what happened with the bats last year, I'll never be a respected journalist again.."

"And I'd have to execute you if you compromised the secrecy of Jujutsu Society." Patrick pointed out in a simple, blunt way - almost as if he hadn't just threatened a man with death.

I turned around, looking down the shaky aisle up the bus, at the scrolling panel by the cabin.

'Next Stop : St. Johns, Ballacraine.'

Patrick was mumbling to himself again.

"...No... That can't be it... Cursed energy leak..? But... no... Tengen's Barrier..."

I rolled my eyes and stopped even trying to make sense of his jumbled words. I decided to stare out the window and think about things.. Particularly about avoiding the Police.. Or what my new friend Abraham would say to me if he really believed it was my fault that Pearl had kicked the bucket..

I was really in the pot now.. I took deep breaths, desperately trying to recollect my thoughts to make sense of everything... but when dropped into some boiling spaghetti - are you really gonna be focused on eating it up?

I watched the bushes fly by, the glow of streetlights at the end of the road signalling the end of the ride.

'Welcome to Peel! Phurt Ny Hinshey. Sunset City.' A white sign said as we passed by a High School football field.

I wasn't feeling very welcomed at all. Especially due to the fact the bus suddenly had stopped, and the whole vehicle was filled with the bright flashing red and blue of Police lights, their sirens ringing and wailing in my ears.

Two Police cars and a Police van raced around the bus like street racers in a frantic last straightaway, they blazed down the road, the sound of their sirens still faint even as their lights dissapeared down the long road into the town.

Me and Benjamin exchanged confused yet curious looks. Patrick raised his eyebrow.

"You come from England, Patty?" I asked.

"Don't call me Patty.." He glared at me darkly, "And yes."

"Well, firstly ; keep your hat on, and secondly, that kind of sight isn't usual around here. I don't think I've seen a convoy like that ever."

"Convoy?"

"It may as well be," I looked back out the window as the bus' engine returned to life, the whole thing lurching forth once more, "I wonder what's going down to warrant this.."

Before we knew it, the bus was driving through the town, passing rows of tall houses and zebra crossings ; giant, dark funnel of the Peel power station looming in the darkness just nearby. Like an ominous statue in the night.
The Police station went by on the left - the parking spaces outside were completely empty. Not a single Police vehicle lay dormant. Officers roamed the pavements in twos all around, wielding batons and rifles.

Benjamin's eyes were wide as the bus slowed to a stop by a bus shelter.

"What the hell's happened here.." I breathed.

Even Patrick seemed perturbed by the sheer number of Police all around.

"Hm. It's like the whole town center has been put under martial law."

As we three walked slowly down the aisle towards the cabin, bus door sliding open for us, we watched a Police car cruise down the road, lights and sirens crying out in the night as it drove down towards Michael Street.

"Thanks." I said to the bus driver as I disembarked.

"Be careful out in Peel, you three. There's been murders."

With that ; the second us three had stepped out onto the concrete, the bus door hissed to a close, the driver driving away quickly. The sign on the front now displayed

'Not in Service' with a little Three Legs of Man symbol besides it.

"Wonder why he's in a hurry." I wondered to myself, out loud.

"It looks like all the Police activity is concentrated further down there." Patrick observed, looking down the road.

It was a quiet, quaint night. The sky was clear, the stars twinkling and the moon glowing magnificently. Totally unmoved by the chaos on the streets. Passive, ethereal. Observers of the mundane and the strange.

But this night was more than mundane or strange, there was a certain feeling deep within myself. A pit in my stomach, an anxiety.

I was about to suggest, "Let's NOT go down there, shall we?"

as Patrick began pacing forth with power in his strides.

"Come on, we're going down there." He ordered to us.

"Great..." I complained, knowing this will be anything but.

We wandered down the road, a trio of unassuming pedestrians crossing empty roads in a town filled with echoes of sirens wailing out into the skies. The windows of every building were dark and empty, the streets cold and silent. A stray black cat sprinted across the street where it vanished into the darkness of a tight alleyway, its soft meowls ringing upon the flagstones as we walked by, amber streetlamp buzzing as it cast its golden glow upon the streets. Further down, by the antique shop, there was an improvised roadblock built from cones, fences and a copious amount of Police tape. Two officers stood dauntingly behind it, arms crossed and caps shadowing their faces.

They exchanged a look with each other, before the one on the left called out.

"Oi. You three can't go any further."

"Crime scene." Said the second one, sniffing loudly. They were like clones of each other - exact same height, same build, same lippy scowl and posture.

"Alright boys," I began, readying up my charismatic charms, "what's the situation?"

"I just told you it's a crime scene." Repeated the second officer.

"Try walking around. Road's closed between here all the way down to Douglas street."

I could feel Patrick's presence looming behind me, his judging gaze drilling into my spine.

"C'mon fellas," I smiled, "what's with all the fuss? My flat's down that way, you know."

"We've emptied everyone from their houses all along this street." Replied Officer number one.

"The whole thing's evacuated." Added the second one, itching his nostril.

"Let me handle this.." Grumbled Patrick, barging me out of the way, pulling a rectangular black object from the inside of his suit jacket - showing it off to the Policemen, "I am Private Detective Inspector Patrick Malew. I've come over from Liverpool to conduct an investigation and I believe this incident may have some link to the case I am working on."

The two officers leaned forward ; taking a long, laborious look at the identification card.

"Well why didn't you say so sooner?"

"Come on through, Detective."

They raised the Police tape up for Patrick to pass through.

However, as he pocketed the identification card, I noticed some kind of pin on it. I could only see it for a split second, but I know it was there. A gold or brass twinkle, and engraved into it was a symbol I had never seen before - a circle, with swirls cycling into its centre like some kind of whirlpool. Then it was gone, into Patrick's back pocket.

"Let the two imbeciles through also." Patrick asked, as he passed through the tape.

"Right you are, boss."

Me and Ben ducked awkwardly under the tape, into the forbidden exclusion zone that the street I live on had become.

"When's the forensics team getting here, Detective? I'm telling you now, it's not good down there, whatever's happened.." Asked one of the Officers.

Patrick smiled and nodded.

"They'll arrive soon."

We continued our way down the street. As we walked ahead, I caught the tail end of a conversation between those two Policemen.

"That blonde fella was lookin rough."

"Wouldn't be surprised if he was the murderer. Did you see the state of 'is shirt?"

I shook my head and fastened my coat in an attempt to hide the red blotches still stuck within the fabric of my shirt. And a little newsflash from the future Gibbs, even several years ahead of this point I was still not able to get those damn stains out. I still kept the shirt though.

"Is there actually a forensics team?" I asked as we got out of earshot.

"No," replied Patrick, tapping his temple, "I used a little technique known by experts as lying."

Eventually, near the end of the street, we came into view of a few Police vehicles which were parked by the Co-Op and the Isle of Man Hospice shops, lights flashing brightly. Shadowy figures bustled around, Police officers and Paramedics trying make sense of the mess they seemed to be dealing with, as well as defending the area from news reporters who had already arrived.

"Has the Police department created a list of suspects yet, Deputy Abraham?" Asked an eager-looking journalist, dark-skinned, brown-eyed, younger than me for sure. He was holding a recorder to his hip and stuffing a microphone into a tall, burly officer's face.

"I'm nowt, mister, we an't even got access to the whole building yet!" Replied Abraham, wiping his brow with all the stress in the world.

"Does this incident have any link or relevance to the murder of resident Pearl Errant-More of Ballawattleworth just eight days ago?"

"Look, it's too early! Give us chance!"

"Respectfully, you've had eight days of chance, Officer."

Abraham, obviously perplexed, began scratching his bald head with his Policeman's cap.

"Right, I'm not taking questions anymore. Pack it in and be off with thee! You're interrupting official copper business!" He said, pushing the journalist gently with his hat. This gesture succeeded in turning the lad away, to my surprise. I watched him walk away back down the road as Abraham sighed and turned around, muttering to himself.

"Those bloody journalist types, always gawping, never minding their own.."

Our eyes locked. His eyes widened in shock and he froze like he had seen the devil himself standing right there.

"It's you!" He pointed a single finger at me, "flippin' eck!"

"Yeah, it's me."

"You've got a lotta cheek showin' your face here, you manky crook."

"Abraham... come on, we're Facebook friends, right? You can't believe I'd kill a precious old crone like Mrs. Errant-More!"

"Thee didn't even send us a friend request, you daft wassock!"

Things were really starting to get heated already. My mum used to say I had a way with people - A way of driving them up the wall that is.

Once again, it was up to Patrick to barge past me to clear up the situation. I already felt like I was being treated like some lost, neglected child.

"Let me deal with this.." Patrick mumbled as he stepped between me and Abraham.

"Regarding the recent and sudden death of Mrs. Errant-More, it likely has no link to the current incident. And I'd like to inform you bobbies that the second they put that woman through Medical Examination, they'll find that this poor lad had nothing to do with it at all. He couldn't hurt a fly with no wings, this idiot."

There he goes, insulting my intelligence again. I'm not the best Detective out there, but I'm no five year old either!

Abraham stood back, mulling over Patrick's words for a second or two.

"And you're a Detective bloke too, I take it?"

Patrick nodded and hummed.

"And I'll have you know, Deputy, I'm not playing pretend either."

They both chuckled and grinned.

"I see, that one your apprentice?" He pointed to me. I felt like he shot a laserbeam from his finger, the way it stung my ego.

"May as well be." Patrick shrugged, "he's not used to something real like this."

"Neither am I, duck, nor any of us."

Patrick nodded.

"Usually quiet around, isn't it?"

"Apart from the odd scrap, it's like 'eaven."

"Just give me the rundown, and I'll take it from here." Patrick said, scribbling something into a small, handheld notebook.

"Well, it all started when one of our boys was walking down the street, seeing what's what. Had a gander through' charity shop window, said he saw whole splashes of blood like someone had slaughtered a cow in there. Course, us up at the station expected business as usual until he calls us down. We broke into the establishment, it's... it's a nightmare in there. You can't even recognize the old gal.." Abraham's face was forrowed and his teeth gritted.

"It's my landlord," I piped up, "there's nobody else it could be."

Everyone's eyes cast to me.

"What?"

"Are you sure you're not the killer, Mr. Jones?" Patrick asked, eyebrow raised.

"She might have been about to evict me but I'm not gonna bloody kill her am I!?"

"There would be a motive then. Just pointing it out.

Why do I have to open my mouth..?

"Stop giving me that glare, like I said, you couldn't hurt a thing."

Patrick turned back to Abraham.

"And what of the upstairs floors?"

Abraham itched his temple.

"Well, bit awkward to tell yer, but I've been trying to send officers up the stairs, but they keep coming down. They say they just can't go up."

"Explain."

"I've sent the the toughest officers up there, built like bulldogs they was. Came back down the stairs not five minutes later white as ghosts. Said they didn't want to go back up there, never again. So I sent the bone idle beggars to stop anyone from coming down Michael Street."

Before I knew it, we were off again, Patrick and I crossing the street to the door of the Isle of Man Hospice shops. Ben trailed closely behind me.

"You sure you wanna come? It's gonna be dire."

"I'm absolutely sure, Gibbs. I want to see what all this is about."
I relented. Surely it won't be a bad idea to bring my best friend through hell and back?
What else are friends for?

We all three of us sauntered past the shattered glass door of the charity shop, into the main room. It was darker, colder somehow. The floor felt damp, I looked down. It was covered in dark patches.
"Are you alright?" Asked an unwitting Benjamin.
"Hurry up. We're going up those stairs," Patrick ordered, half turning back to us with more seriousness than usual, "we have nothing to see down here."

"Right.." I muttered, quickly moving over the dark patches, following Patrick over the room, where racks of second hand clothes and books lay strewn and upturned by the windows and on the floor.
"There was a struggle..." I whispered to myself.
"Isn't that obvious?" Patrick replied.

There was an open doorway across the room, dark and foreboding. A stench floated from it, choking me. It was coppery and sickly. Then as we slowly crept into the bottom of that tight stairwell.. the shadow on the floor revealed itself to us. A dark shadow, the body of my once delightful landlady.. Laura Lillock. Her face was gone. Torn to shreds. Blood was everywhere. Her dress was ruined. Her bones broken. She had went down with her fists clenched.

Then there was that stench again... much stronger, permeating the air, wafting through the air.. It was like a pile of rotting plants, compost. The mildew infested my every breath, the walls and the air grew colder, darker. I felt sick to my stomach.

"Don't falter." Patrick snarled, "it's up there." He began climbing the staircase, the stairs creaking beneath his feet as he slowly disappeared into the darkness.
"Uh... what's up there?" I asked, taking a single step up. The wall of fear hit me like a truck, petrifying me to the spot as though each of my joints had simply locked in place. It felt like pure, unadulterated disgust, horror and anguish, "hello?" I called again, my voice breaking. There was no response from the blackness further up the stairs.
Then a heavy pressure began to press down on me.
In most cases, the smarter thing to do would have been to hang back, wait for the professional.
As far as I was concerned, I was a professional.
But let me tell you, no Detective novel nor ghost story could have ever prepared me for what was waiting for me to climb those stairs, hungry and patient.

Even so, I began to climb them..
Ben was nowhere to be seen.

Gibbs alone, braving the stairs. Find out what awaits him next chapter!

END THEME: "SAVAGES" By That Handsome Devil