come on, the records said nobody has lived here in forty years! You're not forty. Did they lose your paperwork in the system? Oh! Oh, I know, that stupid jerkass real-estate agency, I bet they wanted to make the house seem more 'antique' or some garbage, like 'nobody has lived in it in soooooo long, what an undiscovered treasure it must be'. Cute redhead lied to me! Oh, that does it. I am officially cutting my offering price when I talk to them again.” I complained. I then heard the clanking of chains from upstairs. “Actually, let's solve that mystery later! Let's leave now, together! Or just you, I'm good with either one!”
“My family! Everyone! And everyone else who ever lived here!” The girl shrieked in my face, her nails digging into my arm with strength born from sheer, mindless horror. “This house is evil!”
“I'm sure that was just your imagination! They were probably killed in a series of unfortunate and totally non-sinister accidents, and some are in fact probably alive and enjoying a nice breakfast at one of many fine local eating establishments located near this piece of prime real-estate!” I said. Maybe if I complimented the ghost's taste in housing, it would go easy on me (Even though the location really wasn't that good and the closest eating establishment was at least a 30 minute drive! Take that, you spectral prick! Yeah, I mock your choice in housing, whatcha gonna do about it?). And yes, I was aware that I was still exclaiming an awful lot, but the situation warranted it: out of the corner of my eye, I could just barely see the pipe where the kitchen sink would have been if one was hooked in, and it was spurting blood.
Oh, shit, I thought. The plumbing is bleeding? Already? It's only been like, five minutes and we're already getting near the actually violent stuff! How is he moving so fast through the manifestations, dammit? He must be cheating, something not in the historical records. Was he a wizard, a demon-worshipper, spent a few years in high school on the Ghost Sprinting Team, what?
Out loud, I continued trying to steer my excitable new friend out the door. “In fact, why don't we go join them? I will purchase you some delicious pancakes, my treat, if you only walk this way with me and leave this fine and beautifully preserved period home... with exquisite molding!... and never enter it again, ever!”
I placed my hands on the girl's shoulders and began to steer her back to the front door. For some reason she tried to struggle out of my grip, despite the fact she was trying to get me to leave the damn house and now I was offering to leave the damn house with her. “You have to listen to me! Everyone who has ever lived in this place! They all died! You have to get out while you still can, before...”
“I am trying to do that, you little twit, so please stop trying to get away and walk to the door with me!” I snapped, perhaps with a bit too much snarl in my voice. In my defense, sunlight was no longer coming in through the windows. I don't mean 'clouds had gone over the sun', I mean 'the sun was still up, the house just wasn't letting it inside'. The spectral omens were piling up like... like... like a thing that piled. I don't make up good similes when my life is in danger, okay? Be more accepting of my personality flaws. It's not like you're perfect.
“You believe me?” The girl said, going almost totally limp. “Oh, thank God, I was so scared, I almost couldn't come in here again, but I couldn't just leave you to die like all the others! Thank God, thank God, thank... no. No, no, no, no no...”
The sudden change in tone, it should be noted, was due to the fact that we had reached the front door, opened it, and found a brick wall where the opening had been. “Okay,” I muttered. “High school and college on the Ghost Sprinting Team. Maybe even made it to all-state.”
“No... no, no, no... not again, it's happening again...” She said, her voice little more than a muffled squeak.
“Yes, it surely is." I said, resisting the urge to smack her upside the head. "So, kid. What's your name?”
“It's happening again, it is always like this, we cannot escape, nobody ever escapes,” She babbled. The sound of a man's laughter echoed through the halls, and I thought I heard metal rasping against stone, as if someone was sharpening a large blade. “He's coming for us! He's here!”
“Name, please?” I asked one more time. When she didn't respond, I slapped her across the face. Hard. “Name. And chill out, we're in enough trouble without you adding to it by giving me a headache.”
“L-Lydia,” She said, her eyes wide with surprise rather than fear, for once. She rubbed her reddening cheek a bit tenderly. “I a-am Lydia Talman. Why do you-?”
“Thanks,” I said. “Now, Lydia. You have very possibly doomed us both, and if you want to get out of this alive, you are going to listen to every word I say, got it? And then, if we do survive, Lydia, I am going to find a good, sturdy piece of lumber, and I am going to beat you heavily about the head and neck for being a dolt, Lydia. Do you understand me, Lydia?”
She nodded a bit dully. I accepted this: I had her listening to me out of sheer numb shock, the natural herd instinct of a frightened animal. The drive to just shut down your mind and follow someone who seemed like he knew what he was doing was a powerful motivator in certain types of people. It wasn't as good as having someone watching my back who really knew what they were doing, but it was a damn sight better than having a panicky idiot running off at random, so I would accept it for the moment.
Besides, the sound of metal scraping against stone was getting closer, and blood was starting to leak out of the cracks in the walls, and my exorcism kit was currently on the other side of a spectrally-manifested barrier that I was willing to bet encircled the whole house. I wasn't exactly spoiled for options at the moment. Herd away, little sheep. Herd away.
“Okay, Lydia. You used to live here, right? I need information, and you're my only source. So before things start getting really bad, and trust me, they are about to, I need to know everything you remember. Are there any rooms that the manifestations were particularly bad in? The attic, the basement? Any place that it felt like the ghost was trying especially hard to keep you away from? Or anywhere it felt like they were less horrible in, maybe, places the ghost didn't like to appear? Anything at all could help.”
This felt a bit nasty, making her relieve the days that killed her family, but I was short on options. Normally when hunting active, powerful ghosts, I would have two shotguns loaded with rock-salt to temporarily de-corporealize (Is that a word? Human vocabulary really isn't made for this line of work.) them, several vials of holy water to purify the ground and prevent manifestation, and if possible some kind of improvised flamethrower (Which works on more things than you'd expect! Fire is great for multi-purpose monster extermination. Almost nothing enjoys being burned.). First rule of hunting, always bring more weapons than you think you'll need.
But the problem here was, I hadn't been expecting a real, nasty ghost. I'd been expecting Casper the Impotent Ghost, and I didn't want to risk a real-estate agent questioning why I had enough firepower to outfit a small army. As such all I had on me by way of weapons was a pair of knives hidden under my coat, and a six-shot Beretta .22 in an ankle holster. They were decent; the knives are special-ordered, with as high as silver content as you could get without making them too soft to use, and of course I buy silver bullets in bulk; not the best ordinance for a ghost, but better than nothing. Silver had a decent symbolic purity to it, and it will at least annoy most malevolent entities.
And, in my defense, it was more weaponry than I had thought I would need. Not in my worst nightmares could I have pictured this day going so very off-kilter. Next time? Screw planning, I bring the arsenal. I'll tell the house lady I'm a hunting enthusiast, it's only a semi-lie.
Now, it's important to state, this was not the worst situation I've ever been in. Remind me to tell you about the time I killed a troll with an exacto-knife and a broom; far and away the worst vacation I've ever taken. Now, though, I was not confident in my ability to defend myself if things went violent.
The walls were bleeding. A lot. I heard a scratching inside them too, as of something with claws skittering around. Upstairs, something that sounded like a wasp the size of a bus began buzzing furiously.
Things were gonna go violent. I really needed info.
“I... I...” she stammered. “It was so long ago, I don't... I've tried so hard to forget...”
“I know it's hard, but I need you to think, please.” Footsteps. Getting closer. Damn, damn, dammity damn. “And hurry, if you don't mind.” I slipped a hand into my coat and put a knife in my hand. At least if something started like, flying at me, I could maybe swat it away.
“It didn't like you being anywhere. It wanted to hurt you no matter what. But most of the time it moved slowly. Made tiny cuts. So you wouldn't die quickly, so it could keep playing. Yes, yes it likes to play. But it stopped playing when you tried to go into the room past the kitchen. The small pantry, where we kept the spices and dried goods. I don't know why, I just know that my husband tried to run that way, after the fear finally took him and he panicked, fled from my daughter and I. I saw him go, and...” She stopped, a sob wracking her body. “... so many knives. So, so many