Vengeful Ghosts

Curses, like restless spirits, find their way back.

Vengeful Ghosts

"Pleasure doing business with you," that's the corny phrase you always hear when you bet on the wrong horse.

"You can call me Gironde if you'd like," the Necromancer offered, then smiled suggestively, "I'm sure we'll meet again in the future, Shaytan, more than you know."

I knew I should feel privileged by this, but I didn't. Not in the least, but I mumbled alright anyway. Another snap and the parchment disappeared without a trace. The Necromancer jumped up and clapped his palms together.

"Let's get to work!"

"What are we going to do?" I stood up too.

"We'll let a ghost in and have a talk with it," he answered.

"What?!"

"Don't be nervous," he smiled, "I won't let him hurt you, so leave it to me!"

For some reason, at that moment I felt an irresistible urge to run screaming out of the Necromancer's realm, yet I nodded slowly, very slowly.

"Relax, trust me," he grinned slyly, and I knew that was a phrase usually uttered by those whom one should never trust, even by accident.

He grabbed me by the arm and spun me in front of the huge mirror, checked me over, adjusted my posture, checked me over again, and then pushed my chin up a little with his index finger, all with a serious, precise expression on his face that made me feel like I'd walked into a tailor's shop. I glanced at him in bewilderment, and I had to look up a good deal — only then did I realize that he was half a head taller than me. He took a step back and looked me over again.

"Something is missing..." he said. "But what? It's been so long since I did something like this..."

I rolled my eyes.

"Oh, I've got it!" he said and snapped his fingers.

His movement almost made me jump, as dark marks burned into the beautifully polished old parquet floor around me.

"Calm down, stay still," he ordered me reprovingly, and at that moment he really reminded me of an artist who was putting the finishing touches to a work but something disturbed him. Alex was just as grumpy when he was playing his guitar and I was nagging him to make me something to eat immediately or I'd starve to death.

"It's just a magic circle to protect you, the spirit can't cross it," he explained, and I nodded and decided that I wasn't going to leave it.

"Now face the mirror, but watch your posture! I've set you up so that your energies can flow freely through your body, that's very important," he said, and when I did what he asked, he started talking again, "Yes, that's right, that's good. Close your eyes. Do you know the name of the spirit?"

"No," I answered.

I hesitated for a moment about closing my eyes: I did not trust my host. I sighed deeply and finally gave in — after all, he would help, not cut my throat, wouldn't he? Well, I hope...

He stepped behind me and soon I felt his icy touch on either side of my cheek. His skin was terribly cold, so cold it almost burned. It was as if his whole body had been sculpted from ice, and was a carefully carved statue.

Something had already been nagging at me, but I didn't know what it was. You know, sometimes you notice something unusual about the other person, but you can't tell what it is exactly. Maybe he had a haircut? Or has she lost a few pounds? Maybe he's wearing a different cologne? That's when I realized what the unusual feeling was about Necromancer: he doesn't have a smell.

"Never mind," he continued, his voice so close that it sent shivers through my body, "Think hard of the ghost! Imagine it! What colour was his hair, what colour were his eyes? Was his face round, or was his chin pointed? Did he have any birthmarks, scars, or special features? Finally, if you have all this, feel him! How did you feel when you first met him? When he stood in front of you?"

His petite figure was translucent, his skin pale and colourless, as if he had been woven into this human form from some kind of smoke-like substance. His dark, dead eyes absorbed all the colours of the world and swallowed them up forever. His wavy red hair was dull, and I knew that if I had wanted to touch him, my fingers would have slipped through. The boy's neck was covered with odd purple stains, bruises, and the marks of vampire fangs. They almost bit a piece of him off.

An icy chill took over the air, I was terribly cold as if the frost had buried itself in my flesh or spread from my bones through my body to freeze me forever. The puddles at first became only dull, and then they froze spectacularly as if winter had come in an instant. Ice flowers bloomed on the windows and gruel appeared on the grass.

Suddenly I was surrounded by freezing cold. So cold that it was unbearable. It felt as if this cold was digging its claws into me, freezing the blood in my veins and reaching all the way to my heart. I felt that if it reached it, my heart would stop beating, forever trapped in ice in the depths of my chest, and no amount of heat would be able to thaw it.

The windows began to crackle, the icy air stung, and it hurt to breathe. I didn't want to breathe, because I knew that the cold would freeze me from the inside without a problem. The ghost was angry. He was terribly angry and I was afraid, afraid that this unbridled rage would crush me.

The Necromancer let me go but I could still feel his touch on my skin, and it was as if the cold had burrowed back into my chest. No, that's not entirely true. In fact, I never managed to drive it out, it had been there since my encounter with the ghost, lurking, hiding, waiting for this moment, only to come back again. Or perhaps it was always there? I don't know.

"Well done, Shaytan," I heard the voice of the Necromancer. "Open your eyes! Talk to the spirit!"

I did as he asked, and my heart seemed to stop beating at that moment: the ghost was standing behind me, I could see him clearly in the mirror. I turned to face him. The boy had a bitter smile on his lips, but he didn't seem angry anymore.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Name?" the ghost wondered. "I had a name... My name was Simon."

His voice changed. Somehow it wasn't so scary now, deep and gravelly, more like before he died, though there was something otherworldly about it that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

"Why do you haunt me? Why are the other ghosts haunting me, Simon?", I questioned.

The ghost's gaze turned glassy as if it wasn't looking at me, its eyes staring off into the distance as if it had noticed something invisible to others. Suddenly the ghost was gone, leaving only a black smoke-like essence behind.

"I'll show you," he finally said, and I immediately turned my gaze to him.

He stood not far from me and held out his hand. He wanted me to step out of the circle and come to him. I glanced helplessly at the Necromancer, who was merely leaning against the wall, watching the proceedings blandly.

"Go ahead," he nodded, "He won't hurt you, I think you made a good impression on him the last time you met him."

I took a deep breath and stepped out of the magic circle. At first, I was almost expecting an attack, and I was surprised that nothing really happened. I approached the boy with slow steps and then stopped in front of him. I was only an arm's length away. Then, as I raised my arm, I closed that distance as well and rested my palm against his.

A strange, lightning sensation ran through me, like a minor electric shock, and I immediately felt the cold, which now was not so adamant about consuming me at all costs. Images flashed through my mind.

Darkness... A bloody figure... He must run, he must escape... I could feel the boy's feelings as if they were my own, I could see his memories as if I had been there myself. So that's what you've been trying to tell me all this time?

Finally, Simon came to the basement, ripped open the door, and slammed it behind him. He puffed for a few moments, leaning against the wooden board, then nestled himself between a cardboard box and some bags. He was shaking, trembling with fear. He knew he was going to be killed, he knew it when he saw another boy being torn to pieces by three vampires.

The boy uttered one last hoarse word: Run! And Simon ran, even though he knew then that it was over. He ran and ran as if there was any hope of survival. That tiny spark in his heart died out completely when the door swung open and he heard the slow, insistent footsteps.

This is a nightmare. There are no such things as vampires, he thought. He pressed his hands to his lips to try to suppress the sobs that shook him unstoppably. Suddenly, the cardboard box flew across the room and the vampire cut off his escape route with a triumphant grin. Then he grabbed his hair and pulled him, not even realizing that Simon was doing everything he could to slow his pace. He knew where they were going, back to the great hall, back to where the previous boy had been murdered.

The double doors opened for the vampire, and he dragged the boy to the man on the throne, against all of Simon's resistance. The other two vampires responsible for the death of Simon's friend stood on either side of the platform, their clothes stained red with fresh blood.

He was afraid to die, he didn't want to die. He had so much more to do. Go home, reassure her parents that he was just sleeping at a friend's house, and then beg their forgiveness for worrying. To put up with her big sisters' pranks and comfort her with ice cream if one of the boys dumped her, or even just explain math to his little sister if she didn't understand it. What will happen if he dies? Who will take care of his family? Who will pacify his parents if they fight? Who will comfort his big sister if they break up? Who will explain math to his little sister? Will he die...

The vampire slammed him hard to the ground.

"Please... I don't want to die..."

He looked slowly at the man on the throne. At that moment, his breath froze on his lips, his eyes widened, and Simon was paralyzed. What kind of creature could he be? - he thought. He was completely fascinated and enthralled.

Never in his life had he seen a man so beautiful, his face as if carved from marble by angels. His expression was cold, and commanding, like a true monarch. Yet perhaps it was his eyes that fascinated the boy most: those blue-silver irises that scrutinized him without mercy. His hair was grey, or rather snow-white, and he wove some of it in silver jewels.

The Lord of the Vampires smiled, but there was no kindness in the gesture. Suddenly he was in front of Simon, and the boy would have instinctively taken a step back had he not bumped into the chest of one of the vampires.

"You looked at me, human," he declared.

"I'm sorry... " Simon said quickly, "I'm deeply sorry, Sir... I didn't mean to... Accidentally..."

"Look at me, boy," he said, and Simon slowly raised his eyes to his face again.

He looked even more beautiful up close.

"Do you like what you see?" the creature asked.

What could he say to that? He nodded hesitantly.

"Then I'll be merciful to you, I'll be the last one you see."

It happened so fast, that he hardly realized it. The world went dark before him, and the next moment he felt unbearable pain. Something warm flowed down his face. She screamed, and howled, as he heard the man quietly laugh. Ephraim gouged out his eyes, and though Simon could not see it, he licked the blood from his fingers with relish before moving back to his throne.

"He's yours. Kill him slowly," he said, and Simon had no time to beg, he felt the fangs tearing into his flesh.

Then he screamed and screamed until even a little sound couldn't come out of his throat. He had no idea how long it was before he finally lost consciousness, and death ended his suffering.

I blinked and withdrew my hand. Simon didn't say anything after that. He must have used up all his energy to show me this, as his figure looked more transparent than ever. He looked more hurt... more dead than ever. His empty eyesockets looked at me, the bruises and bitemarks on his neck seemed to become worse.

For some unfathomable reason, I did not want to see him like this. I lightly touched his face and covered the dark eye sockets. I wanted to give him some of my energy.

"Thank you, Simon."

From the edge of my vision, I saw the Necromancer's face change. I think that was the first time I surprised him.

When I pulled my hand back, his eyes were back to normal and the bitemarks on his neck faded to red scars.

The Necromancer stepped up to me. "What did he show you?"

My hands clenched into fists, my teeth gritted. There are no words for what I have just seen.

 "I know who killed him," I said instead, and he looked at me questioningly.

"My father," I added.

The Necromancer pondered. "Of course, I had almost forgotten! Vengeful ghosts are like blood curses. If their killer is too strong or can find a way to defend themselves, they look for someone else to avenge their death, usually the next of kin."

"Those ghosts... all of them...," I uttered quietly, but my voice trailed off.

"Help me," the ghost asked.

"They will not disappear until someone dies," explained the Necromancer, "That's what vengeful spirits are like."

"Can't you do something?" I looked up at the man, and he shook his head almost immediately.

"But," he added, "you can ask the spirits to wait and give you time. It is not recommended to refuse the transcendent forces, but there are loopholes.

"OK, then Simon, can you wait a little?" I turned to the ghost, who nodded in agreement.

I sighed deeply. What can you do in a situation like this? Did these ghosts really expect me to fight the Fifth just because they asked for my help?

Simon was gone, leaving me alone with the Necromancer. And we're done, I think. After all, he tried, but that was as far as it went.

"Would you like me to read your fortune, Shaytan?" he asked.

And then, to my suspicious look, he quickly added that it was, of course, free of charge.

"A reading?" I raised one eyebrow. "Isn't that the expertise of mages?"

"As a matter of fact," he smiled, "we taught it to them."

He guided me back to my armchair, and then he sat down in his. At a snap, a deck of cards and a small pouch appeared on the glass table.

"What would you like me to read from cards or bones?" he asked.

"Whichever is more accurate," I shrugged.

The man sitting opposite me smiled even wider. He snapped his fingers again and the deck disappeared.

"I'm a necromancer, and as such I might be a little better with the language of bones."

I nodded. The Necromancer poured the contents of the tiny pouch into one palm, closed it with the other, and concentrated for a few moments with his eyes closed. Finally, he let them fall to the glass table. He opened his eyes and began to study the position of the tiny, old, and yellowed bones.

"You have a particularly difficult future ahead of you," he declared.

"You're kidding, aren't you?" I asked hopefully, but he shook his head. I can't have a normal life, okay, I accepted it as a child, but only heaven can tell what's wrong with me that life keeps getting more difficult!

"You're going to bring change to the world, though whether you're moving the wheel of fate for good or ill is yet to be seen," he continued, "Three things will help you on your path: souls, blood, and famiglia."

"Can't I just live in peace and go to school?"

The Necromancer smiled gently. "Probably not."

"And what's with the souls, blood and famiglia thing?" I frowned.

I love how the predictions are always in nostradamian subjective language — why can't you just tell me that next week a bus is going to hit me or something?

"I have no idea," he replied simply, with an amused grin, and I began to doubt that he really knew how to read fortunes, "The messages of the bones are not for me but for you. It's up to you to understand what they mean."

"Protect your famiglia, it is in danger," the Necromancer continued, "Bad blood threatens. The death of the innocent heart brings the end of the false rule, and the crown denies its bearer.

"I do not understand," I declared.

"Prophecies are not always clear at first," explained the Necromancer, "When the time comes, surely you will understand."

The Necromancer sighed deeply, then snapped his fingers. By the time I blinked again, Des, Alice, and Alex were beside me again. My friends looked at each other, and then at me, puzzled.

"Can I help you with anything else, gentlemen?" asked the Necromancer with a charming grin.

Alex blinked in surprise at the skull the man held in his hand. When did that get there?

The Necromancer looked at him sharply.

"You have perfect taste, Mister," he said, "Did my dear Nancy's beauty catch your eyes? Though I must say, we have been married for a long time."

The wolf was unable to speak and merely gaped like a fish cast ashore. I too blinked at the Necromancer with rather round eyes. Did he really marry a skull?

"Well, I guess we'd better be off then!" Des jumped up from his seat.

"Oh, I see," said our host, with slight disappointment in his voice, "That's a pity, I rarely have such amusing company..."

He stood up, planted a kiss on the skull's forehead, then placed it in the armchair and ordered it to wait while he saw his guests out. A chill ran down my spine at the scene. The Necromancer was with us until we passed through the iron gates of the cemetery. Then he took off his top hat again and bowed.

"Goodbye, gentlemen," he said with his usual sly, yet sugary smile, "I wish you a frightful night."

With that, Gironde Mehisto disappeared into the thick, ghostly fog of the cemetery.