Sixty-One ◑ The Ghosts

Cold wind blew from all directions, stirring up the entire mountainside as though it was being breathed into life.

Lucille walked along the path, with the tiny ice chunks melting under her soles. The spots that her feet had touched made an imprint on the ground, clearing away all the white and baring the dead grass underneath. The castle-like structure stood before her like a warning, proud and tall against the slope of the mountain.

Even though she still had a long way to go, the sight of its empty windows and gray brick walls made her heart stumble. Heat ran through her veins, whether from fear or anticipation, she had no idea. All she knew was that she was getting closer and closer, weaving through the leafless trees and the bushes, and that she was not going to back down any sooner.

She would not back down at all. Whatever awaited her—she wouldn’t be running away from it.

The air was still set at a freezing temperature, but she could no longer feel it. Hiding behind a tree trunk, she stared at the rusted iron fence that surrounded the cottage. Snow and dead vines were wounded around the pointed spikes, thick and intrusive, but not enough to hide the landscape beyond, the dead bushes and the empty fountain.

There was an eerie kind of darkness enveloping the area, quite like a cloud hovering overhead, but the sky was clear. It seemed to be coming from the house itself, a quiet, threatening aura.

For a second Lucille hesitated. She still didn’t know how to get past the fence, but the atmosphere of the place almost killed her desire to make an attempt.

It didn’t help that at the base of the house stood two figures, patrolling the area.

And they were speaking.

“I felt it,” a male voice said. “She’s here.”

“You said that yesterday,” a female voice replied dismissively. “Let’s just try to find her, yeah? I don’t want to get punished.”

Her heart leapt. Was she being anticipated? If so, then how?

She slinked back behind the trunk, cursing herself for not spotting them more quickly. But that was the thing: she could swear that the figures weren’t there a second ago. They just sort of materialized from thin air.

Were these figures Cade’s servants? Who were they?

Slowly and subtly, she peeked from behind the trunk, her hands pressed against the rough bark. She managed to get a good view of the two figures from where she was standing, but she still didn’t see much. In fact, there wasn’t anything to see in the first place.

The figures were nothing but shifting humanoid forms made seemingly of thick white smoke. They were not human at all. They didn’t even look solid.

Lucille retreated. This wasn’t good. What if there was more? She had to find another way to get in.

Surely there had to be something here. She had a gut feeling that there was another way inside. She didn’t know if this hunch was caused by the return of her magic or some other unknown force, but either way, she felt compelled to scour her surroundings. She craned her neck and looked around, all the while keeping herself pressed against the tree.

Snow. There was only snow everywhere. Snow and dried up plants, sprinkled with fallen twigs and pine needles. Or at least, that was what she saw at first.

As she turned to her right, she noticed some kind of a chink in the fence, a few misplaced spikes big enough for someone to crawl into.

She let out a shaky breath, stealing a quick glance at the figures. They were slowly drifting towards the corner of the gardens. She waited for them to disappear, then she made a break for it, heading towards the gap and sliding inside with no problem. In the same swift manner she slipped behind an untamed dead bush, her pulse racing.

Now she was close to the house. There were no other figures floating around.

And miraculously, as though the universe was favoring her for the first time, she was situated just a few feet away from a basement trapdoor under a window. It didn’t have a lock or a chain on the handle.

Lucille took another deep breath. Her insides were writhing like snakes. Now that she was inside the property, she could say for sure that there was a strange air clinging onto the façade of the house. It was almost physical; the gray bricks of the exterior kept shifting as though covered with smoke. The complete and utter silence around the property was nothing short of unnatural. It was as though the entire structure was waiting, preparing for something.

Out of precaution, she summoned a low level of fire in her palms. Flames appeared, clinging on hands like a glove, flickering in the odd wind.

It wasn’t good enough as a defense if worst came to worst, but she darted towards the trapdoor anyway.

Fortunately, none of the ghostly figures appeared. She ducked under the window, yanked at the handle, and threw open the doors. There was a ladder leading down, but there was only darkness further beyond.

With one last look around, she began to descend the steps, closing the door the moment she got in.

The wooden bars were cold, rough, digging into the soles of her feet with every step. Still, she didn’t mind. She was just glad to find footing in her descent, especially since it was a long journey down before she landed on freezing concrete. The low flames in her hand broke through the pitch black, revealing a long narrow hallway before her.

The ceiling was low, and with a slight wince, she realized that it was made of wood. That wasn’t the worst thing, however. Not even the fact that she had to crawl and feel the slimy floor on her knees and palms. Not even the strange shadows that shifted and disappeared in the darkness. It was the scrapes above her, low and light but enough to make the beams creak.

“Here,” a female voice was saying, deeper and huskier than the one earlier. “I’m here.”

Lucille held her breath. She was scared, but she knew she had wasted enough time already. There was a beam of light breaking through the darkness, a square outline coming from the vent. The footsteps retreated, disappeared, and even though she wasn’t sure if the entities were totally gone, she still pushed the metal cover of the vent and went out.

A chapel. She was in some sort of a dilapidated chapel, complete with battered wooden benches, tarnished metal candle holders, and an altar filled with dead flowers.

“Here.”

She whipped around at the source of the sound, readying the flames in her hands. However, the fire died down once she saw who was speaking. A short-haired, blackened creature was crouching from behind the altar, wearing a stained and tattered dress. Its eyes were pure white, wide and filled with surprise, its cracking lips slack.

There was no mistaking it.

Lucille’s entire body sagged with a mixture of relief, sadness, and apprehension. “Agnes?”

Agnes, now completely withered, and emaciated, stood straighter from behind one of the benches. “Is it really you, Lucille?”

“Yes.” She swallowed back the tears that drummed from behind her eyes. “Is it . . . is it really you?”

“I look a little different,” Agnes whispered, trying for a smile. Her teeth were rotting. “I’ve been trying to call for you. Is this another illusion? Are you real? Am I being tricked into going back to my cell . . . ?”

The broken hope in her voice broke Lucille’s heart and melted her apprehension. She knew that *this* might be the illusion, but she didn’t care anymore. The days of worry and yearning for her friend finally exploded. Without an inch of hesitation, she crossed the room, pulled Agnes from behind the row of dead flowers, and enclosed her in her arms.

Agnes collapsed in Lucille’s arms. “It really is you.”

“It really is me.” Lucille pulled away and brushed Agnes’s hair from her face, keeping her hands on her cheeks as she kissed her on the forehead. “I remember everything now, and I’m sorry.”

Tears rolled down from Agnes’s white eyes. “I’m the one who should apologize. I was stupid. I never should’ve believed him. I never should’ve—”

“It’s okay,” Lucille interrupted, shaking her head. “I’ll get you out of here, and we’ll never look back.”

“Lucille.” Fear crept up in Agnes’s ruined features. Her lower lip was shaking, her throat bobbing up. “Lucille, you have to understand. It won’t be that easy.”

With that, Agnes yanked Lucille’s arm and pulled her towards the spot she was hiding in a while ago. Although her face was far too mangled to convey a proper emotion, her dread was clear. She seemed to be emanating it. As she clasped Lucille’s hand and looked into her eyes, her entire demeanor grew darker, colder.

“What is it?” Lucille couldn’t keep the quivers out of her voice. “What’s happening? Does it have something to do with the figures I’ve seen outside?”

Agnes’s aura darkened even more. “Have they seen you?”

“No, but. . . .” Lucille trailed off, catching a thumping sound in the distance. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes.” Agnes swallowed hard. “Lucille, we can’t just leave. We have to—”

*BOOM.*

The loud thud shook the chapel. Something beneath them had just moved, but there was something else that rang from outside.

With the sound still ringing in her ears, Lucille grabbed Agnes’s hand and hurriedly guided her towards the open vent, but before they could get there, a shadowy white figure rose from the hole, followed by another one.

Then, more figures rose from the walls, from behind the benches, from the floor and the ceiling, growing more and more solid like they’re sucking the colors from the place. Slowly, their features became clearer, more recognizable for Lucille.

And that was when she realized that the figures standing before her were the ghosts of all the ones she’d punished.