50: You F*cking Deadbeat

“Oh, before you go, take this.” Gretchen rushes over with a large container of salt. “You might need it.”

“I don’t think I can take it with me...but…” I open the cylinder and tip the spout into my jeans pocket. “I can take whatever I can get on me.”

I never noticed how the seams inside my pockets aren’t sewn that well until tiny little grains slip through and tumble down my pant legs. “Do you have a chair...for me?” I ask and Gretchen immediately goes about the space searching for something for me to sit on.

She comes back with a bucket. It’ll work, I guess. My shaky hand goes to rest on the man’s knee as I mutter the simple incantation for the third time. Three times too many if you ask me. He wiggles and jerks trying to break my hold, but I just squeeze tighter. Our eyes meet seconds before the basement fades away.

I had been expecting the basement of Mystic Moon or the home of the man, but this place doesn’t seem right. The ghost town has to hold some meaning for someone and I sure hope it’s the man. As of right now, neither are in sight and I can’t decide if that’s good or bad.

My aimless pace starts out straight, but ends up curving along an invisible path. Something or someone draws me toward them. Again, I’m hoping it’s the man, but I’m positive I won’t be so lucky.

The further I walk the more the town changes into something disturbing. The average country farm houses become more run down before turning into dilapidated, crumbling structures. Black, thick vines that seem to be alive are attached to every surface. The sky is gray and the trees are dead. What the hell is this place? The upsidedown?

I give a chuckle at my own joke, but it’s quickly cut short by movement up ahead. A shadow with limbs too long for its body, a gate that’s inhuman and the groans of a tortured soul.

“I know who you think you are and who others believe you to be.” That same garbled voice of the man fills the eerie quiet. “The one that will stop our ascension.” He’s within sight now. His shadowed features become clearer.

Still unfamiliar, I gaze at him. His disheveled, old time clothes, the cut of his hair. He’s been dead a while. He lurches forward and I stumble backwards. “But you are nothing and this one is mine. “He is mine and many more will be ours.”

“Great speech, but I gotta disagree. Sorry not sorry.”

He quickly closes the space between us. Spry for a dead guy, isn’t he. “Witch,” he shouts, “we would’ve killed abominations like you when I was alive.”

“Who are you calling an abomination? You’re the one leeching on some innocent dude and I’m just trying to mind my own business.”

His boney, dead brittle hand soars through the air and slaps against my face, the force of it twists my head to the side. Except it isn’t skin against skin, it’s bone and fingernails against skin. His clawed hand scratches along my cheek. My own fingers go to dab at my face and I’m met with a sharp sting.

“You fucking deadbeat.” I hiss at him with my head still turned and hanging down. Keeping my shoulder shifted at an angle, I dig my hand deep into my pocket. The tiny grains of salt fill my palm, but I make sure to save some for later. “I am going to be leaving this place with whatever-the-hell-his-name-is.” Without warning I toss the salt in his face.

He shrinks back in agony, shrieks of pain, his hands clawing at his own face. It gives me the perfect opportunity to make a run for it. I have no idea if I’m going in the right direction, but I run until there’s a huge distance between us. The panic that the dream realm gives me bears down on me and it gets hard to breath.

I’m stuck into a battle with myself as I force long, deep breaths into my lungs instead of the sharp, quick gasps that deprives me of the oxygen I need to stay on my feet. My feet stumble over vines that are as thick of tree stumps. Some smaller, skinnier vines recoil as I pass.

And then it all stops. The vines disappear. The crumbling road and sidewalk become perfectly paved. The trees have lush summer green leaves instead of barely there brown crisps. One house sticks out among all the others. It’s gleaming large windows, an immaculate car in the driveway, and a bright red front door.

I stare at it dumbfounded on the sidewalk. The door swings open. At first I don’t see anyone, but as the door opens wider, I see it, a shadow of a person blocking the way.
“We met again under circumstances that don’t involve you.”

“Jezmin?”

“You’re a fool if you think you can alter the spell. We are saving the world for a worse fate.” She speaks in her infamous riddles, only giving insults or vague information, information to peak my curiosity and pull me away from why I’m really here.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean…” I almost fall for it, “you know what, never mind.” My head whips back the way I came searching for the ghost man. He’ll probably be catching up soon. “I will deal with you later, right now, I want to get back, so where is he?” I demand.

Her carefree, taunting attitude changes into some more animal. “You can’t have him. He is the first of many and you alone can’t save them all.”

I rush her and slam into her very real body. Her own boney hands grope at me, but I escape her clutches with minimal damage. The house seems to double in size once entering. I stand motionless debating about where to go. Stay on the main floor? The basement? Upstairs? If only knew his name I could call out to him, but I’m left confused and clueless.

“Ha-zel.” Jezmin growls from behind me. She must sense my uncertainty, because she gives a haughty laugh.

My feet jolt into motion and I take off into the living room. She circles around and cuts me short of what I presume to be the basement door, so I back track only to get cut off again. With no other option, I march upstairs. I pound and slam each door open. All are empty. Only one more remains. It swings open with a lazy creak as I shove my palm into it.

A startled yelp becomes my own yelp of surprise as my eyes land the man. He sits on the floor, eyes glazed with tears, shaking uncontrollably, unable to process what’s going on. As I approach him, he jumps to his feet, hands swatting at me, but when his eyes meet my eyes, he calms.

“You. I’ve seen you before.” Even as he says it he doesn’t know from where, but I do. I was hoping he could sense that I’m human and not a ghost come to life, but I’ll take recognition.

“We have to go.” I reach for him. “Take my hand.”

“Ha-zel.” Jezmin sings from down the hall. Her nails scratch against the wall as she walks our way. The sound of her ripping into the wall echoes throughout the house.
But the sound of the front door slamming open trumps everything. Jezmin and her nails, the man’s muttered sobs and my pounding heart. The shock jolts me to stand straighter, the wood shattering from the force leaves my ears ringing. Man ghost has arrived.

Before I have a chance to jump on the stranger forcing him to take my hand Jezmin stands in the doorway, her shadow seeping into the room. It withers and moves as if it has its own identity. The man scrambles across the floor and jumps on the bed like a frightened child.

I make the mistake of standing still. Jezmin’s shadow hand peels up from the floor and latches onto my ankle jerking me off my feet. I land with a hard thump against the wood flooring. The room spins and my eyes remain unfocused for several seconds, but my mind still works through the pain.

With shaky fingers I dig for another fistfull of salt. “I’m sorry, but kinda deserve it.” I mutter before sprinkling salt on the shadow limb. The hand snaps back to pool at Jezmin’s feet and she howls in anger. There’s no time to react, or protect myself as she lunges at me. I throw the remaining salt in my hand at her. It isn’t much, but it at least gets her off me. Her real-ish body shrinks back as she sizzles and steams as the salt eats away at her skin.

Down the hall the sounds of destruction come closer. Man ghost is near. I rush at the stranger not wasting a second. I grab him so hard that he flinches, but I latch on tighter keeping him sneaking away. “It’s time to go.”

I’ve never really freely left the dream realm. I’ve either died or been attacked resulting in my departure and I’m not hanging out to have Mr. Ghosty rip me apart, so as I stand on the bed with this stranger who’s terrified to the point of passing out, I think of Mystic Moon’s basement, Gretchen. Home.

My breath gushes out of my lungs as the bed disappears beneath our feet. We freefall into an endless black pit. Anything is better than here.

We slam back into our bodies. The man being still tied to the chair just rattles the piece of furniture to the point of breaking it, but me on my bucket, I completely fall off and land awkwardly on the floor.

“Thank God.” Gretchen groans as she rushes to me. She squeezes me into a suffocating hug before holding me out at arm’s length. “Your cheek.” Her eyes are glued on my face, examining the scratch mark.

I open my mouth to reply, but the lights go out. The air is still deathly cold. I can hear Monty bicker, “Come on,” from upstairs.

“It’s not over yet.” I mutter as I slowly get back up on my feet. “Get him out.” I shout.

Brooklyn stands motionless gazing around the room, Gretchen refuses to leave my side and Aesha is scared stiff. It’s Harlot that hops to the task. She mutters a tiny chant and the ropes slide off. Draping one limp arm around her shoulders she heaves the man to his feet. I can barely make out her snapping at Aesha for help.

My blood races as they ascend the steps. They’re not gonna make it, they’re not gonna make it, I chant inside my head. But they do, because Monty’s staple voice sounds from the top of the steps. She helps them the rest of the way, seconds before a swift gust of wind blows through the basement knocking the three of us remaining downstairs off our feet.

The sound of the door slamming shut takes all of our breaths away. We’re locked in complete darkness with a vengeful ghost. The only way out is either possession or victory.