Dear Ill Morgue,
It is with great anticipation and excitement that I write to you, as I prepare to embark on my very first exorcism mission. While I acknowledge that I am a novice in this field, without prior experience in such endeavors, I am eager to explore and learn from the challenges that lie ahead.
As individuals who possess extraordinary gifts that transcend the boundaries of science and logic, we share a unique bond. Our eyes have been granted the ability to peer into the abyss of the unknown, and our ears are finely attuned to the silent whispers of the dead.
In light of my lack of experience, I find myself contemplating whether you believe I possess the necessary qualities to undertake this sacred task. Your guidance and mentorship would mean the world to me as I navigate this uncharted territory.
P.S. This better come with fucking health insurance.
Your Comrade in Cleansing,
Meirit Janus
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Meirit strolled into the office like a boss, carrying a tray of freshly brewed tea. Her footsteps were lighter than a feather as she approached the sorry excuse of a teenage boy slumped in his chair.
Dearill, the master of sarcasm, beckoned her over with a voice that oozed fake affection.
"Mei-Mei! Come on over!" Dearill cooed, sounding like he was trying to tame a stray mutt.
Meirit, clearly fed up with his bullshit, rolled her eyes and replied, "Yeah, yeah. Hey kid, want some tea? It's chamomile, great for knocking you out." The boy blushed, realizing that his sleep-deprived state was as noticeable as a neon sign. (I mean, seriously, the dude looked like a zombie.)
"Thank you," he muttered, taking the cup from her and sipping it cautiously.
Meirit then plopped a cup of black coffee on Dearill's desk, sliding it towards him with a devilish grin. "Here's your black coffee, straight from the depths of hell."
"You followed my instructions to the letter, right?" Dearill asked, his mischievous tone hinting at some diabolical plan.
Meirit flashed a fake smile, her eyes narrowing with annoyance, as she plopped down next to the teenage boy.
"Yes. I used Netherworld beans, ground them up with a bone grinder, heated the water to a devilish 666 Fahrenheit (that's 352° Celsius for you folks), let it steep for exactly 6 minutes and 66 seconds, and filtered it through a veil of cobwebs from Gehenna. Just drink it."
"Perfect!" Dearill finally lifted his mask, revealing only his mouth, before taking a sip of the drink. The grin of mischief forming on his lips was unmistakable.
"Uhm... The boy hesitantly spoke up, waiting for his turn to join the conversation.
"Ah, exorcism! What the hell do you need to get rid of?" Dearill leaned back, suddenly intrigued, while Meirit leaned in closer, her eyes locked on the client.
"It's the daughter of the Vollgard's House," The boy mumbled, his confidence dwindling.
"Who?" Meirit furrowed her brow, trying to make sense of the situation.
"Helga Vollgard. She's the deceased daughter of the principal of Vollgard's Academy. Her psycho boyfriend killed her when they were all alone at daddy's house," Dearill replied casually, twirling his fountain pen between his fingers like some twisted magician.
Bradley's eyes bulged with a mix of shock and terror. "How did you-"
"Guess who was the lucky mortician tasked with handling her dead body?" Dearill interrupted with an evil grin.
"Yours truly. Want me to give you a gory play-by-play of her autopsies?"
"Wait a damn minute. You're not a fucking coroner. How the hell do you have access to that information?" Meirit shot Dearill a suspicious look, not buying his claims.
"Magic, sweetheart. Pure magic. Now, spill the beans, er....." Dearill tilted his head, realizing they hadn't bothered to ask for the poor kid's name.
"It's Bradley. Bradley Stray... I was her friend" Bradley replied softly, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and hope.
"Alright, Bratley," Dearill deliberately mispronounced his name, his tone dripping with condescension, as he gestured for Bradley to continue.
Bradley chose to let the mispronunciation slide, recognizing the deliberate teasing and not wanting to derail the conversation.
"It was her birthday two weeks ago. Her friends and I went to the old house where she died, thinking it would be a chance to... say goodbye to her one last time. We had heard rumors that the house was haunted, so we thought it would be the perfect opportunity to try and communicate.." Bradley admitted, his fingers nervously toying with the handle of his teacup.
"Ah, a classic case of dumbass teens playing with the dead, hahahaha. What's next, a Ouija board?" Dearill chuckled, taking a sip of his black coffee as he listened intently.
Bradley flinched, confirming Dearill's assumption with a nod of his head.
"We snuck out on her birthday... and played the game in that house. We knew it was stupid, but what do you expect from a group of grieving teenagers? She didn't deserve any of this," Bradley confessed, his grip on the teacup handle tightening as he stared down at the liquid.
Dearill's tone shifted, his playful demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness. "I expect you to mind your damn business. Unless you're a psychic or a paranormal expert, maybe flowers and cake at her grave would have been a much nicer tribute, don't vou think?"
Meirit noticed the transformation in Dearill's demeanor, his annoying smirk replaced by a stern expression. The room grew increasingly tense as they delved deeper into the unsettling story.
"Ah, shit! Talk about a birthday party gone wrong, am I right?" Meirit chimed in, trying to lighten the mood in the room.
Bradley let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, we realized that a little too late. We were so caught up in the excitement of her communicating with us that we made this promise to be with her forever since she was so damn lonely. But... well, things took a turn for the worse."
Concerned, Meirit reached out and placed her hand on Bradley's shoulder. "Hey, Brad, you alright?"
But before Bradley could respond, a jolt of shock surged through Meirit's body, leaving her momentarily stunned. Her mind went blank, and suddenly she found herself in a freakin' virtual reality game, standing in front of a beautiful Victorian home. It was like she was living in some first-person shooter, except without the guns and explosions.
Knock, knock
The door swung open in a matter of seconds, revealing a young, bubbly brunette girl with eyes as green as the Hulk. "Babeee, you made it!" she squealed with excitement, dragging some dude inside.
"Couldn't resist the invitation," the man replied with a smirk.
"Mom and Dad are off on their honeymoon, so I guess we can have our own little getaway," the girl winked, leading him into the living room.
And just like that, the vision disappeared, leaving Meirit scratching her head and wondering who the hell that man was.
"If that girl was Helga, then I must have been playing as her crazy ex-boyfriend. Talk about a freaky connection between this Bradley dude and someone else's memories," Meirit mused, her brow furrowing in confusion.
Bradley's voice trembled as he continued. "I-I'm sorry. It's all my fault... You were right, I was a dumbass for letting everyone go."
Now curious and concerned, Meirit leaned in and asked, "What happened, Bradley?"
Bradley took a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he clung onto his teacup. "When she said we would be together forever, she meant we'll die with her.
After that night, weird shit started happening. Every time we went to sleep, we'd wake up back in that house, the three of us."
Dearill snapped his fingers dramatically, a look of realization crossing his face. "I fucking got it!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement.
Bradley's eyes it up with hope. "Wait, you know how to stop this madness?"
Dearill nodded confidently, his tone dripping with self-assurance. "It's like Groundhog Day, but Bill Murray's trapped in a goddamn haunted house with a dead high schooler!"
Meirit couldn't help but roll her eyes at Dearill's explanation. "Oh, please, spare us the movie references and come up with something actually useful, she snapped, her patience wearing thin.
"What? It's a valid comparison!" Dearill protested, taking a sip of his black coffee. He then dramatically turned his chair away from them, sulking like a petulant child.
Bradley's face fell, disappointment evident in his eyes. He was desperate for a concrete solution to his haunting predicament, and Dearill's antics weren't helping.
Meirit offered a sympathetic smile to Bradley. "Sorry about him. He's... well, let's just say he's a few screws short of a full toolbox. Pay him no mind and continue, please."
Bradley sighed, the weight of confusion and distress evident in his voice. "We were all freaked out by our sleepwalking episodes, except for Jenna. She was Helga's best friend and she somehow saw it as some kind of special bond or sign, even though it creeped the hell out of the rest of us."