It was a tepid Thursday night in Brighton, Michigan, the sultry June air disturbed solely by a light breeze, and the inky black night aloft was awash with the luminous glow from the city below. Downtown, both Main Street and Grand River were dotted with bars and restaurants abuzz with activity, with patrons chattering, utensils clinking, and the last rounds of food sizzling in the kitchen and wafting a savory aroma that drifted out to the street. Midnight would soon be upon Brighton and most of the slowly diminishing crowd would return home within the hour to prepare for the following workday, and save for a few gas stations, burger restaurants, and supermarket, the city would fall into quiet suburban repose.
The Mill Pond, a decent-sized lake encircled by a wooden promenade seemed to be the heart of Brighton, especially in the summer, when a misty font would spout on the end facing the street, fishermen gathering on the three-spoked bridge, affectionately dubbed 'The Tridge' to cast their lines in the murky waters below, and breadcrumbs were tossed to the many waterfowl along the sidewalk. To the west was an impressive playground with wooden castles known as the Imagination Station, dotted with families earlier, and on the eastern end was a gazebo that hosted free concerts in the summer from a band made up of the county's residents.
Under the streetlights of Grand River, Octavia Tessitore, a handsome girl of about seventeen smiled radiantly, feeling pleasure well up inside her as many a young man turned to gaze admiringly. The product of selective marriage among the best of old aristocratic blood, she was olive-skinned by birth and bronzed well in the Sicilian sun of her home, with warm, sparkling golden-brown eyes, soft Meditteranean features,and thick, wavy black hair framing her pretty, heart-shaped face. Tall and curvaceous, her natural with every tilt of a head, she was radiant with pride that men thought her worthy of lust.
Wicker baskets filled with fragrant pink blossoms depended from black, wrought iron lampposts whose frosty globes cast a hazy gold on the concrete as she left the relatively plain-faced crowd and strode west towards this Mill Pond. Brighton, where she was to meet her new partner for an assignment. This was because Octavia wasn't an ordinary teenager, rather, she was a shapeshifting soldier and she could morph into the very arachnids that inspired her names to engage in battle against all that threatened the realms of magick and mortals. She knew that magick not only existed, though spellcasting wizards, witches and warlocks dealt with it most, but so did all things deemed unearthly and paranormal by mundane mortals, and that the preternatural was too vast to contain to the sole realm of Earth, and that Earth's mundanes needed to be protected against the malevolent forces of the preternatural. It was part of what had rendered her ageless centuries ago, as part of a confederation of spellcasters, fighters, rogues, rangers, and all others who could use their talents to ensure the safety of their realm. Her current mission had taken her to Brighton, a city she hadn't heard of, where intelligence indicated there was to be an influx in preternatural activity, and that she was to investigate it.
Against the seafoam green railings stood a shadowy figure who hardly lifted his head in acknowledgment, the silvery moonlight catching on the lenses of his rectangular spectacles, and he stepped closer. Octavia whistled approvingly at the sight of the newcomer as the glow aloft revealed a young man with eyes cold and grey as a winter's sky , and his long blonde hair and well defined Nordic features might have made him beautiful enough to transcend gender if not for the saturnine, unfathomable frown marring his face, far too melancholic for a boy his age. Standing at almost seven-foot tall, he was lanky in build, with pale skin stretched taut against his prominent cheekbones and worryingly dark circles beneath his eyes. . They had met by chance in the past, this was to be the first time in Octavia's six hundred-year life that she would be paired with Edgar Falkenberg, a famed alchemist and warlock of a past shadowy and cold as the Hebridean Island he had perished on.
" Ciao, Falkenberg, what's a boy like you doing out this late? Don't you have school tomorrow?"
"I could say the same about you," Ed replied quietly, correcting his posture and grimacing at how Octavia's voice seemed to echo across the unperturbed pond. "I've heard things could be interesting in the next few months though..."
Something about a haunted house and up and coming stars in our world who don't even know what they are- word on the street says one of them's the type that comes along once a century."
"If that's the case, they might be of greater relevance than we think..."
"That's possible," Octavia said, and she joined Edgar at the railings, sighing wistfully as she looked out over the water, watching a delicate pink petal light on the smooth surface and cast the slightest of ripples upon it." Aw well, we have all summer to find them, so why not have some fun while we're doing it? It's just like being on one long holiday!"
" If nothing happens first..."
Meanwhile, further east, where Grand River and Main Street intersected, a clock adorning the wall of a building struck midnight silently, and the two figures on the Tridge had vanished.
------
The month of June had finally come, and with it's warm cerulean skies, came the last day of school for all boys and girls. In Scranton Middle School, on the southeastern side of the city, the entire eighth grade had gathered in the gymnasium for a ceremony commencing their time as students and to mingle with their peers, signing yearbooks and discussing summer plans, and it is here our story truly starts.
Our protagonist,Kurt Van de Groot, wasn't particularly heroic looking, being a tall, stocky boy of thirteen who would grow to be as broad shouldered and burly as his father, though ruder people would and did,find pleasure in drawing special focus to the crescent of fat beneath his square chin, or his somewhat rotund belly that rolled over his waistline if he had fastened his belt too tight. This aside, he was a decent looking young man with messy, dark hair and a bright smile, though his most peculiar features were his eyes, one brown as a calf;s and the other green as spring grass. Nonetheless, he was a sanguine,amicable,sort of person with a crass, brazen charisma and a decent sense of humor, and was liked by most of his peers.
"FREEDOM!!!" Kurt bellowed as he shot out of the doors of the auditorium where the eighth grade population of Scranton Middle School had been ushered in to watch a reel of memories for their final year of attendance, his group of close friends following.
Brighton's education system consisted of four elementary schools, with a fifth closed down when Kurthad been in the fourth grade and students redistributed, an intermediate school serving fifth and sixth graders, a middle school that he attended for seventh and eighth graders, and three high schools- the main one where he would attend, an academy who he knew nothing about, and an alternative school with a reputation for drawing in delinquents. Kurt was ecstatic to begin his last four years of education, envisioning the variety of classes, training to drive, the social aspect, and overall expanded freedom, and he would eagerly embrace all that was offered in his high school life, rather than simply study like his brother, a soon to be junior. However, he was anticipating joining the marching band, consisting of about 200 musicians from all grades with varying talent and enthusiasm levels. He was a fair enough trumpet player in the eighth grade band, confident in his abilities, not to mention almost all of his close friends were in band themselves, and he had begun to cross down the days until his first Band Camp in August.
"Oi, saturated fats! I get that it's almost lunch time, but that's the third time I've said your name!"
Kurt was startled out of his hazy daydream by his group of friends, who had gathered around, and he looked over to the intruder on his thoughts, offended less by the flippant remarks about his weight and subsequent implications about his appetite, and more at the fact that his daydream was done, "What did you say, Jake?"
You were spacing out on us! I was going to ask what we're gonna do this afternoon! I thought we were going to the Mill Pond!" Jakob replied, rolling his eyes and smirking, and Kurt elbowed him in response. Those more delicate in sensibilities might think the boys were bickering, but Kurt and his friends weren't as offended, and it was common for the boys to engage in blithe taunting of one another, knowing that it wasn't sincere.
Jakob Komorowski was a gangly Polack boy who was born and bred in Hamtramck, with shaggy brown sideburns and dull,mud colored eyes . He was a talkative,boisterous boy who had an opinion about everything and a talent for mechanical repair, as well as a distrust of bureaucracy. His abrasive way of stating things with little concern for others sensitivities, along with his hotheadedness and jackass stubbornness also got him into more trouble than he needed, usually with Kurt and friends at his side.He had an identical twin named Gregory who was well behaved, studious, and artistic, but a somber young man whose oversensitivity and bleak outlook was too much for the sanguine Kurt sometimes, and their interactions were fewer each day. Gregory had also made a conscious effort to not look like Jake completely starting in the fifth grade by growing his hair long and developing a sense of fashion.
"I was thinking that, and we can go, but something more interesting came up,"Kurt said, waiting for the giggling crowd to disperse around two of the boys who signed their yearbooks, the girls walking off with the prized signatures of two of the most handsome boys in their grade. "Roger! Buford! Over here! I want to talk to you two!"
The pair of boys made their way over far calmer than either Jake or Kurt , the crowd dispersing somewhat as students climbed onto yellow schoolbusses lined up by the curb, the warm, fetid exhaust of twenty or so rumbling diesel engines diffusing in the air. . "Alrighty, where's Tim? Did he get on the bus already?"
"We lost him back there,"the first newcomer said,shaking his head and gesturing to the door of the school where there remained a throng of students. Roger Nieminen was a mature, practical, industrious boy of few words who was less excitable than Kurt ,Jake, and Timothy, and while he usually agreed with whatever adventure they were embarking on, he kept them from being too brainless unless he felt that it would serve them well to learn the consequences of their behavior . Easily the tallest student in their year,he was robust in build,and had fair skin that tanned well,golden blonde hair, and cornflower blue eyes, and hailed from deep within copper country in the sylvan Upper Peninsula. He was at ease with being alone, especially when outside, and enjoyed hunting, fishing, and hiking the woods around his parent's small farm, his stoic, dependable nature alluring to girls."I can go looking if you want me too."
" Tell me, oh rotund one, what do you have planned for this lovely June afternoon?" asked the second in a dreamy tone, eyes shut with a content smile on his face. Buford Thibodeaux was a tall, athletic black boy from the marshes of Florida, with warm,deep brown eyes, and black hair ,though his slender,aquiline features hinted to a touch of French in his blood,and like Roger,more than a few girls tended to eye him hopefully. Relaxed,affable, and easily amused, his mellow nature, slow Florida drawl diluted by years in Michigan,and penchant for eccentric insights masked his sharp mind. He was also the most superstitious of the bunch, well versed in folklore,and was known to ramble on and on with his disorganized thoughts,only to confound some with an astute observation every now and then.
"You'll see!"Kurt grinned, his ample stomach aflutter as Roger came back with another classmate by his side. "Alright! The gang's all here!"
"Alrighty Kurt , don't flip your wig, I'm here! Now what's buzzin, cousin?"
Timothy Dombrowski was a short, swarthy boy whose features were concealed by a tattered fedora as old as him perched rakishly atop his short black hair, though a pair of broken glasses and an eternally mischievous grin could be glimpsed beneath the worn brim. Though he wasn't mean spirited by any means, he was cunning and tricky in his habits,with impersonating voices over mobile phone,blackmail,gossip, nicking other's possessions,forging anybody else's penmanship if provided a sample, general trickery,picking any sort of lock,sleight of hand,and other talents among his repertoire.
"Ok,check this out, "Kurt said, reaching into his knapsack and pulling out a newspaper clipping."I know we were going to go to the Mill Pond, but this morning I was leafing through the paper when this ad caught my eye. I would've shown you during the assembly, but I was too busy watching the slideshow!"
"Alrighty! Coupons for the Yum Yum Tree!" Jakob exclaimed, in reference to an interesting little restaurant downtown with the best desserts in the city and an electric train that traversed a circuit around the restaurant. "
Kurt snorted ."Nope-someone bought the Morris house-it's just a blurb, they don't say who did. I've always wanted to know what lies within and this might be our last chance to find out if it's really haunted! We've always talked about it, why not do it? It'd be a nice way to kick off summer vacation! "
"Lemme guess, you want us to go ghost hunting with you," Tim groaned good-naturedly, probably rolling his eyes from beneath the brim of his hat while Buford crunched on a sack of pork rinds with a dimwitted expression of bovine imbecility that concealed the thoughts racing about in his mind. Though Kurt was noted for many things, his extroverted disposition,sense of humor, creativity, bouncy spirits,and countless plans to have fun,and feared for his fierce temper and tenaciousness, he was most well known for his fascination with the unnatural and unexplained. He was convinced that preternatural phenomena were occurring all around them, always for him to take observation of, and was determined to prove it, usually accompanied by his motley group of friends.
A glance at his other friends revealed Roger, deep in thought, rested his chin on his hand, his face inscrutable as he likely formulated a plan, while Jake grinned and exclaimed. "Alright!! You just say when and I'll be there! I'm not afraid of ghosts!"
"I'll sit this one out, I have to work this afternoon," Tim apologized, bowing himself out with a tip of his ratty fedora and a crooked grin." I need the lettuce."
Kurt nodded, a tad disappointed that the five of them couldn't have a last excursion together, but rebounded and looked to the three of them for their answers.
"I'll go,"Roger stated, and Kurt nodded eagerly. The tall blonde was easily the smartest of the quartet, or at least the least prone to haste or acting on impulse( Buford was relatively phlegmatic, but tended to go along with Kurt , Jakob, and occasionally Tim's rash decisions to amuse himself), and his mature, responsible nature made him a welcome asset to their bunch to avoid the worst of trouble. "What else are you bringing so I know what to pack?"
"Ghosts are ok, but I'd like to meet aliens and ride in a flying saucer,"Buford stated, glancing up to the heavens as if in anticipation, then tapping his chin." Though it must be pretty awful to be a ghost when nobody's afraid of you or even gets startled when you appear in front of them. Why don't we go cheer them up?"
Kurt grinned and nodded. "Alrighty, we're meeting at the Mortis House at two for some ghost hunting!"
No sooner than he finished his sentence did he hear his name, and he turned, jumping a bit to see a fellow student standing behind him, materializing out of nowhere, it seemed, just like the ghosts he intended to catch. He thought he heard Tim snort, as the boy had apparently approached Kurt quietly and waited patiently until he had completed his speech.
" Judas PRIEST, Erik! You nearly gave me a heart attack! Where on earth did you spawn from?"
" Sorry about that," Erik Petersson was a small, sturdily built boy with silvery-white hair, lavender eyes, and a sweet moon face, with round, rosy red-framed glasses perched on the round tip of his nose. He and Kurt were amicable, and the brunet appreciated his patient tutoring the last year, but the shorter boy was closer to Roger in temperament and wasn't a part of his immediate circle of friends. Currently, he had a boxy-looking camera, unlike any model Kurt had ever seen on a strap around his neck and was fiddling with one of the dials, then removed the cap and glanced up at the group with his light eyes twinkling mysteriously." I was just wondering if you and your friends would like a souvenir from today! I've taken others, and I'll even develop them and send them out in about two weeks!"
Kurt wondered if Erik had overheard their conversation, but glanced to the other four and nodded, then gesturing for a few more people to join, Jake dragging his surly twin by the elbow to be photographed." Sure, why not?"
Erik nodded, crouching down and lifting his camera." Alright! Everybody, please stand together and I'll take your picture!"
Kurt nodded, gathering his motley bunch of eight or nine close friends into two rows, Tim responding with 'gouda' when instructed to say "cheese,", and a flash later, their last moments as eighth-graders from Scranton Middle School were immortalized in film.
--------
" The Mortis House of Brighton,Michigan said to be a homing beacon of sorts for preternatural activity,"Falkenberg said ,adjusting the straps of his rucksack and flipping through one of the bunches of brochures he had picked up. The following morning, he and Octavia had met at a hotel and been dropped off by one of the few cabs running around Brighton at the decrepit abode. Said cabbie accepted Octavia's many leather suitcases full of personal effects,perhaps because of the handsome tip, but raised a brow at Edgar, who had few objects in his possession, namely a backpack and a birdcage that held his familiar, a beautiful white Gyrfalcon named Freyja who appeared to be a mundane cockatoo when cloaked in illusion. Upon arriving, Freyja had flown off to explore the woods beyond, leaving her master and his obnoxious, loud companion to stride up the path of the house and gaze up at the decrepit manor.
v" Interestingly enough,this house was built when the city was little more than a settlement, and on the outskirts of it as well,surrounded by dense wilderness and distant from any real hubs of commerce at the time,such as what is now Detroit. What's even more intriguing is the lack of information available pertaining to this sinister abode, whether Mundane or Magick; even the archives only turned up two or three articles about the house's construction and the unfortunate death of young Viktor.Now,while there have been reports of dark creatures,possibly demons,lurking around in the 1800s, but again, Mr.Joachim Van der Graaf,the man who reported most of the events,was a recent immigrant from Holland who owned the local brewery and was fond of his alcohol and therefore, his anecdotes are of questionable legitimacy ,no official records of supernatural phenomenon exist at all. Either way, I can detect an unnatural presence;there's something lurking within the bowels of this manor that should not be unearthed."
"You know, I have that feeling too, but I think it's just last night's gelato .Only one way to find out just what's in store for us,then,"Octavia decided almost cheerily,finishing the last of her biscuits and tucking it into her jacket pocket to discard later,then pushing the door open."Coming?"
Inside, all was dark and dank as the sharp crack of a match split the silent,somber air. A little kerosene lantern sent the small shadows into a rapid retreat,which he held over his head,shivering at the heavy,wet odor of it, as he and Octavia looked around the foyer. The sweepingly grand room was laden with plump blankets of dust, with a staircase torn in two leading to another floor,and under that, a metal door-"could it be real brass?" he thought, with pure copper handles,and a feast of bludgeoned insects whose backs gleamed green all over the room He could sense the ghosts pressing up against his skin, yet no fear came to mind as he inhaled the musky scent of myrrh and spice in the bear pelt on the floor .
"Gee, look at all that dust. I would sure hate to have to clean this,"Octavia joked as she emptied batteries into her flashlight and turned it on.
"Hold up, "Falkenberg demanded."You can't tell, but I can thanks to my illusion Magick. Somebody's put a very powerful concealment glamour on this house."
Octavia raised an eyebrow before strolling forwards to ascend the stairs, only for her foot to plummet midair, and her heels clicked on the tile as she stumbled. The staircase shimmered a bit, growing pearly and translucent before dissolving out of sight to reveal two Jacob's ladders, about twenty feet tall, that rolled back and forth along the floor of the second story. The shapeshifter huffed prettily, hands on her generous hips as she tapped her foot, annoyed at the situation as Falkenberg surveyed the rest of the foyer.
"And all those windows, you can see them from the outside,but they're totally fake! They're just sheets of glass with walls made of some sort of impenetrable material behind them." Falkenberg crowed, knocking on a surface of solid,thick rock that was indeed,unbreakable,whether by blade,blast,or battering ram." Now why have a window and cover it up? Do you intend to keep the sunlight and people out,or perhaps prevent onlookers from witnessing something within or..."
He squawked as he saw the Italian ignoring him completely,instead enraptured by thousands of little spiders with sleek black fur,curiously dull fangs,and eight purple eyes,each scuttling by her feet,and he smacked his forehead with his palm.
"Alright! My kind of people! I could get used to this!"
"Lovely," her companion crowed as the wretched creatures crawled up the walls to a cobweb dusted with plump dead flies."It's you,you're attracting them!"
"Oh,does that bother you,Falkenberg? I can't help it if I'm simply more magnetic than you. Know what your problem is? You're always such a grump! If you were to just lighten up a bit..."
Falkenberg was already gone, having ascended the ladders and disappeared into the second storey entrance, and she scowled, grabbing her suitcase and grabbing hold of the ladder. "Hold on! I want to pick out a room too!"
------
The moment the front door was unlocked, Kurt ran upstairs with a speed unprecedented for someone of his size, and to his room, only stopping to scratch Spinner,their ever faithful,friendly desultory dog of advanced years and indeterminable breed behind his erect ears. Following close behind was Brendon, his older brother by two years, who scaled the ladder of the bunk bed they shared and curled up for a nap while Kurt emptied out the many papers, folders, writing implements, and other uncatalogued, unidentifiable pieces of junk cluttering his school knapsack, and after finishing off a still preserved fruit cup he found in the side pocket, set around to collecting his equipment. This included a flashlight, complete with an extra pack of batteries, rope from the shed, a pocket knife he had lifted from his brother's desk, some hairpins snuck from his sister's room when she was gone, a car thermometer, notebook and writing utensils, and equipment he had scrimped enough money together over two and a half years from odd jobs to buy off the Internet.
The fruits of many a mowed lawn and dog walked, the ghost-hunting kit included a gadget that detected electromagnetic fields, a hallmark of spirits,a voice recorder, an infrared thermometer to catch any anomalies in temperature that might herald the arrival of something from beyond the grave, a video camera capable of recording in the dark, and a device that theoretically allowed ghosts to be heard. It was one of his most prized possessions, and he packed this gingerly into his empty knapsack, then filled the rest of the supplies around it for protection.
Above, Brendan broke wind loudly as he rolled over, and Kurt bounded out his room and down the stairs, pausing to call out that he was going out with his friends and promised to call and that he'd be careful, not bothering to wait for a reply. He wheeled his bicycle out of the shed, coming out through the path on the north side of the garage and waved to Jake, who was next door kneeling in his own driveway on the other side of his rickety blue bike. Buford was strolling up the path from his house three doors down, wheeling his own green contraption, staring blankly at the cracks in the concrete as he did so. Roger lived out on Bauer Road, west of the downtown area, and usually had to be driven to be part of Kurt's endeavors, but the Mortis House was within walking distance of his parent's farm, and he would meet them there.
"Ready?" Kurt asked, strapping his bag properly across his chest from the weight, and received nods in confirmation. Jake tucked the screwdriver into his pocket and wiped his greasy hands on his jeans, adding to the petroleum buildups staining the fibers, mounting his rickety blue ensemble, Buford tossing an old peach pit into the metal trashcan. "Well gents, do we all have clean underwear on? I think this is it-we might actually see something!"
" Hah! I'm not scared of any ghosts! I got my ass-kicking boots on!" Jake smirked, pointing to the set of cowboy boots that he was fond of clomping around in, a set of steel-toed, snakeskin monstrosities that he had discovered gleefully out by the curb of a house in their neighborhood, placed in the bin for good reason.
" I dunno, it just doesn't make sense to be scared of something you've never come in contact with," Buford said." What if they're nice ghosts?"
Kurt shrugged."We'll know soon enough.C'mon, let's go!"
----
The ride down was an uneventful fifty minutes or so, and they found Roger standing in front of his long,winding driveway halfway on Bauer Road, after the point where pavement turned to dirt, the quartet pedaling on for about a half mile more before stopping in front of the legendary grounds.
"There it is,gentlemen, the Mortis House," Kurt announced,the group standing their bikes on the sidewalk. Roger eyed an enormous white falcon as she perched on a rowan branch like a stately, noble sentinel keeping vigil over her master's house. She was of a pure white moult speckled black, with bright gold eyes fixed on him, and he recognized her breed, finding it queer that a Gyrfalcon would venture as far south as Metro Detroit. Before he could point her out, Jake called back to him and he ran forwards towards the door, where Kurt heaved one of the massive brass knockers only to find it was open, and he turned to smile at the other three. Single filed,they entered, none of them noting the swishing of a curtain from the attock where cold, taciturn Edgar had laid claim to as his own. He had watched out the window as the four approached, though his only admission of the thoughts setting his mind awhirl a slight rise of his left eyebrow before slinking off to find Octavia.
Kurt breathed in amazement, flicking on his flashlight and sweeping it in a circuit around the somber hall, dust particles dancing lazily in the low light. The chamber's walls were done with crimson wallpaper adorned with golden fleur de lises and tasteful geometric patterns, with one wall bedecked with what appeared to be the most noteworthy of the Morris brood, including an oval-framed portrait of young Viktor.Meanwhile, Jake imitated this action and scanned the hall west to east with his flashlight, giving a start at the horse faced reflection born by a tarnished mirror whose broken glass was jagged and dull with age. Opposite, there was an opulently engraved oak door with golden knobs stretching from floor to ceiling, an enormous slash cleaving one half into splintered, misshapen sections, and the brunet wondered what could inflict such damage upon it, his stomach clenching excitedly. On either side there were two rosewood cabinets inlaid with a plush red velvet that was matted and dulled in texture, the glass rendered opaque from the dust encrusting it. Roger approached this and rubbed a smudged circle into one of the geometric panes to reveal a few of the artefacts and heirlooms, most arcane in origin and craft within. Among these which he catalogued later in his recounting for his journal, there was a set of china whose lacquered coral and gold leaf stood in stark contrast to the wan alabaster of the bone it was baked from, a skull glittering with jewels and displayed daintily on an embroidered cushion, and a book whose creased leather covers narrated stories of the strange endeavours of House Morris. Buford meanwhile, stared dreamily at the buttressed iron sconces holding long-extinguished gas bulbs, then up at the magnificent chandelier that depended from the ceiling, the beam of his light illuminating the fretwork of the canopy and washing the spot beneath in a scintillating glow.
Jake was the first to break the somber atmosphere with his braying laughter, but he had to put effort into it."Well, it looks haunted, but the dust bunnies are scarier, eh?"
The others offered agreeing opinions weak in substance as Edgar materialized from the shadows of one cabinet, one with the darkness. It was one of his skills, being a warlock whose inherent magick was derived from illusions and shadows, and he could travel through the darkness by having a clear destination in mind and imagining his entire body losing substance and dissolving at the edges slowly until he was no longer there, a process similar to becoming invisible. Dropping silently from his dematerializing shoulder was Octavia in her spider form, a beautiful arachnid a hand's width leg to leg, with glossy black fur and alluring, colorful markings on her abdomen, chelicerae twitching in anticipation. Lifting his hand, Edgar cast a wordless spell that chilled the stale air, though it was a mere illusion of the temperature plummeting to a ghostly nip, enhanced by the Mundane's irrational imagination; his illusions weren't capable of altering reality, but rather how it was perceived, and this deception was amplified by the senses of others-it was astonishing how much bloodless devastation the mind alone could inflict. He smiled as he saw the black boy shiver and rub his arms,trembling with gooseflesh from the temperature,and he would slowly arouse feelings of fear and unease that culminated in unadulterated terror, at which point the interlopers would flee and never return. A sudden drop in temperature without atmospheric turmoil was often attributed to paranormal endeavours, a rumour fabricated by a bard a few centuries back that held some truth, though greatly embellished to offer some consolation and explanation to the Mundanes if they caught a glimpse of the Magick world. To his happiness, the quiet blonde holding most of their equipment stared at his thermometer, then tapped the chubby brunet, who seemed to lead the group. The ecstasy was evident as Kurt smiled, feeling elated that they would finally see some evidence of paranormal action, something the four had been eager for since the fifth grade after watching documentary after documentary.
It was time for a physical encounter, and Edgar, invisible even in the sunlight, stomped his feet on one end of the hall, Octavia mimicking his action not five seconds after, and Jake glanced at Buford,whose eyes were now alert, seeing as they seemed surrounded by specters. Edgar reached for the nearest boy, whose aggression seemed to compensate for his smaller size, and tapped him on the shoulder, and Jake flinched, turning his head swiftly to catch whoever was behind him, only to see dust. Buford made a disgruntled noise as a warm finger stroked his neck, but when he looked behind him, there was nothing but an enormous spider scuttling into the dark. The two needed no words, only a glance to agree that they weren't alone, and though neither would admit to it until much later, both were growing fearful. However, nothing ominous had happened yet, and there was the rest of the house to explore.
"Gentlemen, I think this is our moment,"Kurt exclaimed,walking towards the other side of the room and stumbling into a small depression, his feet clanging on something metallic, and he stepped out of the shallow groove. "Hey cool! A trapdoor!"
He squatted on the edge and tried the handle, then fell prostrate, hissing as he clutched his rotund belly. The moment his fingers touched the copper,pain surged through his lower half, as if his organs were rupturing and spilling their fetid fluids into his blood, and he knelt on the door, rubbing his stomach and groaning. Meanwhile, Edgar inhaled deeply as pain coursed through his lower abdomen, leaving him with a sensation of dread, and though Octavia was deprived of higher senses due to her arachnid form,she realized that something menacing laid beneath the door.
Immediately, Jake was upon him and trying to heave him back up, but the Pollack's gangly arms and small body were ineffective against the bulk that was Kurt , and it took efforts from him and Buford to lift their friend up and lay him on his back."You ok,Kurt ? Stomach cramps? I think I have some snacks in my bag I forgot about..."
Kurt nodded feebly and smiled, resting with his hands on the knob and with his feet on the door as his breathing returned to normal. He was beginning to feel uncertain about the Morris house, of which all the rumours were true and likely underexaggerated, and he had a dreadful sensation that he had lead his friends into something truly dangerous. His next words were pleasing to Edgar, who was anticipating being left alone to remodel the Morris house undisturbed. "I just felt really dizzy all of a sudden...maybe this wasn't such a good idea and this really is haunted by something bad? We got enough proof, let's go back."
While the three rested, Roger tucked the thermometer back into a pouch on his belt and lifted the ghost box with his unwavering hand for one last bit of evidence, and Edgar hissed low and indecipherably, trying not to break out in crowing laughter. "Lllleavveee mortallls...yoouu aaare noot weelcooommee iiin thiiis houssseee."
Roger was as brave as Jake, though while the brunet was prone to audacious bravado and reckless action, he was merely imperturbable and bothered by little, but even he shuddered a bit as he heard the box in his hand crackle with a voice from worlds beyond, and he could feel his heartbeat increase.
"Alright, I'm good, now let's get out of here,"Kurt said, still clutching the handle."I don't know about you, but I think I'll break out my old night light tonight."
Edgar was enjoying his demonstration, and he cast another spell that sent flickering orbs of ethereal, eerie violet light that suffused the hall with a cold, otherworldly glow floating all around, and the four boys were on the floor, cowering in fear. The wispy lights weren't of any importance, but the warlock knew it would contribute to the terror as something unexplainable, even detrimental to their health, and it was time for him to finish his performance, frightening them away once and for all. He removed his spectacles and tucked them into his breast-pocket, closing his eyes and casting a glamour while invisible. Altering his appearance with glamour was one of the many applications of his illusion Magick and contributed to his expertise with stealth and intelligence gathering, though he would assume a different form today. In his head, he visualized himself morphing into a mangled skeleton illuminated with a ghastly green phosphorescence, the remaining flesh depending from his broken bones festering, grey, and canker ridden, with maggots, worms, and other nasty, slithering,viscous creatures undulating between his ribs. His lank hair was black and snarled, and around his creaking shoulders was pinned a hooded cloak devoured by moths, and rusted,heavy shackles with broken links ensnared his ankles. None of this was real, and beneath he was a perfectly tall, scrawny young, overcaffeinated revenant whose pallor was the only indication he hailed from beyond the grave.
Octavia watched from behind the quarter as Edgar slowly solidified in all his eerieness, beginning as a flickering black shadow unearthly in silhouette, progressing to a translucent figure, and finally, a fleshed creature standing before them with one hand extended, and he shuffled towards the group of boys while groaning incoherently.
Neither Kurt , Jakob, Roger, or Buford could recall just why they didn't retreat hastily at once,attributing their passivity to fear keeping a hold on them until what was going on was fully processed, but as the skeletal being approached them, Kurt finally began to twitch, holding onto the handle still. Jake, coltish as he returned to his bipedal state, was the first to take action and vocalize the quartet's thoughts in monosyllable."SCRAM!!!!!!"
Buford and Roger, the most strapping of the four, were instantly upright, and with a combined heft, both lifted Kurt , who was slowed with terror, and the knob in his hands was loosened somewhat as he got to his feet. Immediately he felt his stomach cramp agonizingly, but was too frightened to care as he thundered towards the door, slamming it closed behind him.
"And stay out!"Edgar crowed to himself, feeling satisfied as he reverted from terror to teenager, stretching and feeling his bones pop." That should teach them! Now I can finally get to work on this place!"
"It's a shame, they were kind of cute..."
The boys had reached the long driveway leading to Roger's farm before they bothered speaking, Buford the one to raise his voice after sucking down half of his water bottle. "So we've proved the Morris House is haunted,yeah? We don't need to go back?"
This statement was met with agreement from all parties, Jake the next to talk." I don't know about you, but I'd be happy to do anything else all summer but go back there...what was that thing?"
"I'm not sure, but I got some of the sound we can decipher later- is your place ok, Kurt ?"Roger asked, and the brunet was silent for a few seconds. "Yeah, but that's it- I don't think it's safe for us to go back with things like that lurking inside. I think I'll stick to reading horror stories, it's more fun that way. Why don't we do what we said we were gonna do and go hang out at the Mill Pond?"
Kurt smiled reassuringly at his friends, still worried about what their fate could have been and knowing that his foolish curiosity would have been to blame. That same damned curiosity hadn't been scared entirely away by the rotting skeleton, but rather, enriched, and he was planning a return trip to the house. It wouldn't be as much fun by himself, but he would rather nobody he cared for suffered because they were indulging his adventurous side. Besides, he still wanted to know what lay beneath that door...
To be continued....
Notes:
This takes place in 2013, the year I began high school as a freshman.
I'll try to update this when I can!