Officer Dalton didn't know how to deal with this. The last couple of days had been hectic, with calls and reports about mysterious deaths flooding in one after another. There had been over a hundred such deaths so far. Each person had died suddenly, their neck snapped without warning. Sometimes the person's head would remain attached, other times their head would go flying from the force of whatever was snapping their neck. The victims often screamed before dying, shouting incoherently about something they saw. What was it they saw before dying? Was it a ghost? Was it a ghost that was responsible for these deaths? At this point, with hundreds of civilian witnesses to the deaths and even several officers having been present for a few of them, there was no other conclusion to arrive at. It had to be a ghost.
He had, at first, hoped that these deaths were somehow made to appear as if a ghost had wrought them. Maybe someone had set up invisible wires, or some criminal had the ability to move too quickly to be perceived. Heck, maybe it was an invisible person killing all these people. Any of these theories would be preferable to a ghost. If it was a person who was committing murder, then it was a source Dalton could do something about.
A ghost, though? Dalton couldn't do anything about a ghost. The motives and powers of ghosts were far beyond what he had the ability to understand.Β
He flipped open the station's telephone book and located the number of a certain Brother Harold, a local exorcist. Moving the dial on the station's telephone to the appropriate digits in order, he lifted the earpiece to the side of his head and waited as the phone rang. It was time to bring in an expert.
----
[nπΉβ·α²ακ hβα²αγͺ kβκκα·βΈ! +20 xp]
[nπΉβ·α²ακ hβα²αγͺ kβκκα·βΈ! +20 xp]
[nπΉβ·α²ακ hβα²αγͺ kβκκα·βΈ! +20 xp]
Derek dismissed glitchy window after glitchy window, by now both annoyed by and resigned to their constant, inexplicable appearances. Would he ever learn what they were?
As the day continued and he went about his regular tasks, the semi-translucent purple windows appeared and were dismissed repeatedly. When he was looking over a bridge repair project, he dismissed two of them.While visiting a business partner, seven more. During dinner, another four.
Without asking the Log for an update, he couldn't see how many Paranormal Points he'd acquired or souls he'd harvested. It was obviously quite a number, though. Would he be able to create another Paranormal Event soon? Perhaps he had overestimated how difficult Paranormal Points were to earn. Even considering his late start, he might be doing just fine.
That said, the fact that things were going so smoothly thus far put him a little on edge. Each of the glitchy window's appearances represented only one soul harvested. A thousand was quite a lot, and in order to make sure he reached that number in time, he would not let down his guard. He had no way to know how other Apostles were doing with their Paranormal Events. Without a frame of reference, it was entirely possible that his perceived success wasn't all that remarkable. For all he knew, the others could have already reached 500 or even 1000 souls. It was simply impossible to know.
The rest of the day passed without incident.
As he was readying himself for bed that night, another glitchy window appeared, this one accompanied by a series of other windows with new messages.
[nπΉβ·α²ακ hβα²αγͺ kβκκα·βΈ! +20 xp]
[yπΉβ βαβα· β·α·αα΅βα·βΈ lα·βα·κ 20! eβπΉκββΈ Μ£ βπΉγͺ κπΉαβΈβγͺβ£β¦ yπΉββ· πΉ!Β‘βΈ Μ£ βπΉγͺα αβ·α·β¦]
[eβ·β·πΉβ·: eβπΉκββΈ Μ£ βπΉγͺ !Β‘αβΈ Μ£ β ακβ·α·αβΈ|| αα·κα·α΅βΈ Μ£ α·βΈ.]
[eβπΉκββΈ Μ£ βπΉγͺ β΄βκκ γͺπΉβ΄ α΅πΉα²α²α·γͺα΅α·.]
With that, a searing pain sprouted in his head. His vision swam with a barrage of kaleidoscopic colors. He stumbled sideways, clutching his head and falling over, screaming in agony.Β
Jenneca, who was nearby, rushed over in concern and watched helplessly as her husband rolled around on the ground, shuddering violently. Veins stood out on his muscled body. His skin was flushed, his face pale, and patches of skin were torn from violent collisions and abrasions against the floor. Blood oozed slowly from several places.
Servants stood by worriedly, and Derek's two children peeked around the corner through the doorway. Two-year-old Rachel ran up to her mother and clutched at her dress, crying. Jenneca picked her up and patted her head, bouncing her gently and starting to hum a calming tune; despite her own worries, her child needed comfort. She instructed the head maid to alert her if anything changed. She took her son Howard's little hand in hers, Rachel held up in her other arm, and went out into the yard where they couldn't hear their father's cries.
"Oh great Lord Buela," she prayed in a whisper. "Please bless my husband's soul, forgive him and cure him of whatever curse has befallen him."