Darth Necrosis's blog: "Regular Stories"

Ghost

A fog-like mist, rolling close over the ground, covered the dark path. Rain had already softened the hard packed dirt into a slushy mud. Puddles of water spread about the path in no particular pattern, unbroken with the exception of intermittent rain drops. The quiet, watery, solitude of the puddles are soon interrupted by the hard desperate tread of a man running. His breathing was hard as if he had been running for many hours. Every now and again he would look over his shoulder, rapidly searching the darkness behind him. His dark brown eyes scattering his view to whatever images seem to catch his eye as he ran. His head was half bald, his face withered with age, yet his frightened, aged and slightly plump body seemed to carry with a speed he couldn’t remember ever having. The runner knew he had been watched for sometime. He also knew running was pointless. Yet, the will to survive spurned him onward. A persistent thought kept whispering that perhaps he could outrun his hunter. The thought, along with the will to live, gave him fuel to continue his journey. He also knew that eventually “thoughts” and “will” alone would not be able to fuel his body into motion – after all, he was only human. When his body failed him, he knew that would be the moment his hunter would appear. He knew that right now, as he ran looking over his shoulder and searching the shadows ahead, his hunter was just toying with him. He knew the hunter waited for the moment when his appearance would have the desired effect. The rain and wind that moved through the trees had hit the scared man as he ran for his life. It gave away his position and destination. He ran for a reason, it’s no surprise he'd run after seeing a ghost. After all, it was he who had helped make the very creature stalking him. His voice had given way to the plot that would end a life, and start a new. The dark figure sat hunched in the trees, his dark tattered clothing a burial shroud garment stained of death yet giving off a cloak like appearance, blowing in the wind that whistled through the trees. His long flowing hue less strands of hair flowed with the breeze westward against his head, casting over his face obscuring him even more to the eye then one would even come to notice, he perched far above the small chubby man that had began a ran far from this very area in fear of something he couldn’t understand. He had been watching the running shadow of a man for sometime. His sight, enhanced through death, allowed him to see the man of his intention from many yards away. Though he couldn’t truly see his senses had worked in a vastly different manner. Everything was black and grays to him, moving objects or even a breeze would brush against objects creating a grey distortion to any object that moved or had been brushed against by air, this allowed him to see, yet also blinded him to things that were within an isolated area that either didn’t move, or had no air moving within it. He stood lightly on the small delicate branch, his perching stature coming to an end as he leapt many feet across the high trees above the man to another more suitable tree to allow him more visual sight of the victim to be. As the man ran, he merely watched. His eyes white, cold, and almost lifeless blinking a moment before deciding that now is the time. He races across from tree to tree, leaping many feet as if it were a mere step. Bounding before the potential target, he waits for the perfect time. The tired, stumbling man turned his head to look over his shoulder, terrified at the thought of what could be following him, his head then jerked back to look at the sound of a splashed puddle caused by the darkened figure that now stood before him. Head bowed slightly as if looking downwards to the right, arms drawn into the cloak like burial shroud, white-gray hair blowing with an almost hypnotic wave within the wind. A loud masculine scream became audible as the frightened man deftly tried his attempt at stopping before he came close enough to something he had thought long dead... his voice rang out in fear as he questioned his own reality. "H…How… you died." the frightened man questioned, his posture ready to turn and dart away from him. Yet his question remained unanswered. A blank stare only came about the figure that seemed to merely stand there as if intimidating the man. "Tell me, damn it!!!" The dark figure reached out with his fingers that appeared as if skeletal, flesh tight to his slender hand gripped the man’s nearest arm and pulled him close. Opposite arm outstretched towards his opponent’s collar bone forcing him to the ground. Hunching over, the dark specter leans close to him. One hand still pressed to his chest as the other arm begins to draw back, pulling behind his head and into the air. Fingers outstretched to the sky, as if getting ready to rake at the man. "For every innocent soul you have taken, one has come back to haunt you.” Blood curdled screams echoed through the woods and broke whatever silence had lingered in the air.

Sunlight peaked through the boarded up window, as if a shot of light from the heavens pointed down to instill hope upon the soul. The darkness was now broken within the abandoned home. Cataract orbs open, shifting ever so slightly to observe all things within the room. The eyes were visible within what little darkness was left; his body was shrouded by the shadows. They glowed with a brilliant alabaster hue, along with a faded smoke like aura that came from the powerful enigma that held the body into life. The creature stood, clambering to his feet from the rest he had gained that evening. He glanced down at his hands still covered in the fat man’s blood from the night before then he glanced to the corner that was his resting place, the very same place he awoke, though time itself had passed a quite a few years since his death and his resurrection into the ghost form he is now. The bed he once knew, gazed at by his eyes, was now the epitome of all he returned for. That very bed reminded him of the cruel things done to his niece just after his own demise. A ghost image would invade his mind only moments later as he would hear the sounds of the child’s cries within what to him was now darkness. The screams filled his mind, even after he snapped to reality. Echoing within his mind as if some sick benefactor made sure he remembered the exact reason he was there. He turned upon his heels to move his way towards the boarded up window. His movement was, within the darkness, almost ghostly. He stopped before the wooden barrier that kept all out of the old abandoned home he once called his. The reminding ache of what took place within the house, over looked by him at the moment he gazed into the light outside. His pale-pigmented skin became visible within the darkness as he stood, his right shoulder pressing against the window seal. The man’s head tilted ever so slightly as he observed all outside, thin facial structure of the thin faced man held the appearance of death upon his face, lips the same hue as his skin seemed to have wrinkled as if dehydrated along the edges of his lips, than curled slightly as if to grin. “Now hmm…” He turned upon the leg opposite of the window, moving quickly towards the stairway that led up. Reaching the flight of steps he moved up, throwing himself one step, skipping one, taking the next step and skipping the other. It cut the time of moving up the steps. Either that or he was in a hurry. Reaching the hallway he stood there quietly, the hallway forked into two other rooms. He knew which one he would have to take, and so he headed in its general direction. The doorway into the left room was already open, and so he entered it without any question. Moving ghostly towards the window seal, however, this one wasn’t boarded, and so he stopped, opening the window blinds outwards as they were made to do. Across from him was another building, a one story building. Hands grasping the seal of the window frame, lifting him outwards to let his feet too, rest upon that same frame. The way he suspended himself upon this window seemed unorthodox; at least to be humanly possible there would need to be some sort of anchor on the other side of the man. For leaning out at such a distance would insure one to fall. Pushing with his legs he sprung into the air, gray smoke colored tattered shroud fanning out behind him as if they were wings caught the wind as he carried himself towards the next building. As his hands hit the rooftop, he pushed off only moments later, to hurl him forward from the edge and onto his feet no further then three feet away from the roofs end. He gained his composure, standing to his full height. He glanced about, looking in both obvious directions to see who might have witnessed him. He would notice no one, on ground, through windows, or plainly through sight. His left leg lifted in the start of a quick race to the opposite edge of the one story building. As his leg reached the edge of the building he hurled himself again through the air, reaching the other building not to far away from him. Landing softly just a few feet from the edge of the building he moved along the rooftop with feline grace, legs shifting back and forth in a quick sprint to get to the other side of the building. After reaching the edge he kneeled; his knees touched the gravel that paved the rooftop, he glanced downwards. Below a young man walked within the alleyway that separated the building not to far from the creature spying on him. The young one below looked no older than someone in their mid twenties. From above most of his visage was blind to the eye due to the angle the ghost had stood. Yet it was obvious to anyone, the man was well fit, and his hair clean cut to the shoulder line. The observer remained silent as he watched almost utter silence seemed to congregate around him. The white orbs set within his skull blinked, allowing an image to fade in within his mind. “Time has come to make deed on your payment Wynn.” The young man spoke, green eyes locking upon the figure at which viewed him. To the viewing figure, that man was young. His sandy blonde hair was well cut just above his shoulders, resting well at his nape line. A well-defined facial structure made up the young man’s face. “But I don’t have the money right yet Michael” the faceless voice spoke. Only to earn the regard of a rather disappointed expression, eyes closing as the man’s head lowered to give a slight disapproving shake of his head. The image stopped there. This figure below was by all means the one known as Michael, the petty words of his onslaught to come, for it was he that lured him to the door at ungodly hour of night. The one at which the fated specter thought he could trust. But that was another lifetime. “Hello Michael, taking the long way home?” the voice reached outwards from the rooftop to the ground at which the mortal stood upon. Yet the young one below only stopped, not turning to look around, yet his head shifted ever so slightly as if he was taking to position ready for caution. “No, I’m taking a quicker path to the bar. Who’s asking?” “No one of any importance…” he becomes silent, shrouding himself in a simple worded thought that then slips from his lips as quickly as a water trickle falling from a leaf. “ …Anymore…you see history has a way of throwing a right, into a pile of wrongs. You are a wrong looking to be fixed.” The creature spoke into the air for Michael to hear. Michael, of course, spun trying to look around in some sort of quick observation of those around him, eyes darting in every which direction his view allowed him to see. His body turning to follow his eyes darting views every which way they looked. He caught the shadow image cast upon the alleyway walls. It then dawned on him that his stalker was on the very roof above him. His arm jerks from his side, pulling a small pistol fit for such a vintage century. The loud shots echoed within the air of silence that was quickly broken. Shots having missed, the specter turned against his opposing foot, pushing off the ledge rooftop disappearing from view. Moments later a man would pop out from around the corner at which Michael stood. “Are you alright? I heard gun shots.” This man, however, was a great deal older than young Michael. Mid thirties, his clothes were stained cotton, indicating him to be one of the hired help. “Yes, I’m fine. You have a piece, right?” Young Michael’s eyes glanced away from the roof ledge towards the older man; posture not yet shifting from his prior movements. “Yes, I do. Why?” the elder man’s gaze faltered not one inch, fixed easily upon the young one. “We have some unfinished business to attend to. It seems a fly has escaped our rather greatly woven web.” Michael placed his pistol within the hemline of his rich fabric trousers, he then moved towards the elder man. “Which business would that be?” He was silent for a few brief moments as he glanced back upwards towards the roof, then broke his gaze and looked back towards the elder man, “Anyway, are the others ready?” their conversation gained them distance from the building. Yet in their mistake they remained to close to the building from which the specter had followed him upon. “So... You think you can figure out who I am hmm…” he thought to himself, he than cast his gaze over the ledge. Hiking his left leg upwards, his foot rested well upon the raised ledge of the rooftop. Leaning slightly forward, he allowed his arms to fall lose, pressing against his left knee in a form of hunching over. As he watched his potential target, a mere smile seemed to creep up upon his lips. Taking his tattered shroud like cloak into hand, he turned quickly upon his feet and made trek for his abandoned home. “So what’s the deal now?” the elder man spoke up. He sat calmly in a chair, leaned softly against a small table. His eyes shifted, glancing to his right towards the figure that who seemed to keep his back turned towards the others accompanying them. “The boss wants us to make sure some elderly woman keeps her mouth shut, she witnessed something she shouldn’t have. So it is our job to make sure her mouth never speaks a word of it.” The man spoke from his gaze towards the window. “Come on Michael, an old woman?!” “So?” Michael turned from the window, his body shifting ever so slightly to face the other four besides him. Besides the mid aged man, everyone else seemed to be within their mid twenties. The appearance was all the same, scruffy ill-dressed hirelings. The silence seemed to render within the crowd that seemed to exchange glances at one another as if confused as what to say next. “We leave in an hour,” he stated, shifting again on his feet to move away from the table in a calm stride. The building they were in was rather small, run wore down like warehouse. Many boxes and crates were scattered within the main room without pattern. Long chains with hooks hung from the rafter like ceiling. Dust lined the wooden surfaces like a sheet lightly hugging the resting body. The room remained silent as the young man climbed a set of stairs leading upwards into the loft like rooms. Night crept over the horizon like a mist slowly lifting over the ground. The specter sat quietly within his chambers, knees buckled close to his chest. His arms bent at the elbow, wrapped gently under his thighs as his chin rested lightly upon his knees. His eyes seemed void of emotion as his thoughts seemed to race in unorganized patterns. A ghost image melded within his sight as a small child appeared before him playing with a younger man, he saw himself within this ghostly memory. The child giggled and laughed as the one older then she chased her around the room holding a small coat as if to tackle her with it. The image however was suddenly broken by an over powering image premonition. The crash of a door was heard; a group moved within the poorly build home, the image he saw was small and narrow to his sight so it was hard to see detail in its semi blurred state. The image flashed once again as an elderly woman seemed to be the brunt end of a traumatic force wishing nothing less then for her to meet her maker. The vision was somehow obscured. He blinked momentarily; a thought came to mind before he stood up and faced the window he would hurl himself out of. “Not another life taken by their hands, not another,” he thought in an almost rage like fit. As he hurled himself into the air, he aimed himself to land upon the roof as he always did; he landed swiftly and ran along the roof top. Clearing from building to building with an unnatural ease he found the building he was looking for. “Hmm.” He thought audibly to himself. They weren’t there yet. So this gave him time to position himself the way he wished to before their arrival. He moved into the nearest room on the second floor. Looking around he noticed the room he was in had been abandoned, he than moved out of the room and headed down the hallway towards the stairs. “I have been expecting you…” the elder woman in his vision was clearly speaking, yet to whom. As he moved down the stairs her head was facing him, though the white of her eyes gave away the fact that she was blind. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you Wynn.” “How do you know me?” he asked simply “It doesn’t surprise me that you wouldn’t remember me, you’ve been gone for sometime. You were quite a bit different then. You had a heart beat.” “Much has changed since then, old lady… I have forgotten much I only remember the things that come to me in my visions….” “There is much you shall learn of your past, as well as your future, but first I have visitors coming soon.” She said quickly. “Yes. I know. That is why I originally came, to save you.” He responded in an almost confused tone. “I shall go upstairs, and you can scare them off if you wish.” And with that, the old woman turned and moved towards the stairs, disappearing from view only moments later. He looked around the living room to find something the elderly woman would have probably worn most often, and somehow he recognized it from his vision, it was the very same hooded sweater that he had seen in his vision. He wrapped himself in it and sat in her chair. As he looked down he hunched himself over to take on the appearance of the elderly. The crash of a door was heard; as a group moved within the poorly build home, he could see them perfectly though his face was covered. The men rushed over towards him, and with a simple gesture, one of them raised his arm and swung a blunt object towards the ghostly figure. Forced to the ground by the sudden slam of the object against his head he fell to the ground, though feeling no pain, he decided to go with the motion to gain an element of surprise. Pealing back the hood of the woven sweater; the man with the blunt object was the first to see the horrific face of the ghostly man. Death had given him an almost elderly wrinkled look, the ghostly figure laid there with his eyes closed, “Hey Mac, come look at this old woman, she looks like she’s been dead for years…” He turned his head to look over his shoulder at the man nearest to him. “That’s because I have been.” The ghostly figure said. His eyes opening as the man wielding the blunt object turned his head sharply to look at him. Startled the man pulled away abruptly and stumbled backwards. “What the hell!” the one known as Mac said. “That’s right, hell is where you shall go!” the ghostly one screamed, his voice piercing as if like a banshee. Swift movement followed as the figure rose from the ground almost stiff as a board, his feet level to the ground as his body straight like the horizon, moved upwards to a standing position. “Oh, my God! What is that, Charley?!” Mac screamed, turning to run his way outside the door. Charley however wasn’t that lucky, as he turned his back, the specter lifted his right leg and kicked at the mans back just near his hip section forcing his body forward towards the ground, yet at the same time he also used his hand to grab at the unfortunate fools head pulling it downwards, opposite the direction that his body momentum was forcing him. The loud sound of bones snapping became audible. The man’s back snapped like a wish bone. Mac made it outside the door and escaped. He climbed the stairs ever so silently, even though it wasn’t his intention to do so. As he rounded the balcony overlooking the stairs he climbed he could see the old woman sitting in a chair within a room. “You are the remnant of your former self. Not that you didn’t already know that. But what you are is the anger, sorrow, and pain manifested into a being. Or ghost. When you died the emotions that make you be, now forced you to be.” “So basically, I died and the anger and sadness I felt stayed behind creating me?” “Yes, that is what I mean” He entered the room and stood within the doorway only by a few feet. His posture still and unmoving as she spoke to him, “And with those emotions, lies your power.” “How so?” his head tilted slightly as he looked towards the blind woman, his arms crossed over his chest as he remained otherwise still in posture. “Imagine using the mellow sadness of your emotions to fade from existence. Or to use the anger and hatred of your remnant emotions to push your body through a solid wall as if it wasn’t there. But for now go back home or where ever it is you rest. This old bones ache and need sleep.” The old woman said as she arose from the chair she had been sitting on. Moving slowly towards the bed within the room she stopped and turned to peer her colorless orbs at him. "Tomorrow you will learn more, apparition, tomorrow."