It was a house like any other house; despite being older than the town itself. The outside coat of pain was peeling at random spots. The green paint flaked in the wind. The shutters were rotten and decrepit. Most residents of the house did not stay long due to frequent noises and alleged apparitions.
Ben Blake was hired three nights ago to get rid of these apparitions.
As a former Priest, Blake had studies several religious scriptures of angel and demons. Convinced that ghosts were out wreaking havoc, he quit his life as a priest to hunt them. Many called him the best at ghost hunting. He had devoted years of his life to studying religious scriptures of several deities…he knew how to handle a ghost.
The house creaked as Blake paced across the barren room. He fingered the golden cross in his hand lightly as he made his way toward the windowsill. He brought the cross to his lips and whispered phrases below his breath. His lips touched it and he gently placed it down on the windowsill.
Small streams of smoke danced through the air seconds after touching the sill. Blake cupped his hand around a flame as he lit his cigar. He let out a sigh of smoke as he munched on his cigar. His attention was then diverted to the smoking cross.
“No way out, you son of a bitch.” he muttered under his breath, “Just you and me.” Blake pushed his fedora down, covering his eyes. He began to feel a chill throughout the air as his cigar went out. “Here we go.” he muttered. In one swift movement he spun around and shouted at what looked like thin air.
“JUST YOU AND ME!”
All was silent.
A gust of wind knocked Blake off of his feet. With a bang he slammed into the wall. Scratches materialized across his body as he struggled to his feet. Immense pain overtook him. Work through it. He thought. You’re trained for this. Work through it.
From under his coat he brandished a revolver, firing three shots at a cloud of mist. A loud banshee cry pierced the night.
Blake smiled to himself. That’s it. Keep the offensive. DON’T LET UP! Thoughts raced through his mind as he fired two more shots. The cloud of mist retreated, only to let out another cry of agony as it neared the windowsill. “NO WAY OUT!” Blake cried. “YOU’RE STUCK HERE WITH ME!”
The apparition attacked with blinding fury. Blood flew in all directions littering the floor. Blake felt the prescience tear at him in a desperate attempt to kill him. The mist surrounded him, cloaking his appearance. Blake’s skin began to contort as he let out a cry of pain. “No….you….don’t!” He gritted through his teeth. Another shot rang out as it penetrated the mist. Out of my blessed bullets, He thought to himself. Time to improvise.
All at once, Blake’s pain spoke to him.
“They killed us.” the pain told him. “We served them faithfully…and they killed us.” It hissed like a snake. He could hear it flittering just outside his ear.
“Show…me….your true…form.” Blake grunted.
All at once the pain stopped. Blake’s eyes snapped open to see a transparent figure in front of him. It had baby blue eyes and golden haired pigtails.
….he was looking at a young child. All at once the grief struck him. He reached out to the specter.
“How did this happen…who killed you?” He whispered.
All at once a vision appeared. The little girl was killed in the house in cold blood eleven years ago…she did not mean to haunt anyone. A tear strolled down Blake’s cheek.
I know when a ghost is lying…this one is telling the truth.
The specter looked at him with warm eyes. “Don’t be afraid…it’s okay….” her voice calmed him as she stroked his hair. “Some ghosts are good…some ghosts are bad…others….” she paused, “other are just cursed.”