Jack's Windfall 6

Jack drove to the next cemetery, his thoughts contemplating the woman who had been tailing him. Not only did she discover him, but his true name as well. As the Shaman of the City, he should have been protected by a spell of anonymity. He went by Jack for many reasons, least of all the frustration of teaching people how to pronounce “Javier.” But in magic, names have value. A spirit could have influence on him, and if it was powerful enough could even bind him. Going over his conversation with her, he was relieved that she didn’t press with his full name. He stared at the scars on his wrist. He could never trust another spirit with his name again.

He pulled into the Cemetery. Like much of Rochester, the buildings near it were a mix of the old brick boxy buildings and angular glass. But as he drove, he noted how quiet the location was. No matter where he looked, he didn’t see anyone. In the distance, he could see construction equipment working, but other than a flock of Canadian geese and the trees, he was the only living being in the area.

He parked on one of the side roads, and walked to the grave. He found it under a bare tree, with a simple grey stone headstone labeled JENKINS. As he pulled out a cigar to prepare to summon Harold, he saw the same bouquet that was on the other grave. He pulled out a Zippo, and as he flicked it on a glimmer caught his eye. He got closer to the stone, and noted an odd series of lines and wedges. It looked natural at first, but the spacing made it look almost like writing.

Jack took out a piece of paper and a pencil, and made a quick rubbing of the marks. This could be a clue as to who is messing with the city. After that, he lit the cigar and started puffing. He wasn’t a smoker, and for some reason Harold was harder to summon. There were no benches around, so he wound up leaning on the tree wheezing as the smoke coalesced into the ghost.

Harold, unlike Jennifer, was a frightful appearance. His hair was disheveled, face unshaven, and while he was made of tobacco smoke he still seemed to exude an unwashed stench. His eyes were wild with desperation, his movements slow with despair, and ectoplasmic tears wept from him. Jack knelt in front of the specter.

“Harold, “ he said gently. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

Harold looked up, and as he did a ghostly noose appeared around his neck. Psychic visions flooded Jack’s mind, as the ghost forced him to feel the agony. Jack fell to his hands, trying to keep himself from retching on the poor man’s grave. “I understand, Harold Jenkins. I want to help you! Please stop!”

The overwhelming pressure ceased at that point. Jack took a moment to catch his breath. The attack was instinctive, and wasn’t Harold’s fault. He shakily got back up to his feet, and addressed the spirit again. “I know why you did it. Jennifer misses you too. I am going to help you two by allowing you to reunite with her.” The ghost widened his eyes in shock. He pressed his hands against the threshold of the grave. A voice more akin to the creak of ancient timbers groaned from him: “HOW?” Jack lifted up the packet of dirt he had taken from Mount Hope.

“I am going to make you two buried in the same place.” Harold watched as Jack lifted some of the sod on the grave, and dug some dirt out. He replaced that dirt with the dirt from Jennifer’s grave. “I am going to mix the soils together. Using a magic ritual, I can make it the same grave, regardless of location.” Harold weeps softly, and slowly starts to dissolve.

Jack placed the soil from Harold’s grave into a fresh envelope. He will need to make a stop at Mount Hope and place it in Jennifer’s grave. He turned to the dissolving ghost. “I am going to perform the ritual later tonight. I officially invite you to my home when the ritual begins. I will see you soon.” With that, Jack returns to his car.

As he does, though, he hears a strange creaking noise, like cold metal being twisted. He stops, and grabs the knife in his pocket. He turns to a nearby pond, and watches as a mist starts to appear above it. It was as pale as plaster, and almost as thick. It billowed forth, and rapidly surrounded the shaman. Jack’s eyes glittered as he slowly kept walking, knife in hand and low to the ground.

His mind created patterns in the fog, half shadows that brought to mind all sorts of foul monsters. Of course, Jack knew this was some attempt to frighten him, as he knew the names of nightmares and could call upon them. This doesn’t stop them from being able to tear him apart in the right circumstances, but familiarity can breed confidence. He turned towards a nearby mausoleum as the rusted lock started to fall apart, and the now loosened chains started to fall on the ground. The door slowly creaked open, and glowing red eyes appeared.

Slowly stepping out of the mausoleum was a dark spirit. It had an initial appearance similar to a person, showing a possible origin of a ghost like Harold or Jennifer. However, by absorbing other spirits, and perverting their original natures, the spirit now lives like a psychic virus. Jack glanced behind him, and noted that Harold had already dissipated. Good, as long as he stayed within the threshold of his grave the spirit shouldn’t be able to hurt him. He quickly jumped back as an iron chain whipped towards him.

Jack held up his knife, and circled the spirit. It is massive, right arm bulging with chains. It’s left arm was entirely missing, it’s body wrapped in billowing veils. Its face was gaunt, shriveled, cheeks shredded to revealing rotting teeth and a massive grey tongue. Twin foxfire sparks made up it’s eyes, and soon it silently whipped the chain towards him again. As the chain cracked down onto the ground, Jack watched as the ground cracked and started to decay.

Jack ran towards the spirit, attempting to stab it with his blade. As he got close, it pulled away and hid in the mist again. Jack stopped, realizing that he was in a serious disadvantage. He pulled back into a defensive position, and started pulling on his right sleeve up.

Jack had training in a variety of magical traditions, but it has been a while since he used elemental wizardry. Runes tattooed on his upper arm could channel elemental forces, and he began to generate heat. Soon, his right hand was surrounded with a deep red flame, and he released a burst into the air. It started to dissipate the fog surrounding him, and the twisted outline of the dark spirit was soon apparent.

He ran to the spirit, releasing flame towards it. He ducked under the chain swung to try to deflect the burst, and his left hand, holding the blade, stabbed the creature under its arm. It’s mouth opened and released a grey, tooth covered tongue. It attempted to wrap around his arm, but Jack increased the heat of his flame to try to repel it. The spirit pulls away, and Jack gets pushed off balance due to the thrust of the flames. As he fell, the fog started to clear. Pushing back up, he got ready to strike again, only to realize the attack was over. He looked around, and started to calm his breathing.

He put the knife away and examined his right arm. All of his arm hair had been burnt away, and his skin was tender and red. His runes were still clear, and Jack was glad he didn’t need to get them reapplied. He then turned, and muttered, “No.” Jack’s car was now a pile of rust and congealed tar. He traced the marks created by the chain, and his fingers pushed into the metal of the hood. It was as if the car had been out in the elements for decades.

He looked around, and he started running to the road. He needs to get back to Mount Hope and complete the ritual, before it was too late.