#give me an exorcism and two silver bullets between the eyes for good measure | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spookyspaghettisundae · 5 years ago

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Unrest of the Wicked, Part 2

Two pairs of boots rhythmically struck cobblestone road. The thick fog over the dark city swallowed their echoes. The two wanderers tread on in silence, fearful of drawing unwanted attention.

In the flickering gaslight from the street’s lanterns, their figures came into view as they rounded a corner of Crimsonport’s labyrinthine inner city streets: a couple, garbed in posh winter jackets, on their way home from a social gathering. Written across both their faces was a deep-rooted concern and regret—regret over having chosen to take a midnight stroll, rather than riding home in the comfort of a carriage.

Especially in the wealthiest quarters of this venerable metropolis, rumors of strange and dangerous happenstance occurring after sunset left a lingering sense of dread to occupy the minds of the citizens.

If only they knew half the truth of it. It would drive them mad. However, imagining mere axe murderers and violent thieves to be lurking about—all human, all mundane—the thought of these threats sufficed to strike fear into their hearts.

The couple’s widened eyes darted back and forth, strained on the lookout for dubious figures who might be prowling through the night and sneaking up on them.

Even so, they could not discern the faint silhouette of the man observing them as they walked by his hiding spot. The figure in dark attire blended into the shadows of an alleyway branching off of the road they followed. He stood as still as a statue while his eyes wandered up and down the two figures, studying them with care and suspicion.

Their swift steps allowed the couple to soon round the next corner and vanish from the observer’s sights. While the sounds of them walking still reached him in form of echoes, his attention returned to the museum across the street. The silent watcher was none less than Constable Vaughn Todd.

The lawman waited. His face had long turned numb to the cold, and judging by the number of bells he heard from the church’s clock tower nearby, he had been waiting for nearly an hour outside. While his hands were buried deep inside his pockets, his palms were sweaty, clammy—something he did not remember experiencing since his youth, when he asked Miss Bedford for her hand in marriage—when she turned him down.

He could feel his face contorting as the wintry winds cut against his exposed skin, a frown plastering his visage at the memory. He pushed it back down into the deepest recesses of his mind, and no second too soon.

If not for the scuff of light-footed shoes crunching on gravel on the ground behind him, he would not have heard another man sneaking up on him. The constable did not bother to swivel around, he only tilted his head to see from the corners of his eyes who approached. His expectations had been met, for the one who arrived to join him was Johnn Von Brandt.

“Once a sneak-thief, always a sneak-thief,” Todd said in greeting.

“Until presented with solid evidence, I admit to nothing,” replied the other man. He smiled, but the mien did not spread from his lips, stopping by his dimples and never reaching his eyes.

“Good for you then that I am not interested in finding that evidence, for there are indeed bigger threats to this city’s safety,” Todd said. He nodded to Von Brandt in greeting. “And the king.”

The smile disappeared from Johnn’s face and he said, “You know I do not care one bit about the king. That greedy selfish ba—”

“I will pretend I did not hear such treasonous talk.”

“Alright,” Johnn snapped.

Constable Todd’s gaze drifted from Johnn back onto the museum. The tension between the two made the silence feel thicker than the fog surrounding them.

“So, why do you bother consorting with thieves like me? Your conscience and morals are flexible enough to choose the lesser of two evils?” Johnn pronounced many of his words with melodious sarcasm.

Johnn Von Brandt was by no means a short man. In fact, he stood taller than all he knew, both friends and foes alike. All but Todd. Constable Todd was that rare specimen of a man who dwarfed everybody else on the Red Coast. He was a living tower. All the more frightening was he to the bandit when the constable turned around and looked down at Johnn, locking eyes with him. It sent a shiver down Johnn’s spine, paralyzing him almost the same way that the gaze of a warlock had done, well over a year ago. Only this time, there was no magick involved.

Todd’s response came out with a burning intensity, every word pronounced with cutting clarity and emerging from deep within his heart. “You should never choose to side with a lesser evil, because in doing so you begin to forget what it means to do good. No, I choose no evil at all. You are not evil. You may be a rapscallion, but I do not think of you as evil.”

The words rendered Johnn speechless. Todd turned to face the museum again and then muttered, “I know what happened to the goods and coffers you have stolen in the past. Whoever shares stolen wealth with the poor cannot be an evil soul. A priest once taught a young man—taught me—that even the pettiest of thieves are shown mercy by the Good God.

“Hear me now, and hear me clear. I am not turning a blind eye to your crimes, but after all I have learned in this past fortnight, I know what evils are encroaching upon this city. This land.”

Todd’s square jaw jutted out and he nodded to the museum, gesturing to it thus while keeping his hands buried in his jacket’s pockets.

“True evil is inside there, waiting. Plotting. Dark and wretched. The only other evil is good men doing nothing to prevent that evil from corrupting and destroying this city.”

Johnn finally snapped out of his paralysis. His rebellious heart sparked a smirk, forming across his face.

“Did you just call me a good man?”

“Do not let it get to your head.”

“What about the rest of the police? Is it only you and me? Have you not told anybody else?”

Todd sighed, “No, I could not risk it. Because speaking the truth of the matters would make any sane man think I was mad, just like I would have thought anybody mad had they told me the truth only a month ago. And that is not all—Earl Tyson is a decorated veteran from the war in the north, he has many people who respect him—and he possibly has informants within the constabulary.”

Johnn let the words sink in, then frowned. “And there is no way you can get Nora released from prison? She would be—”

“No. How would I arrange her release? Short of saying outright that demonic possession was the root cause of Emilia Milton’s death, Miss Morrissey will never appear to be anything less than a convicted murderer.”

Narrowing his eyes, he looked back at Johnn over his shoulder, “Besides, I know that—well before she started hunting creatures of the night—she murdered the rest of her merry old mercenary company. I cannot prove it, but I know. You want to tell me that the unnatural was at work there, too?”

Johnn glared at him but said nothing.

“I thought so. Now, have you brought everything we need?”

Johnn grumbled when he replied, “Rock salt, iron, exorcism scrips, holy water, consecrated oils, and lighters.”

“No silver bullets?”

“What for? Did you not speak to Nora about how to deal with such ancient dead?”

Todd shook his head.

“Maybe if you would, you might learn something useful. Or change your mind about getting her released.”

Todd shook his head again.

“Silver bullets are only useful against man-beasts. No, the undead require special measures. Oaken stakes through the heart for vampires, followed by beheading, and blessed wreaths of garlic flowers to keep them away from your neck in the process. And from what she told me, these ancient ones from the desert kingdoms are more akin to angry ghosts possessing desiccated corpses.”

“Why have they not attacked while being transported to our homeland? Or when I investigated the museum earlier?”

Johnn shrugged, “If I had to bet, then the Earl is going to conduct an occult ritual to summon the ghosts. Or already has.”

Todd arched a brow but listened intently.

“Rock salt and iron repels ghosts, as do consecrated oils when lit ablaze. Holy water and exorcism prayers are needed to banish them for good once we’ve destroyed their remains in fire, but we will need to pin them down first. Which is going to be most of the ordeal, because they can move objects invisibly, like poltergeists.”

Still saying nothing, Todd’s face went blank. Taking in such occult knowledge and separating it from superstition and hogwash still challenged him greatly.

Johnn Von Brandt turned to show the constable a crossbow hanging from his shoulder, then said, “Iron bolts will do the trick well enough, and a crossbow does not make the same kind of noise as a pistol.”

The bandit opened his long coat and revealed several bandoleers and belts strapped around his torso. From one of many small sheaths, he pulled a strange dull-bladed knife of wrought iron and held it by the blade, offering its handle to Todd.

Todd nodded and sighed again, his eyes jumping back and forth in between the crude weapon and Johnn’s visage. The constable grabbed the dagger and wedged it into the belt holding his jacket shut.

“One more thing,” Johnn added. “You must never let ancient dead touch you. They can rip your beating heart straight out of your chest.”

Todd’s brow furrowed and he glared at Johnn. “And knowing that, you give me a mere iron knife?”

Johnn smirked, and in a smug tone he replied, “We will not let the undead bastards get that close now, will we?” A dagger appeared in the bandit’s hand out of nowhere—not by means of magick, but sliding from the sleeve of his coat. “I am prepared to die, friend. Are you?”

Before Todd could answer, his eyes went wide. The cause of his shock was not the bandit’s sleight of hand, but the surprise of seeing a pale girl of small and fine stature surfacing from the sea of shadows behind Johnn Von Brandt.

When Johnn followed the constable’s gaze and he turned, the dagger in his hand nearly slipped from his fingers. He pocketed it in a fluid motion and hissed at the young girl of fourteen summers.

“Are you mad? What are you doing here?” Before anybody could speak, Johnn then looked back to Todd. Confusion and doubt had contorted the bandit’s face, puzzling the constable by equal measure, but for different reasons. Johnn asked, “Wait, you can see her?”

Struggling to process this sudden turn of events, Todd had no words for Johnn’s inane question. Instead, he pushed the man aside and squatted down to be at eye level with this girl.

“This is no time or place for a young—”

Todd’s sentence trailed off and he went slack-jawed. Only now did he recognize her. Out of the odd bunch who had paid visits to Nora Morrissey’s cell in the prison tower, this girl was possibly the strangest. Todd linked her to the disappearance of Marcel Collins, the young painter turned murder suspect. She had asked a lot of pointed questions about that investigation and left it well alone after Todd had told her to stay out of official business.

The black dress and veil she wore, lending her the appearance of a lady attending a funeral, had delayed his recognition. Black rings under her eyes rivaled the ones that had stricken Todd’s face all those months ago when he had been investigating Sir Styles’ murder. Only now, seeing this girl here and under these circumstances, did it dawn on him that there may have been more to the case—that there may have been something unnatural at work.

The constable swallowed emptily and stopped himself from grabbing the girl by her shoulders and shaking her and demanding answers. Instead, he remembered his upbringing and realized that being here, now, put this young woman in peril, and he had a duty towards her.

Even so, exasperation forced the following question from his mouth, “What in the nine gates of hell are you doing out all alone, at this time of night?”

She stared back at him, never flinching and never blinking. Staring at him through those big brown eyes, bathed in the shadowed mesh of her funeral veil. Todd shuddered, as if the cold of this wintry night had finally caught up to him. Then he shuddered again when he felt like this girl was emanating a cold far greater than any frost this winter had delivered.

“I am here to help you, Mister Todd,” she whispered in a tiny voice. Every single hair on the back of Todd’s neck stood up straight.

“Alright, enough of this. Not again, Maggie,” Johnn said. The grumble and disdain he used when calling out her name spoke volumes of his patience having run out—mixed with a hint of fear.

Todd wondered. What did he mean with “not again?”

Johnn grabbed Magdalene by a shoulder, but froze in place. She did not budge, but looked up at the benevolent bandit. His jaw quivered and his composure faltered under her icy gaze.

Before anybody could say anything else, all three of them swiveled and then froze, their sights drawn to the sound of a creaking iron gate. With rapt attention, the three watched as Earl Irvine Tyson and his manservant Frederick exited the museum grounds. Frederick shut the iron gate behind his master and fumbled with a ring of keys, their metal jingling brightly. The earl stood aside, his shoulders heaving once with a sharp intake of breath, followed by a small cloud of air condensing in front of his nose and mouth.

“Faster, you nit-witted laggard,” the earl’s voice carried all the way to the alleyway, ringing fierce and impatient.

Frederick locked the gate shot and returned the keys to his pouch, silencing their jingling under a leather flap.

None of the three people watching dared to move. Or breathe.

Earl Tyson and Frederick wandered off into the night. Only when they rounded the next corner, did Todd and Von Brandt exchange nervous glances. Then the bandit glowered at the girl.

“We are bringing you home,” Johnn hissed to Magdalene. “Now.”

Todd stood up straight and clapped a palm down on Johnn’s shoulder. His meaty hand bore the weight of a brick.

“No. There is no time to escort the young lady home,” Todd said. Looking down at her, the constable mustered a feeble smile. “Can you hide and wait until we are finished?”

He did not truly count on surviving the night. Not after all he knew. And all he did not know.

The girl shook her head and narrowed her eyes, frowning in an expression of pure defiance.

“I am a bigger help to you than you think,” she said. Her voice trembled, for once giving her the semblance of a regular girl of her age. That sense was fleeting.

Todd sensed she was no regular girl at all. Not anymore. She was not the same girl he had spoken to last summer. It was like there was an otherworldly wisdom behind her eyes. Ancient as the mummies inside the museum, and as unfathomable as the depths of the ocean.

“I cannot in good conscience allow you to accompany us this night,” Todd argued in a hushed murmur. “You must wait here, and should we not return by the next bell, return home without delay.”

Johnn had nothing to say, left out of the staring contest taking place between his two companions. The way Todd and Magdalene looked into each other’s eyes carried the air of two titans wrestling for control, betraying their vastly mismatched physical statures. An unstoppable force inaudibly clashed against an unmovable object.

Instead of intervening, the bandit seized the opportunity given by the growing stretch of silence and peered around the corner to ensure that Earl Tyson had gained significant distance.

Magdalene pouted.

“Fine. Fine,” she repeated in a bitter tone. “But do take this, so you may live and we may speak again.”

A tiny hand, as pale and gaunt as her face, slipped out of a fur sleeve covering her extremities. In it, she gripped a small object, from which a thin silver chain dangled. Todd felt the gravity of this situation cutting all the way down into his bones. He squatted down again, then held out an open palm.

The cold wintry air froze the sweat on Todd’s open palm. When the girl’s hand brushed against his fingers, he shuddered again because her very body gave off a cold that made the winter feel warm by contrast.

Once she withdrew her hand, the constable stared blankly at the item he had received from her. It weighed almost nothing.

A weird amulet, a ruby beset in a small locket, but wildly wrapped in crude leather strips and adorned with tiny animal teeth and feathers.

“What—what is this?”

“Keep it close to your heart, lest you lose both,” Magdalene whispered.

“But—”

Todd looked up and the rest of his sentence got stuck in his throat like a thick lump. New chills ran down his spine. The girl was nowhere to be seen. He looked around himself in disbelief, but she had vanished. No hiding place in the alleyway could have concealed her from his prying eyes. Gone.

Like a ghost.

“Miss McLachlan?”

Johnn peered back at Todd, and then let his gaze sweep down the alleyway.

“I need to have a serious talk with that girl when this whole thing blows over,” Johnn muttered under a brow furrowed by worry. “She vanished, yes?”

Todd shrugged.

“There is nothing we can do, and we have little time to waste,” Johnn said. “Come—we have undead to put to rest.”

Without waiting for a reply, the bandit snuck across the street, approaching the museum with quiet, certain steps.

Todd looked once more to where Magdalene had last been standing. He shuddered again and whispered a prayer to the Good God. Then he shot another glance at the strange amulet in his hands, locked it around his neck, hid it inside the folds of his jackets, and followed Johnn.

Johnn was right. The constable knew it in his heart of hearts. He had no time to ponder these strange events. To wonder if the girl had given him an item of magicked properties for his protection.

They had no time to waste.

Evil never rests.

—Submitted by Wratts

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