#i can’t believe that you don’t hear me; but you will eventually — Black Agnes

[auraphilopatora]

tags masterpost

[aethwrs]

Magic

Agnes/Agatha Harkness x Reader

══════════════════════

Agatha was lost in her thought while feeding and petting Señor Scratchy, when suddenly a loud knock on the door pulled her out of her trance.

Adjusting her plaid black and white dress and now holding the surprisingly big and soft rabbit between her arms, she made her way to the door, walking and swinging her hips exaggeratedly.

Pushing the door open, she was shocked to see a new face, since it was almost impossible for her to not notice when someone new arrived to Westview… she should’ve sensed it.

Agatha realised that she had been staring questioningly at the lady in front of her for a longer time that she should have, when such lady waved her hand close to her face trying to get her attention.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you” the woman said, thinking she had scared her new neighbour since Agatha’s face still showed nothing other than a sceptical expression, which she immediately changed to a dazzling and distracting smile. “I- I am y/n by the way, I’m new here”

“Oh no, darling! You didn’t scare me, you’re actually quite a sight if you ask me” Agatha winked and looked her up and down, her shameless attempt of flirting working perfectly since the next thing she saw were y/n’s cheeks turning a soft pink colour, only making Agatha’s amused grin get bigger. “My name’s Agnes, it’s lovely to meet you” she moved aside, linking arms with her newest neighbour and leading her into the house.

Y/n thought that people in the town were boring, what she never thought was that she would meet someone like Agnes, who even after just some minutes of barely talking was already driving her crazy in the best possible way.

Sitting on an old-fashioned, yet stylish couch, waiting for Agnes to come back from the kitchen with the tea she said she’d bring, y/n picked up from the coffee table a book with a black cover and purple letters, being the curious person that she was, she opened it and started reading or trying to read what was written inside it. Not a single word seemed to make sense for her and just when she was about to continue searching thought the pages, Agatha appeared on the door frame of the living with a tray full of cookies and two cups of hot tea.

Almost dropping everything on the floor when she saw the book in y/n’s hands, Agatha didn’t hesitate before taking away the book with her free hand and placing it in the wooden bookcase. Her sudden actions confused the other woman, who just looked at her in silence until Agatha’s voice broke the silence.

"Wanda forgot this diary here, I’ll return it to her later” she chuckled, taking one of the cups of tea and offering it to y/n who gladly accepted it and completely shrugged off the previous book situation. “Well dear, tell me about yourself, someone like you must have a pretty interesting life” Agatha spoke trying to start conversation, only to see a frown appear on y/n’s forehead.

"This might sound weird but…I can’t remember anything” y/n almost whispered the last part, resting her hands on her temple and trying to remember something…anything…about herself. Looking up at Agatha, who was staring at her with a plain expression on her face, she simply started laughing.

The laugh of the cheery woman was reason enough for Agatha to start laughing too.

"Oh darling, you're something else" Agatha teased making y/n roll her eyes playfully, both of them still trying to catch their breaths after laughing.

"I'll take the compliment, Agnes" y/n winked, the same thing Agatha had done a few moments ago, this time causing the brunette to blush slightly.

"Oh please do" Agatha responded, wondering how could it be so easy for them to talk freely when they had just met.

Before both of them could realise, the moon had risen and it was night time, meaning that they've been talking all the afternoon.

With the promise of seeing each other any other time soon, y/n walked down to her house not knowing that someone couldn't keep her out of their mind.

__________________________________

As promised, both of them continued to hang out together even if it was for dinners at each other’s houses or just to take a walk around the town.

They were inseparable. Not that any of them would want it other way.

But the truth was that as the time passed, both women started developing feelings for each other. Feelings that were stronger than the ones that two persons who were just friends would have.

Many people in the town would think that they were together but none of them was brave enough to ask.

__________________________________

The day of the talent’s show had arrived and Agatha and y/n decided that they’d go together as a comedy duo.

Once their little show was done, they sat on a table with the rest of the public, currently watching Wanda and Vision’s act, which was anything but normal.

As their show kept getting weirder and weirder, y/n started to think that there was something wrong going on. Looking at her friend willing to tell her how concerned she was, she couldn’t help but notice something that looked like purple mist coming from Agatha’s hands as she moved her fingers carefully, not noticing the face of pure fear and shock on y/n’s face as she watched her do that.

“Agnes….?” y/n asked, her voice coming out as a low whisper whilst she continued staring at the other woman’s hands.

Agatha turned her head to look at her after hearing her name, the smile she had disappearing almost instantly once she noticed the fear written on the younger lady’s face.

“What’s going on, darling? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost” She chuckled and with her hand reached for y/n’s cheek, only for her to push it away still with the same expression as before. “y/n-”

“Your hands…you were-” she mimicked Agatha’s hand movements making the beautiful witch realise the problem. “They were glowing…what was that, Ness?”

Agatha sighed, her eyes turning a deep shade of purple as she looked at y/n with sadness, knowing what she should do next. “My name’s Agatha” she watched as y/n let out an audible gasp, suddenly feeling overly overwhelmed. “and I’m sorry, dear” she whispered, with her hands directing a wave of purple mist straight to y/n’s head that for her surprise, was stopped midway.

“No!” y/n stammered and put her arms up in defence.

Out of the blue, a shiny blue spark came from y/n’s hands which stopped Agatha’s attempt of controlling her. Agatha was left speechless whilst y/n couldn’t believe what just happened.

That blue mist came from her. She did that.

She was scared of herself.

Not wasting any second, she got up from her chair and trying not to drag anyone’s attention towards her, ran to the nearest empty room

Agatha knew how scared she was; it didn’t take a genius to realise that. Y/n had seen her manipulate the show with her magic and at the same time, realised that she had magic too. If there was someone who could help with that, Agatha knew that it was herself.

Getting out of that talents show and making up an excuse to tell to Dottie,Agatha ran behind y/n, finding her sitting in the corner of a dark room, apparently crying.

Slowly approaching her, Agatha knelt besides y/n, gently moving her hair away from her face. The action made y/n flinch and trying to calm her shaky body, she whispered “Please don’t hurt me”.

Hurt flashed through Agatha’s features as the simple thought of y/n thinking she’d hurt her. She could never do that but even if she didn’t want to accept it, she knew the reason she’d say such thing.

“I could never do that, I just want to help you with your magic” she admitted, to which y/n looked up at her with her eyes red from crying.

“I don’t want it” after some seconds of silence, y/n expressed in a barely audible tone that Agatha wasn’t able to hear.

“I can’t hear you” the blue eyed woman said in a sympathetic way, waiting for an answer.

“I don’t want to have magic, Agn- Agatha!”y/n restated, her tone of voice certainly taking Agatha by surprise. “It’s dangerous”

“You’re right, it is but only when you don’t know how to control it” Agatha’s voice softer than usually, trying not to make y/n freak out more than she already was. “and like I said, I can help with that”

“No” y/n whispered with her shaky voice and frantically shook her head, the panic once again setting on her body and her overwhelming emotions causing her to lose the only bit of control she had over her magic, making all the objects in the room start shaking and some of them fly uncontrollably. “Stop this” she said not knowing that she was the one in control.

“I can’t, I’m not the one doing this” Agatha took y/n's hands in hers, giving them a gentle squeeze and looking her right into her eyes. “you have to calm down, ok? Look at me, doll”

“I can’t control this, I can’t!” tears rolled freely down y/n’s cheeks as she feared herself and what she was doing. As the seconds passed, everything seemed to get worse. The sound of objects breaking against the walls, strong gusts of wind blowing through the windows and her sobs filled the room.

Running out of ideas, Agatha thought about the only things that was left to do that could possibly help.

Gently holding y/n’s cheeks, she kissed her. It was a sweet and soft kiss, not rushed at all and even if it shocked her at first, y/n found herself kissing Agatha back, eventually stopping thinking and just focusing on the kiss they were sharing, putting all her emotions in it and letting go of all of her worries. Running out of air, they pulled back. Their foreheads in contact with each other’s and little smiles showing on their faces, none of them daring to open their eyes, scared of ruining the moment.

“You made it stop, see?” Agatha broke the silence, as she always did. “I promise I’ll help you”

Opening her eyes to look at Agatha, y/n smiled shyly at her. “Thank you” was the only thing she said before going silent and then opening her mouth to speak again. “for the help…and the kiss too” she faced the floor, her rosy cheeks and shy behavior being the cutest things Agatha had seen and that she definitely loved about her.

“There’s no need to thank me, sweetheart.”y/n smiled brightly at the pet name, loving how it sounded coming from Agatha. “I like you, a lot and I know that I should have told you the truth sooner but I didn’t want to scare you” now it was y/n’s turn to be shocked.

Did she hear that right?

Did Agatha say that she liked her?

“You…like me?” she questioned just to make sure she’d heard that right, receiving a nod from Agatha. “Well, I like you too and I’m not scared of you, even if I was more than shocked” she laughed but Agatha definitely didn’t want to waste more time.

She pulled her into another kiss, this one shorter than the first one but it was all they both needed. They both had each other now and she didn’t want to ruin it. She promised to herself that there would be no more lies because hiding things from y/n didn’t turn out as good as she thought it would be, but she knew she could do better.

“You’re going to be powerful, dear, I have no doubts” Agatha stated proudly “and I’ll be here to watch it”

Embracing her into a bone crushing hug, y/n took some time to look at their surroundings, realizing the big mess that was dispersed all around the room.

“I hate ruining the moment but if we don’t want to get caught and have to clean this room, I’d suggest we go away now” y/n whispered near Agatha’s ear causing both of them to erupt on giggles as they made their way out of the room.

[jadoue1999]

Wanda and the life she deserved (she’ll make sure of it) Chapter 6

Summary:  Wanda and Pietro try to talk, but get interrupted

Previous parts: chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, chapter 10, chapter 11, epilogue

Chapter 6: Confrontation

Previously:

With eerie similarity to the night before, he looked at her with concern.

“Are you okay?”

...

“Of course!” Wanda replied, a little too quick to be believable. She cleared her throat in an attempt to reassure Pietro. “I just need a day to recharge, the last few days haven’t been the best for me.”

As soon as she had said those words, everything went to hell. The plant gifted by Agnes on her first day suddenly transformed back into what it had been, it was even in black and white. Both twins shared a look of confusion but couldn’t say anything else since the television started changing too. And then the couches, and the curtains, every piece of furniture seemed to be glitching between decades. As she struggled to turn back the modified items, Wanda noticed with horror that the whole house was glitching. The stairs were brought back to what it had been four days ago, even the couch they were sitting on kept changing. The walls disappeared and reappeared, sometimes being brick, wood planks or simply gone. Suddenly, a familiar chattering sound was heard, and Wanda closed her eyes in denial, it couldn’t be happening, she had to get herself together!

“Is that a stork?!” Wanda vaguely heard her brother’s confusion, but she was too caught up in her own panic of seeing her precious world glitching. “Wanda, you have to calm down,” urged Pietro, “take deep breath alright? Do it with me, in,” he breathed in, and she followed, “and out,” he exhaled.

They repeated for a few more minutes, the glitching gradually getting better the longer she grounded herself. When it finally stopped, she didn’t feel like staying inside anymore. She got up from the couch and traded her dressing gown for a red vest, quickly putting it on and turning to her brother. “Thank you.”

He smiled at her as he grabbed her shoulders, “no problem, sis. I’m just glad you weren’t alone.”

She returned his smile and went to get a glass of water, she felt drained. Wanda barely had the time to ask her brother to go get some headache pills before he was back with the bottle in his hand. As the pill rolled down her throat, the front door suddenly opened.

“Wanda!” Geraldine’s voice echoed through her house. Startled, Wanda put her glass on the counter and looked at her brother in worry and anger. How dare she barge in like that?

“Pietro, give me a minute, please.” Wanda knew the confrontation with her ex-neighbor would not go well. That woman was determined to make her leave the town, who knew what lies she could tell her brother.

Like the fact that he’s not who he thinks he is?

Once again, her mind interrupted her thoughts. She tried to not let it show as she watched her brother nod and speed upstairs. Geraldine looked at the spot the man had been a moment ago, clearly searching for her words. “Wanda, who is he?” She paused, waiting for an answer, but Wanda didn’t talk. “You can’t keep him; he probably has a family. He’s not really your brother, you have to understand“

“He is my brother, and nothing you say will change my mind. If you’re here for those pointless pleas, Geraldine, I suggest you leave.”

“M-my name is Monica and it’s not only about him. It’s also about Vision, Hayward-“

“I don’t care about your director; I don’t even want to hear his name!” Wanda roared as she grabbed Monica with her magic and dragged her out.

“Please Wanda, Pietro’s family-“

“I’m his family!” Yelled Wanda as she brought her hand down, fully intending on getting rid of her for good. She froze when Monica not only landed without a scratch but seemed to dissipate the shockwave completely. How long has she had powers? Wanda quickly composed herself as the woman got to her feet, brushing off the dust from her clothes. She apparently had no survival instincts because she approached the redhead without hesitation.

“Wanda, please, I understand what you’re going through,” started Monica. “I lost the person closest to me too, I didn’t even get to say goodbye. Your urge to run away and hide in your reality is one I can understand, especially someone with your powers, but it can’t stay like this.” She paused; Wanda didn’t like admitting it, but her ex-neighbor was somewhat right. “You have to take the barrier down before it gets any worse. Hell, I’ll even stay with you if you need someone to do damage control!” Monica took a breath, her speech affected Wanda as much as it affected her. She didn’t have much left to say, but she had to get her point across. “Hayward is trying to blame everything on you, don’t let him make you the villain.”

Wanda looked at her, not knowing how to react. Sure, she had made some unsavory choices but calling her a villain? That was a bit extreme.

‘You’re holding a town hostage, gaslighting your husband and willingly keeping your multiverse brother under mind control, how are you not the bad guy again?’ Pitched in her mind. She couldn’t start thinking about that, she didn’t want to think about it. What she had done, she had done out of grief, love even. She just wanted to be happy, she couldn’t take down the barrier, who knows what would happen to Vision and the twins. Not only that but her brother would eventually notice that something was wrong. It simply wasn’t an option. Once again, her magic was threatening to lash out, defend what was rightfully hers. She never had true happiness ever since the Stark bomb. This was the first time she could live without a care, or true consequences. The world be damned, she wouldn’t give up without a fight.

“Maybe I already am,” Wanda responded, hating how her voice faltered for a moment. She covered her weakness by sending a look that urged Monica to try something. However, before she could say anything, Agnes was at her side, a hand on Wanda’s shoulder.

“Young lady,” she said, addressing Monica, “I think you’ve overstayed your welcome. Poor Wanda’s been through enough.”

She started leading her neighbor away, ignoring the outsiders protest, when Pietro suddenly appeared next to the duo.

“Thanks Agnes, I don’t know what was up with her. I didn’t hear much but it sounded intense,” he looked at his sister, “you alright?”

Pietro took Wanda’s arm, bringing her closer. She confirmed her wellbeing with a nod, burying her face in her brother’s chest. He hugged her tightly before looking at their neighbor, “I’ll take it from here, how are the twins?”

Agnes looked at the pair, unsure how to react to the sudden change of plans. Nevertheless, she smiled, “oh they’re good! I’ve made them sandwiches, they’re watching tv. I’ll go back to them, but I’m still waiting on you for the repairs!” The neighbor joked.

A quick nod confirming he understood, Wanda and Pietro started walking, not realizing the glare Agnes was giving them.

“Thank you for being at my side.”

Pietro put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed, “Always.”

Wanda smiled, sadly, before looking at the ground. If only it could be true.

***

Notes:  Please read Pietro's “is that a stork” line the same intonation Peter has when he sees Hank in his blue form for the first time. Also, I've lengthen Monica's monologue to Wanda, because she's probably one of my favorite character from WandaVision. She's very similar to Wanda and definitely could have made her see reason had she had more time.

[pla-teau]

WANDAVISION EPISODE SEVEN THOUGHTS

GIF NOT MINE

SPOILERS AHEAD YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!

BREAKING THE FOURTH WALL MORE LIKE BREAKING MY BRAIN AND HEART

wanda’s mood | as she talks to the camera, she treats her expanding the false world she’s created to having a bad night out. we’re seeing how tired she is from expanding westview - it damn near drained her it seems. the last episode was a lot to take in, keeping up with her torn emotions with pietro, her relationship with vision crumbling, worrying about her kids, expanding the hex — it’s enough to fry out your nerves. wanda also categorizes what happened in the last episode as reckless and decides to stay in to punish herself. even her kids notice that she’s out of it because she doesn’t stop them from fighting and doesn’t say a word as she heads to the kitchen. she’s drained, she’s tired - she doesn’t want to deal with anything today. wanda’s not being the doting mom she’s been since the birth of the twins as when billy talks about his head being too noisy, she ignores his complaints and lounges in bed a little longer. she’s drained and is acting out of character throughout the whole episode.

wanda’s reality is starting to break | right off the bat, we see how the reality in westview is going haywire. the boys mention their game freaking out. it switches to games from different eras. then we see it with wanda’s milk - switching from black and white to color and even changing shape to fit the style of a past era like 50s with the milk being in glass bottle or a milk carton with the ‘missing’ label on the side. we’ve seen the trailer/promo footage of different objects/furniture in the house glitching in this same manner and it seems that wanda’s power is not strong enough to keep everything together - physically or mentally so it seems in this episode.

“thanks for tuning in to W.N.D.A.” | as wanda is in the kitchen making herself some cereal, you can hear the tv from the living room say this. this sets up the opening credits for the show as everything is about wanda. if you turn on the subtitles, you can read exactly what the anchor is saying on the television. he says “not a thing weighing heavily on your conscience. i hope your little ghosts arrived home safe last night. it’s always such a treat to see those creepy kiddos out and about once a year.” it seems as though it’s wanda’s mind we’re hearing. nothing’s weighing heavily on her conscience - kinda is with expanding the hex. the little ghosts is in reference to all the kids that we finally saw come out for halloween in westview. calling them creepy kiddos could mean nothing but i thought about tommy and billy? since the two gained their abilities on halloween and weren’t doing much to conceal their powers (at least tommy wasn’t). i also say it’s wanda’s mind we’re gaining insight to cause when it goes on to the bit about giving tips about resisting temptation of the leftover candy or just eating it all - wanda is skeptical of what’s happening with the milk but still takes a big spoonful of cereal.

opening credits | we don’t have some super catchy lyrics this time around for the opening credits of the show - making me think that this is a nod to the office. but we do get ‘wanda’ splattered in every frame of the credits. the one that stands out to me is the ‘i know what u are doing wanda’ since everything else it seems to be replacing random words on signs like restaurants and other shops. comes off as a tad bit scary/creepy since it’s written with cut out letters from different new articles/magazines. could be a hint to vision knowing that it is all wanda’s doing. or as we later find out, it can be a set up to agnes’ reveal since she plays a more sinister role in all of this. this is the first we’re seeing any sort of credits in the opening sequence. created by wanda maximoff - again driving home the fact that the hex and everything we’ve seen so far has all been wanda’s creation or so we’re forced to believe...

SWORD retreat | we learn that the broadcast has been taken down - all they get is dead air supposedly. maybe that’s just a result of wanda’s expansion of the hex but i think it’s too weak given how har out they are and since they are farther from wanda as she doesn’t live right at the edge of town. we also learn that haydick hayward is planning to launch a missile or some kind of powerful weapon on/in to the hex to stop wanda. let’s hope it fails or if it goes through, wanda can point the missile/weapon back at SWORD and let it go.

“if he doesn’t wanna be here, there’s nothing i can do about it.” | wanda’s comment about vision not being home and response to billy asking if they should go looking for him. this clearly speaks to wanda not having any control over vision anymore. this is the first time we’ve seen the couple apart for the entirety of the episode. he’s gained enough sentience within the hex to not be controlled by wanda as other residents are. she knows she can’t rewrite or edit the scene for him to suddenly come through the door and have everyone be a happy family.

“he is not your uncle.” | wanda confirms to us that the pietro we’ve seen so far is a stranger and not some multiverse version of her dead brother. this to me also shoots down the theory of the multiverse existing at this point and wanda being responsible for it even though evan peters does play pietro in the x-men universe. i think it was a wink to fans about marvel gaining rights to the x-men franchise. i could be wrong but until then, ‘uncle p’ is sus to me.

“i don’t have all the answers” | wanda going on about how despite being their mother, she doesn’t have all the answers. this is the third time wanda’s been asked about the truth and she doesn’t have an answer. first with vision when he asks how all this happened. second with ‘pietro’ also asking how she created westview. now, it’s the twins seeking answers about their not-uncle if she’s claiming he’s an imposter and a liar. if anything, wanda has been consistent in this claim of not knowing anything. she knows she created westview but she doesn’t know how it got to be this way. i still believe she was offered something or was taken advantage of from the get go by someone else to get to her and observe how powerful she is. i personally love the twins’ reaction to her speaking on not having all the answers. hello yes i love them.

hayward’s interest in vision | we learn that project cataract is/was hayward’s plan to bring vision back to life. this man was trying to make vision into a weapon for SWORD and that’s why he’s so focused on vision inside the hex. wanda somehow brought him back to life despite hayward’s various attempts. i hate this man and i’m sorry but i hope monica and/or wanda beat the shit out of him. obviously, hayward was using SWORD’s resources to try and bring vision back to life but it’s a question of whether or not other people within SWORD knew this was happening and what the intentions were. because we also have monica’s contact be another agent working in SWORD. so why do i get the feeling that we’re gonna be dealing with a SHIELD 2.0 in which bad guys operate within the agency and it’s going to eventually fall like 2014?

“do you think maybe this is what you deserve?” | the interviewer asking wanda this question after we see her house starting to glitch like there’s no tomorrow. while later we do find out agnes is behind the mic, it made me think that this was mephisto finally coming out a bit since the question is very pointed at wanda. the interviewer wants to see wanda suffer because why would anyone ask such a thing let alone say that? they’re taking joy in wanda losing touch with her reality. this is the lowest we’ve seen wanda throughout the series. she’s usually put together - has a slight moment of crisis - but gets back on her feet for tomorrow to enjoy her life with her family. slowly it’s been building up to this point in which wanda just...crashes. she’s lost control in this reality so for the interviewer to pose that question, it’s a signal that someone else is in charge and going to come for wanda at her weakest.

the nexus commercial | this commercial is definitely referencing wanda during infinity war/endgame. the world goes on without you? could be talking about how the world keeps spinning after wanda lost the only family she had left or how everyone moved on in endgame despite losing the person she wanted to spend her life with. wanting to be left alone? all wanda wanted was to be with vision and now to be left alone as she lives out her life with vision in westview. i know the word nexus itself has a double meaning in marvel. nexus was first name dropped in aou, with it being the center of the internet located in oslo. in the comics, i know wanda is referred to as a nexus being in which this could definitely set up the multiverse as the commercial does state that the medication ‘anchors you back to your reality. or the reality of your choice.’ i’m guessing this is on purpose since we’re conditioned to see everything marvel puts out or puts emphasis on to have a double meaning. maybe wanda discovering that she is a nexus being in multiverse of madness could be what the side effects are talking about. if she’s confirmed to be this being, she’d feel a lot of feelings, confront her truth (maybe her role in westview and hopefully her trauma), seizing her destiny (taking control of her life and bigger role in the world), and possibly more depression (i don’t think she needs more of it but with her, it’s almost inevitable especially given where these next two weeks might be heading). given that it does hold two meanings for marvel, it could explain the scenes we’ve seen in promo footage of her time in sokovia with the mind stone. we were told that the show would explore more of wanda’s past from aou so maybe it is going to give nexus a double meaning in the mcu: the largest internet hub and wanda’s confirmation as a nexus being.

the twins with agnes | this scene had me anxious. billy commenting about it being quiet heavily hinted at how agnes isn’t like anyone else in westview. again, we’ve never seen her husband ralph and we still don’t see him in this episode. we get another glimpse of señor scratchy with billy holding him but that’s about it. the house is also a big contrast to wanda’s house and westview’s scenery overall. there’s usually a lot of light and warmth in westview but agnes’ interior is toned down and has darker tones throughout our time in it. clearly, a set up for the big reveal that everyone’s been echoing since the show started. this is also the last time we see the twins in the episode.

monica | after the SWORD rover failed to get through, monica goes right in and clearly her passing through a third time has a permanent effect. she’s finally got her powers and is more badass than before. i loved how we got bits and pieces from her, maria, carol and fury in captain marvel. monica has been one of the best characters in this series and i can’t wait to see what happens next with her.

it’s all about vision | monica’s explanation to wanda about hayward. i said this before about the end credits in the show always zooming in on vision’s eye to segway into the crystal sequence. we’ve learned that hayward was trying to bring vision back and somehow wanda managed to do this once she took his body. i wouldn’t be surprised if by the end of the season we see vision being the key to saving everyone in westview since hayward just wants what he believes is his and is willing to blow up a whole town to get it or cover his tracks. while this whole series has been focusing on wanda, this all boils down to vision.

agatha all along | of course the big reveal is agnes being agatha harkness and the mastermind behind a lot of the weird occurrences in westview. what is interesting is that she’s choosing to reveal herself to wanda in this way. it doesn’t seem like it was her plan to do it at the time she did but seeing that monica could’ve swayed wanda to go off script in agatha’s plans, better sooner than later. i think señor scratchy is none other than mephisto and maybe in the next episode we’ll see the other big bad reveal himself to wanda and us. when’s that bop dropping on spotify

snooper’s gonna snoop | finally, we get a post credits scene with uncle p and monica. we’ve learned that agatha was behind the ‘recasting’ of pietro but who is he?! he could be a multiverse!quicksilver we’ve never seen before - which could explain his skewed memories with wanda. right when the camera comes to view with monica, it cuts to the credits. i believe that maybe this pietro shapeshifts into who he really is - who this might be? i don’t think mephisto but possibly agatha’s son nicholas scratch since he seems to be an accomplice of hers?

ugh god so much to unpack and we have another two episodes before shit really hits the fan.

[auroras-blend]

I Hate It Here

Summary: Vittoria gets used to her new church in Garland City and Leonardo finds he not as welcomed as he once was.

Note: Occurs after chapter 33

“Vittoria, step out of the car,” Papa demanded as he held the car door open for her.

Vittoria shook her head. “I don’t like this church.”

“You haven’t even been inside yet,” Papa reasoned, “Stop embarrassing me and get out.”

“I want Sg.ra Giordano,” she protested, crossing her small arms.

Papa sighed heavily, “We’ll return one day and you can see her, but for now, this is our church.”

“No.”

“What do you think God will think of you if you refuse to go to church on His day?”

Vittoria frowned and a potential offense to God made her step out of the car. She’d never want him to think she didn’t love him. Her little black mary-janes pattered onto the asphalt as she slid off the leather seat. She had resisted the entire time, decreeing that the Cathedral of the Holy Virgin was not her church. Then Papa told her no church belonged to her, but to God and that shut her up. Still, I miss our old one. People were nice to me. I liked our priest.

Papa held her hand as she smoothed out her dark navy blue dress, afraid the wrinkles would offend God and Christ. Papa had dressed her up, pinning her hair into a braided bun and clasping the diamond cross around her neck even though it brought up painful and bitter reminders of Sg.ra Bianchi. Whenever she thought of something sad, she talked to God. She talked to him a lot more now, the only voice she heard at night when she was left alone with her thoughts.

Her eyes drifted up to the imposing building. Like her church back home, it was grand and opulent, a marvel of architecture. It was a sterile white with statues carved into the face of the marble, a true sight as it towered over the buildings around it. Churches should be bigger than other buildings. The domes and spirals were erected so high, it looked like they were trying to reach God and heaven itself. Of course, like the cathedral back at home, the inside was as marvelous.

Rows of polished redwood lined the inside of the church, the number of pews taking up enough space to seat the massive amount of congregants filing inside. The pulpit is so big, but, “Where are the pictures?” she asked.

“The what?”

“The one at home had pictures of Jesus behind it? Where are the pictures-,” she began before a glittering light caught her eye.

Her green eyes widened in awe at the stained glass containing vivid colors, some portraying biblical scenes. Oh, there they are. They cast brightly over the wooden floor, which felt warm and like she was basking in holy light. It’s warmer than the one back in Italy. Vittoria noticed that her hands and legs weren’t cold. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

Papa led her to a pew as she was distracted by the grandness of the church, so distracted that she didn’t notice some women sliding away from him with wary eyes. But Papa noticed. He pulled her closer. “Principessa,” he whispered with a friendly and fatherly smile, “It’ll be in English today, except for the usual Latin.”

He handed her a Bible as she pulled out her favorite red rosary, “Really?”

“Yes, so you better pay attention because I’m going to ask you plenty of questions when I’m done,” he said in good nature.

She smiled back at him. “Sg.ra Lisi said I’m really good at answering questions.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said before gesturing to the dark-haired priest who came out to begin the service.

Vittoria, for some reason, felt her ears were mildly shocked by the English the priest was speaking in. It was her first language, but for some reason, it felt harder to follow along. Usually, at this time on Sundays, she was straining to hear some familiar words and heard herself thinking in Italian, as she desperately tried to program her brain to recognize his English. Eventually, she did and was as transfixed on the priest as her father was.

During the service there were eyes on her and Papa, making her squirm nervously in her seat. One young woman, in particular, had her eyes analyzing her body, as if trying to find something wrong. Papa didn’t notice and she dearly wished she had because the young woman glared at him with repulsion and distrust before she corrected herself with a smile when she saw Vittoria look back at her. As if she was trying to say, you’re not the problem. Vittoria shyly averted her gaze back to the pulpit and priest, trying to ignore the congregants who were as nosy as the ones in Summerfield.

Thankfully, the service seemed to go a lot faster and it ended as quickly as it began. Perhaps because it didn’t take her as much work to follow along and it kept her interest. Well, as much as a service could do for a nine-year-old. Papa helped her out of the pew before offering his hand and a friendly smile to an older woman who huffed and moved past him anyways. This is why I didn’t want to come back. American people are rude. What do they have against single parents?!

Vittoria frowned at her Papa who stepped out of the way and led her from the pews before smiling again as he caught sight of someone whom he must’ve known before. “Ah Mr. Howard,” he grinned, “It’s so nice to see you!”

The man pulled a face and looked ready to turn before he caught sight of Vittoria and decided to put on a facade of politeness. “Mr...Mr. Borghese,” he stuttered before being forced into a hug, “It’s been a while.”

“Too long,” Papa smiled, “And Mr. Borghese? When did you become so formal? You can still call me Leonardo.”

The man shifted on his feet uncomfortably, tugging at his collar that Vittoria could hardly believe was choking his skinny neck. The man was small, well smaller than her Papa, and only reached up to her Papa’s shoulders. He had sandy brown hair and blue eyes that reminded her of Pastor Marks. “Yes...well…” he glanced down, “You have a child.”

Papa smiled down at her and pulled her front and center. She wished he hadn’t. She hated strangers. “I do. Would you like to introduce yourself, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart? Not principessa? “Hi,” she said in a small voice, giving a tiny wave.

The man, or Mr. Howard, gave a strained smile. “Well hello,” he greeted, his demeanor becoming less stressed and friendlier, “What’s your name?”

“My name is Vittoria,” she said shyly.

It didn’t escape her Papa’s attention that prying eyes were on her, the little girl who walked in with the formerly beloved by all, Leonardo Borghese. There was something entirely innocent and non-threatening about him having a daughter. “Well, that’s such a pretty name. And how old are you?”

“I turned nine in December,” she said, wishing she could already leave.

“Wow, so you’re a big girl now, huh?”

“Not as big as Papa. He’s a giant,” she said quietly.

Mr. Howard and her Papa gave low laughs. “Leonardo,” an older woman approached with a thick accent that she couldn't recognize except she knew it wasn’t Italian, “You come back and you don’t introduce the girl?”

Papa smiled at the woman who had previously snubbed him. After all, how could he be terrible if he had a small daughter who loved him? Who looked at him with religious reverence and complete undying trust. Then there were the others who glanced over at the child with wariness, protectiveness, and apprehension. Fearful that she was in a monster’s presence, but she found they didn’t linger too long or approach her at all. Apparently, the young woman from before didn’t care enough to check on her; she’s probably going to gossip about us later.

The longer she and Papa stayed, the more people crowded her and asked her questions. Mainly the elderly who had much more faith in her father than the younger churchgoers. Old women spoke with Papa in Italian and Vittoria adorably responded in the same language, earning her pinches and smothering hugs into their breasts. WHY?! EVERY TIME?!

“It’s so nice to see you settled down,” a white-haired woman cooed, “She’s so sweet.”

They always talk about me. Never to me. “She was such an angel during the service. Some parents here just can’t control their children,” an old man scoffed.

“Well, she’s a good Catholic,” Papa praised.

That made her feel a little better. I try to be. “If you’re interested, St. Agnes’ is a lovely Catholic school for primary-age children. Well, girls. It’s an all-girls school,” a woman with a breathy accent smiled, “My nieces went there.”

“I’d consider all girls,” he smiled, “She hates boys.”

“I don’t hate you,” she said defensively, causing everyone to laugh.

Her face reddened in embarrassment as dread filled her chest. I wanna stay home with him forever. I don’t wanna go to another school. Vittoria liked being close to her Papa, and only with her Papa. I wish he’d hurry up so we can go home and play kingdom together. He promised we could play kingdom!

It was her very favorite game where she was the princess and he was the king. He’d build a castle fort with her, they’d sit for tea, go up on the balcony to wave, and dance. They didn’t do everything, but the game made her feel special. Vittoria tried focusing on planning the agenda and what they’d do for the kingdom game while he kept talking because he’s taking foreverrrrrrr!

***

The trip to the car was long. She felt relieved when they left the church, but all they did was move to talk outside. And she dearly wished they had gone home because they finally asked about the one topic that brought her agonizing pain and memories. Mama. “She passed away,” Papa said, softening his eyes as if he were devastated.

Light gasps sounded and she could feel her nose begin to sting. Vittoria retreated back behind her father. “Well bless you, for doing it all by yourself. I can’t even imagine,” an old woman exclaimed, her hand pressing against her chest.

Mama did it by herself and no one was nice to her. “How are you going to balance work and fatherhood?” one woman asked, “Childcare is a financial nightmare. I remember this one time…”

Oh my gosh, I just wanna go home! Vittoria grew restless and was about to sprint to the car before Papa was finally able to bid them all farewell. Well, not before they pinched her cheeks as a goodbye. Why do strangers think they can touch me? She had gotten used to it after a while in Italy, but it was always odd that everyone was so physical with her. Papa never minds!

The whole ordeal sent her into a distressed state and after her Papa inspected the car and buckled her in, she began to weep. Papa sighed when he sat in the driver's seat. “They touched me,” she cried, “Please don’t make them babysit me, Papa.”

I never want a babysitter again! Her Papa sighed, “Principessa...I’m going to have to go back to work eventually…”

“Then let me come with you,” she begged, “I’ll be quiet and good. I can even help.”

I can decorate his office and sort papers into folders! I can do all types of things. “I’ll even do it for free!” she offered.

People like free things.

“That’s very sweet Vittoria, but I can’t take you to...work with me. We’ll figure something out, okay?”

Papa had already decided she wasn’t going to a real school yet. Vittoria could hardly handle a grocery store; it’d be a nightmare at a school. No, he was hiring tutors again. That worked so well last time. He started the car and he began the drive home while she continued to cry.

“We’ll have lunch when we get back, but after that, you’ll take a pill,” he said in a ‘no arguments’ voice.

“You worked from home before. Why can’t you do it again?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Things are different now…” he explained without explaining.

“I hate it here,” she pouted, “I hate Garland City and I hate America.”

“Vittoria,” Papa hissed, “Never say that again. I don’t care what you think, but you’ll keep those thoughts to yourself. Do you understand?”

A pout was stuck to her lips but she begrudgingly agreed. I hate it. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. I hate it here...

[justformyself2]

Notting Hill.

A/N: Wow, who also need a good story to be pumped for the apocalypse? raise your hand please!

Not really sure if you guys know about this story, but June 27,2020 is the date, look it up lol. You know what else we could be doing before going to hell once for all for lusting so much over John Krasinski? 

Sign this Petitions and donate if possible:

Justice for Elijah McClain

Elijah McClain donation

Justice for Miguel

Ways to Help and more petitions to sign.

BLACK LIVES MATTER NOW AND ALWAYS.

Well, now that i said what i said, let me finish by telling you, this is an important story for me. The past months have been extremely rough and i struggled like never before to fight for something i love to do not be consumed by dark thoughts, regardless of the past, i’m proud to be posting this right now, no matter how long it took for me and how minimal it may seem, goddamn i feel happy to create and write, and for you guys, in whatever you need to do, dream of doing, don’t let dark thoughts guide you into staying stuck, shine, do what you love, we all have the capacity.

This is my participation on my friend’s @lullabieswrappedinlies​​ rom-com writing challenge (go check her out, she is so damn creative and amazing)

This story is based on the movie Notting Hill and will be added on my masterlist. or tell me you want to be tagged if you want to keep up.

BEFORE YOU JUMP IN BE ADVISED

. Pairing: Reader x John Krasinski.

. It contains strong language.

. Click here for soundtrack of movie if you are in your feelings today

                                                   JOHN’S POV

“John, we will be ready in five.”

“Ok.”

I press the phone once again against my ear, listening to her heavy sigh. It is easy to mold her face into my brain with dexterity. The bushy eyebrows, casting a shadow under piercing blue eyes, seeking to grab my soul, she succeeding to combine it all with a condescending smile on her lips. Condescension which I have to kiss it off.

“Well, if you want to go, then go.”

Deep down, she was still trying, and I can’t take that for granted.

“I don’t want to go. I need to go, an enormous difference. It’s work.”

I aim to be the diplomatic debater, the mediator, and the opponent. She is better than me at being the third party, perfecting the act of passive-aggressiveness in chosen phrases, fuming through her nose on the other side of the line. An act I wish to interpret as a genuine breathed laugh with no second intentions; my five minutes seemed to multiply.

“Call you later?”

I say.

“Yes.”

She answers

“Love you.”

She hanged up.

                                                            --------

                                                      Y/N POV

“This book is so weird and sexist, holy shit.”

You put the phone down, and Nova throws another eighties romance book into the cardboard box with its copies.

“Language.” You sing at her in a scolding tone. 

“Sorry.” She sings back. “But you know I’m right. They are always pairing a young girl with some fifty years old, control freak who prey on them with their big, strong, tan hands.”

You giggle, and she looks satisfied.

Regardless of the narrative that anyone could quickly review, it was ‘in’ right now, as Agnes said, and what her bookclub wanted. “Un plaisir coupable.” she completed; the thin red lines that were her lips stretched in a laugh, causing her blue contacts to squint. 

Soon enough, the scavenging for the material began, and you found the yellow pages, delivered with weird smells, phone numbers, and addresses written on the inside of the covers, but still readable.

“They paid and are coming to pick them up tomorrow. It’s the only thing I care about right now. Also, don’t let her catch you saying that you hear me? I will help finish this then we can close before your mom shows up and kill me when she finds out you are here.”

You move from behind the counter, seeing the digital hour hit past ten pm on the laptop.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, she already knows.”

The unconcerned Nova grabs a box, and you grab another following her quick steps, twisting to the right almost at the end of the hall, entering a room that was once a decent private office before it became nonfunctional. 

The reserved bookshelf for Agnes club waited empty, a last-minute metal book rack next to the bay window. To create an illusion of a comfortable place for a book club, orange curvy chairs, which Alexis begged to be thrown out, along with the red Arabic carpet left behind with the chairs by the old owner. Every time you enter the space taking a deep, immediate, frustrated breath, Alexis wins a point.

You place the box down, looking at your niece.

“Kyle?”

You ask, and Nova hums softly, doing the stocking job.

 Kyle, more than a name it was first a banned topic usually discussed between a limited couple of sentences. His name was a warning, along with his unrequested presence at random, unannounced times. It became harder since Nova wasn’t at a manageable age anymore. It was tough at fifteen, and as the time passes by, sweetness gains the bitterness, and innocence, gone.

“Well, you know you will always have a second bed, Donkey misses you.”

You gain a laugh while she finishes her box.

“Oh God, can’t believe you still keep him there.”

You shrug impulsively, paying attention to your own hands, arranging the books and their horizontal titles on a pile.

“It was your favorite toy, why would I throw it away?”

“You know why.”

 A pause and a deep breath came from her, triggering the thought, long forgotten about, that people still expected you to be mourning over material remains.

“It’s okay to throw away with the rest of the others, it’s been a long time.”

Her auburn hair was now being tied in a bun. Your fifteen-year-old niece, holding a peaceful outside appearance, didn’t mind sounding more mature than you wanted to admit.

 “Good... then we can donate, not throw it away.”

“Even better.”

She agrees quickly, stomping on the empty cardboard box.

Nova turns out the lights as you awaited for her, leaning against the glass door on the entrance, blowing hot humid air into your cold fingers and watching over nothing other than a middle-aged man with a red beanie walking a Greyhound on the other side of the empty street. 

Notting Hill wasn’t known for its nightlife. It was almost a deserted city by eight and in the light of day, Portobelo Rode fruit market brings it to life. On weekdays, stalls and its hay baskets, packed with succulent fruits and greens, filled the streets along with shouted invites, half prices and sweet-soured smells invading each corner; on weekends the baskets shape-shifted to antiques of all kinds, genuine or handmaid, the crowd and the stalls multiplied in the small village. 

In-between buyers and sellers of what you could harvest or find in your gramma’s basement there was your store, a bookstore, one corner away from your home, squeezed in the middle of Linda’s cafe and a self-employed yoga instructor that recently rented Mr. Walsh’s house, a retired Navy who moved to Greenwich with his daughter-in-law three weeks ago; his red door house now held a big white plaque with ‘Sivananda Yoga’ written in cursive gold letters, phone number and social media included under the picture of a woman in the lotus posture.

“A yoga studio, nice!” Says Nova, coming closer to the four steps leading up to the red door.

You close the store and covers her shoulders with your arm when the icy wind started building up.

“We could try it someday, your mom-.”

“Hates trying new things.” She completed. “Don’t even bother.”

 “That is where you are the wrong baby. It may seem like this now, but I wish you could have seen your mom in her prior days. Wow... She was glorious.”

The feeling of wandering eyes aiming at your face became stronger as you carried her along the street under your embrace.

“Before my dad, I guess.”

A tiny part of your soul lighten up, recognizing itself in your niece’s words, but there was no place to fuel her fiery tone.                                                                                           

“To be honest, I don’t know, but people change Nova, everyone eventually, even the ones we thought we had figured out, including ourselves.”

“Whatever, I don’t want him back in the house again if she puts him back, I’m moving with you.”

The decisiveness in her voice sent bad vibrations along your back. 

Unusual memory mechanism. Alexis visited your mind, vivid as if you could see her across the street you were crossing, she waiting and shivering at your front door because you forgot the spare key in the store again. 

After the scolding she would show a rose-colored box from Fincher’s cafe under her arm, comporting the most amazing banoffee pie, your favorite pie from your favorite place. 

Fincher’s cafe, that was once located two blocks away from where you two lived was closed when the old owner went bankrupt and reopened in Queensway street, she would drive there every weekend to bring that rose-colored box under her arm and wait for you on the couch, once the spare key was in the fake birdhouse, with the TV turned on and the plates placed on the center table next to the wine.

“See, I don’t think that will happen.”

“How could you know? Didn’t you just said people change?”

“And love changes people, your mother has more for you than you could ever imagine and without measuring efforts. She wouldn’t make any decision that would hurt you, trust me.”

Nova quickly disengage from the conversation, staying on mute abruptly, leaving a temporary gap for thoughts of doubt to occupy. Your heart is worried, but a grown-up, worried heart shouldn’t be shown while trying to pass a sense of security. That included waiting for Nova to fall sleep before calling Alexis.

You climb the four steps and opens the blue door, face to face with smiling Rudolph from last Christmas, hanging by a thread along with Santa, waiting to be taken down as the feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“I ate at home so if you don’t mind I will go to bed now.”

Unreeling the red knitted scarf, the tenth big piece Alexis attempted to make at her knitting fase, Nova doesn’t look behind once. You watch her back as she went upstairs to the guest room, her special fort at five, and now her hideaway at fifteen, with fewer toys and Donkey, an old stuffed toy still sitting in the shelf waiting for no one in a room cleaned every week.

You dismiss the purple scarf from around your shoulders, the third big piece on your sister’s collection, not as good as the tenth, but it warmed you inside to observe her trying to hide a proud smile in seeing what she made wrapped around Nova and you.

A stupidly cold breeze hits the back of your neck before you turned around to close the door, the phone rings along with squealing tires of a black car on the other side of the street.

                                                           1

[mor-beck-more-problems]

An In-Spectre Calls || Cassie and Morgan

Set before the potw. Morgan meets Cassie for the first time and asks for some slightly spooky help. 

There was something pathetic about drifting through Eye of Newt alone. Around Morgan teenage witches squealed over crystal balls and bundles of sage, handmade fliers for a Tarot Tuesday covered the table, taper candles of every color stared down their wicks at all the fuss, and so many purple spined books gleamed out from the shelves. It was all so curated, so proud, so...much nicer than the mess of wax and leaves around Morgan’s kitchen table where she made her own wares. Even Vera, Vera, could afford gilt labels for her smudge sticks. Bitch. Worst of all was knowing that few self respecting witches dared to roll the dice here. They had other, better outlets to send for. But Morgan had left a chunk of her self respect somewhere around trying to connect with her ancestors through a three dollar slice of birthday cake. And the shame of all this, re-stocking from her own competition, watching teenagers exercise more freedom and skill with their gel pens than she had bothered to muster lately--settled around her like the heaviest of blankets. At least if she was miserable, she was safe. Probably. 

And so Morgan lingered, bitterly taking mental notes on packaging and pining over books she would not be able to afford for another month or more (Vera saw right through any cash she tried to conjure, every time). She had almost tortured herself to the point of boredom when she spotted a familiar face. 

Oh. Oh no. Was this some kind of cosmic trick? Was that--the pro bono exorcist girl? The moon was still in Capricorn, so that was in her favor, and Friday was her lucky day, but having an expert fall into her lap, or at least someone else’s storefront, was not the kind of gift that generally came her way. Morgan stopped and stared at the girl more than was socially appropriate.

Fuck it. 

Morgan marched up to her, wares still in hand, and leaned over as unobtrusively as she could into her line of sight. She smiled brightly, too mystified at the possibility before her to contain herself. “Hi! This might be a really strange thing to say, but you’re--Cassie, right?” She lowered her voice. “Exorcist Cassie? I hear things around town. And the targeted ads in my mailbox are just--well, anyway, I could really use an expert’s help with summoning something. Someone.” 

If you couldn’t make your own grave dust store-bought was probably fine. Wincing at the price tag mark-up compared with the last place Cassie stopped at to stock up she scanned the rows of jars and tinctures for the last couple of ingredients that had been trashed in transit. Fresh out of ash and with no way to make the stuff without either looking like a serial killer or setting the smoke alarm off. Although, on second thought considering the place she was staying, whatever weirdness she brought with her was likely only the sixth strangest thing in that hotel. Speaking of, the four-dollar hole in her pocket was still stinging from shelling out for those Cheerios late last night. Next stop had to be for something that had actually seen the inside of an oven. With that thought in mind she guessed her next stop would be finding someplace to eat some point. The Thai place she passed last night seemed like a good bet.

Like most of its sister stores around the country this place might have been full of wishful thinkers, but maybe there were a couple things that could do in a pinch. Either way she was limited on options and she doubted there’d be anywhere else offering anything any different. Stooping down to read the price tag of a jar of black salt that caught her attention she registered another person in the vicinity. Assuming it was the owner stopping by she straightened up from her crouch by the jars to stand at full height and grabbed up a jar, about to ask if she had anything a little more specific when she registered her name being mentioned followed by the familiar hushed tones, exorcist. That caught her attention as she seemed to peer over at her interestedly. She seemed earnest enough. It was the eagerness that surprised her. Word got around fast, real fast. Anywhere else the whole thing, the whole business really, was a clandestine operation. The routine, ‘Hey thanks for your services, but get out and let’s never speak of this again’ followed by a swift exit was the norm. Not here though. Here it was practically encouraged almost.

“Uh, yeah. That would be me,” she nodded uncertainty, eyeing the store inventory she was holding. “A summoning? You mean to, you know, deal with something?” It was easy to get lost in translation so she tried to follow it with a gesture that she hoped implied giving the boot, “then I can check into it, sure.”

Morgan couldn’t believe her luck. A real exorcist. A real, helpful, exorcist. She bounced on her feet, resisting the urge to clap her hands with excitement. “I thought I recognized your face! And, whew, that would have been really embarrassing otherwise, accosting some poor random person with words like  ‘exorcist’ and ‘summoning.’” Was she being funny? The image played hilariously in her mind in a terrible sort of way: the total lack of understanding on the stranger’s face, the painfully awkward attempts at saving face. After so many big setbacks, the reach of this stupid, strupid curse, Morgan found herself hard pressed to believe in lucky breaks or happy cooincidences. 

(Did that mean her plan was doomed? Oh god, it might be doomed)

“Oh, but, not like--” she mimicked Cassie’s gesture, growing red and speckled with anxiety. Maybe she should have stayed home and brooded over her hot glue gun situation in quiet isolation instead. Sure,  her cat would have still given her judgement eyes from her nest in the bookshelf, but that wouldn’t be half so bad as having this blow up in her face. But like a bad piece of gum on your shoe, Morgan stuck and kept talking. 

“I mean, I’ll want them, you know,” She gestured again, “Eventually. But first I want to bring something here. After I’ve gotten the information I need, it should probably go back to wherever, I guess,  but I need to get someone first.” 

If Morgan had only sensed the ghost judging her from behind, she might have appreciated how funny her request already was, Cassie’s help or not. 

Cassie tilted her head a little, “right,” she nodded with a small laugh. “Hell of an icebreaker, right?” She offered. “Either that or they’d just tell you to call in Zak Bagans,” she mock grimaced.

She watched as Morgan repeated the gesture, still trying to wrap her head around the request.  Okay, so she did mean summoning something, inviting it. It wasn’t totally unheard of, trying to make contact. Mostly for any lingerers that were already there, but actually folding out the welcome mat? That was still a new one, but she still felt that pang of curiosity that something like that would even work, or why anybody would even want it to. 

I need to get someone first.

Looks like you already got them, she mused not unkindly, finally acknowledging the second shadow nearby. Cassie hadn’t made eye contact with the figure lurking in the background until then, but when she did it made her stop in her tracks for a second. They were there alright, but weak. Whoever they were, she couldn’t make anything out past the general humanoid shape and occasional incline of their head as they listened in. Like they were stuck in some halfway point. Weird.

They were here, but they weren’t thrilled about it, but what else was new? Cassie gave them a look that she hoped implied later and turned her attention back to Morgan as she weighed up the options. What were the chances here that whatever she said she was going to do it anyway? Pretty high she was willing to bet. Putting the jar back on the shelf decidedly, “you know what...sure,” she agreed. “I mean mostly I’m there pointing out the exit sign, “she admitted, “but can’t hurt to be around. Let you know if you’re getting warmer”, and to step in in the off chance the invisible man back there had any ideas she added after a second glance. 

“Hell of an icebreaker, right?” She offered. “Either that or they’d just tell you to call in Zak Bagans,” she mock grimaced.

“Just ‘little white crest things,’ huh?” Morgan replied with a laugh. “I do promise I’m not like this all the time. Sometimes I say things like how are you, and, I don’t know--what nice, normal weather we’re having!”

This was...nice. Almost fun. Morgan began to sweat behind her ears at the thought Fun was the sort of thing she felt she had to trick her way into. Fun was the kind of feeling that hatched big, wild bursts of ‘come and get me while my back is turned you lousy curse’ energy. And, Christ on a cracker, wasn’t she getting ahead of herself? She was talking with Cassie about what amounted to a work thing, not about making friendship bracelets, or going to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Not exactly the stuff of tragedies, even in her own family tree. Could be safe. And if she had managed to shake certain doom for awhile, and since it was doomed to catch up, maybe she should hold it together and enjoy the reprieve. Pretend to be a less disastrous version of herself until later. Hopefully much later. After they found Agnes. 

When Cassie agreed to help, Morgan reigned in the impulse to tackle her with relief. “Thank you, so much! You are amazing, and I will compensate you...somehow. I know conjuring money is pretty high on the questionable morality spectrum, but I can also fix things! If it’s in the broken vase category and not the complicated mechanical one, I can definitely fix it. Or with the right material I can make you something really nice. But, again, not too complicated. I’ve spent more time at the archive than my old alchemy books lately, so. And, drinks, or several, burgers even.” Morgan could feel herself running too fast away from her personal disasters. So fast she almost missed what Cassie added, quietly, as not to set any alarms. Invisible man? What? 

It shattered Morgan’s loop of thought and made her go rigid. She cast her gaze back, head-turning slowly. What did Cassie mean? Invisible? Was she being followed? Maybe she had triggered something in the universe and now she was going to watch this blow up in her face before she’d even started. This might be how she died-- 

Morgan looked. Nothing. Not even a shadow. Then again, that might be the whole point of ‘invisible.’ She turned back to Cassie, suddenly feeling like they needed to get somewhere not in the shop. “Um...what do you mean invisible man?” She whispered. “Like...with some kind of glamour? Or--” It came on her so slowly because until now it had seemed laughably impossible. “Do you mean a GHOST?” She squeaked.

“No kidding,” she laughed, “been here a couple days but this place…it’s something else,” she had to admit. Understatement of the new decade, twenty-four hours in and she felt like she had enough for most of her co-workers to have a field day out here. Difference was, for the most part, she had ethics. “Oh hey, no need. I have a day job,” she waved the offers of compensation off, “you’re good.” The day she accepted cash or handouts for this kind of thing would be the day—wait conjuring cash? At some point, she’d have to ask about that-about all of that, but one thing at a time.

Cassie saw the look that crossed Morgan’s expression and frowned for a second in confusion. It was only after the words were out of her mouth that she realized she’d said that last part out loud and immediately felt like backtracking. Shit, way to scare the crap out of them. She could practically see the alarm bells going off in Morgan’s head. Part of her wanted to bluff, tell her she meant as in the general sense but thought better of it. Better not to start off on a lie. It never ended well.

“Okay so, you’ve got one visitor,” she admitted tentatively, “but you’ve got nothing to worry about, they don’t look like much of a threat.” Cassie cast another glance at them as they continued to hover around nearby like a bad smell. Was that an incline of their head at that last comment? “This’d be a very different conversation if there was, trust me.” She hoped that might take a little of the edge off of it. “I’m free today, least I’ve got nothing much planned. I can stop by, deal with the mystery guest over there, try and get contact properly,” figure out if they’re who you’re looking for,” figure out what they wanted and how they even got there like that she added to herself. The longer she looked at the figure the weirder it got. For a second she thought she saw a pair of eyes take shape before they flickered out again. Interesting. “Or if you wanted to wait,” she blinked and brought her attention back to Morgan, “I can hand over some things to keep them out of your hair for a while give you my cell number and you can text me an address or something. Whichever works.” Cassie pulled her cell out from her pocket and opened her bag out to look for what was left her the black salt but came up empty-handed, “crap, the last of it’s in the car,” she murmured and picked the jar of the stuff she was about to buy again and raised her eyebrows at the price tag. Wow, not for forty dollars I’m not. “This stuff keeps them away,” she lifted the jar back up before putting it back down again. “I have some in the car, but regular salt works, just doesn’t last as long.”

 “Are you sure?” Morgan pressed. “You’re kind of doing me a big favor…” But Cassie seemed pretty sure of her stance. Morgan couldn’t figure out why. There had to be loads of people who would pay a lot for help like this. Now that the weight of making up for her services was off Morgan’s chest, she could admit she would have pushed her powers to limit to make this happen. Why wouldn’t you try and get something out of the deal?

But Morgan didn’t have time to think about this because of what Cassie said next. You’ve got one visitor. She had really done it. Maybe? Hopefully. “A visitor,” she repeated, dumbfounded. “A ghost kind of visitor, following me around.” What if it was Agnes? Or one of Agnes’ children? Morgan looked back over her shoulder again, just in case willpower alone could bring it into her sight and understanding. When looked back at Cassie, her face was glowing with held back excitement.

“I need to find out who it is,” she said quietly. “In case it’s who I’m looking for. But the other stuff would be good too. This maybe-kind-of isn’t my first time trying this, just the first time that it’s worked.” She looked at the salt jar Cassie Hefted and made a mental note to up her game in that area. Forty dollars for a little jar. Maybe she should start charging more for her candles; this family quest was getting expensive. “I’d like to see the kind of salt you roll with,” she added lightly. “I’ve been using mom’s old kosher salt, but that was before I knew I should be upgrading. What’s in your mix that makes it different? And, would it be unprofessional if I hugged you right now?”

“Just the one,” Cassie repeated as if that would somehow make it any better. “They’re hard to make out though, which means either they’re weaker, like they’re new or they’re on the out.” Another glance towards the mystery figure and she was sure she picked up the indignation coming off from their stance alone. “Okay. If I can get some stuff from the car, find somewhere quiet I can try and get a read on them. Figure out if this is your guy.” Cassie’s eyes followed Morgan’s gaze back to the discarded jar, “it’s different for everybody, but I like a mix. A little rock salt-any salt really-” she added quickly on review, “some chalk and some Obit ashes mixed in there. Helps with the ‘ashes to ashes part’ it’s not the main focus though. The main part is the words and the intent that’s there." Morgan seemed so enthusiastic and hopeful, she hoped she wasn’t setting her up for a loss. She could do it, hazy figure aside, but actually summoning something was still out of her wheelhouse. She just hoped she wasn’t about to be a let down. Cassie thought for a moment before answering, “maybe save it for when we actually ID your friend, or at least get some contact on line one.”

Morgan took out her phone and made notes as Cassie explained her salt recipe. There was a cemetery near the Traveler’s Rest, should be easy to come by the ashes. She didn’t trust her alchemy-brewed stuff to do the trick, not when it came to warding off whatever had come out of that cake. Morgan didn’t know much about what she was getting into, but she was aware she had passed the ‘in over your head’ signpost few miles behind packing up her life and moving to White Crest. 

She settled for a thumbs up at Cassie instead of the hug. “Too soon, got it,” she said, laughing it off. “But it’s not about the success. I mean, success would be great, obviously, but I’ve been at this--for good reason!--for three years now, and this is the first time I’ve gotten, like, help from anyone. Even if you have to go back to your very expert drawing board, I’m still appreciative. Really.” Something in her sombered at the truth in those words, three years banging her head against her laptop, three years trying to get out of bed, trying not to derail her life anymore than this stupid curse already had. Three years and now she was at the zero hour. Of course she was grateful for even the illusion of progress. What did she have left to lose this year except her life anyway? Her shitty jobs? But that wasn’t the right mindset. Think positive. Move forward. She pepped herself up and headed for the door. “So! Let’s go figure this out!”

Mulling over what Morgan had said. About this being the first time anybody had offered some actual help rankled a little. If you could kick them out it stood to reason there was a way to call them up. It might actually be useful for a few things. Maybe if they were lucky whoever she was trying to get hold of was actually still around, strange as that was to say considering, they could actually make contact. “Three years?” Cassie felt her eyebrows raise involuntarily at that information. “Well, least you’ve got it now, the help I mean. If at first you don’t succeed get mad and try again,” she joked. Even if this didn’t go down well first time around, she had a more than a little healthy curiosity at the idea of something like that actually working. “You must really need this guy for something.” Not about to pry, but you didn’t spend that time trying over something trivial. Following Morgan’s lead and heading outside and back out towards where her car was parked Cassie took out her keys and grabbed the duffle bag out from the trunk and draped it over one shoulder. She shifted the weight a little and used her free hand and lifted up a piece of the padding covering the spare tyre space. “One second. I just need a couple things.” Cassie grabbed up a few loose items and stuffed them inside the bag, “this might help identify Mr Mysterio. Get a better signal and figure out if this is your guy.” Closing the trunk over again she turning back to Morgan with a smile. “Okay, and we’re all set. Lead the way.”  

“L-lead the way,” Morgan repeated, hoping that repetition would rattle something into place. “To the ghost place, that--would make sense.” She began to walk in the general direction of the traveler’s rest. “But, it’s really interesting you should say that. Because, there’s my room at the Traveler’s Rest where I do most things right now, and there’s Al’s where I did the spell. Or I think I did.” Her cheeks were growing hot again. This had all seemed reasonable, even expected in the moment, but preparing to say it out loud, she suddenly felt like an idiot. “I’m working from scratch with this, but there was a spell on google that seemed to have a familiar structure to it, and I picked the right day, I checked the moon, and all that for maximum potency. But, there might have been...cake involved. And admittedly, that seemed like an interesting ask for a request from the beyond. I don’t know if I should take you to the spot where it happened, or if we just need to duck into my room so the muggles won’t stare at us since they’re supposed to be drawn to me and not the place?” Her voice rose higher as she spoke, struggling to maintain the very logical order of planning she had taken the trouble of going to. “Anyways, it’s...all the same direction. Just a little more--this way. And I can pull up the spell, if that helps.” 

“That’s where I live-well, I don’t live there. I’m staying there, or I have a room there anyway.” Cassie wasn’t staying here she reminded herself. It was temporary like everywhere else. “That works,” she looked back over at Morgan with a nod, “or if you wanted somewhere more out in the open, there’s Al’s.” That one was the least favourite option. She hated an audience to this stuff. Growing up it was something to be buried away, not broadcast in public. It was hard to get out of that way of thinking. Old habits died hard that way. “Not sure what the rules are for summoning ghosts in the diner though. Might be a no shirt, no shoes, ghosts, no service,” she joked. Cake? Wait, how did cake figure into it? Okay, that was a question for a little later. Not the time. There was her least favourite word in this kind of context; Google. Hypocritical as that was, she’d done the same thing back before she put her foot down with her parents and got someone that actually knew what they were doing to step in. Ray was a cantankerous jerk that first day, but he knew his stuff. Saved her getting fried anyway. “Google kind of sucks for anything with ghosts. First removal invocation I looked up there had a chunk of it missing,” she admitted. “I was twenty-two and stupid,” she made a brief grimace, “good thing I asked somebody else or I wouldn’t be talking to you. Looks like something might’ve worked, don’t think your friend has been hanging around here all that long. What did this spell on google look like?” Cassie asked, curious now. Maybe it was some sort of banishment circle gone wrong, like they’d copied it wrong, got the opposite effect. Who knew at this point. 

“Yeah, I guess it’s hard to call that living, huh?” Morgan said. “Home-sweet-not-home it is.” They continued the journey together, and Morgan told her everything she could about the spell. She had recognized one of the sigls as something she’d seen in an invocation book. She couldn’t remember what the book had said it was for exactly, but the sighting had given her hope. The plan had been to harness the energy of familiarity to reach out to other spirits who had that energy in common. So, her birthday, the land where the people she was looking for had lived, and a birthday cake, which commemorated the continuation of her family. A little fire, a few words, a little saliva to create a taste of life and boom, call made, familial tether climbed, ancestors summoned. She hadn’t noticed or felt anything different at the time. She had assumed she had done something wrong, or supernatural google wasn’t quite on par with her needs as she’d hoped. She showed Cassie a screenshot and went on. She was trying to get in touch with some ancestors. She had some unfinished business with them, funny, right? Only her magical department wasn’t so much in parting the veils or whatever as it was turning stuff into different stuff. As they neared the Traveler’s Rest, she fished around in her pocket for her old set of keys. She plopped them onto her pop socket and gestured. The keys shaped themselves into a metal cuff, a robot figurine. She made it float before coaxing the metal back into keys again. “Neat, right?”

Morgan’s things were splayed all over her room, two large suitcases worth, seemingly made larger by the cramped space. Morgan cleared a spot in the middle of the floor. “I have some Arizona Tea in the mini fridge if you want any. But why not first things first? How do we talk to my visitor friend?” 

They were keys. They were keys and then they weren’t and then they were in the air. Then they were keys again and that’s the moment life stopped making sense for a second.

Neat, right?

That was one word for it. Cassie couldn’t even nod, just stood there in stunned silence and stared at the keys in Morgan’s hand as she opened the door out and stepped inside. Talking about that kind of thing was once thing, but seeing it in front of her? Whole different ball game. “…Sounds-sounds, yeah,” she found herself saying, her voice sounding a little far away. Reality snapped back again with a bang and she remembered what she was even there for. Right, focus. The way Morgan had been talking and judging from the picture she saw it sounded more and more like a variation of a banishment circle. An inverted one maybe. First thing was first, making contact.

“Oh, that part’s easy,” right, get it together. The solution to that particular snag was simple. “One second,” Cassie dug out a pen and a scrap of paper and scrawled down the alphabet and placed it on the nearest flat surface she could find. “Just needed some quiet first.”

Thank you Stranger Things, Cassie stepped back and addressed the mystery guest, “if you want to just point to tell me what your-” she didn’t get to finish that sentence before the figure darted to the paper and the pen laying beside it. They jabbed their hand in an attempt to move the Biro and watched as they seemed to grow frustrated in their attempts. Wow, they really were weak. Usually most ghosts could conjure up just enough energy to move a biro a couple centimetre across a page for all of ten seconds. “Or, if you want, you can just point. If it’s easier,” seemed they took that as a challenge and the pen started to shift, “…Okay,” she gestured, giving the go-ahead and waited as they pointed over to each letter.

W.A.N.T….F.R...

Cassie turned back to Morgan once she figured out the gist of it. “They want to know what you want,” when they started up again.

L.E.T.G.O

Oh. Fuck. Morgan took all of her attempts to get in touch with the dead very seriously, it was kind of a matter of life and death at this point, but whatever she had hoped for at the end of each attempt, it didn’t look anything like this. Cassie was sitting with a freaking piece of paper from a notebook and a ballpoint pen, nothing special or consecrated, just practical. And it was moving. Moving all by itself. It was shaking, like the hand holding it was too upset or too weak to hold it together properly. Morgan shifted away from it on the floor. Seeing this invisible force want things, demand things, show--feeling made her uncomfortable in a way she didn’t want to unpack. Wasn’t that what they had always been? And what did it really change about what she needed anyway?

“Um, okay,” she breathed, keeping her voice steady with effort. “That’s nice. Good to know. Sorry you’ve been...here, for so long. But I am going to need some information from you first before we can do that. Okay?” She squared her shoulders back and tried to adopt the kind of voice she used on her freshmen college students. “Now, who are you? What’s your name?”

Watching Morgan move away from the sheet of paper as though it was contagious Cassie realised, she had forgotten how this kind of thing might look to an outsider. What was grade school stuff to her was the stuff of nightmares to somebody else. She recognised that weird waxy looking shade Morgan had paled to and Should’ve just asked them to point. Tell, don’t show this time.

Cassie offered Morgan a look of encouragement as the mystery guest responded, Floor’s all your,s and looked over to their guest who listened and inclined their head as if they were studying her. They folded their arms over for a few moments before answering as thought they were a few moments away from doing the opposite and b an ass. Cassie shot them a look and looked at Morgan again then as the pen began to move again. A lot less stable than before as they slowly spelled the words out.

S.E.A.N…B.A.C.H.M.A.N

Okay, now they were getting somewhere. They had a name. “This your guy?” Cassie asked. She still didn’t understand what she did, but recognising that whatever it was it had worked somehow.

...E.T....G.O…C.A.L.L.E.D…H.E.R.E…..A.P.O.L.O.G.I.Z

Cassie frowned at that last message and now it was her turn to look at the figure, Sean, she corrected herself, her head inclining. 

“Ooh! Sean! You’re Agnes’ nephew, right? Your dad was named Abel?” Not who Morgan was looking for, not even close, and she shook her head at Cassie in a sheepish universal signal of ‘close but no cigar.’ Still, she felt an electric rush of excitement. This was more direct contact than she’d gotten...ever. Ever-ever. The rest of his message was a lot more puzzling. Who was apologizing? Sean hadn’t done anything wrong, at least not that she’d dug up yet. “We’ll get to that Sean, but I’m wondering if you know anything about your aunt? If she...kept a secret book of magic maybe? Or if you saw her, or heard maybe…” Fuck it. “If you heard of her doing something bad enough that might make someone curse our whole family?” She felt cold all over and out of breath just from asking. She’d been nosing around ancestry sites and state records for so long, she had picked up her whole life, she had pestered Cassie in the middle of a shop, all for this, all without putting her finger on the big, awful magic button of a reason. And having to ask it out loud now, even in the most common sense of ways frustrated Morgan. It was a reminder that there was a chance the answer might be no. Maybe the afterlife had turned Sean’s memory to custard, or he just hadn’t been the kind of kid to overhear rumor. “Anything, Sean?” She pressed. “Be honest.”

Success? Cassie looked over expectantly and clocked the expression on Morgan’s face and felt her shoulders slump slightly. No, crap. That had to sting. So close, she actually had somebody here and judging by the look that passed her features they’d missed the mark by a few miles.

I’m wondering if you know anything about your aunt?

 Y.E.S

The pen continued to move and while Cassie had next to zero to compare this it seemed like who Morgan had got hold sounded like they were a family member. Close, right? Cassie sat back and kept watch and listened as Morgan reached out to Sean. Her eyes darted up again at Morgan’s words at the end there. Eyebrows raised in concern. Cursed?

…O.W…D.A.R.E...

 “Just answer the question and you can be on your way. Come on, man.” It was round about then that Sean decided to have a temper tantrum and managed to tear the paper a few centimetres in his answer. It seemed to take it out of him. She saw him fade further and stop .“I think he wore himself out with that one.” It was a while before he summoned up the energy to fade back to view again.

…T.E.L.L….Y.O.U….N.O.T.H.I

The light on one of the bedside tables clinked and the TV switched on and off for a second at that outburst.

….R.E.L.E.A.S.E….ME…

What a baby. “Spooky. Very good,” Cassie shook her head and spoke in a deadpan tone. “I know you’re pissed but don’t be an ass, Sean, or we’re going to have a problem.”

Morgan clenched her fists in her lap to keep from shaking. This was getting very real, very quickly, and somehow not at all fulfilling in the way she’d hoped. The paper was making noises all by itself, and it was one thing to look away from the screen when things started getting weird in The Conjuring, but something else entirely when the jump scare was right in front of your face. There was nowhere to go from this. Morgan looked behind her and saw the TV flickering, like some five year old on a sugar high was going crazy with the switch, and the tables were rattling louder without anyone being there. Morgan’s eyes had been stretched open long enough to tear up. She was sure if she closed them she’d make up some excuse for what she was seeing, she’d try to tell herself that this was wrong and definitely impossible. But the only thing scarier than seeing this happen, was to never see it happen. Fuck. 

“Sean, you asshole! Cut it out!” She screamed over the noise. “You tell me what you know!”

But Sean was not remotely interested. Morgan felt down in her pocket to the salt stash she had and threw it near the paper. 

“You wanna stay here forever, Sean?” She asked. “Because I don’t give a shit if you’re stuck with me forever, okay! You can throw a fit all year for all I care, got it? So spit it out already!”

Cassie shot Sean’s general figure an exasperated look and turned to Morgan and frowned in confusion. Where was he getting this idea he wasn’t free to go here? She really wasn’t about to enlighten them any time soon. Looking at Morgan just as the ‘I want to speak to the manager theatrics’ flared up again she saw Morgan glance around looking rattled. Crap. She knew that look. Cassie saw the clenched fists and shot her a worried look.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Cassie reached over but paused when she realised then that it wasn’t all fear there. There was some anger bubbling under the surface and stopped, sitting back down beside the paper. “Just some grade school level theatrics. He couldn’t blow the fuse on a lightbulb,” Cassie shot Sean a glare. Was it really so hard for the douche to just give Morgan what she wanted so they could just drop kick him back to the beyond like he wanted here? “And if you do, I’m going to have some words you’re not going to like.” Turned out the reassurance really wasn’t needed here. Morgan was holding her own. More than; she was outright making demands, tossing salt she didn’t even remember she had on her at the paper. Fast learner.

You can throw a fit all year for all I care, got it? So spit it out already

“What she said,” Cassie shrugged and looked for a second at the salt Morgan had just tossed in Sean’s general direction, “and if she thinks about throwing any more of that there’s not a damn thing I’m doing to do to stop her. I’ll tell her where to aim. Your call.”

S.K….C.O.N.S.T.A.N.C.E…L.E.A.V.E….M.E

The pen moved, with urgency then, spelling out a name. Now, that wasn’t to hard, was it?

Morgan came back to herself with Cassie’s agreement, what she said. Oh. Shit. She’d really let loose there. Threatened her ancestor, even if he was kind of a dick, wasted some salt aiming at whichever part of the air had looked most threatening. Cassie, for her part, didn’t seem too upset about her seasoning the ghost, and Morgan didn’t know what to make of that, except that she would have to explain a lot more about her situation than she’d had to in a long time. But that could wait. Hopefully. Sean was telling them about...someone named Constance. Morgan couldn’t remember how she fit into her family story off the top of her head. Was she Constance’s mother? Her daughter? It was right on the edge of her recall, but she couldn’t reach it. But it was better than nothing. 

“Fine,” she said flatly. “Fine, go.” She still had some salt in her hand and threw it again. “Fuck you anyway, though. And tell Constance I’m coming for her.” She turned to Cassie for help, holding her sweater close around her chest, flushed with embarrassment.

Cassie watched as Morgan threw the remainder of salt in her hand towards the paper again, but something strange happened in the seconds before the salt even went airborne. Cassie didn’t get the chance to even start to send him away. There second Morgan uttered the word go the ghost that was formerly known as Sean zapped out like an old television. Blipped back to the void as if being pulled back somewhere. “That was new,” was all she could manage then with raised eyebrows. “He’s already gone,” she clarified, shaking herself out of it. What the hell was that?

“Okay,” she spoke again eventually as the quiet descended. “I have no idea what you did,” she admitted, still processing, “but that’s uh, that’s different.” Understatement, the air shifted, she felt that much. Swore she heard a faint popping sound as they went. “Did you get what you wanted? Sort of anyway? A name is a start, right?” Cassie shifted back and let out a breath. “So, um, walk me through what you did here, with the circle. Maybe we can get somebody else.”

Morgan flopped back on the floor when Cassie said he was gone. She didn’t know how she could tell, and without anything to tell by she almost didn’t believe it. This...this was good, right? This was progress...in that it was more ghost she’d spoken to in her whole life, certainly more than she had gotten out of any of her magic experiments. She would have to find out who Constance was, what she had to with all this. Agnes had been the one everyone talked about, but maybe she was just the baby monster. Oh god, if this was going to turn into a Grendel’s Mother situation-- Morgan put her head in her hands and breathed out long and hard. One thing at a time. “I um...I can send you the stuff. I have the webpage saved, but I don’t know if I can do it again, without some meaningful date and a new moon, or maybe not, maybe that was bullshit…” she was mumbling, half in a daze, as she pawed around the messy floor for her computer. She pulled it up and sent it to Cassie’s account on the town social media network. Handy, that. She stood up and dusted off a whole lot of nothing off her jeans. “I got something alright!” She said, scrambling to put her smile back on. “Thank you for helping on short notice. You’re really nice, and I’ll find a way to make it up somehow. Maybe when, um, the adrenaline is a little, uh, less, we can figure something out.” Or not. Cassie seemed like she might make a good shortcut through the mess, but she might also be fast-tracking herself into the danger zone. But if it meant not running from herself anymore, maybe it would be worth it anyway.

[lnhumanity]

an agents of shield playlist in chronological order from pre-series, up until the end of season 6 / beginning of season 7.

listen to it here!

song explanations under the cut. warning that its very long, i have a lot of thoughts

01. Two Birds - Regina Spektor

Two birds on a wire / One tries to fly away / And the other watches him close from that wire / He says he wants to as well / But he is a liar

Relating both to May & Coulson after Bahrain, with Coulson trying to help May return to the field, but May refusing, and FitzSimmons immediately pre-season, with Simmons excitement about going into the field contrasted to Fitz’s hesitance, but over-all desire to stay with her.

02. Small - Chloe Moriondo

And I'm suddenly not interested in / whatever the rest of the world has to offer so / I drown facedown in my head and feel my state start to alter cause / You / Because you

After FZZT, Fitz realising that he has romantic feelings towards Simmons.

03. Saturn - Sleeping At Last

With shortness of breath, I'll explain the infinite / How rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist

FitzSimmons in the med pod under the ocean, with Simmons talking about the first law of thermodynamics.

04. Evaporate - Gabrielle Aplin

Flesh and bone wrapped up in skin / Kept alive by oxygen / But right now breathing is so tough

During the S1/2 hiatus, Fitz starting his recovery and relying on Simmons, while Simmons suffers from PTSD and decides to leave due to her guilt.

05. Waves - Chloe Moriondo

Sometimes I feel like I wanna go back / To a time before my mind turned black / I miss the way it was / When instead of just my gooey brains / All that melted was popsicles and the rain just pelted down / Down on me

Fitz coping with his brain injury after Simmons left.

06. Anybody Out There - Gabrielle Aplin

You never told me why you had to leave / I always thought that you'd come back for me / I'm tired of getting people's sympathy / I know I'd make it back eventually

Fitz coping with Simmons leaving.

07. Hiding In Your Hands - Dear Evan Hansen

Look at her, a total trainwreck / Let her off this ride / Lift her out from all the pain / She tells herself she needs to hide

Simmons after the med pod, hiding her trauma in her music box and convincing others that she’s fine.

08. Just Add Water - Cavetown

Please don't invite me, please don't invite me / I wanna be alone, I wanna be alone / And don't remind me, please don't remind me / I don't wanna know, I don't wanna know

Fitz isolating himself from the rest of the team at the beginning of S2.

09. King and Lionheart - Of Monsters And Men

And in the sea that's painted black / Creatures lurk below the deck / But you're a king and I'm a lion-heart

Coulson leading SHIELD as the new director, while May supports him in the field.

10. New River - The Oh Hellos

Well, it'll rain for forty days and nights, / and nothing you do can slow the rising tides / But the river takes her shape from every tempest she abides / And like her, you'll be made new again

Raina and Daisy undergoing terrigenesis, and later being accepted into Afterlife.

11. Earth - Sleeping At Last

Fault lines tremble underneath our glass house / But I put it out of my mind / Long enough to call it courage / To live without a lifeline

Daisy becoming an Inhuman, contrasted with May during and after Bahrain. (So, basically, the episode ‘Melinda’).

12. Wolf - First Aid Kit

Wolf-father, at the door / You don't smile anymore / You're a drifter, shape-shifter / Let me see you run, hey-ya hey-ya

May & Coulson dealing with Gonzalez’s SHIELD while Daisy is hiding from SHIELD at Afterlife.

13. Storm Song - PHILDEL

I'll send a storm / to capture your heart / and bring you home.

FitzSimmons during their countless separations, but specifically put this early in the playlist for Maveth, and Fitz searching for Simmons during the S2/3 hiatus.

14. Spaceland - Chloe Moriondo

Sometimes overthinking can feel like more than overthinking / It's like I'm trapped in spaceland and I'm not coming back

Simmons trapped on Maveth, reflecting on everything that’s happened.

15. Neptune - Sleeping At Last

I'm only honest when it rains / If I time it right, the thunder breaks / When I open my mouth / I wanna tell you but I don't know how

Simmons after returning from Maveth, before she tells Fitz about Will.

16. Yellow Light - Of Monsters And Men

Somewhere deep in the dark / A howling beast hears us talk

Simmons on Maveth with Will.

17. The Currents - Bastille

We're living in the currents you create / We're sinking in the pool of your mistakes / So stub it out, your podium awaits

The team with regards to Ward about all of the tragedies that he’s caused, the impact he’s had on them, and their impending doom with him bringing Hive to Earth.

18. Bad Bad Things - AJJ

And I got to thinking / If I don't go to Hell when I die I might go to Heaven / If I don't go to Hell when I die I might go to Heaven / If I don't go to Hell when I die I might go to Heaven / If I don't go to Hell when I die I might go to Heaven / Might go to Heaven, but probably not

Ward killing Roz, torturing Simmons, and dying on Maveth.

19. Blame - Bastille

Fall upon your knees saying / "This is my body and soul here" / Fall and begging, pleading / "You've got the power and control"

Hive and his control over Inhumans.

20. The Last Time - The Script

Why's it so hard to look me in the eye? / Playing with that cross that's on your chain / I know you only ever bite your lip / When it's something you're afraid to say

Lincoln’s sacrifice.

21. Meet Me In The Woods - Lord Huron

I took a little journey to the unknown / And I come back changed, I can feel it in my bones / I fucked with the forces that our eyes can't see / Now the darkness got a hold on me / Holy darkness got a hold on me

Daisy after being released from Hive’s sway, and dealing with the fallout of Lincoln’s sacrifice.

22. ¿Viva La Gloria? (Little Girl) - Green Day

Little girl, little girl, why are you crying? / Inside your restless soul your heart is dying

Daisy during the S3/4 hiatus, running away from SHIELD.

23. Pluto - Sleeping At Last

Until one day I had enough / Of this exercise of trust. / I leaned in and let it hurt, / And let my body feel the dirt.

Daisy returning to SHIELD.

24. The Steven Bradley - Ghost Bear

My, oh my / you look as good as the day you died! / Oh, who am I kidding? / You look even more alive!

Radcliffe stealing the Darkhold and putting the dying Agnes into the Framework.

25. We Forgot We Were Human - Dirt Poor Robins

So tell me, what do we need with the sun? / Now we have an electric one / To melt every shadow away / Turn the night into day

AIDA and the other LMDs concluding that physical bodies don’t matter when someone’s consciousness has been uploaded into the Framework.

26. Squares - Stepdad

Thinking happy thoughts will fix it oh-no no-no oh-oh uh-oh / Where did I go wrong I guess I don't know whoa-oh uh-oh oh-oh / I'll just go on kidding myself and everything will work itself out

Radcliffe in the Framework, realising the mistakes that he’s made but being unable to do anything about it.

27. Nothing That Has Happened So Far Has Been Anything We Could Control - Tame Impala

Nothing that has happened so far / Has been anything we could control

Daisy and Simmons fighting back against the LMDs and entering the Framework.

28. Turn The Lights Off - Tally Hall

Everybody likes to get taken for turns / To see how bright the fire inside of us burns / And everybody wants to get evil tonight / But all good devils masquerade under the light

Daisy and Simmons finding out that HYDRA are in control inside the Framework, and seeing what May and Fitz had turned into.

29. Willow Tree March - The Paper Kites

And we all still die / Yeah we all still die / What will you leave behind? / Oh we all still die

Agnes, Mace, Hope and Radcliffe’s deaths, and their impacts on the team.

30. Cabinet Man - Lemon Demon

You can't win me, I can't be beat / I won't hurt you unless you cheat / You can't see me behind the screen / I'm half human and half machine

AIDA becoming a human, and fighting back using her new Inhuman powers, ending with her being killed by the Spirit of Vengeance.

31. Lethargy - Bastille

There's an English man up in space these days / Floating in awe and wonder / As he broke away from the atmosphere / And all of us non-believers

The team arriving at the future Lighthouse, and meeting Deke.

32. Warmth Outro - Bastille

Never good, still the bad and the ugly / Laid in front of us / Clearly we've learned nothing at all / From the TV's window

The remainder of the team during the loop, where they failed to save the Earth.

33. Cutie Boots - Stepdad

I wanna hold you til' it feels like it's been long enough to stop saying I miss you, stop saying I miss you

FitzSimmons reunion in the future Lighthouse.

34. Venus - Sleeping At Last

After a while, I thought I'd never find you. / I convinced myself that I would never find you, / When suddenly I saw you.

FitzSimmons wedding.

35. Stagnant - Chloe Moriondo

I don't know why I'm mean to everyone I love / It's hard to try to communicate / With darkness inside my head / Filling my lungs

Fitz, leading up to his breakdown.

36. The Driver - Bastille

There was a time when a moment like this / Wouldn't ever cross my mind / The sun will rise with my name on your lips / 'Cause everything will change tonight

The Devil Complex.

37. A Dark Design - Among Savages

Oh, there is not a God in heaven that wants to see us fighting this way / Oh, He spoke more about loving than people trying to make people change

The team fighting during S5.

38. Shame - Bastille

I can see a change / I can see a change in you / I see it coursing through your veins / And it is a shame / It is a shame on you / I barely recognize your face

The team continuing to fight - especially Daisy towards Fitz, and Daisy and Yo-Yo after Yo-Yo kills Ruby.

39. Terrified - Among Savages

Cause I'm terrified and I'm ruined by this mess / Cause I needed you more than I needed what was best

FitzSimmons refusing to let each other die & fixing the Gravitonium machine.

40. Icarus - Bastille

Icarus is flying too close to the sun / And Icarus's life, it has only just begun / This is how it feels to take a fall / Icarus is flying towards an early grave

Fitz during S5.

41. Bad Moon Rising - Credence Clearwater Revival

I see a bad moon a-rising / I see trouble on the way / I see earthquakes and lightnin' / I see bad times today

The final battle between Daisy and Graviton.

42. A Sadness Runs Through Him - The Hoosiers

Turn back the time that drew him / But he couldn't be saved / No he couldn't be saved / A sadness runs through him

Fitz’s death.

43. Carry On - fun.

Woah, my head is on fire but my legs are fine / After all, they are mine

The aftermath of the battle.

44. Ghosts That We Knew - Mumford & Sons

But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from you / And we'll live a long life

Coulson’s retirement party.

45. Good Grief - Bastille

Every minute and every hour / I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more / Every stumble and each misfire / I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more

Daisy and May’s reaction to Coulson’s death, and Simmons’s reaction to Fitz’s death.

46. Tic Toc - Mother Mother

Big hand, little hand, no hand, slow hand / Sitting in my hand is the sand of a shattered hour glass / And I throw these grains of sand into the wind and laugh / And I do not care just what they'll have to say about that

Simmons realising that there’s another Fitz out there, and her determination to bring him home.

47. Happier - Marshmello

Then only for a minute / I want to change my mind / 'Cause this just don't feel right to me / I want to raise your spirits / I want to see you smile but / Know that means I'll have to leave

Yo-Yo and Mack’s break up during the S5/6 hiatus.

48. Mountain Sound - Of Monsters and Men

Some hid scars and some hid scratches / It made me wonder about their past / And as I looked around, I began to notice / That we were nothing like the rest

The Zephyr team searching for Fitz, while Fitz and Enoch try to get to Naro-Atzia, during the S5/6 hiatus.

49. The World Ender - Lord Huron

I had a life and a place in the world / I had a sweet talkin' wife and a beautiful girl / I know I'm never gonna see 'em again / Gonna tear the world up until I have my revenge

Sarge hunting for Izel.

50. Spaceman - The Killers

The star maker says, it ain't so bad / The dream maker's going make you mad / The spaceman says, everybody look down / It's all in your mind

S6 as a whole, starting with Fitz in space, and ending with Simmons taking the team to the future, including Izel’s body hopping and Davis’s death.

51. Smile - Mikky Ekko

Smile, the worst is yet to come / We'll be lucky if we ever see the sun / Got nowhere to go, we could be here for a while / But the future is forgiven so smile

The team heading off to stop the Chronicom and save their future.

[prairiesongserial]

Windfield Pass 5

Agnes and Owl had little choice but to spend the night under the crab apple tree. Owl had picked armloads of the fruit, so they partook of a serviceable dinner, but what they really wanted was a fire. Their clothes were soaked from the river, and the cold November air had the both of them shaking with cold before morning. Neither one slept more than an hour at a time.

Though it made little difference, Owl had climbed under Agnes’s poncho for warmth, and stayed there until the sun came out again.

“Can you walk today?” Owl asked, as Agnes tore her a hunk of bread for breakfast.

“Hm, maybe. I will have to, whether or not I can. We cannot eat crab apples until we freeze to death.”

Agnes felt something like a crab apple tree herself, stretching unwilling bark and roots as she tried to stand. Owl helpfully pushed and pulled, until finally Agnes was upright against the tree.

Agnes caught her breath. “Thank you. Will you pack up the camp, please, Owl?”

Owl seemed about to comply, but froze in place. Agnes followed her gaze. Sitting silently, almost invisible in the reeds, was the Weeper.

“Owl, back up the tree, if you will,” said Agnes.

“Is she bad?” Owl asked, worried. “Why is she here?”

“Just do it, please, Owl.”

Owl scrambled nimbly up the tree. Not that she was very much safer up there, Agnes supposed, but an effort had been made.

“Well, you’re back,” Agnes said. “I’ve met you three times, now, and lived - you must stop holding me in suspense.”

The Weeper left the reeds, and Agnes saw that she was rather worse for wear than she had been the day before. The thin sheen of water over her skin ran pink, rather than clear, especially around the mouth. The Weeper was well scraped up, cut in the knees and elbows and palms. Judging by the red in her teeth, though, she had been the victor.

Agnes realized that her advice to the Weeper may have inadvertently been the death of that hunting party. Agnes didn’t tend to have much sympathy for hunters playing hero, but she did feel a pang of guilt. Even a violent-hearted man must have someone who would miss him.

However, Agnes was soon distracted. One at a time, the Weeper carried the items from Agnes’s lost pack out of the reeds and lay them before the crab apple tree. Her canteen, a bundle of ruined victuals, a roll of bandages wrapped in waxed cloth - miraculously uncontaminated - and a couple of vials of preserved herbs and tinctures. Best of all, she offered Agnes’s knife.

“You don’t have much of a sense of self preservation,” Agnes said. The Weeper ignored her, and brought forward her last item, of which she seemed to be incredibly proud. She handed it, handle first, to Agnes.

Agnes took her cane back and stared at the Weeper in amazement. The Weeper stared back, her eyes like the pearlescence of a soap bubble, or starling feathers. Natural, but not in humans. It was transfixing.

Then they heard the barking of hunting dogs - close. On the south side of the river. Agnes winced. She had some obligation to the Weeper, now, which, if the Weeper was clever - and she had demonstrated that she was - the Weeper had orchestrated very intentionally. The Weeper had brought Agnes necessary, life-saving supplies, and Agnes, in turn, would save the Weeper from the remaining hunters. Pissed off hunters, too, who had just been attacked.

“Alright, alright, let’s go,” Agnes said. “Owl, out of the tree. You, Weeper, don’t get any ideas.”

Owl jumped down and shouldered her pack. The Weeper waited for Agnes and Owl to start before taking up the rear. But soon enough, the Weeper scampered to the front. Agnes had been taking them along the river bank, but suddenly, the Weeper took both her and Owl by the hands and dragged them down the bank and into the water.

“No - we can’t swim like you can,” Agnes protested. She nearly lost her cane again as the water swelled up to her ears, and she tightened her grip.

The Weeper bared her seal’s teeth in frustration and continued to tug Agnes and Owl through the water. The river guided them steadily closer to the mountains, and as it did, the plains became rockier. The river bank grew steeper and steeper on either side of them, so steep that eventually they could be confident there was no way for the hunters to reach them. Agnes and Owl were now trapped with the Weeper, in a deep channel bordered on either side with sheer rock cliffs.

The Weeper expressed nothing more, no smiles or grimaces, but dragged them silently through the water. She seemed to be deeply focused, examining every bend in the river the same way Agnes might have noted of a cluster of trees or unusual boulder when she was taking a less familiar path. Agnes had always assumed that muties operated by instinct, following ingrained patterns like trout migrating between ocean and river. Yet Agnes could plainly read the consternation on the Weeper’s face.

“Where are you taking us?” Agnes asked. “Do you even know?”

The Weeper ignored her. Hours seemed to pass, and the cold water was making Agnes feel faint. Owl didn’t appear to be faring much better. She stared blankly at nothing, limp in the Weeper’s grasp.

“Hey - hey, you may be very comfortable in the water, but we aren’t going to make it much longer,” Agnes said. The Weeper looked curiously at her, then Owl, and tugged the two of them along faster. Agnes rolled her eyes, but struggling achieved nothing - she was too weak from the cold.

Then, before Agnes really knew what was going on, they were out of the water, and warm. Agnes was wrapped in a blanket, sitting before a fire, her wet clothes laid out to dry. Owl huddled close to her. Across the fire sat a short old man with a long, red and gray beard, nodding and humming to himself. His arms were very long, longer than his legs by a good deal, so that when he stood to put the kettle on, he walked with his hands or feet interchangeably, whichever was more convenient to him at the moment. Next to him crouched the Weeper, looking very large in the inclosed space.

“Feeling any better?” the old man asked in a gravelly voice.

“Where are we?” Agnes asked. They appeared to be in a cave, but Agnes could still hear the river. Behind the man, the cave continued into blackness, who knew how far back.

“Wind River mountains, darlin’. Couldn’t tell you exactly where, now, but the caves lead from here to there, and that’s what I imagine you folks are interested in.”

The man turned to the Weeper. “And you - I have a few words for you. You’re supposed to be collecting mutants, not ordinary folks. Ordinary folks is how mutants find ourselves needing sanctuary in the first place.”

The Weeper frowned and, taking up a piece of charcoal, hastily drew a series of shapes on the floor of the cave, in the reach of the firelight.

“Well, be that as it may, not every person in need is in need of sanctuary from us. I’m sure they would have got on just fine, left to their own devices.” The man harrumphed impressively, then turned back to Agnes. “Which brings me back to you. Seeing as you have a young one with you -”

But the Weeper wasn’t finished. She banged her hand on the wall of the cave and resumed drawing on the floor. The man frowned at what she had written.

“Well, doesn’t that beat all,” he said, stroking his beard. “I suppose I’ve seen stranger things. Selkie says you two smell like Harehaven, and I don’t doubt it, no, I make it a point never to doubt Selkie’s nose. So, you two are mutants after all? Not that you need our kind of help, passing like you do.”

Agnes decided not to answer right away, hoping the man would continue. He seemed like a talker, and Agnes could use all the information she could get before revealing any of her and Owl’s business.

The man harrumphed again and did, indeed, continue.

“Well, whether you need it or not, as I was saying, you have stumbled upon a sort of underground, er, quite literally underground, operation, and that being as it may, there’s no throwing you out now, especially considering Selkie’s high opinion of you. Which may be colored by personal bias.” The man once again shot Selkie an accusatory look. “You may call me Hearth, on account of that being my code name.”

“You see,” he said, “Selkie and I are a part of the Collaboration of Mutant Humans, us believing a certain set of teachings of compassion, understanding, and mutual aid. What we do to each other when we’re hungry, lost, confused, or without the language to communicate, these actions can’t be taken to judge who we are, that’s what we the Collaboration of Mutant Humans believes, yes we do.”

Hearth, as he called himself, nodded in approval of his own speech, then set to pouring the hot water in the kettle into a set of mismatched clay cups.

“We’ve found that delineations such as mutie versus mutant aren’t so meaningful as we would like to think, no, not at all! One of us supposedly feral, yet Selkie here is tame as you or I. She can’t speak, but neither could you if I knocked your windpipe!” With that, Hearth stomped the ground so fiercely that the tea cups rattled against each other. He cleared his throat, then passed the cups around, a little meekly. “Anyway, once you take away the starvation from one party and the guns from the other, folks get along surprisingly well. Did you know, for example, that so-called feral muties in this region have developed a script? When the higher-than-thous in Windfield have half of them forgotten their letters! Just think on that!”

“Now, usually, there’s no passage through the sanctuary caves without an invitation, but since Selkie here has issued the invitation of her own volition, and since there’s a young one involved, you can stay with us if you like, or pass through to wherever it was you were heading to.”

Now, finally, Hearth stopped. He sipped his tea, nodded, and looked to Agnes for an answer.

“Thank you,” Agnes said, “For your generous offer. I don’t believe I am in a position to turn it down.” She paused, wondering how much, exactly, she wanted to say. Hearth seemed to believe they were mutated in some way, and it would be best to keep up that appearance, if possible. “I’m Agnes, and this is Owl. I am her escort to Windfield, where she hopes...or, her parents hope, she can pass.”

Hearth harrumphed again.

“As suspected, as suspected,” he said, kindly. “Rest up, drink your tea, and I’ll have some supper ready shortly - not much of anything, no it’s not, but no one can say the Collaboration of Mutant Humans doesn’t share what it’s got, humble as it may be.”

Hearth began to hum to himself again and bustle about the fire. Agnes closed her eyes and let the heat melt some of the worry she was carrying. For the moment, they were safe.

Windfield Pass 4 || Windfield Pass 6

[douxreviews]

The Umbrella Academy - ‘Number Five’ Review

At the halfway mark of Season 1, we finally are obtaining a sense that these siblings are slowly coming together in order to work as a cohesive team, as they each grow more and more acquainted to working with one another. Baby steps though, I feel that by the end of 'Number Five', there is still one major factor that's keeping most of the Hargreeves back and that is their respective pasts, whether it's the last decade or the last twenty-four hours.

When Five got stuck in the future for what looks like over five decades, he is eventually reached out to by his first human contact in years - a mysterious woman known only as 'The Handler'. Despite only having five minutes of screentime in total during this episode, she's easily the most captivating character that has the possibility of being a threat to our heroes (something The Umbrella Academy was lacking up until this point), though this may also just be the intrigue of not knowing anything about her, other than that she represents an organization called 'The Commission' that works to keep people from disrupting the timeline, and that she is Hazel's and Cha-Cha's superior. The Handler also reveals to Five that the imminent apocalypse cannot be stopped because it is what is meant to be. This is the emergence of a theme too that will run throughout the remainder of Season 1, the thought by some that time is merely a fixed constant and cannot be quite so easily as altered as our heroes may think at first. Five is offered a chance to work for The Commission as a hitman for five years, and then he can return to a year of his choosing.

Five accepts, but during a flashback that involves the obligatory trope of overlapping timeline interference with the assassination of President Kennedy, Five chooses to make his escape and travels forward in time to where we first met up with him back in the pilot, albeit in the body of his younger self. I'm beginning to wonder though if we're just not meant to make sense of the exact mechanics of time travel in this series, because I'm still at a loss as to what 'calculations' Five was referring to when he explains how he reverted back into his younger body. In any case, present Five clues Luther in on his plan next to stop the apocalypse, but as many have jokingly pointed out, Luther seems to have quite the 'priorities-problem' in this series; only now is he choosing to listen to Five about what he's been doing since he got back, and suddenly takes issue with the fact that Five had to kill people left and right during his time as a hitman. Perhaps the series is trying to differentiate the way Luther and Five look at humanity - Luther seems to see it more as black-and-white - but Luther was also prepared to turn Mom off only two episodes ago purely because she was acting a little stranger than usual, so what gives?

Klaus meanwhile returns to his brief departure through time with Hazel and Cha-Cha's briefcase, and much the worse for wear. It seems Klaus accidentally took a detour through the Vietnam War, and now is wrought with anguish, grief, anxiety, and insomnia. These details are left for the audience to deduce steadily until Klaus straight-up enters a veteran bar and laments over a photo taken of his platoon. There's no dialogue either during Klaus' return to the present, and the sequence actually benefits incredibly from this; Klaus' muffled agony and his relentless thrashing of the briefcase speak volumes. His subsequent interaction with Five featuring attempts to maintain his original happy-go-lucky demeanor only to break down the more Five interrogates him is gut-wrenching to see.

Because of Klaus thieving the briefcase, it isn't long before The Commission learn about his deviation into Vietnam, and come down on Hazel and Cha-Cha for it. Fractures can be seen beginning to form in their partnership, which begs the question as to who it's going to be out of the pair to turn on the other by the end of all this. While Cha-Cha is purely all business when it comes to their work, Hazel at least has someone who's grounding him more and more to this timeline - Agnes, the waitress at the donut shop The Commission first fought Five at - so the money's on him.

The whole Vanya-Allison conflict over Leonard feels like re-treading at its worst, and their interactions mainly feel like filler in this episode because their scenes only reiterate what we know from before: Allison doesn't trust Leonard because of her own prior experiences with men, and Vanya doesn't care because she likes having someone in her life actually believing in her. And as I've mentioned, these are fine characterizations and motivations in and of themselves, but the heavy emphasis being placed over and over on them would lead one to suspect there then must be more going on beneath the surface that's going to rear its head soon; Leonard's inquiry into Vanya spending "quality time" with Allison lately further supports the theory that Allison could be his actual target. Why this would necessitate him getting rid of Vanya's medication remains to be seen, but we now know that those pills may in fact suppress a dormant ability of Vanya's, one that can manipulate vibrations as seen when she auditions for the first chair in her orchestra.

By the end of the run, Five has accepted another offer from The Handler to work in bookkeeping at The Commission's headquarters, so it's anyone's guess now what he's up to. Leonard is also revealed to have murdered the girl Vanya was competing with for the first chair, and also has Sir Hargreeves' book that Klaus pawned off in the pilot for drug money.

So to return to my point at the beginning, the divides between the Hargreeves that keep them from operating as a fully-functional team which can possibly ward off the apocalypse won't diminish unless they keep their respective pasts from clouding their judgments; Diego wants Hazel's and Cha-Cha's heads after he finds Patch's body and has enlisted Klaus to help him get revenge, Klaus himself looks like he won't be recovering from his trauma in Vietnam overnight, Allison still has gripes about Leonard, and Vanya is still chasing that high of finally standing out. Even Five, whose ultimate goal is to stop the end of the world from happening, now has to worry about making a deal with Hazel and Cha-Cha and keeping them off his brothers' backs when he learns Klaus has their briefcase. It isn't that each of these siblings is wrong to eschew the bigger picture, but in not doing so, their motivations being driven by alternate details is going to keep them from the status of a 'team' until whatever lecture or sitdown that will rally them all together finally occurs.

Name That Tune:

A rendition of 'Happy Together' by the original writer of the comics himself Gerard Way is the tune that closes out this chapter, a rendition that I'm unable to hear anymore without also associating it with the image of Klaus flipping the bird through a car's back window.

Hargreeves Humor:

• I understand that by dissecting the scene, I'm robbing it of some of its magic, but the rapid-fire transition from Klaus and Diego driving an ice cream truck, to that truck's blaring of 'Ride of the Valkyries', to Klaus joyously waving to Luther and Luther awkwardly waving back, and finally to Ben straddling the truck's hood with one hand and holding a Popsicle in the other, comedy which builds upon the preceding gag, could make the entire sequence a worthy addition to the golden years of The Simpsons.

Diego: "Nope! Get your ape hands off of me!"

The Handler: "Sometimes, people make choices that alter time. Free will, don't get me started."

Allison: "But I've been around long enough to know that when something seems too perfect, it's usually anything but." Vanya: "Like a woman who's based her whole life on rumors."

Diego: "I told you to wait in the car." Klaus: "Yeah, but you also told me that licking a nine-volt battery would give me pubes."

Aaron Studer loves spending his time reading, writing and defending the existence of cryptids because they can’t do it themselves.

[colormeimmersed]

Here’s what I remember from my first visit to Sleep No More NYC

It was February 2019 and I was very excited to see Sleep No More for the first time. I did a lot of research, even peeking at some 1:1 spoilers to make sure it was nothing that would startle me and cause involuntary movements that would lead to me being escorted out. I am not good in haunted houses.

Luckily, after all my research it seemed like it would be pretty safe, and very fun. I am a huge fan of David Lynch / Kubrick / Hitchcock and a reluctant Shakespeare reader, but I can go pretty far on aesthetics alone. Also, there are barely any words in this version of Macbeth which sounded pretty promising because that is the number of words I wanted to read about Macbeth (in high school anyway, I am older and much more sophisticated now, sorta.)

We arrived about 30 minutes before our time and there was already a pretty long line outside of The McKittrick Hotel. After the coat check, we received our cards which I believe were an 8 or a 7. We walked through that little dark maze that leads to the Manderley Bar and immediately my haunted house phobia of getting lost in the dark with costumed strangers hit me. I rode my wife’s shirttail like I was waterskiing at midnight.

Luckily, it’s a pretty short maze and before I knew it I felt like I had been transported to Twin Peaks’ Black Lodge, only this time they had cocktails and music, which I think makes for a better Black Lodge. I’m sure Coop would agree.

I noticed that some of the tables had reserved signs on them, so I asked a young woman if we were allowed to sit at one of the tables and she looked at me like “sure?” In retrospect, she may have been one of the bar characters and was not there for customer service, but hey, first-timer needs a seat.

Calloway took the stage after we had a round of some cocktail I can’t remember. He very slowly read out my wife’s card number and she decided to leave me. Sheesh. You hear all these stories about people holding hands through the whole show, but my wife was OUT. I waved goodbye as she grouped up with a bunch of strangers, wondering if I would ever see her again.

A guy from the bar cleared our drinks and I just casually existed as a guy sitting at a drinkless bar table by himself until my card was called. I went into the holding area and grabbed my mask, and immediately broke the elastic band. I was sure this was the end of me. I showed it to Calloway and it appeared that he was also not interested in working customer service as he motioned for me to grab another mask.

While I had read some spoilers to ward off some anxiety, I was still surprised by the first person being let off the elevator on their own. It wasn’t me, but I was right behind him, and I’m pretty sure that guy was lost in the hotel forever.

When the rest of the group exited the elevator, I decided to tail a stranger until I figured out my way around, but then I felt like I was following a little too closely, and then I reluctantly went off on my own, walking through the asylum on my own, past the beds, the tubs, through the woods, and over to the Matron’s hut. I stopped to watch the Matron and she did that fun flirty-eyes-in-the-mirror thing and I was pretty much “Oh, well this is nice.” Then she came out of the hut and chose the guy next to me for a 1:1. Whatever, that guy.

Next thing I remember, I was in the Replica Bar watching Hecate and Agnes having drinks at a table. Hecate stole one of her tears and then I’m not sure what I did. I know pretty soon after that Hecate chose the woman next to me for a 1:1 and I peeled off, jilted again.

At one point I followed Macbeth into the Speakeasy, but there were so many people in there that I started overheating and wanted to get out and wander around on my own. For some reason, that mask makes me sweat something wicked. I’ve been a couple more times now and I’m getting better at finding the AC fans, but some rooms can feel like an oven. More like Sweateasy. Sorry.

I recognized my wife in the Macbeths’ bedroom and as I approached her she looked at me like I was a stranger in a Chewbacca costume, but eventually realized it was me and we whispered a couple of things to each other which is against the rules so now we are going to Hell.

I watched the Porter doing something or other in the lobby, but broke off quickly, still wanting to explore all of the space before committing to any storyline. I found a long stairwell down to the empty 1st floor, so I started skipping (yeah, kinda skipping I guess) down the stairs until I saw Boy Witch and Sexy Witch coming up with a parade of people. I am in the way, but I’ve already committed to coming over halfway down the stairwell so I sorta move to the side and hope for it to all be over soon.

I don’t think they appreciated it. They made it a point to surround me and put their faces very close to mine before Sexy Witch slapped the wall next to my head. All while this mask herd watched. After exchanging awkward “dude you’re in the way” looks with all of these masks (you can still read judgment through these masks) I found myself on the first floor.

I’m pretty sure my timing is off here, but at some point in the night, I was standing in the middle of the floor while Bald Witch was clearing trees from the floor. I was yet again in the way (it was like I was blocking the eggs at Trader Joe’s or something) and she whispered something into my ear which was probably meant to convey “GTFO” but I took it as “maybe I should stay here, she probably wants to come back and hang.” Anyway, that didn’t happen.

Oh, at one point a pregnant character passed out in front of me on the dance floor. No one seemed too concerned, so I went with it. Ah, New York.

After the big finale, we exited and fought our way through the mob of coat-retrievers. My wife and I shared what we had seen and it seemed like she had seen some pretty cool things that I missed by wandering around every room over and over. She even said there was nudity. What? We're going to need to go back.

I’ve spent A LOT of my free time researching and trying to understand what I witnessed and we've since been back six more times to try to make sense of the whole thing. I needed a new healthy addiction and Sleep No More is it.

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, dwyn5002!

November 14 - Claire Temple/Daisy Johnson soulmate short for @dwyn5002

Written by @ozhawkauthor

A sharp shrill from her phone jerked Claire out of a deep sleep. Groaning, she grabbed for it, brought it to her ear.

“Lo.”

“Claire, it’s Matt.I need your help.”

“Because of course you fucking do,” she sighed, pushing herself to sit upright and reaching to turn on the lamp. “What is it this time, and where are you? Where’s the wound?”

“Back of the left shoulder, a bullet. Lodged in the shoulder blade I think.”

“Yeah, you won’t be able to pull that one out. You need a hospital, Matt.”

“It’s not me that’s wounded. And a hospital’s out of the question. Buzz me in, Claire.”

Her doorbell chimed at that moment and she cursed under her breath before climbing out of bed. “Who is it? Please tell me it’s not that Punisher guy.”

“No… he’s smart enough to wear a Kevlar vest.” There was a distinctly sarcastic note in Matt’s voice. “It’s an old friend, actually. From my childhood.”

“From the orphanage?” Phone held to her ear, she pushed the button to let him in the front door, starting turning on lights in her apartment. “Don’t tell me two of you grew up to be vigilante superheroes.”

“Okay then.”

“Wait, two of you really did grow up to be vigilante superheroes?”

The phone went dead just before a light tap sounded at her apartment door. Claire dropped her phone on the table and hurried to open up, surprised to see Matt carrying a slight young woman dressed all in black.

“Put her there,” she gestured at the couch, which she’d already prudently covered with a large towel. Far too many superheroes had bled on the damn thing. “So who is she, and why can’t she go to a hospital… oh, never mind. I see. Fantastic, you’re bringing me actual wanted criminals now.” She frowned as she got a good look at the girl’s face. “Agent, or former Agent, I should say, Daisy Johnson.”

“She was Mary-Sue Poots when we were in St. Agnes,” Matt said, laying Daisy carefully on the sofa, on her left side. “Which was a name the nuns made up, because she didn’t have one. She took the name Skye later on, but apparently she eventually found out where she came from and Daisy Johnson is her real name.”

“And she killed the Patriot.” Claire scowled down at the unconscious girl, her arms folded.

“Don’t believe everything you see. That footage was faked.”

“According to her, I presume?”

“You do know that I can tell when people are lying, right?” Matt sounded tired as he pulled off his mask. “Are you going to help, Claire, or am I going to have to dig that bullet out on my own?”

“Ugh, I can’t let you do that to the poor girl. Who shot her, anyway? I thought she could deflect bullets and stuff?”

“Only if she sees them coming,” Matt said as she snapped on a pair of gloves and picked up scissors to cut off Daisy’s jacket and shirt. “She was kicking ass and taking names when a ricochet off a fire escape hit her in the back off the shoulder.”

“It slowed it down,” Claire murmured, peering at the bloody hole she’d exposed. “Which is why it didn’t go through. She’s lucky; if it hadn’t lodged in the scapula it would have gone straight through her lung. Pass me that Tupperware box on the kitchen counter.”

Matt picked it up and placed it down beside her. He knew it contained her surgical tools, kept sterile inside the plastic container. She flipped open the lid, selected a pair of forceps.

“You’d better hold onto her. This might wake her up.”

Matt settled to his knees, grasped onto Daisy’s forearm and placed his other hand on her ribs. “Now don’t be mean on purpose,” he suggested with a light note of teasing in his voice.

“Pfeh,” Claire snorted at him before beginning a careful probe. She could feel the edges of the bullet, smashed right into Daisy’s shoulder blade. Gripping on with the forceps, she wiggled gently. “Damn… this is pretty stuck.” Wiggling harder, she finally felt the bullet move, shifting slightly in the bone… just as Daisy screamed.

“Sorry, sorry!” Claire yelped, stumbling back, forceps still clutched tightly in her hand, the bullet clamped firmly in between the jaws.

“Easy, Daisy, you were shot,” Matt said, keeping his voice low and steady as he held Daisy down. “We’re with a friend of mine. She just removed the bullet. Remember? I promised I wouldn’t take you to a hospital.”

One dark eye peered at Claire from behind a fringe of wavy black hair, examined the forceps in her hand. Daisy had been pushing up against Matt’s grip, but slowly, she let herself go limp again.

“Fucking hurts,” she muttered. “Doesn’t she have any local anaesthetic?”

“I’m sorry,” Claire apologized again, dropping the bloodied bullet in her trash and putting the forceps in the sink to wash and re-sterilize later. “I don’t. And now I’m going to have to stitch that wound closed, too.”

That dark eye surveyed her for a few seconds before Daisy’s head jerked in a small nod. Returning to kneel down beside her again, Claire picked up a packet of sutures and ripped it open.

Daisy didn’t make so much as a sound as Claire carefully pulled together the ragged edges of the wound and stitched them. Fortunately it had been a small-calibre bullet, and travelling slowly with the ricochet, hadn’t made nearly as much mess as a direct hit would have done. She made tiny, careful stitches, taking her time, hoping to minimise the scarring.

“There,” she said finally, picking up her scissors to cut the final suture. “You’ll be able to wear a bikini again one day and nobody will ever know you were shot.”

Matt laughed, releasing Daisy and stepping back. “Trust you to worry about the aesthetics!”

“Trust the blind man not to realize that appearances are important to a girl,” Claire shot back, and from the couch, Daisy chuckled. Using her good arm to push herself upright with a grunt, she smiled at Claire.

“That said, he’s more perceptive than most men, which is tragic,” Claire tipped her head towards Matt. “I’d still advise you against getting involved.”

Daisy’s dark brown eyes widened, and she laughed more freely, stopping with a wince when her shoulder obviously pained her. “Trust me, that’s never going to happen,” she said.

Claire froze in the act of peeling off her soiled gloves, spun around. “What did you say?” For a moment, she wondered if Matt could have told Daisy… but then, even though they’d been lovers, he couldn’t have ever seen her soulmark. She knew there was no texture or raised surface to the words.

For answer, Daisy pulled down the cup of her bra, over her left breast, and showed Claire the single word written there… twice. Sorry, sorry.

“Matthew, get out,” Claire said faintly.

“Both of your heart rates are going crazy, what have I missed?” Matt’s unfocussed stare swung between them.

“Soulmates. Now get out.”

Matt actually looked surprised, but he was a smart guy. He scooped up his mask and headed straight back out the door with a “You know how to reach me,” tossed over his shoulder, leaving Claire and Daisy alone, staring at each other.

Finally, Daisy patted the couch beside her. “Will you sit down and talk to me? I don’t even know your name.”

“Claire… it’s Claire. Temple. I’m a nurse.”

“Matt said he had a friend who was a nurse, who would patch me up.” Daisy fumbled tentatively for Claire’s hand, pressed gently on her fingers. “Thank you.”

“I was a bit doubtful when I recognized you,” Claire confessed. “But Matt says you didn’t do it and he…” she ran down, unsure just how much Daisy knew about Matt’s abilities.

“You can’t successfully lie to Matt,” Daisy said. “Because of… what he is. I should warn you that it’s pretty hard to lie to me, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… at least, once I’ve gotten to know people a little bit. When you speak, the sound is caused by vibrations in your larynx, right? And vibrations are my thing. So I can tell when the vibrations change, which they do when someone is lying. Even if it’s in miniscule ways. Even if it’s by omission, sometimes.”

Daisy looked a little bit uncertain how Claire would react to that revelation. But Claire had never had any intention of lying to her soulmate, even by omission. She smiled at Daisy, squeezed her hand in return.

“That is so cool.”

Daisy’s grin was wide, relieved. “So how do you know Matt?” she asked.

“Fished him out of my Dumpster one time.”

“... That is a story I need to hear.”

Claire giggled at Daisy’s avid look. “Not tonight. Tonight, I want to hear your story.”

Daisy sighed. “It’s long and messy and complicated.”

“Sounds like I should open a bottle of wine.”

“That,” Daisy rolled her head back against the back of the couch, “sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“Good thing I have a bottle of red in the kitchen then, huh?” Getting up to fetch two glasses, Claire brought the bottle back as well. Daisy’s fingers sought her again as she sat down, and Claire took her hand, feeling the strength in that fine-boned hand. Meeting Daisy’s eyes, she smiled. “I’m so glad Matt brought you here. Not glad that he had to, obviously, but that I finally got to meet you.”

“You too.” Daisy took a sip of her wine, sighed, and nestled deeper into the couch, wincing as the stitches in her shoulder pulled. “So… I guess I should start with the Nazis who kidnapped my mother and murdered her… and my father who brought her back to life again.”

[imagine-loki]

Mr. Laufeyson's Ward

TITLE: Mr. Laufeyson’s Ward

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 5 AUTHOR: goddessofmischief ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you are living in the late 1800’s and your parents pass away due to a tragic accident. Leaving you an orphan, you are sent to a miserable orphanage. Then, a mysterious and harsh man named Loki visits the orphanage and takes you on as his ward. He brings you to his crumbling mansion in the English countryside, where you face his cruel intentions, and eventually discover that you care for him much more than you’d like to admit. 

RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS:  I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you all for the likes, comments & shares. Your kind words definitely encourage me to continue writing this story.

The faint traces of sunrise hinted over the horizon, and I unclasped the windows to open them widely. The curtains began to flap rapidly as a cool, and powerful, gust of wind funneled into my room and stung my raw left cheek. I dropped my bag down onto the ground outside and I hastily followed. I never wanted to see him again. I never wanted to return to this place where I was unwelcome. And these thoughts were what propelled me to run as fast as I could from Heathcote Manor.

I could not discern which direction I was running, for Yorkshire was entirely unknown to me. The oppressive morning fog also negatively impacted my sense of direction. I hoped that I was moving in the direction of the village, as I planned to somehow seek shelter there until I could get a carriage to take me back to Hambro House. Just the thought of Hambro House made me completely relieved. I smiled to myself as I imagined Agnes, Miss Grey and the other girls welcoming me back with open arms.

These images comforted me, and also distracted me from how bone-chilling the temperature was. My malnourishment and lack of sleep also did not aid my endurance. When I believed I was far enough away from Heathcote, I stopped running and began to walk at a steady pace. By then, my health was already declining. I started to cough uncontrollably and my entire body began to shake. Mud seeped through the bottom of my black frock and at my petticoats, as it had rained infrequently over the night. However, I didn’t allow these afflictions to put a halt to my endeavors.

I must have been walking steadily for about a half hour, when I heard a sound in the distance that caused me much alarm: the distant pounding of horse hooves against the muddy soil. Despite my weakened state, I began to run again - occasionally turning my head to look behind me. However, this was no use, for I could not see more than a few feet before me due to the obscurity of the fog. I hoped it was just somebody who just passing by, on their way to the village. But this thought was completely dismissed when I heard a voice. A voice that distinctly belonged to my master.

I had never heard him call me by my first name, but I had also never heard anyone call my name in such a way. His voice was filled with complete anguish. I tried to run faster, but I could no longer do so. My exhaustion caused me to practically fall down at times, but I managed to limp onwards as the galloping horse came nearer and nearer.

“Victoria!” He yelled again. His voice was much closer than I expected, and I could hear his horse slow down. It was then that I had the strangest impression that he had known exactly where to find me.  I stopped and slowly turned around to observe Mr. Laufeyson emerge from the heavy mist on his horse, which I assumed was Dorian, his favorite. "Leave me be.” I said, turning back around at once, with a determination to get further away from him. He jumped off his horse in haste and ran over to me. He placed his hand on my shoulder and I flinched at his touch. “Victoria, you must come back to Heathcote immediately. You’re very sick.” “I assure you I’m fine.” I said hazily. The violent coughs that followed could not be repressed. “No, you are not. You’re shivering.” He proceeded to take off his well-worn, hunter green coat and I observed how disheveled his hair was. I could tell that he had also dressed heedlessly, for he was simply wearing his nightshirt tucked into his suspender trousers. He wrapped the coat around me and I couldn’t protest as it comforted me immensely. “Come along now.” He gently urged me towards his horse. I placed my hand on his chest and pushed him away from me with all the strength I could muster. ”No, no. I can’t.” I deeply sighed. “It was wrong of you to bring me here, Mr. Laufeyson. You took me away from my only friends, from the only people who ever truly cared for me, and I hate you for it!” I said in distress. He didn’t respond to this, and his crestfallen eyes momentarily could not meet mine as I openly expressed my hatred towards his actions, and towards him. I felt my legs begin to give out, but he directly came to my side before I fell down. He guided me back to Dorian and helped lift me up onto the saddle. I sat in a side saddle position, and I initially thought I would topple off the horse from how faint I was becoming. However, he quickly hoisted himself onto Dorian and pulled my body close to his. His left arm tightly wrapped around my narrow waist - which had gotten even smaller due to my lack of nourishment. “Oh, Victoria. What were you thinking?!” He said softly. My eyesight began to fade and I slowly fell backwards onto his chest. My head rested upon his shoulder, and my frail body trembled against his. “Why did you bring me to this gloomy, faraway place, only t-to reject me entirely…” I murmured into his ear before slipping into unconsciousness.

¨¨¨°º0º°¨¨¨

“She is only a child, Mr. Laufeyson. Although she tries to be strong and self-reliant, she needs your attention. And your love. I don’t think it’s right for a girl her age to be so lonely.” My eyes slowly fluttered open and the bright morning sunshine that came through the windows momentarily blinded me. My eyes quickly adjusted and I saw that Mrs. Cunningham was talking quietly to my master at the end of my bed. Mr. Laufeyson seemed troubled by her words, as he did not look away from the floor. He hands were folded behind his back and his eyebrows were furrowed with concern. His entire countenance plainly exhibited his worry over the situation, as well as his uneasiness at being reprimanded by one of his servants. However, he did not scorn Mrs. Cunningham for her honesty. I tried to sit up in bed, but immediately regretted this due to how lightheaded I had become. I placed a hand on my forehead and softly moaned due to how weak I felt, and this instantly got the attention of the other two people in my room. “Oh, Victoria! You’ve finally awoken. How do you feel?” said Mrs. Cunningham anxiously. “Not all too well.” When I spoke, my voice was barely a whisper. “You must get some more rest.” said my master. “I… slept?” My eyes broadened in fear, and I began to panic, for I had finally gave in and had become vulnerable to that supernatural thing that preyed on me in my dreams. “Yes. Don’t you remember? After Dr. Sweeney checked up on you and gave you your medicine yesterday, that’s all you did for the remainder of the day.” said Mrs. Cunningham with a laugh. This was no laughing manner. “I-I can’t. I mustn’t.” I flung the covers off of me and rushed off the bed. Yet I wasn’t successful: for when my feet hit the floor, a strong dizziness came over me and I practically collapsed. However, Mr. Laufeyson caught me. He cradled my body in his arms, and I blushed when I realized that someone had changed me into my thin, white cotton nightgown. Situating myself back into bed, and under the blankets, he turned to Mrs. Cunningham and said: “Her sickness must be making her delusional again.” “I’m not delusional! And do not talk about me as if I’m not present!” I yelled with rage. Mrs. Cunningham looked at my master uncomfortably and he excused himself from the room. “You must get better, Victoria, and you shouldn’t yell at the master like that.” Mrs. Cunningham said, as she came over to me and began to apply a cool towel to my forehead. I rolled my eyes at the latter statement she had made. “What happened? What did the doctor say? I asked. “Your health had declined greatly by the time the master brought you home. You were unconscious, and when you awoke to take your medicine you were in a state of delirium. You were shaking and sweating uncontrollably, and even mumbling incoherent words. We were so worried that you had influenza, or even pneumonia from how coarse your coughs were, but thank heavens that wasn’t the case!” She said with a relieved grin. “So what did the doctor diagnose me with?” “A fever, which is specifically due to how poor your immune system is and your prolonged exposure to the cold. Yet I don’t like to think of what would have happened to you if Mr. Laufeyson hadn’t found you so soon.” “Yes. I know.” I mumbled, as she handed me a glass of water. “I never saw the master behave like that though…” Her voice trailed on. “Like what?” I curiously asked while handing the glass back to her. “He woke up early in the morning in a panic. As I was already awake doing my morning duties, he shouted for me and told me to follow him to your room. Your door was locked and, after I opened it for him with my keys, he barged into your chamber like a madman.” This disclosure of my master’s actions was hardly believable. “When we discovered that you were not in bed, and that your window was wide open, he hastened to look for you. When you both returned, he was the one to fetch Dr. Sweeney, and he hardly left your room yesterday. He barely spent time with the Browne’s, as he wanted to look after you.” “He probably felt guilty for hurting me.” I stated dully and rested my head back on my pillows. “Perhaps.” She replied hesitantly. I could tell she was deep in thought. I didn’t question her further, for I was becoming very drowsy. She took notice of this. “Get some rest now. You must sleep. I’ll be back to check up on you every few minutes or so.” When I closed my eyes, I quickly fell back into a deep slumber. I was at peace, for the fearsome entity that haunted my dreams was nowhere to be found.

¨¨¨°º0º°¨¨¨

I awoke again around 3 in the afternoon to find that nobody was in my room. I noticed that a chair was right besides my bed, and that there was some needlework on top of it. I assumed that Mrs. Cunningham had momentarily stepped out of the room and would return shortly. That is why when I heard knocking at my door, I immediately told the visitor to come in as I already assumed it was her. However, it was not who I thought it’d be, but my master instead. His long legs stepped over the threshold and he softly shut the door behind him. I straightened up in bed and I noticed that he was balancing a steaming cup of tea in his hands, and also had a massive volume tucked under his arm. “I’m glad to see you’ve awoken, Victoria. How are you feeling?” He asked with concern. I was still a bit surprised to see him in my room, considering the fact that I originally thought that he would never step foot in this secluded portion of the house. But I was even more startled at him acting as my caretaker. “I feel a little better, I suppose. My muscles do ache though.” He placed Mrs. Cunningham’s needlework aside and sat down on the chair besides me. “Here, I brought you some tea.” He slowly guided the cup and saucer into my unsteady hands. “It will help with building your immunity.” He assured me. I took a sip of the hot tea, which tasted so acidic that I thought he might have put poison in it. I grimaced. “It’s just a little bitter.” “I’m afraid that’s the medicine. I tried to put as much sugar in it to lessen the bitterness, but I see that my efforts were to no avail.” I was taken aback by his gentleness, and in discovering the endeavors he had taken to make something more pleasant for me. “It’s okay. I can cope.” I continued to take small sips at the tea, as he readily watched me.

Today he was wearing another black suit, which appeared newer than the other one that I had previously seen on multiple occasions. He had also changed his black cravat to one of green. It was a very different outfit to the nightshirt and trousers that he had been wearing yesterday morning on the moors. I, on the other hand, must have looked awful. I could picture that my face was as pale as a sheet, and that the imprint of his fingers still lingered on my left cheek. My hair was undoubtedly a mess, and I had pulled the covers up as much as I could to hide my frilly, cotton nightgown from him - even though he had already seen it. I finished up the tea, and he took the empty cup from my hands and placed it on my nightstand. Then, he unexpectedly placed his hand before my forehead and I winced. A moan escaped my lips as I moved away from his hand in fear that he would hit me again. “It’s okay. I won’t harm you.” He whispered. The back of hand lightly grazed over my forehead, to sweep my bangs away, before he set it there for a few seconds to feel the warmness that was emanating from that area of my face. His hand was cold, and was as cool as the cloth that he proceeded to dab on my forehead. “Where’s Miss Lavinia and her parents? Shouldn’t you be entertaining them?” I asked out of curiosity. “They don’t mind my absence, as they are preoccupied with other matters.” He said straightforwardly. “But they are your guests, sir. Surely Mrs. Cunningham or somebody else would be willing to regularly check up on me. I don’t want to get you sick, especially when you have company.” “I assure you that they do not mind in the slightest, and you aren’t to worry about me being affected by your sickness, Victoria.” The sympathetic expression in his eyes did not dissipate when he changed the subject. “Before I forget, I have some letters for you. Richard gave them to me earlier today.” He reached into his inner jacket pocket and handed them to me. I was elated to see both Agnes’ and Miss Grey’s handwriting on the front of each letter. “Thank you, sir. I have been anticipating these letters for awhile.” I set them on my nightstand, as I would have to wait to open them. “I’m sure you have been.” He responded kindly. “Now, how about I read to you? I brought along Metamorphoses, as I assumed you were already reading it.” He opened the book to the page and displayed the small golden ribbon I had discreetly used to mark my place. “I didn’t want to crease any of the pages in your books to keep my place, sir.” For the first time, his smile was directed towards me. This all seemed very odd, and I knew that something about his demeanor, especially in regards to me, had changed. Perhaps it was from Mrs. Cunningham’s suggestion to him that I had overheard. “Of course you didn’t.” He said with a chuckle before continuing. “Now, where were you in Book 12?” “The House of Rumour.” I had remembered exactly what section that I was on, for I had yearned to get my hands back on the book to finish it. “Ah, yes.” He said, as he drew the chair even closer to me. “There is a place at the centre of the World, between the zones of earth, sea, and sky, at the boundary of the three worlds. From here, whatever exists is seen, however far away, and every voice reaches listening ears. Rumour lives there, choosing a house for herself on a high mountain summit, adding innumerable entrances, a thousand openings, and no doors to bar the threshold. It is open night and day: and is all of sounding bronze. All rustles with noise, echoes voices, and repeats what is heard. There is no peace within: no silence anywhere. Yet there is no clamour, only the subdued murmur of voices, like the waves of the sea, if you hear them far off, or like the sound of distant thunder when Jupiter makes the dark clouds rumble.” His soft and gentle voice practically lulled me to sleep, yet I remained attentive. I would have never thought him to be so patient and generous to read to me. He read up to the end of Book 13 before he set down my bookmark and closed the volume. “I better let you get some more rest, Victoria.” My eyes had begun to get very heavy, and, despite how much I wanted him to read to me more, I knew it was best for me to retire again. “Yes, I think you’re right.” Without another word, he took up the book, and the empty teacup, and walked away. However, I stopped him just before he got to my door. “I enjoyed your company, Mr. Laufeyson. Thank you.” I said politely. He turned around and smiled at me once more. “How about I return tomorrow then? Around the same time?” “Okay.” I agreed.

¨¨¨°º0º°¨¨¨

He returned the next day, and the three days that followed. I had mostly recovered from my illness by the end of that week, and I believed that this was largely due to the amount of peaceful, undisturbed, rest that I got throughout the day and night. I had read the letters in which he had given me, and was delighted to hear from Agnes and Miss Grey. Although Agnes mostly expressed concern, as I had previously told her of Mr. Laufeyson’s harsh disposition towards me, it was still uplifting to hear from her nevertheless. Other than sharing the latest news at the orphanage, Agnes and Miss Grey both expressed how much they missed me and this sense of belonging, which I had never truly experienced before, brought tears to my eyes. I managed to get out of bed and walk to my writing desk, as I wished to respond to them straightaway.

Each day, promptly at 3 in the afternoon, Mr. Laufeyson would come with the medicated tea, which he had lessened the dosage considerably, and some biscuits too. He would also always have a book tucked under his arm. We had finished Metamorphoses and moved on to Voltaire’s Candide. On the final day in which I would be strictly bedridden, in accordance to Dr. Sweeney’s orders earlier the previous day, he was in the middle of reading a passage when he posed a question to me. “Do you never smile, Victoria?” “Only on occasion, sir.” I declared. “And this present occasion doesn’t make you content?” It would take more than his charming attitude towards me to get me to smile. “It does, yet I feel no need to smile gaily at the moment.” He chuckled. “I oftentimes think that you are an old, austere woman, rather than a 17 year old girl.” “And does that statement refer to my looks as well?” I asked jestingly, with a raised brow. He looked into my eyes, and delivered his next statement with sincerity. “No. I can assure you that your beauty isn’t compromised by your sternness.” I looked away, for I felt my cheeks reddening at this remark. It was then that I remembered that picture of myself on the desk in his study. I had tried to forget about this through convincing myself that Miss Lavinia’s picture was in the case instead of mine. But that had not been the truth.

So why did he have that picture of me, which looked so much like the one that my father had in his possession? This thought puzzled me immensely, yet I of course kept it to myself. But I had another question that I have been meaning to ask. “Sir, I was wondering if I could plant flowers in your garden when the weather gets better?” I asked with optimism. “Well, of course you can.” He said exuberantly. “Really?” I looked at him in utter bafflement. “Yes, I don’t see why not. You’ll be able to acquire all of the supplies that you’ll need in the village. I’ll accompany you there when the time comes, if you’d like.” And then, for the first time, a small smile fell upon my lips while in his presence. “Thank you, sir.” He grinned, and I thought that this was probably because he had finally got me to smile. “You are most welcome, Victoria.” His expression softened even more, and his eyes displayed an uttermost tenderness towards me. And this, for some reason, caused my heart to flutter rapidly.

He then looked back down upon the book and continued to read.

[sending-the-message]

The Devil Has All The Best Music by JPscrawlings

If you follow the road south of a small rural town called Renford, you will find another, less busy track which is almost hidden completely behind overgrown foliage. Most people drive on by, oblivious to its existence, but if you follow it you will come upon two large houses relatively near to each other. One of them is in an agreeable state; yes, it still has its issues such as the weather-stripped paint and gnarled wood porch in desperate need of a varnish, but compared to the other it is palatial.

The other house is near a wreck in comparison, but not by choice. I always had plans in my mind as to how I wanted to finish it, how I wanted to restore it to its original prime, but now it sits there festering and abandoned. It pains me to think of it sat there alone in the woodland, but there is nothing between heaven or hell which could drag me back there.

I can still remember the first day I saw the advert for it. It was needing some love putting into it back then, and that was twelve years ago. I had always dreamed of finding a place which had fallen into disrepair and breathing new life into it, especially if the price was right. It was the polar opposite of the busy city I lived in, and I did not think a quiet life was too much to ask for.

I rang the phone number listed as soon as I returned from work. The house was part of a deceased estate. They had no living relatives and they had left no will requesting what be done with it. The mortgage company had seized the property and simply wanted it gone to reclaim their owed money. They snapped my hand off almost as much as I snapped at theirs.

I packed up my life in the city, cramming it all into the bed of a pick-up truck, and set out on the five hour drive to Renford. The journey could only be described as sheer joy. The noise and light of the city fell away, opening up to vast expanses of trees and fields as far as I could see. I passed through small towns and villages, stopping to take in the slower pace of life whenever I needed a rest. I felt myself glow with contentment, as if my soul had been refreshed.

It was late when I made the turning down that secluded lane. The truck bounced and rattled as the road became little more than two tyre-churned tracks amongst the lengths of grass, and I clenched my teeth as my skull rattled.

I saw the other house first. It passed to my right, and I could not help but be a nosy neighbour. Unfortunately, there was nothing to warn me of the terror that was to come, simply a single upstairs light on in what I assumed was the bedroom. I carried on another one hundred metres and stopped outside of new home.

I was used to night time in the city, not the full and foreboding rural darkness. Because of this, I grabbed only what I had to that first night and resolved to bring the rest in the next day. I can still remember how I led there that first night, unable to sleep due to the lack of any noise. There were no cars, no planes or trains, simply myself and the night.

Over the next few days I quickly became accustomed to the quiet, finding myself enjoying my isolation from the outside world more and more. When I eventually returned to work several days later, I found myself yearning to return to my little slice of paradise each day. Noise irritated me, and I developed a deep-seated hate of the heaving rumble of constant traffic.

The weekends were wonderful. I ensured that I had a full enough refrigerator and freezer to last the weekend, so I could enjoy my solitude as much as I could. I took long rambling walks in the woods, listened to music, and watched the world go by from my porch.

In the evenings, as twilight closed in, I would sit on the porch with a couple of beers and watch the darkness roll in. I sat there in the dark for as long as I could, enjoying the starlight above, but every night I noticed the light come on in the upstairs bedroom of the other house. I looked several times, but could never make anyone out, at least not directly. There were times when I swear I could see someone at the window out of the peripheral of my vision, a large and brutish shape, but when I looked towards it, it was gone.

I resolved to meet my neighbour as soon as I got the chance. On the weekends I would knock, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon, but I never received an answer. It was a few days after I attempted to contact them that the damned music began.

The music was beautiful, it truly was. When I sat on the porch at night, the light would come on as usual, but now it was accompanied by the sound of a mournful piano. When I first heard it, I thought it was a recording as it was so perfect, but every night the music was subtlety different. Occasionally it was punctured by a frantic and passionate staccato, other times it flowed like silk. It went on for hours at a time, and always stopped when I retired to my bedroom.

I had decided to sleep in one Saturday when I heard a knock at the door. At first I thought it was my imagination, but then it went again. I always picked up my post from the office in town, so I knew it couldn't be that. I threw on some clothes and dashed downstairs.

I opened the door to find a frail old woman stood on my doorstep. There was something about her that set me on edge, but I could not put my finger on it. She leaned on a gnarled stick for support, her hair scraped back into a greasy grey bun, but it was her smile that tingled my spine. It was large and unnatural, her eyes holding the same maniacal flair.

'You like the music, do you?'

I was still trying to figure out why an old woman was stood on my doorstep. 'Music?'

She pointed back to the house just up the road. 'The music. I've seen you sitting out here at night. You like it?'

My brain put the pieces together and I came to the realisation that I was speaking to my neighbour. 'That's you? It's wonderful. Incredible, even.' I wiped my hand on my clothes and extended it towards her. 'I'm sorry, where are my manners, I'm Nathan.'

The old lady took my hand in an oddly strong grip, her ice cold fingers wrapping around mine. 'Agnes,' she replied. 'Perhaps you'll want to come listen sometime?'

The thought of seeing such a performance overrode any discomfort that the old lady gave me. I nodded. 'Very much so.'

'How about tonight?'

I shrugged. It was not as if I had anything else on. 'I'd like that.'

Her odd grin returned. 'Come around at eight.' She turned and started down the steps of my porch, then turned and looked at me one last time. 'Make sure you're on time.'

I spent the rest of the day thinking about the night's performance. The see such beauty flowing first hand set my heart fluttering, and I kept myself as busy as possible to ensure that eight came as quick as possible.

I knocked the door at exactly eight. I waited in the dark for a moment until a light came on and the door groaned open. Agnes was stood holding the door, although the odd smile and fire her eyes held earlier had dissipated. Her hand shook on the door handle, and the smile she attempted to give me was a weary one. The smell of various oils and lavender wafted out to greet me, although there was a burnt undertone lingering in the air.

'Are you okay?' I asked. 'If tonight's not good-'

'No, no, come in, come in,' she replied, waving me in and towards the staircase. 'Go on up. I'll be there in a moment. I dare say I'm a little slower than you.'

I followed her instruction and ascended the staircase, the old boards creaking underneath my feet no matter how softly I trod. The light was now on in one of the rooms, the room which I saw illuminated every night. I stepped in and looked around.

In the centre of the room was an old grand piano, the original black paint chipped in places and showing the raw wood beneath. The rest of the room was populated by numerous tables, each holding troves of crystals and geodes; they were sprawled out in an indistinct but definite patterns, and some were even hung from the light fittings, sending odd angles of light bouncing through the room. Two leather armchairs sat snugly together.

Agnes struggled into the room and shut the door. Her tired eyes seemed to regain an element of power, and a faint smile toyed with her lips.

‘This is impressive,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen something like this before.’

All she did was give a feeble nod before hobbling towards the piano and taking a seat at the stool. She motioned to the armchairs. ‘Take a seat.’

I followed her words and sank deep into the old creaking chair. She turned to look at me, the angles of light seeming to change her facial features as they bounced around the room.

‘The way I play can be...unorthodox,’ she said. ‘It requires deep concentration, almost like falling into a trance. You like the music you can hear from your house, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you imagine it sounding even more wonderful? The tones deeper, the playing so elegant that the fingers whisper across the keys. An experience for the soul. Can you imagine it?’

It was a struggle to imagine something even more divine than what I had already heard. ‘I can’t, but I would love to hear it.’

Agnes took a deep breath, her form appearing to warp slightly. ‘You can hear it. I can show you how. But, you need to open your mind, your soul, even.’

I leaned forward in the chair, the leather groaning beneath me. ‘Show me.’

The odd grin returned to the old woman’s face. ‘Then you’ll need to come with me, far beyond this mortal shell.’ She noticed my raised eyebrow and laughed. ‘I said you’d need an open mind.’

‘But how? That’s impossible.’ ‘Astral projection,’ Agnes replied. ‘Detaching our souls from their anchors and letting them soar far, far away.’

Something raised the hairs on the back of my neck, my heart rate increasing. Normally I wouldn’t subscribe to such nonsense thinking, but the authority in her voice almost made me believe her. ‘Is it safe? Can we come back?’

‘Of course,’ she said with a wide grin. ‘I go and come back every night, what makes you think it would be different this time?’

‘Okay.’

‘Great, then we’ll being.’

Agnes turned her back to me and lowered her head. ‘Follow my voice,’ she said, her tone suddenly low and deep. ‘Keep your breathing steady and shut your eyes.’

I closed my eyes and listened to her voice. The steady rhythm of my breathing quickly matched her own wheezing pace. She whispered words well below my hearing range; all I could make out was the guttural mumbling, nothing distinct in the words themselves.

Something changed within me. It was a subtle, a minor flicker somewhere in my mind, but I felt myself suddenly lighter. A bleak terror filled me at the thought of actually leaving my physical body behind. I forced my eyes open, my weight coming back to me. I broke the rhythmic breathing, my lungs clamouring for lost breath.

I looked around to see Agnes still slumped with her head forward, mumbling and churning unknown words in her mouth. The crystals which were hung from the ceiling danced slightly, the erratic light forming strange but wonderful images before my eyes, but it was not enough to chase away the dread which flowed through me.

My fight or flight response kicked in, and it chose flight. I sprang from the chair and made my way to the door, before descending the old stairs, checking over my shoulder for something every few steps. I dashed out into the dark night and back towards my house. I took one last glance at the now normal light in what I thought was the bedroom window, and ducked into the safety of my own house.

Several days passed and I did not see Agnes, nor did she come see me. In hindsight I thought that perhaps I had overreacted, maybe I had bought too deeply into her words and my brain played tricks with me. Either way, I felt awkward about the whole thing, and hoped to see her to apologise, however whenever I knocked there was no answer.

The nightly music returned, but it was not the same as before. It was no longer the wonderful workings of a musical genius, but sounded like someone hammering the keys with inelegant fingers. It was awful, and its incessant nightly noise soon began to dampen my enjoyment of my evenings on my porch.

I came home from work one evening to find a note pushed under my door. I picked it up and read it. It was from Agnes.

I’m sorry if there was any misunderstanding the other night. I finished my playing and you were gone. I am frightfully sorry if I offended you in anyway, or made you feel uncomfortable, but thank you for giving an old lonely woman the company for an evening. My door is always open for you, my dear, please don’t be a stranger.

The letter tugged at my heartstrings. Perhaps I had overreacted the other night? My memories of what occurred that night now seemed vague, almost as if looking through a haze. I resolved to set the issue straight once I had eaten and cleaned up.

My knock at her door was answered relatively quickly. Agnes opened the door, looking tired once more. ‘Oh, my dear,’ she said. ‘I was hoping you would pop by after reading my note.’

‘I must apologise for the other night,’ I said. I dredged a lie from my thoughts. ‘I wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want to disturb your wonderful playing.’

Agnes gave a lacking smile. ‘Oh, you are sweet. Perhaps I could play for you again some night, when you’re feeling up to it?’

‘I was hoping to hear it tonight, if you are free, of course.’

‘That’s music to my ears,’ Agnes said, a spark returning to her old eyes. She nodded towards the stairs. ‘Guests first.’

I climbed the stairs once more. Instead of looking forward to the performance this time, all I could think of was the cacophony I had been subjected to for the last few nights. I made an agreement with myself that I would humour her this time, and stay to the bitter end.

The room was how I remembered it, and soon I was settled down in the old leather chair, with Agnes seated at the piano. She closed her eyes once more, and I followed suit; if it could make the music any more bearable than I thought it would be at least worth a try.

Once again my breathing fell into rhythm with the old woman’s. Her odd guttural chanting came back, and I could hear the crystals around the light fittings clink gently against one another as they danced once more.

That subtle loss of weight came sooner than I expected. My heart raced once more, but this time I resolved to hold myself to the experience. It was unnerving at first, and I can only describe the feeling as if you were ascending, even though I knew it was impossible.

It was in this moment that I realised that I could hear nothing. The more I listened to the silence, the odder it became. I could no longer hear the clink of crystals, the guttural words, or even my own heavy breaths. My senses tensed, ears pining for the sound of ...something.

I heard it. It was distant, but I recognised it. The sweet tinkle of piano keys. I smiled to myself as I heard it. Even from such a distance, I realised that this playing was nothing like I had heard for the last few nights. It was serene, a glistening dance across the ivories. I had to see the old woman play it, or I would not believe it. I opened my eyes.

They did not open.

A moment of panic jarred me. I could not even sense the air entering and leaving my lungs, but I knew somewhere I gasped for breath. I moved my hands in front of my eyes, and realised I could see them. A moment of relief set in. I was not blind, but wherever I was was so gloomy that I could barely see my hands in front of me.

I reached a hand out, finding it resting on what I could only imagine was some textured wallpaper. I stepped towards it, and could see it now. I followed the wall and eventually it led me to a door. I fumbled with the handle for a moment, before it creaked open before me.

It was lighter here, though not much. An old lamp, covered in cobwebs, sat in the corner of the room, casting a muted light across what looked to be an old pub. It was untouched, with empty stools lining the bar, and tables and chairs pristine in condition. I stepped inside and heard the music become louder.

‘Agnes?’ I called. There was no response. ‘Anyone?’ Silence. I walked across the bar and looked out of the windows. The darkness returned outside of the panes, although I could swear there was a constant swarm of movement just beyond my perception. Something moved behind me.

I turned around to see a line of people queuing across the bar, towards a door on the other side. They were inanimate, and dressed in old-fashioned clothing. All of them were caught as if frozen in time; some were trapped in mid-conversation, others swigged from a drink, and others checked tickets which they held.

‘Hello?’ I said, but was answered with only more silence. The piano grew louder now, as if it was just beyond the doors which they queued towards. I followed the line, and on closer inspection the door held a number of posters.

Agnes Deyton - live for tonight only!

I pressed a hand to the door and twisted the handle. To my surprise it opened. I was expecting someone to stop me, or for the door to be locked, but instead the door opened up into a large dance hall. Rows of seats were set out in preparation for the event, but it was not that which gathered my attention.

I could see her, hunched over the piano. The glorious, soaring notes which she played became dampened, the melancholic sound which I first heard when I moved into my house returning. I crept closer, not wanting to disturb her playing, going further into the hall.

I passed rows of empty seats, following the empty centre towards the stage. I looked back, as if expecting the crowd to have followed me, but they were still frozen where they stood. As I went to take a seat in the front row, I noticed something. Agnes was crying. Her frame was hunched forward, not from concentration, but as if a large mass was crushing down upon her.

A round of applause startled me. I looked around to see the seats now filled; the queue from outside now sat in their seats, each of their faces glued to Agnes. Their faces held no emotion, simply offering blank stares towards the stage. I looked towards Agnes as the music swelled once more.

This time, I could see something else. Agnes was still hunched over the piano, tears rolling through the cracks in her face, but I could see the weight which fell on her. It was large, standing over her, but it was hard to make out in the dim light. It was mostly shadow, but most definitely not that of a man.

Its height was so much that it had to crouch itself, its legs bent at odd angles, and arms of brutish size holding Agnes tight within its grasp. A bolt of black terror ran down my spine as I realised that this thing was not a creature which had seen the light of day.

My mind whirled with fear. All I could think of was to run, but as I stood I saw its form move, its head turning slowly towards me. It was now that I could make out a feature. It was the same unnatural smile which had held Agnes’ face the first time she knocked at my door. From that bleak smile came the strange and twisted words which Agnes had muttered, but now they were terrifyingly loud.

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. I sprinted past the rows of inanimate people, and out into the bar. I glanced back, the sight that greeted me threatening to turn my legs to jelly beneath me.

All of the occupants of the theatre were turned in their seats, their hollow stares locked onto me, although that was the least of my worries. The large creature had descended from the stage and was making its way through the central aisle towards me, its black mass blocking out any view I had of Agnes.

There was only one way I could go. I dashed towards the entrance to the pub, rattling the door handle but finding it locked. My heart thundered in my chest. I wrenched a chair from the floor and did the only thing my panicking my could think of, I threw it firmly towards the window.

The glass shattered, with it coming screams of anguish. I didn’t dare look back towards the hall as I threw myself out of it.

I was falling. I had expected to land painfully on the ground outside, expecting glass to be buried in my hands and knees, but that was not the case. The wind whistled past me as I fell, carrying the howls of the mad and the pained.

I fell for what felt like a lifetime. My mind raced and my heart threatened to break through my ribcage. I was falling somewhere, but where I did not know.

I came to a sudden halt. A solid weight connected with me. I thrashed around in the darkness momentarily, trying to find a way to get further from that beast, but something connected. I opened my eyes, light bursting in to greet them. I was back in the room with Agnes.

The crystals banged loudly against each other as whirled around violently. The shards of light which danced across the room now painted terrifying and indescribable images. I launched myself out of the chair and towards Agnes.

‘Agnes?’ I cried out, shaking her firmly. ‘Agnes?’

She continued playing, her fingers hammering the keys with unnatural force. She did not weep here; instead her lips were wrenched into that insane smile. Her eyes rolled towards me, but her mouth simply continued to spout the strange words I had heard in the hall.

There was nothing else I could do. I bolted down the stairs, hearing banging and bellowing from the room as I ran. I made the short distance to my car quicker than I ever thought possible and started the engine.

My headlights illuminated the road ahead. Whatever was going on in that room, it was not good. Flashes and blasts of multicoloured light beamed out into the night, brighter than the moon which was high in the sky. A dark shadow appeared at the window, its dark and baleful glare almost freezing me in fear.

I slammed on the accelerator and flew down the track. The truck bounced and groaned in protest, but there was no way my foot would respond. I drove the rest of the night. I didn’t know where, and frankly I didn’t care. It’s been twelve years since I’ve seen my house. I still wake up with regular night terrors, and I can only find sleep with the light on. Everything I once owned was in that house, but now I can only imagine that it’s all left to rot. Sometimes I still think about Agnes, about what must have happened to her to lead such a harrowing existence, but there is no help for a soul like that.

All I can hope is that the road has overgrown to the point of invisibility, and that she, and whatever that thing was, is sealed away for as long as her body continues to live.