Tales of Necropolis - Twisted Souls
By: K.L. Miller
07 June 2010
I've seen Ghosts... real ones.
But...
Ok... here is what happened, as I Swear on my Grandmother's Grave.
I'm getting my dick sucked by this hot MILF I picked up at a bar in South Central Virginia. We're in this hotel... not a bad place, but you can tell by the way the Night Clerk never even bothered to check for ID that this was the kind of place where No Questions Asked was the Policy. Anyhow... I'm really groovin' to the way MILF screws her head up and down... and I SWEAR to you I see a Ghost... a burned woman's face... and I shit you not... a melting strap-on dildo...
* * * *
Most of his friends stopped him off the bat; unfortunately... he's not lying at all. Some of his facts are a bit off... but then again... how is he supposed to tell the difference between a Ghost and summoning-gone-wrong.
What he witnessed was part demon, part Human Spirit with a serious mad-on, one I've been tracking for over a month now. So far there have been no fatalities, not even a pacemaker seizing up on Ol' Man Jenkins, who witnessed her, ironically, while getting a blowjob from a hitchhiking young female he picked up.
If it were not for the whole demonic thing; I'd actually never consider taking this Hunt. Then again, according to a very good Friend, there are some who are tampering with new magic. That... or rediscovering some very ancient, rightfully forgotten rituals...
* * * *
Hanna and Jake knew their marriage was over; both were beyond cheating to piss each other off... now they were just waiting for the other one to file for divorce.
Their daughter Anna, eighteen, knew things were over as well, though for her, it wasn't difficult at all; they made better friends, why not part or at least civil terms. The way things dragged on and on... that wore on her nerves. One night, unable to sleep, she gets into her car to drive home. She calls the house; no one is there. Both parents are busy rediscovering the Single Life... and return home to find their daughter never made it.
The search for her vehicle was intensive... and utterly futile, something that her father simply could not Understand. Anna was a huge tech-head and adored her onboard safety system... which coughed up nothing on her car. Years pass; the divorce is quiet, though the Reason isn't any Meeting-of-the-Hearts/Minds; both would give anything for their daughter's safe return.
Jake kept up the search beyond it bankrupting him. He never gave up... until the day he died. Hanna nearly crumbled, but was salvaged just long enough to be abused by a slick talking con artist. It was during this rebirth that she renewed her search, going over everything from the police reports.
Which is where she caught mention of Jake... and something he kept babbling to the cops about; "she turned right here... WHY!!!"
* * * *
"Well... there IS the Phantom of Sorrow..."
"I'm sorry... what?"
"According to legend, if a lover has a great deal of sorrow in their hearts, he'll appear on the road at a turn that should not be there..."
"Anna would not stop at night for a stranger," Hanna snipped. I nodded, but kept my gaze fixed on her blonde hair.
She looked exactly like the spirit someone of the back woods folk have seen here recently...
"Or maybe that Night Racer ran her off the road... remember?"
"Night Racer?"
"A few of the local kids used to race 'round these parts... usually stickin' to back roads and such. Every now and then they hit the main highways... one in particular..."
"Yeah... heard about him... but you're wrong. That happened after this here lady's daughter disappeared..."
Indeed... and that old geezer is closer to part of the True tale than he cares to know. From my research, Anna all but Lived in that car. Only Sex was forbidden... and her Reason can be found on the bumper sticker she designed: This is My Home.
A Home with something many in the past would consider a highly sophisticated robot brain... but today is just more tech...; funny how we forget Tales like Christine, and every Sci-Fi version of A.I. going anti-Human; the Night Racer is looking for its one true owner... and she is somewhere in those woods... trying to get home.
* * * *
"I knocked on the door... and... that's when I found her... like that."
Some sight for a sixteen years old to find: grandma with a double headed dildo rammed in her vagina nearly three-quarters of the just over a foot long rubber device. Bad... shocking...
No one touched her... since she was suspended by nothing a full three feet above her bed, back arched and face contorted as if she's just had... well... a Killer Orgasm. No one dares say shit; I manage to get the boy out, though it's obvious some therapist is gonna be busy for a few decades; hope they've got room for a few more.
After several moments, I sigh. Then I mutter, "You know the Drill."
Come morning... Miss Agatha Reynolds... dead of Natural Causes at the age of seventy-two; a shitload better than the Truth.
It took us three hours of failed attempts to bring her down to the bed before someone suggested we either call a Priest... and the words got no further. A Wave of white-heat slammed everyone into the nearest wall or obstacle; from there we did our best to secure the scene before a very specific call was placed. Come Morning... we'd all be questioned... and our Stories would match right down to those oddball details specific to Who-Saw-What; Standard Necropolis Procedure for dealing with a royal mess...
* * * *
As to how I heard about this at all... beer plus one of the EMTs who could not shake the Image from their Nightmares. Why not?
Because of something they saw... something that I confirmed later. Agatha showed signs of being raped... by someone at least big enough in diameter to have the coroner start asking questions. The instant he hears about the floating body... he shuts up...
But not before blabbing to someone... and eventually... an Urban Legend is born that gains the attention of the Catholic Church; I've spotted at least one Demon Hunter in town...
* * * *
Southern Baptist do believe in Spirits, Good and Bad; they have this Belief as well: all magic is Evil.
Except for those Old Back Woods Traditions your Me-Maw told you, especially the ones she whispered during a thunderstorm or a particularly eerie, rainy Night.
Take the marijuana tree, or as the Locals call it, Venom Pine, that resides in the middle of a famous cemetery. According to legend it was planted by a Voudoun who came to Necropolis after Katrina destroyed everything he owned. Now, considering that it takes time for any plant to grow, it is amazing that this tree could very well be half a century old, though the Legend is scarcely a decade young.
What makes this tree odd is that NONE of its seeds will germinate... UNLESS you have one very specific Use for the WOOD of the tree: making a Wand or Staff of Power/Mojo Stick. Although... there IS a darker Tale, one that allows someone to grow extremely powerful pot from seeds of this tree; it is while researching this Tale that I came across one Tale of a Wand crafted not from a sapling, but from the tree itself.
True to fanciful additions, this Tale says that a young Wicca, eager to test the power of the tree, tried to find a way to get a seed from the tree. Her boyfriend, an avid pot smoker, told her he could, jokingly adding that he was sure that some magic-type ritual was needed... and she agreed. So, on the Night of a Waning Gibbous Moon she and her boyfriend brought a bottle of rum to the tree. She poured the bottled around the tree, making a circle.
Now the rest comes from the now ex-boyfriend; the instant the circle was complete a loud snap shatters the Nature-soaked Silence, and a thick branch rattles its way to the Earth below, with the broken tip impaling the earth exactly where the rum circle began and ended.
"She made three things from that: a wand that she's wrapped in fine silver, capes with a rounded silver tip. The most Normal thing is the so-called Spell components; I just say she ground up the leaves to sell or smoke. The Dildo? THAT frightens me..."
He claims the idea came to her as something of a joke; from the look in his eyes, I can Tell there was more here. Considering that the Tale ends with her carving a Tragedy Mask on the tip of the dildo, with plans to have it encased in glass... "... with crystal being her material of choice... stupid bitch..."
Stupid? Maybe...
I asked why they split.
"That DILDO!!! Before I knew it..." I wasn't listening to the Words, I was Experiencing the Fear that rippled through his Angry Tone...
* * * *
This is what the Cops know: Trey Hill is dead from multiple stab wounds as well as having his arms severed, one leg nearly so.
Here is what the Streets Know: he died at the hands of a Vengeful Spirit; the Cops are gonna scrounge around, place the blame on someone, and make this go away.
By the time the Feds get wind of the Serial Killer, the Locals will be well and truly geared to milk the press for all its worth; they Know the Truth, and are even now preparing for the nutcases and serious Scientist looking to catch a phantasmal killer... one with six kills on the Tally Sheet, including a cop under investigation locally for his part in a deal that wasn't approved by the higher-ups.
Of course, what no one knows... is that the Killer... is also Dead; Trey Hill, local drug dealer, father of three, dies protecting his little brother... who was about to be killed by the same phantasmal assassin. Yet one Federal Agent, there on the first anniversary of his death, happens to see the younger Hill, standing there with a gnarled wooden staff; perhaps it is Training... but the Agent Remembers one Detail vividly:
There is a black splotch, resembling a small explosion, not far from where Trey's body was found; when speaking to the younger Hill, the Agent Noticed that the staff rested perfectly centered within this black stain...