1867, Early July

Martin took the wooden crucifix out of his bag and placed it on the meeting room table in front of Joseph and Matthew. “When they started throwing things, Mr. Williams affixed them and used the Perkunos Operation on them to weaken their powers.” Martin said. “He did a good job. They’re very peaceful now. They rumbled a little in my pocket at first, so he had to use the Perkunos Operation again, but they’re very peaceful now, thank God.”

“How can they be peaceful?” Joseph asked. “They’ve been hit so hard with the Perkunos Operation that they aren’t anything now. They aren’t even visible.”

“Exactly, Joseph.” Martin said. “They’re quiet, intangible, and silent. They are, in a word--a very beautiful word after all I’ve gone through--peaceful.”

Martin took his seat and sighed. “Good lord, that was almost as tiring as the Bloody Mary case…and we aren’t even done. We haven’t even started, really.”

‘Is everything else on Asphodel Street peaceful?” Joseph asked.

“As peaceful as Asphodel Street can hope to be.” Martin said. “The Attic Stomper is still a nuisance, but they mitigate his misbehavior by constantly moving him from house to house, and the Shadow Wailer still lives up to her namesake when the sun goes down, and when she goes into her act the damned cats start crying as well, but those two are manageable, as are all the rest of the minor problems.”

Martin pointed a finger at the crucifix. “These two, however, are not manageable.”

Asphodel Street was created in response to the Manes Charter of 1865. The Charter established that ghosts had no inherent right to the property of their living bodies. Ghosts were, like humans, born penniless unless their living bodies explicitly named them as heirs. Though the Charter finally put to rest most of the tricky legalities surrounding ghosts and property, it created many ghosts that didn’t have a house to haunt, or even a small shack. Haunted street corners were more common than proper haunted houses and haunted mansions were almost exclusively a thing of writers’ imaginations.

In order to provide a home for cast-off ghosts, the Blackwall city council set aside several blocks for their use. Ghosts were able to freely inhabit the houses of this area until they found their way in this world or a psychopomp guided them to the afterlives beyond the Archon walls. These blocks were officially known as the Brigham district, but were sometimes called the Necropolis, most often by people that wanted to impress their friends by demonstrating that they knew what a Necropolis was, and were most often called Asphodel Street as a synecdoche of the street that went through the heart of the area.

Asphodel Street was managed by ten manesologists headed by Dr. James Williams, but even with Ernst, Morton, and Glass helping out whenever they had spare time (which was rare), the manesologists were overwhelmed by the number of ghosts on Asphodel Street. Every day brought new ghosts to the Necropolis and the haunted houses that lined Asphodel Street brimmed with ectoplasm. The street actually glowed in the middle of the night, and those who considered the beings that lived on Asphodel Street to be poor unfortunate souls said it glowed like he golden streets of Heaven while those who considered them mad manes and pesky poltergeists said it glowed like the fires of Hell. But those who actually dealt with moving souls to Heaven and Hell said it glowed most like earthly things--fireflies, sunsets, and schistostega.

Crowded conditions created an atmosphere that tolerated lights in the dark and bumps in the night, but even Asphodel Street had limits on disruptive behavior, limits that Mr. and Mrs. Taylor crossed with their domestic squabbling--several times.

This was not the first time that Martin had to deal with the Taylors.

Martin sat at the table and looked at the wooden crucifix and remembered all those times.

They actually tossed a whole bed at him, once, frame and all. It may not have actually been aimed at him, but it ended up coming towards him nonetheless.

And this time the Taylors went so far that they had to be affixed and removed. One couldn’t lift an entire building off the ground on Asphodel Street without there being consequences. It was like shaking an anthill. All the ghosts that inhabited their building were now swarming. Dr. Williams and his manesologists were still working on getting all the ghosts under control when Martin departed.

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“So, are you going to reverse the Perkunos Operation?” Joseph asked Martin. “Sometime today, perhaps?”

“Do I have to?” Martin asked. “That’s like pulling the trigger at my own execution.”

“I’ll do it.” Matthew said. He stood up, unclipped the gaeite candle from his belt, and held it in his hand. His gaeite candle was the tool of his trade and the badge of his office. With it, he could work miracles, or undo them, by combining ancient stories and images taught to him by the thaumaturgists of the Ror Raas with the strange light produced by the candle, a silvery-white light called olprt radiance.

Matthew concentrated and brought an image from a pre-human civilization to his mind.

The Dyeus king reached into the lake and pulled the long-drowned ghost to shore. As he pulled, the ghost’s hand became more and more solid, and once he was ashore, he felt the sun on his skin and air in his lungs for the first time in years.

The Perkunos Operation

Mr. Alvin Taylor and Mrs. Victoria Taylor arose from the crucifix as formless mist that congealed into translucent people. Mr. Taylor appeared as a wrinkled, wiry man in work clothes, cloth cap in hand. Mrs. Taylor appeared as a woman in a cheap dress and cheaper makeup that made her face look like a clown’s. She carried a prominent bustle behind herself which reminded Matthew of ant thoraxes he studied in college. It was hard to read her expression through the makeup, but she seemed to be as contrite as her husband.

“I would like to apologize for my husband’s actions.” Mrs. Taylor said.

“She means she wants to apologize for her actions.” Mr. Taylor said.

“I do not!” Mrs. Taylor exclaimed. She whirled on her husband. “I mean exactly what I said--I’m saying sorry to these poor gentlemen because your rude behavior has caused us both to be affixed and thrown out of Asphodel Street!”

Matthew opened his mouth to say something.

“We were thrown out because of you!” Mr. Taylor shouted. “You were the one who started things by scratching me!”

“I scratched you because you slapped me!” Mrs. Taylor said.

“Because you shoved me!” Mr. Taylor said.

“Because you touched me!” Mrs. Taylor said.

“Because you yelled at me!”

“Because you snarled at me!”

Mathew closed his mouth.

Joseph stood up. “Excuse me lads, I just remember there’s a pressing matter that I must attend to across town. In fact, I think I’m late, so I really should be going…”

Matthew grabbed Joseph’s shoulder and shook his head.

Joseph sat back down. “I suppose the matter can wait.”he mumbled grumpily.

“We’re suffering together, old man.” Martin mumbled. “No way out of it.”

“Oh joy. All for one and one for all.” Joseph whispered back.

“Oh, see what you’re doing now!” Mr. Taylor shouted at his wife. You’re making such a damned nuisance of yourself that the manesologist is trying to leave!” Mr. Taylor said.

“Of course he’s trying to leave! He’s trying to get away from you!” Mrs. Taylor said.

“No, he's trying to get away from you! This is just like when we were with the other manesologist, the small one, and he started running from you when you picked up the pots and pans!”

“Small?” Martin muttered.

“That is not what happened! He was merely moving out the way so that I could throw them at you! He was tacitly approving of my actions by taking cover!”

Matthew turned to Martin. “Dr. Glass, could you tell us what exactly occurred at their residence?”

“My wild man of a husband attacked me, that’s what happened!” Mrs. Taylor answered, not caring that the question wasn’t for her.

“Oh, I attacked you. That’s what you think happened, eh?” Mr. Taylor asked.

“I think that because that is what happened! You little worm! You never had the guts to hit me in life but now that I can’t feel pain you just let me have it, don't you?” Mrs. Taylor asked.

“At least I waited! You never waited to hit me!”

“Oh, you think what I did counts as hitting, do you, Alvin Taylor? Those love taps were hitting to you?” Mrs. Taylor loomed over her husband like a grotesque gargoyle dressed for the circus. “How about I show you what it actually looks like to be hit!”

“Just try it, you intangible hellcat!”

Mrs. Taylor gasped. “Alvin Taylor! You did not just call me intangible!”

“I did too! You’re intangible!”

“I am not!”

“Yes you are, I can see right through you!”

“Well if that’s what it means to be intangible, then you’re intangible too! The wind goes right through you!”

“Yes! I’m intangible! You stupid, old battle ax! We’re both intangible! We’re ghosts, you idiot!”

Joseph stood up. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” he shouted.

The Taylors turned to him.

“You two are being ridiculous! Do you want us to hang you up on the wall of a church? Or maybe on top of a Christmas tree?”

They shook their heads.

“Good. We don’t want to have to hang you up on a wall. We want to have you back in your house on Asphodel Street as soon as possible.” Joseph said.

“And that should be very soon, provided you two work with us.” Martin said. “When I left with you two in my pocket, Dr. Williams and his men had almost gotten your house back on solid ground.”