It started small. The spirits Greg spoke to twitched, stuttered, and would suddenly stop in the middle of their sentences, as if they had forgotten what they were talking about. As the night passed, the phantasms grew irate, complaining to Greg and often glaring at him. By the time Greg started to suspect something greater was amiss, the spirits were outright vitriolic. He quickly abandoned his patrol, seeking out Taz.
Maybe I can get hazard pay? Greg was unsure if the ghosts could actually harm him, but he wasn’t about to find out.
Taz wasn’t worried about getting attacked, but he might have forgotten that I can’t blast my problems with hellfire on demand. He shook his head. I should save the envy for later, focus on finding my roommate first.
---
Taz shivered in the night’s mild air. He couldn’t sense the minds of these remnants, which was expected, but unnerving nonetheless. They weren’t really people, just leftovers; the manifested culmination of the impact a person made throughout their life. Like when you could tell where a person sat on a couch by the depressions in the cushions.
The change in atmosphere had crept up on him. It wasn’t until a particularly nasty spirit of a teenager tried to sucker punch him that he noticed the unwelcoming aura blanketing him. He was trespassing and would be removed violently if he remained any longer.
It wasn’t long after that when Greg found him. Taz immediately knew Greg was aware of the situation and had been affected by the ‘GTFO’ aura, though to a much lesser extent than himself.
“You too?” Taz asked, already knowing the answer.
Greg nodded. “The ghosts are getting all pissy, and I’m not about to stick around to find out what exactly an angry spirit can do to me. Something’s fucky. Amar never mentioned anything like this happening, and I don’t think he’s the type to throw others to the wolves. Probably.”
Taz agreed and said as much. “I think we should leave. We are not equipped to defend ourselves against incorporeal attacks or effects. Amar is more well-versed in these matters, and we should let him know as soon as possible. Maybe he knows what’s going on and can nip it in the bud before things get out of hand.”
Before Greg could voice his agreement, the air changed. It froze, the ethereal embers halting their swaying dance, the wind dying out completely. Silence engulfed their surroundings. A light fog began to build, and the temperature dropped precipitously.
---
Greg heard Taz mutter, “Aw shit.” A feeling of dread built up in him, his heart not quite pounding yet.
“How screwed are we?” Greg asked his friend. He hoped for some good news.
After a moment, Taz said, “I don’t know, but anywhere from ‘it’s just a prank, bro,’ to ‘cosplaying a block of ice.’”
“That’s a pretty wide range,” Greg said.
“I don’t like being wrong,” Taz told his friend.
The fog thickened, they could no longer see the treeline, visibility reduced to a few dozen feet at best. Bits of color dotted the mists from the spirit embers scattered around. Greg found it both captivating and unsettling.
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Greg shivered. The cold bite at him, turning his breath to misty puffs. He said, “Shit, I didn’t bring a jacket. Or ghost repellent.”
“Whiner.”
Greg would have shot Taz a glare, if he was not preoccupied with scanning their surroundings for signs of trouble. Which, if he was being honest, he had no idea what it would look like. Watching for movement was futile; the mists roiled and swirled and flowed unnaturally. So, he kept an eye out for approaching silhouettes and sounds. The silence made the latter easier, but the shifting fog made the former more difficult. Something or someone was causing this, he was sure.
“Think we can talk this out?” Greg asked Taz.
Taz snorted, which was answer enough. Greg would try anyways.
Greg called out to the mists, “Hello? Ghost of the cemetery?” A few moments passed and Greg began to feel embarrassed. The other spirits could barely hold a conversation. This entity was clearly malevolent, or at least malevolent towards the two of them. Even if it could converse, would it bother to?
At least a minute had passed when a voice echoed throughout the surroundings, “LeAvE,” the warbling voice reverberated in their bones. “FiLtH,” it spat. “DEFILER,” it screamed.
Greg’s heart hammered in his chest. He had never been so scared in his life. Horror movies had not prepared him for this. No matter how terrifying the story, no matter how engrossed he would be in the atmosphere, he was always detached from it. Subconsciously, his mind knew he was never in actual danger. The screen was a barrier and a reminder that those events were not real.
Now, Greg was not safe. There was no pause button, no ability to set the book down and walk away. And worst of all, he had no way to defend himself. Nothing Amar had said indicated that he would ever possibly be in danger. The undead had painted a picture of a rather boring time spent walking the grounds and observing the spirits. No mention of a greater entity lurking beneath the surface. So, Greg had not prepared for violence.
He turned to face his friend, hoping that he would have something that would get them out of this mess. Maybe his hellfire? The entity called them a defiler, so perhaps it had an aversion to demonic magic?
Taz was fiddling with an armband that Greg had seen him first wear the other day. It was braided silver, and he wore it on his left bicep. Without warning, Taz bit his thumb and smeared his ochre blood across the band. The liquid spread across its surface evenly, then pulsed once. Twice.
Greg stood there, transfixed as the blood bulged outward. A fist-sized mass of ichor extended in a cylinder, on and on. It took a moment for Greg to realize it took the shape of a baseball bat.
Taz grabbed the handle as the blood retreated back to the armband, revealing, indeed, a wooden baseball bat inscribed with demonic script. Greg felt the air around it weigh him down, as if its presence had a physical weight.
Taz handed the bat to Greg. He took it without hesitation.
“Heya!” A cheerful, raspy voice spoke in his mind. “I’m Kalzikrantosh, but you can call me Kal. You must be Greg. Taz filled me in, sounds like you’ve got a crotchety ghost that needs a good spanking?”
Greg was stunned. Where did Taz get this? What-
Kal interrupted his thoughts, “He summoned me and bound me to this bat. I’ve known him since we were little hellions. Good guy, a bit of a lazy ass, but who isn’t, right?”
Greg wondered-
“Yes, I can read your mind. Just the speaky bits. I’m also borrowing your eyes and ears so that I can help you better.”
Greg felt a tension build and subsequently leave him.
He could freak out, demand more answers, refuse to use a piece of telepathic sports equipment, or any number of things. Any number of unhelpful things. So, he set aside all of complaints and worries and rejection and embraced his current reality.
Kal said, “That’s the spirit!”
Greg groaned a chuckle. Thanks.
He received a mental salute in response.
What can you do?
Kal took on a tone that was very much not serious and said, “Well, I’m a lot of fun at parties, my hobbies include-”
Greg mentally frowned at the demon.
Kal chuckled, and then said, “Alright, alright. Basically, if you let me, I’ll take you over and go bonk whatever needs bonking. Also, your body will be tougher, faster, stronger while I’m in control.” Preemptively, or perhaps reading Greg’s thoughts as they formed, Kal added, “No, I don’t know the specifics of how or why, it’s a magic thing. It just works, ok? Now, do you want to go wild or not?”
Greg thought about it, then gave his answer.