Noël quickly stumbled back as the ghost slowly stepped towards him. Despite the all-too-consuming darkness of the crumbling grotto, a faint mirthless smile could be seen stitched upon the small spirit’s face. “You can bring her back, I just know it!”
“And pray tell, how would I be able to achieve such a feat?” the vampire calmly questioned the eerily silent spirit.
“Take her place.”
An inherent silence as intangible as clouds enveloped the two not quite living figures as they quietly regarded one another. “You’ve taken so much from me, but with this, you can pay me back! My sister will be alive and safe, I get to see her again, and you’ll die. It’s a win-win situation for all of us.”
“I’m…afraid I can’t do that,” Noël plainly stated, voice devoid of any emotion, whether it be fear, joy, sadness……
“Why do you hate us so much!!? Can’t you let my sister and I be happy?”
“Please, I would love for nothing more than to grant your wish, but that is an impossible dream for you to have.” Sighing in resignation, Noël calmly recited a phrase, as if recalling it from a book. “The living can never come back to life, I’m afraid. Even if I were to die, it would do nothing for you and your sister.”
Stomping his feet in agitation, the spirit’s wispy, ethereal voice shattered the permanent coat of silence as he nearly shrieked at the words said by Noël. Small pebbles soundlessly clattered towards the ground as the walls of the grotto began to shake.
“My name, life, memories, everything…were stolen from me because you couldn’t die,” the ghost vehemently exclaimed, voice getting louder by the second. “All I remember is my sister, but nothing else……”
“I understand your feelings and I apologize for your sister, but I cannot help you.” Noël passively stared at the rather unstable ceiling of the grotto as he contemplated on how exactly he could have this spirit move on into the next life. “Well, I can’t help you in this way, at the very least.”
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“Do you…even know what you’re saying?”
Noël directed his attention towards the lost spirit. “What do you mean?”
“What are apologizing for?” the ghost questioned in a scathingly calm tone. “All you’ve done is say you’re sorry, but do you even mean it? Do you really understand how I feel!!?”
“I…of course I do.”
“Then you’ve done a poor job of showing it,” the spirit coolly retorted.
Though, if Noël were to be honest with himself, did he truly mean what he said? Was he actually apologetic or merely reciting words he heard endlessly throughout the decades? While he could certainly sympathize with the young ghost’s plight, words of apology were always a natural response of his. He had been traveling through life [or, well, ‘pseudo-afterlife’] in such an impassive and bland daze that he just could not figure out his true feelings. Did he always possess no emotions or did he lose them over time?
“I’m sorry.”
“Just—shut up!! You’re so annoying…just like a wind-up doll.” Angered, the ghost vanished from sight…
Only to reappear momentarily, a hair’s width away from Noël.
An unfamiliar cold sensation made it difficult for him to speak as he gazed down into the faded, angry eyes of the spirit. Much to his surprise, Noël noted that the specter’s arms were nearly tangible, albeit ashen-gray in hue.
Somewhat less surprisingly, however, were the clammy, shaking hands wrapped around his throat.
“Why won’t you die? Please, just die,” the ghost sobbed hysterically as loose debris continued to rain down from the rocky ceiling. Bones scattered throughout the grotto started to warble and jump as if they were marionette dolls being controlled by an unseen puppet master.
Disconcerted, Noël’s frown deepened as he gently removed the spirit’s hands away from his neck.
“I wish I could die as well, sad spirit. But, if all goes to plan, I will be able to achieve death at the end of my journey.” Noël was lost in contemplation for a mere moment before awkwardly placing a hand over the spirit’s head. While he wasn’t sure if his hand would phase through the spirit, he’d like to think his action would be much appreciated.
Obviously…it was not.
Glaring daggers at Noël, the nearly corporeal spirit stepped away and vanished from sight…before appearing once again atop the mountain of bones. Clutched within the pauper spirit’s hands was a small, cracked skull.
Within the dim light emanating from the lightly glowing spirit, the skull almost appeared to be grinning.
……Only, it really was grinning. Or grimacing. As its left eye socket was completely smashed in, it was rather difficult to tell what emotions it had been displaying.
What the—Noël wondered in bewilderment as he watched the reanimated skull in astonishment. While he was accustomed to magic, necromancy was an entirely different story altogether.
Perhaps I should keep a journal, the vampire mused as he smiled faintly to himself. In a somewhat dark fashion, he found the entire situation to be humorous. Afterall, no matter what happens, I won’t die.