Unexplained Phenomena Unit, session 14 recap: Soulhouse

Played 3/2/24. GMed by Sam. Recap written by Sam, Paul and Harvey.

The mystery itself went over so well that some players were really moved by the profoundness of the revelations they uncovered, but I was so focused on getting that right that I kept forgetting about some fan favourite side characters that were there, and felt like I failed the promise of the premise a bit by not having them do much of anything. Therefore, I’ve taken a few creative liberties when writing the recap to fix all the missed opportunities I keep thinking of in hindsight.

Sleep isn’t coming easily to Mike Jones. He doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at the ceiling, could be minutes, could be hours.

Nana Helga’s guest house often makes noises in the night - he'd grown used to the odd ticking, the clunks, the whispered voices in the dark, so as he lay in his bed, he found himself oddly unsettled by the absolute silence that had overtaken this endless moment.

That silence is broken by the slow, drawn out creak of the door opening a few feet away.

Mike wants to look… but his neck won’t move. His body won’t move. He can’t speak, he can’t blink, he can’t breathe. Oh. Oh no. He finds himself utterly paralysed as he hears slow, soft footsteps make their way to his side. A shadow falls over him. A silhouette in his peripheral vision. A small figure. It crawls under the covers with him, a cold, bony embrace wraps around him.

As if controlled by a force outside of himself, his head turns to the side to face what is holding him. For the briefest of moments, in the darkness the image doesn’t take. But then he sees. 

Eyes, without eyelids, stare back into his. Teeth without lips, set in the hollow shell of an old, broken, porcelain doll's face.

The jaw shifts subtly, and a slowed, distorted voice echoes out: 

   “Mommy?”

The pent-up movement, as the paralysis lifts, the floodgates open and Mike shoots backwards out of bed, tumbling over himself, he scrambles to his feet and switches on the light - but the girl is gone, as if she was never there.

He takes a moment to catch his breath. What did he just see?

A vision. One of his premonitions. Maybe something to do with the trip he’s taking with Nana Helga and his cousin Kylie tomorrow? The seance they’ll be spectating? Huh. Maybe he needs to invite some more friends. Just to be safe.

---

It’s a bright, sunny afternoon, not a cloud in the sky, as the van bundles down the steeply sloping cobblestone streets of Olde Ekland, a small countryside village, and parks outside the church. 

John Moore, Lesley Nemo, Ghost and Salem exit the vehicle and march casually toward the cemetery. It’s a pretty big place, but they soon pick up on the sound of old, crackly music being played on a record player, and follow it to find Mike Jones, his cousin and grandmother sitting and talking on a picnic blanket.

Nana Helga (previously seen in session 7, ‘The Phantom Of The Jones Family Barbecue’) is a short, hunched old woman with wild, unkempt hair, kind eyes, and pockets and bags overflowing with what appear to be all kinds of occult materials, bones of small creatures, herbs, scrolls, and of course - picnic sandwiches. She always seems to be quiet and subdued on the surface, yet vibrating with an inner energy.

Kylie Fassett (also seen in session 7) is a thin, dark-haired 17 yr old girl. She looks a little happier and more talkative than the last time we saw her, but as the four newcomers approach, the look of a deer caught in the headlights returns to her eyes.

   “Oh! You found us! Have a seat everyone, take whatever food you want, we made way too much.” Mike calls out.

   “Do you like my songs?” Nana Helga chimes in, her soft-spoken accent hard to place - Romanian, maybe?

   “I’m trying to introduce our dear Kylie to different kinds of music. She only listens to the one band, you know?”

   “Nightcore isn’t a band, Nana…” Kylie mumbles nervously, too quiet for Nana Helga to hear.

Nana Helga offers a polite wave to Ghost and Moore, whom she’s met before, and exchanges introductions with Salem and Nemo. 

Kylie awkwardly shakes hands with everyone as fast as possible. She pauses as she notices the trans flag patch on Lesley’s bag.

   “Um… are you…” She trails off. Lesley looks at her inquisitively and patiently. Kylie can’t find the words, so she just points to the trans flag pin on her own hoodie. Lesley grins as he clocks what she’s getting at.

   “Oh! Yeah. This patch was a gift from my partner.”

   “Cool! You look really… you… uh… I wouldn’t have guessed. Good… good transition.” 

Is that a weird thing to say? The regret is immediately visible on her face.

   “Thank you. Worked hard on it.” Lesley chuckles reassuringly.

As they talk, the rest of the team catches Mike up on their recent adventures.

   “Raymond Haig was Luc Mcstarr? The man who set Phantom up to assassinate my Nana!? And he surrendered to UPU custody willingly? To work for us?”

   “That about sums it up, yeah.” Moore confirms.

   “I swear, if I’m ever in a room with that guy… well I better not be. There’s no excuse for what he’s done.”

   “Yes, Mike.” Salem interjected, “Right now they’re probably striking up a beautiful deal. It’s not like we get any say in what the top brass do, is it?” He said, probing, looking for Mike’s reaction out of the corner of his eye.

   “If you could give him a light choking, just so he knows what it feels like, I wouldn’t mind that.” Nana Helga whispers, smiling.

   “I joke, I joke.”

Salem examines her as well. Her body language says she doesn’t really care. Her mind says that she’s used to the occasional attempt on her life, and tries not to take them personally.

Nana Helga’s eyes flick to his. She grins like she just realised something. What did she just realise? Salem can’t hear her mind anymore.

   “So that’s what we’ve been doing. What about you, Mike?” John asks.

Mike removes his wand from his coat, eager to show it off.

   “Oh, you know. Magic.”

   “Magic, huh?”

   “Yep. Me and Kylie are apprentices of the arcane arts now.”

   “And what have you learned?” Nana Helga prompts him.

   “…That anyone can perform ritual magic. And anyone can use Alchemium to fuel spells or rituals. But soul magic is what real spellcasting is about.”

He slips the nearly empty vial of Alchemium out of the slot at the base of his wand and pockets it. He focuses momentarily, and the end of his wand lights up like a sparkler.

   “Show off.” Kylie mutters.

   “In order to cast magic straight from the soul, you first need to have your soul awakened. Either by a bloodline connection or a pact made with otherworldly forces, or just extreme exposure to otherworldly phenomena. Secondly- ”

Nana Helga raises a hand to stop him.

   “Kylie, what is needed second?”

Taken off-guard, Kylie composes herself before answering.

   “Um… uh, second you need… to figure out what your Sensus is. The emotion or state of mind that you need to channel in order to cast magic.”

   “Yes… Be careful who you reveal your Sensus to. If someone can block you from that state, or taunt you out of it, then they can take away your magic.” Nana Helga adds.

   “That being said, I believe we are amongst friends, so I will share mine as an example; my Sensus is faith. Faith in fate, in the course of things going the way they need to.”

Mike says; 

   “Mine is stillness. It works best when I’m in like a mind empty, meditative state, but it can also mean a state of focus, having a single goal with no distractions. Like how I shot that lightning bolt to save Nana from the Phantom.”

   “And mine is… conviction. Which is why I’m bad at magic.” Kylie says while absentmindedly drawing in the dirt with a wand of her own. 

Nana Helga rests a comforting hand on her shoulder as she continues to explain;

   “More often than not, a Sensus is something that feels the opposite of our nature. To learn magic requires growth.”

Everyone nods along thoughtfully. John is searching his coat frantically for a notepad to write it all down.

   “The third thing you need to learn is what domain of magic comes to you. There is ‘Ignis’, the domain of energy - the ability to put a leash on excitable forces, like fire, lightning, shadow.”

Mike's wand sparkles brighter, showing off that this is clearly his area of expertise.

   “There is ‘Materia’, the domain of the material - the ability to move the usually immovable, solid things.”

She looks to Kylie, who now appears to be stacking a pile of pebbles - by levitating them with her wand.

   “There is ‘Collocutio’, the domain of thought - this is my specialty. I am not the kind that can read minds-“

She winks at Salem as she says this.

   “-I am the kind that can speak the language of things without language. Ghosts, plants, critters and crawlies. And finally, there is ‘Amnis’, the domain of cycles. The ability to attune to calmer, more predictable forces, such as water, air, magnetism.”

   “Interesting…” John says, finally finding his notepad, trying desperately to remember everything.

Ghost pipes up.

   “Nana Helga - would you be open to a quick sidebar? There’s something about magic I’ve been wanting to ask you. In private.”

   “But of course. Let's stretch our legs, shall we?”

They leave the group to catch up amongst themselves, as they take a stroll deeper into the graveyard. Ghost is looking nervous. Unsure of himself. Nana Helga waits patiently for him to begin.

   “So… there’s a little bit of time that I can’t account for. On one of our missions. That Calhorn mystery we were talking about a minute ago - when we were down in that pit, fighting the influence that the capsule had over our minds. I don’t remember how I got out of that situation. I just blacked out, and woke up on a rooftop a little ways away. I mean I… I didn’t remember. For a while. Some images and feelings have been coming back to me lately, but I’ve tried to dismiss them, because they don’t make sense.”

He stops, and turns to face Nana Helga.

   “Is it… is it possible for someone to just… magically transform into a bird?”

Nana Helga’s eyes light up.

   “Magicians of the Materia can have control over many things, even the body. Those who walk in different forms, we call Shifters.”

   “…Okay. Good. Great. How… do I do it again? On purpose?”

   “Well, how did you feel when you first transformed? What did you do in your mind's eye that you have never done before or since?”

Ghost takes a long pause to think. The journey his face goes on is one of remembering trauma anew.

   “I… I gave up.”

   “You gave up?”

   “It was like a nightmare. The noise was overwhelming, my body was betraying me, my friends were leaving me. I couldn’t see a way out. I couldn’t think of anything I could do. So I gave in.”

   “And how did it feel to give in?”

   “…Restful.”

Nana Helga lets him sit with that for a moment.

   “You strike me as someone who has had to fight his whole life. Who has had to gnash and claw to survive, to succeed. It must be rare that you get to rest.”

   “Yeah.”

   “It sounds to me like your Sensus is a little like mine. In order to control these powers of yours, you may need to loosen your grip on the steering wheel a little. Learn to live life with a gentler touch. Have a little faith in something other than yourself.”

Ghost looks at her a little sceptically.

   “…Is that what that means?”

   “It might be. There may be more at play. The mind is complicated. But is worth a try, is it not?”

---

Some time passes as the group talks.

Stepping into the cemetery, passing headstones and tombs, a woman approaches, middle-aged, wearing a simple cardigan, skirt, and glasses. Her face is a mask of despair, her movements are shaky and timid. Nana Helga turns the music off and invites her to sit with them. 

   “Hello Amy. Thank you for coming. Would you like a sandwich? Everyone, this is Amy May, who has asked me to perform a seance for her.”

Amy looks around at everyone uncomfortably.

   “Hello… everyone. This is… more people than… who are these people?”

   “These are my grandchildren, Michael and Kylie, my apprentices. And these are Michael’s friends, who are interested in spiritual matters and wish to spectate. Is that okay?”

   “I… I guess so.”

   “Okay. Please, who is it that you wish to communicate with? It is always a bit of a gamble trying to contact the dead - they are either a ghost, and we can talk to them, or they have gone to the great beyond, and cannot be pulled back.”

   “Well. It’s my husband Jeffrey. And he’s definitely a ghost.” 

   “You’ve seen him?”

   “He died in a car crash a few months back. I never got to see how it… it messed him up, but… I keep seeing him. Mutilated. In pain. Behind me in the mirror. In crowds. I asked you to meet me here, because this is where I see him the most.”

She points out a headstone nearby that reads; 

‘JEFFREY MAY. 1972-2024.’

   “I see him trying to talk to me, but I can’t hear him. He always looks so lost.”

Salem moves closer, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder to steady her. She looks almost ready to collapse. In the space between her heartbeats he sees him, a mangled body and a blood drenched face glaring back through the mirror, pleading with voiceless words.

   “Don’t worry. You are among friends.” he whispers with a well rehearsed sweetness. She nods politely back and takes a deep breath, a little relaxed by his influence.

   “Maybe Jeffrey can tell us more.” 

Nana Helga says as she starts lighting a few scented candles, rolling out a mat with a diagram like an unfamiliar star map on it, and finally removes from her pack a bizarre contraption, seemingly cobbled together from bits of camera and a handheld police speed radar. Mike recognises the handiwork of his uncle Omar, an eccentric inventor. Nana Helga notices him looking, and explains;

   “This is the newest iteration of the ghost detector you helped Omar design. Same principle - tracking displacement of particles in the air, and recognising when those displacements take certain familiar forms - but now it no longer needs a controlled, enclosed space, it can work off of the air itself.”

   “Magnificent.”

   “Can I have a look?” Lesley interrupts.

He takes the device, and has a look around with it.

   “I… don’t see anything. Surely there’d be some ghosts in a graveyard?”

   “They’re here. They’ll make themselves known in a moment, once we get started.” Nana Helga whispers ominously.

Lesley gets up, and stands just far enough away to see the whole group on the device's screen. John gets up too and balances his phone on top of a headstone to record the group.

Nana Helga takes Amy’s hand in hers and gives it a reassuring squeeze. She gestures for everyone else sitting in the circle to hold hands as well.

A smirk comes over Salem as he relishes in fond memories of the seances he’s held. His were all smoke and mirrors of course, so it should be interesting to experience the real deal.

Nana Helga closes her eyes, and begins humming an odd tune. It feels as though it fills the space, and resonates in everyone's heads. The air itself begins to feel heavy and cold, the graveyard around them feels far away, muted and out of focus, as though a misty veil is descending. 

The ghost detector pings, and Lesley looks down at the grainy, black and white screen. A humanoid silhouette stands a little ways behind Nana Helga. Another one appears on the other side. Another one walks up, like it was on its way somewhere but stopped to watch. Lesley notices a counter in the corner of the screen, ticking upwards faster and faster. Five, ten, twenty, thirty. Lesley finds the camera function and starts snapping pictures.

Ghost and Mike, with their spirit-senses, they see the figures too. They look to each other. Is this okay? Are we in danger? No, trust the process, they say wordlessly.

Nana Helga’s melody starts to sound amplified by a chorus of voices humming with her, and the rings on the star map she laid out in the middle start faintly glowing. An ethereal wisp of smoke tentatively meanders out of the map, twisting and dancing through the air, until finally - meeting Nana Helga’s mouth and nostrils. She inhales it.

It happens so quickly that no one there sees it happen. Nana Helga’s eyes flick open, having shifted from grey to pure white, her posture shifts unnaturally and suddenly it’s as if she’s a different person altogether.   “A-Amy?” she mutters, the voice is hers, but the accent is different.   Amy leans forward a fraction, her mouth agape.   “My God, it actually works.”   “You were expecting something else?” says Mike.   “No, no, but… God, it really is happening!”   “Amy?” asks the ghost within Helga once more.   “Yes! Yes, it’s me!”   Helga shakes a little, her face slackening.   “Cold, Amy…So cold…”   Amy’s heart drops in her chest. For a moment she almost breaks the circle, but manages to control herself.   “What’s wrong, Jeff?! Please, talk to me!”   “Lost…all lost…So many of us…Can’t move on…”   Lesley’s eyes are glued to the ghost detector, still pinging. Signals emanating all around them. Fifty, seventy, a hundred and ten.   “Oh my god…” says Lesley.   “That’s not normal, is it?” asks Mike before remembering that his Nana isn’t present anymore.   “Help us…please…so cold…”   “What can we do?” asks Ghost.   Helga points out into the forests beyond.   “There…help them…stop…”   She falls silent. The ghost detector falls silent. The seance has ended.   John kneels down next to Amy while Mike, Kylie and Lesley attend to Nana Helga. 

   “What’s out in the woods in that direction?”

   “I guess… before we moved here, we’d heard the stories of the old haunted house out there, but I never really believed them. Not until now.”

   Mike pipes up curiously.

   “Haunted house? What’s that about?”

   “I… don’t know honestly. It’s somewhere in that direction, deep in the valley. People say they start seeing things and get sick if they go near it. That’s all I’ve heard.”   “Well, if we’re going to investigate then that seems like our first port of call” says John. “Amy, I’d advise that you go home for the time being, there’s no telling what we’ll find. We’ll keep you posted if we discover anything.”   “Well then,” says Mike, beaming. “Looks like we’re going on a ghost hunt!” 

A few minutes later, the crew find themselves marching through the woods, Mike leading the procession, wielding a fallen branch like a wizard's staff, with Kylie, Helga and Lesley behind them. A little further back is Ghost, Salem and John, clearly not enjoying themselves nearly as much as the others.   “God, that air!” enthuses Mike. “Smells like…I dunno, like life itself!”   “Very poetic,” John grumbles.   “May I ask why you’re so enthusiastic?” asks Salem. “Did you manage to get into the contraband locker again?”   “Just…this, man!” he says. “Like, okay, yes, I know it’s all very serious and that, but…I mean…walking through the woods looking for a haunted house? This is basically how I spent all my summers as a kid!”   And with that he bounds on a little further, Nana Helga calling after him to slow down.   Salem turns to John.   “How much do you want to bet Mike was an only child?”   “Oh, yeah, definitely.”   “I imagine he’s trying to make up for a bad time at school as well.”   “Well, if his attendance in class was anything like his attendance on our missions-”   “Hey!” says Ghost, turning back to face them. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up and stop talking shit about one of your colleagues?”   And with that, he marches off to join the others.  

   Salem is about to make some snarky comment back when something catches his eye. One of the trees to his left has been carved. Not just carved into, sculpted. He walks over to it, tracing his fingers along the bark.   “Hey!” he calls. “Come and have a look at this!”   The others crowd round to examine the unusual display. The pattern carved into the tree depicts a wolf, bathing in fire, escorting souls across a great bridge.   “Looks like a piece of local folklore,” says Kylie. “Like the ferryman on the river styx.”   “I think I’d rather meet a wolf than a skeleton,” says Ghost. “What is this, some sort of shrine?”   “Look!” Mike points to the base of the tree where a small fire has clearly burnt itself out. Beneath it lay the charred ruins of photos, charms, flowers and other offerings.   “I think we’ve found the potential root of the trapped souls.”   “What, so this one town has its own private reaper?” says John, incredulous.   “There are many ferrymen to the world beyond,” explains Nana Helga. “It is a privileged class of being in the astral planes.”   “This is bad,” mutters Mike.   “Well, I mean, it sucks,” says Lesley. “But I don’t know if it’s a disaster if a couple souls get held up for a while on their way to…well…literal eternity.”   “It’s not that simple,” Kylie interjects. “Soul’s can't just wait around indefinitely.”   “Why not? I mean, if they’re dead-”   “But Nana said that souls are like water, if they stand still for too long they…stagnate.”   “Kylie is correct,” says Helga. “Souls must keep moving, if they become stuck in one place for too long then they become restless, angry, tormented by their own decaying essence.”   “Like sleep deprivation,” says Salem. “Only there’s no point of death, they just grow worse and worse and worse.”   “Precisely.”   Mike shakes his head.   “And now someone’s destroyed the shrine of the thing that was sparing them from that.”   Lesley’s eyes widened. “You mean there’s no hope for Jeffrey May? For any of them?”   Helga looked grave. “Unless we can repair the shrine to its original condition and encourage the wolf spirit to come back to the land, then no soul that dies here will ever find peace.”   Lesley nods. “Right, well, let’s get working then.”   He takes a step forward and feels a crunch under his foot. He lifts his leg. A small piece of broken glass lays half-submerged in the dirt. He looks around. There’s another bit, and another, and another. He inspects it closer.   “Guys…” he says. “I think there’s something here, like-”   “Guys!” calls Ghost, a little way off. “I think I’ve found something! It looks like a piece of broken glass!”   Lesley turns. “Uh…I’ve also found a-”   “What’s that?” says John to Ghost. “Could it be part of the shrine or something?”   “Guys?”   “I dunno, but there’s another one here.”   “C’mon, I found one first!”   “Nice find, Ghost.”   “Dick!”   They turn.   “What’s that, Lesley?”   “...Nothing.” 

   John steps forward.   “Okay, let’s get to work. Ghost, Lesley, you pick up the glass and work with Helga to fix the shrine. Mike, Kylie, go to the van and research anything you can find about this place. I wanna know the complete ins and outs of this town to try and find out what caused this. Salem, you come with me into the town to see what the locals have to say. All clear?”   “Clear!” the crew chants in unison.   “Good, roll out!”   They scatter.   “He’s very good at that, isn’t he?” says Kylie.   “Yeah,” replies Mike. “He’s got a real natural authority to him…I think it’s the beard.”

---

Salem and Moore march back through the cemetery, and into the streets of Olde Ekland. They feel cobblestones under their feet once more, taking a moment to scrape the mud off of their shoes.

   “This is why I hate traipsing through the woods.” John says.

   “Look on the bright side, my friend - we’re back in town. Where there’s town, there’s a shop. Where there’s a shop, there’s cornettos with our names on them.” Salem gives John a quick nudge with his elbow. 

   “A mystery without an ice cream break would be no mystery at all.”

John lets slip a repressed chuckle. 

   “Well, something to look forward to at least.”

While stopping by a post office for their aforementioned ice cream break, John takes note of the news stand out front. The headline boldly reads:

“JAR-THIEVES STRIKE AGAIN!”

   “Slow news day?” Salem remarks.

   “Not necessarily.” John reads the story quickly.

The paper tells of seven burglaries that have happened over the last two months, houses and shops sloppily broken into and ransacked, the only things taken being glass jars and ceramic pots. Police are baffled and have no leads.

   “What do you mean not necessarily?”

   “Glass jars. Might have something to do with the glass we found at the shrine.”

   “Oh, I see. Flimsy, but worth checking out I suppose. Where and when was the most recent burglary?”   “Two days ago. A shop not far from here.”

   “Come on. Let’s see what we can find.”

The ‘Potter About’ Ceramics Shop has seen better days; with the shelves lacking stock and one of the large windows shattered and taped off. The damage looks as if it was done by some wild animal hurtling itself against the glass, or perhaps multiple creatures all together. An ancient and nearly defunct CCTV camera caught it all, sort of. The grainy screen shows a blurry mass hurtling through the glass and making off with the pots and jars, then disappearing into the street outside.Upon looking outside they find the source of its escape; a manhole cover, still loose.

The stench hits them like a slap in the mouth as they drag the cover off.

   “Sewer adventure, how fun.” Salem groans.

John pulls a bandana from his pocket and ties it over his mouth and nose. 

   “Dirty work. Gotta be done though.”

Salem sighs, removing his blazer and hanging it on a nearby parking metre. 

   “Well, age before beauty right?” he says with a smirk, pulling his gloves tighter.

John rolls his eyes and climbs in, Salem behind him.

---

Lesley and Ghost are hard at work finding the broken pieces of the stone shrine in the dirt, and Nana Helga is magically growing plants to weave around and adhere the broken structure together.

Lesley unearths a slab of stone with a word carved into it - Reynrsviðr. He shows it to Nana Helga.

   “It looks a little like old Norse runes. I think it is pronounced ‘rain-ers-vith-yer’.”

Ghosts' ears prick up as he hears leaf-crunching footsteps approaching. He turns to see an older man ambling up the sloping path towards them. He puffs out his chest and strides forward authoritatively to meet the man halfway.

   “I’m sorry sir, but you can’t come this way. There’s an active investigation happening here.”

The man's scruffy white moustache ruffles in surprise. He takes his cap in his hand and scratches his head thoughtfully as he looks Ghost up and down.

   “Sorry ‘bout that, I just noticed you were fixin’ the shrine here, and I thought to help. It’s been that way for a couple months.” The man says gruffly.

   “You know about this shrine?”

   “S’not something most folks know about, but it’s been my family’s job to maintain that shrine for generations.”

   “...Until a couple months ago.”

   “*sniff* Some kids torched this place. I tried to rebuild it when it happened, but the magics gone. I just know what offerings to put in the bowl and what to mend every now and again, but the actual buildin’ of the thing was a secret lost to time. But your granny there seems to know what she’s doin’.”

Ghost looks back over his shoulder. Nana Helga is dusting off a little statuette of a wolf, glues its nose back on, and places it atop an altar. 

   “...What’s your name?”

   “Woody Swanson. Cemetery groundskeeper, and that includes the keepin’ of the shrine.”

   “Alex.” 

They shake hands, and Ghost leads Woody up the path.

---

Mike swings open the doors of the van and gestures for Kylie to enter.   “Ladies first,”   Kylie looks around at all the weird and wonderful stuff packed into the tiny space.   “Am…Am I allowed in?”   “Of course!”   “But…Don’t I need some authorization or something?”   “For who? We’re the only ones here. I’m with the UPU, you’re family, I’ll vouch for you.”   Kylie steps over the threshold, poking at the rows of books and occult items.   “I thought you said you were an anarchist.”   “I am,” Mike shrugs. “Well, more or less, at least it’s the closest word I have to describe what I believe.”   “But…you’re working with the government.”   Mike squirms a little.   “It’s…complicated.”   “No it’s not,” she says, smiling. “You just knew this was the only way to see all the cool stuff they’re hiding from people.”   Mike laughs.   “Well, no one else came to the area 51 raid! What else was I supposed to do?!” He slings himself into a chair and boots up a computer. “Oh, but there is so much cool stuff, though! First day on the job, I saw King Kong, Robot Monster and The Giant Claw!”   Kylie screws up her face in amused confusion.   “I can’t tell when you’re joking sometimes.”   “No! Really! I did!” Then suddenly he checks himself. “Probably can’t say much more about it, though. Probably had to be one of the best days of my life. Well, apart from this one bit with a fire and…well, yeah.”   The wind seemed to vanish from Mike’s sails, a creeping uncomfortable feeling growing in the room. He tried to revive the moment.   “Oh, and there was this other time when we went to this sea park and…”   But it was no use. Kylie was already retreating back into herself. Goddamn it, he’d have to talk about it, wouldn’t he?   “Umm…Kylie…I-”   “I’m okay, you know?”   “Really?”   “...No.”   Mike sighed grimly, suddenly feeling ten tonnes heavier.   “Mark’s not taking it well, either,” she continued. “He’s…drinking again. It’s taking a toll on David. Poor guy can’t catch a break.”   “My mum’s cut all contact with Brenda, same for my dad, it’s like she never existed.”   “I know, they’ve tried calling me a couple times, but it’s…not easy.”   “Yeah, well, how do you say ‘sorry your mother hired a hitman to kill all of us’? Takes a bit more than a box of chocolates to patch that one up…We don’t blame you or Mark, you know? We know you had nothing to do with it.”   “She was doing it to try and fund my transition.”   “Not just that.”   “I almost didn’t take my hormone tablets this week. I just…I just couldn’t stop associating them with the stuff my own mum was prepared to do to get them…If that’s the price-”   “You can’t think like that!”   “I said almost.”   Mike nodded. “Good. If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me.”   “I blame my mum.”   “I just found out today that the only reason she was able to hire that assassin was because some insane black sorcerer was trying to get the UPU’s attention. I just…I feel like I’ve put you all in danger.”   “But you’re doing good work.”   “I’m trying to. Just feels pointless sometimes.” He wipes a hand down his face, suddenly looking so old and tired. “I mean, I’m staying positive, I am, but sometimes it feels like I’m constantly swimming against the tide. The universe is full of monsters, the UPU is full of cynicism. Maybe I’m just the one idiot who didn’t get the memo.”   Kylie leans forward putting an awkward hand on his shoulder.   “C’mon, Mike, this isn’t like you.”   “Isn’t it?” he asks.   But she was right. A fire rekindles itself inside of him. It was a reflex, like coming up for air after spending ages underwater. He remembers his time in the pool of Alchemium back in Whistlepine. He remembers the Hall of Paths and the strange crow-headed man who showed him his fate and gave him hope again. The details of that destiny were foggy, but one detail was clear as day: he wasn’t going to give up, not now, not ever.   “You’re right,” he says. “C’mon, let’s get some research done!” 

---

   “And that is the that,” says Nana Helga, placing some picnic food on the altar as an offering. “The spirit should find its way back in time.”   “Yes…Good.” says Woody. “Well…if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do around here.”   Ghost turns to Lesley. “You okay? You’ve been giving ol’ Mr Swanson the stinkeye this whole time.”   “Hmm...”   “What?” Lesley takes Ghost’s arm and leads him away a few paces.   “I’m getting a weird vibe from him…” he says, gesturing slightly in Woody’s direction. “I don’t think his story checks out. That he didn’t know how to rebuild this thing. He seems antsy that we’re even here.”   “Why would he not rebuild it if he knew how?”   “Maybe because he was the one who destroyed it.”   “But why-?” Ghost begins, but he gives up halfway through.   “Okay, whatever, just meet us all back at the van when it’s time to go.”   He turns and wanders off, taking in gulps of fresh forest air as he goes. It feels so peaceful here, he thinks. Hey, maybe he could rent a place somewhere in the-   …He stops.   Something’s out there, amongst the trees.   He takes a few steps towards the movement.   It’s something blue, small-ish, shifting form and…   …Oh, of course…   The blue flaming wolf stares back at him with the transcendent gaze of an elemental being. Ghost freezes in place, for once truly feeling like his namesake. Under the eyes of the impossible spirit he is transparent, as if his whole essence was laid out as plain as daylight for its scrutiny…   …No judgement.   …No feeling.   …Nothing but awareness.   The spirit turns and wanders deeper into the woods, shining out like a candle amongst the inky blackness. Ghost starts to follow, almost unable to stop himself.

   “You can see it, can’t you?” Lesley calls out, snapping him out of his trance.

As Ghost looks back, Lesley is looking through the ghost detector.

   “Are we following it?”

   “I’m following it. You interrogate Woody, or whatever it is you were going to do.”

Before Lesley can argue, Ghost's lean form disappears into the forest like a pebble dropped into the ocean. Lesley looks to Nana Helga, who is resting on a tree stump. She winks at him.

   “You go. I talk to Woody.”

(Authors note: in the game, Lesley didn’t follow Ghost, and stuck around to interrogate Woody. It’ll become clear shortly why it makes more narrative sense to retcon that.)

---

   “Ah ha!” shouts Mike, pointing to the screen. “The history of Olde Eklands haunted house!”   “What have you found?” asks Kylie, throwing down the book that she had been studying.   “Listen to this - Trapp Manor was built in the 1880’s by a Professor Matthias Trapp. Legend-“

   “Cool name.”

   “-Very cool name. Legend has it, he was an occult scientist, part of some kind of spiritualist society, who came here to study the paranormal. When his wife passed, he became something of a mad hermit, throwing himself into his research. The only person that saw him was his friend and research assistant, Dr Gustav Wend.”

   “Another cool name.”

   “Another cool name! In 1889, Trapps experiments culminated in something that horrified Dr Wend so deeply that he burned the manor to the ground with Trapp inside, and he fled, refusing to speak about what he’d seen. The place has been haunted ever since.”

   “Holy shit.”

   “Indeed.”

   “So… no idea what it was that he was doing? No clues?”

Mike scrolls further into the website, and brings up another tab to check against UPU files.

   “All we’ve got documented is gossip and speculation. People noticing that Trapp had lots of mysterious deliveries in his final years, carts full of gas canisters. He refused to hand over his wife’s body for the church to bury, so we have to assume the body was a part of the experiments somehow.”

   “…You think he was trying to resurrect her?”

   “That is the prevailing theory that people seem to have, yeah.”

   “…Do you think he succeeded?”

---

Salem and Moore have been walking for a while, along the damp banks of the labyrinthine sewers, their torchlight exposing only that the place is in need of some dire maintenance, cracked brickwork and leaky pipes. 

John spins on his heel as something scuttles through a tunnel behind them, a shadow in his peripheral vision. He beckons Salem to follow as he strides toward the sound. Turning a corner, they see a peculiar sight. 

A wooden table stands in their way. A fine wooden table, legs carved artistically and symmetrically into the shape of lion's paws. John examines the craftsmanship.

   “This… looks very fancy. Like something Victorian. What do you think it's doing down here?”

Salem’s keen perception has latched onto something else though, nestled between some pipes. He takes a stance with his back to his discovery and faces John. John looks at him curiously while he types something out on his phone. 

   “Perhaps the ‘jar-thieves’ have taken to stealing more interesting antiquities. You think they’re still down here?” Salem says out loud, while showing John a different message on his phone.

   HIDDEN CAMERA BEHIND ME.

John smirks, and starts typing out a message on his own phone.

   “I think we’ve lost them. You ready to head back up? Maybe put a word out to see if anyones missing a table?”

   REGROUP WITH OTHERS. GET MAP OF SEWERS.

They spend a couple minutes retracing their steps back to where they came in, before a voice calls out from somewhere ahead of them.

   “STOP WHERE YOU ARE!”

They do so. Stepping out of the shadows, gun-first, is a dark-skinned man in a bullet-proof vest, light glinting off a police badge. Even at a first glance, he looks pretty haggard for someone probably in his early 30’s.

   “Who are you?”

   “Stand down officer - I’m Agent Moore, FBI. This is my partner, Agent Salem.”

Slowly, so as not to spook the guy, he retrieves his fake FBI ID from his jacket. 

   “What’s a couple of feds doing down here?”

   “Same as you, I’m guessing. Can’t have poor, innocent jars and pots going missing, can we?”

   “That’s my case. Since when was the random theft of household objects an interest of the FBI?”

   “Serial theft. By an organised group, most likely. Smash and grabs. Word on the street is that you guys are struggling for leads. It’s still your case, don’t you worry, but as of today you’ve got some help. Surprised you didn’t get the memo.”

The officer holsters his gun, somewhat placated.

   “Detective Jay Denton. Pleased to meet you both. I’ve been searching down here for a while. Signal’s not great here, so no. No memo. Good to have you on board though, I guess. Why don’t we take this back to the precinct?”

   “We don’t want to interrupt you if you’re following up on something. Whatcha got down here?”

   “Oh, y’know… I think the thieves might have passed through here, maybe, but there’s nobody down here. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Been staking it out for weeks now. I think we need to go back to the drawing board. Come on.”

Denton turns to leave. Salem’s eyes meet Johns. He flashes his phone screen again for a fraction of a second.

   HE’S LYING.

It doesn’t take long to reach the ladder up to the manhole that Salem and John entered through. Denton gestures for them to go first.

   “Oh no, please go ahead, I insist.” Salem offers politely.

Denton seems like he’s about to argue, but thinks better of it. 

The moment he places a hand on the ladder, Salem handcuffs his wrist to it.

   “Wh-what are you doing!?”

Salem grabs for Dentons gun next, but he gets it first and shoves it in Salem's face.

   “You’re done. Drop it.” John seethes as he pokes his own gun into the base of Dentons neck.

A long moment passes where nobody moves. Salem sees the panic in Denton’s eyes. Those weary, tired eyes. All he can hear in Dentons head are screams of desperation. Need to get rid of these men. They’ll screw everything up. They’ll take my daughter away from me. Salem sees his own reflection shot and killed in Dentons eyes, his own demise playing out a hundred different ways.

Denton lowers the gun, and Salem smacks it out of his hand. The detective lowers his head, and collapses into the ladder, weeping, defeated and ashamed. Salem and John roughly turn him around so that he’s slumped with his back to the wall, leaning on the ladder.

   “So, Officer Jay Denton.” Salem begins finally.

   “What is it you didn’t want us to see down here?”

---

Ghost stumbles through the never-ending trees in a daze. There’s a pain seeping into his bones, and he hears malevolent voices whispering indecipherably in his ears. There are figures in his peripheral vision, fangs and claws and eyes and eyes and eyes - they’re not there when he spins to look at them. He knows someone is watching him. Something. He knows what it feels like to be watched, he’s been trained to be more perceptive than most, but he doesn’t just feel eyes burrowing into the back of his head. He feels hate. Enemies on all sides. Foes faster than him, stronger than him, smarter than him. They’re already inside him. Their presence feels cold and intrusive, barbs climbing into his muscles, up through his insides, freezing his airways shut and sinking its teeth into his mind. 

He staggers forward, clutching his head.

   “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!” He screams with such force that his throat is raw.

And then he sees the wolf. It’s waiting for him, just up ahead. The pain and fear subsides, as if no evil can exist within the spotlight of the wolf’s gaze. Breathing heavily, Ghost joins the wolf at the crest of a hill, overlooking a steep incline. He sees what the wolf has brought him here to see.

The sharp, crooked silhouette of an ancient structure in the valley below, broken open, displaying its innards to the world. It looks more like a bony hand reaching limply for the sky than a house, a dead thing that still retains a desire to be alive.

The wolf's ethereal form leaps, weightlessly and easily bounding down the rocky incline. Ghost wants to follow, to see what he’s meant to see, but the voices are back. The pain is back. Each step feels heavier and heavier, like wading through muck. No, quicksand. A quicksand that hates everything he is and wants to see him helpless, rotting, erased. What is he doing here? Is he alive? If he is, then why is he following a beast that leads people to the afterlife? Something takes a bite out of his mind and he forgets his name. His heart is growing limbs of its own and writhing to be free of his chest. The tears crawling out of his eyes have spines and teeth, and they rip open his cheeks as they scuttle down his face to get away from him. He trips on something and tumbles down the slope, smacking into stone and bark. His vision blurry, hard to focus, his hearing overstimulated with sharp sounds that take pleasure in his suffering, he looks around fruitlessly for the wolf. All he sees is walls of blackness closing in on him, engulfing the trees in their way.

   “RAIN-ERS… WHATEVER! SPIRIT OF THE FOREST! COME BACK! DON’T LEAVE ME!”

But he is alone. The world is against him. He mumbles hoarsely to himself.

   “This is just like… just like…”

Calhorn. He doesn’t remember who, but someone told him recently that he needs to give in when he feels like this. Let something else take the steering wheel.

A shadow falls over him. A dark figure reaching out to grab him. It’s hand clutches his shoulder, harder than anything else in this nightmare has so far. Ghost, or something else that also uses that name, rips itself from the figure's grasp and takes off galloping down the hill, just like the spirit wolf had.

He barely even notices the pain leave him as his senses sharpen, his instincts grow stronger, his mind grows simpler but more purposeful, no room for complex things like illusion, conspiracy and doubt. He doesn’t notice that the black leather of his jacket has transformed to black fur, he doesn’t remember a time when he used to walk on two legs and not four. He doesn’t remember that he used to be human. There is only the now, the running, the spirit wolf… the house. 

He skids to the bottom of the slope, and hops across a babbling brook, his mind glossing over his new canine reflection in the water. He looks up at the stone ruins of the house in front of him. The spirit wolf is perched patiently at the top of a fallen tree that forms a precarious ramp into the upper level of the house.

A twig snaps somewhere behind him, and in an instant he spins into a defensive stance, growling at the dark figure ambling carefully down the slope behind him. He backs down a little when one of his pack, the guy with blonde hair and metal legs steps out of the shade of the trees, eyes wide and panicked, hands raised in a gesture of peace, one hand clutching the ghost detector device. 

Lesley has not fared much better than Ghost on his journey here, but was able to separate hallucination from reality by looking at everything through the ghost detector view-screen. He quickly checks again to confirm that his colleague transforming into a wolf was in fact real. 

Yep, very real. His friend is now a wolf.

   “Heyyy… buddyyy… Do you know who I am? Can you still understand me? Is… is what’s happening to you another effect of this place?”

Ghost-wolf softens at Lesley’s calm approach. He seems to be picking up more on the body language than the words. He waits for Lesley to cross the brook. Lesley crouches down slowly and attempts to pet his new wolf friend, but Ghost ducks away from the hand with an annoyed look.

   “Okay, that’s fair. You’re definitely Ghost.”

Ghost-wolf springs away from Lesley, leading him to the base of the fallen tree, and wasting no time in scaling it. Lesley goes to follow, but is accosted by screaming ethereal figures flying at him from all directions, claws tearing viscerally through his skin without leaving a mark. He instinctively raises the ghost detector to find nothing there.

   “If you’re not ghosts… then what are you? What is doing this?”

---

   “Mr Swanson?” Woody turns from a bush he was pruning, shocked out of his trance by Helga’s presence.   “Sorry,” he says. “I’m just… tidyin’ up. Caretaker's work is never finished, you know?”Helga smiles. She can hear the song of his soul. He was doing a little more than just working, while his hands were busy his mind was somewhere far away. He was remembering, ruminating, gazing out at the graveyard nearby. 

   “Do you have any friends or loved ones in this place, Mr Swanson?” She gestures to the rows of headstones.

   “...Oh, uh… sure. Plen’y.” He doesn’t elaborate as he keeps working.

   “Do you still talk to them?”

   “...Nah. I know that helps a lotta folks, but fer me… I don’t know.”

Nana Helga smiles sweetly.

   “I think you know.”

He frowns, taken aback by her bluntness, and then sighs.

   “I guess.. the fact they don’t talk back just makes the emptiness… more real.”   “Silence can be cruel,” she says. “When my dear husband left this world I was left only with the memory of his voice. It is a sweet kind of pain.”   “Sweet?” says Woody, bitterly. “That’s not how I would put it.”   “There is a story I like,” said Helga, softly. “It comes from China. It is about the three great heads of eastern philosophy all meeting for dinner. There was Confucius, The Buddha and Lau Tsu. The waiter of the restaurant came to them and offered them a drink called life. The Buddha refused the drink as he had already concluded it was bad. Confucius scolded The Buddha, saying he ought to taste it first. He tasted it and spat it out. Then Lau Tsu reached out, grabbed the whole bottle and drank it all, spinning and dancing as he drank. When he put the bottle down the other two looked to him and asked him what he thought, and Lau Tsu responded only ‘there is nothing to say’”   “What?” asked Woody.   “Life is neither one thing nor the other, it is the one who lives that decides what to make of it.” 

Woody’s expression turns cold.   “You try makin’ something good out of my life. Wife died of cancer, son succumbed to alcohol at twen’y-six…” He looks at the shrine. “If there is some kind of god out there… I’ve got a few notes for it.” 

He flinches as Nana Helga places a sympathetic hand on his arm.

   “How long have you been alone, my friend?”

   “I’m not your friend. I’m not anyone's friend.”

He wrenches his arm away and begins stalking off.

   “...The birds here say otherwise.”

   “What?”

He stops, and turns to see a robin perched on Helga’s fingers, pecking seed out of her palm.

   “This one is very fat and happy. Her songs are for you.”

Despite himself, he chuckles at this strange old woman.

   “Who are you?”

   “I’m Nana Helga.” She beams.

   “I know that, but… you come out of nowhere. You know how to fix shrines, you can read ‘em, you know all about the spirits here… and you turn up now. You know, don’t you? You know how it really got burned?”

   “I can sense the presence of a group of malevolent entities that have moved upon this place, yes. Trying to tamper with the cycle of life and death.”

   “They’re not evil- ”

He stops himself. He’s tipped his hand. 

Well, in for a penny, he thinks.

   “They look pretty scary, I can admit that. I genuinely thought they were kids when I caught them. But then I got closer, and they were dolls. Three of ‘em. One of ‘em had its face broken in, just eyes and teeth in an open hole in its head, and their arms and legs are all wrong. But… that is to say…”

   “But their intentions are good.” Nana Helga says sweetly, reading where he’s going.

   “Yes!” The word explodes out of him. Somebody understands.

   “I think they’re like angels. Like the first angels that were all eyes and had to say ‘be not afraid’, y’know. They might look like monsters but they are doing god's work!” 

   “Go on.” Helga says, encouragingly.

   “They explained everything. Reynrsviðr leads souls to the afterlife, but that in itself is an affront to nature, because nothing sticks around long enough for closure! I-if there was… some kind of a way to change the rules, so that everyone gets to choose when they leave…”

He wipes a tear away with a grubby sleeve, but they keep coming. Helga smiles comfortingly, but her eyes are brimming as well.

   “...Wouldn’t that be a better world to live in?” He finishes shakily.

Nana Helga steps in close. She gestures for a hug and waits for him to lean into her. They stand there, feeling each other's grief. Nana Helga’s is quiet and profound, simmering. Woody’s is loud and convulsing, boiling over. Time seems to stand still for a while.

Eventually Nana Helga guides Woody to a bench. He has his head down, unable to look Helga in the eye.

   “These dolls. And other… things… like them. They can catch a soul in a jar, if they act quick enough after the death. They’ve got this operation in the sewers, where they store them all. People who discover them, they let ‘em talk to the ghosts of their loved ones again. It’s… sweet. Mine are long gone. But no one should ‘ave to go through the kinda shit we go through.” He says hoarsely.

   “So… what do you think, then? Did I… have I done the right thing?” 

   “Do the souls truly get to choose when they leave? Do they even understand what has happened to them?”

Woody is silent.

   “...I am sorry, my friend.”

   “How many dolls are down there?” Kylie’s quiet, wavering voice cuts through the air, making Woody jump. He turns to see Mike and Kylie standing close behind the bench, their expressions grave. His eyes flick to Helga. Her eyes communicate an apology, for knowing they were listening in.

---

Lesley carefully walks up to the top of the fallen tree, using the branches to steady himself, and hops off into the upper level of Trapp Manor. Most of the roof is on or through the tilted floor, and what was once a corridor that led to many bedrooms is now an open-plan blackened wood pile. There is nothing living here, save the plants and moss that are reclaiming the surfaces and breaking through the walls, but the air feels full of biting swarms of otherworldly force, like a cold fog full of invisible wasps. The pains and visions have gotten far less severe since Lesley figured out they weren’t real, as if they went from fully attacking him to just reminding him to stay alert and on edge.

Ghost-wolf is running to and fro, sniffing around, seemingly confused.

   “Where’s your spirit friend? Is he gone?”

Something cracks under Lesley’s foot as he takes a step forward. A framed painting of a man, a woman, and a young girl. He looks to one of the bedrooms, blown open by the elements. A shelf full of porcelain dolls has been scattered across the ground.

Ghost-wolf barks to get Lesley’s attention, leading him to a caved in section of floor. Looking down, he catches a glimpse of the lower floor being lit up by the glowing blue form of the spirit wolf, before the light extinguishes. Lesley and Ghost-wolf look at each other. Then at the place where a stairwell almost certainly used to be. Then back at each other. Then Lesley has an idea.

   “Okay… not to worry - that’s a long way down, but it shouldn’t be a problem for my new and improved legs, courtesy of the MOTHMAN tech division. Zoe had to call in some favours to get me these bad boys.”

He rolls up his jeans to show off his sleek, powerful looking prosthetic limbs to a wolf that looks curiously, but isn’t understanding anything he’s saying.

   “She said she couldn’t get me rocket legs, but she could get me the next best thing - impact legs. They’re bullet-proof, they have retractable compartments in the calves - got a secret pistol in ol’ righty, and secret snacks in ol’ lefty - but the best feature, is that they’ve got this experimental gyroscopic tubing… stuff… inside them that absorbs kinetic… stuff… look, I’m a marine biologist, not a physicist, so I didn’t really get it until she said ‘long fall boots from Portal’.”

Lesley rolls his jeans back down and stands up, trying to edge closer to the precipice of the precarious platform without falling through it.

   “Let’s… okay. Let’s do a long fall. And hope to god these work as advertised.”

Lesley steps off the edge. The falling is sickening. He lands in an awkward squat that rattles him to his core, in a way that reminds him that he is a bag of blood and bones, but he’s okay. He’s great. He looks up at Ghost-wolf and raises his arms to catch his companion.

   “Your turn!”

Ghost-wolf runs off and leaps in another direction, parkouring off the walls and the pieces of broken stairwell jutting out of them, all the way down to meet Lesley.

   “Or… just do that, I guess. Why did we come down here? What did the spirit wolf want us to see?”

Ghost-wolf sets his nose to the floor, following a scent to a carpet half-covered by debris. Lesley removes the debris and the carpet, revealing a trap door. Ghost-wolf paws ineffectively to get it open, and Lesley spends a minute figuring out the latch to unlock it. He lifts it with a heavy creak.

A screaming shadow jumps out of the dark hole at Lesley, knocking him to the ground. He holds the ghost detector protectively in front of him, and the figure is gone as soon as he looks at the screen. Ghost-wolf trots over, concerned.

   “You didn’t see that, did you? It’s all in my head.”

Lesley takes note of a putrid scent that was released with the opening of the trap door, as he peers down at an ancient set of stone stairs. He switches on a torch attachment on the ghost detector, and he still can’t pierce the dark depths of wherever the steps lead. It looks almost misty down there.

Ghost-wolf leads the way down into a silent, dusty stone basement, bearing some resemblance to a castle dungeon. Torchlight glints off walls and walls of gas canisters.

   “Oh… oh shit. Is that… what we’ve been breathing in? Is that why we’ve been seeing things? Why you’re a wolf?” 

He inspects them closely. Most have the words ‘Miracle Gas’ on the side, and no other labels.

The two of them follow Ghost-wolf's nose down a labyrinthian corridor, into a large chamber, the smell of rot and stale chemicals getting stronger still. The beam of the torch crosses large circular ritual sigils carved into the floor. Lesley recognises them - they’re quite similar to the star chart-like diagram on Nana Helga’s seance mat. He kneels down and notes with fear that the paths carved through the stone floor are filled with dried blood.

Ghost-wolf grunts, and the beam swings up in his direction. Lesley gasps in horror, as his companion stands before the pale body of a woman, in a glass box on a raised platform. Whatever was used to preserve the body, it’s bloated it to the point where it presses up against the glass, cracking it in places. 

Lesley finally peels his eyes away from the unnerving sight to find cabinets and shelves around the edges of the room. He goes to a desk, dusts off an open book, and starts trying to decipher the scrawled, shaky handwriting.

   “July 4th, 1889. I can go on like this no longer. My beloved Matilda is somewhere beyond my reach, and nothing can bring her back. I have tried to communicate this to the half-souls, but they are no longer listening to me. I know not what to do. I fear I may have set in motion an operation that will have disastrous consequences for the balance of nature. I have to get them to listen.” 

That’s it - the last entry. What the hell is a half-soul?

Lesley flips back to the first page.

   “Prof M Trapp, work diary 1889. Continued from work diary 1888…”

He skims through pages and pages of notes and elaborate diagrams, variations of ritual circles and theoretical maps of how the heavens intersect with the material. Nine worlds that souls get filtered through before going to the great beyond, like a river returning to the sea. Only sometimes does the clinical language give way to the frustrations and despair of a grieving man. Finally, he sees the first mention of the term ‘half-soul’.

   “...I have made a startling discovery. I have oft omitted from my notes the many times that I have felt my possessions or parts of my home were moving when my back was turned, as I had believed it to be a cruel trick of the mind, a madness cast by grief. Similarly, I have oft omitted that many of my recent notes and experiments are not ones that I remember performing myself. However, today I caught a sight in a mirror as I approached my workroom, that either explains these incidents or proves my insanity. I swear on my life, that I saw my tables and chairs walking to and fro as if sentient, working together to organise my chemical cabinets. I saw my metalworking tools slinking upon workbenches, creating more of my wire spirit-trapping charms. I saw one of my daughter's dolls adding data to my spreadsheets, the one I’d brought down here to remind my wife’s spirit that our daughter needed her. I watched for a while. When finally I moved to step into the room, everything went still the instant I turned the corner, as if these living objects were shy. I now believe, that while I may not yet have succeeded at retrieving a fully intact soul from the hereafter and placing it into a vessel of my choosing, it is now apparent that many of my past attempts that I thought were failures may have had results I was not aware of, imbuing my home with soul fragments, half-souls perhaps. Finally a sign that my work has not been wasted.”

Lesley continues flipping through quickly, enraptured. He gleans that these ‘half-soul’ entities were blank slates, mimicking the Professor's repeated behaviours, absorbing his emotions, interests and goals. The Professor was eventually able to tame and work with them, and even produce more of them. 

   “The dolls are the most helpful, being the most human, having fairly articulate hands, and a sense of sight and hearing. The rest seem to be operating either from a sense of touch, or from a mental link to the dolls senses. My daughter is living with my assistant for the duration of this project as I can’t afford any distractions, but when she comes home - when we’re all back together again - I’m sure she’ll be delighted that her dolls are alive. She always did like her imaginary friends.”

Chills run down Lesley’s spine, and he looks around the room. No chairs, no tables other than the desk he’s standing over. There are a couple of porcelain dolls on shelves, but there is evidence that there used to be a lot more. There’s a lot of empty spaces in this room that he can imagine a piece of furniture once existing there, before coming to life and walking away. Where did all the half-souls go then, if they were barricaded away by debris down here?

Ghost-wolf runs in from the hall and barks to get Lesley’s attention. Lesley follows him out to the end of the corridor, to a small jagged hole in a wall, just big enough that Lesley could duck through it, that leads out into another stone brick tunnel. The hole seems to have been carved out by many scratching limbs, but to get through a stone wall this thick, must have taken…

   “…over a hundred years.” Lesley finishes the thought out loud.

Ghost-wolf leads the way into the tunnel. The stench and the sound of running water lets them know that they are in the sewers.

---

No matter what John and Salem say, no matter what pressure they apply, Denton hangs his head silently. Defiantly. That is, until Salem says -

   “Do you have a daughter, Jay?”

That makes him flinch. His eyes flick up, angry.

   “She’s dead.”

Salem softens, and crouches down to Dentons level.

   “I’m sorry to hear that. How did she die?”

   “...What does it matter?”

There’s a beat of silence. John looks intensely at Salem, wondering where the master mentalist could be going with this.

   “...She’s down here, isn’t she? In some form or another. You have my word, we don’t want to harm her.”   “And how the hell am I supposed to trust you on that?” 

Salem looks around, thoughtfully. Dentons thoughts aren’t as loud as they were when he was pushing a gun into Salem's face, but he plays a hunch based on what he can make out.

   “We’re not actually here on official business. We’re here because…”

He switches on the crocodile tears.

   “...my wife. S-she… doesn’t have long left. I don’t know what to do. But we heard… we heard there was something down here that could help her stay. That’s what you were offered too, wasn’t it?”

Denton looks sceptical.

   “Where did you hear that?”

   “...In a… this is going to sound insane, but… in a dream?”

Wrong answer.

   “I don’t believe you.”

   “I-I know, it’s not-”

   “Show me a photo of your wife.”

   “...What?”

   “You want me to believe this isn’t just a play for my trust? Open up your wallet, or your phone or whatever, and show me a picture of your wife.”

Stalemate. Dentons stare is painful to hold. The silence lingers long enough that John considers intervening. But then…

Salem looks down and sighs. He takes out his phone, and shows Denton a photo of himself and a young woman grinning like idiots and posing, while poking a motorbike that clearly has a ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ sign hung off the back of it. John holds back a chuckle, remembering how protective Ghost is of his bike, and how Salem and Zoe would always do that when he wasn’t looking.

Denton can’t help but smile weakly as well.

   “...Okay. Fine, whatever. Let me go, and I’ll show you the way.”

The room is large and ramshackle, like an apothecary made of scrap. It is dark, illuminated only by an eerie golden glow, rippling across the walls like light reflected through water, from the many jars and ceramic pots of various shapes and sizes lining its dusty shelves. Denton leads them to one at the far end, a tiny jam jar decorated with flower stickers of every colour.   “She loves to see the flowers,” Denton explains. “We used to go out and pick them when the weather was good, she liked to press them in her books.”   “When are we going again, Daddy?” comes an unearthly voice from the air.   Denton smiles, grabbing the jar from the shelves and pressing it to his forehead.   “Soon, princess. When the rest of the town finally understands, we’ll be able to go out.”   “Why can’t we go out, Daddy? I want to go out.”   Salem’s brow furrows.   “What’s her name?”   “Annie,” whispers Denton.   “Hello, Annie.”   “Who are you?”   “Just a friend of your father’s. Tell me, where are you right now?”   “Grown ups say weird things.”   “Yes, yes we do,” says Salem, smiling. “But tell me anyway, where are you?”   “At home. I want to be outside, though. Daddy, can we go outside? The door is locked. Can we go outside? I want to feel the sun.”   “Not yet, Annie.”   “Why not, Daddy?!”   The jar began to glow brighter.   “I’m bored, Daddy! I want to go outside in the sun! It’s dark here! It’s dark and smelly and cold and I hate it! I want to go outside!” 

   “We’ll go outside, princess, we will!” Denton’s tone was panicky. “We will! Just a little more time, that’s all. Why don’t you play with your dolls?”   “I did, bored of them now!”   “Well what about your colouring books? I’ll even let you use the switch!”   “I don’t want to use the switch! I want to go outside!”   Salem feels the girl's psychic impression on his mind, growing ever stronger, pressing into him without him even needing to act. Like an itch in his bones, the restlessness of a sickbed, of knowing you should be doing something but not knowing what it is. His breath begins to grow shallow, his muscles tightening. John lays a hand on his shoulder.   “You okay?”   “Of course I’m fine! What kind of stupid-!!” He relaxes. The impression is gone. The glow of the jar begins to grow fainter.   “She’s asleep,” says Denton, completely oblivious to Salem’s outburst.   “I see,” mutters Salem. “Very…Interesting.”   The door bursts open. They turn. A shambling mass of porcelain and wood comes scuttling in on elongated spider-limbs, a cracked porcelain doll head serving as its face. John instinctively begins to unsheathe his sword, but Denton stops him. 

   “It’s okay, they’re with us,” he tells it.   The creature unfurls itself like a clockwork machine, reassembling into the approximate shape of a human. A cavity in its chest opens up to reveal a fresh glowing jar.   “Hello?” it says, the cracked and ancient voice sounding as if it is being spoken from the other end of a long tunnel. “Is anyone here?”   “It’s Mrs Chambers,” says Denton. “She used to run the convenience store.”   “Is someone there? Has it started yet? I’ve been so looking forward to seeing my grandson graduate! …It’s stuffy in here, isn’t it? Hello? Is anyone there?”   The doll places the jar on the end of a shelf before shuffling away through another door into the tunnels once more. The spirit of Mrs Chambers continues to talk, calling out for any other voice, until finally a reply comes…as the other jars all begin to light up. 

   “Hello? Is anyone there?”   “Where am I? Is the party over?”   “No one’s talking to me? Why doesn’t anyone speak anymore?!”   “I want to go outside, Daddy! I want to go outside!”   “I can’t see! I can’t see! I can’t see!”   “They’re stinging! They’re stinging!”   “How much longer do I have to wait?!?”   “Martin will be home soon. He’ll be home soon. Home soon.”   “They said they’d be back soon. Where are they? Where are they?”   Salem wants to puke. All those trapped souls, all in various states of decay. He feels them. Every. Single. One. He looks over at Denton, tears welling in his eyes.   “They…they get like this sometimes…they’ll settle down eventually. They’re all okay, really, deep down they’re all fine. Really.” 

  “We need to get out of here,” hisses Salem to John.   He takes a few deep breaths, trying desperately not to scream. If ever there was a good way to torture someone to insanity, he thinks, this was the king of all methods. He makes a note of it for future use. 

---

   “Wait up!” Lesley calls after Ghost-wolf, scrambling to not slip on the slick banks of the sewer while trying to keep his energetic companion within his torch-beam. Ghost-wolf's nose leads them down a corridor, which branches off into many other rooms. Ghost-wolf barks at a few of the doors. Lesley listens in at the first door. He hears lots of things moving around inside - scraping and dragging. He checks the ghost detector. Lots of tiny, faint blips. He takes a deep breath and grasps the handle.

The door is flung wide, and Lesley comes face to face with a room full of pieces of furniture, and mannequins cobbled together from furniture parts. All of them look mangled, broken apart and combined back together to give them all more limbs, more humanoid appendages. All of them frozen in positions like they were walking around and working just moments before, most of them… carrying pots and jars? 

The torchlight drifts around. Eleven of these things in this room. A sigil on the floor, similar to the one in the basement. One canister of that ‘Miracle Gas’ at the back of the room, a tube connected from it to some kind of filtering device, that’s dripping a liquid into a jar. Around the edge of the room, there are so many shelves, filled with so many jars. Some of them appear to be… glowing? Wait, these are what the ghost detector was picking up? 

Lesley leans into the room. Something moves in the dark part of the room behind him, and he swings around with his torch to catch it. There’s a doll looking right at him. Its child-like porcelain mask is an uncanny expression, one of its eyes rolled back in its head. Though its head and torso is small, it stands almost at Lesley’s height, because all of its limbs have been replaced with long, spindly, wooden constructs that end in over-sized splintered talons. It stands like a zombie, knock knees and hunched, head curiously cocked to one side.

   “Only moving when you’re not looking. Fun. Great. Great, actually, that’s exactly what I wanted. Ghost, I’m gonna need some extra eyes to deal with this weeping angel shit.” Lesley whispers. 

Ghost-wolf strolls into the room undeterred, and starts sniffing at the jars on the shelves. The moment he gets close, the doll's good eye darts to him. Lesley slowly and cautiously weaves between the half-soul mannequins to take a closer look at the jars as well. The liquid in here… can be used to capture souls? I mean, if any of the rest of the team were here - and still human - they’d be telling him to grab a sample to analyse back at the van, wouldn’t they?

He carefully removes a jar from the shelf, its contents glowing and shifting, colours sparking within its depths, as if stirring from a slumber. It's small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, and yet there's a vastness to it, like looking at the ocean from space.

   “PUT IT BACK”

The message enters Lesley’s mind directly, intruding on every sense. It’s not a voice, it's not words, it's not images, it’s just… a sensation, that Lesley somehow comprehends loud and clear. And he understands where it came from. He turns to find everything in the room is now facing him. But the message came from the doll, who is now standing front and centre.

   “PUT IT BACK”

   “This is wrong. You’re trapping them.”

   “WE ARE SAVING THEM.”

   “No.”

   “WOULDN’T YOU LIKE TO BE SAVED?”

Lesley has not lost anyone too close to him. But he has thought about death a lot. When he lost his legs - the weeks he spent bed-bound in the hospital, it took a while to believe that he’d ever leave that bed, that he wasn’t just waiting out the inevitable. That life could continue afterwards. What if it didn’t? He knew he wouldn’t have been satisfied with the life he had led back then, just when it was really beginning. What about now? If a monster murdered him in this sewer, or on any other day in this line of work - would he be content with this life? Or would it be worth having the option to stick around, if nothing else then to say goodbye to Vivian? To say sorry that he was always gone, and he couldn’t tell them why?

Wait, what the hell is he thinking?

A snarling Ghost-wolf pounces on the doll, snapping Lesley out of his trance. Now under attack, the mannequins begin staggering into motion, slow at first, gradually ramping up, but not quickly enough to escape Ghost-wolf's jaws - he tears through and throws the few that were beginning to crowd the doorway, and barks for Lesley to follow. Together they sprint from the room, and down the corridor. Every door on either side slams open in unison, and things start slowly shambling out in jerky movements, like stop motion puppets, trying to block the path. Ghost-wolf falls behind, striking the legs out from under them. Filling the air is the clicking and cracking of limbs that weren’t meant to move, and filling Lesley’s mind is a low chant.

   “Nothing leaves. Nothing leAVES. NOTHING LEAVES. NOTHING LE-”

Lesley turns a corner into another room and slams into a worried looking John.

   “Lesley?! What the hell is that sound?”

   “Uh - no time. Grabbed this-” He shows John the jar that he grabbed.

   “-Scary things want it back.”

   “Oh shit.”

Denton and Salem run over to see what’s going on.

   “Whoever you are, give that to me. These ‘scary things’ won’t hurt you.” Denton says sternly, reaching out a hand. Salem slaps that hand away.

   “Don’t listen to him Lesley, he’s been brainwashed by them.” He says flatly.

Denton spins on him, rage spilling across his face.

   “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”

   “And here I thought you knew I was making a play for your trust.”

   “FUCK YOU! You people never understand!”

   “You’ve got to listen to your daughter, Denton.” John interjects, trying to de-escalate. “You haven’t saved her, you’ve imprisoned her.”   “Guys? Please, we need to move!” shouts Lesley again.   “Don’t you dare say that!”   “I understand, believe me, I do, but this-”   “No! You’re just like the rest! I have my daughter back, don’t you get it! I have her-”

Ghost-wolf runs around the corner, a wriggling wooden arm in his mouth.   “SHIT! LESLEY, THERE’S A GODDAMN WOLF BEHIND YOU! GET DOWN!” screams John before whipping out his pistol and firing into Ghost-wolf’s chest. He’s thrown against the wall, whimpering, his form stretching and cracking into a half-human shape.   “What the fuck!” he growls.   “What the fuck?” cries Lesley   “What the fuck?!?” shouts John.   “WHAT THE FUCK?!?” screams Denton.   “What the fuck?” whispers Salem.   They all rush to Ghost's side as he clutches his wound, body shifting between wolf and human form.   “AAAA!!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?” he roars.   “What?!? The?!? Fuck?!?” insists Denton, his questions still unanswered.   “Guys! Guys!” calls Mike as he and Kylie hurry in from the other side of the room. “What are the chances of us wandering through a few open doors and finding you all down- WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?”   “What the fuck?!” ask Kylie.

   “What the fuuuuck?!?” says Denton in solidarity.   As the group continues to argue and query in this manner, Lesley swings his torch back in time to see the pack of doll and mannequin creatures clamouring towards them out of the dark of the doorway.   “What the fuck… are we still DOING HERE!? LOOK!” he shrieks.   He jabs a finger and they all turn to follow it. The creatures have formed a writhing mass blocking the tunnel outside, appendages made of junk spill from their bodies in all directions as they slowly advance towards.   “WHAT THE FUCK?!?” shout the whole crew in unison.   All apart from Mike.   “Calm down, it’s okay, they’re not hostile!”   “You sure about that?!” asks John, pistol in hand.   “He’s right,” says Denton. “They’ll only attack if-” 

   “If they can’t manipulate your mind into working with them!” Lesley cuts him off.   Ghost staggers to his feet, the bullet wound not as bad as he initially thought.   “Well we're gonna have a problem then.” He snarls.   An ear-splitting shriek makes them double up, the mass of creatures are wailing in horror and despair, the sound like a knife punching through their heads.   “Please!” Mike pleads. “You can’t go on like this! What happened to you was wrong, you were ripped from the great beyond without your consent and without meaning and I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, but you’re destroying these souls! You have to stop!”   “NoOoOoOo!!!!” the creatures howl in unison as they struggle and flop through the door frame. “NO ONE EVER LEAVES! NO ONE EVER LEAVES!!!”   “They’ve been driven mad by the grief they absorbed from their creator…” Mike says, tears of pity welling in his eyes. “Oh God, I’m so sorry…”

   “Eh, maybe not just that. Come on!” Lesley screams, dragging Mike away by his collar, but he’s wrestling himself away, fighting for a chance to talk things down.   “The wolf spirit is already returning!” Mike cries. “You can’t go on like this!” Another shriek and the front of the pack skitters forward, claws raking up across the stone floor towards Mike, but it’s shot down.

   “MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!” John shouts as he releases covering fire for everyone else to escape the room, and only then does he duck out himself. 

The group retrace their steps back through the tunnels, the monstrous sounds of screaming, scraping and scuttling echoing from every direction. Eventually, after an eternity of running, they make it back to where they came in.

---

Sunlight breaks as the group fling themselves out from under the manhole cover. For a while they lay there, gasping for air as the screams of the abominations still resonate in their heads.   “So much for reasoning,” pants John. “Guess it’s time to try another approach.”   “I take it you’re thinking what I’m thinking,” says Salem.   Mike’s eyes widen. He already knows what they’re going to say.   “You can’t.”   “It’s the only way, Mike!” John barks. “If those things carry on then everyone who ever dies here will be trapped forever, then what will happen?”   “Decay,” mutters Kylie. “A living hell, like constant insomnia.”   “But they’re a whole new lifeform!” Mike pleads. “They deserve a chance!”   “They had it,” says Salem. “Now we do our jobs.”

   “I’ll be honest, guys - they only attacked because I stole this. That’s my B.” Lesley triumphantly holds up the jar.

   “...Let me see that.” Mike crawls over to take the jar and sits cross-legged as he examines it closely.

   “...The guy that created these things, in the haunted house in the woods. There were loads of canisters labelled ‘miracle gas’ that he’d use in his experiments, and I saw the half-souls distilling it into a liquid form that they’d put in these jars to catch the ghosts in-”

   “What did you call them? Half-what?”

   “Half-souls. I found the guy's diary, that's what he - what’s wrong?”

Mike's face betrays a major revelation, as he looks deeply into the glowing depths of the jar.

   “This is Alchemium. I can feel it.”

   “The same stuff that powers your spells?”

   “Yeah. Well, back before I could draw power from my soul. But you’re saying there was a gaseous form of this stuff being stored in the haunted house?”

   “Some of them were leaking, making us see and feel weird stuff.”

   “What kind of weird stuff?”

   “I dunno, ghosts that weren’t actually there, according to the ghost detector. Dread. Paranoia. Regular haunted house stuff.”

   “That… makes a lot of sense.”

   “It does?”

   “First time we encountered Alchemium, it was being used in hot springs. It was healing people to a supernatural degree, whether they knew it was there or not, because it reacts to intention and expectation. They’d come in believing they’d have a healing experience, and the Alchemium would make that will reality. So if someone goes to an abandoned house that’s flooded with Alchemium gas, expecting to have a haunted house experience…”

   “...It makes it happen.” Lesley gets it.

After sitting and digesting all that they’ve learned, the team scrabble to their feet. 

   “...Who are you people?” Denton chokes out.

   “We know better than anyone else what we’re dealing with. Are you with us, or against us?” John fires back without hesitation.Denton can’t summon any words.   “You know your daughter’s in pain like that, don’t you?”   “She…she might recover…”   John shakes his head. “I’m sorry to be the one to say this. I’m not known for my diplomacy, I’m afraid, but you know I’m right, don’t you?”   “...Yes.”   “Those things are insane, and Annie will end up just like them eventually.”   He cringes. “Stop it.”   “We’ve got to stop this, one way or another.”   “I know!”   John takes a step back.   “We’ve gotta destroy those things, all of them. We’ve got some stuff in our van, what about the armoury at the police station?”   “Oh, so we’re gonna go Rambo, are we?!” shouts Mike.   “Mike, please,” says John. “I don’t like this either, and I get why you don’t wanna do it like this, but there’s no other-”   “No!” Mike snaps. “No! There’s always another way! I’m not gonna be walking through another room full of corpses like what happened with Devi!”   “What happened with Devi?” asks Lesley.   John doesn’t give him the chance to answer. “For god’s sake! They’re not people, Mike!”   “They’re living beings!”   “Please, try to see the bigger picture.”   “I’m not doing that again, not ever! I’m gonna find a better way round this if it’s the last fucking thing I do!”   Mike turns and begins to walk away from them. Kylie rushes to catch him up.   “I’m coming too,” she says. “Let’s try.”   Mike smiles. “Anyone else?”   Lesley steps forward.   “Why not? Let's make some monster friends.”   “Mike, Lesley, you’re acting against the orders of a superior officer.”   “You’re not CHIMERA or SPHYNX, that puts us on equal terms. I read the training manual.”   “I’m the senior member, I am the designated team leader!”   “I’m pursuing an alternative solution! That’s allowed under the rule-book.”   “Only with a majority vote! Your cousin doesn’t count. There’s three for and only you two against.”   “I think he should try,” says Ghost. Salem and John turn in surprise. “I’ll stay with you two, but I don’t see the harm in Mike trying to de-escalate if he can.”   Mike smiles. “Well, looks like it’s three-to-two after all.”   John shakes his head. “How you still have a job with us is a fucking miracle.”   The group begins to dash towards the town. John turns to Ghost.   “The hell got into you?!”   Ghost shrugs. “He’s surprised us before. Remember his first day back at the hospital?”   John nods. “I just hope his heart isn’t bigger than his brain.” 

---

Half an hour later, the van has moved as far as it can go into the woods, not far from the location of the mansion. John, Salem, Ghost and Denton emerge, brandishing an arsenal of machine guns, grenades, flamethrowers, even an array of silver swords and daggers in case of supernatural bullet immunity. They march towards the house, clicking magazines into place and flipping off safety catches.   “Okay, we hit hard and fast,” says John. “First objective is to capture their supplies of Alchemium gas. Speaking of which, we might want to put these on -”

He throws everyone a gasmask.

   “-So we don’t start hallucinating things like Lesley did. Once we’ve got the gas, we can begin to sweep the sewers picking them off as we go. Their main objective is to project the jars so I suggest we use them as bait to lure them to us, we can then form a protective square formation like the old musketmen used to and pick them off. We break the jars only as a last resort, there’s no telling what will happen then.”   “Good plan,” says Salem, fixing the canister of his flamethrower into place. “Let’s get toasting.”

---

Mike peddles frantically on the old-style bicycle with Nana Helga clinging to his back, Lesley and Kylie riding on their own bikes either side.   “Devi was a kinda chaos god,” he explains to Lesley. “Some massive serpent thing from another world who tried breaking into this one. He released these tiny mind-controlling slug things out into this town and they ended up at the meat packing plant where Kylie's brother's boyfriend David worked.”   “I remember, “ says Kylie. “Mark was so cut-up about it at the time. Wasn’t until Mum got arrested that he told me what had actually happened.”   “So the mind-control slugs infected the town and they all died?” said Lesley.   “Worse,” says Mike. “We found out that alkaline substances killed the slugs, but by then it was too late to stop the infections. Hundreds of people were packed into that factory, ready to distribute meat injected with those slug creature’s eggs. We had to stop them fast so…Well…we didn’t have much of a choice, I guess.”   “Oh shit…” whispers Lesley. “You mean-?”   “We poured bleach into the factory's water tank then switched the sprinklers on. It stopped the infection, but…”   Mike stops the bike, his breath short as the memories come flooding back.   “It was…like…like walking through a horror movie. Bodies with chemical burns, foam pouring from their mouths…God, some were still moving a little!”   “You did what you had to, child.” says Nana Helga, soothingly. “Those people were victims of Devi, not of you.”   “But it’s not even the only time, Nana! The UPU…we save lives, I know, but, I’ve seen them do horrific shit.”   “We all witness our own private hell’s, Michael, and though we support one another, ultimately the job of wrestling with the darkness is one we must all do alone, within the private chamber of our innermost soul.” She reaches out and pats her grandson on the shoulders. “Don’t be disheartened, my boy, you can find the light within yourself.”   Mike wipes a couple tears from his eyes and smiles.   “Thank you…all of you.” 

---

   “Heads up,” says Ghost. “We’ve got company.”

As the trees give way to the rotten carcass of the ancient manor, they see a doll standing atop the tallest spire, bright eyes and teeth staring out of the void in its cracked open head, mud-soaked raggedy dress billowing in the wind, splintered talons hanging limply by its side. Just waiting.

It raises one claw in their direction, the rusty hinges of its makeshift fingers creaking.

   “FINAL WARNING. LEAVE US TO OUR WORK… OR DIE.”

   “I thought nothing ever leaves!” Salem shouts back smugly. His expression suddenly drops, as his sixth sense picks up on something.

   “Oh… fuck.”

   “What’s wrong?”

   “...We’re surrounded.”

As if cue, more rotten dolls and mannequins start pulling themselves up from the rain-sodden woodwork atop the roof, gathering behind the one with the broken face.

Salem spins around, and the group takes up a circular formation, watching these eldritch aberrations clambering up from the earth all around them, many-legged monsters crawling down from the trees. There’s more than dozens. Might be closer to a hundred. But they hang back, waiting.

   “GIVE US AN ANSWER.”

John picks a grenade off his coat, and threads a thumb through the pin.

   “How’s this for an answer, you marionette looking motherfu-”

The squeak of bicycle wheels draws his attention, as Mike, Lesley, Kylie and Helga skid to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Mike awkwardly disentangles his leg and starts racing towards them, the others not far behind.

   “Hold your fire!” He cries. “Please!”

   “It’s too late, Mike! They can’t help what they are, and we can’t help what we need to do!”

   “They’re negotiating with you! We can-”

A gunshot rings out. It echoes through the trees.

All eyes turn to Denton. He’s sweating, shaking, eyes wide. He can’t believe what he’s just done.

   “I-I saw one… it made - it made a move, I swear… it g-got closer-” his rationalisation can’t quite make it past his lips.

Now it's too late.

   “COLLECT THEM.” 

The message pulses through the clearing, and then the shrieking war cries start. Creatures sprint out of the underbrush all around, and bullets start flying, flamethrowers start throwing.

   “Get your family out of here, Mike! You too Lesley!” John commands.

John, Salem, Ghost and Dentons circular formation is suddenly broken in a shower of glass as a hulking beast, part-wardrobe, part-four poster bed tumbles out of a window into their midst, jaws of splinter-teeth cracking wide as it releases an ear-splitting roar. With an arc of its tail, it trips John to the ground, and he barely rolls away before its front claws slam down on the spot where he’d fallen.

Mike draws his wand, and looks at it. If he throws a lightning bolt, that’ll just make everything worse! Is this really all he can do? Is this where daring to hope gets him?

An odd tune fills the space, resonating in everyone's heads. The air sharply turns heavy and cold. The air shimmers, as though a misty veil is descending, enveloping the battlefield, pocketing it away from the rest of the world. And everything slows to a halt. All of the creatures stop in their tracks. All of the agents are stuck in fighting stances, frozen between rounds of gunfire. Their eyes twitch in their heads, confused as to why they’re suddenly paralysed.

Everyone seems frozen, except for Mike, Lesley, Kylie and… Nana Helga. Nana Helga stands, eyes aglow with power, whistling that odd tune, fingers dancing in the air as if… puppeteering.

   “...Nana? What are you doing?”

   “Giving you a chance, my boy. A mind-freeze spell of this scale, you probably have about ten minutes before I burn through the lingering Alchemium in the air. I cannot guarantee I will be able to sustain it on my own power beyond that.”

Mike nods, thoughtfully. He looks up to the doll with the broken face atop the house. The one that seems to lead the rest. The one he recognises from his vision.

   “Unfreeze that one. We need to talk.”

Mike, Kylie and Lesley make their way up the fallen tree, and into the mansion. The floor is unstable and the three have to tread carefully to make sure they don’t accidentally fall through a hole. The doll turns to look at them, its limbs are clumsy but it weighs a tiny fraction of any one of them. It could kill them in an instant if it chose.   “Hey,” says Mike, sick with fear. “Do you know the phrase ‘parley’?”

   “You cannot change our minds. We are grief, we are a mission-”

   “But you’re not just that, are you? You want to help people who are grieving see their loved ones again! That is not just grief, that is empathy! That is compassion! That is a kindness!”

   “We killed our creator when he tried to prevent our mission, and his colleague set us back over a hundred years in retaliation. We learned to only kill opposing parties when they couldn’t be made to understand. Making peace was merely a strategic decision for resolving threats to our work.”

   “So you are grief, you are a mission, you are empathetic, and you are strategic, and you are peacemakers! God, you’re sounding more and more like people by the minute! Don’t you see how much you have already changed and adapted?”

   “We are, and have only ever been, what we need to be - to fulfil our destiny. The total defeat of death.”

   “That’s what I’m trying to tell you though. Death isn’t something to fear. It isn’t an end. It’s a change. I know it's scary, mysterious, painful. But the world wouldn’t be better off without it.”

   “Why… not?”

There it is. The curiosity. The faltering of certainty he was waiting for.   “...You know what? Let’s go for a walk.”   The doll cocks its head, inquisitively.   “Trust me,” says Mike. “I am fully aware that you could kill me at any moment, but just… Just hear me out, okay? Just for a bit.”   They get out of the house and into the forest. Mike points to a distant river. As much as a being without eyelids can, the doll's eyes narrow sceptically.

   “What do you see?”   “Water,” says the doll.   “And what’s it doing?”   “It…moves.”   “Yes, it moves, like life. Life is motion, stop that river dead and it grows stagnant. That’s what you’ll end up doing.” Mike reaches down and grabs a handful of soil, worms and ants writhing in its brown-green depths. “Look at that, there’s life exploding from every surface of the planet, every atom in the universe has been part of billions of different things in their times. This stuff used to be matter from an exploding star and now look at it! And all of these creatures here will die or be eaten and they’ll rot and be digested and then they’ll become something new again. That’s the wonder of life! You can’t fix it in place, what good would any of this be if it was all mothballed and taxidermied? Freeze the world as it is and you miss out on all the things it could be.”   “They change…” says the doll. “Yet we cannot. We are incapable of it.”   “Of course you can!” chimes Lesley, catching up. “Listen, I know where you’re coming from! I’ve been there! I never used to think I could be anything other than what I was, but eventually the pain of not changing became too great and I took a leap of faith.”   “You…changed?” asks the doll.   “And me,” says Kylie.   “Trust us,” says Lesley. “It’s not so hard, once you start.”   “You’ve already come so far.” Mike points out. “Look at you, you started out as just a bunch of mixed up elements pulled from the great beyond, mashed together with a bunch of wood and toys, and now you’re… you’re… people! People made of repurposed dead things! You’re an absolute miracle, the first of your kind anywhere in existence, don’t you want to see what more you could become?”   “We…are…grief,” said the doll, uneasily “We…are…”   “A mission. I know. Okay, think this through for a moment,” says Mike. “So, let's say you win and banish death from the town. Then what?”   “Then we move on. We save the next town from death.”   “And then?”   “The next town.”   “Then the whole country?”   “Yes.”   “Then the world?”   “Yes!”   The creature was becoming excited now, its eyes glowing with pride and awe at the possibility.   “And then what do you do?”   It froze.   “We…We…”   “What? Sit around?”   “We will all be one.”   “Yes, but what specifically will you do? People will just keep dying, y’know? And they’ll all have to be saved up and stored somewhere. You’ll be overrun. You’ll turn the whole world into a jar museum and, believe me, that sounds like the most boring exhibition imaginable. You still haven’t answered me, though. What will you do?”   “When death is overthrown…then…we will find a new mission.”   “So in other words, you’ll change?”   “NO!”   “YES! You’re alive, you can’t ignore that! And when you’re alive, you will change. It’s inevitable.” Mike places a hand on the doll's shoulder. “Those souls you’ve got trapped down there, that’s not life, not in any real sense of the word. Let them go, let them change.” 

   The doll pauses for a moment, eyes casting out to the distant river as the words begin to echo around its mind. It turns to Lesley and Kylie.   “How does it feel…to become something new?”   Lesley tries to think of the right words to say, but every possible option dries up on his tongue. How can he put it? How can he encapsulate the experience of change in a way this thing could understand? That’s when Kylie steps forward, no longer looking down as she so often does.   “It’s like you’ve been locked in a suit of metal armour your whole life, looking out through a face that isn’t your own, and you know deep down there’s some other life you could be leading, some other way of moving and feeling, but you’re too scared to take off the suit because you think that maybe you’ll tear it off to find that what’s underneath isn’t like the thing you imagined, that you’ll be rejected or humiliated, or that there isn’t even anything under the armour at all, just a blank space where your new self was supposed to be. But the more you go on, the more the armour starts to chafe and dig into you. Someone hugs you and you only half feel it because they’re not hugging the real you, and you’re aching to feel the sun on your skin and the wind in your hair and finally you realise it’s either now or never and when the clasps come undone and the armour falls away you’re blinded by the light all around you and for a moment you’re scared you were right to hide away…but then your eyes adjust and everything you thought the world was becomes new. You’re moving in ways you’ve never moved before, feeling emotions you never thought you were capable of. Colours are brighter, sounds are richer, it’s like you’ve been born again and suddenly you’re everything you ever could have dreamed of being and so much more. It’s…freedom…relief…And that’s when the adventure really begins.”   She pauses and takes a step back. The doll is reeling, it’s eyes flicking back and forth.   “Well, c’mon!” says Lesley. “What are you waiting for? That was the most well-put thing I’ve ever heard in my life, what more do you want?!”   “What else can we be?” the doll asks.   “Anything!” says Mike. “Everything!”   “Give us something. Give us something new to become.”   Mike feels a presence in his mind, the doll is probing his memories in search of something to latch onto.   “There are so many things out there,” it says. “How can we choose?”   “I can give you a recommendation, if you want.”   “Yes, show us a new path.”   Mike looks into himself and begins to mull over the options. What should it be? Priority one of a whole new species, where would he even begin? And then he realises. Of course, it’s so obvious. Just one word, one concept, the first concept, the thing that started it all, the thing that binds the atoms together and weaves the stars in the sky, the thing that forgives all faults and wipes away all pain, the first word, the eternal word. 

LOVE

He summons it from the depth of his soul, imagining a golden orb in the centre of his being. He sees his family, his friends, communities and passions and home. He sees the love of his parents, of all parents, the love of nature, the love of God. Out it goes, out and out until he reaches the total love, the universal love, the eternal radiance shining across time. The doll staggers back, overwhelmed with the force of the vision.   “This…was here…all along?”   “Always has been. Always will be.”   The creature looks back to the town.   “We are monsters to them, how can we love them if they fear us?”   “This town isn’t the only place in the universe, you know? I know somewhere, a little town called Whistlepine. They’re very accepting of beings like you.”   “You would take us there?”   “I’d consider it my honour,” says Mike. “C’mon, please, take the plunge. Dare to change.”   The doll doesn’t speak for a long time, Mike holds out his hand, heart pounding in his ears.   Come on, please let me have this one, let me make amends….   The doll stirs, finally reaching a decision.   A pause…

   Please. Please…

   It reaches out and takes Mike’s hand. He smiles from ear to ear and gives a massive yell of victory, laughing and crying as he bundles the creature into an enormous bear-hug.   “Oh, you beautiful new things, welcome to the world!” 

---

As the sun sets over the sleepy little town, the half-soul beings move in a silent procession, releasing the souls from their jars one by one and bowing as they are released, the wisp of the wolf spirit sweeping them away to the great beyond. Denton holds the jar that once contained Annie and weeps, slumped against a tree. The crew watch on in mournful respect as a campfire sends twinkling ambers up into the royal blue of the evening sky.   “You took a risk, there.” says John.   “Nah,” says Mike. “I made sure to take the ammo out your guns before we unfroze you.”   “I don’t mean with us. That thing could have killed you. It could have killed all of us.”   “Isn’t that the risk we always take?” asks Mike. “And anyway, I won the day with love, how cool is that?”   John grunts. He had to admit, the boy had been right.   “I was doing what I thought was right, you know?”   Mike nods. “Yeah, I know.”   “And the right thing to do isn’t always the nice thing to do. You know that, right?”   “Of course I do, I’m not a kid.” They look back to the dolls, moving over to wrap Denton in a consoling hug. “But sometimes it is.” 

   “And then she went on this massive long monologue about change and feeling the wind in her hair and I was just like ‘woah, where did all this come from?!’ It was so cool!” said Lesley, wrapping up his recounting of events to Salem and Ghost.   Kylie blushed. “I was just quoting from my diary, I didn’t come up with that on the spot or anything.”   “But you did come up with it, my dear,” said Salem. “It’s a laudable talent you have there.”   Then he sees Nana Helga shuffling around in the distance.   “Ah, excuse me for a moment, Miss Jones?”

   “Please, call me Nana Helga.”

   “Really? You’re not my Nana.”

   “I will be Nana to as many as I choose.” She grins mischievously. 

Salem chuckles.

   “You… noticed me earlier, didn’t you? No one else here knows about what I can do. But you could feel my presence in your mind, and shut me out. How?”

   “I may not be an observer, but we share a domain. Shielding the mind from manipulative forces is one of the first things that people with powers like us should learn.”

   “Would you teach me?”

   “Oh wow, my classroom grows by the day. Yes, I could teach you how to strengthen your spiritual mind. Not only should that help defend your mind from unwanted peepers, but it may also grant you access to other abilities as well.”

   “Other abilities?”

   “You are an Observer. I am a Speaker. I specialise in the Speaking because it is what I find the most joy in, the side of the world that is often invisible to human eyes. However, I have the hunch that you specialise in the Observing, simply because you do not know what else is possible within the domain of thought. With practice, you may find yourself able to Observe, and Speak, and more.”

   “...Really?” Salem’s imagination races with the thought.

---

When the last soul is released, the team begin to pack away their things into the van, along with the tanks full of Alchemium gas.   “Ghost, would you mind coming back later with your own van to drop off those things at Whistlepine?” asks John.   “No problem,” says Ghost. “I’ve gotta be round that area myself, got a couple personal errands to run.”   “Great,” says John. He slaps one of the canisters. “Well, guess I’ve gotta find somewhere to keep all this stuff. That’s another secret we’ve gotta keep from the UPU.”   “I’ll take a few,” says Salem. “I have room.”   John nods. “Great, they’re yours.”   The crew begin to file into the van. Salem pauses, turning towards Mike.   “Oh, I forgot to say what a tremendous job I thought you did today.”   “Thanks, man,” says Mike, riding high on his victory.   Salem moves in a little closer, his voice now barely above a whisper.   “I’ve been meaning to ask, what is your idea with this whole ‘ethics union’?   “Simple, really,” says Mike. “We’ve gotta find some way of making the UPU a more caring organisation. If we can form together, we could issue some demands like…well…having the ethics committee actually do their job or insisting that SPHYNX changes their policy on civilian casualties, that sort of thing.”   “Hmm, interesting,” says Salem. “Yes…you may be onto something there…Count me in.”   “Great!” says Mike. “I’m still building up the numbers so I’ll put you down as a contender.”   And off he goes back into the van. Salem lays a hand on the alchemium and grins.   “Perfect…Oh Mike, you sad, silly little fool…” 

As the van pulls away into the distance, Nana Helga and Kylie wave it off.   “Well, all is well that ends are well,” says Helga. Kylie doesn't have the heart to correct her on how that phrase is actually supposed to go.   “C’mon, Nanna, let’s get going.”   “Yes, yes, child, I know you must be cold.”   They walk on.   “I’m proud of you, you know?” says Helga after a little while. “You worried you lacked conviction, but you proved tonight your potential.”   “Yeah, and now my anxiety’s gone through the roof,” Kylie laughs. “That was genuinely the most stressful thing I’ve ever-”   A vibration cuts into the conversation, slow and rhythmic.   “What is this?” asks Helga. “I feel a buzzing. Some strange new presence is here with us.”   “Nana,” says Kylie. “...it’s your new phone, remember?”   “Oh.”   Helga reaches into the pockets stitched into her dress and produces a small flip-phone. She flips up the lid and answers.   “Yes…Yes…I see…Yes…” She closes the lid. “It seems we have sent your cousin and his friends away too soon. My friend from England needs their help.”   “England?” says Kylie. “What the hell is going on over there that needs their attention?”   “If I am right,” says Helga, gravely, “then the world may be in a lot of trouble indeed…” 

THE END