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beautifulbuckys · 2 years

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Speakeasy (Steve Rogers x Reader)

“I’m not villainizing your peers because they like to get drunk on the weekend, Mr. Rogers, I’m villainizing you and your peers because you use illegal practices to keep yourself in business.

“You better chose your next few words very carefully, sweets,”

Summary: When Tony Stark insists on hosting a themed party, you find yourself in the shoes of a 1920′s role with all the other Avengers. But what happens when you spot the Avenger you’d been harboring a crush on?

Warnings: Some swearing, intense conversations, some sexual moments but nothing smutty (just spicy!)

A/N: I refuse to write and read mafia fics, but I still somehow came up with this. Enjoy!

Tony Stark lived for dramatics.

Nobody who’s been in a 5-mile radius of the man is surprised. The list goes on with his over-the-top Iron Man suits, excentric galas, and Avengers-themed Pop-Tarts hitting the shelves. The Stark parties hosted what felt like every other week topped the list. More than once, without fail, he found an excuse to host parties. Infiltrated a Hydra base? It sounds like a party needs to be hosted! Bucky’s 106th birthday? The balloons are already inflated! Did Peter get an A on his AP Lang test? A cake has already been ordered.

Tony’s newest fascination has been themed parties. He’s only hosted one, yet it managed to be more extreme than Morgan’s last birthday party; you could’ve sworn you saw a real unicorn. As he put it, the theme was ‘Football’ themed, hosted in a timely fashion for the Super Bowl. It was the grandest Super Bowl party you’d ever attended. Tony insisted everyone wore team colors, much to many people’s dismay. Although it may come as a shock, Bruce and Peter weren’t the most enthused to attend a party about football.

Now, as the summer is winding down, he is planning another. The theme, you ask? He proudly announced it to be Roarin’ 20’s!

“Ladies and gents, I know you’re all so excited! I can see the passion behind Bucky’s cold, dead eyes!” Tony announced in front of the team. You were all seated around the orange curved couch Pepper purchased for the compound,

The silence amongst the team spoke volumes.

“I’m gonna vamp it up a bit! By tonight, Morgan should have dropped off individual letters to each of your rooms. You have 1 week to read the said letter and follow instructions varying on what you received. This party isn’t going to be the only thing modeled around the ’20s,” Tony winked.

After Tony’s small speech, you couldn’t help but feel a little curious. The personalized letter, delivered by Morgan? He must have gone above and beyond on these invitations. A lot of the team got up, leaving to go resume their business. Others stayed back. Sam was already sitting on the couch with Natasha, unpausing the cheesy romcom they started earlier. Steve hung back too, coincidentally he had just finished his workout when Tony called a team meeting. God did he look good!

“Are none of you curious about this personalized letter stuff?” Natasha shook her head, her red waves dancing as she did so. Sam also shook his head, eyes immediately returning to the flatscreen.

Steve sighed, lifting himself from the couch. “You know Tony and his insane theatrics,”

When you got your letter, you were overjoyed. As promised, Morgan knocked on the door. She was dressed in a bright yellow Princess Belle dress and pink fairy wings. Her bright smile shone like a thousand suns when she handed a metallic gold envelope with your name on it.

The second you shut the door, you ripped open the envelope. Inside, was a black piece of cardstock decorated with gold lines and other crazy details. Gold lettering described the overall setting of the party. Nothing you hadn’t been exposed to already. However, on the bottom, there was writing instructing you to look on the back. Curious, you turned the invitation around and began reading the small paragraphs on the back.

This party was also a role-play? We all had characters.

You? You were the “Hollywood Bombshell’, as Tony so kindly put it. The invite had a small paragraph explaining your character for the night. She loved playing hard to get, was extremely confident, and adored attention. She’d do anything in the world for it. Wonderful! In smaller writing, Tony noted that he’d be providing our wardrobe.

And provide he did.

The long, scarlet dress that just barely dragged on the floor was gorgeous. It was pure silk, with a large slit running up the left leg until your mid-thigh. The bodice was loose. 3-finger wide straps hung off your shoulders, creating a purposeful sag right where a small bit of cleevage appeared. All in all, it was gorgeous. Tony provided accessories, a matching set of gloves and pearl earrings accompanied the stunning silk. With the whold get up on, you felt like a hollywood bombshell. Natasha insisted on assisting you with hair in makeup under the ruse of ‘girls time’.

“I bet you’re hoping Steve will be the leading actor to your actress,” Natasha winked, helping create a beautiful red makeup look to match with your outfit. She was wearing a figure hugging black sequin gown. Her ruby colored hair was paired with a small black headband.

You playfully slap her on the shoulder, “And what are you, Cupid? I don’t think he wears a sexy black dress, Natasha,”

Natasha chuckles, grabbing your chin gently and tugging your face closer to hers. She was incredibly concentrated on finishing your pencil eyeliner. “You’re no expert on Cupid, then. Sexy sequins are in. Maybe Steve will be wearing a red tie to match yours! That would be so adorable,” Her smooth voice teased.

“With all this talk about Steve I’m starting to think you’re the one with a crush on him,”

The redhead giggled. “I have my own tall glass of super solider, sweetheart. I can barely handle Barnes. Blondie is all yours,” She commented while resting her hands. “All done. Go look in the mirror, let me know what you think. Hopefully you love it because Tony wants us downstairs in 10.”

You stand up, heading to the bathroom that is conjoined with your bedroom. “What is Bucky anyways?” Tony instructed everyone to not share their roles. Some people respecting the request. Those were the party poopers. Known as Sam, Steve, Pepper, and Wanda.

“He’s a speakeasy owner. Tony put him in a sexy stripey suit,”

You twirl in the mirror, admiring Natasha’s work. “Well Miss Jazz Singer, I guess we better get downstairs so I can see this suit for myself,” The two of you linked arms, leaving your room in it’s modern day glory and stepping into the elevator. Now? You’re no longer in modern times. You’re in the roaring 20’s! A few of the Avengers teased Tony for his commitment and dedication to the theme. You appreciated it. Sure, it was cheesy. Good thing you like cheese.

The main area of the compound was decked out. Sitting on an ivory colored table next to the bar was a gigantic champagne tower. It was nearly taller than Bucky and Steve stacked on top of each other. Gold and black were scattered around the large room, black chairs with gold cushions; golden bartop decorated with black roses. You make a mental note to ask Tony where on Earth he found black roses. Wanda was sitting at the bar with Bruce. The Sokovian was wearing a knee-length flapper dress. It was purple with small silver details scattered throughout the fabric. She also sported a pair of small black pumps and black fishnets. Overall, she looked good. Bruce had a simple white undershirt, which was stained. Suspenders accompanied the shirt, holding up his army green trousers.

“Well hello gorgeous,” You shouted, walking towards Wanda. Her attention switched from the martini glass in front of her to you. Her eyes glowed and a smile struck her face. Bruce turned around too, looking you up and down with wide eyes.

“Says you! You look gorgeous, what are you? A model? Because you look like one!” Wanda laughed as she spun around on the bar stool.

You smiled, seating yourself at the open stool next to Bruce. “As Tony put it, I’m a ‘hollywood bombshell’,” You used hand quotes to emphasize the exact role you were given. “Tony made me look like a million bucks, I’ll give him that.

You felt a hand on the back of your shoulder from behind the bar. “Ladies, ladies, I know we’re not straying away from our roles; are we?” Tony’s familiar playful tone spoke over the suddenly loud 1920’s music. You winced, realizing that was the task you were given. Simply follow your role. Do some improv. Have some fun!

“Of course not, Mr. Stark,” Bruce spoke up. Now that you were closer to him, you noticed more of his outfit. The weird stains on his tee shirt were oil stains. He was a mechanic. Wanda was a flapper. What the hell was Tony?

“That’s President Stark to you, commoner,” That answered your question right there. You laughed, excusing yourself from the bar. The room had filled up, many of the Avengers staff joined the team for these parties. The medical staff from the medical wing were here, as well as the secrataries Tony hired to answer PR emails.

As you scanned the room, you saw Natasha and Bucky tucked away in a dark corner. As Natasha promised, Bucky was wearing a brown suit with thin white vertical stripes. His long hair was gelled back, the white lights from the ceiling comically shining off of it. Scott was sitting with Cassie and Morgan, who were also dressed up. They were playing dolls, the only modern-ish looking things around the room. On the couch, Steve and Sam were sitting and passionately talking. Steve was waving his hands around while Sam laughed. However, Sam’s strong laughter stopped once he made eye contact with you. Taking it as a cue, you strutted up to the men.

“Hi boys,” You winked.

Sam winked back, dramatically raising his eyebrow. “Hello there gorgeous,” He had a small business card poking out of his simple brown jacket pocked. Gracefully, you bend down to retrieve a card. Sam Wilson, New York stock broker. How cute.

“Stock broker,” You say flirtasiously.

“Model?” Sam questioned.

“Actress,” Sam knodding approvingly, the corner of his lips lifting into a small charming smirk.

Steve was uncharacteristically silent. Usually during these events, he was chatting someones ear off. He insisted he wasn’t the biggest fan of the parties; yet he thought it was only polite to try to enjoy himself when they happed. You’d be a liar if you said Steve didn’t look sexy. His plain black suit jacket hugged his biceps generously. The tight mathcing pants didn’t leave much to the imagination. Steve’s pink lips were set in an intimidating frown. Like hell you’d let that scare you.

“Mind if I sit, gentlemen?” You asked.

“Feel free,” Sam stated.

Confidently, and before you could convince yourself otherwise, you plopped yourself into Steve’s lap. His face was etched with shock, but almost immediately fell back into his serious gaze. Sam nearly spit out the water he had been sipping on. Somehow, he stopped himself.

“I hope I’m not interuptting any business,” You combed your fingers through Steve’s hair. Like Bucky’s it also had gel. Not nearly as much, though. A few strands sat on his forehead, framing his beautiful face. Gently, you tug and twist on a few of the strands. “I’d hate to find myself in the middle of an important conversation,”

“Hardly,” Steve finally broke his silence. “We were just finishing up,”

“And what do you do, Mr. Rogers?” You take your hand and rest it underneath his chin, lifting it up so he is looking up at you. His striking blue eyes locked with yours in an instant.

He cleared his throat, “I run a few businesses,” His hand found the small of your back, thumb rubbing up and down the area gently.

“Define businesses. Mr. Banner down at the bar runs a car repair shop. Gorgeous Natasha over there is a jazz singer. Entertainment is big right now, I should know. Her date Mr. Barnes runs a speakeasy. Lots of sketchy characters there,”

“I’m very familiar with Mr. Barnes’ speakeasy,” Steve growled. His large hand came resting on your thigh. Agressively, he played with the flesh. Before you knew it, there were red marks where his hand had rested mere moments before. “I’m one of the sketchy characters you’re speakin’ about, sweets,”

Despite your characters confident facade, you struggled to keep up with it. Your overwhelming crush on Steve was making this interaction incredibly difficult. You could feel the raging heat on your cheeks. You couldn’t mistake the fluttery butterflies that occupied your stomach. Tony had been roaming around the party, waiting for people to break character. Like hell you were going to be caught. Who knows, maybe this could be your shot! Maybe this is the chance you’ve been waiting for to make a move on Steve. You’ve found yourself shy nearly every other opportunity you’ve gotten. Normally, you got cold feet and ran out of the room. The amount of times Natasha has had to cover for you is getting embarrassing.

“And sketchy you are. Those damn bars are illegal, now isn’t the time to be fumbling with the law,”

Steve chucked darkly, “Oh don’t act like you’re all pure and innocent. Hollywood runs rampit with anything illegal. Your folks love that stuff,”

“My folks?” You urged him to continue.

“You heard me the first time, doll. Nobody in that industry is the Virgin Mary. Everyone has that one thing they’d do anything for. Don’t villainize my peers because they like a taste of scotch every once in a while,”

“I’m not villainizing your peers because they like to get drunk on the weekend, Mr. Rogers,” You find your hand back in his blonde locks, twisting and tugging as you spoke. With this leverage, you pulled his hair to twist his head, exposing Steve’s ear. You decide to whisper, making the moment more intimate. “I’m villainizing you and your peers because you use illegal practices to keep yourself in business.

“You better chose your next few words very carefully, sweets,”

Steve Rogers was a mafia man. Golden boy, America’s solider, was a crime lord. And right now? You don’t mind.

“You’re gonna need to try harder than that if you want to shut me up,” The words spilled out of your mouth like milk out of a jug. The words were spoken as your confident, sexy actress character. Yet they hard truth to you. Not this false self someone else spun for you. Not the person gifted the silk red dress. You. You were speaking the truth you had held in for the longest time. The confession, though veiled by flirtatious banter, was transparent.

And Steve Rogers did exactly that. He leaned forward into your lips. His hands found their place on your hips, as yours found a place in his hair. Passionately, he kissed you. His lips violated yours sinfully, in a way that Jeuss Christ himself would need to turn his back from. But you didn’t care.

Breaking the kiss, Steve Rogers only said one thing.

“The only illegal things I’m doing tonight are the things I’m going to do to you,”

And you’d be damned if you stopped him.

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headphones-ct-09978 · 2 months

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Roarin' 20s (One-shot)

I had this song stuck in my head and it gave me an idea for a fic. It's a one shot, so it's not gonna be, like, great. 😂

Summary: It's been a long while since Gregor even had time for leave. After returning to the battle once he recovered from his amnesia and injuries, he was allowed 2 weeks leave. Gregor finds himself on Coruscant and decides to check out 79s. That's when he sees a familiar face among a few of the 501st.

Characters: Gregor, Fives, Echo, Rex, Wolffe, Kix, Headphones (OC), brief mention of Hunter Bad batch.

Warnings: None. Just fluff.

Note: My OC is a clone experiment with a different donor and DNA. She's in NO WAY related to the Clones in the grand army of the republic. Okay? ok.

Tags: @the-lore-mistress @lifeofroos @clonelovr

.The din of music and boisterous conversation met Gregor's ears as he stepped into the bar. The atmosphere was definitely a shift from the battle field, instead of blaster fire and explosions, there was the clinking of glasses and the laughter of his brethren. As his memories started coming back, apparently he came here once or twice to celebrate his victories.

"Whoops! Eheh, sorry!" he said as a pair of twi'lekk ladies bumped into him as they hurried towards the dance floor. He didn't know why, but this environment made him anxious, a feeling which should have been preposterous considering the things he had encountered, which were nothing at all like this.Perhaps it was the loud music or the unfamiliar feeling of wearing civi clothes, but he was feeling uncharacteristically out of place. The neon lights and smell of alcohol and food gave his senses a bit of a jolt as he ran his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath to steady himself, he made his way towards a seat at the bar, sliding himself onto the seat. As he did, one of the bartenders, a redheaded young lady with striking green eyes and a pleasant smile, greeted him and asked what he wanted. Gregor flashed her his best charming smile, and just requested a shot of the best the place had to offer. She nodded and slid a shot glass towards him, before grabbing a bottle filled with a glowing magenta liquid and poured it into the glass. When she did, a wave of a fruity aroma wafted towards him from the glass. Gregor tentatively picked up the shot glass and lifted it towards his nose, sniffing the contents. "Huh. Not bad." he said to himself before placing the rim of the glass to his parted lips, and tilting his head back, knocking back the shot. He immediately started coughing as the syrupy, sickly sweet drink made it's way down his throat. Once he regained his composure, he rethought his decision and requested a thing of ale. Simple and certainly not as expensive. As he sat there, he looked around, taking in the place. He watched as a crowd had gathered around a table, cheering and wagering as two clone officers in grey uniforms competed in an intense arm wrestling competition. The competition ended when the clone with a heart tattooed on his wrist slammed down his opponent's hand, winning triumphantly. His victory was met with exclamations and miffed curses of defeat as bets were lost. Gregor chuckled into his cup at the sight. At least these guys knew how to still have fun. Something Gregor was slowly relearning.

Gregor was thinking about calling it a night, when the doors to the bar flung open and everyone started cheering and applauding. From what Gregor could gather, from what the crowd was cheering to what he heard from the bartenders as they spoke to one another, the 501st had secured yet another victory for the Republic. Another major base was taken back and a city liberated. Gregor smiled with pride, more than happy to hear that all hope was not lost.

He was about to finish his drink when he heard a familiar voice call out, "A round of drinks for everyone!!!" followed by even more cheering and excited hollering. Gregor's heart missed a beat as he gasped, causing him to choke on his ale. Once he regained composure, he looked up with a shocked, almost baffled look on his face. "Zaria?!"

It had been a rough mission, but luckily the boys and I pulled it off. Had it not been for Fives' split second improvising, we'd all have been vaporized. But thankfully it worked out and it was another victory added to our three year streak. To celebrate, we decided to spend our first night off at, naturally, 79s. The familiar sounds and chaos helped me relax. Thankfully everyone was loud enough that I could hear everyone through my headset without having to turn the comm on. As soon as we stepped foot into the bar, our arrival was met with a warm welcome and grateful civilians, and proud brethren. The unmistakable blue and white armor was almost always met with joy and pride.

However, I was mostly recognized for being a regular to the bar. I may have on armor, but most saw my black armor had no idea how to react. They were used to seeing clones, all the same. While I was a clone, I wasn't one of *them*. I was an oddity, a curiosity, a mystery. Or just a small lady with black hair and a pair of headphones almost always on my head. Heck, the boys called me "Headphones" affectionately due to having to have these things on. All part of the Kaminoan-experiment-gone-wrong gig.

After I made my gracious offer to buy the entire place a round of drinks, I headed towards the latrine to fix myself up a bit.

When I entered the ladies room, those who were in it took one look at me, giggled, said something in a language I was not familiar with, and left. Once alone, I sighed and gripped the edge of one of the sinks. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw my exhausted reflection, dark circles under my dark eyes, and a fresh gash splitting my right eyebrow. Kix did his best to stitch it up, but it still looked bad and hurt like a bitch.

I turned on the water and cupped by hand under the cold, crisp water, humming to the music that was playing outside. I splashed my face, feeling the cool water calm my shot nerves. I winced as water soaked the gauze covering my wound and I hissed. I quickly grabbed the bandanna I had tied around my neck. I snorted when I remembered who I stole it from. The red fabric was warm in my hands and the small white skull on it grinned back at me, privy to my prank. It had already been a month and a half since I saw that elite squad Commander Cody had me work with, but the man with the tattooed face was definitely someone I would not forget. I smirked as I used that bandanna to dry my face and tie my hair back. With a deep breath, I walked out, unaware that I was in for a surprise.

"Wolffe, I'll pay you thirty credits if you finally ask Headphones to dance!" Fives was determined to win this bet. Sixty credits were on the line and he needed the money. Commander Wolffe regarded Fives with a cold glare, a look made a hundred times colder with his cyber-kinetic eye, the silver-white iris and pupil keeping the ARC trooper glued to his spot. "I told you, I'm not going to do that. I don't dance and I just want to enjoy my drink and cards in peace." he snarled, already a little buzzed after his third ale. Captain Rex, who was at the table, playing cards with Wolffe, chuckled. "Thirty credits is a generous offer, especially coming from Fives." Fives made a mock gasping sound, placing his hand against his chest as if offended. "Captain! How could you?? You know well I'm very generous!"

"Oh yeah? Where's the fourth credits you still owe me? You lost that last bet about three months ago and I haven't seen a crumb of payment from you," Rex said before taking a swig of his drink.

"You know what, fine. Fine! I still think that was a coincidence, but fair is fair." Fives handed Rex the credits. "Consider my debt paid in full." he said. When he looked up and spotted Headphones, Fives grabbed Wolffe's shoulders and shook him a bit, pointing frantically. "Here she comes!! Come on, man!" Wolffe made a sound that could only be described as growling before putting his cards face down on the table and fishing through his pocket and practically chuckled a handful of credits at Fives. "Kriffing hell, here!! Go! Leave me alone! Consider you bet won! Now can you leave me in peace?!" Fives pocketed the credits and gave Wolffe and Rex a playful salute. "Nice doing business with you gents!" he said before heading off to no doubt pester Echo and buy him a drink or two.

Gregor waded through the crowd, looking around frantically for the source of that familiar voice, one he had been positive he'd never hear again. Then, just as he was nearing the dance floor, someone ran into him, earning an "oof!" from him. He looked down and his brown eyes widened as a familiar young lady started apologizing. "I'm so sorry!! I didn't see you the-" the words on her tongue died instantly as she looked up at him, her own eyes growing wide as moons in shock. "It....no..." she stammered out. Gregor blinked and nodded. "Yep. It is."

Before he could react, Zaria wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. Gregor giggled. "Sweetheart, you're crushing my ribs! I need those!" he said, his voice cracking a little, a little side effect from the injuries he sustained.

Without warning, she let him go, got on her tippy toes, reached up, and cupped his face in her hands and bring his face down to meet hers, squishing his face in the process. "WHERE.HAVE.YOU.BEEN?!" she said sternly, sounding almost angry. He didn't blame her since he had been missing for who knows how long. "Eem showwy. Shith goff coflicathed." Gregor managed to say while his face was being squished. Zaria stared into his eyes for a good long while, as if trying to read his soul, before her own eyes flooded with tears. She let go of his face and hugged him again. "I thought you were....." she couldn't finish the sentence as a hiccuped sob escaped her. She buried her face in his chest and he silently thanked the stars for his decision to wear civilian clothes rather than his hard and battered armor. He placed his hand on the top of her head. "It's alright, sweet girl. I couldn't break my promise, now could I?"

He gently placed his hands on her shoulders as she released him, wiping her tears away. She sniffled and let out a little laugh. "What promise?" "I believe I owe you a dance?" As if planned, Zaria's favorite song started to play and she looked up at the speakers in shock. From the other side of the bar, a clone in ARC trooper gear and a slick beard, winked at Zaria. "You're welcome, Headphones!!!" he called out while another clone with a blue hand print of his breastplate carefully took the cup from his brother's hand.

Zaria waved at them before grabbing Gregor's hand and tugging him towards the dance floor. "Oy!!" he exclaimed before giggling and he was practically dragged to the dance floor.

Wolffe had lost the card game to Rex (again) so he decided to call it a night. He was about to leave when he noticed a crowd gathered on the dance floor, hyping up someone. He looked around and saw Headphones dancing with a clone dressed in black civilian clothes. Wolffe watched for a brief second before paying his and Rex's tab and leaving 79s.

-end-

#captain gregor #captain rex #Clonewars #Clones #79s clone bar #arc trooper fives #arc trooper echo #One-shot #Fluff #comfort #commander wolffe #starwars #star wars #Spotify

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moonyinpisces · 9 months

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some snippets from my good omens roarin 20s smut fic that i’m writing while i procrastinate chapter 2 of my pinned s3 fic <3 such is the life of a scholar

#most of chapter 2 is written okay it’s just not very good!!#good omens #ineffable husbands #azcrow #good omens fic #smut #moonyinpisces writes

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spopsalt · 2 months

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About your most post with Alastor and him, for some reason, knowing modern slang, I wanna make a tiny correction: he's from the 20s to 30s, not the 90s (unless Viv changed it, but if she did, that is the dumbest thing ever *cough*)

Which makes him knowing modern slang even worse...

"Tea" is from the 90s, so if he was from that era, he could have theoretically known and used that phrase... But the 20s-30s? Literally little to no excuse 💀

I need this Prohibition-era, Roarin' 20s, Southern man to say shit like "bee's knees" and silly 20s phrases like that!

I think one of the only phrases I can think of from that era that has been popular in more recent years is "beef"? (Might be wrong or mixing smth up, but I believe I recall seeing it on many sites with 20s phrases)

Huh last time I checked it said 90s, but of course I could be wrong, and yeah I wish he used more old slang instead of modern slang like???? Would it kill them to research some slang or fashion trends from the period??? I don't get it.

#hazbin hotel critic #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique #hazbin hotel critism #hazbin hotel critical

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wickedsrest-rp · 4 months

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Ghost Tours (3D) || Group Thread

TIMING: Current PARTIES: Inge, Nora, Jonas, Archie, and Helene SUMMARY: A fun ghost tour turns ghastly when the guide is revealed to be more than anyone expects. As the tour group is decimated in service of a mysterious entity, survivors are left wondering what they have just seen, and what is to come.

Dirty gray buildings lined what used to be a scenic little cobblestone road. The old maple tree that used to sit proudly at the end of the road was long gone and replaced by cold concrete. It was a shame, Helene decided, that a living relic of the past that could have survived turned into a park bench littered with obnoxiously colored bags. It was a small kindness that her feet made no sound or that she couldn’t really feel the ground at all. She had always loved the sound of the leaves crunching under her boots. There may have been a stray vibrant red leaf still left on the tree this late in the season, but most of them would have turned a shade of rust and fallen to the ground.

She rounded the corner anyway though the path remained largely unfamiliar to Helene. It had been a month now, she believed, and she was so close to having delivered her end of the bargain. She didn’t like to remember Wicked’s Rest this way, as it was now. This wasn’t her home and the wear on the buildings as they approached the part of town called Worm Row indicated that it hadn’t been for quite some time. The path she followed was the only she knew of the abnormality. Someone on one of the tours commented that the drive they were walking down now was private land, but it was long abandoned. The one shed she could make out at the end of shades of slate never showed even a flicker of light or life.

The group chattered absently behind her as they finally reached a small shack of a house labeled ‘historic’ by the town. This was admittedly Helene’s favorite story of the tour, one she got to tell with a wicked glint in her eyes because the Farfoots had gotten what was coming to them. “This was once the home of an author named Madison Farfoot. He was a boisterous man,” she narrated with a smirk playing at her translucent lips, “They call it the roarin’ 20s now and even by his own account, he was a loud man.”

Too loud, she remembered. His main home where he threw all his lavish parties had been taken by the flat some time long after his death, but his death had been here in this shack. Something about that delighted Helene. “His book The Rest Way Home went on to become a bestseller, though that was posthumously, but their land had a rich history.”

The land had been her family’s once, after all, but betrayal had much more dire consequences in a place like Wicked’s Rest. Helene didn’t worry much about that herself. She’d been long dead, long trapped under the black darkness of the abnormality. After tonight, she could feel something besides the earth and rocks one last time before going to live out the rest of her numbered days far away from the town that was as wretched as its name suggested.

Perhaps she was a little wretched, too, leading her last group of patrons closer and closer to the abnormality. They would be taken under it too. Helene had to think they’d understand once they’d lived it. Perhaps died it was more apt.

“The business deal that led to the Farfoot family acquiring the land that once went all the way out toward the mineral abnormality had been questionable to begin with. Handshake deals often are,” Helene recited, “But it was ultimately a squabble over inheritance that led to the end of the family line. Both brothers had very different ideas of what to do with the land. Madison wanted to build a hotel and shopping center, his brother Melvin wanted to farm tobacco believing it would be far more profitable.”

Their precious land belonged to the flat now too.

“The small house here was a den of sorts where Madison did much of his writing. Many today say they can still hear the sound of his typewriter in the darkest hours of the night.” She wondered if any knew or lived the strange anecdotes she would share over the rest of their tour. The small little evidence of phenomena that marred the path to the flat. “Keep close,” she advised with a falsely cautionary smile that gave some air of caring what happened to the living who uglied her town with metal and gray walls, “The hour is approaching twenty two hundred.” She turned back to the crowd, looking up at them from above her brow bone in a way she knew could chill. Scaring them wasn’t actually part of her bargain, that was more for entertainment value. “The hungriest hour of the night.”

—

Wasn’t there something ironic about it, going on a ghost tour when you were undead yourself? Sometimes she almost felt like a ghost herself, or at least those past versions of who she was. Ingeborg de Jong had been a young girl, raised in a country reeling from past war, the middle of five children of whom only four would live to adulthood. That had been a different girl, a different woman, a different wife — and though Inge might pretend she was gone and someone different, she remained.

Like a ghost in the lives of her siblings, of her ex-husband, of her former friends. Not dead, not really, but not there either.

Ingeborg Endeman was hardly a ghost. She was delightfully undead, but as present as any alive being was — and though she might flit from one plane to the other, and though she might haunt like some ghosts did, she thought herself more whole. Still! She felt a pull towards those fellow creatures that existed between the blurred line of alive and dead, and that was maybe why she was here. Enthralled by their tour guide, more keen to listen to her stories than to focus on her surroundings too much.

Worm Row, was, as neighborhoods went, a bad luck charm after all. The indent on her arm, where a piece of flesh was and would forever be missing after her altercation with that zombie. The presence of a Cortez hunter. The sheer threat that hung in the air. That last one didn’t scare her the way it would have scared her former, mortal self, though.

Her eyes moved across the people on the tour with her, a smile spared to the girl who could cast illusions. Was she here for inspiration as well? Inge moved nearer to her, eyes glued to Helene again. “Do you intent to cause some havoc tonight?” It was asked with a level of excitement, because it would be glorious, if the tiny thing was to explode in some kind of ghostly phenomenon and scare all those present.

She listened to the story, too, amused by the way Helene spoke of the late hour, glancing at the small house, “And how did their family line come to an end, exactly?” That was the story Inge was more intrigued by — she was well aware that the night was the time where the monsters came out. It was when she was at her strongest, when she could appear and disappear at will and haunt any person’s dreams and transform herself into something monstrous, stronger and more terrifying than her boring, mortal-seeming form. No, she wanted to hear about a story of what she hoped was fratricide, eyes gleaming as she hungered for a dramatic tale.

—

Were he a being capable of critical thought, maybe Archie would be able to stop and wonder why he hung onto every word of Helene's. Maybe he would be able to notice that in any other circumstances, this would bore him to death. But Archie was never the smart one, never a man of details, and Leon made no appearances here to guide his brother down a realistic (more like deeply pessimistic) path.

However, as much as Archie was stuck in Helene's stories, he retained almost none of the information, flying in one ear and out the other at twice the speed. And yet, he didn't wander off like he would if his will was his own. What truly caught his attention, was Inge's morbidity. Despite having met death, the concept of it feels so far removed from him. It was easy to remove himself from it, after all, he spent every moment he could pretending to be something he wasn't: a beating heart. "Ooo!" He exclaimed, almost cutting off Inge's words. "Yeah, how did they die? Was it like one of those old-timey shoot outs? Did they have guns back then?"

Helene's smile sent a shiver down his spine. Archie isn't sure if he'd felt such a sensation since coming back wrong. He laughed, nervous but with enough energy to attempt to mask it. "When are we gonna see some spooky shit?" He asked, not aware of what he was really asking for. "You know, you should definitely sell booze here. Drunk people are way easier to scare." He chuckled, then he turned to Inge, leaning in close to whisper. "You don't have anything for us on you, do ya?"

—

Jonas had dealt with many ghosts in his time, but having one lead a tour was definitely a first. Normal ghosts did not possess enough power to be projecting themselves in front of a small crowd while talking, what was even more strange was the fact that he wasn’t the only one who could hear her. Or at least that was what he was gathering from the reactions of his tour group members. It was hard to keep track of that many lips, it didn’t help that he was in the back of the group. He fiddled with his cardigan as he tried his best to keep up with the conversations. He should have gotten Lil to come along.

Still his focus was the ghost more than those walking with him. Jonas had come with the intent to help her move on, but he hadn’t wanted to interrupt the tour and make a show in front of everyone as he suddenly made their tour guide disappear. He also thought that perhaps if the ghost got to show off she would be more amicable to his desire to help her move on. Though her level of power was a bit worrying. Normally only poltergeists were so strong.

Jonas wasn’t affected by ghost stories the same where others were. He had been talking to ghosts since he could form words so no fear was held for them only pity. “I hope Madison is not still there trying to type.” He mumbled out. Blue huffed a little at her boy, he couldn’t understand the conversations happening but she could and she was thinking these people were strange and that Jonas was focusing on the wrong thing.

—

There had been a rumbling in the graveyard about ghosts who didn’t know their places. Ghosts who could be seen by the mundane and not just the exceptional. Ghosts who would bring in a new age, destroy the living and put ghosts at their rightful place. At the top. The ghosts in this town were ambitious, Nora would give them that. Nora followed along the party, in the outskirts, hands shoved in her pocket where another ghost was nestled safely. Tied down by a hair tie and paper clip to stop him from making a scene. The group consisted of one woman she did know and then other people she didn’t know. But the woman she did know was a question, because Nora was curious to see if this fellow fear eater was here to help cause panic in any way necessary, going to help the living, or just in the right place at the right time.

“Someone should tell Madison no one wants to hear his typewriter at night.” Nora mumbled, shifting her gaze to look over their tour location. A man was joking with the professor about getting drunk to be easier to scare. For a brief second Nora allowed one of her illusionary monsters to flicker in his sight. In honor of it being a ghost tour, she recreated the man himself, dead and ghostly, approaching the man, arms outstretched before it disappeared into nothingness. Maybe that would be a good indication if he was drunk or not.

Another man seemed interested in the story and was talking about Madison’s typing as well. He didn’t want Maddison to type more. Nora, having never read any of Madison’s work, assumed it was because his stories were the worst ever read and that was how he obtained his posthumous fame. But Helene was talking about the hungriest hour and Nora’s stomach let out a large grumble that reminded her it’d been awhile since her last meal. Her pocket ham had run dried and now she was scraping by on scraps she could find around town. “Yeah, I am hungry.” Nora agreed. “Are you going to feed us?”

—

Much like the town, the people seemed to have taken a turn for the more agitating as well. Helene wondered if that was just the natural progression of time. She wasn’t sure she remembered what that was like, but she was certain her former acquaintances had the decency to retain their manners during a tour. Really, who raised these people? They knew nothing of manners or tact. It was easier that way. She supposed she might feel a thread of guilt if she were to find any of the tour-goers likable. They were a means to an end.

“There is a bar up the road we can stop at if you insist upon refreshments,” Helene relented with a roll of her eyes. The form she had been granted had been given its own allure of sorts, they wouldn’t go too far, but she still couldn’t risk them getting bored of her tour and running off all the same. She couldn’t bear another night trapped in this hellscape of a town she once called home. “I was not under the impression that food and beverage was customary on ghost tours,” she spoke with an air of indignance, “I am certain you will find the offerings at the 9/13 to be more than suitable.”

Not that Helene had tried anything there herself. Even if she was visible to the people of the town, her hands still passed through objects and the drinks they sold would do nothing to cure the sense of yearning she’d lived and died with all these years. The woman’s question made her perk up a bit. At least someone was interested in the spirit of the tour… though the fellow who wanted a drink wasn’t too far off. The scares would be there soon enough and surely there would be regret in having asked for them in the first place.

“Perceptive woman,” Helene turned to Inge with a pleased grin, “Most can’t resist a tale of family betrayals. The whole thing was rather bloody… yes, they had guns at the time, but their fight was far more gruesome.” She turned to the group with a wicked chortle. “Madison was something of a collector and fought his brother with an ax… curious choice of weapon, really though Melvin did have his hunting knives on him. Clearly… Madison was better equipped. The reports at the time said Melvin died with 22 ax marks decorating his corpse.” It sounded like Madison got out scot-free and she shook her head with a bit of delight. “Madison did take some stab wounds from his brother, though nothing quite so deep or fatal. It was infection of the wounds that led to his ‘untimely’ death.”

The only thing untimely about it was it hadn’t happened decades sooner, but Helene tried to tell the tale absent of her own tie to it. “The house is locked this time of day,” she looked at Jonas with a daring glance, “It is open during the day. I suppose you could listen for him then if you’d like.”

—

Archie and Nora prattled on about drink and food as if either of them really needed it to sustain themself. Inge found it amusing, eyes flicking between the two familiar faces and wondering how many of the others here were like them — supernatural. With Nora’s skills, they could create their own ghost story here, after all. She leaned towards Archie, shaking her head, “I don’t, no. Carrying a flask around is a little bit gauche.” He had a point, though: inebriated people were easier to scare. Their dreams were more chaotic, too.

She raised her voice, “It’s fine. We can grab a bite after,” Inge said, glancing at the tiny bugbear with a look of amusement. If she was hungry, she could use her illusions to scare the living daylights out of everyone around them. She’d like to see it. For now, though, she wanted this Helene to answer her questions and explain why this place was allegedly haunted.

And on she went, lifting the veil and speaking of a family betrayal. Gruesome murder, a tale you might hear on a podcast hosted by men with grating voices who threw in a sponsor for beard oil in between speaking about gore-y actions. “Twenty two ax marks …” Inge found it easy enough to imagine what it must have looked like, but had to admit she was on Melvin’s side, here. Anyone who brandished an ax as a weapon was something she considered an annoying individual, if not possible hunter. The memory of Sanne’s beheading was far in her head, nagging. “So a slow but painful death? I suppose that’s what you get for instigating a fight like that, hm?” She looked at the house, then back at Helene. “Can’t you open it to us? Or is it … locked for our own ‘safety’?” She used air quotes around that lsat word.

—

"Maybe our good mate Madison is having a grand ol' time typin' away!" Archie suggested humorously to the faces he didn't recognise. "Who are we to get in the man's way–" The jovial zombie halted all of a sudden. What was once fluid movements and loose shoulders were quickly seized into a tense bundle of muscles. Leon's face appeared, but it wasn't his presence that stitched discomfort into his features. It was the un-Leon-ness of it all.

The ghost reached for him, wordlessly, arms outstretched. "What're you–" Archie mumbled as the ghost drew closer. Perhaps someone else would scream, maybe they'd take off running and wouldn't stop till their lungs were empty and stinging. Archie only moved his head back when those ghostly hands got too close. There was no horror on his face, only confusion when he blinked and Leon's face was gone. Archie looked over his shoulder, no awareness for how strange his movements might look to those who don't see what he saw. He cleared his throat, and the jovial zombie was back.

"I ain't been on a ghost tour before, ain't got the faintest clue what's customary." He dragged out the last word almost mockingly, a far too sophisticated choice of vocabulary for a man who didn't so much as pass secondary school. "Wait, twenty-two? Seriously? Damn. Savage. They really didn't like each other, huh…"

Features softened by laughter morph into confusion as he leaned closer to Inge again. "Did you just say gooch?" Confusion kept his brows furrowed, but Archie began to laugh again. "I feel like you're too much of a lady to say gooch at a ghost tour." He laughed again, the notion of Inge being an upstanding woman in society was plenty amusing.

"C'mon, Helene! You can't tell us it's spooky in there and then refuse to let us in! What, you forget your keys? 'Cause listen, I can get the door open. If none of you tell on me for a bit of light breaking and entering."

—-

Jonas was not one who was very big on going to bars. Normally when he drank it was over heart break and those nights always ended with him at home bent over a bucket. He was a little glad the woman in the front suggested skipping it. He didn't want ot show that side to some strangers, it would be a horrible first impression. Not that he was really here to get on their good sides, he tried to remind himself that he was here for the ghost and what she needed. Though that didn't stop him from going through his many pouches and pulling out a packet of skittles along with a packet of peanuts and offering them to the younger woman in the group. “If you are hungry you are more than welcomed to have these.”

“If it is closed we should leave it till morning.” Jonas was used to a little breaking and entering but that was usually done when a client forgot to give him their keys and normally it as Lil who did the deed. Though he did make a note to come back and help Madison move on. Even if he did something as horrible as killing his sibling he was a danger to people if left alone especially if he carried anger still towards his brother.

It wasn't the first time he heard of siblings doing horrible things to one another, but it was always a little hard for him to understand why. Perhaps it was his closeness to his own siblings that made the thought of someone else killing theirs something he just couldn't wrap his mind around. Sure, sometimes siblings had disagreements but it was never something to get violent over.

—

The scare got a little frightened reaction, but it wasn’t as deep and wonderful as Nora had wanted. However, she was rewarded with a bag of peanuts. Which was a very bad reward, but Nora was a homeless young adult who, now that Emilio’s house was sludged, didn’t have access to a steady kitchen. Nora gobbled down the bag in one giant swallow, shoving the plastic bag into one of her many pockets. She’d tuned out of most of the conversation until the topic of breaking and entering entered the discussion.

“We don’t even have to mess with the locks.” Nora was good at locks, but locks weren’t the only way of getting into buildings. Nora looked down at the ground around them until she found a suitably big garden rock. “Oh no,” Nora dead panned, making direct eye contact with the ghost who told them they were not allowed to enter the house at this time of day. “My hand slipped.” The rock soared out of her hand and shattered the glass to the nearest window. “Looks like we’ll have to go in and clean up.”

—

The moment was approaching. As Helene watched the group banter and make suggestions about entering the house, a mixture of frustration and amusement danced behind her old eyes. She hadn't anticipated this level of eagerness to break in. Something like jealousy flashed through her. Oh, to be able to revel in such chaos like these simpletons. She was long past the point of such earthly emotional pleasures, but her time would come soon. "Breaking and entering was never part of the tour package," she chided, a wry smile on her face. "I'm afraid you'll have to content yourselves with the stories for now. The locks are for your safety as much as for the preservation of this... historical site."

And then came the rock. Helene felt the hour in her insubstantial bones, and she was determined to make this work. So what if they didn’t follow the script. She would flip it in her favor. “You’re right, child. Go in, go clean. In fact, why don’t we all get a long look at the history hidden away inside? You might even become part of it, part of this town forever.” A sudden cold gust of wind swept through the area, rustling the leaves, but sending not a shiver down Helene’s spine. Her form flickered momentarily, transparent figure wavering in the breeze. Now. It had to be now.

A subtle shift in the air signaled the impending change. Could they feel it? Even mortals such as themselves had to be attuned to such great power on some level. It started as a faint shimmer, barely perceptible, then the earth rumbled, a fierce blue glow beaming from the cracks. And out poured the abnormality. It coated the ground, obsidian-like rock and blue crystals circling the group and the old house. The young man happened to be in the epicenter. The abnormality crept, enveloping and hardening around him in seconds, his screaming turning muffled and distant as he was sealed to the ground, to the town.

And Helene, for the first time in so many years, felt a surge of power run through her body, her real body. She floated from the ground, no longer caring to keep up the harmless charade, and the black and blue substance hardened in a lattice pattern around the remaining souls-to-be-trapped.

—

Inge was not immune to being swept up in the excitement and she found the prospect of breaking into an ancient house increasingly exciting. Of course, their host was against it and she huffed, “The stories would be embellished if we could actually properly go on site though, wouldn’t you say?” She wasn’t even sure if her words carried much weight, as they were with plenty and there was enough being said.

Besides, she was quick to forget her words, quiet admiration for Nora spreading through her. She was an aspirational young thing, that one. Much more skilled and clever than Inge had been at that age, decisive in a way that made actual moves. The window shattered and it seemed something else shattered with it. The notion that all this was just a ghost tour — as if there was such a thing in a town like this, where two undead were part of the clientele and a bugbear was causing a havoc. There was something strange about Helene’s words, something strange about the air and she wondered, for a moment, if she should be thrilled or wary.

There it was: the earth seemed to be shattering next, pouring out that goo she’d been avoiding, the crystals she’d up until now managed to not touch. Hasty boots jumped back, tip-tapping until she found a clear spot — but her eyes soon fell on Archie, who had not been so lucky. “No —” Inge was surprised by the exclamation that fell from her lips, her proximity to Archie rather shallow, but still. He was good company and undead like her, and she very much disliked hearing his screams, nay, his cries.

Helene was rising and she supposed it was time to be wary, or even better, time to run. Inge had never been much of a hero and preferred to run from the fights she got into, and that was what she intended to do now. But a strange woman was stumbling, grabbing her arm for balance and she was stuck, unable to reach her darling astral. “Let go of me you –” She busied herself with prying off the terrified hand on her coat, eyes flicking to Nora and the others around her. Despite her wariness, Inge wanted to know what was bound to happen next — call it her incessant need for inspiration, and stared daggers at Helene, “What is this?”

—

Jonas felt his breath hitch in his throat as the rock flew through the window. He frowned, turning to say something to the girl next to him when the ground began to shake as Blue wrapped herself around him. The dog began to growl as the ghostly figure ascended to the sky. Others in the party were panicking and the young man who started the conversation about breaking and entering ended up engulfed by the abnormality. Jonas’ hand went to his mouth and he gasped at the sight. He had avoided the goo rather successfully until now, his only run in was when he went with Lil to see if he could talk to other ghosts about what was happening, that was how he learned of this tour in the first place.

His hands gripped Blue’s fur as he tried to refocus on the now. It wasn’t his first time in a dangerous situation made by a ghost, it wasn’t his first time seeing someone die either which wasn’t a very pleasant thought. He looked up at Helene, if she was a poltergeist, as everything was now suggesting, then there was little Jonas could do. It would be better to focus on getting the other members out of whatever trap Helene had just forced them in. “She may not answer you. It would be best to get away for now.”

—

Pride swelled through Nora at the sound of the shattering glass. Pride that was quickly diminished as their ghost tour guide went wild with it. Nora didn’t understand, it was just a house, and Helene was a ghost, she didn’t need a house anymore. But rock was surrounding them, eating one of their numbers and capturing them. “No.” Nora reached into her deep pockets, pulling out a knife. She was tired of the geological abnormalities in this fucking town. Rocks weren’t supposed to take people away. “Give him back.” Her monotone was shifting into something emotional, something angry.

Knives didn’t work on most ghosts. Most ghosts couldn’t summon hordes of obsidian rocks to eat people. The others, unrecognizable faces, in the tour group were panicking. Sheep to the slaughter, doing nothing except cry and scream. Not a single one of them capable of fighting for their lives, except Inge, Nora knew. Call it the influence Cass was having on her, but Nora wasn’t going to let these people die because she broke a window. “GIVE. HIM. BACK.” Or he would always be the nameless man she’d gotten killed. Another death on her shoulder. A new sin.

Nora propelled herself on the shoulders of strangers, using them as a ladder to scale the slick rock wall. Emerging from the top Nora threw her body at the ghost, knife aimed to strike down through her neck. The knife slid through the ghost like air, quickly followed by Nora, tumbling onto the grass, winded from a rough landing. “Fuck.” It would have been so sick if that had landed.

—

A couple from the group were spirited, Helene would give them that. On another day, she might have enjoyed toying with them a bit, but this was her time, and the minutes spent dealing with these pests were the most valuable ones in her long, long afterlife. She would not let them take it from her. She brushed at her shoulder as if wiping off dirt, but of course, the child who leaped at her had just fallen right through. Helene took pleasure in the rough landing. “He’s gone now. There is no giving him back. He’s not just trapped, like the others. His life has been extinguished.” Helene looked at the older of the two of them. There was an inner strength to this one. Yet she was breaking, and that made pride swell within her ghostly chest. “It’s a ghost tour, dearie. You signed up for it. Didn’t you read the fine print on those waivers? We are not responsible for any harm that may come to you from the ghosts.” She cackled, like the old bat she was. That was enough of that.

The crystals poured up from the earth, mazelike and jagged, growing tall and dividing up the group. They were fish in a barrel now. The two troublemakers split from the cautious little boy and his dog, who were both split from the unruly, confused crowd she intended to lap up. “I will deal with you later,” she said, turning to the two who knew too much. Not that they seemed especially brilliant, but they weren’t terrified and suppliant like most. She found herself smiling at them, wicked and full of more life than any ghost should possess. How long had it been since she’d really felt such glee? If her turning away from them incensed them even more, well, she didn’t mind. They needed to learn their place – which was as nothing more than fodder for the Great One. But first, they needed to see how small and insignificant they really were. With a flick of her wrist, a small window formed within the tall crystal – just enough for the two to peer through and see what was about to become of the others on the tour.

She floated higher. She wouldn’t let that child take another leap at her during such a momentous occasion, and she wished to soar as high as she felt. Helene watched, the smile never leaving her face, as the crystals encircled and closed in on the clamoring crowd. An old woman, a father with his sons, a large family donning tourist shirts, a man who just looked like a lost tagalong. One by one, the goo spiraled around them, climbing up their legs. As the ooze hardened over their faces, their screaming was quick to die. Helene could feel the energy, the life, being siphoned away from them. A meaningful but meager portion was diverted to her, but the rest would be for the Great One. “Quiet at last,” she said, looking back at the two that remained. She didn’t bother checking on that little boy and his dog. They were no threat to her, and she’d had her fill.

But these two, she would relish giving over. “You two are plucky, aren’t you? Did you enjoy seeing all of those people die? It’s the crown jewel of the tour.”

—

There was a genuine look of horror on her face as she tried to process what had just occurred. Inge hadn’t thought the goo a problem for herself and her ilk, had assumed that the undead could not die again and properly by the ooze. She had assumed they’d get trapped, but that the lack of oxygen, water and food would not bother them — but Helene said his life was extinguished. (Maybe she didn’t know, what Archie was, maybe she didn’t know, about undead: but she was a ghost, and she seemed to know everything and Inge figured assuming the worst was wisest in a high stakes situation.)

Nora was angry, was jumping into action whereas Inge remained grounded and silent. It felt like a betrayal to all she knew, that Archie might be gone, truly and fully. She should go, but something tugged at her — and when she and the other were trapped by crystals she felt something dissatisfying: responsibility. She couldn’t leave Nora behind with this woman. Even if it would be so easy to disappear and reappear in the safety of her own home.

So she didn’t jump to the astral, not when the goo started forming around the rest of the tour’s crowd. Humans, all so very human and mortal in their existence — so very different from herself and Nora. Fear-eaters. Was the other getting her fill? Inge tried to search within herself and she wasn’t sure what she felt. It wasn’t horror. It wasn’t her usual intrigue, either. It was a kind of anger. She didn’t like it when the tables were turned on her, she didn’t like it when she was made watcher in stead of instigator. She did not enjoy their screams, because she wasn’t causing it — and though it didn’t quite break her heart, it didn’t sit well with her either. Especially in the case of the children.

There was no point to this. Her nightmares, those had a point and purpose. What she and Siobhan had done to Rhett, that had been for good reason — but this? This was plainly and simply stupid. Never mind what Helene’s motivations might be. Inge found she didn’t much care about the woman’s story: why she was dead to start with, how she managed all this. She cared most about her own back and also, surprisingly, about that of Nora. She was stoic and silent, slow to turn around and glower at the ghost. “It was a sight,” she said, her jaws clenched but her tone mostly controlled. “Seemed rather pointless to me.” Why kill so many? Death had never enticed her. She liked her nightmares and her art; she liked being alive, and those things were part of being alive. Decay and decease were ugly things, best avoided unless it was portrayed in dreams or paintings. She didn’t look at Archie. She couldn’t look at what had once been Archie. “Well. Then. Now that we’ve had the crown jewel, I reckon you’re finished?” Nothing to be done about those kids, those tourists, the little lady any more. Inge figured the next best thing was to run — but not alone. She looked at Nora, inquiring.

—

Knife didn’t work. Knife didn��t work. Knife didn’t work. The words ran through Nora’s head over and over again. A constant and unhelpful barrage. What was the point of all this training? The late nights of work if the knife didn’t work? Knife didn’t work. Stop it. Stop. It. Nora’s fingernails dug into the palm of hands, gripping hard enough to feel the skin break away and small pricks of blood pool under her grimey nails. She would just have to accept that knife didn’t work. Sometimes you can't help everyone. Sometimes you need to stop obsessing and think. Think. But how could she think? People were dying, people who hadn’t done anything. Nora’s breath was hitched in her chest, memories flashing over her, the hunter’s head rolling on the ground, her knife in Debbie’s chest, now this. Knife needed to work.

Inge was next to Nora, as Nora stood up and brushed her clothes off. A useless activity, considering they were already coated in a thick layer of dirt since before the tour. Truly, what were a few more falls in the dirt at this point? “You need a new crown jewel.” Nora snapped back at Helene. Her fingers reached into her jacket, shaking uncontrollably as she fumbled around inside. “Not now, but soon.” Nora mumbled, a response for Inge. Inge was right, they needed to run. Her fingers landed on a warm metal object. She would need to work on her shock reaction, her fingers couldn’t keep trembling like this when there were things to be done. Nora pulled the lighter out of her pocket. One flick. Two flick. Three. It finally lit. “You’re also going to need a new home.” Nora announced to helene before tossing the lit lighter into the home of the ghost tour. “Now I’m ready to run.” Hands still trembling, she took Inge’s in her own. Boots met ground as a burst of speed pushed through her.

In the movies, the house would have exploded behind them. There would have been a fortunate oil spill or gasoline bottle nearby and the house would have been eaten alive by the licking flame. Helene’s body would have been burned inside, sending her to whatever hell she deserved to live in. This wasn’t a movie, and Nora didn’t look back to see if the fire took. Nora hoped it would catch on something, but she was aware that the likelihood was it wouldn’t take and die, just like everyone they’d been touring with. Nora would be back with gasoline.

—

“No!” As she watched the lighter fall, she called out of reflex, more out of surprise than fear. She had lived a long life, an even longer afterlife, and the work was done. Setting the house alight was smart – smarter than trying to charge through a ghost with a knife. Helene watched, fire reflected in her otherwise empty eyes, as the home of her body caught flame. Old floorboards creaked and a beam snapped, causing a section of the roof to cave in as huge plumes of black smoke billowed out. She wasn’t sure what would become of her, though she was ready for anything. She had new power, but she was not alive, and that old lump of bones buried beneath the home was what tethered her to this place. It was possible the lives she had just snuffed out broke her free of that connection, but at the end of the day, she suspected, a ghost was a ghost, and this would be her true end at last.

Helene could feel her toes grow numb, then searing, sensing something for the first time in a great many years (and how awful, yet rapturous, for that something to be pain). She knew now that this was it for her. But she would grant these troublesome lives no satisfaction. They turned to run, and Helene’s voice, though laced with a kind of self-righteous desperation, surrounded them no matter how far they and fast they darted away. “What’s done is done,” she howled, turning into the wind itself, “you have no idea how momentous tonight is, how lucky you are to be witness to such a great power resurfacing. I may be gone, but so are any chances you might have had of getting answers from me. Unprepared as you are, soon you will know.” As the flames ate away at the house, it crumbled and crumbled, and pain spread across Helene’s ghostly body just as it lapped up her remains. She yowled as her ability to speak was stolen from her.

In place of her voice was a low and ominous rumble that made the air tremble with static and vibration – building gradually and swelling into a terrible thunderclap, that seemed in equal parts to come from above and below. Now? Already? Even Helene was shaken, though she didn’t have bones for the sound to pour into and rattle and, soon, she didn’t have any substance at all, even metaphysical. But the sky quaked once more, and the last thing Helene felt, had thought, had known, as she became nothing but ash, was the knowledge that she had served her Great One.

#group writing #ghost tours 3d #season 2

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