List all authors

List all stories/poetry

Rating system

About the author

Author home

Bloodlines home

Shaper glared at his friend and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "The well of lost souls, big scary thingy that draws in ghosts. What are we going to do about it?"

"Well there is a chance that it'll reach critical mass." Victor shrugged. "But just releasing it might cause problems, too."

"Washing the flood plain of spiritual energy in the immediate area?"

Victor's eyes bugged out. "Where did that come from?"

"Well, if a well floods, then the area around it is washed out, and since ghosts are mainly a spiritual and psychic phenomenon, then that's what would be affected, right?"

Victor blinked again, got his jaw back in place, and nodded. "That's more or less what will happen; in theory. What we'd need to do is get it to disperse evenly, maybe even going back to their places of origin if not going on."

"Right, that'd be better than the other option. Now, how do we do it?"

"No fucking clue. You?"

"Nope."

"Well, good to see you back to normal."

"I'm not going to get smarter than you, Vic. Don't worry."

Victor snorted, and stood back up, picking up the lantern. "This is going to take more thought. Let's go back upstairs. At least it's warmer."

"It'd be hard to be colder."

Shaper sat with his back against the couch, right next to Victor's legs. He figured that was pretty safe, and wrapped his hands around the mug of coffee, and tried not to think about what he'd seen in the kitchen while he was getting his hot drink. Beside and above him, Victor muttered faintly, turning pages in the journal, then turning them back to look again. The house had gotten quieter since they'd been in the basement, making the occasional screams all the more chilling. The risen stared into the fire, and tried to take his brain away from where he was. A small figure tumbled down the chimney, wailing, and fell burning onto the hearthstones. He squeezed his eyes shut until it went away.

"Well?" he asked when he couldn't wait any longer. "Anything useful?"

"Our night may be over before I figure it out," Victor growled, and picked up his mug, which had been sitting beside Shaper. He glanced into it, before taking a sip.

"In code?"

"Code I could crack - this man's penmanship is terrible, and his grammar is worse. It's hard to believe he designed the spells that ward that room and keep the ghosts on the property."

"You sure he did."

"He says so." Victor grimaced. "But if he ever mentions WHY it's not in this book."

"Is knowing why necessary to undo it?"

"Since I think when he died he became part of it, yeah." Victor rubbed his temples, and looked at the pack of cloves that sat beside him on the couch. "Damn it, I don't have enough cloves to deal with this shit."

"Could we, like, have a séance or something and ask him?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that." The dark haired man said removing a clove and lighting it. Behind them, a grandfather clock that had been stopped all night struck three. A childish giggle filled the room, and a figure ran out of the clock, and past them laughing joyfully, pursued by a second.

"That was different."

"Rather."

"Do you think it's really three?"

Victor shrugged. He rolled the clove from one side of his mouth to the other taking slow drags off it. "Think, think, think... there's something I'm missing here."

"Cherchez la femme?" Shaper suggested.

"Probably not."

"Could we remove the pull without removing the well?"

"The well creates the pull." Victor dismissed it. "So, no."

"What if he's not dead?"

"What?" Victor looked down at Shaper, confused.

"Well you said it was all linked to this guy, right? Well what if he's not dead?"

"I don't think he's still alive, Shaper, Mr. Cooper said that this house had been in his family for generations, and it had always been haunted."

"So he's not alive. That doesn't mean he's dead!"

"Shaper, you're making less sense than usual."

"Vampires aren't alive, but they aren't dead. Demons aren't really alive, but they aren't dead, litches - which mages can become if they screw up, aren't really dead either!"

Victor leaned forward, resting his elbow on his upper leg. "Alright, you're making a little sense now."

"Hell, if his soul got caught before he died, then even if his body died without him, his soul would have never gone though that, so it wouldn't be dead would it?"

"Not making sense again."

"Hear me out - if it got caught in that warded room, then it wouldn't be able to get out, would it?"

"I guess not."

"Then his soul would still be there."

"Right. But you're missing one important piece of information, Shaper."

"What?" The risen blinked.

"There wasn't any spirit in the safe room."

"..." Shaper twiddled his fingers. "Well, it sounded like I had a plan for a minute there."

"There there Shape." Victor patted him on the head. "It certainly did." Victor leaned back again, automatically lighting another clove as he thought, arms crossed across his chest. Shaper added more wood to the fire.

"Unfinished business?" he timidly suggested after a few moments, moving so a chair could stump past on its carved lion-feet. If he could even pretend to be half as blasé as Victor, he might just survive the night.

"Shaper, if you're not going to be intelligent be..." Victor stopped, and raised an eyebrow. "Wait..." He took the clove out of his mouth, and bit his lip. "That just might be it..."

"Is this going to involve going up stairs again?" Shaper asked, suddenly picturing some of Victor's other escapades, which had forced them to cover and re-cover the same ground over and over, while the last few pieces of the puzzle in question where solved.

"Unfinished business - something isn't complete, so that¹s why the spell is still going - if we finish the business for him, then it will run itself out, naturally."

"Uh, doesn't that go back to needing to know why he did it?"

"Damn it!"

Angel had moved from the living room to the library again, where he'd spread open the journal and was taking careful notes. Shaper sat in a big, dusty armchair and pretended he was playing chess with himself. Unfortunately, the chipped alabaster set moved itself after he moved his piece - the first pawn he'd moved out of boredom, and now he was getting his ass kicked by an opponent he couldn't see.

"Victor, do you have to sit there?"

"It works for me, why?"

"Well I was just wondering if you could sit across from me, even if you don't pay any attention to me."

"Oh, just play chess with the nice old man," mumbled Victor turning another page.

"What old man?" demanded Shaper. "I don't see anyone."

"Well, he's there." Victor turned another page, then paused to rub his eyes. "The only reason I'm gleaning out of this is because he could - which is not exactly something we could complete."

"I don't think anyone would create a sink well like that just because they could."

Victor leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. A figure lay in it like it was the floor, visibly clawing at their throat as if someone was garroting them as he watched.

"Damn it, it could be as simple as moving an item from one place to another, as complicated as avenging a wrong, or as inane as..."

"Victor, could you come look at this?"

"What?" He stood up and walked over to where Shaper sat.

"I can't see any moves - "

"That's because you're in check." Victor pointed at a knight. "Move him."

Shaper did, and Victor leaned on the back of his chair.

"Thanks Victor."

"You want to play this game yourself?" Victor asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh... yeah. Thanks for the hint though."

Angel shook his head, tossing his bangs out of his eyes and headed back to the table. Having taken a break, he deciphered a few more sentences.

"There's not even anything useful in this part!" he swore, throwing the book down. "This is just a record about him and his neighbor!"

"You should really calm down." Shaper said genially. "Relax... you can have the next game."

"You're half asleep."

"That's when I got game!" Shaper said, moving his queen across the board. The opposing piece darted across the broad and captured it.

"I'd hate to see you play when you're awake."

"Ha ha."

The dark haired man leaned back and watched his friend frantically scan the board, trying his best to avoid the deft black pieces that were slowly eating at his alabaster men.

"You want me too...?"

"I've got it, Victor," Shaper said icily. Victor chuckled to himself, and loosened the collar of his sweater. Shaper chewed on his bottom lip, and started to move a piece one way, then went the other way.

Then he groaned, as he fell into a trap.

"And that's mate," chuckled Victor.

"Aw... and I was so close, too," muttered the risen, tipping over his king.

Victor kindly forbore the comment that Shaper was nowhere near close. The journal lifted up and set itself back on the shelf. "Hey, I wasn't done with that!" Victor snapped, grabbing at it.

"What's that noise?"

"Sounds like a drain... or a soda straw."

"Strange..." Victor lit a clove, then his jaw dropped, as he got the most incredulous expression on his face. "No, you didn't just..."

"What?" Shaper said, standing up and dusting his ass off. "All I did was play a game of chess. Badly, I might add."

"And what if that was all the caster wanted?"

"To win against an idiot?"

Victor laughed and shook his head. "To play a game again."

"That's the lamest thing I've ever heard." A woman ran through the wall beside him, brandishing a knife, and he leapt across the table to hide behind Victor. "It's still creepy. I think I like the ones that you can't see better." Angel went to go and look in the cellar.

"See, no more pull, you can't even see the well any more."

"It's still freezing." Shaper pouted.

"A, it's a basement, in the middle of winter, during a blizzard, B, It'll probably take a while for them to realize that they can go," Victor explained. He sighed, and rolled his eyes. "It's not as bad as it was."

"I don't know what could be." They started back up the stairs, Shaper first. "Can I sleep yet?" he asked plaintively.

The blizzard had blown over in the night, leaving a thick white blanket over every surface, a good two feet deep. Mr. Cooper was digging out at about nine o clock, when he saw a movement up the hill, at the old house. He shielded his eyes from the glare, and heard a faint voice swearing in the distance. Amazed, he saw two figures leave the house, and force their way through the snow, making a rough trail, to where he stood.

"It can't be..." he said, eyes wide, but the brightly striped scarf that Victor wore was unmistakable against the pristine white snow. The smaller man waved, seeing Mr. Cooper waiting, and before long, both of them were standing in front of Steven.

"Good thing the blizzard blew past. This much snow in one night, imagine what it would have done if it'd stuck around," he said in a conversational tone, as his companion blew on his hands to warm them.

"You... in... the whole night?"

"Yes." Victor smiled thinly, and took a nearly flat pack of cloves out of his pocket. He pushed his bangs back under the stocking cap he was wearing. "And I don't think it'll be a problem anymore."

"Not a problem any more?" the shocked man asked. He took off his hat, shook his head violently, and put it back on. "You mean the ghosts are gone?"

"Nothing more dangerous than a few spiders," Victor commented lighting his last clove. Still somewhat in shock, the house's keeper and reluctant owner went inside, and came back out a moment later. Mr. Cooper handed over a bank note. Shaper perked up a little, but remained slouched, hands in his pockets.

"C'mon Shape," Victor said, patting the risen's shoulder. The dark haired man groaned, but followed his friend.

Steven Cooper watched them go, then turned to look at the house. "Well..." he said. "It wouldn't hurt to go look at the house. I mean, I can always leave..." Not really sure if he was really doing it, he followed the trail they'd forced through the snow up to the dark house that had loomed over his family for years. Still convincing himself he inched up to the door of the house, lifted his hand up and put it on the door knob. He turned it slowly and pulled it towards him. Suddenly it banged open, throwing the man backwards onto the dead grass of the yard. Something with the strength of a gale wind and the strange not there color of a cloud, twisting and writhing, out of the door, and up into a sky. At last, it stopped, but before Steven could stand there was a low, ominous creaking noise - and the house collapsed in on itself in moments, leaving a pile of wood and stone rubble. He sat there blinking, and as he did, he could see the woodshed behind the house collapse in a similar fashion.

"Gahh..." he stuttered. He took a few breaths that weren't nearly deep or calm enough. And his face wrinkled up. "Ah well, I couldn't have sold it with that reputation anyway." He stood up and dusted himself off. "No one wants to live in a haunted house."