//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: Don't let it touch you // Story: Phantom Syndicate // by BluePhoenyx //------------------------------// The icy cold night bit at Mirage’s cheeks and nose. Her hood and cape did little to block the chill, so her body resorted to shivering. She huffed, sending a wispy puff of her own warm breath into the air around her. Mirage’s gaze moved around at the sleeping village. The streets were dead quiet. Not a single pony was awake, save for her friends in the house behind her. It was just a stake out, but Mirage was already on edge. She scratched at the ground with her hoof, listening carefully to the night. The moon was full and nearly at it’s peak, so despite the village being dark and quiet, it had a gentle silvery glow about it. The wind was just a persistent breeze that rustled the trees enough to make it hard for Mirage to listen to what she truly needed to; signs of an otherworldly presence. Mirage had always been acutely aware of paranormal noises since she was a young filly. She could hear their words, hear their movements, hear their cries if she listened closely. Not many ponies could even recognize a ghost for what it was. For most, it was a vase suddenly falling off of the shelf, or just the faintest ethereal image in the corner of their eye. To Mirage and her team, they were real corporeal things that if you were touched by, you were good as dead. Mirage snorted angrily again as she watched the building. “Come on,” She groaned in annoyance. “I’m freezing my tail off here.” Her ears flicked forward suddenly then swiveled to catch the noise of glass breaking in the house she was backed up against, then heavy hoofsteps coming down wooden stairs. There was a blood-curdling shriek, then a moment later, a slam from the front door. Mirage started to turn the corner which would lead her to the front door. She slammed her hooves into the ground suddenly and tried to backpedal as the towering figure of a translucent, hazy stallion appeared before her. Even if he hadn’t been floating a few inches above the ground, he’d have towered over Mirage by a good two or three heads. His coat, though shrouded in a mist of unearthly fog, was a gray color and his mane, which was short and stuck straight up, was little more than white tufts of steam rising from his back. His right forehoof was broken, rotting actually, and hanging by a single, precarious strand of flesh and sinew. “Have to run” The pony said in a bone-chilling whisper. If any other pony beside Mirage or one of her teammates had been there, they wouldn’t have heard anything, but the stallion’s presence was so strong that they would have seen him clearly. Mirage stood with her mouth wide open in shock at the stallion before her. They were mere inches apart but Mirage could feel the air around her becoming so cold, that the moisture in the air was on the verge of crystallizing. Her flesh tingled, her fur stood on end, every muscle in her body snapped taught in fear. Her hood fell back; Under her coat, her fur was periwinkle blue with a deeper, darker blue mane and tail. Streaks of black sliced through the dark blue of her mane and hung in a swirl over the left side of her face. Her unicorn horn was wrapped in stalks of lavender that pulsated in a dim purple glow in the presence of the spirit. It was well documented that lavender, silver, iron, salt, magnesium, and light were all weaknesses to the spirits of the other-world, but in small quantities, such as the three stalks wrapped around the unicorn’s horn, they would be nothing more than an irritating mosquito bite to the more powerful of specters. The spirit of the stallion before Mirage seemed completely unfazed by her meager protection. It sensed the life in her, sensed the warmth of her body and the vibrancy of her soul. The stallion reared up on it’s hind legs, then began to drop down, as if to crush Mirage. Mirage clenched her eyes shut, turning her head away from her fate and raising a hoof in a pitiful attempt to stop the inevitable. There was a small explosion and a burst of light, then a shower of flaming salt and magnesium. The blast shattered a hole in the center of the stallion, sending it into a smoky haze. It screamed like a whistle being murdered. The spirit floated away on the night breeze, leaving Mirage unharmed. The unicorn dropped her hoof and nearly collapsed as she tried to catch her breath and regain her composure. “Mirage!” A friendly, deep, (and most importantly) living, voice called out to her. It was the leader of their little band, flying down from his vantage point above where the ghost stallion had been. He landed among the burning remnants of his bomb and inspected her quickly. He was a little taller than Mirage, but not by much. He had a beautiful stark white coat, with brilliant white wings. His mane was deep black, and his wide, kind eyes were just as dark. They were deep depths of cool and inviting darkness that beckoned you to become lost in them whenever you stared too long. He wore a dark brown vest with several pockets on the outside and several more on the inside. Each pocket held some type of tool he could use in their missions. Mirage had cast a spell on it when they first became partners to hold more and larger items than it could alone. All he had to do was simply think of the item he needed and reach into the pocket to grab it. “Ugh..” Mirage groaned as she wobbled to her hooves. “I’m fine Spirit Glider, What happened to the ghost?” She asked, using her magic to fix her mane. “I blasted it into a million pieces,” Spirit Glider said confidently while puffing his chest out in pride. Mirage puffed a quick breath out of the corner of her mouth, causing her forelock to jump up and out of her face. “And did you find its Tether?” She asked, ignoring his confidence. Spirit Glider deflated at the question. “Uh.. no. We didn’t find it.” Spirit sighed, his ears drooping back. “We didn’t even see where the ghost came from. We were looking for Death Spots” Death Spot was a trade term used to describe the unearthly image of where the deceased had ultimately died. Only Ghost Fighting ponies could see these spots, and most of the time it appeared before the ghost replayed its final moments, like the ghost Mirage had encountered had done, or whatever activity the ghost was involved in during its haunting. Finding a Death Spot was usually a good start to determining why the spirit was still in this world. Ghosts hardly ever stayed just to stay: They usually had some unfinished business of some kind or another, typically it had something to do with the cause of their death. Ghosts weren’t a new concept to ponies, but they had just been harmless incorporeal annoyances; moving furniture, screaming at night, breaking things and the like. Nothing like what they could do now. If a pony didn’t have “the sense” as Mirage called it, then a ghost in the home was a deadly and dire situation. No one was truly certain when ghosts began killing the living. Many blamed Discord since he had quite literally turned everything upside down so why not raise the dead? There was no true evidence for it though and of course, the legendary draconequus would deny any part in the matter. Even with his denial, there was evidence in the ancient texts that suggested killer ghosts were a much older problem. Since there have been killer ghosts though, Ghost Fighters have been right behind, ready to protect the living and fend off the dead. Mirage groaned again, tilting her head back as if to get away from Spirit’s very words. “You never look for the Tether!” She scolded loudly. She sighed, calming herself down enough to wrap her cloak around her again to keep out the cold. “Did you hear it say anything that might help?” Spirit asked, almost completely ignoring her scolding as if it were just a normal part of their conversations. He began walking her back towards the front of the house as they spoke. Mirage shook her head. “All he said was ‘Have to run’ in the creepiest voice ever. I swear they do it on purpose sometimes.” Mirage sighed. Mirage suddenly felt the icy, unmistakable chill of a ghost’s presence again. She stopped mid-stride, whipping her head around to try and find the source. “He’s back.” She whispered, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. The unicorn tried desperately to calm herself down; Ghost fed readily on emotions, especially fear. Just to the left of her, out of the very corner of her eye, she saw the white mist of a ghostly presence. She spun around rapidly, then her heart sunk. Spirit Glider was staring at her, not yet fully registering what she had told him. Behind him, the ghostly stallion was hovering just inches above him. The specter opened his jaws, far wider than any pony naturally could then leaned over Spirit as if to eat him in one gulp. Mirage reacted quickly, letting loose a spell that created a large puff of lavender pieces into the air. They were just the pieces and the dust that would occur if someone crumpled some lavender, but it was enough to distract the specter long enough for Spirit to notice. Spirit ducked down, rolling across the ground to avoid the ghost. A small wisping tendril of ghostly haze caught Spirit’s left shoulder as he rolled. Instantly the spot bubbled and hissed as if acid had touched it. His shoulder began to turn blue and swell, sending intense searing pain through him. He cried out in agony as he came out of his roll, then looked down at the wound, inspecting the infection progress. It was slow, but clearly spreading through his shoulder. Blood dripped down his shoulder with a mix of yellowish fluid. He didn’t have time to tend to it though, so he reached into one of his vest pockets while the ghost writhed in agony. “Locket! Loooockkeeeett!!” The ghost wailed in its deafening screech. Mirage felt her ears throb in pain at the noise. She used her magic to create more lavender bombs to keep distracting the ghost while she waited for Spirit. “Mirage move!” Spirit yelled. Mirage leaped away as a thin, silver chain net flew over the top of the ghost. It landed right on the mark and as soon as it touched the ghost, it wailed in pain again but only for a few seconds before completely disappearing again. The chain net fell to the ground, still sizzling from other-worldly phasm. There was a brief moment of silence before Mirage rushed over to Spirit’s side and inspected his shoulder. “Spirit quick, the salve,” She said quickly. Spirit dug through his pockets, producing a small jar of light green ooze. He quickly took a hoof-full and slathered it onto his burning wound. It stung, making him grit his teeth against the pain. Slowly, the blue tinge to his shoulder receded and left an eight-inch patch of blue around his shoulder. It still ached horribly, but he was able to put weight on it and move around easy enough. “At least it wasn’t a full powered Mark,” Spirit said, chuckling to try and make light of the situation. Mirage rolled her eyes and pushed her hoof lightly onto the wound, making Spirit squeak in pain. “Keep talking tough guy.” She chuckled. Spirit smiled once the pain subsided then put the jar away. “I think this is the first time you ever saved my life.” He said, twitching his tail happily. “Oh please! More like hundredth!” Mirage argued, laughing at him. They turned in unison back towards the front of the house. A donkey walked out of the house, followed by a short, stubby, and overall heavy earth pony. He was gray with large white patches all over him as if someone were painting a white pony gray and missed a few spots. He had a white blaze on his muzzle that reached back and seemed to bleed into his purple and white mane. He had thick, black, square-framed glasses that he was constantly adjusting with his front left hoof. He was huffing and with every two steps the donkey took, the smaller pony was taking three or four just to keep up. “ What happened? Did you two see where it went?” The smaller pony demanded in an adenoidal, wheezy, tremulous voice. He was breathing heavily, evidently coming from trotting down the stairs at what must have been full speed for him. He was breathing so hard and sweating so much that when he hit the cold night air, his glasses had instantly fogged up. He tried to wipe them clean with clumsy hooves until Mirage took the glasses with her levitating magic and a soft cloth then began cleaning them off. The smaller pony squinted his eyes in a futile attempt to see without his glasses on. “He came right around the corner and nearly touched me,” Mirage said, placing the pony’s glasses back onto his face. He quickly spread all four hooves in an animated act of shock. “He what!?” The pony demanded. Mystic Quill had a high pitched nasaly voice that was annoying at first, but it grew on you after a while as a sort of sweet funny accent...so long as he wasn’t yelling at you, then it was downright irritating. “Mirage! You should know better!” Mirage rolled her eyes and puffed out some air from the corner of her mouth again to flick the curl of her forelock out of her face, which had rested back down over her left eye. “Yeah well, Spirit got marked” She tattled like a scolded child. “Hey!” Spirit whined in a childish manner. Mirage giggled and nudged him with her flank. “He what!?” Quill nearly screeched. His voice broke and his glasses slanted on his nose again. He quickly fixed them before continuing his barrage. “Spirit are you okay? Did you use the salve? How far did the infection go?” Quill rambled quickly. Spirit laughed at Quill and lifted a hoof, ruffling the pony’s purple hair and messing up his glasses. “Calm down Quill.” He said, his voice dripping with confidence. “We’re all fine, right Mirage?” He asked turning to the mare, who nodded her agreement. The donkey had been sitting patiently, by her patience was running thin. She cleared her throat and walked over to the group of ponies while Quill fixed his mane and glasses. “I hate to interrupt,” The donkey said firmly, though Spirit felt that she was, in fact, more than happy to interrupt them. “But did you take care of the ghost?” “As we mentioned before Mrs. Jennet,” Quill said professionally to the donkey. He closed his eyes for a moment and adjusted his glasses again. “This was merely to observe the spirit and determine its threat level, its behavior, and potentially its Tether or what ties it to the living world. This is the first step in the guaranteed removal of an apparition done by our company, it is always a two-day process..” Quill had always been the more professional of the three of them and usually handled the customers while Mirage and Spirit were busy cleaning up or tending to their injuries, which happened more often than not. Mrs. Jennet was so taken aback and impressed by the young pony’s respectable handling of the situation, that she couldn’t read between the lines to what Quill was really saying; “shut up and let us do our job”. “So you’ll be back tomorrow?” Mrs. Jennet asked. “I’ll have to spend another night in that house with that thing?” “We’ll give you some wards to help keep any further misconduct by the spirit at bay, but yes you will need to spend another night in the house with it,” Quill said, once again fixing his glasses. “At least morning isn’t too far off’ Mirage grinned playfully. Quill shot her a harsh glance. She responded with a shrug and pretended she was inspecting her cloak for salt burns. “Alright..” Mrs. Jennet agreed begrudgingly. “Same time tomorrow night then?” She asked. “Of course,” Quill said politely and followed her back into the house to provide her with several necessities to keep spirits away. Once he was finished decorating Mrs. Jennet’s house in various items proven to ward off spirits, Quill came back with the rest of their supplies and they made their way back to their current base of operation. It was a modest little home, three rooms plus an office, two bathrooms, (one of which belonged almost exclusively to Quill to “keep messes to a minimum”) a living room and dining room and kitchen, all of which only separated by furniture and some low walls. The dining room they had converted into their second office and consultant room. There was a large comfy couch, though not as comfy as the one in the living room, a small coffee table and a coffee and tea bar to help settle nervous clients. Behind the furniture, was a desk that Quill used to document their findings and write up receipts and quotes for customers.Every wall also had a bookshelf full of research books, scrolls, documents and newspaper articles regarding ghost sighting, protection and capture methods. Piles of books were also strewn about the floor, making walking around a bit of a chore. Mirage collapsed rather un-mare like onto the couch in the living room. She stretched herself out and lifted a cookie from the jar on the coffee table with her magic, munching happily on it. Hunting always made her famished and if the boys weren’t careful, she’d eat their meals as well. Spirit Glider practically threw himself into his favorite recliner just across from the couch, then used his wing to cover himself in his favorite Wonderbolts blanket. He laid his head down on a lumpy old pillow. Quill, of course, headed straight for the dining room to record their late night adventure, but he would soon return to the living room where his own chaise lounge would be waiting for him with his own favorite blanket and a stack of books within a short pony’s reach. None of the group slept in their respective bedrooms often. They preferred the company of the team over the loneliness of their bedrooms. Still, if one of them had a particularly exhausting night or was injured, then they would go to their room and sleep it off, sometimes for three straight days. “Good job tonight everypony,” Spirit said behind a long loud yawn. His tail flicked happily under his blanket and he nestled deeper into the recliner, looking like a dog curled up in their dog bed. “Yeah, good job,” Mirage said after finishing off her cookie. She yawned, then curled up on the couch with a blanket and pillow of her own before quickly falling asleep. Quill stayed up well into the night, as he usually did, reading. He read mostly history books, books on ghosts, and books written by famous ghost hunters on catching ghosts. He spent little time reading about anything else besides ghost, although Mirage had noticed on a few occasions that in the wee hours of the morning, Quill would be muzzle deep in a Daring Do book or some other type of adventure book, no doubt imagining himself as a brave and heroic pony, leaping across treacherous ravines in single bounds or rescuing a young beautiful mare from a dismal fate. Quill eventually went to sleep just a couple hours before the sun began to rise. Just as the sun peaked playfully over the mountains to the east and splashed a golden thin ray of light into the three friends’ home, a letter came wafting through the slight crack in the window frame and landed elegantly on the coffee table in the living room. It was addressed to the three ponies by name and signed “Princess Luna” ...