//------------------------------// // Act Nine: Props // Story: Delinquency // by Daemon McRae //------------------------------// Act Nine: Props What is the first thing that comes to mind when someone talks about a haunted house? Some might say phantom voices. Others, faces in the mirror or at the end of the hall. Many people also associate objects moving on their own as a symptom of spiritual activity. In truth, any of these can have any number of causes. From monsters to poltergeists, home invaders to alien life forms. The only thing we know about the supernatural is that we don’t actually know anything. It is simply a word we attach to occurrences and beings we can’t explain. Now, those who spend any amount of time researching such happenings might tell you that, while those are all possibilities, there are certain combinations, certain phenomena, that are hallmarks of a ghost or spectre. Cold spots, EMF readings, and the like are staples of ghost hunting. Which is one of the many reasons most technologically-minded paranormal investigators use devises like EMF meters, thermal scopes, even Geiger counters. Many investigators use these devices as a form of proof: measurable data that they can attribute to unseen forces. The most notable issue with using any of these tools to measure supernatural phenomena is that they were all created to measure natural phenomena, and as a result can detect perfectly ordinary sources of energy. An EMF, for example, can either detect the electromagnetic field of a spirit (in theory), or simply bad wiring in the walls where an open electric current has gone unchecked. The same is true for any other mundane device used in an attempt to measure the extraordinary. Some people have put considerable effort into developing technology that can measure spiritual phenomena and nothing else. Of course, then the flaw becomes, how do you know what you’re measuring if no one has measured it before? The logical counter-argument is that the same question was asked of the Geiger counter, the EMF reader, and several other devices in the same vein. Around and around this argument goes, with no clear winner, and no end in sight. That doesn’t stop people using the things anyway, of course. “Are you sure you’re reading that correctly?” Indigo asked, leaning over Treble’s shoulder. The wannabe rocker tilted his head back in a silent prayer for strength. “Indy, please. It’s literally the easiest device to read since the digital clock. To quote a madman with a box, it goes ding when there’s stuff.” Zap tilted her head in confusion as Raven walked a few paces behind, wanting to stay out of the petty squabble while still being within arm’s reach of the only person in the room with have a clue as to what they were doing. “Meaning what, exactly?” Zap pressed. Treble turned around with a flourish, holding up the EMF detector like a talisman against stupid questions. “You see this needle? If the needle is on the left, then there’s nothing. If moves to the right, there’s something to investigate. The farther right it goes the closer we are to the source of whatever energy it’s detecting.” This earned little more than a shrug. “Whatever. I’m not that big into the science-y stuff anyway.” “Buh-wuh-I… WHY DID YOU ASK, THEN?!” Treble barked, looking an awful lot like the picture in the encyclopedia next to the word ‘aneurysm’. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting us super lost down here,” Indigo answered, in a frustratingly calm tone that DT was all too familiar with, having used it himself a few times. “That’s what RAVEN is here for!” he yelled. “Ahem,” Raven coughed. “Sorry. Miss Inkwell. She’s literally here to make sure we don’t stumble off into the darkity-dark and die,” he insisted, turning back around and returning his diminishing attention span to the device in his hand. The needle wavered slightly, reflecting his current temper rather accurately. Because of course I needed that pressure on me right now, Inkwell thought to herself. “He’s right, you know. This is also the main reason I’m carrying this god-awfully large flashlight. It doesn’t do me any good to guide you down here, though, if you wander off, so please stay close and, you know, away from sharp things.” Zap just shrugged and let her gaze wander around the area the flashlight illuminated for her. They’d made their way into the basement after a bit of bickering, using the entrance in the gardener’s house disguised as a hall closet. In fact, it had been used as such, and they’d taken the opportunity to take a baseball bat and a large lantern with them, which Raven was carrying with slight difficulty. It was her opinion that the gardener had been a much larger man than she, to use such an ungainly device so frequently. The basement itself was a maze of tunnels, lined with concrete very obviously after the fact, and looked much like it had been worked on one decade at a time. They’d round a corner, and find a typical, if a bit heavy, wooden door, then walk through it to see a giant metal storm door on the far side of the room. Many of the walls had been reinforced with concrete or steel beams, and the entire place had the feel of a patchwork bunker as opposed to a basement for a multi-million dollar estate. Treble had lamented early on that even his walkie-talkie was basically useless down here for little more than pictures, and so he’d turned the thing off for now. Not knowing how long he was going to be down here, he’d learned long ago that battery life was a thing one should be keenly aware of. The next corner they rounded led them into a rather open area, where the support for the structure above consisted of large pillars every few feet. Strewn about were cabinets, chairs, and other furniture of all kinds, as well as a wide assortment of almost stereotypical Bric-a-brac. There was even a rusty bicycle leaning at an odd angle piled on top of a writing desk. Something that did not escape Treble’s attention, as he said, “Hey Indigo.” “Yo,” came her eloquent response. “How is a Raven like a writing desk?” he asked. Inkwell sighed. “Because there’s a ‘b’ in both,” she groaned. “Please, Treble. I’ve heard that riddle so many times it’s almost insulting. And I swear to god if you say ‘nevermore’ I will fire you. Into the sun.” He frowned, deflated, and went about his exploring, pocketing the EMF in favor of a free hand. Indigo just chuckled. “Was it really that bad?” she asked. “You have no idea. I’ve come to hate Poe on general principal. I have great espect for him as a writer, of course, but one can only hear so many dead poet jokes before they consider the occupation a viable alternative to hearing one more,” Inkwell deadpanned. “It doesn’t help what my family does for a living. Every year, without fail, someone somewhere thinks to get me a copy of Poe’s works for either Christmas or my birthday. I’d collected so many at one point that I’d built a small fort out of them as a teenager, only to set the entire thing aflame when I turned eighteen and my parents insisted I take all of them with me to college.” Indigo whistled appreciatively. “I hear ya. I mean, I don’t have it quite that bad, but I get a lot of Indy 500 and Indie Go-Go jokes. I think it’s something everyone deals with, you know? I can only imagine how many DT jokes this one’s gotten,” she jabbed a thumb at Treble, who was rifling through a large wooden chest that seemed to be filled with old toys. “No, please, go ahead, make another one!” Treble yelled, the sound muffled due to him being neck-deep in the furniture. “DT?” Raven asked. Indigo blinked. “Really?” “...what?” “I just… I thought everyone knew what that meant,” Zap mused. “Well pretend I don’t,” Raven snipped. Treble stood up with a groan. “Deep throat. She’s talking about blowjobs. I mean, come on, you said you went to college!” “Yes. In Trottingham. And thank you for that wonderful mental image,” she grumbled, rubbing her temples. “Did you find anything useful?” DT juggled a small item in his hand. “Define useful. Found a key. No idea what to. Kinda big-ish. Only two teeth. Old looking.” Raven strode forward to inspect his discovery. “Hmm. Couldn’t tell you, myself. Hold onto it, though. If for no other reason than I might find what it goes to long after you’re gone.” Treble shrugged and moved to pocket the item, only to pause as a small whine emanated from his pocket. “...what,” he said flatly. He took his EMF out of his suit pocket, brushing off some accumulated dust, and raised an eyebrow. The needle was dancing slightly in the middle of the display. Key in one hand and reader in the other, he moved them back and forth away and towards each other, only to find that the device seemed to be reacting quite enthusiastically to the key. He touched the end of the key to the device, and the needle bounced to the far right, and stayed there. “O..kay… haunted key?” he asked no one in particular. Indigo took a step back. “Yeah, how about YOU keep that? Away from me?” Treble shrugged, looking to their employer for any insight. She gave little more than a noncommittal grunt and a slight shuffle of her shoulders. “Don’t look at me,” she protested. Pocketing both, Treble turned to go about his digging, only to stop mid-stride. “Um, Indigo?” Zap sighed, awaiting another bad joke. “What is it, Treble?” “Look to your right. Do you see a bicycle sitting at a janky angle on top of a desk?” he asked, in a rather measured voice. Both Indigo and Raven turned to look at the writing desk that had sparked their conversation moments before, only to find that no, there was no bicycle. “That’s a negative, Ghost Rider,” Zap remarked, returning her attention to their ‘fearless leader’. “Oh wonderful,” he mused, planting his foot back on the ground. He hadn’t noticed he’d left it hanging in the air when he’d stopped. “...whyyy?” Raven asked. “Because I found it,” he answered plainly, pointing in front of him. The girls peeked their heads around him to see that there was, in fact, a bicycle in front of them all. Standing up. With no kickstand. Or rider. “...is this the part where we start running?” Indigo asked, swallowing loudly. DT shook his head. “Run away? From a bike? Hardly!” he exclaimed, summoning as much false bravado as he could all at once. Which, given his personality, was quite a lot. “I mean, it’s not exactly a Harley. Not even a Yamaha.” He took a few steps forward, stopping only a foot or two away from the peculiar vehicle. “Now listen here, you curious little thing, you. I understand the need to get out every once in a while to stretch your… wheels. Or chain. Whatever needs stretching. But my friends and I are currently rather occupied in trying to walk this direction and dig rather callously through whatever interesting and assorted paraphernalia happens to share the rent with you. If you like, we can certainly step to the side while you go about your merry way, but I must insist that one or both of us move sometime soon.” Zap stared incredulously as Treble addressed the seemingly possessed bike. “What… what the hell are you doing?” she hissed in disbelief. He didn’t turn around. “Talking? You know, with words? Although I can’t imagine you have mush of a vocabulary, so how about one ring for yes, two for no?” he asked the bicycle. It gave no response. “Hmm. Might help if you had a bell. My apologies. So how about this. We will casually step to the side, like this,” he said, taking a large step to the right, making room for the bicycle. “And you can pass right by.” When the bike didn’t move, Treble gestured for the girls to follow his lead. Zap seemed hesitant to do anything that involved movement, until Raven grabbed her by the arm and coaxed her out of the way. “Just go with it, I guess?” Inkwell said, the tone of her voice suggesting she had no better suggestions. Indigo was about to retort when the bike casually wheeled itself through the now-open pathway, quietly turning its pedals and bypassing the three as if they weren’t there. She stared, wide-eyed, as it slowly wheeled itself out of sight, around a corner. “H… how. HOW. Did you know that would work?!” she exclaimed, when it had vanished completely. “It’s called being polite,” Treble mused. “Honestly, you’d think that just because someone’s dead they don’t have any manners to-” He was quickly interrupted by the toy trunk exploding. ------------------------ “Treble?” Dusty asked, leaning back in his chair as he chirped his phone. “Come on, man, reception’s not THAT bad.” “Maybe it is, in the far side of the house. Or maybe they’re knee-deep in one of the cold spots. All kinds of stuff,” Spooks volunteered, strolling into the sitting room from the foyer, carrying the large stack of photos they’d printed off. With little more to go on without further research, the group upstairs had decided to divvy up parts of the sigil and research them individually. Bones handed out evenly distributed stacks to the other three, taking the last for himself and delving back into the Encyclopedia Unnatura. “Hope so,” Rubble groaned. “His mom would likely kill us all in broad daylight if we had to bring back a corpse.” “Is she overprotective or something?” Twilight asked, peeking over the top of her computer monitors. Without internet access, she was forced to rely on the multitude of textbooks she’d accumulated in digital format, and was scrolling intently through her Latin sources. “Hardly,” Spooks grumbled. “She’s just crazy. Treble’s parents are...” “Fucking useless,” Rubble groaned, shuffling through the stack of photos in front of him, looking for a good starting point. Dusty raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never met them, myself. How bad could they be?” Rubble looked up, and raised an eyebrow. “You know how we never talk about your parents?” “...no. No, Rubble, I’m completely oblivious to this fact of life. Please, continue,” he snapped, more out of habitual annoyance than actual frustration. “Imagine if they were still together, and lived under the same roof,” Spooks jumped in, his eyes glued as usual to the book he was reading. Dusty flinched. “Ouch. Really?” Twilight looked back and forth between the boys. “I don’t get it. How bad are they?” Rubble and Spooks traded glances, and Rubble sighed. Leaning back into the couch, he set aside the photos in his lap, and looked at the ceiling. “Where do I start. Ok… I imagine you have a good relationship with your parents, Twilight.” She nodded. “Of course! They’re really supportive. When I told them I wanted to drop out of Prep School and go to a Public High School, they were actually super happy. It’s closer to our house, and it doesn’t cost them money every year.” “Well, imagine the opposite of that,” RM groaned. “Treble’s mom is -was- a lawyer. She got disbarred for jury tampering. Nasty piece of work. Now she’s a legal aide for some ambulance chaser downtown. Dee Facto is the definition of a sleazy lawyer, and is currently trying to find a way to sue the juror she tampered for getting her debarred.” Twilight spluttered incredulously. “But-wha-she can’t DO that!” she yelped. “We know,” Spooks muttered. “Doesn’t stop her from trying.” “Whoa… I heard about her. THAT’S Treble’s mom?!” Dusty asked in surprise. “Yup,” Rubble answered. “And if you can believe it, his dad’s actually worse. You know those guys that are constantly patenting new, useless crap that doesn’t do anything, trying to find their first million-dollar idea?” Dusty flinched. “Oh god, he’s that guy?” Spooks shook his head. “Worse. He’s the guy that loans money to them. A lot of people think that Deep Pockets is in with some kind of organized crime. He’s the slimiest kind of loan shark, too. And the two are constantly fighting, mostly about money. God knows why. But it’s all they ever do when they’re under the same roof. I’m pretty sure the only reason they don’t get divorced is because he couldn’t survive taking her to open court, and she thinks she’ll get more money out of him the way things are now.” Twilight just stard at them, wide-eyed. “Good lord. No wonder he’s such a relentless flirt. Doesn’t exactly have a shining example of a loving relationship at home, does he?” “Well, that and Sunset really did a number on him,” Dusty groaned. “Man, I didn’t know his parents were such absolute douchebags.” “Kinda makes you miss your folks, huh?” Rubble chided. “Oh god no. I’d rather spend the afternoon in the hospital getting a bottle of bleach pumped out of my stomach,” Dusty groaned. Seeing Twilight about to ask, he cut her off. “Don’t. Trust me, just don’t.” Twilight left her mouth hanging open a second as she considered asking anyway, then decided against it, returning her attention to the screen. There was a moment’s silence as they all went about their research, until Twilight let loose a string of baby swears again. Rubble looked up in time to see her smacking her monitor a few times. “Come on, you… you… you douchebag,” she grunted, shaking the screen. “What’s wrong with you?” Dusty stood up and walked around to stand behind her. “Problems?” “The darn thing isn’t responding. It’s not frozen or whatever, cause the cursor’s still blinking, but my mouse isn’t doing anything, and neither is my keyboard,” she whined, shaking both. “Maybe they’re unplugged?” Rubble offered. “Awful lot of cords back here, you know. Maybe someone kicked something?” Twilight frowned cutely as she leaned around the tower of her computer, eyeballing the connections. “No, it looks fine.” Dusty clapped her back. “See, there you go! It’s typing again!” he cheered. Twilight raised an eyebrow at him, then turned her attention to the monitor. Sure enough, in the middle of the page, right above a diagram about Latin pictograms, there were a few words where there hadn’t been earlier. “Um… I didn’t type that,” she said slowly. Dusty looked from her to the computer. “What.” She leaned forward, reading the tiny font. It was much smaller than the print on the rest of the page. “It says… oh. Oh dear. ‘Hello, children’,” she finished quietly. Spooks looked up from his book in alarm to see a matching expression on Rubble’s face. “Oh, boy,” Rubble said. Dusty took a step away from the monitor. “It’s, uh… typing more. What’s it saying?” he asked, in that all-too-familiar tone of not wanting to know the answer. “Um...” Twilight leaned in again, adjusting her glasses as she inspected the new words. “‘Hello, children. It’s so good to have company after all these years. I do hope you stay the night.’” Spooks shuffled in his seat uncomfortably. “Um… that’s nice?” “… ‘Please mind the other guests, they aren’t as fond of visitors as I am’.” “...that’s less nice,” Spooks said sourly. “Man, why are all the monsters we come across evil dicks?” “Hey, there was that one fox spirit at the end of the last school year. She was kinda cool,” Rubble said defensively. “NOT THE POINT RIGHT NOW,” Dusty exclaimed, a little louder than was necessary. Or perhaps not, as the group looked up at him, then followed his alarmed expression to the corner of the room. There, hanging from the doorway on awkward strings, was a marionette.