//------------------------------// // Act Ten: Down in Front! // Story: Delinquency // by Daemon McRae //------------------------------// Act Ten: Down in Front! The single most difficult task in the early legs of a paranormal investigation is determining the nature of the disturbance. Truly, there are so many theories, legends, and myths surrounding the world of the supernatural that many people are insistent on defining the source down to the letter. Many demons, creatures, and spirits have so many subtle differences, depending on the country of origin and a variety of smaller circumstances, that declaring all spirits ‘ghosts’ or all creatures from the pit as just ‘demons’ is not only seen as amateurish, but insulting. A prime example is determining the difference between a ghost, poltergeist, or demonic presence. They have many similar traits, including levitating objects, phantom noises, and disturbing behavior from animals and humans alike. Of course, any armchair investigator will happily describe in great detail the ‘obvious’ differences, such as a demon’s tendency to possess an individual, changing their appearance, voice, and behavior drastically. Or how a poltergeist is actually a person-oriented phenomena, or in layman’s terms, psychic phenomena orienting from someone in the home. Really, we know so little about any of these unnatural beings that we tend to latch on to the best guess of someone who says they have experienced these things before, and take them as law or gospel. This isn’t to say that there aren’t those who have encountered a malevolent presence, nor that there is no such precedent for the many rules and ideologies surrounding supernatural occurrences. No, the difficulty comes from those who have done little in the way of research and even less in the way of personal experience claiming to know ‘for a fact’ how to properly define a haunting, possession, or poltergeist. Those people who have done little more than watch a litany of horror movies and ‘reality’ television and assume that Hollywood knows more about spiritual manifestation than a proper exorcist or experienced paranormal psychologist. The single greatest obstacle that this plethora of ‘knowledge’ presents to anyone actually encountering a spirit is that there is little to no evidence of any of it actually working, beyond word of mouth, and yet many of those unfortunate souls coming face to face with a malevolent presence will try nearly anything they’ve seen on TV and hope it sticks. Deep Treble was not one of those people, however. Having dragged the nearest individual under a sideways desk with him (that person being Indigo), he threw his back to flat surface of the furniture, trying to minimize himself as a target, dropping both their bags in the process. “Get down!” he’d roared, nearly as soon as the trunk had erupted, toys flying in all directions. Raven had reacted much the same way, although with much less practice. She grunted in pain as her head knocked loudly against an ajar dresser drawer in the small alcove she’d dived into for cover. Rubbing her head with a loud groan, she made an effort to look for something to cover her exposed angle as soon as she could see straight again. Finding little in the way of cover beyond a teddy bear that had landed nearby, she simply shrunk herself into the nook of the dresser and the bed frame leaning against each other around her. Indigo, however, had no such instinct to dive for cover, and in fact had moved almost counter-intuitively, reacting to Treble’s firm grasp on her shoulder as a challenge. Tugging one direction while he tugged the other, the only thing keeping them both from going arse over teakettle was Treble's practiced reactions and sure footing. Indigo was so disoriented by the deafening noise of the trunk bursting open, and the sudden lurch on her shoulder, that her resistance amounted to little more than a loud protest and a knee-jerk in the other direction, which was easily compensated for by Treble throwing almost his entire weight into the dive. Her struggle wasn’t without consequence, unfortunately, as it had left her much more open to projectile playthings than the others. Namely, the croquet ball that ricocheted off the ceiling and nailed her in the collarbone with a sickening crack. She fell to the floor with a loud cry, as Treble moved hesitantly to come to her aid. The only saving grace seemed to be that, beyond the initial explosion, there was no immediate sense of danger. DT crawled out from his hiding spot to drag Indigo out of the open, tucking her against a wall and sitting her up. She verbally protested to such treatment, but seemed to be in such pain that she offered no physical resistance. She leaned against the cold cement, face scrunched in pain, as Treble eyed her remorsefully. “How bad is it?” he asked, keeping his voice low. One might say unnecessarily, as there was little other noise in the basement beyond the settling of ‘debris’. Zap moved the related arm slightly, and winced hard. “OW. Fuck. I think that… whatever fractured my clavicle.” Treble blinked largely. “Your what?” “My collarbone, you nerd. I don’t think it’s broken all the way through. Do you see any bulging?” she asked, pulling the collar of her shirt away with her good hand. “Hold on,” he muttered, and rustled over to where their bags had dropped in the commotion. Dragging them back, he dug through one until he found the large-ish flashlight, and flicked it on. Indigo smirked as he made the rookie mistake of looking at it as it blinked on, and he had to shake the spots from his eyes. He angled the light at her shoulder, and gave it a closer look. “...no, I don’t think so. That’s a nasty-ass bruise, though.” “Well, duh, it would be. There’s a fractured bone under there, No doubt I broke a blood vessel,” she groaned, the pain giving her voice more of an edge than usual. “That’s good, though. Bulging means it’s straight up broken. A fracture wouldn’t be so obvious.” “You seem to know quite a bit about this particular injury,” came Raven’s voice behind the desk. They both jumped in panic, and Treble wheeled around, holding the flashlight like a club. “Oh! Sorry! Wasn’t trying to startle you, it’s just me,” she said soothingly, leaning on one knee next to the injured party. Treble waved his flashlight over her to double-check, and noticed a large spot of blood on the top of her head. “Uh, boss? Yer’ bleedin’.” Raven tapped the top of her head, and her hand came away red. “Oh, dammit. Hit my head on a dresser. Don’t worry, it’s better than it looks.” Indigo nodded. “Yeah, head injuries tend to bleed a lot, because the skin is so thin and there are a lot of blood vessels up there.” When the other two gave her curious looks, she added, “I study sports medicine. You didn’t think I went to a Prep school just cause I could kick a ball around, did you?” “No, I just had you pegged as an engineering major,” Treble mused, rifling through the bag again. “Shit. Left the medkit with the others. Hold on,” he added, and loosened his tie. Undoing the knot, he repositioned himself next to Indigo, and tied it as a makeshift sling for her arm. “It’s shitty, but it’s all I got.” Raven raised an eyebrow at him. “Et tu?” “Hey, not the first broken collarbone I’ve come across. You’d be surprised how often Dusty’s broken his,” he explained. “Then why did you look at me like a dead fish when I explained it the first time?” Indigo said suspiciously. Treble rolled his eyes. “Because nobody I know except Twilight would use the word ‘clavicle’, ok? I’m a C student, give me a break.” Raven shook her head. “Hmm. You really ought to put more effort into your studies.” He gave her a rather annoyed glare. “Real life tends to get in the way, Miss Inkwell. And Eaton doesn’t exactly consider monster hunting a valid extracurricular.” “I see,” Raven said uncertainly, not having a valid response. “More to the point,” Indigo grunted, “There aren’t any other toys about to explode at us and break, I don’t know, more of my bones, are there?!” DT relaxed his expression and stood up cautiously, taking a look around the room. “No, I don’t think so. Although I’m sure a head wound and a broken bone is a good enough reason to highly consider relocating. As in, not being in this creepy-ass basement anymore?” Indigo stood up slowly, with some assistance from Inkwell, and looked around. “Yeah, I’m all about the leaving part. But come on, where’s all that bravado you were marching around with earlier?” “It comes with the tie,” Treble said distractedly, pointing at her arm. “Use it wisely, young tadpole.” Not waiting for a response, he picked up both bags, and offered the lighter one to Raven. As he moved, he heard a sad, metallic crunching sound coming from his suit, and dug his now-free hand into his pocket with an apprehensive look. It came back with a handful of shattered electrical parts and loose wiring. “Welp, so much for Twilight’s EMF. Hope it wasn’t that expensive.” --------------------------------- “I don’t suppose any of that fancy-ass equipment has anything to say about our newest… guest, does it?” Rubble said out of the side of his mouth at Twilight, who was furiously pouring over each of her systems in turn with an increasingly distressed look. “Yes, but I have no idea what any of it means!. I’m getting the same kind of energy signatures as the doors and windows, but it’s… wavy. Like an unstable field,” she complained. “That might be because it’s moving,” Spooks noted calmly, in that infuriatingly flat tone he reserved for truly distressing news. Indeed, the marionette had bounced through the air on its strings farther into the room, now waving back and forth over a circular table. It lowered quietly, until its feet rested on the surface of the wood, and its head tilted to the side as it came to a rest. Twilight hit a couple switches and turned on a flood light, pointing it at the far side of the room. It had a rather similar effect to a spotlight, which seemed to get a reaction out of the doll. They now had a better view of the thing, which many of them regretted almost instantly. The first impression, based on its color and rigidity, had been of a typical wooden doll of slightly more robust proportions, with smaller eyes than expected and rather tattered dress and hair. This was quickly dispelled under the power of the light, as it was revealed not to be made of wood, but rather, flesh. In fact, it was less a marionette than a body on strings. The body of a young girl, no more than six, with thin arms and legs, almost gamine features, and an old, broken dress that could once have been called eggshell blue. The wooden appearance was due, in fact, to the withered and darkened nature of her skin, which had shriveled and hardened like old leather. So much so that one might think it would feel like an old bootstrap, should one be brave or foolish enough to test it. It wore cracked wooden shoes, reminiscent of the forced, cracked smile seemingly etched onto its face. The worst part was the eyes, though. As dead and gone as the rest of the body looked, as old and fragile, the eyes still shone with the light and hope of a small child, slowly dimming with the reality of her situation. They seemed to slowly pan back and forth, as if asking what it was that she had done wrong, pleading for help. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” Rubble groaned, leaning over the back of the couch with a pained expression. “Someone’s getting their everything chopped off for this,” Dusty growled. Twilight offered little more than a painful sob as she looked away from the pitiful girl’s gaze, unable to provide any comfort. There was a crackling sound as the speakers in Twilight’s computer began to spit and sputter. After a few seconds, a voice rang out. “Do you like it?” it asked. It sounded male, if it was ever human, though raspy, forced. As if being filtered through a sieve of inhuman emotions and ideas before forming actual words. “It can even dance. Watch.” Lacking a valid response, the group watched on in horror as the girl’s feet flailed dispassionately in an atrocious farce of tap-dancing, then ballet. Her body twisted and bent at odd angles and spun at inhuman speeds, until finally she took a sickly bow and looked back up at them. If her body could still produce tears, they had no doubt she would be crying. “All of my toys are very talented,” came the voice again, even as Twilight scrambled for a way to turn it off. “Make it stop,” Twilight wept loudly, even going so far as to tug the speaker off the table, the cord snapping behind it. Still, the voice came. “Why would I do that?” it breathed. “There’s so much more my dolls can do.” It spoke dispassionately, as if reading a script. “E-fucking-nuff,” Rubble growled, and pulled a knife from… somewhere. With a practiced flourish, he flung it through the air, until it planted itself loudly in the wall behind the girl. Immediately, one of her arms dropped to her side. A few more throws later, and the body crumpled slowly to the table, resting in an almost relaxed seated position. Twilight looked ready to say something about Rubble’s uncanny skill with sharp objects, but the air in the room and the look on the boy’s faces said quite loudly that ‘now was not the time.’ Dusty marched up to the doll as the voice crackled back to life. “Now that was unnecessary. I simply wished to provide some quality entertainment for my… guests. But there you go, breaking my toys. Oh well. I guess your tastes are more… modern, shall we say? I believe I have something for that. Somewhere.” With that, the speaker crackled off, dying in Twilight’s hand. DD leaned over the crumpled body with an apologetic look. The eyes slowly turned to him, filled less with panic and more with a sense of gratitude. At least, that’s what he’d like to think. Slowly, he passed a hand over her eyes, closing them. Then, the body fell flat on the table, and moved no more. Nobody spoke for a while. Dusty picked up the girl’s body, and laid it out on a couch, draping his jacket over it. Her body was so small that you could barely see her legs under the bottom of the coat. “It appears our gracious host is a psychotic fuckbarn,” Rubble groaned, recovering from the awful display enough to stand up straight and turn his attention back to his friends. “Thus, I recommend we find a way to shut his ass down, and fast. Spooks, tell me, TELL ME you have something.” The pale boy nodded, even as the color seemed to have drained from his face permanently. He spoke slowly, and carefully. “I do. But I don’t think you’re going to like it.” “I already don’t like everything right now. There’s not a lot you could say to worsen this wonderfully awful mood I have going on,” RM growled. Dusty nodded. “Same. Give us what you got.” Spooks sighed, closing his eyes. “Well, I found some of the symbols in the photos. And I think I know what book we should be looking in.” Twilight squeaked out a hopeful, “Oh?” Rubble just rolled his shoulders. “Good. Go get it.” Spooks shrugged dispassionately, and leaned over the trunk, rifling through its contents. “Just out of curiosity,” Dusty broke in, “What book are you talking about?” “If I’m right,” Spooks replied with a grunt, “It’s the same book the ‘genius’ behind this whole fiasco used in the first place.” With a final tug, he pulled out an ancient-looking square parcel, wrapped in white cloth and tied with a curious red thread. Dusty and Rubble flinched, as Twilight eyed the thing curiously. “What IS that?” she asked incredulously. Spooks untied the thread, and unwrapped the cloth, revealing a curiously-bound book with more locks on it than a book ought to have. “I like to think of it as Plan Z. Apparently someone considers it required reading in this house. It’s an old text written during the crusades by a coven of witches looking to escape the trials and summary executions. It consists of really nasty magic designed specifically to spit in the face of god and the Good Word, and open doors that not only should stay closed, but be welded shut with orbital lasers. Officially, it’s referred to at the Cantet Manus, or the Crow’s Hand.” Dusty gave Twilight a hard stare. “If you have heard of it, and I doubt, you’d know it as The Book of The Morrighan.”