Casper the Unfriendly Ghost
Okay… I gotta get a few things outa my system before I indulge in anymore Faith and Willow do the Haunted Mansion adventures.
First of all… I ain't some scared little girl who can't take a ghost or ten. I'm a slayer. I can deal with some spirits. I mean, what the hell can they do to me? Rattle chains and say Boo really loud? Whatever. That don't freak me out. What's got me spooked is that the people here? They're running a fucking freak show and I sure as Hell don't want to be a part of that. Got it? Ghost Faith just isn't really appealing to me right now. Kinda like my tits flesh and bones.
So, before you start labeling me the coward, ask yourself this - what kind of freaks are these people? They obviously got something goin' down. Told ya I got the bad vibes straight from the start. But does anybody listen to the ex convict? No, of course not because we gotta experience culture! See the world! Play the tourist in the most backwards place on this whole fuckin' planet! And I'm sorry if I'm not diggin' the part where two over zealous fucks with superiority complexes lynch poor black kids and keep their spirits anchored here by some messed up mojo.
Did I ever mention how much I hate magick? No offense to my Wiccan sex kitten - but that stuff's fuckin' cracked, man! Who wants to keep around a bunch of unhappy souls anyway? All they do is moan and groan and scare the Hell outa whoever's campin' out in these digs. God, no wonder Jeeves said these folks usually aren't big with the visitors. I've had my fair share of possessions and soul suckings for the year. Thanks, but no thanks. Gonna have to pass on the part where my soul is internally stuck in Gone with the Wind Hell.
So I try to tell this to Red and she goes all goody two shoes on me and tells me how it's our duty to save these souls. Then she sends me down to the library like I'm her little lap dog or something. Fuck, I'm so pussy whipped. So much for me bein' the one in charge, huh? Girl's got me wrapped around her little finger.
Anyway, I'm walkin' down these steps, still seriously wiggin' out from the dream and the whole gettin' locked in the bedroom thing. If there's one thing I hate in this world - it's bein' trapped like some animal. After Red broke me out of prison I kinda developed a case of claustrophobia. According to those fancy ass medical books… it's a normal side effect. Well, doesn't that just make everything fine and fuckin' dandy? Bastards.
Not to mention I already kinda hated closed in spaces. Gettin' locked in closets when you're a kid can do that to a girl. Not the funnest way to spend yours days and sometimes nights.
I'm on my guard as I travel down the steps, my heart thuddin' wildly in my chest and every creek the stairs make sounds like the fuckin' marching band. Man, when did I become such a wuss? I really got a slay or vamp or two and get back in the game.
I make it down without any major disasters and head for the library. Jeeves is nowhere to be seen. Must be shinin' shoes or something. The freaky twosome ain't around either which means I'm startin' to feel less like a coward and more like my old self. Got my old strut back in full prowl as I push open the doors.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath as I look around. I give the shelves the once over and continue my inner rant. "How the Hell am I supposed to find anything? It's like findin' a needle in a haystack. This sucks."
I notice a few books on the floor near the fireplace and make my way over to 'em. Figure those must be the thing's she was readin' before this place turned into a living horror movie. You know, I always kinda dug those movies as a kid. Freddy, Jason, Candyman… they never scared me. I just laughed at how pathetic their lame asses were and how stupid all there victims were.
Thing I don't get is if those guys never left me with more than sore rib; why the Hell were a few little ghosts makin' my skin crawl? This place felt more than creepy. Gave off some serious evil vibes. I knew that feeling. Hell, I lived on that feeling! Thrived on it once upon a time in a story everyone and their next door neighbor's dog knows. Maybe it hit too close to home… something about it was almost enticing, ya know? Like it made you wanna say goodbye to any sense of morals you had and jump off the deep end and into that bottomless pool of black.
"I so need out of this place," I say to myself, louder this time as I comb my fingers through my hair in frustration. Who sends the chick who hates books to find the ones we need? Smart thinkin' Red. You sure you got accepted into all those Ivy League schools? 'Cause I'm thinkin' this wasn't the most brilliant plan you could've come up with.
I start to flip through the books when I start to hear the voices again. This time not askin' me for help… but these voices started to whisper those dark promises to me. The ones that tasted so good on my tongue once.
"Join us," a voice whispered. "You can't fight it. No one can."
"We're not evil," another chimed in. "We just enjoy our duty."
I arch brow and get up on the defensive… ready to kick this Casper's ass. "And what duty would that be exactly? Because I'm really not seein' the good in your work here."
"Duty to destroy those who don't belong," the voice answered back viciously. "It's the right thing to do. It is not evil. We're only doing our moral duty. Help us Faith. Help us do our duty."
"Sorry, but I was never too good with authority figures and duties. Always kinda…" I put on my best pansy asses conceited British watcher voice. "Shirked my duties, if ya know what I mean."
"One rule isn't hard to follow," the first voice says. A cold breeze blows into the wind, caressing my skin like it's velvet or something. I close my eyes as the voices get stronger. Man, I hope they're not in my head. "All you have to do is kill. Kill all those who don't belong. They're bad. Evil. Dirty. We can't have them here."
"Who?" I ask, starting to feel light headed now. A strange smell floats into the room… a mix between dead flowers and spoiled meat. I cough, not really diggin' the sudden rank smell of this place.
"The slaves," both voices snarl. "Dirty bad slaves. We must destroy them all!"
My eyes snap open at their words. Screw that! "Fuck. You," I growl back at them. "You can take you're fucking voices and shove 'em up your ass for all I care, Casper. Get a new scare tactic. And cut the smell. It ain't sealing the deal for ya. You wanna scare me? Then give me something real to be scared of. No more of this drafty whispering crap."
…and I think I kinda pissed them off.
The fireplace suddenly does a 180 right in front of my eyes and these figures come out. Hey, it's the happy couple! Only they ain't lookin' too great now. Mister soft spoken gentleness has maggots crawlin' all over his dead flesh while the Ice Queen's got hunk of flesh fallin' from her bones. Their clothes look like they literally crawled their way out of their caskets and I'm suddenly gettin' flashes of The Night of the Living Dead.
"You want scare tactics, girl?" the man asks, his kind voice from before replaced with something deep and menacing. Okay, startin' to freak out here. Not to mention I'm in some serious need of a bucket or something. All this rotting flesh is startin' to make my stomach churn.
"You're wicked gross," I groan. Stupid, yea, but it's all I got at the moment. I hold onto my stomach with one hand and cover my mouth with the other, tryin' not to breath in this dead air.
"She's dirty like them," Ice Queen tells her zombie hubby. "She's all wrong. All wrong. This here girl done some dirty things in her life."
"Someone got their memo late," I retort dully. I can feel the bile rising in my throat and fuck, I so don't wanna hurl in front of these guys. Kinda like to keep that kind of business private, ya know? Nobody likes puking in front of the class.
They step closer and the smell invades my nostrils and burns inside my lungs. I turn away and start to hurl. God, this sucks. Where's Willow when you need her? I could use a little help down here… or just some wicked strong air freshener.
Something cold touches my shoulder and I jump, suddenly forgetting the smell as I feel something I haven't felt in a long time. Not since Kakistos have I ever felt a touch so full of pure evil. I whirl around and punch my attacker square in the jaw. Mr. Southern Comfort stumbles backwards into his girl thing and they both hit the floor.
"Don't you ever touch me again," I snarl at them, in full feral cornered animal mode. "You pull that crap on me again and I'll pull off each and every single one of your rotting fingers. Knuckle by knuckle."
I race away from them and try for the door. It's locked… I don't know why I'm even surprised by this. Man, this house has got some kinda system where if you close a door… you might as well give up all hopes on ever gettin' the damn thing open again. There's no windows in sight so my only escape is to risk it and go down the tunnel where the fireplace used to be.
"Catch ya later," I yell back at them as I run outa there in full speed.
My feet pound on the concrete hard and the smell of rotting flesh is replaced with stale air. Not the best smell in the world but it ain't makin' me vomit so I can dig it. I run for what feels forever through the darkness. By the looks of this place… no ones used these tunnels for ages. Cobwebs tear at me as I run and I start to get that wicked horrible feelin' that there's bugs crawlin' all over me but when I slap at my arms… there's nothing there. Trippy.
I'm just hoping these tunnels lead out. The adrenaline from the fight's filtering out and all I'm feelin' right now is tired, sweaty, and itchy. I'd kill for a hot bath right about now. I'm finally getting' what B called the burden of slayerdom. Sure you get all this kick ass powers but when you're up against something you don't know, and sometimes things you do know, your powers don't mean shit. I mean, I got the strength of an entire football team but it ain't helpin' me in getting out of this maze of underground tunnels. Plus, you still got all those human needs. Those pansy assed mama boys like to think slayers are just things to play with. That we're nothing but a hunk of muscle. We gamble our lives everyday and for what? To make their sorry asses look good!
And still, even as a freelancer, I give and give and give some more and what do I get? Jack shit! Only reward I'm gettin' is a cobweb in the face as I run from Night of the Living Dead rejects. Oh yea, I'm feelin' the slayer pride right here, baby!
I'm so screwed.
And my theories proved when the floor suddenly opens up and I'm free falling through the air. I hit the ground with a hard thud and I guess that strength does come in handy in sitches like this. I'm a little dazed but still live and kicking.
The upside? I check myself out and everything seems to be five by five. No broken bones or coma inducing head injuries.
The downside? I'm in a fucking dungeon!
First of all… I ain't some scared little girl who can't take a ghost or ten. I'm a slayer. I can deal with some spirits. I mean, what the hell can they do to me? Rattle chains and say Boo really loud? Whatever. That don't freak me out. What's got me spooked is that the people here? They're running a fucking freak show and I sure as Hell don't want to be a part of that. Got it? Ghost Faith just isn't really appealing to me right now. Kinda like my tits flesh and bones.
So, before you start labeling me the coward, ask yourself this - what kind of freaks are these people? They obviously got something goin' down. Told ya I got the bad vibes straight from the start. But does anybody listen to the ex convict? No, of course not because we gotta experience culture! See the world! Play the tourist in the most backwards place on this whole fuckin' planet! And I'm sorry if I'm not diggin' the part where two over zealous fucks with superiority complexes lynch poor black kids and keep their spirits anchored here by some messed up mojo.
Did I ever mention how much I hate magick? No offense to my Wiccan sex kitten - but that stuff's fuckin' cracked, man! Who wants to keep around a bunch of unhappy souls anyway? All they do is moan and groan and scare the Hell outa whoever's campin' out in these digs. God, no wonder Jeeves said these folks usually aren't big with the visitors. I've had my fair share of possessions and soul suckings for the year. Thanks, but no thanks. Gonna have to pass on the part where my soul is internally stuck in Gone with the Wind Hell.
So I try to tell this to Red and she goes all goody two shoes on me and tells me how it's our duty to save these souls. Then she sends me down to the library like I'm her little lap dog or something. Fuck, I'm so pussy whipped. So much for me bein' the one in charge, huh? Girl's got me wrapped around her little finger.
Anyway, I'm walkin' down these steps, still seriously wiggin' out from the dream and the whole gettin' locked in the bedroom thing. If there's one thing I hate in this world - it's bein' trapped like some animal. After Red broke me out of prison I kinda developed a case of claustrophobia. According to those fancy ass medical books… it's a normal side effect. Well, doesn't that just make everything fine and fuckin' dandy? Bastards.
Not to mention I already kinda hated closed in spaces. Gettin' locked in closets when you're a kid can do that to a girl. Not the funnest way to spend yours days and sometimes nights.
I'm on my guard as I travel down the steps, my heart thuddin' wildly in my chest and every creek the stairs make sounds like the fuckin' marching band. Man, when did I become such a wuss? I really got a slay or vamp or two and get back in the game.
I make it down without any major disasters and head for the library. Jeeves is nowhere to be seen. Must be shinin' shoes or something. The freaky twosome ain't around either which means I'm startin' to feel less like a coward and more like my old self. Got my old strut back in full prowl as I push open the doors.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath as I look around. I give the shelves the once over and continue my inner rant. "How the Hell am I supposed to find anything? It's like findin' a needle in a haystack. This sucks."
I notice a few books on the floor near the fireplace and make my way over to 'em. Figure those must be the thing's she was readin' before this place turned into a living horror movie. You know, I always kinda dug those movies as a kid. Freddy, Jason, Candyman… they never scared me. I just laughed at how pathetic their lame asses were and how stupid all there victims were.
Thing I don't get is if those guys never left me with more than sore rib; why the Hell were a few little ghosts makin' my skin crawl? This place felt more than creepy. Gave off some serious evil vibes. I knew that feeling. Hell, I lived on that feeling! Thrived on it once upon a time in a story everyone and their next door neighbor's dog knows. Maybe it hit too close to home… something about it was almost enticing, ya know? Like it made you wanna say goodbye to any sense of morals you had and jump off the deep end and into that bottomless pool of black.
"I so need out of this place," I say to myself, louder this time as I comb my fingers through my hair in frustration. Who sends the chick who hates books to find the ones we need? Smart thinkin' Red. You sure you got accepted into all those Ivy League schools? 'Cause I'm thinkin' this wasn't the most brilliant plan you could've come up with.
I start to flip through the books when I start to hear the voices again. This time not askin' me for help… but these voices started to whisper those dark promises to me. The ones that tasted so good on my tongue once.
"Join us," a voice whispered. "You can't fight it. No one can."
"We're not evil," another chimed in. "We just enjoy our duty."
I arch brow and get up on the defensive… ready to kick this Casper's ass. "And what duty would that be exactly? Because I'm really not seein' the good in your work here."
"Duty to destroy those who don't belong," the voice answered back viciously. "It's the right thing to do. It is not evil. We're only doing our moral duty. Help us Faith. Help us do our duty."
"Sorry, but I was never too good with authority figures and duties. Always kinda…" I put on my best pansy asses conceited British watcher voice. "Shirked my duties, if ya know what I mean."
"One rule isn't hard to follow," the first voice says. A cold breeze blows into the wind, caressing my skin like it's velvet or something. I close my eyes as the voices get stronger. Man, I hope they're not in my head. "All you have to do is kill. Kill all those who don't belong. They're bad. Evil. Dirty. We can't have them here."
"Who?" I ask, starting to feel light headed now. A strange smell floats into the room… a mix between dead flowers and spoiled meat. I cough, not really diggin' the sudden rank smell of this place.
"The slaves," both voices snarl. "Dirty bad slaves. We must destroy them all!"
My eyes snap open at their words. Screw that! "Fuck. You," I growl back at them. "You can take you're fucking voices and shove 'em up your ass for all I care, Casper. Get a new scare tactic. And cut the smell. It ain't sealing the deal for ya. You wanna scare me? Then give me something real to be scared of. No more of this drafty whispering crap."
…and I think I kinda pissed them off.
The fireplace suddenly does a 180 right in front of my eyes and these figures come out. Hey, it's the happy couple! Only they ain't lookin' too great now. Mister soft spoken gentleness has maggots crawlin' all over his dead flesh while the Ice Queen's got hunk of flesh fallin' from her bones. Their clothes look like they literally crawled their way out of their caskets and I'm suddenly gettin' flashes of The Night of the Living Dead.
"You want scare tactics, girl?" the man asks, his kind voice from before replaced with something deep and menacing. Okay, startin' to freak out here. Not to mention I'm in some serious need of a bucket or something. All this rotting flesh is startin' to make my stomach churn.
"You're wicked gross," I groan. Stupid, yea, but it's all I got at the moment. I hold onto my stomach with one hand and cover my mouth with the other, tryin' not to breath in this dead air.
"She's dirty like them," Ice Queen tells her zombie hubby. "She's all wrong. All wrong. This here girl done some dirty things in her life."
"Someone got their memo late," I retort dully. I can feel the bile rising in my throat and fuck, I so don't wanna hurl in front of these guys. Kinda like to keep that kind of business private, ya know? Nobody likes puking in front of the class.
They step closer and the smell invades my nostrils and burns inside my lungs. I turn away and start to hurl. God, this sucks. Where's Willow when you need her? I could use a little help down here… or just some wicked strong air freshener.
Something cold touches my shoulder and I jump, suddenly forgetting the smell as I feel something I haven't felt in a long time. Not since Kakistos have I ever felt a touch so full of pure evil. I whirl around and punch my attacker square in the jaw. Mr. Southern Comfort stumbles backwards into his girl thing and they both hit the floor.
"Don't you ever touch me again," I snarl at them, in full feral cornered animal mode. "You pull that crap on me again and I'll pull off each and every single one of your rotting fingers. Knuckle by knuckle."
I race away from them and try for the door. It's locked… I don't know why I'm even surprised by this. Man, this house has got some kinda system where if you close a door… you might as well give up all hopes on ever gettin' the damn thing open again. There's no windows in sight so my only escape is to risk it and go down the tunnel where the fireplace used to be.
"Catch ya later," I yell back at them as I run outa there in full speed.
My feet pound on the concrete hard and the smell of rotting flesh is replaced with stale air. Not the best smell in the world but it ain't makin' me vomit so I can dig it. I run for what feels forever through the darkness. By the looks of this place… no ones used these tunnels for ages. Cobwebs tear at me as I run and I start to get that wicked horrible feelin' that there's bugs crawlin' all over me but when I slap at my arms… there's nothing there. Trippy.
I'm just hoping these tunnels lead out. The adrenaline from the fight's filtering out and all I'm feelin' right now is tired, sweaty, and itchy. I'd kill for a hot bath right about now. I'm finally getting' what B called the burden of slayerdom. Sure you get all this kick ass powers but when you're up against something you don't know, and sometimes things you do know, your powers don't mean shit. I mean, I got the strength of an entire football team but it ain't helpin' me in getting out of this maze of underground tunnels. Plus, you still got all those human needs. Those pansy assed mama boys like to think slayers are just things to play with. That we're nothing but a hunk of muscle. We gamble our lives everyday and for what? To make their sorry asses look good!
And still, even as a freelancer, I give and give and give some more and what do I get? Jack shit! Only reward I'm gettin' is a cobweb in the face as I run from Night of the Living Dead rejects. Oh yea, I'm feelin' the slayer pride right here, baby!
I'm so screwed.
And my theories proved when the floor suddenly opens up and I'm free falling through the air. I hit the ground with a hard thud and I guess that strength does come in handy in sitches like this. I'm a little dazed but still live and kicking.
The upside? I check myself out and everything seems to be five by five. No broken bones or coma inducing head injuries.
The downside? I'm in a fucking dungeon!