Flash Fiction #744 -- Dark Nights/3

 

I apologize for being late again.  Everything is crazy.

 

Unwanted baby ghosts can be the most vicious creatures in the spiritual world. The human ones are the worst, but any creature unfairly treated and killed might find a way back to the world.  Poltergeists often spring from this source.  Kit knew enough to approach slowly.

The child sat on a low limb, snarling at her.  It had been a newborn, but had aged to about three years since then.  That often happened when no ghost took a baby in and taught it how to thrive. She still had a baby face, but her body looked about three years old.

An intelligent one. She fashioned clothes from dead leaves. They mimicked the other ghosts who still wore the clothes they'd been buried in.

Surviving was not a problem.  She could not die again, and it would take considerable power and will to displace her.  It would also take a name, and it had to be something she could identify with.

"Come down here.  We need to talk."

"I am dead."

"So am I."

She made a dismissive sound and dropped to the ground, grabbed a rock, and threw it at me. I admit it was an impressive move, picking up something solid and propelling it with some force at me.

The rock passed through me, of course.  That surprised her, and I wasn't certain why. Then, she crossed to me in the blink of an eye.  Her thin fingers moved as though they could brush against the cloth of my long, silk dress.  I had worn it specifically to draw her attention, but she was more connected to this world than I had expected.

"Pretty," she said and looked into my face.

"Would you like a dress like this one, Pine?"

Pine looked up at me, her eyes burning bright green.  Was that envy?

"She won't let me have it."

I felt an odd shift in the situation.  The pine tree shivered and reached out as though to protect the child.  The wind came in a sudden, sharp gust, leaving dust dancing in the air over the graveyard.  I could see shapes in that dust, and they were coming for me.

Pine had power, but something else here had even more.  I was not prepared for this battle, but I thought I could win at least one ally.

"Take the dress, Pine," I said with a wave of my hand.  I dressed her, cleaned her face and hair, and looked back at the dust cloud.  "She has no right to tell you no."

Now, I just had to prove it.
  

Flash Fiction #743 -- Dark Nights/2

 

A bird no one could name cackled in the dark of the night.  Light moved as though alive, rolling along the dusty ground. Somewhere near by, rocks pounded one against another, in a slow, mournful beat.

Or were those bones?

The old church had burned down to a shell almost a decade before. The locals had stripped it before then.  Whatever they left behind could not be holy.  Over time, that even encompassed the dead.

The dead resented it. The more the villagers disparaged the dead, the more trouble grew in the area.  Trees died outside the boundary. Dead lawns spread out from the graveyard.  Shadow creatures ran at night -- things that were not wild cats or howling dogs, but somehow the worst of both.  

Houses went up for sale.  Others were simply abandoned. The dead soon outnumbered the living.  No one on either side knew how to change the situation.

The town finally drew what it needed most—a ghost hunter.  This one was already dead, which made the work easy.  She walked into the bar at the tail end of a vicious storm and looked the locals over.  They weren't the type to make trouble on purpose.

So she went to look for trouble among the dead.

"Can you help us?" an old woman asked as Kit came through the gate.  Others gathered.  No, these ghosts were not creating the trouble, either.  Nonetheless, Kit felt a malevolent spirit in the area.  A strong one -- but she could not see what it might be.

"What is over there?" she pointed ahead and squinted slightly.

"People who died in the epidemic in 1901," a man answered.  He had the aura of a schoolteacher.  "They have always been quiet."

"Not now," Kit replied.  She could even see the trouble now -- a young girl sitting in the weeds and hissing at anything that moved. 

A feral ghost.

Flash Fiction #742 -- Dark Nights/1

 

They planted the nameless child like a seed, but nothing good grew in this field of bones and stones. A few wept tears of loss without knowing her name. For them, each death felt personal. They dreaded their own descent into the unforgiving mud.Another day, another burial.  The city was prosperous, and more people moved there.  They brought their own deaths with them. The numbers grew, and the city leaders started a new graveyard outside the town's new borders. No one complained. Bodies went where the grave-keepers sent them without complaint.
Or so they hoped.
There was a reason people wanted the dead removed from the town.  Most complained that the air felt odd near the old graveyard, and the dead tree leaves rustled in the still of the night.  Some saw lights dance around the old graves on foggy nights. 
No one dared walk the streets on a night of the full moon.
At least no one alive.

Flash Friday #741 -- Doom/13

 

Bob woke me just before dawn. He shook my shoulder and then slapped me across the cheek so that I came awake quickly and just short of killing him. 

"Get ready," he ordered. "It's time." 

"You need to tell me your plan now?" I demanded. I changed clothes with a bit of magic just to get this over with. 

"We are already well into the plan," he replied. "Get moving, or we are going to miss it all." 

Somewhere not too far away (and probably far too close), I could hear people's surprised voices. I sensed little magic in the air, so whatever was going on must be in the hands of the humans. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I have mentioned they are chaotic, right? I soon learned that "chaotic" was a mild description of what humans can do when turned loose. 

I stayed at a cottage near the Archive Tower, well away from the city's usual trouble spots. I dreaded walking to find the battle. That turned out not to be a problem.  A portal stood in the courtyard before the tower. It was already spitting out some of Sylsan's allies, which appeared to include most of the humans. This just didn't look good, and I turned to Bob, hoping for a reasonable answer. 

He let out a battle scream, charged forward, and kicked the gremlin back through the portal. That seemed to be the sign for everyone else to go a little crazy. I know I did, even though I did not know what was really going on. 

Neither, apparently, did anyone else, including Sylsan. That was my only hope. I saw him looking around with growing dread as he tried to grab one of the humans. No, I did not want him to take that human back through the portal and out of our reach. Bob must've felt the same way. He leapt like he had when he attacked the gremlins, but this time, he aimed at Sylsan. 

I shouted a warning and leaped toward him. Adon appeared at my side and grabbed my arm, holding me back. Gold kept going, and when Sylsan noticed the giant cat, he lost all interest in Bob. 

"Stay here," Adon ordered and then gave me a strange smile. "We only brought you along because we thought you'd like to see what kind of madness humans are really capable of creating." 

I watched as the humans with Sylsan surged out around him, as though they couldn't wait for the battle. A few startled fae came running and watched in shock.  Then Bob got close enough to Sylsan to trip him. 

That is when the fireworks started. 

Literally, fireworks. 

I yelped as blue stars exploded in the portal.  Sylsan yelled and waved his arms, apparently trying to use magic to disperse the attack that he didn't understand. Humans surged at him from all sides, and I feared his fear and rage would trigger a magic explosion that would destroy us all. 

The phase demons grabbed his arms and carried him off into the pulsating portal, and none of us could see or track where they went.  Flashes of blue and green lights poured out of the dying portal.  Then the world fell silent, except for Gold's protest since he hadn't gotten to join in the fun. 

I sat down on the steps while the others celebrated, a few at a time until they were all laughing and talking.  Fae and human.  I thought it was a good sign because now we had to figure out what to do with our new friends. 

By the next day, I had a plan. 

We couldn't turn back time or hold it long enough to make a difference.   Instead, we created an agency for the interaction of humans and fae. Small groups of humans and Fae visited various human lands and show them what help they can be in times of disaster. Adon, Gold, Bob, and I are often the team and visit the most inaccessible spots that humans have ever found. They are also the places most likely to believe in magic. 

I can see that within a year there will be more acceptance on both sides. Unfortunately, we are still finding signs of Sylsan, and I expect him to strike again. This time we will expect it. I don't know that it will help. I already sense some human and even Fae groups who are more inclined to listen to him than to us. 

Humans and Fae are far too much alike.  It is going to be a long war.

Flash Fiction #740 -- Doom/12

 

Humans are inherently chaotic. Anyone who has spent time with humans realizes this from the start. They aren't inherently evil or chaotic, but they tend to go down paths some of us would turn away from before it gets too bad.

 

The worst thing that can happen to a fae is to be with a human who suddenly thinks something really strange would be interesting to check out. Short of knocking them unconscious, sometimes you can do nothing but go along with them.

 

I thought I could trust Bob. He had seemed like a sane sort of human. I hadn't seen him do anything out of the ordinary, and the months he spent with the Fae after our encounter with Sylsan had been pleasantly calm. I was spending my time in the archives because nobody trusted me out on the street, including me.  Besides, I enjoyed sitting in the archives and dusting off old manuscripts that nobody looked at in decades. I had an affinity for finding older works that no one had even remembered.

 

On day twelve of the humans' forced exile into our fae realm, Bob came to me and asked if he could sit in the room while I looked at the archives.

 

"I don't mind," I replied. The idea of some company during the long hours appealed to me now that the continuous headache had eased back to something manageable. "But why me? I'm not the most interesting fae in the area."

 

"I don't need interesting," he said with more emotion than I expected. "I've been spending a lot of time with Adon and Gold. Sometimes, Adon and I can talk for half an hour before I realize we aren't talking about the same thing. In fact, we are often worlds apart. The other humans have made similar observations. You and I could talk back in the human realm. I hope we can make that connection again so I can feel more comfortable with the others, both human and fae."

 

"What problems do you have talking to us?" I asked.

 

"Anything dealing with time," he replied and gave me a long stare.  "Why don't you have that problem?"

 

"Anything that has to do with time –"

 

"Time isn't a constant here," I told him.

 

Bob looked at me as though I had gone mad.  "That's not possible … is it?"

 

"Anything that can be named and measured can be manipulated."

 

Bob took a moment to consider that one.  I knew where his thoughts were going, too. He glanced around the archives, but that was not what he was thinking about.

 

"I can be named and measured."

 

"Yes, you can.  However, eons of experience have taught us that manipulating allies is never a good idea. They resent it.  That karma comes back on you.  However, if you were standing in front of a falling building, it would be easier to move you rather than the building."

 

"And I like to think I would be grateful."

 

"If you are trying to get a group of fae to set a date and time for something to begin, forget it.  The best you can do is to set parameters that must be met before the event can begin."

 

"And the enemy, noting that I have gathered troops, would begin gathering his own," Bob answered.

 

"Exactly."

 

"So there's no way to have a surprise attack," Bob said, looking toward the window behind them. A slight breeze rolled through, picking up dust from everywhere.

 

I thought about creating a cleaning spell specifically for the archives.  It would have to be gentle, but now wasn't the time to consider it.  Bob was still looking for answers.

 

"A surprise battle was very rare.  It takes a lot of magic, which people usually discover anyway. It is why our wars are minor affairs, and assassins are more common.  We don't think assassins would go after the humans, but we are keeping watch more carefully than we normally would under these circumstances."

 

Bob looked at me, and I could see unasked questions in his stare.  It seemed as if he considered one thing after another before he discarded each one.  Then he finally nodded.

 

"I can't tell if you are taking Sylsan seriously or not."

 

"We purposely are not making him powerful," I replied, wondering if this was one of those things humans and fae didn't share.  "If we do more than try to track him, we limit our choices later.  We can't set up a trap because he would sense the magic."

 

"Then humans should set up a trap."