Category: Ghosts

Mission to Middlehaven: 18

“Igbon!” Each of the three witches chanted in turn, their eyes focused upon the glowing orb which hovered above the stick in the centre circle.

The sky above grew cloudy once again, with the clouds being highlighted by the bright Moon. A loud shriek from somewhere within the trees caused the Elite Force of Britain members to look over, slightly startled.

“Help meeee, my pretttttyyyyyyy….” screamed a familiar voice.

“Oh no, not again!” sighed Lycralad, recognising the scripulus and her dulcet tones. She flew into the cottage garden in such an awkward way, that Lycralad noticed one of her left arms and her left wing were badly damaged.

The scripulus fell directly into the circle, colliding with Merrell and knocking her into the centre of the circle. Merrell’s right shoulder hit the stick, lifting it out of the ground and breaking the connection to the orb, which blinked out of sight for a second.

Only for a second, however, and when it returned, it was a lot brighter with sparks of electricity emitting from it in all directions.

“DO NOT BREAK THE CIRCLE!” cried Cheryl Olive, her eyes now pure white, her voice filled with rage and what appeared to be skin hanging loosely from her face.

Merrell regained her position in the triangle; her eyes just as white as Cheryl Olive’s. Beryl’s eyes too were the same; she also showed signs of her skin starting to peel.

“Igbon!” They chanted, trying to get themselves back into the perfect rhythm they had before, but failing immensely.

Igor the wyvern appeared once again and flew into the group, his tail swishing ferociously. He was chasing the scripulus and could smell her blood. He landed between the witches’ circle and the cottage, with his tail swishing strongly behind him by the witches.

One final swish of his tail caught Cheryl Olive with such force it threw her out of the circle and into the edge of the garden by the trees.

With the circle now being broken, the orb fizzled out of sight once more.

In rage, Cheryl Olive stood and pointed both hands towards the circle. “Frallack!” she shouted, as a beam of energy flared forwards from her, connecting to the stick which still stood in the centre of the circle, and causing it to burst into flames.

Her eyes were back to normal, but her skin was hanging loosely from her cheeks. Both Beryl and Merrell were now in the same condition.

“We must use our own personal powers!” Cheryl Olive shouted as she ran back to Beryl and Merrell. The three then knelt within the large circle and placed their left hands on the spot where the stick had been.

From the wall of the cottage, the four heroes and Annabeth looked on slightly bemused. The scripulus was running around the garden desperately trying to steer clear of the wyvern, and the Witches Three were desperately trying to continue with their ritual whilst constantly being interrupted by the creatures running amok.

“Igbon!” the witches cried, still out of sync.

To make matters worse, thunder rumbled overhead and the rain started. Lightning flashed in the skies above.

“It is working, sisters!” Cheryl Olive shouted. “Prepare yourselves for the lightning strike.”

Psychic Sue looked at Invisible Charlie. “They do not seem to be the same people we shared dinner with earlier, do they?”

“They seem to be a trio of nut jobs!” Charlie answered, “In a nice way, of course!”

Sue then looked over to where Lycralad had been and noticed he’d disappeared. Annabeth was feeling a little weak, and Firetop had taken her inside the cottage to lie down. When he came outside Sue asked him “Is Lycra in there?”

“No, Sue. I saw him walking around the garden before I went in.”

Sue looked toward the bottom of the garden, and saw him waving towards the wyvern, and then chase after it as Igor once again chased the scripulus.

“My goodness!” Sue said, louder than she’d intended to. “Everyone is turning!” At that point a loud scream came from the parlour inside the cottage. Sue and Charlie dashed inside, to find Annabeth encased in a bright green beam of energy that was coming from the centre of the crystal ball. Within a split second, they too were caught within the same green glow.

Outside, the wyvern had caught the scripulus by her left ankle, and flung her towards the cottage, directly into Firetop. Igor was about to pounce on top of the now terrified scripulus, so Firetop fired a warning blast of flame across his path, which caused him to cower. Lycralad managed to catch hold of the young wyvern, and tethered him with a strong thread he’d created with his own strange abilities. He gently patted the wyvern’s head, and managed to calm him.

“Thaaaank youuu, my fierrry friend,” the scripulus said, weakly. “And thannnk youuuu, my Lyyycraaalllaaaad…” she passed out. Lycralad and Firetop dragged her around the side of the cottage, away from the wyvern’s line of vision, hoping that he would forget about his large plaything.

At that moment, a bolt of lightning struck dead centre the witches’ circle, casting aside the three witches out – but not before burning each of their hands. Beryl was sent over to where the wyvern was tied up, Merrell to the far corner of the garden, and Cheryl Olive found herself beside Lycralad and Firetop as they returned.

Cheryl Olive held her hand, and looked at Firetop. “Your flame ignited the mystic energies needed to open the portal…” she grabbed his hand with her un-burnt one, “You have done what we couldn’t. Igbon is rising. Igbon is free!”

Lycralad looked at Firetop. “What is she babbling on about?”

“I dunno,” Firetop really didn’t know. “I thought Igbon was something to do with candle light…”

“Igbon is the swallower of light,” Cheryl Olive declared, her torn face now revealing green flesh beneath her skin. “Igbon, the swallower of light. Igbon the master. Igbon rises! Igbon has been resurrected as was foretold. The resurrector is the son. Behold the Son of Igbon! Behold the Son of Ganthenex!”

Dead of Night

The sound of the bells ringing twelve carried across the graveyard, through the murky grey mist that had decided to settle. Muffled, the heart of the sound was more prominent than the fuzzy, frayed edges to the deep and echoey tolls.

The rustle and scraping of footsteps through fallen leaves swiftly brought my attention to something closer.

Who’d be walking through the graveyard at this time?

I’d never get to know.

The whispered hiss that came from this approaching stranger made me jump to my feet and flee without looking back.

Ghost-hunting is better indoors anyway, on nights like this.

I Can Always Start Again

Elijah was a hapless individual.

He couldn’t rattle chains as his hands simply passed through everything. He couldn’t make eerie groans as his voice didn’t reach the correct wavelength. He had no idea how to generate a ghostly glow whenever he was in anyone’s presence. And he was terrified of his own shadow.

One day, realisation hit home with Elijah. Ghosts shouldn’t have shadows.

He got over his fear, and started making his shadow move in all kinds of strange and sinister ways.

Cottingly Manor was hosting its Annual Masquerade Ball, and Elijah decided to pop along to try out his new found skill.

The ballroom was lit by thousands of candles, all flickering this way and that, casting shadows from the dancing partygoers all around the room.

“Perfect!” Elijah thought, and proceeded to cast his spooky shadows on the walls. Nobody noticed.

Who notices shadows in a candle-lit room?