January - 1895

January - 1895

One of the key elements of being in this role was remaining in control. Right now, she was not in control. How it had happened was not beyond her understanding. A simple mistake, a rare thing in itself, had led to the current tribulations. Fortunately, it was not a strong presence, unfortunately, it was malevolent. The thing that was once a man had come back to this world screaming hate for all that lived. “WHY!?” it wailed. There was a crash of a jar hitting the tiled floor and smashing, the smell of vinegar hit her nose, the taste of it permeating the air.

The first action of this malevolent being was to tip the table. The strength it needed to do so was great, telling her that this was no mere murder victim she was speaking to. A huge gust of wind battered against her, pushing her down to the ground. The cold air tugged and pulled at her hair, sending it into dark webbing in the air. She did not cry out. The wailing of the presence was more than enough to fill the air without hers joining it.

One of the books was tugged off the bookshelf and although she caught it out of the corner of her eye, she wasn’t quick enough to dodge it. The blow to the side of her head sent a shower of prickling white into her vision. The floor came up to meet her head and for a moment, it was tempting to remain there, let the black stars take her with them on their journey. That would mean letting the spirit free however and this was not the place for wandering malevolent spirits. There were people out there who wouldn’t have a clue what it was and the resulting panic would be really bad for business.

“WHY?!” screamed the spirit once more, finding another of the jars and hurling it to the floor. Vanessa’s eyes snapped open, vision focusing on the single thing that would be able to solve this problem – the jawbone. Of all the useful things one could do with the bones of the dead, this one was the most powerful. Forcing herself onto her hands and knees, she battled against the wind towards the bone. As the spirit took out its destructive wrath on the glass jars, sending one after another to meet its end on the floor, she picked up the jaw.

Gripping it in the middle with her left hand, she aimed the two prongs of the thing at the spirit and got to her feet. The tingle that shot up her arm intensified, threatening to shake it from the socket but she held steady, “LEAVE!” she cried, her voice a hoarse shout, nowhere near as strong as it had sounded in her head. The attention of the spirit turned from the jars and focused on her instead. Hate hit her like a wall and her knees threatened to buckle. Gripping the edge of the upturned table, she repeated her command, “LEAVE!”

A roar filled the small shop and her eyes narrowed. Feeling the swell of control back in her hands, she pressed her lips together. Her right hand drew up in a fist, “You leave or I will destroy you.” The spirit seemed to waver for a moment. Her fist opened and she reached for the essence of the being, able to see it flowing through the ether. Hate turned to panic and she thrust the jawbone forward once again. Confusion followed by capitulation and a final shriek. The wind died, the temperature rose. She let out a held breath and sagged into a nearby chair, wilting rapidly now the threat had passed. The shop was a shambles but the spirit was gone, which was far better than the alternative!