by Sean Padlo
Nash massaged his neck, refusing to meet Jacob’s stare. “Well, I suppose...yes. Are you a relation? I mean, are you the Archangel Lucifer in the flesh? I have heard stories, especially in the world today, so please don’t take offense.”
Art by Bonita Barlow
Nash massaged his neck, refusing to meet Jacob’s stare. “Well, I suppose...yes. Are you a relation? I mean, are you the Archangel Lucifer in the flesh? I have heard stories, especially in the world today, so please don’t take offense.”
“I shouldn’t be offended by being asked if I am the devil. Are you asking if I am the very monster of the Bible, the veritable cause of humanity’s fall?” Jacob realized his voice had risen to a shout. He put his hands out, bringing himself back in control.
Mr. Nash was gripping the balustrade with white knuckles, and it appeared to Jacob that the manager of the ghost hut may have forgotten how to breathe. “I’m sorry.” Nash would not look up.
Jacob took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Mr. Nash. Please just ask your question so we can get back to the matter at hand. The important matter.”
“Oh! Oh yes of course! I truly am sorry for my question! The name, Morningstar, it’s not a very common surname. Not at all.” Nash looked at Jacob now, his eyebrows raised comically high, his expression as close to innocence as Jacob could even recall over his lifetime.
Jacob smiled gently. “No sir, Morningstar is not a common surname.” He paused for a moment, knowing Nash would wet himself at the very least if the wrong thing was said, or even the right thing taken wrong. “Morningstar is actually very common in Native American tribes.” Jacob passed Nash on the stairs and lead the way. Over his shoulder he added, “Specifically the Cheyenne of the American West.”
Mr. Nash did not follow immediately, allowing the information to sink deeply into his mind. At last, with a bursting, “Oho! Marvelous!” Nash hopped in place, clapping his sweaty hands together. Jacob Morningstar continued down the stairs at an even pace, and Nash eventually caught up. They were over halfway to the barracks now.
“The foundation has been restructured with a limestone base,” Nash announced, his voice coming from over Jacob’s shoulder. “Limestone is a basic barrier that holds spirits inside the fort.”
“Where are the boy’s parents?” Jacob asked.
Nash paused. “His guardians were sent back to the waiting area when the incident first occurred. They’ve been to see him at least five times since Tuesday.”
“Today is Monday, Mr. Nash. They have seen him less than once per day?”
“I’m sorry to say, but yes. His condition has declined rapidly,” Nash explained. “I don’t believe they have visited the boy since we had him restrained, and that would have been late Thursday.”
Jacob felt his heart skip. “Late Thursday? Restrained this whole time?”
Nash nodded reluctantly. “I’m afraid so. The boy had taken to injuring himself. Quite severely in fact.”
As the men descended, the air became stale and musty, and the temperature had fallen to the point where Jacob could see his own breath. He shivered. “Why has it grown so frigid. Mr. Nash? Ephemerals may pull energy from their vicinity, but never to this extreme.”
Nash crossed his arms, rubbing them as if he was reminded of the freezing atmosphere. “Brr!” He offered Jacob a weak smile. “Before contacting you, we had called upon our own team to assist the issue at hand. They had given Communion to the boy, which he of course rejected completely. Violently so, in fact.
“Symbols were set around the boy, who had been shackled at that point. He is bound to that spot, but extraction of the possessor has proved impossible. Our ephemeral garrison had become agitated, and the last Extractor we called upon made the decision to send other ephemerals, our strongest in fact, into the boy. We hoped the others would…dislodge the problem.”
“What is the name of the ephemeral that refused to leave the boy?” Jacob hesitated. “And what is the boy’s name? You’ve not once spoken it.”
Nash wiped his nose with his sleeve. The scent of ozone was noticeable now; it would be overly strong soon. The barracks smelled like an extended burst of lightning having struck an electrical fire. “His guardians claimed the boy’s name is Thomas Stasi. But we have not been able to locate any records that this child even exists at all.” Nash turned to Jacob Morningstar. “That is why and when the guardians were barred from seeing the boy. As for the ephemeral, it is a low-level spirit the family chose so the boy could perform magic tricks at a birthday party.”
They passed beneath a series of wards placed at mid-story landing, and as all three began to release light of myriad colors, something in Jacob’s eyes shifted. Nash gasped as his expression revisited the poorly-veiled panic he showed earlier. Jacob saw this change, stepped nearer, and asked, “Why do you look at me like this?”
Nash drew back from Jacob Morningstar. “I don’t know. Something. My eyes are playing tricks on me. You seem to double before my vision, fade like an ephemeral, and then I blink and everything is back to normal.”
Jacob asked, “Have you slept at all lately?” Nash shook his head. “You must be exhausted!”
Nash nodded. “That must be it. This has been an ordeal for everyone.” As an afterthought, Nash added, “That poor child.”
The men at last reached the landing and stood before a pair of immense, wrought iron doors. “Through here,” Nash gestured. “The barracks are lined in iron.”
“Iron is the best way to keep ephemerals in.” Jacob touched the door’s surface. His fingertips sparked, and he pulled his hand away, wincing. “With hidden wards?”
“Oh, not at all. The protections are etched into the other side.” He stepped away from Morningstar and pushed the door wide. The sigil that came together when the doors were closed crackled and spark as the halves separated. “Curious,” he said.
Jacob Morningstar stepped around Nash and entered the room. Jacobs Ladders and Faraday Cages were displayed along the stone walls at regular intervals. The whole room appeared to shimmer, though a closer and more studied look around the room showed a massive crowd of ephemerals, possibly hundreds, gathered around a lone boy secured to a metal bench with shackles on his ankles, wrists, and a restraining clasp around his chest. Upon the boy’s head was a fighter’s coronet.
Jacob approached the boy, slipping past a trio of priests who were standing in the center of the room. Ephemerals gave them a wide berth as the priests chanted their exorcisms. The priest in the center offered the calls while the priests to each side delivered the responses. Cautiously they drew near; an aspergillum sprayed holy water over both Jacob and the boy. Jacob hissed an order for them to stop and returned his attention to the boy. Thomas, the boy, was frail and weak. Heat rose from his body in waves of roiling mist. The child was burning up, though he wore nothing but a pair of very soiled underwear.
Jacob was thrown aside as ephemerals continued to rush over one by one, launching themselves into the child. As they entered his body Thomas moaned, his head rocking backward as each invasion caused light to burst from his tiny form, rapidly fading before the next ephemeral went in. The boy’s flesh rippled with each incursion, words and symbols rising to the surface to be replaced by more. Symbols overlapped, skin split open only to be knitted together before being split open once again. Tremors rocked the boy’s body. His chest surged against the onslaught, and an anguished, hollow moan escaped his lips. His eyes rolled to the whites, then his eyelids closed. His head fell forward like an assured nod, with his chin coming to rest against his chest.
Thomas had not the time nor the energy to brace himself before the next ephemeral invaded him in another burst of warm light. The onslaught was unrelenting.
by Sean Padlo
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