Interlude #1: The Orange Line Phantom

Hello dear reader! It’s your old friend G.N. Jones. We’re getting close to the release of the sequel to our favorite horror/dark fantasy/mystery Hecatomb of the Vampire. In the meanwhile, enjoy three interludes, little glimpses of things happening in the four months between HOTV and Book 2. First, let’s do a silly one. This story was inspired by the art piece our dear friend Zay did a little while back. I present, The Orange Line Phantom.

*

“Do you still want a drink? All they have is Mr. Pibb and water. You can have some of mine.”

Jahari sighed wearily, accepting the bottle Mori offered and waterfalling it.  “Who the hell only puts Mr. Pibb in a vending machine? I really wanted something sweet to drink. Nasty ass soda.”

“I bought one a while ago because it was cheap but it was so gross I threw it away after one sip.” She raised her arms and stretched, “when’s the next train?

“2:17.”

“What time is it now?”

“Time to buy a watch.”

Mori stuck her tongue out at him. “You would think that someone would be nicer to their bestie who came out to help them so late at night. Did it have to be this late?”

“Yes, because that’s what the urban legend says. Anyone who falls asleep on the orange line train between 1:30 and 4:30am barters their life away.  We gotta stay awake until then and see what we figure out.”

“Ugh maybe I should’ve had that Mr. Pibb then.”


*

Wee ouu wee ouu wee ouu wee ouu

Jahari winced in rhythm with the shrill alarm that pierced through the blanket of noise from the train’s movement. “What is that?” He asked, peering over Mori’s shoulder at her phone.

“It’s the Ball Game,” she replied matter of factly,  as if it were common knowledge.

“What?”

“The Ball Game. It has some long, nerdy name I always forget so I call it ‘The Ball Game,’ because you shoot the little balls at the other balls and if they're the same color they disappear. You have to make all of the balls disappear.”

“…lemme get a turn.”

“Nope. You’re supposed to be looking for weird creepy phe-nomena. I’m playing so I don’t fall asleep.”

Jahari looked around the gloomy car, which, apart from a twitchy homeless man sitting across from them, was deserted. The train swayed hypnotically, bobbing up and down. The man sat, slumped over the railing at the end of the seat, jerking erratically in his sleep. 

The sight of the man’s torpor set off a different kind of alarm in Jahari’s head. The man was sleeping. This meant the question was, is this man a soon-to-be victim, or a predator on the prowl? Jahari spoke to Mori in a hushed tone, keeping his eyes trained on the sleeping man, “Mori can you see him?” 

“Psst.”

It was so soft he almost missed it in the train’s racket. He turned quickly but no one was there. Still, he could feel the prickling, static sensation on the back of his neck, the nosedive the temperature had taken in an otherwise toasty train car. They were not alone. 

The sleeping man across from was now upright, stiff as a board, muscles so taut that he quivered. His bloodshot eyes were like full moons in the night of his bearded face. He pointed a crooked finger at Jahari with fear in his eyes. 

The psychic followed the gesture to his shoulder, which was weighed down by the pressure of a phantom limb. As Jahari turned more he saw a lurid silhouette materialize. An ashen thing, smoothed over like a pebble at the bottom of a stream and so gaunt that it looked like a living corpse. It leered at him with mismatched eyes, one as black as tar and one as gray as its form.

Words crawled out of its lipless mouth like vermin, “It is time to barter.”

“You don’t have anything I want,” Jahari countered. Confidence was key when dealing with specters like this. 

The spirit smiled, radiating malice, “I have the life of your friend, psychic.”

Mori! She must’ve fallen asleep! That means she’s caught in the curse, Jahari thought with dread.

“No you don’t, I’m awake,” Mori croaked, scratching her head. “I drifted off a little but I’m up!”

“But you fell asleep during the time window! We have to barter, technically you belong to me!”

“Not cool bro, that isn’t respectful. I don’t belong to anyone.”

“Mori!” Jahari hissed. “This is bad, that’s a ghostly haggler. We gotta be serious.”

Mori scoffed, “He sounds made up, what’s he even haggling for?”

“YOUR LIVES!” The force of the Haggler’s anger rippled through their clothes and darkened the subway car.

“Oh that makes sense,” Mori said agreeably.

“Yeah that’s fair,” Jahari said with a shrug. “I guess we gotta play the game. I’m Jahari Jones. We want all the lives you’ve stolen, name your price.”

Again, a smile spread across the Haggler’s face, with crooked teeth erupting across the phantom flesh like a rash, “I would like one dollar.”

“Yo be for real; tell us what you want.”

No, no, I’m serious as the grave! I need one dollar.”

“You’re playing with all these people’s lives for a dollar! You’re sick, I can’t believe this.”

If you are unsatisfied by my price, then you may…haggle.” 

“I’m not giving you a damn thing, I’m gonna come back here with an exorcist and send your ectoplasmic ass to another dimension,” Jahari said, jabbing the spirit with his index finger. It felt like dipping a finger in ice water.

“If you refuse to do business with me, then the contract is broken and all my victims will be taken with me, including your sleeping friend.”

“I dozed off but I’m awake again,” Mori said, stretching her arms out over her head.

“Would you stop falling asleep?!” Jahari cried.

“What’s he asking for now?”

“A dollar.”

“Are you serious? Just give him the dollar so we can go!”

“It’s the principle, he’s playing in our faces with all these lives.”

“Jahari, who cares? It’s a dollar. USD, one hundred cents.”

“I’m not giving him a dollar!!!”

Mori rubbed her temples in exasperation, “OK Mr. Trade Demon.”

Actually it’s Ghostly Haggler.”

“Whatever. What if I told you a really funny joke? Would that be a satisfying payment?”

“I’m sorry, but I need the dollar. I died of thirst on this train because of the heartlessness of my fellow man, and now I will spread that same suffering on the mortal plane until my spirit is settled. I need a dollar to purchase some soda pop.

“Enough, Jahari please. My head is starting to hurt. Here, give him a dollar from me. Now the contract is fulfilled,” she said mockingly. 

Jahari took the money and dropped it unceremoniously in the ghost’s palms. Surprisingly, it didn’t fall through the spectral hands, but instead was crumpled in the grasp of the spirit.

Aw a bill? I wanted it in nickels.” 

At this Mori froze, her back erect, as if she’d been turned into a mannequin. “What. Did. You. Say?”

How am I gonna buy a Mr. Pibb with this?”

You are so ungrateful! I can’t believe that you’re mad I gave you a bill, nobody carries coins by choice! And you’re buying that disgusting soda too!”

It could’ve been better but the money is acceptable. A deal’s a deal sucker.” The spirit purred as he faded from existence and the car filled with bewildered people clutching their heads and stomachs.

“OH NO YOU DON’T! GET BACK HERE! GIVE ME MY MONEY BACK! NO WONDER NOBODY WANTS TO GIVE YOU ANY MONEY, MAYBE INSTEAD OF BEING ON A TRAIN YOU SHOULD BE IN HELL!” Mori shouted, shaking her fist at the sky as Jahari tried to calm her down. 

“Wait a sec, do you..?” He asked, smacking his lips and sticking out his tongue.

The question broke Mori’s fervor, “What is it?”

“Eugh, tastes like crappy soda.”


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Interlude #2: Echoes of a Successor

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Secret File Vol.3 Bio series: Enzo