Hello, I am meant to be dying my hair today. I saw Deadpool yesterday. I joked I was only going to see Ryan Reynolds' arse, going off the close up in the trailer. Turns out you do see it multiple times, in different states of visibility. It was good, though I was disappointed that it was only a 15. I wrote the majority of this chapter than last week. This chapter is bit dialogue heavy but I'm trapped by myself. These things won't be perfect as I'm uploading them as I'm writing them so chapters will probably have slight plot issues. No proper title yet.
Chapter
3, Night Time Visitors
I
accepted the soup. Dinner was mostly silently while chewing bread. We went back
to our rooms immediately after. Thank God. Still no ghosts. No presences. This
doesn’t seem right. Ghosts don’t hide this long.
“Don’t
you think it’s odd?” I ask my mother again.
“The
hotel isn’t…”
“No,”
Seriously how can she have not noticed. “I mean how quiet it is.” Maybe she did
deal with the ghosts before she sent them off.
“Not
really. It’s the quiet season.”
“So,”
“If
there use to a lot of new, highly energised people wanting to make contract,
two mediums who are not interested,” Mum’s not quite over the Neomancy. She
paused now at her door. “Well, why chase after Tom Cruise when Ryan Gosling is
throwing himself at you.” She walks into her room, leaving me dumb founded
being called Tom Cruise. I am Ryan Reynolds. Also that’s just dumb and we are
the only one here right at this moment.
“That’s
a nice theory, but completely not how ghost work.” I turn to Aytia lurking in
the hallway.
“I
am aware of that.” I go into my own room, not wanting to have a conversation
with Junior Creep. She pushes her way into the room as I’m shutting the door. I
shut it anyway.
“Do
you mind?”
“No,”
she sits on the bed, ignoring my annoyance.
“So
where are the ghosts?”
She
sighs.
“They’re
in the empty rooms. We don’t get along,”
“Why
don’t you get along?” I ask leaning against the draws that has a pair of twins
attached to it that will throw whatever is on or in the draws at you. God, who
want to stay here? They had given the last owner a concussion. Okay, maybe I
did know why they didn’t get along.
“Er…,”
she lays down on the bed. “They were just everywhere and I didn’t want Dad to
know that I can see ghosts, because he would like never stop…”
She
keeps going, while I step out of the hall and to the room next door. The door
is locked. The keys are probably lying in unlockable desk down stairs, but
ghosts don’t need locks so why bother.
I
kneed down by the door and looked through the key hole to darkness. I get down
on the floor to see underneath the door. I can’t see anything either. Sometimes
you can see ghost in the dark, like mirrors reverting all the available light.
Though, also not. Physics when it comes to ghosts has not been figured out.
I’m
tempted just to summon one, but knowing me I would summon them all and my
mother will kill me, leaving to haunt at this cheesy hellhole. Limbo would more
accurate. limbohole? Maybe I could feel one. I place my least favourite hand at
the door. I can just get my pinkie finger under the door. It just feels like
the cold air of the hall.
“What
are you doing?”
I
look up at Aytia and get up from the floor.
“What
are you?” I say finally. This town is meant to be full of witches, but they no
way to know what someone is unless they tell or show you. She looks confused.
“A…witch?”
She says it like it might be the wrong answer. I walk past her back to my room.
“Wait,
are you not?” See.
“No,
I’m a Necomancer,” I say for the first time. I’ve never had this conversation.
Usually, my conversations involving magic were with people my mum knew so they
knew/presumed we were both Mediums. Why correct anyone when it comes to how
powerful you are?
“What?”
She looks shocked from what I can see of her face. “You can control the dead.”
Technically, I’ve really did it, on purpose anyway. I just nod.
“Wow,”
she sounds in awe. “You’re like crazy powerfully then.” In the Death Contracter
scale but that should be nothing to a witch. They can really fuck shit up and
have epic wars with other high powered creatures. I hear creaking. I realise it probable my mum can hear us if she still up.
“Shut
up and get in here,” I whisper through my teeth. She hesitates before doing as
I say. I dump myself on the bed and stare up the ceiling. I’ve probably messed
up my sleeping pattern from napping earlier.
“Shut
the door,” I sit back up. Atyia is just staring at me.
“What?”
“I’ve
never met anyone who’s that powerful.”
“What
are you on about?” I honestly don’t have a clue why this is such a big deal to
her.
“You
can control things without a heartbeat.”
“So?”
“That’s
like half the demons.” Demons were basically magic users without souls for ever
reason. Some are cigma looking and others monstrous, all human.
“You
know that’s not how magic works.” Well, I would hope so, 16 was middle-aged for
witches.
“Yeah,
it is.” I stare her down.
“I
only have power over the dead. I summon and banish them, that’s it. I can’t
lead an army of the dead.”
“But
you could.” I couldn’t, that would be on the high level of Necomancy, which I
doubt I ever will be. Though, I’ve never tried.
“So
they could float through walls and throw vases at people?”
“Well,
yeah but you could steal their energy…”
“You’re
talking about Dark magic,” I get from the bed. “You know what path that leads
to.” Being almost immortal without a soul or loveones.
“I
didn’t mean you would,” she looks almost apologetic. “I’m sorry, it just I’ve
never met a Necomancer and the stories about you guys are epic.”
“So
are the story about the witches. It doesn’t make it true.” Magic didn’t deal a
lot with facts. It’s all just folktales and gossip. One person becomes several
or vice versa and has goddess like powers.
“But
you’re rare.”
“Exactly,
there is no base of reality,” I pause thinking. “Take the Slayers, they all
gone but few hiding out somewhere. The last story we have them of was made into
a comic book that stopped when she died.” Using one life story to sell comic
books was one of the most interesting ways to make money out of this magic existence. “She survived her whole family being slaughtered by jumping off a
roof. If it’s her story she sad bad arse, but taken from the point of view of
anyone else, all the adult slayers died to save two kids and a baby that just
go on to live terrible lifes by all accounts.”
She
nods.
“Except
the Slayer are all bad asses with tons of powers…”
“How
many witches have two active powers?”
“I
do,” she says smugly.
“How
many?” I choose to ignore her which seems to be a repeating theme.
“I
don’t know,” She says finally. “Like 1 in 50, maybe”.
“Exactly
and almost never get as strong as someone with one. Even then the stories
always involve being ultra-powerful and have active powers that don’t even
belong to the same family.”
“So
you can’t raise the dead?”
“No,”
I lie. I don’t trust her enough to her about being my neighbour fish started
swimming when I touched it. She complete stranger and I never even told my mum
about that when I said it. It died again a few days later so it possible I did
nothing.
“Anyway,
what with your dad and the ghost buying?”
“He
inherited this place and decided to play up the haunted thing?”
“Really?”
“Or
invisible demon messed up the house. I don’t know I wasn’t born. I hate this
place too, but I don’t live here so stop the judgey stuff.”
“I’m
not,” Who was I judge when it came to mistreating the dead? “Except maybe the
room of dolls.”
She
shrugs.
“As
nice as this chat has been, we’re leaving early so I rather get some sleep,
than learn the history of this hotel.”
I
get up and lead her out of the room.
“I’ll
see around then.”
I
just hum in response before shutting and locking the door.
I haven’t properly worked on my creative writing this week. Nor have I been reading. Or editing. Nothing as usual. I think my biggest problem right now is that I know how terrible my writing is. It is frustrating to have to send terrible writing for feedback knowing what’s already wrong with it. In theory I should be able to write a brilliant story, knowing what makes one, but nothing pours out my fingers when I go to write.
