a bitch is fast. Look, if you kill his ghost… You’re already shitting ectoplasmic bricks whenever a Harbinger shows up.”
He stopped pursuing it around the room, breathing hard more out of habit than need. “I…”
Clinking and rattling migrated around inside the cabinets, behind small imitation wood doors. Kirsten turned in place, following the sound, arm poised for another lash. “You deserve revenge, but I don’t want them taking you. Last time was too damn close; I thought it was going to…” She choked up.
A door burst open, and a swarm of knives flew into the air. Kirsten let herself fall straight down, ass to tile. It hurt, but less than a dozen knives. Dorian lunged, armpit deep in the cabinet, and grabbed the spirit by the neck. He flung it out into the room, weathering a barrage of spice jars that ended as it finally realized it was pointless to throw things at him. Kirsten sat with her mouth wide, wondering how landing on her butt could cause her head to ache. She missed an opportunity for a lash due to seeing stars. The food reassembler above and behind her went bonkers, spraying hot sauce, jelly, and peanut butter down on her. She got an arm over her eyes just in time.
“Me too,” he said, adding a growl as he fought to keep a grip on the spirit. “This thing is bat-shit nuts, there’s no reason left in it. Whack it.”
“As soon as I can move.” She groaned, scratching at the floor to try to get feeling back into her legs. “If you kill Rene, I’m not sure I can beg them off you. Please let me handle him.”
“What the devil’s all that damn noise?” Mr. Greene’s bellow filled the hallway.
The poltergeist wrenched out of Dorian’s hands, spirit fog spreading through his fingers. Dorian cursed something about trying to wrestle spaghetti. Mr. Greene appeared in the doorway, staring at Kirsten―the only thing he could see, aside from the mess. The spirit stretched away, flying right at Mr. Greene, shrieking, arms reaching out.
Kirsten slung kiwi jam off her hand as she wound up a lash. The sudden light made Mr. Green look at her. The glittering whip flashed through the air.
Splat
.
She gulped as a sensation of oblivion flickered through the Aether. Mr. Greene looked as though someone dumped a bucket of egg whites over his head, blinking as if slapped. Somewhere behind him, mother and daughter gasped.
“What in the world?” Mrs. Greene poked him with a tentative finger, jerking back from the cold slime. When she saw the formation of knives sticking out of the cabinet doors, she had to cover her mouth to stifle a scream.
“Poltergeist. It won’t be bothering you again.” Kirsten struggled to her feet, rubbing her tailbone. “Sorry about the suit.”
Mr. Greene turned with the motion of a mannequin on a rotary platform, mouth still open, hand still held up. He blinked again at his wife, who moved past him into the kitchen, shaking her head at the carnage.
“Why did that thing come here? What did it want?”
Kirsten washed her hands in the sink, shrugging at Mrs. Greene. “I can’t even begin to guess. These sorts of spirits are not true souls, more of a latent snapshot or a fragment of someone’s personality that gathered enough power to start roaming around. Some think they are very weak demons.”
“Do you?” Mrs. Greene began the process of collecting knives from the floor.
Dorian rubbed his chin, as eager for her answer as the family.
“Well.” Kirsten dabbed at the cut on her cheek with a wet towel. “I know there’s a place I call the Abyss, where evil spirits go when they get purged out of this world. I suppose it is possible for energy to burp back out whenever something crosses into it. That might be what people call a demon. It would just be a returned ghost. One who got out of jail, so to speak. I don’t think there are real
demons
per se. Not in the biblical sense anyway. I’m sure those are just stories made up by people who didn’t understand
He stopped pursuing it around the room, breathing hard more out of habit than need. “I…”
Clinking and rattling migrated around inside the cabinets, behind small imitation wood doors. Kirsten turned in place, following the sound, arm poised for another lash. “You deserve revenge, but I don’t want them taking you. Last time was too damn close; I thought it was going to…” She choked up.
A door burst open, and a swarm of knives flew into the air. Kirsten let herself fall straight down, ass to tile. It hurt, but less than a dozen knives. Dorian lunged, armpit deep in the cabinet, and grabbed the spirit by the neck. He flung it out into the room, weathering a barrage of spice jars that ended as it finally realized it was pointless to throw things at him. Kirsten sat with her mouth wide, wondering how landing on her butt could cause her head to ache. She missed an opportunity for a lash due to seeing stars. The food reassembler above and behind her went bonkers, spraying hot sauce, jelly, and peanut butter down on her. She got an arm over her eyes just in time.
“Me too,” he said, adding a growl as he fought to keep a grip on the spirit. “This thing is bat-shit nuts, there’s no reason left in it. Whack it.”
“As soon as I can move.” She groaned, scratching at the floor to try to get feeling back into her legs. “If you kill Rene, I’m not sure I can beg them off you. Please let me handle him.”
“What the devil’s all that damn noise?” Mr. Greene’s bellow filled the hallway.
The poltergeist wrenched out of Dorian’s hands, spirit fog spreading through his fingers. Dorian cursed something about trying to wrestle spaghetti. Mr. Greene appeared in the doorway, staring at Kirsten―the only thing he could see, aside from the mess. The spirit stretched away, flying right at Mr. Greene, shrieking, arms reaching out.
Kirsten slung kiwi jam off her hand as she wound up a lash. The sudden light made Mr. Green look at her. The glittering whip flashed through the air.
Splat
.
She gulped as a sensation of oblivion flickered through the Aether. Mr. Greene looked as though someone dumped a bucket of egg whites over his head, blinking as if slapped. Somewhere behind him, mother and daughter gasped.
“What in the world?” Mrs. Greene poked him with a tentative finger, jerking back from the cold slime. When she saw the formation of knives sticking out of the cabinet doors, she had to cover her mouth to stifle a scream.
“Poltergeist. It won’t be bothering you again.” Kirsten struggled to her feet, rubbing her tailbone. “Sorry about the suit.”
Mr. Greene turned with the motion of a mannequin on a rotary platform, mouth still open, hand still held up. He blinked again at his wife, who moved past him into the kitchen, shaking her head at the carnage.
“Why did that thing come here? What did it want?”
Kirsten washed her hands in the sink, shrugging at Mrs. Greene. “I can’t even begin to guess. These sorts of spirits are not true souls, more of a latent snapshot or a fragment of someone’s personality that gathered enough power to start roaming around. Some think they are very weak demons.”
“Do you?” Mrs. Greene began the process of collecting knives from the floor.
Dorian rubbed his chin, as eager for her answer as the family.
“Well.” Kirsten dabbed at the cut on her cheek with a wet towel. “I know there’s a place I call the Abyss, where evil spirits go when they get purged out of this world. I suppose it is possible for energy to burp back out whenever something crosses into it. That might be what people call a demon. It would just be a returned ghost. One who got out of jail, so to speak. I don’t think there are real
demons
per se. Not in the biblical sense anyway. I’m sure those are just stories made up by people who didn’t understand
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