Phasmatta -ch 13-

Ryan blinked, staring at the darkness all around him.

He genuinely didn’t know if he was alive or dead. His mind wandering and losing focus and cohesion.

“Ryan, stop moving,” Vern chided him.

Again.

No sooner than Vern had spoken, than Ryan’s mind caught up to the situation again.

It felt like slowly pulling on a rope, forgetting the rope was in your hands, dropping it, and then looking around for the rope.

Only to suddenly remember you dropped it, pick it up, start pulling on it, and do it all over again.

And again.

Whatever Mirella had stuck him with, had been powerful and horrifying.

Or so Vern told him he’d been stuck.

Ryan had no memory of how he’d ended up under a bed.

He barely had any memory of coming into the house, in fact.

His memory ended at him walking up to the door and waking up here under the bed. Vern had filled in the rest for him.

Vern had also told him the time when he woke up.

Updated him as time went on.

Right now, it was now one am in the morning.

Ryan had been unconscious for hours and hours. Followed by this strange semi-lucid and sluggish mental capabilities.

Rather than leave, move, or even contemplate slipping away, Ryan had just remained under the bed. Letting time slip past ever so slowly.

That had mostly been at Vern’s encouragement, however.

The detective had more or less become Ryan’s minder and life-line in one. Keeping him steady mentally as well as in place.

He did leave to scout the house repeatedly and see what was going on.

From what Vern had been able to see, Mirella had come and gone from the house repeatedly. She’d made phone calls, quite a few of them, and received visitors.

Afterward, they’d all gone into the surrounding areas around her home. Looking through the rural wilderness that surrounded her home in nearly every direction.

Vern hadn’t been able to follow far as his badge was with Ryan.

Despite all that, it was obvious to Ryan that Vern was suffering.

That he was looking at what happened to him through a different lens. One sharpened by the fact that Mirella had killed him.

If he had been killed in a similar way as to how Ryan had been drugged, it was no wonder that Vern had no memory of dying. To forget the last moments before his death as he wasn’t alive for them.

Then being stuck on that road for as long as he had.

Adding the two together might’ve caused some stress and loss of his sanity for a time. Only to recover at some point and then just roam the road.

Spirits were quite prone to becoming mad, after all, but it wasn’t a permanent state of being.

Ryan snuffled down a cough that threatened to escape. Keeping it to little more than a huff.

“No one’s in the house. They’re all still outside. I don’t know how far, though,” Vern advised him.

Taking that for what it was, Ryan coughed lightly, then rubbed at his mouth. He needed to use the bathroom and he had an incredibly dry mouth.

“Keep an eye out, Vern,” whispered Ryan and then slid out from under the bed. “I can’t hold this and I’m-I’m thirsty.”

Vern left the room, exiting through the bedroom door, rather than the wall. The man had clearly reverted to human instincts in this high tension situation.

And his misery.

Ryan didn’t quite understand how Vern was able to hold up so well in this.

Stumbling to the bathroom, Ryan leaned his head down, put the faucet on a trickle, then began guzzling water.

Endlessly.

Drinking and drinking.

When he finally felt satisfied, he immediately relieved himself in the toilet.

Once done, he then contemplated flushing or not. Not wanting to risk it, and momentarily forgetting where he was, Ryan decided not to flush.

Having drank a ton of water and emptied his bladder, Ryan was feeling a lot more human again. That his brain was back on and he could think a bit more clearly.

Though not completely.

Walking to the door, Ryan paused and chewed at his lip.

Pulling out his phone he looked to the screen and contemplated calling 911.

Again.

Except he wasn’t sure why the police had run a conspiracy over Vern’s death.

For all he knew, they were as involved with Mirella as the Coroner was.

There was no telling who Ryan’s enemies were at this moment and 911 might just end up causing him issues.

I’ll call 911, ask for help, turn my phone off so it can’t be pinged, then… leave the house. I’ll head out into the countryside and see if I can’t make my way to the main road on foot.

Then it’s just a matter of hoofing it to a place I can call for help.

Maybe Daisy? Or Tilly?

Daisy might be able to help me.

Tilly went back home with her kiddo.

Coming to a choice, Ryan slowly went down the stairs and onto the main floor.

A glance out a window was all Ryan needed to see Vern standing on the front porch. Looking one way, then the other, and then back.

As if he were trying to inspect everything and keep watch for Mirella’s return.

Or the other people he’d mentioned earlier. There were other people out and about who were helping Mirella look for him.

It was entirely possible they were indeed the police.

Pulling his phone up, he tapped in 911 hit the call button and then pressed it to his ear.

“911, what’s the address of your emergency?” asked the woman on the other end of the line.

“No idea. I’m at Mirella’s house outside of Noxfield,” Ryan answered. As he spoke, he pulled his phone away from his ear and looked to the screen. He started tapping at the maps application as he continued to respond. “EMT. Older. Was the girlfriend of Vern Mullins. Pretty sure she killed him. She just tried to kill me. Injected me with something.”

He spotted the address listed on the map.

“Rural Route one-hundred and three. That’s the only address listed,” Ryan said and stuck the phone back to his ear. “That’s the address that appears when I use the map system. Mirella tried to murder me. I’m at this location in the house. Upstairs. Under a bed. Hurry.”

Ryan disconnected the call, then powered it off. He made sure it was completely turned off as well.

He contemplated breaking the phone just to make sure it wouldn’t be sending his position out to anyone. Except he needed the phone to reach out for help as soon as he managed to get somewhere else.

Realizing that Tilly was a lifeline, even if she couldn’t act immediately, he powered his phone back on. Then sent Tilly a simple message.

‘Mirella is the killer. She killed your father while she was his girlfriend. She just tried to kill me. Injected me with something. I’m at her house. I called 911. I’m not sure if the local PD is involved.’

No sooner than he sent it, then he powered his phone off yet again.

“Ryan, they’re coming,” Vern said after walking through the front door and appearing. “Go out the back. Now. There’s at least ten of them. Maybe closer to twenty.”

Twenty?!

Holy shit.

Not waiting, Ryan went staright to the back door.

Opening it he stepped out into what was a heavy and steady rain. As soon as he felt the air against his skin than he realized that it was actually quite cold as well.

“Fuck I’m gonna freeze,” he hissed and stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. It wasn’t a rain-resistant jacket and it wouldn’t take long at all for it to become a soaked piece of cloth.

As he spoke, several different spirits turned to look at him. They’d just been meandering about the area behind the home, just as they’d been when he first arrived.

One and all, they looked to be younger people. Somewhere between their twenties and mid thirties.

A thought clicked into place and Ryan realized that they weren’t just casually here, as so many were in Noxfield.

These were Mirella’s victims.

“Did she kill you all? She’s trying to kill me, too,” Ryan said and moved away from the house. Towards the hilly forested area behind Mirella’s home.

His intention of speaking with the spirits was to nudge them into helping him.

Generally, the dead didn’t actually hate the living.

The envied them.

Though they most certainly hated the reason they were no longer among the living. Especially if someone caused their death directly.

Most weren’t as coherent as Vern was and most were somewhat simplistic.

No sooner than he started walking toward the woods than the several spirits he could see became twenty of them.

Then thirty.

All of them were staring at Ryan as he moved toward the woods.

“Wanna help me? Get me out of here,” he said as he made it to the brush and started forcing his way into it. Ignoring the wet prickles of the leaves and twigs jamming into his jeans and jacket.

He was going to be soaked from pushing up against the foliage rather than the rain at this rate. It was like diving into a pond of water give how his arms and legs already felt drenched.

Several spirits moved out in front of Ryan and began directing him in a direction with their arms. Their eyes haunted yet wide.

More moved past and ahead and as Ryan started taking the direction they suggested, he found they had literally made a corridor.

It was a passage that seemed to be made of the least amount of vegetation to shove his way through. He had no idea where they were taking him, but anywhere further away from Mirella was great at the moment.

Sliding through the bushes and low hanging branches, Ryan didn’t question or hesitate. There wasn’t much else he could do other than flee.

If it came down to it and he needed to find a direction, he could pop his phone open and check the map function. THough that’d almost certainly ping his location.

If the police were indeed working wiht Mirella, or soem of them were, they’d likely be able to ping his phone from that connection. Even as it gave him a direction to go.

“Ryan, they don’t really seem… awake,” Vern mused aloud as the ghosts led Ryan onward.

“Speaking, coherent, and cognizant spirits aren’t that common. You’re a bit of an odd one out, Vern,” Ryan explained with a grunt as he shoved a branch out of the way. “These are all-all spirits bound by their deaths. By violence. Regret. It’s why you’d never get me to cross one of those old European battle-grounds.

“I can’t even imagine how many ghosts are still there. Still living out their last moments or-or whatever else they’re… they’re doing.”

Ryan’s mind had started to feel fuzzy again as he moved through the brush and trees. Whatever Mirella had given him was still lingering.

To the point that he was surprised when he came out of the foliage and found himself in a small clearing. There was a strange swampy and sunken center point.

Something that truly looked as if it’d been the recipient of a massive amount of water mixed into loose soil.

The moon above made it possible to see anything at all, though it was also partially because this area was thinned out.

This was a prepared area.

As he stood there, Ryan realized that there were six spirits lingering over that swampy muddy morass. All of them looking down into the strange swampy patch.

“She buried you here,” Ryan immediately inferred. “Or… what was left of your bodies.”

Looking away from the messy divot Ryan noted that this was just one of multiple spots like this. They were all staggered out in front of him in between groupings of trees.

There was never enough of the trees removed for the sun to beat down easily into this area, but enough of the ground floor was cleared to get at the earth.

Mirella’s been using this as a dumping ground for a long time.

Long, long, time.

Moving around the swampy pit Ryan bumped into a low tree he hadn’t seen and had to stutter step away from it.

As he did it, he realized it wasn’t a tree.

Or a stump.

Not even a bush.

It was a black oil-drum.

Beside it was a ghost of a young woman. Both of her hands resting against the drum, and her forehead pressed to it as well.

She was sobbing endlessly without sound.

Translucent tears moving down her face.

“Holy fuck,” mumbled Ryan as he realized that this young woman was literally lamenting her goo-ifying corpse.

Because now that he understood that the pit was where people were dumped, that Mirella was using oil-drums, and that she had access to some heavy chemicals through her work, and likely through the coroner, she was making human-smoothies.

Breathing out in a ragged gasp, Ryan staggered on.

Only to see several other oil-drums in a line. Side by side off behind several trees and set in a bush.

Ryan felt his cheeks tighten, his lip push upward, his throat clench, and a strange bile-like feeling creeping up his throat. He suddenly wanted to throw up.

“Oh fuck, fuck me, fuck, fuck,” whispered Ryan as he moved away from the pit. “I will get you all justice but I have to get away. Where do I go to get away? Help me so I can get her punished.”

As if his words struck a bell, the spirits once more began moving. Gesturing, making a corridor of themselves, and seemingly guiding him out of the woods.

“I must be around here somewhere,” whispered Vern, a haunted gaze on his face as Ryan went by him. “Or… what’s left of me. Maybe some eroded teeth. Slivers of bone. That’s probably it. The rest… the rest would just… get absorbed into the soil.”

Nodding his head at that Ryan kept his thoughts simple.

Straight forward.

He didn’t look at the other quagmires he went by. Didn’t look for other drums.

Didn’t look to the hollow eyed spirits that’d been tied here and unable to leave.

This place is going to be a cigarette burn in the carpet. It’s not something that can be gotten out.

There’s no way to get this entirely smoothed out.

Maybe… maybe I can ask the Father and the Sister to acome and give the area a once over. Not everyone here would be catholics but-but they’d feel the hole this has made.

They’d feel it and want to bless it or sanctify it or—

Partially tucked away into a bush was another oil-drum that’d been tipped over. It looked as if Mirella had forgotten it was there and lost track of it.

Ryan didn’t look at it and made sure to avert his eyes. He most certainly didn’t want to see if there was a partially decomposed body in it or not.

Keeping his teeth clenched tight, Ryan stumbled his way through the woods. Making sure to keep his eyes on those who were guiding him and not looking anywhere else at all.

Stumbling along through the woods, Ryan felt cold, his mind was wandering, and he felt sick in his soul. There were so many things wrong with this situation that he couldn’t even get a decent grasp of it.

Though, that might’ve been part of his mental incapabilities right now from the attack.

Shivering, he trudged on through the dark small hours of the night.

Through the freezing rain.

Letting the dead and forgotten lean him in the darkness, only the moon giving him any light at all.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbled somewhat incoherently as his mind wandered. “I’m going to be stomping through woods filled to the brim with victims of a serial-killer getting close to three am in the morning.

“At least it’s not a blood-moon. Or a full moon. That’s the last thing I need right now.”

“Haha, you’re right!” Carl said, suddenly appearing and keeping pace with him. He went right through a tree all while moving.

ANd of course while being upsidedown.

“A blood moon, or a full moon, would bring out the older spirits. There’s so many ghosts here! It took me a moment to find you,” Carl admitted. “Normally it’s not very hard to find the one living person in a forest but… there’s so many ghosts.”

“So many?” Ryan gasped out as his whole body shivered. “How-how long was she killing people?”

“Since she was eighteen? Maybe? I don’t know!” Carl answered. “I can tell you that there’s over a hundred and fifty people here though! Maybe more, I can’t tell.”

“A hundred and fifty,” whispered Vern as he kept pace with Ryan. “A hundred… and fifty. I’m just… just one of those. I account for less than one percent of her victims. Blessed mother. We face true evil and I can’t even act upon it.”

“I dunno Vern,” chattered out Ryan through his teeth as they clicked together. Trudging on through the cold and dark of West Virginia’s hills. “You kept me safe, kept me coherent, kept me quiet, kept me steady. Pretty sure I’d have done something stupid while I was tripping back there.

“Like call out ‘polo’ if I thought someone yelled ‘marco’. That or clap my hands like we’re playign the clap game.”

The detective said nothing.