Part-Time Monster Hunter

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  “A poltergeist. It has to be,” I offered.

  “I think you’re right, but there’s something else…” Treth hesitated. “It feels familiar.”

  I gazed through the tumultuous floating and flying debris before me to see if I could find Pranish. I could not.

  “You’re a spirit. It’s a spirit. Mingle.”

  I felt Treth shake his head. “My recognition is faded, but memories are coming back…”

  “Kat?!” I heard a voice shout through the buffeting spirit-wrought tempest.

  “Pranish?”

  “Help!”

  Barrier or no barrier, I stepped forward, breaking into a run. I needed to find Pranish and get out of here – maybe retrieve a copy of Warpwars while I was at it. The initial resistance of the threshold gave way, and I popped out onto the other side. If there was a fake silence outside, then this was where all the sound had been stolen. Screams, pops, bangs, the whistling of wind…sounds that belonged and sounds that did not, all cooped up in the bubble of this shop.

  I ducked, narrowly missing a hard-cover, and looked around hastily for my friend.

  “Up here!”

  I looked up. Pranish was glued to the roof. His fingers were an icy blue. He must have tried to cast a spell out of sheer desperation. Pranish was a sorcerer, with a natural affinity for cryomancy. By natural affinity, I mean that it was the only element he could conjure – and badly. His powers were typically restrained to making ice cubes.

  I examined my friend closely. Nothing seemed to be holding him up. It was as if invisible shackles chained him to the ceiling.

  This was going to be tougher than I thought.

  And then I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head.

  When my eyes opened, I was looking down at the floor, the mosh pit of debris now below me. I couldn’t move my head to look around. My arms were splayed to my sides, with my legs together. It was not comfortable.

  “Well, shit…”

  Pranish didn’t speak.

  “Pranish?”

  He must have passed out – I hoped. Poltergeists were not the most dangerous spirits, I had heard. But what did I know? If it wasn’t rotting, then it wasn’t in my area of expertise.

  “I sense great anger in this spirit,” Treth said.

  Duh, I wanted to reply.

  “I…I think I know it. Kat, repeat what I say.”

  Out of ideas, I did so:

  “Gorgo,” I began, shouting Treth’s words over the cacophony. His voice sounded sad. I could not help but echo the sentiment, as if acting off a script. “It’s me, Treth.”

  The tempest seemed to calm. The cyclone of books slowed to a hover.

  “I don’t know what happened to you back home, Gorgo, but you must be strong. You were the greatest cleric at the monastery. My best friend. Don’t let yourself be consumed by the ruinous powers. You are better than being a spirit. Fight it. Reclaim the light.”

  The books slowed. Some debris fell soundlessly to the hard-carpeted floors. The discord ceased. I breathed a sigh, and then everything exploded again – a gush of torment surpassing the one before.

  “I think you made it angry,” I shouted.

  “She is too far gone.”

  “Who is she?” I cried louder, to rise over the din below.

  “A friend. She was a cleric at the monastery where I lived. She…was sacrificed….to feed a lich’s ritual. It must have driven her spirit mad. Sullied by dark magic, her soul cannot move on. It writhes in torment.”

  Treth paused and whispered. “Oh gods, why Gorgo?”

  I didn’t respond. I could not. That was Treth’s trauma. I couldn’t begin to understand it.

  Or could I?

  I did not know what happened to Treth, but I now knew what happened to Gorgo. It was something I knew all too well. The hatred, the loathing, the fear and trauma. The cold stone table. The undead all around. A necromancer, more monster than man, thinking they had the right to my life.

  I understood.

  “Gorgo. This is Kat. Not Treth.”

  It was faint, but the storm seemed to calm, as if the poltergeist was listening.

  “I know what it’s like to be scared. To be in a place where all you know is terror. I may not know exactly what you went through. I never could. But I know that we all have memories. And we both have memories of what the dark has done to us. And I know that every second of my life, I want to scream. I want to cry. I know that I’m angry. With all these feelings, I want to give up. To let despair take me. To embrace torment. But I cannot, Gorgo. ‘Cause then it wins.”

  The storm was visibly waning. I felt an invisible presence before me, as if the incorporeal Gorgo was staring into my eyes.

  “You let the memories rule you, and you have truly lost. And for all they have done to us, we can’t let them win.”

  I fell slowly to the ground, landing on a pile of soft-covers and torn papers. All the debris fell, calmly. None so fast that the fragile material could break. Pranish awoke as he was slowly lowered, looking around like a lost puppy.

  The winds focused, and sucked into the centre of the room, and then glowed. A warm, light-blue glow. Tranquil. It floated wisp-like to me, where I still sat precariously on the books.

  “Can Treth hear me?” it said, a woman’s voice, reverberating as if being transmitted from another world.

  I nodded.

  “You were a moron, Treth,” Gorgo said, “But I miss you.”

  She disappeared.

  Despite the pain in my haunches, and the bruises on my arms where I had been pelted by books during my brief unconsciousness, I stood. I waved my arms as I almost slipped on some books but managed to get off the pile. Pranish had awoken, and was looking at me, a hint of awe.

  I limped to the back of the store and picked up a book. Its spine was only slightly scuffed. I limped back to the front, Pranish’s eyes following me the entire way.

  I placed a crumpled ball of notes on the cashier counter, and then I left. The crowd stared, as I limped, book in arm. They parted like the Red Sea, and watched as my back shrunk further and further away.

  I hope you enjoyed the story! Don’t worry, there is more coming. I am currently writing a six-book (initially) series continuing where this left off.

  I want to know what you though! Please email your thoughts to info@nicholaswoode-smith.com

  Lastly, I want you to help me write the series. Make sure you are a member of the mailing list and keep up to date with the development of the series. Please send me your feedback and ideas.

  And stay tuned – even though the series will be simultaneously released in mid-2019, I will be posting world building and character related posts, memes and content before then.

  I look forward to having you as a long-time reader for this great upcoming series.