Discerning the Darkness

[Katelyn]

OOC

Meredith sat her pen next to her journal, looking up from the well-worn book that whispered the depths of her life’s work and study, the first entry from the shaky hand of a six year old girl as she scribed the static like ether into the pages of her own history. She blinked slowly, her mind working hard to regurgitate the details of their latest assignment.

IPSUM had become her life, along with Ray and being the best at what she did was paramount. People were lurking around every corner to ridicule and demean her and her team. It was her calling to ensure that the results they gathered were clear, precise and documented in script, audio and visual mediums in order to support the paradigm shifting evidence that something paranormal existed.

She turned in her chair and looked over at Ray, who was still sleeping in their bed, a chuckle whispering from her pink lips at how precious he was to her. She stood and walked toward him, sitting down beside his relaxed form and touching his back softly, rubbing in circles to try and bring him to life. She leaned over and placed a soft kiss below his ear and whispered for him to get up or they’d be late. He stirred a bit as she kissed the side of his forehead again and stood, walking toward her bag. She checked to make sure everything was as it should be and looked over her shoulder at him.

“Ray, I’m heading out there. I want a minute to myself before everyone else joins. Get up, baby, and meet Oz in the coffee bar downstairs. You have eight minutes until you’ll be late. I’ll see you in the cemetery.” She laughed at his movement, grabbed her bag and walked from the room, the taste of him still on her lips.

The motel was built in the early 1930’s and the structure exuded the time. The inside had been refurbished a few times and though it wasn’t the Hilton by any stretch of the imagination, the crimson and burgundy furniture, carpets and curtains gave it an old world ambience. Meredith walked through the lobby, noting no one but those that were paid to work the ungodly hours of the dead milling about. She made sure to give a professional nod to each person that looked her way, never really knowing when the next stranger might offer them their next assignment. Meredith was a bridge building amongst people and always looked for an opportunity to make a new acquaintance – friend, no so much.

The weather outside was around 52 degrees Fahrenheit and Meredith wished she’d brought a light sweater as the wind picked up a bit and howled around her. She’d dressed in jeans, a long sleeve t-shirt and tennis shoes, her sandy blonde hair sweeping her shoulders as she jogged across the street. The moon hung high in the sky, not seeming to be quite willing to make its disappearance anytime soon, its illumination painting everything in a urethral glow.

Meredith loved this time of the morning where everything was still and silent. The world busied itself so often with meaningless tasks that droned on to the countenance of no one. She slipped through the old rod-iron gates, the metal groaning with effort to allow her entrance. A smile touched her lips as the wind blew softly and her chest tightened with excitement. She loved fear and the idea that perhaps she might not be alone in this place of dissention, but surrounded by those that didn’t received welcome into heaven and perhaps didn’t do enough for the glory of hell.

Finding a small wooden bench, Meredith carefully sat down, as not to disturb the silence and opened her bag, pulling out a few things, amongst them her energy reactor and her white noise EM handheld reactor. She sat them beside her, not wanting to turn them on until Oz and the team arrived. She’d learned the hard way a few times that to have an experience without another around for corroboration or witness was as good as invalid. She sat back and let her eyes take in the surrounding area. This cemetery had been well worn by the shoes of many thrill seekers coming to lay visual claim to the history and the popularity of this hollow ground. It was where the book and 1997 box office hit, In the Garden of Good and Evil was filmed, a smile touching Meredith’s lips at the remembrance of Kevin Spacey and his award winning performance.

The soft dripping of water began in the distance, nothing to visible see, but a subtle seduction for the ears, an awareness to the soul that lie in her chest. Something was here. She looked over to see her team walking up and stood to greet them, her voice nothing more than a whisper.

“Remember to watch where you are stepping. The graves have been flooded and cracked by the storms of 1963. I will not be carrying any of you out of here, so be mindful.”

[Red Beret]

If there was one thing Vernon Oswald hated more than anything else, cemeteries had to be at the top of the list. Not because of their inherent chill, their inherent emptiness... it was because of the way they seemed to absorb sound, the way there was always that empty, uneasy silence. Silence made Oswald uncomfortable, made him want to seek refuge somewhere safe. Some considered silence peaceful, but somewhere deep down inside, Oswald knew that there were things that thrived in the silence, things that were unknowable, things that were meant to stay unknowable. But Meredith had insisted when the client called, and Oswald could rarely say no to her. After the exorcism five months ago, when they'd brought Father Rodriguez into the fold, an imprint haunting seemed like a cakewalk... all except for this damned silence.

The fog that had rolled in quite suddenly didn't help, either, slowly swallowing the light of the moon, the light from the streetlamps that lined the avenues, swallowing the lights from the motel, swallowing the RV, that safe haven that they'd been granted so long ago it seemed... and the cemetery itself would be drenched in that inky blackness they'd all come to know... and he'd come to fear. That silent darkness mere hours before the sun sent the first of its fiery rays up into the sky, the time of night when active spirits were at their most active, that time where Oswald would have been perfectly fine sitting in the RV and typing up a research note... that's what time it was now.

Oswald picked his way carefully along the lanes beyond the cemetery gate. He hadn't bothered with a flashlight... the fog was thick enough to swallow even the LED Maglite he'd bought for the simple purpose of blazing a path through the darkness... he heard a rustling behind him, but in that oppressive stillness, there was nothing to move the trees. No wind to carry whispers to his ears, but he heard them, faint and buzzing in the silence. Nothing intelligible, but whispers nonetheless... and then they ceased to be, and he had to wonder again if it was all in his head. The whispers, maybe, but not the rustling. He heard it behind him, perhaps off the path, something curious, something territorial, stalking him.

A shadowy figure emerged out of the fog, just a bit darker, just a bit more concrete than the night. The light from Meredith's handheld. Oswald sat beside her on the bench and dropped a sweater in her lap. The morning was chilly, but he was wearing the beige all-weather coat that he called his "ghost-hunting coat." He looked out for her... she was almost like the daughter he'd never had.

"I figured you might want that."

"Thanks."

Nothing more needed to be said between them, and Oswald hated that... it meant that he would have to continue to endure the silence and the fog until the others arrived...

[Squrmy]

David’s eyes opened suddenly, a cold, unnatural sweat clinging to his face and torso. His breath coming in shallow, rapid gasps, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, forcing himself to stay calm, “Just a dream, David,” He murmured to himself, rubbing the palms of his hands into his eyes forcefully, to wake himself up – but it wasn’t really working. He could still hear the sounds of the babies crying ringing in his ears, see the blood trickling down the orphanage walls, “Just a FUCKING DREAM!” He roared, throwing off his blankets, and allowing his feet to hit the carpeted ground with a muffled thud.

Angrily, he got to his feet, pulling a tight-fitting white shirt on over his well-muscled torso, digging his fingernails into his forearms. Eventually, his heart rate started to slow, and his eyes became less wide and wild; the terrors of his nightmares fading away, leaving him with a few hours of peace before he’d have to face them again when the time to sleep came. He threw open the curtains, sighing heavily, staring out onto the gloomy night outside. “Fuckin’ creepy place.” He murmured, turning back to his bed and picking up a pair of blue boot-leg jeans, tugging them on, and doing up the buttons and then the zip.

He walked into the en suite bathroom, that had come with his room, flicking on the light and taking a can of deodorant in his hand, shoving his arm beneath his shirt and spraying on a good deal of the stuff; if he had to run and started sweating, he didn’t want to smell, did he?

Next, he got some gel, squeezing out a glob onto his left hand; rubbing his fingertips together, and running them through his hair, styling the blonde strands into fashionable-looking spikes. He turned on the tap, washing his hands off, and starting to brush his teeth; mouthwash, floss, all that jazz.

Once he was done, he walked back into the main hotel room, flicking off the light, and tugging on a black leather jacket. He sat his ass down on the bed, tugging on black steel-capped boots. Pushing himself to his feet, he walked over to the wardrobe which had come with the room, opening it and pulling out a large black bag.

He un-zipped the bag, peering inside; nodding in satisfaction upon seeing that his high-quality video camera and microphone were still in one piece. David scratched at the back of his head, zipping the bag closed, and slinging it over his left shoulder.

He picked up his room’s key card, opening the door, and shutting and locking it behind him. Sighing heavily, David made his way down a few flights of stairs to the lobby, nodding to the doorman as he exited the building. “Oz said to meet him in the graveyard,” He murmured, shivering a little; the hairs on the back of his neck standing up in anticipation, “Fuckin’ hate dead people.”

He made his way through the street of the town, wrinkling his nose. “Georgia is a gloomy-ass state.” He murmured, in his thick Northern Irish accent. It took him a while, but he eventually got to the cemetery; carefully picking his way through all the graves, being sure not to touch any of them, or tread on top of any mounds.

He found Oz and Meredith, standing behind the two who were sitting on the bench; tapping them on the shoulder lightly. “’Ey. We gonna get started? I hate fuckin’ graveyards.”

[TheIronRuler]

Something went terribly wrong that day. It was a thing that changed the devout father and shocked him to his very core. The seminary in Rome prepared him for the worst of them all, but he feared meeting it. It was the root, the cause and the result of all evil, and It had decided to show Father Rodriguez the real meaning of fear. What came over that girl wasn't a demon tormenting the innocent – That thing… was It.

The priest sat down on a cold wooden bench and leaned against a chapel's wall behind him. It was a catholic chapel, one he intended to visit today but stopped before going inside. There was a reason why It came to him and not others. These foolish people, with their science and evidence believe they could decipher why dead spirits flee Purgatory. They do not understand the pain involved with each sin and the misery in an eternal Hell. The spirits, on the other hand, experience it without mercy. Father Rodriguez knew that they must be cleansed in fire again and returned to Heaven where they will be happy in the embrace of the Lord. They had to be cleansed with fire... Hell fire.

His hands shook at the thought of what awaited sinners after their deaths. He even considered himself to be a sinner when he first decided to leave with that strange group of people. The envelope in his hand was even more crumpled than before as thoughts of the beyond flushed in front of the priest's eyes. It was a letter of apology, repentance and the retelling of the events in that house. That creature alternated between Latin, Greek and English, and the others only caught a few glimpses of the conversation. The descriptions… were horrid. He had also written a letter of resignation, asking for the church to not excommunicate him but give him some time to contemplate what he saw.

He had written that letter five months ago.

The priest returned the envelope to a pocket in his coat and stood at the sound of a passing car. He had to go and help the dead go through the fires, and throw those he does not know into his worst nightmare. The priest mumbled a prayer and walked away from the church towards the haunted cemetery. The visibility was very poor, but he assumed the weather would clear in a few hours.

Each of his steps was accompanied with a few words in his mind and the more he walked through the cemetery the more he tried to remind himself of what he learned in that seminary. He stopped in his place when he had heard the growl of savage dogs behind him. Terrified, Father Rodriguez continued to walk forward without looking back.

"Don’t look back at the abyss…", Esteban said out loud in Spanish, his voice shaking, "…It might just look back".

[tirgesfu]

BerRrrring Cain jumped from his sleep with the startled gasp of not remembering where he was. He slapped the battery operated clock. As his heart settled and he glanced around the hotel room he let out a sigh of relief. Good thing he bought that clock at the last truck stop. He never thought he would need it. He never did inside the Beast. Cain struggled to sleep every night in that cramped box on wheels. He tried hard to fall asleep last and wakeup first. It wasn’t really the motor home or the fact that all of them cramped into beds in the thing. Cain grew up sharing beds with his brothers. But he didn’t know them, really. Sleeping close to strangers just didn’t feel right. Besides one of them was a priest. He was in a tight box with a priest. Cain shook his head and fell back on the bed. What was he doing? Last night he slept in his own motel room. It was like heaven. He spread his arms out on the clean sheets and closed his eyes. Heaven.

A few minutes later they sprang opened again. He was supposed to be somewhere. He jumped out of bed and ran to the shower. Liking the idea of having that much room and lots of hot water he turned it on, ran back out to grab his shirt and glanced to the clock. Wait, he wouldn’t have time to enjoy the shower. Crab suas, he swore under his breath. He hopped into his paints pulled a shirt from over his chair and took only a few minutes to straighten the shoulders, smooth the collar, and tuck it neatly.

Cain ran out the door feeling he was already late. That’s all he needed. He was already the greenest, the fifth wheel, the odd ball, the one who didn’t follow the jokes and never seemed to fit in. He ran almost not noticing the thickness of the air and the silent whispers of stillness. The fog only amplified the sense he was behind, still asleep. Increasing his speed in the limited vision he almost ran right into the rod iron fences that surround the place. He reached to touch the old iron. It was damp, cool and flaked just a bit as his fingers ran over the arch.

And there was a church. Of course there was a church. In the fog it looked almost like home. Cain looked at the roof line and the circled windows in stained glass for a few minutes. That was close enough. Too close. He had to turn away. He spun around and ran the long way across the empty walkways under the large live oak and through the strings of Spanish moss that twisted toward him through the mist.

Cain entered through the other end at the far side of the hotel. He let the name roll through his head. Bonaventure. Bonaventure. It kept his rhythm as he ran. Finally Cain saw the bench ahead where the Doc, the Tech, and the Mum of them all, sat waiting. He stopped, tried to catch his breath, straighten his shirt and acted as if he had been there all along. He didn’t say anything. He just walked to the spot beside David. He nodded as if to say, he was here, time to start.

[Deamonbane]

Raymond, more commonly known as Ray, smacked Meredith's ass as she walked away, grinning boyishly as she turned around to give him a scolding glance, and she walked out. He leaned back into the bed, a bit uncomfortable, come to think of it, but by far, not the most uncomfortable bed he had ever slept in. And she made it a whole damn sight better. He relaxed a bit, before flinging off the covers, and breathing in the chilly morning air. He smiled a bit. She was obsessed with her hunting, or whatever the hell it was that she did, and he accepted that. She didn't quite accept the fact that he didn't believe in that sort of thing, but they agreed to disagree, until the topic would come up, and she would present all of her evidence, and he would sit back, trying not smile at how cute she looked when she was intense. He knew better than to disagree vociferously with a woman. Just let her get it out of her system, and he would change the subject. Subtle.

He stepped into the shower. He wasn't one that liked to take showers, and he allowed his showers to have a three minutes maximum, as he had long grown used to the cold, icy showers, and he had taken many a tea-cup bath in his day. He was out in two, and a maybe a bit more, and was dressed in another. He strapped his watch on, and put on his shoes, and jogged down the steps to the cafe, grabbed a quick bite to eat, to go, and was on his way. He had been briefed on where this cemetery was, and he made his way there, hastily sipping some coffee, and chewing on a bagel as he made his way there.

There she was. He almost felt giddy at the sight of her. The RV. When he had gotten her for the first time, she had been a wreck, the engine barely able to hold its own. But after he had taken over her, she purred like a cat, responded to every move that the driver made, almost like a well trained horse. He didn't know much about well trained horses, but he supposed that that was how they were. He had installed a few embetterments, and had worked up the truck engine to maximum performance. He walked over to her, running his hands over the faded paint job before he looked at everyone else. Then he noticed the mist. It felt a bit chilly, and it had a bad feel to it. He shook the feeling off, like he always did. It was just their stories, making his subconscious do crap.

He smiled," How is everyone on this," He indicated the mist," Fine morning?"

[Katelyn]

Oswald was the first to show up, his presence bringing in a thick fog, as if he were the wielder of such elements. A smile touched her face at the though, the older man a dear friend and good mentor to her. He sat beside her as the bench creaked out its exasperation at being used at such an ungodly hour. She took the light jacket he offered and smile, thanking him. He was forever taking care of her and between the two of them, a perfect union of brain and heart created a working relationship that most would never experience.

She was lucky – and she knew it.

Meredith turned to look over her shoulder, the light fingertip tap on her back not causing her to jump. She was waiting for her team and logic would state that the brush of human fingers belonged to one of them and not something she was seeking to prove existed.

She nodded at David. “Yes, do you have the special camera equipment that will allow us to really get a proper visual in this much fog?”

She stood up and looked around, shaking her head. “This is going to be a bit trickier than I first assessed. This much fog will cause our visual accessibility to be limited, so we’ll just have to stay close together.”

She looked at David again. “I want you right beside me at all times.”

Mer could hear the priest walking toward then, not by heavy footfalls, but by the sounds of his utterances. He was an odd character and one she’d rather not have been part of the team, but Oswald had convinced her otherwise. She believed not in heaven or hell and wasn’t excited about the idea of having a member of their team that felt he had the power or ability to ‘send spirits home’. She inhaled deeply and slowly let it out, settling her nerves about the man, not the mission. She nodded at him.

“Father,” she said as Cain walked up, not speaking, per usual. The Irish man’s fiery red hair standing out amongst the dull colors of the early morning and offering a target to any and all that might wonder who or what was creeping around in the cemetery so early in the morning.

Meredith reached down and grabbed her equipment, handing Cain a note pad, pen and small light as Ray walked up. She turned and smiled at him. “Hey baby... keep your voice down or you’ll wake the dead.”

She looked back at Cain, “Make sure you really hone in on the sounds that might be heard this morning. This specific site is known for having animal apparitions or so the stories tell. I want to know about specific sounds.”

She looked at Ray and handed him an audio recorder, “Keep this on and see if you can pick up anything for me.” She knew he didn’t believe in any of what they were doing, but he’d help, just like she’d hand him tools when needed in his shop.

“Oz… you, Cain and Ray go along the south wall and see what you can hear or see anything and I’ll take Esteban and David with me to see if we can get any video recordings based on hot spots from my EM reactor.”

She looked at everyone. “Again, be safe. Your workers comp is non-existent.”

She winked at Oz and turned to walk toward the sound of water dripping. There was something about the early morning eeriness that caused excitement to stir in her belly.

A smile to touch her lips. “God I love this.”

[Squrmy]

David smirked at Meredith, patting his black bag with confidence. "You know me, mother; I always come prepared. I've got everythin' we'll need," He winked at her, adjusting a few strands of his hair. "Sure. I'll stick by you. Sure you don't want me to hold your hand?" He poked his tongue out at her, snickering softly - trying to hide his own apprehension about being in a graveyard. He hated corpses.

He peered at the Father with a small amount of interest when he walked up, giving him a curt nod. He'd never been a big fan of Catholics as a group - growing up as a Protestant Loyalist, he'd never interacted much with Catholics, and associated them with the Republican, Pro-Republic Catholic terrorist group, the IRA.

At the sound of Cain's footsteps, he turned, grinning a greeting to the red-headed man. Although he was from the South, David had taken a liking to the man. "'Eya, mister quiet," He chuckled, eyeing the man up and down. "Ready for some fun?"*

When Ray came over, and Meredith started to get all gooey and romantic, David made a gagging sound, smirking lightly. "Jeeeeeesus Christ, you two," He snickered, rolling his eyes. "Get a room!"

When Meredith ordered them off into groups, David nodded; un-zipping his bag and pulling out his shoulder-mounted camera, careful not to damage the expensive equipment. He adjusted the lens, careful to make sure that he'd put on the one which could see through the fog. Satisfied, he flipped open the side panel, mounting the camera on his left shoulder, holding it with his left hand, his right resting on the focus and zoom knobs.

He looked to Meredith, ready to flick on the record button. "Righto, let's get this over with. And you'd fuckin' better be paying me extra, if a coffin falls open on me."

[Red Beret]

Dr. Oswald

"Don't be a clumsy idiot and nothing should fall open on you," Oswald said, raising a brow. He stood, then looked to Meredith one more time, "You, too. Be careful, okay?"

Cain and David... he didn't really care for David, but the man was a good enough tech, and those were hard to come by these days, especially those who were willing to put up with early morning fog and some of the creepiest shit south of Amityville. Of course, the analogy didn't quite stick... Amityville had been a hoax, after all. The true point was that it was hard to find good help in this day and age, and most people weren't willing to volunteer their time to travel around the country on the admittedly meager paycheck that IPSUM offered.

"Come on," he said, steering David away from Meredith before Ray had a chance to black his eye, "And mind you watch your step. This site has enough activity without you raising the dead by stepping on them."

As they made their way south, Oswald stopped every now and again to point out something of historic significance, mostly to break up the silence, which was still ever so present and bothering the hell out of him. Their foosteps alone weren't making as much noise as they should--which Oswald supposed wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It was just one of the ways cemeteries soaked up noise. It was a plot of land meant to remain silent... and so somehow, in the uncanniest way, it simply did.

"If you look at the headstones, you'll see markings," Oswald told David and Cain, "These mean different things, and can sort of give you an idea of whether you can expect any activity from the people buried here... as long as the marking on the headstone is right, that is. For instance, the broken branch engraved on this headstone represents an untimely or premature death, and those are generally ripe for activity. A cross, meanwhile, would represent a member of the clergy, and they tend to be a little more peaceful. Not always... just generally speaking. Their line of work, you know."

In between the history lessons--what was he supposed to do, he was a history professor, after all--Oswald listened intently to the silence, trying to pick up on any of the activity that had been mentioned by previous visitors to the cemetery.

"If you hear bits and pieces of conversation," he told Cain and David, "You don't have to worry, but try to record it. The main haunting here is residual, after all... this used to be the site of a plantation with a very wealthy, very social owner, and the energy from the parties he threw seemed to soak into the place... or maybe his spirit just doesn't want to give them up. Nobody's seen anything, of course, but people have heard plenty.

"That is, to say, that there aren't 'sentient' apparitions. The second most common manifestation of paranormal activity here is a pack of ghost dogs, and they've been known to chase visitors out of the cemetery, so they're not just residual, but fairly active. Meredith says that people have also reported being physically attacked by something, recently."

He shined his flashlight around, but all it showed him were the shapes of monuments and headstones, but no real details. He made a mental note to look into a light that would cut through fog and darkness like a hot knife through butter, and addressed Cain and David one more time, "We're going to be heading east along the south wall here, should give us plenty of time to encounter something... go slow, listen, but above all, record. Evidence isn't evidence if there's no evidence."

[tirgesfu]

Any tension between David and Ray were totally missed on Cain. So he gave David a questioning glance when Dr. Ozwald pulled him from Meredith’s side. Whose team David was on didn’t matter. Who was really in charge didn’t either. He had his role and he was quick to pull out his note book and begin. The first item of course was the date time and all present.

Cain wrote, drew, and recorded all the time at a rather fast speed. Already as the Dr. talked he was sketching the pathway, the broad leaves of the magnolias, the grave right nearby and added words to describe the fog and the heavy air. He listened to the Dr. Oswald’s information stopping to take a quick rub of a broken willow branch. It was on a stone of Lillian Grace Durand 1847 to 1852. He stepped back and trying to tune out anything else. What sounds would he hear from a child so young? All he heard was more directions from the history teacher.

So he moved closer to David and made sure to look in the direction his fellow Irishman pointed his equipment. Quick scribbles and starches as he moved quietly beside him trying hard to listen. Sounds. That’s what Meredith stressed. Evidence of sound was something Cain couldn’t give. That was David’s task. But Cain knew a paper trail was still a good back up.

Cain gently nudged David toward a pretty large stone that had a head and a foot stone. Footstones were not something Cain saw much in the new world. The head stone was worn to the point that Cain had trouble reading the words. He quickly placed a single page of his pad on the sandstone and rubbed his charcoal over it. He pulled it up to see a bird maybe a dove with garland from its beak. Something squawked. Cain froze. Shrill cries filled the silent air. Cain jumped as two crows cawed and flew from behind the next stone. After his heart settled he smiled and looked to David.

As if the calls focused him some he moved to follow Dr Oswald closer. East to south. Cain could feel a touch of the morning sun trying to peak through the thickness.