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Coming soon...

Hey

It's crazy what's going on in Araminta, but if you're reading this then that means you're one of the few people that can help stop it because you were apart of those crazy things. Either you saw that dog, survived one of those maniacs, or you were one of the lucky few to get away from the moths.

Know it's a lot to swallow, but head over to 7359 Armory Road, the old church that was abandoned. Trust me, I'll explain it there. There's a lot of you guys and it's better if I explain all of this in person. Just remember, you gotta keep this on the DL. People won't believe you or think you're crazy.

That's because it is crazy, but you're one of the only people who can make sense out of it. Remember you're all Ghosts now, act like it.

The few who have had encounters with the supernatural received the text message on their phone. Strangely enough, when they checked the number there simply wasn't one. Almost as if it came out of the blue. Many of the so-called "Ghosts" ignored the text message, but there were a few that heeded it and ended up coming to the church.

---

---

---

This is the place.

Amanda thought to herself as she pulled up in her black pick up truck. There was an iron fence around the place that was originally chained up - but the chain was broken and the gates were pushed open. How long ago was the question on Amanda's mind. She looked around and there was nothing but woods in sight, so she merely left her truck on the side of the road. If anyone on the force comes by here, she knows how to talk her way out of a ticket. She casually got out of the car - wearing jeans, a black zip-up hoodie, and black steel toe combat boots. Her earrings jingled as she brandished her trusty Glock 22... she had no clue what she was walking into but she was walking into it nonetheless. With all the weird shit going on, she wanted to make sure that at least she had it on her. However... she heard that other people were coming, and walking around with a gun was a very bad look for her. She simply tucked it into her waistband as she walked up to the church.

It was a white building that was abandoned for God knows how long to the point where vegetation had claimed it. Amanda was afraid to step inside because she could see the parts of the ceiling that had collapsed in. She was personally wondering where the hell this person they were supposed to meet was. Well, it was not out here - she took one step before she heard some bushes rustling. Her head immediately whipped around and her hand went straight for her pistol.

Her head's on a swivel and she knows better than letting her guard down.

Archie

---

Archie could feel her bristling, "Need any help?! What a joke… that liar. Ugh!"

She was fuming and it was cute. He tried not to think about the fact that his arm was still around her waist as he held out a beer for her.

"Thanks," she said with a smile, taking a long drink.

The lead had stopped talking and started up another play – it was one of their biggest hits and the crowd responded enthusiastically, herself included. She yelled and pumped her fist in the air with the other viewers; his arm dropped after her sudden movement. It was a great show, he had to admit. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

She was a vision.

Humming along with the music, eyes closed, smile on her face, hand raised in the air. She reminded him of something free and wild and completely untamable. She'd go where the wind blew her, flowing with the tides, but she'd always come back to what she loved. She was beautiful and funny and smart and dazzling and everything a guy would look for in a girl so why the hell was it taking him so long to say something? Because that's what he wanted, right? He wanted this free and wild and untamable girl. Yes, more than anything, he wanted her. All of her. With him. He wanted all of her – all of her perfections and imperfections, her flaws and her strengths.

And before he even knew what he was doing, Archie was reaching towards her. Cupping his hands around her face, turning her towards him. He briefly saw her eyes open in surprise before he pulled her forward, meeting her in the middle. Her eyes shot wide and they both let go. The people around them were singing and the song played on in the background and it couldn't have been more perfect because he was kissing her and she was kissing him and it just seemed like time stood still. The song ended, the band playing its last few notes, as he slowed the kiss, pulled away, and stared down at her. She looked up at him, eyes still wide. He couldn't decipher her gaze.

"Bye, Archie."

No hesitation.

The quiet but firm statement snapped a pair of murky blue eyes open faster than the sound of aggressive shouting. The subject of the dismissal was well used to such sudden interruptions to his sleep cycle, and thus was no longer fazed much by the quick retreat of slumber into the far corners of his mind on waking. Indeed, a mere two seconds after being jolted awake, he had both feet planted firmly on the ground and was in the process of rising when he the palm of his hand wrapped around the bed frame, anchoring him with such firmness that his knuckles turned white.

Archie hated falling asleep these days. Not because he couldn't- he could sleep anywhere if he really wanted but therein lied the issue. He didn't want to sleep, because every time he did the visions of them plagued his minds eye and dragged his heart so low that he oftentimes couldn't bring himself to roll out of bed. They always felt so vivid and crisp, as if his mind was playing back some sort of recording for him. It always started out in a place or time that he recognized, but it would warp at the end. She hadn't said goodbye then. Why was she saying goodbye now? He could taste her on his lips, and he released breath that he didn't know he was holding. Instinctively Archie twisted around, his hand reaching out to touch what had once been her pillow. Firm, square hands with weathered olive skin traced the contours with reverence, hesitating at the shallow dips and curves where it had compressed from frequent use. I love your hands—they are what made me.

It had been a long time since he had washed that particular pillow, because even now six months later, he could catch the faintest trace of her that was as fleeting as anything he had ever known. It helped Archie remember her- remember them. But what he remembers most is the silence of each early morning, when the sun rises one ribbon at a time and the whole world was at peace. He remembers staring at her youthful face and marveling (just like that first day), marveling at how these girls, these silly, beautiful women, had changed his life so much. He remembers sighing, he remembers his daughter smiling. The candy pink clouds making no complaint to her authenticity and absorbing all the sound around her like cotton—all except for the beating of her heart, because the heart is never silent. Now well, now the world is quiet. As if it had yet to wake up with him. There is no bubbly laughter a few doors over from a little girl playing pretend or staying up to read at an uncivilized hour, and as his hand reaches the base of the pillow's downwards curve there was no raven hair to tuck behind an ear or stormy grey eyes to meet his.

He pulled his hand away from the pillow and turned around, simply sitting on the edge of the bed. It was early, the exact time he didn't know. His eyes shifted to the phone on his nightstand, sitting surprisingly illuminated next to the steely silver gunmetal of a model 642 revolver. His stomach turned at the sight of the weapon, and returned to the phone. No one messaged him at this hour. No one really messaged him at all, at least not with anything of substance to say, so this was particularly abnormal. He released the bed frame that had anchored him so, and read over the text. It read like a young person sent it, with contractions and abbreviations. But it was the final line that stuck with him. You're all ghosts now. Act like it.

Archie finds himself drawn to the sentence, and the address. He knew himself well enough to know that he should write it off. But he did feel like a ghost, didn't he? He found himself placing a hand on his chest and truly missing that familiar sound thump, thump, thump—it had always been a sort of constant in his life, a steady reminder of who he was and why he was and what he was meant to be.

Where have you gone?

Archie doesn't know, and that scares him. He doesn't know what he is anymore. He knew what he was supposed to be before: a husband, a father, a provider and protector but that 'him' was gone and had died with his family. His life now; eat, drink, sleep, fix, repeat. It's become such a routine that sometimes Archie fears that he's lost herself, that he has no idea what he's doing it all for, but at the same time he doesn't know where to begin finding his way back so he just moves forward with his arms outstretched and uncaring as to what happens to him; the blind leadeth the blind. After careful consideration, he takes a shaky breath and reaches deep into his heart, searching the dark crevices left and right— but he comes up with nothing. As expected, he thinks. Nevertheless, he retracts and stares at his hands, his skin dark and heavy in the low light of dawn. Maybe, if he just thinks hard enough, he can pretend that the emptiness between her fingers is really a heart— his heart.

And so he does just that; he imagines, he pretends— fingers curled in, he cups the air between his hands and just watches it—beating there. Everything's gone silent.

The day passes slowly. The sunlight creeping in lazily and chasing away the dark. As day breaks, so too does he. It's January in Pennsylvania, and the bite of the cold relinquishes its hold only somewhat as the sun reaches its apex at a cool 38 degrees Fahrenheit. The snow and ice melting into slush and wetting the greenery and muddying the dirt- but never disappearing completely as it crunches softly with the leaf litter beneath his feet. He had tossed on a brown leather jacket and red flannel, some blue jeans and boots. A casual working man’s outfit. Functional by design, and it warded off the cold.

Archie faintly remembered when the Five Springs Church was built over twenty five years ago, all clean walls and stucco. He remembered going with his mother as a child and being creeped out by the stained glass window of St. Joseph, whose eyes always seemed to follow him around the building. His eyes trailed up the building to where it had stood, and a part of him sighed when he saw that the window had long since been broken and reclaimed by nature- only the edges of the frame retained shards of colored glass hinting at what had once been. The church had been well constructed, and it really was a shame that it had been abandoned. The Preacher who headed the services had been a tall, lanky man with spindly fingers that seemed to reach up to the very top of the bible whenever he held it. Archie couldn't place the man's eyes, no matter how much he searched his memory. As a child he had been raised to take note of peoples recognizably features, to the point where his mother would take him into another room when they had guests over and test his memory of those that he had met. Ms. Kane had wide brown eyes, Officer Blackmore's were similar in color to his own but were harder- like ice rather than water. Mr. Connell had dark green eyes that harbored a look he identified with more and more these days, his daughter had his wife's stormy grey irises and-

He tripped over his own feet as he stepped over a bush. Somewhere else, baby girl, I promise.

He met Amanda Blackmore's aforementioned hardened gaze when he recovered himself, his eyes flashing to her hands as they reached for something on her hip. A gun, almost certainly. He knew he should probably be carrying his own these days for protection, but he never did. He wasn't sure if he cared if 'The Horde' found him.

Archie didn't raise his hands in surrender, instead allowing them to rest at his sides. He didn't approach further though, not until she moved her hands away from her gun. "Officer." he greeted easily, breathing out a puff of air that froze in front of his face. He blinked as it dissipated, briefly enthused, and returned his attention to the alarmed woman. "I got a text telling me to be here. That wasn't you, was it?"

---

Amanda's hand drifted away from her waistband seeing that it wasn't the Horde. However, she kept a hand in just the right spot to snatch it out in case she needed to. She knew the person that was before her, it was Archie... something? She didn't know the guy, but certain things travel around Araminta fast. Especially if you're PD. She expressed sympathy for his family and she definitely saw him around Araminta a few times. Yet, they never had a conversation lasting more than a minute or two. That said, some part of her compelled her to move her hand to her glock - that part of her was telling her to stay on guard. If anything, Archie could easily be behind this bloodshed, but she was going to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Though, what she found interesting was that Archie brought up the text messages. Which means she wasn't alone here. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her cellphone, after unlocking it she brought up the text message and held it up. Of course, she knew he couldn't have read it at this distance, but that wasn't the point. Amanda casually says,

"Ha, I was told to come here myself," Amanda started off, she raised an eyebrow as she took some steps until she was to Archie's left. She was ensuring in the event that he is one of the crazies, she could still beat feet. "But, that text message was for a group of people, right? Which means more people might be coming..."

She took her final step as she whipped around and looked Archie in the eye, "... So, that also means you seen some of the weird shit going on around town?"

Clara sat in the front seat of her prius her hands still glued to the wheel. She had been siting long enough that the little engine had cooled to the temperature of the chill January air. The church wasn't visible from the trail head where she parked, though she had intended to drive directly to it her courage had failed her at the last moment. Finding an alternate approach was a convenient excuse to delay the moment of truth for a few more minutes. It was crazy to be doing this. Literally insane. She glanced down at the phone for a final time making sure it was really there and it wasn't some sort of hallucination. The text still showed on the screen, silent and accusing.

"Ok," she breathed and, with some difficultly, pried first her left hand and then her right from the wheel. It grew easier to move now that she had taken a symbolic step. Pulling her coat around her body she opened the door and climbed out, snow crunching under her winter boots. The trees were hung with the remnants of old snow that gave them a poxed and leprous look, though she knew that to be her mind flavoring the scene rather than any real omen or menace. Reaching into her hand bag she brushed her hand across the rubberized grip of the tazer she had carried when she was in New York. It had taken her an hour to dig out of her storage before she came her, she never imagined she would need it in a quiet place like Araminta. So much for that assumption.

Clara's breath steamed in front of her as she pushed through the last of the pines to reach the church. It was clear she wasn't the first to arrive, a fact that relieved her considerable. It had been just possible that she had been the only one to receive the message, that it was part of some elaborate ruse designed to lure her here. That theory, though seductively dramatic, lacked the practical driver of logic. She was nobody in the grand scheme of things, an over qualified lecturer at a small regional university, there was no reason to lure her here. Except, clearly, somebody saw a reason. Somebody considered her to be a ghost, and she wanted to find out why. Why had she lived when the moths had swarmed and carried off the others. Why was she receiving mysterious text messages. Her whole life had been spent rationalizing the strange and arcane. In her secret heart she had wished that just one ritual or occult secret would prove to be more than allegory. This was her chance. Steeling her nerves she stepped through the door and into the church.

Amanda and another man, Archie the mechanic she thought, stood inside. The cop seemed tense and Clara hastily drew her hand from her bag so both were in clear view. Clara didn't like police, it was a profession that seemed to attract the worst people and bring out the worst in the good ones. Admittedly Amanda was easy on the eyes. She had a momentary fear that this was some sort of elaborate police sting, but that didn't make sense. What was she guilty of? Receiving strange text messages.

"H..hello," she said, somewhat diffidently, "I received a text..."

Tristan Douge

---

Abandoned Church

---

It was a bit ironic, honestly. Tristan had become used to spending entire days doing nothing but parcelling through news articles & reports throughout Araminta. Disemboweled remains found at night, sightings of the same black dog that led Tristan to hers, reading through every report and sighting, jotting down any specific details mentioned, and even double-checking. Every day and night, it was a storm of cross-referencing missing reports with the discovery of the corpses days later, checking threads and news bulletins for supposed sightings of the Black Shuck (as well as learning the skill to tell which ones were bullshit). He even looked into the recent moth-induced mass-car pileup and kidnapping. Now that he doubted the legitimacy of, but still integrated it into his search patterns regardless. All in all, something really fucking weird was going on in this town.

After a rooting frustration, Tristan decided to clear his head; He ran out to the store just to pick up some milk. Just milk, simple as that. Just as he left the store with a single jug in his hand, he felt his phone buzz, and pulled it out of his pocket. He got a text from no number. It recognized his own encounters with the unnatural, and directed him to the old abandoned church.

By the time he made it all the way down there, he actually began to have doubts; This had to be some kind of trick, or wannabe clubhouse. Or maybe it was some big conspiracy, and they wanted him and everyone else who saw it in one spot--

But he shelved those doubts for now; It was this time that he finally had an inkling of a lead after days-- Hang on, weeks? ...Months? Had he really been stuck in this ritual of searching news articles and board notes for almost a month now? Good God, it was about time he had something to actually work with.

Tristan hopped a bus down to the Church; Money he was supposed to spend on the trip back home. But it wasn't the first time he threw bus-money for something irrelevant, except this time it was actually important. After hopping off and a quick two blocks, he finally made it. 7359 Armory Road.

He already saw a few cars parked off to the side; People were already here. Well, if it was a trap of some kind, at least he wouldn't be corralled by himself. A large crowd had converged outside of the actual church, standing in a confused group just outside the entrance.

Seeing just a few other people standing around and talking, he must've been a few minutes late. Some were locked into their own conversations, while others were standing around confused and mumbling, just like him. Awkwardly, he entered the congregation, still holding the jug of milk in his hand.

"H..hello," said a bookish, nervous woman, "I received a text...", catching Tristan's attention.

"Yeah-- yeah. So did I", he answered, turning to face her and showing his own phone, with the text pulled up, "It told you to come down here too? Did-- Did everyone here get a text like that?"

Then he clued into her original intention, turning his head and realizing that one of the people present was a cop. Oh shit, was this some sting operation? Tristan began to silently panic; He didn't make any sudden or aggressive movements, though, catching she was in fact armed with a gun. Instead he just stood there, still facing the woman he responded to, while also trying to stand open to the rest of the group in the church.

---

Normally Jaden knew better than to listen to creepy text messages with no fucking number talking about some dumb bullshit. If it was any girl they wouldn't have even read it and immediately deleted that thing. Shit ain't normal, obviously. With rumors of swarms of fucking moths flying around and abducting people, that shit ain't normal well is it? Jaden hid in the bushes as he made sure to get a good note of everyone here, then he went to look at his cellphone for his text message. That military itch in his head was telling him that this was a trap, especially with the copper here. Jaden narrowed his eyes... maybe this was a trap. He knew better than to trust the cops - or white people. Amanda Blackmore and Jaden didn't have the best relationships... and he didn't know the rest. However, Jaden wasn't a scrub - he was practically a Marine without the credentials!

Jaden took in a deep breath as he decided to just show up. Whoever is pulling the strings here knows what's going on and probably won't show themselves until their little "Ghosts" show up. He stepped out of the bushes all confidently but made sure to make lots of noise just in case officer Blackmore gets scared.

"Don't shoot officer," Jaden said in a mocking tone as he raised his hands, "I'm unarmed - wait, that usually makes you cop types shoot." Amanda was unamused. Because Jaden does this a lot.

The people just keep coming. Amanda thought to herself as she was tempted to at least keep her pistol in her hand. There were a few familiar faces - it was apart of the job. Then her eyes landed upon Jaden... one of the local pains in the ass. "Jaden..." Amanda mused. "If this is one of your games, I swear..."

The comment was brushed off as Jaden knew he ain't ever do anything like this. He walked to the group as Amanda was seething in rage and examined everyone down to their faces. Before he shrugged then he spoke, "I'm gonna suggest we skip all this 'uh did you get the text'-" Jaden said in the most obnoxious and mocking tone he could, "-bullshit because look around you."

Jaden clapped both hands together before he put his hand up to the church as if he was presenting it. "Nobody ain't got no reason to be here unless they a tweaker - fuck, I'm surprised we ain't find someone ODing yet! Hehe..."

He had his hands in the pocket of his winter coat as he whipped around to face the group. He made sure to keep his eye on them at all times - even when it looked like he wasn't! He didn't trust anyone here.

"But, we know we got the text - but do we know why we're here? I get the feeling each of us were involved in the weird shit that was going on around town. What I'm wondering is what, and what I'm also wondering is how the person who sent that text is involved because it's obvious they have a better idea of what's going on than anyone here."

Archie

---

"... So, that also means you seen some of the weird shit going on around town?"
"I received a text..."
"I assume we're all here for the same reason?.."
"It told you to come down here too? Did-- Did everyone here get a text like that?"

"But, we know we got the text - but do we know why we're here? I get the feeling each of us were involved in the weird shit that was going on around town."

"Hmmmm." Archie grunted and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in and exhaling out of his nose. It seemed as though he was the oldest one yet to arrive, and the various eccentricities of of the young people around him were already beginning to wear him down. Archie was a man deprived of someone who made him feel more than he has in his lifetime. It's a situation where he's eternally grateful for what his girls had taught him, but he finds himself bitter at the situation. He hates how unkind fate was to them. Most of these people wouldn't ever face that- which was a great thing, but it made it difficult to relate. His eyes passed between them all. Amanda was no-nonsense and had something to prove. He meant that genuinely, at least. This town was conservative and for a woman to have made it into the police force meant that she had been and would be facing resistance every step of the way. Her fingers fidgeted at the hem of her coat by her hip. Always looking for trouble aren't you, little one? he would always say to his daughter. Would she have been like Amanda?

Astraea was somewhat of a wildcard, tall, dark, and lithe as the trees in the woods that had yet to grow back their leaves. Her eyes shifted between them all as his did but he knew when a person was reading the room versus taking stock. This woman was sizing them all up, and he supposed that came from the great deal of people watching that she undoubtably did. He had never seen her much around town, but knew of her existence. What had once been casual disregard had morphed into respect as he had become somewhat of a recluse himself. Archie got it, and he wasn't sure why she had chosen to separate herself so- but he had hated it when the whole town came to his door begging to know how he was or how he was feeling. He would not put her through the same trouble. Not unless he thought she wanted him to. When her eyes met his own, the right corner of his lips curled up in a shallow smirk and he nodded to her ever so slightly. One observant recognizing another.

He shifted to the meeker, smaller form of Clara Kane. He had exchanged words with her in short, terse sentences while covered in grease and oil in the past. Nothing substantial as it had been all business- What seems to be the problem, ma'am? Transmission issues, no problem. Tire rotation, give me half an hour hun, but always friendly. She was educated, even more so than him and chose to further her studies and challenge herself as a teacher- something he had infinite respect for. His wife had always wanted to be a teacher. "...another one? But you just did an interview last week!" Perhaps he wasn't entirely alone in this group.

Tristan was the first person that he could truly empathize with, he supposed. Archie had never lost a sibling- having had none to lose in the first place, but he had known his mother well at one point- and for a long time would donate catches to them where he could when they fell on harder times. Tristan was a good enough young man, but was rough around the edges. Where his loss had made him retract into himself, Tristan's loss had strengthened his walls and hardened his edges. A brief lesson in how different losses affected different people in different ways. He opened his mouth, but decided against saying anything. Not now, maybe another time.

Jaden Domingeuz quickly stepped past him, and quickly took the spotlight with audaciousness that was unbecoming of anyone else in the group. He was a true extrovert, but he was also a young man with a chip on his shoulder, and Archie had heard many things about the young man's previous endeavors. While they were far from flattering- he hadn't ever wronged Archie himself. In fact the fire that lit the young man's eyes reminded the older man of himself when he was fifteen years younger. He wasn't quite as... destructive per say, but he had participated in many hijinks in his youth.

"Black Shuck." Archie said flatly, and did not elaborate on his experience further. He leaned his head to one side, eliciting a few sharp pops from his neck, and stepped forward, unafraid of Amanda's armed status. If she was going to shoot, she'd have done it already. He placed a hand on Jaden's shoulder as he passed, slowing his stride so he could speak to the man. "Should come by sometime, if you're lookin' for a job that is. I don't drug test." he said in a low voice, simply patted the smaller man on the shoulder and continued onwards- not affording Jaden the time to response. The showboating the theatrics that Jaden might respond with were all filler, either he would come or he wouldn't. It made no difference to Archie. The man gave Amanda a small sideways smirk as he passed her, but ultimately said nothing to the woman. He approached the church, and with little hesitation he ascended the stairs before coming to a stop in front of the door. Tanned, square hands wrapped around the wrought iron handle and he pulled the door open. It was heavy- as church doors always were, but he felt more than the doors weight on his shoulders as he pulled the door open and held it for the still slowly growing group of 'Ghosts'.

He goes in her room again. Writing her name in the dust gathered atop the dresser seems like the best idea in the world, so he does. He also manages to inhale quite a bit of dust in the process. He stays in the room for a while. It doesn't feel like there's a ghost of her anymore, but just in case there is, he writes 'I miss you' in the dust, too. Maybe the hypothetical ghost will pass it on.

He pretends that just for a minute this untouched room with faded pink walls had a disheveled bed, and radiated sprinkles and scraped knees and laughter. For just a moment it's almost like normal. He's terrified.

He stops when the door is entirely open, and steps aside with it- still holding the iron handle. He was holding the door for the group, as it was only polite after all. "We might find said sender of texts..." Archie said, poking moderate fun at everyone's insistence of mentioning their phone's mysterious message. Kids these days. "...Inside."

---

The crunching of leaves beneath shoes would be a pretty common sound today, it seemed. As June stepped down sidewalk leading up to an old church looming in the distance, she pulled out her phone to read over the text she'd received earlier once again, as she'd already done multiple times that day. Both nameless and numberless, it was about as mysterious as all of the other strange things that had been going on in town recently. She didn't know what to make of it, but after everything that had happened she'd take any lead she could get to find the answers she was looking for. It was like her existence had become an unending sequence of one life-altering event after another, and it was all starting to become too much for her to try to pass off as not her problem as she somehow become more and more involved in harrowing events she'd never imagined she'd experience. She didn't know if gaining answers would make her feel any better or fix her problems, hell she didn't know if she'd gain any answers at all, but figured she had to at least try. Besides, she wasn't anyone important, so she doubted the text was a lure or trap. What could anyone ever gain from her anyway?

"Ghosts, huh..." She hummed, reading the last bit of the text out loud before turning her attention back to the abandoned church up ahead. She pocketed her phone once more and drew her jacket closer, shivering a bit as cold winds nipped at her face.

'Yeah...I guess I probably count as a ghost. Not that I'd ever say something that edgy out loud.'

Then again, she could probably be allowed it, considering the circumstances. She'd already nearly died just this week alone.

...

June hated having the closing shift, but the library paid well enough and she needed the money. It was just such a pain to have to deal with. It wasn't so bad when she had some help, but tonight she was unfortunately alone. She half-considered it a bad omen, as she expected something to go wrong just when she would have needed the help the most. And of course, something did go wrong, just not in the way she expected. Closing up the library had gone smoothly enough, it was when she stepped outside to head to her car that the problem arose. She was not alone in the parking lot that night.

She felt her breath catch in her throat. The hoodie, the mask, the hellish orange eyes...the figure standing before her was no doubt the infamous serial killer that everyone was talking about. For a moment, she saw herself freezing up in fear. She saw the blade in the figure's hand, and with a quick swipe she could see the weapon slice through the air to slash her throat. Surely, she should have died that night. But she didn't, in fact before she'd known it she'd already broke into a mad sprint to get as far away as she possibly could from her potential killer. She ran and she ran, she didn't know for how long. She never looked over her shoulder either. But eventually, she found herself running past people. She'd made it to a more public area, she was safe. But she kept running, leaving the people behind her in case she was still somehow being chased.

"Easier targets."

...

The church was closer now, causing June to shake her head as the memory drifted away. Had she really seen her own potential death? Or, more likely, had she just imagined what her old, pitiful, spineless self would have done? She also briefly wondered if any of those other people had attracted the masked killer's attention instead, but shoved the thought aside just as quick. It wasn't her problem.

"People...?" June muttered to herself as she went up the well worn path to the front entrance of the church. Ah, right, the text did mention something like that. It appeared that she was late then, though perhaps not the latest. She didn't know if she'd missed introductions already, as one person had taken it upon themselves to open the double doors leading into the decrepit building, with another deciding to take the lead and enter first. She took stock of who was there so far, though she didn't recognize most of them.

There was a cop, interesting. She didn't recognize the woman as anyone in particular, but seeing as there were few female officers in Araminta it wasn't a stretch to say she'd probably seen her before. Maybe they'd gone to high school together? Though they were most likely in different graduating years.

The man at the door was a mechanic, probably? June was pretty sure he'd done an oil change for her car once. There were vague memories of him being fairly straightforward but polite, and her car was doing fine so he must had done a good job. She didn't really know much else about him however; she hadn't been around when tragedy had struck him, and had only returned to Araminta afterwards.

Clara Kane...now that was a surprise. They didn't have a particularly close relationship but they saw each other enough to be on a first name basis. Clara knew her way around a library better than most people, and her consistent use of it meant June saw her often when taking on a shift. The woman was nice, though a bit weird with some odd interests. Not that she had much room to talk.

As for the others, she was just drawing blanks. It seemed like the group that had showed up so far was just a bunch of nobodies, herself included. A hell of a team to put together, she supposed. Well she could only assume they'd all received the same text as her, but honestly the chances of it being otherwise was slim to none.

"Ghosts, right?" June asked the others rhetorically as she not-so-subtly integrated herself into the small group of people that had shown up. Really, from an outside perspective it was probably just awkward to see her walk up to the group of strangers and say something that would come off as bizarre without any context. She glanced around at everyone, looking for signs of recognition of what she'd said, which didn't take long to see.

"Yeah...definitely Ghosts."

She didn't see much point in just standing around asking further questions to people who likely didn't have the answers, so she just briskly made her way up to the double doors that the mechanic was still graciously holding open for everyone. She nodded at him and flashed a thankful half-smile before stepping through and entering the building.

Connell House

The mirror is cracked. It’s not noticeable to most people. It would take someone who spent a long time looking into it to tell. It was in the top right corner. A tiny line, no jagged edged, like a clean slice with a knife, it was perfect. I try to ignore it and focus on the reflection in front of me. I’m wearing a clean cut, three piece suit, expensive material and cut, shipped from New York city. I wear a white shit, long sleeved always, overlayed by a dark blue tie that hung from neck. The outfit is the same as several others in my wardrobe, with just enough deviation not to look odd. Except I do look odd, there is a fracture in my reflection. I look into my face and see me, green eyes, short dark brown hair, a slight stubble on jaw and upper lip. I’ll need to fix that at some point, I’m already in a rush. I try to ignore the phone on top of my draws. 08:05 it blinks at me. I sigh and take one more look at the reflection. I don’t remember when I started to look like that.

Connell Dealership

The drive to work is quick. Seems since the Orange-Eyed Killer, or whatever name people had come up for him today, had started his spree, the streets were a little more empty, even in the mornings. Could just be his imagination. As he pulls up to the dealership he puts those thoughts out of his head. Connell Cars & Auto-Mobiles red dealership sign passes him overhead as he turns into lot. The lot was filled with cars, from cheap old buicks to top of the range Mercedes and BMWs. The dealership has a 1950s style about it, from the colour to the style of building. It was a little faded in places, but it gave it a history that the people of Araminta seemed to enjoy. It was an old style dealership with its own garage next to the main office for any work that was needed. As he parked in his space he saw the lights to the building switch on. The figure of who he assumed to be Sandra Harriett flipped the close sign to open and opened the door.

“Nice of you to join us.” she said leaning against the door. I fix my face and get out of the car.
“Just catching up on my beauty sleep.”
“So you actually do sleep?” she said. I choose to ignore the jibe.
“Thanks for opening up. What’s the schedule for today?” I ask entering the office. The place was open with the exception of my office. I preferred to have people out in the open and talking to each other. Outside of a waiting area for customers I had four desk areas, one for each of my sales people with a modern computer and desk. Two of my people were on holiday and I had an agreement with the other two that they could turn up around 10. Which meant between 9 & 10 it was just me manning the front desk usually. It’s how I liked it. Sandra picked up a tablet and read off the schedule.
“You’ve got an appointment with Father Wilson at 11, he wants to talk about prizes for the upcoming church raffle next week. You've got a call in under the name of Anders who will be here at 2 and couple looking for a new family car at 4…” I waited for more, while looking for coffee in the kitchen, but when she stops it becomes clear there isn’t.
“No work for the shop?” I said, realising as the words left my mouth, I’d made a mistake.
“No Abel. No work for me. Because you keep sending to your bum drinking pal.”
“Sandra, I only did that twice. Twice. The first one you had a crack at and couldn’t do it. The second because the waiting list was three hours.”
“No! I could have done it, but you told me to work on Wilson’s car instead. Now I’ve got a reputation as a crappy mechanic.”
“What? Who’s been saying it?”
“People...I don’t know who, but I know people have been talking about it. How else do you explain it?” I screwed my eyes shut for a sec and took a sip from the lukewarm coffee I had found. Archie, the bum as Sandra put it, could have said some things while drunk, but in truth this was probably my fault. Archie was once my rival in town, famously so. A year ago I would have done anything to muscle him out of town. Then things changed.
“Sandra he’s not a bum, he’s just going through a difficult time. I’ll talk to him.” Sandra looked like she has more to say, but decided not to. I continue. “What about the Ford with the broken windows? Did the part turn up?” The car I was referring too was a Burner, usually the sort of car on it’s way to the trash heap, but still good enough that it could get people around if we had to keep their car in at night.
“No not yet. I’ve told you, even if it does turn up, you’ll get more trashing it than fixing it.” She heads towards the back. “I’ll be in my shop...polishing tools.” She yelled going through the side door to the shop. Was going to be one of those days I thought while I sipped coffee from my mug.

The day was slower than what even the schedule showed. The Father Wilson had tried to convince him to put up a Mercedes for the raffle. About an hour it became clear that I wasn’t going to budge over an offer of a second hand car and left. The Anders ghosted and walk ins were pretty slow. He let his other two sales people head home early. The only people that were left were the mystery family and as 4:20 rolled around they walked in. There were four of them. One dad, one mom and two kids. The dad was wearing khakis and short sleeved shirt, the kids a boy and a girl were dressed similarly, with cartoon characters on their shirts. One was what looked like a knockoff Spongebob. The mom was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. They looked tired, at least the parents did. As they opened the door, he noticed the mom looked vaguely hispanic, a suspicion confirmed when he heard her speak Spanish to the kids.
“Quiet and sit down on the chairs. You need to behave while we talk to the man.” she said. While it would be nice for them to be quiet, I doubt they would without a distraction. I stepped forward and extend my hand to the parents.
“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Abel Connell and if the kids check under the seats, they should find a box of toys.” The kids reached under their seats and pull out a box of legos and dolls. The kids immediately started digging into the box. Their mom raised an eyebrow out me questioningly.
“You speak Spanish?” she asked.
“Yes. Though not as much as I would like to. In my experience kids seems to behave best when they are distracted.” I said in Spanish.
“You’re accent is a little different, but very good.”
“Thanks.” I motioned them to an available desk and sat down.
“Firstly names?” I say pulling out a form.
“Simon and Sally Rickton.” said Simon.
“Married for long?” I asked.
“Two years now. We were childhood sweethearts and we were meant to be married 6 years ago, but then the kids came and we had to save some more money.”
“Sensible. Especially these days.” After a few more details I finished the form.
“So what can I do for you?”
“We need a car. We’re expecting again and with three kids we’ve decided the bus is too much work.”
“Well alright then, let's take a look around the lot and see if we can find anything.” We walked around the lot. I considered what they told me and moved towards a mid-price family car. Their faces tell me all I needed to know and I started walking down the price range. Eventually we reach the end and I can tell from the look on their faces, they can’t afford even my second hand.
“How much can you afford?” I ask simply. Simon looked down at the ground. After a moment Salley spoke.
“We have $250.”
“That’s not enough. That’s not enough for anything I have. Why did you come here?”
“Because we have nothing else.” Simon said looking at me imploringly. “I used to work at the Steel Mill, but after it closed down we couldn’t afford our rent. We’ve been living in our car for a few months now, but it got impounded this morning. I was hoping we could find something.”
“No. I was hoping to find something.” Sally Interrupted. “You probably don’t know this, but we attend the same church.” I hadn’t realised. “You always seemed like a good person and I’m not saying you aren’t. I just hoped we could find something.”
“Stop. Look I didn’t mean to act like that. I’m having an off day and you two didn’t deserve it. Look I can’t give you any of these, I’d make too much of a loss on them, but maybe I can give you a Burner. I’ve got one I need to get rid of, so let’s go talk and work something out.” We walked back to the office. About an hour and a half later I gave them the keys the Burner free of charge. I told them the only condition was that they stay at a hotel for the night and for Simon to come in for a job interview in the morning. It’s hard to get decent hands in the shop and while it might be slow their right now, it almost always picked up in the winter months. Just had to get Sandra to be ok with it. I left for home that day feeling like I’d done a little good in the universe.

Connell House

The following day I woke up and threw up. I then walked into my bathroom and cried for two hours. I checked all the windows and doors were locked and I sat in my living room for the rest of the day watching the news. There was nothing. Nothing about the swarm or the thing that tore people into pieces. I couldn’t believe it. I sat there all day watching the news, waiting for someone to mention anything about what happened. All the news reported was a pile up and several deaths. Not even a number. I held my head in my hands and tried to convince myself the sounds I was hearing that of the wind and not millions of moths.

The second day was easier or worse depending on how you would describe it. I got up that morning and took the clothed I’d been wearing. My black suit was ripped and torn, the white shirt was covered in blood. I don’t know whos. I threw up again. I put the clothes into a bag and drove down to the police station. I asked to speak to the officer in charge of the pile up investigation. The cops gave me a blank stare like I was crazy and told me to sit down. I sat in a waiting area for an hour before approaching the desk again. The officer at the desk was different and told me they weren’t aware of why I was here. I dropped the bag with clothes on the front desk and left.

The third day I woke up a splitting headache. The empty bourbon bottle fell off my body as I got up. I went and took a shower. Then I went and hit the treadmill in my house. I ran, despite the head ache and kept going until my right leg couldn’t take anymore and gave out underneath me. I laid there for an hour before my phone rang. I looked at it and saw the text. I was going to delete when I looked up and through the open door to the mirror in my bedroom. It was cracked. Worse now. Like a great jagged line had ripped through the mirror and shattered it. A hundred version of me looked back.

Five Springs Church

Three hours later I was outside the church. A collection of other people making their way inside. Did I really want to do this? What would the rest of the congregation say if they saw me here? I looked at the scratched and torn fabric of the passenger seat next to me. I felt the bruises that wrapped around my chest and I thought. I have to know. I fixed my face and I exited my pickup.

A small group of people stood out front talking, while two started walking in. I decided to approach the group outside. To my surprise I recognised two of the people.
“Archie, David. You got a text too?” I looked towards the others. “Anyone know who sent the messages?”

---

It was not the birds that had Charlie up with the sun, but rather the urge to piss after being ungracefully awoken from a nightmare. As with most dreams, the details slipped away once her eyes opened and fixated on the faintly lit ceiling, but she could recall her desperation to escape from something or someone. She was carrying an unfamiliar young child on her hip, their weight making it impossible to move quickly enough to outrun the offender. She was roused just as she felt her body be yanked to the ground, the kid’s small frame crushed beneath her as she fell. Her subconscious mind was to be thanked for protecting her from what she knew she couldn’t handle.

As she stumbled across the room towards the bathroom still in a haze, her bare feet suddenly slipped against and sunk down into the subfloor where she had torn away rot but not yet replaced the hardwood. Her toes curled into the dampness and she felt her upper lip involuntarily curl in disgust as she peered down at the darkened wood, hardly distinguishable in the steel blue dimness of daybreak. The unfamiliar and deeply concerning texture sent her scrambling away from the area and towards the closest light switch. The starkness of the bathroom’s vanity lights revealed the wet wood sprawled much of space beneath the cast iron radiator situated against the wall.

“Oh, damn it to hell,” Charlie hissed as she realized the leak’s source, the radiator valve still steadily emptying water onto the floor. “Keep the originals,” she sneered, voice lifted a few octaves to further her mocking as she yanked her only towel from the shower curtain rod. So many of the town's residents had sought her out to offer their advice upon hearing of her intentions to renovate the old home. “Respect the history, Child. You’ll regret it.”

Two cups of coffee and a few hours of trying on her own had gotten Charlie nowhere but later in the day. Finally, accepting defeat, she had situated her cell phone on the window pane above where she sat and there she had begun listening intently to a video of an elderly man online explain his quick, two minute fix to the problem. The home’s wifi, however, was nothing short of horrendous and this meant that the picture would halt to buffer every few seconds, leaving the man rambling about olives and couplings with no way for Charlie to figure out what any of those words meant.

With interest in her original project long lost, Charlie had settled back into bed with a magazine she’d stolen from a table at one of the local restaurants, its cover plastered with a promise of “394 Stress-Free Christmas Ideas” being tucked inside the pages. The young woman had just reached idea fifty-four, revealing microwaved marshmallow to be the superior gingerbread house adhesive, when her cell phone vibrated against the window in which it was still propped. The text was blissfully ignored until she completed the list and only then did she work to stretch her torso across her bedside table to retrieve the phone, refusing to pull her legs from beneath the covers as the room’s temperature had steadily been dropping with its only source of heat out of commission.

“Well, huh.” It was rare the Charlie moved with purpose, but seeing as she had ignored an anonymous call to action involving the apparently very real ghost pooch she’d encountered to learn how to make a dollar store wreath, she figured now was a good as any. A pair of dirty overalls from her bedroom floor were yanked over her legs as she headed down the stairs, aged Converse were stepped into at the door, and an oversized fleece flannel stored in her car completed the ensemble.

. . .

Charlie approached the assembled group outside the church with little hesitancy, recognizing some of them from brief interactions in town, but hardly viewing the current crowd as threatening. Despite this, she had backed her vehicle as far as she could down the road, left the doors unlocked, and secured her key to her wrist with a hair elastic. She was picking through old trail mix she’d found in her center console as she searched for the hair tie, the bag now held in the crook of her arm. Meticulously, she was singling out the chocolate pieces as those present all confirmed they were in the same place for the same reason. It was only when a few of the others began to approach the church that she spoke up, making it apparent she’d only been quiet for so long prior because her mouth was full.

“I think that it’s cool that we’re all here together and all to share our experiences, but is anyone wondering how this person, or people, knew we’d all seen the things we had? I haven’t said a thing to anyone. I mean, sure, this is all weird, but just wasn’t sure if I’d missed that conversation before we go rolling up into the creepy as shit church. It’s just that I’ve seen this horror-flick once or twice and it typically ends in about the same way.” Nevertheless, Charlie still moved towards the front door as she rambled, certainly not to be left alone outside.

---

Her House | Five Springs Church
@JunkMail

---

It was the flower blooming on the cactus that sat in the window sill that drew Suspiria's attention. She leaned down and cautiously inspected it. Admiring it's deep shades of magenta and other reddish pinks. She pulled out her phone and shuffled a few steps back, turning the phone at different angles to try to capture the perfect photo. Right as she was about to capture the photo however, her phone went off. Startled, she jammed her thumb down on the screen and got a very blurry, shaky photo of what was supposed to be a cactus.

She sat down on the couch and took a closer look at the notification she received. It was a text message. She raised an eyebrow and tapped on the message. Someone must have gotten the wrong number. She had already started typing up a message explaining that she wasn't the intended recipient of this text and how she was terribly sorry when she paused and took a quick glance up. The word "ghost" had caught her eye. She scanned through the short paragraph, then looked it over again before turning her phone off. She immediately turned it back on again and read each sentence very slowly.

With the mention of moths, she felt as though she had been sucked back in time. All the rationalizing of that ill-fitted memory fell away. The beating of wings, the screams that echoed down the street. It was so clear in her memory, crystallized there. Even though it was significant, it also felt hazy and vague. She couldn't even remember why she was driving in the first place, only that the moths came and then they left. She racked her brain, but couldn't come up with an answer for how long this whole event even lasted. Even so, part of her always knew it happened and this message was the first tangible piece of evidence she had to verify that.

Even if the message wasn't meant for her, Suspiria knew she had to come to this church and see what it was about. This person knew about the moths and apparently some other things too. She was hopeful that this person would have some sort of explanation for what happened that day. Something to make her mind rest easy and quench her burning desire for answers. In the back of her mind though, she had realized a troubling, yet very possible outcome of this meeting; there would be more questions unearthed than answers.

As though she had four cups of coffee, the delicate woman sprung to her feet and prepared to go out. She quickly debated about whether or not she should take any of her scientific equipment with her but then decided against it, if it got damaged or lost she wasn't sure if she'd have the funds to replace it.

Sliding on her coat, she placed one hand on the doorknob. She turned it and took one step out the door. Before she closed the door completely, she turned around and waved goodbye to her pet leeches in the aquarium. They, of course, were indifferent to the world around them, Suspiria being no exception.



Suspiria pulled up and stopped at the side of the road. She had been worrying the whole way there if she had gotten the address to the church right, but was put at ease when she noticed the presence of several other cars already parked nearby. She stepped out of the car and tried her best to contain her nervousness. Her mind was already playing out hundreds of different scenarios where things were going to end up horribly wrong. This could all be some sort of prank, or just a coincidence or-

As she walked foward, Suspiria saw all the people assembled on the steps of the church and froze in place. She had to decide whether she was going to commit to this and walk up or if she was going to turn back now. She knew she was sweating already. A part of her knew that she was just overreacting, everyone there is probably friendly enough and she shouldn't be ridiculous. And normally, she wouldn't. There was something strange about this whole situation though. The text, this abandoned church, the gathering of people. Then again, what hadn't been slightly weird since she got to this town?

Gathering her wits she walked forward. She hung back as others walked forward, entering the church one by one. The man holding the door looked familiar, but it dawned on her that she was terrible with names. Even if she had seen him from somewhere she knew that his name would inevitably slip her mind. Trying not to draw any attention to herself, she strode forward and walked behind the others as they entered the church. She briefly looked at the man and mumbled a quick, "thank you," before stepping inside.

---

"... I don't drug test."

All that mouth Jaden had quickly run out when Archie said that to him. He said it in a whisper and Jaden had to resist the urge to draw attention to it. He shook his head as that cocky line of energy went dry with only four words. He had to shake it off, and keep up the facade. "... The Black what?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. Jaden was unaware of all the sightings of the Black Shuck. The comment probably fell on deaf ears as Archie walked up the stairs to the doors and opened it. Five more people showed up - probably not going to be the last. Jaden was tempted to make another smartass comment about people asking the same fucking two questions over and over again, but he forgot how basic this town and the people in it are.

If he made a comment they'd probably still be standing there drooling.

The smirk that Archie shot Amanda only elicited an eye roll as she waited for everyone to go inside. Right now she was interested in neither Archie nor Jaden - since it was obvious they weren't the threats here. Amanda let out a sigh as her hand finally got the signal to drift away from the pistol in her waistband. However, Amanda was bringing up the rear - she made sure she was the last person through the door. Just in case. She muttered a "Thank you," to Archie as he finally closed the door.

Unbeknownst to the group, there was a set of footprints approaching the church. It had the appearance of fearsome claws as an invisible creature approached the building.

Inside the church, lighting wasn't an issue because a huge portion of the roof had collapsed in and let the January sunlight in. The wood that the many rows of seats were made out of were rotted and were reclaimed by nature. There was a network of roots and weeds all over the building and every step the group took was over some ivy (which is why Amanda was glad she was wearing boots). There wasn't much remaining of the windows and the shards of glass were all over the place underneath the ivy. However, one oddly untouched thing was the pulpit and the massive white cross that overlooked the whole building.

A set of footsteps started coming up from the front of the room towards the pulpit. A small, mousy looking young girl walked up to the pulpit. Few people around town knew her name, and it was unlikely that the older crowd would know her. However, Jaden raised an eyebrow when he saw her.

"Ey, wait, you're that weird girl," Jaden started, "Um what's your name, Brianna, right?"

"Yeah," The girl just says as she holds her bicep with her left hand - keeping her cellphone within grasp for some odd reason. She leans up against the pulpit as she began her explanation, "I'm glad you all came here, I know you have a lot of questions-"

"... Like how the fuck did you send text messages without a name or a number?" Jaden injected.

"-But we'll have to save the questions for another time. We're short on time... you guys were all involved in one of the supernatural occurrences, but it didn't use to be this way. At least not like this, but there's somebody at the root of it all. They call her The Witch."

Amanda raised her eyebrow. Okay, this was starting to get weird.

"She's behind the serial killers, the moths, and the things you haven't heard about," Brianna started. "I don't know who she is, what she can do, or what she is - but if we stop her, Araminta will return to normal."

Amanda had her arms crossed, skeptical.

"I know it's a lot to swallow right now, but you have to trust me, you have to believe me. I sought you out because you lot are the few already encountered the other side and your sensitivity for this kind of stuff should be higher. We're the only people, as it stands, that can stop this because trust me; it'll only get worse from here as the Witch grows in power. Will you trust me?"

Archie

---

“Archie, David. You got a text too?”
"Archie. Been a while, my man."
"Thank you."

Archie doesn't immediately respond to any of the addresses, mostly because none of them lingered long enough for him to respond. He was fine with this, honestly. Aside from David and Abel, most people these days didn't have much to say to him aside from expressing concern and word requests. He wasn't quite stable enough, or secure enough with the new reality that surrounded him, to handle much more anyhow. Few people understood the desire for seclusion in the way that someone like him did. Which wasn't inherently a bad thing- all things considered it was a good thing that most people didn't lose people they cared about on the regular. It just meant that they didn't get the necessity of distance so soon after, or the unwillingness to form bonds again for fear of losing someone they cared about again. It was January 3rd, and a week prior on this day had marked the first Christmas Archie had spent without his wife and daughter, and three days ago was the first new years he had spent drinking alone in a long, long time. Not even David or Abel, bless their hearts, could truly empathize with that level of rawness.

Oftentimes he equated grief to a shipwreck in a storm, with bits and pieces of shrapnel and debris thrown out to sea. The waves of the storm batter you and drag you down as one fought tooth and nail to stay above the surface- to gasp for air. One would cling to whatever piece of debris they could in hopes of staying afloat, and as time passed the waves grew further and further apart. They never lost their intensity, but one would get the chance to catch their breath before being battered by the never ending storm again. Archie, for all his strength of character, was drowning inside. His lungs burnt and he felt like he had no breath to scream. He was so angry. There are things which one can not explain in language. Things which words are too inadequate for. How the widower knew he was there is one of those things. How he struggled with getting out of bed in the morning. The struggle of looking at himself in the mirror and telling himself I'm worth it. He struggled with knowing where the ammunition was in the cabinet, and how easy it would all be.

Archie shut the door reverently behind him, only taking his hands from the wood and iron when he heard the gentle click of the latch. He stepped away from it, and turned. He took a few steps after the group, but seeing as they were all convening in easily visible places Archie allowed his attention to wander again. He absentmindedly allowed his mind to wander as the group made small talk- and without even thinking allowed himself to edge on the outskirts of their circle. He ran his hand along the worn wood of the church pews and found himself genuflecting. Be it out of habit, or maybe his last desperate grasps at his faith he was not sure. He didn't like speaking to others about his struggles, choosing instead to make the unhealthy call of bottling it all up. He eased himself into the seat, and made the sign of the cross along his head and chest- but did not kneel. It was an odd mixture of respect to god and disregard of typical tradition. Archie closed his eyes and pressed his hands together gently, interlacing his worn and weathered fingers together in prayer. He did not know who he prayed to, or even what he prayed for. God, if there even was one, hadn't heard his cries in a long time. But it was nice, if anything, to feel like someone heard him.

A small, auburn haired girl with soft features and grey-blue eyes took to the pulpit of the church's stage, and began to explain her reasoning for contacting them. That they were predisposed, that there was a witch, that it was all connected. That she needed their help because they were the only ones. Archie didn't much care for any of it. His mind kept relaying the message in his mind. Remember you're all Ghosts now, act like it. He supposed that was quite apt, given the situation and who he was... he was already a dead man walking, wasn't he?

You tell me.

Archie shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his head. Would he trust her? He wasn't sure what part of him answered; the part of him that wanted to be better, or the part of him that wanted it all to end.

"I will." Archie said with finality, first to answer the unfamiliar young woman. "I will trust you."

---

The inside of the church looked about as run down as June expected, maybe a bit more so. While she didn't feel like it was particularly unsafe to be in there, it still made her uneasy to see that the roof had fallen in. She noticed the crunch under her shoes as she walked had continued, but now it was due to overgrown ivy and the occasional broken shards of glass buried beneath the plant life. It made her wonder what could had possibly happened here and why the town never bothered to clean up the mess. Then again, they did have a hard on for preserving the past, even when it came to dangerous shit like rundown dumps like this. It was a miracle that no kids had ever broken in and gotten seriously hurt here, at least, as far as she knew.

It wasn't long before everyone finally filed into the church (June made sure to hover somewhere around the middle of the group) and somebody made their presence known as the person who'd brought them there. This person, Brianna, according to one of the Ghosts, began to explain why she'd brought them all there, though as she talked June could feel her expression falling from curiosity to disappointment. Well...this hadn't been what she'd expected, and honestly it was one of the last things she'd wanted to hear. She didn't recall signing up to hunt witches or whatever the hell this girl wanted the group to do, all she wanted was some simple answers so she could just move on with her life already. She felt like she'd just been misled by a saleswoman who'd advertised one product only to be sold a much more expensive one she never even asked for or needed. Wait, actually...

June pulled her phone out again and perused the text.

'Huh, ok. She actually kinda did ask for our help in the first sentence. My bad.'

Maybe she'd just been too hyper focused on the latter half of the text that promised answers. Maybe the part that made her feel just a tad bit special and important and even gave her a cool name had influenced her perception. Maybe the faintest hint of closure would had sealed the deal for her no matter what the rest of the text had said, like a carrot on the end of a stick.

She didn't like how easily she'd been convinced in showing up at all.

Regardless, she was here now, and she was going to have to make a decision. She slid her phone back into her pocket and looked around at the others, judging their reactions. Some seemed skeptical, others indifferent, much like herself. But a near immediate answer from the mechanic surprised her. She turned to look at the man as he told Brianna he would trust her. June was surprised, and wondered if maybe that was just a older guy thing, or maybe he was just gullible. She didn't know, though she thought it was a bit funny; she was just about to make a comment about how she figured that the motley crew Brianna had brought together didn't really seem like the type to commit to heroics, but the mechanic had shut that sarcastic joke down before it could even be said. So now that just left her own decision to be worked out.

"...Do we have a reason to trust you?" June eventually asked as she turned to look back at Brianna, "You've gotta admit, this whole thing looks really shady to a bunch of people who don't know any better. I get you don't have time for questions, but..."

'It's a hard sell to get me to put blind faith in anyone.'

"...I need something a little more solid." She shook her head, pushing away that other thought. "I saw the dog. I saw the killer. I can believe there's some supernatural shit going on here. I just...don't know if I can believe in you."

---

The girl with the face had a good point. They don't have reason to trust this girl, and Amanda knew better than to blindly believe everyone's story. Everything has two sides to the story, and the girl didn't have an immediate answer. Amanda crossed her arms as she narrowed her eyes at the girl. Things weren't right here...

Brianna had to pause for a second as she focused on June. The girl had a point, she needed something more solid, Brianna put a finger to her mouth.

"Aw shit, didn't think this through, did ya?" Jaden said with a cocky smirk.

"Shut up, Jaden," Brianna was quick to say. Before she just let out a sigh, "I can show you proof, it might be a lot to take in at-"

Suddenly, there was a loud banging at the door, followed by a hellish growling. The banging hit the doors so hard that it caused debris to fall from the rooftop.

"Shit," Brianna said, "The Witch has found us..."

The banging stopped as there was a banging up the side of the building until it stopped at the top. Then what was left of the roof caved in.

"Move!" Amanda said as she darted off to the side, she rolled, and when she hopped to her feet she managed to pull out her pistol and aim it directly at the thing. Unfortunately, the thing caused a massive dust cloud that impaired all vision in the area. Amanda took a few steps back, the growling started back up again and she was tempted to fire a few shots.

Meanwhile, Jaden hauled ass to the other end of the building and ducked behind one of the rows of seats. He had his back to the seat as he looked up as the dust settled. Amanda was crazy! The bitch should stop trying to play hero and find somewhere to hide. Case in point, whatever it was quickly jetted out of the dust cloud and rammed Amanda. Nobody could even see the thing, all they saw was a bunch of footprints quickly charging her and sent her flying across the room. She came to a stop with a roll, but that fucker was fast.

"Hey, Bri, know what I was thinking?!" Jaden shouted at Brianna, "Now would be the perfect time to show us we can trust you and help us with this invisible thing!"

"... You can't see it?" Brianna.

"But, take your time!" Jaden said as the monster that they couldn't even fucking see got ready to attack someone else. He didn't know who. "We clearly got all the time in the fuckin' world right now!"

Tristan Douge

---

Abandoned Church

---

Tristan's brain took a good few minutes buffering as the woman-- Brianna, told him exactly what he had been hoping to hear the past few months.

"She's behind the serial killing" Was all Tristan remembered directly processing. It took a good sense of decency for him to avoid storming right up to her and demanding what she knew, even after she shut down any questions until later. Almost even forgot there were other people there, once he stepped inside. Seeing nowhere better to put what he originally left the house for, he just tossed the jug of milk onto one of the empty, still-standing pews.

Just keep it in one piece, Tristan; She'll explain things in just a little bit, he repeated to himself in his head. Taking a deep breathe, he opened his mouth.

"I trus--"

Suddenly, a heavy banging and growling came at the door.

"Shit," Brianna had said, "The Witch has found us..."

There she was again, using lingo she had yet to explain.

"What is this Witch you keep going on about? What the hell--" Tristan began in frustration. Suddenly, more thumping. Up the side of the building, and then it stopped, for a few still moments, letting silence refill the abandoned church.

And then the entire fucking roof, or at least what remained of it, fell right on top of their heads. Tristan managed to avoid any harmful debris by diving to the ground and quickly rolling underneath one of the pews, covering his head. Thankfully it wasn't crushed under the rotting planks above, neither was he under it. A complete cloud of dust was startled up into the air by whatever the fuck that thing was, which Tristan could hear was now right inside the church as a part of the same growling that accomplished the pounding at the door. He heard some shouting and panicking going around by everyone else inside, but Tristan did well to keep his mouth shut, not daring to make any noise that might attract whatever the hell just ruined the already-ruined church.