The Ghosts Are Real And They've Surrounded Us

Angelina Manganse

A car speeds down an old mountain highway, scattering fallen autumn leaves in its wake. It seems to be composed of more rust and duct tape than actual metal, and what little remains of the original body is dented in almost every possible way. It rattles as it moves, like an old man’s grumblings, and the driver merely turns up the radio in response.

There’s never anything good to listen to early in the morning. Especially not around here. The driver switches stations listlessly, lost in thought.

The scenery rolls past: the forest has turned to brilliant reds and oranges, like flames.

The driver tries not to think about the last time there were flames around here.

The driver tries not to think about the last time she was around here.

The car pulls to a halt in front of a particularly unremarkable section of trees. The driver steps out and walks over to the trunk. Inside lay a duffle bag and a rifle in its case. The driver slings the rifle over her shoulder and pulls out a small box from the duffle bag. She then closes the trunk, gives it an affectionate pat, and begins her trek into the woods.

Aside from crunching leaves and the occasional rustling from a brisk autumn breeze, the forest is silent. The driver hums a tune to herself, one familiar but she can’t quite place where it’s from, and pulls her rough jacket closer to her body. It’s a peaceful morning, and the driver is thankful for it. There hasn’t been much peace as of late; she suspects there’ll be even less after she’s done.

Her thoughts turn to the rest of the morning: waking up in the sanctuary, asking the priest for instructions and directions, thanking the nuns for their hospitality. A strange one, by any other standard. Just like every other morning since she joined the Guild.

She still barely believes it exists. Some days she feels as though she’s being strung along by some kind of cult, and all she can do is laugh at the irony of her situation. Someone who once studied cults, could have been a professor on the occult and the bizarre, now forced to put all that theory to practice. It’s like some higher being pointed at her and laughed.

Lost in her reverie, the driver trips over a rock, just barely managing to catch herself. She hears laughter, and eventually a young man, strangely dressed in a white shirt and suspenders, emerges from the stand of trees on her left, doubled over in his amusement. His laughter makes the dark scars on his face writhe and squirm. The driver frowns and turns to face another man, this one much older, as he, too, emerges from the forest.

“Quit your laughing, boy. You’ll wake the whole forest up.”

At this, the young man stands up straight, with a cocky grin plastered to his face and eyes locked onto the driver’s.

“I think this broad already tried.”

The driver’s eyes narrow in thought.

Broad? Interesting turn of phrase.

The old man turns his focus to the driver.

“You Noel Carter?”

“Yes, sir. And I am to assume that you are Alec Wren and Jack Sorelli?”

The old man, Alec, nods his head, and young man, Jack, only offers his cheeky grin as a response.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, I was sent here by the Guild to investigate the ongoing incidents and aid in defense of the region until said incidents are resolved, starting today.”

The driver recites her lines like a script; they already know why she’s here.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just get this over with. I’ve got coffee and the morning paper waiting for me,” Alec grumbles as he guides the driver, Noel, along to an 78 | Perception

outcropping just a bit deeper into the forest. Jack trails behind, toying with a hunting knife and staring bemusedly off into the distance.

“We can’t get much closer than this. You’ll have to shoot it from here,” Alec says as he points to spot much deeper in the forest, one Noel can barely make out. She waits for a moment, and the movement of leaves indicates that there is, indeed, something alive down there.

Well, alive might not be the right word for it, Noel ponders. Though regardless of what it is now, it’ll be dead soon enough.

She sets down her bags and begins to set up her equipment. She retrieves the small box from her coat pocket and pulls out a pallet of small bullets, shiny and neatly packed in rows. For a moment, Noel considers the poetic nature of it, how orderly they are now and how much chaos they can inflict, before chastising herself for getting distracted. She quickly and methodically loads the gun; one, two, three, four, five, six bullets. Alec watches as she works, eyebrow raised in skepticism. She knows loading that many bullets is pointless; if the first one misses, it’ll be too late, but old habits die hard, and this one is one of her oldest.

Noel gestures for Alec and Jack to get into their positions; if she misses, they will have to be ready to chase after their quarry. And that’s if we’re lucky, Noel muses. If we’re not…

She tugs at the collar of her turtleneck, the scar that wraps around her neck hidden beneath. She’d rather not think about what happens if she fails.

Noel herself then gets into position, lying prone on the forest floor atop the outcropping. Looking through the scope of her rifle, she can more clearly see the creature Alec pointed out.

It looks like a normal deer from this angle; I can see how so many people have been fooled, especially this time of year.

The deer turns its head to look directly at her.

Or at least, she thinks it’s looking at her.

It’s a bit hard to tell, when it has no eyes to see.

It’s a Familiar, all right. But where’s the Witch? At that, Noel rubs her scar through the turtleneck, and shakes her head to clear that thought. Can’t worry about that right now. Best to just stay focused on the job.

With her target confirmed and in her sights, she lifts the safety on her rifle. Her heart beats loudly in her ears. Why am I so nervous? Is it just because it’s a Familiar, in this place?

A flash of memories races through Noel’s mind. A late-night party. A bonfire by the lake. A group of drunken teenagers. Twisting vines erupting from the forest. Dragging people into the water. Choking, drowning, clawing to escape. Darkness, and the sound of distant screams.

Focus, little one.

The voice of her father, another memory cutting through the others.

Remember to breathe. If your heart is racing, you’ll miss every time.

Noel takes a deep breath.

Steady your hands. Look ahead. You’ve only got one shot, so you’ll have to make it count.

Staring through the rifle’s scope, the world around Noel disappears. The forest goes even more quiet and still; there is only her, her rifle, and the eyeless Familiar. It continues to gaze at her, almost daring her to take the shot.

Not yet. The wind isn’t right yet, little one.

Noel waits. One minute, two minutes.

Jack shuffles impatiently.

Three minutes, four minutes.

Alec tenses, ready at a moment’s notice.

Five minutes, six.

An eternity later, it lands right where the Familiar’s eyes should be.

Another eternity later, it topples over.

The three breathe a sigh of relief.

Parfait, ma petite une.

The voice of her father fades with the tension of the moment, and Noel stiffly pulls herself to her feet. Carefully, the three make their way down the outcrop and through the forest, eyes on the still body of the Familiar.

Close up, it looks like something out of a deranged artist’s painting. All sharp lines and angles; slick skin and pointed teeth. Black sludge oozes from the bullet wound on its head. It smells of crude oil and death.

Jack and Alec immediately set to work as it becomes Noel’s turn to take watch. Redoing the safety and slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she pulls out a revolver from the holster on her belt. She flicks the chambers open to make sure it’s loaded, then flicks it shut. As she watches the forest, the two men dissect the Familiar, looking for any clues about its purpose or maker. They’re careful not to make a mess; all the evidence will have to be burned, according to Guild regulations. After a half-an-hour or so, the men decide they’ve searched long enough, and quickly wrap up the carcass in a tarp. They nod to Noel, and together the three drag the Familiar out of the forest.

For such a simple creature, this thing is awfully heavy, Noel grumbles to herself. The three don’t speak as they return to the street, where her car remains parked. She spots another car a little further down the road: an ugly old pick-up truck, with rust replacing scratch-off spots of vibrant red paint. The three drag the Familiar to the truck and lift it into the bed.

“Well, this is where we part ways, miss.” Jack proclaims cheerfully, grinning with unnaturally bright teeth once more.

Noel frowns. “Unfortunately, I have yet to ascertain if this region is completely safe. Thus, I will have to remain and assist, as per Guild orders.” The canned words taste sour on her tongue, but she’d rather not get too personal with these men. Spring 2020 | 81

Now it’s Jack’s turn to frown, as he stares her down with a quizzical expression. “What are you talking about? Your job’s done, unless you want to stay to watch it burn.”

Before Noel can respond, Alec turns around. He’d been settling the Familiar in the bed, covering it with random junk to conceal it from prying eyes and tying it down to keep it from shifting during transit. “The girl’s right, Jack. Where there’s a Familiar, there’s a Witch. And I reckon we’ve got an expert in Witches with us right now; it’d be best to keep her around.”

Noel turns away from the two men and starts for her car. Of course he’d have to bring that up. No escaping it, huh? “I’ll follow you to your residence; we can take care of the evidence and discuss further action there.”

Jack shrugs and follows Alec into the pick-up truck as Noel gets in her car. The men take off down the mountain highway, and she follows.

Noel turns on the radio once more.

This is going to be a long trip.