PCHauntedHouse

The Haunted House
By V.C. Hale

The October full moon was rising into the black velvet sky; serene, like an elegant lady arising from her bower. Its progress was clearly visible, set as it was behind the still, naked branches of the trees. The shadows seemed to cross the moon�s face from top to bottom as it climbed.

From behind the age-clouded windows of the haunted house many eyes patiently watched this steady, tireless ascent. Eyes that glowed like embers in the back of a cave, or flickered like guttering candles, or were as deep and black as the grave. And all those eyes were watching, and their owners ached with longing to be under the moon, running free in the night air.

At last the moon rose above the shadows of the trees, and reluctantly, one by one, the creatures who lived in the haunted house turned from the windows and returned to their own activities.

�I hate this,� said Jastin, a witch. �Halloween is but days away, and yet we remain inside, virtual prisoners.�

�It�s for our protection,� said another, �if we leave this place the naturals can get us.�

�Do you really believe that,� Jastin shrieked, �in my day, mortals trembled in my wake. They spoke my name with terror in their voices. I could leave here now and they-�

�Would most certainly destroy you,� a voice finished, a voice as gentle as the autumn wind through dry leaves. Its owner, the wandering spirit known as Carpathian, stepped from the shadows, his bleached-bone face and pale garments reflecting the moonlight.

�Carpathian,� Jastin spat, �get out of here. It�s your proclamation that vexes me so.�

�It is not my proclamation,� Carpathian said, �it is the rule of this place, set down long before I came here.�

�Splinters and shadows, Carpathian. I could fly out of here anytime I wish.�

�Oh, really,� Carpathian said gently, �I was led to believe the once mortal dead--- and that includes you witches--- were bound within a material construct. This house, for instance.�

�Untrue,� Jastin answered. �I can go wherever I wish on Halloween.�

�Halloween is an exception,� another witch muttered.

�You shut up,� Jastin said. �And what about you,� she asked Carpathian, �it�s well known you wander the woods and grounds.�

�I am a spirit, not a ghost. I was never mortal and the same rules do not apply. As a matter of fact, I only dwell in this place by choice.�

�Curse you,� Jastin screamed, �you keep us here.�

But Carpathian had already turned and was beginning his descent into the catacombs beneath the haunted house. He moved slowly down the hall, nodding to the creatures that dwelled there.

Just then a young troll came running and circled his legs excitedly. In spite of himself, Carpathian grinned kindly and touched the youngster on the head. �Hello, Nettlebur,� he said, �what have you to tell me today?�

�Nettlebur hear witches,� Nettlebur answered. �Nettlebur not know why witches no remember rules. Even Nettlebur remembers.�

Carpathian knelt down, letting the little troll rest its chin on his knee. �They have been here a long time,� he told it. �Once a mortal dies, the memory decays. The ghost remembers less and less. You know the gray lady in the library?�

The troll nodded.

�She has been here so long she remembers only that her lover strangled her in that room. So she replays that memory each night, because she cannot remember anything else.� He stroked the troll�s furry head. �In time even that will fade, and she will be seen no more.�

�No, no,� Nettlebur cried. �That mean even Nettlebur gone someday.�

�Of course not,� Carpathian soothed. �We are spirits of the earth, you and I, and a few others who are here. We were never mortal, so it is different for us.� Carpathian stood again. �Come, dear Nettlebur, and walk with me.�

And calling on all the dignity its youthful body had, Nettlebur solemnly followed Carpathian onto the grounds.

�Look at him,� Jastin muttered. �He makes an exception for that half-wit troll, but not for me. �Never mortal,�� she added sarcastically. �Bah. It�s his say-so that binds us here. Perhaps if he had been mortal he�d understand. We have needs and desires. His kind has never understood that. But I�ll get him.� She gathered bottles off the shelves with both arms and flung them to the floor. Then she dropped to her knees, scrabbling over the stones to retrieve morsels of this or that. �He will rue the day he locked horns with me!�

Jastin stood at the door to Carpathian�s chamber, smiling as sweetly as she could. �I�m so sorry about yesterday. If you could come with me I�d like to show you I�ve made amends.�

Nettlebur rose its head from where it lay at Carpathian�s feet. �Is trick,� it murmured.

Jastin looked down at the troll, her eyes wide with the look of murder. Then she smiled even more broadly. �Not at all. Just a gift, a trifle really.�

�It is all right, Nettlebur,� Carpathian assured the troll. �Even if it is a trick, I should find out what is going on.�

�That�s the spirit,� Jastin said, her voice like honey, and Carpathian followed her to the witches� chamber.

�It�s over there, in the cauldron,� Jastin said.

Carpathian nodded knowingly, then went and stood over the cauldron. �There is nothing here, Jastin.�

�Look closer.�

Carpathian shook his head and knelt over the cauldron. Suddenly an explosion within sent a cloud of orange smoke into his face. He staggered backward, reeling from the blow, and with a triumphant cry Jastin rushed forward. She seized Carpathian, forcing him to his knees. He struggled weakly against her, and the air around them crackled, charged with the power of her magic.

They remained frozen this way for nearly a minute before Jastin lifted Carpathian, now limp as a doll, and flew towards the window.

The antique glass shattered as they hit it, but only Carpathian went through; Jastin was stopped as solidly as if she�d hit a wall.

Whirling through the air, Carpathian sped towards the ground, and as he fell is gossamer and moonlight cloak fell away, transforming, becoming rough denim and flannel. His bony countenance became all too solid flesh, and it was not a spirit which struck the earth, but a man.

Jastin struck the invisible barrier that held her, screaming with rage. �Curse you, Carpathian! You�re mortal now. You should have no power over me!�

Dimly, Carpathian fought his way back to consciousness, and for the first time in his existence drew breath into lungs. There was a feeling like a weight on his chest, and his arms and legs were burning.

Is this pain? he wondered.

And then he became aware of the witch in the window above. �You�re mortal now,� she howled, �and though this house may hold me now, in three days it will be All Hallows Eve, and no force on earth can hold me.� She pointed a long, bony finger at the man on the lawn. �Mark me, Carpathian. You have three days, and then you will be mine.�

Fighting back the unfamiliar pain, Carpathian struggled to his feet, and stood still for a moment, transfixed by the feeling of a heart beating in his chest. He looked up again at the witch, trying to remember who she was and what her words meant, when he was seized by the feeling, the compulsion, to run away. He felt his heart beating faster, his breath short. A thin, cold layer of moisture spread over his skin. He staggered backwards, uncertain, then turned and ran heedlessly through the trees.

The mocking laughter of the witch followed him.

Nettlebur had been watching through a basement window, and had seen Carpathian hit the ground, transformed, then run away. It had cowered, afraid, and now it cowered, ashamed that it had done nothing.

Must help Carpathian, it decided at length, but not alone.

And with a solid determination, it crawled off into the catacombs.

It came first to the dark hall where the troglodytes dwelled, and as well as it could, explained what had happened. But the trogs only shook their heads sadly and sent it away.

Then it came to a cave shrouded in ice. This cave�s only occupant, a beautiful Queen of the ice, greeted it.

Once again, Nettlebur explained what it had seen.

�Oh, dear little Nettlebur,� the White Queen said, �of course I will help you. But we may need others.� And the two walked into the labyrinth.

The maze dwellers clustered around them immediately. �What are you doing here,� they demanded, �get out of here. This is not your place.� But then their leader, a fearsome specter, his mouth and chin glistening with fresh blood, and draped in long lengths of chain, stepped forward.

�State your business,� he said.

Quickly the two explained.

�That�s not true,� one of the maze dwellers said. �The witches can�t make us mortal.�

His leader cuffed him quickly on the head. �Shut up, stupid,� the leader said, �I happen to know she can.� He turned back to the White Queen and the troll. �We cannot come with you, but I will teach you how to go forth in mortal guise��

Carpathian ran until his chest burned with the heat of a dragon�s breath, and his heart felt close to bursting, then he fell, gasping, and hugged the cold ground. The moisture on his body grew chill, and he was suddenly trembling without control. What have I come to? he wondered. What is happening to me?

He crawled under a pine tree, hoping for some shelter from the wind, and curled himself up, trying to conserve his warmth. In minutes he was asleep.

A few hours later, as the sky grew pink with the approaching rays of the sun, a pale-skinned teenaged girl, accompanied by a huge Rottweiler dog, picked her way across the lawn on the haunted house.

Carpathian awake and blinked into the bright morning light, then rose and stretched as the sun warmed him. He looked around himself, trying to sort out the images that were running through his mind. He remembered his name, Carpathian, and he was dimly aware that he was in a state far more vulnerable than he should have been. But he couldn�t remember what he had been before, or how he had come to this place.

And his mind was filled with faces--- bizarre, grotesque faces all deformed and disfigured. Some, he knew, were friends, and others were his enemies, but where were they from? How did he know them? He could not remember.

Before long he realized that he would not be remembering anytime soon, so he shrugged his denim jacket on a little tighter, and started walking again.

�Have you found anything, Nettlebur?� the White Queen asked.

�Smell natural,� the troll, now disguised as a dog, answered. �Smell like fear, human fear. But also smell like man, underneath.�

�That must be him. Track it, Nettlebur, and I shall follow you.�

And it hurried through the woods, the White Queen close behind.

Carpathian was walking along a narrow paved road. He had no idea where it went, but he knew it must lead somewhere, so he followed it.

He hadn�t been walking long when a pick-up truck drew up alongside him. An older man in a baseball cap leaned out. �Care for a lift to the city, son,� he asked.

Carpathian nodded.

�Hop in then,� he said, reaching across the seat to open the passenger side door. Carpathian nodded again and climbed in, shutting the door behind him.

�So what�s your name, son?� the man asked.

�Carpathian.�

�Pathian, huh,� the man said. �I used to know a Pathian family up around Wilkes-Barre. You any relation to them?�

�I do not think so,� Carpathian said.

�Hmmm. Maybe it was Paxton, not Pathian,� the man said. �Anyway, my name�s Foley, William Foley. But call me Bill.�

�It is a pleasure to meet you, Bill.�

�So, you looking for a job, Car?�

Carpathian, uncertainly, nodded his head.

�Good, good,� Bill continued. �I�ve been looking for a boy myself to help out at the garage. Think you could do sweeping and straightening up?�

�I� I do not know.�

Bill laughed out loud suddenly and clapped his hand on Carpathian�s shoulder. �Sure you can. I�d be glad to have you. It�s like the President says; we all have to do our part to help out those less fortunate. Wait till the wife meets you. She�ll love you.�

�Smell stops here,� Nettlebur insisted.

�Well he didn�t just vanish,� the White Queen said, �and he couldn�t have flown. I suppose we just have to assume he continued along this road somehow. Let�s go.�

And they set off down the road far faster than mortal speed.

Bill�s wife, Angela, was chastising him in hushed tones in the kitchen while Carpathian sat perfectly still in their living room.

I am not like them, he was thinking, now aware that his memory was coming back. They are, and the word �natural� came into his head. And I am something more, he thought.

�Come now, sweetheart,� Bill was saying. �One look and you can tell he�s dimwitted. He was just walking down the road, for Pete�s sake.�

�Bill, I just don�t want to turn this house into a homeless shelter.�

�But what about Denise? We took her in, and she�s one of our best mechanics now.�

Angela crossed her arms and shook her head. �Alright,� she said finally, �set him up in the attic room and I�ll add some water to the soup.�

The White Queen and Nettlebur looked around them. There were houses lining both sides of the street here, and traffic seemed much heavier. �We�ll be in the city soon,� the White Queen said, �and we will have great trouble finding him then.�

�Need help,� Nettlebur said.

�Yes, I agree. When we get to the city we shall seek out our fellows. Now come.� And they set off again.

�This�ll be your room, Car, at least until you get back on your feet,� Bill was saying.

Carpathian looked around the small, neat room and nodded slowly.

�Well, make yourself comfortable,� Bill added. �I�ll call for you when dinner�s ready.�

�Thank you, Bill,� Carpathian said, �you have been very kind to me.�

�Don�t mention it, son. It�s the neighborly thing to do. Seems to me if more people took an interest in their fellow man�s lot, the world would be a nicer place.�

After he left, Carpathian looked around. The room held only a narrow single bed, a tall oak wardrobe, and a simple wooden chair. Carpathian went over to the wardrobe and opened one of the doors. A full-length mirror mounted inside reflected back at him. He jumped, momentarily startled, then leaned closer to examine his reflection.

He could not judge his appearance as either attractive or not, not having the human values for such a decision, but he seemed to be pleasant-looking enough. Vaguely he wondered why his looks should seem so foreign, then recalled that he had never seen his reflection before.

I never even cast a reflection before, he thought, even realizing how strange this was.

Gingerly, he removed the denim jacket he was wearing, then clumsily undid the buttons on the plaid, flannel shirt. He touched his chest and arms, wincing away from the pain as he pulled the shirt off. He sat on the edge of the bed , pulled the heavy leather boots from his feet and slipped off his socks. Uncertainly he turned down the blanket and sheets on the bed and slipped under, curling up in the quiet warmth and drifting into sleep.

Nettlebur and the White Queen stepped into the deli and moved slowly to the counter. No one appeared to notice them as they scanned the room, looking for the face of someone to help them. Before long the White Queen gasped and pointed to a table near the back. A huge cloaked figure with a skull face, and clutching a razor-sharp scythe, sat calmly eating a steak sandwich.

They approached him and stood by his table.

�Hello,� the White Queen said.

�Beat it, kid,� the cloaked figure answered without looking up, �I�m trying to eat, here.�

�But we need your help, Mr. Death.�

The spectre looked up suddenly, startled, then his face fell. �Oh, damn,� he said, �you can see me, can�t you?� He leaned closer and studied them. �Ah, you�re spirits, that explains it. I thought for a minute my lunch break had been cut short.� He consulted a sheaf of papers at his elbow. �Nope, still have ten minutes before the next one. So,� he leaned forward, �what can I do for you two?�

�Find friend,� Nettlebur said.

�Carpathian, huh,� the Reaper said.

�Why, yes,� the White Queen said. �How did you..?�

The Reaper waved a dismissive hand. �Hey, a name appears in the middle of a list you tend to take notice.�

The White Queen�s eyes went wide. �He�s going to die,� she said, horrified.

The Reaper sifted through his papers again. �Yes, in� um� two days.�

�Halloween,� said Nettlebur and the White Queen at once.

�How will it happen,� the White Queen continued, �and where? How can we stop it?�

The Reaper popped the last of his steak sandwich into his mouth and gulped the last of his cherry coke. �Take it easy,� he said, �why don�t you come with me. I�m heading home after the next client, and I can consult some of the more extensive records there.� He checked his list and watch again. �One of these days, I�ve got to come up with a better system.�

Angela tapped softly on the door to the attic room. �Car,� she said softly. There was no answer, so she went in quietly. Carpathian had bundled himself in the blankets, the quilt tucked around his face. He looked utterly peaceful in sleep, and Angela smiled fondly, almost in spite of herself. Bill was right, she thought, he�s just like a child. And with this thought she gathered his clothes off the floor.

�Hey,� she said, �what did you wash these in? They smell like you slept in a pine tree.� Still Carpathian slept, so she went to the bedside and shook his shoulder.

Carpathian woke with a harsh gasp, and jumped away from her. The blankets pulled free, and Angela herself gasped. �Oh my God,� she breathed, �who did that to you?�

Carpathian looked away from her and tried to hide the bruises that covered most of his chest and shoulders.

Angela backed away slowly and leaned into the hallway. �Bill,� she called, �could you come up here please.�

�No,� Carpathian said weakly, �please. There is nothing to be done.�

�What is it, honey,� Bill said, coming in the door. Then he saw his guest. �Sweet Jesus,� he said. �what happened to you?�

�Nothing,� Carpathian whispered, his face turned to the wall.

�Nothing?� Angela said, incredulous. She went to the bedside again and sat down. She gently took Carpathian�s hand and touched his shoulder. He winced away sharply, drawing in a short breath.

�Look at you,� Angela said, �you look like you were in a car crash. Bill,� she directed, �go fetch some pajamas and a robe. First we get some food in this boy. It looks like it�s been miles since his last meal. Then he takes a warm bath.� She turned back to Carpathian, who was curling himself up protectively. �It�s alright,� she said, �you�re with friends now.�

�I�m sorry about that,� the Reaper told the shaken White Queen. �I guess I assumed you�d be used to that sort of thing.�

�Certainly not,� the White Queen replied. �That was� grisly.�

The Reaper grunted and led them through his living room and halls into his study. An enormous leather-bound journal was propped open on the table. Impatiently the Reaper leafed through the pages. �Here it is,� he said. �Carpathian. Hmmm. It�s been a long time since I�ve seen that as cause of death.�

�What is it,� the White Queen asked, leaning closer.

The Reaper shook his head slowly. �It doesn�t make any sense. There aren�t any witches anymore.�

�What?� the White Queen and Nettlebur demanded together.

�Ridden down, it says, but that can�t be right.�

The White Queen�s brow wrinkled. �What�s that mean,� she said.

�Well, back when witches roamed pretty freely, they had a method of destroying their enemies wherein they would chase them or ride on their backs all night until they died from exhaustion. But witches don�t have that kind of power anymore.�

�But is Halloween,� Nettlebur said.

The Reaper straightened suddenly. �You�re right. Well, then, it�s entirely possible.�

�But we have to help him,� the White Queen said. �We have to find a way to make him a spirit again.�

�Well, it might just happen when he dies,� the Reaper said.

�It will?� the White Queen said.

�Well, it might,� the Reaper corrected. �There�s no real way to be sure. I mean, this is rather unique in my experience.�

�So he could die� forever,� the White Queen said quietly.

�No,� Nettlebur howled. �Must help, must help.�

�Hold it,� the Reaper shouted. �Settle down. We�ll get to the bottom of this. Apparently he�s still in the city near your haunted house because the location of his death is the woods nearby. But I don�t know where he is at the moment. I should also try to find out what happens at the time of death, if he�ll become a spirit again.�

The White Queen shook her head. �We should find a way to make him a spirit again now.�

The Reaper went to a bookshelf and pulled down several volumes. �We�d better get started, then,� he said.

Carpathian was halfway through his second bowl of beef stew, his lips smacking loudly as he carried on a private struggle to imitate the proper eating habits of his hosts yet still manage to relieve the almost unbearable hunger pains. His hands fairly trembled as he brought the spoon to his lips and wolfishly gobbled the potatoes and meat.

Angela and Bill ate more slowly, watching him with some concern. �How long has it been since you�ve had a meal, son?� Angela finally asked.

Carpathian swallowed and looked up. �I� I don�t remember,� he said.

�Have some more,� Angela urged. �Let me get you some milk.�

�Thank you,� Carpathian said.

Bill followed his wife into the kitchen. �I thought we weren�t running a homeless shelter,� he chided.

Angela smiled briefly, then became serious again. �Some monster has mistreated that boy,� she said. �I just know it.�

�Easy, honey,� Bill said gently. �He�s hardly a boy anymore.�

�But he�s so trusting.� She shook her head. �He�s simple, and he wouldn�t hurt anything. There are� beasts out there that would take advantage of that.� She shook her head again. �It just breaks my heart.�

Bill took the milk glass out of her hands and carried it in to Carpathian, who had by then finished eating. He took the glass from Bill in both hands and gulped it down in one long swallow. �Thank you, Bill Foley,� he said, �and thank you, Angela. You have both been very kind to me.�

�Not at all, Car,� Angela said.

�Look, Car,� Bill said, �we would like to help you. But you have to tell us what happened to you.�

Carpathian�s skin went cold. �I�m trying to remember,� he said faintly.

�Are you in some kind of trouble,� Bill asked.

Carpathian shut his eyes and the image of himself being hauled through the air and plunging through a window high above the ground flashed in his mind. He opened his eyes at once and gave a little gasp.

�Car, what is it,� Angela said, startled.

�I remember,� he answered, and the vagueness went out of his eyes, to be replaced by keen determination. Angela took a step back and put a finger to her lips.

�Good heavens,� she whispered.

Carpathian clenched his hands and put them to his chin. �I am in trouble,� he said. �I have until Halloween before my enemies coma after me.� He looked up at their faces. �I have out you two in great danger. I should not stay any longer.�

Angela sat beside him and took his hands. �Tell us what�s wrong,� she said.

Carpathian shook his head. �You would not believe me,� he said.

�Tell us anyway,� said Angela.

�This is ridiculous,� the White Queen said, slamming a huge book shut. �It could take us two years to even find anything, and we only have two days.�

�One moment,� said the Reaper, cross-referencing between three volumes. �I may be onto something here.� The White Queen came around and looked over his shoulder and Nettlebur half-climbed into his lap to peer over the edge of the table. �Your friend may be in worse trouble than we suspected,� the Reaper said. �I�ve found these three stories where spirits become mortal. The difference in these being, of course, that the change came about by choice and, no offense, the spirits involved were far more powerful than your Carpathian. Yet all end tragically, and given the conditions they are later bound to, they apparently became ghosts.�

�Whatever do you mean,� the White Queen asked, alarmed.

�Well, see here,� the Reaper said, �the Spirit Naputu of the Sacred Rhinoceros becomes a man to woo the lovely Masai maiden Lalinkaa. But he forgets he is unable to influence the beasts while in this form and is accidentally trampled to death.�

�Oh, dear,� the White Queen whispered.

�But here�s the thing,� the Reaper continued, �the spirit of Naputu (not the Spirit Naputu) �ever after dwelled in the valley of Mgubele-wa and his wailing can yet be heard.� Now what does that sound like to you?�

�He will become merely a ghost,� the White Queen said.

�Witch�� Nettlebur said.

�Yes, yes, that�s right,� the White Queen said, �the witch is going to ride him down, according to your book��

�Will kill him,� said Nettlebur.

�And he will be in her power��

��forever,� finished the troll.

�Of course,� the Reaper said with sudden realization. �Witches wield control over ghosts. Jastin would most likely bind and torture his spirit.�

�Oh, my,� the White Queen said, her hand to her breast, �I just got such a chill.�

Nettlebur crouched back down on the floor and crept under the table, shivering.

�There must be a way to stop this,� the White Queen went on. �You can do something, can�t you?�

The Reaper stroked his chin thoughtfully. �Technically, no. Ghosts, being of the dead, are really outside my jurisdiction. I mean, what can I do? Kill them again? No, we�ll have to�� A chime on the Reaper�s watch started sounding. �Darn,� he muttered, �well, duty calls. We�ll talk more when I return.� He glided away, and the White Queen followed after him. Nettlebur climbed back up to the table and began paging through the books.

�Nettlebur,� the White Queen called.

�Come later,� the troll growled, and it bent lower over the page.

�Do you believe him,� Angela whispered.

�For crying out loud, honey, would you,� Bill answered.

�Not so loud,� Angela said quickly, �he�ll hear you.�

�He�s upstairs, and he�s in the shower. I don�t think there�s much danger of that.�

�Well, what do you think,� Angela said.

�I think I�ve invited a crazy man into our house,� he said, �but at least he seems to be a harmless crazy man.�

�What about those bruises?�

Bill shook his head. �I don�t know. Maybe we can call someone.�

�Who, Bill? We can�t afford to pay for help.�

�There�s always Father Jack.�

Angela shrugged. �It�s worth a shot.�

Carpathian was sitting on the sofa next to Angela, dressed in a pair of Bill�s sweatpants and a t-shirt with an ad for his garage. �We�re going to take you to someone who might be able to help you,� Angela said calmly.

Carpathian�s head dropped forward and he put his hands over his face. �You don�t believe me, do you?�

Bill and Angela exchanged looks. �It�s not that simple, son,� Bill said, �this is something that�s so far removed from our experience��

Carpathian held out his hands. �What can I do?� he said.

Father Jack was thin and pale, with hollow cheekbones and deep-set eyes. He had a short, neatly trimmed mustache and thinning dark hair. He was a preacher of the old school and still wore a long, black frock-coat, though many of his colleagues had long since given them up for suits or even more casual attire. In general, he spoke quietly, but his congregation knew he could bellow with the authority of the Almighty when he felt the situation warranted. He was also patient and caring, as much a scholar of man and earth as God and heaven. The Foleys could not think of a man they respected more.

He welcomed them and their recently met friend into his study, a large, comfortable room crammed with books, scrolls, manuscripts, and other works of all varieties. He listened carefully while they all told their stories, then asked Carpathian a series of questions, raising his eyebrows progressively higher with each answer.

Finally he turned to Bill and Angela. �Could I speak to Carpathian alone, please?�

Bill nodded and the two left the preacher alone with him. Father Jack stood and went to a painting, one of the few wall surfaces not covered by a bookshelf, and lifted it down. Underneath was a small wall safe. �I�m letting you see this because I believe you are telling the truth,� Father Jack said, �but I have one more test.� He took an ancient metal-bound book out of the safe and leafed through to a particular page. �Yaisha deno migala sho nicee dorn goshga,� he read aloud.

�Dono liatra gol ghanha shirotu,� Carpathian answered.

Father Jack whistled through his teeth. �I knew it,� he said, �you�re one of the kin of the mistral. That witch must have been incredibly powerful.� He shook his head slowly. �We must do what we can to protect you. Ask Bill and Angela back in, and I�ll tell them to bring you back tomorrow. We�ll start with a baptism��

�Will that work?�

�I don�t know for certain. I�ve never tried anything like this before.�

Carpathian raised his hands helplessly. �I have less than two days.�

The preacher smiled and reached up his sleeve. �Then you�re going to need a watch,� he said.

The White Queen and the Reaper were spending every moment they could trying to find Carpathian, but without any psychic traces, they didn�t know where to start. The White Queen began to travel with the Reaper when he went out to collect, but Nettlebur stayed behind.

�I despair we will ever find him,� the White Queen said in the early morning the day before Halloween. �Perhaps we should find some other way.�

�Wait for witch,� Nettlebur said.

�I beg your pardon?�

�Know time he dies, know place he dies,� the troll continued, �we go and wait.�

The Reaper shrugged. �It�s as good as anything I can come up with.�

The White Queen nodded grimly.

All the next day, starting early in the morning, Father Jack used all the weapons at his disposal to put Carpathian under the protection of Divine Providence. He employed every method sanctioned by the church, plus a few that weren�t, and by late afternoon the former spirit had been baptized, exorcised, and blessed in a variety of ways.

Bill and Angela took him home that evening and fed him a warm, filling meal.

�So,� Bill said, �when will we know if it�s taken?�

Carpathian took a large swallow of milk. �Tomorrow night, at sunset,� he said.

�I hope you�ll be okay,� Angela said, touching his arm, �I�ll be praying for you.�

�He�ll be okay,� Bill said confidently, �that Father Jack, he�s a pretty smart cookie.�

�I hope you are right, Bill Foley,� Carpathian said.

Carpathian was dreaming, and in the dream he was trapped inside a bottle on a shelf in Angela�s kitchen. He was screaming and pounding on the sides, but Angela continued her work. She turned away from him to attend to something on the stove and when she turned back it was not Angela�s face, but Jastin�s. With a wicked smile she plucked up the bottle and dropped it into her bubbling cauldron.

Carpathian awoke with a scream and struggled out of the tangled bedclothes. He stood in the middle of the floor, staring at the bed as though it had been his attacker. He backed away until he stood against the wall and uncertainly lowered himself to the floor. Soon he had stretched out on the bare wood and was once again asleep.

Angela found him that way in the morning, and she helped him uncertainly to his feet. In the disjointed manner of the dream he explained what had happened the night before.

�It was just a nightmare,� Angela said calmly, and she sat down on the edge of the bed with him, �people have them all the time, especially when they�re under stress, like you�ve been.�

�I have much to learn,� Carpathian said.

Angela smiled fondly, and Carpathian took her hands. �I want to begin today,� he said.

Carpathian followed Angela as she went about her day, his emotions darting wildly between mindless panic and wondrous awe. He clutched at Angela�s hand like a child when a crowd of people swept past them at an intersection, then swooned rapturously when he pressed a fragrant orange to his face. Angela took him to an art show in the park, but they had to withdraw after only a few minutes, so dazzled were his senses.

They sat on a park bench near the fountain, listening to the rushing water.

�Car,� Angela said suddenly, �what do you think will happen to you tonight?�

�I do not know,� he answered quietly, �I fear that Jastin will destroy me, and I will simply not be, anymore. Or perhaps I will become what I was before.�

�What if you simply remain as you are?�

Carpathian shook his head. �I suppose I will have to beg your kindness somewhat longer,� he said.

Angela put her hand on Carpathian�s shoulder and smiled. �You may rely on it,� she said. She glanced up at the sky. �Sunset is coming,� she said, �we�d better get home.�

The Reaper�s vehicle glided, invisible, over the streets. He and the White Queen were spending every moment he could spare combing the city for a trace of Carpathian.

�Will you even know him if you see him?� the Reaper asked finally.

�Of course,� the White Queen replied, �he is a dear friend, and although he is much changed, I�m certain I shall know him at once.� And as she spoke the Reaper�s vehicle passed over a stout middle-aged woman clutching the hand of a denim-clad young man.

Bill had come home early, bringing Father Jack with him, and along with Carpathian and Angela they sat silently in the living room. Bill held Angela�s hands, mainly to keep her from wringing them.

�If she comes,� Angela asked Father Jack, �when will she arrive?�

�Before midnight, I would guess,� he answered, �her power will be strongest then� from what I understand.�

And then, as if someone were listening, the windows in the room flew open of their own accord, and a bitter, stinking wind blew in.

�This is it,� the White Queen said, now restored to her natural shape, �this is where we must stop Jastin, or else our beloved Carpathian will die the mortal death.�

The normally talkative troll only nodded grimly.

�It will be less than an hour now.�

The figure of Jastin the witch had swelled to enormous proportion, and now nearly filled the Foley living room.

�How touching,� she said, and her voice was like the howl of a tornado. �Have they taken care of you, little man?� And she laughed and sent little bolts of energy at Carpathian�s feet.

Suddenly Angela jumped in front of him, her arms spread wide. �You leave him alone,� she shouted.

Bill and Father Jack started towards her, but the witch moved faster. �Out of my way, old woman,� she said, and she knocked Angela to the floor.

Carpathian darted past her and threw open the door. �I�m here, Jastin,� he called from the doorway, �you came for me, now get me.� And he took off at a dead run.

Growling, the witch sped after him.

Carpathian was struggling for breath in seconds; his heart felt like it was bursting. He felt the witch�s breath on his back, and his strength was redoubled.

�Yes, that�s right,� the witch screamed behind him, �keep running. Don�t stop, don�t stop, or I�ll devour you whole, boy.� And she hit him with little bolts of lightning.

Carpathian kept running, howling with fear, away from the houses and into the woods.

�Coming, coming,� Nettlebur said breathlessly, turning in circles.

�I hear him,� the White Queen said.

Sweating, Carpathian tore through the trees, running as he wouldn�t have believed he could. He slipped on the rotting leaves of the forest floor and scrabbled over the ground, collapsing at last.

�Finally,� Jastin whispered, bending over Carpathian.

�No, please,� Carpathian breathed.

�You don�t know how long I�ve waited,� Jastin said, and she grabbed for his throat.

And sprang back, shrieking.

�How� dare you,� she said, �how dare you take this from me.� And she took hold of him.

And vanished.

The White Queen was kneeling beside him. �What has happened here?� she said.

�Must have worked,� Carpathian gasped, �the blessing��

�Then you will live,� the White Queen said.

�No�� he said, �I�� and he slipped into unconsciousness.

Nettlebur turned on the White Queen. �Get back,� it snarled.

�But, Nettlebur,� she said, �we must��

�Get away!�

The White Queen backed off uncertainly. The troll leaned over the still form of Carpathian and wrapped its long arms around his shoulders. �This Nettlebur do,� it said, and slowly dissolved, disappearing, leaving only glistening particles in the air. Soon even these were gone.

The White Queen stepped forward and knelt down. She touched the denim jacket and it came away in her hands. She cried out as a pillar of light rose up from the ground, and Carpathian, restored to his spirit form, stood before her.

She raised her hand to her mouth. �Is it you?� she breathed.

Carpathian nodded slowly.

�And Nettlebur?�

�Is gone,� the Reaper said, stepping out of the trees. �I came to collect this one,� he said, gesturing towards Carpathian, �I saw it all.� He shook his head. �That silly little troll sacrificed itself to return him to the spirit world.�

�No,� the White Queen said, starting towards the Reaper, �Nettlebur wasn�t silly at all. It was love and bravery that made it give up its life. You haven�t the right��

Carpathian touched the White Queen�s shoulder. �It is alright,� he said, �the youngling is not gone. The troll is here,� he touched his chest, �inside me.�

And weeping, the White Queen fell into his arms.

Father Jack looked up from his studies to see the pale countenance of Carpathian at his table.

�I am a spirit again,� Carpathian said, �partly due to your ministrations.�

�Am I to assume this is a good thing?� the preacher said.

Carpathian laughed, and the sound was like dry leaves being crushed underfoot. �How is Angela,� he asked, �is she��

�She�s fine,� said Father Jack, �the fall startled her, but she wasn�t hurt.�

�I am relieved,� said Carpathian, and he held out his hands. �I have brought you these,� he said, �they are books from my own study. I thought they would be of use to you.�

�Don�t you want them?�

Carpathian shook his head. �The witch destroyed all the other ghosts to take their power for herself. My house is empty now.�

�What will you do?� Father Jack asked.

�Wander the earth,� Carpathian answered, drifting from the preacher�s study, �as ever I was wont to do.�

Carpathian took his form as a young man in denim to come to Angela. She woke with a start hen he touched her hand, and smiled when she saw him. �You�re safe,� she whispered, �thank God.�

�I may not have been without you,� he answered, �I owe you my life.�

�Are you� like you were?� she said.

�Perhaps wiser,� he said, �but yes. You would not recognize me as I really am.�

She took his hand. �There doesn�t seem to be much to you,� she said, �I can barely even feel you.�

�That is how I am, Angela Foley.� He lowered his eyes. �I do not think you will ever see me again.�

�I�ll never forget you,� she said.

�Nor I you,� he answered, �you taught me things no other spirit knows.� He kissed her fingers, though she felt nothing. �Farewell, dear lady.�

Carpathian was walking over a field of withered grass, gilded with November frost. The waning moon still gave ample light for spirit eyes, and Carpathian drew his cowl back from his face to take in the sky, the stars. The wild wind blew down upon him, and he heard, distantly, the joyous cries of the other spirits who wandered the earth, his kind and kin.

He smiled and shook his garments loose. �Come Nettlebur,� he said under his breath, and he ran, howling, on all fours.

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