Miles didn't even know what to say anymore. He couldn't formulate words to describe what was happening. Neither could he comprehend the way he was thinking. How he was thinking.
He liked the logic of the world. Was consumed by structure. Orderliness. Plans. That was what the real world stood for. What it rested upon.
Yet, everything tonight had completely warped that view. Structure was no longer the bedrock but rather an idea. Something that could be bypassed. Ripped apart.
Like scissors that cut through a piece of fabric.
That was all he could think now, having experienced things he would have called people crazy for believing.
Yet, here he was. Considering the notion that ghosts existed. That they could kill. That he had witnessed his father's death, this Reliving. That-
A chair scraped against the floor and slid into place before them, snapping Miles out of his reverie. The man sat down and placed his cane beside him. He winced.
Miles raised the steaming cup of hot chocolate to his lips, tilting it to the right side of his mouth. Miles sipped a little. The sweet liquid burnt his throat but it invigorated his numb body. It reminded him that he wasn't up in the sky or dead as he felt. Rather, he was still in the world.
It grounded him.
"Excuse me." The man stood up again before limping away. Miles watched him walk out the door once again.
They were in one of the backrooms of the library for the talk. Miles' eyes scoured the room on instinct. It was small. The room, like all the others, was entirely paneled in the wood.
There were pots of flowers at every single corner, practically choking the air with different aromas.
How does one have so many flowers?
A lantern sat on the table between them, throwing shadows against the dark walls. Burning hollowly.
It reminded Miles of the flames that ate him away. His stomach churned. The sense of being caught in a tight space had skittered down his chest in that very room. His father's angry shouts bouncing through his mind minutes before the flames had left him for dead.
"Don't you ever forget what you are, boy!" His father spat in his face before pulling his ears.
Miles' ears rang. His surroundings ebbed away, overshadowed by a collection of images that flashed behind his eyes.
Once again, Miles picked up the hot chocolate and drank, trying to dilute the numbness that threatened to swallow him again. Like the first time he'd heard his father was dead, he didn't know what to do. What to think. How to feel.
Despite all he had done, he didn't deserve to die in that way.
But still-
Maybe this was the world's way of avenging the child. Of avenging....him.
Miles cleared his throat, pulling himself back to reality. Right on time, the man entered again with a cardigan and his own steaming cup of hot chocolate.
His fingers burnt from gripping the teacup for too long. Miles laid it on the table.
The man sat back on the chair with a groan then cleared his throat. Miles couldn't forget the way his eyes glowed silver in the cave. Yet now, they were completely back to normal. Hazel.
A wry smile graced his lips. At least you'll get your answers now.
Without wasting time, he leaned in. His right eye narrowed slightly. "So, who are y-ou?"
"You're not the trusting type yourself, are ya?" The man laughed. Hearty. Rich. Flippant. As though the death he had witnessed had little effect on him.
"At least I'm not the only one that sees it." Bella muttered, speaking for the first time since they came upstairs. She snickered after which the man chuckled.
"Will you just ans-wer the que-stion?"
"I am Seth. Simple. Slightly bent over but not completely useless yet. This old man would still live to fight another day." He chuckled to himself. "And I am a ghostreader."
"Ghostreader?"
"Yes. Ghostreaders, in summary, have the ability to see ghosts."
"Oh. I get it. You're one of those paranormal people that have ghosts on speed dial."
Seth's chest rumbled with a deep laugh.
"Nothing of that sort, kid. It's different. Much deeper than the superfluous stuff they glamorize in the media."
"Were you bo-rn that wa-y?"
Seth shook his head. "I wasn't. To be honest, the only way to understand the origin of the ghostreaders is to fully grasp the significance of the night of the Ash moon."
The Ash moon? Miles tilted his head. The night of the Ash moon was an event that took place every 40 years when the moon would become a mix of blue and silver. It was so beautiful that
on such days, crowds would camp outside to watch its ascent into the sky in all its ethereal beauty.
Of course he hadn't been born by the time the last one occurred but maybe, going forward, he would be able to see it.
That is, if he wasn't too busy with work.
"I'm sure you both know about it. But, it's more than just a sight. It's the night where the boundary between the ghost plane and this world thins. When we ghostreaders are given our abilities."
Miles had to bite his lips to keep his critical thoughts to himself. It all felt so unreal.Like, he himself was the character in some paranormal literature, now being convinced that the stuff in movies were real.
Miles swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. He nodded before asking,
"So how does it hap-pen?"
"On the night of the Ash moon, the moon would give off what we ghostreaders call, the pale resonance. Those waves sweep across the earth and pick new ghostreaders by granting these abilities-"
"So you're all like the.... chosen ones?"
"Well. Not necessarily. So far we haven't been able to ascertain what qualities make a person susceptible to the pale resonance. At least not yet. All we do know is that only one person in every city or town is granted the ability on that night."
"So, th-at means the-re's more of you?"
"Are you guys some kind of cult?"
The man looked between the two. Seth shook his head, eyes glinting yet his lips pulled into a tight smile. "Your father would have loved this."
Miles' lips drew into a thin line. Seth's eyes lingered on him for a bit too long. Skimming him. Watching for his reaction.
His lips tightened for a fraction of a second. His face remained blank, nonetheless.
What was he trying to do? Sell the idea that his father had changed?
What could he possibly gain?
From his periphery, he watched Bella sit up. "How-"
"Let's not stray. Yes there are more of us. No, we're not a cult. Do I look like someone who would survive a day in a cult? They'd probably chop me up worse than life already has." Seth chuckled again and despite the uncertainties pooling in his mind, the right side of Miles' lips still quirked up.
"And ab-out the killer ghos-t? Gh-osts kill?"
"No. I only said that to simplify it. In reality, it's far from that. The spirits of the deceased, the dead, can be broadly put into three categories. Three levels."
Miles raised a brow but he didn't speak.
Seth continued,
"The deceased's placement in any of the levels is dependent on two core principles." Seth raised a finger. "One, how much they held onto their convictions. And two, the nature of their death."
"That leads to the three levels. The lowest being your normal ghosts. They're the most conscious of the three, they still retain their reasoning and personality with no ill will."
"Then we have the phantoms. They have a measure of ill will, which is measured by the amount of black veins seen on their bodies."
Miles remembered the black veins that scalded the girl's skin in the Reliving sequence. It had covered almost every inch of her body.
"Like the ones on the-" Bella fell short, possibly unable to form the words to describe it. She inhaled sharply beside him.
"Yes."
"Phantoms have lost some semblance of their consciousness. They're the ones responsible for haunted houses and sometimes..... nightmares."
The word nightmare pinched Miles in all the wrong ways.
"Lastly, we have the revenant. They have completely lost themselves to their purpose. To their goal, up to the point where they are willing to-"
"Kill?" Miles finished for him. Seth nodded grimly.
"Exactly."
"So that thi-ng was a ...revenant?"
"Yes. She is. And her name was Claire."
Miles was silent for some moments. He couldn't bring himself to understand what it was that this man was saying.
A revenant, as he called it, was killing these people. These men.
"So, why is she killing them?"
"As I said earlier, the two principles that aid in classifying the deceased is very important. From what I could gather, she lived in the time during the Great War. Was a good kid. But... she died a cruel death."
"A group of drunk men apprehended her sister and her on their way home. Then burnt them both to the ground."
The weight of his words made his head heavy. Miles hung his head.
What did they do to deserve that cruelty?
"How old was she when she was-" Bella's shaky words fell flat, her voice evaporating to silence.
"Claire was 12. And prior to that, her father too had abused her for a while. So, the nature of her death as well as the fact that some of her convictions which were violated on that fateful day. That created-"
"A monster." Miles whispered. Spikes cut across his skin. The prickling sensation refused to fade as he sat there, not wanting to process the grueling details.
Claire was 12 when she died.
She, like him, had been abused.
She'd been set ablaze by a group of sadistic men.
And now, she was something that belonged to a horror story.
Miles didn't like this. One bit. He really wished that Seth was lying. But, every second spent in this place told him otherwise.
This was real..
You're in a real pickle now.
"You said she lived du-ring the Great War. But, th-at was mo-re than a century ago. So, she'd be killing up until the wo-rld ended?"
"No. Ghosts, phantoms and revenants don't remain in the human world forever. They leave the human world to to the ghost plane after about 200 years."
Miles couldn't bring himself to even ask any other question. If Chief heard this, what would he think? He'd think he had run mad! Ghosts, revenants, phantoms? Miles had never been even remotely inclined to anything paranormal.
Not movies. Not games. Not books. Left to him, they were all a waste of time, space and money.
Miles combed his hands through his hair before finding his voice again. "So, the let-ters?"
"Yes, I wrote those letters. To prevent anyone else from seeing it, I used disappearing ink."
That's a thing?
"How did you even de-liver it?"
Seth shrugged. "I have my ways."
"So what are we supp-osed to do to catch her? Can she eve-n be caught?"
"That's a different story for another day. For now, we're safe. It's best you both get some rest. We've already spent a lot of time."
Quickly checking his watch, Miles realized that Seth was right.
It was already nearing 3AM.
Miles grunted before standing up. His back ached. Numbness pricked his legs from within, making him lean against the chair for support. As soon as the sensation elduded him, he walked to the door.
As his hand wrapped around the door knob, he casted a look behind him. Bella was talking with Seth and she looked like she was holding back tears. Then Seth said something to her and she nodded, visibly swallowing with a shaky smile.
Miles didn't even want to know.
As soon as the conversation ended, Seth trailed them out of the backroom and into the library. While stepping past the lines of flowers that stretched at either side of the entrance, Bella asked,
"Why do you have so many flowers? You could make a fortune from selling these beauties." Bella waved her flashlight at one particular flower pot that had large, dense yellow petals.
Miles glanced at Seth.
"I just..... love gardening." There was a faraway look that glazed over his eyes. Seth swallowed.
Miles gazed at him with curiosity. Who was this man?
Bella didn't pry any further.
As soon as they reached the door, Miles exchanged phone numbers with Seth. Then they stepped into the open early morning air.
Miles inhaled. Exhaled, basking in the fresh air. One without the tang of chalk or the delicate scent of perfumed flowers.
It was crisp. Clean. Liberating.
Miles and Bella proceeded to the car in silence. Reclining in the leather seat, he allowed the salty smell of his ocean breeze sanitizer to warm him.
It almost felt like a lifetime ago.
Miles turned the key in the ignition. The car rumbled to life, splintering the quiet.
"So, are we coming... back?"
He didn't turn to her. "Do w-e have another opti-on?"
A brief period of silence passed between them.
"What di-d you say to hi-m?"
Bella was silent for a few seconds. Miles glanced at her and saw her looking out of the window.
"I asked whether I could see him again."
Miles inhaled sharply.
"Do you want to-"
"No."
Miles refused to peek at her. He didn't want her to see the way his hands shook. The way he sucked on shallow breaths.
The way the walls in his eyes lost their hold.
"Why can't you just give him a chance?"
"I don't wa-nt to. Do-n't you get it?"
"It's not just your answer I care about- it's the reason behind it. I can't just..... read your mind. You have to tell me why."
"You're better off mind-ing your own busin-ess. Ha-ve a life."
"That's rich coming from someone who's always looking half dead. Besides, you owe me. Remember?"
Miles clenched his jaw, keeping his eyes on the road. His hands tightened around the steering wheel.
What's with her? Any sensible person would have let it go ages ago.
"Miles?!"
"Let it go! I don't s-ee why this is so impor-tant to you?"
"The past is in th-e past. I'm fine. Alw-ays have been. And alw-ays will be."