Chapter 6: The Scavenger Hunt & The Phantom
The kitchen smelled of burnt toast, a ghost of meals decades past, mingling with the damp rot of neglected wood and a faint sweetness that turned Kael's stomach. His sneakers stuck to the grimy linoleum, each step a gritty protest, the sound echoing in the oppressive silence. His spirit-sense hummed, a low buzz in his skull like a poorly tuned radio, guiding him to a dusty pantry where shelves sagged under cans of expired beans and cracked jars of forgotten preserves. He rifled through them, his fingers brushing cobwebs that clung to his skin, knocking over a tin that clattered to the floor with a jarring clang. His heart jumped, the noise too loud in the quiet. Stay focused, Kael. He found a small, unmarked bag tucked behind a jar, its coarse grains heavy in his hand. Blessed salt. It didn't glow or spark, but his spirit-sense flared faintly when he touched it, a quiet confirmation of its power. One down.
"Holy water next," he muttered, sifting through a box of rusted utensils, forks and spoons tangled like a buggy codebase from his startup days. "What's next, haunted spaghetti sauce?" His quip was thin, a shield against the shadows pressing in, their edges seeming to shift in the corner of his eye. His phone buzzed in his pocket, the screen flashing its low battery warning, the red icon a nagging reminder of his old life's deadlines. Perfect timing, universe. He shoved it back, the weight grounding him, a mundane anchor in this supernatural minefield.
A glint caught his eye—a kitchen knife, its handle worn smooth, its blade dull with age, trembling in an open drawer as if alive. His spirit-sense screamed, a shrill alarm that made his teeth ache, and he ducked as the knife shot past his head, embedding in the wall with a wet thud that echoed like a gunshot. "Not cool!" he yelped, his heart hammering, his sneakers skidding on the linoleum as he stumbled back. His elbow knocked a cracked mug off the counter, and it shattered, ceramic shards scattering like broken promises. A yellowed newspaper clipping fluttered to the floor, kicked up by his frantic movement. He snatched it, hands shaking, the headline stark against the faded paper: Family Massacred by Unknown Assailant, 1953. The address was this house, the words a cold weight in his gut, heavier than the knife. The past isn't just here. It's hunting me.
A blur of shadow lunged, a phantom too fast for his spirit-sense to track, its form a smear of black and gray, humming with malicious intent. Kael bolted down the hallway, his sneakers squealing, breath coming in ragged gasps that burned his throat. Not dying again. Not to some budget ghost. His possession resistance, a measly 5%, pulsed faintly, a fragile shield he barely trusted. The phantom's hum mocked his own skill, a buzzing echo chasing him through the dark, its presence a cold pressure at his back. Think, Kael. Running's a waste. He rounded a corner, his shoulder brushing a peeling wall, paint flakes sticking to his jacket like ash.
He slammed into a laundry room, the door banging shut behind him, the sound swallowed by the house's eerie quiet. The air smelled of old soap and bleach, a sharp contrast to the kitchen's decay, the scent grounding him as he leaned against the door, his chest heaving. His spirit-sense settled, the phantom's hum fading to a distant drone. Safe. For now. His hands, still shaky from the chase, ran over the shelves, brushing moldy towels and a cracked bottle of detergent. Tucked in a cupboard, he found a cloudy bottle, its label faded to illegibility. Holy water. His spirit-sense flared, confirming its power, the bottle's warmth a small comfort against his palm, like a hot coffee on a sleepless night.
Blue text flashed, cold and clinical:
[SYSTEM: HOLY WATER DETECTED. ANTI-SPECTRAL PROPERTIES CONFIRMED.]
Kael grinned, clutching the bottle, its heat steadying his trembling hands. "Ghost-repellent shampoo would've been cooler, but I'll take it." The humor eased the knot in his chest, his heart slowing as he caught his breath. The newspaper clipping, crumpled in his pocket, burned with questions—who died here, and why was the entity tied to it? A family massacred. That's no coincidence. He'd found the holy water, dodged the phantom, and gained a clue, but the wolfsbane and crucifix were still out there. His spirit-sense hummed faintly, pointing upstairs, where the phantom's shadow lingered, its presence a cold ripple in the air.
The kitchen's clock ticked softly, each second a reminder of time slipping away, the fading light outside casting long shadows through the window. A distant dog barked, a normal sound that felt alien in this haunted house, a hint of the world moving beyond these walls. Kael's legs ached from the sprint, a dull throb settling in his calves, the physical cost of his panic. Keep moving. You're not done. He tucked the holy water into his jacket, the bottle clinking against the blessed salt, and headed for the stairs, the clipping's weight a promise of answers—and more danger.
Love [ I Can Transmigrate to Movies Worlds ]? Unlock More Chapters and Support the Story!
Dive deeper into the world of [ I Can Transmigrate to Movies Worlds ] with exclusive access to 35+ chapters on my Patreon, plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $5/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [Grimm, Teen Wolf ,blacklist,Game Of Throne ,MCU and Arrowverse].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!