Ad Patres

Just as he was about to offer her another friendly smile she went off again. “R-rookie? Dude, who d-do you think I am?” Tod blinked. “Y-yeah, yeah, I know, a f-freaking idiot, d-don’t answer that. Still, I know w-what could happen, alright?” Well, ‘know’ was a strong word. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally summon a Balrog into existence, so ever since he’d discovered his powers –what was it now, a few months?- he’d read a lot about the topic, but even Tod had to admit at least half the crap he’d found sounded like complete bullshit. Still, he was fairly sure that some of those sources could be trusted. He’d show this weird girl! “I know Lovecraft, I am n-not gonna read out from the N-Necronomicon, give me some c-credit.”

Alright, alright, maybe he hadn’t exactly checked the cover of the book, but hey. What evil could he bring by reading “Propriety of Mr. Boddy”? As inconspicuously as possible –which is to say, not at all­– he glanced at the title on the book’s spine. Huh, looked like a detective story. Probably useless now, better focus back on that whole ghost thing and—

A scream.

The book fell from Tod’s hands, and the girl was gone, leaving behind her a hoodie and, if this had been a cartoon, a dust cloud vaguely shaped like a short human being. Tod didn’t particularly trust her, especially not after he saw what had looked like a blade flashing in her hands, but if he was going to be stuck inside a weird mansion hearing random screams he wanted to keep the potential psycho in his view, possibly even remain in her good graces. With that plan in mind he picked up the dropped hoodie –even possible murderers had to like it when people returned to them something they’d lost, right?- and followed the girl outside the library.

The rest of the house looked just as fancy as the room he had left: paintings adorned the walls, probably telling the story of some ancient dynasty or something. There were even armor suits, and if he hadn’t been in such a rush Tod would have killed to put one on. The girl’s steps echoed through the hallway, muffled by the elegant carpet covering the floor, but years spent running away from jerks had granted Tod a decent sprint at least, so he managed to somehow keep up with her.

Finally, she stopped near what looked like the entrance. Tod almost tripped over himself in his attempt to avoid knocking the girl over. Why the heck had she stopped suddenly? The answer came in the form of a tall, pale woman throwing her arms around him.

“Oh, bless my stars and garters, you’re here!”

A woman. Was hugging him. Enthusiastically, even. Again, there was something eerily familiar in her, but Tod was sure he’d never seen her before. Red evening dress that somehow managed to be both elegant and risqué, an overly elaborate old-fashioned hairdo and a nice, albeit a little high-pitched voice. No way Tod would forget someone like her, she looked like a character straight out from some movie. And she was still hugging him. He awkwardly patted her back.

“Um… Y-yes, hello ma'am, I’m… Uh… Here. I guess. W-what’s… What’s going on?” With ears that could match her dress, Tod gently pushed her away, and finally looked past her. The girl’s hoodie dropped to the floor once again. There was a man on the floor. A very much dead man on the floor, Tod was sure.

This is just a dream, this is just a dream, this is just a dream… Repeating that mantra over and over helped him a little. The blood on the man’s chest –less than Tod expected to see, to be honest- was already dry, yet the color was still incredibly bright, the contrast with the white shirt making it seem less real.

“You can find out who did this, can’t you, Mr. Bowen?”

The woman’s musical voice brought him back to reality, and Tod stared at her with a confused expression, mouth slightly hanging. “I… Uh… Can? I m-mean, sure.” Well, if this was a dream, it made sense that he’d be some sort of big shot. A renowned detective, maybe. The positively adoring smile on the woman’s tear-stained face seemed to confirm that. Tod squared his shoulders and stood a little straighter.

“Don’t worry, b-bro, I’ve g-got this!” He patted his chest with a smirk, before deflating like a balloon. Who was he kidding? No way he could solve anything, he had no idea where they even were. But Weird Girl seemed to know! Tod turned to her with a bright smile, all hope and silent plea.

“I m-mean, we’ve got this. We’re g-gonna fix this, no p-problemo. Right?” He stared at the girl with the best puppy face he could muster, big eyes, tentative smile and everything. He even bent down to pick up –again- the hoodie he dropped and hand it to her. The nice gesture was completely ruined by the woman in red turning to face the girl.

“Oh, is this your assistant?”

The voices drew nearer. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the dagger in her hand. The rug ended followed by finished wood. Skidding around the corner, she came to a sliding, less than graceful stop before a group of people milling in the hall. What she saw froze her in her tracks.

A...a body?!

There was no other way to spin it. A corpse lay on that floor, well dressed and pale. It was getting hard to breathe around the lump lodged in her throat, and Harper swallowed reflexively. A hand was outstretched, fingers still relaxed. It looked like rigor mortis hadn’t set in yet then...A pool of blood had been seeping into the floors, dying the boards an even darker shade. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t her job to deal with the dead, just the less gruesome remains. She didn’t have a chance to look around as a cry from one of the more, well, alive others echoed through the walls.

A flash of red shot by her, and she turned trying to keep her front level with the rest of them, watching on in fancy dress from uniform to tweed. A woman threw herself at the gangly boy.

She knew him then...He must be connected.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched the scene unfold. The wide eyed shock and wonder, the naivety. It was an act. A good act, but one nevertheless. She’d been right to be mistrustful. What else had he lied about? His name was probably an alias- if she could remember it, she’d know exactly how fake it sounded thank you very much. Her scowl was wide and intense, her dagger useless in her hand. She couldn’t exactly go around stabbing everyone in sight, now could she?

Note to self: if things get freaky, stab everyone in sight. One of them is probably the ghost.

Her gaze shot back to the kid with the woman still curled around him, looking up at him with idolatry in her gaze. Jesus fucking Christ.

We?

So, how was she a part of this conversation? And how was he part of the solution? The skeptical brow turned to a look of pure outrage.

Assistant?

She could have spat right on the beautiful woman’s heeled shoes. Assistant her ass. Didn’t they know who she was?! But what was she in relation to this kid? Who was he, exactly? 

A man approached her, clapping her on the shoulder. A larger man, older. He had the straight back bearing of either military or a rod straight up his ass. Glancing down at his hand, she slowly raised her murderous gaze to his face. Oh, she was not dealing with this today.

“Dude, watch the paws.”

He backed off, thankfully, casting an apologetic glance her way. Why was everyone looking at her like that?! It was like she was at a duck pond and everyone duck and its mother thought she had bread. Well guess what bitches, she didn’t have bread. Just a muffled headache, a knife, and some altoids and lint in her fucking pocket. 

A glance over to the boy again. Before she could answer, the man spoke.

“Why, this is Miss. Biancardi, of the Italian Biancardis if I’m correct.”

That shut her up mighty fast. She turned blinking to him. Someone actually recognized her? Fucking sweet!

She couldn’t help the self important, smug grin that stretched across her face. 

“That’s right.”

“Smashing!” He replied, clapping his hands together. “Smashing, indeed! Wonderful to meet you, I knew you’d be here to help. Although why you brought him is beyond me. What exactly is he?”

Another glance towards the boy. Wasn’t that the million dollar fucking question?

The man in tweed stepped up, adjusting his glasses with a nervous cough.

“Some kind of student, it appears. Lucky you, young man.” He nodded approvingly towards the beanpole person. 

Harper cleared her throat, trying to look more capable than embarrassed. Somehow, she was sure she was fucking it all up more than words could possible describe. A kid in her mom’s high heels. Let’s fucking do this, you ghost motherfucker.

“What exactly happened here?” Harper asked, looking around at the group expectantly. 

goodbye warehouse 13 ↪ 4/9 favorite moments

Kiss-ass.

Once the world’s clock started ticking again Tod looked around, wonder and disbelief chasing each other on his face like channels on TV during a mad zapping session. “Well… T-Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re n-not in Kansas anymore.” The quote rolled off his tongue easily, with the same lightheartedness he used to give voice to his many characters whenever he managed to find someone to roll dice with. The full meaning of that familiar sentence hit him only a couple of seconds later.

“Holy c-crap, we’re n-not in K-Kansas anymore!” Tod would have hated the panicked squeaking in his voice, if only he hadn’t been too busy furiously clicking his heels. How did that go? No place like home, no place like home… A beat. Nothing. Well, so much for Plan A. Heel clicking was freaking useless. Not that it was a big surprise, not even Tod was dumb enough to actually believe that could work.

He looked down at his feet, bumping those sneakers one last time for good measure. That’s when he noticed the canister on the carpet and finally remembered the girl. On instinct he picked up the container and handed it to her, a small, awkward smile accompanying that equally small and awkward peace offering. But, in what had seemed to become a pattern when dealing with this girl, that olive branch was quickly burned by flames of suspicion, and he raised his arm to keep the canister out of her reach.

“W-wait a sec… What d-did you do?” In his life, Tod had seen some odd things: giant bears protecting young kids, water obeying his own will (or, well, reacting to it, at least), nights lasting four consecutive days with no explanation at all. Heck, he was willing to bet his Boba Fett figure that one of the bathrooms at school ceased to exist between second and third period (which was wicked inconvenient considering how it was his favorite bathroom in the whole school), teleportation didn’t seem that hard to believe. Or maybe this girl had mind-controlling powers and was able to plant life-like illusions in his mind.

The accusing glare was gone as quickly as it had arrived: sure, Tod had no trouble believing she could do something like that, but the string of imprecations and F-bombs coming out of her mouth were enough to convince him that, no matter what was going on exactly, she was just as surprised as him. Which meant, Tod realized with a loud gasp, that there was a wicked good chance none of them had any idea about what had just happened. “It… It w-wasn’t you, was it?”

Overcome by panic, Tod started pacing back and forth. His long fingers tapped nervously against the salt container to the same beat of his racing heart and shallow breaths while his eyes moved away from the punk band member (Probably the drummer, Tod decided) and studied their surroundings. “Okay, B-Bowen… K-keep your cool, you can do it. Use t-the Force. t-think, rewind…We were t-there, and n-now we’re here. We, um… N-need to know where here is, so we c-can… Go b-back there, you know?”

It wasn’t clear whether he was talking to the girl or to himself, but as he kept mumbling Tod reached one of the shelves, where he abandoned the salt container in favor of an old-looking leather bound tome. A long, deep breath; he needed to calm down if he wanted to get anything done. Hey, for all he knew, this could be a dream. He’d had weirder dreams in the past, and believing his life wasn’t actually in danger helped him to think better. Well, a little better. Alright, let’s stick to the dream theory for now.

He moved next to the fireplace, both to get some light and to dry his clothes, still damp from his earlier accident and his current sweating. Tod flipped through the book quickly, before triumphantly pointing at the inside of the cover. “Hey!” Again, his voice came out more like a nervous squeak than a manly exclamation of victory. “It, uh… It s-says here ‘propriety of Mr. Boddy’. So, uh… I guess t-this must be Mr. Boddy’s house. Mr. Boddy… I’m sure I’ve–”

There was definitely something eerily familiar in all of it, like he knew that name, that place even,  but the sheer amount of Jumping Garrus on a pogo stick! still going on in his brain kept him from connecting any kind of dot. Finally, he stared at the girl again. If they were both lost and confused, might as well try to join forces, right? Two heads better than one, and all that.

Harper was on her last nerve. The slow build to a melt down was coming, she could feel it, like an internal cartoon thermometer rising to its breaking point. Sound effects and all. This is what you got when you tried to do something nice for mankind. You got stuck in a ghost box with Lord Nerd himself nattering to himself with your hand halfway down your sweater. Fucking delightful. Jerking her hand about in an effort to free her dagger, she felt the hard point puncture her thumb. She leaped into the air.

“Gah!”

Withdrawing the battle wound from the strangling confines of polyester, she let out a strangled cry of frustration to the sky...or rather, ceiling. Either way, Harper had a feeling the big man upstairs was getting a kick out of putting Biancardi Jr through the proverbial ringer. 

Jamming her finger in her mouth, her face contorted into a wild frown, childlike in its chaotic sulk and obvious emotion. God, she didn’t even want to look. What if her thumb was severed? How would she write? How would she eat? How would she give a thumbs up?

“Fuck this, fuck that, and fuck the other thing too.” 

Muttering to herself around her thumb, she went for the next best thing, groping at her belt with her free hand. Wait...gone? Gone. Harper turned to the left, to the right, straight to a full circle as her eyes scanned the ground. Fucking salt container...

Oh shit, right. A glance over to the kid, still talking. What had he done with her salt? She’d seen it out of the corner of her eye, but now...oh. It was on the shelf. Thumb still in her mouth, she stomped over, grabbing the canister.

“I’m a good person, I don’t freaking deserve this. My karma is like, gold level. Fuckity fuck...”

His direct question caught her attention and she turned to finally turn the focus on him as she plucked the salt down. She continued to speak around her thumb, a five year old about to lay down the goddamn law.

“It’s a ghost, you freaking idiot. Or do you think this--” she waved the canister around to indicate the room. “is all just a coincidence?”

Her thumb left her mouth with a pop and she glanced down to inspect it.

“But what kind of ghost? Can’t tell. Which sucks balls, because you know, ghost. But I’m pretty sure it’s not a ghost house.”

No lasting damage. She glanced back and let out an exasperated groan. 

“Dude. Dude, come on. Don’t fucking touch that book. You don’t know if it’s gonna take you out. Fuckin’ rookie shit.”

She felt a tirade coming on, until a piercing scream shot through the house. Harper’s head shot up, senses flaring again in instinctual response. 

“Christ!” Shutting them down immediately, her hand flew to her head. “Every fucking time!”

Yanking the hoodie over her to drop to the ground, her bare arms hit the air, revealing the ribbon and tattoos in looping scrawl on each wrist. Latin, her sweet salvation. Finally, she snagged the dagger, leaving the hoodie behind with regret. 

“Game time, motherfucker.”

“It wasn’t a sex thing, P-paladin’s honor. I would never–” A beat, followed by more panicked flailing. “D-don’t get me wrong, you’re wicked cute, b-but…” You’re also incredibly… Aggressive? Intense? Downright scary, potentially instable? All could probably fit, but none of them were the sort of thing Tod would admit out loud. Besides, it’s not as if she didn’t have a reason to be angry: he had been kind of a poophead.

The spike in her voice had drawn some attention to them, the kind that made Tod want to just dig a deep hole and disappear into the dark abyss. Loud, accusing whispers reached his ears (Isn’t that the Bowens’ kid? I thought he was better than that…), which were becoming redder and redder by the second. “I m-mean, um, on a kinky scale from a little rock to the Lannister t-twins I’m m-more t-team rock, you know? M-maybe not exactly r-rock, but like… A chair. Or one of t-those spinning wheels for hamsters, at m-most. Also you d-don’t know me, what kind of jerk would I have t-to be to expect you to–”

As far as apologies went, this was probably one of his worst ones. For a moment he wished he hadn’t left Krypto at home: in his experience few things could turn a bad situation around like a fluffy dog. “Rewind. I… Sorry. Welcome to Jerkville, p-population: one T-Tod Bowen.” Tod tapped his chest gently before taking a page from Krypto’s book: he tilted his head to the side, neck buried deep between thin shoulders in an unnatural pose meant to compliment well his apology. The effect was more like a comical caricature, but the effort behind it was genuine.

Not that she had been Ms. Nice Gal, in any case.

The intrusive thought forced its way through his brain like a cancer, and no matter how hard Tod tried to fight the instinct back his eyes were drawn again to the box, as if it was pulling him in. Not just the not-so-little fanatic in him either. Something else seemed to reach out to it, a part of him that Tod still couldn’t properly name or recognize. For lack of a better term, he’d come to call it his very own Chemical X. Or his mutant gene. The very thing that made water occasionally go boom in his presence. Whatever it was that fueled his waterbending, now it was reacting something fierce, pushing and pulling. It was almost painful in a way, like steam trapped inside a pipe with a broken relief valve.

A splitting headache made its presence known, and Tod flinched. Even before feeling the cold, dripping sensation running down his back he knew that the bottle inside his backpack had started spilling, water sipping through the fabric (and, he realized with a wince, ruining the backpack’s contents. Farewell, sweet Saga Volume 3, you will be missed). For a second he felt better, but with no other venue to let his frustration out (His power, not his frustration, he mentally corrected himself), Tod’s attention focused back again on the box, the only other thing that seemed to offer him some sort of reprieve. She was still clutching it like Gollum with the one ring.

Wait, had he said his name in all that? The gesture, punctuated by silence, startled her into a disbelieving snort. She’d given up trying to follow. God, just her luck. The one obstacle she had to fight for this stupid fucking thing was some babbling obsessive teenager. Compared to the rising headache and the wash of word vomit, the boy’s flinch went unnoticed, although the crease between her brows deepened, predicting the impending frown. 

What was that feeling? God, it wouldn’t stop nagging at her, worrying at her like a rotten tooth. She kept the box far from her body despite the urge to hug it close like a child. There was a live bomb in her hands, and she was Adam West with no where to go but away. His sudden refocusing on the box had her back on high alert, or something resembling watchfulness. It was so freakin’ hard to concentrate when the pressure at her brain wouldn’t let up. 

“Douchemobile?” 

Her voice layered over his, but the boy was already over the hell, onto the next thought. Harper was aware, however, that she was being thoroughly insulted, and hot damn she wasn’t about to take that blow to her pride today, no siree Bob.

“Listen asshole,” came her growled, heated reply. “You should be thanking me-- hey! Hey don’t!”

Whether it was the gangly teen she was talking to or the sudden increase in probing from the mysterious third party was unclear. With his sudden lurch in her direction, she found herself off balance, and the power took it’s opportunity. It lifted her shields like a rock to watch the ants scurry below in alarm at the glaring sun. Wincing, the static of the ghost raised in volume in reaction- yup, she was found out. What a fucking moron, it had been working her over this whole. Time. Fuck this kid, fuck this day, fuck this motherfucking Clue. 

The boy’s grasping hand landed on the box, and it was like the world just...stopped. The bird flying overhead slowed to a still hover, people walking by came to a frozen halt. Even the woman in charge of the table, winding her way over to break up what was clearly about to be an impending fight over a children’s board game, ceased her forward flurry. Harper and the boy remained in motion. Her eyes met his as she felt the fist raise above them. Glaring with all the accusatory blame she could muster, she practically spit the words out.

“You fucking idiot.”

And the big hand came down. 

Harper winced as she felt the spectral impact of power, shooting through her, wiping everything but them away like a child shaking an Etch a Sketch. It left her breathless. 

The world came back into focus, or rather, not the world. A room. A room in a building somewhere in the fucking universe. Or at least, Harper hoped. 

The box was gone, and the sense of ghostly presence was all around them, enveloping her senses like a suffocating blanket. 

Fuck. Fuck shit fuck.

Harper shut her senses down, well, as much as she could. Closing the tap, even partially, still made a difference as the static ebbed away to only fuzzy background noise. Swallowing, she looked around at her surroundings, more dazed than ready to take on whatever was coming. 

They had somehow landed in a mansion, or at least some kind of huge old house. It screamed old blood and old money in a cinematic Hollywood way, with its dusted gold and rich oak tones. Books lines shelves, a fire roaring in the fireplace. A library, with foreboding and forbidding easy chairs that were anything but. Her mom owned enough of them for her to know. There was something familiar about it, almost basically so. After a moment of staring around in open wonder, Harper came back to herself with a snap. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Scrambling, she dug a hand under the hem of her hoodie, trying desperately to unstrap her dagger, specially made for her highly specialized needs. Shit, why had she hidden it so well? Yanking at it desperately, it tangled hopelessly in her clothes. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck, come on you stupid sunnovabitch!”

A canister of salt came loose at her struggle, hitting the fine carpet and rolling to two familiar feet. She glanced over to see the icing on the cake- Trilby Boy. As Harper struggled, she mutely looked up in open appeal to a higher power and whined.

This is not the Clue you’re looking for.

The familiar quote was on the tip of his tongue, but the words didn’t come out as quick as he would’ve liked, and not just because of some nerve-induced stutter; they were stuck, like when you’re chewing your food and something startles you so you swallow without thinking and suddenly you have this lump in your throat that won’t go up nor down. And apparently you also get a weird shiver down your spine, the kind that makes you go “!” for a split second and you wonder if those stupid guards have spotted you.

Tod shook his head, trying to clear it from those silly thoughts: he was no Snake, and this was no secret mission to save the world. He was just a boy trying to buy a board game. Deep breath, calm down and just… Be reasonable. Talk it out. More importantly, don’t pick a fight with a stranger. For all he knew, she might be the quarterback’s girlfriend. Well, no, he was dating Carol. But she could be his cousin or something, and Tod didn’t want to make a new enemy. Not only that, but for all he knew she could actually be a Jedi trying to use some mind trick, and even though he had managed to resist this time he was fairly sure waterbending wouldn’t stop an angry lightsaber. He forced a friendly expression on his face, more like a nervous tic than an actual smile.

As zen as he was trying to be about it, he couldn’t fight back the shocked gasp at her question. “W-whoa… Of course this is Clue!” The fanboy in him started screaming and kicking, pure energy flowing through his veins as he did his best to keep his excitement (and irritation) in check. “N-not just—” his free hand moved up again, mimicking quotation marks “—one of these things, t-this is wicked rare. It’s like saying the M-Mjolnir is just one of these old hammers” At that the plump lady on the other side of the table stood just a little straighter, side-eyeing the 3$ price tag she had put on the box. Tod ignored her, his attention completely focused on his rival. And her ghost eraser. Another pause, as he once again reminded himself that he couldn’t afford to make a new enemy.

“I m-mean, that’s a c-cool eraser, d-don’t get me wrong, b-but…” A sigh, and he leaned in a little, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper in hopes of earning this girl’s sympathy. “L-listen, like I said, this specific Clue is wicked rare. And I, uh… Collect things like these.” A pause, lips stretched in a thin line as he prepared himself for the predictable teasing that was sure to follow his admission. “I mean, I d-don’t have a huge collection yet, but, you know… If you’re into t-those things I c-could show it to you!”

Why couldn’t it have been a vase? Smash and run, the old Rotten Tomato. Easy. But no, it HAD to be board games.

And it came with a fanatic, still soundly attached. It looked thin- maybe she could karate chop it away or something. Yeah...yeah, that sounded good. As Harper was prepping her latent judo skills (everyone had them, according to the movies), the offer hit the air. A moment went by, nothing but a breath. And then she raised her head. No fucking way. Her appalled tones were the loud, thundering contrast to his muted desperation.

“Is that some kind of sex thing? Dude, what the shit?! That sounds fucking terrible!”

Heads swiveled in their direction, the weight of eyes only joining the feeling of moisture gathering at the back of her neck. Oh god, it was going to rain soon too? What a great freaking day. Absolutely fan-freaking-tastic. Harper gave a sharp tug, her patience running dry. 

And with her temper, came her sense, erratic. It was zeroed on the box, the ghost in the area most pertinent to her needs. Like poking a slumbering bear, she felt it shift. 

Fuck, that’s not good.

Harper felt chill race over her skin along with a minor sensation, like she was forgetting something. Something important.

“Give me the freaking box and buy some fedoras or something!”

It was, after all, the closest thing to a comicon he could get in a place like the Creek: sure, no one seemed to appreciate the little N7 patch carefully sewn on his dark hoodie, but who knew what sort of precious treasure he could find lurking under all those vintage clothes and used pots? This was the place were silver age comics went to die, after all. Well, not on his watch, nossir.

He moved swiftly from stand to stand, eyes scanning the merchandise for a glimpse of… Anything, really: action figures, old game boy cartridges, comics… He wasn’t going to be a picky customer, not when he had a wallet full of hard-earned cash. Sure, a tiny part of his brain, the smart, responsible part, kept telling him he should save that money, but the voice was quickly put to rest by the soft throbbing of the tiny bite marks on his fingers. He had no idea that keeping an eye on the neighbor’s baby could be so dangerous.

His battle wounds were forcefully pushed to the back of his head. Was that…? Yes. The years hadn’t been kind with the box, but there was no mistaking the familiar title and tag-line. The Great NEW Detective Game!. Tod couldn’t really make out the year or anything, but the colors were faded enough to let him know he was staring at a really old copy, definitely rare.

Normally he wouldn’t shove people away, but this was the freaking Holy Grail, and for once Tod had no time for polite meekness. He was a man with a goal, hand outstretched to snatch his prize away like a hawk.

He pulled gently, determined to embrace his treasure and protect it from all those other people who would never appreciate its real value, but another bird of prey seemed to have had his same idea. Tod blinked a couple of times as he stared down at the young girl holding his game.

“F-found you?” Echoing her words seemed to snap him out of his daze, and the surprise of finding someone else after the same thing gave way to an unfamiliar but nonetheless strong determination. Tod cleared his throat before taking one not-so-hesitant step toward this mysterious stranger.

“I’m s-sorry, but… I mean, t-this is… Do you even know what t-this is?” He had promised himself he’d never be one of those guys, the terrible know-it-alls that gave people like him a bad reputation, but he couldn’t stop himself, not when he had worked so hard and changed so many diapers exactly to buy this sort of collectibles. He strengthened his hold on the box, excitement running through his body like actual electricity and making all hair on his arm stand on end as his suspicions about the box were confirmed now that he could see it up close.

“This is a first edition. We’re t-talking… 1949 or something like t-that. Who knows who m-might have played it! It’s..” Suddenly Tod realized that decanting the many reasons why that box was so valuable was not a solid plan. He lowered his gaze and raised his free hand to rub the back of his neck. “I m-mean… I kinda want it. Like, r-really want it.”

The voice was the first clue that maybe there were outside forces at work. Especially when it didn’t come from the box. Green eyes squinted, slanting to the side suddenly to target the speaker- well, the speaker’s chest. He, probably he, was way taller than Harper had expected. Unfairly tall. Jack, meet Beanstalk.

“This?”

Harper didn’t let go of the box, staring at him suspiciously for a moment. What was his goal? Could he sense it too? Maybe another exorcist, maybe something not so nice. Her eyes scanned his face bluntly, flat with suspicious as she searched for some hint. She could feel them, the ghostly presence of less malevolent intent, regular daisies in a garden. They blurred together like a surreal painting, all melting together to form an impression. Was this guy something more? 

Well. She’d come this far. Only one way to find out. 

Harper focused, turning inward as she found her sense, pulling it in like a fishing line. Morphing into a harpoon. Training it on the boy as she was taught, she let it rest on him, gathering it as she was taught. 

Well motherfucker, call me Ahab.

She let it fly. Once in a while, she worried- hey, maybe this might hurt someone. But it was their comfort or Harper’s life, and she’d already made that mistake once, the itchy ribbon around her neck proof enough for her. 

Her power radiated out to him, not in waves but like a refurbished Nerf water gun. All fun and games until that one fucker went too hard. Her eyes never left his face as he spoke, trying to read whatever came back. If it was something, then hey! Better than nothing! 

And it was nothing. Oh thank fuck. Harper felt her shoulders relax as her breath released. She licked her lips, dry as a bone those sons of bitches. Fuck, seriously? If she was going to shit her pants every time a ghost might be possessing someone, then she might as well throw in the goddamn towel.

Finally, Harper turned towards the box, wracking her eyes over the spoils. Or well, soon to be spoils as soon as this dude let go of it.

“Wait...is this Clue?” 

Of course- a haunted murder game. It was almost poetic. Almost. 

“Well fuck me sideways til Sunday, I haven’t seen one of these things in freaking forever!”

Her gaze went back to him, askance and she almost winced. Jesus, talk about pathetic. He could at least swear at her or something, make her feel better about this. 

“Listen man...I’ll give you uh...”

Harper dug her free hand into her pocket.

Lint, more lint...unwrapped candy- save it for later. Bingo!

“Five bucks and this cool ghost eraser if you walk away.”

She unearthed it with pride. It was gonna be hard giving it up, it matched her cell phone charm. But hey, anything to get the job done. Sacrifices had to be made.

Grand Ole Party - Look Out Young Son