raven rising

Jason: “Define ‘extra Tim.’”

Cass signs: Off putting. More so than usual.

The realization hits during patrol when Tim starts speaking Latin backward and scaling a cathedral wall like a lizard. He’s not evil, just slightly too limber.

Duke: “Yeah, he tried to open the Batcomputer using an incantation in Aramaic and then hissed at me when I offered him Gatorade.”

Steph: “Oh god, he’s doing the Exorcist parkour again.”

Jason: “I’m gonna call Constantine.”

Duke: “No, wait, Zatanna’s faster. And less sticky.”

Duke texts Zatanna.

Zee shows up ten minutes later, pokes Tim with a wand, and mutters a quick banishing spell.

Zee: “Nepo-baby of knowledge demons. Just mouthing off in his spine again.”

Tim drops like a sack of potatoes and sits up groaning. “Did I get possessed again?”

“Third time this year, baby bird,” says Dick, handing him a protein bar and ruffling his hair.

my family moved a lot due to my father’s work, like once a year. which meant that every kindergarten and up to 4th grade my sis and i constantly changed schools. and out of all those school, the most memorable school was the one my sister and i attended when we were 10. the school was like, super old building. it was tall, had about 4th floor (korea is small country so we tend to build things up rather then broad.) what was most memorable about this school was that right behind the school there was a garden (i used to water the lilies, part of my responsibility as a student. giving jobs to young  student is a norm in asian county), a pond for ducks and a cages for goats and chicken. and behind these wacky collection was a mountain. like, i would take 10 steps away from school and the mountain would be there.

so anyway, the pond was large enough for a watermill and i remember it being so pretty and rather peaceful. but the 5th graders would often tell us that the Principle’s daughter was found dead by the watermill. there was many stories about it here and there. some said that she slipped during rainy season and drowned. other said she committed suicide, some said her hair got caught by the watermill and was crushed underneath the machine. and supposedly her grave was by the watermill. (i’m not sure if it was her tomb or her memorial but it was definitely there. i wouldn’t be surprised if it was her grave though. in korea u can find graves in rather odd places, for sake of the progression let’s call it her grave stone).

i knew that most older kids were teasing me, but i know for that fact that the principle DO have a dead daughter. i saw her portrait hanging in his office (and it was a special type of frame, only used for the departed), this made me never go near the watermill. then one summer (our summer breaks are short so we return to class early) there was a new rumor circulating that the Ghost of Principle’s daughter had spoken to a 3rd grader and given her a gift. some said she had given this girl her crushed skull (and speculation goes on) the story got so popular that even the high schoolers were talking about it. this started a trend that a student would stay after school in there lonesome and leave a gift on the grave, just so that they could have a chance to encounter the ghost girl. this lasted for a while.

now, 16 years later. i was recalling about this memory and spoke to my sister fondly about it. then i said “i wonder who that girl was? the one who met the principle’s daughter’s ghost.” my sister gave me flat look and said.

“oh. that was me.”

i was rather surprised by it, and asked “what the hell happened?”

she told me that she didn’t tell the story that time because she thought it wasn’t all that big deal.

during the 3rd grade, my sister and i attended separate classes (we are twins, so it lessens the confusion). it was after school hours and the other kids in the class dared each other to go to the watermill grave and poke at the grave stone. of course all the kids chickened out and forced my sister to go alone. my sister, being the silent and mysterious protagonist that she was, she didn’t argue and went up to the grave on her own. now, the thing about my sister is that ever since she was little, she was the brave one and she wasn’t scared of dead things. and found them interesting. it’s also worth mentioning that she was raised by my grandmother in her early childhood (my mother had a heart condition and needed extra help). my grandmother was born in one of the smaller island of korea and was raised in shaman family. grandma always told my sister to respect the dead, and respect my sister did.

first thing she knew of visiting the grave was that 1. be respectful. 2. bring offering.

my sister was wearing an overall that day and in her pocket, she had a clementine she hasn’t eaten during lunch. she had her offering. she also recalled my grandmother taking bouquet to the graves. so my sister plucked three dandelions. she had her bouquet.

now 3. clean the grave. 

my sister made it up to the grave. and placed the dandelions on top of the grave stones, lining them up. all she had to do was clean, most grave sites would provide a faucet of clean water so that grieving relatives could wash the grave stones. she sister didn’t think to look for one because a water source was right by her feet. my sister resorted to squatting down and cupped the pond water in her palm (the water was clean enough for tadpoles to live but you won’t want to drink it). then she smeared the pond water against the grave stone. as she was doing that, she felt someone standing over her. shading her and the grave.

she turns and sees black…..

it was the principle in his black suit.

my sister mentioned that in close up, the principle looked about in his 60s my sister was pretty sure that his daughter had passed away long time ago. the principle stared at my sister and he didn’t say anything. and my sister being nonverbal, she didn’t say anything either and stared back. they basically stood still for a while, until he spoke.

‘what are you doing?”

my sister answered.

“respecting the dead.”

he examined the sight before him, flower on the grave stone, and some sort of cleaning attempt with a pond water. i think he determined that my sister didn’t had ill intention. he knelt on one knee and pulled out his handkerchief, then proceeded to help my sister to clean the grave. after they did so, he stood back up. and my sister pulled the clementine out of her overalls and placed it in front of the grave. the principle nodded approvingly and watched the grave for a moment or two. he then gently petted my sister’s head and said.

“you know, my daughter and you could have been good friends.”

my sister said nothing but nodded in agreement. before she could return to her classmate, the principle showed a box he had brought with him.

“this is my daughter’s favorite rice cake, would you like some?”

she took one and returned to her class. when she got there the other kids were pretty surprised that my sister didn’t ditch them out of the dare. but they noticed that my sister was eating something. 

a rice cake.

they asked where she got it, and my sister being silent, young and not too savvy with words she tried to say “this is the principle daughter’s favorite” and “the principle gave it to me” her words jumbled and she wind up saying “the principle’s daughter gave it to me.” of course, they didn’t believe her and checked her overall pocket, thinking she smuggled it. the thing about this particular rice cake is that it’s covered in sweet powders and my sister’s pocket was clean. they knew they didn’t had rice cake for lunch and the cafeteria is closed, and even if she could have gotten from a market it was too far away. now the kids start freaking out and my sister, being the silent protagonist that she is, her mission was completed and she left for home. the next day the “scary story” spread like wild fire.

as i learned of truth, i had another realization. why in the world was the principle so silent when he saw my sister? then it hit me. remember that i saw the principle’s daughter’s portrait? she looked around 9 or 10 and she had this long wavy hair…..my sister had similar hair.

now imagine you are this old man, going up to see his daughter’s grave. it’s after school so kids shouldn’t be around. and in front of the daughter’s grave, you see a small child with long black hair, wearing white (what ghosts usually wear in korean culture) and kneeling at the front of the grave. 

at this point i lost it and laughed, the principle was very quiet because 

1. he thought my sister was a ghost. and 2. she scared the hell out of him.

my sister found that prospective interesting and laughed along with me. she and i still discuss that memory today. and that’s how my sister accidentally became part of school’s urban legend/mistaken for a ghost during 3rd grade.