#neva arazel

That’s how they met.

Neva took a deep breath, playing with a curl at the side of her face. Merhib stepped closer beside her and squeezed her free hand. She almost jumped at the sudden touch.

“Easy,” he smiled down at her. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“Nobody’s come up to say anything to me,” Neva looked around anxiously. “I think I picked stuff too weird.”

“You’re an abstract kind of artist,” Merhib shrugged. “It can freak people out. They’re more into those fancy-pants classical stuff.” When Neva didn’t perk up, Merhib looked at her more comforting, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her temple with a smile.

“Just give everyone a minute,” he calmed her. Neva took another breath.

“I have to go get ready for my song,” she murmured. “I think people will say something after that. Can you watch over my stuff?”

“Sure,” Merhib pressed a kiss to his new girlfriend’s soft lips. She gave a smile up to him, much more relaxed. As she headed off to the side of the room where the performers were to play, Merhib leaned up against the wall, scratching the back of his hair as he watched the people come and go. He adjusted his jacket and waited for her to start, crossing his arms.

As he watched the people come and go, he reflected on actually acting his age for once. He died at seventeen. Permanently stuck on the border of being an adult and being too young. Yet, he was the king of a Realm, held it all in the palm of his hand, expected to be a ruler. Mabuz commented every once in a while how immature he could be, how his choices weren’t always the best and tried to steer him the right way.

But for once, he was his age again, and the only downside was having to act normal.

Merhib looked to another oat of the gallery, seeing a man wander and admiring the artwork. Some photography, some sculptures, ceramics and such, but primarily fine art. Paintings, dry media. Some students seemed excited when he talked to them.

He was an older man, with ginger hair and flecks of grey in it. A mustache rested under his nose, hair with curls. It gave him a weird sense of deja vu at seeing both his hair, and his face in general. He looked too familiar. Brown eyes instead of blue ones like the ghost he saw. Alive, unlike the ghost he met years ago when he was alive.

His heart jumped for a moment and his hand curled tighter against his arm.

No. Couldn’t be.

Neva starting to sing and play on her guitar pulled him from his thoughts. He listened to her sing with a smile, playing a rock song acoustically to prevent the school administration from yelling at her again. She performed just as well either way—almost everyone seemed distracted from what they were don’t to just watch her.

Merhib couldn’t help but feel his dark eyes glance sideways as the other man clapped politely when the song ended. He seemed pleased himself as well. Merhib turned his gaze back to Neva and clapped, giving a whistle to her. Neva laughed as soon as she heard it, stepping aside to let the next person play.

Merhib glanced over his shoulder one more time as Neva set her guitar down and made her way over, and he noticed the other man briefly staring back at him, too.

Could he have really—

“Hey!”

Merhib turned back to Neva and grinned, pulling her close, pale hands on her back and pressing her against him. She stood on the tips of her feet and kissed him excitedly.

“Were you spacing out or something?” Neva smirked, wrapping her arms on his shoulders, one of her hands sliding through the back of his ginger, curled hair. He shook his head.

“Nah,” he pressed his forehead to Neva. She snickered.

“You’re a bad liar,” Neva teased. Merhib slid his hands to Neva’s hips and smirked back with a quiet chuckle. “Just like always.”

“Stop,” he teased. Neva laughed again and moved to give him another kiss.

A clearing of someone’s throat stopped the two. On instinct, Merhib quickly pulled himself off of his girlfriend. Neva brushed a curl behind her ear and shuffled on her feet, eyes down despite the soft smile on her face.

“Sorry,” said Neva quickly. It was the man Merhib had been watching. The moment his girlfriend lifted her eyes, she became excited once again. “Professor Bosteau! Oh, I’m so sorry, hello!”

“Hello to you too, li’l lady,” he smiled back. Merhib felt one of his hands curl and uncurl. He shoved his fist into his pocket, other hand holding Neva’s. “Sorry for interrupting. I was just wondering if this was your artwork here.” A worn finger gestured to the paintings and sketches behind her. Neva nodded excitedly.

“Y-yes, these are mine,” she felt her cheeks flush as she stepped aside to show her artwork, pulling Merhib with her. “All stuff I’ve done this year.”

“What grade and age are you, my dear?” Professor Bosteau bent closer to the paintings to examine them, squinting past a small pair of glasses over his eyes.

Neva’s smile was at risk of falling off her face. “I-I’m sixteen,” she looked up at her boyfriend with hope in her brown sparkling eyes. “Just turned sixteen, actually. I’m a junior.”

“Your work holds a lot of expression,” the Professor nodded. “Pretty hard to see in artists your age. They’re having too much or a hard time in technique to express it. You need a little more technicality in your brushstrokes and blending,” and he moved his fingers in the air, close to the paintings, and Neva hung on his every word, “but I’m sure with practice in the next art class up, you’ll be in a fantastic place. Have you considered attending Riverview Community College?”

“Yes, actually,” Neva twirled a lock of her hair excitedly, “I-I actually really like the campus and I’m keeping my fingers crossed I get you as my art professor, sir.”

“Aw, shucks,” Professor Bosteau chuckled. “You hold me with too high an honor. But thank you. I’m flattered either way. I’ve got to visit some of the other artists, but—“ and he took both of Neva’s hands in his and shook them, “—I do hope I see you again, and I wish you luck. What was your name?”

“Neva Arazel,” the young girl beamed. Professor Bosteau nodded. As he made his way, Neva danced in her spot. Merhib stared at John in disbelief.

“Merhib, did you hear?” she asked excitedly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him eagerly. “He liked my stuff!”

“Yeah,” Merhib pushed out the best smile he could. Neva looked at him unsure.

“You okay?” Her words brought him back for a moment. Merhib blinked and gave a smile, more sincere and full.

“Yeah,” he said. “I just wanna get some air.” Neva gave him a kind smile and linked his fingers with hers.

“We can head out,” she said. “Thank you so much for being here with me.” Merhib smiles and kissed her forehead.

“Anything for you.”

——

At sixteen years old, he made the way to the old wailing house.

Legends told of a ghost living there, a soul who was lost and punished to face total damnation, roaming the earth and to never escape into a peaceful afterlife. They said he was a man tortured by his past, by atrocities he committed in the past. Young people went there often on dares, see who was brave, see who was too afraid. People who previously didn’t believe in ghost were terrified by the reality they saw.

But he wasn’t here on a dare. He was here based on his grandfather’s notes and the information he gathered on the legend.

Merhib couldn’t ask his driver to take him without his father finding out. So, instead he hailed for a taxi to take him as far as he could, then walked the rest of the way though the infamous woods of Riverview. He followed the river the town was named after to find his way into the woods, keeping his flashlight and both his and Zachary’s notebooks close to himself.

He was going to face it. The demon that resided there. No, the ghost. He would speak with him. Make contact. It would be an incredible advancement.

Merhib walked up to the creaking steps of the porch and held tight to his journals. Tucking his flashlight under his other arm, he gently opened the door.

The smell of death flooded his nose.

Merhib held back a gag, grabbed his flashlight and switched it on. He slowly wandered from the front hallway to the living room, both frightened and fascinated. His grandfather said people he worked with years ago lived there. Both went missing, at different times. With his grandfather now passed, his research was all he had left to go off of for his guidance.

Merhib felt the whole house sway for a moment, but not like an earthquake. For a moment, he thought the wind was beating against the old place. But the namesake of the home...

Merhib took only another step further before the ghost revealed itself.

“Intruder,” the house seemed to whisper, as though thousands of voices were intertwined with the wood and walls, the floorboards and every creek. Slowly, a faint blue glow made itself known. Merhib stared wide-eyed at it. The ghost. He was real.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the ghost whispered. “No one should be here. Not in this damned place.”

“I-I’m sorry for intruding,” Merhib spoke up, and he realized his pale, long and thin hands were shaking. “I-I came here to—“

“Stare at the monster, didn’t you,” the ghost interrupted. “Came on a dare. I know how you youths are.”

“That’s not it at all!” Merhib gave a weak, nervous smile and soft laugh. “I-I came because... because I want to know who you are.” The ghost seemed confused. He slowly floated down from above the young man and faced him. Merhib could see just how tired, how worn the spirit was.

“No one should know who I am,” the ghost sighed. “I am... I am a pathetic excuse of a man, I’m a monster.”

“I don’t think of you like that at all.”

“You hardly know me, young man.”

Merhib held out his hand, startling the ghost. He gave another small smile, “My name is Merhib.”

“People... call me Ghost now,” Ghost said, but didn’t touch Merhib’s hand. He slowly set his hand back down. “What... what do you have there?”

“Oh, uh,” Merhib blinked and looked at the books in his hands. “Research. From my grandfather. It’s how I began to learn that people like you are out there.”

“Monsters?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way, Mr. Ghost.” He fumbled with all the objects in his hands momentarily, “Uh, a-and I have my own notebook, too. I wanted to get to know you. Learn about you. You’re incredible.”

The words didn’t sit right with Ghost, “You should not say those sorts of things, Merhib. It can lead you on a dark path.”

“H... how so?”

“You could make the same mistakes as me.”

“What... mistakes did you make?”

Ghost hesitated, and the whole house seemed to creek. He sighed, and confessed, “For the sake of my warning to you... I’ll tell you. I once worked at a laboratory. We... we researched people like me. Ghosts. Witches. Psychics, mermaids, all sorts of creatures. We studied them until they were in pain. Until they were dead. I... I hurt these creatures, a-and some were children—“ The house started to violently vibrate again. Merhib dropped his books and light, feeling the ground shake. As the ghost cried and wailed, Merhib found it harder and harder to stay on his feet. The boards creaked and broke; the ghost cried and cried, no words coming from his mouth anymore. Drowned out by his regret. Merhib looked around for something to hold on to. As he tried to move, he slipped on his light and books and fell to the floor.

Merhib saw something from higher above shake. The roof was caving in. He tucked his arms over his head as one of the windows vibrated and shattered near him. Unveiling himself, he looked up as the roof was ready to fall.

“Stop!!”

He instinctively held his arm up, up at the caving roof, as the wood already began to fall, and it stopped. Eyes shut tight, Merhib was still prepared to get hurt. The house still shook for a moment, until Ghost noticed what the young man was doing. He watched the parts suspended in air for a brief moment before it all fell back down. Merhib rolled out of the way, but nothing else fell. The house stopped shaking.

“How did you—?”

“I’m sorry,” Merhib got up and dusted off his vest, “I-I didn’t mean to bring up something that was going to destroy the house.” Ghost went quiet and looked sheepish.

“I shouldn’t... have reacted in such a way,” he murmured. “But don’t you see? It’s dangerous here, it’s dangerous to talk about what’s happened.”

“I... see,” Merhib slowly nodded. He picked his flashlight back up and looked around for his notebooks. Ghost floated towards one. He recognized the handwriting, and his wounds oozed from the back of his head, the house turned cold. Merhib went to grab the other notebook, when he saw Ghost staring down at it.

“Um—“ Merhib reached for the notebook, but Ghost’s cold gaze stopped him. “My—m-my book—?”

“This is not yours,” Ghost whispered. “This was his.”

“His?”

“Zachary Collins.” The dead man’s words held venom as he spat out the name in disgust. Merhib slowly picked up his notebook.

“H-he was my grandfather,” he said. “He died a while back. Left all this stuff for me.” The house vibrated again, but it was a different kind. Not of wailing. Not of mourning. Of hate. Of rage.

“That—that monster—!!”

“Huh?!”

Merhib ducked his head again and avoided more rotted, broken wood falling. Ghost seemed to turn monstrous, violent. His glow was intense, matching the rage and pain in his eyes. Merhib stared at him in fear.

“He—he did this to me—“ Ghost gripped his head. “He convinced me to work there! Told me what I was doing was right, he threatened me, Adam, he was cruel, he encouraged us—he told us to kill them, they were just children—!!”

Merhib managed to reach a table and duck under it. Everything was falling, everything was shaking, and it felt like it followed him wherever he turned. The rage was directed at him.

“I-I’m not him!” Merhib shouted about the noise, the sheer calamity, but the ghost’s rage continued. He pointed out, out the front door.

“Leave!!” Ghost’s voice turned monstrous. “Leave and never come back!!” Merhib grabbed his light and books and ran out of the house as fast as he could. He feared that if he didn’t, the entire place would collapse onto him. He tumbled into the dirt and stared at the place in shock.

Merhib slowly stood up and turned back to follow the river, back to town. He wiped away the blood from his tumble and the dirt the best he could before he hailed for another taxi. Climbing in once one finally showed up, he told the driver to go back to Shoreline Manor, and the entire drive, Merhib continued to flip through the pages and think about the ghost.

His grandfather’s ramblings were true. All he wrote about were true. Despite everything, he was still a brilliant scientist, a man who wouldn’t let anyone stand in the way of his progress. That wasn’t inherently bad. But if what Ghost has said were true...