#nic.

There was something about Mistwood Park that pushed it to the top of Nicole’s list of favorite cemeteries to visit. (Yes, including Jericho ground, which had only one redeeming quality: its walking distance). That something being the arboretum. Even before she developed an interest for wandering around cemeteries, Mistwood Park had been a common stop. She could’ve spent hours trekking through beautiful mausoleums and even more stunning landscapes, provided with peace and quiet she could never find in Old Jericho.

So now, as Nicole tried to get in touch with that pesky spirit side of hers and thus making cemetery visits much more frequent, it was only natural to have a ranking. Leah would be proud. And yes, Mistwood was at the top.

The sun had set before she arrived, and then she went and got lost for an hour in the arboretum before deciding to head back to the burying grounds. All planned that way, so there’d be less of a chance of someone stumbling upon Nicole trying to see ghosts. It was, after all, the whole point of these visits. 

She had chosen to sit against the wall of a mausoleum, knees sinking into overgrown foliage, bag close to her left thigh, as Nicole mentally prepared for what she had to do. Shifting her gaze (or any part of her) wasn’t something she could do on a whim. Her concentration was broken even before she could start, as the sound of shuffling steps reached her ears. She craned neck around, searching for the source of the sound. “Who’s there?” she tried, hand ghosting over her backpack where she felt the outline of her hatchet.

While creepy locations were easy to create in the dream plane, where Inge could move and manipulate the world, that didn’t mean she didn’t like visiting them on the earthly plane too. There was something inspiring about the darker nooks and crannies of Wicked’s Rest and besides, cemeteries were favored places of plenty of immortals. Ingeborg wouldn’t mind striking up a connection with a couple more of them, considering the hunter she’d come across.

And then there was, she supposed deep down, something about a place like this – created for mourning, for resting the death – that pulled her towards it. Visiting her daughter’s actual grave was too heavy, too confrontational and so she often didn’t return to the motherland to do as much. But here, she could somewhat pretend she was being healthy about it, all those people she had lost over the course of seventy years.

There were glasses with tinted lenses perched on the top of her head, ready to be pulled out should any mortal/hunter/other pest come across her path. With the sun gone, her eyes were glowing that soft red hue. She personally loved it, but it did raise some questions from time to time.

But what good was a cemetery during daytime? So here Inge was, moving around and feeling almost meditative. How healthy this was: reflecting on her losses. Getting inspiration. Hoping to meet some undead like her. When a voice popped up, her sunnies came down and Inge moved toward it, turning a corner. “No one special. I’m just, ah. Visiting someone. I prefer it at night, when it’s quieter.” She looked at the other, lifted her shoulders. “And it’s a nice night, out.”

Nicole moved her hand away from her backpack, if only for a moment. She was certainly less on edge as a feminine figure revealed herself but still, monsters liked to take any sort of deceptive shapes. But when her explanation came, she felt her face heat up. Right, of course. Cause that’s what people came to a cemetery for. To visit people, not— partake in weird ghost experiments. And another, more embarrassing thought lodged in her hyperactive brain. “Oh— right. Shit, is it…” she jumped back on her feet, pulling the bag with her. She turned to the mausoleum she had just been sitting against, pointing with her thumb. “It’s not here, right? I was just taking a break from… walking” she nodded, maintaining a serious expression.  

The moment she stood, Nicole was able to get a better look of the woman. Her shades were a little odd. Especially at night. Could she see anything at all? Nicole didn’t want (wasn’t ready, more like) to dive deeper into that line of thought, because Leah wasn’t here and she had been advice against asking too many questions for the sake of sating her curiosity. This woman must’ve had some eye problem, and that was it. Rational answer.  “Cool glasses” she pointed out, a friendly smile on her face. In case, you know, the figure in front of her was about to grow ten feet tall and sprout wings or something.  

“Yes. Yeah it’s nice. I was, um— I was visiting the arboretum nearby,” Nicole explained, realizing she had been quiet for a while. Picturing all sorts of dangerous beasts. “You seen it? Best one in town”.

Inge shook her head. “Oh, no, it’s quite a bit further down.” As if any of her family would ever reside in a mausoleum in Maine. She thought of Vera’s grave, back home and how simple it was. She hadn’t wanted a lot of fanfare, though it really hadn’t been as if Inge had been in one the funeral arrangements a lot. A mother wasn’t supposed to lose a child anyhow, so perhaps it had been for the best. “Take a break all you need. I won’t take offense.” 

The glasses drew some attention, but at least it drew attention away from what was below it. She offered a small smile, a nod of her head. “Oh, you think so? Nice of you to say.” She pushed them a little further onto her eyes, not giving any explanation. To say that she wear them to make a statement or to emit a cool energy would be rather pathetic, and to claim nightblindness or an infection might bite her in the ass later. 

“Yes, I do like it there. There’s something special about that place at night too, but it’s at its best during those first days of spring, hm?” Inge had grown fond of the Maine climate and the way the seasons looked here. She let her gaze drift around the darkness, wondering if the woman across from her was a mere human, running a risk by being at a graveyard post-sundown, or if she was something more similar to herself. While considering a question that could prod at her nature, she heard a branch snap. Head swiveling to the dark behind her, she saw only the outlines of various headstones. “Huh.”

Nicole breathed out in relief. The last thing she wanted was to be caught doing something disrespectful. Though when it cames to hanging out with ghosts, she was probably treading a fine line, wasn’t she? “Yeah… yeah” she nodded at her question, even though it was likely she wasn’t actually looking for an answer. But, whatever helped escaping potential murder. She kept a polite smile in place as the woman talked about the cemetery. She wanted to interject, speak some more about the arboretum, but the shuffling sound intensified around them, killing the conversation. 

It was soon evident that whatever threat Nicole would face tonight wasn’t in front of her, wearing tinted lenses. The footsteps echoed again, and a branch snapped, despite both women standing still. “There’s definitely something else out there,” she muttered, mimicking the woman’s action and peeking from the side of the mausoleum. Nothing but empty headstones and graves in sight. All of them too small to conceal anything with such heavy footfalls. 

She lifted a finger, a warning to the other woman to remain where she was, while Nicole took stepped forward with the intention of checking out the source of the noise. It was probably a dog or something similar she could easily scare away. 

It wasn’t that. Far from it. 

A figure appeared amid the shadows, slowly creeping towards them. It looked human sized. “Hey, you scared—” the words died in her tongue. The more Nicole looked at this person approaching, the more it felt like things weren’t adding up. She ignored the sinking dread in the pit of her stomach, and tried again, softly. “You… okay?”. It was the all too familiar stumbling gait that had Nicole wondering if they were in the presence of a common drunk, but when she reached out to help balance them out, the figure jumped her. She didn’t get a chance to stand her ground before the dead weight brought both bodies tumbling to the forest ground. 

A thrill ran through her body like an electric current. Inge didn’t tend to get scared anymore, numbed to the emotion she put others through night after night. But she did get excited and, at times, worried. Cemeteries attracted the undead, namely vampires, and places that attracted the undead also tended to come with slayers. Had her eyes given her away? Her method of traveling, perhaps? Or was this just a random creature, one of the many strange ones this town had to offer?

Whatever it was, she hoped it wasn’t just a boring old hedgehog.

Even with her night vision, she saw very little until the thing got close. Was it using the shadows and objects to its advantage? It was a person, though that said little about its threat level. Inge wanted to meet its eyes, see if she’d see red reflected in them, but remained rather stagnant. There was something about the way it moved that intrigued her, a flesh wound like quality to its neck. Its paleness could be attributed to the lack of light around them, maybe, but she somehow hoped it was something else.

Distantly, she became aware of the fact that she wasn’t alone in her observation of it. “Careful,” she spoke, though it was too late. Inge watched the creature jump the stranger, the pair of them rolling around the funeral ground. A twisted part wanted to keep watching, wanted to know what this decidedly not-just-human was going to do with her fellow cemetery patron.

However, it would be ill-advised to act so cruelly and apathetically with a stranger who lived in town. Her reputation here was more fragile than it was in a large city. Fucking small towns. So in stead Inge jumped up, pushed by a rare excitement and she tried to grab the thing. It looked dead, but it was somehow alive — undead, most likely, but nothing like her or the glamorous vampires she’d come across. It reminded her of the zombies popular media adored. Fingers dug into mushy flesh, trying to gain some kind of upper hand as she spared a look at the other. “Can you get out from under it? Go on, go!” 

She regretted her decision as soon as the body dipped forward. She should’ve taken the woman’s warning more seriously. Nicole flopped onto the ground, the body on top feeling a lot like dead weight. Even as she struggled to get it off her, her brain didn’t turn off. She couldn’t say she had an extensive history with zombies, but from the little she’d seen, they didn’t look or feel like the one above her, who now grasped her shoulders with surprising strength. Like it was going to attempt smashing her against the ground. Was it hungry maybe? Losing its control because of it? That couldn’t be too good for her, right? Shit.

She heard the shuffling steps of her companion as she approached, willing to help. Two against one was a lot easier to overpower, and as the woman pulled the body back, Nicole dug into biceps and pushed forward, allowing a small gap for her to roll out of the monster’s hold. It fell face forward, soil smeared on what looked like a melted face. 

Scrambling to her feet, Nicole was able to get a better look of the attacker. Still, her mind couldn’t process whatever this body was supposed to be. One thing felt clearer, however. No zombie. But probably something more sinister. “Thank y—” she panted, forcing her facial muscles to work a smile. She wasn’t sure if it came across as one, but she didn’t have time to overthink it, because the body had risen, and was stumbling towards them again. Its arms extended, not unlike those zombies on tv, but instead of stretching for her, it tried to grab the woman’s neck. Nicole reached for her bag, discarded on the floor, and began rummaging for her hatchet.

She let go of the rotting flesh, wiping her hands on the clothes on the body’s back before leaping back, a look of genuine disgust on her face. It was not so much the corpse or its actions itself, but rather the fact that it had gotten onto her physical form. Inge was used to none of these things being real, all of it dreams or art — nothing about it affecting this ever-failing body of hers. Whenever things stirred her physically it was usually because some son-of-a-bitch hunter (literally). 

And yet she was intrigued, watching the body move the way a zombie might have in a shitty 80s horror movie. Inge took note of the way it moved, the way it seemed not wholly aware of it — as if possessed, or pushed by an external force or just really out of it. “Sure thing,” she said, digging into her pockets to try and see if she had anything useful on her.

Because while this was intriguing, she was not interested in becoming whatever this body wished of her. (Not that Inge could become a zombie herself, after all: she knew what happened to mares when they died.) As she dug for her knife, she forgot to pant in panic like a human would, forgot to pay proper mind and as the body barreled towards her with outstretched arms, she was too late to duck. Rotting fingers enclosed around her throat and she let out a wrangled noise, even if she wasn’t actually choking. Inge moved up her own arm, trying to stab the stupid thing in its bicep. It seemed not to mind, though, that she broke its skin and so she tried again, glad that she no longer needed oxygen to live.

Nicole moved on instinct alone, her enhanced agility finally kicking in. She had the hatchet in hand in a second, and when she turned back to the woman, she saw her trying to use a knife against the zombie’s —not zombie?— arm. It felt no pain, she realized. Didn’t scream, didn’t halt, as much as the woman sank the blade, it didn’t deter the attack. So what did that mean? They might need magic means to get rid of the creature. Means she didn’t have with her. What she did have was the hatchet, which she could still use to at least get the monster away from the woman. 

She sunk it on the corpse’s back, grimacing as the flesh posed more resistance than expected. The creature felt nothing, again. With some effort, Nicole pulled to remove the hatchet and struck again, aiming for the shoulder. The figure let go of the woman as a result, attention turning back to her. That was something at least. Unaware of the space it had between the two women, the monster staggered, and it took a simple shove for it to stumble face forward onto the ground. “Hold it down for a second, I’ll aim for the head” she shot the woman a fierce look, the adrenaline pumping inside making her sound far more collected than she felt.

Because she was about to— she had to— The body underneath her was about to be— Yes, it was already dead, yes it attacked first, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t human. Or did it, maybe? It was fucking confusing. Nicole didn’t know a lot about many things, but she knew to aim for the head when she had no other way to stop a creature. Decapitation and fire, Leah had taught her, were some of the best defense options against Wicked’s rest dangers. 

Jaw tight, she extended her arms to measure the right spot for the blade to hit. She hovered closer to the back of its head. The easy part. She chopped wood every winter, same logic had to apply, right? Right? It was just…a tougher log. She could do this. She could, she could. Her grip was steady as she raised the hatchet over her head. She tried to go over every correct step in her head. The stance, the distance. She knew this, but logic had no hold on her heartbeat, which was coming up her ears. She spared one last glance to the woman, then back to the corpse. It felt surreal, what she was about to do. It was already dead. Her gaze fixed on the target with more determination. Whatever had woken up this body, it wasn’t their fault, but she had to do this.

Nicole swung, letting gravity do the work for her. The blade whistled only for a second as it sliced through the air. A sharp thump followed. The sound was all she needed to know it was a solid hit. But she couldn’t look at it, it would all become too real. She lifted her weapon, repeating the action once, then twice, jaw clenched so tight it was starting to hurt her teeth. And when she allowed herself one short glance at the end result, she would’ve liked to scream. Release the adrenaline coursing through her. But she couldn't get it out. It was trapped inside her ribcage, stifled by the shock and horror. Her chest heaved, trying to process the skull pinned by the blade, its interiors spilling all over. Underneath her boot, the body had stopped writhing. She looked up at her companion, eyes wide in fear. 

She had a hatchet. This stranger in the graveyard had a fucking hatchet. Inge tried not to assume the worst, but some kind of instinct did kick in — this was a weapon that could be used for decapitation. Had she, somehow, managed to get cornered by a reanimated corpse with a slayer? It would be her luck, wouldn’t it: that she somehow managed to get herself in a situation like this. She continued her struggle, perhaps more frantic now that another weapon was on the scene, and she hoped desperately that it was only meant for the corpse and not her.

But the stranger aimed for the corpse, whose hands seemed to tighten around her throat at the first impact but let go at the second, Inge moving back a step or two as she changed her grip on the knife. Ready for another attack but also looking at what the other was doing. She could just escape and leave her to her own devices, run off in the astral and not look back. It was the cowardly thing to do, certainly, but she’d given into cowardly instincts plenty of times over the past few years. It had kept her alive up until now.

The other was capable, though, the undead thing sprawled on the ground and a command thrown towards Inge who decided to oblige. Adrenaline made her sharp, after all, and once her mind had decided not to run from the situation, she jumped into action. She went down, pressing down a knee on its stomach – and trying not to feel too put off by the rotting flesh beneath her – and pinning down its arms. Her head was spinning, and it wasn’t due to the strange nature of the thing beneath her or the way it had previously gripped her throat, but rather the weapon the other brandished.

She swung it towards it neck and Inge’s head whipped away, unable to look at it. It was pathetic, to be affected by such a thing, and she wished to reject that kind of feeling, but it still pushed its way to the forefront of her mind. That unburied past of her rose, reminding her of the way Sanne had been killed with an axe to the head. There was another sound of the hatchet cracking down and Inge just held on tight to those disgusting arms, wanting to get away from this place, this entire scene and the creature that was dying underneath her. 

It wasn’t like her, it couldn’t be — it didn’t seem to have her kind of cognitive abilities. But it was still something undead that she was helping to kill. With a fucking hatchet. Through beheading. Eventually she whipped her head back, staring at the other and the decapitated thing. Her sunglasses had slipped down now, from the impact and quick movements, and the red glow remained unhidden. Inge let go, stood up and continued looking at the other, trying to gauge what the situation might turn into next as she told herself she wasn’t afraid. This was survival instinct. This was something as stupidly human as what a psychologist might call a trauma response. “Well.” Her voice was strained. She pushed up her glasses. “Good work.” 

Nicole didn’t feel guilty. She didn’t— it was a corpse. A corpse that lunged at two innocent people. Who had tried choking one of them. There was no place for guilt at a time like that. It was already dead before she— killed it again. Her eyes prickled with tears. Must’ve been the intensity of the workout. Yes. Hacking skulls was very different roots or trees. That was something she knew now, apparently. She gritted her teeth. Didn’t feel like screaming anymore, because she feared if she did open her mouth, she might throw up too. 

She noticed the woman rising, slightly disheveled, her sunglasses sliding past her nose. Nicole almost kneeled in case they fell to the ground, but quickly froze in place. Staring back at her were a pair of glowing red eyes. Red eyes. The memories zapped through her, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. A flash of teeth sinking into her neck, the fog making her sick. Weak. Easily preyed upon by that monster. The scent of her own blood filling her lungs when all she wanted was oxygen to keep living. Panic. 

As soon as she dared speak, Nicole raised the hatchet between. A warning. “Don’t touch me” There was no tone to her voice, just air. She was still steadying her breath. Still blocking the noises of the blade smashing flesh. Still shaking from the vice grip she had on her hatchet. Her eyes burned now, unwilling to blink. These monsters were fast. Not once she’d looked at the corpse since she confirmed it was dead. Hadn’t begun thinking of how she’d clean the blade. “Don’t—” she repeated, lowly. She moved backwards, her gaze never leaving the other woman’s while she reached for her backpack. She crouched to pick it up, wielding the weapon again. “Fuck off” she demanded, pointing in the opposite direction. “That way. If I… If—if you try—” If what? She didn’t stand a chance against the vampire last time. The jaguar had to bail her out. And she didn’t want to make her night worse by giving up control to it. But maybe this woman would be deterred from attacking by the fact she had just seen Nicole decapitate a corpse. Maybe she didn’t look as weak as she had the last time she encountered a vampire. Maybe she’d be rational, if that was a thing monsters could be.  

Well, this was unexpected. The person holding the weapon — no, the person who had just undone the head of an undead’s body was the one expressing their fear the loudest. Inge stared at her, dumbfounded and confused. It didn’t usually bother her when people were afraid of her – it was what she required, in a sense, to live – but this was just a little ill-placed. She’d stayed around for the other, had helped her with the act of violence they’d just committed and now, due to presumably her red eyes, she was staring down a hatchet. Her hands raised, defensively, and for once there was no instinct to laugh or quip the situation away.

She stood still, eyes on the other woman and her hatchet — the hatchet she’d proven plenty proficient with. Was he a hunter then, after all? A slayer? But even that would make no sense: a slayer would now that the best way to ground her was to touch her, because now Inge could go any moment she wanted. “I’m not …” She wasn’t sure where that sentence was going. Her mind whirled and she tried to find the source of the miscommunication. But her mind only saw the hatchet, the decapitated undead thing between them and the threats being made. Her mind singled in on the risk and the fact that she was being given an out.