#shallow waters...

Unearthing the box from under his bed, Eric begins to flick through some of the books he doesn’t remember picking up. Beautifully handwritten, drawings framed by the delicate cursive. A woman emerging from a lake, wrath from the water drowning those who crossed it, fish with perfectly human eyes and teeth. Less of a fairytale and more of a nightmare. Alone in the family house that held only two instead of seventeen, he quietly reads aloud to no one besides himself. Passages about the goddess and her disciples, morally grey and flowing into every water source they find. Making him cover the bottle of water beside him in unfounded paranoia.

Drip... drip... drip...

That was the sound of the leaky roof in a family barn that hadn't been properly taken care of since the death of the woman who owned it. A small puddle had formed in the far corner of the room, several feet behind Eric as he reads the passages in the book about a vengeful river goddess and her loyal disciples, enacting punishments on those that crossed her.

Drip...

Somewhere, an unidentifiable gust of wind whispers for Eric to stop. Barely audible over the quiet sound of him reading. It's almost as if something, or someone, doesn't want him to hear the warning. As if Eric was doing something wrong, but there was somebody that was trying to prevent him from stopping. Somewhere else, a man in a deep plum suit was interrupted from a gory mess that he was making with a particularly cruel victim, the unfamiliar internal tug snapping him out of his sadistic trance. The tug is almost overwhelming, making the man hastily clean up his victim's bloody mess and look at his hands. They were... fading away? His hands were slowly turning transparent.

Drip.

Suddenly, Eric was not the only one in the room anymore. Daniel Rivers was standing in the puddle at the other end of the room, dark eyes scanning the shadowy room in search of why the fuck he was here and not in his victim's house. He sees a rather short man on the other side of the room, narrowing his eyes at the sight of the book in the other man's hands... was that...? Of course it was. Daniel didn't know how this idiot got ahold of it, but now he had summoned the spirit here for whatever reason, and that was unfathomably annoying. He began approaching the man who had summoned him.

Drip... step. Drip... step. Drip... step.

Today was terrifying, and not just because it was his first day of teaching since being transferred, but he had to go through the whole process of getting students to like him again. Oliver’s sure he prepared more activities than he needed, but he tells himself that it’s essential. Setting rules and expectations for the year had his mind being eaten away by a voice in his head that kept telling him to be stern, but not too stern. What does that even mean? Other than one or two unsavory comments towards the end of class, he’s relieved he managed to live through the class in general. The bell rings, and he stays behind to reorganize a few stray materials and put them back into their designated area. He just wished he had more time with the students, to have been able to get them more accustomed to his presence. God forbid he’ll end up only referred to as the british one.

His class had been late today, and before he could ask where they had been, he saw the paint on their hands, some on their clothes, a few of the students carrying drawings or sculptures. Art class. Figures. Oliver was just relieved to know the reason they were late wasn’t because they didn’t want to come for some reason. Watching the clock tick didn’t help his anticipation, but he let it slip for the time being. Would he really give himself a bad rap by pointing it out? He’d rather speak about it to the teacher responsible.

Slumping back in his chair once he’s sure he finished up everything, he looks down at his plan for tomorrow’s lesson resting on the table in front of him. Van Gogh, Da Vinci, Picasso… at least he’s sure he’ll have their attention if they all adore that sort of craftsmanship. Oliver slips off his coat and lets it hang over the chair behind him, listening to the last few footsteps of teachers and staff beginning their departure back home.

— @lost-soul-in-time

Daniel had been teaching at this high school for a long time. Almost eight years now? Sure, maybe they wasn't a long time for most teachers, but for an artist his age, any job lasting longer than a week or two was considered a long time. He got along well with his students, making sure to put the effort into helping each and every one of them succeed in his classroom, even if art wasn't something that initially caught their eye. He let the students vent to him and allowed them ask for extensions in his class, even going as far as to make excuses for them when they were caught wandering the halls instead of attending classes. He wanted them to get a better experience in high school than he did, after all, constantly getting into arguments with the teachers until eventually getting fed up with the screwed up educational system dropping out during his sophomore year. Obviously he'd ended up getting his GED, along with a degree in teaching, otherwise he wouldn't be here... but still, he wanted to help these students enjoy being kids for a little longer before they were forced into adulthood after graduating.

After the bell had rung and indicated that the classes were over, Daniel excitedly picked up a sculpture he'd made of an elk skull with a pair skeletal hands reaching out of its eye sockets, the clay painted with bright shades of red and orange, along with pocketing a lighter and a joint in the pocket of his long purple cardigan. Sure, bringing a joint to a new teacher might have been a little risky, but Daniel was pretty sure the principal had smelled the skunk-like smell plenty of times after walking by his classroom after class, it wasn't like he was actually at risk of losing his job for smoking weed here.

Besides, the little bit he'd heard about the new teacher from the students throughout the day, was that he was an obviously nervous tall man named Mr. Ahlborn. Maybe he could use a hit off the joint or two, just to ease his nerves. There was an official introduction for him at a board meeting about a week ago, but Daniel had honestly been too stoned to actually remember anything from that meeting... okay, maybe Daniel had a slight problem. He just figured that added to their quirky nature, however, so the artist likely wasn't going to try fixing it anytime soon.

At first, she thought maybe it was a blown pipe - it wasn’t an absurd thought, considering the low temperatures; then, perhaps, a clog. But no matter what plumber she hired, they all insisted that there was nothing wrong, that it must’ve been some sort of bad luck, if anything.

Overall, she just wanted it over with. And when an old friend that had experienced something similar recommended an exorcist, Riley just gave in. What else was she to do?

Daniel Rivers was her last resort.

It had been a boring past couple of weeks, seeing as nobody had any ghostly endeavors they needed taken care of... Of course, that didn't mean Daniel had a shortage of customers for his other job, but he had other interests than murder and intricate torture methods. Finally, when a young woman named Riley reached out about a mysterious leak in her house, the spirit had practically leapt at the opportunity.

Putting on a pair of rounded black sunglasses and his beloved purple suit alongside a black turtleneck, he brought his satchel of exorcism equipment and drove to her home with stars in his colorless irises.