And then the pressure of the lights was gone. Jack cautiously opened his eyes. The hole was closed, the shovel was jammed into the dirt mound, the bloody scene was ever present, and there was a petite woman in a black dress and a veil standing before him. He was on his eyes, stuck in the position, bent to her will, perhaps? Her pale face was expressionless, but her pale green eyes spoke volumes of her anger and rage.
His body was paralyzed, but Jack found he could still speak. “Who are you?” he asked the most basic of questions. He wanted answers, and, in this situation, he wanted them now.
The petit woman, Jack assumed she was the Burning Blair ghost, said nothing. She glided up to Jack and growled, “You are not him… You are an intruder still. You come in, treat my home as a play ground, and you have blood on your hands**
*What’re you..?” Jack looked down at his hands, they were soaked in blood. A pool of blood circled his knees. He did*’t understand how he did*’t notice this earlier. But this blood wasn’t his, then who’s…?
“You are not him,” she repeated. “But you are still a bad man, and you deserve to die… Jennifer Stone died so I could avenge her. And if that means killing other bad men in the process…”
It was obvious then, this woman was the ghost of the forest. Jack thought, maybe, he could work out some kind of deal with her. “Ma’am, please, wait,” pleaded Jack. He needed to stall her as much as he possibly could. “I believe we share a common enemy; a common cause, even,” The Spirit stopped. “I’m trying to avenge the death of Jennifer Stone.”
The Spirit stood still. For a few moments she prodded through Jack’s mind, looking for reason to not believe him. But there was none. She was displeased with his validity. “You are telling the truth, but I won’t help you. Who sent you?”
“The Royal One.”
09-Sep-2010 02:11:27