Arc II, Chapter 21: Strander Blake

The ghosts on the far side of the river were difficult to make out. Like the armless ghost that I had seen while playing the Ten Second Game, they almost looked like they were placed in the scene so that they would be hard to see at first glance. It was like the world’s creepiest game of I Spy.

I spy a legless Civil War-era soldier crawling behind a bush. I spy a woman staring at us from behind a dead tree. I spy a man holding his own head in the shadows.

The only way I could really make them out properly was on the red wallpaper, which showed them plainly in their broken forms. I had expected them to be like J.T. Guzman, but it appeared they were a different “type” of ghost in the context of this story.

Their Be Our Guest trope spelled out that they were border enemies meant to keep us from wandering off. They were not the primary antagonist.

That was little comfort as the ghosts seemed to flood in from across the river.

The NPC that had been with Sidney was dragged back into the forest in the distance. He screamed the entire time. I couldn’t make out which entity was doing it. Perhaps they all were. They were acting as one unit, stopping us from venturing too far.

Sidney and The Stranger made it to shore and embraced each other. Their reunion was cut short as the ghosts kept coming.

Bobby was already dragging Antoine away from Kimberly’s broken body while he protested. “I’ve got to bring her body back!”

Isaac was tearfully leading the pack. I joined the caravan as we moved further up the mountain. Dina was already out of sight.

The ghosts gave chase, but never abandoned their game of hide and seek. I never saw one break into a sprint or actually move. I just saw the group “flood” forward as new ghosts came into view in the scenery. It was more of a hike through a haunted forest than a proper Chase Scene, though that status was lit.

Sidney held The Stranger’s hand and pulled him up the mountain behind her. In her other hand, she still carried the vanity mirror by its wooden leg.

“I knew you were alive,” he said tearfully.

“Dad… Everyone else is dead. I didn’t mean for any of this.”

“I know you didn’t. Neither did I. We just have to make it back to the suite. Everything will be okay.”

I didn’t hear the whole conversation. They did a lot of back and forth, giving Carousel all of the stuff it needed to stitch together its reunion scene.

Antoine eventually interrupted.

“What’s the mirror for?” he asked, his voice cracking from either physical or emotional pain. One of us had to.

Sidney looked down at the object in her hand. “It confuses them,” she said. “They don’t like seeing it.”

I had other questions. Too many questions.

“Why did we have to cover the mirrors?” I asked. “The rules for the Ten Second Game said we had to.”

Sidney shook her head. “I don’t know. I assumed it was because they were like windows, that spirits could pass through them. We had no idea what we were getting into.”

Mirrors had to have something to do with the whole ordeal. Kimberly’s strange encounter in the bathroom had established that. Of course, we may have simply avoided that whole storyline by not following it up. That didn’t bother me any, but it did leave unanswered questions.

The ghosts stopped following us as we arrived yet again back at the field downhill from the suite.

The window was open again.

“Careful,” I said. “It could be a trap.”

The dark figure was nowhere to be found. That was worrying.

“Even then,” Antoine said. “I’d rather be trapped in the house than free out here.”

That was something to consider.

We waited for a beat. I was right to suspect the worst.

J.T. Guzman, our dead spectral friend, stepped out from beside the window. He wasn’t quite himself. Thin black threads impaled his pale skin. I could barely make it out. Even at this distance, I could see his fear.

Stolen story; please report.

He stepped out of the window and began walking toward us.

“Help!” he screamed. “It’s after me.”

We huddled together. We weren’t going to outrun him. Even if we did, the story wasn’t going to move forward that way. We had just been corralled up in this direction.

Antoine, despite his injury, took the lead. He supported himself on his bat, but he was ready to wield it at a moment’s notice. Whatever good that would do.

“Just let us go!” he screamed. “What do you want?”

Suddenly, J.T. stopped screaming. It was like something took control. He went from a yelling spirit caught in a trap to a puppet.

“You didn’t fall for it, huh?” J.T. said. They weren’t his words though. It wasn’t even like he was possessed. It was more like he was being held at gunpoint and forced to say the line.

J.T. stopped talking. He moved his mouth, but the entity controlling him was speaking from behind him.

“I just wanted to play,” he said. “I saw some kids talking to ghosts and thought that looked like fun. I have an interest in the subject. I think you can tell. I always liked ghost stories. This one is a bit cliché, though, right? I practically know the script by heart.”

He laughed. He was going full meta in the way that a Film Buff was supposed to. I hadn’t done it often because I was afraid of breaking the fourth wall too hard. This person didn’t care.

“Some kids find a game that lets them talk to the dead. Spooky stuff. A jump scare or two, sure. But you better run from the blue light. Remember that part of the rules? Who knows what that’ll do? Best not ever test it. I could have waited for you to find your way back in the house, but I decided against it.”

He laughed again. As he did, a withered arm slowly reached out from behind him. It was holding an ornate blue lantern. The arm was pale and atrophied.

J.T. turned. As he did, the owner of the arm came into view and J.T. disappeared.

The figure before us might have been a man once, but now, it was a disfigured wraith beyond recognition. He wore loose clothing and a hood. His feet were bloody stumps. The figure was twisted and ancient as if it were arthritis incarnate. Groans came from the man’s mouth. It was like he was trying to talk but was unable.

Lantern Bearer (Wraith)
Plot Armor: 55		__________
Tropes
Fate Worse Than Death	This entity does not want to kill its victims, though, in the end, they will wish it had. Victims are Written-Off instead of killed.
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