Page 15 of Dead Vengeance

“When you say you tried to take care of it yourself,” says Raul, eyes scanning the rafters overhead, “what exactly do you mean?”

“Oh.” Archer laughs again, but this time a tinkling, self-deprecating sort of laugh. “Nothing much. Prayers and sage, that sort of thing. Stuff I found on the internet. I don’t know anything about ghosts, obviously.”

“Hmm. So you’ve said,” mutters Raul. There’s something in his tone. Something that sounds almost accusatory. And I personally don’t think it’s a great idea to antagonise the very nice but evidently deranged homeowner.

Archer’s eyes narrow on him. He’s noticed it too. So before either of them can speak again, I interject, “What kind of things have you been… seeing… in your home?”

A sharp sound taps on the window, and all three of our faces snap across.

That strange raven, its beak against the glass…

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Archer’s hand falls flat on the table, splayed wide, with an odd pressure, like he’s trying to pause something or slow a negotiation. “This isn’t the time,” he says. It’s quiet, under his breath. Then, looking over his shoulder towards the stairs, he repeats, louder, “This isn’t the time,” as if there’s someone there that he’s talking to.

My eyes, like Raul’s, fly to the dark stairwell. Almost imperceptibly, it darkens a little more.

I’m sure of it. I’m sure it’s…

Some shadowy something seeps into the room. Over the floorboards, the wallpaper, the ceiling, a dulling of every surface, inch by inch.

Archer’s up, moving to stand in front of it as it creeps closer, closer.

Raul’s standing a second later, his hand on his gun.

And me… I don’t even move. I can’t. I’m transfixed. It’s something I’ve never seen before—something real. Something…

No. It must be a trick of the light. It has to be.

But Archer looks worried, and his reaction is sending alarm bells through every inch of my body.

“Stop right there,” he says in a firm, clear voice.

And it does. It’s darkness, actual creeping absence of light. But it listens to him, and it stops.

My heart is absolutely hammering in my chest, even as I’m scanning the room for the light trick that could make this possible. My ears are straining for the sound of his accomplice, moving around in the recesses of the house, playing this grand prank.

But all I hear is Raul’s careful step, pressing down on one of those ancient floorboards, setting off a chain reaction that makes the antique chandelier overhead tinkle. The light glints sharply, throwing half a dozen little white spots down onto his hand, which moves slow and calculated, pulling the gun from his pocket.

“Kraa!” screams the bird.

As if he understands, Archer turns fast. His eyes drop straight to the weapon, then flare with anger. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Raul brings it up with two hands, pointing it at the stairs. “Out of the way, Mr Gravely, I’ve—”

“Not on your life,” says Archer, stepping boldly in front of the gun.

The whole thing’s like a play, some tragedy being acted out in front of me. Some drama that seems to have no place or need for me. Only I can see it in my mind’s eye already, whatever is in that weird gun blasting into Archer’s chest because this asshole Raul really believes in ghosts, and that they’re ‘perpetrators’ who he’s been sent to arrest.

My chair scrapes back, and I’m on my feet. Before I know it, I’ve taken my place by Archer’s side, hands raised like his. “Raul, put the gun down.”

“Are you insane?” he cries. “That’s a ghost, Liam. That’s a fucking ghost right there. We came here to kill ghosts.”

“I never said you could kill it!” Archer shouts.