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Miles and Stretch had originally devised a plan to forcibly open a coffin they had found in the village’s ancestral hall, hoping to trap the ghost rumored to reside within. Yet, as they prepared for this endeavor, an unexpected twist occurred: the coffin began to creak open all by itself.
A soft, almost mournful cough emanated from within, sending a chill down their spines.
The wooden lid inched upwards from the inside, creating a narrow gap. As the duo stared in disbelief, a pale hand, devoid of any color as if it had never seen sunlight, slowly emerged from the darkness of the coffin.
All clues indicated one terrifying realization: the ghost was making an attempt to free itself.
Miles’s face contorted with concern, his eyebrows knitting together. “What’s going on?” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. Based on his earlier interactions with the ghostly inhabitant of the coffin, Miles had believed the ghost was hesitant to leave its confines. During a previous attempt to open the lid, the ghost had clung to the inside of the coffin with such force that it prevented any outside interference. Why would it now willingly seek to venture out?
Stretch, his skin pale with terror, turned towards Miles. “What’s our next move, Miles?” he inquired, his voice shaky.
Raising a hand to signal quiet, Miles tried to instill confidence. “Keep your cool. We ventured here with the intent of confronting this ghost. It doesn’t really matter if it’s sooner rather than later. Fetch my body bag; we’ll try to trap it that way.”
Nodding, Stretch tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He bent down to retrieve the body bag they had brought along and laid it beside them.
As the lid shifted further open, a fascinating yet terrifying spectacle occurred: Miles’s own shadow seemed to come alive, elongating rapidly and positioning itself alongside the coffin. This animated shadow, with arms stretching out like tendrils from the earth, stood ready to assail the emerging ghost, poised to dismember it the moment it showed itself.
The atmosphere grew even more tense as another muted cough broke the silence. A second hand, just as pallid as the first, surfaced, placing itself on the coffin’s slowly moving lid.
With both ghostly hands now pushing from the inside, it was clear that the ghost, or perhaps even a ghostly figure resembling a human, was about to rise.
Stretch gritted his teeth, murmuring a quiet curse. Their moment of reckoning was imminent, and there was no turning back. Thıs text ıs hosted at novel⟡fire.net
The sinister tattoo of a malevolent spirit on Stretch’s back was slowly stirring to life. A strange sensation coursed through him, reminiscent of an entity trying to break free from the confines of his skin.
Silent prayers fluttered through their thoughts, a plea for the evil spirit not to be overwhelmingly powerful and to be something they could manage. They were all too aware that if the spirit proved too much for them, this might very well be where they met their demise.
Inside the ancient coffin, the individual began to rise, using the lid for support. As he sat up, half of his body became visible. It was a man, his skin a deathly pale shade, giving the impression he had been dead for some time. His eyes, wide open, bore an agonized and tortured expression, telling tales of unimaginable pain and desolation.
Miles was poised, ready to confront whatever emerged from the coffin, but he paused, taken aback by what the man was wearing. To his astonishment, the man who was resurrecting from the coffin was dressed in the official attire of a City Head.
“Miles, why the delay?” Stretch inquired, anxiety evident on his face as sweat formed on his brow.
“Hold on,” Miles responded, signaling Stretch to stay put, his eyes fixed on the man. “We mustn’t rush.”
The man, dressed in the City Head uniform, looked uncannily like Frank, Spear City’s premier ghost tamer and the one who documented the mysterious occurrences of Yellow Hill Village.
“Frank? Is that you?” Miles ventured, waiting with bated breath for an answer.
It was known that Ghost Tamer Frank had mysteriously vanished in Yellow Hill Village. Common sense dictated that a missing ghost tamer would likely be dead after a few months with his body decayed beyond recognition. Yet, astonishingly, someone resembling Frank was now emerging from this cryptic coffin. This baffling revelation made Miles question whether Frank was really dead or if he was now some sort of ghostly entity.
Miles knew he had to determine the truth.
“You shouldn’t have tried to rescue me,” the figure finally spoke, turning towards them. His eyes seemed to be swimming in a sea of pain, their sparkle dimmed by suffering. A weak cough escaped his lips.
Miles was even more intrigued.
Can this really be Ghost Tamer Frank, not some vengeful spirit impersonating him?
“What’s happening? Ghosts can talk now?” Stretch’s voice wavered, his bewilderment palpable given the unexpected turn of events.
Miles maintained his stance, his silhouette ominously hovering near the coffin, prepared to act when necessary.
“Is it truly you, Frank? I’m Miles, from HQ.”
Recognition flickered in Frank’s hazy eyes. “I’m aware of who you are. I’ve known since you set foot in the village. You should never have come, and you definitely shouldn’t have attempted to rescue me. Given my condition, I’m not worth the significant effort HQ put into saving me. Your involvement will only complicate things further.”
Miles’s eyes narrowed slightly, a change in his demeanor evident. “Save you?” he questioned, his voice low.
Was their mission here in Yellow Hill Village not as straightforward as it seemed? Were they not here to neutralize a menacing spirit but rather to save a comrade, the ghost tamer named Frank, who had become entrapped within the village’s eerie confines?
This new revelation prompted a thought. Could the incessant coughing that echoed throughout the village, a sound that had unnerved them since their arrival, have originated from Frank?
Was Frank the so-called ‘Sick Ghost’ they’d been hearing about?
“Do you really think we willingly came to this forsaken village without any idea of what awaited us? We were kept entirely out of the loop. Tell me, Frank, was it you who was coughing all over the village?” Miles inquired, a touch of frustration in his voice.
The company should have been more transparent if this was a rescue operation. They had been sent in blind, without any valuable information.
Frank nodded, fatigue evident in his eyes. “Yes, it was me. For reasons I cannot explain right now, I was bound to this coffin. I tried sending you warnings through various means, urging you to leave. But as darkness fell, the village became inescapable.”
“I purposely produced those coughs, hoping to rally all the ghost tamers scattered throughout the village to unite against the primary malevolent spirit. It was our best shot. But my intentions were misunderstood. As ghost tamers got isolated and eliminated one by one, the dominant ghost grew in power. With every loss, the balance shifted further in its favor. By the time you returned here, the main ghost had nearly taken full control of the village, rendering me powerless to help.” Frank looked somberly at both Miles and Stretch. “Given the power it amassed, it’s a miracle you both survived the night. A night where the ghost of death loomed large, even for someone of our profession.”
Miles’s frustration boiled over. “If you had all this information, why not convey it clearly? Those coughs – what were they meant to signify? You can speak, can’t you? Why not emerge from the coffin and communicate directly with us?”
“We were left defenseless and on the brink of destruction. And that old woman’s cough? Was it another cryptic clue?”
He paused, taking a deep breath, “Or were you trying to lead us astray on purpose?”