Shadow Spectrum

Chapter 2 - Echoes of Lost Smiles

"Bravo, what's your status?" I called out into my radio with a strained voice. It was just myself and one other team member in a dark abandoned building at a desolate ghost-town village. "Zeke, you picking up anything?" I asked my fellow team member.

"Negative, Chief," he responded, "It's been radio silence since both Alpha and Bravo entered the kitchen area."

"Okay, follow me and cover my six," I instructed.

Following behind, Zeke covered our rear as we moved slowly towards the kitchen. My heart rate felt as though the rhythm had increased in velocity. Each beat felt as if it would burst through my chest against my tactical vest. Something was wrong! Finger tips became cold under my gloves as fear began to embrace me. My breath was long, but shaky with each inhale followed by a quick and forced exhale.

Approaching the door leading into the kitchen area both Zeke and I stacked up against the door. Grabbing the doorknob with one hand, I took lead with my other hand holding my gun towards the door.

One tap, I felt Zeke signaling me on the shoulder. Second tap, streaks of cold sweat ran down my face. Third tap, I twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. Both of us rushed into the darkness, complete black, muffled gunshots ringing in my ears until I opened my eyes.

It was just a dream. An old one. It's like I said, the nightmares never end. Instead they're like a relentless reminder of all the things that we fucked up in life. Speak of fucked up, words don't translate the next shithole I found myself in. Yes, we're still in the UK, just on the outside of Essex. A nice countryside mansion. That is if it weren't a dump.

The smell of mold and dust overpowered my nose as I woke up. This place is what we would call a Class C Haunting Site, meaning a haunting is present however the ghouls and ghosts aren't actively trying to catch your attention. What, you think a haunted mansion is scary? The only thing scary about old haunted places is the asbestos exposure you get. I should remind you asbestos can cause mesothelioma, which at any rate I'm leaving if I see any signs of asbestos.

But, as to why I'm sitting here twiddling my dick with my thumb up my ass you might be wondering, the next piece of the puzzle has led me here. However the next clue is not here. Instead, since my employers the Shadow Spectrum Division of the CIA is funded by the Illuminati our connections go further than the UN. The Illuminati has contacts with other secret societies throughout the world. Finally one of these societies had a hit, and of all of them we received word from the Roman Centurion Conclave, or the RCC for short.

Not to turn this into Sunday morning Sermon, but the RCC was founded by Pontius Pilate and the centurions that crucified Jesus. So they hammered him to a cross and some crazy shit happened after Jesus died. The exact details were lost throughout history, but the moral of the story is that the Romans realized they fucked up when they crucified Jesus. Yeah, you heard all shit they teach about salvation and how Jesus died for our sins. But what they don't teach in Sunday School is that when his blood spilled on the ground, as he took his last breath the veil between our world and others opened and all kind of shit came through.

I see you don't believe me. How do you think Hollywood and the music industry got so successful? It's full of demons, or those that had made pacts with demons. Sure, there are lots of demons living among us, some even coexist and want to be left alone. And there are some that are bigger assholes than the ones willing to play ball. But if you're wondering, no Justin Bieber is not a demon. Hell claims they have no part in the Bieber Fever. But enough about demons, in time you'll learn more about them and how they operate in our world.

Back to the topic on hand, I'm here at this mansion waiting for one of the centurions, and of all of them I'm waiting on Saint Longinus. The immortal man of the hour, the very same that speared Jesus and got his blood all over his face and is now immortal. Although he no longer goes by that name, instead he's known as Giorgio Olivieri. But one would think that someone as old as he is would have a better sense of punctuality. But, no. I'm still sitting here almost ready to fall back asleep from the boredom.

At any rate I chose to stand up, a good stretch to pop every vertebrae in my spine. My fedora hat sitting on the coffee table ahead of the couch I was just napping on, my leather briefcase against the couch. Yeah, you might be wondering how it is that I could sleep in a haunted site, try spending months living with the Northern Alliance of Afghanistan in a small outpost overrun by the Taliban. You do that, the sound of annoying ghosts has nothing on constant gunfire and explosions.

At first there wasn't much in the mansion, just the normal footsteps upstairs, the light orbs floating in the dark, the soft rattling of cabinets. But then as I walked to a standing mirror, I saw her. While I was straightening out my necktie in front of the mirror, I saw her behind me through the reflection. Her skin was pale, porcelain white skin with raven black hair. Unlike most apparitions her details were vivid. From her emerald green eyes that stared at me, watching me, observing me. Piercing my soul.

She was standing there in the corner like something out of a cliche horror movie. Skinny body in a white nightgown, barefoot and deathly grim look on her face as she continued to stare at me with a condescending look of disappointment as she began to approach me. One step after another, a seductive sway of her small hips with each step. Even her breasts, though not large at all made her her more seductive with the look on her face as she walked closer.

A look as if she were daring me to let her in closer as her eyes seemed to size me up from top to bottom, then back up again as she looked at me through the reflection of the mirror. Her long black hair straight and silky as they hung down the sides of her face while she bit her lower lip, a ghostly pale pink lip. My heart raced as she approached, but for some reason I felt almost frozen. Ensnared in her charm. Perhaps any normal man would succumb to her charm, but it took my full willpower to break free. I reached towards my hip and drew my pistol as I spun around. Looking down the sights, finger on the trigger, safety swept to fire only to see she was gone.

Just when I thought it was the end of it, the mansion came to life. The sound of chains rattling echoed in the hallway with the agonizing screams of pain, "Please! He won't let us rest," said a voice.

I moved from where I was towards the hallway leaving my stuff in the room I napped in. Every mirror, each reflection off any glass surface, faces of the past begged my help. The cries began to scream even louder the more I stepped into the hallway. Then all the doors shut and I felt something grab me by my feet. I was dragged across the hallway as only a single door opened which I was pulled into it. The door shut behind me trapping me inside. A creepy fucking room filled with ceramic dolls. Old broken dolls, like faces of lost smiles destroyed by time. Perhaps that's what this place was, a mansion of lost smiles. Echoes of the past that can't move on.

"It's been a long time," said a female voice.

It was then that I saw those ghostly white feet walking around me. I looked up as saw her looking down at me, the pale woman with black hair. She had this look on her face, again a condescending expression. But there was something more to it like she wanted to see more. I stood up with my gun drawn at her, but she didn't flinch. Of course she didn't, she's a ghost stuck in a haunted mansion.

"You don't remember me do you?" she said looking into my eyes.

Ghosts, spirits, or whatever you want to call them are blinded by the past. She probably looks at me and sees someone else; maybe an old lover. Who knows? You're also probably wondering what a gun would do to a ghost. Well, let me answer that for you. In the case of creepy lady here, it takes a lot for spirits to manifest. Even to materialize as she is at this very moment to be able to touch me, caress my chest as she traced her fingers across my shoulder then along my arm. If I were to shoot her, then that would disrupt her manifestation. It won't stop them, but they do come back a lot more pissed off afterwards.

But that wasn't the only reason I didn't pull the trigger. Instead there was an allure to her that I struggled to resist. Her fingertips were cold, but soothing. She pulled my left hand away from my right and continued to caress my forearm as she pressed her head against my shoulder. Her hair had a fragrance, an exotic and seductive blend of jasmine with bitter orange. There was something more to the way her scent carried. The smell of berries and chocolate. She felt so familiar to me. I almost began to lower my right hand, the hand I wielded my pistol.

"Memento Mori?" she asked while looking up at me suspiciously, "But why would you want to remember death?"

Now I'm thinking, "What the fuck?" because she just read the tattoo I had on my inner left forearm. Memento Mori, a phrase to remind conquerors in Ancient Rome to stay humble because death will come for them. But, more importantly how was she able to read my tattoo? Perhaps she was self aware, an intelligent spirit. But of course the questions would have to wait, the rattling of chains began once again.

"He's coming for you," the pale woman with black hair warned me as she backed away.

The door burst open and lightning flashed outside giving the inside of the mansion brief illumination allowing me a glimpse of the asshole that seems to be running the show. A tall grim looking man, all skin and bones. His face looked as though it was half decomposed and messy grey hair. A victorian era suit, torn and dusty.

He raised an arm to reveal a whip in his hand. "Where is my girl, slave?!" he scowled as he swung the whip at me.

As the whip cracked, it tore a hole on my suit as well as breaking skin. "Fuck you!" I responded as I open fired at him. Three shots, two to the chest and one to the head enough to disrupt his manifestation. But, like I said, they always come back more pissed off. I got knocked over from behind and fell forward. I couldn't see him anymore. Instead the sound of a whip swinging and cracking repeated itself relentlessly. With each crack, a new hole was torn on my suit as well as welts and broken skin. A searing pain that stung with a sharp bite raising my battle stress to the point I began to see red.

Each time I tried to get up on my feet, the lashes of his whip hit harder and harder to the point that I finally couldn't take it anymore. My body went numb, my hearing had become muffled. I wanted to burn this whole fucking house down. I got up and began firing my gun in all sorts of different directions not knowing where he was. But it served little to no effect, instead I was flung outside the room and over the railings. I fell hard from the second story and was dazed as I tried to stand up.

Instead I slipped and fell over again in pain. As I tried to get back up, I felt gentle hands pull me back down. My head was resting on her lap as she caressed my hair. "Shhhhhh," she sushed as she calmed me. Then I heard her hum a sweet melody. It was like as though she was trying to get me to sleep. Perhaps I did, because I remember what happened. That old memory from long ago.

"Zeke!" I yelled in my memory. The desolate village, the abandoned building Zeke and I went into looking for Alpha and Bravo Teams.

I was by myself. Something happened to Zeke. He was next to me one minute and then he was gone. I looked around and couldn't find him, instead I saw these glowing red eyes watching me from the shadows. And then something attacked me, a claw like hand raked across my left arm. I turned to my left only to see a large set of fangs lunging in at me as I fired my assault rifle at it.

Then I woke up again and alone in the middle of the mansion. The pale woman with black hair was gone. The sound of chains rattling continued to echo throughout the halls. I stood up immediately and came to my senses real quick. An angry spirit, or poltergeist is present which means this mansion is now considered a Class A haunting. The supernatural is present and has clear intent to inflict harm.

Luckily I came prepared, my briefcase has all sorts of tools to deal with non-corporeal beings. Occult methods to either banish or cleanse such spirits to wherever they go. I ran back upstairs to the study room that I had left my equipment, but as I entered the room my briefcase was gone. Then I felt each of my wrists locked in shackles as the chains they were attached to pulled my arms up. Yeah, here we go again.

"Do you have anything to say before I punish you?" said the old man as he manifested in front of me.

"Yeah, old man. I do!" I scorned at him.