38. The Most Ridiculous Séance in the History of Séances #3
Liam either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t want to. His voice comes broken, ravaged. “Where are you? Jem, are you happy? Are you okay? What happened to you?”
“I have to close this,” I tell him. “It’s not him, Liam. It’s something tricking you.”
Liam’s fingers dig sharp into my hand. “No. No, don’t do it. Jem! Jem, tell me what happened. Please, Archer, no. Not yet.”
“It hurts too much,” the voice cries out, the sound echoing around the room, coming from near, then far, like it’s got in here with us already.
There’s a small and hurt sound from Liam’s throat. “Who does? Where are you? How can I help you?”
“You need to let me in,” the thing begs.
“That’s not your brother,” Simon cuts in. “Archer, close it.”
I’m already pouring my energy into it, visualising the light rising up, shutting the gateway that’s letting this thing talk.
“They hurt me…” The voice is so close. Too close. Right by my ear. Right between me and Liam.
I almost turn my head. But I can’t. That’s what it wants. To distract me. To stop me closing this. To let them all through. I have to concentrate.
Liam’s grip is so tight it hurts, but he has enough inner strength to go on—to hold the circle complete and never flinch away. “Tell me who killed you. Tell me, and I swear it on my life, I’ll get them for you. I’ll have them found, and I will get revenge.”
His words scare me, but not half as much as the ones that answer.
“There’s only one way to help…”
“Stop talking to it, Liam!” I force out. But every word’s a fight, risking losing this energy flow.
This is bad. This is so bad. I know what it wants. The vortex is almost closed. I’m pushing it back. Back. But this thing has found its way in. And I can’t stop it. It’s all around us, a malevolent thing. A thing that whispers and whines on the air, calling to Liam, “Help me. It hurts where I am.”
“What can I do?” The tears in Liam’s voice are visceral. “Just tell me what to do!”
Clear as day, whispered harshly, just on the other side of Liam: “Let. Me. In.”
Panic makes the greater part of my power. It’s a heartbeat, a loud and vicious one, and I fling my arms up, snapping the gateway closed, locking all of them out, closing this séance early, consequences be damned.
A shout comes from Fabian, a cry of fear from Liam. He falls back against me, scrambling to get away from the green and mottled face that leers at him from the foot of the table, human-like but not human and so wrong in every aspect of its existence.
“Get the fuck away from him!” I shout, scrambling to get an arm in front of him, hide him away from it.
“They hurt me,” it repeats, scrambling around the table to get to him. But this time it speaks in a new voice. A child-like voice, a cruel sneer ripping long across its scarred and filthy face, the sound a parody of its former mimicry of Jem.
It lurches forward, snatching at Liam. I act without thought, curling a fist, slamming my arm out long with all the force I can muster.
It connects. A dank squishiness meets my knuckles, foul, then bone. Or something that feels like bone. I knock it back, sending it reeling onto the floor where it lands in a heap.
Its head twists a full one hundred and eighty degrees, staring back at me with wide and bright orange eyes. No smile now, just the violence of teeth and a growl that shakes my core. It coils, readies, springs.
This time, Liam’s ready. He throws a punch straight at the creature’s face, and everyone, even Simon, gasps as Liam’s hand moves straight through the thing, as it keeps on its trajectory, landing on top of me. Its claw-like fingers scratch at my neck. I kick a leg out by instinct, knocking it off.
“I’m gonna shoot it!” Liam shouts, pulling the gun from his pocket. “Simon, look away!”
My heart’s instantly thumping for an entirely different reason than being attacked by random hell spawn. Liam, even now, thinking of gun-triggered Simon. Who, as it goes, has disappeared entirely, leaving Fabian on the sofa, watching one scene after another as if it’s a late-night horror movie.
But the thing doesn’t care about him. Or about me either now. It’s locked onto Liam.
And Liam has his gun pointed straight at it.
“Shoot!” Fabian shouts.
Liam doesn’t make a move. He stares the thing down, then, in a deep and heart-rending tone, he asks, “Do you know my brother?”
The question breaks my heart. Liam’s smart. Liam knows the answer already. I know he does. But that hope, that cloying hope, still pulls at him. Still makes him try.
The grotesque lips pull back, a growl reverberating around the room. It leaps. And Liam sets off a blast of plasma that lights the room, connecting with the creature’s head and blowing it into a million little pieces.
Brown-green matter flies everywhere. All over us, all over the floor, the ceiling, the chandelier. Clumps land on every possible surface.
For a moment, we all just stand there, staring at the smoking mess of what’s left of the thing.
Then Simon materialises, taps his ghost cigarette onto a mound of filth, and says, “I told you not to do it.”
“Kraa!” shouts Edgar.
“A lot of help you both were,” I snipe at them.
“Wait,” Fabian pipes up. “Can you punch ghosts, Archer?”
“Hey, yeah,” says Liam, swivelling around to grin at me. “You totally just punched that ghost.”
“It’s a necromancer thing,” I admit, trying to not feel too bashful beneath Liam’s impressed gaze.