The Chess

The ghost boy was very handsome. She began to admire his green, soulless eyes as she clutched his strong body in her clawed hands, a reflection of his strong spirit and immeasurably vast soul. "Be with me. Just give me a little time," she wanted to say, to shout. But all that came out of the dragon's fanged mouth was a wild roar accompanied by streams of blue flames. The beautiful spirit broke free from the dragon's strong grip and swiftly ripped the locket from its scaly neck. ― No! ― Pauline opened her eyes abruptly. She was still lying in a warm bath full of fragrant herbs that were supposed to relax her and give her strength. All she had achieved the old grandmother's recipe so far was to awaken painful memories of the lost artifact. The girl took a deep breath, smelling the pungent aroma of wormwood and sweet figs. The dark, viscous scent made her head spin and her heart slow down. She forced herself to calm down, to embrace the old ritual of beauty. One of the many that allowed her grandmother to not only fool a crowd of suitors, but also live to the ripe old age of a hundred. The old woman was happy to share her recipes for creams and lipsticks with her beloved granddaughter, but don't like to tell her bored story of her move from Mexico to the United States that Pauline had to read her own report in class with incredible apathy. The girl sighed again. She tried to focus on the scent, which brought her much-needed peace of mind. After all, stress and nervousness can be extremely aging. However, it was too difficult to stop thinking about the blond ghost—boy who stirred her soul. Her thoughts kept returning to the sweet black-and-white spirit and the dragon medallion, whose power she couldn't control. To the green burning eyes and the otherworldly voice with a light echo. He had no heart. She knew that for sure, but her fingers still remembered the pulsation of power. So bright. Powerful. Indefatigable. ― Oh, if only you'd given me a little more time,― Pauline sighed, sinking back into the fragrant water up to her chin. She had recently seen the spirit boy out of the corner of her eye from the classroom window. So haggard and tired. If she could, she would do anything to feed him with power. To see how green eyes light up with green otherworldly fire. — If only I'd dealt with the locket. Grandma used to say that in a witch's bath, you should think about what bothers you the most. Let those situations pass through you, let go, and rethink them, no matter how painful they may be. The ability to endure difficult moments makes anyone stronger. Pauline thought about the school therapist, an annoying old woman who smelled like a slimy, swampy leech. A parasite that craved her power and blood. She thought about the ghosts that had once taken over her body. And tried to wash away the disgusting feeling of being controlled by someone else, rubbing her thighs with dried flowers soaked in water and tied together with red thread. She wanted to peel her skin off to cleanse herself from the inside out. A thin, stiff twig had gotten under her sore, broken fingernail on her little finger, causing a new flare of pain. She stopped, staring, hypnotized, at the thin, bloody snake rising to the surface of the water from her wounded finger. — I can resist, — she said, pulling a dry twig from under her fingernail. — I've already done it. The surge of confidence was abruptly replaced by despair and heavy thoughts: "What is it like to resist a stroke that hasn't even touched you? Grandmother would call it a dubious achievement, unable to suppress her raspy laughter." My thoughts returned to the dragon locket and its lost power. It was unlikely that a ghost boy would return the artifact to someone like her. He would rather have a dark goth like Manson keep this dark power close to her heart. Spirits probably like gloomy girls like her. Those who wear the colors of the night instead of bright tops, rhinestone dresses, and corsets. Grandmother said she was destined to be a Bruxsa. To seduce weak men and make them do her bidding. To read the future from bird bones and guts, to dance naked and curse every fool who dared to look at her sideways... And to heal wild wolves from the wounds inflicted by hunters. Wild white wolves with piercing green eyes. Pauline plunged into the tub with her head, holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as possible. Black curls of hair gently brushed her face. They curled around my neck like living snakes, affectionate and caring. The warm wave around them created a sense of security. Hid her from the harsh reality in which she was just a schoolgirl. An ordinary girl who couldn't live up to her beloved grandmother's predictions. "Unless I make my own source of power." She opened her eyes abruptly. Through the murky water, she could see the outline of a magpie feather mantle. A black and white work of art. As beautiful as the ghost boy, who so deeply embedded in the heart. The girl sat up in the bathtub, splashing fragrant water onto the tiled floor and wiping the sticky fig leaves from her face. The vision disappeared along with the incredible power she had felt while lying underwater. It was as easy to imagine the weight of the mantle on her shoulders as it was to feel the power radiating from it, filling her to the tips of her fingers and allowing her to soar. She wanted to get closer to the green-eyed spirit, just like she had on the dragon's wings. — Why did you take the amulet from me, my dear, dead, handsome boy? — Pauline lay back on the rubber bath mat, ready to indulge in a pleasant fantasy about her own wings, when someone knocked on the foggy bathroom window from the outside. She raised herself on her elbows almost lazily. Expecting to see behind the cloudy glass the silhouette of the school quarterback, who came to her in search of banal pleasures, to which, as it seemed to the girl, her cute green-eyed spirit would not fall with the same speed as people do. Well, or at least would not be so banal in this aspiration. At least like that nerd Fenton, he would enjoy the sight of her body, and not touch her with dirty hands at every convenient opportunity. The tiled floor felt scorchingly cold after the hot bath. Sanchez, mesmerized by the two small shadows outside the window, climbed out of the bathtub. Streams of fragrant water poured down her body, emitting a steam. Her footsteps left small puddles on the floor, but she didn't mind. She could clean up later. The girl opened the bathroom window, letting in the cool evening air. Two magpies sat on the windowsill, holding a handful of black feathers in their beaks. They looked at Polina with their small, intelligent beady eyes, waiting to see if she would accept their small offering. — I've never sewn before, — her voice was hoarse with excitement as she took feathers from the bird's beak with her wet hands. — But I'll do my best.

***

It was one week before Halloween. Exactly seven days before the time when the supernatural entities would become most active according to Catholic beliefs, and Jack couldn't afford to miss this time. Maddy gave in to him reluctantly. Danny hadn't fully recovered, and she still sometimes woke up to the sound of shuffling footsteps in the hallway. The question of whether Jack's research or their new scandal with him would affect him more was quickly dismissed. It was clear which would have a worse impact. The laboratory had become surprisingly cold. The portal was operating around the clock, sealed by airtight doors, the seam of which was already covered with a barely perceptible layer of frost. It was as if on the other side was the icy lake of Cochise, whose waters were filled with traitors and apostates. The steady electric hum was irritating, causing a terrible migraine. A handful of iron nails crumbled to the floor as Maddy shuddered once again from the blast of cold air. ― Dear, maybe we should de-energize it after all? ― the woman pushed the goggles with red lenses on her forehead and rubbed her eyes wearily. — You know that it takes a lot more power to turn the portal on and off than it does to keep it running, — Jack said, looking up from his work on the anti-ghost belt. — If we turn it off every time, we'll use up more electricity than all our neighbors on the street. Or maybe even the whole neighborhood. — The airtight doors are already covered in frost, — Madi began to collect the nails that had scattered on the floor. — Samhain is coming soon, and according to your predictions, the spirits will become more active. Are you sure the gates will hold up? — It's Halloween, — the man corrected, hissing slightly as a spark from the welding fell on his hand. — Yes, I'm sure. These doors can withstand the Antarctic cold and constant exposure to liquid nitrogen. I see no reason to doubt them. Maddy gripped the nails tightly in her hand, staring at the portal's doors. The metal left rusty marks on her fingers. It was time to discard the nails, but her husband's miserly nature wouldn't allow it. It would be challenging to find new nails made of pure iron instead of alloys. She placed the tools on the table, shaking off the rust from her hands. Her temples throbbed with a dull ache. — Yes, you're probably right, — the woman nervously pulled her goggles off her head and threw them on her desk. Her headache was getting worse, and she felt an unpleasant throbbing in her head. — I need to rest for a while. I'll have some tea and come back. The cold drink made her feel worse. She felt so hot that she was dizzy. Maddy hoped that it was just a common premenstrual headache. She wanted to believe that, and decided to take an aspirin to relieve the pain. "It's just stress," she told herself as she walked up to the bathroom on the second floor. "It's just stress," she repeated as she chewed on the bitter pill and swallowed it without water. Washing my face with cold water and putting my hot head under the tap. Letting the droplets drip down your neck. — It's just stress, — she repeated, wiping her face. — It's just... — The words caught in her throat as she looked up and saw a small doll made of twigs and old yarn that had lost its color over time hanging on the door, on a hook for bathrobes. The bathrobes were lying on the floor in front of the door, carelessly discarded like old rags. The crude imitation of a human being emitted a subtle greenish glow, along with the chill of autumn and the stench of rotting leaves. "I told you I'd show you the doll when I could make it." A child's laughter, barely audible, echoed in the back of her mind. It was a familiar and frightening reminder of her first encounter with a real ghost. "Do you like it?" Maddy forced herself to nod, slowly feeling around her belt pouch. Inside were only tools and, unfortunately, no weapons. According to the rules, Charlotte could not be ignored. You could not be rude or do anything that might upset her. After all, she was such a sensitive little dead girl. "I'm glad! It's so nice," — came a light chuckle and clapping behind her. "It was worth the effort of memorizing route to you." Maddy could barely contain herself when she saw the small, dirty hands with black soil and half-rotten moss under their nails wrap around her waist from behind. The feeling of the dead creature pressing against her made her want to run. Her heart was beating so loudly that it echoed in her temples. Steam escaped from her mouth. The bathroom was incredibly cold. "I liked you a lot back then. Looked a lot like my mom. And now you're almost exactly like her. Hee hee. Will you be my new mom?" The small, thin fingers twitched, as if the ghost was trying to play a melody by pressing invisible keys. With each movement of the ghostly body, its joints creaked and crunched, as if the spirit's body was made of dry tree branches instead of bones and joints. The short, dirty nails grew sharp and long, transforming into predatory claws. — Maddy! — Jack's voice sounded muffled from behind the door, as if the woman's ears had been stuffed with cotton. — You have to see this! "Oh, you've married an executioner after all," the claws tore through the thick fabric of the jumpsuit as easily as if it were made of spider web. "Although, he'll be more fun to play with than the kids." The coldness disappeared abruptly. As soon as the dead girl's hands let go of Maddy's waist, she rushed out of the bathroom, almost knocking Jack over in the process, and slammed the door behind her. — I hope you're done, — Jack said, smiling as wide as he could. His blue eyes were filled with excitement. — Let's go to the lab! The instruments are going crazy! You have to see this! Maddy followed him only because he was pulling her hand. She didn't want to see the readings, because she already knew what had happened.

***

Stumbling over a paint can someone had left on the floor in the hallway, Danny sprawled on the floor. The first thing he did was reach for the thermos on his belt to make sure the lid didn't accidentally open and the slippery electric eel didn't escape, ruining the upcoming Samhain party. He tightened the thermos cup even more before he was yanked up from the floor, roughly grabbed by the back of his shirt collar. A thick puddle of orange paint was spreading across the cheap floor tiles, leaving traces on the teenager's jeans and Dash's white sneakers. A confrontation with the quarterback was not part of the plan, at least not until the adrenaline from the intense chase after the elusive eel had subsided. ― ...Do you have any idea how much this costs?! ― Baxter lifted the teenager by the collar, but Fenton's expression remained unchanged. Perhaps it was the boy's detachment that most infuriated the quarterback. Over time, this peculiar individual simply stopped reacting in the same way as everyone else, and it was infuriating. — Sorry, I missed the beginning, — Danny smiled awkwardly, trying to feel the floor with the toes of his worn-out red sneakers. — What are you talking about? — He was trying to be polite, but his mind was on the idea of disintegrating the bully with his ghostly powers, along with his fancy clothes. — You've ruined my signature sneakers, — Baxter hissed, pulling Danny closer to the floor and his own face. — That's too close for comfort, without feeling like a gay panic, — Fenton said with the same forced smile, turning slightly away from Dash to give his face some personal space. ― Grapes of Wrath! ― only the teacher's familiar voice, which made my ears burn, prevented this confrontation from escalating. ― This is beyond comprehension, gentlemen! I am tired of constantly reporting to Principal Ishiyama about your behavior and the constant fights on school grounds! Dash sighed wearily and a little irritably, letting Danny go. The emotion was so vivid that Ghost could almost taste it. The sourness of rancid milk mixed with sugar made him want to vomit. It was an abomination elevated to the status of an absolute. The quarterback himself seemed to dislike the role of a good student, what he always playing it in front of his teacher. ― Your good fortune, gentlemen, that today I am in a good mood and instead of the standard punishment, which still do not work on you, I will try to redirect your energy into a more peaceful and socially useful direction. I just needed two assistants to decorate room's the traditional holiday in honor of Halloween. — Isn't the exploitation of children as laborers illegal? — Dash asked, just to be sure. — No, if you call it extracurricular activities aimed at improving students' academic performance and behavior, — Lenser's smile seemed even more mocking than usual. — Mr. Lenser, can I just be punished like I usually am? — Danny clutched the thermos tighter with both hands. He had no interest in fulfilling the teacher's whims or helping organize a party for the sad old people who were stuck at the school for the rest of their lives, or longer if they were unlucky enough to encounter Poindexter the gunman. Fenton's plans for Samhain were meticulously planned, and extracurricular activities were not part of his schedule. — Not this time, — Lancer began to write briskly in his notebook. — Put your plans on hold. I'll expect one scary room from each of you by October 31st. — The man tore two pages with an address from his notebook and handed them to the teenagers. — To motivate you to do your best, gentlemen, here's the deal. Whichever room is scarier will not receive additional punishment for their constant fights and occasional absences. — You should have locked me in the locker like you usually do, — Danny muttered, trying to decipher the professor's intricate handwriting. At 117 Maple Street, there was an old house. Once a part of the cultural heritage, it had been neglected for so long that it had become a mecca for those who enjoyed partying and leaving a mess behind at the lowest possible cost. — What's the point of shoving a person into a locker who gets out of it in a second, — Dash stared at the teacher's back for a long, hard moment until he disappeared around the nearest bend in the corridor. — You're fucking Houdini, and you're ruining the thrill of this good tradition. ― Hey, Danny! ― Weston seemed to materialize out of thin air, approaching the boys and pushing his dark glasses to the top of his head, casually catching the strands of his bangs with them. ― Did you manage to get some fish for the woks? May is already looking forward to cooking, she's the best at making noodles. ― Weston seemed oblivious to Baxter, or at least pretended to be. ― Yes, but there's a problem. I don't think we'll be able to organize everything properly. Lancer has assigned me "extra-curricular" work, and the busiest part of it will be on Samhain. We won't be able to host or attend the party. — What kind of party is this? — Dash asked in confusion, trying to join in the conversation. — Oh, come on, — Weston smiled wider than usual, reading the address on the piece of paper in Danny's hand. — We can just move the event to the new building, that's all. — Yeah... I've been assigned to decorate the 'scary' room for our teachers. Even if the students can participate, do you really think it's fun to spend time with people who drain our blood throughout the school year and semester exams? — Danny paused for a moment. It seemed that Wes's idea had reached him as well. Weston's smile widened even further. His white fangs gleamed between his lips. — Aren't you dressed up a little early for Halloween? — Dash pointed to Wes's fangs with an awkward chuckle. — I'm testing the details of the costume in my sock, — Weston casually returned his glasses to his face. — So, shall we meet on Maple Street? — He asked Danny again. — At six o'clock in the evening, — Fenton confirmed. ― I'll send you a diagram of the passage to May's apartment. As soon as you have time, bring her an eel, — said Weston, leaving to attend to his own affairs. With the holidays approaching, there were definitely more of them. — Did you get invited in club? — Baxter asked in surprise, turning his attention back to Danny. — Or are you trying to get in by sucking up to the cool kids, Fentonowski? — No, — Danny replied confidently, already imagining trying new dishes, which made Ghost's stomach rumble. — We don't need to grovel in front of people our own level. It was true, but the chances of Dash believing it were slim to none. The teenager headed out of the school, brushing the paint off his knees. It was much easier to get rid of the dirt stains with his ghostly powers. In fact, a lot of things had become easier since Danny had discovered his abilities.

***

— Dude, is your ghostly sense broken? — Tucker waved away another cloud of cold air that Danny had exhaled for the third time in ten minutes, causing to melt out of ink on the paper. With a nervous sigh, Danny tore up the ruined sketch and threw it into the overflowing trash can. — I don't know, Tak. It only happens at home, and it seems to be caused by my parents' open portal. I'm already dizzy from the constant ghostly hiccups, but my father won't stop his experiments. He believes that something will happen on Halloween, and I'm experiencing this due to my proximity to the Ghost Zone, — he pointed to a new cloud that escaped from his lips. — Have you tried closing the portal yourself? — Tucker waved his friend's icy breath away, ensuring that his thick-rimmed glasses remained clear. — I tried it, — Danny said, sitting on the bed and leaning back against the pillows, watching the frost slowly settle on the blanket. — It caused a fight between my parents. Father thought it was mother's idea. And here we go again... It's like always. — It sucks,― Tucker remarked melancholically, pulling a crumpled one out of the trash and straightening it out. The sketch showed a projected image of the room. Behind the blurred ink spots, one could make out a table in the center of the room, dolls suspended from the ceiling, and a multitude of candles. ― What you didn't like here? Tucker pointed to the crumpled drawing. ― It's too cliché, and the table in the middle of the room won't give you much room to move around. Plus, there will be teachers there. We need to come up with a place and a role for them. The room will only be truly scary for them if you incorporate them into the interior beforehand. ― Danny returned to drawing. ― Maybe we could give them nametags with their blood type information? ― Do you know this information? — Not yet, — Danny smiled, showing Tucker a new sketch that partially resembled Lancer. — But it can be quickly determined during the process. How about it? — Cruel and inhumane. I like it, — he said, waving away the cloud of steam from his friend's mouth. — How have your parents not caught you yet? — I've been eating dinner in my room for the past couple of days, and I don't eat breakfast. But sleeping with this is torture. On top of my sleepwalking, I now have this, — Sam's voice was muffled by the sound of the front door closing. — Maybe you should stay at my home tonight. — The friendly invitation was as casual and spontaneous as always. That's how it was with Tucker. — You can get a good night's sleep. — Aren't you afraid of midnight conversations with ghosts? — Danny sat up in bed, looking at his friend with a sly grin. — You might find out that someone other than me is walking around your house at night. — That's a scary thing to say, — Foley laughed, lightly pushing his friend's shoulder with one hand, while leaning on the back of his chair with the other. Samantha's heavy boots echoed on the stairs. — I was thinking, maybe we could do something in the Dracula style? — Danny suggested, his head back in his notebook. — Old mirrors with silver in them that don't reflect vampires. Bags of donated blood. It wouldn't even take much effort. — The latter is especially in Dracula's style, — Sam snorted, entering without knocking and slamming the door behind her. She carelessly pulled a small black coffin-shaped backpack off her shoulder and plopped down in the computer chair. — If you have a better idea, I'd love to hear it, — Danny challenged her. — Call it a Vampire Diaries-themed party, and I won't bother you anymore, — Sam shrugged indifferently, unzipping her backpack and searching through her books. Tucker sighed quietly, rolling his eyes. Sometimes Sam's habit of turning on "True Goth" for no reason at all annoyed him as much as her ostentatious veganism. Danny lightly touched his friend's shoulder, silently asking him not to show his open disdain. After all, it wasn't that long ago that Manson had cried in front of them, frustrated by her own dietary initiatives. — I found a collection of stories about Europe's scariest ghosts in my favorite bookstore, — she said, holding up an artificially aged book, as Danny's phone buzzed with a message. — It's from Wes, — the teenager jumped off the bed, took a thermos from his backpack, and strapped it to his waist. — Let's save your stories for later. I want to take the critters to the oriental cuisine expert first. — Who are you talking about? — Sam crossed her arms in annoyance, clutching her book to her chest. — Danny, did you accept Weston's invitation to the club? ― Well, yes, ― the teenager replied, pulling on his windbreaker. ― It's an interesting offer. I can't refuse it without knowing what it's about or even trying it. — Do I need to remind you of the outcome of your last attempt to fit in with the wrong crowd? — Sam jumped up from her chair, her hands on her hips. Her cute coffin-shaped backpack fell to the floor with a thud. — Dancing with the dragon that Sanchez turned into, in case you've forgotten. — First of all, she turned into a dragon because of my stupidity, — Danny caught Tucker's notebook, which had a pencil inserted into the spring, and put it in his windbreaker pocket. — And secondly, why do you care about where and with whom I spend my free time? We're all members of different clubs. Tucker is in the computer club, and you're in the gothic poetry club. I want to try new things, too, and don't want to be a recluse for the rest of my life. — And you chose the local snobs' club by chance, is that what you're saying? — Sam was back to being a menacing harpy. — The Mythology Club... Are you there for Weston's connections or for the cheerleaders' short skirts? — That sounds like you're jealous. — Tucker grinned, adjusting his glasses with one finger, the lenses gleaming insidiously in the light. — It's not at all! — the girl exclaimed. Her cheeks were so red that they could be seen through ten layers of gothic makeup and white powder. — I'm just worried that we'll see each other less often. You're always too immersed in a new hobby. — What makes you think that? — Danny rolled his eyes with a light laugh. ― We will also catch ghosts together. Walking around the city cemetery and having lunch at Nasty Burger after school. It's just that I'll be staying at a new club after school from time to time. We see no reason for such fears, — the teenager took another look at the phone screen, writing a short message. ― If you're so afraid that we'll talk less, we can go to May's now and bring her an eel. — Seriously? — Tucker perked up, jumping from his seat. ― Yes. I've warned the guys about you. You just need follow the instructions, stay close to me, and everything should be fine. — Instructions? — Sam looked at her friends doubtfully. — Are you guys not telling me something? Is this some kind of secret fighting club or something? — You're almost there, — Tucker rubbed his hands together in anticipation, looking over his friend's shoulder at the phone. — I like the sound of that. Do you think it'll work? — he asked Danny. — We'll find out now, — Danny zipped up his windbreaker and put the phone in his pocket. — Are you with us, Sam? The girl shifted from foot to foot, awkwardly picking at a hole in her tattered mitten with embroidered spiders. Her earlobes, the only visible part of her skin not covered in makeup, were still red. — We're not forcing you, — Danny clarified with a kind smile. — After all, they'll be discussing the preparation of eel. Even if it's a ghost eel, that's clearly not your thing. — I'll go,― she replied firmly, picking up her backpack by the strap. ― But only out of curiosity and to prevent you from bullying the animal. Tucker and Danny exchanged a smile. This was a lot more like their old Sam.

***

Maddy listened to the footsteps above. ― Mom, I'm going for a walk. Back by seven. Her son's voice and the slam of the front door made the woman exhale in a relaxed manner. There are no children left at home. And they won't show up until the evening. Perhaps for the first time in her entire life as a parent, she was genuinely happy that the children would be home late. The instruments in the lab were going off the scale. The steady, constant beeping was starting to annoy her. Jack had intentionally turned off the alarm to avoid interfering with the research, and this blatant disregard for safety was the thing that annoyed her the most. Not only did they have a ghost to deal with, but they were also deliberately increasing the risks, which can eventually backfire on them. "It's already played out," — the woman thought, running her hand nervously through her short, ruffled hair. — "Alice asked you to give up this idea when you were a child." — I don't know if you've noticed this or not, — Jack began, having printed out a new measurement chart. — But the values increase every time Danny leaves. — It's probably just a coincidence, — Maddy said, taking the folder of hourly readings from her husband and flipping through a few pages. — Are you sure there's no mistake? — One hundred percent. The epicenter of the anomalous activity in our house is in the bathroom on the second floor. The portal has nothing to do with it. Its ecto-flashes are nothing like this, — Jack pointed to a schematic graph of activity tied to the second floor of the house. — I also noticed that the readings in Danny's room increased during the night. Not significantly, but at the same time, they seemed to drop in the rest of the house. It happened around three o'clock in the morning. Maddy remembered the time perfectly. It was at that hour that her son had once again risen from his bed in a fit of sleepwalking, and had to be gently returned to his bed. Then she had seen a small shadow peering through the half-open door of the boy's room as she placed him back in bed. And a thin stream of steam had escaped from Danny's mouth. Something similar had happened to her when Charlotte had first revealed herself in the bathroom the day before. Only this time she had not felt the cold. — Maybe the sensors got it wrong and mistook the otherworldly activity in the hallway outside Danny's room for activity in the room, — she mused. — What makes you say that? — Jack looked at his wife in confusion. — Did you see something last night?

***

— Are we sure we're at the right place? — Sam looked in disbelief at the crumbling facade of the old building with the crumbling griffins on the roof's eaves. One of the oldest houses in the city was located on the border between the center and the factory district, which was full of slums. The half-forgotten and dilapidated structure did not seem like a suitable residence for a school principal and her family. — That's the place, — Danny nodded confidently. — There aren't many residents, more than ten floors, and a working elevator. It has everything we need, — the teenager said as he confidently walked up the worn steps to the unkempt porch, where empty beer bottles and cigarette butts littered the wide concrete railing. — You have strange criteria for a good place to live, — the girl muttered, slinging her backpack over one shoulder and clinging to it as if she were afraid someone might steal it. ― We only need the elevator, not a specific apartment. Am I understanding this correctly? ― Tucker was the first to enter the dimly lit, dirty hall, where only a few of the lights were working, and the only remnants of the building's former grandeur were the scraps of old printed wallpaper on the walls, which were mostly covered in graffiti and posters of various punk rock bands. Seeing a photo of the long-dead lead singer of the band "Bitch Cat" with her vibrant blue hair near the elevator was not only unusual but also disheartening. An unnecessary reminder of the bright past of this old house. Tucker pushed the hard button of the old elevator with difficulty. The ancient floor counter lit up, and a dull creaking sound came from the elevator shaft behind the closed doors. —'Just in case, let's repeat the rules, — Danny pulled out his phone to read the most important part of Wes's message to his friends. — We'll be riding for a long time, and if we do everything correctly, the elevator operator will enter the elevator on the fifth floor. You're not allowed to look at her or talk to her, even if she addresses you directly. Try to stay close to me and keep your eyes on the floor as much as possible until we reach the desired floor. Okay? — Yes, sir! — Tucker saluted playfully. The teenager was practically glowing with enthusiasm. ― Sam? ― Danny addressed his friend separately, knowing her difficult and wayward nature. — Yes, I understand. Only you can talking, — the girl said nervously, clutching her backpack and looking around the empty hall. — It's like the dead are being racist towards the living. — Living don't treat the dead any better. Just look at my father, — Danny said, spreading his hands. The elevator's chime, signaling that the car was in place, sounded deafeningly loud in the empty, dimly lit room. As the elevator doors opened with a thud, a small black cockroach scurried away, hiding beneath a sagging old poster of a blue-haired girl with a fiery mane. The elevator's lights were flickering, and the bulbs were buzzing erratically. Unlike everything else, the inside was clean and tidy, as if the elevator in this building had been taken care of with much more diligence than the rest of the building. — Stay close to me, — Danny said again as they entered the elevator and the doors closed after Fenton pressed the fourth-floor button. The cabin shook slightly as it began to move. Inside, the dangerous creaking of the cables was much louder than in the hall. Tucker stared in fascination at the ceiling, where a lamp hung beneath a cloudy glass, with trapped forever in the small corpses of gnats and moth butterflies. The doors opened on the fourth floor, which was just as filthy and abandoned as the hall. Danny gestured for Sam to stay put and pressed the button for the second floor. The door closed right in front of Sam. ― Did we just come here for a ride? — she asked. — No. It's just a long way, — Danny replied, checking Wes's message as the elevator descended to the second floor. — Just don't get off on the middle floors. The doors opened on the second floor. The hallway looked much neater than the one the kids had seen on the fourth floor. But the carpets were still dusty and crooked. The wallpaper was still peeling, but there were no punk band posters or graffiti. Danny pressed the button for the sixth floor, and the doors closed more smoothly. The elevator started moving abruptly, but without the jerk that had made the guys jump when they were going up to the fourth floor. This time, they took a little longer. Tucker continued to stare at the lamp. Under the cloudy glass, the butterflies began to move, slowly turning over onto their legs. The insects were shaking off the dust from their antennae, as if they were waking up. The light from the lamp became more even, and the electric hum almost ceased as the elevator doors opened on the sixth floor. The carpets were smooth and undamaged. The windows in the hallway were not boarded up, although they were still very dusty. A dim light filtered through them. — Is it just me, or do some of the floors look cozier? — Tucker scratched the back of his neck in confusion. The elevator doors closed again as Danny pressed the second-floor button again. — Look, this isn't funny, — Sam rolled her eyes. The elevator barely twitched as they began their descent again. Tucker listened. The butterflies were already fluttering their wings beneath the glass of the lamp. — Do you hear that? The cables have stopped squeaking, — Tucker remarked, moving closer to his friend. The elevator doors opened on the second floor. Sam blinked a couple of times in surprise and rubbed her eyes just in case. No traces of dust, no peeled wallpaper, no boarded windows. The corridor in front of the teenagers looked almost normal. Yes, a little untidy: on the carpet clearly visible traces of bare feet, as if someone walked through the autumn mud barefoot because of the collapsed shoes and left this track while walking to his apartment. —'Then we're doing it right, — Danny said, pressing the button for the tenth floor. The elevator's upward movement was barely noticeable. The creaking of the cables had completely ceased. The elevator was functioning perfectly, as if it were brand new. — This is the final stage. Once we reach the tenth floor, we'll need to descend to the fifth floor. Remember what we need to do? ― Don't look and don't talk, — Tucker glanced one last time at the neat hallway on the tenth floor. Clean, bright and spacious. In which all the light bulbs were intact, and the carpets were perfectly clean, as if they had just been vacuumed. When Danny pressed the button for the fifth floor, Tucker put his hands on his friend's shoulders and squeezed his eyes shut. — Tell when we can open eyes, — Sam said, taking Danny's arm and squeezing her eyes shut. The elevator ride to the fifth floor took a surprisingly long time. The butterflies under the lamp's glass had finally awakened from their slumber and were flapping their delicate wings. On the fifth floor, the elevator was already waiting. A woman in a long black dress entered the elevator. Her dark, straight hair was loose, and her bare feet were covered in dirt. However, the most striking feature was her face. The woman's eyes were covered with a piece of cloth covered in small, unclear characters. — Good afternoon, young people, — the soft voice was so melodious that it sounded as if the woman were about to sing. The cab sagged slightly under the weight of the new passenger. — Are you lost? — Good afternoon, I'm Danny, and these are my friends, — the teenager introduced himself politely, a cloud of steam escaping from his lips. He felt the kids press closer to him, their eyes carefully averted. — We're here to visit the Ishiyama family and deliver a very important message. If you could tell us the floor they live on, it would be greatly appreciate, — Danny's excessive politeness reminded him of Masters for a moment. While he didn't particularly want to associate himself with him, it was important to be as courteous as possible with spirits. No one likes a bully. — I'm glad to escort you, young man, — the woman said as she blindly pressed the button for the eighth floor, and the elevator doors closed smoothly. — I'm always happy to help, especially to such polite children. Usually, our elevator is filled with terrible people. They take pictures with their strange little cameras without permission, and they're always shouting and scaring the residents. You know, these living, — the elevator operator laughed delicately, covering her mouth with her hand. The writing on her bandage began to glow slightly in red as the elevator doors opened on the desired floor. — You're welcome, — she said, gesturing for the children to go ahead. Danny walked slowly out of the elevator so that the blindly moving Tucker and Sam wouldn't accidentally trip as they exited . The carpets were surprisingly soft, and the wallpaper on the walls shimmered with an old-fashioned gilded pattern. The interior looked expensive, and the plants in the large black marble pots were exotic and rare. An otherworldly crimson light poured through the perfectly clean windows. — Straight ahead and to the left. Apartment Two Eighteen, on the right, — said the woman, folding her hands modestly. — Thank you very much, madam, — Danny bowed slightly awkwardly. He was nervous and unused to such strict etiquette. — I'm glad I could help, — the woman with the burgundy lipstick said, smiling. As she bowed politely, the elevator doors closed, hiding the strange elevator operator. — You can open your eyes, — Danny told his friends, sighing with relief and rubbing his arm, which was sore from Sam's tight grip. — Why are you holding on to me like that? — Well, sorry, but it's not every day we arrive in the spirit world by old elevator, — Sam snorted, looking around with interest as Tucker walked ahead of her down the corridor, closer to the windows. — They have strange plants, — she carefully touched a huge black leaf shaped like a giant monster's paw with scarlet veins. ― Guys, look at this! ― Tucker gazed admiringly at the glass. There, outside the window, instead of the sun, a huge red cross shone, illuminating many high-rise buildings connected to each other by arched walkways, closed bridges and cables of power lines. The view was no less psychedelic than the endless staircases and passageways beyond the ghostly portal in the Fentons' lab. But the abundance of red and black was one of the most striking differences between the two otherworldly realms that Phantom had noted. — Jigoku is very beautiful this time of year, — the soft voice of a classmate, Mei Ishiyama, interrupted the teenagers' contemplation of the view. Turning around, Tucker let out a cowardly squeak and hid behind Danny, while Sam once again clung to her friend's arm with a death grip. In front of them, the smiling head of their classmate floated. Her infinitely long, writhing neck disappeared around the corner of the dimly lit hallway, barely illuminated by the warm glow of the wall lamps. This was the direction that the elevator operator had indicated as their destination. — Hello, May, — Danny removed the Fenton-thermos from his belt. — I've brought a future snack.