The Chess

―Jack... The man didn't respond, continuing to "scan" the room with the stubbornly silent sensor, ignoring his wife. He muttered under his breath, occasionally tapping his finger on the measuring scale beneath the glass, trying to wake it up. He consulted a small device, likely one of his own designs, which he kept in one of the pockets of his overalls, making it difficult for Maddy to fully observe this thing. ― Honey... No reaction. Just like before. Since morning, the man had been preoccupied with something unknown, refusing to accept the real readings of the instruments as truth. Maddie tried to reassure herself that this was just his usual eccentricity. The same adventurous madness that she had once loved about him, but with each passing moment, it became less convincing. The situation seemed to be deteriorating hourly. “Maybe it’s just paranoia,” Maddy told herself as she put the kettle on. “After all, ghost tried to hang him in the living room yesterday. It’s only reasonable to start taking extra precautions after something like that.” Hot tea wasn't a typical drink in their town. In the south, they preferred it cold. However, it was too difficult to break away from the old habit. As the tea leaves steeped in boiling water, they unfurled, imparting their warm amber color and slightly bitter aroma to the water, which always helped the woman gather her thoughts and calm her nerves during challenging moments in her family life. Just as she was about to take her first sip, the cup in her hands shattered under the direct impact of an ectoblast. Shards of clear glass tinkled to the floor, and boiling water scalded her fingertips. — Be careful, honey! — Her husband's booming bass voice brought her out of her stupor. He thrust a sensor into her hands. — Look! The needle on the device barely moved a couple of notches up. The usual reaction to anti-ghost weapons disappeared as quickly as it appeared. This time was no exception. After a slight spike, the readings quickly dropped to zero. Complete calm. Nothing. Maddy was about to open her mouth to tell her husband that it was just an error, but he beat her to it with a completely unexpected conclusion. — That slippery ectoplasmic bastard! He's gone again! — Jack rushed to the basement laboratory, leaving Maddy in the kitchen, lost in her own anxious thoughts. The rapidly cooling tea was spreading out along the seams of the tiled floor. The puddle reflected the slightly phosphorescent globs of ecto-foam that Maddy had not yet removed from the ceiling. The weapon was powerful enough to affect a physical object, not just an intangible spirit. The frightening thought of “what if he had missed by a little?” crept into her mind along with an unpleasant chill.

***

Danny was eating lunch outside the cafeteria more out of habit than necessity. Sitting on the steps of the staircase, he was slowly munching on a ham sandwich, a light dessert after the main meat dish, which he had been devouring with an insatiable appetite. He absentmindedly stroked the white cat that was curled up next to him, which seemed to have collected all the cobwebs in the school on its whiskers. Tucker thoughtfully stirred a forkful of mashed potatoes with gravy, contemplating his friend's story about a small, vengeful spirit. Sam pacing back and forth on the last step. — Can you stop? — Tucker glared at his friend, barely containing his annoyance. — Your fidgeting is making it hard to think. — You don't do that often, if you're so easily distracted, — the Goth girl said sarcastically, crumpling up the paper wrapper from her vegan chips and throwing it into the trash can by the school door. — My parents said they'd be able to clean up the house in a couple of days, but we have a feeling that something's already gone wrong. When Jess and I called home this morning, father seemed to be shooting at someone, — Danny said, taking a piece of meat from his sandwich and feeding it to the purring cat, which began licking his fingers with its rough tongue. — We need to figure out how we can help them. — You're too calm when you talk about it, — Sam said, sitting on the wide concrete railing and tapping her massive black boot heel nervously. — Should I be freaking out? — the teenager clarified, stroking the school cat melancholically and popping the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. — You're the hero, aren't you? — Sam exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. — Shouldn't you be the one who's stressed out and looking for any excuse to get out of class and help your parents? ― I already got into their work once without thinking. Do you remember what happened? — A greenish ball of ghostly energy lit up in Danny's palm and disappeared without a trace in his clenched fist, leaving behind only a greenish snake of smoke that quickly disappeared into thin air. — The ghost hunt is clearly in full swing at home, and just because I want to help doesn't mean I'm stupid enough to get under their hot hand with ghost―proof weapon, Sam. — That's a good point, my friend, — Tucker put his tray of half-eaten mashed potatoes aside and picked up his trusty gadget. — If this Charlotte is such an old urban legend that she can be found in the open archives of Salem, then there might be something else on the internet that Jess didn't include in her report because it was too occult or inappropriate for a family tree presentation.

***

It was cramped and painful, but the pleasant, familiar taste of someone else's madness helped her stay in control, reminding her of how close she was to her goal. Fooling the hunter was a breeze, unlike his wife, who knew the difference between an ghostly illusion and reality. The executioner wanted to see the ghosts. He wanted to know what his blood enemies looked like. Well, she was happy to oblige, because now he sees them all the time. With each passing hour, he allows himself to be more and more fooled by the illusion. This has been the case with everyone before him. A large, warm heart beats beneath the fabric of his clothes, right next to her. Oh, how satisfying it was to weave more and more webs around him. Unfortunately, he was not frightened enough for his heart to start failing. You could wait forever for the big guy to get tired, or for him to make life so unbearable for his family that he'd be left all alone. It would be a pleasant and painfully slow death, something he truly deserved. And for a dead man, time didn't matter. She could have waited, but there was a problem. She was hungry, and unfortunately, madness did n't satisfy her hunger. She pulled on the spider's web leading to his heart, and she heard a painful moan. Then she heard a woman's compassionate voice. She devoured the pity without a trace, leaving nothing for the Hunter. Whatever modern hunters do, they have clearly advanced their methods of execution compared to their Salem ancestors, who knew nothing but blood-stained flowers. Her pity was consumed, and a single woman's pity would not be enough to restore her loss. How many years had she lived off the compassionate, big-hearted children who had summoned her all those years, hiding in rooms as dark as night forest? How many of their favorite toys had they given her? How long had she been gathering strength by licking the remnants of their years-old love from small dolls, stuffed bunnies, and rubber balls? The pure and sincere feelings that she had rarely been treated to during her lifetime? The executioner's pain was pleasant. It lulled her, delighted her, and amused her, but it did not feed her. She had had enough of pain in her lifetime. To drag another executioner into the small, small hell where hungry, hungry wolves would tear him apart forever, she needed at least a little more strength than she currently possessed. She listened carefully to the call that usually comes from the endless mirror mazes that children build. Ready to respond to the very first one, just to eat. To squeeze all the compassion they could muster out of the kind-hearted children. And finally she heard it. “Charlotte, come to play.”

***

Vlad had a tiny hope that the boy wouldn't do anything before he arrived in Amity Park, but not much. What he heard with ears of his cat was shocking on one hand, but on the other, it was expected that someone like Jack would be followed by some paranormal crap that he couldn't see through his inflated ego. Considering his lineage, which he loved to boast about back in university, it was surprising that vengeful spirits didn't swarm around him like flies on a decaying corpse. The man hissed quietly as a drop of disinfectant solution landed on a fresh wound. One of the inflamed areas on his forearm had opened during takeoff, staining the sleeve of his white shirt with a toxic substance. Fortunately, the private jet provided ample opportunity and space to handle this minor inconvenience, which was oozing greenish ectoplasm mixed with black blood, without unnecessary witnesses. “It’s a good thing I can cover it with clothes for now,” he thought, meticulously packing the used cotton balls into an airtight bag along with his ruined shirt. Everything that comes into contact with the substance that replaces his blood has been disposed of as a biological threat for almost twenty years. He habitually covered the fresh wound with a hydrocolloid bandage, carefully packed the used items into a bag and an airtight container, and reached for a small suitcase to retrieve new clothes. — It's a good thing I don't have any favorite shirts anymore, — he said to himself as he fastened the small white buttons with slightly trembling fingers. It was almost impossible to control the tremor, but it didn't stop him from carefully tying his tie, scrutinizing his reflection in the small mirror securely attached to the partition. There were two hours left before the plane landed in Amity Park. It was too much time for Daniel to get into trouble. But the disease forced him to wait, rather than waste energy, which he would need later.

***

— Won't the fire make her angry? — Sam looked doubtfully at Danny, who was placing the black candles in the candlesticks, crumpling the wax slightly with his fingers. The ritual that Tucker had found was decided to be held at the Goth girl's house, whose parents had conveniently left on some trip that Sam didn't delve into too much. — I don't think so, — Tucker replied, checking the instructions on his phone. The curtains were already tightly drawn in the girl's black room. Not a single ray of light could enter from the outside or the corridors of the Manson family's large house, where only the family's grandmother remained, capable of moving only in a wheelchair. Everything was set up for the "game": a table, two mirrors, and each friend's favorite toys. In theory, it was perfect for attracting a small, vindictive spirit, but if Sam had any suggestions that could accommodate the whims of a ghost child, Phantom would be eager to hear them. — Her mother was burned at the stake, and if I think about it, it probably wouldn't be very pleasant for her to see an open flame. Maybe we could replace the candles with something else? — Sam placed the lighter on the dresser, nervously fiddling with the edge of her torn black mesh mitten. — You know, to avoid putting pressure on her. She's probably preoccupied with more important matters, so it's worth considering how to provide her with the utmost comfort. To show that we're willing to listen to her. Give her more reasons to leave your house, Danny. — That makes sense, — the teenager agreed, setting the candelabra aside and reaching for his backpack. — It's a good thing we have the opportunity to do this. Although it might ruin the atmosphere a bit, — he said, pulling out several chemical lamps from the bottom of the bag. — They're not the freshest, but they should work, — Danny said, distributing the lamps to his friends. — Well, we're ready, — Sam said on a breath, bending the plastic tube in her hands with a distinctive crackling sound. As she closed the door of her room, she turned off the light. The darkness was almost complete. In the greenish light of the lamp, familiar objects took on a strange new appearance. Tucker did the same with his flashlight, the dim light of which caught the Phantom's poison-green eyes in the shadows, whose perfectly white hair reflected the soft light. — Then let's get started, — Danny's voice echoed through the darkness with an otherworldly sound. The faint glow surrounding his figure did not illuminate the space, making the Phantom appear even less real and tangible in this dim light than it did during the day or evening. The teenagers sat down between two mirrors, holding their flashlights tightly in their hands and staring into the endless mirror corridor, which reflected the table of offerings and their own figures many times over. Danny stood behind his friends, his hands resting on their shoulders. ― Charlotte, come to play, — they said in unison. The echo of voices died away somewhere in the mirrored corridor, never leaving the confines of two endless reflections. The darkness seemed to thicken around them. He compressed the space of the room to a tiny spot with three teenagers and a table with toys, illuminated by the weak, diffused light of flashlights. ― Charlotte, come to play. The room grew colder. A whitish vapor poured from the Phantom's throat, settling in frost on the backs of the chairs. The little ghost had clearly heard the call, but was in no hurry to come. From the darkness of the mirror corridor, there was the rustling of fallen leaves and a subtle, barely perceptible smell of burning flesh, causing Sam to cover her nose with her hand. Something was approaching them from the blackness of the mirror maze, but the shadow that limped and leaned against the walls hardly resembled a little girl. It was frozen somewhere in the distance, hesitant to approach. — Charlotte, come to play with us,— Danny repeated one last time. His voice sounded alone as his friends peered at the approaching figure. Something was limping. It was charred. Blackened strands of once-blond hair hung from its skull in sparse, tattered clumps, and the remnants of its clothing clung to its body, which was covered in a black, crumbling crust that had once been skin. Its face was a mess of blood and soot, with its nose almost completely missing and its lips wrinkled and shriveled, revealing its charred baby teeth. Its bright, large blue eyes, devoid of eyelids, were inflamed and clouded. The creature moved with wheezing sounds, occasionally staining the dark walls with the viscous green liquid that served as its blood. — You've been beaten up pretty good, — Danny said, watching the creature take his origami in its wet hands. It brought it close to its face, as if trying to inhale the scent of the paper that was dissolving beneath its fingers. “Not as much as they’ll beat you up when find out your secret,” — Charlotte’s jaw didn’t move, but her voice was clear. The dark ectoplasm stopped oozing from her wounds, and her small teeth disappeared behind her lips, which she was finally able to close. She began to blink. Slowly. Her eyes remained fixed on the teenagers who had summoned her. Especially on Sam, who began to tremble. “You’re so nice,” — Charlotte cooed, placing the ectoplasm-stained origami back on the table. — “So kind-hearted and compassionate.” — What do you want? — Danny put his arm around Sam's shoulders, shielding her from Charlotte, who was already reaching out with her tiny, charred hand. “What silly and rude questions,” — the demon in the form of a little girl took Sam’s offering from the table – a small glass jar with a dried corpse of a spider, who had once been her very first best friend. She brought it to her face and inhaled its aroma with delight, closing her eyes in pleasure. The wounds were healing before her eyes, the charred skin became white and smooth in the blink of an eye. Golden curls returned to her head, “decorated” with fallen leaves and small broken twigs. The remnants of her clothes transformed into a white, slightly stained dress with puffed sleeves. Charlotte was eating. She was feeding herself right in front of them, gaining strength, but Danny couldn't tell what exactly she was eating. She was transforming from a charred corpse into a touching angel with clear blue eyes and a lush mane of golden curls. She was the perfect little angel from an old Christmas card. — Why are you here? — Danny repeated his question. — What do you want? “I came to play,” — the girl replied with a smile, although her lips remained closed. The words seemed to come from inside the minds of those who had summoned her. — “That’s why children like you call me. To play and have fun together.” — Do you think trying to kill someone is fun? — Phantom's eyes flashed with renewed intensity. “Oh, that’s what you mean,” — Charlotte giggled, delicately covering her mouth with her hand. — “So you called me to ask me to leave this stupid oaf and his wife alone? Well, I can do that, but on one condition. You’re coming with me and we’re going to play a game of tag.”

***

There was growing excitement in the crowd. In the middle of the square, a bonfire had already been built at the stake, more like a small platform covered with spruce branches, so that the condemned witch would suffocate before she could start burning and disturb the souls of the righteous believers, the real people, with her cries. So that she would not call for pity, which she did not deserve. ― Burn the witch! ― Go to hell, you bastard! A barefoot woman, stripped to her white under dress, was led through the crowd to the place of execution, her hands tied. Everyone who could reach her struck the devilish harlot and tore out a tuft of her red hair, which was already sparse. Those who stood further away threw stones at the condemned woman, one of which struck her in the face, causing her to stagger. ― Burn her! ― Burn the witch! The condemned woman's legs gave way, and she fell to her knees, spitting a dark red clot of blood with a broken tooth onto the dirt, which someone would later take as a souvenir. This souvenir would serve as a reminder of the last witch was burned in Salem, before they began to be hanged. A large man in a black hat with an orange ribbon pulled the woman to her feet in one swift motion. The witch's only intact eye, as blue as a clear spring sky, stared at the judge and the executioner with a look of impotent anger. The beaten and hounded witch looked even more pitiful at that moment than a flea-ridden dog, beaten by its own master, and deprived of its teeth due to a meager diet and the greed of the person who kept it chained outside the house. — I hate you, — the woman's bloodless lips whispered. But the word was drowned out by the crowd's chants, demanding that the witch's body be set on fire and sent back to hell, where she belonged. “Your game isn’t fun.” “It doesn’t have to be fun for you.” The witch was tied to a post so that she could stand until her last breath. Until she started to burn. They had already placed tinder under the fire and poured oil on the wood, not forgetting to pour it generously on the witch's skirt. — Last word, Esther? — The judge stood with a torch in his hand, silencing the crowd with a gesture. He was respected here, and everyone tried to curry favor with him, lest they be the next to be accused of witchcraft or possession. — You will burn in hell, FENTON, — the witch's words had no effect on the judge. He remained as cold and detached as ever. — Your entire family will be cursed! The torch's flame touched the oil-soaked logs that made up the first witch's pyre of the year. The fire greedily devoured the dry wood. The fresh pine branches smoked, obscuring the witch's figure behind a gray haze as she coughed and cursed her executioner's family, until the soot filled her lungs.

***

― So you're fulfilling your mother's last wish? “You could say that.” The endless mirror maze was eerily dark and empty. The glass walls did not reflect the dead. Danny moved towards the girl's voice slowly, illuminating his path with a greenish flame he had ignited in his palm. He tried not to think about how he would get out of here once he had dealt with Charlotte. The path back had been thoroughly forgotten and lost in an endless series of turns, even before the mirror walls began to show him events from the past. — You could have ended this vendetta a long time ago, ending the Fenton bloodline with your mother's executioner. It's not like murder is a problem for you. But you didn't. “Just sending them to their deaths is too merciful,” — Charlotte’s voice led him closer and closer to her. It was like a demonic spider with a little girl’s face. — “They all deserve more punishment. Jeremy himself should feel the full weight of what he has done to his family. Perhaps even have a hand in their untimely demise.” A cloud of steam burst from Danny's mouth. He barely managed to dodge as the axe blade whistled overhead, cutting through a few white strands and knocking a couple of mirrors down in its wake. The teenager felt glass shards rain down on him. The executioner and judge, wearing a black hat with an orange ribbon, swung his axe again, and the blade sank into the dirt floor, nearly severing the Phantom's leg at the knee. The man's eyes and mouth were sewn shut with coarse red thread, using large, uneven stitches, as if it had been done in a hurry. It was a carelessly stitched toy, once a human being, but it had lost its humanity long ago. Danny, having become intangible, fell through the floor without waiting for Charlotte's personal doll to swing its weapon again. With his hands resting on the cold glass, he realized with regret that he could not pass through mirrors. Floating above the floor, he tried to get as far away from the ghostly zombie as possible, navigating the maze almost by touch. “He used that axe to chop wood for my mother’s fire, and then he used it to kill his eldest son,” — Charlotte said, as if she was trying to boast. — With your help, of course, — Danny turned toward the bright, ringing laughter of little Webster, trying to ignore the noise coming from Jeremy on the top floor. Judging by the sounds, he was trying to cut his way through the floor. Phantom didn't want to waste his energy and time on a puppet. — You could have started with me, but you latched onto my father, who is obviously weaker. You sent your personal dummy to distract me. Do you like to play dirty? “When you’re a little weak girl in a big, evil world, playing dirty is the only way to survive.” Behind one of the turns, Danny noticed a slight light far at the end of the corridor. Getting closer, he saw a small cluster of thin threads stretching along the mirrored wall near the floor. The beginning of Charlotte's web. Apparently, it was not for nothing that the mystical game received such a strange name. Somewhere behind, there was a rumble. It seems that the big guy Jeremy had cut through the floor. Danny tried to follow the spider web and not make too much noise, so as not to be distracted by a fight with a troublesome ancestor. “But there was no point in starting with you anyway. I need the Fenton Hunters and Executioners, and you’re not one of them.” — What does that mean? — The Phantom was indignant by inertia. His voice echoed off the walls of the mirrored corridor with an otherworldly echo, reaching Jeremy's ears, who rushed at the voice, demolishing all the mirrored walls with an axe to shorten the path. Charlotte burst into loud laughter. A new cloud of steam erupted from the Ghost's throat, just before he was showered with shards from the glass wall that Jeremy had broken. Charlotte's doll stood in front of him, holding the axe handle with both hands. The doll, which couldn't see or speak, only listened to its small, tyrannical mistress and did everything it could to prevent the teenager from reaching it. — Well, it looks like I can't avoid fighting you, — Danny snorted, igniting a green flame in his palms.

***

— Jack? — Maddy listened. She was worried that the house had been unusually quiet for a minute. There was no sign of the head of the family, and no gunshots could be heard. — This isn't good, — she muttered, putting the anti-ghost stunner in her hip pouch and loading a small pump-action shotgun with a sleeping dart. The devices had been silent since morning, confirming that there was nothing supernatural in their home. The only person who could see spirits was Jack, which meant that in this moment he was more dangerous than the little girl who tried to hang him. Just because someone sees dead people everywhere doesn't mean that there are actually dead people everywhere. ― If someone sees possessed people everywhere, it doesn't mean that everyone around them is possessed. It's more likely that they themselves are possessed. Maddy climbed up from the basement lab to the kitchen. Then she walked into the living room, her sleeping-pill gun at the ready. Looked around slowly and quietly as she made her way to the second floor, where she had last seen her husband. Focusing all her attention on the stairwell, illuminated by the dim emergency lights, she did not notice the door to the backyard opening below. Maddy didn't see my husband's figure in the doorway, nor the blood-red light of the setting sun reflecting off the axe blade.

***

Smoke and mirrors. Charlotte had set up her lair in a way that any magician worth his salt would envy. She skillfully concealed her beloved toy in the reflections of a mirror maze, forcing Danny to repeatedly strike the glass, causing the fake Jeremy Fenton with his eyes and mouth sewn shut to crumble to the earthen floor. The little imp laughed as the original nearly hit the boy, who dodged only thanks to the Ghost's intuition. "It's a pity that it doesn't work on reflections," he thought, barely able to shake the shards of glass out of his hair before they fell down his back and scratched him. It seemed pointless to fight Jeremy. The dummy disappeared from his grasp whenever the malicious demoness wanted. His only goal was to distract the "led" from Charlotte. However, it was impossible to ignore him for long. You couldn't fly through the mirrored walls by becoming intangible. Taking them down by force was just as energy-draining as fighting Jeremy. And just as useless, because this was Charlotte's space. A house that is completely subject to her sick imagination. It is possible to hide by flying through the floor or ceiling, but this trick will only work for a short time and will only confuse the Phantom further, leading him off the trail of Charlotte's Web. Dodging the axe once again, the teenager grabbed the thread of glowing web and pulled it sharply, breaking several mirrors. Jeremy moaned in pain and jerked, dropping his weapon. Phantom quickly began to unravel the threads that were pulling the walls of the labyrinth apart. He followed them, trying to get as far away from the temporarily stunned Jeremy as possible. The mirrors behind him were rebuilding themselves again, hiding Charlotte's doll behind an endless series of reflections. — Your dumb dummy isn't that good, huh? — Danny grinned, continuing to follow the thread through the maze. Each time, the web grew thicker and burned brighter in the dark with a flickering greenish light. He was approaching the center of this giant trap. And to Charlotte. "Little brat", — the girl didn’t sound frightened. Rather, she sounded amused and playfully challenging. — "Is that how you’d talk to your daddy?" The threads in his hands sagged, losing their tension, and a heavy projectile from an anti-ghost weapon struck him in the chest, knocking him to the black ground, which smelled of rotten leaves and spoiled meat. In the endless reflection of the empty mirrors, a figure of a living person in an orange overalls appeared. — It can't be, — Danny said, unable to believe what he was seeing. Seeing his father in the spirit world was too incredible. Jack was the only member of the family who had minimal contact with the otherworld before the portal experiment, and it was unbelievable to see him in the small world of a cruel demon. — How did you get him here? "Where?" — Charlotte asked mockingly. — "The big guy is sure he’s at home." The parent's eyes were empty. A tiny dot of a pupil clung to the Phantom, who had barely risen to his feet. In one of the many mirrors, Maddie's reflection appeared, a flat parody of a human being. “Honey, he’s there! Kill him! What are you waiting for?!” — The reflection’s mouth opened, but the words didn’t come from it. The voice didn’t sound like her mother’s. She would never hide behind someone else and react to a ghost as if she’d seen a cockroach. But Jack seemed to believe it. — Don't worry, dear, I won't leave a molecule of him behind! — he replied to the reflection with a wide smile, firing several shots at Danny again. But this time, he missed. The boy managed to dodge, hiding behind a couple of turns, and thanked the ghostly part for the fact that he didn't reflect in the mirrors. Unfortunately, Jack did reflect in them. While Charlotte had prevented him from harming his long-dead ancestor, the situation was different now. She's clearly going to do everything she can to put the real Jack in harm's way. Killing a man through someone else's hends and avoiding getting dirty was an ideal scenario. “Here, he’s here!” — The reflection showed a flat image of Jess, covering her face in horror. — “Daddy, help me!” — I'm on my way, Princess! — The anti-ghost weapon's shot ricocheted off the mirrors, gradually losing its power, but it would have hit the Phantom painfully if he hadn't crouched, exposing the bullet with the rough copy of his sister. The glass shattered, and Danny, having become invisible, carefully let the original Jack pass through the labyrinth corridor, following him like a silent shadow. There was something wrong with my father. And now I could see what it was. His arms and legs were wrapped in barely visible threads, as thin as human hair, that disappeared under his clothes: behind his cuffs, under his collar, and under the tops of his work boots. — Come out! Show yourself, you dirty fiend! — Jack's booming bass echoed off the mirrored walls, luring Charlotte's other favorite toy. “There it is,” — Danny almost exclaimed, noticing a multitude of thin threads stretching from under the central placket of the jumpsuit, which concealed the zipper, to the breast pocket, resembling the golden hair of little demon. Phantom didn't have time to grab the find. Jack dodged Jeremy's axe. The blade slid across the back of the teenager's hand, cutting through the fabric of his white glove and his skin. The boy cried out in surprise and sharp pain, losing control of his invisibility. The second blow from the axe handle struck his face. The ghost was thrown back so hard that he crashed through a pair of mirror walls, landing on shattered glass. — I'm going to spend forever picking this glass out of my body, — he groaned, slowly getting to his feet. His head was spinning from the impact, and sour-tasting ectoplasm dripped from his nose onto the black ground. Jeremy had a surprisingly heavy hand. From the sounds, a serious fight was going on between the Fentons, giving Danny a little breathing space. To look around and think. There were many phosphorescent traces of Charlotte's web along the walls. And they all led to the place of the fight between Jack and his distant ancestor. If he pulled on them, it would briefly disrupt Jeremy's connection with the puppeteer, but his father would remain. Possessed by a demonic spider in the form of a little girl, driven by all the illusions she created for him, even the most pathetic ones. "I don't have the right to make a mistake," Danny said to himself, approaching the fighting couple and grasping the web with both hands, ignoring the painful throbbing in his wound. He exhaled and pulled on the thread with all his might, tearing it from the ground with a crunch, like an old tree root, and knocking the mirror behind him to the floor. Jeremy let out a painful moan as he tried to open his sewn-up mouth, and he dropped the axe. This was Danny's signal to become invisible and act, and he flew towards his father. Jack shot the stunned body of the Salem judge, breaking it with the same ease as he would a thin glass cup. The ghost flew through the parent's body, taking what was in his breast pocket with it. The thin thread store with difficulty, emitting blinding flashes of poisonous green light and causing the possessed person pain. The most recent flash was like a fireworks explosion right next to his ear. The bright sparks disoriented him, and Danny collapsed onto the cold tiled floor, clutching the object he had taken from his father's pocket as tightly as he could. As his vision returned to normal, he found himself in his parents' basement laboratory. Jack's unconscious body lay nearby, illuminated by an open portal that cast a greenish, otherworldly glow over the room. Stunned, but alive ― that's quite acceptable, considering the circumstances. Danny finally unclenched his fist to look at the source of the trouble. The heart of his father's obsession was a shard of the coffee table that had been broken in the living room the previous evening, easily recognizable by the small engraved pattern along the edge: a delicate border with the first letter of the Fenton family name woven into it. It was his father's whim and desire to have the real family crest. Through the cracked glass, he could see a blurred reflection of Charlotte, frantically trying to shout something. Thin strands of her golden hair stretched out from the sharp edges of the shard, moving slightly, trying to cling to it, but slipping off the protective glove. Rising from the floor, Danny took one of the many thermoses from the cabinet and threw the shard inside, quickly screwing the lid back on before the golden hair could escape. He reached for a piece of wire from the toolbox and began to weld the lid shut, using the sparks of otherworldly fire that flowed from his fingertips. The weld was uneven and thick, but it was strong enough to prevent the fine hair from escaping through the lid. He'd already done this to Gene, who thought he could get away with Tucker's contagious obsession, but this time it was more complicated. This thermos couldn't just be thrown into a portal and hoped that the ghost would be afraid to come back. Charlotte had been haunting the Fentons for centuries, obeying her mother's curse, and she would likely return if she could escape. “I need the Fenton Hunters and Executioners, and you’re not one of them”. Danny hissed as he pulled off his torn glove and licked the blood from the slowly healing wound. His nose was stinging. Jeremy's axe had apparently broken his nose, which he had to set right immediately after the fight, in a dark laboratory with no mirror. The cartilage creaked unpleasantly under his fingers, and a sharp, dull pain rang in his ears. He wiped his own ectoplasm from the lips with a careless gesture. — Little crap, — he grumbled to himself, barely moving his lips and swallowing the sour green liquid. Unsteady footsteps and a muffled moan came from the direction of the dark staircase. The teenager twitched, becoming invisible just before Maddy appeared in the lab. She was rumpled and tired, with a split eyebrow and torn pants leg. Danny hurriedly left the house, flying through the ceiling. Whatever was happening, his presence there would only make things worse. Hanging the trap on his belt, he headed towards Samantha's house. His friends were probably going crazy with worry after Charlotte's appearance. The phone vibrated quietly in the pocket of his hip bag in silent mode. Looking at the contact name, Danny sighed quietly and clicked on the answer icon. — Good evening, Daniel, — Masters' voice sounded slightly tired, which was not surprising given his busy schedule. — I hope I'm not disturbing you. My assistant informed you about my arrival in town, correct? — Yes, she did, — came the short, muffled reply. With his battered face and nose clogged with thickening ectoplasm, he sounded like a man with a sinus infection. — Daniel, are you all right?'— Vlad asked after a short pause, — You sound... strange. The invisibility ghost floated slowly over the houses, trying hard to suppress the urge to spit out the ectoplasm that was thickening in his mouth, and the urge to vomit after swallowing it. He couldn't think of a single convincing lie. ― It's nothing. Just a little brawl. — With school bullies or ghosts? — Masters clarified with a heavy sigh. Danny could have sworn he could almost feel his disapproving gaze. — You already know the answer, — Danny said, licking ectoplasm from his wounded hand. It was healing much more slowly than usual, a clear indication that the Phantom was tired and would soon start demanding food. — Do you need help? — Vlad's voice was even, with a hint of sympathy. Just a few minutes ago, he was dodging the attacks of his ghost-possessed father. He had a close look at the most rotten and old skeletons in the family closet. And had a clear understanding that the only inheritance he could count on at the moment was a malevolent ghost who would try to kill him in the most gruesome ways possible. — Yes, — the boy replied curtly, feeling his eyes sting. — That would be great.

***

Gradually, life returned to normal. Danny and Jess had to stay at a hotel for the rest of the week, according to their mother, in order to return to a safe home. Father did not visit them, and Maddy carefully hid her disfigured eyebrow under her bangs, claiming that she had simply fallen down the stairs. The siblings were hesitant to ask any additional questions, unsure of whether they truly wanted to know the truth. Danny justified his bandage on the bridge of his nose and the bruise under his eye in a similar unconvincing way, saying that he had just been attacked by bullies after school. It was a lie in response to a lie, which allowed them to maintain the illusion of normality in their lives for a while. Fortunately, the wounds healed quickly, and the one on his hand from the axe blade was enough for one evening and a hearty dinner, which Vlad provided for the teenager while they discussed the situation. He also helped him treat boy wounds, putting on medical gloves first, and set his nose back in place, temporarily applying a splint, which he allowed him to replace with a bandage the next morning before school. Jess was horrified when her brother returned with his friends that evening, looking worse than a unlucky mascot after a bad football game. The next morning, getting up before her to let Masters treat his wounds was a real challenge. At school, sister tried to stay close to him, occasionally asking about his well-being. However, it would have been easier if the excessive attention had come from her alone. It's amazing how a broken face can put you in the spotlight. Weston almost choked on the soda he was drinking when Danny came into view during lunch. He suggested a different way of dividing the work on Lancer's scary room, taking most of the responsibility off Fenton's shoulders and leaving him with only tasks that could be completed without bending his head too much. Danny tried to refuse the help, as his parents had raised him to do everything on his own, but Wes and his "Birds" were unconvinced by his arguments. — I'm willing to bet that you can handle everything on your own, including fulfilling Lancer's demands, which he's placed on you and Dash, — said Weston, sipping a can of cola. It was unusual for the students to see him and the cheerleaders in the company of outsiders like Fenton and Co., and it was interesting to know why they had come together, but not enough to spend their lunch time on this mystery. — It's cool when you can do everything, — Sophie said, popping a chicken nugget into her fanged mouth and glancing at Sam, who was stubbornly poking at her salad and refusing to look at the carnivorous quartet. — But living with the thought that you'll always have to do everything alone is kind of depressing, don't you think? — Alice asked, cocking her head to the side playfully. Her blonde hair, tied in two low ponytails, swayed slightly at the ends, and the pink ribbons on her hair ties gave her a slightly more frivolous appearance. — Besides, I've been doing some digging, and it seems Dash isn't doing his job alone either, — Tucker remarked, giving his friend a gentle nudge with his elbow. — Don't be shy, you'll just even the playing field, and this battle to avoid further punishment from Lancer will be fair.

***

The first person to see the finished room was not Lancer, but Headmistress Ishiyama, who categorically stated that she would only be present at the Samhain celebration among the teachers to ensure that the children did not cross the line in their teenage revelry, which Sam and Tucker promised to join after “one glutton,” according to the Goth girl, had finished collecting sweets. As the experienced evil spirit checked the safety of the set decorations, she casually reminisced about her own schoolgirl antics. — ...And at some point, the joke about Hanako got out of hand, — the headmistress chuckled, shaking off an artificial spider web that had stuck to her red skirt, as Vlad entered the room with a small portable refrigerator. — Good evening, Mr. Masters, — the woman greeted him with a brief nod. — How kind of you to help your protégé organize all of this. — Don't exaggerate my contribution, Ms. Ishiyama, — the man replied, placing the container on an artificially aged dissection table. In public, Vlad's voice remained detached and cold, accompanied by a polite smile. It seemed that even Halloween and the crowds of costumed revelers on the streets were not enough to make him reveal his fangs. — How is your nose, Daniel? — As good as new, — the teenager replied readily. — It looks familiar, — Vlad said thoughtfully, surveying the room, which was filled with images of dissected animals, preserved reptiles of all kinds, and a variety of medical paraphernalia. Among these was a human skeleton with the exaggerated features of a predatory wild animal. ― We ripped it off from Dr. Moreau's Island, — Danny admitted easily. He was already wearing a doctor's coat with fake blood on the sleeves. — It seems that we are visually suited to these decorations. — It looks a lot better than it did in that terrible movie, — Masters said, patting the boy's shoulder with a leather-gloved hand. The gesture was brief and non-committal, but it was still pleasant. The first guests should start arriving before Lancer finishes inspecting Dash's room. Danny was supposed to meet most of them today. Wes's adventurous idea for a club seemed crazy until now. It was hard to believe that there would be enough undead in Casper High, or even in the entire town, willing to socialize with their own kind despite the risks and the presence of a possessed hunter associated with the Salem Witch Trials. — Hi, is that you, Danny? — asked a girl who appeared out of nowhere in a long white dress, belted with a wide, thick ribbon with a strange angular pattern. Her face seemed vaguely familiar to the teenager. He seemed to have seen her a couple of times with Sam at the protests against dissecting frogs. But couldn't remember anything about her other than her outstanding love for the inhabitants of the swamps. ― Hello, Mrs. Ishiyama. ― Hi Victoria, ― the headmistress greeted, making a note on her list of students present, ― You can sit wherever you like. You're the first one today. The delighted girl sat down on the nearest chair and began to unfasten her high-laced boots, similar to the ones Sam usually wore, and with a sigh of relief, she pulled them off, allowing her feet with their black, webbed toes, resembling those of a duck, to rest from the tight shoes. It was too difficult to ignore the girl's feet. She fit seamlessly into the interior, reminiscent of a mad professor who sewed together human and animal parts. — Where can I put my shoes? — Victoria asked. Danny silently pointed to a closet hidden behind a corkboard with a picture of a non-existent island and photos of strange animal-people attached to it. Her bare feet slapped against the wooden floor without causing her any discomfort. — I think I'll be going, — said Masters, adjusting the lapels of his black coat with a thin scarf that covered his neck almost to his chin, and trying to hide a smile at the sight of the teenager's face as he first saw the Bolotnitsa. — You're going to have a very busy evening, Daniel, but don't forget to return the refrigerator to the address I gave you tomorrow, okay? — All right, — the teenager nodded slowly, and then, as if coming to his senses, he added, — I'll show you out. — Worried? — Masters inquired as they reached the broad front stairs of an old and rather battered mansion, adapted for the purpose of hosting cheap parties. — A little, — Danny replied, wiping his sweaty palms on his robe. — We're not the most socially adept creature. — Just don't worry too much and try to be yourself. It's a good skill to adapt to each individual, but it's not suitable for a large group where you expect more friendly relationship, — Masters' shoes didn't make a single creaking sound on the old floorboards. He moved silently. Even the rustling of his clothes seemed to be silent. — But remember, it's important not to lose control during your party tonight, so that the next morning, the local newspapers won't be filled with photos of your dead teachers. — Distract the vampires with donor blood if you think they've gone too far. And just have fun. When Vlad opened the door, the last thing he expected to see was the anti-ghost gun pointed at him. Neither he nor Danny had time to react, and a thick green foam flew into the man's face, causing him to stumble back from the exit with a muffled curse. Even the undead's reactions sometimes failed when dealing with someone as unpredictable as the head of the Fenton family. ― Vladi, I didn't expect it to be you! ― Jack sounded too excited and joyful for someone who had just pointed a gun at someone. It seemed that Charlotte's influence on the man was stronger than Danny had initially anticipated, and it was fading away slowly and painfully. ― I saw a creature with bird legs enter this house. Did this thing hurt you? — Give it here! — Maddy arrived in time to snatch the weapon from her husband's hands in annoyance. — I told you to stay at home! You're still recovering from the shadowing! — The only thing I've suffered from is your stupidity, — Vlad said irritably, wiping the viscous green foam from his face. It was the first time Danny had seen him so openly display his anger. — I've spent twenty years recovering from your last stunt. I've achieved a sufficient level of zen to give you another chance at the reunion. Damn it, Fenton, could you at least aim somewhere other than my face? ― Oh, my God,― Maddie breathed wearily, handing the weapon into her son's hands. ― Watch guns, sun, and you... , — she turned menacingly to her husband, biting her tongue at the last moment, — We'll talk at home, — she finished sternly, turning to Vlad, who was desperately trying to wipe the viscous foam from his eyelids. — That stuff got in my eyes, — Vlad hissed, temporarily blinded. — I've got a neutralizer with me, I'll help clean it up. Where are the sinks, Danny? — Maddy pulled a bottle of solution and a small pack of cotton pads out of her hip bag as she walked. — Under the stairs on the left, — Danny replied, almost automatically putting the gun he'd been given to keep safe on the safety lock that his father usually neglected. Danny couldn't say for sure if Charlotte's influence had truly broken him or if he had always been this obsessed. However, he knew for certain that things would be unsettled at home once again. There were no windows in the bathroom. The warm yellow light was dim, but it was enough to provide first aid and properly wash the victim's eyes. — I need to take off my lenses, — Vlad said nervously, pulling off his dirty coat, gloves, and scarf. He found the sink and turned on the cold water, scrubbing his hands vigorously. — Let me do it, — Maddy said, picking up her coat and placing it on the table. She quickly removed her gloves to wash her hands and apply a neutralizer designed for such situations. — Just put on some medical gloves. They're in the inside pocket of my coat, — the man said, his eyes watering. He kept them closed to prevent more anti-ghost stuff from getting into them. — I don't want anything else getting into my eyes. Maddy didn't object or ask questions about how long Masters had been carrying medical gloves and why. Carefully, so as not to get her hands dirty with ectopene, the woman opened her coat and pulled out a sealed package from her inner pocket. She sat Vlad on a decorative chair and quickly treated her hands and put on her gloves. She felt terrible shame for her husband when she began to wipe the ectopene off his face and neck with a cotton pad, generously applying a neutralizer to his injured eyes, which completely dissolved the remaining weapons, turning them into water and ordinary, mundane starch. She used her fingers to pull one eyelid open, squirting a neutralizer into the affected eye so she could remove the lense and clean it properly. The white was painfully red, and the eyelids were starting to swell when she finished with the man's other eye. — That's it, all you have to do is treat your hands, and you can just wash them,— Maddy poured the remaining product into Vlad's hands to remove any residue. — Your little lecture about the composition of ectoplasm at the alumni meeting was helpful. Without it, I wouldn't have been able to derive this formula. — I'm sure you're talented enough to figure it out on your own if you had more time and resources, — Vlad rinsed his face as thoroughly as possible while Maddy removed her latex gloves to hand him some paper towels. — Thank you, — he touched her hand before taking the items from her and wiping his face dry. The gesture was unconscious, but it caused him to twitch slightly. ― It's a pity, but the lenses will have to be thrown away, do you have any spare ones with you? ― Maddy began to nervously fidget with the wedding ring on her ring finger. — I have glasses, — Masters said, rubbing his still-watery eyes and trying to blink them clear. — Left outer pocket of my coat, if you don't mind. — How long has your eyesight been failing? — asked Maddy, pulling a small leather case out of her pocket without getting it dirty. — Since the incident, — the man pulled out a pair of neat glasses with a thin silver frame and put them on with obvious reluctance. — It's amazing, but an ecto impulse can not only depigment your hair but also damage your lens to the point where it can't be fully restored, no matter how much you pay, — he looked at Maddy through the glasses with his red-rimmed eyes. — Sorry, that was a bit harsh. — I'm the one who should apologize, — the woman nervously ran her fingers through her hair. Her long bangs lifted comically, revealing a fresh, not yet fully healed scar above her left eyebrow. ― I'm sorry about what happened. I'm sorry about Jack, he's been a little off these last few days because of... — She hesitated, not knowing how to briefly describe the whole situation in their house. And she just exhaled wearily instead of finishing the thought. — He's obviously not himself, — Vlad repeated, gently adjusting the woman's bangs to conceal the healing wound. — But he's always been like that, to some extent. Even at university. — I suppose so, — the woman took the work gloves, but instead of putting them on, she began to twist them in her hands, as if trying to squeeze the water out of them. — It's strange, but it used to seem sincere and sweet, in a way. An awkward silence hung in the cramped room. Occasional drips of water fell from the faucet into the sink, and judging by the voices outside, the first guests had begun to arrive at the house, greeted by Danny, who directed them where to go. — I'm sorry, — Maddy tried to smile, studying the man's face. — Don't apologize for others, — Vlad allowed himself to smile a little wider than usual, looking into Maddy's dark blue eyes. The silence dragged on. It was time for them to go. Vlad had a flight back to Wisconsin, and he wanted to be at the airport by a certain time to avoid disrupting the regular civilian flight schedule. Maddy needed to take her husband home, who was still under the influence of the ghostly illusion, confiscate all the weapons, and change the password in the armory. They also had other things to do. — The glasses look great on you, — the woman said, gently tucking a damp gray lock of hair behind the man's ear.

***

The emptiness of the manor echoed through the halls and corridors. There were few material beings left. The ghostly servants greeted their master with their usual curtsies and short bows. The click of his polished shoes did not echo off the stone walls and high ceilings like the footsteps of ordinary living people. The old door hinges and floorboards, which had lost their structure after most of the heating was turned off, did not creak. Under the dead, everything is silent. Diana was waiting in the laboratory, having informed Vlad before his departure from the World Park that the tests had been successful. In a greenish cube, a black creature was huddled in a corner, its back covered with several greenish inflammations. This was a sure sign that everything would go as planned. Diana's assistant, a worker bee in a white lab coat with her hair in a tight bun, meticulously prepared the instruments for the procedure, including needles, catheters, alcohol, scissors, and bandages. Her hands were covered with thick gloves, her face was masked, and she was wearing glasses. ― Sit down, we're all set up, ― Diana was moving with difficulty, but she inserted the catheter into the man's vein, which was covered with phosphorescent inflammation, keeping her assistant away from the clan leader's dangerous blood. ― As I said, your assumptions were correct, but the mice are still lethargic and have difficulty moving. You'll need to be treated with plasma for at least a few week before you can return to work. — At least I'll get some rest, — Vlad dismissed his partner's warning, leaning back in a comfortable chair next to the blood filtration machine. — Grimley will be here at five tomorrow morning to take us to the mountain chateau, — said the assistant, preparing food for Vlad so that he could satisfy his hunger immediately after the procedure. — All the equipment will be ready for your arrival, and the area will be cleared for the experimental planting of lichen. — I don't doubt you for a moment, — Vlad replied with a friendly smile, reserved for those closest to him, aside from his loyal cats. The device turned on with a distinctive light hum, causing the creature to flinch in fear and cling to the greenish glass, staring at the scientists with genuine horror in its scarlet eyes. — No, please, don't! — the creature pleaded, feeling the foreign energy flowing into its body. And the foreign disease. — Please! I beg you! I'll do anything you want, just don't! But the pair of vampires and the creature that had merged with the lichen remained indifferent to the pitiful cries for help. The Shadows of the servants, who were monotonously cleaning the corridor outside the laboratory door, also paid no attention to them. They were cleaning the windows and mirrors that had long since lost their reflections. Only the faithful assistant, who was trapped in the Fenton thermos and had no way to help her, was concerned about the mistress's cries. — Tell me, my dear, have you often listened to the pleas of the students you've been feasting on... ? — Vlad thought for a moment. His body's weakness made it difficult for him to formulate his thoughts quickly. — Last fifty years? — he asked with a smirk, turning towards the glass cube. — My dear, you used someone, and now they're using you. It's a matter of cosmic balance. Masters was growing paler, but as his vitality faded, so did the otherworldly boils on his body. As the poisonous green, glowing lumps were sucked into his skin, they were channeled through a thin tube into the machine, and the blood that returned to his vein on the other arm was pure, black as the night itself, with only a few small, knotty, infected particles. Striga, trapped in the cube, was covered in blisters and sores, swelling and bubbling like a giant slug doused in salt. — Please stop, — she begged, her tongue barely moving. Her face was swollen and covered with lumpy, bursting abscesses that covered half the floor with a foul, thick ooze. — As soon as we're done, — the assistant assured the creature, in the most gracious tone she could muster. The undead creature was writhing in the sealed cube, melting like an old tire thrown into a fire. Her body was becoming more and more like a green jelly, dripping onto the floor. She was no longer able to speak or call for help when the cube was finally disconnected from the machine. Vlad's eyes were shadowed with deep black circles. The undead creature had indeed drained him of most of his energy, but he still had the strength to unbutton his shirt and check for any remaining green patches on his torso. — Great, — he said hoarsely, leaning back in his chair as Diana removed the catheter from his vein and cleaned her hands. — I told you we'd have extra time now. The assistant handed Vlad a bag of plasma, and his strength began to return slowly. The green mess on the cube's floor had completely lost its previous appearance, becoming a pool of toxic waste that would be disposed of soon. Hirudotherapy never anticipated that the leeches would survive.