Ghoulish Nights || #writewithzo

Ghoulish Nights

"So let me get this straight," Sybil Avenlocke frowned. "You want me to hunt down a spirit?"

Richard Masters— her friend in the business— nodded. "One of my colleagues told me about this house next to theirs. Old and abandoned. Said there were some weird things happening. They want you to investigate."

"Richard, 'weird' doesn't necessarily mean 'supernatural'," Sybil sighed. "For all we know, it could have been the wind."

Richard grinned. "Either way, they've been freaking out so much— they're willing to pay you."

So now here she was, inside an old 19th century house at one in the morning, lying in wait for something that didn't possibly exist.

'Richard owes me big time,' Sibyl silently seethed in the darkness.  She leaned against the railings of the house's rickety staircase, ready to apprehend anyone coming in or out. I am not spending the night here without extra compensation.

But Sibyl couldn't deny the fact that there was... a presence. An aura of despair, of panic.

Of death.

The witch nodded to herself. This place reeked of magic.

Darke Magic.

A crash from the room above snapped her out of her thoughts.

Sibyl tensed. It would be stupid to just charge in blindly—

Another crash. And then a man's frightened scream.

"Screw stupidity."

Sibyl ran up the steps, with one hand grasping her enchanted dagger, and the other hand forming gestures in the air, the beginnings of a spell.

How did they get past me? I cast security charms around the house and checked every room twice!

Sybil stumbled at the top of the stairs, her eyes widening at the sight that definitely wasn't there before.

Blood.

Red splashed over the walls, forming demonic sigils. All the furniture was gone, making way for thirteen candles and a crudely smeared pentagram on the floor.

And if she had to guess, the headless corpse sprawled in front of her was the unfortunate inkwell.

"A sacrificial ritual," she whispered, inspecting the body, her mind working fast. A certain spell could help her figure out what in Hades was going on. Something requiring a lot of life force, which would weaken her tremendously.

But if her hunch was correct, it was all or nothing.

Gathering all her energy, Sybil began the incantation.

She breathed slowly, keeping her gaze fixed on the corpse, never pausing, even as each second weakened her.

Then she abruptly stopped.

Because the heavy breathing she was hearing wasn't coming from her.

It was coming from behind her.

Mentally screaming, Sibyl steeled herself... and slowly turned.

This was no spirit.

A tall, wraith-like thing leered at the witch, its too wide grin showing its decaying, shrapnel teeth. Its eyes— two dark orbs dripping blood— bulged out of its sockets, with its emaciated body seemingly made of shadow. Its head was awkwardly bent to one side, and Sybil's blood chilled when she saw what the thing was holding in its clawed hand.

The decapitated head of Richard Masters, frozen in terror.