Gray. I hate the gray. It's annoyingly empty, and so very boring. Kind of sucks that every time I project, each and every little detail of each and every object is gray. The rug that in the real world is a horrible mix of red, green and yellow lines curving through the fabric like the worst looking snakes. The brown, oak coffee table in their living room. The puke-green walls and the family pictures hanging on them. All gray. All boring.
I don't really like this family either. Mr. and Mrs. Redfield. As usually it was the misses that called me in. While Mr. Redfield doesn;t believe anything's wrong. He sees chairs fly across the room, the table flip during breakfast, even has a plate smack him in the face and still he says, "There's a logical explanation." Moron doesn't realize that a poltergeist is logical. Humans have a mass of stored energy when they die. That doesn't just go away. And when you buy a witchdoctor mask from mid-Africa, you should expect to suffer side-effects.
Lost in my thoughts as I was, I almost didn't hear someone speak in a deep and gruff, but unmistakenly old and wise voice.
"Wewe ni nani?" the voice said.
"Hello?" I said, spinning left and right trying to find him.
"Mbona hatia hapa?" I heard just as as I spot him. An old looking african man, seven feet tall at least.
"Relax, I said, seeing anger and pain in his eyes.
"Why are you here?" he said in a thick accent, all the while glaring at me angrily.
"I'm here to help you move on. Your mask has been destroyed. There's nothing holding you here anymore," I said slowly and calmly so as to not piss him off.
"I have been wronged! My people have been wronged! The violators will pay for what they have done!" he screamed and ran at me. Caught off guard by his sudden movement, I stood frozen as he hit me full force in the side of the head. With the shrill ringing in my ears and the blinding white light, I didn't even notice hitting the floor. Luckily, he decided to back away a few feet, giving me a chance to recover.
"Okay," I said as I rose shakily to my feet. "Guess we can't settle this with words, then."
He came at me with another right hook. This time, I was able to anticipate it and catch his arm. From there I hit him in his stomach, and once in his face. He stumbled backward clenching his nose, and I took the opening to do my chant.
"Preaseisiúint mé tú ó do cheangail leis an eitleán. Tá tú saor in aisce a dhéanamh ar an saol eile (I release you from your ties to this plane. You are free to carry on into the afterlife), I spoke in a low whisper.
Just before he could reach what I can only assume was going to be a strngulation attempt, he froze. The man looked slowly from left to right, his eyes turning pure white. The light didn't stop at the eyes. His whole body went from opaque, to translucent, to transparent over the course of only a few seconds. Starting at his fingers and toes he began to fade entirely. As he realized what was happening, he looked foreward to me and spoke.
"Asante," he said.
"My pleasure," I responded before sitting down to return to the corporeal world, "Always my pleasure."
