#rivervale_lodge

A glance around to see if Lovecraft had followed him up the stairs....

Lovecraft hangs back "wow. angry ghost. sucks to be you"

Then blinks like she said nothing

A soft hushing sound to the sassy feline, and he moves forward, focusing his attention to try to make out who - or what the spectre is. "Hssssst. What're you up to over there?" Not the most brave battle cry, but.... it is what it is.

Flickering into view to a sluagh's eyes, he sees it...her. A woman with distorted features and clothes that, is that a floral print dress, old timey? She has a knife! Ands he's got it over his Step mother's eyes

"don't see..." the ghost whispers "my ashes, my rage"

He scowls and flicks out his hands towards her - not making contact, but his long fingers flicker in the pale illumination of the streetlights filtering in through the blinds, casting shadows on the wall behind her of grasping, snaring...

And...it works, the shadows lash around the ghost binding her, trapping one arm, then another, holding her....and she hisses "my ashes, my....RAAAAAAAAAAAGEE!" And Flies burst out of her mouth, swarming buzzing covering Symon!

He can't see, and these things sting. Wait, do flies sting? Well, pinch maybe

He recoils back , hands flailing to slap at the flies and to cover his face, and he hisses to Lovecraft. "Lovey! FEAR!"

Lovecraft mews in a soft voice "no euclid here" and her eyes glow

The flies SCATTER.... and there's a shriek! and Symon can see again .the ghost, is gone!

But dozns of chimerial flies now lingeer about.. wait, chimerical?

well, linger near the windows trying to geto ut

He claps hands to his ears at the shriek, hurrying past the flies to reach the side of the bed. His free hand flicks out to try to grabs a few flies - oh, and why not - as does his long, disturbing tongue.

(is there a water glass beside the bed, perhaps? An eyeglass case for reading glasses... anything that might hold flies?)

Yes. Water glass

If he manages to snag any of the flies, he takes te glass and unceremoniously dumps it out, and drops/spits the flies into the cup, covering it with a hand.

The splash of water, wakes his father, who does not see the chimerical flies. He does not know about the blood that was dripping, he only knows... "Son, what do you think you are doing?"

A light clicks on, the lamp, and the water on the floor, well

He blinks at his father, tongue-tied for a moment, then... "I just got back from the late movie. Ann-Marie said I could go see it but to tell her when I got home... I knocked over a glass though. Sorry, I'll clean it up. Remember, it's the horror festival at Regal Cinema 6? I told you at Breakfast."

"She's been too lenient with you. Horror movies are not going to help your grades. " His father states. "You'll never make it as a doctor if you don't establish priorities."

He ducks his head. "I'm sorry. It's just this one, because school just ended."

"mm yes, well, don't neglect your studies just because there is no longer a teacher hovering over you. but you are right, if one must, now would be the time."

"But next time, just leave a note for your step mother. The woman is asleep and she can read. In more languages than you can." An arch reminder

Symon is glad of the dim lighting now, that his father cannot see the glare he casts through his fallen bangs at Ann Marie. "Sorry, Abeoji - Appa. I will do better." He says softly, hoping that the Korean for father, for papa, will soften him a little, backing out of the room, cup in hand, and carefully closes the door. "'Night."

"See that you do, and good night" a click as a lamp goes off

Behind the closed door, he scowls, and grips the glass hard enough that were he Dagmar, it would have long since shattered. Silent steps down the hall, and he hesitates by the front door. "What do I do with you?" He glares at the flies.

The haunting spawned them, but now they seem just tobe ordinary chimera. They might fade on their own eventually here in the autumn world. They might not.

His eyes narrow, regretting that he cannot willow whisper to find out what the hell went on. Still, there is only one thing to do at such a time, even for the proud. Out of earshot of the master bedroom, Symon dials a number on his phone.

Hoping that it is not too late in NY, and that even if soo, Madame Grey may still be awakre, night owl that many sluaghs are.

somewhere, a ring tone plays Toccata and Fugue in D Minor , and a hand reaches for it

"Symon, the sun is slain and it's corpse molders. "

"Madame, I'm sorry to wake you. But who else but my learned mentor could I turn to in my hour of need?" His tone perfectly polite and respectful. Oh, but she knows him.

"polite, proper, flattering even." A pause "Are you dying?"

"Madame, I had a visitor. A Ghost - and not a Caspar. I think I need an old priest and a young priest."

The flies buzz in the covered cup - he gives it a shake, rattling them.

"mm? interesting. details please. tell me more of this visitor and the actions performed by same"

"It... she... wrote a message on the ceiling in blood, and was hissing on about ashes... and rage. Had a knife to my step-mom's head, I think to carve out her eyes. Dunno if it actually would have hurt her. Or could have..." He sounds curious now, as though slightly regretting not having waited to see... "Like in Demons when the zombie did the double-eye gouge... Or in Mansion of the Doomed..."

"blood messages? sounds bit like a haunteer...fascinating really, did you know their conjuriings actually create incidental chimera?"

He scowls at the glass. "I know., It send a hoard of biting flies at me..." Running a hand over his face to see if he still has any bites or hives. "I snatched a few she left behind. Lovecraft ran her off."

"lovecraft is a precious thing. do send her my regards," a pause "the flies may dissipate on their own eventually but one never knows. i'm afraid their ties to their creator is dubious, haunters can be chaotic things but every wraith has reasons. you mentioned ashes? mm well, that leads one to think of old urns with old corpse bits left behind. a possible fetter"

A wince as his fingers trace across the welts left on his face - great, as though he doesn't already have enough pockmarks. "Yeah, but why is she bothering me?" Wracking his brain to try to think of what he may have encountered or done or seen.

"it sounds more like she's targeting your step mother; perhaps the haunt will kill her and you can stop whining about her all the time. it does get tedious."

For a moment he stirs to her defense - about to argue with his mentor - then the memory of his father just moments before using her skills to berate him, and his mouth closes. "Maybe..." He muses, "But it's still invading my home, and attacking those under my roof. Such rudeness is not proper for a sluagh to abide, is it?" Trailing through the house now, peering around for anything new, out of place, unusual.

"mmm" She savors his point, "you are correct, of course. manners maketh monster after all. Look around for old things that might hold ashes, urns, boxes, etc. that might help you learn more about this apparition."

"Thank you, Madame. Apologies for waking you."

"mm you have potential, lad. you are, of course, welcome. Let me know how it goes, would you? my curiosity is sufficiently piqued."

"Of course, Madame." I'll ship it to you with the ghost en route..., He is too wise to say.