Collective Soul: A Haunting

[xp_legion]

WARNING: Disturbing imagery.

Returning from a late-running appointment, Sooraya has a strange encounter.


Wisps of fog floated around her as Sooraya shivered and pulled up the collar of her coat. The latest emergency for the Underground had run far later than even she suspected and she was finally home... only a few minutes away from, even if it was already seven in the morning. With quick steps she headed for the large door, pausing when a strange figure appeared to the left of her, shrouded in mist. 
 
It approached with halting steps, favoring one side. While still obscured its silhouette was unfamiliar: short and stocky, with stooped shoulders.  It seemed to be moving towards her with a sense of vague purpose.

"Hello? Who is there?" Sooraya turned towards the figure, settling into a firm stance, poised either to shift or simply defend herself physically. "Show yourself." She called out, her voice low and firm as her stance.  

The figure halted. This close to the light of the porch its features were now visible. It was a man, pale and hairless, and bare chested in the winter cold. Dark, wet streaks marred his pallid skin. The eyes that tracked to her seemed not to focus. 

A knife was clutched in his hand.

"Who is," the stranger rasped. "Is. Who is . . . there."

Sooraya ignored the question, her hand slipping onto the alarm button of her phone. It was strange though... none of the alarm systems had recognized the weird presence. "I give you one more chance. Who are you and why are you here?"  

"Why . . ." The man lifted the knife in his hand and stared at it, as if he didn't understand what he was holding. He turned his wrist to expose the inside of one forearm. It was covered in wounds. Some were half-faded with age, others still raw and red: artifacts of a lifetime of desperate self-harm. 

He had other wounds. Those on his arms were straight and clean, but other injuries were fresh, ragged. Something had opened a rent from his temple to the base of his neck, taking his left ear with it. What had looked to be a dark splash of liquid across his chest was actually a patch of exposed muscle. Blood soaked through one leg of his jeans. It was as if something had tried to tear him apart. 

"This not." The words seemed to garble in his mouth as he looked at the knife in his hand. "This. This is not for you . . ."

The man's body spasmed. His hands flew to his head, nails digging into his naked scalp while the knife thumped harmlessly into the dead grass. 

The knife gone and the man's confusion so obvious, Sooraya let her finger slip off the alarm button. This was more of a possible case of someone needing help maybe, then a risk to the mansion. "For whom did you need the knife?" She asked gently.  

"Nnn . .  . need . . . I need. I need." Dark trails had formed in the wake of his clawed fingers. He took a choking breath and finally lifted his face to Sooraya. Blood trickled from one eye like a tear.

"Help me . . . "

The stranger vanished.

Sooraya stared for a moment, blinked and then just stared again. "That was just weird." She stifled a yawn, before heading to the door. She'd drop a quick message about the figure, but first she needed her bed.



Scott's peaceful morning is interrupted.


For perhaps one of the noisest rooms in the mansion there was something almost calming about the garage, with the mundane everyday tasks of tuning up the cars and the maintenance that they needed. It was the kind of task that he could lose himself in, not have to think about his brother leaving, about anything that had happened to anyone in the mansion on his watch. So he turned on the music and went to work, humming to himself as he focused on the engine in front of him, tools arrayed around him in some kind of halo of metal and oil as his brow furrowed, a hand reaching back for a spanner.

"And a tweak goes here, a screw goes there and we're done."

"Dad?"

The voice came from the opposite side of the garage. The speaker sounded young, and scared.

"Dad," it repeated, more sob than word, "where are you?"

There were a lot of sounds that Scott expected to hear in the garage, someone cursing when a hunk of metal hit their leg, the clatter of that same metal on the floor, the murmur of voices as the various members of the mansion filtered down and out to get to their cars and explore the world.

The last thing he expected to hear was a girl's voice calling out for her father. There weren't any visitors expected, or at least none that he had scheduled, but maybe a family had stopped by, or someone's niece was visiting. The man pushed away from the car, straightening as he glanced around.

"Uhh...hi?"

A girl was standing between the cars a few yards away. She was young, maybe six or seven, and her blonde hair had been gathered into pigtails.

She was bleeding.

Her left arm dangled uselessly; it had been gashed open, and drops of blood ran from her fingertips to spatter onto the garage floor. With her right arm she hugged a battered doll to her chest in a way that first seemed like comfort, but on second glance was being pressed hard over a dark stain on her front, as if she was trying to staunch the bleeding.

"Dad?" she repeated, not seeming to have heard. "Dad, it hurts . . ."

To any of the uninformed it might have appeared that Scott had speedster powers, so quickly did he extricate himself from the car to dash to the girl's side, eyes glancing around for a moment, trying to spot any trail of blood, anywhere she might have hurt herself.

"Hey there, I'm Scott. What happened to you? Can I see your arm?"

The girl turned to look at Scott. Her eyes were blue, and shone with barely restrained tears.

"He's supposed to be here," she said. Her distress was escalating towards panic. "Something happened, I, I don't . . . how'd I get here? Who are you?" The girl's face twisted, and finally the tears spilled over. She clutched her doll as her breath started to hitch, harsh and ugly. "What's happening?"

"Hey hey, it's ok." The dark-haired man knelt in front of the girl, his hands held up. "It's fine, you're ok. My name's Scott, what's yours? I was just in here working on my car. I don't know where your dad is, but I can help you find him." He slowly settled on his haunches, knees pressed against the concrete floor.

"We'll find your dad, no problem. That's what we do here. What's the last thing you remember?"

The girl gulped, catching her breath, then raised her head to look at him. Fear receded into confusion.

"I've seen you." The blonde's lip began to tremble. "You can tell him. Please, you have to tell Dad--"
Then she was gone.

As quickly as the girl had appeared she was gone, leaving only a memory of fear and blood and the panic in her eyes. A deep breath filled Scott's lungs as he breathed out, hand reaching back for his phone. 

"Charles, you're not gonna believe this but..."



Jean wakes to find a nightmare has left something behind.


It was a scene so familiar to Jean's experience it barely registered as background. Fluorescent lights, white tiles, clusters of patient monitors hunched between every other room. A few stray wheelchairs clustered around the reception desk, an empty gurney stranded near the doors. The familiar smell of antiseptic lingered in the air. It could have been any hospital, any place, any time.

Her footsteps echoed along the impossibly shiny floor, mindlessly scribbling something on her ipad with a stylus. The air was quiet, but to Jean that was nothing new around 3 am. A shock of red on the floor drew her attention, however, and she slowly drew her ipad away, following sticky droplets until they disappeared around the corner, but stopping just before she could see where they led.

Something screeched, and brilliant blue lights flashed from the ceiling just as the overhead lights dimmed, then completely darkened.  Jean's stomach lurched. It took her a moment to realize the sound was the alarms. The smell of disinfectant started to mix with something else: bodily fluids and decay. Around the corner something rustled, followed by the wet slap of something heavy being dragged across the ground.

A hand closed around Jean's wrist like an anchor.

"Wake up."

It was a woman's voice. A stout, middle-aged nurse was standing beside her, her brightly patterned scrubs splashed with gore, and she was holding Jean by the wrist. The rims of her cat-eye glasses cast broad shadows across her face beneath the strobing light of the alarms.

"Jean, you have to wake up."

They're dead. They aren't supposed to talk. The thought crossed Jean's mind for a split second as the woman's appearance startled her out of her dream, causing her to sit up from the desk where she'd fallen asleep. Adjusting her reading glasses, she let out a breath.

Something shifted in the corner of her eye. It was a hand pulling away from hers.

The nurse was standing beside her, her round face drawn with concern and pain. 

"Just a dream," the stranger said in a shaking voice. "It was just a . . . dream."

Jean's office chair tumbled to the floor as she leaped to her feet. "Who--how...?" she sputtered.

The other woman looked around the office as if noticing her surroundings for the first time. She touched a hand to her forehead, bloodied fingers leaving streaks across her skin. 

"I was looking for someone. Someone who can . . ." The nurse dropped her hand and met Jean's gaze.

"You burn so brightly . . ."

And then she was gone.



One-on-one time between Shatterstar and Arthur is interrupted, and Benji makes a connection.


Shatterstar had his training swords in hand and despite the nippiness in the December air, he and Arthur were outside for this training session so to not waste the sunlight. Also, so that Felix could watch.

Shatterstar knelt by the dog, letting Benji front enough to hug the old man around the neck and pat him. The fact Arthur Centino had a fluffy dog was almost as cool as training with Arthur Centino.

"He's a very good boy," he said seriously.

"He always has been," was the more jovial answer from Arthur, who was busy unfolding a set of blue tumbling mats onto the grass for their next exercise. He was seemingly dressed for colder weather than the young man, wearing a tight long sleeve training shirt matched with joggers over a pair of tights. With his gloves, the man was basically covered from head to toe (almost like it was on purpose).

"I actually met Felix the day I learned I was a mutant," he continually wistfully. "He's been with me all of my time here."

"Maybe he's your good luck charm," Shatterstar joked, having once heard Arthur be referred to as the mansion's good luck charm. He gave Felix one more heavy pat on his boxy head before standing fluidly.

He thought he saw something from the corner of his vision and turned.

At first it could have been taken for an animal. It was about half the size of Felix, with four soft, round limbs and a cottonball tail, but instead of a pelt it seemed to be covered in velvety brown fabric. Although it lay face-down in the dead leaves two long, pointed ears were visible.

A limb twitched.

Shatterstar nodded at Arthur and then to the... animal? "Is it hurt?"

He approached it lightly on his feet, barely stepping as he tried to get closer to it. It looked almost more like a stuffed creature than an animal, but there were all sorts of weird portals on the property. Maybe this is what demons looked like or something. And just because something was dangerous didn't mean it didn't deserve help. Shatterstar had to believe that, or else he didn't deserve all the help he was given.

Arthur's head perked up at "hurt," although it took him a second to switch mindsets from 'how to bridgefall' to the new, unexpected thing.

Felix, on the other hand, was very put off by this lack in attention. The old boy stretched back and forth before following Star curiously. He tried to put a nose under one of the teen's hands as a request.

"Well," and the teacher's new, questioning tone made it clear that he was now fully engaged. Arthur had closed the distance less lightly than Shatterstar, and sat half-crouched to get a closer look at what appeared to be a twitching toy. His questions, though, quickly moved to wonder. "Is that... velvet? I had one like that when I was little."

The creature stirred again. It flexed another limb, pulling itself forward with agonizing slowness, and now the two men could see that there were rents in the fabric. Stuffing gaped with every movement. At first it seemed to be from burst seams, but as it crawled it became clear it had been badly torn.

It stopped a few yards away from the two men, as if exhausted. Then it raised its head. What looked back at them was not the expression of a plush toy, but the face of a clock without hands. It tilted backwards, the two rabbit-like ears flopping like broken limbs, and screamed.

The sound could be best described as a cross between a baby's cry, a bird call, and a guttural scream. It was high-pitched and painful to Shatterstar's sensitive ears as close as he was to the creature. Instinctively, he clapped his hands over his ears before he dropped them.

The thing looked like a dream or an imaginary friend. It looked like a hurt childhood manifested.

Shatterstar's body language subtly changed as Benji took front, shoulders sloping and stance becoming a little less steady as he approached the distressed creature, his own discomfort on his face. He reached out to the creature, palm up. He looked to Arthur like Arthur could do anything.

"I think it's Haller's," he said, remembering the creatures that used to live in he and Shatterstar's headspace until they came to just being the two of them. To the creature he said. "We won't hurt you. Arthur is good. The dog is good, too."

Arthur watched the interaction cautiously, writing a mental post-it in regard to Star's subtle shift in mannerisms for later. Since, right now, "Shatterstar, wait. Tell me why you think that?" He smiled to reassure the boy as Star looked his way. "From my experience, this could be magic or a bit of the multiverse. We live in a wonderfully weird place here. That teaches caution."

Speaking of the good dog, Felix's pleading for more pets had turned into a forward stretch in response to everyone's crouched positions. Tail wagging frantically, the dog moved to pounce on Star's open hand in play, completely oblivious to the horrible crying sound.

Shatterstar moved to pet the dog, partially to keep Felix from the little creature. "Felix hasn't noticed it," he pointed out, scratching one of Felix's ears. "Not even the crying. Plus. It made me think of him to see it. Haller is a telepath. That could be on purpose." He said this with all the surety of a middle schooler who thought they knew everything.

"It sounds hurt," he added, slightly accusingly when Arthur did nothing to help.

The keening was growing weaker. The rabbit-like screams were breaking into something more like panting sobs. It stopped its pained crawl and curled into itself into a ball like an exhausted child, shivering.

Arthur's caution fell away immediately at both the reprimand and the creature's collapse. "Little guy, little guy," he cooed. If this was a trick or a curse or something he'd be talked down to later, it was incredibly effective. "Star, you're right. Let me..."

The lean man inched forward cautiously, already working to remove a glove and reach out.

"Now, you might remember any number of lectures involving our resident witches that one doesn't just touch things. For safety." This, delivered by a man who was clearly going to do the thing. "But I'm a professional. If something happens, go..."

He made contact. Softly, so softly. And there was... nothing. Nothing to feel. Nothing to touch.

"Huh."

He followed behind Arthur, letting him take point because realistically Arthur did have more experience with this. He had no idea how to comfort the little creature. Benji just wanted to take it into their arms, but it was better to let Arthur touch it. Arthur was probably going to have gentler hands.

"What do you mean, huh?" He asked, seeing Arthur's hand on the little creature.

The older man's gesture did nothing; the creature seemed beyond awareness or comfort now. As the two men watched the small figure tensed, trembling, and went limp. It faded beneath Arthur's hand, and when it disappeared not even the leaves had been stirred by its presence.

Arthur sat there staring for a second before coming back to himself. "Did I tell you that Haller had been helping me with a new power I fell into? Seeing the past of things. But when I touched Haller, though, I saw..."

He turned to look at Benji directly. "I saw him at that moment, or at least Davey and Jim. And sometimes more. I hoped maybe that would work here."

"You know Davey and Jim?" Benji asked in surprise. But that made it easier to explain why he thought the rabbit, which just faded away to nothing, was from Haller.

"What did you see when you touched me?"

"Well," and it was Arthur's turn to sound sheepish as he rocked back onto his heels. The double image of his own face over Star's own had stuck in his mind ever since Labor Day. "It only works skin to skin, and Labor Day was an accident. It wasn't as clear as with Haller." All true. He sighed. "There were two images. One tall, one shorter and younger."

Benji chewed the inside of his cheek, shirking back a little with the knowledge that Arthur had seen him. He could feel Shatterstar ready to step in and protect him from being known at all but... It was like what he had told the rabbit. Arthur was good. And Haller trusted him clearly, which meant he had no reason not to. "That's us," he confirmed with a short nod, blurred somewhere between he and Shatterstar.

This initial reaction made Arthur slump even more, and he found himself staring at his hands. A spark of resolve flashed across Arthur's face, however, as he gathered his own worries and stuffed them tightly into a little box. "This ability I have... I'm sorry. I should have told you, and you should have been able to share when you both were ready."

"Well, if it wasn't on purpose," Benji said finally after thinking about it for a moment. "Then you aren't at fault." If this had been anyone except Arthur Centino the conversation likely wouldn't have gone the same way. But Arthur had a trustworthy face- after all, it was the same one that Shatterstar had in their headspace.

Benji looked at the spot where the rabbit disappeared. "Do you think Haller will be okay?" he asked, not trying to act the body's age now that he knew Arthur knew who he was.

"I don't know," Arthur offered honestly. "But there are folks both smarter and way, way more psychic than me working on it. Your insight that this is him should help a lot, if you'll let me share it with others." There was a smile in his voice, and that was all he could really offer. 

There was a beat as Arthur let himself take a couple breaths and relax. Then, the good vibes mentor was back.

"So. We haven't had the joy of meeting yet. What's your name, and are you also a sword guy?"