Something was amiss. She shivered and saw that the door to the 19^th century built home was swung wide open. Shaking her head, she bolted that shut too. Quietly her knowing eyes searched around the unnaturally dark room but saw only the crystalline moon, shining clear as it does on a cold cloudless night. She angrily snatched the heavy velvet curtains closed and bounded back for bed. Witch that she was, even the normal magnetism of the waning moon couldn’t persuade her this time. If she was going to ghost hunt properly with the others, she was going to need rest. She tried to go back to sleep but could not shake the feeling of unease. This would not do for someone whose friends were mostly of the undead variety. Really, she was a shame to any ghost whisperer who had an ounce of clairvoyance. To say nothing of the fact she had seen her fair share of creepy spirits and none of them had frightened her. Even in the funeral home. Alone.

She stood and snatched her black robe to cover her black gown and stared one last time. Nothing but creme colored walls and furniture from the Victorian era. The usual cliché.

“It must be the remnants of that strange dream.” she decided aloud. She piled back into bed, snuggled under the covers and closed her eyes. A lovely, albeit hypocritical, dream of one Taliesin Sullivan and the luscious rose garden came into play. She smiled despite herself….she was going to have to come to terms with the fact that she had some feelings for the talented Goth-rocker whether she liked it or not. She began to relax and enjoy the vision when she suddenly heard another noise. She bolted upright this time, in a very unlikely panic.

“Tap-tap. Tap-tap.”

It was on the left side of her window. Her eyes adjusted to see a tree branch hitting the glass. She laughed.

“You’re losing it, Nicneven.” she chided herself. She sighed, feeling uneasy still but she was too tired to care. Moonlight from a crack in the heavy curtains poured gently on her back, casting a lovely hue on the darkened room.

“Now for sweet repose.” she commented, eyes shutting.

She laid still, eyes remaining closed. She was still in the cold silence for a few moments until an odd shadow passed between her and the moonlight.

“Must be a cloud.” she concluded silently, eyes refusing to open. She rolled over, now facing the dark cloud and felt inexplicably spooked.

“Oh Christ, Morgan.” she thought. “Since when the hell are you afraid of the dark?”

Her overwhelming exhaustion forced her eyes to stay shut but something kept her from drifting off. She heard herself breathe rather heavily. She didn’t mind it at first. In and out. In and out. Rather huskily. In and out. Not really like her. Not like her breathing. Not her breathing. Not her at all.

A cold clammy chill hit her arm first and then the cramps began. She was not alone. Once again. But it was different this time. Something was forcing her to keep her eyes shut in dread. She dare not open them.

“This is so stupid, Morgan.” she chastised herself aloud, still not willing her eyes to open. She was afraid. For the first time in 20 years of being able to communicate directly with the dead, she was afraid.

“As dad says, ‘there is nothing in the dark that isn’t in the-’ ” and she forced her eyes open at that very moment to prove a point. A terrible specter stood over her with a very real looking scalpel in hand.

“Light.” she finished, breathless.

The ghost didn’t look like any other spirit she had ever seen…half of its face was burnt off and looked mangled and desecrated. The other side fared little better; its one good eye devoid of any humanity. It didn’t even look as though it could have been human at one point. But Morgan knew it had been the ghost of the tortured prisoner when the house had been an insane asylum. She could do nothing but stare in frozen horror.

She eyed the scalpel, the only color on the ghost or his weapon being an odd shade of red. It leered at her quizzically. Morgan knew she needed to try to converse with the confused spirit, whether he scared the shit out of her or not. She desperately wished for some of Charlie Ossian’s optimism or Seamus McKay’s cold logic right then and there. She also wished for a certain handsome tattooed and wild-haired rock star to be between her and the scalpel but she wasn’t trying to admit that.

“You can’t hurt me. You know that, right?” she assured more herself than the ghost.

Her reply was his confused laughter mixed with it slashing at her. She automatically moved out of his way and he continued to attack her in frustration, the scalpel grazing her arm. To her absolute horror, she saw blood from her upper arm. Before she could react, he slashed again at her face and barely grazed her cheek. He laughed at her shock. Not for long.

“Oh hell no you did not just slash at me, you Michael Myers reject!!!” she screamed at him, lunging at him for the scalpel. He laughed, hurling her across the room psychically. She hit the wall closest to the door with a disgusting thud. Groaning, she managed to get herself up as the spirit started after her at a creepy, floating drag. She threw herself against the door, desperately trying to unlock it. So the fucker had telekinetic power. Where the hell was Mc Kay?

“DAMMIT, OPEN!!” she swore at the stuck ancient door knob. She was sorry she had doubted Gus and Cordelia’s encounter the previous night.

The knife slashed into her lovely lace and velvet robe and into vulnerable flesh upon her back.

She screamed and opened the door finally all at once, slamming it shut in his face. Then she realized her mistake. The ghost floated on through door and half of its face drew up in a vicious grin. Like a cat with a mouse.

“Oh dammit, Morgan.” she whined aloud. “Closing the door on a ghost!!”

Another, clearer voice resounded in her head, crying out, Run, Stupid!!!

She took off down the hall on the third floor, hoping Terra and Brighid were alright. She had to help her friends.

“Brid!!! Brighid!!” she screamed, throwing open the door to the redhead’s room. Empty! Of all damn nights to have a tête-à-tête with Seamus McKay!!!

“DAMN you, Farraday!!!” she roared in frustration. The ghost caught up to Morgan and threw her psychically again, this time against Angel’s made-up bed.

“I thought ghosts couldn’t kill.” she thought to herself wildly. She decided not to find out. Morgan climbed over the bed, the ghost standing between her and the doorway, blocking her escape. He continued his horrible grin but Morgan was not amused.

“Okay, asshole. Want to play?” She smiled with beautiful ferocity.

He nodded, slashing, grinning. Morgan knew his mind wasn’t there as most of the ghosts she had encountered were intelligent, just ignorant to the fact that they were dead. Or they just wanted someone to share with that wasn’t afraid. This guy was definitely not either case.

“Well come and get me then, fucker!!” she taunted. He lunged at her and she projected to him that she’d go left. She went right instead and as she had hoped, he missed her. Positions were turned and she was closest to the door.

“Eat this, you psycho!!” she screamed, shoving a mirror-topped vanity tray onto the wooden floor. Shards of mirrored glass scattered reflecting night, the moon, a horrible ghost and a triumphant Morgan. Mirrors enraptured ghosts.

Morgan was hoping to give herself enough time to make it to the guys on the second floor. Her closest way there was through the outdoor gallery that connected the right and left wing of the third floor to the stairway spiraling to the second floor. She was glad Terra and Cordelia had managed to get rooms on that floor as well.  And that Cordy and her husband Gus slept safely in the tour van with her cat. Shadow would have been with her if Mrs. Thibodeaux hadn’t put up such a fuss about pets. Morgan was grateful for the bitchy grounds keeper for once in her life. As she approached the glass doors that led to the outdoor connecting balcony, she heard a wail from behind her. She made the gravest mistake. She turned to look. She missed her footing and tripped on the heavy runner that carpeted the wooden hallway. She landed heavily, twisting her ankle slightly. It hurt as she tried to rise once again but the ghost was approaching too rapidly. She sensed his rage and anger as he screamed at her and floated double-time her way. Morgan tried to stand then fell helplessly to her knees, her robe caught on a splinter in the wood. She struggled out of the robe, her ankle hurting. Quickly she tried to reach Tully or Charlie through psychic contact. No reply came.

“Dammit!!” she cursed again, clear of the robe finally but having a hard time getting to her feet. She stood only to slip on the rug once more, this time for good, as the ghost neared her. Morgan struggled, crawling across the floor on her arms. Rug burns and splinters were the least of her concerns as she screamed her denial, tears pouring down her cheeks. The creep was upon her, flipping her over on her back with his mind once again. He seemed to materialize even more and Morgan fruitlessly tried to push his presence off with her one good leg. She concluded belatedly that she wasn’t strong enough. It was, perhaps, a good night to die after all. The ghost stared her in the eye, his mangled form and disgusting visage only inches from the lovely face that had haunted Tully’s dreams for most of his life. Morgan was actually sad that she had never told Tully how she had truly felt. Her only comfort was knowing that death was only a beginning and that she had seen it so many times that it did not scare her.

“Go ahead, ugly.” she stared into his one eye, gritting her teeth at the smell of his decaying body.
“Kill me. I’m not afraid to die. I will be back and I’m coming for your ass when I return.” she relished the idea of becoming a ghost herself. She would certainly be able to go after this rotting corpse with no fear of being slashed if she was already dead.

She braced herself to confront the appending mortal wound. What she did not count on was the intervention on the part of a kindly cajun spirit. Once moment she was destined to become a ghost herself, the next, a candelabrum swung low from its height to slowly penetrate the specter’s back. Only another ghost could have hurt him. It had to be the kind ghost of Mrs. Molineaux that was saving her life. The evil fiend let out a howl of pain as his lucid body began to turn black. The candelabra stopped before it reached Morgan, giving her a unobstructed path to the gallery door. It was all she needed.  She found her footing and stumbled to the handle in triumph. The evil spirit, still fighting off the fire, rapidly dispelled it.  He went after Morgan as she reached for the door handle. On the other side of the outdoor gallery was Tully and he looked stupefied.

“Tul!!!” Morgan gasped, running in a broken lame gait for the dark-headed man, falling into his arms. Tully noticed the ghost, scooped Morgan into his arms, slammed the door in the phantom’s face and took off in a dead run in the opposite direction in rapid succession.

Surprising herself, Morgan burst into laughter.

“What the hell could possibly be funny right now?” he demanded, looking down at her in both relief and disgust.

“You, Tul!! Shutting that thing out!!”

“Oh, well, do you want me to leave you with him because I can turn around, Morgan. You aren’t exactly a feather, LOVE.” he snapped, still running and carrying her to the best of his abilities down steep Victorian stairs.

Morgan ignored his jibe, knowing she wasn’t that big of a girl. Something had put the normally unflappable Taliesin Sullivan in a state of fear. He had been battling something that scared the hell out of him.

Before she could answer him, he continued.

“I was on my way to get you. The others are in the library on the first floor. Cordelia and Brighid have erected a protection spell in that room to keep the negative spirits at bay. Dammit, Dru!” He glanced at the blood on her arms. She welcomed his use of her craft name of Druantia for once in her life, the sound of his voice calling her that more melodic than any song he had ever sung to his mass of fans.

“I’m fine, Tul!! Think you could speed it up a trifle? He’s got to be right behind us!!’

“I am, dammit!! I’m a musician, not a fucking marathon runner!!!”

The entity had nearly taken them both when a door flashed open. Tully whisked in with Morgan in his arms and Cordelia slammed the door behind them. Gus and Tully looked anxiously at Morgan’s ankle, Gus having training with twists and sprains and Tully just plain upset that she was hurt. Morgan stared around the room in shock. McKay looked completely disbelieving, his skepticism failing him once more. Brighid sat beside him, covered in mud up to her thighs for some odd reason. Charlie was holding Terra fiercely; Terra covered in bruises and sobbing quietly. Morgan would have expected Charlie to help her with her ankle since he was the natural  healer of the group but she instantly saw that Terra had gone through an ordeal worse than her own. Charlie Ossian’s eyes met hers with a ferocity Morgan had never seen on the normally genial southern man. A small furry black mass jumped from Brid’s lap and Shadow ran to greet her mistress, purring in relief.
“Shadow!!!” Morgan cried, embracing her familiar. Gus pronounced her ankle only badly bruised and her cuts not nearly as deep as they looked. He and Tully propped her foot on a ottoman and a few pillows.

Brid went over to Morgan and burst into tears.

“I’m so glad you are okay!! When Tully told us he felt something was wrong with you, I thought it was too late!!!”

Morgan stared at Brid in shock. Before she could reply, Cordy added,

“Gus and I were in the tour bus when Tully came and got us and Shadow. Charlie had Terra here in the library as it’s the only safe-haven in this Goddess-forsaken house.”

Morgan then turned her attention to Ossian himself.

“What the hell is going on here, Charlie?” she asked him.”Its like a fuckin war zone out there!” Morgan gestured to the door where all sorts of frightening and horrible sounds came pouring against it from the other side.

“So it would seem.” Charlie replied. He was unusually quiet for himself and Morgan stared him and Terra in both concern and fascination.

“Charlie went to help Terra and met up with me, Gus, and Cordy. Gus went after McKay and Tully and then Tully went for you.”  Brid explained but Morgan only half-listened. She studied Charlie and his earthy blonde beloved Terra. He was holding her in his lap, her head against him, their knuckles white from holding hands so tightly. The normally easygoing handsome country boy stared at the pounding walls, worry lines showing clearly. He would occasionally brush his lips against Terra’s crown, his free hand clenched in a fist. He raised that to his lips too, the pain and anger emanating from the man so thick that it could be sliced up along with Morgan’s arms.

“What happened, Morgan? What happened to make you hurt your ankle?” Brid asked her, concerned.

Morgan smiled grimly, her eyes never leaving Charlie and Terra, despite Tully’s kisses to her own pale hand.

“No.” She said, shaking her head. “Its Charlie’s turn to talk. I want to hear what Charlie has to say.”

(Copyright in 1999 and 2008-9 to Maeve Pendragon/Jocelyn Turner. Steal it and you will have severely bad karma.)

Dante at Halloween last year

In all fairness, I have been looking for a way to type my feelings (I promise Im not a total curmudgeon!) and my thoughts as well as random story excerpts, fun quotes, good music samples, crazy Sims 2 pictures, and the odd photo here and there.  Maybe I can make some friends who dont value someone on their ability to play beer pong for a change so there is always hope.

So I would like to think….