The House Of Whoosher... ;-)

[Scrappy Amazon]

“Wow. That always gets me. Now, where to start?” Scrappy looked around for the most obvious door but didn’t find one that jumped out at her so to speak. So she just tried the first one she came to. She reached for the handle as though she was going to open the door but her hand passed through the knob. “Dang, forgot about that for a second.”

She took a deep breath, as though she still had lungs to do that with, and jumped through the door. She found herself in a large closet. “Well this won’t do.” She passed through the door again and out into the hallway. “Maybe it came from a little further down.” She passed the stairs and went down the hallway to a large double door. When she got close to the door she began to hear voices. Someone was laughing rather maniacally and someone else was sobbing. Scrappy stepped through the door and greeted the sight before her.

The room she had entered was huge. The hard wood floor and chandelier gleamed in the moonlight coming from the bank of widows leading outside. A hundred people milled around and danced to ethereal music. All but one of them dressed in 20’s clothing. Smack in the middle of the room stood the woman who she had had the earlier encounter with. Holding her sword out and stuck through some grinning nearly drooling wacko who was laughing at her. She screamed continuously in some foreign language clearly distressed that she hadn’t actually killed the guy. Scrappy closed the distance between herself and the woman in short order. Her boots, eerily, making no sound as she ran across the shiny floor. When she reached her destination she skidded to a halt and grabbed the shirt sleeve of the sword wielding woman………………

[Freebird]

The woman turned towards her , but looking past her
or through her . In horror she saw who the woman was ,
It was Freebird or some one that looked like her.
But why would she try to kill that man?
Who was he?
She thought to herself.
She tried to ask her what was going on but couldnt speak
there was'nt any air .
Just then the woman vanished right before her eyes.
This has got to be some kind of joke .
Someone is trying to scare her, but who? And why?
She told herself to go find the others , but no one was around.
She looked every where when suddenly....

[guru]

"That which is soft bends; that which is hard breaks."

There is something reassuring about the sound of a well-made door when it closes. It thumps with a certain finality of tone -- like what is done is done in an absolute sense. Any concern or worry ... or terror ... on the outside must wait its turn. Any joy, too. The reality outside stays disconnected from the reality inside until someone makes the decision to act with absolute certainty. And certainty seemed to be in short supply.

Guru forgot to express his gratitude to Joxcee. Her voice caught him by the heel and stopped the otherwise inevitable downward spiral. Unintentionally she turned him around and put him back to work. His comfort zone.

Maybe he was too busy buying a one-way ticket on the False Hope Express. More likely he just seized the opportunity for a little distracting busywork. Check the cameras, check the tapes, check the thermometers and magnetometers. Pick up the Forward mass detector. (Nifty little device invented by Dr. Robert L. Forward -- tracks the movement of any solid object ... even through walls.) All this activity creating an island of routine in a sea of chaos.

Oh yes, pocket that one tape. Time for a quick listen upstairs.

Thick walls and a solid door made for good acoustic insulation. A quiet environment was necessary in order to hear the delicate details of a ghostly voice often buried (*okay, that could've been phrased better*) in the noise floor of analog circuitry. He sank down into an overstuffed chair and visualized all the tension in his body continuing to sink farther down. Relaxed body, relaxed mind. The thoughts must be flexible and free to flow and accept the ever changing reality that is life.

'Let's push buttons.'

Play.

Gentle hissing. Rolling ocean waves. Time passing unevetfully.

'Wonder how long 'til the door opens and I yip like a dog... That was pretty funny.'

Gentle hissing. Time passing. Tinkling bells.

Pause.

'Hmm... tiny pieces of glass... too random to be musical... chandelier?'

Play.

Gentle hissing. Time passing. Stomach growling.

'That's what I forgot. Time to eat. There's never enough time. No matter how long you live, there's never enough time.'

Pause.

'I've been old for a long time. '

Stop.

'But now I feel old.'

Eject.

'Without her.'

[dixielandyankee]

Dixie hadn't expected the ethereal scream which greeted her as she pushed open the door, as gust of wind propelled her into the foyer where she stood, momentarily bewildered, and pushed strands of hair back into her pony tail. She was confronted by a woman with long blonde hair who turned as she entered and surveyed her with the most unusual eyes she had ever seen, glowing yellow and feline. She appeared to be wearing a single leather glove.

"Err, hi" offered Dixie, but as she did so the woman spoke.

"I think that's for me" she said, indicating the scream with an apologetic look. "Everyone else is in there I think" she provided, pointing vaguely to one of the doors off the hallway, as she said this she dropped to her knees, grasping what looked like a small black cauldron. Her body stiffened and jerked and then was still.

There was a long silence.

"Well," Dixie dropped her travel bag and put her hands on her hips "talk about your friendly greeting." She stepped purposely forward and knelt by the blonde woman.

"Hey" she murmered gently, "are you ok?" The woman's head was bowed and her hair fell across her face, obscuring it from view. Dixie reached a hand forward to brush it back. She was met by a blank, dead stare like the woman that had inhabited this shell of a body so confidentlyonly moments earlier had melted away...far, far away.

"Oh man, this could be trouble. Where the heck is everyone?" Dixie rose quickly and headed for the door which had been pointed out to her, forgetting her luggage in her haste. She fumbled with the door handle and entered the room to see a man slouched in a comfortable chair, staring morosely into space. He was surrounded by gadgets and gizmos which were ticking, whirring and beeping to themselves. As she entered he jumped visibly, looking at her in confusion.

"Hi, I'm Dixie" she thrust her hand forward impetuously, "I don't know who the heck you are but you're the first person I've bumped into that hasn't had some kind of out of body experience moments later, I thinK you need to come and help me with a lady and a pot in the hall"...

[Phalon]

Sometimes we only live for the here and now.


She never felt her sleeve being pulled or saw the woman on the other end of the tug trying to get her attention, trying to help. He was all there was in this moment and she was his, as he had intended. He owned all of her being once he placed his hands over hers on the hilt of her blade, knowing the contact would show her the horror he wanted her to see. Her eyes were locked onto his, and if eyes were the mirror to one’s soul, his showed nothing. They were empty, devoid of emotion, devoid of life. He taunted her as he rammed her sword through himself over and over, the action vehemently screaming, I am dead! I am dead!, and the physical contact transferring the information to her, that so too, was she. It was only when she fully realized it, and understood, that he let her go, slumping to the ground, completely spent.

Sometimes we're lonely.


Alone now. Once he released her, she retreated within herself, to a deep recess of her mind she had been once before, long ago. He brought her here, to this place she had clawed her way out of so many years prior, and she stood on the edge, almost welcoming the empty blackness it held below. A place like his eyes - devoid of emotion, devoid of life. The long first step off would be so easy.

Sometimes we feel we need a place to be grounded,
or fly away again

She had nothing here, in this lifeless existence. In Greece…in life, after she pulled herself out of the madness, she used her knowledge as a healer as a reason to go on. It gave her purpose, helped her to forget, or rather, because she would never forget what she’d done, it helped her to ease the pain within herself by healing the pain in others. And Zena kept her grounded…Bhen Rudha, Evergreen and the others. Her family kept her grounded. But they were not here. She had none of that now. The dead can not heal the living, and the living did not heal the dead. Did they?

I feel rain pouring down. I wait to rot away,
live again, here forever, the spiral never ends.

Standing on the precipice, she wondered if perhaps it would have been different if she’d discovered it herself, instead of him leading her to it. She should have guessed it, her being dead - the cold that never left her body, clothing that never seemed to dry, the strange inhabitants of this place speaking a language she could not understand. Maybe she did know from the beginning, and just could not fathom the possibility. She remembered falling, gasping for air, but getting water instead, her lungs filling, then being dragged down into the nothingness. But there she was, pulling herself from the sea and into this house, walking and talking, and who in their right mind would believe they were dead if they could accomplish that? But, of course, she wasn’t in her right mind, was she, and that is why she stood here now.

Why are we feeling something's familiar around us?
Are we just dreaming?
Always we search for the answers but nothing is found.
We fly away again.

So here she stood, on the familiar ground she thought she’d never revisit. One step away from an existence of eternal madness, an existence without feeling, without caring – without anything. How could this be? How could she have gotten to this place? She suddenly longed for what she could not have; warmth - the simple warmth of a fire, the warmth of family and friends, the sun on her face. That was the one thing about insanity – there was no warmth in it – it was a cold and lonely place. But what was the alternative? He could not get her here, in this place; it was hers, and hers alone. And just one step, and she’d be there, spiraling down to a place where nothing mattered.

I will fly away again. Oh, I will fly away ag….

NO!

No, this was not her – not now – not ever again. She did not belong here, in this madness, in this house. He may have led her here, but she’d be damned if she let him push her over. There had to be a way out, and by the gods, she’d find it. She had an eternity to try.


note: The title of this post and the words in italics are from a song of the same name, performed by Sully, Robbie, Tony and Tommy.

[guru]

Scrappy looked almost peaceful. She had to be propped up on her bed to accomodate that pot ... which became the object of heated speculation. Guru wanted to take it from her and set it aside but was outvoted at the last minute. Of course he asked for an explanation.

It is believed that objects can be used to focus spiritual energy. The more important the object, the stronger the focus. And a trance -- if this wasn't a trance, it sure was the next best thing -- is the ultimate focus. Just like tuning a radio, a focused mind would be able to receive signals. Signals from where?

Before anyone could say "Is there a doctor in the house?", Joxcee and Dixie were drawing straws for the night watch. Finally Freebird capped the conversation for all.

"In my travels I have seen many things that defy explanation. But there is always one constant -- the unlimited power of the mind. We may not agree on details, but we agree Scrappy is having a powerful experience."

"Would someone be so kind as to ask Mrs. Peacock to bring a cup of tea? Earl Grey if possible. I'll take the first shift and wake someone before morning," Guru volunteered. A quick headcount. "Isn't there another new arrival ... wearing blue?"

[dixielandyankee]

After her abrupt entry into the library Dixie had led the man to the woman in the hallway, from his cry of "Scrappy" she assumed that was the woman's name and between them they managed to haul her and the pot, which seemed to be surgically attached, up the stairs to a bedroom. She discovered that gadget-man's name was Guru and engaged in a heated debate over whether to remove the black pot Scrappy so firmly held on to.

"Look, it's just not safe." explained Dixie patiently, "sometimes ancient items like this can be links to other worlds and time lines, if you wrench it away from her you risk the chance that her disembodied self will be left behind, wherever she is, with no way to get back."

Not long after this Dixie was introduced to the other 'contestants' in the game and they decided as a group that Scrappy shouldn't be left alone. They decided to draw straws as to who got the first watch but Guru volunteered and they all took a slot of a couple of hours each after him.

"Would someone be so kind as to ask Mrs Peacock to bring a up of tea?" ventured Guru.
"Sure thing" said Dixie quickly, grabbing the opportunity to have a look around the rest of the house on her search for the housekeeper.

She slipped out of the bedroom door as the others dispersed to their own rooms and Guru settled down in a chair by Scrappy's bedside. She made her way along the seemingly unending landing until she came upon another set of stairs, one flight branching further upwards and getting smaller as they went, and another flight which seemed to be back staircase to the servants quarters below. As she descended the stone steps the air seemed mustier and the light dimmer, soon she was squinting to see her way. She paused and checked quickly back over her shoulder then stretched both hands out in front of her and closed her eyes.

"Lumos", she uttered firmly and a strange glow enveloped her hands. After moment it coallesced into a more definite sphere and hovered eerily in front of her, casting strange pale shadows on the walls. She let her hands fall to her sides, exhaled and opened her eyes. "Nice", she grinned in the half-light, it was something she'd been practising. With her path now visible before her she continued her descent and came to a small wooden door, she could here voices on the other side, low and murmering.

"Extincto" muttered Dixie and the fluorescent ball vanished plunging her into almost complete darkness. She rapped softly on the door and let herself in. She was faced with a seemingly snug kitchen, a large roughly-hewn table in the centre and a roaring fire which belied the chill in the room. Around the table were sat three or four young people. One man in socks and gartered trousers polishing horse leathers, a young girl in a mob cap darning material, a stout middle aged woman rolling pastry and a slender, slightly aging woman in a smart but plain dress with a leather belt from which there dangled a janitor-esque bunch of keys.

Dixie shivered slightly and addressed the group. "Mrs Peacock?" The woman inclined her head, which Dixie took to be an assent. "Ah, we've had a small, um, incident...one of the women here is a little unwell and we're going to sit with her for the night. I was wondering if we could have some tea at all?" The slender woman moved to the hearth where she set a kettle over the fire. Dixie couldn't quite place the feeling of uneasiness...she decided it was probably just an over reaction to the house and the atmosphere. "Well, thank you, I appreciate your time" she added as she turned to leave. Pulling the door to behind her she was once again plunged into darkness.

She took a deep breath, "Lumos", the sphere reappeared and Dixie recoiled in shock. She was gazing down a long passageway, slightly mossy and damp, "What the heck! Where are the stairs?!" she exclaimed and turned hastily back into the kitchen, shoving the door unceremoniously. She was greeted with a silent, empty space, a bare table and a cold, ashy hearth. "Well this is just ridiculous"...

[Phalon]

Phalon raised her head from the hard floor. It was smooth and cool, and somewhat comforting to have something that solid beneath her, but it was time to get up and do something...anything.

Her hair hung in long, wet strands covering her face, and looking through it, she found herself staring at a pair of heavy black leather boots. Her eyes followed the boots upwards, traveling up the wearer’s body until they rested upon clear amber colored eyes.

She pushed herself up from the floor, and kneeling now, ran her hand back to remove the veil of hair, revealing her own green eyes, set fierce with an unwavering determination. She reached out and took the hand offered her.

The message she sent was not a request, though, neither was it a demand. There were no words, and it transcended any language. A transfer of thought…Simple… Complex….Powerful. Help me. And it was understood.

Fingertips slid from her hand, grasping, but not finding hold. Then the woman with the amber eyes was gone. The contact was broken, and her link to the world of the living; severed.

[Freebird]

She sat dazed for a moment , woundering who the woman was
and what she wanted. Was she dreaming? Or was it real?
I have to find out who that was, she thought to herself, where are all the others at ?
She walked down the long hall, her footsteps silent when they should be making noise.
She hears laughing and talking in another room behind a door .When she tried to open it , it wouldnt open.
Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, she turned around to see Scrappy who also heard the noise behind a door, but the noise she had heard was comming from down stairs she thought.
She went downstairs to find out who it was but there was no one there . Then she heard the laughter up stairs .
So she went upstairs thats when she found....

[Phalon]

…she found herself alone again. Phalon’s link to the outside, like the woman with the yellow eyes who provided it, had vanished. Why, she wondered? The phenomena that occurred when their hands touched was powerful; the energy to perceive the other’s thought nearly overwhelming. Had this scared the woman, perhaps? No - Phalon doubted it. She judged this one to be strong, and not easily frightened - she had seen it in her eyes, and felt it in her mind. Besides, the woman had come to her, and not the other way around. Why then, had she left? Just another weird occurrence in a place that was full of them, she supposed.

She sat crossed legged in the middle of the empty ballroom to ponder this. The crystal chandeliers, brightly lit just moments earlier, were dark now save for the moonlight coming in from the floor to ceiling length windows banking one wall of the room, causing the crystal pieces to sparkle randomly. The moonlight also hit her sword, giving the steel an eerie blue-gray cast to it. It laid where it fell from her hands when that demented being released her, and she reached over to pick it up now.

She could still feel the remnants of his essence on it, and an image of the sword deeply embedded in his belly, his leering grin taunting her, flashed through her mind. She shook her head as if this would rid herself of the vision. So he was dead, she thought. And so was she. Still… She had to be certain. She held the sword in front of her, staring at her distorted reflection in its cold blade. Quickly and without hesitation, she brought the blade down hard, slicing it across her open palm, and steeled herself from the pain to follow. There was none. No pain. No blood. No anything. She turned her hand this way and that, examining the lack of wound. Ok, so that answers that question.

Perhaps it was the sword. She tossed it back and forth between her hands, testing its weight, flexing her wrists as she sliced the air. It felt real enough…but then again, so did she. Thwang, thwang, thwang. The echo as she struck the blade on the wood floor bounced throughout the empty room. It sounded solid. Good. The sword might not work on that ghastly being and those like him, but who knew what other beastly things resided in the hidden recesses of this place.

Hers was a time before scientific knowledge and logic sometimes cluttered the minds of men; a time where gods interfered with the lives of the mortal on a whim; where strange creatures, part human, part beast, roamed the earth, and where it was not unimaginable to perform a dance with the dead as your partner. And if one day, one happened to awaken and find herself existing as a spirit, well then, it was not out of the scope of one’s imagination to believe that she could leave that realm and return to her own. All one had to do was search and find the way out.

And that is exactly what Phalon set out to do as she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway beyond.

[guru]

Sitting in a dark room in a strange mansion guarding an unconscious woman. Just another day. Time to do a little thinking.

'Is this how the entire stay is going to be? Are we to be swept away by a torrent of phenomena before reason can be brought to bear? Speaking of reason...' He remembered one introduction in particular. '...we have a resident skeptic. Maybe Freebird and I can bounce ideas around. Yeah, that's it -- learn how the others think -- learn people's strengths and weaknesses before the competition kicks in.'

The long day began to conspire with the overstuffed chair. Guru knew he had to occupy his mind or surrender to the will of Morpheus. He had known surrender one time in his life ... and that did not turn out well.

In his pocket was the smallest working mass detector Dr. Forward ever built. No time like the present to put it to work.

"I wish this gizmo was more directional," he lamented while trying to twist in his chair. Early model mass detectors such as this could only give a general sense of left, right or straight ahead. Tired of elbows colliding with armchair arms, he rose slowly to face each wall in turn. Point - reset calibration - hold - repeat. The readings were revealing how truly massive this mansion had to be. Still, no significant motion.

Just for the sake of completeness Guru faced the windows and prepared to wolf down one more thin slice of fresh disappointment. Then something moved.

No sound, only a reading. A significant reading. Under cover of darkness something was moving down the outside wall.

Something big.

[dixielandyankee]

Dixie gazed contemplatively around the room. Following the initial shock she wondered whether this meant that there would be no tea? Realising this probably wasn't the most pressing question she put her hands on her hips, then placing her feet slightly apart she breathed in once more and closed her eyes. "Requiro phasmatis", she uttered and her eyes slowly opened, glowing strangely in the dark like phosphorescent creatures. She scanned her surroundings looking for any residual energies that might give a clue as to where her phantom friends had disappeared to, she squinted, trying to maintain her concentration. The spell wasn't going well, it was a new incantation that she had been trying to get the hang of specifically for this trip but she hadn't been able to perfect it. As she turned her gaze towards the dank tunnel behind her her head suddenly felt as if it would cleave in two.

"Shit!" she yelled, clutching her temples with both hands, "what the hell?". It was as though her senses had been flooded with iced water, red as blood, and damn if it didn't hurt like a kick in the crutch.
'Crudpuppies' she thought, ' write a hundred lines Dixie, "I must not play with other realms...or the dead...or spells I can't control!"

It was pretty much her last thought before she blacked out.

It was a thin sliver of light piercing her brain that Dixie was first aware of, and then a headache like a small colony of people, each with an individually crafted pickaxe, hammering on the inside of her skull.
"Wh...mm...whuzgoin on...?" she muttered. She realised that the light was seeping in through her partially open lids and forced herself to open her eyes. 'Chair leg' she thought. 'No...bedpost. Hmm, stone floor, feet. Wait a minute...feet?'

"Who's there" she managed a little more clearly, pushing her aching head off the floor to contemplate the onlooker.

Guru stared at her as if she had just materialised out of thin air...which, funnily enough, she had. She looked at him blankly. "Hi", she stated "Something's coming. Something big."

[Scrappy Amazon]

Scrappy grabbed hold of the woman’s blue robe and tried to pull her toward the door. She was unsuccessful however as the woman began to scream anew and collapse on the floor. The screaming was getting to her. Confusing her focus. The energy flow between her and the pot was wavering. And although she wasn’t in her body she had an awareness of it. An awareness she could not afford to foster right now. She had to help this woman. Scrappy felt hands grip her body. She had the vague feeling of being manhandled. Strong fingers digging into her arms, voices buzzing inside her head, threatening to break her control over this situation, over her ability to concentrate.

She shook off the confusion with great effort. Refocused her own energy and reached out to help the woman on the floor. “Get up! Let me help you.” The instant their hands met a message was sent and received. Like a bubble floating through the atmosphere it found its receptive surface and burst in her mind behind her eyes. The pain it brought was immense. Nearly staggering Scrappy as she struggled to capture it. Help Me it said. How? she tried to send back but to no avail. As their fingers slipped from each other the blue robed woman faded from view and along with her the rest of the party clad ghosts.

Scrappy slipped to her knees placed her forehead on the cold wood floor and held her head. What the hell was that? This was a new experience for her. Communicating through the mind was never something she could accomplish no matter how hard she had tried. Touch was her gift. This was something new. And it was painful. And where did everyone go? She knew she was still in the “in between”, she could feel it. She still had an awareness of being disconnected from her body. In fact she could almost make out the voice speaking to her. That incessant buzzing was starting to break through….

[Joxcenia]

Joxcee decided to do some backtracking to see if she could find her way back to the Library and as she rounded a corner she ran smack dab into Mrs. Peacock, one of the few people she dreaded running into while all alone. "Ooooh!" Joxcee yelled. "Mrs. Peacock, you scared me." She brushed her hair off her face. "Uh... could you direct me to the Library?"

"You're needed in the foray," Mrs. Peacock said with a sniff and a lift of her nose into the air. She unclasped her hands from her wrists and pointed back down the hall. "Just down those stairs. There seems to be an occurrence of some sort, and since you're the one in charge you should go check it out."

"An occurrence?" asked Joxcee, perplexed. "What sort of occurrence? And where did those stairs come from?" She stepped around Mrs. Peacock and started down the hallway towards stairs that hadn't been there just a few moments earlier. No reply came, and when Joxcee turned around, she discovered herself to be all alone.

As Joxcee reached the stairs she saw several people carrying another person. Three she knew from meeting them earlier, the other she hadn't met yet. She looked to check for everyone's nametags, but there were none. Odd... I thought the three that I met had put their nametags on when they entered the library... so why would they then remove them? She listened as the group did their best to explain the situation, but the ghost-speak made no sense to her. She felt that she should call 911 and get some help, but the others assured her all would be well and that each would take a turn keeping an eye on the 'comatose' woman until she recovered her senses.

When Guru volunteered to take the first shift, Joxcee left in search for her own room, deciding it might be easier to find than the kitchen. She wanted to make sure her luggage was in it's rightful place, and not in someone else's room. She went from door to door checking each to see if it had her room number tacked onto it, but none as yet matched. As she turned down one hallway, she noticed two women standing in front of double doors. One was the women in the 'coma' and the other was one of the new arrivals. Both had on their nametags, so Joxcee called out to them.

"Scrappy! How are you feeling? Should you be up and moving around? And Freebird, hello. I'm Joxcenia, the 'Official Hostess,' I don't believe I introduced myself earlier... it's nice to meet you." Neither acknowledged, nor spoke to her. "Oh, am I interrupting an investigation?" Instantly they disappeared. Normally, this would have sent her over the edge, but now all the weird happenings were becoming routine, and so Joxcee went to the double doors and opened them. "Scrappy?" She peered inside the door. "Freebird?" She looked around the large room with row after row of chairs and tall windows that went from the ceiling to the floor. At the far wall to the left stood a podium, and at the far wall to the right was a buffet table. Awww... this must be where I'm going to speak later today.

On the wall to the left of the doors was a large portrait of Kym Taborn, and beneath the portrait was a plaque, which read:

Kym Taborn
Founder of Whoosh.org

The rain and wind pounded against the windows as the storm clouds opened up again. Joxcee started toward the podium to see if there were instructions for her there when she heard a Thwang, thwang, thwang. The sound echoed throughout the room eerily. "Hello? Scrappy? Freebird?" She glanced around the empty room. "Mrs. Peacock? Is that you?" Thwang, thwang, thwang. "Come in" Oh crap! Of all the vampire movies she had seen, she should have known better than to just invite someone into the room with her sight unseen.

A cold draft rushed past Joxcee, and the doors opened and shut as though someone had just left the room. Well, I guess it's better that they left instead of entered.

[dixielandyankee]

"Okay, here's the 411" said Dixie quickly, "I'm a Wiccan, I do incantations, I found some weird stairs, a weird kitchen full of ghost servants and a very damp tunnel which was...well, weird. I did a spell to check out the vibes of this joint and something the size of a small country knocked me out!"

Guru remained silent.

Dixie continued. "Seeing as Scrappy here's the only person I've seen with a physical connection to this 'otherness' I think we need to wake her the hell up and see if she can talk this thing out of eating us alive, or whatever. I might need your help, but you have to just trust me and repeat what I say."

Dixie reached inside the neck of her shirt and grasped a sturdy cord hanging there, giving it a sharp tug a small leather pouch appeared. She hastily undid the knot and released the string about the opening of the pouch. She glanced up, noting Guru's bemused expression, and said "Fairy dust", her mouth forming a slight grin in spite of the situation. She slid her fingers into the pouch and withdrew a pinch of purple powder. She scattered it around the bed in a vague circle and then knelt within it by Scrappy's head. She placed her hands on Scrappy's brow, resting her thumbs on her eyelids. The woman's skin was cold and clammy.

"Okay" I need you to repeat after me..."Exsuscitum, anima, adductum abhinc. Again, exsuscitum, anima, adductum abhinc" They knelt by the bed, one on each side of Scrappy and chanted. Dixie had to give credit to Guru...for a guy so reliant on his gadgets he was joining in with more conviction than she had thought he would. Considering also, he hadn't a clue what he was saying, she could have told him to recite her grandmother's recipe for eggnog and he wouldn't have known the difference. She brought her focus back to Scrappy, channelling as much energy as she could into her words. From the corner of her eye she could see the powder circle begin to glow. 'Yes..come on' she thought. From somewhere in the farthest reaches of her perception she could her a noise, so very faint she thought she was imagining it...Help me!...Was it coming from Scrappy? She couldn't tell but she kept chanting the 'soul summoning' until suddenly she felt a flicker of movement, like a butterfly, under her thumbs as consciousness started to return to Scrappy's body.

[Freebird]

As Scrappy sat up she wondered what had happend.
She saw Dixie and Guru sitting on each side of her .
Dixie and Guru helped her up. Her head thumping with a headache.
She asked what happend? Her mind fuzzy she couldnt remember,
You don't remember any thing? asked Guru.
She tried to understand what was happening but her head was hurting so bad she could'nt think straight.
She asked, where is every body else at?
How did I get here,in this room?

[guru]

Guru was beginning to have suspicions.

'Too much happening all at once... people appearing and disappearing, wind blowing indoors, Scrappy's condition... I believe in coincidence, but even coincidence has limits. Someone is pulling strings somewhere. And that someone may not have our best interests at heart.'

He considered his present company and wondered what clues they might offer. Dixie in particular. He made a mental note to have a long conversation with her later ... when he had rebooted a few more nerves and got them back on line. Her powers could be the key to pursuing his real goal. After all, he wouldn't rush half way around the world for some silly contest.

His focus then went to the woman on the bed. No matter what else was going on, here was someone who needed help right now. A detailed (yet discreet) visual assessment revealed no evidence of harm. She should be okay. She looked only the tiniest bit wobbly when helped up.

'Uh oh, that's not locked in place.' He thought Scrappy's gun might fall out if she stumbled. 'An accidental discharge is the last thing we need right now.'

As Scrappy began to move, Guru's open hand flew forward to prevent the pistol from slipping. But too quickly for most eyes to follow, Scrappy's right hand impacted the holster and locked in place with iron resolve. Eyes locked also.

'Was he actually trying to disarm me? Why would he do that?' she wondered.

Scrappy was beginning to have suspicions.

[Scrappy Amazon]

Scrappy knelt on the cold wood floor, head pressed against the smooth surface. Her head pounding like the drum section of a high school band. The buzzing was becoming clearer. She could just make out the words ...”Exsuscitum, anima, adductum abhinc……..” It was calling to her. Pulling her out of this existence. She couldn’t fight it anymore, the pain in her head lessening her control, she stopped resisting. With a loud popping sound, which must have been in her head, she was pulled back into her body.

Scrappy opened her eyes and found herself in a room being observed by several people. A faint purple glow enveloped the bed she was laying on. Guru stood in the corner with a bemused look on his face. Scrappy turned her head and locked yellow eyes on sky blue. Scrappy opened her mouth and attempted to speak but all that came out was a low croak. She sat up to get a better look around when guru reached down and grabbed for her gun. She slapped her hand over his and croaked, “Don’t.”

The blonde with the blue eyes handed her a glass of water, and helped her sit up more. Scrappy drank deeply. “Where am I? What happened?” She listened to them describe how they carried her up to this room and how Guru had kept watch. If he had wanted to disarm her why didn’t he do it while she was unconscious? She’d have to keep an eye on him. They then began to tell her about the readings on Guru’s instruments and what they might mean for the upcoming contest. She’d be glad when this whole damn contest thing was over and she could go back to being the neighbor hood freak…..thank you very much. Scrappy assimilated all this new information and tried to explain as much as she could about what she had just been through.

“I think I need to get to the Library. There are some books in there that may explain all of this. I think I saw a written history of this house and the area. I need some help. My legs still aren’t working right.” Dixie and guru helped her out of bed then put their shoulders under her arms and made their way to the Library. As they were leaving the bedroom Scrappy couldn’t resist a comment, “Nice bodice you got there Dixie, and Guru, if you ever try to touch my weapon again I’ll kill you.” She smirked at them both as they made their way down the winding staircase.

[Phalon]

She crept down the darkened, narrow hall silently, not wanting to bring attention to herself - neither from the living, nor from the dead inhabitants of this place. She really had no idea of where to go…of what to look for to help her get back home, but she figured a good place to start would be the foyer where she entered the house. It was there, on the mantle, where she’d first seen the yellow-eyed woman holding her pot. And her pot was the only link she had back to her life in Greece.

The hallway seemed endless, and after walking for what felt like an eternity in circles, she finally came to a short set of steps which led, to her relief, to the foyer below. She crossed the room quickly, her footsteps echoing loudly as the heels from her boots hit the marble floor. “Shhhh”, she mumbled to herself, “You’re making enough noise to wake the dead…and in a place like this I’ll bet that isn’t too hard to accomplish.”

Reaching the mantle, she was dismayed to find her pot was not there. The yellow-eyed one must have it, she thought, drumming her fingertips on the mantle, wondering what to do next. As she stood there gently rapping, rapping, she became vaguely aware of a scent wafting into the room. She inhaled deeply. The scent of food – chicken with roasted vegetables, fresh baked bread, mulled cider…Oh, how she wished she was hungry. Dead people don’t eat, do they, she wondered. The intoxicating smell grew heavier, and Phalon realized it must be the kitchen that was off to the side of the room, down a dark set of stairs. She peered into the stairwell and saw a sliver of light coming from the door at the bottom. The sliver grew wider, then engulfed the entire lower landing as the door opened, silhouetting a figure of considerable height in its frame.

Quickly, Phalon slid along the wall, slipping into the first room she came to. Her eye pressed to the crack she’d left in the door, she watched as the figure ascending the stairs stepped into the light of the foyer. It was a woman, very angular in her stature – thin, and very tall, her gray hair piled high on her head making her seem even more so. She made a jiggling sound as she moved and Phalon saw the noise came from a rather large ring of keys daggling from the woman’s belt.

The woman crossed the foyer towards the stairway in which Phalon had used to enter the room. Just as she was about to start up the stairs, she turned and looked towards the door Phalon peered from behind. A sly smile started to form at the corners of the hard line that was her mouth, and the slightest twinkle shone from her iridescent eyes. Then she turned and was gone.

“Whew.” Phalon breathed a sigh of relief as she leaned against the door, closing it behind her. She really didn’t want to be seen just yet, until she learned more about this place, and the people in it. Actually, she didn’t even know if she could be seen, or heard, for that matter. Or maybe she could will it to happen – be seen, be unseen…so much to learn about this business of being a spirit.

Her relief at going unnoticed was short lived, however. Across the dimly lit room, she spied two pairs of glowing eyes staring back at her – one pair green and one red. Sword drawn, she approached slowly…cautiously, her muscles tensed in anticipation, waiting for the strange creatures to spring towards her. They didn’t. They sat there, unblinking as she advanced forward, nearly on top of them now. As she drew close, she saw they were caged in some type of black box. She prodded the box with the tip of her sword, pushing it a bit on the table on which it sat. Still the eyes never blinked.

Leaning in close now, she saw that the eyes were not eyes at all, but tiny sets of glowing lights. The “cage” was some type of gadgetry, with shiny buttons begging to be pushed. Curious, she did just that. Pushed a few buttons, then jumped back, startled when the “eyes” began to blink furiously, and the box emitted a series of clicking and whirring noises. She fell back in a chair, her heart beating a bit faster than it was a moment ago, and made a mental note not to touch anything in this place again if she didn’t know what it was.

As the thing on the desk began to quiet down, blurting out only the occasional beep, she began to relax a bit, and took stock of the room around her. Shelves and shelves of books lined the walls, nearly floor to ceiling. “Lots to do here”, she thought, “if I have to spend an eternity in this place.” But no – she wouldn’t think like that. She’d get out – she only had to find a way.

She let her eyes wander over the rest of the room. In front of her was the table, of course, and behind it a large, rich leather chair. The chair on which she fell was upholstered, its back high and cushions deep and wide, and she could imagine curling up with one of the books from the shelves, and spending an evening lost in a good story – one definitely devoid of ghosts and evil spirits.

To the right of “her” chair, sat its twin, with a small table between them. On the table was the only source of light in the room – a small lamp, its shade printed in floral with a gold-colored fringe. Strange, she thought, light, but without candles. She reached out to touch the bulb beneath the shade, then, remembering her mental note not to touch, pulled her hand away.

In addition to the lamp, a large, thick book, bound in leather, occupied the table. Embossed on the cover was an outline of this house, and opening the book, on the first page, another picture of the house, showing it as it was long ago in perhaps more tranquil times, when the house was alive with activity, but not the kind of activity that nightmares are made of.

She turned the pages, wondering what clues were contained within that may help her out of here. The first part of the book contained page after page of portraits; previous owners of the house and their relatives, long since dead, their essence captured and living on only in the grainy black and white photos. Or were the photos the only place they lived on? Phalon recognized some of the dance party, looking much more joyous, and less sinister than when she’d met them. There too was a photo of the other woman in the room – the one who was off to the corner, looking out of place. She studied the picture a moment, eyebrow raised as she noticed some of the woman’s features looked quite like her own. Interesting, and she wished she could read the language which the caption under the picture was written.

Further into the book, there was what seemed to be an inventory of sorts of the contents of the house, each with a picture and what she assumed to be a description below it. She recognized the silver dagger which hung framed above the mantle in the foyer, and a porclein urn below it…there were the crystal chandeliers from the ballroom….and there…there was her pot!!! So close to a clue, but still out of her grasp, Phalon slammed the book shut, and vowed she’d find someone to read this strange language, even if it meant making them do so by sword’s point.

Angry at herself for not be able to read the language, she flung herself from the chair and flew towards the shelves on the walls. She ran her finger over the spines of book after book, row after row of them, searching for a title she could understand. Nothing! Hundreds of books, and she could not read a one.

About to give up, her finger finally rested on one she could read. HA! Something in Greek. De Materia Medica by Pedanius Dioscorides, A.D. 40-90. She opened the book and flipped through the pages. It was a treatise on hundreds of plants, entailing their medicinal properties and magical uses. Great, she thought, this will be useful in my work as a healer if….no, when I get back to Greece.

“But I’ve got more pressing matters to attend first.” Starting to return it back to its place on the shelf, she noticed something tucked behind the space the book had occupied. It was rather large; longer and wider than most of the other books, and she had to remove several of them before she could uncover the thing. She pulled it out, its leather cover frail and brittle in her hands. Carefully, she opened the book, and stood shocked as she read the first couple of sentences...

[Phalon]

… The sun was just rising over Cyrene's roof when Zena slipped out of the big wooden door to the Inn. The grass still held the promise of a cool dewy day and only the rooster in the yard was awake.

No. This could not be. She turned the pages, flipping further into the book...

Phalon put the silver chain with it's emerald bull around her neck, and for one brief instant, before she turned to leave, her eyes flashed a brilliant green light.

Flip, flip, flip…

Evergreen looked down at Phalon and raised an eyebrow quizzically. Phalon responded with a shrug of her shoulders as if this were a nothing but a typical day.

More flipping..

“Welcome to my nightmare, My Dear Woman. Welcome to my own little annex of Tartarus.” He spread his arms wide. “So tell me, Phalon, how do you like it?”

This was her life! The Zena Scrolls! But how…why was it here?! It was not the original…the hand written lettering she could tell was different than the bards that wrote it, but none-the-less, it was old, ancient, and it was their story.

She stood, lost in its pages, laughing and crying as she read, all with the melancholy feeling of something lost that could not be regained. Then she came to a place in the story, and she stopped, willing her eyes not to read any further.

She leaned over to stir the pot of fish stew she'd been warming on the fire before she fell asleep. It was gone, pot and all!

She knew what happened next. She drowned. She died, and though she may have accepted that, or, least come to terms with it, to read of it, and of the others’ reactions to it, would make it seem more final – to see the written words would make it permanent.

Gently, she closed the cover, and sat back in the chair. Without expression and unblinking, the red and green pairs of “eyes” watched her as she stared back at them with eyes equally emotionless.

[guru]

As Dixie and Guru helped Scrappy down to the library, her strength gradually returned. She was walking unassisted by the bottom of the stairs and proceeded with a purposeful stride into the room ahead. Dixie followed.

Guru paused a moment to look around. He definitely heard a shuffling sound... footsteps, but muffled. The footsteps of his companions sounded exactly like footsteps should. And these were not coming from the foyer or library. Another mystery to add to the list. "Looks like sleep will have to wait," he grumbled to no one in particular.

He settled into his routine of checking instruments and noticed something unusual. 'Hmmm... how did that happen? The clock on the Ultrasonic Translator has been reset.'

No really big deal. Any high frequency audio would still be transposed down to the normal range of human hearing and dutifully recorded. But the time index would be useless. Maybe this particular item stirred someone's curiosity with its blinking red and green lights.

Being battery powered it was perfectly safe... not a danger by any stretch of the imagination. There was only one piece of gear that could be dangerous, and it stayed locked in his room. Guru figured it might be difficult to explain what he was planning to do with a fifteen thousand volt Ion Gun.

[Phalon]

Phalon was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of footsteps; more than one set of them, coming down the stairs and crossing the marble floor. Quickly, she rose from the chair, moved to the bookcase, and carefully tucked the copy of the Zena Scrolls back into its hiding place, replacing the books in front of it. She moved to a corner of the room, hidden in the shadows, just as the door to the library opened.

Into the room filed three people, the first being the woman with the yellow eyes, who began looking the room over, searching for something. Next, a woman Phalon didn’t recognize – a blonde whose hair was loosely tied at the nape of her neck, exposing a face that was shrewdly alert – as if she suspected something was not quite right in the room, but couldn’t place exactly what. Last to enter the room was the man that Phalon had seen when she first entered the house.

He immediately went to the table and began checking over the box-like thing that Phalon had prodded, poked and pushed earlier. His brow was furrowed as he fiddled with the thing, and she wondered if she might have broken it. After checking it over, he seemed satisfied that whatever it was worked properly. Somehow, this relieved her – she had not intended to break anything; curiosity just got the better of her.

She observed the yellow-eyed one sneaking sideways glances at him as he did this, with a look of…what?...suspicion on her face. He was one not to be trusted then? She wouldn’t have guessed it from their first encounter, but made a note to herself that he was one to be watched.

He and the shrewd blonde began to help in the first woman’s search and Phalon noticed that though all three of them, at one time or another, looked directly at her, they didn’t seem to be aware she was there. “Good”, she thought, “they can’t see me. This may make things a bit easier.” She waited for her opportunity.

The man spoke. “Tell us again what exactly it is we’re looking for”, directing his question towards the woman with yellow eyes.

Narrowing those most unusual eyes, she glared at him a moment before responding, “A book, maybe, I’m not sure”, she shrugged, “There has to be a written history of the house somewhere in here. At least I think so, and I’m hoping it may explain a few things.”

Phalon could not help but feel the tension between these two, and damn it, wished she could understand what was being said.

“I think I found it!” The blonde with her hair pulled back sounded excited about something. Phalon turned her head away from the other two and saw the woman was standing in front of the book on the table that she’d looked through earlier…the book that contained the picture of her pot. “Yes! Yes! The book”, she wanted to scream, but thought better of it, and instead stepped away from the wall and further into the room.

The woman with the yellow eyes left the bookcase where she’d been scanning titles, and crossed the room to where the other woman stood flipping through the pages of the book. Phalon moved in closer. Yellow Eyes picked up the book and started flipping through it herself, pacing back and forth as she did so. Still closer, Phalon crept.

The woman seated herself in the leather chair, resting the book on the large table in front of her. The other two took their places in the large overstuffed chairs. Perfect. The time was now.

Standing behind her, gently, she placed her hands on the shoulders of the woman seated at the table. A jolt. She felt the other cringe beneath her touch. You know who I am? she asked.

The woman pressed her fingers hard against her temples, and for a moment Phalon began to doubt that this would work. Then it came, and came loudly, Damn it! Could you at least give me a little warning next time? And yes, you are the woman in the blue robe...the one with the sword, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I am Phalon, Scrappy, and I need you to help me.

[Phalon]

“…and I need you to help me."

They communicated through thought, where all barriers were broken and no language was needed.

"How? What do you need me to do?"

If the two sitting across from them on the other side of the table, noticed the pages of the book turning rapidly by themselves, neither gave any indication as such, except perhaps, just the slightest hint of an eyebrow raised.

Phalon finally found the page she was searching for. "There…there, read that. Read to me about the pot."

From the photo in the book, Scrappy recognized it as the pot that had taken her to the ‘in-between’, and to the place where she’d first come in contact with this strange woman. Curious to learn of its origins and its connection to this Phalon person, she began to read aloud, and Phalon found that with her hands still placed on the woman’s shoulders, the language that had previously frustrated her so, was easily understood.

“The iron vessel, pictured above, was unearthed during an archaeological dig in the mid-1800s, in an area once known to be the ancient Greek region of Thrace. Carbon dating, done most recently in 1965, puts the age of the vessel as coming from a period of time somewhere between 60 and 40 B.C. …”

"Carbon dating? B.C.? What’s all that mean?"

"B.C, you know – Before Christ. And A.D. means after death."

She remembered seeing that A.D. thing on the book by Dioscorides she’d thumbed through before finding the scrolls copy. "Huh?" She still didn’t understand.

"It means they found your pot to be really, really old.", Scrappy responded as if she were talking to a very young child.

"Oh. Okay. Go on."

A small sigh escaped Scrappy’s lips and she continued, “It was procured by the family sometime in the late 1800s, the speculation being that it once belonged to an ancient ancestor. The inscription roughly etched into the vessel…”

"Inscription? My pot has no inscription. Let me look…where is it – my pot? Did you bring it with you?"

"I think I left it in the bedroom."

"You think you left it in the bedroom. You don’t know?…The only connection I have to my world, and you think you left it somewhere."

"Calm down and quit interrupting. It’ll turn up. Let me finish, please." This woman, needing her help or not, was beginning to exasperate her.

“…etched into the vessel indicates it once belonged to a Phalon, believed to be a most powerful sorceress and prophetess in her time.”

She giggled. "A powerful sorceress? Me?" The giggle developed into an outright laugh. "A prophetess?" It just proves how, she thought, a story told and retold again and again, passed from bard, to bard – each adding their own flavor to it, can change so that only an inkling of the truth remains. Her?…a sorceress – ludicrous. More peels of laughter exploded in Scrappy’s head.

"STOP IT, Damn it!!! It feels like you’ve just taken a cleaver to my head and sliced it in two!"

Snicker. Phalon stifled another fit of laughter, and squeezed Scrappy’s shoulders, indicating for her to go on. “A translation of the etched ancient Greek characters reveals the words, ‘Phalon’s Soul Pot’, and it is believed to have contained the ash remains of the sorceress…”

"WHAT?!" Phalon peered over Scrappy’s shoulder, looking into the book. The etching on the pot was barely visible in the photograph, and she leaned in closer.

"Stop breathing down my neck. Not only is your cold breath giving me the creeps, you’re dripping all over the book."

Phalon tucked the offending strands of wet hair behind her ears. If she had to die, why’d it have to be in the sea, so that she was eternally cold and wet? Nice, dry land would have been good…perhaps in a meadow in the springtime, the sun on her back…Ah well, maybe next time…

Ready to ignore anymore of Scrappy’s protests, she leaned in again, and studied the picture closely for a moment before breaking into a grin. This time she was unable to contain herself and soon was nearly doubled over in hysterical laughter.

"LOOK, LADY…whoever you are…You are nearly killing me with this hideous cackle of yours. If you continue, I’m going to end up collapsed on this table here, nearly dead from pain, and then where would that leave you? And what about them? Laugh any louder and they’ll hear you, you know. Look at them. Dixie and Guru have no clue what’s going on here, but if I pass out on the table, with the room filled with maniacal laughter, what kind of hell do you suppose would break loose then? And what is so damn funny anyway?"

Phalon struggled to regain control, her roar subsiding to a giggle. "I’m sorry. Really, I am. It’s just that… She chuckled, then bit her tongue to prevent it from progressing into anything louder. Sorry again…It’s just that they’ve got it all wrong. There were never any ashes - I drowned. My remains were never contained in that pot – neither physical nor spiritual. It was translated incorrectly. The only sole that ever entered that pot was dinner – and a poor one at that. You know…sole…a flatfish…has gills, fins and a tail…swims in the sea in schools. It was my damn cooking pot."

"Are you done now?" Scrappy’s head was splitting and she failed to see the humor in any of this. "If you are, I’ll continue. There’s one more small bit of information left."

"Yes, yes. By all means, continue."

“It says here that there was some speculation that the pot may have been used at one time or another by different members of the family, in attempts to release Phalon’s spirit from the dead and thus bring forth her great powers into this age. It is not known if any of these alleged attempts were successful.”

She removed her hands from Scrappy’s shoulders, breaking the contact. A mistake?! She’d been brought to this place because of a stupid error? Because, somewhere down the line, the facts concerning her life had been exaggerated, and some idiot couldn’t read ancient Greek correctly?

Fools! she thought. Obviously, someone had dragged her here, away from her rightful place in the Elysian Fields, thinking her a sorceress and prophet. It was laughable, and for what purpose? She was no more a prophet then the man sitting in front of her was Zeus, and no more a sorceress than the blonde; Hera. Someone was going to be sorely disappointed when they learned the truth. She slammed the book shut in frustration. Although….she giggled to herself, there was a bit of humor in the situation.

Hysterical laughter followed, and this time Scrappy wasn’t the only one who heard it.

[dixielandyankee]

As Dixie and Guru hauled Scrappy to her feet, Dixie felt like she might need some support herself. That last incantation had really taken it out of her. 'At least', she mused, 'all that practice paid off. I never thought I'd be able to perform so well a number of times in succession.' She mentally patted herself on the back as they descended the main staircase and headed for the library. As they drew nearer to the room Scrappy seemed to regain her strength and by the time they reached the heavy oak door she positively strode in.

Guru heade straight for his many and varied contraptions and, fiddling with one in a concerned fashion, mumbled something about an 'ultrasonic translator'. Dixie didn't know what half these gadgets were supposed to do but she knew she didn't need them to sense that there was something a little bit wiggy about this room that she hadn't felt in her first brief visit there. She cast an eye around the room, running her gaze around the loaded shelves. Scrappy launched herself at the farthest bookshelf, running her index finger along the spines of the books, the tip of her tongue poking endearingly out of the corner of her mouth.

"“Tell us again what exactly it is we’re looking for" asked Guru. Dixie already knew...she didn't know how she knew, but nonetheless...

"There must be a history of the house in here somewhere" supplied Scrappy, continuing her hunt. Dixie wheeled round suddenly and her eyes were drawn to the corner of the room, a slight chill enveloped her and she wished she had brought jumper to wear. To the best of her knowledge her suitcase was still in the foyer, she made a mental note to grab a sweater from her travel bag the next time she passed through, in hindsight this short-sleeve shirt with the bodice-like ties at the front was pretty but not too functional.

Dixie moved slowly to the bookcase opposite Scrappy's and, skirting around a side table saw a book laying face-down on its surface. She knew immediately that this was what she was looking for.

"I think I've found it" she cried excitedly, picking up the volume and displaying it to the others in the room. Scrappy paced quickly across to her and took the book, sitting down at the table and opening it, she thumbed through the pages quickly. Dixie and Guru pulled the two easy-chairs from across the room to the table and sat either side of her. Dixie peered at the book with interest, it seemed to list various artifacts belonging to the family of the house.

Without warning Scrappy cried out and clutched at her temples with her hands. Dixie started out of her chair "Hey! You leave her alone! I don't know who you are but she can't take much more of this crap...and neither can I, I'm not the world's greatest sorceress y'know and I'm not going to keep playing tug-of-war with you!" Dixie sat back down in her chair and folded her arms inexasperation. Then she leant forward, a concerned look on her face. Scrappy's eyes were unfocused, wide open and moving rapidly as if her brain was operating at hyper-speed.

True to form, Guru raised his eyebrows and stuck out his lower lip in a puzzled expression and his gaze roamed to his array of gadgets which had gone absolutely ape-shit. There was a series of clicks and beeps, and one high-pitched alarm that would have made dogs several miles away want to crawl under a table! Dixie was kinda hoping it would turn itself off before she was forced to clobber it with a table lamp.

They sat motionless for about a minute, looking at Scrappy and then the leaves of the book on the table began to turn at an alarming rate, coming to rest on a picture of a black pot. "Is that not the pot we've just spent the last 7 hours trying to prize out of Scrappy's hand?" inquired Dixie. Guru nodded sagely. "Interesting" commented Dixie, narrowing her eyes. She peered over Scrappy's shoulder at the book and read what was written about the pot.

"Okay, okay...no prizes for guessing we're dealing with this Phalon chick...seems like she might be here for her pot...although quite how she got here in the first place I don't know. I'm pretty sure none of us summoned her up. Maybe if we can just snap Scrappy out of this she can tell us some more about her." The room fell quiet, with nothing audible but the sound of breathing.

"STOP IT!" yelled Scrappy suddenly carving the silence with her cry, nearly bursting Dixie's eardrum and causing Guru to jump about 4 feet in the air. Dixie clapped her hand to her ear. "Goddess, that hurt!" she breathed, her heart racing as she stared at Scrappy who seemed to have returned to her previous catatonic state after the outburst.

As she looked, Scrappy's eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped onto the table, breathing heavily. The book slammed shut and bounced off the table top. An ear-splitting cackle filled the room and then dissipated as quickly as it had arrived. Dixie dug into her pocket and produced a small bottle of green liquid which she waved under Scrappy's nose. Scrappy sat bolt upright with a disgusted look on her face and sneezed abruptly.

"Sorry about that, my friend." offered Dixie, " I was hoping this would bring you round, I couldn't manage another bout of chanting". She sat back down in her chair on the other side of the table, pulled her hair loose from its pony tail and re-tied it, tucking the errant strands in. Scrappy looked momentarily dazed and then focused on the two people sitting across from her.

"Hello again" she managed weakly " I'm sensing a pattern, I always seem to wake up staring at the two of you"
"Yees." supplied Dixie, "wanna tell us what the frilly heck is going on?"

[guru]

Sometimes curiosity can wait; sometimes it can't. And sometimes it forces us to make a decision.

The gizmos had something, and Guru knew it. Cameras and thermometers may not always detect the presence of spectral phenomena, but his trusty Ultrasonic Translator never failed. Every ghost so far betrayed itself by a distinctive pattern of sine waves in the range between twenty and fifty kilohertz. Who knew ghosts could leave fingerprints?

Was there such a fingerprint in the Translator's memory? A quick trip to his room for a fresh memory card was in order. Thus Guru's decision -- take the memory card to his room for safekeeping and bring back a new one ... or stay with his companions in case something else happened.

Unfolding events had begun to take on an air of familiarity. Little things were suddenly triggering memories. Operation 'Demon Hunt' -- easily the worst chapter of his long life -- was never far from his mind when in situations such as this. And he would give anything to prevent what happened to his old friends from happening to these people.

Decision made. Swap memory cards. We must know what we're up against.

"Close your eyes and take a breath, Scrappy. You need a minute to recharge." Then Guru turned to Dixie and discreetly hefted one end of his mighty unibrow in the direction of the door. She picked up on the hint, and they walked over.

"She was weak before, and she looks weaker this time. If whatever that thing is comes back when she's alone..." He placed a hand on Dixie's shoulder and leaned forward ... just enough to convey emphasis. Then in a plaintive voice barely above a whisper, "Promise you'll stay 'til I get back."

At that moment there could not have been anything more important than Scrappy's safety. Without hesitation Dixie agreed.

Guru pocketed the memory card and charged through the doorway into the foyer. The sudden physical exertion triggered a familiar alarm bell in the back of his mind. He thought aloud, "If I don't get a little sleep soon, I'll start talking to myself."

Now here's how his next four seconds went down:

Pause.
Notice Joxcee in peripheral vision.
Sheepish nod.
Slink off.

Operation 'Embarassed Humility' had officially commenced. *sigh*

[Phalon]

Phalon perched herself on the heavy, round oak table in the center of the foyer. It seemed as good a place as any to reflect upon what she’d seen and heard in the room with the books. She sat with her legs drawn to her chest, arms folded around them, and her chin resting on her knees. Hhmm, she thought, what have I learned from that strange encounter…

She learned she could be unseen, if she wished to be. When she’d come wandering from the nightly shore and into the house, she knew the man could see her – they’d made eye contact, and he had started to mumble something to her. But, at that time, she didn’t yet know she was dead, and therefore, had no reason to assume she could be invisible. But in that room with the others, as Scrappy read to her, she didn’t want to be seen, and simply; wasn’t. And that was how she sat in the center of the table now – unseen. She supposed also, she was capable of the reverse – she would be seen, if she wished it so. Very handy little trick.

What else had she learned? Ah, yes…she learned she’d been dead a very, very, very long time. Ancient, the book called her. She didn’t feel ancient, or really even dead for that matter. She looked up and gazed into a large mirror hanging on the foyer wall. Funny…she thought, she could see herself in the mirror, and then, remembering the ghostly dance party, supposed the dead could always see the dead, and wondered if she’d be able to know the difference.

She straightened her shoulders as she studied her reflection in the mirror. "I don’t look dead.” Maybe a little pale perhaps…and of course, there was the bluish tinge to her lips…and her hair! If it was wild in life, always windblown and in her face if she didn’t keep it pulled back with one of her colorful silk scarves, it was simply atrocious looking now – all wet, tangled and drippy. She ran her hand through it, smoothing it back from her face, and pulled another clump of seaweed from it in the process. There, much better. She looked pretty damn good for an ancient dead woman, she thought.

Let’s see…what else? The copy of the Zena Scrolls. She knew she would never read passed the part in the scrolls where she woke up to find her pot missing. Not only did she not care to read of her own death, but she couldn’t bear to read how the story ended, of what became of her companions. She’d rather remember them as she left them – alive, well, and together. It puzzled her though, as to why the scrolls were here. She supposed they may have come from that same archaeo-whatever-it-was-called dig where her pot came from, but why were they kept hidden?

Then there was the matter of her pot…her Soul Pot. She laughed again at the mistake made translating the inscription. And the inscription…now where had that come from? It certainly wasn’t there when she’d last used it to make that awful fish stew, and why would someone carve such a strange thing on a pot that belonged to a dead person? Very, very odd, and she wished she were able to get a good look at the thing. Maybe she could get a vision by touching it? If only she knew where it was…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the library door opening. Out stepped the man, pausing for a moment while talking to himself. When he noticed he’d been heard by a short red-headed woman coming down the hall, he hurried towards the stairs leading up.

Hhmmm, Phalon thought. All three of them came down the stairs together – she’d heard them. Scrappy said she’d left the pot in a bedroom. Jumping off the table, she wondered if perhaps that bedroom was upstairs? As she began to quietly follow him, she said under her breath, “and perhaps that man will lead me to it…and to my pot.”

[Joxcenia]

Joxcee walked up to the podium, glancing at the paintings on the walls as she did so. All of them had one theme, ballroom dancing. The echoes of her footsteps distracted her from the storm raging outside, but not from her thoughts. How on earth did she get herself talked into doing this, and why wasn't she running for the hills with all the strange things that have been happening? The front gate would be locked in a couple of days, and then she wouldn't be able to escape until the contest was over.

Behind the podium was a huge fireplace, and Joxcee could see through to the room on the other side, which contained a long dining room table with a hundred or more chairs. Wow! This fireplace opening has to be at least 7 foot tall, she thought to herself. She walked into the opening of the fireplace and stepped around the pit in the center, which contained several large logs, to get a better view of the other room. Except for its contents of both rooms, they were exactly the same; the size, the paneling, the windows, and the fireplace mantle. The paintings on the walls of the dining room also had one theme, food. On the wall to the left of the doors was a large portrait of Lesigner Girl, and beneath the portrait was a plaque, which read:

Lesigner Girl
Head Administrator of the Whoosh.org
Message Board & MSN Groups

As Joxcee stepped around the pit of logs to reenter the convention hall, she heard a "whoosh", and the logs burst into flames. She jumped back against a side wall of the fireplace to keep out of reach of the fire that blocked her exit to either of the rooms. The heat became more and more unbearable, and she feared her clothes would soon catch fire. Joxcee pressed herself against the wall in an attempt to get as far from the fire and its heat as possible, she looked from side to side to see if there were any protrusions that she could use to climb up and get out of the reach of the flames. She saw several bricks sticking out further than the others, and reached up to grab the closest one. When she caught hold, the wall swirled around and entombed her in darkness, the one thing she feared most in all the world.

[guru]

"If I'm gonna crack up, let it be in here where no one can see."

Solid door, thick walls, sea view, privacy.

Guru made a part-time career out of rescuing the tattered remains of his dignity. 'Note to self: stop talking to self. Seems like everything goes along just fine until I drop my guard and get caught with my pants down.' His face reddened slightly at the memory of an incident where he quite literally got caught with his pants down. But such thoughts could only serve as a distraction.

Solid door, thick walls, sea view, privacy. Can't enjoy it yet.

He fished a key out of his pocket, then knelt beside the bed. There was time for one deep breath before completing his mission of the moment. Certainly there was no time for distraction. 'Scrappy could be under attack for all we know. Then who's next? Okay, let's do this.'

He pulled an armored briefcase from under the bed, unlocked it with the key and inserted the memory card in a special pocket in the lid. Date and time were then written on a strip of white tape sealing it in for later. That's when he got distracted.

One hand fell in slow motion to a simple wood picture frame. On the back was written, "Home doesn't have to be a place -- sometimes home is a person." The woman in the picture had a look of contentment ... as if satisfied with the expectation of joyous adventure ahead. Someone forgot to tell her adventure is a double-edged sword. That particular someone would gladly bear all her scars and wear them like a badge of honor if such a simple sacrifice could undo the past.

"Who's there?"

[Scrappy Amazon]

“Here we go again….” she thought as she felt the specter place her hands on her shoulders. The energy flowing from this woman’s fingers through her body was intense but not unbearable. This time the headache would be minor she surmised. “Good thing,” she thought to herself, “I’m getting tired of felling like my heads going to come off.”

“You know who I am?” It was the feeling of a question more than a sentence. An understanding of what the woman wanted. No language need be translated or misunderstood. “I am Phalon and I need you to help me.”

Scrappy waited patiently while Phalon indicated the page she needed translated. She read to her about the pot then listened as Phalon talked mostly to herself, then began to laugh. The pain increased and Scrappy put her hands to her temples.

"STOP IT, Damn it!!! It feels like you’ve just taken a cleaver to my head and sliced it in two!" Phalon curbed her mirth and Scrappy continued to read. She read about the other attempts to apparently call up Phalon out of the blue. This new bit of information didn’t make Phalon at all happy. Without warning she removed her hands from Scrappy’s shoulders.

The pain shot through Scrappy’s skull like lightening. She felt her eyes roll back and her head hit the table top. Sweating heavily and panting with lack of breath. She lost consciousness, again.

How long she was out she couldn’t say. She awoke with a noxious smell in her nostrils and Dixie apologizing. "Hello again" Scrappy managed weakly, " I'm sensing a pattern, I always seem to wake up staring at the two of you."

"Yes." supplied Dixie, "wanna tell us what the frilly heck is going on?"

“That’s a good question………..”

[Scrappy Amazon]

“Where should I start?” She reached up and ran her fingers through her hair. Realizing she wasn’t wearing her gloves she fished around in the front pocket of her jeans. Finding them crumbled up at the bottom she pulled them out then smoothed them down around her fingers. The familiar feel of the soft leather comforting her.

Where should I start? She wondered what they would think if she just started babbling………”Well let’s see there was this sword wielding woman, and maniacal laughter guy and we can’t forget this “in between” headache thing……….”

In the end all she could do was nod weakly when Guru suggested she stay and rest. What was he up to anyway? That thing with her gun was a little unnerving. She still didn’t trust him. He had some explaining to do. What she really wanted right now was some food and some sleep.

She looked up as Guru was leaving the room. “Hey! Bring that pot back with you.” She wasn’t sure if he heard her or not but she hoped that Phalon appreciated the effort to retrieve it.

As he fled the room Scrappy turned her attention back to Dixie. “Think I could fill everyone in over dinner? I’m really tired and I haven’t eaten for a while. I’d like to do the explaining when everyone is together, saves me having to repeat myself.”