iNto tHe BLaCk
This is my character fic *coughhellfreezesovercough* It features mainly my character, Rain and Chanson (an NPC just for this fic). It's supposed to get darker and more mindfreaky-ish later on (emphasis on 'supposed'). So comment or PM or IM and tell me what you think, or if you have any suggestions or whatever. And yes, the title is supposed to be like that xP. I hope you all enjoy.
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iNto tHe BLaCk
Episode O1\|E : A New Way to Ghostwalk
"Chanson de Noir,* girl, eleven years old, murdered with a kitchen knife to the chest by the infamous serial killer, Set."
Rain raised the old newspaper over his head, looking down under it. A young girl, roughly about eleven years old, looked right back up at him. Her face, hair and clothes were drenched in crimson. The handle of a kitchen knife stuck out of her chest.
"That’s who you are?"
Chanson nodded.
Pedestrians on the wet city sidewalk peered at the dark-clad man quizzically as he held up the musty papers over his head and talking under it, seemingly speaking to his shoes. Even a car or two slowed down to watch the man’s actions.
Rain lowered the papers, blocking the little girl from his view and began reading again.
The first time she came to him, she appeared as nothing more than a sort of dark mist carrying a musty, torn piece of paper. At first, Rain thought the mist was some sort of sorcery, but after seeing the old piece of paper, he realized that it was the spirit of a girl who had passed away a long time ago. Right after he realized that, the mist took the form of a girl with no face.
The paper read:
"…girl, eleven years old, murder…"
Rain was taken aback at first, but part of him knew that the girl meant no harm and that she probably just wanted help like most others.
You see, you have to understand; this was the first time Rain had seen a soul of the departed act like this. Usually, they look like how they were right before they passed away. This one…this one was different. The spirit acted upon what Rain knew about the person that passed away. Rain knew that she was a young girl, so the mist took the form of a young girl without a face; meaning that he did not know who she was, or what she really looked like.
The Grim Angel found himself following this no-face spirit around the city, leading him to clues about who she was. Their last stop was a man who keeps and archives old newspapers, after much convincing, Rain was allowed to look through these papers with the help of the ghost-girl.
She pointed out a fourteen year-old article.
After much more convincing, Rain was allowed to take the newspaper with him.
"Parents’ names are Percia and Dent de Noir," Rain kept reading, stopping only to chuckle slightly at the name of her father. He lifted the papers again, but just a little this time, catching a glimpse of a frown on the girl’s bloodied face.
"Oh! Sorry," he quickly apologized, sending a question right behind it, "I don’t suppose you know where your parents are?"
Chanson shook her head.
"Right…" Rain twisted his lips in disappointment, "You won’t know unless I know, is that it?"
She nodded.
"Do you ever talk?"
Chanson responded with a shrug.
Rain sighed, "Right…" He folded up the papers and stuck it under his arm. "We've got names now, so at least we have a lead. A phonebook probably has them listed. We’ll find that…in a phone booth."
Rain spun on his heels, causing stones to grate against the wet concrete. They began trekking around the area, looking for a phone booth. Chanson followed closely behind him, sometimes waiting until he got a little way off, then skipping up to him. She kept doing that until Rain stopped walking.
They stood in front of a small, red structure with glass windows on each side. It was only large enough to fit one or two people. There was a lit sign at the top that read ‘Telephone’.
There was a man with a hood fumbling around inside the booth with the phone.
Rain opened the door. "Excuse me."
The man jumped, letting out a small yelp of surprise.
"Can I get that phonebook over there for just a second?" Rain pointed over to the book that was leaning against the box of the phone.
"Uh...yeah yeah…sure, sure." The man picked it up and handed it over.
Rain took it without saying ‘thank you’ and closed the door. He leaned on the edge of the booth, beginning to flip through the pages. ”So do we start at ‘D’ or ‘N’? He asked, looking through the surnames that started with ‘D’. Rain didn’t look at Chanson, because he knew that she would not answer. The ghost girl began skipping circles around the Grim Angel, going through the phone booth a few times in the process.
Suddenly, she stopped.
Rain lowered the phonebook, leaning it up against the outside of the booth and raised his eyes toward her. She turned to him, looking deep into his bright gold eyes.
"Do you know where your parents are now?"
There was no action for a little while. She just stood there watching him. The wind blew, raising dust and blowing a few pieces of crumpled paper their way.
Chanson nodded, turning and raising her arm, pointing to the east with her index finger. Rain began walking in that direction, but this time, Chanson became the leader, he became the follower. She didn’t walk in front of him, instead, she seemed to teleport to every corner that he was approaching, always pointing in the direction Rain had to take.
She finally reached a corner where she stopped pointing. When Rain caught up to her, she looked up at him. In turn, he looked up at the street sign she was standing under.
Grayshaw Street. They live at number seven Grayshaw Street.
Chanson looked across the road from the street sign, prompting Rain to follow her gaze. His eyes fell on a shiny number ‘7’ pinned to the wooden door of a small, concrete house. The lawn in front of the house was unevenly cut, as if some parts were manually cut with a cutlass or machete and some were shaven by a lawnmower. There was a small, linear, concrete path leading straight up to the dark, wooden door of the faded orange house. The windows on either side of the door were outlined with white paint; dark red curtains were hung in them.
There was a figure just behind one of the curtains, as if the person inside was looking out at the visitor.
Rain knocked on the door, purposely ignoring the bell. A middle-aged man answered the door a few seconds later. He was shorter than Rain. Although his hair seemed to be dyed jet black, there were still some grey around the roots. His brow was wrinkled, as if he were permanently worried. His eyes were dim and small, searching Rain from head to toe.
"Yes?" Rain was cut off from observing him.
"Um…Dent de Noir, correct?”
"Yes. What do you want?" The man coldly responded.
"I’m…here about your daughter." Rain shrugged to himself, he had no idea what to tell this man.
'Hey Dent, your daughter’s ghost is right here and she needs help'.
That would definitely not work.
Dent frowned and opened the door a little more, but he leaned at the same time, reaching for something behind it. As he leaned, Rain’s eyes fell on a picture which was hanging right opposite the door. There were four people in it; one of them resembled Dent. The other, resembled a smiling Chanson, who was wearing a dark pink dress with small, red polka dots on it. At that moment, the ghost of Chanson de Noir ran straight through the man at the door, running straight up the red carpeted flight of stairs. Rain watched her go up until his attention was grabbed by Dent.
"Go away, I don’t have a daughter." He gripped a baseball bat firmly in his hands.
Rain muttered under his breath, "Oh fine. Be that way."
Dent, instead of using the bat, decided to slam the door shut. Rain turned around, ready to walk away, but he stopped.
Chanson, now wearing that same polka-dot dress, stood in his path. She wasn’t bloody anymore, and her loose dirty blonde hair was dry and bouncy. The knife in her chest was gone, too. She looked up at him before spinning around, showing off her dress.
She spun again and giggled.
*’Chanson de Noir’ = ‘Song of Black’