Ghost Town Missing Person Case

[Ron Caliburn]

Hey, is anyone done in the New Mexico area?

Apparently an abandoned RV was found in the ghost town of Kelly, New Mexico (Scouted by the Southwest Ghost Hunters Association here).

The proximity to a known site of paranormal activity might be worth a look.

[Sparks]

Glad I checked this. I'm currently heading out west to join in a little music festival in Nevada for a friend. I can swing by and take a peek.

I'll let you know if we find anything.

[Gotham Witch]

I wasn't aware you had ever left the east coast, Sparks.

Try not to lose your clothes in Vegas.

[Hannah]

Mel, c'mon, this is Sparks.

Try not to burn too much of the strip down Sparks.

Hannah

[Gotham Witch]

So, I got a call from Sparks earlier tonight. She said she and a friend of hers were asking questions near Magdalena, and she got led to a police auction after someone tipped her off about an RV belonging to a person who vanished near Kelly some time ago - the one Ron mentioned.

Short of it is Sparks ended up buying the thing to stay in for a bit so she could spend some more time looking about. She notes and things belonging to the original owner are pointing her towards a pueblo or something near Kelly. She said she'd be in touch when she found something.

She took some photos of some stuff the original owner had left in the vehicle - weird detection equipment and other gadgets if anyone wants a look.

[Grace]

Reminds me of Joe. He had all sorts of different gadgets in his RV.

[Sparks]

Hoookay, long night.

So, like Mel mentioned before, I got a cut-rate deal on this RV. The cops didn't bother to search it - or if they did, they didn't bother to do much with what they found. Seems to be a lot of gear that, technically speaking, probably doesn't work except for a few people.

Sadly, I'm not one of them 'cause some of this stuff is pretty interesting. Still managed to give myself a good jolt on some... light producing thing.

We found some a journal hidden underneath a seat, noting that the writer was going to look into some reports of weird stuff near Kelly, mentioning something about some nearby pueblos, ones that some locals said were dated to the early Spanish period. The last entry was dated to early last year.

I've been wandering around all day and I need some rest. Will let you know what find tomorrow, folks.

PS: If anyone has the number of Vinny's Lounge in Reno, tell them I'm having car trouble. This is going to be a bit.

PPS - I have no idea who this Joe fellow is, though looking back on entries of people named Joe on these boards, I assume he's an inventor? If so, I'm wondering if this is his RV, because some of this stuff is out of this world.

[Sparks]

The past few days have been a blur. I just got back from the southwest, I've got a haul of cuts and bruises, I haven't slept in a day or two, and...

Right. I told myself I was going to write this, damnit.

Where to start... right. My company on this trip, Scarlett, passed away Monday night. One minute I was talking to her, the next... well, gone. No warning, just... gone.

What happened, I don't know. I guess, sometimes life really is just a bubble on a needle.

Sorry. Painkillers are making me... ramble. Or is that depression, I don't know anymore. Shit.

After making arrangements to put her to rest, I wandered into what used to be Kelly. Not going to lie - not sure what I was doing there, wandering into ghost towns alone and shell shocked. Maybe I just needed to focus on something. Maybe I just needed the walk. Maybe I was just -daring- something to jump out and start something. Nobody ever said I made good decisions - had I had liquor I might have drank off my sorrows and then tried tomorrow.

But well, I ain't that smart.

Kelly was kind of your typical ghost town. A lot of old 19th century buildings in the middle of nowhere. Had this been summer, the weather would have been a bit hot even for me. As it stood, it was mostly pleasant - the only pleasant thing about the place, really.

As I wandered through the town, looking at all the broken down buildings, I heard a growl as I walked past the general store. Drawing my gun, I looked up atop the building and saw - I kid you not - a coyote. Middle of the day, on top of a building.

The canine looked down at me with weird, golden eyes - at first I thought it was a trick of the sun, but the shiver they put in my spine suggested otherwise. I didn't point my gun at it, much as I wanted to - I had a feeling it wasn't wanting to kill me... for now.

The sound of breaking glass and wood nearby drew my attention towards a nearby saloon. I looked back up at the roof of the general store - the coyote was gone. Freaky. Not wanting to stand there in broad daylight, I made my way to the saloon. Considering this was supposed to be a ghost town, motion meant something interesting - and proof I wasn't alone there.

[Cybermancer]

You say Scarlett died Monday night? That's one heck of a coincidence. Or perhaps not. Something we can talk about later.

In any case, I'm sorry for the loss of your friend. I didn't have much time to get to know her myself but from the contact I did have I found her to be a nice enough person and was quite helpful in advancing knowledge about the paranormal. The truth is that we're still analyzing the data and cultures we collected. So some of her legacy will live on and be quite helpful in the future.

So you say you saw a Coyote? Was there anything special about the coyote?

[Sparks]

Yeah, can't say I want to talk about Scarlett too much. Still not... over it, I guess.

Still, thanks Cyber.

The coyote's eyes were amber... no. That's not how to describe them. They were fiery, like the heat of the Mojave sun flickering through a piece of amber. I don't remember seeing a pupil though, which is freaky.

I carefully approached the saloon, my handgun loaded and ready. As I got close, I heard what sounded like creaking wood and tossed objects, like someone digging around. I didn't really expect, y'know, ghosts - or maybe I did. Either way I got closer - noises aren't -that- strange when you're expecting to not be alone.

Strange was when I finally peeked inside.

It was like a packed saloon as I went in. I don't mean this figuratively - there were serving wenches handing beers and whiskies to prospectors and gunfighters. There was a din of laughter and yelling as people played cards, talked crap to each other, and flirted with anything with legs.

It was like I was back in the 1800s, and every fiber of my being told me that wasn't right.

I got spooked as some folks in cowboy gear started shuffling past me. Somewhat peculiar, but more freaky, was when the barrel of my handgun went straight through one of the folks skirting by me. Completely ignoring me, the cowboys skirted on past to hug and yell greetings to some friends at the poker table.

I started wondering if I was hallucinating or dealing with ghosts. Of course, I've dealt with the latter before - well, a bit maybe. Still, I can't remember specters ever being this... tangible? I could hear, see, and I'm pretty sure I could smell them too.

"Would you like a drink, ma'am?"

I looked over. It was the bartender, and she was definitely addressing me - which is weird because nobody else was. She didn't even seem to notice the fact I was carrying a handgun, either.

"...no, I'm good." I said simply, watching her warily. Aren't I just smooth?

"Are you sure? You seem on edge." The woman said casually as she wiped down the bartop. She motioned briefly to the others,
"perhaps there is something I can do to get you to relax, Fire-Walker?"

That last bit set me -real- on edge. I glanced at the woman - Latino or Amerindian? Hard to tell- and asked I'm sorry, but what?"

"What indeed?" The woman just kind of looked at me with a smirk, "I'm simply calling you what you are."

"Which is?" i asked skeptically.

The woman looked at me briefly, her eyes dark, but mostly unreadable. I felt a distinct shudder as she sat there looking at me. After a few moments, she shrugged and went back to her polishing, noting almost offhandedly,"Lost, confused, and out of her league, I would say."

I was mostly ignoring the movement of people around me, except something that stood out of the crowd - it was a fellow dressed as a rancher with... well, I would call it a dead look in his eye. That wasn't what set me off as something weird though - it was the small, tarnishel metal disc sitting on his face right between his eyes.

I watched him walk by in the corner of my eye - I also felt his movement creaking the floorboards beneath me. That's when he lunged at me.

I hit him in the ribs with my elbow, but it didn't seem to do a whole lot. He didn't seem the pain feeling as I ducked his arms and proceeded to land a few blows to his chest. It was a bit disappointing, since I was trying to vent some anger - they were solid hits, but he only sort of seemed to notice.

He was a bit more observant when I flipped him onto the bartop and smashed the butt of my handgun on his chest. He groaned and whimpered a bit - I think I cracked a rib.

The woman behind the bar watched with a smirk as several other folks dressed in various period regalia came into the room, also as real as this guy. Each one also that that little silver thing in their head. I didn't have a lot of time to ponder what was going on as they stared at me with sunken eyes, slowly spreading out.

As they circled me like sharks, the woman gave a light chuckle before walking out a back entrance, motioning to the 'real' cowboys to attack as she said off-handedly.

"You'll join us soon, Fire-Walker."

[Sparks]

Things went bad very, very quickly.

I hit pretty damn hard, but when I'm not getting so much as a groan of pain from most blows, there isn't a whole lot of point. I was hitting flesh and blood, but damn - it wasn't doing anything.

I threw one of them into a table, shattering it into tiny splinters before another one tried. Their movements were a bit slow, almost disjointed, so it wasn't hard for me to sidestep him and take out his knee with a well placed stomp. The sickening crack was something he did notice, sending him to the ground cursing at me.

One of them - a very large one - charged at me, a hatchet in hand as he knocked over some old chairs, screaming. Knowing I didn't have time to waste since I was very close to being surrounded, I pointed my handgun at him and fired.

I missed the first shot, but caught him clean in the chest on the second. He was bleeding, but he barely flinched as he kept charging. I fired again, and made contact three more times, right in the chest.

He didn't frikkin' stop.

Against my better judgment, I lined up another shot as moved to hit me with a swing of an axe, trying to put him down before he chopped me in two. A half success - The good news was I hit him in the head, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. The bad news was inertia was still carrying him my way. I couldn't quite get out of the way as the blunt side of the axe nonetheless struck me right in the side.

I hit the ground, cursing as I kicked the still twitching corpse off of me. He was strong - had I not offed him mid swing, he might very well have killed me. As it stood, I was just hobbled, unarmed (my gun had went flying), and I needed to move, quickly, before I got overwhelmed.

I didn't move quick enough - as I was getting to my feet i was too slow to dodge an old table leg hit me right in the head. I vaguely remember hitting the ground, my head spinning as I was struck again in the side, presumably by someone's boot. dogpiled by the remaining thugs.

I think I was expecting further abuse - or maybe smashing my head in and ending it. Who knows. But, it didn't work like that. Two of them pulled my arms to my sides as they lifted me up like I was a limp sack of produce.

My conscious state was best described with the words 'disoriented' and 'aching pain' as I saw the woman approach again, a smirk on her face.

"Still doing 'good', my dear?"She asked coyly, running a hand along my bruised cheek. For some reason, I could barely suppress a shiver at that - something about her was creeping me out.

That didn't stop me from my usual smartass bravado, of course, "The locals are rowdy and the drinks taste like piss, but I could be worse."

"Indeed you could." She said with a weak chuckle, pacing slowly. She was wearing a revealing black and red dress in what I can describe as 19th century Mexican - you know, what the senoritas always wore in western films.

Her men must have been either eunuchs or not human, because they weren't even glancing at her as she walked past. They just stared blankly at me, apparently at the woman's beck and call. Glancing at the little disks on their foreheads, I glanced down at what was left of the guy whose head I split open - I could see a long, blood covered silver nail hanging from where his face used to be.

"Thanks to you, I'm short several of my dolls." She said, tsking, asking me, "Do you know how often it is I get visitors out here, how long it will take me to acquire a decent, unbroken doll collection?"

I tried not to be freaked out by what she was implying - or at least tried to keep it out of my voice as I responded, "Not often."

"Smart girl." She smiled at me politely. Reaching into an unseen pocket, she pulled out a small tip of what looked like balm tin. Opening it, she gently dipped her fingers into a dark looking paste, casually rubbing her lips as she continued speaking, "You're the first one in ages - besides the mechanic anyway."

That got my attention, "What mechanic?"

"Mm, nobody special. Juardo was a bit... overzealous when my dolls were trying to snare him. Before I could order my dear puppets to stop, he had already broken his neck" The woman said with a shrug, "We had to find... other uses for him."

I gave her a questioning look, about to ask a question before she put a finger to my lips to silence me. Leaning close - uncomfortably so, I should add - she gave me a brief kiss on the lips before whispering, "Don't worry about it, lovely. You'll have no concerns soon enough."

I was about to say something, but whatever I was trying to say came out... slurred. Blinking, I looked up at her as my vision started to blur, the lights around me starting to blink brightly and distractingly as I realized it was quickly becoming very hard for me to concentrate - pity since I had a really smart ass, not-appropriate remark.

I noticed there was a berry taste on my lips, where she had kissed me. That lip balm. Crap.

The figures around me still looked mostly human as one of the puppets came up, a polished silver pencil in hand. I know now it wasn't actually a pencil, but at the time everything was getting weird. I knew, somewhere deep inside, that something bad was about to happen, but I couldn't for the life of me put two and two together that I was about to get a wire nail lobotomy.

Shitty, shitty way to go - had I gone, of course.

[Cybermancer]

I worry about you sometimes, Sparks. You always seem to be out there by yourself with no backup. There are exceptions of course but still, this is dangerous work as your last post clearly illustrates.

[Sparks]

I -had- backup. We both know what happened there.

What I am not quite sure about is what happened next. So, I am going to describe this as I remember it - under the influence of some sort of mind altering poison/drug.

There was a coyote, but not a normal one - it was black and swirling, almost intangible in shape. It had eyes like a burning sun, peering through even the thick cloud of flies or whatever buzzing all around it. I could barely tell what it even was aside from general shape - I just sort of knew it was a coyote.

Maybe the one I had seen before, though I didn't realize that at the time - did I mention I was really, really high?

In a blur, it jumped and was upon one of the half dozen strangely dressed wooden, human-sized marionettes around me. Before the others could react, I saw the ethereal strings along its limbs violently snap as the coyote bit at its neck, its wooden arms and legs twitching before falling limp.

"Kill the Yee naaldlooshii!" screamed the hag. She was hideous, with coal black eyes, a hooked nose and a wrinkled face. What sparse hair she had adorned with bones of animals and other more sapient things. Her robes were blood stained, still dripping in sanguine even as she raised her arms, foul smelling dust whipping up all around her.

That dust. There was something foul about it, even though I couldn't explain why I knew that. I strained against the marionettes holding me in place, the tainted powder whipping towards me as I held my breath, struggling.

The witch's very essence was unpure, not if this world. It didn't belong. It had to be purified.Something inside me agreed - no, agreed is too... tame a term.

It demanded that something be done.

Like helping a drowning victim out of a dark, cold pool, I reached in and pulled out that screaming essence inside of me. But it wasn't someone in need of help - it was that part of me who would burn the puppet mistress.

As the foul corpse dust threatened to envelop me, everything became very, very warm suddenly suddenly. As licks of flame burned away the dust, the marionettes holding me twitched violently, attempting to hold me even as their empty wooden bodies began to char and catch aflame.

What fatigue I had burned away as I shoved both marionettes away from me, strings snapping from their lifeless limbs as they burned. I leaped at another one of the little puppets, striking it with a hard blow of my bright, burning fists and sending him flying over the bar.

I looked around, seeing wooden arms reaching through the windows, threatening to enter. The hag turned to face me, rage in her eyes.

Even if I wasn't going to win this, they'd regret their victory, I had decided. Fortunately perhaps, the coyote decided differently.

The coyote howled, the room filling with a cloud of swarming insects and the like. Despite this, I could see it leaping for one of the windows, glancing at me. Somehow, I knew it wanted me to follow.

Go out fighting or escape. I know part of me really wanted the former, but I still had enough sense for the latter. I dove out the window into the painful light of day, and started to run.

As I ran, everything got blurry, buildings and cacti swirling around me. Everything tunneled to focus on the coyote I was following, inertia keeping me from stopping even as my lungs and legs burned. It didn't matter - I knew I was being led somewhere.

I'm not really sure where we stopped, to be honest, because by that point we did stop, the amber eyed coyote turned at me, snorting smoke. Before I could do anything, it breathed a cloud of something sweet smiling in my face.

With that, sleep overtook me.

[Hannah]

Yee naaldlooshii?

As in a Skinwalker?

Your benefactor is the Navajo cross between a werebeast and a witch who has made a pact with the Devil. I'm glad you're okay and all, but really . . . that's pretty bad news itself.

Hannah

[Daichan]

Wish I could have came out with ya this time, Sparky.

Glad you made it through though.

By the way, you're invited to my wedding.

[Sparks]

Thanks, Daichan.

I woke up in a cold sweat. Oh yeah, and in pain - a lot of pain.

I was shivering as I sat up, my noggin feeling like it was going to split in half. My mouth tasted like ashes, my limbs all felt like they were on fire (and not in a good way), and my stomach felt like it was going to revolt.

Drugs do that, I guess.

I looked around to assess my surroundings. It was hard to see, since my eyes were photosensitive and some jackass had a bright oil lantern going next to me, but from what I could tell, I was in some sort of rickety old house. More notably, I was also alive - the aches and pains in my entire body would signify that.

"I suggest resting. Nightshade poisoning is normally a lethal condition untreated." came a voice to my left. I turned my head, the bright light of the lantern and a sudden cause of spinning room causing me to drop my head with a groan. Damn poison.

Still, I lifted my head enough to see a a man - Indian of some sort - sitting in a rocking chair. He was dressed in a long sleeved white shirt beneath a heavily embroidered, geometric patterned vest (Southwest group of some sort) and jeans. Dangling from a colerfully beaded sash across his waist was an ornate war club hafted with a dark ground stone, as well as some stained leather pouches. In his hand appeared to be an old black and white photograph, though I couldn't see who it was of.

Briefly, a flicker of light from the lantern made his dark eyes almost... ignite for just a moment, like a quickly erupting campfire. I chalked that up to the poison though.

"Not really in my nature." I muttered, my throat parched.

"Nor mine." In the lantern light, I saw the man manage a weak grin as he tucked the photograph inside his vest. Walking over, he reached behind himself as he knelt next to me, handing me a canteen. Against my better judgement, I took it, sitting up just enough (oh, the amount of effort that took), popping the cork and taking a drink. Water, in case people were wondering.

"You were something scary back there." He noted, watching me drink with a smirk as he added,"On fire and seeing spirits. Scary shit."

"I'd rather forget." I said simply as I handed him his canteen back, half empty.

"Typical of people." He said simply - perhaps wih a bit of contempt. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small flashlight as he motioned for me to sit up. After a few moments which consisted of him largely checking the color in my cheeks and blinding me a few times, he noted "Still some dilation and pallor. You've mostly sweat out the worst of it though."

"I imagine I have you to thank for that." I said, rubbing my eyes.

"Only if you feel wish" The man said with a shrug, putting his light away. He then handed me an old whiteware plate with my effects - wallet, keys, smokes, etc. on it and said, "Your possessions, miss. You should be careful - those things can kill you."

"Cigarettes?" I asked dryly.

"Possessions." He said with a smirk but elaborated no further. He paid me no mind as I looked at him skeptically, turning down the lantern as he said, "There is a highway about 10 miles west of here, with a rest stop halfway there. It's a bit of a walk but you can make it there by morning, when you're able."

"I'll be fine." I said, slowly stretching my limbs, "What about the cult though?"

"What about them? They aren't your business. No sane person would go after them, especially not with what happened to you." He said with a dismissive wave. "Go back to your civilization, fire walker. The cult is mine to deal with.""

"Oh piss off." I said derisively. Groaning, I pushed myself into standing - much to his surprise- even though it took my legs a second or two to cooperate. Watching me with a bit of surprise, I leaned against the table and continued, "I'm not a girl who walks away from bullies, witches, or trippy cults. I'm going to do something about them."

"By yourself, unarmed and wounded?" He asked skeptically.

"If I have to be Annie goddamn Oakley, I will." I said.

"Mm." He stood up and walked over to an old closet, opening the creaky door and looking through it. I watched him as he pulled out a long, linen wrapped object.

"You have bravery. Where the pale faces found that, I don't know, but I'm glad it exists." He smiled a bit as he handed me the object. I took it and looked it over - it was a saber - old, but still well maintained.

"Russian mother." I said with a hint of humor as I looked it over, "This looks... European?"

"A relic of the Spanish." He explained, "We can help each other, I think. I know where the cult dwells, but their numbers and magic were a problem for me."

I looked at him warily, "What interest do you have in this cult?"

"They inhabit an old place long since abandoned- places considered taboo by my people. They have haunted this area for years, and I wish to deal with them one way or another, even if my people will not" The man patted his warclub for emphasis with a smirk, "Dealing with them would do a lot of people a service, fire walker."

I looked at him long and hard, weighing my options. He seemed rather relaxed as he went to go outside, pulling out a pack of (his) cigarettes as he did. He probably knew that, if I wanted to get some revenge and do something to these things, I'd need his help.

I looked down at the sword he had handed me, walked towards the door and made my decision.

[Last Moon]

Skinwalkers are among the most unusual forms of Therians, and least understood. They are rarely discussed in Native American culture for fear of attracting their attentions.

I woudl be most interested in speaking with you about your experiences Sparks.

[Ron Caliburn]

Sounds like you found yourself in a whole world of trouble down there. Glad to hear you made it out mostly intact.

[Sparks]

Maybe when I feel more like talking about it, Last Moon.

We were mostly silent as we walked through an arroyo slowly towards a mountain ridge, the last last of day behind us as the sun by this point had mostly set. My body still ached a bit, but I was considerably more mobile than I was some hours ago. Considering what we were going to be dealing with - and considering how I tend to... react to things that try to lobotomize me, this was probably a good thing.

There was pretty much nil conversation until we began to ascend along a ridge. Not a fan of awkward silence, I finally asked, "Sooo... thanks and all, but why did you help me, exactly?"

"Yours would not have been a warrior's death.He said simply, his tone neutral.

"I... see." I said, unsure how to take that.

"Your heritage is clear to me as the sun over the Mojave, fire walker. Like my people, yours fought and survived across the barren plains. Not cold, hardship, political upheaval nor those who stalk the night. could stop your ancestors."

I paused at that last part, squinting, "How the hell do you know all of this??"

"Because open fires hide very little." He said all zen-like, continuing to trudge up the hill. I looked at him puzzled before he added, almost playfully, "Also, you spoke Russian in your sleep."

Apparently I sleep talk. Huh.

"Besides..."The shaman continued, "We are sort of alike. Bearers of a heritage, cast far and adrift from the places their ancestors dwelt, outside of time in a world where our abilities aren't respected."

Quietly, I was kind of missing the silence. Still, he was intriguing me, "I thought Native Americans were a spiritual people."

"The Ne Dene are a... superstitious people."He corrected me, a bit of anger in his voice.

"Navajo, right?" I asked, "You're a shaman?"

"I was once, long ago when I had a people." He said simply, pulling himself up a small bluff, "Back when I believed the gods would look after my people."

"Someone's bitter." I said simply.

He paused, turning to look at me briefly, but said nothing as he changed the subject, "The place we go is a set of houses along one of the mountains. There, is an old an old kiva built by what the Europeans call the Hohokam. They likely have the balconies watched or warded with magic, but likely they have avoided the catacombs. We'll take that approach, especially as the entrance is close by."

"And... stupid question, but what if there's shit haunting the catacombs or someone guarding it?" I asked.

"Leave that to me, fire walker." He said simply. I let the matter drop - creepy shaman guy or not, he probably knew what he was doing.

By this point, I knew something was a bit off. I'm not the most acquainted with Native American magical traditions, but the man gave me a creepy feeling every time he spoke, despite his comparatively harmless nature - and, y'know, the fact he saved me from death.

Still, I felt obligated to get a bit of payback. Maybe I felt a bit of obligation in finding out what happened to 'the mechanic', too. And whether I liked it or not, I always repaid favors.

The fact I had an awesome Spanish sword helped quell my concerns a bit, too, I suppose.

We had a date with a cult.

[Last Moon]

Sparks, I look forward to dscussing this with you, when you feel up to it.

Your tale is a fascinating one.

[Looonatic]

I suspect he might be the ghost of Zorro.

[Sparks]

Well ain't your name just apt.

The man stopped me as we approached a well concealed entrance, butted right against the bluff. Approaching slowly, he glanced at the open doorway of the adobe structure, admiring what appeared to me to be scribbles.

"Would you so kindly rub those out with your sword?" He asked, glancing at me inquisitively, "They were designed against those like myself, not those with other... less spiritual abilities."

I was tempted to ask what he meant by that, but I figured time was of the essence. I stepped over, pulling out my zippo and flipping it on look at the glyphs. There were depictions of anthropomorphic people, abstract objects, and a few that I had no idea what they were - though one of them looked kind of like a coyote crossed with a tornado...

Nonetheless, I took that sword and sliced it straight down the drawings. Almost immediately I saw some sort of brief distortion around the door. The shaman waved his hands in front of the portal and nodded before stepping in, me following - and hoping I did the right thing.

I'm not really an expert on Native American ethnography, archaeology, or whatever you want to call it, but this place was weird. Case in point, I wasn't aware that any groups in this area built elaborate catacombs - ones that apparently went into mountains. It was stuccoed in a maroon red that was only starting to flake. i could make out little inscriptions of animals, abstract geometric styled people, and elemental (?) symbols burned into the paint.

Also, the place felt like death. That one is... hard to describe in words. It was that weird presence that just reminds you that you're flesh, bone, and 90% water, and thus, your life is a mere speck.

I'm told there's a term for that emotion - hell if I know what it is.

Notably absent in this catacomb were the skeletons. Aside from a few scattered bones. There were remnants of cobwebs moved about that suggested bones -had- been there, but not anymore. Creepy.

"I thought catacombs had bodies." I inquired to my momentary partner.


"Likely ground into corpse powder." he noted casually, pausing briefly to run his fingers along one of the empty shelves "Very recently too."

"That's something Navajo witches do, isn't it?" I asked, watching him.

"Some of them, anyway." He said with a shrug before moving on, drawing his warclub as he warned, "There will be traps at the top and bottom of the stairs. I'll lead, and follow my steps."

I nodded as I followed along, quietly wondering how he knew a place that I had to help him gain access to so well. For some reason, I felt like the sketches of dogs (coyotes?), anthropomorphic figures, and various other symbols scribbled on the wall had something to do with it...

After being led through the darkness of the abode, stepping near exactly where the fellow in front of me was moving, we found ourselves moving down a cramped hallway towards what appeared to be a fairly large chamber. Moving shadows - a lot of them- were dancing on the wall, illuminated by some sort of lantern or bonfire.

The medicine man stopped me as he reached into his bag, pulling out some powder and throwing it over the two of us. As the dust fell, he abruptly faded from view. I looked down at my hands, equally invisible.

Okay, I admit it was kinda cool, creepy mojo or not.

I saw the woman again as I peeked into the room, chanting something in some language I didn't recognize. Her men - or what was left of them - were sitting all around her, chanting along with her. On the table near the door, I could see a bunch of various odds and ends - wallets, clothes, a tomahawk, and notably, my handgun that I dropped earlier.

The congregation (?) were standing in front of a and facing doorway leading to a much smaller room with a table, upon which a twitching, shifting mass was writhing about beneath a heavy woven blanket. It took me a moment to figure out that the chanting and the movement of the wrapped mass were in sync.

I really hate magic. No offense to you magically inclined.

I had lost track of the shaman after he had made us both invisible, so I couldn't ask him what he had planned - which would have been nice, since we were still outnumbered about 13 to 2.

He made himself known soon enough though. With the howl of fiery desert sand and an unnatural cry of rage, he - or rather, the coyote from my hallucination - took the head of one of the puppets right off.

I still wasn't sure what to do, of course, so I did the only thing I could - I charged.

[Hannah]

No wonder we get along.

Hannah

PS: No-offense taken. I hate facing magic too.

[Gotham Witch]

No fair not finishing this out, Sparks. I'm curious to see how you survived.

[Natasha]

I guess that it is too late, but Magdalena lives in New Mexico.

[Cybermancer]

Always good to see you posting, Natasha.

[Sparks]

Would have been good to know before going in, but we have demonstrated how bad I am at foresight, so...

Alright, fighting. Yes, there was that. Except this time it went better.

The coyote stood upon his victim as he growled at the others, the decapitated body quickly drying out and turning to bonedust and parchment - definitely not human, in case shooting them multiple times wasn't evidence of that earlier.

Before one of them could lurch up and attack the shaman, I came up behind it and took a big swing with my sword. Bullets weren't effective before. Blades? Oh, blades work. It may not have felt pain but it certainly crumpled after I chopped its block off.

A little whirlwind of sand and fire emanated from the coyote's mouth, catching one of puppets. As I watched, the thing dessicated like something out of the Mummy, crumbling bones and a corroded nail being all that was left.

I dodged a swing of what was once a young female jogger before taking a swing at the puppeteer. She - and I shit you not - caught my sword in her hands, hardly bleeding a bit before she bent the damn thing right in half - and then knocked me on my ass with a backhand.

I hate the possessed ones. Ow.

I caught the foot of one of her larger minions as he tried to stomp me with steel toed boots. He gave me an empty eyed smile as he pressed his mass down on me, trying to crush my neck. I reached up, grasping his shin in what must have seemed to be a desperate act.

I'm sure if he had any brains left, he'd have remembered I played with fire before he went up like a torch.

I pushed his boot off of me as the rest of him fell to the floor as bones and bits quickly turning to white ashes. His friend the jogger was a bit more hesitant to try and touch me, so I forced the matter, pointing my hands towards her and burning her to bits in seconds.

To paraphrase a certain HBO show, Mine was the fury.

"Die!" the witch shouted as she struck at me with unnatural quickness, brandishing an obsidian dagger in hand. I managed to just barely avoid her initial swing, though it was a feint. Before I could respond, she had struck me across the cheek and I hit the ground, my head spinning.

It's okay. I knew something she didn't.

I grimaced as I caught an attempted coup de grace right along my ribs, holding her arm tight to me and not letting go as I felt cold volcanic glass pinned against my side. For something so petite, she clearly had the devil backing her, as I could barely keep a grasp of her arm.

It was just more amusing as she gave me a confused look with those inhumane eyes before realizing too late why I was grinning.

There was a sickening splatter as her head more or less just... vanished, obliterated by the swing of the shaman's club. I wisely let her go as her body fell limp at my feet, simultaneously melting and boiling away in putrid black grease and wicked red fire.

"And that is that." The shaman noted, putting his bloodied warclub back on his belt as he offered me a hand. I declined as I stood back up, holding my side, causing him to shrug and turn back towards the twitching mass beneath the cloth in the next room.

"Any idea what they were doing here?" I asked curiously, glancing down at my side. My side was bleeding but it was a pretty shallow cut - I'd need stitches later.

"Likely they were attempting to reach that... thing in the next room." He said simply, walking over to the doorway but stopping before crossing the threshold. As he did that, I walked over to the table and picked up my handgun. They had pulled the clip out - two shots left - and set it aside.

"What's so special about it?" I asked, quietly rubbing my ash-covered fingers over the bullets before locking the magazine back in place. He paid me no mind as he observed the writhing bundle int he other room

"There is a powerful spirit trapped within the next room. The original inhabitant of its bodily prison still exists in this world, tormented by the fiend. That was likely deliberate - the suffering and conflict bind the spirit to this world. Clearly they needed needed a ritual to attempt to control and draw upon its power." I saw the hint of a smirk before he couldn't help but add, "Amateurs."

"I see." I said simply, before aiming my gun and shooting him right in the back.

Yeah, you heard me. He might have helped me out but to answer Hannah's earlier inquiry, I knew damn well what the hell he was - hence the ashes on the bullets.

He gasped as he collapsed to the ground, writhing and twitching. The entry wound was emanating black smoke as he rolled onto his back, glaring at me with glowing amber eyes as I approached.

I cut him whatever he was about to say as I pointed my gun at his head, "I knew what she called you, Skin walker. I also know that you probably know this place because it was your prison at one time. You just needed help getting past the scribbles."

He gasped with a smirk, groaning painfully before whispering, "Cunning. Well played, woman of the steppe."

"I don't appreciate being used." I said menacingly, pulling the hammer on my pistol.

"We're all slaves to fate. Some of us just have a bit more control over our destinies."He said, before suddenly reaching out. His hand and form were beginning to dissolve into a swarm of flies just as I pulled the trigger at his forehead. The bullet struck the ground where his head was, doing seemingly nothing as I was engulfed in a swarm of fiery stinging bites.

Panicking, I reached deep inside once again, the air around me engulfed in heat and light as the insects burned away, the cloud immediately attempting to veer away before it was incinerated completely.

I made out what was left of the ragged cloud flying out the window. Something tells me he wasn't willing to try that again.

His effects - warclub, clothes, and all - were still sitting on the floor. Reaching over, I picked up the warclub as I walked into the kiva. Inside was a woven blanket over a table, something roughly human shaped moving and hissing beneath it. Grabbing the edge of the sheet, I yanked it off the table.

Whoever it had been had been more or less flayed down to muscle, though I could make out various symbols and whatnot scrawled - almost burned - into the exposed, twitching tissue. His face was haggered, with bits of facial hair sticking around red glowing eyes. His hands and feet were pinned to the stone table with railroad spikes.

The glowing eyes stared at me as it hissed and growled, saying things to or at me - words maybe? It was no language I understood - something told me it wasn't something any mortal person should know.

Ever have those moments where you wonder if it could possibly, in any way get more messed up than this?

I had pondered sticking the obsidian dagger through the corpse's chest, but I wasn't sure if it'd do anything. However, I had seen what the shaman's warclub had done to the witch, and figured an encore performance couldn't hurt.

"Sorry Joe." I said weakly, before I took a nice, hard swing at the skull, smashing it to bits as the body went... well, mostly still.

Not taking any further chances, I put my hands over the still twitching corpse, before the whole thing went up in a white hot blaze. For a few moments, I thought I saw some sort of inhuman silhouette - human mostly, save for a head that was somewhere between a coyote and a goat - struggling to escape the fire, only to vanish with a brief, but unholy scream of... rage?

I said a brief prayer as the ashes slowly cooled, the body completely charred. Before leaving, I went looking through the gathered effects. There was a wallet and driver's license - the face was (well, close enough) the same one as the 'prison' I laid to rest - Joe Smith. There were some other devices on the table - stuff that didn't look like it should work for anyone but with a knack. I put all that stuff in a bag to take with me, just in case.

There was a first aid kit amongst the pile of crap that they had collected over the years, so I took the time to patch myself up and find the keys to the RV. I had considered taking a nap there, but considering the bad mojo of the place, I didn't want to risk it - I had a long way to go before sunrise.

[Sparks]

So... that's that.

I've been trying to decide some introspective way to end this. It was... something, to say the least. But whereas Joe Smith was to me a victim of a horrible cult ritual, many here considered him a friend and reliable ally. There isn't a whole lot I can say to comfort those here or the family he leaves behind, except that justice has hopefully been served.

So I'll... keep it short: May he rest in peace.

[Gotham Witch]

For what it's worth, you handled all of that very well.

I'm curious about the fate of your skinwalker, however.

[Last Moon]

I am also curious about the therianthrope. Would it be possible to interview you Sparks? I have many, many questions.