Bonfire

Amalia stood on the outside of the rickety old house, trying to even her breathing as she hyped herself up to go in.

She runs her own potion business, yet it doesn’t make her enough money to live, so she still has to do her main job: Spirit releasing.

She had her recorder, her two intercoms, her hollowed-out book filled with knives, potions, and sage, and her utility belt.

She clicked for her recorder to start, “Entering 5306 on Windle Street– Spirit said to be taking up the home: Ryan Hilderburry. There were many deaths that took place in this house, none of the bodies were found, but he was the first. He was a werewolf who died in his early 50s 30 years ago,” she took a shaky breath, “During the time of the Windle Street Wolf Hunt.” She entered the house and clicked the recorder off.

Looking around, she saw how dust coated the surface of every object in the room. The floor squeaked under her and she was sure she could see some sort of underground area through the cracks.

She pulled her light out of her belt and walked through. The ghost had been here for a while, three decades is nothing to scoff at, and in that time, he has killed a total of 6 different people.

4 humans, 1 witch, and 1 vampire.

The murders only started to happen when werewolves stopped living in the town, so it was safe for her to assume that she was probably not the best to be doing this–

She suddenly heard a creak that she did not make.

She froze where she stood and heard it again.

Thudding.

She glanced at the stairs. It was coming from the second floor, it sounded like someone banging on the walls. She ascended the stairs carefully and wandered through the halls.

The sounds were becoming more and more forceful as she walked, and she could hear them more easily. She froze when she got to the master bedroom.

With one final, loud bang, she heard something slide.

Her heart was pounding hard against her chest as she put her recorder away, and used her free hand to open the door.

When the light shone into the room, the air seemed to freeze.

In front of her, climbing through the damn window, was a werewolf with brown hair.

“Roxann?” She asked, fully dumbfounded, yet she couldn’t help the heat that flushed her face.

Roxann shifted uncomfortably and leaned against the window.

“Huh– hey! Break in here often?” She asked with a toothy grin.

Amalia gave her a tired look. “I’m actually on a job. Do you break in here often?” She asked. Roxann looked even more awkward now–

She also looked pissed.

“What kind of job?” She asked.

A part of Amalia wanted to stick to code– Never tell anyone what you’re doing in the houses unless it’s the cop or a fellow hunter. No need to cause unnecessary panic, but from the way Roxann was acting, she most likely already knew.

“Release the spirit of Mr. Hildburry,” she answered.

Roxann groaned as she ran her hand over her face. “Of course you are– I swear, your company is a bunch of stuck-up pricks,” she grumbled.

Amalia tilted her head, “Careful there, you’re the one breaking in.” Roxann sighed.

“Look, it’s nothing against you or your work,” she explained. “However, there’s a reason the killings started after werewolves stopped living in the house–”

“As you know, Mr. Hilderburry was a werewolf.” Amalia nodded. “And he died 30 years ago.”Gained a sad look. “During the Windle Street Wolf Hunt,” she stated.

The Windle Street Wolf Hunt was a tragic event, back when the supernatural wasn’t wildly expected, people came into Windlestreet and started to burn any houses belonging to werewolves.

So many people died that day, all because of some petty grudge.

Roxann looked uneasy even talking about it. “Yeah, and because it was such chaos back then, no one was able to give the wolves who passed a formal send-off, only a temporary one, something that lasted 5 years.”

“And because he didn’t get a full send-off, his business isn’t complete,” Amalia popped up.

“Now, after 5 years, it was fine because werewolves were still living there– But when human-looking creatures started to reside in his home?” “He was reminded of the people who slaughtered him.”

“Yes,” Roxann agreed. “That’s why I’ve been trying to get access to this and a whole bunch of other houses– There’s a lot of werewolf spirits who are looking for their send-off, and only an alpha can get them set up.”

Amalia took all of this information in. It was against the code to let anyone, not a spirit hunter in on an assignment, but it was also their job to get the spirits to be at rest.

“Alright,” Amalia said, “What’s your plan?”

Roxann blinked at her. “Wait– Are you serious?” She asked, to which Amalia nodded.

"If I do this myself, I’ll more than likely die. If it means no one will get hurt, and the ghost can be at the peace he very much deserves after the pain he was caused, then I’m more than willing to follow your lead. What do we do?”

Roxann smiled at her. “Well–” she clapped her hands as she started to walk out of the room.

“We need to figure out a way to take his spirit with us,” she stated.

Amalia walked behind her. “We can do that by finding something he loved, his place of death, and performing a binding ritual,” the witch popped up.

The wolf clicked her tongue, “Good, any way to release the thing at the site we need?” “The only way to release the spirit from the object is to burn it.” Roxann’s footsteps were steady and confident. “Alright, well, we’re going to be burning it anyway, so that’s good. For a formal send-off, we normally take the things the wolf loved or that represented them, and send them off to see on a burning ship.”

Amanda shifted through the information she had read about this man. “Mr. Hilderberry was a navy general when he used a human disguise,” she stated.

“Spot on,” Roxann said as the two came to a stop. “He was also a part of my pack before he died, and according to my parents, he also was  a fishing man who loved his family.” The two stopped, and Roxann took a moment to reach up and open a latch in the roof that Amalia failed to notice.

“Most people keep random stuff in the attic,” Roxann expressed as she brought the attached ladder downward.

As the two climbed up it, it creaked under their weight. Dust tumbled off of the steps. Broken cobwebs hung from its sides. When they got up to look into the highest floor of the house, Amalia felt a shiver go up her spine.

All around the crowded, dark attic, were signs of spiders, and fish hanging from the walls, some of them taxidermied and stuffed with bones, broken fishing rods with human remains on the hook, Chest with human ribs engaging them, and pictures of everyone that had weathered with age.

Roxann stepped into the attic. “Huh,” she stated. “Guess we know where the bodies went.” Amalia chuckled out of nerves. At least they now know where the bodies went.

She felt cold. Her hands were shaking at this point, and her fear of spiders wasn’t helping.

Roxann continued to look around before she looked at Amalia with a playful smirk.

“This is a bit spooky.” “A bit?” Amalia squeaked. “There’s human remains on fishing hooks! I mean– What bait do you use to catch a human, oil!?”

Roxann bit her lip to stop a laugh. “Only if they’re American.”

Amalia groaned and looked down.

She hated Chicago.

When she looked down, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. Making a noise of confusion, she climbed back down the ladder and looked around.

She saw nothing, though. Must just be her–

No, wait, there it was again– A shadow, and a big one at that, just slipped down the stairs.

She knew it wasn’t a logical move, but she gave chase.

She followed it down the stairs and saw it zoom into the kitchen.

She jumped the railing and ran into the room.

Her breathing was harsh when she got there, yet she had once again lost it.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood, she should probably get back to the attic now, this place gave her the creeps–

When she turned around, she saw what she had been chasing.

The only thing she could get out before it pounced was a wordless scream.

---

Amalia’s head was fuzzy as the world around her slowly came back.

Her vision was blurred and her body ached. Looking around, she could already tell that she was in a boatload of trouble.

The room around her was freezing cold, filled with old hunting gear, and a blue hue that gave the feeling as though she was trapped in a dream.

She slowly propped herself up. “Hello?” She called out, trying to see if anyone could hear her. She attempted to stand, only to stumble back to the ground, her legs were jello.

Her breathing came out in white puffs, and her hands were shivering.

She grabbed her spirit reader and cringed.

It was screaming like a banshee, the plasma readings in this room were off the charts.

That was when she heard static.

“H– Llo?” 

The voice was Roxann’s. Amalia looked at her belt and noticed that one of her coms was missing. She grabbed her back up and spoke into it.

“Roxann? Come in, Roxann!” She shouted into it as she tried to figure out where she was. The ground was stone, and she could hear something above her.

“Amalia– Re– yo– re–” Amalia cringed as static filled the connection.

“Roxann, I can’t hear you too well– Can you hear me?” “Ye– Somewhat– Can– Understand–”

Okay. She could work with that.

“Alright, I’m in some sort of cellar– Do you know if there’s a lower floor of this house?” She asked as she crawled about.

Normally, spirits have rips in places– Holes that don’t obey time or order that can peer into places in their domain.

“Not– no– F–”

Peachy. Great. Im-fucking-peakable.

Her eyes caught something on the floor and she smiled. Bingo.

She crawled over to where the holes were. It was a honeycomb of them, dozens of spirit holes of all shapes and sizes splayed on the floor.

“There’s spirit holes,” she stated.

“What?” She chuckled, that was the clearest word she had heard out of this com.

I can see you,” she noted as she looked at the hole that had the kitchen she was taken in. To her statement, Roxann looked around for a moment before doing a little dance. She chuckled at the sight.

She could also see something on the stairs– A door.

Looking around, there was no other way that could lead to the room she was in.

Then she heard the rustling.

As she turned, she saw wisps of blue energy coming around and forming a shape.

Her heart sped up as the room got colder. She needed backup.

And fast.

She turned back around. “Roxann! Leave the kitchen and head back toward the stairs!”

Roxann did as she was told as Amalia stood and faced the forming storm while glancing back at the portals.

“Go past the stairs and left!” She said as the air under her feet started to get pulled away from her.

She glanced down to see Roxann going to her left. “No! Other left– Gah!”

She yelped and dropped her com as a gust of wind hit her in the back and pulled her forward.

She heard yelling from her com. She was quick to start digging through her pouches, fishing out all of the items she needed to perform a binding.

As she was lifted up, she got her hands on everything and looked at the beast that had formed.

Its eyes were a frost blue of anger, and its body a writhing mass of hatred.

She chuckled a bit. “Ah, hang out here often?” She asked with a nervous smile.

The ghost roared in rage and she felt her skin grow numb from the could.

She gasped as it raised one of its mangled hands which formed into a spear and pointed it at her.

She started to mutter the spell for the ritual as she used her fire magic to burn the sage in her hand.

It didn’t do much against the cloud as it started to send its spear toward her head.

She closed her eyes and flinched away and kicked, trying to get out of its hold.

The door swung open.

“Oi! Furr brain!”

Both she and the ghost looked over to where Roxann had come barreling in, her eyes matching the ghost’s anger.

“Drop the witch!” It growled deeply at her, a more animalistic side showing out of the torment it has gone through.

Amalia then noticed something close to Roxann: A photo of a man holding a rod and a fish along with two small kids.

Her heart raced. She wiggled her hand out of the grasp of the monster it held it up.

“Roxann!” She screamed, “Photo!” The wolf looked a bit confused at first, but then she saw the picture frame next to her.

She grabbed it and threw it over to where Amalia was.

The spirit made a noise of panic as it dropped Amalia and tried to save the photo from shattering, but its massive form made it slower.

Amalia pounced up grabbed the picture and was quick to dodge the hands that swung at her.

She chewed at her lip.

She needed to be able to sit down and perform this ritual, and when something was trying to kill her in the way, that was close to impossible.

Roxann seemed to sense this worry.

She chucked a chair at the beast, who turned its attention to her.

“Over here stormy!” She called while sticking out her tongue.

The ghost responded by rushing her and breaking all of the boxes in the attic.

Amalia sat down and used her pencil to mark a circle around where she had set the picture.

As she ducked away from the flying pieces of wood, she chanted her spell and continued to burn the sage to make a protective bubble around the object.

She held some twinge in her hands, which quickly disappeared in a bright glow.

With one final chant, she looked over at where Roxann was, “Get him over here!” She shouted.

The wolf nodded. “Over here, bluey!” She called as she leaped over to where Amalia was right for the ghost to slam into the wall.

Amalia and Roxann looked the thing down as it grumbled and growled.

The witch pulled out a small bag that she had.

“On the count of three, we book it,” she stated. The ghost narrowed in on them.

“One.” It started to charge.

“Two.” A wisp of it reached inside of the circle.

“Three!” She shouted as she released the catching powder all over him.

Roxann wrapped her arms around her and yanked her to safety as a flash of light happened.

The powder mixed with the ghost and bound with the string, which locked the ghost to the picture, and the sage mixed with the care the spirit had for the image, strengthened it being locked in.

The room’s blue tint disappeared. The holes vanished from thin arms, and the two women were now alone in a destroyed cellar.

Their breathing echoed each other. Amalia leaned into the warmth she felt on her back to try and replace the code.

When Roxann squeezed her, she realized that they were still together.

She blushed harshly. Scrambling to her feet she turned and offered a hand to Roxann. The wolf looked confused at her sudden jump, but she took her hand either way.

The two looked over at the picture. “So, is that?” Roxann asked, “Did we get him?” Amalia looked over to her. “We have him bonded– Now we just need to let him go.”

With that statement, Roxann smiled gently at her.

Amalia couldn’t help the pride that welled in her.

—

A few days later, Amber was standing next to Roxann as they watched the burning ship float out to sea.

Tears were shed, and Amalia couldn’t help but get a bit misty-eyed herself, despite not fully knowing what was going on.

As she started to take her leave, she found Roxann coming up to her.

She stopped to allow the werewolf to catch up. “Hey,” she greeted. Amalia nodded, “Yeah yourself. Anything more you have to take care of?” Roxann shook her head.

“No, not by a long shot. I still need to make sure his family knows he’s at peace now.” Amalia hummed. “I’ll leave that to you then– I’m sure it’s better to hear from an alpha that your loved one has moved on appropriately rather than a witch who was doing a job.”

Roxann chuckled for a moment. “Thank you,” the world said, “Not a lot of people would’ve given this the time of day.”

Amalia shook her head as she spoke, “It’s the bare minimum– My goal is to help, not harm.”

When she started to leave, Roxann piped up. “Are you coming to the bonfire?”

A smile graced the witch’s lips.

“Won’t miss it for the world.”

With that, the two went their separate ways, both already impatient for the next time they saw each other.