Ghost

[Rhoda]

 

Ghost

 

 

"They call me Ghost. F*ck knows why.

I'd like to think it's because I'm always in the least desirable place, giving you a feeling of uneasiness and sheer cold that renders you incapable of any sense whatsoever.

It's probably not that, wishful thinking at the end of it all, though a man can dream..."

________________________

 

Chapters

 

Prologue - Posted April 22 2008

Chapter I: Fatal... Foetal - Posted April 23 2008

Chapter II: Baby Steps - Posted April 26 2008

Chapter III: Good Guy Gorm - Posted May 4 2008

Chapter IV: Puppet Strings -Posted May 8 2008

Chapter V: Multitasking - Posted May 14 2008

Chapter VI: Deforrestation - Posted May 19 2008

Chapter VII: Afternoon Tea - Posted May 20 2008

Chapter VIII: Long Gone John - Posted May 25 2008

Chapter IX: Full Leather Extremist - Posted May 27 2008

Chapter X: Mask's Wrath - Posted June 2 2008

Chapter XI: Like Hunting Bears - Posted June 8 2008

Chapter XII: Grievance Greets You Like A Former Friend - Posted June 22 2008

Chapter XIII: Ghost Grows A Spine - Posted June 26 2008

Chapter XIV: Ring A Ring A Rosie - Posted 13 July 2008

________________________

 

This is my first attempt at a more serious creative writing project than what I'd usually attempt. I didn't actually mean to post this so soon, I hit "Post Topic" rather "Preview Post" but hey, maybe it's a good thing I pushed this out earlier than intended. It gives people time to ponder. Expect the opening very soon.

Edited July 13, 2008 by Masterkraft

[Vercetti21]

Not sure what to think of it as very little is known. I'll keep an eye out.

[Rhoda]

Hopefully this chapter will be just as ambiguous as the opening post...

 

 

Prologue - God Given

From around the tender and manipulative age of 12, Chris knew he was different from other boys in high school. Due to an unnecessarily hard home life with his dad, school became his safe haven, where he was free to write, talk and behave in such a way he wouldn't be judged. At home however, Chris was restricted to such a point that he would be abusive to his father, who was a firm believer of work from an early age. In the sanctum of his attic bedroom, Chris would abuse himself to such a degree where he could use his flowing blood to etch doodles, his only company at home, and dream that one day he could be free just like his creations. Chris felt he was different, felt like he was God Given.

 

Chris had one friend. One true friend. A friend that wasn't dribbled in his own bodily fluids, and he went by the name of Trent. Someone Chris could always share silent mirth with, and Chris would absorb every good time he spent with Trent upon the realization he would have to return to his creatively restrictive home. The two were soon seen as inseparable, exploring every hidden treasure his town had to offer. Abandoned hospitals and warehouses where Chris' favourite, whereas Trent would focus on further demolition of the facilities any way he could. Chris would stare at walls for hours at a time, contemplating whether he would be happy if he died that minute, right were he was. He never was, and grew ever more frustrated with life as he aged. Convinced there had to be something better, Chris left home at the age of 17 and went to live in a chemical plant on the outskirts of town, secluded from eyes, which burned holes into him like a magnifying glass would make light work of a piece of paper in the baking sun. Chris, for once in his life, felt at home. It was only until years later would he realise just how different he was from every other man, woman or child that merely existed in his town... and this line of distinction was measured only by an extremely unstable mind and a mask.

[longkissgoodnight]

Sounds alright so far.

[Oblivionz]

Sounds f*cking awesome, man. Why didn't you tell me about this?

[TonyZimmzy]

Wow, this has garnered my immediate attention. I'm ready and willing for more.

[Oxidizer]

Was unsettling one of your readers with disturbing imagery your agenda? Because you certainly succeeded.

 

And with that you got yourself yet another fan. I'll definitely be back for another hit of this!

[Vercetti21]

Pretty damn interesting so far. Chris sounds like an interesting character, can't wait to see where this goes.

[Rhoda]

Chapter I - Fatal... Foetal

 

The world had forgotten the harsh wastelands on the edge of town. While everything evolved around him, Chris was left by his very own hometown to rot and live amongst the beasts he craved to massacre for food and sometimes entertainment. Left behind by even his only friend, Chris was forced to retreat to his chemical plant home and talk to the many reflections he cast a glance at as he paced the corridors, inhaling the varied and luring palette of fumes from exposed pipes and containers.

 

Life was good.

 

Chris was free, finally, and the drawings he would carve onto the steel or onto himself would leave him literally giggling to himself at the thought of his mind, completely unrestricted and free to feed on the bounties of the wasteland. As weeks passed, the chemical plant grew more and more dilapidated and aged terribly, as the high rise, hustle and bustle pace of his town marched on with progress.

 

Correction; life was bliss. Bliss even after his accident. In fact, you could say the accident was the best thing to happen to Chris. The one event that set him truly free. Defined him, not confined him.

 

The sun hit the sewage run off, overlooked by Chris' unorthodox home and harshly paved it's way through the trees, which were barely surviving due to the near inhabitable conditions. From here, the glorifying yet horrific yells echoed and reverberated from inside the chemical plant, with a very ecstatic Chris visible through the shattered window frames. Inside, the scene was much more grim. Animals of every size and species lay slaughtered in patterns, some left alive to fight for what could be their last breaths as Chris ran past them, cackling to himself as no-one else would dare to listen. As he passed a broken chemical container, Chris almost broke his ankles stopping in time to steal a glimpse of how good he looked in the strained sunlight creeping round every corner and orifice. Barely containing his laughter, Chris raised a shaking hand up to his face, where a black, leather gas mask tightly hugged his face.

"A pleasant mixture of utopia and dystopia... pain and pleasure you could say." he whispered to the container, running a scabbed finger down the middle of his mask, eyes darting around the image reflected back to him.

"No-one listens. No-one but you..." Chris added, clearly displeased with where he left that statement and instead ran a finger down the rusted but sturdy frame of the container which stood, enduring his ramblings which would force the most stable person in an uneasy mood.

Barely giving himself time to finish running his finger down the harsh surface of the container, Chris was off as fast as his fuse, running down a corridor he had not traversed in a while. The laughter spilled, hard and fast, sounding almost as strained as the sunlight. Chris was alive, and he knew it. This was freedom. As his eyes darted around the many sights he could possibly drink in, his attention was diverted from the path ahead. With no signs of slowing, it was too late before the gelatinous puddle was noticed, and Chris' eyes widened even more if that was even possible at this moment in time. It was over in an instant. Chris was sent hurtling through a doorway, shredding his shinbones on the raised steel platform overlooking the waste below him. He even laughed as he felt the bones in his ankle crack under the pressure of the impact, and before he could realise his direction he was lying in, waste water was filling his throat. Panic. A feeling Chris hadn't felt since he left home. In a home so free of judgment, he had forgotten what it was like to feel panic. Calm followed. Calm.

 

Wake up, Chris, you're going to be late for school you useless f*ck.

 

Chris awoke with a start, face unusually loose. In a second stage of panic at the thought of him losing his new favourite piece of clothing, his hands shot up to check for the creases and folds of his mask. Panting and swallowing frequently, the mask was still bound, but as Chris ran his damp fingers down the sides, it felt as if it was his own face burning under his touch. For a few minutes, Chris sat, blinking only when his eyes grew heavy and dry. Breathing only when his lungs felt warm and infected. In a sickening lurch, Chris sat up and violently forced his throat into a gagging frenzy. Blood and bile trickled from in between his gums and under his tongue as his head filled with uncontrollable laughter. In between blinks, the pigment of his eyes changed subtle hues until they gave off an unhealthy shade of grey and red. Gazing at his hands, which had begun to burn against the liquid's caressing, Chris stood up panting, with only laughter on the agenda. In a powerful stance, Chris threw his torso back and unleashed a terrific and terrifying roar. Birds scattered from the near dead foliage littering the site and a sudden realization flowed freely through his veins. Chris ceased to exist. What lay ahead was a fresh start. A new birth. A God given gift almost.

[longkissgoodnight]

I really like the way you are going with this - I will be following this.

[TonyZimmzy]

That was nothing short of incredible. Chris' laughter reminds me of an anime I watch - when the protagonist, whom believes in his own mind is a God, is caught by the police and knows he's to be sentenced to death for countless murders of criminals, and all he can do is let out a sickening laugh.

 

Can't wait for the next chap.

[Rhoda]

Thanks for the commendations guys, I'm quite impressed with myself, I'm writing better than I thought I would it turns out. Expect another chapter this coming week. Criticism very welcome.

[Oxidizer]

Impressed? You should be! This is most definitely your finest work that I'm aware of, and you should be proud.

 

Your writing skills are quite intricate and show an evident talent. I'm in awe.

[Blackadder.]

Wow, that was creepily awesome, nice job!

 

Add another fan to the list.

[Typhus]

 

Chris was restricted to such a point that he would be abusive to his father

 

Just wondering, shouldn't that be "his father was abusive to him"? Because that's kind of the reason for his insanity isn't it? That his Dad treated him badly.

[Rhoda]

Chris was restricted to such a point that he would be abusive to his father

 

Just wondering, shouldn't that be "his father was abusive to him"? Because that's kind of the reason for his insanity isn't it? That his Dad treated him badly.

Ah, I was glad you brought that up, not sure people understood it. I meant to say that he'd frequently lose his temper and attack his father and of course, being in the situation he was at home, he'd be abused back. I hope that clears up any confusion.

[longkissgoodnight]

Out of curiosity - who is that a picture of - the guy with the mask? Who is behind that mask?

[Rhoda]

It's Sid Wilson from the band Slipknot, as many probably already know. I wanted something with class but with a sinister side. I thought a member of Slipknot dressed in formal enough attire was enough.

[longkissgoodnight]

Well you did a good job.

[mark-2007]

This is pretty f*ckin' good. I like the idea and the desciptions you use - especially of how run down the chemical plant is.

[Chickstick]

Most impressive. What I like about your writing is that everything from you is fresh and unique, completely different from what you've posted before. Looking forward, as you could probably tell, to the next chapter.

[Rhoda]

Chapter II - Baby Steps

 

It had been a long day. The man formerly known as Chris grew weary of tearing at his new flesh, praying that the mask would release it's stubborn grip from around his aching face. Whatever he did to the leather, his skin would crawl and bleed with every swipe of the rusty scapel he found in the sewage outside.

"Why do I want to talk more, why am I talking more, why are you making me talk more."

His word's ran quickly, pleading with the mask, which was going nowhere.

"You're mine now, Chris. Time to take your baby steps."

"But why? Why make me move? I was having a good time all by myself!"

"I'm here to help you make sense of this cruel world, and give you the strength to carry out what you once feared to do. All those that trespassed against you will soon regret it."

The mask's haunting yet monotonous tone spoke softly, though it couldn't have sounded any more threatening to it's occupant if it tried.

"I'll be your ghost. Following you. By that logic, you could say you're a ghost yourself..."

The mask let out a soft chuckle, as it's wearer thundered round the empty corridors, careering into glass panels and timeless picture frames.

"You'll be Ghost... and you know what? You're going to f*cking love it."

Ghost, as he was named by his subconscious, still clawed at the mask which was as relentless as ever. He found it ironic that it was more prone to falling off his face when he most wanted to wear it. Now that he had grew physically sick over what it was doing to him, it was affixed to his flesh showing no signs of vacating it's host. Ghost let out a bloodcurdling scream and slammed into the nearest wall, slumping in a broken heap on the floor. As he cradled his head with his palms, he felt the mask's veins creep round the back of his own skull, burrowing. With a whimper, the veins were clenching around every scrap of sense and logic he possessed.

"Relax..."

Ghost suddenly lay still, and his bloodshot eyes rolled back as a soothing sensation filled his brain. Digits twitching, he no longer felt trapped. He was once again free. As Ghost raised his hands to hold his head, he recoiled in terror and excitement as the mask was no longer a mask, but his own face. Breathing heavily, he slowly paced down the corridor he was once battling with his own mind in, tracing the walls with his fingers as if he was searching for answer on the plaster. The afternoon light broke through the shattered windows in the foyer, and illuminated Ghost in full splendor. With a grin spread wide across his new face, the heat seemed to give him new energy and motivation.

"I shall do what must be done, won't I my silver friend?" Ghost cooed to his scapel. "Now shut the f*ck up talking... stop! F*cking stop! In case you didn't know, there's work to be done!" Ghost wagged a finger at the scalpel in a demeaning fashion as he shoved it into a loose pocket and swiftly left his residence. He was disorientated, but loved the feeling of being disjointed. No longer feeling at home at the chemical plant, Ghost left with frightening speed, scaling the embankment leading to the highway out of town.

"Transport!" he suddenly yelled to himself, stopping on the steep embankment. Ghost brought his fists to his mouth and gently gnawed on his knuckles, containing his laughter and excitement.

Despite Ghost's enthusiasm, cars were scarce on this strip of road, bar a few goods vehicles delivering stock and other supplies to the ever growing city Ghost once lived in. He'd grown far to big and powerful for that now. Without hesitation, Ghost ran at the nearest car he saw, which was a powerful convertible. Without warning, he was soon running as fast as the car which was doing speeds in excess of the speed limit. The driver of the convertible didn't even spot Ghost, who was gaining fast. It was only when a high pitched, threatening and hearty laugh erupted out of Ghost's lungs when the driver was alerted.

"What the f*ck? Get off the road, dick!" The driver yelled behind him, pulling onto the hard shoulder.

His first mistake.

Ghost didn't stop however, and ran straight onto the car, narrowly avoiding the driver's head as he leapt for cover.

"I like your clothes there." Ghost purred.

"What, are you going to rob me you f*cking psycho? Bring it on, right here!" the driver yelled again, clearly confident in his chance.

His second mistake.

Ghost let out a fake whimper, imitating biting his nails, before erupting in a snarl and pouncing on the driver. The two fell to the ground, rolling in the dirt and throwing punches at any part of the body they could find. Ghost then stood up, leaving the driver on the floor and balled his hands up into fists. Without warning, the driver charged forward, swinging his fist in a brutal uppercut. Ghost reached out and caught the punch with an open palmed blow. As Ghost slowly turned the driver's wrist in a 360 degree angle, the wrist cracked under his powerful grip. Wincing and clawing at his wrist in pain, the driver then had no choice but to go along with Ghost's forceful movements, which eventually brought them face to face barely two inches apart. Breathing heavily, Ghost simply giggled at him like a girl would at a sleepover, before lunging forward and grabbing the underside of the driver's wrist. He then rammed his shoulder hard into the driver's face before using his natural momentum to flip him over, straight onto his back which let out a horrific crunch. Ghost straightened up and simply smiled at the driver, who was screaming in pain and potentially facing broken ribs and a broken spine.

 

10 minutes later, Ghost sat on the bonnet of the car, cigarette loosely balanced in between his leathery lips. With a sniff, he straightened out his newly acquired suit with a quick shoulder shrug and threw the cigarette on the ground where he had buried the driver.

"Keys are in the ignition? Thanks friend!" Ghost said in an upbeat manner. "I'll be sure to take care of it, you thick c*nt!"

Ghost didn't even stop to listen for a mute response from the fresh corpse of the driver before taking off down the highway out of town. Ghost's baby steps were certainly evolving into something much larger and much more successful...

 

---

 

Feedback welcome.

[Oblivionz]

Absolutely amazing. Even the small teaser on MSN left me anticipating the whole chapter.

Keep me updated on this, man.

[Oxidizer]

Gotta agree with the e-son on this - amazing. And it reminds me of this song, called Masquerade by L'Ame Immortelle, with the mask theme. Very cOoL indeed.

 

Lookin' forward to more of this!

[TheDemonata]

I have a cousin named Trent.

 

Is that name anyway related with Trenton, NJ ?

[Rhoda]

No, it's inspired by NIN frontman Trent Reznor. I'm glad you like it, all of you, thanks for your support.

[radicell]

I love this MK. You're a talented writer and this is definitely an awesome piece.

[Rhoda]

Thanks radicell, it means a lot coming from you. New chapter coming soon guys, I don't want to rush it.

[Oblivionz]

New chapter coming soon guys, I don't want to rush it.

Yeah, never rush anything. It's probably the worst mistake any writer makes.

Take your time on it.

[Rhoda]

Sorry for the slow progress guys, I've been really busy as of late. Be warned, this chapter's probably going to generate more questions than answers...

 

***

 

Chapter III - Good Guy Gorm

 

The last 10 minutes had been such a delightful blur for Ghost. In this time, he'd rendered a rich bastard immobile, acquired himself some attire with distinction and even stolen himself a portion of that so called high life. As he drove, he realised that such cars were very different to the abandoned vehicles down on the wastelands he found. After eating whatever animal had crawled in the engines to die, Ghost would spend hours attempting to master the art of driving, vomiting as the infesting aromas of dead animals seeped through the overheating engines and up to where he sat. This was much different. Much easier, he thought.

As he entered the next city he come across, Ghost could barely contain his smiles as he remembered someone from the chemical plant he lived in. While he took his residence as a young teenager, a man by the name of Gorm regularly walked his dog down on the allotments. Mistaken for a feral child, Gorm would bring Ghost bread and soup in exchange for stories from the boy. Gorm seemed to sit for hours sometimes, horrified yet fascinated by Ghost's childhood and experiences in the plant. As Ghost reminisced, tears filled his eyes with gratitude as Gorm was the only one who listened, not spoke. Pulling over with haste, Ghost ignored the protests of an elderly woman in a modest hatchback behind him and reached into his pocket. hands trembling, his long fingers clenched and slowly pulled out a brown, tattered dog lead, complete with Gorm's home address. Ghost seemed to whimper like a small child in trouble or distress, though his guteral breathing was more like that of a wolf. Looking up into the dense city, Ghost flickered a smile and realised this is what he had to do. It was time. Time to branch out to the only one who dared to listen.

 

The traffic was light on Broadcarr Avenue, allowing small children to play in the late afternoon sun which had saturated the whole block in a gorgeous orange and brown glow. In a dilapidated play park across the street, Ghost sat on the swingset, gently swaying in the breeze as if he weighed nothing at all. His eyes narrowed in anxiety as he watched the house he understood to be Gorm's. As Ghost watched, his heart leapt in excitement as he saw Gorm's dog, Roy, barking and chasing his own tail in the garden. There was now another smile plastered over Ghost's gas mask face as he cautiously strode across the street and up the steps to Gorm's home. Twitching, a shuddering hand rose up to the door and as Ghost hit it, it felt like the hardest substance in existance, barring him from his desires. Just like his father. In what seemed like hours, Gorm had opened the door and seemed to instantly recognize who it was.

"Chris! Oh my boy, what's happened to you? Are you okay?" Gorm exhaled a flurry of questions.

"Don't worry Gorm. I'm fine, partly thanks to you."

Gorm's eyes widened in a mix of joy and fear, now hearing that Ghost could communicate and behave like a focused being, completely detached from reality.

"What brings you here? Are you okay?" Gorm's fatherly side kicked in, something which Ghost had sorely missed.

"I am here to return your favour. You listened to me when I had everything to say and now I am here to help you, Gorm. I have a journey set already, I already know my own destiny and what I must do and why I have wound up like in the first place." Ghost uttered in one breath, monotonous, focused. Gorm simply scratched his head and smiled.

"Come on in, Chris. I'll make you a hot drink... then we can talk." Gorm seemed disorientated, but could not turn down Ghost in his time of need.

"Thank you... you won't regret this."

Ghost beamed warmer than he had all his life as he entered Gorm's home, endearingly adorned with ornaments, pictures and opportunity...