Danse Macabre (Bea)

[CARL GREENE]

"I didn't know it could get so cold in the South of France."

Carl was in the large entrance hall of the Chateau de Gombert, an elegant 17th century house that had belonged to the infamous Count of Gombert. He'd read the information regarding the count before leaving for France: the man was quite the party animal, spending fortunes on lavish parties. He was also into some rather sordid and extreme pastimes, and many local legends said that he would kidnap young women and men from the neighbouring villages to 'participate' in some of his parties. Tales of rape, Satanism, murder, torture and even cannibalism abounded around the Count, and it came as no surprise that the people of the village below the chateau had risen up during the French Revolution and had seized him and his wife, dragging them out of their luxurious house and decapitating them in the garden.

After that, the chateau had been abandoned. It had been kept in a good state by a lone gardener and some municipal employees, but nobody visited it, and the villagers were very reluctant to talk about the place. Stories of strange lights dancing in the windows and ghostly voices being heard late at night were common, but nobody had taken them seriously.

Until now. The old woman who kept the place clean had been found dead in a chair in the old ballroom. The autopsy had seemed to show that she had quite literally died of terror.

And so the Bureau had gotten involved, and Carl had been sent along with a younger agent called Bea. They'd spent most of the day trying to get information from the locals before they finally decided to spend the night in the chateau. The night was cold, and since the building had no central heating and was uninhabited anyway, it was unpleasantly chilly.

At least you're with charming company, said Callaxiam. Carl sighed. He knew that the demon would show "interest" in Bea, as she was young and pretty. He hoped Cal wouldn't try making his opinion known, since that usually earned Carl a slap.

"Do you think they'd mind if we lit a fire? Nobody lives here anyway", said Carl. He wished he'd brought a warmer coat and some gloves. "Any interesting readings so far?"

Since the building was huge, they couldn't cover it all just by themselves, so Carl and Bea had set up infrared cameras, thermometers and microphones in every room in order to catch any suspicious activity. They both had a small laptop from which they could access each camera and microphone to see if anything was going on.

[BEATE-MAREN McCANN]

“Apparently so.” Bea affirmed with a shrug, despite the fact that she was not finding the temperature to be that much of a problem personally. Her own coat was tossed casually over the back of the rickety chair upon which she currently sat; these being something they had acquired from the kitchen which was the only room not festooned with dust sheets and other attempts to protect what remained of its scarce contents. The various readings from the monitors had been at normal levels ever since the equipment had been set up, and truthfully she was itching for something to happen purely because she didn’t fancy staring at a screen all night long.

There were some places that looked like they should be rights be haunted, filled to the brim with ghosts, and were in fact about as filled with spectral activity as a garbage can. On the other hand, there were places such as this chateau, which looked inviting - picture perfect even – and yet it had played host to many unspeakable acts since its foundations were laid, and oddly none of the scars from these ‘adventures’ were present. Of course, that was most likely attributable to the sterling job that had been done by the now dead woman – a woman who had not endeared herself overmuch to her fellow villagers by virtue of her occupation it seemed, and thus they had been as intractable as stone no matter what tack Bea and Carl had tried to take with them. All that was given was a few dark, moody glances and cryptic warnings not to be at Chateau de Gombert too long. Sadly, that wasn’t exactly an option, and nor was it helpful. Bea was positive that the newer, older agent had been just as frustrated as she, though he did a marginally better job of hiding it – her own venting had consisted of much dark-toned muttering about how it was as ‘useful as a lighthouse on a bog’ and other, less polite, turns of phrase.

“There’s no-one here to mind Carl.” Bea pointed out what was a blatantly obvious fact – despite her own opinion that any attempt to heat the entrance hall with a solitary fire would be about as effective as throwing pancakes to a bear. And that was when a little beep-beep drew her attention back to the laptop, and to the feed from the ballroom. The thermometer was registering an abrupt drop in temperature – too sharp to be pinned on most natural causes. Pulling up the corresponding video feed, everything looked the same . . . until Bea spotted a chair that most definitely hadn’t been there earlier, barely visible at the edge of the shot. Of course, the local police had removed anything they deemed to be evidence and so that room had been bare bones; so it by rights couldn’t be there, shouldn’t be there. A few taps and clicks of the mouse later the programme had magnified the image as much as possible, and it revealed what seemed uncannily like the seat in which the corpse had been discovered.

“Then again, maybe I spoke too soon.” Bea remarked, drawing his attention to the anomalous reading and odd image as she stood, chair making a soft scraping noise against the tiled floor, not doubting that it warranted further investigation.

Thread Inspiration Song: The Pogues - The Sickbed of Cuchulainn

[CARL GREENE]

"Ah, finally something's happening", said Carl as he stood up.

Yes, now you can finally set eyes upon this beautiful creature as she moves ahead of you.

Carl rolled his eyes. Callaxiam just had to make his opinion about everything known, regardless of the situation or how annoying said opinion was. As Carl and Bea left the hallway, Carl made it a point of honour to stride ahead of her, much to Callaxiam's annoyance.

Oh you cheap bastard! Seriously, sometimes I wonder if you're not gay or something.

"I just like spiting you", muttered Carl with a smirk.

It takes two to tango said Callaxiam with a chuckle.

At least the demon had a sense of humour.

The ballroom was a large room on the ground floor, in the chateau's East wing. It used to be lit by three grand crystal chandeliers (stolen soon after the execution of the count and his wife), and also had several large sets of French windows that gave onto the chateau's large garden. Its floor was of marble, and its walls were once adorned with mural paintings done in Baroque style, however, those had been stripped during the 19th century. The ballroom now was just another empty, scary room where Carl and Bea's footsteps echoed eerily on the dusty marble floor.

Carl, who had a small infrared camera in one hand, scanned the room for any possible spectral activity. The camera found none, but the temperature had dropped so drastically that his breath was coming out as steam. He shivered slightly and looked around the room.

Something's wrong here, said Callaxiam. The demon had given Carl True Sight, the ability to see hidden truths about people, places and situations. Now this ability was tingling.

Carl took a few steps forward, heading towards the chair Bea had spotted via the surveillance cameras they installed in the ballroom. But Carl went no further, as a freezing draft whipped through the ballroom, and then...

"Blood and sand", said Carl, his eyes going wide.

The ballroom had changed entirely. It was no longer drab, dark and eerie, but it was lit up, warm and full of revelry. Men and women dressed like 18th century nobility were chatting, drinking, laughing and dancing as a small orchestra played tunes in one corner of the room. Carl blinked. had he travelled back in time.

Watch out, Carl, they're all ghosts!, cried Callaxiam. They're trying to lull you into a false sense of security.

"You're probably right", said Carl. If there was one thing that Carl trusted Callaxiam with, it was what he said about situations like this one.

And despite everything seeming beautiful and inviting, he could feel something terribly wrong, old evil lurking just beneath the surface, invisible, creeping.

Waiting.

[BEATE-MAREN McCANN]

Bea had to quicken her pace to keep up with Carl as he marched ahead purposefully, kicking up eddies of formerly undisturbed dust as they went. The short hallway they passed through was typical of the state of the rest of the house; the walls were marked with the outlines of former furniture, large patches of discoloured paint indicated where ornate portraits doubtlessly once took pride of place, little indentations in the floor and moth-eaten carpet showing the placement of former furniture. All the signs of a formerly luxurious existence were writ large upon the canvas of the building, giving anyone with enough imagination the starting point they needed to envisage the past. Upon opening the doors to the ballroom, the cold that had been registered on the sensors hit like an icy wave, provoking a quiet muttering of, “Flip me, it’s Baltic in here.” – this was obvious, but the difference between seeing something and mentally recognising it versus the experience was what warranted such an observation. It too was a large room that had seen better days, yet it seemed to have nothing in the way of other-worldly activity apart from the lonely chair, whose reappearance was so unexpected; sitting as it was in isolated splendour on what would best be described as a dais, woodwork clearly termite-ridden even from this distance and strips of its fabric coverings hanging like torn ribbons from the seat itself. She had been on the verge of following the elder Agent to this anomalous presence when a sweeping chill stopped him and sent shivers racing up her spine. And in that instance, the whole enormous room transformed.

Carl’s utterance collided almost perfectly with Bea’s own vehemently delivered, “Bloody fuck.” - this summarised quite aptly her own feelings of puzzlement, and not a small measure of shock. It was like suddenly walking into the middle of a film-set, only the actors appeared far too engrossed to notice their presence. A multitude of highly-patterned and brightly coloured bodies whirled past in the dance, following the jaunty beat the tightly-knit orchestra had struck up, melding as it was with the cacophony of gentle French voices talking over it. It was far, far too pleasant, too delicate a scene to match what was known about the activities that had gone on here . . . and this was enough to make anyone be wary, let alone two BPRD agents. Scepticism, distrustfulness, was obvious in the way she held herself, the expression on her face and the slight narrowing of her eyes. Bea could have easily let herself be swayed by the attractiveness of the scene, and it was precisely this recognition that set her on guard – working with and against various paranormal entities was a good education in situation and motivation analysis, if nothing else. The crowd abruptly parted, Red Sea-like in their haste to make an impromptu path for a pair whose bearing clearly evinced their haughtiness even as they made small talk; their reactions were disproportionate, caricature-like even, and that blatant falseness struck a nerve in Bea. The other ghosts however seemed to posses no such qualms, if their fawning was anything to go by. What she perceived to be the ridiculousness of human nature that carried on into the afterlife, made her chuckle quietly.

Abruptly Carl spoke once again, and this drew her attention back to him – she hadn’t said anything since the haunting had made itself known, and yet here he was speaking as though taking part in a conversation. Perhaps she was supposed to assume her was talking to her, despite the utterly nonsensical nature of the phrases. Now was not the time to be playing Twenty Questions anyhow.

"So, should we be thankful that they haven't noticed us yet or not?" Bea wondered aloud as the seemingly adored couple continued to make their way through the crowd.

[THE STAFF]

Closed out of respect of Sue's absence.
Closed on: 2011 June 20 by The Staff