Capeworld Comics

1867, Early July

 

Martin took the wooden crucifix out of his bag and placed it on the meeting room table in front of Joseph and Matthew. “When they started throwing things, Mr. Williams affixed them and used the Perkunos Operation on them to weaken their powers.” Martin said. “He did a good job. They’re very peaceful now. They rumbled a little in my pocket at first, so he had to use the Perkunos Operation again, but they’re very peaceful now, thank God.”

“How can they be peaceful?” Joseph asked. “They’ve been hit so hard with the Perkunos Operation that they aren’t anything now. They aren’t even visible.”

 

“Exactly, Joseph.” Martin said. “They’re quiet, intangible, and silent. They are, in a word–a very beautiful word after all I’ve gone through–peaceful.”

 

Martin took his seat and sighed. “Good lord, that was almost as tiring as the Bloody Mary case…and we aren’t even done. We haven’t even started, really.”

 

‘Is everything else on Asphodel Street peaceful?” Joseph asked.

 

“As peaceful as Asphodel Street can hope to be.” Martin said. “The Attic Stomper is still a nuisance, but they mitigate his misbehavior by constantly moving him from house to house, and the Shadow Wailer still lives up to her namesake when the sun goes down, and when she goes into her act the damned cats start crying as well, but those two are manageable, as are all the rest of the minor problems.”

 

Martin pointed a finger at the crucifix. “These two, however, are not manageable.”

 

Asphodel Street was created in response to the Manes Charter of 1865. The Charter established that ghosts had no inherent right to the property of their living bodies. Ghosts were, like humans, born penniless unless their living bodies explicitly named them as heirs. Though the Charter finally put to rest most of the tricky legalities surrounding ghosts and property, it created many ghosts that didn’t have a house to haunt, or even a small shack. Haunted street corners were more common than proper haunted houses and haunted mansions were almost exclusively a thing of writers’ imaginations.

 

In order to provide a home for cast-off ghosts, the Blackwall city council set aside several blocks for their use. Ghosts were able to freely inhabit the houses of this area until they found their way in this world or a psychopomp guided them to the afterlives beyond the Archon walls. These blocks were officially known as the Brigham district, but were sometimes called the Necropolis, most often by people that wanted to impress their friends by demonstrating that they knew what a Necropolis was, and were most often called Asphodel Street as a synecdoche of the street that went through the heart of the area.

 

Asphodel Street was managed by ten manesologists headed by Dr. James Williams, but even with Ernst, Morton, and Glass helping out whenever they had spare time (which was rare), the manesologists were overwhelmed by the number of ghosts on Asphodel Street. Every day brought new ghosts to the Necropolis and the haunted houses that lined Asphodel Street brimmed with ectoplasm. The street actually glowed in the middle of the night, and those who considered the beings that lived on Asphodel Street to be poor unfortunate souls said it glowed like he golden streets of Heaven while those who considered them mad manes and pesky poltergeists said it glowed like the fires of Hell. But those who actually dealt with moving souls to Heaven and Hell said it glowed most like earthly things–fireflies, sunsets, and schistostega.

 

Crowded conditions created an atmosphere that tolerated lights in the dark and bumps in the night, but even Asphodel Street had limits on disruptive behavior, limits that Mr. and Mrs. Taylor crossed with their domestic squabbling–several times.

 

This was not the first time that Martin had to deal with the Taylors.

 

Martin sat at the table and looked at the wooden crucifix and remembered all those times.

 

They actually tossed a whole bed at him, once, frame and all. It may not have actually been aimed at him, but it ended up coming towards him nonetheless.

 

And this time the Taylors went so far that they had to be affixed and removed. One couldn’t lift an entire building off the ground on Asphodel Street without there being consequences. It was like shaking an anthill. All the ghosts that inhabited their building were now swarming. Dr. Williams and his manesologists were still working on getting all the ghosts under control when Martin departed.

 

“So, are you going to reverse the Perkunos Operation?” Joseph asked Martin. “Sometime today, perhaps?”

 

“Do I have to?” Martin asked. “That’s like pulling the trigger at my own execution.”

 

“I’ll do it.” Matthew said. He stood up, unclipped the gaeite candle from his belt, and held it in his hand. His gaeite candle was the tool of his trade and the badge of his office. With it, he could work miracles, or undo them, by combining ancient stories and images taught to him by the thaumaturgists of the Ror Raas with the strange light produced by the candle, a silvery-white light called olprt radiance.

 

Matthew concentrated and brought an image from a pre-human civilization to his mind.

 

The Dyeus king reached into the lake and pulled the long-drowned ghost to shore. As he pulled, the ghost’s hand became more and more solid, and once he was ashore, he felt the sun on his skin and air in his lungs for the first time in years.

 

The Perkunos Operation

 

Mr. Alvin Taylor and Mrs. Victoria Taylor arose from the crucifix as formless mist that congealed into translucent people. Mr. Taylor appeared as a wrinkled, wiry man in work clothes, cloth cap in hand. Mrs. Taylor appeared as a woman in a cheap dress and cheaper makeup that made her face look like a clown’s. She carried a prominent bustle behind herself which reminded Matthew of ant thoraxes he studied in college. It was hard to read her expression through the makeup, but she seemed to be as contrite as her husband.

 

“I would like to apologize for my husband’s actions.” Mrs. Taylor said.

 

“She means she wants to apologize for her actions.” Mr. Taylor said.

 

“I do not!” Mrs. Taylor exclaimed. She whirled on her husband. “I mean exactly what I said–I’m saying sorry to these poor gentlemen because your rude behavior has caused us both to be affixed and thrown out of Asphodel Street!”

 

Matthew opened his mouth to say something.

 

“We were thrown out because of you!” Mr. Taylor shouted. “You were the one who started things by scratching me!”

“I scratched you because you slapped me!” Mrs. Taylor said.

 

“Because you shoved me!” Mr. Taylor said.

 

“Because you touched me!” Mrs. Taylor said.

 

“Because you yelled at me!”

 

“Because you snarled at me!”

 

Mathew closed his mouth.

 

Joseph stood up. “Excuse me lads, I just remember there’s a pressing matter that I must attend to across town. In fact, I think I’m late, so I really should be going…”

 

Matthew grabbed Joseph’s shoulder and shook his head.

 

Joseph sat back down. “I suppose the matter can wait.”he mumbled grumpily.

 

“We’re suffering together, old man.” Martin mumbled. “No way out of it.”

 

“Oh joy. All for one and one for all.” Joseph whispered back.

 

“Oh, see what you’re doing now!” Mr. Taylor shouted at his wife. You’re making such a damned nuisance of yourself that the manesologist is trying to leave!” Mr. Taylor said.

 

“Of course he’s trying to leave! He’s trying to get away from you!” Mrs. Taylor said.

 

“No, he’s trying to get away from you! This is just like when we were with the other manesologist, the small one, and he started running from you when you picked up the pots and pans!”

 

“Small?” Martin muttered.

 

“That is not what happened! He was merely moving out the way so that I could throw them at you! He was tacitly approving of my actions by taking cover!”

 

Matthew turned to Martin. “Dr. Glass, could you tell us what exactly occurred at their residence?”

 

“My wild man of a husband attacked me, that’s what happened!” Mrs. Taylor answered, not caring that the question wasn’t for her.

 

“Oh, I attacked you. That’s what you think happened, eh?” Mr. Taylor asked.

“I think that because that is what happened! You little worm! You never had the guts to hit me in life but now that I can’t feel pain you just let me have it, don’t you?” Mrs. Taylor asked.

 

“At least I waited! You never waited to hit me!”

 

“Oh, you think what I did counts as hitting, do you, Alvin Taylor? Those love taps were hitting to you?” Mrs. Taylor loomed over her husband like a grotesque gargoyle dressed for the circus. “How about I show you what it actually looks like to be hit!”

 

“Just try it, you intangible hellcat!”

 

Mrs. Taylor gasped. “Alvin Taylor! You did not just call me intangible!”

 

“I did too! You’re intangible!”

 

“I am not!”

 

“Yes you are, I can see right through you!”

 

“Well if that’s what it means to be intangible, then you’re intangible too! The wind goes right through you!”

 

“Yes! I’m intangible! You stupid, old battle ax! We’re both intangible! We’re ghosts, you idiot!”

 

Joseph stood up. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” he shouted.

 

The Taylors turned to him.

 

“You two are being ridiculous! Do you want us to hang you up on the wall of a church? Or maybe on top of a Christmas tree?”

 

They shook their heads.

 

“Good. We don’t want to have to hang you up on a wall. We want to have you back in your house on Asphodel Street as soon as possible.” Joseph said.

 

“And that should be very soon, provided you two work with us.” Martin said. “When I left with you two in my pocket, Dr. Williams and his men had almost gotten your house back on solid ground.”

“Now, tell us what happened. Tell us how this trouble first started.” Joseph said. “And I mean only one of you tells us what happened. In fact, Mrs. Taylor, you tell us what happened. Mr. Taylor, you will wait your turn.”

 

“Why does she get to talk first?” Mr. Taylor snapped.

 

“Mr. Taylor, please wait your turn.” Joseph said.

 

“I just don’t see how it’s fair, Doc.” Mr. Taylor said. “I mean, she’s always talking. She’s always talking more than me…and over me…and about me…”

 

Joseph moved his hand a few inches to the crucifix.

“…But she talks so much that it doesn’t really make a difference if she talks first now, does it? It’s just like a drop of water in the ocean.”

 

Mrs. Taylor gave a victorious HMPH and then began. “Well, I suppose it all started when this husband of mine got the bright idea to go talk to Dr. Williams’ manesologists about connecting him with a psychopomp so that he could go up into the afterlives–and he didn’t tell me he was going to do it! I had to find out from Hillary who found out from Jackie who overheard it from Clementine who–”

 

“Uh, excuse me Mrs. Taylor, but when was this exactly?” Joseph asked.

 

“Oh, that was several months back.”

 

“I didn’t mean for you to go that far back.” Joseph said.

 

“She’s wrong regardless!” Mr. Taylor said. “That’s not when the trouble first started!”

 

“Mr. Taylor, please wait your turn to–”

 

“The trouble started when I caught her with a man! A living man!” Mr. Taylor said.

 

“And what was the harm of that?” Mrs. Taylor said. “I was dead at the time and you weren’t!”

 

“You knew I was going to follow soon after you! I had a heart condition!” Mr. Taylor exclaimed.

 

“But you didn’t follow soon after! And besides, didn’t the vows say “Til death do us part?””

 

“But I did too die soon after you! The neighbors even said I died of a broken heart, though we both know that couldn’t have been the cause! I died of a congested heart!”

 

“No you didn’t die soon after me! You took a whole year to die!”

“So? What’s a year?” Mr. Taylor asked.

 

“12 months! 12 long months!” Mrs. Taylor answered. “And I know it wasn’t your damned heart that killed you in the first place, I bet it was the laudanum! I told you that stuff would kill you, but did you listen to me? No! You never listened to me! You still don’t listen to me, and one would think your present condition would be a constant reminder to you that you should listen to me!”

 

Mr. Taylor turned to Joseph, and the manesologist sighed, for he thought that he was about to finally be presented with a way to enter into this thorny bramble of a domestic argument, but then Mr. Taylor opened his mouth and dashed Joseph’s hopes to dust.

 

“Dr. Morton, I know you heard me when I said that I caught my wife with a living man!”

 

“What’s the fact that he was living have to do with anything?” Mrs.Taylor asked her husband.

“It means you committed sins of the flesh!”

 

“What flesh?” Mrs. Taylor pulled at her ectoplasmic skin until it stretched like wax.

 

“His flesh!” Mr. Taylor answered.

 

“So what if he had flesh? What’s the cost to anyone? I’m barren as the grave! I can no more catch a social disease than a fog bank! Why the fuss?”

 

“It’s your honor that was the cost!” Mr. Taylor said. “And by extension, my honor!”

 

“And I suppose you would have been fine if I had slept with another ghost, eh?”

 

Mr. Taylor gasped. “Victoria!”

 

Martin blushed.

 

Joseph chuckled under his breath.

Matthew flinched.

 

“Slept with!” Such a vulgar term! The three manesologists had heard many things in their meeting room, many candid things, many shameful things. But “slept with?” Oh, it made their skins tingle with the inappropriateness of it all! Mr. Carter saying that Mrs. Carter was “with” another man was lewd enough, but “slept with” gave an entire image to go with the suggestion!

 

“Well? Would you have liked it if I slept with a man as intangible and irascible as yourself, Alvin?” Mrs. Taylor asked.

 

“It wouldn’t have been a sin of the flesh, obviously, but it still would still have been a dishonor!” Mr. Taylor answered.

 

“Then what does it matter if he had a pulse or not if it was a dishonor either way? You’re just looking for things to argue about! You always are!””

 

“Because it is a greater dishonor!” Mr. Taylor shouted. “When you shame me, you have to go all the way for some reason! You can’t just settle for a lesser dishonor, can you? No! You have to gut me like a fish, and then you scream when I put hands on you to get you to stop!”

“Oh, I scream? How about you, you little shrimp of a man? You don’t scream when I scratch you? Then I’ll have to scratch harder!”

Joseph cradled his head. He could feel the blood pounding in his temple. “Good God!” he exclaimed. “Neither of you can hurt the other! The two of you fighting is more pathetic than two clouds slapping each other!”

Esmee Walker, the ghostly helper of Ernst, Morton, and Glass, walked through the walls into the meeting room.

 

“I have good news, everyone!” Esmee materialized blue and vibrant and smiling. “I went down to Gaskell’s Occult Books and they have the new edition of the abridged King in Yellow!”

 

The Taylors looked at Esmee.

“Who’s this walking lamp post?” Mrs. Taylor asked snootily.

 

“Um…excuse me, I see that I’ve come at a bad time. A very bad time…” Esmee turned to leave. “I’ll be in the book room!”

 

“No!” Joseph said. “Take me with you!”

 

But all Joseph could see was the hem of Esmee’s sirt as she exited through the wall.

 

“I saw how you were looking at that lissome glow worm, Alvin Taylor!” Mrs. Taylor said. “I know what you’re thinking! You want to get with a ghost now to spite me, is that it?”

“Don’t assume I have your lack of self control!” Mr. Taylor said.

 

“Who’s assuming? You lack the willpower to say no to a thin bottle of laudanum, there’s no way you’d say no to a thin woman!”

 

“Well, if we’re going to be assuming things about each other then how about this? I’ve always assumed that you had your eye on other men–while we were both alive!”

 

“Oh really? You think I’m some common strumpet, is that it? Well, I’ve always assumed that you had me murdered!”

 

“What?”

 

“Yes, murdered!”

 

“How?”

 

“I don’t know, but do you know any couples besides us where the woman died before the man?”

 

Mr. and Mrs Taylor continued to fight, and scream, and accuse, and carry on inside their own little bubble of loud, obnoxious activity. Then they started hitting each other and getting their ectoplasm tangled up.

 

Joseph stood up once again, and Matthew touched his shoulder, but Joseph tapped the gaeite candle at his side to indicate he wasn’t about to walk out of the room.

 

Matthew nodded and withdrew his hand.

 

The Dyeus knight held out his hand and blasted his opponent with silvery-white light. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for his enemy as his sword harmlessly cut through his body without so much as drawing blood. Enemy though he was, he truly believed he was alive until that moment.

 

The Perkunos Operation

 

Mr. and Mrs. Taylor didn’t notice that their manifestations were fading away. They continued to slap and scratch at each until they evaporated like a mirage.

 

“Oh, sweetest silence!” Martin exclaimed. “Thank you, Joseph.”

 

Joseph grabbed the crucifix. “Now you two listen here and you listen good! The world is more than your squabbing little drama! You talk about hating her and hating him and hurting her and hurting him and leaving her and leaving him, well, where exactly do you think you’ll go? You think the world wants to hear your bickering? It doesn’t! Say you fly off into the afterlife, any afterlife, do you think the poor psychopomp assigned by the powers-that-be to guide you will listen to you when you raise your voice? Hermes will drop you off in Hades, specifically the part of Hades known for wailing lemures, because wailing is apparently what you like, and John-a-Doors will place you among the ever-wailing banshees for the same reason. Maybe you’ll learn something from the banshees–they don’t cry for themselves, they cry for the misfortunes of other people! But you know what? I doubt that they would even want you. The lemures and the banshees would kick you out, just like Asphodel Street did. There’s only one place that’ll tolerate your wailing, one place in all the world–and that’s at the side of the person you married.”

 

Joseph placed the crucifix down on the table.

 

“You two sit there and think about what you’ve done. You sit there and think about how uncomfortable you’ve made the other ghosts on Asphodel Street. Maybe my words will reach you, maybe they won’t, but in the end, you two will find your way back to the only person that can stand you. That’s inevitable, like water flowing downhill and rivers flowing into the ocean.”

Joseph massaged his temple. “Good God, I could use a bit of laudanum and brandy. Matthew, Martin, do you want anything?”

 

“Just water.” Matthew said.

 

‘I’ll have a few drops with whiskey.” Martin said. He looked down at the crucifix. “I knew it was a vain hope, but I still hoped that we could have resolved their haunting.”

 

“Some hauntings don’t get resolved, Martin.” Joseph said. “They just get quiet, for a time.”