The Spirit Weaver: Chapter 1 -A Curse to Live By

         Cover Art from Alan Moore's Constantine Comics 

The Spirit Weaver Part One
            By AJ Peaslee (Speaking through the voice of Jack Necron)


Chapter Index:

I. A Curse to Live By
II. Unusual Problem
III. Hell by Moonlight
IV. Nightmares to Hold
V. Death by a Degree
VI. Painted Heart
VII. A Dark Place
VIII. Hell of a Bargain
IX. Horrors of Men
X. Bloody Sunrise


Chapter I- A Curse to Live By

When you fix your bed, lay down and adjust yourself, you run through what happened to you that day. Afterwards, you get more relaxed, and fall asleep to dream. Ones are filled with oddities, some filled with lust and others from the past. But I guarantee you have never had the dead come to you, if you did then you know what its like to be me.

And yes, you read that right. When I dream, the dead and the damned come to me. They talk to me about different things, most of the time it has to do with who killed them, and why they know no rest because of how they met Death’s icy grip. Sometimes they tell me of worse things, like wraiths that have no other purpose but to ravage men’s souls. Or worse yet, demons finding clever ways to enter our world unnoticed.

I never asked for this…”gift”….this curse…I must have been born with it, but it never kicked in until I was sixteen years old….

September 29th, 2001.

The mirror shows a vague image. A short brown haired young man with blue eyes. A rough and deep cut chin is the end to the face, and above that, an average looking slope of a nose. On his left cheek was a slight discoloring in the skins color, the remains of an old scar. Some of the mist begins to fade off the image. That person in that mirror is me. I just got out of the shower and was getting ready to celebrate my “sweet sixteen” birthday party. I would later discover how bitter it would actually be….

I walked out from the small bathroom and into the kitchen. A large wooden table rested in front of me, and to the right there was a long green counter that ended with a fridge. A birthday cake of white and green frosting was on the table. All around me where uncles, aunts and any other relative that fits in between. Friends new and old were there as well. My mother sat at the table and was waving at me to come over and blow out the candles. I did and a puff of smoke burst from the cake, and just like that, I was a year older. Various family shake my hand and hug me, and my friends laugh and make small talk. A few hours later, I wind up beat and decide to go to sleep, that was when I truly sealed my fate.

I laid in the bed and pulled the red comforter over my chest, and I closed my eyes. Moments later I have fallen asleep. I see nothing but darkness, but I hear a voice far off in the distance. It sounded warped, as if the voice is being pulled and stretched. Suddenly a face appears in front of me, a young woman. Her hair is tangled and ragged. Lines of blood drip down her forehead from a fairly deep circular wound. Her eyes are rolled back into her skull and her left cheek is badly bruised. I attempt to scream, and I can feel my throat gasping out, but nothing happens, not even a small burst of help. The tattered woman begins to speak and I begin to quiver even more.

“I need your help….you’re the only one that can hear or see me now…Please God, help me!” The woman shrieks in a crackled voice.

“What do you want from me!?” I shout back in a quavering tone.

“I need….to be avenged….I cannot find rest until……my murderer is stopped….” The woman explains in a groan.

“How….how can I do anything?” I quickly asked.

“You can speak and see the dead, damned and nightmarish.”

That sentence stuck with me forever after that. I awoke the next day freezing in a cold sweat, my hands were sore from gripping my blankets so tightly during my sleep. The spirit had told me her story, how she died…

Her name is LeAnn Carol. She was just your average “trying to pass college” twenty year old. She met a man named Mick Emer. He was trying to sweep LeAnn off her feet, and he eventually succeeded. She did not know the dark side that hid behind his nice demeanor. He liked to hit her, pull her hair and inflict pain in anyway possible. She fought back, and that was her undoing. Mick became enraged and shot her in the forehead. He took her body to a nearby dumpster and hid it among the garbage. He knew that nobody would find it, because the dumpster had been abandoned along with the store it sat next to.

I still could not believe what had happened to me. I wanted to say it was all a terrible nightmare, ignore it and continue on with my life….but if I really did have this ability, this power….then I should do something with it. I was given it for a purpose…but why? Why me and why now? The ghost of LeAnn had told me the store’s name was Quick Stop. I slipped my tan khakis on and a gray overcoat. I placed my red cap on my head, and let out a deep sigh. I went out to front lawn and looked around me. The town was just waking up, and the fog was lifting. I slowly walked to my white ford Taurus and propped myself in the front seat. I don’t remember turning the car on, or leaving the drive way. I just remember speeding down road and pulling into an old, run down shop. The rain washed sign above it read: Quick Stop.

I stepped out of the car and braced myself for what I was about to find in the dumpster. A maggot ridden corpse of what once was a young and beautiful woman who should still be able to see her friends, go to school and enjoy life. What I had described is what I saw when I lifted the moldy and greasy dumpster lid. I quickly turned around and fell to the ground. I just stared off into space, for that is when it really hit me. Its all real.

When I returned home, I made an anonymous phone call to the police and explained what was in the dumpster, and who did it. A few hours later, the local news is covering their “scoop” that a young college student was killed and that the killer had been found, all due to a mysterious phone call. I never told anyone about what I had seen nor done. I was keeping it to myself, but how could I ever explain such a thing? After that night, the next four years began to get stress full.

More spirits were coming to me in dreams, asking me to help them too. Find their murderer, their body, their last hope. I did everything they asked, and for awhile things began to quiet down. When I turned twenty two, things took a drastic turn for the worse….


There was a new problem. I would no longer have to just help the dead find their rightful resting place. I would have to stop other spirits….wraiths, poltergeists and demons. The dead would tell me of these beings, these fouls born in hatred and despair. I knew the danger would be much greater, but I could not stop this. My gift had taken over my life almost completely. I didn’t even have a home, a job or any friends. I just drifted from place to place, doing my duty and moving on. I would sometimes sneak into hotels or other places of slumber to get a break. The first time I took it upon myself to fight a nightmare being was probably the worst time. At the time I had been seeing a girl around one of the towns I was in named Eliza, and we considered each other an item. She did not know what I really did for a living, so I told her I was on vacation from my desk job. Shame to lie to her, but I can’t let anybody know what I really do. In one of my dreams, several ghosts had told me of a raging spirit. It was once a man named Gerard. He was killed by his best friend. But why you ask? His friend was sleeping with his wife, and as fate would have it, he caught them. Gerard was killed later that night by that very same man. When he died, his soul became warped and twisted into a powerful wraith. Now, he stalks the local park, feeding off others hatred and pain, its strength growing every time. Unfortunately I have to be the one to stop it. I had no idea what to do, or where to start looking. I began to read books dealing with exorcisms and the dead, hoping to find something that may aid me in ridding the world of this darkened soul. After some time, I found some older text explaining various ways to stop a wraith. Anything holy or blessed would harm a wraith, and with that vague statement, I was off to look for crosses, holy water, anything that was classified to be holy in some way. I went to the local church and, reluctantly looted a small crucifix hanging on one of the walls. I then went to the fountain full of holy water and filled up a small water bottle I had with some. I left and prepared for the battle that would soon commence.

I sat in a hotel room I had snuck into, snatching a key when the manager was not looking. While there, Eliza came to see me. I told her I had to leave, and I may not be back, and we she asked why, I tried my best to explain it. She was confused and could not make sense of it. She stormed out the door thinking I was lying to her to make up an excuse to leave her. In a way, I thought it was best this way. At least now, she would be out of harms way, she would not have to deal with the life I have chosen. I slipped on my cap and overcoat, ready for the long walk to the park.

It was around nine o’ clock when my first day on the “real” job began. It was almost as if the wraith knew who I was and why I was there. It was like nothing I had ever seen, even in the movies. It was a black mass, similar to smog, but it crackled and shifted like static from a television.  Its face was that of what I wanted to believed to be a young man, or at least was. The face was stretched and in complete agony, it had no eyes though I could feel it staring at me. One corner of its mouth hung down like its jaw was completely gone, while the other rose up and nearly covered the ear. Its nose was pushed in, and its eyeless holes were small and beady, like a shark’s eyes. It flew at me with incredible speed and force, sending me flying back several feet to the concrete below. I reached in my pocket and grabbed the crucifix, but when I did, I felt an extreme air of cold surround me, as if the temperature dropped a large amount of degrees. I looked up to see the wraith’s face in front of my own. It let out a thunderous screech and swooped down on me, holding me down and enveloping me in icy darkness. I tried to fight it off, but the mighty force was not going to let me go anywhere. Out of luck or perhaps fate, the bottle of holy water fell of my pant’s pocket and rolled to the ground. Just the sight of it made the wraith back off in terror. I picked it up and poured it all over myself. I began to walk toward the creature and it began to further back away. At that moment, Eliza showed up in the park. She had seen me, and not the wraith until it was too late. The wraith’s lifeless gaze turned off me and onto her. She tried to scream, but it was cut off by a more distressed yelp. The wraith wrapped around her and I immediately went for the crucifix. I clasped it in my hands and threw it with only a strand of hope that it would find its target. It sailed across the air and into the wraith’s cloud of nightmares. A loud, piercing yell echoed out into the night and the wraith began to break up and drift away. I ran over to Eliza, her skin pale and cold. The wraith had won this battle, though defeated, if got the last laugh. The creature had hoped to absorb her life force to grow more powerful, but it did not get a chance to finish. In spite of that, it was still far to late. I grabbed her hand and asked Eliza what she had come here for and she simply said:

“I wanted to say I was sorry and I should have had faith in you.”

Her hand fell out of mine and hit the ground, a last and small puff of breath blew out from her lips. I rested on my knees holding her body in my hands, trying to hold back the tears, my conscience repeating one thing over and over: “These are my rewards.”

After that fateful night, I knew that my gift had to be my purpose, but it was a costly price. I could not love anyone. I would have to be alone, there was no other choice, I could not put myself and others through that heart ache all over again. But I will not sit by as these horrors harm the innocent, or until the unrested find peace.  That was four years ago…..





Bangor, Maine. July 14, 2008.

The apartment complex was fairly ratty. The stairs were lined with a blue carpet, but it was muddy and patchy. It had probably never seen a cleaning in its lifetime, but only years of solid abuse. A used band-aid laid near the bottom of the staircase, complete with quagulated blood. The walls were generic white paint over concrete, and in one spot there was a blood smear. The paint had become spoiled over time, yellow stains showed from dust and cigarettes. At the top was a metal door that led out into a deck, and from there all the rooms where in a neat little row. Apartment 002 was where Jack Necron was staying, and the outside was just as worse as the inside. The carpet changed to a royal red color, but it was more of a plethora of red, maroon and crimson. A twin size bed was in the middle of the room, a brown comforter rested over it. In front of it was an average television set with a cable box on top. Below that, a dresser of pine. The walls had various objects on them. A set of Rosary prayer beads, a silver cross, and various objects. A small nightstand was by the bed holding an alarm clock and an ash tray that saw some use. And as you know it, a pack of Hi-Val smokes rested next to it. Not far from that was a door leading into a small room that only had a counter with a sink, a mirror cabinet and a towel rack. This room of course, led into a smaller room that had the toilet and shower. This was Jack Necron’s current place of residence.

The front door opens and Jack walks into the dullness that is his room. He takes his gray overcoat off and lays on the bed. The day goes by in his head. This morning he had to bury the bones of a man that was killed for all the wrong reasons. He hopes that the soul can find peace now that its request has been fulfilled. He brushes his brown hair back and lets out a deep sigh. The stiffness of his face starts to calm and he relaxes some. His mind wanders off to the past. To the wraith, Eliza, and how it all began.

“Why am I the only one?”

The thought bursts out into words, a mistake but who cares. nobody can hear him anyway. He sits up and reaches for the smokes. He lights one up and grabs a small black book from the dresser. He puffs it and flips through pages. The book contains all the “deeds” he has done for spirits, apparitions and the like. Most are crossed out, but one remains alive. It reads:

 

17 Back River Road
Possible Poltergeist
Look into situation when there is time.

He thinks tomorrow would be a good time. Jack tries to remember what exactly that was all about, he had been told about it not long ago, but with the flood of visits he had been getting….

A drink, a good stiff drink would help. Ease the day some. The stress of this “profession” was starting to wear down on him. He was mostly living off cigarettes, coca cola and perhaps a bag of chips. Jack sits up and grabs the coat, quickly slipping his cap on in the process. He walks out the door and into the bright sunlight. He has to squint for a moment, his eyes not focused just yet. He reaches into his khaki’s pocket and pulls out a pure white death stick, then lights it up. He walks down the rows of rooms until he gets to an open hallway that leads to the steps. Jack rushes down them and shifts to the right, casually going down the beaten sidewalk. As he heads toward an old looking building down the street, he sees two kids running around with squirt guns. One of them mentions Ghostbusters and they laugh. Jack thinks to himself “If only they knew the truth…”

As the building gets closer and closer, a sign hangs from one of the corners. It reads: Everybody’s Pub. Jack gets closer and walks past the old shingles and wood to the front door. Flashing Budweiser and Guinness signs catch his eye as he enters. Inside, an instant cloud of smoke swarms toward him. There are three men sitting at the bar, one looks like a trucker, another like a worn out veteran and the third, a greasy biker. To the right are a bunch of empty tables, and to the left, a couple of older looking women sipping coffee. Jack pulls up to a stool and sits down. The bartender, a chubby fellow with a Dali mustache, asks him what he would like to have. Jack thinks for a moment, and says “Long Island Ice Tea.”

The bartender grabs a large glass and mixes everything up in a metal tin like object. He then slides it down to Jack. The first sip kills the thirst, the second hits the spot. Jack can’t help but eavesdrop on what the three men are speaking about.

“Christ, the news is for shit. Its always, two, three or so more men dead in Iraq. Its fucking ridiculous. The gas prices are going for the moon and the economy itself is digging its own grave. I sense the second great depression…” The worn out veteran exclaims.

“Yeah well, the crazy news never stops. Now people saying that there is a guy that hunts down ghosts and bullshit. He is some drifter that goes around and either helps spirits or takes ‘em out.” The Biker lets out with a laugh.

“That’s stupid, just stupid. But then again, a lot of stuff is pretty ridiculous now. Like people getting famous for sex tapes…” The Trucker bellows.

Jack gets a little uneasy and takes a large gulp of the hard tea. Could people really be catching on? He had been all over, and had caused some scenes in places. He knew he would have to try and be more careful from now on. Too much attention could be very bad.

Jack stands up without even fishing his brew and starts to walk out. The group of men look at him strangely and continue their senseless talk. Jack walks out into the breezy day and ponders what he should do next. He decides to go check out that lead he postponed, the “Poltergeist” incident. Jack walks down the muddy sidewalk until he nears a bus bench. He sits and waits around for awhile, puffing his smokes and watching the town’s daily life. Eventually a large white shuttle bus pulls up, and he boards. They go down the road to Jack’s destination.

On the bus, Jack stares out the window. He continues to think about the rumors spreading about him, and he is filled with worry. But then something breaks his thoughts and he looks in front of him. Farther down the bus a young man staring at him. He turns away but looks back to see him continuing to stare. Jack gives him a snarl and looks away. When he looks back, the young man is gone. Jack didn’t think twice about it. Such things were usual for him. He was unsure if they were actually the dead or if his dreams were spilling into reality like a wet tapestry. He thinks back to some of his past encounters, ones that involved restless spirits that needed his aid. He was all to used to that sense of things, but this new case could prove fatal…he never had to deal with a poltergeist before. Jack braces himself for the events that will unfold when he reaches the home he seeks.