Ghostbane

The school day had finally come to an end. The final bell rang, and the school grounds exploded into chaotic energy. Students rushed toward the gates—some in groups, laughing and chatting, while others walked alone, earphones in, drowning out the world. A few guys stood near the entrance, awkwardly asking out girls, and across the field, two students were already throwing fists at each other.

Richard paid no attention to any of it. His body was still sore, his mind heavy with exhaustion, and underneath it all, there was something else—anxiety. This was his first job as an exorcist. His first real step into this world.

And he had no idea if he was ready.

The thought lingered as he walked through the familiar streets, his house coming into view. It looked the same as always—nothing unusual, nothing eerie. Yet, somehow, stepping inside felt different. Because this time, I know what's waiting for me.

Sure enough, as Richard entered through the front door, his suspicions were confirmed.

In the living room, George and Max were sitting on the couch, waiting for him.

Max glanced up lazily. "Took you long enough, slow-ass."

Richard dropped his bag on the floor. "Shut up."

George cleared his throat. "Alright, that's enough, you two."

Richard rolled his eyes and sat down across from them. "So? What now?"

Instead of answering, George reached down, grabbing a bag he had placed beside the couch. With a grunt, he lifted it onto the table and pulled out a set of folded clothes. Richard blinked.

It was a full outfit—a light brown baggy business suit, black loafers, and most notably, a pair of long-arm sleeves that covered the fingers like gloves.

George held it up. "Wear this."

Richard's eyes narrowed. "What the hell is this?"

Max snorted. "A suit, dumbass."

Richard shot him a glare before turning back to his grandfather. "Why do I have to wear this?"

George set the clothes down and crossed his arms. "Because this isn't just some regular outfit. It's an exorcist's battle suit. Specially designed, reinforced with spiritual incantations to act as armor."

Richard frowned. "A suit as armor? That's got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Because you don't know anything," Max cut in. "This shit is custom-made. Not just for protection, but also for movement. Heavy armor won't work against spirits—you need flexibility, speed, and some form of spiritual resistance."

George nodded. "Exactly. And this suit was made with all that in mind."

Richard sighed. "Fine, I'll wear the suit. But I'm not wearing these weird arm sleeves." He picked them up, examining them with mild disgust. "They look stupid."

George's expression darkened. "The arm sleeves are the most important part."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Max smirked. "Because without them, your own flames will kill you."

Richard blinked. "What?"

George sighed and pointed at Richard's forearm. "Look at your arm, boy. See that scar?"

Richard glanced down. The long, jagged scar running across his skin. He had assumed it was just an injury from the fight.

George shook his head. "You didn't get that from the ghost, Richard. You got that from your own flames."

Richard's stomach tightened. "What do you mean?"

Max leaned back, resting an arm on the couch. "Your flames don't just burn the enemy. They burn everything. The ground, the air, the space itself… and you. If you keep using them recklessly, you'll burn yourself out of existence."

Richard's hands clenched. He had never thought about it like that. Sure, he had noticed how different his flames felt, how destructive they were, but he hadn't realized the full consequences.

George continued. "That's why you need the arm sleeves. They're designed to regulate your flames, letting you use them without burning yourself up."

Richard stayed silent for a moment before sighing. "…So, it's like a limiter?"

George nodded. "Exactly. It lets you use your power at a safe rate."

Richard exhaled through his nose. "Fine. I'll wear the damn gloves."

Max grinned. "Good boy."

Richard shot him a glare. "I will throw you out the window."

George clapped his hands together, cutting off their argument. "Alright, now hurry up and get dressed. We don't have all day."

With an annoyed groan, Richard grabbed the suit and headed to his room. As he closed the door behind him, he stared down at the outfit in his hands.

Guess this is really happening.

He sighed, rubbing his temples before finally beginning to change.

Richard stepped out of his room, now fully dressed in the exorcist suit. The material felt snug but flexible, moving with him rather than restricting him. The brown baggy business suit gave him a sharp, almost professional look, but the arm sleeves—they were what he was still getting used to.

As much as he didn't like them, the fact that his own flames could burn him out of existence was enough to convince him to wear them. He flexed his fingers, feeling the fabric shift with his movements. It was weird.

But if this was what it took to control his power… he had no choice.

George and Max, who had been waiting near the door, turned to look at him.

Max smirked. "Damn. You almost look cool. Almost."

Richard scoffed. "Shut up."

George gave a firm nod of approval. "Good. Now let's move."

They stepped outside, the crisp evening air settling around them as they made their way to George's Maruti Suzuki. The old car had seen better days, but it still ran fine—or at least that's what George claimed.

Max slid into the passenger seat while Richard got into the back. George started the engine, and with a sputter, the car pulled out of the driveway.

The drive was quiet at first, just the low hum of the engine filling the space. The city outside was alive—people still walking the streets, shops still open, streetlights flickering to life as the sun dipped lower.

Then, Max turned around in his seat, looking at Richard.

"So," he said, dragging out the word. "How does it feel? Knowing you're about to fight your first real ghost?"

Richard exhaled, leaning back against the seat. "I'd rather not think about it."

Max grinned. "Oh? Getting nervous?"

"Obviously," Richard muttered. "This isn't like last time. Back then, I wasn't even thinking—I just did what I had to do. Now, I actually have to go in prepared."

George chuckled from the driver's seat. "Good. That means you understand what's at stake."

Richard frowned. "So what's the deal with this ghost? You never really explained it."

George's eyes stayed on the road as he spoke. "It's been haunting Nat's granddaughter. From what she told me, it's been appearing in her house at night. Scratching the walls, whispering things. Nothing outright violent—yet."

Richard narrowed his eyes. "Then why call for us now?"

"Because these things always escalate," George said firmly. "You wait too long, and a simple haunting turns into a possession. Then it's a whole different problem."

Richard tapped his fingers against his knee. "And you're sure we can handle it?"

George smirked. "Of course. We've got Max's ability for strategy, your flames—as long as you don't burn yourself alive—and my experience. We'll be fine."

Richard wasn't sure if that was confidence or just plain recklessness.

Max turned back around, adjusting his seat. "Speaking of my ability, we should probably come up with a plan before we go in."

George grunted. "Not in the car. We'll plan once we get there."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "You really want to walk in blind?"

George shrugged. "We don't have enough information yet. The best strategy is to assess first. You don't plan a fight until you know what you're up against."

Max sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. But that's why I am the strategist. I work better when I do have a plan."

Richard smirked. "Then maybe you should've been a chess player instead of an exorcist."

Max rolled his eyes. "Yeah? And maybe you should've been a circus act instead of a ghost hunter."

Richard grinned. "Jealous I have actual powers?"

Max scoffed. "Please. Brains over brawn any day."

George sighed. "You two better not start fighting before we even get there."

The banter continued for the rest of the ride—half-joking, half-serious. It was strange, Richard thought. Just a few days ago, tkind of conversation would've been impossible. He never would've imagined himself wearing an exorcist's suit, riding in a car on his way to fight a ghost.

But here he was.

And despite the anxiety, despite the uncertainty…

It felt right.

The car finally pulled up in front of Nat's house. The street was quiet, the lights inside the house dim.

George shut off the engine. "We're here."

Richard took a deep breath.

The engine of George's Maruti Suzuki sputtered to a stop. Outside, the street was unusually quiet—no pedestrians, no stray cars, just a faint breeze rustling through the trees. Nat's house stood before them, an old, modest-looking home with slightly worn-out walls and a small porch light flickering weakly.

Richard stared at the house through the car window. His heart was pounding. This was it—his first official exorcism job. No more accidental battles, no more stumbling into fights unprepared. This time, he was walking into it knowing what was coming.

And that was somehow worse.

George unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to the back. "Alright. No messing around. We go in, assess the situation, and handle it efficiently. Understood?"

Richard nodded, though his hands felt clammy. "Got it."

Max yawned as he stretched in his seat. "Yeah, yeah. Standard ghost-hunting procedure. Don't get scared, don't die, and don't break Nat's furniture."

Richard shot him a look. "Why do I feel like that last one was directed at me?"

"Because it was," Max replied with a smirk.

George sighed. "Just move already."

The three of them stepped out of the car. The moment Richard's feet touched the pavement, a strange sensation settled over him—an eerie stillness. Like the air was heavier than usual.

George led the way up the porch steps and knocked on the door. A few seconds passed before it creaked open.

Nat stood there, her usual sunglasses perched on her nose, her expression unreadable. Even though she was blind, she somehow seemed to be looking directly at them.

"You're late," she said flatly.

George scoffed. "We came straight here after picking up this idiot from school." He gestured toward Richard.

Richard frowned. "I'm literally the one helping you."

Nat ignored him and stepped aside. "Get in."

As they entered, Richard took a glance around. The inside of the house was clean but old, filled with antique furniture and the scent of incense lingering in the air. A few framed photos sat on a nearby shelf—probably of Nat's family.

"So, where's the girl?" George asked.

Nat gestured toward the hallway. "Upstairs. She's been staying in her room all day. Whatever's haunting her is getting more aggressive. Scratches on the walls, whispers at night, a presence hovering near her."

Richard swallowed hard. This was real.

Nat turned her head slightly. "I take it the kid is the new recruit?"

Max chuckled. "Yeah. Fresh out of school and ready to risk his life."

"Wonderful," Nat said dryly. She walked toward the hallway. "Come. You'll want to see this."

Richard shot a look at Max and George before following.

The hallway was dim, the wooden floors creaking under their weight. The deeper they went, the stronger Richard felt it—that same unnatural heaviness in the air. His instincts were already screaming that something wasn't right.

Nat stopped at a door at the end of the hall. She placed a hand on the doorknob and turned toward them.

"You're about to meet my granddaughter," she said. "Don't say anything stupid."

Max elbowed Richard. "She's talking to you."

Richard scowled. "Shut up."

Nat opened the door.

Inside, the room was dark. The curtains were drawn, barely letting any light in. And in the center of the bed, curled up beneath the covers, was a girl.

She looked about sixteen—dark hair, frail figure, her body tense even as she lay still.

She didn't move as they entered. Didn't acknowledge them.

George stepped forward first. "Kid," he called, voice firm but calm. "Can you hear me?"

The girl shifted slightly, her face still buried in her pillow. Then, in a small, fragile voice, she whispered:

"…It's watching."

Richard's blood ran cold.

The air in the room suddenly felt colder.

Max exhaled. "Yeah. That's never a good sign."

George's eyes darkened. "Looks like we're dealing with something nastier than we thought."

Richard clenched his fists. He could feel it too. The presence.

Something else was in this room with them.

And it was waiting