Ghostbane

Richard pulled out his phone and dialed Max. The signal was weak, but after a few rings, Max picked up.

"What now?" Max's voice came through, sounding a little annoyed.

"We got something. Some kids dealing drugs mentioned Oliver. Said he was doing shady shit near an old shack in the cemetery. Could be a hideout." Richard explained.

"Tch, of course, this clown has a hideout in a fucking graveyard. Alright, stay put. I'll be there in a few minutes." Max said before hanging up.

Richard sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. Amelia raised an eyebrow at him.

"He sounded pissed." she noted.

"Nah, that's just Max being Max," Richard replied. "He's probably just mad he has to walk all the way here."

They leaned against a nearby grave marker, waiting for Max. Amelia tapped her foot against the dirt, looking around. The cemetery was strangely quiet during the daytime, almost peaceful—nothing like the eerie horror show it had been the night before.

"You sure he'll actually show up?" Amelia asked.

"Yeah. He might talk big, but he's the type to get shit done." Richard reassured her.

There was a moment of silence before Amelia spoke again.

"So… what's the deal with you and Max? You guys seem close, but also like you want to strangle each other."

Richard chuckled. "Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. He's an annoying bastard, but he's good at what he does. He's been my grandpa's disciple for years. Before all this, I didn't take any of this exorcist stuff seriously, so I never really trained with him."

"And now?" Amelia asked.

Richard hesitated before answering. "Now? Now I don't really have a choice."

Amelia didn't push further, but Richard could see the curiosity in her eyes. Before either of them could say anything else, they heard footsteps approaching.

Max finally arrived, looking winded. "Goddamn... I forgot how big this cemetery is. We should've taken a fucking taxi or something."

"I told you we should've waited for George's car." Richard smirked.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Now, where's this so-called shack?" Max stretched his arms before cracking his neck.

"Not far. Just past the old graves over there," Richard pointed ahead.

Max looked at Amelia. "And why is she still here?"

"Because I have legs, dumbass," Amelia crossed her arms. "I'm not leaving."

Max groaned. "Fine. Just don't slow us down."

With that, the three of them made their way toward Oliver's rumored hideout.

The three of them reached the shack, and just like everything else in this cemetery, it looked shady as hell. It was a small, rundown wooden structure with cracks all over the walls, a roof that looked like it was one strong gust away from collapsing, and a single door hanging slightly off its hinges. The smell of damp wood, mold, and something else—something metallic and rotten—filled the air.

"This place screams 'I do human sacrifices on weekends,'" Max muttered, rubbing his temples.

"Looks like the kind of place you'd find a serial killer chilling in," Amelia added.

Richard scoffed. "Too bad we're not serial killers—we're just breaking and entering for fun."

Max rolled his eyes. "Alright, dumbass, let's just get this over with."

He grabbed the door handle and gave it a small push, expecting it to creak open, but it didn't budge. Max frowned and gave it another shove—still nothing.

"Locked? Seriously?" Richard raised an eyebrow. "Why the hell is Oliver locking up a shack in an abandoned graveyard?"

"Probably doesn't want random people discovering his murder den," Amelia said.

Max cracked his knuckles. "Well, lucky for us, I'm really good at making locks irrelevant."

He stepped back and kicked the door full force near the handle. BAM! The wood splintered, and the door swung open with a loud creak.

"Was that necessary?" Richard asked.

"No, but it was fun," Max grinned.

They stepped inside, and immediately, the stench of blood and decay hit them. The air inside was thick and stale, as if no one had opened a window in years—not that there were any. The shack's interior was small, barely big enough for a table, a single bed, and a few shelves stacked with random junk. But the real horror was the floor.

Bloodstains. Some dried, some fresh.

Skulls—both animal and human—were placed in weird patterns around the room. Candles, half-melted and surrounded by strange symbols, were scattered everywhere. Drug packets and empty syringes lay around carelessly. In the corner, there was a stack of old, dirty mattresses—probably where Oliver and his friends had been crashing.

"This is... disgusting," Amelia whispered, looking at the bloodstains.

"Yeah. This is next-level creepy," Richard muttered, poking at one of the skulls with his shoe.

Max crouched near the table and picked up a half-burned notebook. The pages were covered in weird symbols, drawings, and disturbing messages. Some pages had names crossed out, others had scribbles that looked like prayers or chants.

"Great. The guy's not just a creep, he's also more deeply into this cult shit,then we thought." Max said, flipping through the pages.

Richard, meanwhile, was looking through a pile of random clothes thrown in a corner. He lifted up a black hoodie stained with blood and tossed it aside. That's when he noticed something under the pile—a plate with leftover food.

And the food wasn't that old.

Max noticed it too. "That means he was here recently," he muttered.

"Or maybe he's still nearby," Amelia added, her voice a little tense.

Max nodded. "Alright, new plan—Richard, you stay here and wait for Oliver. Amelia and I will search outside."

Richard immediately narrowed his eyes. "Wait, why the hell do I have to stay in this freak's lair?"

"Because you're expendable," Max smirked.

"Eat shit."

"Look, dumbass, Oliver won't come back if he sees all three of us hanging around. But if he thinks the coast is clear, he might return to grab something important."

Richard exhaled sharply. "Fine. But if I get murdered, I'm haunting you."

Max chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, I'll put your name in the ghostbusting files."

With that, Max and Amelia left the shack, leaving Richard alone in the dim, bloodstained room.

Here's the remade version of Max and Amelia's side, focusing on them finding the tree before noticing Oliver heading toward the shack.

---

Max and Amelia wandered deeper into the overgrown part of the cemetery, their footsteps crunching over dead leaves and broken twigs.

Despite the afternoon sun, the air felt colder here—as if the shadows of the gravestones stretched longer than they should.

Amelia glanced around uneasily. "Are we even sure Oliver would come this far out?"

Max shrugged. "Dunno. But if I were a creepy cult guy doing weird-ass rituals, I wouldn't be doing them in broad daylight."

Amelia sighed but kept moving. The idea of Oliver performing some sick ritual in a place like this made her stomach turn.

That's when they saw it.

A massive, gnarled tree stood at the edge of the cemetery, its roots stretching out like twisted fingers.

At first glance, it looked just like any other old tree. But as they got closer, the details became clearer.

Symbols.

Carved deep into the bark, forming a circle with an eye in the center.

Below it, in sloppy red paint, were the words:

"HE IS COMING."

Amelia stared at the message, feeling a chill run through her veins.

"What the hell does that mean?" she whispered.

Max crouched near the base of the tree, brushing away some dead leaves. His fingers hit something solid.

A skull.

Small and cracked, like it belonged to an animal… or something worse.

Max clicked his tongue. "Well, that's unsettling."

Amelia took a step back. "Max, what is all this?"

Max didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood up and scanned the area. His usual joking demeanor was gone, replaced with sharp calculation.

"This isn't random," he muttered. "Someone set this up recently. This means they're planning something."

Amelia's hands clenched into fists. "You think Oliver's cult is still active?"

Max exhaled slowly. "I think we just found their meeting spot."

Just then, something caught Amelia's eye.

A set of footprints.

Leading away from the tree.

Straight toward the shack.

She grabbed Max's sleeve, voice urgent. "Max… these footprints. They're fresh."

Max followed her gaze, and his expression darkened.

"Shit. Someone's heading straight for Richard."

Without another word, they took of running

Richard stood alone inside the shack, his eyes scanning the grotesque surroundings. The bloodstains on the floor seemed darker now that he was alone, and the faint scent of iron mixed with decay made it impossible to ignore what had likely happened here. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the walls, making the skulls and scattered ritual tools look even more sinister.

"This dude is seriously messed up," Richard muttered under his breath as he continued searching the shack.

He moved toward a wooden desk shoved into the corner, its surface cluttered with half-empty drug packets, dirty syringes, and several knives crusted with old blood. He hesitated for a moment before pushing some of the trash aside, revealing a small locked drawer.

"Of course it's locked," Richard sighed, reaching for the handle.

Instead of trying to pick the lock like Max probably would, Richard simply grabbed one of the nearby knives and jammed it between the drawer and the desk. With a hard twist, the old wood splintered, and the drawer popped open.

Inside, there were several crumpled papers, a few photographs, and a small leather-bound book. The photos immediately caught Richard's attention. He pulled them out and stepped closer to the candlelight to examine them.

The first photo showed Oliver, along with seven other people, all wearing deep red robes. They stood in a circle, some holding candles, others holding strange symbols carved into wooden planks. They all had eerie grins on their faces, as if they were celebrating something.

But it was the second photo that made Richard's stomach drop.

In the center of this one, standing taller than everyone else, was a man in a jet-black robe. Unlike the others, he didn't wear a hood. Instead, he had a goat skull mask covering his entire face. His posture was unnaturally rigid, his hands pressed together in a way that made him look almost inhuman.

But it wasn't just his mask or his presence—it was the aura Richard could feel just from looking at the picture.

"This guy... doesn't feel normal," Richard murmured, his grip tightening on the photo.

The others in the picture looked excited, almost like followers in the presence of something greater. But this man in black... he wasn't a follower.

He was the leader.

Richard quickly flipped the photo over, looking for any writing on the back. There were only three words, scrawled in dark red ink.

"Our True Guide."

"What the hell does that mean?" Richard muttered.

His instincts were screaming at him that whoever this guy was, he was far worse than Oliver.

Just then, the faint sound of footsteps crunching on dead leaves echoed from outside. Richard instantly went on high alert, his grip tightening on the photo. He quickly stuffed it into his pocket and turned toward the door.

Through a crack in the old wooden walls, he could make out a figure approaching the shack. The person moved cautiously, scanning their surroundings like they expected someone to be watching.

And then Richard saw his face.

Oliver.

His hoodie was pulled up, and his eyes darted around as he approached the shack, carrying a small backpack slung over one shoulder. His hands were shaking slightly, and his breathing was erratic. It was clear that he had no idea someone was waiting for him inside.

"Perfect," Richard thought.

He slowly backed up, pressing himself against the shadows of the room. If he played this right, he could catch Oliver off guard and drag him inside before he could escape.

Richard took a deep breath and got into position.

He had one chance to grab this bastard.