Ledger Frinch POV
"Actually, let's use that website you informed me of—what's the name again?"
"White Lotus, you mean, sir?" "Yes, White Lotus. I enquired with a friend, and they informed me that it's a well-known organization with good results… I believe that if I put this off any longer, we might not live to see next week."
I faked a shocked look, then slowly transitioned it to one of fear. This was, after all, my domain—advanced deceit."
"I'll get the MacBook, sir." He waved me off nodding.
I left the study room, climbing down the two flights quickly before immediately taking out my phone, I immediately set up a call to a friend—James Ackwight.
A con artist of exceptional talent, a man of many skills, and one I look up to and emulate. It wouldn't be far-fetched to call him my teacher—though I'd never tell him that. Can't have him tripping from a big head.
The line connected, and with it came cursing that could make the faint of heart bleed from both seen and unseen orifices.
"Who!. is. this!.?" a gruff voice answered in short burst of anger.
"It's time," I responded. not caring about the tone. Thankfully I had chosen the safe aprt of the house. "Seems you've had another argument with her." I added
"Ledger huh?" ignoring my jib. "I assume he took the bait. I'll be ready then. I'm sending over Charles if he asks for a shaman.
I nodded. "Wouldn't have it any other way." The line cut of, though not quickly enough as my maiden ears was hit by a responding rapid fire from a shrill voice.
I informed one of the maids to bring the device. She was one of the three servants including me that works for the geezer. Each of us paid in amounts that essentially put us just above middle class. We had to be, after all we stood aside while the geezer did those appalling and utterly inhumane acts.
This was the main reason I didn't just quit being a con artist and become a fully pledged servant for the devil. That and the fact that my boss wouldn't hesitate to rat me out to the police. Furthermore the fucker takes all amount earned that isn't explicitly earned through coning or as he called it, the CRUX of the con
The device was brought over and immediately transferred to me. I went up the stairs opening the door to walk in.
Looking over while huffing, I noticed He seemed to be on the phone, engrossed in a conversation.
"Yes, they've brought the device. Yes, what's the website name? Oh… okay, I'll keep it in mind."
He looked up at me. "Bring it here." he barked.
I did as I was told walking over and gently placing the device in front of him.
Mr. Isaac Elcore—to sum him up: eccentric but ruthless. The worst kind of combination. Ruthless people—you can get an idea of their thought process. But add eccentricity, and that's a whole new domain. The simplest word I can think of to describe him is unpredictable.
This did create a bit of a problem, and we made multiple backup plans—or rather tried to. This of course where all forms of escape. Not deceit—just raw exit. This was based on James saying ones failed, twice no. A simple advice pack your bag and run.
Tap tap tap. His fingers flew rapidly across the keyboard. A pause, then click. The website began loading.
"Sir, may I give my opinion on this matter?" I respectfully asked,
"Speak," he responded flippantly.
I smiled, responding in a manner I hoped would sound sceptical of his current choice.
"Of course, I consider your actions understandable, and it's entirely up to you. But if I were in your position, I'd call a holy one." I spoke slowly and respectfully, making sure to sound indecisive.
"A holy one? You mean a priest?" he snorted. "I've spent my fair share of time and money on those scam artists. Completely useless. I wish to concentrate. Leave."
Respect your brainpower for real, I thought. But calling priests scammers and shaman angels The lord be with you. I only Hope this scam gives you a soft reboot. I walked of while laughing my ass of, Obviously internally.
Now, I bet you're wondering how we planned to scam the guy. He is, after all, going to an official website to request a shaman—bless his soul for even attempting that. Its simple we created a spoof website with multiple well-known shamans but plot twist: every shaman = fake. Every name = Oliver. Same guy, different hat. Pay pocket change, get ghost-vanish placebo. Big brain hustle and poof—the ghost is gone. The power of suggestion kicks in, we get paid in millions, and my wallet's no longer in survival mode.
Creak. The door opened—it seemed he was done. He looked at me briefly, then his gaze moved to the floor in thought. He began walking away absentmindedly, then stopped, turned back, and commanded me to prepare for the shaman's arrival before trudging off.
Late at night — 1 AM
Oliver—or as Mr. Isaac believed, the almighty shaman—had shown up about an hour ago. Immediately, he began dropping cosmic wisdom. Where he got it? Probably the internet. Sounded intense, but all I can say is my remaining brain cells were seconds away from ascension. I almost yawned.
Oliver looked at me sharply, then asked the ATM—sorry, Mr. Oliver—to lead the way.
We moved down the stairs going slowly to build the suspense. On reaching the second landing, I involuntary shivered. For a second, I swore the act Oliver pulled upstairs gave the place a weird, otherworldly vibe. The guy really had skills, that's for sure.
We stopped. I decided to look over Oliver's back at Mr. Isaac—he was visibly shivering. Seriously, this guy needed to hold himself together. It almost felt like he was in on it, and since that obviously couldn't be the case, it creeped me out.
Oliver started taking of the talismans placed on the door by Sir Isaac. This had sparked a response from Isaac however, Oliver smacked the resistance down harder than any buzzing fly. He began by cutting his thumb and drawing a cross on each paper before pulling them off. The last one—three, actually—flew off the door like they'd been blasted by some unseen force.
I looked at Oliver in awe. How the fuck did he even pull that off? He only came, like, an hour ago. Brother, what would they achieve if he had extra time?. Unfortunately I hadn't even notice the astonished face he had. If I had I would be running with my butt cheeks clenching in fear. After all guessing wouldn't be needed on what comes next
"Hea...ler... wha...t ne...xt?" Isaac asked, his voice trembling interrupting my thought process. It looked like the act worked.
I looked at Oliver, waiting and wondering what profound bullshit he'd spout next. After all, a guy had to learn—couldn't be another idiot's manservant for two more years.
Oliver didn't seem to hear, so I nudged him gently. He responded quickly, as expected—with the bullshit. "The spirits watch and wait. As expected, it awaits me. Be ready— but rest assured what lies beyond this door is nothing but child's play when compared to me."
He took out a mask and placed it on his face.
"This mask gives me the identity of my guardian spirit. It will protect me from any form of harm," Oliver said.
Mr. Isaac looked at the shaman in awe. I subconsciously facepalmed.
"And me? My protection—or do I stay outs—" Mr Issac asked "No. Wear this," Oliver interrupted in a deep, measured but commanding tone while tossing a necklace.
Well, calling it a necklace was generous—it was a piece of bone. One I distinctly remember eating the flesh off of, too.
"you are needed to complete the banishing" he finished
We entered. Obviously, I left the door open—can't be stupid enough to close it and end up locking ourselves inside again. Yes, again. Learned my lesson from that one. If I remember correctly, we almost broke character from sheer hunger. Thankfully, the man's granddaughter showed up twelve hours later.
Oliver immediately began laying down some crystals—each one as expensive or probably cheaper than my second-hand underwear; I couldn't remember exactly. Then he placed an ancient-looking bowl at the centre. It had engravings of mermaids swimming in blood-water? Looked so authentic. Where did they even get it? I thought
I looked at Oliver—he looked up, gave a quick mischievous smile, then kept arranging the thing. That bowl was too creepy—the artist had crafted a masterpiece, hands down.
"Zyra-loom, ka-thal, venora-nix! Shira-kel, do-fen, lumina-vix! Ora-zel, thryma, veko-rin!Phira-lox, unthar, keluma-spin!"
He began chanting. I leaned on the wall, waiting for the charade to be over. After this, it's usually the light show, then bam, ghost gets sucked into the crystal, and we pack up, get paid—happy days. That's what usually happened, so I didn't bother anymore.
Bam!
I flinched—it usually wasn't that loud. I looked at Oliver and Mr. Isaac; they too were paused, staring at me. We all turned toward the closed door.
I stood up and tried opening it—it didn't budge. Now that I must say was a big ass problem. Twice in a row, really? And I hadn't even eaten. Fuck this. I turned around.
"Umm… it's locked. Probably the ghost hating the disturbance." I joked
I looked at Oliver, thinking: This guy's hand speed—god like speed, should take notes. I didn't even notice him place the wires. He was good before, but bruh… the growth. Is this what the called god like levelling? My brain can't even compute.
I looked at him in reverence, which abruptly switched to confusion when I noticed his confused gaze. Gradually, my face drained of colour. My jaw slackened, my eyes darted from the door to him. I stammered, hoping I was wrong.
"You did it right, bro… tell me you did it." I mumbled. Note that this wasn't a fear from strange something happen, like come on I ain't a kid. It was fear of hunger. You see I stayed a bit hungry to prepare for the celebration that was bound to happen after the successful heist and now, we've been locked down here. This time even the maids wont come down. They never did. And even if they did it would be next tomorrow as the geezer sent them home talk of unlucky.
Mr. Isaac looked up in confusion, then at Oliver, who was shaking his head slowly.
"Well" I said aloud will break the door down. Shaman finish your—" I looked up confused to see both of them backing away from the bowl.
That's when I heard it—a languid, sinister chuckle. It began softly—a faint, sibilant titter that coiled in the air. It gradually deepened, reverberating with a malevolent, unnatural cadence. Each note lingered disturbingly. The laughter stretched and warped, elongating into a ghastly, baleful cackle that crawled along the spine and ignited icy dread.
Then Mr. Isaac's hand slid off his shoulder—and the unearthly screams began.