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.
I left the study room, climbing down the two flights. 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."It's time," I responded."Ledger, I assume he took the bait. I'll be ready. I'm sending over Charles if he asks for a shaman."I nodded. "Wouldn't have it any other way." The line cut.
I informed one of the maids. There were three servants including me—each of us tight-lipped, well paid to be, anyway. We had to be, after all we stood aside while the geezer did those appalling acts and utterly inhumane acts
The device was brought over. 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."I dropped 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 tried to. The end result was that every single one ended up being a form of escape. Not deceit—just raw exit.
Tap tap tap. His fingers flew rapidly across the keyboard. A pause, then click."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, but calling priests scammers and shamans angels is wild. Hope this scam gives you a soft reboot.] I thought while walking off.
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 having that thought process. 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. On reaching the second landing, I 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 looked 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 out the talismans. 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? I didn't even notice the astonished face he had
"Hea...ler... wha...t ne...xt?" Isaac asked, his voice trembling. 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.
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 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 was a 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 looked at Oliver, thinking:[This guy's hand speed—Flash 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-level skill? 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."
Mr. Isaac looked up in confusion, then at Oliver, who was shaking his head slowly.
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 screams began.