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Rushing Water – Part 01

—ghost machine 4—

December 10, 1914, Beelzebub’s Skull.

The dark-purple, midwinter sea seemed like it would freeze over at any moment. Waves crashed and retreated. An otherworldly and enigmatic night was about to begin, which would later be known in history as the Crashing of the Virgin Mary incident.

A pale full moon sat in the night sky, glowing ominously, casting its own reflection on the dark sea. From a distance, it seemed as if two moons were staring at each other. Rippling waves made the moon in the water quiver as if it had a life on its own.

“All ready,” murmured a tall, young man with a mane of crimson hair. He nodded, his upturned, deep-green eyes glinting. “All we have to do now is wait. Come, Luftwaffe youngsters. To the sea of death.”

The young man—Brian Roscoe—grinned, the grin of a predator, curiously fierce. The pair of white canine teeth peeking out from his lips seemed like fangs.

Flames crackled in the fireplace of the dim room furnished only by a shabby table and a chair. The magic lantern that Brian brought sat at the window, its huge cannon-like lens pointed outside. Brian had tinkered with the strange device, which he named the Ghost Machine, making adjustments and fine-tunings. His red hair hung down over the machine, swaying like flames.

Brian brushed his hair back and narrowed his green eyes.

“They’re here.”

He strained his ears and looked out the window, peered into the night sky.

There was a faint noise, a buzzing of insects. But it sounded oddly unnatural.

“The Luftwaffe.”

There was a loud thud. Brian jumped and turned around.

His brows furrowed. “Who’s there?” he mumbled.

The door was still now.

For a while, Brian kept his gaze fixed on the door, then he pulled his eyes away.

Outside the window, the buzzing of insects grew louder. Numerous weird sounds reverberated through the night sky. Black, eerily-designed, man-made insects—German fighter planes—appeared in the sky like a swarm of black dots, illuminated by the sinister glow of the full moon. The purple sea heaved.

There was a loud bang, and a flash of light hit the exterior of the monastery. Orange sparks scattered as the stone wall crumbled. The next bombardment began.

A cold breeze brushed Brian’s ears from behind, and he quickly turned around.

The scarlet door behind him had opened without a sound. Two Michelles, clutching daggers, approached Brian cautiously like cats.

Brian slowly reached for the magic lantern and flipped the switch.

With a clatter, the device activated.

“How could you?!” shouted a young girl outside—a nun.

Brian took a few steps back. He glared at the two Michelles—at the two old women with long gray hair. One had blue eyes, and the other black, both gleaming darkly.

A girl was shouting outside. “There’s only the injured and nurses here. This is not a military base. Curse you Germans!”

Brian’s mouth curved into a smile. “And Jupiter Roget, an authority from the Academy of Science, and Brian Roscoe, a magician lending his assistance,” he added. “There’s more. We also have old spies from the Ministry of the Occult who are trying to stop them. The young soldiers and nurses were the perfect cover for you.”

The two old women inched closer, daggers at the ready.

Brian took a step back. Screams and explosions erupted outside. Young, angelic voices uttered curses.

“Anyone who helps the Academy of Science must be eliminated,” the two Michelles said in their distinctive, raspy voice.

“My goodness. There were two Michelles all along? Not that I’m surprised. When a magician appears at two places at the same time, it’s usually twins. I sorta use the same trick. I know it’s the most primitive illusion there is.”

“We cannot let you live, Roscoe.”

“But I didn’t expect you to be spies. I mean, you’re… too old.”

“We…”

The two Michelles—old women in nurses’ uniforms—drew ever closer. They had the same forlorn look on their faces as the woman praying outside the cemetery last night.

The ghost machine groaned.

A huge image of the Virgin Mary appeared in the night sky, towering far above the ground, her long hair hanging down over the purple sea. Girls on the beach exclaimed in joy.

“It’s the Holy Mary!”

“Holy Mother!”

“Mary…”

The ghost machine continued groaning.

“You two played the same role,” Brian said. “When I arrived, the woman who showed me the way was wearing a nurse’s uniform, had long gray hair, and blue eyes.”

“Yes.” The blue-eyed Michelle nodded. “I’m Carmilla.”

“I see. You were both using the same alias. That’s why when I asked your name, you hesitated a bit before answering. And the next one I met, the one I asked to bring some paper, was the dark-eyed Michelle, wearing the same nurse’s uniform, gray hair hanging down.”

The dark-eyed Michelle nodded. “I’m Morella.”

Upon closer look, the blue-eyed Michelle had a cut on her cheek, illuminated by the flames in the hearth.

Brian smirked. “You two hid the fact that you were twins and infiltrated the fortress as spies. You were the one who attacked me last night. I saw your blue eyes. And then later, I found you, the one with black eyes. Several people testified that you were in the infirmary the whole time.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

They nodded at the same time. Slowly they approached Brian.

“I everywhere am thinking of thy blue eyes’ sweet smile; A sea of blue thoughts is spreading over my heart the while. I should’ve known when you recited that,” Brian muttered mockingly to himself.

He touched the magic lantern and fiddled with it.

“Tears!” cried a voice outside.

The image of the Virgin Mary began shedding rivers of tears. A waterfall of grief cascaded down into the dark purple sea. The two Michelles—the ministry’s spies, Carmilla and Morella—gripped their daggers tight as they neared Brian.

“Cursed, good-for-nothing Gray Wolf!”

“Young man with red hair unbefitting of a wolf, Brian Roscoe!”

“We are…”

“We are the descendants of those who believe in the occult.”

“Affiliated with Sauville’s Ministry of the Occult.”

“Loyal to our defender, Marquis Albert de Blois.”

“Good-for-nothing.”

“A half-human, switching to the science side.”

“Wretched Gray Wolf.”

Outside, several fighter planes plummeted into the dark sea. Some crashed on the beach, billowing black smoke. Others slammed into each other, spiraling downward. Soon, not a single fighter plane remained. Orange pillars of fire rose like beacons from the sandy beach, crackling.

Inside the room, Carmilla and Morella, daggers in hand, darted forward. Brian shifted his body, then elbowed Carmilla’s head. As she staggered, he wrested the dagger from her. Morella’s dagger grazed his arm, and blood seeped out. Brian’s eyebrows twitched.

He thrust the dagger toward Morella. The old lady leapt back with the agility that belied her age, and threw her dagger, aiming at Brian’s forehead.

Brian ducked at the last second. The dagger quivered as it dug into the wall behind him with incredible force.

Brian gasped and looked up. Cold sweat trickled down his forehead.

“Wh-Where did they go?”

The open door swung back and forth. Brian dashed into the corridor, but the two old women were no longer in the dark, spiraling labyrinth.

“Carmilla and Morella,” Brian murmured shakily. “Marquis de Blois’ minions.”

Slowly, he returned to the room. His knees were shaking. He couldn’t stop the cold sweat breaking out from his body. He recalled the time he arrived at the monastery; the nice-looking old woman, blue-eyed Michelle, shuffling out. And the dark-eyed, mild-mannered Michelle who came down the corridor carrying a bundle of papers. A shiver ran through his spine.

“I’ll keep them in mind,” Brian muttered, and turned off the magic lantern.

The image of the weeping Virgin Mary vanished. On the beach lay bloody corpses of girls and the burning wreckage of fighter planes. Up above, stars dotted the night sky, twinkling for eternity.