Ghosts: a viral horror sensation (The Cursed Manuscripts), page 8
He brought up the discovery bar and searched for ‘Nomon’s ritual original’.
Dishearteningly, hundreds of videos came up in the results, mostly more youths performing the trend. He opened a few but clicked away early, not wanting to view their possibly grisly endings. Instead, he checked the comments, searching for information or reoccurring themes. Eventually, he found one. Several commenters mentioned the name Vita.
Shane performed another search: Nomon’s ritual Vita.
This time, a mere dozen videos came up in the search results. One immediately caught his eye – an account with only a single video. The uploader’s name was Vita. Not Vita23 or Vita_real. Just Vita.
Shane clicked on the video.
A figure dressed in a red satin robe with a cowl stepped in front of a grainy camera. It appeared to be inside a church, Shane based his assumption on the stone floors and walls, but it could also have been a castle or a ruin or maybe even a root cellar.
The man recited the ritual in fluent Latin, not reading the words but speaking them from memory. Words that were familiar and understood.
A scholar maybe? University lecturer? One who speaks Latin?
A monk?
The ritual was nearing its end. In the stranger’s hands was a candle, and he peered down at the flame. The cowl cast his face in shadow, but the flickering light revealed age-sagged jowls and crow’s feet. Probably a man, but he couldn’t be certain.
Who are you? Why would you do this?
Do what? Am I saying I believe the ritual is real? No proof of that. None at all.
Have faith, child. Believe or be damned.
“Shut up, Mother,” he said out loud, closing his eyes tightly and forcing the echoes of her away.
The stranger paused for a moment and seemed to mutter, speaking too quietly for Shane to make out his words. He then lifted his head high and recited the last part of the ritual.
Shane’s eyes flickered as he anticipated something happening, but nothing did. The stranger simply turned and walked off-screen with their candle, leaving behind an empty stone chamber. There was a low noise or static, keeping the scene from silence.
Shane shook his head, wishing the video had given him more to work with. There was nothing to focus on, and no obvious way of identifying the stranger in the robe. Even if he could work out who they were, they hadn’t exactly committed a crime.
He played the video again, waiting for the moment where the stranger muttered to himself, turning up the laptop’s volume and listening carefully. The muttered words seemed to be more Latin, but spoken very, very softly. It wasn’t a part of the ritual kids were reciting online – it was an extra line. Shane couldn’t make it out, no matter how hard he tried. Even with the volume all the way up, the words were too quiet.
He slumped back in his chair. “Damn it.”
The stranger walked off camera again, leaving behind the stone chamber. The static noise resumed.
No. That’s not static. Is that…?
Cheering?
Shane rewound the clip and played the ending again. With the volume increased, the background noise was easier to recognise.
Definitely cheering.
In fact, it sounded like a large crowd.
Who is that, and why are they cheering?
More importantly: where are they?
Shane’s hands trembled. He was gasping for a beer, but he wasn’t so far gone as an alcoholic that he got the shakes. No, his hands were shaking because he was completely frazzled. He felt like a sighted person in a crowd full of the blind while an alligator stalked the room, snapping up bodies one by one. Why wasn’t anybody else freaking out over what was happening? How did this all fall on him? Why could only he see?
Can I just walk away from this? Is it ethical?
Screw ethics, can I live with it? Can I walk away and just forget this?
His phone buzzed. A message from Evie.
Got in trouble with mum. Skipped out of school at lunchtime and she found out. She’s driving me mental.
Shane closed his eyes and tipped his head back. He needed a moment of quiet, a few seconds of solitude to concentrate on his breathing.
Then he called Evie’s phone.
She picked up immediately. “Uncle Shane? Will you talk to her? I’m locked in my bedroom and she won’t let me out. The mad bitch. She’s totally overreacting. I… I can’t be here all by myself. Will you talk to her?”
Shane couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his rebellious niece, but he knew he had a duty to be an adult here. “She’s just being a parent, Evie. It’s her job to get on your back about these things. Education’s important.”
“Didn’t you tell me the modern education system is designed to churn out mindless workers for the elite? Even if it wasn’t, I’m not smart enough to do anything anyway, so what’s the point?”
“I’ve met some pretty stupid doctors and teachers in my time, Evie, and you aren’t stupid. Whatever you want to do in life, you can make it happen. But you have to put the work in and go to school.”
“You sound like mum. You’re supposed to be on my side, Uncle Shane.”
“I am on your side – always. Look, I know your mum can be a pain, but she only wants what’s best for you.”
“How is turning off the Wi-Fi best for me? I can’t do my homework without the Internet, can I?”
Shane chuckled. “I don’t think that’s really what you’re concerned about, is it?”
She let out a sigh. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“You report on weird things, right? Do you ever find stuff that’s, like, really… um…” She let out another sigh, sounding troubled. “Actually, forget it. It’s stupid.”
“You can tell me. What is it?”
“Nothing. Honestly. Just stupid school stuff.”
Shane had a feeling this was another moment where he should push further, but again he didn’t know what to say. His gut told him something was wrong, but he didn’t know if it was coming from Evie or from within himself. “Hey, Evie, do you know about this ritual kids are doing online?”
She paused a moment. “Ritual?”
“Yeah. Like a summoning the dead spell. Have you seen it?”
Another pause. “No.”
“Evie, tell me the truth.”
“I am.”
He didn’t know whether she was bullshitting him, but she had promised to always tell him the truth, so he needed to assume she was doing that now. “Okay. Look, if someone shares a video of a Latin ritual, promise you’ll just delete it. And whatever you do, don’t copy it yourself.”
“Uncle Shane, I have to go.”
“Why? What is it?”
“My mum. She’s coming up the stairs. I’m not supposed to be on my phone. Speak soon.”
“Evie? Evie, you there?”
The line went dead.
“Goddamn it.”
Shane tossed his phone down on the desk and muttered to himself. He didn’t believe the ritual was real, so why had he felt the need to warn his niece? All day long he’d done nothing but witness the aftermath of other people’s misfortune. Perhaps it was better to be safe than sorry.
Craig popped his head into Shane’s office. “It’s six o’clock. I’m off.”
Shane looked up, then waved a hand absent-mindedly. “Oh yeah, have a good night, mate.”
Craig stayed where he was, a frown upon his face. “Are you staying? You’re usually first out the door.”
“Just finishing up. Been a long day, so what’s another twenty minutes?”
“Was that your niece on the phone? I heard you say Evie. That’s your sister’s kid, right?”
Shane scowled. “You were listening in?”
“Your door was open and I came to say goodnight. I only heard you sounding concerned. Can I help?”
“I doubt it.”
“Try me.”
Shane gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted was to share his personal life with Craig. And yet…
Maybe Ed’s right, and I should give people a chance. Craig’s not so bad.
“Evie’s just going through a rebellious phase,” he admitted. “The worst part is, I think she sees me as some kind of role model.”
Craig nodded, his face serious. “I can see that. Makes sense.”
“Why would anyone see me as a role model?”
“Most people go through life following the rules, even when it hurts them, but you don’t give a shit – and I mean that in a good way. I see why a teenager might idolise you. Rebels are cool when you’re young.”
“I’m not a rebel.”
Craig smirked, his eyes wrinkling at the corners, showing the first signs of ageing. “Most men your age are married, drowning in debt, with a bunch of kids hanging off them. Every rule society expected you to follow, you’ve sidestepped. You don’t buy into any of it, do you?”
I used to. I once bought into it all.
And look where it got me.
“What’s to buy into, Craig? I mean, people work till they drop, pay bills, pay taxes, obey a thousand different laws, but who the hell ever decided they have to do all that? Not me. Not anyone I know. We’ve put ourselves in cages, but all people need to do is say no and the system will change. No, I will not slave away so my boss can buy a bigger boat. No, I won’t pay tax to a government that squanders it on wars and corporate subsidies. No, I won’t pay a fine for public indecency after drinking an intoxicating substance that you freely sold to me for profit, knowing full well the damage it causes.”
Craig frowned. “Hmm, that last one was pretty specific.”
“It still stands. Who decided we have to live our lives a certain way? Nine out of ten people hate their jobs, yet they spend forty hours a week doing it. Why would we do that to ourselves as a species?” He stopped, inhaled deeply, and then let it out in a grunt. “See? This is why I don’t open up. My innate cynicism takes ahold of the wheel.”
“I agree, society isn’t in great shape right now. But I don’t have a clue how to change it, or what would be better. Most people just make do with what they have.”
“And therein lies the problem.” He cleared his throat and stretched out his arms in defeat. “Anyway, that doesn’t help me with my problem. My niece wants to be a rebel, but I don’t want her to hurt herself or hold herself back, even though I know the whole system is built on quicksand. Sometimes I worry my sister can’t cope being a parent on her own.”
“She’s a single mum? Where’s Dad?”
“God knows. I don’t even think Sarah’s sure who the donor was. She was a little… wild before Evie came along. I don’t blame her. Our mother was hard to please. Religious, you know? Once Sarah left school, I think she just wanted to be free, so she broke every rule she could. Evie was just the last of her many mistakes. Now she turns her nose up at me and acts like I’m the one who should be ashamed. Hypocrite.”
Craig smirked. “Sounds like your mum raised two rebels. At least your sister settled down once she had a kid. If she’s struggling, you should help her.”
“I do help her!”
Craig frowned, a questioning look on his puggish face.
Shane sighed. “Or maybe I don’t. Fuck, I dunno. You think I need to get my act together?”
“I don’t think you need to get your act together, but you don’t have to be angry at your sister because she got hers together. Sounds like she didn’t have much of a choice.”
“You’re probably right.”
“You’re a good bloke, Shane. If this place goes under, it’s been a pleasure working with you.”
“Really?”
“Eh, it’s been tolerable.”
“Thanks, Craig. We’ve never been for a drink, have we?”
“No, we haven’t.” He turned and left, whistling a tune to himself as he walked away.
Shane drummed his fingers on the desk and thought about calling his sister. But he didn’t know what to say. So he just sat there, thinking.
He checked the news again and still found nothing. Rhino News was still failing to load. It led him to consider something. How had Leighton Wong found out about the ritual so quickly? And why had he taken down his article.
There was only one way to find out.
Shane checked out LinkedIn and found the journalist’s contact details easily enough using Splatt!’s account and credentials. He picked up his phone and gave the guy a ring.
“Hello?”
Shane sat forward and propped his elbows on the desk. “Leighton Wong?”
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“My name is Shane Mogg. I work at Splatt! Magazine.”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“Oh… well, that’s refreshing.”
“What do you want?”
Shane decided to waste no time. “Why did you take down your article about Stefani Goodacre and Hannah Bridge?”
“The website is down. Technical issues.”
“Yeah, I noticed. Come on though, journo to journo, who made you pull it?”
“No one. It was a bad article. I never substantiated any of the details and it was poorly written. Click bait, you know? Why are you even calling me about it?”
Shane sighed. The guy didn’t want to play ball, and Shane had zero leverage over him. Besides maybe appealing to the guy’s conscience. “More kids have been hurt, Mr Wong. I’ve been following the story all day. Something’s going on, and Nomon’s Ritual seems to be connected. Of course, I’m not saying that it’s gho—”
“It’s real,” said Leighton Wong. “The words are real. If I were you, I would drop the story and avoid getting caught in the fallout. We pulled the article because it was getting too many hits. Kids were reading about it on our website and then going off to do the ritual themselves. They’re going to get hurt because of me.”
Shane realised the man was drunk. He had a vaguely cockney accent, so he was probably writing out of London. While Rhino News was independent, it would still have its paymasters. “You’re worried about getting sued.”
“Not me. I don’t give a shit. I just don’t want kids finding out about the ritual because of my article. The magazine’s owners ordered me to pull it, but I would have done it anyway.”
“You really believe the ritual is real? How did you find out about it?”
He huffed down the phone. “Did you do any research on me? I’m literally a social media reporter. I write fluff pieces and click bait about the latest trends and memes. I haven’t written a serious piece of journalism my entire life – until last night. It was only supposed to be a spooky story to get some clicks, but then I started seeing all the videos being posted on Clip Switch. Mr Mogg, no one is reporting on it, but kids are dying. It’s happening right now.”
“Look,” Shane said, sighing, again feeling like the only sane person in the room. “Can we meet? I want to get to the bottom of this, but things keep getting out of hand. Ghosts aren’t real. I know that because I performed the ritual myself and everything is fine. Nothing’s happened.”
“You performed the ritual?”
“Yes, this afternoon. I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not okay, Mr Mogg. Someone or something will be coming for you. I’m sorry, but don’t contact me again. I want nothing to do with this.”
The line went dead.
So did a part of Shane. When you were the only sane person in the room, how long until the crazy people started making sense? How long before the sane person became the one who was crazy?
Just relax. Everything’s fine. The world is the same today as it was yesterday.
Don’t lose a grip on what’s real.
He leant on his desk and put his head in hands, taking deep breaths and trying to clear his mind. His head was full of static, just like the ending of Vita’s video.
I need to call Ed. Tell her what I found.
By six fifteen, the office was empty of everyone except for Shane. The thought of going home unsettled him, but he had no place else to go. He didn’t want to be alone, but drinking at a pub would be unbearable. Spending time with drunk people was the worst. They always over-shared.
Maybe I should’ve chased Craig and asked him for a drink.
He didn’t seem keen. Am I an arsehole?
Yep, pretty much.
With no choice left but to leave, Shane switched off the lights and set the security alarm. He used his keys to lock up and then headed out to his car. The final, dying remnants of daylight cast everything in a grey gloom, and the thought of encroaching darkness caused him to shudder.
Someone or something will be coming for you.
You’re not okay, Mr Mogg.
Someone stepped out from behind his Land Cruiser.
Shane leapt in the air and squealed. “Shit! Wh-who the hell are you?”
“Are you Mr Mogg?” asked the stranger, a tiny old lady with a short, auburn perm and an olive complexion. The canvass tote on her shoulder was half as big as she was, and the glittery crucifix over the breast of her green cardigan could have belonged to Jay-Z.
“Yes, that’s me. You scared the hell out of me, lady.”
“I’m sorry. My name’s Gina D’Amata.”
He drew a blank. “I’m sorry, who?”
“You know me as Jester. You wanted to meet. Well, here I am.”
Shane stumbled back a step, lost for words. His day wasn’t over yet.
Chapter Seven
The first thing Shane did was call Ed. She didn’t answer his call, but returned it two minutes later, having just got out of the shower. She wasn’t eager to get dressed and go out, but he talked her into it. Understanding the ritual was important for their peace of mind.
Now he and Ed were both sitting inside Splatt!’s conference room with an old lady who claimed to be Jester.
Gina, it turned out, was an Italian national who had emigrated from Sicily to the United Kingdom thirty years ago with her Welsh opera singer husband who had sadly passed away in two-thousand-five from the ravages of stomach cancer. She’d been living alone ever since, surviving off a generous life insurance policy.
