by L.E.A.P | Score: 10050
By Claire and Ruth
Well, I kinda have to do this. Hi, I’m Claire. I’m fifteen, and I accidentally became best friends with a ghost from before Jesus’ times and awoke a new dimension. (Ruth is saying to take a step back. Well, excuse me). I was on my hike to see my sister, Ruth, all the way up in Michigan. I had packed the essentials: A few granola bars, a water bottle, a flashlight, and a compass. My belt held a hunting knife, which the cops didn’t love, mostly because I was black, along with my sister. The cops weren't exactly fans of two black girls with hunting knives. Ruth had black hair, like me, but she kept it short cut. It had been three years since I had seen her, and every fall equinox of every three years, we got to see each other. Don’t ask me why–our long-gone parents made that decision. They died when we were five, and we never knew why. Our uncle said we would have to be separated, and only visit each other every fall equinox of every three years.
Anyway, I was hiking up the Upper Peninsula mountains, when I finally reached the top. Now, going down. This’ll be fun! I did what I did every year–took out a thick blanket with some wood on the inside, hopped on, then slid down the steep mountain side. But the best part had just come into view. I slowed to a stop and put my “sled” into my backpack. Ruth’s place was the last on it’s street. I walked towards it. It had a big bay window in the front, and a door next to it. Parker, Ruth’s cat, whose fur was the same color as a potato, was in bread-loaf form in the window, asleep. I stepped up the concrete stairs, and knocked on the white door.
It swung open immediately.
“Claire!” Ruth hugged me. When she finally let go, I was led in. The place hadn’t clanged one bit. Parker’s food bowl and water bowl were still in the same spots, her little cat tower was still there, the grey couch, soft as ever, the fireplace which had a fire going, the hat stand, the book shelf, and the coffee table with a framed picture of us taken at Halloween, when we were young, laughing and eating our Halloween candy. I was still in my ghost costume, and Ruth still had her bat wing’s on. There were two story’s total to her house, not counting the library. There was also a full-sized orange tree, which always had fresh oranges when I came around to make weirdly good orange cider. A small red box held pictures of little Ruth and little Claire.
“So, anything in mind?” I asked her. She knew what I meant. We were aloud one day together, so we always went to things like sight-seeing, fancy restaurants, museums, that kind of thing. But we had only one rule: bring a camera for pictures. That red picture box didn’t only have baby pictures. It had pictures from three years ago, six, nine, etcetera, etcetera. We wanted to have good memories from each trip. Each time, we rounded to about twenty pictures. I thought about where to go.
“How about that ghost town?” Ruth asked while sprinkling some treats to Parker.
“Which one? There are like, thousands.” I complained. She laughed.
“Rawsonville. Apparently there are real ghosts!” Ruth said. I agreed. I had always been intrigued by ghosts, but I never ssfound any proof that they were fake, and vice versa. I changed into my traveling outfit, grabbed a pair of wool gloves, then grabbed my camera. I had it slung on my neck, and Ruth had her phone. I too had a phone, but the camera was tradition. We walked out the door. Parker meowed us farewell. She’d gotten used to Ruth leaving on this day at this hour. We did a quick hitch-hike to Rawsonville. It was cold, as usual. Deer were everywhere. Squirrels and chipmunks constantly climbed up and down trees. We came to a clearing. Autumn leaves were all around us. There was a big lake stretching horizontally.
“This is it.” Ruth said. I gulped.
“Uh... where's the town?” I asked. She looked around.
“This is what’s left of it. Picture time?” She asked. I smiled.
“Correction: selfie time.” We took a couple selfies. After putting her phone back in her pocket, she looked at the water.
“Either the town was reduced to atoms, or the town flooded.” She looked at me. “Whaddya think?” Before I could answer, water gurgled. Ruth turned. A shape shot straight out of the water, and the faint words Pure sounded.
I see. Leave it off with the water thing. And I get the hard stuff. Thanks, sis. Hey, Ruth here. So yes, water, shape, pure. I tripped on a thorn vine and stumbled. I looked up. A ghost, pure black, holographic, and not at all see through. His back was hunched, and his crystal white eyes were dislocated, one being higher than normal and the other was lower. He looked like Claire in her ghost costume, except the colors were a bit off.
“I am Azazel. Who are you?” He asked in a faint, eacho-ey voice.
“I am Claire.” Claire said. “And this is my sister, Ruth.” She looked at the ghost as if it might flee.
“The Rose children?” He flew a few feet closer to us. “How... delightful.”
“You don’t sound so pleased.” I noted.
“No, no. I’m glad you woke me. But... you two have a powerful bloodline. Descendants of... wait, where’s Itrix?” He looked around. “Itrix!” He called out.
“Who’s Itrix?” I asked.
“The king! I was his spirit knight! He rules over this... where is the kingdom?” I looked at Claire.
“How long were you down there?” I asked. He looked back at me.
“The king told me to wait here. He said he had xxxxxto do something. So I waited. But.. that was only an hour ago!” He dived back under and came back up again. He spun around in frustration.
“If you're a knight, where is your sword and armor?” Claire asked him.
“My sword is sheathed and I am wearing my armor!” He looked down. “Oh.”
“I have a lot of history books at my place and I’ve never heard the name Itrix.” I said to him.
“King Itrix... the people! I only remember that they were there. Not their names or faces. You are Rose children, correct?” He looked at us intently.
“Uh, yeah.” Claire said, clearly as confused as I was. Something in the back of my brain was ringing a bell.
“What did you say your name was?” I asked him.
“Azazel. As in the fallen angel.” He explained. Something sparked in the back of my brain. I remembered the spirit knights! Azazel, also known as The Blind Knight, defended Itrix, his secret name ‘The White Monk’, who ruled over The White Dimension. I realized that The White Dimension fused with earth and became what we now know as Michigan.
“The Blind Knight?” I asked him. He gasped, then focused on me.
“How did you know? You know the king's secret name as well?” He asked me.
“The White Monk.” I said. Claire seemed to remember the story our mother had told us long ago, all about these two. Azazel gasped. If he had arms, he would have totally clamped his mouth in shock.
“And the Kingdom?!” He asked.
“Obislolan!” Me and Claire said at once. Azazel spun around with joy.
“It is you, it is you! Now, we have to go to The White Dimension for further instructions. But uh... I’ve kinda forgotten how to do that.” Azazel explained. He turned around.
“Wasn’t there a river gate?” Claire asked. He nodded. He chanted in a language I didn’t understand. A gate made out of water materialized in the water like a whirlpool. Azazel jumped in, and after a bit of hesitation, me and Claire jumped in, too.
Hi again. So, let's see... weird kings, whirlpool thing, okay. So, we were falling through a kind of void. I looked over and saw Ruth. I looked to my left and saw two white circles, one up and one down. So, Azazel and Ruth were her.