Ghostfinders 03 -Ghost of a Dream

it is you and your fellow Ghost Finders are up against? I gave up ownership of my flesh, to The Flesh Undying, to be its presence in the world; and in return, it promised me I’d never have to die. How cool is that? And now, I am so much more than I used to be. And so much more powerful, of course. Ah, the things I can do…”
    “Like to make speeches, don’t you?” said Melody.
    The Faust shrugged easily. “Comes with the job. And the territory.”
    He turned his back on her and strode off to saunter around the lobby again, taking it all in and looking it all over as though he were planning on buying it, then destroying it, then pissing on the ruins because he could. He ended up back before Melody and sneered equably at her ranks of scientific equipment.
    “There is something to be said for improvisation in the face of jeopardy, I suppose. Look at it…Something old, something borrowed, something cobbled together at the last minute. None of it of any real use against something like me.” He cocked his great head on one side and considered her happily. “Did you enjoy my posters? My little mental movies? Nothing like a good video nasty, I always say.”
    “You put that shit in my head?” said Melody.
    “No,” said the Faust. “Everything you saw came from inside your head. All the things you’re afraid of, little girl.”
    “If you were as powerful as you claim, you’d have killed me by now,” said Melody.
    The Faust smiled and waggled one finger at her, roguishly. “Now where’s the fun in that?”
    “Are you responsible for the haunting here?” said Melody. “All the weird shit we’ve been seeing?”
    “I just got here,” said the Faust. “I don’t know what’s going on in this dreary little playhouse; and I don’t care. I didn’t come here for the ghosts; I’m here for the Ghost Finders. Not because you present any real danger to The Flesh Undying, you understand, because you don’t. But there is the smallest possibility that you might become anuisance. Eventually…So I’m going to destroy you now. Leave three new ghosts to moan and wander in this dusty old theatre. If it wasn’t haunted before, it will be.”
    “Getting really tired of hearing you talk,” said Melody. “In fact, hold that pose. I’ve got a bloody big gun here, somewhere.”
    “What shall I start with?” said the Faust. “Something suitably theatrical, I think. What’s the point of murder without a little style? Let us call up the dust of ages and set it to work.”
    He gestured languidly with one meaty hand, and all the dust in the lobby, left untroubled and untouched for twenty years and more, rose everywhere. It sprang up from the floor and jumped off the walls and ceiling to dance madly on the lobby air, forming and re-forming into stretching shapes that bordered on meaning, before abruptly condensing into two dark grey, vaguely human figures. Soft but substantial living shadows…and where their faces should have been, the old traditional masks of Comedy and Tragedy. Endlessly laughing, endlessly crying. The ancient symbols of Drama, topping tall and spindly bodies, stretched and stylised, almost art deco. They danced and capered around the Faust, fawning and bobbing their heads, cringing under his shark’s gaze and devil smile.
    “Here is Drama, come to do my will,” said the Faust. “Two small and pitiful things, but mine own. Because I don’t see why I should get my hands dirty, dealing with something as small and insignificant as you, little girl. So…Go and get her, you nasty little things. Make a mess.”
    The two grey figures tore themselves away from adoring the Faust and danced towards Melody, throwing wild, extravagant shapes as they pirouetted in rapid circles around her and her equipment. Dark liquid monsters of inhuman suppleness and horrible malice, soaked in menace and vicious intent. Melody sneered right back at them, holding her ground, refusing to be impressed or intimidated.
    “Get the hell away from my machines!” she said coldly.
    “Dust is the mortal enemy of computers, is it not?” said the Faust. “Ah, what it is, to put the iron in irony!”
    The dark grey figures froze in place while he spoke. He waved them on with a languid hand, and they surged forward. Melody grabbed the machine-pistol from out of its resting place and opened fire. She raked the gun steadily back and forth, blowing great holes through the leaping, darting figures; but it didn’t harm them,