#filed under: ghostfield

[dweetling]

i want to quit you no i need to quit you but i'm afraid of what you might do

[malatruse]

another ridiculous ghostfield au that i dont have time to finish under the cut

supernatural cop au???? or something??? dwight is a junior detective who’s stuck archiving old files and idk, transferring them to digital, and he reads them as he goes because hes nosy, and he notices that the MO of this one old case matches a recent spate of killings in his area....except the killer in those cases was killed, shot by police. The details were never released to the press, but this new killer behaves eerily similar, and finally Dwight makes the connection that something not normal is going on. He pours all his free time into occult reading, learns about ghosts and vengeful spirits, and most importantly, what to do about them.

Finally, he’s ready, and an opportunity comes when he overhears one of the cops actually assigned to the case talking about how they’ve located a warehouse likely to be the killer’s base of operations, and how they plan to investigate it the next day. So Dwight grabs his gas can and contraband from the evidence locker and heads out that night.

The sound of his shoes crunching over broken glass is loud in the echoing space. A few sparse emergency lights cast enough illumination to see by, but not well, and it takes him far too long to realize the lumpy shape in front of him is actually a person.

By that time, it’s prowling toward him across the warehouse, and Dwight has just enough presence of mind to splash the contents of his gas can across the floor between them.

The figure comes closer, stepping into the light, and the mask isn’t the same, a grinning devil’s face instead of a screaming ghostly one, but Dwight’s sure he’s right, has to be, or else he’s about to die.

The killer stops just short of the water, tilting his head downward. “Well that’s not gasoline,” a distorted voice says. “Holy water?” He laughs, splashing his feet exaggeratedly as he walks through it. “That’s even more useless.”

Dwight’s frozen in place, and the gloved hand shooting out to grip him by the throat is what finally snaps him back into action.

“Danny Johnson,” he wheezes, then winces, he was meant to say Daniel Johnson, that’s what was in the file, why did he do that? What if it doesn't work? But there’s nothing to do but push onward. One hand reaches into his pocket, touching the contraband hidden there, and the other grips the hand around his throat, which has thankfully slackened enough that he can continue. “By salt and name and relic I bind thee. Thou shall not harm me.”

The hand releases him, and the man before him says, “Huh.” He removes a glove and squats down, touching two fingers to the puddle beneath him. He snatches them back, shaking the flecks of water off like he’s been burned. “Salt water. Oh, that’s smart. But you’d still need a focus. So, junior detective Fairfield,” he says, rising to loom over Dwight, “What’s this relic you’ve got in your pocket?”

Dwight pulls out the box, handing it over, watches as the killer opens it like a birthday present. And from his reaction, it may a well be one.

At the sight of the tactical knife, still crusted with blood from its last use, he strips off his mask to get a better look. “Rosie!” he crows, twisting it this way and that. “Oh, I never thought I’d see her again.”

Dwight studies his face: of course it looks nothing like the pictures of Danny they have on file, he’s possessing some random guy to commit murder, except...they both have that one little scar through the left eyebrow. He wonders if that’s intentional.

“Well, junior detective, you’ve bound me to this mortal body. What now? You wanna see me get justice? As soon as this body dies I’ll be free again.” He points the knife at his own throat, and Dwight winces.

“Don’t try to kill yourself,” he commands, wincing at the thought.

“So you want me to rot in jail for life? There’s no death sentence in this state, you know. But a guy like me, who’s done such heinous crimes--and will confess to them gladly, by the way--isn’t gonna last long in jail. I won’t even be trying to die! But with a personality like mine I don’t doubt I’ll be beat to death within a year.”

Honestly, Dwight hasn’t thought this far ahead. He wasn’t even sure if any of this would work. What does he do now?

“I have a proposal for you,” Danny says. “We’ll arrange a convenient death for this body, and in exchange I’ll inhabit you.”

“What? No!”

“Oh, don’t worry, I wouldn’t be able to wear you like I’m wearing this guy. But I’d be in your head, and therefore out of trouble for the remainder of your mortal life. And I’m sure you’re wondering what I get out of all this, well, maybe I can convince you to have some fun.”

Danny’s in his space now, a breath away, and Dwight’s fairly sure he can’t harm him, but proximity is making his animal brain scream at him all the same.

“So,” he whispers, “Whaddaya say?”

[dweetling]

Use me until I break

Just promise you’ll

put me back together

again when you’re done

[dweetling]

you are my favorite mistake ~