Adelaide’s Wednesday afternoon exorcism

July 3, 2025

Date: 2025-07-02 12:36

(Adelaide’s Wednesday afternoon exorcism)

[Wed Jul 2 2025]

In empty shop

It is about 60F(15C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Church and Sidney/span>/spanThe empty shop on Mercy Street stands with its door slightly ajar, cold mist from the street curling around Adelaide and Jasper’s ankles as they step inside. The afternoon light filtering through grimy windows reveals bare shelves and dust motes dancing in the air, yet something feels distinctly wrong. The scent of fresh-baked bread mingles impossibly with the musty smell of abandonment, and Adelaide’s stomach gives an unexpected growl despite having eaten lunch an hour ago.

Along the far wall, the empty shelves shimmer for just a moment – displaying golden loaves, glazed pastries, and ripe fruit before returning to their barren state. The floorboards creak under their feet, and from somewhere deeper in the building comes the faint sound of silverware clinking against china, as if a dinner party is in progress just beyond hearing. The temperature drops noticeably near the back corner, where a section of floorboard sits slightly raised, while the area by the front window radiates an uncomfortable warmth that makes the air waver like a summer mirage.

Adelaide says “Inside the shop, mister Steiner.“

“I’m Jasper,” Jasper tells Adelaide as he puts his phone away. “Sorry if I’m snooping into your business. I just need to help deal with the disruption here as well.” He then pauses, turning to watch the shelves and then at the window.

Adelaide is a vampire and does not eat anything at all, and neither does her stomach growl. That does not mean, of course, that she can’t feel a pang of hunger anyway, even if it’s more directed towards Jasper than it is towards baked goods. The tall woman gives Jasper a once-over at the name, eyebrows arching up just briefly. “Oh, you’re Jasper,” she comments, as though she’s expected something different. “People kept confusing my knight for a man named Jasper.”

A pause.

“You do not look alike.”
someone She turns her attention back to whatever’s going on here, nodding to Kurt and then mentioning, “We just got here not too long ago. It is… a bakery, but not.” Clearly, it’s an empty shop. And yet…

A pause.

“You do not look alike.”

She turns her attention back to whatever’s going on here, nodding to Kurt and then mentioning, “We just got here not too long ago. It is… a bakery, but not.” Clearly, it’s an empty shop. And yet…

“I know,” Jasper replies, keeping his distance while he examines the shop. “It could also be some restaurant,” he then says.

Kurt meanders on in, stopping to give a short bow towards Adelaide, “Madame Carrow, a pleasure as always.” With a nod to Jasper, he raises a brow, glancing around. “So. What’s going on? I don’t… Something feels off, but I can’t for the life of me place what, exactly.”

The phantom scents grow stronger as the three converse, and Adelaide notices the taste of ash beginning to coat her tongue despite her vampiric nature. The shelves flicker again, this time holding their illusion longer – ornate silver platters laden with roasted meats, crystal bowls overflowing with fresh berries, and elaborate cakes that seem to glisten with fresh icing.

Jasper’s examination of the shop reveals that the back room extends much further than the building’s exterior would suggest, with doorways leading to what should be impossible spaces. The clinking of silverware grows more distinct, accompanied now by the soft murmur of conversation and occasional laughter that seems to come from the walls themselves.

Kurt’s unease proves well-founded as the temperature fluctuations become more pronounced. Near where he stands, the air shimmers with heat while cold drafts spiral around Adelaide’s feet. In the corner where the floorboards are raised, frost begins forming on the dusty surface despite the July afternoon outside.

From the peripheral vision of all three, well-dressed figures in Victorian attire seem to move just beyond direct sight – elegant women in bustles and men in formal dinner jackets, all seated at tables that aren’t quite there when looked at directly. The gnawing hunger intensifies, and even Kurt begins to feel an inexplicable craving that no amount of reasoning can dismiss.

“It could be,” Adelaide agrees with Jasper’s words, though she doesn’t have a lot to say to Kurt, perhaps due to a lack of knowledge herself. The change in temperature goes entirely ignored, but the flashes of people donning Victorian attire are much less so – though it’s not like Adelaide would stand out all too much in that gathering, really. “Some sort of… Temporal magic?” she guesses, a faint grimace passing over her features at the ashen taste that fills her mouth. “Or it could be ghosts.” It’s always ghosts.

His stomach growling, Jasper turns to slowly walk towards the back room. As he treads, his amber gaze flickers between the shelves and its illusory contents, and then almost at the spectral figures. “Could be both,” he then answers Adelaide’s question. “Like one of those oasises… Err, oasi, whatever. Those that turned out to be mirages in the desert.”

Kurt presses his lips into a thin line at both the sensations and the apparitions, letting out a soft sigh. Also being a vampire, the hunger wouldn’t affect him as one would expect, albeit perhaps more directed towards Jasper than any scents, but such is what is. “Always ghosts tomorrow… Though, perhaps, it is some sort of temporal magic.” He shrugs, searching around, checking corners for anything that could be a focus or anchor for whatever’s going on.

As Jasper approaches the back room, the doorway seems to stretch and waver, revealing a corridor that extends far beyond what the building’s dimensions should allow. The phantom feast sounds grow louder from this direction, and he catches glimpses of a grand dining hall just at the edge of his vision – long tables set with fine china and crystal, candelabras casting flickering light that doesn’t quite illuminate anything solid.

Kurt’s search of the corners proves fruitful. Near the raised floorboards where frost continues to gather, his fingers detect the edge of something beneath the loose planks. The wood here feels different – older, worn smooth by countless small hands. As he investigates, the temperature plummets further, and his breath begins to mist in the suddenly frigid air.

Adelaide’s mention of ghosts seems to resonate with the space itself. The Victorian figures become more distinct, though still translucent and peripheral. A young girl in a tattered dress appears more clearly than the others, standing near where Kurt crouches. She looks perhaps eight or nine years old, painfully thin, and her eyes hold a desperate hunger that transcends the physical. Her lips move as if speaking, but no sound emerges.

The taste of ash grows stronger for all three, and the phantom food on the shelves begins to look less appetizing – the bread showing spots of mold, the fruit appearing overripe and rotting at the edges, though still tantalizingly out of reach.

Kurt says “I would expect you, of all people, to understand the virtue of a networking opportunity without getting trashed out of your mind, Mister Harrington.“

“I do enjoy it when ghosts do not speak,” Adelaide says, apparently a firm believer of the ‘ghosts are to be seen and not heard’ sentiment. She follows after Jasper – for no nefarious reason whatsoever, of course – heels clicking upon the floor of the empty shop as she moves over to the long, long hallway, head tilting to the side in curiosity. “I wonder what occasion it was,” she says, sounding more interested in the disruption itself rather than what’s causing it. “A Christmas celebration? Winter solstice, perhaps…?”

Kurt speaks briefly into his comm, before glancing up, eying the malnourished Victorian child. His gaze flattening, he lets out a quiet sigh, “Always with the Annabelle ghosts, I swear…” As he feels along the edges of the floor, his fingers catch upon something, “Got something here. Might be a false bottom, trapdoor under the newer flooring, something.

Jasper’s face starts to cringe at the taste of ash, along with the aura around him while he walks down the corridor until he pauses. “Like death. It’s unnatural that shouldn’t be in nature.” He then looks down at the floor upon hearing Kurt and Adelaide. “We should find the source of all this.”

Kurt’s fingers find purchase on the loose floorboard, and as he pries it up, a wave of bitter cold rushes out along with the overwhelming scent of starvation – not just hunger, but the deep, gnawing emptiness of someone who has gone without food for far too long. Beneath the board lies a small, worn leather shoe, child-sized and polished smooth by nervous fidgeting. The moment it’s exposed to air, the phantom sounds intensify dramatically.

The young girl’s ghostly form becomes clearer, her mouth opening in what should be words but produces only the sound of wind through empty spaces. She points desperately at the shoe, then at the feast that shimmers just beyond reach on the shelves. Her eyes hold a pleading quality that transcends death itself.

Jasper’s observation about unnaturalness proves accurate as the corridor behind him begins to shift and change. What was once a straight hallway now branches into multiple passages, each leading to the same impossible dining hall where the feast continues just out of sight. The Victorian diners become more solid, their laughter taking on a cruel edge as they seem to gorge themselves on food that the child can never reach.

Adelaide’s speculation about celebrations feels wrong somehow – this isn’t joy or festivity, but something born of desperate want. The ash taste grows so strong that even speaking becomes difficult, and the temperature around the exposed shoe drops to near freezing.

Morbid curiosity and a desire to go back to neutral tastelessness war with each other, but Adelaide eventually winds up stepping away from the hallway and back towards Kurt, her nose wrinkled up as though smelling something distasteful. Probably the ash. “I would mind your words, mister Sparrow,” she tells Jasper lightly – or as lightly as she can manage with what feels like a mouthful of ash, and comes to lay eyes upon the leather shoe.

The first question out of her mouth is, of course: “Shall I burn it?”

With his arms, Jasper starts to wrap them around his chest while he shivers from the cold. “Hunger,” he simply murmurs, turning to look at the trapdoor before he falls silent while dealing with the taste of ash.

Kurt presses his lips into a thin line. Hunger. Starvation. Those are feelings he’s familiar with. The ache of not having eaten in three days, trying like hell to stay upright and get by. Glancing from the ghostly child, to the shoe, to the apparent feast just out of her reach, he lets out a quiet laugh. Shaking his head towards Adelaide, he drops to a knee, taking the shoe in his hands and turning to the child. “No, Madame Carrow… This one, I think, can be resolved in other ways.” With that, he rises to his feet, bringing the shoe up to rest it on the shelf. Should the food be corporeal enough to touch, he takes a loaf of bread from the shelf, turning to give it to the child.

As Kurt lifts the small shoe with gentle hands, the ghostly child’s eyes widen with something that might be hope. The moment he places it on the shelf among the phantom food, the temperature begins to stabilize, though the bitter cold still emanates from where the shoe now rests.

When Kurt reaches for the bread, his fingers pass through it at first – but as he focuses on the child’s desperate need rather than his own hunger, the loaf suddenly becomes solid in his grasp. The crust feels real, warm even, though it crumbles slightly at his touch. The other phantom foods on the shelves flicker between substantial and ethereal, as if the act of genuine compassion is giving them weight.

The ghostly child steps forward hesitantly, her translucent form becoming more defined. As Kurt extends the bread toward her, she reaches out with trembling hands. The moment her fingers touch the loaf, both she and the bread begin to glow with a soft, warm light that pushes back against the oppressive atmosphere.

The cruel laughter from the Victorian diners falters, their forms becoming less distinct as the child takes her first bite. The taste of ash begins to fade from everyone’s mouths, replaced by the simple, honest scent of fresh bread. The impossible corridors behind them start to contract, returning to normal dimensions.

The child looks up at Kurt with eyes full of gratitude, her form already beginning to fade as peace settles over her features.

“I guess the child must be left starving by those people,” Jasper tells Kurt, turning to return to the man room while takes a breath. “They were cruel.”

Adelaide exhales a sigh, the wasteful breath fogging up in the cold air before the temperature begins to drop. “A shame,” she murmurs to Kurt, as though she’d quite been looking forward to burning something. Her hand lifts to her mouth, the taste of bread only just slightly better than the ash. “I suppose that works fine; less wasteful than spilling blood for a banishment,” the man gets a look of consideration, as though he’s being judged somehow, even if she doesn’t state anything aloud for a long moment. Until:

“Good work.”

Kurt chuckles softly, a hand coming out to rest on top of the child’s head, disappearing as they are. “Eat up, kiddo. It’s all yours.” As the child’s image continues to fade, and finally fades completely, he glances up, nodding to Adelaide. “Torching the shoe ran the risk of angering the spirit. Better far to see it put to rest, and containing the problem.”

As the ghostly child fades completely, her final expression one of contentment rather than desperate hunger, the shop undergoes a rapid transformation. The phantom feast dissolves from the shelves, leaving them genuinely empty but no longer oppressive. The impossible corridors collapse back into a single, normal-sized back room, and the temperature evens out to match the cool July afternoon outside.

The Victorian diners vanish entirely, their cruel laughter replaced by a profound silence that feels peaceful rather than ominous. The small leather shoe remains on the shelf where Kurt placed it, but now it appears as nothing more than an old, worn piece of leather – no longer a conduit between worlds, but simply a relic of a life long past.

The taste of ash fades completely from their mouths, and the gnawing hunger that had affected them all dissipates like morning mist. Through the grimy windows, the natural light of All Saints borough filters in normally, no longer distorted by dream-logic or temporal displacement.

The building settles with a few final creaks, as if exhaling after holding its breath for over a century. Where frost had gathered near the loose floorboards, only a few damp spots remain as evidence of the supernatural cold that had gripped the space.

The disturbance appears to be fully resolved, leaving behind only the memory of a hungry child finally fed and put to rest.