It is night, about 65F(18C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. The mist is heaviest At Birch and Hart/span>/span There is a first quarter moon.

The narrow alley feels colder than the surrounding streets, despite the mild August evening. Jakem’s boots crunch softly on scattered debris as he approaches the crime scene tape that still flutters between the modernist buildings. The police finished their investigation yesterday, leaving behind chalk outlines and evidence markers that catch the fractured streetlight.

A faint shimmer in the air near the building’s ventilation grate suggests something unnatural lingers here. The scent of decomposing leaves seems stronger than it should be for late August, carrying an underlying metallic tang. On the concrete wall, dark stains mark where Dr. Elena Vasquez’s body was found three nights ago.

From deeper in the alley, a soft scratching sound echoes – like fingernails dragging across brick. The official report called it a straightforward murder by her research partner Marcus Chen, who remains missing. But the temperature drop and the way shadows seem to move independently of their sources suggests the police missed something important.

A crumpled research notebook lies partially hidden beneath a fire escape ladder, its pages fluttering in a breeze that doesn’t seem to affect anything else nearby.

Jakem starts to seach about the alley, keeping to the shadows. He looks over the chalk outlines with a little tch, and a clack of his metal pierced tongue against his teeth.

Turning his attention to the ventilation grate, he takes a closer look, his knowledge of the occult average on a good day, he still gives it a look over to see if he can figure out more about what might have caused this.

Noticing the research notebook, he ignores further investigation of the ventilation for now, moving over to retrieve it and thumb through it.

“M. acting strange since we installed the sensors near the Grandfather Oak,” and “Something wrong with the soil samples – they’re changing composition overnight.” The final entry, dated three nights ago, reads: “Marcus says he found something important. Meeting him after dark to see what he’s discovered. Finally, a breakthrough in understanding the undocumented species.“

The scratching sound grows louder, now clearly coming from inside the building’s walls. A faint whisper carries on the unnatural breeze: “He… took… my work…“

Well versed in the workings of ghosts from his enchantment of the dolls, he gives a little salute to the thin air “Thank you miss spirit, much obliged. So he took your work.” he glances about “Sounds like a right dastardly sort. Not that I can blame him, but what I can’t tolerate is laziness. Do your own evil research, know what I’m saying? Now he’s just a parasite without anything to parasitize.” he says, turning his attention to the ventilation shaft. “A’right, time to hunt down this fellow, though he’s probably long gone by now.” Jakem declares, trying to remove the ventilation grate.

“Not… gone… still… hunting…“

A sudden temperature drop makes Jakem’s breath visible as frost begins forming on the nearby fire escape. The ghost’s presence intensifies, and for a moment, a translucent figure of a woman in field clothes flickers into view near the chalk outline. She points urgently toward the park visible at the alley’s far end, where ancient trees rise above the modernist skyline.

“The… tree… he’s… feeding…” Her voice carries the desperation of someone trying to prevent more deaths. “Marcus… not… Marcus… anymore…“

The oily residue on the ductwork begins to move, flowing upward like liquid shadow seeking escape. Whatever possessed Marcus clearly used this route to flee after the murder, but the ghost’s warning suggests it hasn’t gone far.

Jakem shrugs, looking at the gunk as it moves of its own accord. “Well, let’s put it down then ‘fore it causes a ruckus.” he says, tiredly begining to crawl into the revealed ductwork, his designer jeans and vintage shirt paying the price of his investigation as he reaches down to draw his truncheon.

“FIND THE GRANDFATHER OAK BEFORE HE FEEDS AGAIN.“

The ghost’s voice echoes through the mechanical room’s pipes: “Wrong… way… he’s… not… here… anymore…“

Through a grimy window, Arcadia Park’s ancient trees sway despite the still air outside. One massive oak, easily centuries old, seems to pulse with an unnatural darkness even in the dim moonlight.

Jakem grunts “Well fine.” He says, dismayed that he’s already dirtied his clothes for nothing, he retreats and heads towards the park. “Let’s look for this sucker. Say, you’re remarkably cogent for a ghost. I don’t mean to sound ghost-racist or whatever, but most of the ones we work with just aren’t nearly as well spoken.” he compliments the apparition.

The ghost’s form solidifies slightly as Jakem moves toward the park entrance. “Recent… death… strong… purpose…” she manages, her voice growing clearer with each word. “Elena Vasquez. Three days… not long enough… to fade.“

As they approach Arcadia Park’s wrought iron gates, the temperature continues dropping. The Grandfather Oak looms ahead – a massive specimen that predates the colonial settlement, its trunk easily eight feet across. Monitoring equipment hangs from its lower branches, wires snaking down to disturbed earth around its base.

A figure kneels among the roots, hands deep in the soil. Even from this distance, Marcus Chen’s movements seem wrong – too fluid, too purposeful. Dark veins pulse beneath his skin, visible in the moonlight. He’s muttering in a language that predates human speech, and the grass around him withers with each syllable.

Elena’s ghost flickers more urgently. “Blight Wraith… feeds on… knowledge… destruction… growing stronger…“

The possessed Marcus hasn’t noticed their approach yet, too focused on whatever ritual he’s performing in the disturbed earth.

Jakem nods. He’d love some sort of brilliant plan that involves just sorta gabbing his way to victory, but if the guy hasn’t noticed him, why look a gift horse in the mouth? No, instead, he readies his truncheon and moves to sneak up on the creature. Quick clock to the head should do it. He makes a shusshing sound to someone in hopes of keeping the ghost quiet before he… STRIKES.

Jakem nods. He’d love some sort of brilliant plan that involves just sorta gabbing his way to victory, but if the guy hasn’t noticed him, why look a gift horse in the mouth? No, instead, he readies his truncheon and moves to sneak up on the creature. Quick clock to the head should do it. He makes a shusshing sound to Elena in hopes of keeping the ghost quiet before he… STRIKES.

“The monitoring equipment! Destroy the sensors – they’re anchoring it to this realm!“

Several electronic devices blink ominously among the oak’s branches, their LED displays showing readings that fluctuate wildly as the possessed Marcus attacks.

Jakem scowls as the ghost seems to alert the creature “Right, ghosts and stealth missions don’t mix. A’right, switch targets.” he says, pulling a pistol from his duffel bag and aiming it at the equipment. *BANG BANG* He fires the pistol in the general vicinity while waving his truncheon with the other hand to try to stave off any attack.

The gunshots shatter two monitoring devices in showers of sparks. Marcus’s inhuman shriek splits the night as dark energy bleeds from the damaged equipment. His movements become more erratic, the Blight Wraith’s hold weakening.

“YES! More!” Elena’s ghost flickers brighter. “The main sensor – on the trunk!“

Marcus lunges with unnatural speed, his fingernails now blackened claws. Jakem’s truncheon catches him across the shoulder, spinning him sideways, but the possessed man recovers instantly. Where his claws rake the oak’s bark, the ancient wood begins to rot and crumble.

A large sensor array mounted directly on the Grandfather Oak’s trunk continues blinking, its cables snaking deep into the disturbed earth. The device pulses in rhythm with Marcus’s movements – clearly the primary anchor keeping the wraith bound to this realm.

Marcus circles back, his eyes now completely black, speaking in that prehistoric tongue that makes the air itself feel poisoned.

Jakem holds his breath as the air changes scent and rushes in to swing his truncheon at the sensor. He’s not the greatest shot with a pistol, but a good solid swing with a club is something he’s got lots of practice with. “Allright buddy, time to go home.” he declares.

The truncheon connects with a satisfying crack, sending the main sensor array tumbling to the ground in a cascade of sparks and twisted metal. Immediately, Marcus staggers as if struck by lightning, the black veins beneath his skin pulsing erratically.

“NO! MY ANCHOR! MY KNOWLEDGE!” The voice that emerges from Marcus’s throat is layered with inhuman harmonics as the Blight Wraith fights to maintain its hold.

Dark mist begins pouring from Marcus’s mouth and nose as the spirit is forcibly expelled. The possessed man collapses to his knees, gasping and retching, his eyes flickering between black and their normal brown. The withered grass around the oak’s base slowly begins to show hints of green again.

But the wraith isn’t finished. The dark mist coalesces into a vaguely humanoid shadow that towers above them both, reaching toward the remaining intact monitoring equipment scattered throughout the park.

Elena’s ghost appears more solid now. “It’s weakened but not banished! It needs to be sent back to the earth properly – salt and iron, or it will find another host!“

The shadow-wraith lunges toward a cluster of sensors near a younger tree, desperate to reestablish its connection to the physical realm.

Jakem wrinkles his nose “Iron? You’re shitting me?” He says. Salt he can handle, but fae have their little allergy to iron. He growls, looking about. “Where the hell do you find iron at… Oh, hey, are those iron gates? God I love rich old houses.” he says, moving to try to retrieve one of the cast iron bars from one of the nearby properties. Salt’s easier. He’s got some peanuts on him still from lunch. He empties the bag until the little bits of discorpulated salt pour out the bottom. “Alright, salt, iron. What do I do? Like stab him with it?” he asks, looking up at the coalescing mist.

“Circle! Make a circle around the disturbed earth – trap it where it was awakened!” Elena’s voice carries urgent knowledge. “Salt first, then iron to seal it!“

The shadow-wraith reaches the distant sensors and begins drawing power from them, its form solidifying. Marcus, still on his knees, shakes his head as if clearing cobwebs. “What… where am I? Elena? ELENA!” His anguished cry echoes through the park as his memories return.

Jakem manages to wrench loose a decorative iron spike from the park’s perimeter fencing. The wraith notices his actions and abandons the sensors, flowing back toward them with predatory intent. Where it passes, leaves blacken and fall.

“Hurry!” Elena flickers as the approaching wraith’s presence interferes with her manifestation. “Once it’s circled, drive the iron into the earth at the oak’s base – send it back to sleep!“

The disturbed soil around the Grandfather Oak’s roots forms a rough circle about six feet across. The wraith hovers just outside this area, as if reluctant to enter the space where it was originally bound.

With the blessings of luck Jakem seems to rely a bit to heavily on his fate’s protection. But low and behold, luck may be his strongest tool against the malevolent manifestation as he stumbles just out of reach of it, launching the bag of salt at the spot on the ground. “Ooof. Too much to drink.” he mutters, pushing up, though the salt spread across the dirt may well panic the beast, it still needs to be turned into a circle. And so he rushes forward, iron spike replacing his truncheon as his weapon of choice as he calls out to Marcus “Hey chump, Elena says you gotta make that salt there into a circle!” Maybe he can recruit some help.

“Help him! The circle!“

Marcus begins frantically spreading the spilled salt with his hands, creating a rough circle around the disturbed earth. The wraith shrieks as the salt barrier takes shape, its shadowy form writhing and contracting as it’s forced back toward the oak’s base.

“It’s working!” Elena’s ghost flickers brighter. “Now the iron – drive it deep where the roots meet the trunk!“

The wraith makes one desperate lunge toward Jakem, but the salt circle repels it back into the center. Its form begins to waver and sink toward the earth, drawn back to its original resting place beneath the ancient tree.

Marcus completes the circle just as the wraith’s essence touches the ground. “I’m sorry, Elena… I’m so sorry…” he whispers, but she’s already beginning to fade.

“Forgiven… now finish it… before it escapes…“

The iron spike grows warm in Jakem’s hand as supernatural forces gather around the oak’s massive trunk.

Jakem plunges the iron into the ground with all, most of his might. “C’mon, we gotta get this through the dirt. Like help or something. Or else Elena’ll be sore.” Course Elena’s dead, the ghost is just a remnant, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Marcus scrambles over and grabs the iron spike alongside Jakem. Together they drive it deep into the earth where the ancient roots converge. The moment the iron pierces the soil, the wraith’s shriek becomes a wail of defeat.

“NOOOO! MY KNOWLEDGE! MY POWER!“

The shadow collapses inward like a dying star, pulled down through the earth by forces older than human civilization. The temperature returns to normal, and the sickly sweet smell of decay is replaced by the honest scent of rich soil and growing things.

Elena’s ghost appears one final time, solid and peaceful. “Thank you both. The park is safe now.” She looks at Marcus with forgiveness in her translucent eyes. “Continue our work. Document everything properly this time.“

She fades with a gentle smile, finally at rest.

Marcus sits heavily against the oak’s trunk, tears streaming down his face. “I remember everything it made me do… Elena… God, what have I done?“

The ancient tree’s leaves rustle in a breeze that feels clean and natural. In the distance, sirens wail – someone must have called the police about the gunshots. The immediate supernatural threat is over, but there will be earthly consequences to face.

Jakem pats Marcus on the back “You’re gonna need therapy buddy, this stuff sticks with you. Or a lot of booze, which is probably quicker and cheaper.” he comments with a stroke of his chin. “Yeah, I’d go with the booze.” Jakem is ever the font for life advice. “Anyways, I gotta jet. The police and I never got along, but keep in touch. Name’s Jakem, Purveyor of Wonder.” he says as he heads out.

Marcus looks up through his tears, managing a weak nod. “Jakem… thank you. I’ll… I’ll try to make this right somehow.” He pulls out a business card with shaking hands. “If you ever need anything… ecological consulting, or just someone who understands what it’s like to have something else in your head…“

The sirens grow closer as Jakem melts back into the shadows between the modernist buildings. Behind him, Marcus remains by the oak, preparing to face whatever consequences await – both legal and personal.

The Grandfather Oak’s leaves whisper in the natural breeze, and somewhere in the distance, the first hints of dawn touch the horizon. The ancient tree will continue its silent vigil over Arcadia Park, its roots now properly warded against future disturbances.

Elena Vasquez can finally rest, her work and her warning complete. The undocumented species of Northview Park will have to find new protectors, but at least they’ll be safe from supernatural predation.

As Jakem disappears into the maze of glass and steel, the night returns to its normal rhythms – mysterious perhaps, but no longer malevolent.