Encounterlogs
Claires Odd Encounter Sr Annie
In the weathered chill of her derelict new apartment, Claire grumbles about the mess left behind by the previous occupants. The atmosphere, unnaturally frigid, hints at a tension that transcends mere inconvenience. As she begins to clean, her actions are interrupted by a voice calling her "sinner," followed by complete darkness. Frantically attempting to escape the encroaching cold and the claustrophobic room, she trips and struggles until a candle ignites inexplicably on a Christian altar. The lit candle becomes a beacon in the suffocating dark. Shadowy figures demand repentance, converging upon her, their intentions palpable in the frozen air. In panic, Claire tries to appease the accusatory spirits, awkwardly invoking a deity she doesn't know and practices unfamiliar to her, all while a sense of impending retribution looms over her.
As an eerie and grotesque figure approaches, Claire suffers a harrowing experience that forces her through memories of sinful pleasure and secret shame from the perspective of a woman named Melinda Reiss. Tormented by both the vengeful spirits and the priest that was part of those memories, Claire's defiance surges, leading her to desecrate the Bible in an act of rebellion. Her emotions intertwine with the spectral presence, revealing depths of self-disgust and guilt in a momentary fusion of minds. In the climax, Claire's revolt seems to breach the spectral veil, culminating in her abrupt return to the mundane reality of her apartment. With renewed determination, Claire vows to rid the space of the altar, murmuring a chant to Omito Fo, embracing a purified fortitude.
(Claire's odd encounter(SRAnnie):SRAnnie)
[Mon Dec 4 2023]
In the living room of Apartment 108
The first room in the apartment, this area serves as the place where guests are received, meals are prepared, and occupants relax. In theory.
Right now, the place is a mess. The furniture has been covered in celophane and is pushed against the walls, the wooden paneling of the floors torn off exposing the concrete base. The wooden paneling lies around in piles, along with stripped kotchette cupboard doors. Dust and fleks of paint covers about every surface, including the sink and the stove.
Old newspaper pages, paint brushes, scrapers, tubes of glue and a toolbox litter the floor.
It is morning, about 24F(-4C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(A ghost with only fragments of memory that have driven them near insane is attacking your target. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Claire stares at her newly purchased apartment in obvious annoyance at the state of it, grumbling, "They couldn't have even bothered to clear out the previous tenants crap."
What might come as a quiet Monday morning starts out relatively normal enough. The streets outside of the Elm Street apartments have yet to awaken to the bustle of foot traffic and passing vehicles alike, and lately the chilling bite of winter has started to even blanket the sleepy, coastal town of Haven with the occasional layers of snow, intermittent for the time being that it never overstays its presence, but the winter season is still young. The chill has endeavoured to even settle inside of the apartment, invading Claire's surroundings with its presence. Her voice reverberates throughout the room, echoing in a hollow manner.
The phenomenon is rather strange, as the room isn't quite devoid of furniture to warrant Claire's voice to resound in such a way. A few beats pass, and after her voice has dissipated, the cold that permeates around the room begins to grow in intensity.
Claire raises an eyebrow at the effect her voice produces, but ultimately chocks it up to her just having imagined it. She adjusts her grip on the broom in her hand, slipping in a few choice cusses in Mandarin as she starts sweeping up various refuse from the corners, clearly bothered as much by the dirt as the mountain of work she is going to have to do getting this place in order. Still it isn't long before the descending cold starts to get to her. "Aiii yah. Did whatever filthy dog that owned this place break the windows too. With my luck they put a hole in the wall somewhere." She goes to test the windows, flick her eyes over the walls, before heading over to check the thermostat, in that order, trying to find the source of the cold.
The biting sensation of permafrost settles around Claire, the freezing cold harbouring with its onset a strange desperation that niggles within the back of Claire's mind. If anything, it more so comes as a shock to the system that settles deep with the woman. Though, just as fast as that sharp impression manifests, it fades. Windows are properly shuttered that would bring satisfaction and peace to the most hardcore of recluses. Though if the clear glass panes are studied, one might note they've fogged up considerably, obscuring any visual contact with the outside world. The thermostat behaves strangely as well, blinking an 'Err' within a Mountain Dew green screen.
This time, as Claire grouses aloud, a response is made. "Sinner," a voice that emulates how Claire's voice sounds, though the latter end of that syllable is noticeably more masculine, and gruff. The lighting above starts to blink, and with a buzzing sound finally goes out, leaving Claire in pitch black darkness. The light coming from the window is unable to pierce that fog. A few seconds pass, teasing the presumption that Claire might be left in perpetual dark, lost inside of the apartment room until the candle upon the simple altar here is lit.
Indeed, as the cold descends on Claire so does a sense of growing panic, though she is quite unsure of the source. She calms herself with effort, throwing a number of comforting plausibilities at her mind to keep herself distracted from this growing sense of unease. When she finally approaches the thermostat, she breathes a strange sigh of relief at the Error message. Seeming content that she has found her culprit as she starts to plug away at the buttons in an attempt to clear the message and bring some heat into the room. Even as she does this her jaw begins to tremble, her teeth clattering reflexively. And then comes the voice and shatters all her distracting, little delusions. Those green eyes go wide as she casts her head around the room in a clear panic. As the lights go out, she moves immediately with the loud, "NOPE! Nope nope nope nope." She tries to make her way to the door of the apartment and ends up tripping on the vacuum cleaner she has set out moment before, slamming into the ground with a hard thud in spite of herself. Regaining her feet, she tries the door again and again, though it fails to budge and the door handle is so cold that she can't even hold it for very long. Tearing her hand away and wrapping it in her coat, Claire turns just in time for the candle to light up. Slowly, she approaches, wincing a bit as she says to whatever disembodied voice had spoken, "Ahhhh. I think you have.. the.. wrong person." She offers up rather pathetically, "I'm not even a Christian!" Furrowing her brow, she says, "Though yes, I guess that would make me a sinner by Christian logic."
Claire says "I think.."
While Claire may not be able to see, the colour in her green eye fades, replaced by a lusterless grey as an unseen, and probably unwelcome presence manifests inside of the apartment. With that change, it activates a sixth sense just about every sentient being possesses: imbibing a feeling that one is not alone, though it's likely that accusatory word intoning inside of the room was more than enough of a giveaway for Claire. Like it had a mind of its own, as soon as Claire reaches the door leading out and tries to work it open, it promptly disappears, wanting nothing to do with Claire. "Disgusting," that haggard voice slings, and along with that indignation, the dark gives way to something far, far more discriminable. Only for a fleeting second. It's the very room she resides in, but furnished far more appropriately. None of the cellophane surrounding the fixtures, but it's otherwise still quite spartan. There are figures around the room, their features indistinguishable. Only their silhouettes are vaguely human, and any attempts to identify anything about them causes the eyes to strain. The darkness takes precedence once more, but with the caveat that the humanoid shapes about the room are as clear as day, all turned and facing Claire, as if aware of her presence.
The insignificant candle candle lit upon the altar remains, but with the disorienting transition the Christian platform is now at the very centre of the space. As if confirming a suspicion, those figures shake their head as Claire reveals she isn't Christian. They all begin to move in unison, marching towards Claire at every side. They are distant, but unrelenting in their intent to reach Claire. The candle at the altar flares briefly with that, and grows an incandescent blue as if incensed. "Repent," a command is issued out by that doesn't belong to one voice, but to a congregation.
As the room fills with humanoid.. things around her, Claire freaks out in that quiet way of a person that is well and truly trapped. She slams her back against the wall, trying to keep away from them even as she tries to focus on them, see what they are. Her eyes just seem to gride off them though, each glance requiring amazing amounts of willpower to maintain that she simply does not have to offer at present. Though she can focus on no one in particular, she can see the mass as a whole and which they disapprove she grinds her teeth in terror. Unsure what to expect. With this ghostly congregation focusing on her and her knees trembling so much they practically knock together, It is little wonder that when that order comes Claire is more than willing to comply, shooting her arms up to either side of her chest in surrender, saying, "Ah. Yes. Yes. Repent." Her voice quavers as she says, "I was.. just thinking I should do that today." She takes a couple of halting steps towards the altar doing her best to avoid coming in contact with one of the figures, still rambling, "And you know, it's not like you can really blaspheme against Buddha anyway." She wilts as she nearly stumbles into one of them, immediately shrinking back before continuing on to the altar, and confronting her next little stumbling block. That being that not only is she not a Christian, she knows literally nothing about Christianity aside from what she has seen in movies. Stilted, awkward, terrified. Claire gets on her knees in front of the altar, determined to give it her best shot. She brings her hands together in the classic praying gesture. She forces her eyes closed in spite of desperately wanting to see what fate is about to befall her and says allowed, "Um.. So.. Hi god. Checking in and.. you know I wanted to say I repent of my sins." She cringes, she knows this is awful and probably wrong, but immediately adds on a weak, "Amen?" She is pretty sure this isn't going to work. She waits for the ax to fall.
"Hail Mary, full of grace..." Comes a low, hushed whisper that caresses one of Claire's ear in an icy breath. One of those distorted figures starts to take shape, a woman dressed to the nines, complete with a pillbox hat and heels. Ready to go out on a nice Sunday Mass. Except her eyes are gone and she has a rictus grin. She laughs and lunges right for Claire, but disappears into a haze right when she should have collided headlong into Claire. Instead of being tackled or worse, Claire experiences another transition. She dons the perspective of that very same woman, in this very room, performing all sorts of acts of debauchery. A flash of anger that isn't Claire's surges through her either way, and once that fades she returns to the 'present'. Here at the altar, a tall man with greying hair and a trimmed beard stares down at Claire, contempt clear in his visage for the woman. His disgust for her is palpable, but that rage is held at bay.
Glowering down at the woman on her knees in apparent obeisance, she exhales a breath, and as he speaks, his words ring hollowly within Claire's head. "It is only by God's mercy I do not strike you down," he intones, the rest of the indistinct congregation still making their way towards Claire, the voices of many and one humming and abuzz with a seething hate for Claire. They plod along at a dogged, inexorable pace, but to curb Claire's fears they seem to be a good distance away from the abyss she's found herself in, the altar that she kneels before providing the only semblance of light for Claire's surroundings, washing her with the sight of the man in a priest's garb. "Repeat after me, and perhaps God will remain merciful," he directs Claire to look upon the bible next to the candle, where his features soften in high regard. "I believe in God, the father almighty," he begins to recite, bowing his head, his regard for Claire disappearing almost as if she were insignificant. "Creator of heaven and earth..."
At the voice in her ear from that woman, Claire tumbles backwards and to one side away from the figure, scampering back from the sudden lunge with a scream that dies in her throat as she falls backwards and starts spasming on the floor, her body seeming the seize up as she is subjected to memory after memory of debaucheries both carnal and abhorrent. When she returns to the present, she coughs, feeling the bile of vomit on the back of her throat and the faint acidity of sick tingling in her mouth as she empty stomach heaves from the experience, but finds nothing to bring up. Realizing that she is still surrounded she pulls herself up to her knees once more, replacing herself, feeling the anger in the room wash over her, beating her down. Nodding, she lowers her head and recites through the Lord's Prayer, though she knows not what she is saying. Still the demands weigh on her, "I believe in God, the father almighty.." Anger starts to well up inside her. "Maker of heav.." the raw humiliation of this moment washed over her and is enough to start to short circuit that fear. Her mind to turns briefly to how many times this scene has played out. Men and women ignorant of what they are reciting forced to kneel and recite praises to a god they don't know or understand. She's seen the power of these spirits, but her fury is quaking to her soul as she rips herself to her feet and shouts at the top of her lungs, "No!" Reaching forward to that altar, she snatches up that bible and stares daggers at that bearded spirit, her fury enough to sustain her in looking directly at him as she reaches down and starts ripping pages out of that book, tearing at them and letting them fall to the floor at her feet where she stamps on them like a madwoman, yelling, "You hell with your players, you ghouls, you wights, you empty spectres. I've seen what your faith means. And it is NOTHING!"
So engrossed in the prayer, the tall man continues to recite a prayer in utmost reverence to the lord. "I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord," he carries on, speaking with a fervour matched only by the cacophony of other voices surrounding them, step by unrelenting step encroaching upon the altar, and most distressingly Claire. "He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit," the ghastly spirit enforces upon Claire, his words firm and admonishing despite the insistence lining those very words attempting to manipulate Claire to pray alongside him. There is even a sense of appeasement, an acceptance that grows, but that all comes to a stop the moment Claire wills up the defiance to snatch the bible upon the alter, making the imposing figure looming over Claire stiffen.
Tearing into the pages of that old, tattered bible has interesting results. Feelings that don't belong to Claire split apart, linking spirit and nonbeliever together for a fleeting moment that seems to go on for an eternity.
Shame.
Guilt.
Self-loathing.
Failure.
Once again, Claire is brought on a ride that is much like the ghost of Christmas past. But it is far more debased. The same perspective of that classy, slender woman comes again. Claire finds herself naked, sit astride the bearded man in a moment of heated, unadulterated passion. Passion and shame. In that moment, Claire experiences all that the woman had in that one night. She learns the name Melinda Reiss. The pleasure surging within her, the thrill of the moment. The pleasure in sin. Then Claire's vision grows black as a wave of nausea hits her. Her vision returning, she briefly sees the priest prostrated before the altar, blood pooling around him. Darkness everywhere gives way and then there was light.
Claire finds herself back in the apartment, just as she remembers it before she experienced what many would call a hallucination.
And there Claire is, standing just where she was leaning against her broom, snapping out of this seeming reverie with a jump. Fear lingering for a moment, before melting into a strange sense of pride amid her defiance, even if it was only imagined. Amid it all, however, she wonders about just how vivid this all was and looks over to the altar with a furrowed brow, determined that that will be the first thing to go. Under her breath Claire says in Mandarin, "Omito Fo has prepared for me a pure land." An edge of pride in her voice.
As an eerie and grotesque figure approaches, Claire suffers a harrowing experience that forces her through memories of sinful pleasure and secret shame from the perspective of a woman named Melinda Reiss. Tormented by both the vengeful spirits and the priest that was part of those memories, Claire's defiance surges, leading her to desecrate the Bible in an act of rebellion. Her emotions intertwine with the spectral presence, revealing depths of self-disgust and guilt in a momentary fusion of minds. In the climax, Claire's revolt seems to breach the spectral veil, culminating in her abrupt return to the mundane reality of her apartment. With renewed determination, Claire vows to rid the space of the altar, murmuring a chant to Omito Fo, embracing a purified fortitude.
(Claire's odd encounter(SRAnnie):SRAnnie)
[Mon Dec 4 2023]
In the living room of Apartment 108
The first room in the apartment, this area serves as the place where guests are received, meals are prepared, and occupants relax. In theory.
Right now, the place is a mess. The furniture has been covered in celophane and is pushed against the walls, the wooden paneling of the floors torn off exposing the concrete base. The wooden paneling lies around in piles, along with stripped kotchette cupboard doors. Dust and fleks of paint covers about every surface, including the sink and the stove.
Old newspaper pages, paint brushes, scrapers, tubes of glue and a toolbox litter the floor.
It is morning, about 24F(-4C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
(A ghost with only fragments of memory that have driven them near insane is attacking your target. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
Claire stares at her newly purchased apartment in obvious annoyance at the state of it, grumbling, "They couldn't have even bothered to clear out the previous tenants crap."
What might come as a quiet Monday morning starts out relatively normal enough. The streets outside of the Elm Street apartments have yet to awaken to the bustle of foot traffic and passing vehicles alike, and lately the chilling bite of winter has started to even blanket the sleepy, coastal town of Haven with the occasional layers of snow, intermittent for the time being that it never overstays its presence, but the winter season is still young. The chill has endeavoured to even settle inside of the apartment, invading Claire's surroundings with its presence. Her voice reverberates throughout the room, echoing in a hollow manner.
The phenomenon is rather strange, as the room isn't quite devoid of furniture to warrant Claire's voice to resound in such a way. A few beats pass, and after her voice has dissipated, the cold that permeates around the room begins to grow in intensity.
Claire raises an eyebrow at the effect her voice produces, but ultimately chocks it up to her just having imagined it. She adjusts her grip on the broom in her hand, slipping in a few choice cusses in Mandarin as she starts sweeping up various refuse from the corners, clearly bothered as much by the dirt as the mountain of work she is going to have to do getting this place in order. Still it isn't long before the descending cold starts to get to her. "Aiii yah. Did whatever filthy dog that owned this place break the windows too. With my luck they put a hole in the wall somewhere." She goes to test the windows, flick her eyes over the walls, before heading over to check the thermostat, in that order, trying to find the source of the cold.
The biting sensation of permafrost settles around Claire, the freezing cold harbouring with its onset a strange desperation that niggles within the back of Claire's mind. If anything, it more so comes as a shock to the system that settles deep with the woman. Though, just as fast as that sharp impression manifests, it fades. Windows are properly shuttered that would bring satisfaction and peace to the most hardcore of recluses. Though if the clear glass panes are studied, one might note they've fogged up considerably, obscuring any visual contact with the outside world. The thermostat behaves strangely as well, blinking an 'Err' within a Mountain Dew green screen.
This time, as Claire grouses aloud, a response is made. "Sinner," a voice that emulates how Claire's voice sounds, though the latter end of that syllable is noticeably more masculine, and gruff. The lighting above starts to blink, and with a buzzing sound finally goes out, leaving Claire in pitch black darkness. The light coming from the window is unable to pierce that fog. A few seconds pass, teasing the presumption that Claire might be left in perpetual dark, lost inside of the apartment room until the candle upon the simple altar here is lit.
Indeed, as the cold descends on Claire so does a sense of growing panic, though she is quite unsure of the source. She calms herself with effort, throwing a number of comforting plausibilities at her mind to keep herself distracted from this growing sense of unease. When she finally approaches the thermostat, she breathes a strange sigh of relief at the Error message. Seeming content that she has found her culprit as she starts to plug away at the buttons in an attempt to clear the message and bring some heat into the room. Even as she does this her jaw begins to tremble, her teeth clattering reflexively. And then comes the voice and shatters all her distracting, little delusions. Those green eyes go wide as she casts her head around the room in a clear panic. As the lights go out, she moves immediately with the loud, "NOPE! Nope nope nope nope." She tries to make her way to the door of the apartment and ends up tripping on the vacuum cleaner she has set out moment before, slamming into the ground with a hard thud in spite of herself. Regaining her feet, she tries the door again and again, though it fails to budge and the door handle is so cold that she can't even hold it for very long. Tearing her hand away and wrapping it in her coat, Claire turns just in time for the candle to light up. Slowly, she approaches, wincing a bit as she says to whatever disembodied voice had spoken, "Ahhhh. I think you have.. the.. wrong person." She offers up rather pathetically, "I'm not even a Christian!" Furrowing her brow, she says, "Though yes, I guess that would make me a sinner by Christian logic."
Claire says "I think.."
While Claire may not be able to see, the colour in her green eye fades, replaced by a lusterless grey as an unseen, and probably unwelcome presence manifests inside of the apartment. With that change, it activates a sixth sense just about every sentient being possesses: imbibing a feeling that one is not alone, though it's likely that accusatory word intoning inside of the room was more than enough of a giveaway for Claire. Like it had a mind of its own, as soon as Claire reaches the door leading out and tries to work it open, it promptly disappears, wanting nothing to do with Claire. "Disgusting," that haggard voice slings, and along with that indignation, the dark gives way to something far, far more discriminable. Only for a fleeting second. It's the very room she resides in, but furnished far more appropriately. None of the cellophane surrounding the fixtures, but it's otherwise still quite spartan. There are figures around the room, their features indistinguishable. Only their silhouettes are vaguely human, and any attempts to identify anything about them causes the eyes to strain. The darkness takes precedence once more, but with the caveat that the humanoid shapes about the room are as clear as day, all turned and facing Claire, as if aware of her presence.
The insignificant candle candle lit upon the altar remains, but with the disorienting transition the Christian platform is now at the very centre of the space. As if confirming a suspicion, those figures shake their head as Claire reveals she isn't Christian. They all begin to move in unison, marching towards Claire at every side. They are distant, but unrelenting in their intent to reach Claire. The candle at the altar flares briefly with that, and grows an incandescent blue as if incensed. "Repent," a command is issued out by that doesn't belong to one voice, but to a congregation.
As the room fills with humanoid.. things around her, Claire freaks out in that quiet way of a person that is well and truly trapped. She slams her back against the wall, trying to keep away from them even as she tries to focus on them, see what they are. Her eyes just seem to gride off them though, each glance requiring amazing amounts of willpower to maintain that she simply does not have to offer at present. Though she can focus on no one in particular, she can see the mass as a whole and which they disapprove she grinds her teeth in terror. Unsure what to expect. With this ghostly congregation focusing on her and her knees trembling so much they practically knock together, It is little wonder that when that order comes Claire is more than willing to comply, shooting her arms up to either side of her chest in surrender, saying, "Ah. Yes. Yes. Repent." Her voice quavers as she says, "I was.. just thinking I should do that today." She takes a couple of halting steps towards the altar doing her best to avoid coming in contact with one of the figures, still rambling, "And you know, it's not like you can really blaspheme against Buddha anyway." She wilts as she nearly stumbles into one of them, immediately shrinking back before continuing on to the altar, and confronting her next little stumbling block. That being that not only is she not a Christian, she knows literally nothing about Christianity aside from what she has seen in movies. Stilted, awkward, terrified. Claire gets on her knees in front of the altar, determined to give it her best shot. She brings her hands together in the classic praying gesture. She forces her eyes closed in spite of desperately wanting to see what fate is about to befall her and says allowed, "Um.. So.. Hi god. Checking in and.. you know I wanted to say I repent of my sins." She cringes, she knows this is awful and probably wrong, but immediately adds on a weak, "Amen?" She is pretty sure this isn't going to work. She waits for the ax to fall.
"Hail Mary, full of grace..." Comes a low, hushed whisper that caresses one of Claire's ear in an icy breath. One of those distorted figures starts to take shape, a woman dressed to the nines, complete with a pillbox hat and heels. Ready to go out on a nice Sunday Mass. Except her eyes are gone and she has a rictus grin. She laughs and lunges right for Claire, but disappears into a haze right when she should have collided headlong into Claire. Instead of being tackled or worse, Claire experiences another transition. She dons the perspective of that very same woman, in this very room, performing all sorts of acts of debauchery. A flash of anger that isn't Claire's surges through her either way, and once that fades she returns to the 'present'. Here at the altar, a tall man with greying hair and a trimmed beard stares down at Claire, contempt clear in his visage for the woman. His disgust for her is palpable, but that rage is held at bay.
Glowering down at the woman on her knees in apparent obeisance, she exhales a breath, and as he speaks, his words ring hollowly within Claire's head. "It is only by God's mercy I do not strike you down," he intones, the rest of the indistinct congregation still making their way towards Claire, the voices of many and one humming and abuzz with a seething hate for Claire. They plod along at a dogged, inexorable pace, but to curb Claire's fears they seem to be a good distance away from the abyss she's found herself in, the altar that she kneels before providing the only semblance of light for Claire's surroundings, washing her with the sight of the man in a priest's garb. "Repeat after me, and perhaps God will remain merciful," he directs Claire to look upon the bible next to the candle, where his features soften in high regard. "I believe in God, the father almighty," he begins to recite, bowing his head, his regard for Claire disappearing almost as if she were insignificant. "Creator of heaven and earth..."
At the voice in her ear from that woman, Claire tumbles backwards and to one side away from the figure, scampering back from the sudden lunge with a scream that dies in her throat as she falls backwards and starts spasming on the floor, her body seeming the seize up as she is subjected to memory after memory of debaucheries both carnal and abhorrent. When she returns to the present, she coughs, feeling the bile of vomit on the back of her throat and the faint acidity of sick tingling in her mouth as she empty stomach heaves from the experience, but finds nothing to bring up. Realizing that she is still surrounded she pulls herself up to her knees once more, replacing herself, feeling the anger in the room wash over her, beating her down. Nodding, she lowers her head and recites through the Lord's Prayer, though she knows not what she is saying. Still the demands weigh on her, "I believe in God, the father almighty.." Anger starts to well up inside her. "Maker of heav.." the raw humiliation of this moment washed over her and is enough to start to short circuit that fear. Her mind to turns briefly to how many times this scene has played out. Men and women ignorant of what they are reciting forced to kneel and recite praises to a god they don't know or understand. She's seen the power of these spirits, but her fury is quaking to her soul as she rips herself to her feet and shouts at the top of her lungs, "No!" Reaching forward to that altar, she snatches up that bible and stares daggers at that bearded spirit, her fury enough to sustain her in looking directly at him as she reaches down and starts ripping pages out of that book, tearing at them and letting them fall to the floor at her feet where she stamps on them like a madwoman, yelling, "You hell with your players, you ghouls, you wights, you empty spectres. I've seen what your faith means. And it is NOTHING!"
So engrossed in the prayer, the tall man continues to recite a prayer in utmost reverence to the lord. "I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord," he carries on, speaking with a fervour matched only by the cacophony of other voices surrounding them, step by unrelenting step encroaching upon the altar, and most distressingly Claire. "He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit," the ghastly spirit enforces upon Claire, his words firm and admonishing despite the insistence lining those very words attempting to manipulate Claire to pray alongside him. There is even a sense of appeasement, an acceptance that grows, but that all comes to a stop the moment Claire wills up the defiance to snatch the bible upon the alter, making the imposing figure looming over Claire stiffen.
Tearing into the pages of that old, tattered bible has interesting results. Feelings that don't belong to Claire split apart, linking spirit and nonbeliever together for a fleeting moment that seems to go on for an eternity.
Shame.
Guilt.
Self-loathing.
Failure.
Once again, Claire is brought on a ride that is much like the ghost of Christmas past. But it is far more debased. The same perspective of that classy, slender woman comes again. Claire finds herself naked, sit astride the bearded man in a moment of heated, unadulterated passion. Passion and shame. In that moment, Claire experiences all that the woman had in that one night. She learns the name Melinda Reiss. The pleasure surging within her, the thrill of the moment. The pleasure in sin. Then Claire's vision grows black as a wave of nausea hits her. Her vision returning, she briefly sees the priest prostrated before the altar, blood pooling around him. Darkness everywhere gives way and then there was light.
Claire finds herself back in the apartment, just as she remembers it before she experienced what many would call a hallucination.
And there Claire is, standing just where she was leaning against her broom, snapping out of this seeming reverie with a jump. Fear lingering for a moment, before melting into a strange sense of pride amid her defiance, even if it was only imagined. Amid it all, however, she wonders about just how vivid this all was and looks over to the altar with a furrowed brow, determined that that will be the first thing to go. Under her breath Claire says in Mandarin, "Omito Fo has prepared for me a pure land." An edge of pride in her voice.