Keeping track of the occult mishaps of unsuspecting college students can be a full time job, even if its more of a personal mission than any sort of official post. Unfortunately, there are times of the year when a little 'mishap' can lead to far bigger problems. One of those times approaches...

Part 2 of my contribution to this season's Samhain competition.

Part 2

My name is Bill Thompson. I'm a student at the University of Nebraska Lincoln, but I'm non-traditional... in more ways than one. I'm a student by way of a longer than necessary tour of duty in Afghanistan, so I'm a bit older and I have a slightly more world weary perspective on life than most college students. What really makes me non-traditional, though; is that I see things that most people would rather keep on their bookshelf with the other light reading for when they aren't studying: spirits, boggles, and their mundane world counterparts. I'd learned the hard way that it didn't matter what we believed about their existence; there are plenty of things that go bump in the night that will go right on bumping as long as they can get away with it.

It wasn't something that just caught me by surprise one day. My imaginary friend hadn't just faded away as a passing phase when I found other friends to play with, though he only dropped by to visit when his Other world responsibilities gave him a bit of freedom. We had both grown up since then, though he'd had more than a few decades head start on me. His kind matures differently than we do... those of us that bother maturing, that is.

By the time I moved away from home, I'd accepted that most people were likely to write me off as eccentric at best... and more likely, just strange. Military life hadn't helped that any. My D.I. and I got along far too well when you considered the age difference. It was like we'd served together for years and maybe we had somewhere... some when. It caused all sorts of trouble for me at the time, though. I got through it, like I get through most things. I put my nose to the grindstone and worked hard, taking on extra responsibilities any chance I could and doing everything possible to keep people from noticing. It worked.

The war changed things for me. I wasn't one of those idiots who went into the military looking for revenge for the terrorism on my country. There was no doubt in my mind, then or now, that it made sense for me to serve. I was good at being a soldier; but more importantly, I was good at being where a good soldier was needed. My unit considered me a lucky charm and for a little while, I believed that my strangeness might be accepted somewhere.

Then I encountered my first demon.

There are many dark places in the human spirit, created by misunderstanding and loss. Twisted logic, repressed emotions, terrible things spawned by the foolish teaching of our elders... simply because their elders taught the same thing to them. An inability to perceive another way because habit tells us there is only one.

Those things lead to horrible events... but as dark as they are, they are shadows and shades of gray to the Darkness of evil. A demon encourages the development of misunderstanding. It revels in misinformation and the twisting of logic to make a harmful action sound logical and right. It feeds on the repression of healthy emotions and mocks us when we blindly follow the teachings of those who expect us to act on faith as those teachers lead us astray.

That was the day that I chose the role I would play. Still a soldier... but fighting a different war. And if the battlefield happened to be a college costume party where the only devil was a sorority girl in a skimpy red outfit with plushy horns and a trident (yes, a trident), then I'd deal with the irony...

The actress had preceded me into the bedroom she'd used for her earlier readings. While I had misgivings about using someone's private room without their permission, I had no real interest in having what might be a very revealing Tarot reading done in a more public setting. I took a better grip on my staff and limped my way after her. There really was no need to limp, my 'old war injuries' were little more than intriguing looking scars on my left arm and side, with what looked to have been a wicked tear across my lower back. Which is exactly what it had been. But hey, funny dressed geek with a staff... if I don't limp, I've got no excuse to be carrying around a staff.

Besides, as I'd noted already; the young lady was leading me and I couldn't help watching as she did so. Actresses may make most women look like demure, emotionally stable, rational human beings... but when they set their minds to flirting with you, you might as well enjoy it. Sophie reached the bed and slid herself onto it, coyly patting the mattress beside her.

A faint sensation caught at me as I went through the doorway, a bit like walking through a heavy section of a spider's web. I slowed, turning my attention to moving through the barrier gently instead of tearing it down. From the other side, I looked back at it. A faint dusting of light revealed the chalk symbols sketched sloppily at the four corners of the door frame. Now that I was aware of it, there were similar marks at the windows and in the four corners of the room itself. Someone with little understanding and less adherence to ritual had tried to ward this room. It wasn't strong enough to stop much, if that was its intent at all.

“What is it?” Sophie asked curiously.

“The air is clearer in here,” I lied. Good scenery or not, she was hiding something and until she gave me a reason to trust her; I was treating this with a bit of caution. “I was looking to see if there was a vent duct or something keeping the air flow pushing it back out of the room.”

“Oh... really? I never really noticed... “ she looked around, trying to help me solve the mystery. Which I had just made up on the spot.

“Why would you?” I asked. “It's not your room...”

“Actually...” she started to correct me, before trailing off. I tilted my head slightly, my “I'm listening” pose but it didn't encourage her. She picked up a silk bag and pulled out a stack of cards wrapped in more silk, both a rich vibrant blue. With the ease of familiarity, Sophie quickly flipped through the cards, extracting one to place on the bed beside her. I didn't recognize the image, suggesting that it was either an obscure deck or one that had been custom painted for her, but it was of a young man with a sword in hand swept down to his right. A knight of swords, perhaps, or one of her Major Arcana... meant to be used as my signifier. Not the usual choice by those who know me, but considering I was at that moment carrying both sword and staff at a party; it probably made a certain sort of sense.

With that card removed, she handed me the rest of the deck and I began shuffling without a need for further direction. “You're not going to answer anything I ask you tonight, are you?” I asked, somewhat teasingly.

She looked at me hesitantly and took a breath to answer. Then stopped and left it back out carefully. “Let me at least lay out the cards before starting to explain... please?” she asked, almost begging.

I nodded in curious agreement. It wasn't uncommon for a reader to not want discussion prior to the reading, to keep from skewing what they saw in the cards with what they consciously know. That's actually one of the more difficult parts of reading for your own fortune; it becomes far too easy to ascribe meaning based on rational deductions instead of allowing the impressions to come on their own. The Sight works in much the same way as any form of creativity, with instinctive impressions taking form in any way you are open to translating them. But if you begin interpreting them or working with them rationally before they are fully exposed, you can disrupt further flow.

Sophie was watching my hands move with the cards. Almost like she were reading them in my hands, or reading my hands themselves. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, as they can become when you're drifting into a trance. I'd led more than a few guided meditations and she could have been right there with them. I slowed my motions with the cards some, sliding them more carefully together with the next pass, watching her reactions. Her breath caught, and she unconsciously licked her lips... being the male I am, I noticed the sharp points in the front of her silks. Feeling a bit like a voyeur, I imagined I was probably a bit flushed myself. Though tempted to see where this might lead, I finished shuffling and handed the deck back to her. After a brief reaction as she returned to herself and hurried to take them back from me she began laying out the cards.

The pattern, like the cards themselves, was unfamiliar to me. A center placed card, atop the signifier, was a common start. From there, it was very different. Five cards, in a standard masculine pentacle order, went first. Then, at each of the five two more were added, in positions creating five equilateral triangles, each with its outside line a perfect tangent to the point at which the star would reach the circle in the pentacle. I didn't know the significance of the positions, but it was clear that something important was developing as each new card added to her understanding of the reading.

I recognized the placement of the final card without any need for a sign from Sophie. That's when all the screaming started.