The impatient ratfolk tapped his cane against the stone pavement, his eyes moving between the streets and the church door. “He’s late,” Donitelo huffed. “What is taking that gnoll so long?”

“Maybe he is having trouble with his gear,” Gonzolas said as he examined his lantern.

“Or maybe he lost his nerves.” The Ratfolk opened his palm, his eyes locked on the Curse stone. It looked like an ordinary stone one might pick up anywhere, but it radiated infernal energy. As the night passes, the power the stone gives off gets stronger. While accustomed to infernal energy because of his blood, Donitelo had never felt such a large amount for what seemed like hours. It was as if a portal to the infernal realm was in his hand. It made Donitelo sick to his stomach. Were it not for the artifacts, talismans, and charms he carries, Donitelo wouldn’t be able to hold it safely.

Seeing the stone, Gonzolas worried about his Master, “Sir, is it wise to have the stone out in the open like that?”

“Maybe not, but at the very least, I am betting on the late Count being able to sense it from afar. If he can, that would lead him straight to us, and hopefully, it would mean he would ignore the people on the street.” The ratfolk focused on his hearing. Carriages drove past. The sound of chatter and laughs, a muffled argument from a nearby house. At the very least, he is not hearing the sound of people fleeing in terror.

The church door opened, “apologizes for the wait.” the gnoll said as he stepped outside. The gnoll traded his cassock for some leather armor, which had some damage, but not to the point it was unusable. On his back was a spear, the shaft made of metal with an insignia of the sun just below where the top meets the shaft. In the gnoll's hands were a few healing potions, “it took me a while to find our potions.”

“About time.” Donitelo said, “We don’t know when they get here-” The ratfolk paused as he saw more exit the church.

The first to step outside was the Countess. Her brown dress was replaced with padded armor, with the symbol of the sun stitched into it. On her hip was a red scabbard with a long sword in it. On her arm was a buckler made of metal, the symbol of the sun decorating the outside of the shield. The second to step out was the maid, Matilda. Her maid outfit switched to the standard adventuring gear of a tunic and pants. On her hands were metal gauntlets that looked like they needed some polishing.

“No,” Donitello said, “go back inside.”

The Countess looked at the ratfolk, “I refuse. Do you expect me to stay in the church while the city is in danger? I am the Countess of this city. I have to defend it when it is in danger.”

“This isn’t a game. Your father is a phantom. He is not the man you knew anymore. Familiar ties mean nothing to him. he will try to kill you if you get in his way.”

The Countess glared daggers at Donitelo, “I will have you know that I have been trained in swordplay and tactics at a young age. I am no stranger to combat. I even won some combat tournaments before I took my position. Matilda has also been trained in hand-to-hand combat for years.”

“But that is different than actual combat. There are no second chances. Not only is phantom dangerous, but they also come with minor ghosts as servants.”

“All the more reason that Matilda and I must fight,” the Countess shouted, “do you expect to win a fight against what might be a small gang with just the three of you!”

“We don’t need to defeat them all, just the Count. Once he is gone, the other ghosts won’t have a link to the world and will pass on.”

“Easier said than done. Like me, Father was a capable swordsman and tactician. Do you think a man like that would just willingly allow himself to be killed?”

Donitelo didn’t respond.

Gonzolas stepped forward, “Master, she has a point. We don’t know how many ghosts the Count has under his control. If we just go off on who we saw at the mansion, he has quite a number of them.”

Donitelo glared at Gonzolas, but a look of resignation immediately followed. “Alright. You and Matilda can fight. But if things go south, run into the church immediately. If nothing else, it will protect you till morning.”

The Countess and Matilda nodded.

The gnoll handed the potions to the group, “so what is the plan?” he asked.

“It's simple,” Donitelo said. “Gon and I will be directly fighting the Count while the rest of you hold off the ghosts. It would be best if all three of you stay as close together as you possibly can. Keep yourself from getting surrounded and through if that happens.”

“But why just you and Gonzolas? Shouldn’t we all fight the Count at once?”

“No,” the ratfolk answered, “Gon and I have our implements, which make our weapons powerful when used properly, especially with the supernatural. The two of us are the better choices to take down the Count. Plus, we can’t let the other ghosts surround us. Even if the Count is a phantom, there isn’t much he can do against two thaumaturges. Once the Count goes down, the ghost following him should pass on with him.”

As he said his peace, Donitelo’s ears twitched. A scream could be heard from down the street. Then another. Soon, multiple screams filled the streets leading to the church. Down the road, the group saw people flee from whatever they saw. Some ran to the church, while others ran past it.

Donitelo placed the Curse stone in his pocket and removed the sword from his cane, “looks like he here.” the rest followed suit and prepared themselves for battle.

As the crowd thinned out, a pale man stood at the end of the street. His clothes were disheveled, and tiny tears and holes could be seen all over his body. Even the lights of the city did little to hide how the man glowed in a pale light. The sword he carried also gave the same glow. Even with the distance, the group was able to feel the pure hatred that radiated off the phantom. The late Count's face was contorted into anger, to the point it was hard to tell if it was the count at all. “The stone,” the Count said in his raspy voice, “return the stone.”

Donitelo grabbed the chalice off of his belt. “Alright, it's go time.” Donitelo focused his mind on the ring on his finger. When dealing with ghosts and phantoms, the best esoterica are the ones that involve the ghost's lives. I can’t say if your belief in Helios was real or not, but if it were, then that would mean this ring should react. Or if not for that, then maybe because we are in front of Helios’ church, and what god wouldn’t help those in need right before their church? On cue, the chalice and ring gave a soft golden glow. “Alright, I’m going in. Everyone follow me.” The ratfolk charged at the phantom, the tip of his sword pointed at the late count.

The Count parried the sword with his own, then swung his sword at Donitelo’s neck.

The ratfolk managed to dodge. The chill of the ghastly sword as it barely touched Donitelo’s neck sent a shiver up the ratfolk’s spine. Donitelo sidestepped the count, aiming to take out the phantom’s arm while the sword was still in motion.

The Count sidestepped the thrust, the tip of the caned sword flying past his shoulder. “RETURN THE STONE,” the Count yelled as he swung his sword at the ratfolk.

Donitelo ducked under the blade arc. The Count raised his leg for a kick into the rat’s chest, knocking Donitelo back. The Count raised his sword above him and swung down at Donitelo, who had to roll to the side to avoid the blade. “Gon, I can use the help now.” The ratfolk swung his sword at the Count, who blocked it with his blade.

Gonzolas ran up behind the Count, pulling his mace back.

The Count, noticing the elf, roughly grabbed Donitelo by his shirt and yanked the rafolk into the elf. The Count ready his sword to run through the both of them.

Gonzolas grabbed his teacher and threw Donitelo and himself out of the way of the sword. 

The Countess swung her sword at the ghost. As the blade connected with the young halfling woman, it shrieked as it slowly faded away. A hobgoblin charged at the countess, who raised her buckler to protect herself. Matilda came from behind the Countess and slammed her fist into the charging hobgoblin. The hobgoblin ghost reeled back from the blow. The two step back as more ghosts come into the alley. “Where are all these ghosts coming from?” the Countess said as she swung her sword into another ghost.

The gnoll thrusted his spear forward, getting a ghost in the shoulder. His breaths were heavy with each movement of the spear. “We can’t handle this many. We must go into the church.”

“No, we can’t leave. If we don’t take care of these ghosts, they will overwhelm the thaumaturges. Donitelo said if we defeat Father, the ghosts would falter. We must hold out just a bit longer.”

Donitelo glanced at the other group. The countess and Matilda were fine, but the gnoll was the weakest among the group. His moves needed to be more coordinated and active. It was clear that he wouldn’t last and if he went down, the others would follow. “Gon, go help them,” the ratfolk ordered.

“Are you sure?” Gonzolas responded.

“Yeah, I underestimated how many ghosts the count has. The others are getting overwhelmed.”

“Alright,” Gonzolas moves to the others.

Seeing an opportunity, the Count lunged at the elf. Donitelo stepped in and caught the sword with his own, “Ah ah, I’m the one you will be fighting.”

The Count pushed the ratfolk away and swung his sword at him. Donitelo sidestepped the arc and stabbed the phantom in the chest.

The Count let out a blood-chilling howl as he backed away, covering his wound as ectoplasm leaked out of him like blood. 

Donitelo’s body froze from the howl, his arm stuck in a place where he stabbed the Count. Fuck. Fuck fuck. The ratfolk’s body was stuck, as though he was a statue. Even his mouth felt like it was clamped shut by some unseen force. The only thing that Donitelo could move was his eyes.

As Donitelo looked at the group, he saw the ghosts wail and cower from the howl, backing away. The group was stunned by such an act and pulled back. “They stopped,” the gnoll said, “why have they stopped?”

The elf shook his head, “I don’t know. Master?” Gonzolas couldn’t take his eyes off the ghosts. “Master?” Gonzolas grew concerned, it was not like his Master to not respond when he called out to him, but the elf knew better than to take his eyes off someone attacking him, even if for a moment.

The Countess looked back and saw Donitelo standing still. Immediately she knew something had happened.

The Late Count looked at Donitelo, his gaze burning with rage. As he saw the ratfolk, his mouth twisted into a smile that gave no warmth, but sadism. He slowly moved forward, drinking in the fear the ratfolk felt. He carefully aimed his sword, from what Donitelo could guess, he was going to aim for the neck.

The Countess sprinted to Donitelo, her buckler in front of her in a charge, “FATHER STOP.”

The Count's gaze quickly turned to the Countess, “DO NOT INTERFERE!” He quickly swung his sword at his former daughter.

The countess caught the sword with her buckler. With quick movement, she moved the sword away from her and trusted her sword forward, hitting the Count in the chest, where his heart once beat.

As the sword ran through him, the Count didn’t make a sound. No howl or grunt or scream. His body goes limp as he drops his sword, which makes no sounds as it hits the ground, but instead disintegrates. Gone was the fury and anger from his face, being replaced by resignation. Without a word, the late Count’s body fell apart, disintegrating without speaking another word.

The ghost that followed him also slowly vanished, now without the late Count unable to keep them from passing on to the gods they believed in and the heavens they deserved.

The Countess fell to her knees. “I killed father,” she muttered. She looked down to her trembling hands, “I killed father.”

Donitelo, now regaining his ability to move, placed the chalice in front of her, “No, madam, you freed your father. The late Count was bound by something terrible, something that led to his death. Even death couldn’t separate him from it. He was consumed by it. But,” Donitelo paused, “in the end, he was able to let go. Be free from his obsession and pass on.”

The Countess took the chalice and drank it. When she removed it from her lips, she asked, “Do you believe he is in a better place now?”

“I would like to believe so.”

### Epilogue

The days after the event were a turbulent time for all involved. The phantom and his army caused a scene that night that would not be soon forgotten. It was a little miracle nobody who saw the ghost was able to recognize them as the late count. By morning, the city was abuzz with talk of the phantom and the army of ghosts it commanded. By the next night, stories of the encounter can be heard in every tavern and bar. Churchs were filled with worshipers, praying for whoever was the ghost to pass on peacefully. While many did not hear of who the phantom was, they all know the Countess stopped them. Though she was celebrated throughout the city, she felt no happiness. She and a few others lept the truth of what had happened to themselves, believing it would be better not to disturb the rattled public. 

With the defeat of the late Count, the hauntings that plagued the manor have stopped entirely. Slowly, former servants of the Countess returned to the manor and their duties, no longer fearing an attack.

While Donitelo’s words help, they do not free her from the guilt of what she has done to her father. It was a blessing the days after the incident were busy for her to keep her mind off of that night and its horrors. She started to look into how her father was able to get the tomes and artifacts, searching the city for any leads. 

The two thaumaturges were just as busy as the Countess. With the hidden room discovered, the thaumaturges spend most of their waking hours studying the books and artifacts the room held. They would lock themselves in the room, the only light coming from Gonzoas’ lantern. Were it not for the occasional noise, one would forget the two were inside of the room.

A week after the hauntings finished, servants loaded boxes and bags onto a carriage. Donitelo observed them, as those boxes contained the books and artifacts discovered in the hidden room. The ratfolk fiddled with the chalice in his hand, “I expect the others are going to be thrilled with what we bring,” Donitelo said in a sarcastic tone.

Gonzolas exited the manor, jogging to where the ratfolk were standing, “Master, I just finished the ritual,” he said, “the house should be cleared of any leftover energy.”

“Good boy,” Donitelo said, handing his chalice to the elf, “seems like the servants are finishing loading everything up. We will probably leave just after they are done.”

Gonzolas looked at the tall stack of boxes and bags being tied to the carriage, “that is sure a lot of stuff we are bringing back. Is it wise to bring it all with us? You always said we need to travel light.”

“We don’t have a choice, this stuff is too dangerous to leave behind. We can’t risk the late Count coming back because we left something behind. Any of the items could be an anchor for him, not just the curse stone.” Donitelo reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jar. Inside it was the curse stone and a talisman containing the cursed power. Since the incident with the count, the curse stone has been dormant. No magical energy has been felt from the stone since. Even if it is now just a pebble, the ratfolk still plan on destroying it when they arrive home.

Gonzolas nodded his head and sipped from the chalice, the second the liquid got past his lips, his tongue and lips burned. The elf spat the drink out and handed the chalice back, “Bleh, Master what did you put in your chalice this time?”

“Oh, just a local delicacy, A wine made with peppers. The one I filled the chalice with was the spiciest option the place had. I can’t wait to give it to my siblings, they’ll love it. Maybe I should get more bottles of the stuff while I can.”

“If you are asking about wine,” the Countess said, approaching the two thaumaturges, “I have more than enough to give.” she wore a simple, yet classy, blue dress that reached for the ankles. Besides her stood Matilda, ever silent beside her employer.

“Welcome back Madam,” Donitelo said, giving a slight bow, “tell me, were you able to find anything?”

“Unfortunately no. The only thing I could find out about the seller was that they were a traveling bookseller, I couldn’t even get a name or a race.”

“That’s troubling.”

“Master,” Gonzolas said,” why do you think they sold the Count the books? They surely knew what kind of book it was.”

“Was it not in the journal?” the Countess asked.

The elf shook his head, “No, the journal didn’t say.”

“No, it didn’t. The Count was cautious enough to avoid dropping their name,” Donitelo added. “ besides a few entries, it was mainly just research notes, complaints, and conversations about the devil your father was working for. Now back to the question, they may be a cult member.”

“What do you mean?” The Countess asked.

“I told you how some info in the supernatural has a corrupting influence, even just knowing some basic stuff can be enough to make them susceptible to demons and such. Some cult uses that to recruit people by spreading such information around. Most might be able to fight it off, but the ones who can’t can be manipulated into becoming new members. Your father might have just been unlucky.”

“But would that cause him to try and make a Curse stone?”

Donitelo paused, “maybe.” The ratfolk brought the chalice to his lips and sipped. “Anyway, you said you had more spiced wine to give. May I have some?”

The Countess locked eyes with Donitelo, aware of what he was doing. She turned to the orc maid, “Matilda, go get the Chalva, Gontroa, and Live Valley.”  Matilda nodded and headed to the house. When the orc entered the house, The Countess turned back to the ratfolk, “Now Donitelo-”

“If you think I will tell you more just cause we lost a pair of ears then-”

“I know but this is something I need to know about the journal and my father. In the journal, did Father mention someone working with him?”

Neither Donitelo nor Gonzolas answered, only exchanging glances with one another.

“I don’t know exactly what my father was doing in that room, but I doubt he performed whatever ritual or experimentation alone. My father had many duties as Count of the city that afforded him little free time. I doubt he was able to hide this side of him without some form of help.”

The ratfolk looked at the Countess, his face unreadable as he slid his chalice onto his belt, “ what would you do with that information? Pursue justice? Get revenge? Try and dig into what exactly your father was doing. What good will it do you know?”

“I will use it to make all of Father’s accomplishes stand trial for their actions. You saw how many ghosts he had with him that night. I believe all of them were his victims in his mad quest for the Curse Stone you carry. Don’t you believe they deserve justice for the horrors they might have gone through?”

“You are asking the wrong person here. First of all, Once they pass on, I don’t bother myself with how the dead feel, that is just another can of worms I don’t want to deal with. Second, if you do go down that route, you will be putting yourself in danger, not just physically but politically. Once words get out of what your father did, chances are you could lose your position as Countess and any servant under you will be lining up for jail or the gallows after, depending on what they find.”

“So I am to do nothing and pretend nothing happened?”

“Yep,” Donitelo said, “besides, the notebook never mentioned anyone personally helping with his experiments. He did all this by himself. In a few of the entries mentioned on days of his experiments, he would drug the whole manner so no one would disturb him. Those who did would end up a part of the experiments themselves.”

An unsettling feeling filled the Countess. The warm memories of her father gifting teas and baked goods to the servants for their work became twisted into something sickening. All the times she had tea with her father late at night, where they too just a moment before the man would do ghastly experiments that night. She shook as she tried to stop her mind from tainting more of her memories.

Donitelo reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “While it might not be the best thing to share, the notebook contained the names of the people he used in the experiments. I can’t guarantee this info would be much help, but it will probably help bring some people peace.” Donitelo held the note to the Countess.

The countess stared at the folded-up note. On it would be a list of all the victims of her father’s experiments. An anxious feeling settled within her as she thought of the victims. How many people suffered because of her father? How many families lost someone? The answers to those questions were before her, on a piece of paper that could fit in a pocket, but to the countess, it might as well be a vial of poison for her to drink. She hesitantly took the note from the ratfolk’s hand.

The door to the manor opened as Matilda walked out, holding a basket with three wine bottles. She hurried to the group and held the basket towards Donitelo.

“Thanks,” Donitelo said as he grabbed the basket.

The servants that surrounded the carriage dispersed. A gnome walked to the group, “everything has been loading up,” he said, bowing to the ladies.

“Well that would be our time to leave,” Donitelo said. The two thaumaturges bowed for the ladies, “Thank you for hosting us. Should anything still be amiss, feel free to call on us again.” the two entered the carriage and left to begin the long journey home.

The two sat in silence as they passed through the city. The people on the streets paid them no mind this time. No bows or prayers to send off the two thaumaturges. Just them continuing their daily lives. No one in the city knowing the horror the late Count was.