The Gray

Chapter 4

Vain City was proving to be a goldmine for Gray. That was if he were still a content creator for YouTube.

Forget cursed temples in Egypt. This place was crawling with the messed-up and the miserable. Gray, still getting used to being a ghost, was basically in content creator heaven.

There were so many things he could expose here. So many things that would make his viewer flabbergasted and speechless.

Days blurred into nights. For Gray, they were all the same. He was floating over everywhere not caring for the time.

This time, he was in the northern residential district, just drifting and seeing what messed-up s**t he could find. It was then that he saw it... a purplish flame, streaking across the sky like a horizontal-flying meteor.

It was slow, almost lazy in speed. But it was headed straight for a small, unassuming house.

Curiosity, the same thing that got him killed in that temple, gnawed at him. Gray followed the flame. He floated in, phasing over wall casually.

Inside the house, it was chaos. A middle-aged man was on the floor, convulsing, spitting up blood. Purplish welts moved under his skin. It was like something was crawling there, pulsing across his body.

Three women, Gray assumed they were the man's wife and daughters, were screaming. It was the kind of high-pitched, terrified scream that made Gray's non-existent stomach churn. The neighbors started piling in, gawking, offering useless platitudes.

A memory sparked in Gray's brain, from his days spent chasing horror content in Indonesia. This was similar to Santet, a Egyptnese curse. It was said a dukun, Egyptnese witchdoctor, could send a curse straight into someone's body.

It was usually done that with the help of a demon... a goddamn fireball-like demon called Banaspati. It seemed here it wasn't just horror stories. It was happening right in front of him.

Seeing the guy writhe and the family's raw, unfiltered panic – it actually pissed Gray off. This wasn't some jump scare. This was genuine, horrifying pain.

He tried to do something, anything, to help. He reached out, trying to grab at the purplish energy coursing through the man. He was hoping he could pull it out and devour it. Just like what he did with Maira's nightmare.

But it was no use. The curse wasn't a nightmare. It wasn't fear. It was something else entirely. It was something he couldn't touch, couldn't affect.

Gray swore in frustration. He was a goddamn ghost who could turn into anyone's worst fear. Yet here, he was pretty much useless.

The neighbors tried their best. They offered warm water, fanned the guy, spouted bullshit about "it'll be alright". It wasn't alright though.

The middle-aged man choked, gasped, and then went still. The screaming intensified, morphing into wails of grief.

Gray hung back, invisible, impotent. He was used to recording and narrating horror stories, not witnessing it firsthand. He was used to editing the fear, not feeling the cold, hard reality of it.

Then, he heard it. A hushed conversation between two of the neighbors, their voices laced with venom. "Dean Harold," one spat. "That bastard wanted his daughter. That son of a bitch."

"And Barack," the other hissed. "That son of devil is the only one who can do demonic craft like this."

Dean Harold. A name clicked in Gray's head. He knew this guy, a man cursed in many circles. He was the rich tyrant of Vain City, known for his extravagant wealth.

He was even more notorious due to his crazy number of wives. Twenty-six, to be exact. From the conversation, apparently, he'd set his sights on the dead man's daughter. He had proposed her to be his twenty-seventh but was rejected.

The next name was Barack. It was definitely Sean Barack. The second name was also not strange in Gray's mind. It was infamous as a witchdoctor, rumored to dabble in the darkest kinds of magic. He thought he was something like Tinderlake, a sham. But, if he did involved here, it seemed that the guy had real skills.

Still, seeing the dead man and his crying family... this Barack guy made Tinderlake look like a saint.

Gray took a deep breath to calm his nonexistent nerves.

The pieces clicked into place with a sickening finality. Dean wanted the girl. The father refused. Barack, for the right price, delivered the solution. Santet. A slow, agonizing death delivered by demonic proxy.

Rage, cold and sharp as shattered glass, filled Gray. It was not about about the dead father or the pitiful daughter. He barely knew them. But the sheer, unadulterated wrongness of it pissed him off. The deliberate cruelty lit a fire in his illusory heart.

Gray clenched his ethereal fists. He was a goddamn ghost, a creature of nightmare. He was going to make those responsible pay. Forget scaring school kids with jump scares. This would be a whole new level of content.

Dean Harold and Sean Barack. Gray put the two names into imaginary folder within his mind. It was still an investigation folder. The punishment folder was still empty, for now.

He phased through the wall, a spectral shadow disappearing into the gathering dusk. He had a hunt to begin, a twisted horror scene to write. And this time, he wasn't just recording. He was directing.

The next few days were spent gathering intel. Almost immediately after investigating, Gray already put the two names out of the imaginary investigation folder. Now, they went straight into the punishment one.

Gray, in his invisible state, had haunted the shadows of Vain City. He watched Dean. The fat, sweating pig of a man, gorged himself on food and drink. He was always surrounded by sycophants and terrified servants.

The man openly talked about his dark methods to acquire whatever he wanted. He showed no remorse, no guilt. The smug satisfaction on his face made Gray's spectral teeth grind.

Barack was even worse. The witchdoctor didn't look like a witchdoctor at the first glance. He lived in a luxurious mansion on the outskirts of the city. He had a luxurious carriage and many depressed-looking servants.

However, looking at the inside of the mansion, it could be seen that Barack was truly a witchdoctor. What looked like an expensive place from the outside was filled by bubbling cauldrons. There were dried herbs, and the stench of decay everywhere.

Gray watched him perform rituals by the light of the moon. He chanted in a language that twisted his spectral ears. He handled objects that made his non-existent skin crawl. The guy was a real witchdoctor.

He was a walking, talking nightmare, and Gray couldn't wait to make him feel much worse nightmare.

He needed a plan though. He needed something more than just turning into a scary monster and yelling 'boo'.

Dean was protected by wealth and power. And, some of his bodyguards seemed well-versed with occult knowledge. Barack was even more difficult. He was surrounded by dark magic.

Gray couldn't just rush in. He needed to be smart, to be cunning, to exploit their weaknesses.

And he had a few ideas brewing.

One involved Dean's wives. No. He did not want to use them in his plan. They were victims... well, most of them. He wouldn't involve them. He still had that bottom line.

However, the only time Dean didn't have his bowguards would be when he visited his wives. Perhaps Gray could use that time to give him his nightmarish 'punishment'.

Another involved Barack's magic. That guy used demonic creatures in his magic. Gray guessed that faith and confidence was powerful requirements to safely dealing with the creatures.

He could strike him with nightmare as he was dealing with them. Hopefully it would turn his spells against him…

Gray spent hours, days, observing them from safe distance. He learned their routines, their habits, their vulnerabilities. He was like a predator stalking its prey. He stayed patient and calculating, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

He was no longer just The Gray, the harmless content creator. He was something else entirely. Something darker, something more dangerous.

He was vengeance incarnate. And Vain City was about to get a whole lot more terrifying. For the villains.