The Blackwood's

Blackwood's 2

The Blackwood's 2

Nelson, stepping outside, felt a fleeting sense of escape from the man’s wrath. Yet, the man’s warning echoed relentlessly in his mind. Lost in his thoughts, he was jolted back to reality by the girl's intense stare. Immediately, a thought crept in: "I wish I could make her invisible to me. Her piercing gaze, the aura of vengeance she carries, and her presence altogether make me deeply uneasy."

Interrupting his thoughts, she asked, “Do you know where Ethan resides? Or do you know anything about him?”

Nelson, aware he knew more than he could safely reveal, hesitated. Suddenly, she turned sharply to face him and asked, “How did you know Ethan killed my parents?, because while in the mansion you mentioned his name and I remember no one mentioned the name to you”

Nelson let out a forced laugh. “You’ve clearly stayed in that haunted house for far too long. Even the immigrants in Courtner know Ethan, your father’s brother, is the prime suspect. The case was the talk of the town before it mysteriously went cold, and Ethan disappeared. Isn’t it obvious why your father didn’t question how I knew? The truth about your parents’ death is common knowledge. People assumed Ethan was either imprisoned or prosecuted, but only a handful know he’s out there somewhere, living his life.”

The girl nodded, processing his words.

Nelson, sensing her growing resolve, warned her, “Don’t speak to me in public. I won’t respond. I don’t want people thinking I’m crazy, talking to thin air.”

She looked at him with a tinge of disappointment but nodded in agreement.

Nelson then asked, “Did you really commit suicide, or were you assassinated?”

Her reply came sharp and cold: “Are we here to gossip or to accomplish a mission?”

Nelson apologized quickly. “Okay, I’m sorry. I just want to know more about the person I’m working with.”

She cut him off, “Do you know where we can find Ethan?”

Nelson hesitated. “Yes and no. I know he’s alive, and I’m sure he’s tied to powerful people—possibly the government. If I can somehow infiltrate their circle, meet with them, and earn their trust, I might find someone connected to Ethan. That’s the only lead I have.”

But internally, his thoughts were darker: "What’s wrong with this ghost girl? Does she think if I had access to Ethan, I’d waste my time at her cursed house? The only reason I went there was to dig up dirt on him—something that might make him come after me instead."

She interrupted his train of thought, her tone suspicious. “You seem to know a lot about Ethan. Have you ever met him?”

Nelson quickly replied, “No, never. I just keep myself updated on the news—both the authentic and the fake.”

Unfazed, she pressed on. “Since your only lead to find Ethan is through the government’s circle, how do we get in? What kind of people are part of it?”

Nelson, keeping his eyes on the road, glanced at her briefly. "What does she think she can do?" he wondered.

He answered, “The circle is made up of the rich, assassins, influential figures, and some... gifted individuals with special abilities. They aren’t necessarily in power, but they pull the strings behind the scenes. Many criminals work for them, executing dirty jobs in exchange for immunity from justice.”

She smirked. “Clearly, you don’t fit into any of those categories. You’re just an ordinary man.”

Frustrated, Nelson snapped, “Why are you so harsh and unfriendly?”

Her response was immediate. “Because you’ve been driving for over an hour, and we still don’t have a clear plan to find Ethan. The only benefit I’ve had from this is stepping out of that mansion. Do you even understand what I’ll face if I return to my father empty-handed?”

Nelson sighed, stopping the car at a red light. Muttering under his breath, he said, “I’m thinking, okay? Before we get to my house, we’ll figure something out. A dead girl and a living man can’t debate for an hour and not come up with a solution.”

---

Arriving at Nelson’s home, the difference between it and the haunted house was stark. Unlike the isolated mansion, his neighborhood had other houses, yet his home was as eerily silent as a haunted apartment.

Nelson lived alone—no wife, no children. His closest companions had been his late rascal brother, who met his early demise associating with criminals, and his father, who openly despised him. His father often called him a failure, a “bastard” with nothing to show—no family, no wealth, not even ambition. Nelson was, by all accounts, an ordinary man whose sole prized possession was his aging Nissan, won years ago in a lottery. He was either seen driving passengers around or sitting in a bar nursing a beer.

While Stacey admired Nelson’s meticulously kept garden—a stark contrast to his otherwise disheveled life—he was busy replacing the front wheel of his car, tinkering with its mechanics.

“What’s your name?” Nelson asked.

“Stacey. I’m sure you know my father’s name.”

“I’m Nelson,” he said.

She interrupted, “Who taught you how to fix cars? You said you only drive people around, but I just watched you dismantle your car and put it back together.”

Nelson, his focus still on the car, replied, “I learned from my father. He wanted me to work as a car engineer, but I hated the idea of fixing someone’s car while they sat around, paying me a measly sum after hours of hard labor.”

She quipped, “But isn’t driving people around also working for someone?”

Nelson responded sharply, “Driving gives me freedom. I can tell someone to get out of my car if I don’t feel like driving them. And besides, I enjoy it more than being stuck under a car for hours.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “What if you learned to assassinate people? You learned to fix cars, after all.”

Nelson stopped what he was doing, grabbed a towel to wipe his face, and stared at her. “Do you hear yourself? Because I want to help you and your father get revenge, I should train to be an assassin? Do you think it’s as simple as learning how to make ice cream for kids? This is about taking someone’s life!”

She softened her tone. “Nelson, calm down. Your method wouldn’t rely solely on physical combat. You’d use magic and supernatural forces.”

Confused, he asked, “What are you even talking about? I’m just a regular human. I don’t have powers.”

“Listen,” she said firmly, pulling him out of his doubts. “My father spent his life searching for power without harming anyone. One way he discovered was through ghost collision. When a human collides with a ghost, they gain strength because their existence bridges the spiritual and physical realms. My father used to tell me this as a story, but I know it’s real. Few wizards know the sorcery to make it happen, but it exists.”

Nelson’s mind raced. Though the idea was absurd, he knew it might be their only way forward. “Tell me everything you know about this sorcery,” he demanded.

“That’s all I know,” she admitted.

Frustrated, he muttered, “That’s a problem.”

Stacey, unimpressed, retorted, “You’re so clueless. There are search engines for a reason. Look it up. You’ll find someone who can perform the ritual.”

Nelson, struck by the idea, smirked. “You’re right. But I’m 30, and I’ve been on the internet long enough to know most of what’s out there is fake. So, watch how you talk to me.”

Stacey smirked back. “Even among the fake, there’s truth. I’m arguing with you because avenging my parents is all I care about. Call me a spoiled brat if you want; I’m used to it. Now, be humble and learn from a 19-year-old girl who died before her time.”