The bus full of school children screamed as the bridge moaned and buckled. Cracks formed along the street. Cables snapped sending deadly weight crashing onto the ground. Car squealed to a stop. Some crashed into other vehicles. Nearby emergency workers converged on the scene. Overhead, the dark cloud continued to grow. Howling noises shrieked from the cloud. Hooded, mist-like figures circled within the cloud. Waves of malice and entropy bombarded the bridge.
I arrived on the scene riding my hovering purple and white sports motorcycle, the Mutt. As I stepped off the bike, the nanotech in my purple and white helmet retracted. The wind, and waves of hate blew at my golden fur and made my floppy ears dance. My black, wet nose picked up the scents of panic blasting out of the people like a number one hit on a teenage radio station.
Connor, aka Mothman, landed next to me. The nearly seven-foot figure folded his moth-like wings into a tattered cape giving him a slightly more human appearance. His red lens goggles emitted an eerie feeling. His all black, skintight suit made him look formless while giving off a fearsome vibe. The waves of spiritual turbulence blew at his dusty hair.
Mothman spoke via a voice modulator. It made his voice sound eerily calm and almost robotic. “It looks like it is time for your next lesson.” He made a magical motion with his hand, like a magician making a card appear, and a black prism materialized. He held it out for me to take. “Capture the wraiths.”
The wailing creatures in the cloud above us were the wraiths, Lost Souls sent to Limbo because they no longer belonged in our timeline. Those that get erased or vastly changed by time shifts or paradoxes are sent to Limbo until they can be reborn inside the current timeline. The waitlist is long and sometimes some get impatient. These impatient souls can manifest as ghosts, poltergeists, or wraiths. If enough Lost Souls can “work together,” they can affect the physical world. Case in point, causing a bridge to collapse.
The Mothman Brigade, which Connor is a member of, formed to contain this runaway anger.
Connor, much to the chagrin of the Brigade, has been teaching me some of their mystic ways. Mainly because I keep running into wraiths, cult leaders, sorcerers, and anyone else that likes to use the frustration, sadness, and loneliness of others for their own gain.
I dedicated my energy to the prism, which wasn’t easy with all the screaming people and howling wraiths.
The prism floated from my paw-like hand. I started to perform a martial arts kata similar to tai chi.
The wraiths howled louder, knowing that their time was limited. They started throwing debris at us. Connor’s cape returned to his wings. He used the indestructible wings as a shield.
“Continue the ritual,” he said in that modified, emotionless voice.
I moved with grace and fluidity. Connor taught me the basic movements, but the real key was adding your own style to it. Each person has their own chi, or aura, and so the moves aren’t completely the same for each person. Also, each situation is different. You must be “one with the universe.”
The prism started to spin.
I continued the ritual moving around the area as the debris and winds buffeted Connor’s wings.
The bridge shook. Car alarms sounded. People gathered closer together. Emergency vehicles wailed.
Suddenly, a piece of debris snuck through Mothman’s defenses. The piece of bridge smacked me in the face sending my purple tinted surfer sunglasses clattering to the ground. Everything became muted colors with strange ultraviolet light. I also saw heat, not like infrared, but I saw that the object was hotter or colder than other objects. The people took on a muted color, but I could see colored energy around them, their auras. Their auras looked weaker because of their fear.
The cloud of wraiths was painful to look at, like looking at the Sun, but it was bright from hate and anger instead of light.
I winced.
The prism stopped spinning and fell to the ground with a rattle. The wraiths hissed a victory.
The bridge groaned louder. The ground shook harder.
Connor thrust out a hand. “Begone!”
The prism jumped into the air as if someone hit it with a stun gun. A white beam erupted from the prism. The wraiths screamed. They were pulled around the beam like a tractor in a tornado. The beam fell back into the prism taking the wraiths with it. The prism turned white.
It floated into Connor’s hand like a falcon returning to its master.
I sighed.
“Don’t worry,” said Mothman, “they’ll only stay in the prism until they’ve calmed down. They will be returned to Limbo after that.”
“It’s not that.” I picked up my sunglasses. My vison returned to a human’s sight. “I failed…again.”
“You didn’t do so bad…for a mortal. Mastering the katas is difficult even for mothmen.”
“You seemed to have no trouble.”
“I’ve been at it a lot longer.”
With the wraiths contained, the bridge was no longer weakened by their tantrum. The rescue and construction workers continued their duties uninterrupted. However, a few feet away, unknown to me at the time, a figure in a pink and gold cloak watched Connor and me. The figure glanced down at a scroll in their hands. It listed names under the title “Bridge Collapse” with today’s date. The names and the title slowly vanished. The figure growled and slammed the scroll shut. They walked a few feet away before vanishing into a swirl of energy.
Joe Rover 