Ghasts; or, Visions of Tomorrow

This one was pretty spontaneous. It's a half-formed concept, based on a very strange conversation I had with a friend. I'm intrigued by this one. I hope to take it further.

Also, hi, I guess I'm back.

Lindsey settled into the driver's seat of her car with a shiver. The weather in Denver seemed to be getting more extreme with every passing year; the summers were blisteringly hot, and now the winters seemed to stretch forever. She started the car but left it in park, wanting to let the heaters warm up before she tried driving anywhere. The muscle spasms wouldn't do much for her steering, anyway. When the blowers came on, it was with a burst of unheated winter air. She started slightly and slammed the fans off, just until the heat came on. Lindsey hated the cold.

With a little time before she could start driving, Lindsey took the time to make sure everything else was in order. She tweaked the side mirrors, found a radio station she could tolerate, adjusted the volume, buckled her seat belt, and slid her seat into a more comfortable driving position. Only when she could find no other reason to avoid it did she finally look into her rear-view mirror.

It was a young woman tonight. Without being able to see her face, Lindsey couldn't guess at her age. She was short, slight of build, with long, flowing light brown hair. She was dressed in the same white, almost translucent garb as all of them. Even the men wore those long dresses. Well. Not men, exactly. Lindsey sighed heavily, but didn't bother staring. No amount of scrutiny would reveal the woman's features anyway. She instead gazed dully out at the wintry night, hoping some snow would fall, at least. She tried the heater a few times. Nothing. She'd have a proper car, one of these days.

When she could take uncomfortable not-stare no longer, Lindsey set the car into motion. She crept out of the alley in which she'd parked, turning right onto the one-way side street. Her attention remained fixed on the road, perhaps more than it had to be. The figure in her mirror seemed somewhat fidgety. Odd, for a ghast. They didn't usually seem to be bothered by their incorporeal existence. Lindsey raised the volume of the radio a little more.

After several blocks of intent driving, the woman in the back suddenly became frantic. She leaned forward, waving her hands wildly so that Lindsey would see her in the mirror. As though Lindsey could really ignore her. She had the impression that the woman tried to paw at her a few times, but her hands either fell short or simply missed her. Maybe ghasts could be new to their existence, unaware of the rules. Mortals were off-limits.

Lindsey pulled over, begrudgingly. She turned to look full on at the woman, acknowledging her presence openly for the first time since she'd gotten into the car. She didn't waste words, just stared expectantly. She'd make her desire known. Ghasts always did. They were terribly obnoxious that way. The woman's hand extended toward a nook between two buildings; it wasn't really an alley, a wall blocked it off just twenty feet from the street. Behind the dumpster, she could see a group of street toughs, probably teenagers, pushing a woman to the ground. They were tearing her clothing off with a savage, primal need. They were most likely completely unaware of the lust demon floating over them, feeding off of their desire. Lindsey's stomach turned over a few times.

“They'd just come after me too, if I went out there,” she said, more to herself than the woman. Sure, the woman could hear and understand her, but she couldn't exactly add to the conversation. “As long as they're under its sway, they're like beasts. We need to get rid of the incubus.” The woman's posture changed abruptly. She seemed less desperate, suddenly ready for action. She was like a tamed falcon, poised to take off, waiting for the command. Lindsey looked directly at her face; or rather, she tried to. Her eyes seemed to slide right off of the ghast's features, like oil over water.

“Gather your friends,” Lindsey commanded, her will suffusing her voice with a steely determination. “Take down that incubus. I'll handle the mortals.” With that, the ghast leaped off of the car seat and disappeared into the night. Lindsey felt, rather than heard, the shriek that seemed to reverberate through the icy sky. No physical rumbling accompanied the incoming ghasts, but the earth seemed to spin toward their tide, resisting the very push of them. Gravity, electromagnetism, nuclear forces; these things didn't care about ghasts, and yet the world somehow pressed back against them. It was the outsurge before the wave, the inexorable pull of things that Lindsey sensed.

And yet, only a dozen figures appeared. These were larger than the girl from Lindsey's car; not physically, to be sure, but their presence seemed tremendous compared to her. There were no sounds in this battle; no howl of pain, nor cry of retaliation. They mobbed the incubus straight away, without regard to introduction or formality. Its ichor flew, but no blood spatter would accompany its demise. Those which threatened humanity seemed doomed to an ignoble demise at the hands of its protectors. Lindsey hesitated as long as she dared, but even without the demon's influence, the toughs were swept up in the momentum of their violating act. They had just begun to progress from groping to demanding satisfaction. Lindsey could wait no longer.

She burst from the car in a rage, firing her little .22 handgun toward the wall at the back of the alcove. Without the demon driving them, the noise and light from the gun was enough to startle the boys out of their lustful reverie. They cursed, shouted, and scattered, abandoning one another to the winds of fate. Lindsey tracked their progress alternatingly with the pistol, not daring to pocket it until she was satisfied they were too busy fleeing to gang up on her as well. She hid the gun quickly and knelt down beside the offended woman.

The poor woman was sobbing hysterically, still thrashing against Lindsey's touch. Lindsey spoke constantly, softly, soothingly, as she might to a confused or frightened animal. She brought the woman's flailing hands to a gentle standstill, then held her and stroked her light brown hair, continuing her volley of nonsensical, comforting speech. The young woman, short and slight, pressed into Lindsey's shoulder and cried without end, curling into a defensive ball as she did.

The ghasts were gone, their task complete. Even the woman who had summoned Lindsey here was gone. The only intruder on the scene was Lindsey's constant companion, the familiar flicker in her peripheral vision. She grimaced and pulled the sobbing woman closer to her.

“It's okay,” she said without particular inflection. “I'm here. I have you.”