A/N: Since Toxic Butterflies isn't very long, I'm going to stick this story up there as well. I've been working on it for a while, and my ideas come from several places. Hopefully, it will be an atypical spin on what would be a typical ghost story. There are a few morals in it as well.

Since Toxic Butterflies is such a hit, I might as well throw up another creepy story. Although, this one isn't the gorefest that Toxic Butterflies is. It's more of a psychological horror.

Info Junk

Title: Obake

Rating: T

Pairings: None really, though you could see one as unconventional.

Genre: Psychological/Angst/Horror/Tragedy/Fantasy/Sci-Fi/Supernatural

Warning: Violence, Death, Gore, Dark themes

Summary: Death doesn't care if you want to die, and neither do ghosts. We never had a choice in the matter. So, I will follow him until everything fades away into the precious void of death. A very different type of ghost story. Reviews will be returned.



By: Revamp



I come from a…special type of town.

I'm going to explain it to the best of my ability because there is more depth to it than most can visualize. Whatever you do, once the tale begins you mustn't abscond. Don't go away.

Inexplicable things happen in this town, anything from deaths, to clairvoyant, bizarre phenomenon and conspiracy theories. Anyone could be next. I want to bring the haunted truth to justice. Despite what happens to me, I must track my records as means of prevention.

Anyone could have caused these events, whether they exist in this town or visit from the next. That is something we will never know.

Some travelers crawl up from the dark forests or from the towns of far away, looking trampled and decrepit. They are apprehensive to get some rest.

The fatigued travelers arrive at Conversion Town and venture through the fog before their ears can pick up the echoing sounds that fill the air of this little town. They arrive at the inn, greeted by the peaceful music that offers a temporary sanction for the sane. When they leave, they offer their senses and lives to the spirits.

The phantoms float about, nestled away in plain sight. They grin, knowing they won't last long in the depths of the fog. Watchful eyes scrutinize and faces dive down, nearly missing their victims as they are warned by a local resident.

"Someone is looking over your shoulder. I can see them."

You mustn't leave. They beckon you.

As the ignorant travelers leave this town, the restless poltergeists sink back into their solitude and mourning. They know that the explorers will return. They smile with that irrevocable thought. The travelers return, moving closer upon the orifice of the secret. The town's forlorn cries rise in crescendo as the travelers return. They begin their song, brutally shrieking like banshees. They grow louder and louder, never stopping. The sounds burrow into the voyagers and hook into their brains. Spirits leech on their lives.

The chorus flashes a malicious grin. The mortals have no escape now.

Even the people who walk among these entities are unaware of this. The travelers grow weak halfway into the town. For some reason, it's nearly deserted. Their stride is progressively slower and they begin to feel twisted inside. The sick thing is they don't seem to mind. The travelers begin to feel cold, shivering for unknown reasons. Their shadows elongate themselves.

The ghosts begin their drain. If they are lucky, it will be all over before they can comprehend what's going on. Some catch on, and everything becomes clear and for that few it all makes sense, but by the time they reach that epiphany, they are already too far gone and their anguished thoughts become food for the dead. No one has uncovered the secret before doom smiled upon them.

The travelers experience sharp pains and it becomes increasingly hard to breathe. They feel cold drafts and they shiver again. They can sense the darkness grinning at them. All they can do is wade through the fog and drift past the stray medium that is out investigating paranormal activity. They know something is wrong, it claws at the back of their brains, but they ignore it and figure that is the easiest way of dealing with the situation. They press on.

The screams, wicked laughter and haunting screeches, the ghost's wrath, vengeance, and misery combined in a terrifying serenade. Specters beckon them to convoy them in death.

Thinking back, the voyagers were shocked that they never took much notice to the lack of people before. As they walk into the great memorial building, those who have passed were still in Conversion Town. They try to get out of the true culprit's grasp, only to be held back, never able to leave.

The mortals stand alone in the dark, their heads pulsing with pain as they tremble. They want medication but that would mean venturing into the fog. They try to get warm but they continue to quiver.

The spirit's whispers make them pale with fear.

It's too much for the travelers. They're dizzy and didn't notice how bad their condition was until this moment came. They're shaking from the pain, mired in pure depression. The screaming won't stop.

They know in their hearts that they won't make it.

They are too weak.

The spirits cackle and crow, taunting, teasing, belittling. They are loyal servants to the Conversion Memorial Building.

The travelers curl up, screaming, crying, and pleading for the insanity to stop. The whispers grow into a rumble and they travelers can now make out some of the words. They are being killed, and instinctively clench their eyes shut. As everything fades to black, they hear one phrase that they can make out.

It's not this place.

That is only one of the legends behind Conversion Town. We have many that revolve around bizarre deaths. This place possesses many paranormal phenomenons. The town itself has very few inns, and to be honest the Conversion Memorial Building is really our only striking feature. It's a colossal building that houses the coffins and graves of many people.

Some say it's an honor to be buried here.

A lot of channelers and mediums go there to investigate high levels of activity. Some come for the legend of the first person who died there; others come to see what it is or visit the dearly departed.

They also come to catch a glimpse of urban legends theorized to exist here, like the graveman. It's said that if they walk in Afallia graveyard it will talk to you, saying "I'm ensnared and lonesome…bond with me, won't you?" It's supposed to be some sort of human cadaver that crawls out of the ground and drags its victims asunder.

There is also Zypsa, who lurks around. I have not seen him but I've heard that he hypnotizes people and leads them away, killing them…well, it's assumed that's what he does since his supposed victims have been all missing cold cases.

I could gossip forever about the out of the ordinary things in this town, but I don't find them anything more than rumors. When you live in a town like this for too long, the line between anomaly and common incidence blur and you just begin to acknowledge things for what they are.

You never suspect to transpire the fates of those travelers…or at least I didn't, but life has a strange way of throwing curve balls in the form of vital communication at you.

When you pay mind to the spirits, screams won't help you. Even if you scream, no one will notice trust me, I know. Death doesn't care if you want to die, and neither do ghosts. We never had a choice.

So I will follow him until everything fades away into the precious void of death.

To Be Continued

A/N: I hope that stirred up some interest for this story. This is actually one of my longer prologues but it has its purpose. I hope you enjoyed what I have so far. Please review and I shall leave you one in return if you are a fellow author.