'Joergen Peter Lehtonen'

The invisible girl started to repeatedly yank my sleeve and I decided to humour her by squeezing her nervously fidgety fingers. Looks like she only just realised that we are in the middle of a pleasant family reunion. She's an idiot, what can I do. Meanwhile, the grandpa continued on, back in his upper layer.

"As I understand, the condition of our deal, treaty or service... forgive me if I offend you, sir Psychopomp, but I do not know how to proceed with this properly... Anyhow, I have to tell you how I ended up here, my story and tragedy, which could be a problem... for you see, I do not quite remember much these days and it is getting harder to discern memories from fantasies. I have lived through a lot and thought even more! Too long! Too much! Pain and time are deadly to memories! Pain muddles all intelligent function, my dear Psychopomp! But there is a way! My greatest tragedy is that I cannot remember the cause of my troubles, kind sir. To get those memories back, I would have to pass into the depths of my own temple, but I cannot achieve that alone. All of my attempts so far have been utterly fruitless, but now... With your help, sir Psychopomp, we will enter and comprehend, and we will pass!"

"We will pass?" I wondered.

"We will pass into the long-awaited and merciful eternity."

Using the opportune moment, my intuition began to unravel its ball of snakes, awakening with clamorous hissing, injecting an immense feeling of wrongness... the snakes pulled me away from the wraith, beyond the black soil and onto the snowy wasteland. "S-s-snow is-s-s better, fros-s-st is good, back there is-s dangerous-s-s, s-s-scary, very treacherous-s-s." I wholeheartedly agreed with the snakes, but what choice did I have?

The deadman continued on and on, slipping from a formal and pleading tone to his normal wheezing.

"I could show you, but I h-have to warn you that the procedure is not verh-hy pleasant... although this shhhaould not bother you, kind sihhr, as you ahhahre a professionahhgh..."

"Enough talking, then!" I cut. "Do something already! If you want to show me something then bloody do it, I don't have all of eternity to just sit here!"

"Hreghh... I love diligent onehhs. Give me your hheh hand... now let me juhheghst put thhee thhis coal in your hhhahnd... don't hraagh struggle, you were thheheh one that wanted it!"

The fucker shoved a scorching lump of coal into my hand! The pain rang through my entire body but the soul's dry hand kept my arm locked dead in place until the fire exploded into a rumbling curtain of darkness. As I looked into the shadows moving within it, I somehow ended up amongst them, pursued by the dead soul's raspy voice.

"Memories live here at large, honest and bare. Gaze upon them, sir Psychopomp, and receive the answers you so desperately seek."

The shadows swirled, condensed and changed the area, forming into a detailed phantom, while the pain in my hand quickly dulled to a slight itch as I found myself standing in a closed room... although I wasn't exactly there, the last months spent inside a human body automatically put the visual receptors at a certain height as if I was really standing on that earthen floor. I still held contact with the girl but that wasn't much of a concern at the moment; the mission was nearing its climax and I was sure I wouldn't need her anymore, regardless of the outcome.

The clarity of the deadman's memories turned out to be incredible; by some incomprehensible means, he managed to convey even the rancid stuffiness of the room and the suffocating feeling of the stone walls deep beneath the ground. I doubt I could ever explain how that feeling was expressed, but I could tell you that I had no doubt that I was experiencing it.

And so, I came to in the elongated room where the only light sources were the dim kerosene lamp and the small metallic oven that spewed occasional golden sparks through the door. The lamp hung above a small, rough table and illuminated the piled up dirty dishes like a still life painting. The farthest corner of the room was drowned in darkness, with some mysterious shapes that were probably a pile of clothes or garbage.

A slender man with a gaunt, stubbled face sat still by the oven. The sleeves of his light shirt were rolled up, revealing a rough bandage on his left arm going up to the elbow. It was apparent that the man tried to limit its movement. In his other hand, he held a metal pike with a sausage at the end of it that sizzled in the fire.

The semi-open doors leading out of this secret basement were massive, as is tradition, and I evaluated the entourage of two that stood by them. Under the uncertain lighting, I made out a chubby older man with a fluffy white beard and a massive guy whose head scratched the ceiling. The old man was very dapper; a long coat with a fur collar, a dark suit and shiny dress shoes. He had a bowler hat tucked under one of his arms, with the other leaning against an exquisite cane. His companion's only discerning feature was a fur coat of exceptional fluffiness.

The two of them were having a lively discussion. At first, I could only see their gestures but then slowly started to make out bits and pieces of their conversation. To the old man's question about the state of some individual, the other man replied:

"They are swearing more than a drunken sailor, and I've had more than my share of experiences with those. Also spitting everywhere, lucky it's not venom."

"And how are you faring?" The old gentleman turned to the man at the oven.

"You mean the hand, sir Lehtonen? I will tell you this; Hugo thinks that he made a good joke about the venom, but I am not in the mood for jests. How this blasted witch bit me... it's been four days already but the arm is still swelling. Even the places that her cursed teeth touched have begun to turn blue; I have run out of options, even holy water does no good!"

"And you say she refuses to eat." The old man shook his head. "Looks like we just don't give her the right kind. She seems to prefer human, or maybe Lars here is just that delicious."

For a few seconds, Hugo just stared in stunned silence at the old man before bursting into deafening laughter, bending over and gripping the lintel for support. The victim also joined in on the spontaneous burst of joy, while the old man, giggling into his beard, turned towards me.

I was certainly taken aback at this.

"Peter, step closer." He said, looking straight at me.

I wanted to bark at this stupid ghost, as in 'who do you think you're calling Peter', but then the surrounding darkness moved, sending out another actor into the scene.

I exhaled with relief and curiosity. Peter, huh...

The short boy, barely sixteen or seventeen, hastily approached the old man. Judging by the familiar boots and coat, that was the dead soul Lehtonen that was currently screwing with me, and not at all the old 'Sir Lehtonen' that I suspected. So who was the old man, then? His father? Or grandfather? Well, it didn't matter much so I decided to continue watching the intriguing play.

The old man began to whisper something to the young Peter, who just nodded in response, in turn making his shoulder-length hair jump like ears of a cocker spaniel.

'Hey! He's still a child!' I thought 'And I'm here treating him like some sort of gentleman!'

Unlike his ghastly normal appearance, here Peter looked somewhat handsome with his unassuming round face, pointy nose and almost colourless grey eyes. I did not notice any eyebrows, though. Actually, now he looked more like a naive piglet with an underbite. Ew!

He was obviously quite nervous. His eyes constantly darted between the old man's face and somewhere in the room. He then shook his ears... I mean, hair, although he did have his own ears, but they were small, pink and wide... again, ew! And the weird kepi, cap, whatever you would call that worn cloth pancake on his head, did nothing but accentuate the ears. Wait, where is the beaver hat? Oh well, let's continue.

The relatives whispered among themselves and then the old man and Hugo left.

For some time nothing of notice happened. The not-so-dead Peter sat in the same corner on top of a sack of potatoes, poking at one of the holes. The lanky Lars was bored more energetically, pacing around the room and often yawning loudly. He read a newspaper, burned it, then toasted a piece of bread and ate it with a miserable expression on his gloomy face. He even made a pitiful attempt at singing, before finally looking the door straight in the eyes.

"I'm gonna head out for a smoke."

"You can smoke here, it does not bother me." Peter responded.

"There's barely enough air here as it is. Eh, not like anything is going to happen in five minutes. Or does this witch scare you?"

Peter shook his ears in denial.

"Good, good. I need to stretch. Have some wine if you want. I tied up the witch's mouth so you should be fine. I'll be back in a jiffy."

"Do you remember the new password? It's past midnight, they must have changed it already."

"Jesus Christ, of course I remember! Bloody kids... who in their right mind would break in to save a witch? And besides, who even knows about this place? Why else would I possibly agree to this, huh?"

"I would not let you in without the password." Peter mumbled grumpily. "You can just stay in the hallway."

"Oh, please, you'll shit yourself if I don't return within the hour!" Lars mockingly glanced at Peter. "Ahvenanmaa; there's your password, happy?"

Peter gloomily watched Lars leave the room, then closed the latch and returned to his corner, stuffing his face into his knees. In the sudden silence, I could even hear Peter's watch ticking. Suddenly, it felt like a weak breath flew through the room, causing the flame in the lamp to momentarily flicker.

"Peter!" A weak voice of a woman came from the dark part of the room. "Come here, my dear Peter!"

I was taken aback, literally, and almost fell. I could make out those repulsive intonations anywhere! Clara! Even here she finds me! What the hell is she doing here?