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Caleroga Shark Media.
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Hello and welcome to Romance Weekly. This episode is titled
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Whispers in the Dark, Part four Resurrection.
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There's a particular intimacy to digging up the grave of
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the man you love. Each shovelful of earth feels like
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a violation, yet also like an act of devotion. By
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the time I reached Alexander's coffin, the moon had risen
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high above Blackwood estate, casting long shadows across the small
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family cemetery. I had waited until nightfall, unwilling to risk
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being seen. The sheriff was already suspicious after the break in.
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Explaining why I was excavating a century old grave would
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be impossible. I worked by lantern light, the autumn air
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cold enough to cloud my breath as I carefully cleared
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the dirt from the coffin lid. It was well preserved,
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solid oak with brass fittings. The wood darkened with age,
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but still intact. My hands trembled as I pried it open,
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knowing I was about to see the physical remains of
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the man whose touch I'd memorized, whose voice had become
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my refuge in this haunted place. The coffin creaked open,
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revealing a skeleton dressed in the tattered remains of a
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formal suit. The skull was turned slightly to one side,
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as if Alexander was watching my approach, even in death.
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Around his neck hung a small key on a corroded chain,
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and clutched in his skeletal hands a leather pouch. I'm sorry,
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I whispered, as I carefully extracted the pouch from his
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bony fingers. I need this to save you. Inside was
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exactly what Alexander had promised, a book bound in what
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looked like ancient vellum, its pages covered in spidery, Latin
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text and strange diagrams, the medieval manuscript he'd discovered in France,
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the source of his knowledge about the entity. I was
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replacing the coffin lid when I heard it, a twig
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snapping somewhere behind me. I whirled around, the lantern light
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swinging wildly, illuminating a figure at the edge of the cemetery.
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A woman elderly dressed in dark clothing, the same woman
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who had appeared in my library to warn me. You
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found it, she said, her voice carrying clearly in the
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night air. Good who are you, I demanded, clutching the
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manuscript to my chest. What do you want? She approached slowly,
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her movements more fluid than seemed natural for someone her age.
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My name is Margaret Holloway. I've been watching this house
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and you since you arrived. The name struck a chord. Holloway,
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like the estate attorney who gave me the keys, my grandson,
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she confirmed, he doesn't know what I know what my
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family has known for generations. She stopped at the edge
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of the grave, looking down at Alexander's exposed coffin with
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an unreadable expression. You knew him, I said, It wasn't
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a question I knew of him. She corrected. My grandmother
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was connected to this place and to what happened here.
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She passed the knowledge down, the responsibility to watch, to
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wait for what. Margaret's eyes sharp despite her age, fixed
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on mine, for you, miss Morgan, for the one who
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would come to either finish what Alexander Blackwood started or
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undo it. In highly, I clutched the manuscript more tightly.
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And how am I supposed to know which to do?
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A sad smile touched her lips. That's the question, isn't it.
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The entity offers tempting gifts Alexander himself was tempted, though
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he ultimately chose to fight it. You know about the entity,
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I said about what's happening in the house. I know
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enough to recognize the danger. My grandmother kept journals of
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her own. She was here the knight Alexander died, or
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at least nearby. She heard things, saw things enough to
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know that something terrible had been unleashed, something only partially contained.
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A chill that had nothing to do with the autumn
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air ran through me. Who killed him? Your grandmother must
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have known. Margaret's expression tightened. That's a complicated question. The
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hand that held the knife belonged to Alexander's research partner,
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a man named James Sullivan, But the will behind the hand,
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she glanced meaningfully at the manuscript. The entity, I whispered
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it possessed him, So my grandmother believed. Sullivan disappeared that
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same night. His body was found months later, washed up
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on the shore miles from here. By then, the entity
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was already bound to the estate, though not as completely
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as Alexander had intended. I thought of Alexander's warning of
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the entity's offer. It wants me to complete the ritual,
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to be its vessel. Of course it does, Margaret said grimly.
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It's been waiting a century for someone with the right
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connection to this place, to Alexander. Why me, why now?
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Margaret gestured toward the open grave. That manuscript contains the answer.
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But we don't have much time. The entity knows you've
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found it. It will act soon, she held out her hand.
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Come back to my home. It's safe there, protected by
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wards my grandmother created. You can study the text without
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the entity's interference, I hesitated. Could I trust this woman
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who had appeared so mysteriously, who seemed to know so
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much about what was happening? Alexander told me not to
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trust anyone, I said. Her smile was knowing wise advice.
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But ask yourself this, If I meant you harm, why
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warn you at all? Why not simply let the entity
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have what it wants? She had a point. And the
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manuscript was heavy in my hands, its age and complexity
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beyond my ability to decipher quickly on my own. What
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about Alexander, I asked. I promised to return by dawn.
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Dawn is hours away, Margaret said, And Alexander Blackwood has
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waited a hundred years. He can wait a few more hours.
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Decision made. I helped her refill the grave, restoring it
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as best we could in the darkness. Then I followed
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her through the woods to a small cottage about a
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mile from the estate. The contrast with Blackwood's imposing presence
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couldn't have been more striking. This place was humble, welcoming,
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with smoke curling from the chimney and warm light glowing
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in the windows. Inside. Margaret directed me to a table
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covered with books and papers. My grandmother's research, she explained,
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and my mother's and mine, three generations trying to understand
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what happened at Blackwood Estate and how to stop it
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from happening again. I laid the manuscript carefully on the table.
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You said, the entity wants me because of my connection
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to alexand under what did you mean? Margaret busied herself
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making tea her back to me. The ritual the entity
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wants to complete requires a particular kind of vessel. Someone
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with a natural affinity for liminal spaces, the boundaries between worlds.
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Someone who can perceive beyond ordinary reality, like a psychic.
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I asked more specific than that. She placed a steaming
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mug in front of me. Someone whose consciousness resonates with
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Alexander's own, a compatible energy. You might say, a soulmate,
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I said quietly. Margaret's expression softened. That's one way to
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put it. My grandmother believed Alexander had been searching for
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such a person in his lifetime, someone who could help
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him complete his work with the entity safely. He never
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found them until now, I whispered until me. Perhaps she
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sat across from me, or perhaps the entity has created
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the illusion of such a connection to manipulate you both.
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I thought of Alexander's touch, of the intensity between us,
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of his final words before I woke this morning, I
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have loved you across time itself. That truth cannot be undone, no,
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I said, with certainty. What's between us is real. The
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entity may have facilitated it somehow, may be using it
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for its own purposes, but it didn't create it. Margaret
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studied me for a long moment, then nodded. If that's true,
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it changes things. It means you have power in this situation,
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power the entity may not fully understand. We turned our
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attention to the manuscript. The text was in medieval Latin,
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with sections in what looked like ancient Greek and even
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older languages I couldn't identify. Margaret's knowledge was impressive. She
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had studied classical languages, she explained, specifically to decipher her
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grandmother's notes and the fragments of information they had gathered
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over the decades. Together, we pieced together the key elements.
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The entity was indeed ancient, predating human civilization. It existed
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primarily in what the text called the void between worlds,
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but could manifest partially under certain conditions. It fed on
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specific human energies fear, desire, and most potently, the life
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force released at the moment of death. Alexander's ritual was
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designed to bind it within the estate, Margaret explained, pointing
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to a complex diagram in the manuscript, to create a
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closed loop where it could exist without access to human consciousness.
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But Sullivan, or the entity working through him, altered the
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ritual at the critical moment by killing Alexander. I said, yes,
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the sacrifice created a different kind of binding, one that
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tethered the entity to the estate, but allowed it limited
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access to human minds within its boundaries, and it bound
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Alexander's consciousness as well, trapping him in that same liminal space.
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That's why he can reach me in dreams, I realized,
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because we're both existing partly in that space between worlds.
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Margaret nodded, exactly, And that's what gives you power. You
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have a foot in both worlds, just as Alexander does.
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The entity can't completely control either of you. So how
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do we break the binding, free Alexander and contain the entity?
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Margaret's expression turned brave. That's the problem. According to this text,
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the most effective way would be to reverse the original ritual,
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to sacrifice the vessel the entity has chosen me, I
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said flatly, you. I sat back, my tea forgotten. There
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has to be another way. Margaret turned pages in the manuscript,
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her finger tracing lines of text there might be. Alexander's
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notes in the margins suggest he was developing an alternative approach,
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a way to use the connection between compatible consciousnesses to
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create a different kind of binding. What kind of binding,
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one that would use the energy of life than death,
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creation rather than destruction. She tapped a section covered in
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Alexander's handwriting. He theorized that the correct pair of minds,
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properly aligned, could generate enough energy to force the entity
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back into the void and seal the breach without sacrifice.
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Hope flared within me. Alexander and I could do that, possibly,
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But there's a catch. Margaret's eyes met mine, serious and sad.
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The ritual would require both participants to be fully present
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in the same reality. Alexander is trapped between worlds. For
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this to work, he would need to cross over completely,
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I finished for her, become fully a ghost or fully
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alive again. Yes, the implications hung in the air between us.
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For Alexander to help me banish the entity, he would
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have to either let go of his remaining connection to
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the physical world, meaning we could never touch again, even
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in dreams, or somehow return to life. Is that even possible?
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I asked for him to return. Margaret hesitated. There are
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references in the text to something called the exchange, a
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process by which a consciousness trapped in the void might
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return to physical form, but it requires a vacancy. Someone
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else would have to die, I said, understanding immediately, or
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crossover willingly into the void. Margaret's gaze was steady, someone
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with the right kind of consciousness, a compatible energy. The
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room seemed to tilt around me as I grasped what
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she was suggesting me. I would have to take his place.
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It's a possibility the text describes, not one I would recommend.
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My mind raised. There had to be a third option
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away for both Alexander and me to exist in the
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same reality without either of us being trapped. What about
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the entity itself, I asked, Suddenly, it exists between worlds.
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It has energy, consciousness of its own. Margaret's eyes widened slightly.
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You're suggesting using the entity as the exchange medium, forcing
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it to take Alexander's place in the void while he
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returns to physical form. Is it possible? She turned back
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to the manuscript, flipping pages frantically. I don't know. The
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text doesn't specifically address it, but theoretically, if the entity's
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essence could be captured contained. At the moment of the exchange,
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a clock somewhere in the cottage chimed three times. Dawn
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was approaching. I had to return to Blackwood Estate before
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the entity realized what we were planning. I need to go,
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I said, standing Alexander is waiting. Margaret grabbed my wrist.
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Wait this is dangerous, Elise. If you attempt this exchange
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using the entity, you'll be risking everything. It could consume
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you both, or worse, it could escape completely. Unbound by
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any constraints. What's the alternative, Let it use me as
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a vessel, sacrifice myself to free Alexander. Neither of those
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options is acceptable. Her grip tightened. There's another possibility. Leave,
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walk away from Blackwood Estate and never return. The entity
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remains bound, Alexander remains as he is, and you live
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your life. The thought had occurred to me briefly, to
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simply walk away, return to my ordinary existence in the city,
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but the mere suggestion felt like a blade twisting in
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my chest. I can't, I said, simply, I won't abandon him.
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Margaret released my wrist with a sigh. Then let me
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help you prepare. If you're determined to attempt this, you'll
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need protection. She gathered items from around the cottage, herbs, candles,
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a small silver knife, a vial of what looked like water,
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but which she assured me was much more. She explained
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each element of the ritual we would need to perform,
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making me repeat the key phrases until I had them memorized.
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The timing is crucial, she emphasized. The exchange must occur
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at the liminal moment, when night becomes day dawn. I nodded,
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committing everything to memory. As I prepared to leave, manuscript
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and ritual components carefully packed in a bag, Margaret pressed
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one final item into my hand, a small, ancient looking
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amulet on a silver chain, my grandmother's protection. She said.
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It won't stop the entity entirely, but it might give
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you the edge you need. I slipped it around my neck,
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feeling a warmth spread from it through my body. Thank
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you for everything. Her smile was sad. Don't thank me yet.
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What you're attempting. I've never seen it done. I don't
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know if it's possible. It has to be, I said,
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with more confidence than I felt for Alexander. The walk
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back to Blackwood Estate seemed both endless and too brief.
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The eastern sky was beginning to lighten, almost imperceptibly, by
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the time I reached the house. I entered quietly, half
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expecting to find the entity waiting for me, but the
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foyer was empty, the house silent. I made my way