By the time Miles returned from the restroom, the phantom had rounded the corner of the aisle and disappeared from sight. Zahra and Annie, still caught in shock, were stuck in a state of incredulous paralysis. But, as luck would have it (at least for Zahra’s sake), they soon broke down into a fit of nervous laughter, and this moment of sudden breaking of the ice triggered a lively conversation between them. Even to Zahra’s surprise, the coming storm that was Anastasia Gardner broke up, and the girl’s inner sun seemed to begin to emerge from the cloud of gray. Zahra bathed in the light.

Before long, the two had come to a consensus that it was probably a better idea if they just leave this encounter with the supernatural as it was; it was foolish to go digging in places that didn’t call for shovels. This ghost would have to reach out to someone else, and remain a fossil undiscovered.

As the two girls hastily made their snack choices, the eldritch commander of the troupe stepped through the front door. A rather obnoxious bell sound rang out over the intercom system, which caused Mystica to roll his eyes. But immediately thereafter, he fell back into the skeptical demeanor he had been exercising outside – eyes moving to and fro above his hand, which was firmly planted over his mouth. He might have appeared downright shady, were it not for the timely interruption of Annie and Zahra, who shuffled up to the front counter with their chosen assorted snack foods. As the cashier – a burly, blonde-haired boy of about 18 years – rang up their purchases, the girls continued their now-lighthearted discussion.

“My heart is still racing,” Zahra chuckled before flashing a minute smile.

“Oh, you seen him, too?” the cashier asked with a guffaw. “Yeah, they’ve been pretty active of late. Dunno what it is, but they sure seem to like the weather these last few nights.”

“Alright,” Mystica exploded from a few meters away, with a dramatic flail of his arms, “everybody freeze!”

“Aw, geez,” the cashier grumbled, sounding more annoyed than frightened. “Really? Third time this month!”

As if by reflex, the young man tapped a button on the register and the cash drawer popped open. Stepping back from the exposed money, he slowly raised his arms above his head. His eyes hung heavy with what seemed to be boredom.

“Just take the drawer, buddy,” the teen sighed. “And don’t hurt anyone.”

“Oh, shut up,” growled the Elder God, “I don’t want your money. Actually, wait…don’t shut up. Repeat what you just said.”

“Just take the drawer--?”

“No, before that! Earlier.”

“You seen him too?”

“…after that.”

“They’ve been pretty active of late?”

“That. Elaborate.”

The clerk bit the inside of his lip.

“…tell me more,” Mystica sighed, smacking his palm to his face in sheer frustration.

“Oh, uh, yeah…lots of people have seen them. I get a lot of comments about ‘em.”

“Them…” Mystica repeated, letting the word flow over his tongue for a moment. “Plural. You have multiple er…”

“Ghosts, yeah,” the cashier beamed, presenting an almost child-like pride in announcing it. “Whole lot of ‘em. There’s this one guy in a leather jacket; biker, I’m thinkin’. And there’s this one lady dressed up in old fashioned European clothes.”

“Old fashioned European clothes?”

“Y’know, like the stuff the guys wore in…you ever see Bridget Jones’s Diary?”

“Based in the Regency,” noted Mystica, his voice like a pipeline under immense pressure.

Then, without warning, the inevitable breach occurred, and the ancient could no longer contain the rapidly-expanding discontent from within. In a blur of motion, Mystica stepped forward, slammed both hands atop the counter, and pierced the young man’s confidence with a pinpoint glare. Mystica shook his head, as though in pity of the teen.

“You idiot,” Mystica groaned, “we’re in what state?”

“Uh, Nebraska.”

“And I’m going to guess, at this rate, that your lovely public school education didn’t teach you the date of this god-forsaken state’s entry into the Union. Let me do the work the state government was unable to do. 1867. Nebraska was founded in eighteen-sixty-bloody-seven!”

“So?”

“So…the time period of the fashion you’ve described points to the Regency era. Were it not for the fact alone that you’re describing a person from the English Regency era showing up in the United States, your most ignorant oversight thus far would be the fact that the Regency ended in 1820. So we’ve got an issue. A forty-year discrepancy issue.”

“No…” Annie groaned as she tossed her head back in defeat. “I just want one day. One day!”

“Sorry, dear,” said Mystica as a mischievous grin swept across his face, “but today is not that day.”

“God dammit…”

Following a parting smile aimed at his apprentice, Mystica’s head turned back to the young man.

“What’s your name, lad?”

“O-otis.”

“Otis? Rather hickish name, innit? Whatever. Otis, you most certainly have something odd happening here.”

“Ghosts,” Zahra concluded with certainty
.
“Wrong,” said Mystica, not bothering to even glance over his shoulder. “Ghosts don’t exist. Don’t be ridiculous.”

His eyes dropped away from Otis and examined the counter before him, moving to and fro in an echo of his earlier demeanor. The girls uttered a collective sigh, knowing what this particular mannerism meant for them. The Old One was deep in thought, swimming beneath the surface of conscious thought. He’d soon pop back into reality with some far-fetched theory, which would lead to the conception of an infant plan. They had been hoping for an uneventful road trip stop, but was any trip uneventful with the sleeping god?

“Okay,” said Mystica with a hint of excitement as he emerged from the great ocean of knowledge. “Anachronistic spectres of the long-dead, multiple eyewitness accounts, but a lack of solid evidence.”

“Points to illusion,” Annie chimed in, lacking the confidence with which Zahra had previously utilized.

“Of some sort,” Mystica replied. “But most basic illusions don’t trigger a feeling of being watched. Something was watching me outside. But I didn’t see anything. No, we’re dealing with something much stronger than some amateur deception of the senses. I’m thinking…”

“Some sort of perspective skew?” proposed Miles, who had managed to sneak up behind Annie and Zahra in line. “Like a…cloaking device?”

“Most devices of such nature fade out quickly without reserve power. These phenomena have been occurring for a while, it sounds, and a recent increase in activity would require a direct reliance on a constant source of energy. It’s likely some sort of isolated system, or else…”

“It’s leeching energy,” came Jessica’s warm southern drawl from behind Miles. It seemed that Mystica’s little lessons on stealth had been taken to heart by his followers.

Jessica’s sudden theory – correct, by the pleasantly surprised look on Mystica’s face – left the rest of the madmen and women taken off-guard. Over the last six hours, the ginger-haired girl had barely added a word to conversation. For her to speak now, and, even more impressively, be correct, felt like a rather sudden blow to the stomach for the rest of the group.

“I paid attention in chemistry,” said Jessica, shying her blushing face away from the eyes upon her. “Basic energy transfer stuff.”

“Which means...”

The old one strolled past his comrades, coming to a stop at Jessica, who looked back up at him with wide, hopeful emeralds. Much to the surprise of the mad in attendace, the cynic in Mystica seemed to take a backseat to a gesture most unusual to his nature. With a steady hand, he gently tapped the tip of Jessica’s nose. Then, without missing a beat, he turned away from the crowd.

“We’re looking for a parasite.”