Well, so I did find some time to write after all. I told you I might!
Here is the next part--oh, and you don't want to mess with Mac's ghost!
Shadows and Light Part Four
Rated: PG
“How can you be sure Mr. Thornton will cooperate?” The man with the heavier build asked.
Nicholas clutched his black case containing the hypodermic of poison protectively against him. “He has to, or he will die, simple as that,” he said.
They were assembled in the foyer of the old house, and MacGyver was with them, an invisible eavesdropper. He knew Pete’s time was scarce, and that he had to do something soon. Still, he had never engineered a haunting before, pondering the mechanics behind one. He realized that he would have to use his imagination and as much if not more effort as a ghost than as a living man in order to create a frightening experience these men wouldn’t likely forget. From the background information he had read on Nicholas Stanislav, he knew that he believed in and was almost obsessed with the occult and the paranormal, that he was superstitious and paranoid and that it was his main weakness. He grinned, knowing it would be fun to play on that man’s worst fears, using his advantages as a ghost to cause some chaos and mischief. The house was old and creepy, the perfect setting for a haunting, and he knew that Nicholas was probably already wondering about and questioning his choice of location. The question was how he could manipulate solid objects if he couldn’t touch or interact with them. Looking up, he saw a chandelier dangling directly above where Nicholas and his men stood, and although it appeared delicate and made of nothing but fibrous, silken cobwebs, he knew there was heavy, leaded crystal beneath, and if he could rattle it somehow, it might be a good place to start.
After carefully ascending the stairs, he reached the landing nearest to the chandelier and stared at it for a long time, considering it and trying to figure out how he could make it move somehow. Of the many accounts of hauntings he had read in an attempt to better understand the phenomenon, he had heard of some terrified witnesses describing inanimate objects flying through the air as if on their own accord, so he knew it was possible he could do the same in his current ghostly form. The question was how. Concentration and practice were important, of course, but what else? He thought about his current state and how he was nothing but energy. Perhaps if he harnessed that energy somehow, channeled it all into the chandelier, he might be able to produce a reaction. Realizing it was his only hope for rescuing Pete, MacGyver stared intensely at the chandelier, his entire focus on it and making it sway.
***
A rattling noise interrupted Nicholas and his men.
“Did you hear that?” He asked.
“Yes, I hear it,” his man with the rougher facial features said, looking around suspiciously and pulling out his gun.
“Where is it coming from?” Nicholas asked.
“There,” the brawnier man said, pointing at the chandelier.
All three of them watched in baffled, stunned silence as it began swinging violently, the rattling of the crystal increasing in volume.
“How do you suppose it is doing that?”
“Perhaps a breeze.”
“No, you fools, there is no breeze that strong,” Nicholas said, watching it half in amazement and half in fear, struggling along with his men to comprehend what he was seeing.
The chandelier now began to bounce, and soon the force it was exerting was too great for it to maintain its attachment to the ceiling, the cable snapping, the plaster around it cracking loudly.
“Look out!” Nicholas screamed, pushing his men out of the way.
The chandelier tumbled to the floor in a dramatic crash, shattering and splintering into dozens of fragments that scattered around the floor and showered Nicholas and his men in a hail of exploding, flying glass. Once they were sure they were safe and recovered from their shock, they stood from their crouched, huddled positions, carefully brushing the shards of glass from their clothing. They stared mutely at the now destroyed remains of the chandelier, confused and shaken.
“What happened?”
“Perhaps an accident?”
“No,” Nicholas said, his eyes darting around frantically, scanning the house. “Someone is here. I want both of you to look around. Take separate directions. Search the entire house. Make sure Thornton is still secured. I will look as well.”
His men nodded, parting, their guns ready.
***
After some initial difficulties, MacGyver found that moving objects in the environment as a ghost became increasingly easier. All he had to do was focus his mind fully and invest his attention on what he wanted moved, and it would move. He didn’t have to touch it with his hands, which would have been impossible anyway. He could touch it with the force of his thoughts and his energy. It was becoming a source of amusement for him, because now he had insider knowledge of how a ghost haunted a house. Perhaps they did not intend to scare people, but were simply experimenting with their new forms and capabilities as he was. Scaring the living just happened to be an entertaining by-product, a whimsical diversion. A gleeful, impish grin spread on his lips as he began to take increasing, childlike delight in his game of scaring and toying with Nicholas and his men, listening as one of them approached the library where he was, the weight of his footsteps causing the rotted floorboards to creak underneath. He waited patiently as the bulky man entered cautiously, pointing his gun, looking around the room. Staring at the volumes of leather bound books on the dusty shelves, their bindings cracked, the titles on the spines faded, MacGyver began to convince them with his mind to move, watching as they followed his command, flying off the shelves and swirling in the air, some of them striking the man’s broad back, causing him to yell out in surprise and fear, looking around in confusion, trying to see the source of the disruption, pointing his gun at nothing but air. His hollers alerted Nicholas and the other man, who came running into the library only to be assaulted by literature themselves, bombarded and battered by books that sent them to the floor, shrieking and yelling, covering their heads with their hands. Giggling, MacGyver released his influence on the books, watching as they collapsed to the floor around the men in a tremendous thud, becoming motionless again.
It took several minutes for Nicholas and his men to recover and realize they were no longer under attack. Slowly, they lifted their heads and looked around fearfully. There was a piano in the library, shrouded as the rest of the furniture in the house was. MacGyver used his newly discovered powers to lift the shroud, suspending it in the air for a moment before tossing it aside. He focused on the keys, playing them randomly with the influence of his mind. The instrument hadn’t been tuned in years, creating an eerie, rusted, discordant recital that was fitting for a haunted house. Nicholas and his men watched, fascinated and terrified as the keys moved without anyone touching them.
“W-what is happening?” The large man asked. Despite his physical prowess and intimidating size, he had been reduced to a trembling, powerless, frightened child.
“Poltergeist,” Nicholas said, staring in fear and wonderment at what he was witnessing. “I always knew they existed, but until now I have never seen one. There is a presence here, of that there can no be no doubt. We are being haunted. It is a ghost, which is appropriate for a house of such an age. There must be a rich history here. I could sense it when we first arrived.”
“What do we do?” The man with the rough features asked.
“Communicate with it,” Nicholas said. He looked again at the piano playing itself. “Tell me…please…what do you want?” He asked it.
“For you to leave, obviously,” MacGyver said, smiling. “Oh, and to release my friend.”
Nicholas seemed not to hear him. “Please…speak to me,” he said. “We will not harm you. We just want to know…why are you here? Are you a lost and tormented soul?”
MacGyver shook his head. It was obvious that he couldn’t reach these men except through physical objects. He dropped his focus on the piano, and it stopped playing, the library falling silent.
Nicholas smiled. “Ah yes…you did hear me,” he said. “I want to talk to you. I want to know what it is like. Tell me everything, spirit.”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” MacGyver said, turning back to the books piled on the floor.
They rose, once again floating and flying around the room, the storm of bound paper intensifying, causing Nicholas and his men to duck for cover again as the hard covers struck them repeatedly.
“We must get out of here!” The bulky man shouted, running towards the door.
“Hey, where are you going?” MacGyver asked, noticing him. He turned his attention to the door, slamming it shut.
In panic and desperation, the bulky man yanked hard on the door, trying to open it. Nicholas and his other man tried to force it open, pushing against it with their bodies, but it would not open. Just as they were leaning their hardest on it, MacGyver released it with his mind, watching and laughing as they tumbled out into the hallway. They ran, screaming, but MacGyver chased them, using his abilities to hurl any nearby, available object he could at them, refusing to leave them a moment’s peace. Any attempts they made at escaping were once again met with a tightly shut door. He teased them by opening and closing doors, watching as they scrambled to exit only to find the door slammed on them once they reached it. Laughing harder, finding it all much too enjoyable, MacGyver’s energy increased until the entire house seemed to come alive with his influence as if possessed by him, everything moving ceaselessly, preventing the men from leaving, darting from one area of the house to another in mad panic, terror, and confusion, trampling each other like stampeding cattle, overwhelmed by mindless, irrational, blind fear that dominated everything they did. As if to add another insult, MacGyver was able to yank their guns away from them, causing them to cry out in even more fear.
“Please, don’t hurt us!” Nicholas shrieked, his voice shrill and high as he cowered in a corner.
MacGyver laughed. “This is just too much fun,” he said.
***
Pete heard the shouts and pleas of Nicholas and his men and knew that MacGyver’s haunting had proved successful, the house falling into tumult as chaos as their footsteps thundered through the house from running from their unseen assailant. Smiling and shaking his head, he returned to his task of loosening his ropes, using the jagged edge of a rusted pipe to cut through them. It might not have been as elaborate as something MacGyver would contrive, but he knew his friend would approve of it anyway. He had noticed it nearby and merely had to scoot his chair over to reach it. Nicholas and his men weren’t counting on him to use any ingenuity. That was reserved especially for MacGyver. They didn’t realize how incorrect they were in their assumptions. Pete was beginning to grow confident that through teamwork, through the combined resources of MacGyver’s wily, imaginative, active mind and his method of freeing himself from his ropes, they would be out of there soon and Nicholas and his men would be apprehended with quite an unbelievable and memorable story to tell.
The ropes snapped at last, and Pete rubbed his sore, chapped wrists, rubbing them and trying to increase the bloodflow to them. Sharp, painful, needle-like tingling sensations filled them from the restriction of circulation, but they soon lessened, allowing him to focus on untying his ankles. Once he was completely free from the chair he stood, turning to study the room full of junk, trying to come up with a viable solution to getting out of the room. He stared at the pipes in the room for awhile, an idea slowly emerging in his mind. Noticing that the joints of them seemed to fit together, he began to assemble a crude battering ram, using his ropes to tie them together. Once he felt it was long and sturdy enough, he began to hit the door with it, smashing against it with all his available strength. At first, the door did not want to budge, remaining solidly locked into place. Pete sighed in dismay, wondering if his idea would work after all. Still, he persevered, refusing to fail, wiping the sweat from his exertions with the back of his arm, panting heavily with each slam of the pipe against the heavy door. Eventually, it began to give. He listened as the rusted joints began to creak and warp and increased his motions, hitting the door harder and faster. At last, it burst open, and he dropped the pipe, nearly collapsing from the exhaustion of such rapid, repetitive movements, the pipe certainly not light by any means. Elated and gasping, he stared at the cracked open door, laughing, beside himself, surprised that his idea actually worked.
MacGyver appeared at that moment, looking down at the pipe, the burst open door, and then at Pete, making the connection. A broad smile formed on his face.
“Good job, Pete!” He said. “I told you that you could think of something!”
Pete looked at his friend and chuckled. “Yeah,” he said, still catching his breath. “I guess you were right. How is your scare going?”
MacGyver grinned slyly. “I’ve succeeded in whipping them into a frenzy,” he said.
“Sounds like it,” Pete said. “I could hear them yelling and running. What did you do? Did you actually drag around chains and moan, or did you wear a sheet?”
“Well…you’re close,” MacGyver said, winking.
Pete laughed and shook his head.
“Listen Pete, you’d better get out of here and get to a phone so we can get these guys apprehended by the proper authorities. I’m sure our government would love a chance to interrogate a known assassin and spy for the KGB, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep scaring these guys into submission.”
“Right,” Pete said, stepping over the pipe he had used and leaving the room where he had been held captive. “I’ll get to it right away.” He stopped when he heard MacGyver release a weak, painful groan. “Mac, what is it?” He asked, turning back to him. He saw that he was fading, his outline becoming fainter.
“I must’ve…used too much energy…” he said. “I…feel weak…”
“It’s going to be all right,” Pete said. “We’ll get out of here, and those men will be caught. I promise you.”
Blackness began to gather around MacGyver’s eyes. He could no longer hear Pete, a sound like a rush of air filling his ears. He felt something pulling at him again, dragging him back into oblivion.
“No, please not now! Pete! Pete, help me! Pete!”
Pete saw MacGyver’s lips move, saying his name, his eyes wide in terror, but he could no longer hear him. “Mac?” He asked. “Mac, what’s happening?”
MacGyver reached for Pete, mouthing his name. Pete tried to grab him, as if he could keep him there by holding onto him, but of course his hands went right through him. MacGyver’s ghostly form grew even fainter, and it abruptly vanished, just as it had before.
“NO! Mac, where did you go? I still need you! Don’t do this to me now! Mac!”
To be continued…
"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer."
--Henry David Thoreau
brains+brawn+beauty+personality=MacGyver
Oh no! Poor Mac! (and poor Pete, he isn't out of danger yet!). Oh! This story got me bitting my nails (and I just got them fixed!). Wonderful story, MacsChick. Wuv it! 
