Chapter Text
******Never send to know for whom the bell tolls.
It tolls for thee.*****
“I'm so glad it meets with your approval,” Chamswoth Gregory St. John Illset said, without turning towards her. Janine envisaged his loser head exploding and kept her temper.
Peter didn't. He turned around again and smiled like a shark. “It looks like a crew of obsessive compulsives went quietly mad and died in here,” he said, waving his thrower at the flowers as if to raze the poor things and put them out of their rigid misery.
Illset was stung. “The majority don't have the ability to appreciate a fine, formal garden.”
Mr. Pedigree had everyone's attention now but Janine launched first. “You'll have to show us one someday.”
He turned to her and screamed bloody murder. A high-pitched “EEEEEEEE!” that she'd never heard outside of Warner Brothers cartoons. Janine blinked and drew back her arm to feed him her camera. “There she is!” Illset shouted, pointing a trembling finger just to her left. “The Gwrach-y-rhibyn! She's back, she's back!”
“The Grakky Ribbon?” Janine dropped her arm, turned, and there, standing calmly almost shoulder to shoulder with her, was the ugliest old hag the Ghostbusters'd ever seen. (And considering their long history with hags that was saying something.) She had wild hair, an enormous honker of a nose, and piercing black eyes as per all basic hag specs. The tusks were new, though. Her black cloak rippled and revealed itself to be wings folded flat across her back and covered in over-lapping scales. Very new as well. A grey, ragged robe wrapped her body. Janine froze in terror...then amended her reaction by congratulating herself on wisely keeping still.
They all looked at the hag. She looked at them.
“Seriously,” Peter went on. “Egon's yogurt culture is jollier than this place.”
“That's gratifying, Peter,” Egon Spengler took a quick reading with his PKE meter and it screamed bloody murder, too. Egon cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon,” he said and put it away. The creature cocked her head like a crow at that. She glanced at Janine. Aunt Enid! Aunt Enid all over. Janine smiled, she couldn't help it. The thing looked like her hairy Aunt Enid and she didn't exactly radiate evil. She was just watching them all carefully. Well, of course she would. Four men with what could be powerful weapons, one panicked idiot, and a woman with a camera. The horror, the horror... but it would be nice to not have a fight for once.
“Hello,” Janine said. “I'm Janine Mel...”
“Shoot her, shoot her, shoot her!” Illset yowled. Janine glared at him. “Every time one of us is about to die she's there! She's come for me! She's come for meeeeeee!”
They looked at her. She looked at them.
“Yyyyeah, it's not right,” Ray Stantz said, clearly a man in hell. “Live, green things shouldn't be measured out into cold little lines and parcels like this. And they're not growing well.” Janine smothered a laugh as Illset stared at them all, appalled. The Ghostbusters casually formed a ragged semicircle before his personal nightmare as they insulted the foliage and kicked at the grass that was exactly 2.5 inches tall. To indicate peaceful intentions Janine stayed where she was, by the creature's side, but she knew how, and when, to hit the deck if she had to.
Only Winston Zeddemore decided not to play. He was studying the...the Graaack Ptooie closely. His thrower was held firmly in his hands but he was calm. When the hag's sharp gaze took him in he nodded to her. To Janine's surprise the crone nodded back. It was like watching two old warriors acknowledge each other. Which was exactly what it was, duh.
“I'm paying you to do something!” Illset howled. No one moved. “Kill it!”
The crone spoke then with a voice that was raw but strangely soft and completely unhampered by the ivory in her mouth. “No need,” she said. “The Illsets will see me no more. As of tonight there'll be no more Illsets to see.”
“She's threatening me!”
“Nay,” she answered. “The last Illset will go soon. He's tired and ready.” She indicated the great Georgian mansion on the other side of the grounds. “James Creedmore Croesus Illset is a fine man and a brave one. With his leavin' a great family has ended as well as it began.”
Janine believed her immediately and was saddened. “Oh, he did look ill, but not that ill,” she whispered and her friends, to a man, nodded, and looked grim. The old fellow had been charming and warm, though too weak to stand up from his comfortable armchair to welcome them. For which he apologized. A far, classy cry from his snot-rag son.
Who displayed his priorities immediately. “My father? Not me? Oh, thank god.” He sagged with relief while the others stared at him in wonderment and disgust. Then he blinked as an actual thought appeared in his brain. “Wait, how can Father be the last Illset when I'm standing right here?”
The hag shrugged and her eyes gleamed. “Ask thy mother.”
“Oop,” Janine said and all the Ghostbusters grinned, gasped, or winced. Illset's face boiled red and his mouth hung open. The Gwrach-y-rhibyn extended her scaly wings and gave them a leisurely flap. Mr. 'Pedigree' broke and ran. Ran like hell out of the gardens and towards the road, away, away from the manor and all the things inside and outside. The hag folded her wings again and sneered. When you have tusks you can put on one fantastic sneer.
She said, “Muck. And won't he be surprised when the will's read. James never forgave him for what he did to the place while he was in hospital.” Everyone looked around and muttered agreement.
Then Peter cut his eyes at her. They were bright with mischief. “That's why you're out here instead of in there. To give James some peace from the kid! That's beautiful of you.”
The hag was surprised, with a veneer of being impressed, but she let Peter's accusation, and the compliment, pass. “I'm leavin' now,” she suddenly announced and spread her wings.
“Wait! If you don't mind,” Egon began and she cocked her head at him again. Janine sensed genuine amusement from the old (bat? bird?) biddie. Perhaps she enjoyed not being met with horror and awe. “Where will you go?” Egon asked. “And who are you? Your title is Welsh. It translates as the Hag of the Mists or, more accurately, the Hag of the Dribble. And I would like to know...”
“Dribble? She's not dribbling.”
“I don't mean drooling, I mean a light rain. We in the States would say drizzling. There's a great deal of drizzle in Wales.”
“Aye, that there is.” The Gwrach-y-rhibyn shuddered and then she actually smiled, her face softening as she relaxed. “Ye're just curious then.”
“Aye. I mean, yes.”
“Yes,” Ray eagerly agreed and holstered his thrower over his back. “We're scholars. Doctors. We're not just mad ghost-hunters, I promise. Let's get to know each other!” He spread his open hands.
“Ye want to be friends?”
“Sure!” Ray answered at once. “Come home to the firehouse. Since, y'know, you seem to be finished here.”
“Go home with ye, no less.” She smiled again and Janine saw her Aunt Enid so clearly it made her heart ache. Old Aunt Enid teasing the kids. But the hag had a gloom on her that Aunt Enid never did and she slowly shook her head. “I don't make friends, me. Not for very long,” She looked from one to the other again and Janine had a sensation of being weighed by someone very old, and very strong, and eternally sad. She felt like an infant under that appraisal and her right foot, completely against her will, scuffed the grass. The creature seemed to come to a decision and straightened. “I will say I do like all of ye, though. Not stupid and not bleedin' cowards. And kind. Another fine family, certainly. ”
“Oh, no,” Winston breathed so low Janine barely heard him.
“Oh, yes. I will pay ye a visit. Five visits.” She spread her dark wings wide. “And when ye see me ye'll know that it's time. Time to make ready.”
“Ready for wha...?” Ray began and ducked as she disappeared, her backdraft nearly blowing him off his feet. Janine toppled and ruined the crabbed uniformity of a bed of growths. The beat of invisible wings faded away to leave a whirlwind of grass, leaves, and flower petals to settle over the wide-eyed group. Ray slowly picked himself up. “Oh. Be ready. Okay.” He walked over and gave Janine a hand up. Egon took readings but the PKE meter was silent. Peter and Winston stood very still, one with his hand over his mouth and the other with his hand over his eyes. No third monkey was forthcoming. Janine brushed herself off.
The five of them silently digested the Grakky Ribbon's parting (shot? curse? gift?) words for quite a while. Finally, Winston sighed and holstered his thrower. “Good god,” he said. “The geometry of this place is totally off. Whatever walks in this garden walks alone.” Again, everyone gave their affirmative to that.
“C'mon,” Peter said. “Let's go up to the house and say goodbye to the old guy.” He turned and walked away. The others followed.