13, July '95 — Nighttime at a Hogsmeade Residence

She was hovering there, just floating, and even from the urchin's place in the tree it looked convincing enough. It could have been entirely believable for her, too, with the dirty fabric of the nightgown streaked with dried blood —a mix of sap and raspberry jam she'd thought up herself— and its dangling hems rippling just a little. Charley was pretty proud of the way Maggie had let herself be dressed, her face powdered and hair all mussed up, to really sell the part.

Charley was only a little sad she wasn't the ghost floating there in front of the bed herself.

It wasn't like the urchin couldn't have done it herself if she only had someone to cast Leviosa for her, there wasn't much holding her back from pulling a nightly prank. She wasn't afraid of hearing much about sneaking out, not even when it was Professor Lyra now and not Mrs. Mann who might fret over her nightly whereabouts. Nor did she mind if her new clothes were all sullied from climbing up the tree, those things just happened to Charley. And Charley was going to make them happen, one way or another, or she'd go screaming crazy trying to pretend that a posh room and fluffy bed were enough in return for all the freedom she could never dream of again.

If her dreams had to take odd twists, then someone else could have nightmares, too. That's what she was hoping would happen, anyway. A good scream from inside the bedroom, that's what Charley was waiting for. Then she'd wiggle her wand and help Maggie float out, all ghost-like, and maybe add in some of her own wails for good measure. She could do a good deep groan now, that would be pretty spooky.

The poor sod trying to sleep might not agree, but it was true and Maggie would see it herself by the end of the night. Magic could be good for a laugh, especially when someone else was doing the screaming.

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Margaret Wallace

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OOC: Open to any sleeping resident of Hogsmeade. Child- and/or ghost-haters strongly encouraged.

You pick the place and the thread will be moved as needed.

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   Margaret Wallace

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Writer Notes: Charley is a street urchin in both appearance and behavior, unless written otherwise here.
Interactions may reflect Victorian-era morals rather than modern sensibilities; this is allowed and acceptable to this writer.

"How do I let you talk me into things like this?" Had she said it? She had certainly thought it, several times. Maggie resolved that she must have asked that question at least once and Charley must have given her a thoroughly convincing argument, why else would the little girl now be dangling in the air foot above the floorboards of this sleeping prank victim. It wasnt in the nature of the little muggle girl to willingly let people to cast spells on her, but Charley had a certain way about her so she had squinted her eyes and allowed the Leviosa to be cast, only opening them when she realised that she wasnt going to be immediately catapulted into the clouds never to be seen again.

Her night dress had been run through bike spokes to give it authentic looking tears along its hem and the sticky sap soaked looking like blood stains. In the light Maggie had been concerned it wasnt realistic enough, but under the dim flickering street lamps and the near blackness of this bedroom, the effect was wonderfully gruesome.

She ran her nails up the side of the wardrobe next to her, making a dry scratching noise to disturb the sleeper. Her head, covered in white face powder and similar chalk for her hair twisted at an unnatural angle that she had practiced. Maggie hated magic but she enjoyed ghost stories so had some ideas how to pull this off. Her eyes glazed and she thought deeply of the things that made her sad before a breaking and hoarse voice hissed forth. "Heeeeellppp meeeeee".

Maggie was a waif like twelve year old so her scrawny wrist that reached forward grasping at the victim seemed suitably thin while sticking out of her night dress, thin enough to hopefully sell the long dead sufferer she was trying to portray. Her hand ended in thing boney fingers that were soiled from the bloody sap and general wear and tear of being poor.

"heeeeellppp meeeeee" she hissed again. Letting out a long agonal breath.

How do I let you talk me in to these things?

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Charley Goode

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   Charley Goode

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A Hogsmeade resident who hates both children and ghosts, as requested. xD

Barnabas was neither a light sleeper nor a heavy sleeper, he was right in-between. Which is why he was startled awake at who knows what time by a small creature–which he immediately disliked on principle–who had a rather high-pitched voice.

At first, he hadn't been aware what had woken him. And then he heard it again, the long, drawn-out help me somewhere near the foot of his bed. He shot up immediately, seeing the terrifying (although quite small) thing near him. It was vaguely house-elf sized (and sounded like one too, if he were awake enough to come up with the thought), but the silhouette of the non-existent ears wasn't quite right among... many other things.

He let out a string of curses before he snatched up his wand from his bedside table and lit the end with a lumos, "Who the bloody hell are you?!"

Margaret Wallace Charley Goode

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Barnabas walks with a cane • Set by the lovely Lady • plot with me

Oh, the man was mad. She might've been too, having just woken up from a sweet dream to find a ghost at the foot of her bed. Except in her case, Charley would have asked its name and all, maybe had a nice chat first, before getting all mad at someone who couldn't sleep like her. It sure seemed pretty rude to start making demands of a ghost without so much as a how-de-do.

She was free to make a sour face out on the tree, away from the performance inside the bedroom. Wiggling her wand, the urchin set her wailing partner to slowly drift toward the bedframe and then back again, helping Maggie really sell the illusion. This was so much easier with a wand rather than the ropes it would have needed on a stage, and Charley had to wonder why more wizards didn't put on dazzling shows for Muggles. She could be making gold hand over fist with her own magical theatre troupe.

It was lucky enough for the both of them that the half moon shone just at the right angle into the room. Charley wasn't sure if ghosts cast a shadow in moonlight, and wasn't hoping to find out either. At the appearance of a bright wandlight, she swore under her breath and waved her wand to send Maggie back into deeper shadows left in the room. Her ghastly partner would have to sell that performance by herself, the urchin could only help so much beyond the stagecraft that magic made possible.

"En't helpin' if ya screw it up, Mags," Charley muttered to herself, words that didn't pass the tip of her nose. They would have been all the more worthwhile if she could have whispered them right into Maggie's ear. The urchin might have kicked herself if it didn't risk her falling right out of the tree. Next time they would be better prepared, there had to be a spell to let her talk to the little actress without anyone else overhearing.

They'd just have to rely on the character, dead and haunting as a ghost, the two girls had agreed on before all this. That, and keeping their nightcapped victim too properly fearful to suspect his haunting was anything but real.

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Writer Notes: Charley is a street urchin in both appearance and behavior, unless written otherwise here.
Interactions may reflect Victorian-era morals rather than modern sensibilities; this is allowed and acceptable to this writer.

Maggie saw the man sit up in the darkness and her already racing heart went even faster. As the lumos hit her face and Charley pulled her back just a little she let out a hiss towards the light as if it burned her and forced her to recoil.

"Whoo ammm IIII?" she parroted the man back to him in her long drawn voice, turning her head again and staring into him. "Who... AM... IIII?" she repeated in the same hissing voice but with an inflection that put the question back to him as if it were his responsibility to inform her. Her finger hardened at him and she scowled in anger, he had done this to her, he had done this to them all.

"Mother never told me... did she tell you... before she...? she ran the finger of her other hand across her throat and out towards her shoulder. She wasnt sure if it was the finger on her clavicle or her own fear of the prank manifesting but she felt the first vestiges of a giggle inside her that she fought to keep down to prevent her breaking character.

"Why didnt you helllppppp meeeeeee?" she let out a gasp, the sort of gasp that might be the last noise she ever made when she was alive. If she giggled now Charley would never let her live it down.

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Charley Goode Barnabas Skeeter

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This had to be the strangest thing Barnabas had experienced in his bedroom, especially in the middle of the night. The light from his wand had illuminated the room enough that he saw what awful creature had woken him. A little girl. She'd dressed up as... well he couldn't exactly tell, but she looked disgusting and there was a faint whiff of something sweet and fruity. But instead of stopping whatever this was, she continued nonsensically.

By the time she had finished her theatrics (a dead mother, how original), he had fully woken and subtly pulled his blanket up further around himself, nearly to his chin. Barnabas slept in the nude, which made this encounter extra irritating. Though his adrenaline still had his heart pounding. As was expected from someone who was jolted awake so rudely and made to think they were being attacked.

He narrowed his eyes, "I'll help you right out that blasted window." He waved the hand not holding his wand toward the window in question, "And I'll give you three seconds to get yourself out of here before I do it."

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Barnabas walks with a cane • Set by the lovely Lady • plot with me

Charley was feeling pretty proud of herself for having coached Maggie well enough, and the little girl too for her performance. There might not have been much she would have done better herself, except perhaps to make the costume bloodier. If there was disappointment the urchin had found from meeting a real ghost several times, it was only that they weren't all that scary once she was past the fact that they were dead.

Anyone who stuck around after they were dead should really look the part.

That was the part the man seemed to be buying the least, and the urchin wasn't liking how he took it. It wasn't just rude, he was downright cold. A real ghost would have a warmer soul than this one, she was sure. Charley was just about to roll up her sleeves and crawl inside to teach the man some proper audience manners. Before she caught the look in Maggie's eye, anyway, and that settled her temper right quick.

"Don't listen to him! " she whispered, her face pointed right at the girl. Now Charley really wanted some way to talk right to Maggie, she didn't think her friend had practiced reading lips during Hogwarts at all. Still, if the ghostly figure could actually make out the words, Charley was going to pass along what she could. "Haunt that big 'ol bully! "

She did think about pulling Maggie back her way, saving the man the trouble of acting on his threat. It was only for a moment. The little girl getting scared could only sell the part better, and Charley had her doubts that the man could actually make good on his words. Lots of folk said things they couldn't do naught about, herself included.

What she really needed was another wand, if only Maggie had brought along hers. Then the man could talk all he wanted and none of them would have any worry at all for it.

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   Margaret Wallace

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Writer Notes: Charley is a street urchin in both appearance and behavior, unless written otherwise here.
Interactions may reflect Victorian-era morals rather than modern sensibilities; this is allowed and acceptable to this writer.

It wasn't working, the man seemed shocked, yes that was apparent. And he moved to put his covers between he and her, but he didnt seem scared and now he was having a wand in her direction. Maggie's heart was very much not of ghostly form and was beating out of her chest as her eyes quickly flicked toward the window and to safety, but she wanted to sell this, it was part of the game. If he didnt believe her to be ghost then he must suspect her to be a child and not even a wizard would harm a child... right?

She grinned at him, the fear in her face. And shook her head softly there was clear fear in her eyes but she had clearly suffered at least one horrible death so fear was acceptable. At least it dealt with the giggled

"You would toss me out the window? You would discard us again?... You havent changed.... have you father?" she hissed softly. The nerves were drying her throat out which might actually help. it was risk, could she convince him that she was some secret bastard that had sprung into existence by his passing? She didnt really know how it worked but she knew it happened a lot and she knew that word was at least as scary for posh men as ghosts were to everybody else.

His wand scared her, but he hadnt used it yet, and it had been a long three seconds.

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Charley Goode Barnabas Skeeter

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   Charley Goode

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Father?? Barnabas reared back. Never in his life had anyone ever called him that–most certainly not a child. He had no idea how old this one was. Four? Nine? Surely this was part of whatever heinous prank this child had decided to play on him... though he did some mental calculations just in case. He'd been away for six years, so if she were younger than that he would have a clear answer. And if she were older... well... there was a chance, but surely the woman would have made it known and come after him for financial support. No, no, he shook his head, deciding that this child was not his. If only for the convenience.

Three seconds had passed, and now he was either going to make good on his threat or she'd be calling his bluff. Irritating or not, he couldn't exactly throw a little girl out his window. That would be frowned upon in polite society (and probably impolite society.) So instead he said a bit more loudly, "Go on, out or I'll–" What could he threaten her with now to get her to leave? "I'll tell your real mother what you've been up to!" Merlin he hoped this worked. He didn't know much about children, preferring to pretend they didn't exist, so he had no idea how to actually interact with one.

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Barnabas walks with a cane • Set by the lovely Lady • plot with me

Swapped posting order with Jordan

The man's reaction was more peturbed than scared, and seeing as there wasn't really an end goal to this prank beyond having some fun it might be time to leave. She looked over at Charley out of the window again with a slight shrug just for her, she was ready to come out.

She snapped her head back to the man and twisted her expression, "You'll have to claw through the cold dark earth to tell it to her then won't you?" she tried to make the hissing noise again but there was a grin beginning to tickle her face as the prank past it's shock value and became something more of a silly show. Maggie appreciated that she had not been thrown out the window. That didn't make the man any less of a danger too her, she didn't want to be turned into anything unmentionable, so maybe it was best not to push their luck any further.

At least she had had fun tonight, and with magic as well, so that was new.

She pointed her finger, she had one last message thing to say to the man, a little verse that she had been made to recite over and over and over again as a child by her church that it was burned into her mind, but now it would sound like a curse from beyond the grave, she hoped.

Your heart, your spirit, turn away,
From the shadows of the magical way.
For powers not your own to seek,
Can leave you hollow, leave you weak.

Let God within can make you clean,
From all the spells and what has been.
Embrace the truth, the light, the whole,
And cleanse the magic from your soul.

Her skin prickled with the verse as she instinctively waited for the cane that would lash the back of her legs or the tops of her knuckles, of course that never came. It was only her, the confused man and Charley and she would quite like to escape now.

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Barnabas Skeeter Charley Goode

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The urchin clamped a hand over her mouth, trying hard to keep her laugh from escaping her lips. They were quiet cackles to start with, and that much was a relief, but in the dead of night even a whisper might carry far. Far enough to reach from her tree branch to inside the room, if their roused victim hadn't been mouthy enough to cover it up anyway.

That was a lucky break for their ghostly marionette.

It was a good debut for Maggie's stardom, one that Charley was sure had plenty more heights to climb. The little girl was an artist more than she knew. Her little gasps and pleading eyes out the window gave Charley her cues, but mostly seemed to her like plain old stage fright. She'd gotten that too, when she first took to the stage. And then she'd gotten over it, just like Maggie would do after a few more productions like this one.

Charley was giving her attention to the little production she'd staged through the window tonight, she'd swear to that. A player could dream, but not when the lights were on and the curtain was drawn back. That'd be like abandoning her post, and then who would keep Maggie aloft inside? Or try to judge the moment when their curt, one-man audience was about to lob a rotten spell at her star?

For a good long while, her star did a great job at holding off that moment. There wasn't a worry to be had, really, not that Charley was the worrying sort. Not until the little girl's voice got so small that even she felt chilly out there on the warm summer air, feeling goosebumps trekking up her arm.

"Oh Mags, what'cha doin'?" The urchin couldn't tell if Maggie was trying to summon a real spectre for their show or not, it only seemed to her like this was the time to end it.

Her wand flicked and pulled the little star toward the window, and maybe with a little less style than Charley'd first hoped. She wasn't the worrying sort, no, but it wasn't until Maggie's feet touched the ground that she remembered that breathing was a useful thing. The urchin took a big one, and a chuckle came out of her, unshackled this time. She tossed another spell at the window, this one meant to rattle its panes until they shut, before climbing herself down to meet her little star below.

"Now comes the applause," she told Maggie, glancing up toward the room that had been their stage. The urchin wasn't exactly expecting roses to come showering down on them, but they'd surely earned something for the show.

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   Margaret Wallace

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Writer Notes: Charley is a street urchin in both appearance and behavior, unless written otherwise here.
Interactions may reflect Victorian-era morals rather than modern sensibilities; this is allowed and acceptable to this writer.

Merlin's balls this child was odd. Barnabas blinked. Now she was reciting poetry? Dark poetry. Religious, even. He suddenly thought himself lucky that she hadn't brought a knife. He wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if she'd murdered a person or two. Thankfully, he was saved from having to respond to whatever that was (and threatening her again, which may not have been the best idea if she did have a penchant for killing men in their sleep.) She was suddenly whisked out his open window.

He took the opportunity to stand with his blanket robe and peer into the night. Now there were two little girls beneath his window. Bloody hell. They were multiplying. He wanted no part of whatever this was. "Away with you," He ordered sternly, "Before I hex you both to vomit slugs for the rest of your days." Barnabas didn't wait for either of them to reply before he slammed his window shut. He used the window's latch to lock it, and then a spell for good measure. And then he went back to bed.

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Barnabas walks with a cane • Set by the lovely Lady • plot with me

As Margaret landed and Charley invited an applause from the audience, she turned, placed one foot behind the other and gave an exaggerated little curtsey to the man. His applause was more like an angry shout out the window before slamming it shut upon them. She finally breathed a sigh of relief and looked at her friend. "I probably dont want to know if the slug thing is a real hex do I?" she asked. But the lightness in her heart for their bit of utterly pointless fun caused her cheeks to rise and she burst out laughing.

"Oh my gods Charley, that was so ridiculous, could you see his face? We should probably get back to yours before he calls someone to lock us up." she dabbed at the dried up mixture on her dress as she began walking away from the man's house. She was probably going to have to borrow a dress off Charley before she made the journey back to Irvingly in the morning. It wouldn't do to get eaten by wild animals.

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Barnabas Skeeter Charley Goode

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Charley might've taken a bow, but the show belonged to Maggie tonight. It was her eerie performance that the man needed to applaud. When he showed up at the window, just like she knew he would, the urchin gestured toward her friend with the largest flourish her hands could muster. The scathing words came down like music to her ears, and finally she could belt out a good, long laugh at his expense.

"You were bleedin' amazin', Mags! Jes Ah-Maze-Ing!" She made sure to hit every part of that word, as if it wasn't obvious otherwise from the way the shutters slammed. "Don't you fret 'bout that big ol' bully, he'll wake up thinkin' the whole thing was a nightmare or summat. Won't a soul believe he got haunted by a little girl playin' ghost."

If the man was bothered enough to curse them, then their show had been real theatre. Charley had missed this feeling, the warm, lofty feeling that put a bounce in her step and a lilt in her voice. "Last one to mine's a ghost for reals!"

The urchin's laughs trailed off behind her, running as if she, herself was being haunted. And with a ghostly form trailing behind, anyone else looking out their window tonight would surely agree that Maggie played the most convincing part of it all.

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Writer Notes: Charley is a street urchin in both appearance and behavior, unless written otherwise here.
Interactions may reflect Victorian-era morals rather than modern sensibilities; this is allowed and acceptable to this writer.