Do you believe in Ghosts?

...Do I believe in ghosts?

That's tough see. Cause' at one point? I would've said no. Contrary to popular belief, growing up with Carnies didn't instill me with all sorts of weird superstitions. We did not hold satanic rituals once the carnival closed down (Or if we did, I wasn't privy to anything) I mean, there were things..

Okay. There were things. But what do you expect? The urge to move's not unique to one religion or group of folks. S'spread. Throw in all those people like that and you've got a soup or chili that'll burn even the strongest stomaches. I mean, people'd chant, we had one guy who worked for a month who ran with the Hari Krishna.

But I never believed in ghosts, because the idea of death always seemed so far away. Hell, My dad jumped through fire on a regular basis. These guys preached 'bout an afterlife that didn't exist for me.

Until I made the deal.

And my dad died.

...After I left, I'd hear something and jerk awake, imagining that he was standin' right beside me. Spot him in crowds and things like that. It was my imagination of course, but after a while I started wondering.

I think I knew. I think I knew something was off after that. Wrong with me. Off Kilter. I was a busted bike without a spoke. Tires without tread. Lackin' in something, but picking up all sorts of new vibrations that left me unhinged and driftin' on the road of life. I think that's why...I started learning about the occult. Your bike breaks, you learn to fix it. You study the mechanics of a jump before you do it. Simple.

It provided hundreds of different explinations. But I needed only the one. There was somethin' else out there. Something Evil and Something good.

I just never figured it'd come gunning for me, that's all.

What are you waiting for?

"-Stop struggling!"

Johnny's face twitched, "-No, no no please-" It'd start at any moment. He could feel it, the other being playing guest in his body, using his hands, his form, his skills to it's advantage, "-You can't do this, you can't do this-"

FINISH THEM ALL

Bile rose in Johnny's throat and he swallowed it back down. His skin crawled, an itching sensation, like a blister or a scab ready to fall off.

They passed another cell, a man with tattoos (He cut a woman, destroying her face because she'd refused to sell herself-) grinning at him with a lopsided eye.

He felt it all. All of it. It consumed him, washing over him in waves that left him feeling dirty, soiled. THEY ARE UNCLEAN. FINISH THEM ALL)

"No-" Johnny's boots backpedaled, pushing against the officer, "You can't put me in the tank!"

Despite being a carnie with an unsavory reputation, he'd never been arrested. He'd heard stories of the types of characters that frequented the establishment however. The guys his dad'd lead him away from when they laughed. The drunk ones who'd leer. The guys who'd stare at Roxanne-

Assault with a deadly weapon. Armed Robbery, Rape, three counts- His mind slipped into a sort of "Law and Order as a defense mechanism. Only without Lennie offering wisecracks and Green (Had to be Lennie and Green hands down) playing bad-cop.

He saw them. The crimes. They were all guilty. All Guilty WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? FINISH THEM?

"..no.." Louder, he let out a startled cry, "Please, you can't put me in there with-with them!"

The murderers. The Rapists.

"....Sorry." The Guard shoved him forward. Some hotshot celebrity in his tank? The locales would eat him alive, "The Ritz was booked solid."

He shoved him in.

Johnny crawled inside his subconcious, fighting down a clenching pain in his chest. Feels like a case of acid reflux disease.

He wondered if he had that wonderful purple pill with him and burst out laughing.

The crimes bombarded him like waves. He saw them. Their sins, their crimes, as if god had hung a sign around their neck. He picked them out and he hunted them down. This was what he was built for, designed for-

"...Say." The Rapist started forward, "You look like that Johnny Blaze guy."

Johnny swallowed. "eah. Heh. ...I -I get that alot." His chest heaved. If he could only burst free of his pathetic exterior, reveal his true colors. For the sake of propriety this pathetic mortal was preventing him from doing his job dammit. He could take them all, present them to the master with nooses made of chains round their neck-

No. The mission. The mission waited.

Johnny's flesh began to burn again.

"...Nah." The Rapist said, "...It is you." He spat, "I paid ten bucks to watch you splat."

Johnny twitched, "..heh-now guys-" WHY DO YOU HESITATE? FINISH HIM! HE STANDS IN THE WAY OF OUR GOAL.. " ...I-I-I-I-I don'..don't want any trouble." It was getting harder to suppress the fire welling up inside of him, the flames raging out of control at each injustice committed again and again before his eyes-

One. Last. Chance.. Beat the spirit. Beat the Devil. Leave.. "YOU CAN'T PUT ME IN HERE!"

Across the cage, Burt Varley tilted his head to the side. Somethin' sounded off about Mr. Blaze. Higher, deeper, like a track underneath. His Cousin always said, when you mixed tracks it didn' matter what you started out with. What mattered was the finished product.

Like this guy-

Before he could finish his thought, across the cage, Johnny began banging on the bars in a futile effort to open them. Out! WHY CAN'T YOU LET ME OUT? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?

"...Uh oh." said the arsonist, "Looks like somebody's trippin out." Gutteral laughs followed the pronoucement as the remains of Johnny Blaze laughed.

"Listen up Blaze. You may be a big shot out there? But in here? You're just another monkey in a cage!" The arsonist was jabbing his finger at him, emphasizing his point, "Make you feel like a big man?"

"...I don't want any trouble-"

Burt could no longer take it. "-Hey guys, leave him alone-" If he'd known that shoplifting would have landed him here-

"Shut the hell up." The rapist said, throwing a solid punch against the kid.

Johnny wondered if some part of him went mad every time he changed. If it had to, to accept what it was seeing, the horrors these men had created. The wrongs they'd been responsible-

He laughed as the jackals circled. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?.

The first punch landed, and time stopped. I don't know..

He'd believed there was good in everyone, until he saw them stripped away. Laid bare by god and his master. He was waiting for the good to surface. The clean part of their souls. Men should weep at the sight of it.

They had none left. There was nothing to wait for. Nothing to hope or pray existed.

Just pain. Just Fire. Just vengence.