The Asphalt Apparition

Intermission: Excerpt from Jason’s vlog

Investigation log: #356

11/17/2024

10:24

[Jason is visible centre frame, sitting in the driver's seat of a car, looking a bit uncertain towards the camera.]

“I received a really interesting call yesterday, an invitation to the Wexler estate… as in the home of multimillionaire philanthropist James Wexler.

Now I know that sounds sketchy, I recognise that, but it's legit, and apparently I'm wanted for my ‘expertise’ on the paranormal. Who knows how he knows anything about me? I'm lucky to get more than a handful of views.

Anyway, according to his ‘personal assistant’ as they called themselves, my attendance is of utmost importance to Mr Wexler. That, compounded with the large sum of money they offered me, meant I really couldn't say no, even if house calls really aren't my thing.

Apparently, Mr Wexler wants me to conduct an investigation of some form; they weren’t able to provide more details over the phone, but assured me it was urgent."

[Jason reaches for the camera, and it cuts to black.]

10:51

“So just to confirm Mr Wexler, you are perfectly fine with me recording this little interview?”

“Yes of course young man, and please call me James.”

“Okay, uh… James? I'm just going to set up the tripod here to have you in frame.”

[The screen lights up as Jason removes the lens cap. James Wexler is centred in the frame, a wrinkled old man with what could only be described as a whisper of grey hair on his head. He is on a large sofa chair, the room is large and well lit, the floor is a dark stained wood, and the walls a stylish bare brick.]

“James Wexler, please just confirm to the camera why you have called me here today.”

“Well to put it bluntly, I believe that I am being haunted; in fact, I believe I have been haunted for decades.”

“And what has led you to this conclusion, Mr. We-uh James?”

“I have been plagued by nightmares for over 60 years.”

“Nightmares? And what can you tell me about these nightmares?”

“Every night I am thrust into terrible dreams, where I am a passenger in the body of another, with no control over my actions, and every night without fail I am **** to face the consequences of my sins.”

“And what makes you so sure these nightmares are supernatural in origin?”

“Now I know how it sounds, I have been informed for years by dozens of professionals that they are the result of post-traumatic stress, but I am sure of it. She is haunting me.”

“And who would this ‘She’ be?”

“The woman I killed."

“Barbara Dalton!” Jocelyn declared, flinging her hat like a Frisbee. As it spun through the air, it expanded, swelling to ten times its size before crashing to the ground with a heavy whump. She drifted over to the oversized headpiece and bent at the waist, plunging her arm deep inside.

“And here she is!” she announced triumphantly, only to pull out a large white rabbit dangling by its ears.

“Oh! You aren’t Barbara Dalton at all, are you? Look at you, you little cutie,” she cooed in a syrupy voice, gently booping its nose.

Jason and Mika exchanged a helpless smile at the bizarre tenderness of the moment.

“Anyway.” Jocelyn’s expression snapped back to neutral as she casually tossed the rabbit over her shoulder. It sailed into the darkness, vanishing without so much as a squeak.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?”

She bent over even further this time, arm disappearing deeper into the impossible space inside the hat. Anyone watching might have assumed she was showing off; if not for the complete lack of anything resembling human anatomy beneath the skirt.

“Aha! Got you this time,” she said as she yanked her arm back out of the hat. Her fist broke the surface, holding a handful of what looked like black hair, except it moved, rippling between her fingers like liquid ink.

There was some resistance as she tugged on the inky substance. “Oooh, she’s a feisty one. Up you get.” Jocelyn braced herself, gave one last determined tug, and the black mass tore free. With a grunt she hurled it upward, and the writhing shape thudded onto centre stage.

At first, it rose as a billowing plume of smoke, churning and folding in on itself. But the haze thinned quickly, the darkness settling, sharpening, forming. A silhouette emerged inside the dissipating cloud.

Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense of the shifting shape in the middle of the stage. As the last of the smoke peeled away, he finally began to understand what he was looking at, and the realization left him equal parts terrified and fascinated.

A towering black figure loomed before them, its body coated in what looked like melted rubber and cracked asphalt. Thin trails of smoke hissed from the fractures across its ‘skin.’ It wore a shattered bicycle helmet with a smashed visor—no face visible beneath. Instead, smoke poured from the back of the helmet, shaped almost like tied-up hair. The figure’s form was unmistakably feminine: broad shoulders, powerful limbs, a sculpted torso, and prominent breasts, her stance tense as if ready to fight.

“Welcome, Barbara,” Jocelyn said with a graceful bow. “Would you like to introduce yourself to our audience?”

The creature jerked back, voice exploding in a blast of panic, anger, and what sounded like excitement.

“Holy shit—what the fuck is this? Where the fuck am I? How did you grab me? What the hell—” The creature's voice came out rough and distorted, almost half-formed with low and high pitches playing simultaneously.

“Harem hotel, a stage, and a sprinkle of magic,” Jocelyn answered lightly, as though listing ingredients to a recipe.

There was a beat. Then:

“Like hell I’ll introduce myself,” the figure snapped. “Tell me what’s going on—Harem what?” As soon as it finished speaking, it looked down at its hands, then back up at Jocelyn, shaking its head as if in disbelief.

Jocelyn opened her mouth to reply, but the creature barrelled forward, words tumbling too fast to comprehend fully:

“Holyfuckohmygod, you’re actually real! You-you’re talking to me! I haven’t had a conversation, an actual conversation in, I don’t even know, decades. Holy shit this is insane—” Her voice was sharp, but underneath was something almost… ecstatic. As though finally having someone to scream at was the closest thing to joy she’d felt in decades.

“Well,” Jocelyn said with a bright smile, “I’m glad you’re enthusiastic, Barbara.”

“It’s Babs,” she snapped automatically. “Not Barbara.”

“Of course, Barbara,” Jocelyn replied without missing a beat.

Babs let out a strangled noise as smoke started flowing out of the cracks in her body at much higher volumes than before.

Then her visor tilted down, blatantly checking Jocelyn out.

“Oh my god. And you’re hot. like really hot. Okay, okay. I’ll introduce myself if we get to y’know, maybe hook up later?” she said, tilting her head as if winking.

Jocelyn laughed in what sounded like the most genuine show of emotion from her all night. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s adorable. But really, introductions first,” she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Adorable!?” One could almost see a vein pop on the smoky woman's forehead, even through the helmet. “I’ll show you ado—”

Jocelyn tutted white, pressing her cane against the other woman's forehead. “I really hope I don't have to do this every time, it's getting rather boring already,” she said with a sigh, “now if you wouldn’t mind letting us know a little about yourself, that would be just lovely, Barbara,” she drew out her name almost mockingly.

As the cane left Babs’ forehead, the words **** their way up her throat and out of her mouth, or where her mouth would be if she had a face.

“My name is Barb- Bar- BABS Dalton.” The strain in her voice was clear to anyone listening. “I was 26 years old when I died. I took over my dad's repair workshop after he died when I was 24. I died in a head-on collision between my bike and James Wexler's car. He was drunk and swerved right into me. I was sexually active for a large portion of my life, with both men and women, but I prefer women. I love a nice big set of tits on a girl and love a big guy that I can put in their place when they think they can take charge.”

“My my, such a brazen statement from contestant number 2, let's find out what our master thinks.” Jocelyn hovered over to Jason’s seat, placing her cane in front of him to speak into.

Jason however, had been completely out of it since the mention of James Wexler.

Intermission: Excerpt from Jason’s vlog

Investigation log: #356

11/17/2024

11:15

[The recording opens with James Wexler standing in the center of his living room, framed neatly as if mid-interview. Jason’s voice is behind the camera.]

“This is it, Jason. My punishment. A reminder of my sins… and a memorial for the one I took away.”

[The camera turns, panning across the room. It settles on a pristine red 1950s Harley-Davidson Panhead, suspended on a display mount, encased behind glass like a museum relic.]

“It belonged to her. Barbara Dalton. I will never forget that name. The loss of that woman will forever be my greatest regret.”

[The footage shudders—Jason’s breath catches. The camera dips, wobbling as he coughs and sputters for several seconds. When the image steadies again, his voice is strained.]

“Are you quite alright, young man?”

“Yeah—sorry. Just… lost my breath for a second. Do you smell smoke by chance?”

“Not at this moment, no. But I know the wretched smell you mean. It comes and goes. A foul stench… I get a nasty whiff every so often. I have had people in to check it out, but nobody ever found an issue."

[The footage remains silent for a moment, lingering on the motorcycle.]

“…Interesting. Would you mind if we wrap up this interview? I’d like to grab some of my gear.”

“Not at all, dear boy, that's what I called you here for after all.”
__

11:45

[The camera cuts to a new location. It’s steady for a moment, centred on a spacious bedroom decorated in muted blues and greys. A large blue bed with a dark wooden frame dominates the left of the shot. A tall wardrobe, almost antique looking, stands against the far wall, its doors shut tight. A matching bedside cabinet sits beside the bed, and a bookshelf filled with neatly arranged titles lines the opposite wall.]

[Jason steps into frame holding an EMF reader, looking down at it with a sigh]

“Sorry, M- James, it really seems like there's nothing in here or around you, not even a peep from any of my sensors.”

“I should have expected as much. I’m sure the doctors were right, it's not like they haven’t tried to tell me for the last five decades or anything.”

“I don't think it's my place to comment on that, but I do have a request.”

“Of course, you have already been such a big help.”

“I was wondering if I could take some readings from the bike, I just have a hunch.”

“The bike? Well, I don't see why not. I just implore that you are careful around it, I have managed to keep it spotless ever since I had it restored over 60 years ago.”

“Absolutely, I will take the utmost care sir.”
__

11:52

[Jason is seen pointing the EMF reader towards the now open bike case with a frown on his face.]

“No… nothing here either. I guess I’m just wasting your time at this point. But I do have one more idea.”

“Please, be my guest.”

[He sets the EMF reader aside and opens a small suitcase on the floor, pulling out a compact white device.]

“This is an air-quality monitor. In a standard house, it should rest somewhere around six to fourteen hundred ppm.”

[A soft beep sounds as he powers it on, the screen lighting blue.]

“Okay… I’m getting around nine-fifty. That’s fine. But let’s see what it looks like over here…”

[He stands and moves the device toward the motorcycle display, thrusting his arm into the motorcycle's glass enclosure.]

“I was thinking about that smell earlier… maybe somewhere here— AHA.”

“What is it? Did you find something?”

“The particulate levels here are higher. Much higher actually. I’m getting over five thousand. No- seven thousand. Ten thousand- the readings are climbing. I’m at forty thousand? I shouldn’t even be able to breathe- that’s comparable to a car’s exhaust fumes.”

[The device suddenly emits a sharp, continuous alarm. The numbers on the screen flicker, changing values too fast to read.]

“…That shouldn’t be possible.”

“Jaaay. Master Jason. Hellooo~!”

Jocelyn waved a hand inches from his face as he sat, slack-jawed and dazed.

Jason jolted upright. “Wah- uh- hello. Yeah. I’m here. What’s up?”

“Well!” Jocelyn placed a dramatic hand on her hip. “I was asking what you think of our new contestant, but clearly she isn’t very interesting to you.” She fluttered her lashes mockingly. “So I suppose we’ll just move on to the next one, yes?”

“NO!” Jason blurted, then immediately shrank. “Uh, I mean no, sorry. I… I was lost in thought.”

“Ohh? Lost in thought, hmm?”

A wicked grin spread across Jocelyn’s blue lips as she hovered around the couch. Jason stiffened as she leaned down behind him, breath brushing his ear.

“You sure you weren’t getting sucked into the sight of Barbara’s chest?” Her voice oozed honey. “I must admit, they are rather impressive. Don’t worry… I won’t judge.”

Jason wasn’t doing anything of the sort; he knew that, but the way she whispered it, slow and teasing, still stabbed him with guilt. Heat crept up his neck. He stared down at his knees, trying to hide his face and appear less guilty somehow.

Jocelyn let out a soft, delighted hum.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she purred. “Your secret is safe with me, master.”

“Anyway, back to you, Barbara, how about you let everyone know how you met our lovely little Jason?" Jocelyn posed, pointing her cane towards Jason as she spoke

“I won’t say it again, my name is BABS, not fucking Barbara.” Smoke was just flowing off of her as she spoke.

“Alright, don’t say it again then, I still need an answer from you, Barbara,” the host replied, not caring in the slightest for Babs’ petty threats.

Babs just glared at her. Well, it felt to Jason like she was glaring, even though she had no eyes; the tension was almost visible.

“You know what, FUCK you, I’m not taking any of this SHIT, first person I speak to in fucking decades and she’s some ignorant fucking bitch, well I have—”

“Yeah, I'm sure you have something just spectacular to say next, but I don't have time for this, and quite frankly, I’d rather not lose a contestant before the first round starts, so just answer the bloody question, okay sweetheart?” Her expression grew bored as she spoke and lifted the cane away from Babs.

“He came round to look at James’ house, somehow I had been giving that fucker nightmares for years, and he thought I was haunting him, God everything is always ‘me me me’ with that rich jackass, so I guess he called in this dweeb to get me out of there… I think”

“And how did that go for him?”

“Well, he clearly wasn’t going to actually use my bike, so I just scared him shitless with some of my smoke; it doesn't seem to actually hurt anyone, but they can sure as hell feel it.” After she was done talking, Babs walked towards the line of stools across from Jason and sat down in an unexpectedly polite fashion.

Jason's mind was wandering once again; he just couldn't help it. This was just so much information to take in. It's like everything he ever wanted had been laid before him on a golden platter. REAL ghosts that he could study, he could actually question them, conduct tests, and find out what the afterlife truly is.

‘Nightmares? She can induce nightmares? Oh that explains so much! Are all nightmares caused by ghosts? Or is it just something they can influence? Was THAT where that nightmare came from..?’

Intermission: Excerpt from Jason’s vlog

Post investigation #356 discussion

11/18/2024

04:36

[Jason looks ragged, hair tussled and eyes heavy, covered in a thick sheen of sweat. He can be seen sat at his desk in his messy garage.]

“Approximately twelve hours after leaving the Wexler estate, I appear to have passed out at my desk while editing the footage. That part isn’t important. What is important is what happened while I was ****.

I had a nightmare. A vivid one. Almost identical to the one Mr. Wexler described the one he’s been haunted by for decades, though nightmare seems to undersell the experience.

I was riding a motorcycle. The motorcycle. The Panhead he keeps sealed behind glass. And I… wasn’t myself. The hands on the grips weren’t mine. The body I felt, the weight, the posture, none of it belonged to me.

I’ve never had a dream anywhere close to that kind of clarity. The wind hammered against my face, pulling at hair that wasn’t mine. The handlebars vibrated under a stronger grip than I’ve ever had. Everything felt present, like I was truly there.

Then a pair of headlights appeared in the distance, nothing unusual on a two-lane road, then they got closer, bright enough I had to squint, and just as I thought we were about to pass one another, the car swerved, hard. Right in front of me.

I felt her fear, like pure, electric panic flooding through her veins. Her body braced, muscles snapping tight, desperately trying to prevent what she already knew she couldn’t stop.

I felt the impact crush her leg.

I felt her body launch into the air

I felt her neck snap when she hit the ground.

And then…

I woke up.”

“Helloooo, earth to Jason.” Jocelyn found herself once again having to snap him back to reality. “I swear it's like you have eighty-eight dee or something,” the ghostly host said with an exasperated tone.

“Huh? Do you mean ADHD? Because I have been thinking abou—”

“About our next contestant! Yes, good thinking Jay! And I'm sure all the viewers at home have felt the same way, so let’s not dilly dally!” Jocelyn exclaimed with renewed vigor as she smacked her cane against the ground, and a large wooden wardrobe appeared beside her. She opened the front and pointed to its contents of… nothing, and then promptly slammed the door shut.

“Here she is, folks, our next contestant,” she taps the side of the wardrobe with her cane with a loud double knock.

“Sylvie Langford!”