“Off to the bridge, you will go…” An old, tired and raspy voice came from behind Marcus.

  Marcus turned his head and shoulders. His muscles were cold, solid and sore, as if he had been swimming in cold water for the past few hours. After much struggle, he was finally able to catch the source of this voice through the er of his eyes - it was a man, or should he say, a spirit, in a long, dirty white robe. The man ale, tall, with slightly messy long bck hairs drizzling from his colorless scalp and a loongue dangling from his grinning mouth. On top of his head was a ragged tall hat, with a phrase “Riess finds the respectful” written on it.

  Wug, acc to the legends, was a kind of spirits of an “official” status - they were teically an usherer or mariner of the underworld, in charge of capturing newly dead or wandering spirits of the world. But the thing that bothered Marcus was that, Wugs always acted in pairs. This tall one was the White Wug, and the other one would be the short Bck Wug, in a bck robe, with a stern and fierce face, and a tall bck hat with “Peace be with all”.

  The pale, grinning face came closer and closer, though this Wug was not targeting Marcus, he was still suffering the freezing aura. He wao move, but the dreading cold seemed to have taken hold of his muscles, his meridians and even his bones. He could only turn his neck slightly and rotate his eyes to a few angles. But there was nothing else he could do.

  “Off to the bridge… you will go.” The Wug ted again, his voice was shaking, and he coughed after just oence. With a better angle, Marcus was able to see it more clearly - there were some burns, stains and holes on this Wug’s robe. He did not remember anything about the Wugs’ robes being damaged, nor did he have any energy to think about it right now.

  “Wait! STOP! STOP!” The door to Marcus’ apartment burst open, his father rushed out, holding the wooden Buddha statue in his right hand and all the paper talismans in his right at the Wug, sweating all over his fad back. “Back off, you Wug. Back off! You ot take my son! You OT! He’s still alive! And he just helped you by fighting whatever that thing is! You ’T TAKE HIM!”

  The Wug took a g Elvin, then took one deep, hard look at Marcus. His pupils were glimmering, and seemed to have some kind of power that sucked Marcus’ focus and mind into his gaze. Their eyes met for but a moment, and Wug cut off his power before Marcus got any more lost. He pulled oal s once again, dragging the shadow of the old man closer to him.

  The cold energy log Marcus in his pce gradually faded, aarted tain trol over his body. Elvin watched from the side as Marcus broke free from the frozen state, his limbs trembling almost beyond his trol, but still maintaining a standing pose and holding the blessed items that could thwart malicious supernatural entities.

  “Off to the bridge… you will go.” The White ulled the old man to within an arm’s length to him, then opened up his right sleeve, unleashing an energy vortex within. The old man’s figure turned long and thin as if he was turned into liquid or air, and was sucked into the sleeve within just a few moments.

  “My… thanks.” The Wug turo Marcus, uttering two words with a gurgling voice. He then turned away, slowly floated towards the dire from which he came.

  Before he passed Marcus and Elvin by, he extended one single slender finger and tapped Marcus’ forehead.

  A stream of cool but pleasant energy flowed into Marcus’ head. Scattered, inplete and shaky images fshed through his mind. Memory, of this very Wug, it seemed.

  An altar, covered in crimson wax, seemingly from the usage of dles. A dead body, surrounded by strange ashes, twisted, bloodied with nary a piece of intact skin. It was covered in scars and frozen in a state of horror and torment. The Bck Wug, standing on the side, releasing s from his sleeve along with the White Wug at the floating spirit of a pletely bald man. Just when the s were about to around the spirit, dark tendrils aacles burst out from the altar and ched the shadow by his neck, his wrists and ahe metal s wrestled with the tendrils aacles. They rusted, then broke. The vision became blurry, and gray for a moment.

  Everythi dark for a brief moment, then some new image appeared. The Bck Wug was severely injured, so much so that his body was gradually turning into ash. The stoar was broken into three pieces. There were pieces of paper on the ground - the Bck Wug’s baton was broken. The old bald man’s spirit was still in the air, its body, like a doll, fading into nothingness one grain of dust and one sihread at a time. The dark tendrils aacles were o be seen. The Wugs failed. The White Wug’s vision was blurry, shaky and dim. His movement was slow and difficult. He had to leave. He had to go back to where he could be safe a. Dread, guilt and powerlessness filled his soul.

  There was barely indication of where this was. But Marcus knew, from some lingering thoughts left by the White Wug, it could not be more than half a month.

  Before the White Wug would fully pass Marcus by, he turned around, ripped a small piece of fabric off his right sleeve and ha to Marcus.

  Marcus hesitated for a brief moment before accepting this “gift”. Sturdy, light and somehow possessing a mind clearing ess, it was distinctively different from anything Marcus had seen or touched. The Wug’s figure faded into the shadows and the moonlight.

  “Let’s che the neighbor.” Elvin’s voice pulled Marcus out of his thoughts.

  Shout outs to my patrons:

  mant06,

  Jonathan

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