[Ubicación: Apartamento de Leo Vance, Upper East Side - 31 de octubre de 2010] [Punto de vista: Leo Vance - Primera persona]
Mi nombre es Leo Vance, y mi vida es, a falta de una palabra mejor, absurda. Hace poco más de un año, me desperté en este cuerpo, en este universo, con todos los recuerdos de una vida pasada intactos. Una vida en la que "Gossip Girl" era un programa de televisión que veía puramente por ironía y no por la realidad social que se desarrollaba en los pasillos de St. Jude, la escuela a la que ahora me veían obligada a asistir.
Aquí estoy, a punto de cumplir dieciocho años, con el aspecto de alguien que podría vender perfumes caros en una revista y con un conocimiento enciclopédico de los escándalos de Serena van der Woodsen, las intrigas de Blair Waldorf y la colección de bufandas de Chuck Bass. ¿Me importa? Ni en lo más mínimo. Tengo mejores cosas que hacer. O, más bien, fantasmas para molestar.
Mi verdadera pasión, el ancla que me mantiene cuerdo en este mar de privilegios y drama adolescente, es la caza de fantasmas. Pero no como esos tipos de televisión que susurran en la oscuridad y se asustan con cada crujido. No, lo llevo a otro nivel. Pienso en ello como Phasmophobia en modo experto, pero con un poco más... consecuencias permanentes. Provoco, bromeo, enfurezco a los espíritus. Es la única forma de obtener una reacción real, de reunir pruebas sólidas. Y, honestamente, es endiabladamente divertido.
Esta noche es Halloween. Horario estelar para mis amigos del otro lado. Mientras el resto de la élite de Manhattan se viste y bebe en alguna fiesta temática, yo preparo mi equipo. En la enorme cama de mi apartamento, que da a Central Park, extendí mis herramientas: mi confiable cámara de video de visión nocturna, un lector EMF que modifiqué para emitir un pitido aún más irritante, una caja de espíritus, sal, un par de crucifijos (más por valor simbólico que por creencia real) y mi posesión más preciada: mi diario.
Es un cuaderno de cuero grueso, lleno de mis propias notas, dibujos de diferentes tipos de entidades y la evidencia clave necesaria para identificarlas. Demonios, Poltergeists, Espectros, Yeguas... Cada uno tiene su truco, su debilidad, su rabieta particular.
"Está bien, equipo", le digo al aire, hablando con mi audiencia imaginaria. "Esta noche vamos a hacer una excursión a Blackwood Manor, a las afueras de la ciudad. Cuenta la leyenda que un viejo patriarca, Cornelius Blackwood, asesinó a toda su familia en un ataque de ira, y su espíritu aún protege la casa de los intrusos. Evidencia reportada: actividad poltergeist, apariciones de cuerpo completo y una adorable tendencia a arrojar objetos a las personas". Sonrío ante mi reflejo en la pantalla de la cámara. "Suena como mi tipo de fiesta".
Me pongo una chaqueta de cuero, jeans gastados y botas de combate. No hay disfraces para mí. Si voy a morir esta noche, lo haré con estilo. Agarro mi mochila, silbo una melodía alegre y salgo del apartamento. El portero me saluda con un movimiento de cabeza. Probablemente piense que voy a un concierto de rock o algo así. Si supiera que iba a jugar al escondite con un asesino espectral... probablemente llamaría a seguridad. Y eso, amigos míos, es lo que hace que la vida sea interesante.
[Ubicación: The Empire Hotel, Fiesta de Halloween de Chuck Bass] [POV: Tercera persona]
El ático del Empire Hotel era un mar de trajes caros y champán. La flor y nata de la juventud de Manhattan se había reunido para la fiesta anual de Halloween de Chuck Bass, un evento que siempre prometía excesos y secretos. Serena van der Woodsen, vestida como una versión glamorosa de Alicia en el país de las maravillas, se rió con Nate Archibald, quien vestía un traje de piloto de combate que parecía sospechosamente real.
Blair Waldorf, por supuesto, no llevaba un disfraz, sino un impecable vestido de Audrey Hepburn de "Breakfast at Tiffany's". Para ella, Halloween era para aficionados; vivía en el personaje todos los días. Estaba inspeccionando la habitación con un aire de aburrimiento real.
"No puedo creer que este sea el pináculo del entretenimiento de nuestra generación", le dijo a Chuck, quien estaba a su lado, vaso de whisky en mano y su habitual sonrisa de suficiencia. Estaba vestido, simplemente, como Chuck Bass.
"Relájate, Waldorf", dijo, tomando un sorbo. "¿Qué esperabas? ¿Una sesión de espiritismo real?"
Los ojos de Blair se iluminaron con una chispa traviesa. Ese era exactamente el tipo de idea que necesitaba. "No seas ridículo, Bass. Pero... esto es predecible. Necesitamos algo... con más mordida".
Dan Humphrey, sintiéndose, como siempre, como un antropólogo en una tierra extraña con su sencillo traje de... Bueno, un escritor con una chaqueta de tweed, se acercó al grupo. "No estoy seguro de que 'morder' sea lo que necesita este partido. Acabo de ver a un tipo tratando de encender un cigarro con un billete de cien dólares".
Serena se unió a ellos, arrastrando a Nate. "¿De qué estás hablando? ¡Esta fiesta es increíble!"
"Nuestro querido Blair encuentra la opulencia... aburrido", se burló Chuck.
"Lo que encuentro aburrido es la falta de imaginación", replicó Blair. "Somos jóvenes, ricos y estúpidos. Deberíamos estar haciendo algo legendario, no solo posando para las fotos de Gossip Girl".
The mention of the anonymous blogger made everyone tense for a moment. She was always an invisible presence in their lives.
It was then that Chuck's idea, thrown like a poisoned dart, hit its mark. "If you're looking for a thrill, Waldorf, I know a place. The old Blackwood Manor. They say it's so haunted even hobos are afraid to go in."
Nate frowned. "I've heard stories about that place. Isn't that where a guy went crazy?"
"Exactly," Chuck said, enjoying the attention. "A real challenge. Far from the cameras, from the blogs. Just us. Or are you scared, Blair?"
The gauntlet was thrown. Blair Waldorf never backed down from a challenge. "Fear is a word used by the poor and unattractive, Chuck. I call it an opportunity." She turned to the rest. "Alright, team. Change of plans. We're going on a hunt."
Serena clapped, excited by the spontaneous adventure. Nate shrugged, always willing to go with the flow. Dan looked visibly uncomfortable, but the idea of a story, a real experience outside his Brooklyn bubble, was too tempting.
"I'm driving," Chuck said, finishing his whiskey. And so, Manhattan's most photographed group left their own party, piled into Bass's limousine, and headed into the darkness, having no idea who, or what, they were about to cross paths with.
[Location: Blackwood Manor][POV: Leo Vance - First Person]
The hunt had begun.
I knew it was a hunt because all the lights in the house flickered in unison and then went out, plunging me into total darkness that only my camera's night vision could penetrate. The EMF reader in my hand went wild, escalating from a quiet beep to a sharp, constant shriek. Level 5. Magnificent.
"Oh, come on, Cornelius! Are we in a bad mood already?" I shouted into the empty hallway, my voice echoing in the dusty silence. "I haven't even told you your wallpaper is uglier than sin! Or did you smell my cologne? It's designer, you probably wouldn't know it!"
An old painting fell off the wall and crashed to the floor to my left. I laughed.
"That's it! Get your frustration out! Come on, show me what you've got, you grumpy old man!"
I ran down the main hallway, camera recording every second. My plan was simple: keep him angry, keep him focused on me, and lead him all over the house so I could record his interactions and figure out what kind of ghost he was. I was having the time of my life.
It was then that I heard a new sound. A scream. And it wasn't the ethereal wail of a tormented soul. It was a high-society shriek, a "I just broke a nail!" kind of scream.
I spun sharply, and through the green lens of my camera, I saw them. Frozen by the front door, which was now slammed shut, stood the protagonists of my old favorite TV show. Serena, Blair, Chuck, Nate, and Dan. The Breakfast Club of brats. They looked like a bunch of expensive deer about to be hit by a spectral truck.
And the truck was coming straight for them.
I could see the ghost's manifestation. It wasn't a full phantom, but a dark, distorted shadow gliding across the floor, chilling the air as it passed. It was heading directly for the group, who were too terrified to move. Blair was practically hiding behind Nate, Serena clung to Dan's arm, and Chuck... well, Chuck was trying to look unperturbed, but the tremor in his jaw gave him away.
For a split second, I considered letting the ghost give them a good scare. They deserved it a little. But, one, they were a distraction to my investigation. Two, if a ghost hurt one of these pampered kids, the property would be demolished, and my private hunting ground would become a Starbucks. Unacceptable.
"Decisions, decisions!" I muttered to myself. "Saving TV characters... how cliché."
I sighed. It was time to be the hero nobody asked for.
"HEY, YOU! DEFORMED SHADOW!" I yelled with all my might.
The dark figure paused, its attention diverted from its easy prey. It slowly turned towards me. The Gossip Girl group stared at me as if I'd gone mad. They were probably right.
"Yeah, I'm talking to you, second-rate ghost!" I continued, walking towards it with a confidence I didn't entirely feel, but which was excellent for the camera. "Leave the pretty kids alone! If you want to scare someone with real style, I'm right here! Let's dance!"
I pulled one of the crucifixes from my pocket and threw it towards the shadow. I didn't expect it to burn it or anything, but the symbolic gesture was enough to enrage it further. The room temperature dropped drastically. I could see my own breath. The shadow lunged towards me.
"And there we go!" I shouted, spinning on my heels and bolting up the stairs. "The ghostly game of tag begins! Don't fall behind, slowpoke!"
I heard the sound of the entity chasing me, a low, furious hiss. As I took the steps two at a time, I glanced back over my shoulder. The group was still there, motionless, their faces a mixture of pure terror and absolute confusion. Blair's mouth was open. I winked at her through the darkness, though she probably couldn't see it.
The hunt was over a couple of minutes later. The presence dissipated, and the house's emergency lights (the ones I had rigged to run on an independent battery) flickered on, casting a reddish glow over the foyer. I walked downstairs, rewinding the tape on my camera to watch the glorious footage. I was breathless, but euphoric.
I completely ignored the group and headed to a dusty table. I pulled out my journal and opened it.
"Let's see what we've got..." I murmured, oblivious to the five pairs of eyes staring at me. "Confirmed evidence: Level 5 EMF reader, sub-zero temperatures... and it responded to my provocation without needing the spirit box. That rules out a Shade or a Jinn."
I flipped through the pages of my book, filled with drawings and notes. "Could be a Demon due to its early aggression, but it didn't directly attack me when it had the chance. Maybe a Phantom, since it left no ectoplasm traces... but I need one more piece of evidence to be sure."
I looked up from the book and my eyes met Serena van der Woodsen's. They were still pale with fear, but now there was a new emotion in them: intense curiosity. They all stared at me, waiting for an explanation.
I gave them my best smile, the kind model agencies would probably pay for.
"Excuse the mess," I said, nodding towards the broken painting on the floor. "Cornelius gets a little grumpy when he has unexpected guests."
I closed my journal and put it away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go tick off a ghost a little more to get a photo. Don't move. Or follow me if you want to die. Whatever you prefer."
And with that, I turned and walked back into the darkness of Blackwood Manor, leaving them alone in the foyer with the echo of my words and the beginning of a story Gossip Girl could never invent.