WARNING: This story is fictional and is not intended to portray any real persons, living or dead, nor is it at all intended to encourage the type of activity portrayed here. It is strictly a fantasy/parody, intended for the personal enjoyment of those who appreciate female costumed characters in fear for their life or the violation of their body. The story describes and/or hints at graphic sexual situations, including bondage, violence, non-consensual sex, and other elements unacceptable in certain communities. It is NOT intended, nor is it at all suitable, for minors. If you are under the age of 18, or if this type of thing offends you, you shouldn’t be reading it. If you are a person who does find the material described above, then I invite you to enjoy this story.

The story contains characters of my own creation, but also characters who are the property of various established comic book companies. Those characters are used without any permission by the owners of those characters and are included only to offer a fan's expression of those characters in a situation that would not be seen in mainstream comics. This story is strictly done for non-profit enjoyment by other fans interested in this adult genre. This story may not be moved to, or included in any website that requires payment for content.

 

The Haunting of Batgirl

by Alias the Rat

 

Part One

 

The Dark Damsel of Gotham City was going along on her nightly patrol and had not run into anything at all tonight. This  was one night she was pleased it was quiet. Just the evening before she had happened upon the Penguin and a bunch of his goons who were up to no good. She'd handled them and they were all in jail now, but they had not gone easily and Batgirl felt the after-effects of the fight. Barbara's right shoulder hurt like hell, and every time she tried to swivel her head the back of her neck complained. The vibrations from the bike weren't helping that. She finally decided to cut it short and go home to wrap her shoulder in ice and just take it easy.

 

But as soon as the thought formed in her head, she heard sirens. They were approaching her from the west and the north, and judging by the pitch they were not police cars. Sounded more like fire trucks. She looked to the south-east, and saw the clouds in the sky were reflecting a red glow in that direction. She turned her bike and headed that way. She might be able to help. After a few blocks, she saw the fire. It was the old Peterson district, and at least half of it was engulfed in flames. Accident or arson, a hellish inferno was going to clear away a sore spot on this side of town.

 

The Peterson district had started out as a manufacturing section of Gotham. But by the fifties most of the firms had built or rented newer, more efficient locations in the suburbs. Then the Peterson family bought up the area and converted the area to "low cost" housing. They were too tight-fisted, not wanting to spend much on the conversions or on maintainance. The housing deteriorated quickly and the area grew to be called the Peterson slums. Finally the places were deemed unfit for habitation and the city ordered them condemned. The money the family had not spent on the apartments went to lawyers, and the city could not wrest control of the property away from the Petersons when legal proceedings bogged down. Drawn out like this for years, the area grew to be the ugliest, most wretched part of Gotham City.  Then a miracle. A consortium bought the property from the family and announced wonderful plans for a renovation. Hell on earth would become a paradise! New condominiums, shops, plazas. Everything that people would want to see. That was a few years ago. The consortium had ideas of getting tax breaks from the state, financing from the city, and loans covered by government bonds. The various governments had balked at paying for the plans of a private corporation, and the conglomerate's media people kept up a line of how the Mayor and the Governor were keeping this wonderful project from developing. Public opinion just thought the place was a cursed area where nothing good would ever happen. The corporation's public image took a big hit recently when a reporter dug through the ownership records and discovered that Paradise Renovations Corporation was partially owned by the Peterson family. So people were starting to doubt the fancy plans would ever come about.

 

And now the flames would clear away some of the wretched hovels. An improvement? Babs doubted it. Two fire engines were already there, and at least half of the district, that covered several city blocks, was engulfed in flames. It was too far along to save much, and the fireman were trying to keep the fires from spreading into the inhabited neighborhoods that bordered the Peterson district. Winds had kept the flames pushed to the northern half of the district, but in case the wind shifted the fire chief  was sending men into the other parts of the area to be sure the buildings were clear. They didn't want anyone trapped in there if the fires did start moving that way.

 

Batgirl stood there, acting only as a spectator to the mighty inferno, when she heard the gunshots. It sounded like it had come from one of the buildings the firemen were trying to clear. Barbara flipped on her bike's radio and began scanning the frequencies the fire department used. She found what she was looking for, a man's voice rang out. "This is Blake in the 718 building, third floor. I came to a room to tell somebody to evacuate and he shot me! I need assistance."

 

The Dark Damsel dashed over and entered the doorway with an address of 718. She ran up the stairs to the third floor and in the hallway saw one door open with a fireman prone in the doorway. She dashed over to him and looked over his wounds. He had been shot once in the left shoulder, once in the right leg. The bleeding was slow, so the slugs hadn't hit a major blood vessel or bone in either wound. That was lucky. The fireman had a first aid kit strapped to his back next to his breathing apparatus. She pulled out bandages and wrapped the leg, then stuck a pad under his shirt to slow the bleeding on his shoulder. She heard movement downstairs. More help was coming. He thanked her, and then she asked where the shooter had gone. No one had come down the stairs as she came up. Blake pointed to a door on the far side of the room and murmurred, "If you're going after him, be careful. He had a crazy look." She nodded, and went on the shooter's trail. In the next room she saw another prone figure. This was a woman, naked and bound on a cot in the corner. She lay on her side and Batgirl only saw her back. As Barbara approached the figure she saw bruising and blood and wondered if the woman was still alive. That question was answered when the figure twitched and coughed harshly. Babs reached out and rolled the woman to see her face. Here too she was in terrible shape, but what made Batgirl gasp was what she saw on the woman's chest. Someone had taken a red-hot metal instrument and burned her. She was branded with a letter "B" on her breast. Now Batgirl knew she was pursuing a fiend that no-one (except his victims) had ever seen, despite a massive police effort to find this torturer and killer of women.

 

In the past year four bodies had been found in the swamps near Gotham River. Each of the victims had been a young woman who had disappeared at least a month before her remains were found. Each body showed evidence of rape, torture, mutilation, and incredible savagery. And each had the letter "B" branded into the right breast. Each grisley find had whipped the media into a frenzy and sent shudders of horror through the women of Gotham City. The papers called him "The Bluebeard Killer" and offered huge rewards for any lead to his discovery and capture. But no clues were found and whoever the maniac was, no one in the underworld had any information to sell on him. When the police or costumed heroes of Gotham got ahold of anyone for questioning, they were always asking about this fiend. But there had never been any lead. Until now. Batgirl went back to the doorway she'd come though and saw several firemen and a policeman helping the wounded fireman. She called the cop over and told him to get the victim she'd found out to safety while she tried to track down the madman before he got away.

 

She went on though the delapidated apartment, searching for another way out. One doorway lead her to a closet. She gasped. She thought the woman she had rescued in the other room had been his fifth victim. She was wrong. That would have been number six, as she found the body of victim five was tossed in the closet, probably waiting to be disposed of. Batgirl found a back door that led to a hallway that was covered in dust. She noticed one set of new footprints leading to the left, where she saw a back stairway for the building. And coming up the stairway she saw smoke. The fire was spreading this way. She looked down the stairwell and a shot rang out, barely missing her. She saw a man on the landing below her and her bat-a-rang whipped down, knocking the gun from his hand. She saw that he was trapped. The stairway between the first and second floor had collapsed. And the smoke was heavier. The flames must be below them by now. She charged down at the man and tackled him. He lashed out at her and she reeled back from a blow to her jaw. She tried to grab him once more and when he backed away from her, his foot went over the edge and with a scream, she saw him drop. She saw he had one hand holding on to the edge, trying not to plunge down into the flames that were below. She tried to grab his hand, but the landing under her creaked and groaned as she got closer to the edge. She wrapped her climbing line around a support and twisted the other end around her left arm, holding it tight in her left hand. She eased back and reached over the edge, using her right hand to grab the man's arm. He lashed at her, screaming. "No, you harlot, You will not lay a hand on the archangel of God and impede his holy mission to punish all daughters of Eve for the sins they have committed and will commit. These flames will aid my holy quest and brand you a bitch like the judgement you deserve!" So, Barbara thought, the papers got it wrong. The "B" didn't stand for Bluebeard...

 

Barbara's right shoulder screamed pain at her as she tried to pull up the man when he resisted her. The madman twisted away from her grip and plunged. Batgirl's efforts had swung his body a little to one side. He would have gone straight down into the flames and died a terrible death, but he was spared death in flames only to land awkwardly next to a support girder. She saw his head crash against the girder and his neck snapped like a twig. Looking down, she knew he was dead. She crawled back the way she'd come, through the thickening smoke. Halfway down the hall she found the policeman, gun drawn, trying to see through the smoky hall. The officer asked her, "I saw what was in that closet. Where is he?" Batgirl gasped and choked as she responded. "Dead... back there... can't get to his body." The policeman, with a cold look in his face, said "No need to try to get him out of there. Where he's going he's gonna burn anyway!" The two crawled along the floor, beneath much of the smoke. They crawled as fast as they could and got back to the front stairway. The fire had not spread that far yet, but they barely got out before the building was totally engulfed in flames. An ambulance standing by gave them oxygen, and detectives spoke to Batgirl about the man she'd encountered. Once the woman they'd rescued was able to talk, they would try to piece together enough to figure out who the madman had been.

 

Barbara moved to her bike. Now she definitely was heading home. The battle in the stairwell had wiped out any reserves she had, and she was exhausted. Her shoulder and her neck hurt more than before, and she kept feeling the weirdest sensation in her neck, a faint feeling of pressure there. When she got back to her apartment, she really needed to take a shower, but she could feel the fatigue pulling at her. If she took a bath she'd fall asleep in the tub. If she did shower, any relief from it would not offset the energy used to keep standing. She gave up, pulled off her uniform and just dropped on her bed, allowing sleep to claim her.

 

Part Two

 

The dream was different. She'd dreamed before, and had nightmares. But now she was standing, with a man's hands wrapped around her neck. He was squeezing her throat and cutting off her breathing. She struggled but his grip was too strong. She was blacking out, and she heard the voice screaming, "YOU KILLED ME!" In most nightmares, this was when she would wake up. But she didn't. Instead the same dream came back. Hands on her neck. Blacking out. She could not figure out how many times she felt herself black out from the attack. Finally she did wake up. Looking out her window she saw the sun was up. She must have slept for hours, but her mind and body felt like there had been no sleep at all. She pulled herself up and stood, starting for the bathroom. A faint voice -- "YOU KILLED ME!" Did she hear that? Or was she just remembering what she'd heard in her dream, over and over? She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun around to attack whoever was there. But the room was empty. There was no one there. Nerves, she thought.

 

 She went into the bathroom and entered the shower. First she ran the spray hard and ice cold over her body, trying to wake up. That helped a little. Then she turned it up as hot as she could stand, and let the water run over her as she lathered her body and let the dirt and sweat run away. Muscles, though still sore, eased up and felt slightly better. The shower had really helped. She opened the shower door and, through the steam, went to the sink, grabbing a towel. She stopped with a start. In the condensation on the mirror something was written. A cold chill ran though her as she read it. "YOU KILLED ME!"

 

She stepped back, pressing her back against the cold, clammy tiled wall of the bathroom. She could not take her eyes off the words in the mirror. After a moment, she reached over and pressed a button in the panel at the room's light switch. "Computer, security scan double alpha." she said. A small speaker next to the button spoke after less than a minute. "All entries secured. Sensors indicate one person present. Location. Bathroom." Batgirl, knowing the type of world that existed outside, had designed her computer-guided security system to make her apartment the one place where she was totally safe. There were times she needed a place to feel secure. She was alone here. She knew that. Her security system was better than Fort Knox. But how...

 

Batgirl grabbed a robe, then went up to the mirror and examined the words traced in the moisture. She suddenly recalled that Batman had once told her about how he had been the subject of a subtle attack by the Joker... no, it was Scarecrow! The villain had used complicated special effects to try to convince Batman that he was going mad. It had almost worked until the Dark Knight saw through the subtrefuge. Was this a plot by one of her enemies to attack her mind? She would get to the bottom of this! The path of the words on the mirror ran down and near the bottom, she saw it. A little hair spray had misted along the lower edge, and in this slightly sticky area she saw a fingerprint! She went to her desk, grabbed some fingerprint powder and cellophane tape, and went back to pull off the print. She scanned the print into her computer, and went online to her clandestine back door connection into the Gothan Police computer network. She sent the print and waited for it to be identified.

 

She felt better now. She was working on the problem, not just reacting to what was coming after her. The computer connection was working slowly. The machine beeped, and data came up on the screen. First the text. The print was identified as a Marcus Peterson. A long record for violent crimes. All against women. Time spent in prison. Described as a black sheep of the big Peterson family. Barbara didn't recall ever having any contact with this guy. So he...

 

Batgirl gasped as the picture downloaded and came on the screen. She stood up quickly, her chair falling backward. She took a step back, and almost fell over it. She could not pull her eyes from the screen. She could not pry her eyes off the mug-shot of Marcus Peterson. She'd seen that face before. Just the previous night, when she'd seen him twist from her grasp and fall to his death! Then she heard it. It was very faint, but it was there. "YOU KILLED ME!"

 

She felt the hand on her arm, but when she looked down there was nothing there. She screamed, "Computer, security scan double alpha." But again the machine told her the only person in the apartment was her. But she felt the touch on her back, her face, her breasts... oh god... fingers went to her cunt and probed and pinched her and she shuddered from the sudden, extreme assault on her sex. She clasped her hands over her pubic region, but stil she felt fingers inside her, sending erotic sensations running through her body. She dropped to the floor and rolled, but there was no getting away from this exotic attack on her person. Her body tensed as she was brought to extreme excitement, but then the fingers stopped, leaving her trembling, needing release. Her own fingers went into her as she tried to bring release to the agony. She came, and her fluids streamed out over her hands, covering her thighs.

 

Any relief she might have had was short lived. Again she felt the unseen hands move over her. There was a sensation at her throat, but it wasn't hard enough to constrict her breathing. Then they ran over her body. She felt the hands everywhere, and she twisted turned and moved as much as she could, but it was useless. The hands... the ghost, she admitted... had her. The probing and touching finally moved back to her cunt. She heard the faint voice. "Harlot, you will be punished for what you did to the archangel of Almighty God. My crusade against the daughters of Eve will not cease. Even from beyond the grave, I will use the power the Almighty has given me to punish you and all bitches on earth!" Again, he tortured her sex, pushing her to a high level of pain and pleasure. Again she had to jerk herself off to get down from the plateau of sexual tension.

And then he attacked her again...

 

Part Three

 

Supergirl landed on the roof of Barbara Gordon's apartment and went through the roof access to the stairs. They had made plans to meet for lunch today, but Babs had not returned Kara's call. She hoped the Dark Damsal hadn't gotten tied up on some case. The Kryptonian always liked getting together with her friend and talking over their lives. They were so different. An alien young woman with powers to do amazing things, and a lass who used her brilliant mind and superbly toned and trained body to accomplish what she did. But they were the best of friends. Supergirl rang the bell at Barbara's apartment and her acute senses felt the sensors scan her and transmit to Batgirl's computer system who was at the door. She knew that the computer would announce her, and without even thinking, her super-hearing concentrated on hearing what was inside the door. She heard the computer state, "Visitor at door. Identification, Supergirl." Kara knew if Barbara wasn't home, a signal would go to her telling her about the person waiting back here, and she wondered...

 

Only because she still was using her super-hearing did Kara get it. A very faint moan, a groan. The sound of someone in pain. She went through the door. A steel reinforced doorjam and titanium door would have held out nearly anyone, but it was barely any resistance to a determined and worried Kryptonian. The Maid of Might scanned the room and saw her friend on the floor in front of her. She lay there with a white bathrobe on, but it was open and the front of her body was revealed. Barbara's hands were cupped over her crotch, and her bush and thighs were covered with the dried remains of vaginal emmisions. She gasped, and her body twitched. Kara saw Barbara was dehydrated, her lips dry and cracked. Supergirl sped to the kitchen, moistened a towel, and saw a couple bottles of Gatorade inside the fridge. She thought that would be better than plain water and grabbed them and streaked back to Barbara's side. This had taken 4 seconds. She poured a little liquid into her friend's mouth. Barbara choked for a minute, then thirstily gulped down the refreshing cold liquid. Supergirl wiped Bab's forehead and the sides of her face with the damp towel, and asked her, "Barbara, who did this to you?"

 

She heard the voice. "I punished her for killing me and for being a cursed harlot. And you too will feel the vengeance of the hand of God!" At this, Batgirl's eyes opened, and she forced her voice to squeak out a message. "Kara, get out of here. Don't let him get you..." The Dark Damsal groaned, and suddenly her body stiffened. On her back, she tensed her body and it arched upwards, her hips hips pushing her crotch towards the ceiling. She growled and moaned and her hands clenched her crotch as her fingers went into her cunt, trying once again to releive the pain and sensation the ghost inflicted to her there. Kara watched this in terror, then felt hands run over her body. Unseen hands that stoked and probed all over until her clit was assaulted. She too dropped to the floor and was startled by how quickly her vagina moistened and her body spasmed with the sexual tensions that wracked her body. She was driven to mastrubate to relieve the cramps in her body. She realized this was what had happened to Barbara and fearfully knew she was in the clutches of a menace far beyond what she could handle.

She forced her right hand up to her ear and tapped her earlobe. In her ear canal a tiny unit hummed to life. Kara managed to cry out through clenched teeth, "J'onn -- emergency level red four... under magical attack.. help... ARGGH!" The pain shot through her body, and she blacked out.

 

High in orbit above the world, J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter stared at the monitor screen in front of him as he sat at the consoles of the Justice League Watchtower. The voice, though strained, had been recognizable as Kara's. The computers had automatically analysed the message and confirmed it was Supergirl who had reported an emergency. The screens also identified the source of the signal. It came from Gotham City, the apartment of Barbara Gordon -- Batgirl. A red emergency indicated the sender was in very serious trouble, and the code level four meant another costumed person was on the scene and in even worse danger. It would be logical to assume that refered to Batgirl -- in terrible danger -- also being there. And magic was involved. The martian tried to co-ordinate this data to form the best possible response. Superman and Batman were both available to respond, but J'onn took into account that neither of them was suited to face a menace based on magic. Also, they both would deny it, but with his cousin in danger, Superman would not face the situation with a mind that was cool and collected. Batman's feelings for his young protege would also be affect him, though not as much. He glanced at the screen of the monitor that indicated the status and availabilty of persons at that instant and his cold, calculating Martian mind formed a plan to respond the the cry for help.

 

In the cafeteria of the watchtower, two women sat at a table, sharing information about magic, and super-powers. One, dressed in a narrow cut blue bottom, white bustier type shirt, jacket, fishnet stockings and top hat, was Zatanna Zatara, the reserve member of the Justice League whose knowledge of magic was extensive. She spoke with a visitor from the Marvel universe who was at the Watchtower in an information exchange mission. The other woman, clad in one piece crimson swimsuit, pink tights, long red cape, scarlet boots and gloves and a red cloth tiara that framed her face, was the Scarlet Witch, Wanda Maximoff. She sipped her glass of white wine and spoke. "This headquarters of yours is rather overwhelming. In the Avengers, we are based in a mansion in the middle of the city. Don't you feel a bit out of touch here?" "I'm only a reserve member, but some of the League feel that way." Zatanna replied. "With the teleporters, we can be anywhere as fast as we are needed, but there is a feeling of being reserved and not connected to the people who we are trying to help. It makes the people feel the JLA is a group that are distant and hard to relate to..." The conversation was interupted by a message from the speaker at their table. The voice of J'onn J'onzz boomed out. "Zatanna, there is a magical emergency. Would you go to teleport pad three, I will meet you there. You could ask your guest to accompany you."

 

The two women lept to their feet and moved quickly towards the corridor. Zatanna asked, "Wanda, this isn't your world, are you sure..." Her companion in red cut in, "In the Avengers we react the same way to an alert. I'm here, and I would be glad to help." They met the Manhunter at the teleport pad. He gave them the scant information he had, and warned them. "Kara is not very knowledgeable about magical menaces, only vulnerable to them. We have no idea what you will be facing, and you will only be our first response unit with some knowledge of magic and an ability to face it. Thank you, Miss Maximoff, for offering to assist. I always feel disturbed when confronting a magical threat. Too many of our personnel are helpless against it. I hope the two of you can handle whatever is down there or at least hold your own until I can contact mages of greater power who will respond to whatever threat might reside in Batgirl's residence." Zatanna responded. "Don't worry so, J'onn. I can handle magical trouble pretty well, and Wanda is also a very capable woman in that respect. We will do what we can. Wait for our initial evaluation of what is going on down there. It might just be a gremlin who has gotten out of hand." The Magician Mistress didn't really think it would be that easy, but J'onn was always so serious about matters and he seemed to always think things were worse than they really were.  The two mystical super-heroines went to the teleport pads, and the energy hummed as they were transported earthward.

 

Part Four

 

The pair appeared in the corridor, just outside the doorway that Kara had smashed in. It was procedure, when possible, to teleport to an area just outside the target, to give heroes a chance to scout out a location before getting into any battle. Both looked into the room and saw Barbara and Supergirl prone on the floor in the room, twitching and moaning. Their rescuers looked around, trying to identify the threat. Their eyes and powers scanned around, looking for a magical entity that could have done this to the downed heroines. But nothing seemed to be there. Had the menace fled? Wanda and Zatanna entered the room, still keeping their guard up as they kept scanning back and forth. Zatanna dropped to one knee next to Kara and asked her, "Supergirl, what attacked you?" The Kryptonian's eyes opened and she murmurred, "...get ...get out while you can. Leave us behind and save yourselves!"  The Witch and Zatanna then felt themselves attacked, and their magical defenses seemed to be useless. As had happened to Barbara and Kara, they felt the assault on their cunts that drove them to drop to the ground. Marcus Peterson's ghost had grown in power and ability quickly, and he was able to continue to torture more that one subject now. A low man's voice came from Batgirl's mouth as she put her head up. "More harlots come. Ones with the power of Satan himself come to face the archangel of a vengeful Almighty God. But I serve him well and will use the new powers I have found to call down damnation on these bitches and all of the daughters of Eve. You will die, but first you will suffer long and hard at my righteous hand!" The two rescuers had failed. They were helpless in the clutches of a mad ghost who meant to destroy half of the human race.

 

A golden glow appeared in the air in the apartment as another hero appeared there. Clad in blue and gold, Kurt Nelson wore the golden helm of Nabu that transformed him into the mighty sorcerer, Doctor Fate. He took in his surroundings and at once sensed the menace was residing in the form of Barbara Gordon, on the floor in front of him. He sent beams of magical energy at the figure, trying to destroy, or at least weaken the evil entity that was there. But Peterson's maniacal hatred was strong, and it fed the energy he had been gathering and using since he died. Again, Fate attacked the villain and tried to imprison him, but his energy was repulsed or disappaited by the power of his opponent. The ghostly voice came from Barbara's lips. "I have the power. No one can stand against me or stop me from taking God's vengeance on the daughters of Eve. They will all die. It is their fate. And you, Man of Evil, you try to help them. I see in your mind, there is a woman whose lust holds you prisoner. I will go and take this Izra Nelson and you will see her suffer and die by my hand. You will be freed of her temptress' body and will then join me in my crusade." Fate was amazed at the logic the madman used. Kurt Nelson deeply loved Inza, so he was "her slave" and needed to be "freed" to join this horrid crusade. But fear grew in Doctor Fate's heart. He had been holding back, not wanting to use his most powerful magics that would destroy the body Peterson's ghost was hiding in. But more and more powerful magic had been sent against the ghost and he had shielded  himself and  Barbara's body from the assault. While the ghost used the helpless victim as part of his shield, Fate realized he was failing. And he worried that Inza, his loving wife, would be facing a torture as horrid as that which gripping the four young women in misery in front of him.

 

He sensed another presence suddenly enter the room. No one was seen, but he knew that in the air floated a strange astral figure, with a garish white face and the red costume of a circus trapeze artist who was murdered in the midst of one of his performances. Deadman entered the room and was started by what he saw. Four women, in the midst of some kind of sexual torture, surrounded Doctor Fate, who was casting spells and mystic attacks at the almost nude redhead. The attacks were being repulsed by the helpless looking figure. Rama Kushna had sent Deadman here, telling him that a severe danger to the balance of good and evil had come to be and that he had to do what he could to bring balance back to the universe. He wondered what the hell was going on when he first noticed it. When ever he possessed a living person and controlled their body, a golden glow surrounded the figure that only he could see. And Barbara Gordon' body showed a trace of that kind of glow! The menace that was here, the one Fate was fighting, was inside the young woman's body! Deadman floated towards her and started to merge into her figure. But this was different. He had never encountered such difficulty in doing this. He realized the ghost inside the body was resisting him. But he had done this so many times. He sensed that the ghost inside was unaccostomed to the ability and Boston Brand pushed and struggled mystically into the body. He found himself in a small black room, facing a man whose raged with fury. "Another evil ghost of Satan trying to stop me as I pursue God's quest to punish and destroy the daughters of Eve. All the bitches will die and no perverted minion of Satan will stop me!" The man rushed at Deadman and they locked in a struggle. Deadman was startled and unsure at first. It had been so long since he physically founght an opponent. But he was as he died, a man in peak physical shape, and he fought back successfully to pin the madman down. Then the figure vanished.

 

Boston found himself in Barbara Gordon's body, alone. He turned and spoke, with Barbara's voice, to Doctor Fate. "Hey Doc, what happened? He was in here and then he vanished." Doctor Fate replied. "You drove him out. Without even knowing it, he had been using the essence of a good, righteous women as a protective shield, one even I could not pierce. But now..." Fate gestured and mystical tendrils of energy spread from his hands and burst into explosions of light and colors on the far side of the room. In Barbara's body, Boston went to the other women and dragged them out to the corridor. They moaned and seemed to be recovering. Fate continued to send magical attacks at the invisible  menace in front of him. "You're trapped, Peterson!" Fate screamed out. "No more hiding behind a woman's innocence. I will totally destroy you!" Boston looked around at this. Destroy?? Not capture? What had happened here? In Barbara's body, Boston approached Doctor Fate and asked, "You mean to capture him, don't you? Not destroy him." But Fate had been affected by the fight. Looking on the tortured bodies in the apartment, his mind reeled at the thought that the manevolent ghost had threatened the woman Kurt Nelson loved. This had driven the man behind the mask to want a vengeance far beyond what was right. He was out of control. Then he suddenly stopped. His head sagged forward and he relaxed. Boston asked, "what... what happened? Did you destroy him?" Fate shrugged his head. "No, I couldn't. The spirit of Nabu in my mask brought me to my senses in time. The ghost fled through the wall." Deadman pointed at the wall. "Shouldn't we go after it... er, him?"  Now Fate shrugged again and said. "There is no need. Another waits for him. His end is assured."

 

Part Five

 

The ghost fled the building and floated away. Could the evil stop him? Was his God not going to help him in his quest? He could not comprehend such a thing in his tortured mind, and it added to his madness. Then he was surrounded. Gray bars appeared around him and formed a mystical cage that trapped him. He looked up and saw the bars were the extended fingers of a horrible being that filled the sky above him. A white ghostly figure wore green shorts and a green cape. The hood covered his head and only glowing red eyes were seen there. The Spectre's voice spoke. in a voice that was terrible and frightening, even to a man who was dead. "Marcus Peterson, you claim to be on a mission for God. No god stands at your side. The gods that I have met look on you as less than dust and worthy only of their disgust. But even you deserve a measure of justice. I cannot destroy you. When you died, the flames were waiting to consume you. But the acts of Batgirl, kind as they were, pulled you aside and you died a different death. The wrong death. Destiny meant you to die in flames. It is the only way to end your existence. In your present form, flames mean nothing to you. You cannot die, but you can receive justice..."

 

Peterson blinked, and everything changed. He was standing next to a car, and he looked at his hands, old and wrinkled. He looked at his reflection in the car's window and saw a strange unfamiliar body. An old man, cigarette dangling from his lips. The gas filler cap was open, suddenly knew he was gassing up his car. He pulled out the hose and pushed it into his car, squeezing the handle to get the gas flowing. Who was he? Why... The pain burst in his chest. It was so extreme. A heart attack? He stumbled back, still holding the gas line, and the gas sprayed over the car and bounced back off it, dousing him in the fluid. Another spasm tore at his heart. He gasped, and the cigarette dropped from his lips. It hit the gasoline and Peterson was engulfed in a torrent of flames. The pain in his chest was duplicated all over his body. Everything burned. He gasped, and the flames burned inside him. And he died.

 

His eyes opened. A different body, a different place. The suffocating humidity of the jungle around him. He was a young man, oriental, standing on a path with a weapon in his hand. Where... Another person yelled to him. A strange laguage, but somehow he knew that man had said "Run!" Peterson did. He heard the jets scream down towards his position. The canisters under the wings fell down and burst on impact, spraying liquid over the area. Then in a instant the napalm burst into a flame even harsher than the gas station. Every bit of his body burned. And he died.

 

He opened his eyes once again. He feared what he would see. He stood in an old building. A can of gasoline was in his hand, and he was spreading it over the area. He knew he was an arsonist and that three families were still sleeping upstairs. He didn't care. No, this person didn't care. But Peterson's mind, which he suddenly realized was in this body with the real tenant, thought killing all those innocent people would be wrong. But the arsonist still rolled up a newspaper and flicked his lighter. The paper burned and the arsonist stared intently at the flames he loved. But a cop burst in and shouted, "Don't move!" The arsonist threw the torch at the cop and started to run. The policeman shot him twice, and the torch ignited the gasoline soaked room. In this body, Peterson would have bled to death from the gunshots, but the flames got to him first. And he died.

 

It happened again. And again. And again. He wondered how many times he would wake up and die in flames. How many times did he deserve to die? Now he was a young woman, tied to a stake in old England. The people of the town surrounded him/her and one accused him/her of being a witch and sentenced him/her to be burned at the stake. He/she knew he/she was innocent. A jealous neighbor had spread nasty rumors. In his soul, Peterson knew this women did not deserve to die. But she did. In flames. He did.

 

He opened his eyes again. Much was the same. This surprised him. All his deaths had been so different. Except at the end, when he died in flames. That part had always been the same. Again he was a woman, tied to a stake with wood piled around the base. A well dressed individual approached, and said, "Maid of Orleans, you have been condemned by your words and actions to death in flames. May God have mercy on your soul." Then they lit the wood and the smoke began to rise. He realized suddenly... Maid of Orleans, oh my, he was Joan of Arc being burned at the stake. He looked deep into her mind and was startled to see she was a kind, righteous women who was working as a servant of God. The God he had claimed to serve. It came to him. Women were not evil, he was. He saw the flames start to rise. He deserved to die. He deserved to suffer an eternity of fiery deaths for his madness. But suddenly he did not die.

 

He was sitting in a room. The Spectre towered over him. The ghostly voice spoke. "You have learned the error of your ways. You have been punished." Peterson reacted, confused. "What... what happened here. Now what are you doing to me. What horrors, horrors that I deserve, will you inflict on me now?"  The Ghost hero told him. "The suffering is over. You have learned what you had to learn. Now you die one last time. And there is no heaven or hell waiting for you, just your last minute of existence. Then you cease to exist. That is your punishment." Peterson looked down. "No suffering but horrible anyway. No less than what I deserve. In fact, it is merciful. Thank you."

 

The Spectre saw the being called Marcus Peterson fade away and cease to exist. He thought this ending had been too merciful for someone as evil as this man. But the Spectre had to follow orders of the one true God, known to so many people by so many different names. That God was so good, and righteous... and merciful. More merciful than any man would be. And so the matter of the haunting of Batgirl came to an end.