She’s still dead silent as I continue, “You gave him your copy of the Necronomicon. The same copy you used to rid your parents of their abusive tendencies. You were legitimately concerned when you heard Freddie killed himself to get away from his suddenly abusive father, so you put me on the case, getting me laid to make sure I stayed with it.
“Fast forward to Russell’s mom and that’s when you learned a hard lesson. Black magic has a price and your parents’ abusive traits didn’t evaporate into the fucking void. They needed to go somewhere. You created a curse and once you learned that, you ditched me with the bill like any other fucking witch would.”
Fiona suddenly whipped around, her eyes welled with tears as she exclaimed, “I left because I didn’t want to watch you die!” I look away, shaking my head in shame as she continues, “Maybe it escaped the world’s greatest detective, but I actually L…”
I look at her with a pseudo-surprised look while she looked away in hesitation. The two of us went quiet for a second. She’s trying to gather up the strength to speak. Taking a deep breath in, she readied herself to speak again. However, she took one look into my eyes and saw I wasn’t believing a word she’d said and her look changed considerably.
Behind what I believed to be crocodile tears, she scolds “Fuck you.” She turned around and started walking away. I started to laugh, throwing my thumb over my shoulder as I said, “Guess I’ll tell your mom you’re living with your scout leader up there, huh?” She called back, “The girl scouts is my mom’s lie!”
After a half second, she decides to add “Stay out of my life!” With a smartass attitude, I ask “Which life is that; your social life or your after life when you fuck up again and I’m not there?” She flips me off and keeps walking. I remember thinking that she was an arrogant bitch and that she was definitely going to fuck up again and I’d have to clean it up.
That was a defining moment in my life. Bigger than being dragged away from my hometown and family, kicking and screaming for some pseudo-fifties-esque town that treats outsiders like garbage. That was the origin of my mentality that I’d have to be the guy that’s going to clean up after them. Fiona, Russell, Freddie; they weren’t outliers in the Town of Potton when it came to the supernatural and they still aren’t.
That same day, I put my focus on studying the supernatural as much as I could. If I was going to be a janitor of the occult, I was gonna make damn sure I wasn’t going to be caught off guard again, or not know what the hell was going on. I went back into my little corner of the school library, this time to study instead of sleep.
Ironically, that corner was the occult section. Not really a big section, so I was able to plow through it pretty quickly. I started in May of that year, taking notes and creating specific profiles for vampires, werewolves, ghosts and other monsters. It blew my mind when I found out a rougarou is just a werewolf from Louisiana.
From there, I moved onto the internet and onto the Schiffer’s Classification System. Named after Professor Aaron Shiffer, he developed broad classes for certain phenomena with sub levels for the specifics. Class 1 Level 1 are all ghosts while Class 1 Level 2 are demons. The first class is generally anything without a solid form, but with a clear sense of will and self. The higher the class and level, the heavier the threat.
Class 2 is where things get pretty solid. This pretty much covers all of magic. C2L1 is all white magic; potions, remedies, dis-curses, etc. C2L2 is for the more gray area stuff; scrying, summoning, mind reading and all that. C2L3 is for curses and anything that attacks people.
Class 3 is all monsters. C3L1 is reserved for “The Cursed.” That’s your werewolves and zombi (as in the controlled people from hoodoo). C3L2 are the possessed people. C3L3 is all about the undead; vampires, revenants, draugrs, all that. C3L4 is all about the non-humans. Yokai, lamias, ghouls, death worms, all that shit.
Class 4 is when shit gets serious. C4L1 deals with events like time travel or parallel dimensions. C4L2 is all about the “demi-gods” which means C4L3 is all about their parents. Finally, C4L4 is reserved entirely for apocalyptic events.
Chapter 24
It’s amazing how fast two months can go by. October and Halloween came and went without any kind of special event. November and Thanksgiving just as well; even without a call from either side of the family to attend any kind of dinner. By the time I’d realized this, it was already well into December.
The sweaty nights were replaced with cold and unforgiving winds. The green of the summer quickly having turned to dead leaves on the streets and sidewalks. The cold was seeping in through the poorly insulated walls of this makeshift office. The same office of which I’m still the only occupant of; my partner in all of this still living it up in the warm San Diego sun.
The only saving grace to stave off the cold days is the fact the back office windows faced the sun at any given time of the day. Closing the door to the living room and kitchen keeps the heat in, so keeping the bathroom door open helps. That way, when I wake up at the crack of noon I’ll be nice and warm; bundled up in a nest of thick blankets and pillows to pad the harsh fact that I have to sleep in the bathtub after four months.
I’d woken up before the alarm I’d set. Really, I’m just wasting time and taking in the quietness of everything for as long as I can. Well, as quiet as it can be. The faint signs of living from the apartment next door breaks up the absolute silence in my apartment.
The familiar unnatural muttering of voices from a television. Footsteps. Soft clanks and bangs of god knows what. It doesn’t bother me, really. You have to really try to listen in order to make out whatever they’re doing over there.
Of course, by the time the alarm goes off, I'm in a sour mood. “Mannish Boy” by Muddy Waters plays at top volume, phone buzzing on the bathroom sink counter. I quickly shift around under the blankets; my hand escaping from underneath, slapping the fiberglass. A couple empty alcoholic soda bottles fall to the floor, clanking and crashing loudly without breaking.
I climb out of the tub, groaning with a whine. I want the unhearing universe to know it’s a dick for making me wake up this early. The blankets slowly come off, revealing my gray hoodie, green and gray checkered wool pajama pants and socked feet. My winter bedwear to make sure I’m not frozen to death in the middle of the night.
I go about my morning routine of unplugging my phone charger, plugging the toothbrush charger in its place. I brush my teeth as I turn the alarm off and play the song itself without it buzzing on the counter when I set it back down. I then sit on the toilet, still waking up as I brush my teeth and nurse my mini hangover, dealing with the dizziness.
From there, I fold up the blankets individually, slam the pillows on top and drop them into the corner of the closet, opposite the laundry hamper. Then a 15 minute shower is all I need to wash away the sleep sweat, putting my head on straight and getting in a better mood. It’s too fucking early for me. If I linger on it, I’ll end up being responsible for my own bad day.
Today, I have to make an effort to look like a halfway decent adult. Today, I’m gonna have to trade my t-shirts and work shirts for my black suit and tie. The suit pants don’t really retain any heat, but I’ll have to put up with it. At least I can still wear my red Chuck Taylors.
While in the process of tying my tie, I hesitate at the door. It’s cold out there in the kitchen and I’m warm here in the office. I look back at the desk, seeing my coat hanging off one of the guest chairs. It’s a relatively thin coat for how much warmth it provides; black, waterproof and sporting a dozen pockets. Initially meant for construction workers, Dawnbrite utilizes the same brand for its Darkbreakers.
The parka usually goes in tandem along with my hat; a black baseball cap with an embroidered protection seal. From the Key of Solomon, the symbol protects against possession and other attacks from ghosts, monsters, demons and spells. Defensive magic is the poor man’s Tri-Pack. It’s harder to understand and get the hang of, though. Cheat codes to the universe is all
magic really is. I try to incorporate both as much as possible these days, to be honest.
I throw my coat on and head out into the kitchen, working quickly to get a pot of coffee going. The living room is still as bare as can be, but the kitchen is populated with a couple of appliances; a coffee maker and a microwave. A pan sits in the sink, waiting for me to clean it again to make more burgers on it. A breadbox sits on top of the fridge, holding burger buns within.
I get the coffee going and eagerly jump back into the office. That’s when I’m aware Boom Boom by John Lee Hooker stopped in favor of buzzing on the bathroom counter. I pick it up, seeing its a call from Kara Goldstein. Fuck, I’m not late, am I?
“Yeah.” I answer, “I’m headed out the door now, I swear.” Kara dismisses my excuse, saying “No, Rick. Greg’s gone.” I sigh heavily. It’s finally hitting her that her husband is dead. I start to console her, “I know, hun. It’s gonna be ok, we all just have to get through today.” She groans in aggravation, “No, damnit. I mean his body is fucking gone!” I groan in frustration, rolling my eyes, “Sonofabitch, what now?”
Chapter 25
The story of Greg Goldstein is one of… well, I’d say tragedy… but I’d also call it a tale of caution. Despite that, Greg was still one of my best friends and I did my best for him. However, “Fuck it” shouldn’t be your life motto or mantra, whatever the Japanese are calling it now-a-days. Ultimately, he was his own downfall. Then again, aren’t we all?
Greg is… was always one of contradictions. In fact, looking on his life now, I can safely say he's the one that didn’t just favor the status quo, but fought for stagnation rather than against it. The biggest step he took towards a future was marrying his longtime girlfriend. Even then, I think it was just for the tax write-off. They lived on their own for a few months, but ultimately ended up moving back in with his parents.
Since then, Greg worked overtime at McSling’s just to maintain his stagnation and helped his parents and siblings pay their bills. He was only being paid just barely above minimum wage. This was a widening crack in his marriage, among a lot of others. Because he was always working, he started to become addicted to energy supplements. From there, he just stopped sleeping altogether. Being pulled in every direction, from college to Kara to his family and so-on.
I found myself standing over what would have been Greg’s casket. Standing at the front of the main room of the funeral parlor, I can’t help but sigh. The top of the casket had come off its hinges and landed some feet behind it. I look back up and around at the participants of this little fiasco. I just shake my head. I can’t much blame Kara in all of this, really; sitting in one of the pues.
She’d dyed her short, five or six-inch cut hair black from the faded pink she’d had it before. She was even wearing a black dress and nice sweater over it. To get a tomboy like her to dress feminine, it has to be her wedding or funeral. Since high school, I’ve now seen both instances.
The others stood at random points around the casket in shame. Probably hoping I won't scold them. The funeral home director is standing next to the casket; a thin, older white guy with salt and pepper hair, wearing a black suit. Next to me is Kyle, wearing a black t-shirt, jeans and canvas jacket. Not much shame there, but I’m not sure if he even knows what the emotion is.
Behind me, Wyatt is standing in a black suit and tie; hands on his hips. I can’t tell if he’s pissed at this whole thing happening or if he’s preparing himself for an earful. Of course, sitting in the back is Jimmy Hawthorne, playing on his phone, probably oblivious to the whole thing.
I slide my hands in my coat pockets, looking over at Kyle and quipping “Got a little too big for your britches, huh?” Kyle’s shoulders sag, taking in a breath to defend himself, but Wyatt ends up exclaiming “I knew this was a bad idea.” Kyle looks back, calling “Oh bullshit!”
That’s when everyone, but Jimmy starts talking all at once. They’re trying to explain the situation. I close my eyes, shaking my head. The fact that this situation has devolved so fucking quick. “Shut up!” I yell at the top of my lungs and the parlor goes quiet again.
I point to Kara without looking at her, “What happened first?” I hear her sigh, then quickly say, “He told me he could bring Greg back.” I look over at her, seeing she’s pointing at the funeral director. I look to the guy with a raised eyebrow. His only defense is “This sort of thing has never happened before.”
I roll my eyes and mumble “Jesus Christ.” I turn my attention to Kyle. I don’t need to say anything as he continues the story. “Kara called me and Wyatt in. Greg was already gone. Instead of rolling all over town looking for him, I thought summoning his ghost would’ve been a good way to track his body.”
I look sideways at the funeral director again. Without a word said, the guy just shakes his head and looks over at Jimmy. I look over at him, still on his phone and blissfully unaware of anything. Jimmy is dressed in a checkered flannel shirt with a black tie and blue jeans with black boots he has propped up on the pue in front of him.
I look back over to Kyle and Wyatt, wide eyed and aggravated even more. “Which one of you thought it was a good idea to have Jimmy look up a seance spell?” The two of them stay silent. Kyle looks over at Wyatt with a scolding look. I look over at Wyatt, who hangs his head for a second. Keeping his left hand on his hip, Wyatt raised his right. I roll my eyes and sighed heavily, looking back at the empty casket.
On the other side of the double doors at the other end of this funeral parlor are a flood of people, a lot of which I don’t know. None of them know what’s going on at all. It’s clear that I'm being looked to for a solution.
“Ok,” I start, “here’s how this is gonna go.” I look over to Kara and tell her, “You’re gonna go along with everything like nothing happened. We’re gonna put the lid to that casket back on and the funeral is gonna go on without any hint he’s not in there.” Kara nods and I look over to Wyatt. “If Greg’s ghost didn’t show up, that means it’s at work. I’m gonna need you to build an ether-vac. All that is is a Faraday cage inside a solid container with an ionic fan.”
I turn to Kyle and tell him “Greg’s corpse shouldn’t be hard to track down. All revenants do is mimic what they did in life. So, he’s more than likely at the corner store trying to shoplift energy shots.” Kyle nods, looking away in shame.
I look over at Jimmy and state “Boobies!” Jimmy looks up from his phone, wide eyed and curious. “Get in your truck. We’re going out.” Jimmy nods, mumbling “boobies.” He then goes back to his phone, swiping his thumb across the screen again as he stands up and leaves the room through the side door.
That’s when I turn my attention to the funeral home director. I look him square in the eye and he can tell what I’m about to say isn’t going to be good. “I think it’ll be best for you to give Mrs. Goldstein here a refund on all this.” He nods, sighing a little with a smile. “Oh, of course.”
I smirk slightly and finish by saying, “I’ll be charging you five thousand dollars.” His eyes go wide, “Excuse me?” I explain, “A funeral home director dabbling in necromancy is quite the scandal. Also, it’s a class one felony.” The director doesn’t say anything; he just huffs and turns away.
“We’ll be back to use your crematorium in a bit.” I tell the director. Wyatt, Kyle and I start to leave out the same side door Jimmy left through. “Damn, dude.” Kyle says, “Five grand?” I smirk a little and nod. That’s when Kyle asks, “How much are we getting?” I shake my head, “You know, y’all are lucky I’m not charging you for this shit.” Kyle stops in the hallway, his arms out as he whines “What the fuck, man?” I chuckle, “Sure, take that tone with me.”
Chapter 26
Jimmy’s truck was a beat-up four-banger from the late 80’s. It really did adhere to the “Classic or Shit” aesthetic the Town of Potton seems to have with… well, not just it’s cars, but it’s buildings as well. However, Jimmy took the “Shit” part of that aesthetic to an extreme.
Kyle and I were jammed up in the cab of the truck as we made our way two blocks from the funeral home. Kyle was shoved in the middle between me and Jimmy. I was on the end, because I was the biggest.
We would’ve taken Kyle’s truck, but he walked to the funeral home. I sure as hell wasn’t going to take Lilith on this job. Considering the mess that was going to get made as a result, I didn’t need to hear her bitch at me.
By the time we got to the corner store, Greg’s corpse had gotten there and started in on the place. I’d practically jumped out of the truck, begging for space. I’m a heavyset guy, so I try to be mindful of my size to other people. However, I also get kinda claustrophobic as well.
Kyle jumped out and without a word, headed into the corner store. I was left looking to Jimmy’s truck and thinking about the logistics of everything that would need to be done. Jimmy pulled his phone out of his pocket and was about to go back to whatever game he was addicted to on the damned thing.
I snapped my fingers, getting his attention by exclaiming “Hey!” Jimmy looked up at me, clearly annoyed. I pointed to the back of the truck, “Clean that out.” Jimmy threw his arm on the back of the red bench seat and looked over the mess in the back, thoroughly and carefully. Jimmy turned back around, saying “It’s fine.”
I reached over and snatched the phone out of his hand. “What the fuck!” He exclaimed. I closed the passenger side door. “Clean the back out; I’m not having us dump his body back there like it’s the rest of your trash.” I sternly scolded.
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