In the Midnight Hour

by Katrina VanBuskirk

  “You’ve called somebody else?” Sarae was gobsmacked. So there was another Strigithanos out there! Just like the ghost Roan had said!

  “Yeah, and he’s already on his way.” Heather got that prissy look on her face, like she got one over on Sarae.

  Sarae was pissed. This dumb ghost had no right going over her head. None.

  “Look, Heather,” Sarae said, “the first time you asked me to help Chloe and Lauren, it turned out that one of them had a late project for school. And the other time was when Chloe got lost in the woods because she’d drunk too much at a party there. But when I went out there, she was like sleeping just over the hill from the cabin.”

  “She was in danger,” Heather cried.

  “Chloe could, like, see the cabin from where she was lying. I could see it, plain as day.”

  “But you walked away!”

  Sarae sighed. “That’s because I was standing over a sleeping teenager like some creepy weirdo. And she wasn’t hurt. Morning was coming. It wasn’t raining, and the weather was nice and warm. She wasn’t freezing to death or drowning in rainwater.”

  Heather shook her head like an overdramatic soap opera actress. “That’s beside the point. Chloe could have been hurt. But you didn’t even try to get her home. Just walked away. I saw you!”

  Sarae tried not to sigh. Yes, and Heather had followed her as far as she could to where her car was parked further down the road, complaining all the way.

  “Look,” said Sarae. “Just because Chloe and Lauren stay at Chloe’s parents’ cabin,” – the cabin where Heather had died, that is – “doesn’t mean you have to be a helicopter parent ghost to them all the time. They’re okay. You just get a little crazy about them sometimes.”

  Heather started to blotch. “I’m serious this time. Chloe and Lauren are gone. They’ve vanished, and you refuse to help them. You refuse! Why should I trust you to help them this time?”

  But then, somewhere a rooster crowed.

  At the sound, all the ghosts who had gathered around to watch the argument gasped and fled.

  And then Sarae was awake.

  She groaned. Damn roosters. Whenever a rooster crowed, ghosts would flee.

  It was too early for her to be up. The sun poured in through the windows, but she didn’t feel like she’d slept at all. She hauled herself out of bed and went to the kitchen to make coffee.

  She was sitting at the table, waiting for her coffee to cool, still greatly annoyed by stupid Heather, when there came a clatter from the cat door she’d installed high in the wall above the door. This was Zoe’s personal door, placed well out of the reach of any cats or raccoons that would want to wander in.

  Zoe poked her head through the flap, then carefully stepped through from a small perch outside to a small perch inside. The flap swung shut behind her. “What did I miss?” she said, opening and closing her wings.

  “We have a case,” Sarae groaned. “I guess.”

  “Oh good,” said the screech owl. “Took you long enough to accept it.”

  “What? Where were you at?”

  “I was just hanging around at the outskirts of your dream, listening in.”

  Ugh. Sarae hated when she did that. “So did any of the stuff Heather said make sense?”

  “Kind of,” Zoe said. “I’ll try and help you. Don’t expect any miracles.”

  Sarae squinted at the clock and took a drink of coffee. “Nice of you to be on my side,” she grumbled. “Come on. Let’s run over to the sheriff’s office and talk to Ava.”

  “So there’s another Strigithanos on his way over here?” Zoe asked.

  “Yup,” Sarae grumbled into her coffee.

  “And Heather asked him to help instead of you? Why are you going to talk to Ava when that dumb ghost already called somebody?”

  Because Sarae wanted to get to that case first before that dumb other Strigithanos showed up. Because this was Sarae’s turf, not anybody else’s. Because Sarae wanted to show Heather up.

  But she told Zoe the most rational explanation.

  “Because I want to see if I can meet the other Strigithanos in the flesh,” she said, putting on her jacket.

  Zoe stretched her wings. “If you don’t kill each other first.”

  A Stranger Arrives In Town

  Remy looked out at the vast expanse of nothingness that surrounded the RV—and had surrounded it for the last eighteen hours—and shook his head. The empty view served to make the vehicle’s progress along the interstate feel interminable.

  A lone house sat isolated far from the road, buttressed with trees. What kind of person would live there? And what kinds of crimes could a person get away with that no one would ever know about?

  “It’s not exactly a missing person’s report,” Marcus said, hunched over his laptop in the passenger seat. “Looks like a one Haley James, age sixteen, discovered the girls weren’t where she thought they’d be—at Chloes’s parents’ cabin—and reported her concerns to the local Sheriff. And…that’s all that’s been entered into the database. Guess no one takes little Haley very seriously.”

  Another house was visible off in the distance, with no sign of life. Remy tried not to think of chainsaw massacres and dark basements.

  “And the parents?”

  Marcus typed away on the keyboard. “Chloe’s parents are Carol and Elliot Miller. Owners of what looks like some exclusive retirement senior living community located a few miles outside Swissville, population….” He gestured at the open space around them. “Ten?”

  “Swissville, Missouri. Population 9,259.”

  Marcus blinked at him. “Thank you, Sir Genius. That’s very helpful.”

  Remy turned back to the blank view of fields. More houses were beginning to pop up in the distance, closer together now.

  “Shady Acres,” Marcus read. “Premier senior living to match your vibrant lifestyle. Amenities inspired to serve your discerning tastes. Call today to find out if our exclusive community is for you.”

  Remy made a noise like he couldn’t decide if he was sniffing or coughing. He was scrolling through Chloe’s Facebook page. A bunch of memes involving monsters. She seemed to have a thing about werewolves. A lot of kissy-faced pictures with her young, blonde friends. Remy honestly couldn’t tell any of the blondes apart. They may as well have been cloned.

  “Put your phone down,” Marcus said, reaching over and swiping it out of his hand. “You’re driving.”

  “I’m bored.”

  “These are people with money, as I was saying,” Marcus continued, the keys clacking. “Chloe’s mom inherited the place from her family. She owns a bunch of other businesses, too. The laundromat, a pizza place.”

  “And the other girl’s parents? Lauren?”

  Marcus was quiet as he searched.

  Remy noticed more buildings—a gas station, a grocery store—as they got closer to Swissville. The road made a wide turn, and he looked out at the endless hills, all covered with trees or fields, surrounding them. He guessed hills were nice, if you liked being mauled by bears and that sort of thing.

  “Lauren Thompson, also 16, daughter of Alan and Jessica Thompson. Huh. They live next door to Chloe, and both her parents work at Shady Acres. Jessica is the activities manager, and Alan is the executive director.”

  They were leaving the deserted planet behind and entering a town now, Remy guessed. The RV’s GPS navigated them to leave the interstate and keep going down an identical road that turned onto what looked to be the town’s main street for another mile, informing them they would arrive at the Swissville Sheriff’s Department and Detention facility at the next right.

  Hinto, on his perch between them, stirred.

  Marcus said, “Shouldn’t we have lunch first? How bad can that pizza place be?”

  “It’s only noon,” Remy told him, not slowing the RV. “We can eat after we talk to the Sheriff.”

  “I can find the cabin—”

  “Not sure this is the kind of town we wan
na go wandering around unannounced, searching for cabins in.” Remy eyed every other driver, noticing all of them were white, and all of them eyed him right back. “I feel like any second someone’s gonna scream, Get out! at us…”

  Marcus glanced up, then shrugged. “Whatever, man. It’s just people.”

  Remy parked the RV in the parking lot of the closed library across the street front the Sheriff’s department, and straightened his tie, put on his sunglasses, then climbed out. Hinto swooped from the RV, coming to rest on his shoulder as they crossed the street.

  The building looked more like a home than a Sheriff’s Department, a one-story brick building with white trim, hedges, a sprinkling of trees around a lawn, and a sign that said ‘Sheriff’s Office’ within a bright green border.

  Marcus pulled the wide door open and gestured at Remy to enter first.

  Two obese white men—one balding and one not—sat in uniform behind a desk barricaded behind a low wall, facing a row of chairs.

  “Good afternoon,” Remy said, leaving his sunglasses on while the men gaped first at Hinto, and then at him. “We are here on behalf of the FBI. We need some information from your Sheriff, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  One of the men said, “FBI … ?”

  The other said, “You can’t bring that animal in here.”

  Hinto’s feathers ruffled. Remy only looked at the men, his face expressionless.

  Marcus said, “He’s a companion animal. We have papers and everything.”

  A bony elderly woman who’d been filing papers stopped pretending she wasn’t listening and came over to lean on the back of the balding man’s chair.

  “I’d like to see those FBI credentials,” the first man said, trying very hard not to look at Hinto as he squinted at Remy, frowning.

  Remy showed him his teeth. “Of course,” he said, reaching into his pocket and placing his FBI card on the desk. It was sufficiently vague, but declared him a Consultant, and had the information of the officer they’d helped on multiple cases.

  Marcus smiled, adding, “Los Angeles field office. You’re welcome to call our boss.”

  “Sheriff’s at lunch,” the bony woman said around her gum, sizing Marcus up and down with her eyes instead of looking at the card. “If you tell us what this is about, we can sure give her a message.”

  “Suspicious activity around Carol and Elliot Miller’s cabin, Ma’am,” Marcus said, smiling his most dashing smile. “We’re here to collaborate by taking the case off your hands, and would appreciate any information you have on the property.”

  The three of them looked at each other and shrugged. The woman said under her breath, “Lord in heaven, did that crazy Haley James go and call the FBI?”

  Remy looked around at the row of chairs behind him, which was a mistake, because he caught the eye of a ghost lingering in the hallway. Before he could stop himself, he’d made eye contact with the spirit. The man limped forward eagerly. He wore a fur hat, and had an ax protruding from his bloody chest.

  “You can see me, slave, can’t you?” he said. His accent was thick, but Remy couldn’t place it. “Help me. You have to help me!”

  It was as if the other spirits trapped in the building had been waiting for this announcement, because they rushed forward from the shadows, crowding around Remy, reaching their cold hands for him.

  Hinto ruffled his feathers, and they backed off as one, still circling him hungrily.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Hinto said in his clicking voice.

  The deputies stood, backing away from them. “Sir. I’m gonna have to ask you to take that animal outside,” the bald man said.

  Remy rolled his eyes behind his glasses, and turned to sit in one of the chairs, Hinto still on his shoulder. He pointed at the ghost no one else could see and muttered, “Call me slave one more time and see what happens, you son of a…”

  The ghost hissed and swelled up. The two men sat at their desk and watched impassively, staring at Remy from the corners of their eyes. Of course they couldn’t see the ghost.

  Remy felt the rumble of power inside himself. It began to swell and grow. Even though he knew he had to keep it quiet, he was greatly tempted to break loose.

  Just give me a reason, he thought at the impassive deputies, at the ghost. Just give me a single reason to break out in fire against all of you.

  Strigithanos

  Sarae parked her pickup behind an RV that took up half the parking lot across from the jail.

  “California,” she said, reading the license plate. “Wow, they brought an RV clear out here? What do you think, Zoe, you think it’s that guy from Breaking Bad? Do you think they’re cooking meth? They’ve certainly come to the right place for that.”

  Zoe was snoozing. She patted the owl’s wing, and Zoe’s head came up.

  “Sorry,” the little owl said drowsily. “I’m sleeping off an especially large field mouse.”

  “Come on,” Sarae said, leaning close to the back of the passenger seat where the owl was perched. Zoe stepped delicately from the seat to her shoulder and cuddled up against her ear. She arranged her long black hair over her. The owl curtain, as she liked to call it. Zoe arranged her feet on Sarae’s shoulder and sank down comfortably.

  Sarae always felt as if she were breaking some law by walking around with an unauthorized owl on her shoulder. But it was so good to have company, even if it was a little tiny screech owl.

  The sheriff’s department was an older house near the city square. They’d been building a new jail for a while because people got tired of convicts escaping through the residential area around the exercise yard. Her cousin had finally pushed for a new bond issue to fix this.

  Sarae stopped at the door and rang the doorbell, waiting to get buzzed in. The door’s latch snapped, and she pushed in, looking around for that California guy.

  If we have a real-life Heisenberg here, I’m going to crap myself, she thought.

  She was disappointed to see no one at the counter, but turning, she saw two young black guys, both about her age, sitting in the waiting area.

  And between them, on the shoulder of the smaller guy, sat a freaking huge owl.

  Sarae gasped. The other Strigithanos, she thought. The one Heather called.

  Zoe’s feathers tickled her ears as the owl began to poof up in a threatening way toward the great horned owl. The large owl’s huge yellow eyes stayed fixed on her. For a moment Sarae didn’t move.

  The young man with the owl wore sunglasses, so she couldn’t see his eyes. But he seemed to look into her soul, exuding the powerful vibe of a person who just doesn’t give one fuck what anyone thinks of him. Thin and long-limbed, he wore his hair in a mini afro and a leather jacket over a sweatshirt, black jeans, combat boots—and a fixed frown.

  His companion, in sharp contrast, looked like a supermodel. He was tall and broad, his features perfectly chiseled, his immaculate clothes tailor-cut, his hair in a neat fade.

  But his smile.

  He smiled at Sarae, natural and genuine, his charm dazzling even at this distance.

  A tall drink of water, Sarae thought.

  Oh, and she was thirsty.

  Emma slapped the counter behind her, saying, “Sarae, yoo-hoo!”

  Sarae jumped slightly, flustered. All she’d done since she set foot in the place was stare at the two guys. Where were her manners?

  “What are you here for, honey?” Emma asked. “You need to see Ava?”

  “Yes, please,” she said as she turned her back on the strangers and signed the book. “How are you gentlemen today?” she asked the white officers at the desk—Bob and Frank.

  Frank looked around as if trying to figure out where the gentlemen were. “Gentlemen? What gentlemen?”

  “You crack me up,” she said, sliding the book back to them. “I was checking up on Haley James’s tip,” she told them. “Up at the cabin outside of Smith’s Creek, where she said that the two high-school girls had disappeared. Have you he
ard anything?”

  At Haley’s name, Emma had frowned. She leaned over sideways to glance at the two men with the owl, and back at Sarae. “Those boys were asking about that, too.”

  Sarae winced at the word. “I didn’t see any boys here,” she pointed out.

  “They were asking about her.”

  No denying why they were here, then. “Pretty crazy. I’m going to holler at Ava if she’s available.”

  “She just got in from patrol,” Emma said. “I’ll tell her you’re here. Ava?”

  “Yeah!” Ava called from inside her office.

  “Sarae’s here!”

  “Come on in.”

  Emma buzzed her through, this time through the gate to the inside of the office.

  Sarae heard the California guy mutter something behind her as she went in, and felt weird. And what was he doing here with his damn owl? Was she going to have to work with him now? Or was he going to barge in and take everything over? That was what guys tended to do.

  “Hey there, cousin,” Sarae said, entering the over-crowded office.

  “Yeah, have a seat.” Ava was typing rapidly, her red nails a blur. “We were just wrapping up an accident. Only minor, thank God.”

  Sarae picked a black jellybean out of the jellybean jar. Ava was always businesslike, though she had laid her hat on her desk as she typed. With her wavy reddish hair and plump figure, she looked more like someone who drove a magic school bus, but Ava was quick to act in moments of danger and had actually won awards for being the fastest to draw a pistol in some Wild West contest where she’d beat out several professional gunslingers.

  “Did anything come in on Lauren Thompson or Chloe Miller?” Sarae asked her.

  Ava grimaced without looking up. “Yeah, Haley James called us. Said the girls agreed to meet her up at the cabin but when she got there, Lauren and Chloe had their stuff there and had left. But then she waited and waited and they never came back. She tried to call them and text them but didn’t hear anything back. Emma called their parents, but they said everything was fine and the girls had just gone on a trip without Haley. Mrs. Miller said they didn’t want to hurt Haley’s feelings because the girls don’t like her.”