Mysteria Nights

by P. C. Cast

  He refused to tell them his name, so Scornful christened him Dr. Demento. As in, “Hey, Dr. Demento! You gonna keep shaking stuff at the toaster, or are we actually going to get to work, here?”

  “Dis house, she’s evil, mahn.”

  “Evil, my big butt,” the ghost said out of nowhere. The two younger girls jumped; Withering had her knife in her hand by the word my. The witch doctor shook harder. “You realize, I only let you idiots in because nobody’s home, and I’m bored out of my tits. Right?”

  “Now, Rae,” Jan said in his bubbling, oddly soothing voice, “just cooperate, and soon your essence will be set free.”

  “Sounds nauseating. I think I’ll stay put.”

  Dr. Demento reached into his backpack and withdrew a second mysterious object (a good trick, with the backpack strapped behind him as it was), and shook both at the fridge.

  “I can’t believe we’ve never been here before,” Scornful whispered to her younger sister.

  “I heard that, you little brat. And you don’t have to get your perky little noses into everything in this town.”

  “You do not belong here, ghost,” Withering said, the knife point never wavering. “Begone at once.”

  “Look who’s talking! Don’t you have a demonic realm to be ruling? Instead, you’re nosing around in my house and poking around in my business.”

  “How did you—”

  “Ha! The whole damned town is talking about it, that’s how I knew.”

  “Then if this woman may so inquire, what is it like to be displaced?”

  “If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t be here, get it? So buzz off, and take the witch doctor with you. Better than him have tried and failed.”

  Jan protested as Withering sheathed her knife. “But he will set you free, Rae!”

  “Aw, that’s super. No sale.”

  “Hey, Dr. Demento. Can I shake something at the television?” Scornful tried to get at his backpack, but he whirled and backed away from her, still shaking various homemade tools. “Aw, come on. How come you get to have all the fun?”

  “You call this fun?” Rae grumped. “Will you people get lost before the fridge accidentally falls on one of you? Two or three times?”

  “Yeesh,” Derisive said.

  “You say it’s been tried before? Was that John Harding, by any chance?”

  “Sure.”

  “But he was alive when you were alive. The way I heard it, his heart wasn’t in it, and that’s why he couldn’t banish you. Dr. Demento here doesn’t care how you got here or where you go.”

  “Jan, you got a lot of nerve, bringing the psycho triplets and a witch doctor—a witch doctor of all things!—into this house.”

  “But Rae, I wish only to—”

  “—be an enormous pain in my ass. At which you’re succeeding beautifully.”

  “There is little we can do here,” Withering told her sisters. “I suggest we take our leave.”

  “And take Dr. Demento with you!” Rae called.

  “No.” Jan actually stomped his foot, which squished. “He will set you free, and you will no longer be imprisoned.”

  The refrigerator slid all the way across the room, the yanked plug trailing behind it like a tail.

  “We’re out of here,” the younger girls said in unison as Withering grabbed the witch doctor by the elbow and started hauling him toward the front door.

  “I’d vamoose, too, if I were you, River Nymph.”

  “That’s good advice from the kid,” Rae warned. “Whichever one it was.”

  “Thank you,” Jan called as all four made their way to the doorway, “for your assistance.”

  “Yeah, and next time, take your damned shoes off in the entryway!” Rae hollered as the front door slammed.

  Fifteen

  “You tried to get rid of me!”

  Jan ducked as the toaster sailed over his head. “It was my dearest wish to see you free, yes.”

  “Tossing me like a dead Easter chick!” The small board that normally held car keys soared toward him; he backpedaled on his long feet and handily avoided it.

  “Rae, you are reading this entirely the wrong way.”

  “If I showed up in the Mississippi River with antinymph spray, how would you take it?”

  “Anti what?”

  “Oh, never mind. Just get out of here.”

  “I will not.” He stood his ground stubbornly, even when Stephen King’s The Stand (hardcover edition, which weighed approximately twenty-seven pounds) hit him in the chest. “You need my help, and I will not leave until you have it.”

  “I’ll bet Pot will have something to say about that, Squishy.”

  “My queen has given me leave to stay. In fact, she was pleased that one of her people will watch over the town she so loves.”

  “Pot said torturing me with witch doctors who wear Dockers is okay? What the blue hell is the world coming to?”

  “I do not know. I do know I cannot bear to see you trapped when I have unlimited freedom of movement.”

  “But Jan—” Rae’s tone softened, and he tried not to display his surprise. “Jan, by staying here, you’re restricting your own movement. You said it yourself, your home is a long way away from here.”

  “My home,” he said firmly, “is wherever you are.”

  There was a long, long silence. When she broke it, it sounded like—but of course he must be mistaken—but it sounded like she was crying softly. “You mean it? You want to stay here with me?”

  “Yes. I never lie, Rae, and I certainly would not start with you, even if I did.”

  “But why?”

  “I do not know,” he said simply.

  “Because if it’s because you feel sorry for me, I’ll throw the door at your head right now.”

  “I did at first pity you. But even in my pity, I greatly admired your fortitude in a difficult situation. And when my queen’s business was finished, I was unable to leave town. Because of you, Rae, I was unable to go back to my people. That is not pity. That is—something else.”

  “Something else,” she mused.

  “If you will not leave this silly red house and move to the next plane, I have no choice but to also remain.”

  “I could build an extension,” she said eagerly. “I could give you your own bathroom and everything. A big hot tub for you to soak in whenever you want!”

  “So you do not mind if I remain?”

  “Like I can do anything about it?”

  “You cannot,” he said smugly.

  “Char and her husband might have something to say about it—oh, who am I kidding? They’re always looking for babysitters for the Thing That Poops. And they’ve been reaping the benefits of my free handiwork for ages. Okay, for a few months. But I’ll ramp up the value of the house if I build on another bed and bath. Of course, they’ll have to buy the supplies, but it’s still cheaper than—”

  “Rae, do be quiet.”

  “Better get used to it, pal. Anybody nutty enough to fall for a ghost—my ghost—and give up his river for Mysteria had better be resigned to everyday chatter. But I’m betting there are compensations.”

  “Compensations?” he asked, then gasped as he felt her essence rush through him like a cool wind, raising goose bumps on his arms and causing him to rock backward on his heels. He could feel cool, ghostly hands on him, touching, caressing, stroking, and oh, the sensation was delightful, the coolness was delightful; living humans were just too warm.

  He heard her laugh in his ear, and that raised more pleasurable goose bumps, heard her sigh and felt her grip tighten, except it seemed as though she had four hands, ten, a dozen, and they were everywhere, everywhere, touching and cuddling and making him hard and making him shudder and making him spasm all over until he realized he was flat on his back on the kitchen tile.

  “Oh,” he gasped, thinking he needed five or six bottles of water. Right now.

  “Hmmm,” Rae replied, sounding like she was lying beside him.
/>   “That was—that was—” What? Supremely satisfying? Sublime? Out of this world?

  “Fun!”

  “For you as well?” He was unable to hide his surprise.

  “Whoo, yeah! First orgasm I’ve had in—what century is this again? Never mind. When I went into your body, I could feel everything you were feeling, which made me feel even better, which I projected onto you, which made me feel better—you get the picture.”

  “Oh, my,” he gasped. “So you can do that whenever you wish?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “I may never walk again.”

  “So who’s asking you to?” she said and laughed in his ear, the sound a warm caress.

  Sixteen

  It came from the wishing well and found it was dark in this place; the moon was high, and the stars were bright—and the stars were wrong. It followed the hated woman’s scent through the small park, down the oddly flat lane (the blacktop felt strange beneath its feet and claws) and toward the small red house, her scent getting stronger with every step.

  And with every step, it became angrier.

  It would find the usurper, the dire queen, and pull her throat out with its teeth until it was gulping her blood and picking its teeth with her vertebrae. Then the land would once again belong to its people, the Krakeen, and this land, too, this ridiculous land of soft pink things. This land with no demons, this land that had spawned the dire queen and foisted her on its people.

  It charged up the walk, already drooling at the prospect of chewing on the usurper, and easily pushed down the door, barely noticing the astounding crash the wood made as it hit the floor.

  It walked into the house, still following the trail, which was stronger here; she had spent some time here, at any rate. But one of the soft pink things wasn’t so soft, because it was standing protectively in front of a female and a baby, and it was baring its teeth at the demon.

  “Cole, don’t!” someone without a scent said. “Get Char and get the baby and get the hell out of here!”

  The man paid no notice; the man growled and came closer, his eyes seemed almost lit from within, and the Krakeen licked its lips and wondered how the man’s liver might taste.

  “Cole!” the voice screamed. “Get your wife and get your kid and get the fuck out of here! Find Withering! Go now!”

  The voice seemed to penetrate this time; the man remembered his responsibilities and fled with the female and infant. The Krakeen let them; they were not its rightful prey. This time. Instead, it looked around for the voice—and staggered as some strange, hard object smashed into the back of its head, followed by a rain of smaller objects.

  “There’s more drawers, and there’s more silverware,” the voice warned him, “so get lost.”

  It growled, dribbling saliva on the floor, and swiped at the air, reaching for the voice.

  “Not the brightest bulb, are you?” the voice said, this time from behind him. It whirled in time to catch another heavy object in the face, and it staggered. “How’d the toaster taste? Hey, stand still, so I can crush you underneath the washing machine.”

  It roared, infuriated at something it could not see or smell, still wanting the dire queen’s blood but not at all happy at shedding its own—its blood, for like all Krakeen, it had both male and female genitalia.

  “Boy, did you pick the wrong house,” the voice remarked, and something smashed into the back of its head and shattered, something that smelled sweet and crumbly.

  “Char’s gonna kill me; she made that stupid cookie jar in her pottery class. Eh, easy come, easy smash.”

  It stepped across the shards, its hide far too tough to be cut or even scratched. The dread queen’s scent was strong here, but then seemed to backtrack, so he followed it toward the door, staggering as the voice hurled something yet again, something that felt like a rock with hard corners.

  “Damn it! With no blender, I guess it’s bye-bye Margarita Saturdays.”

  Nearing the doorway, it saw the usurper standing on the wooden thing it had knocked down, standing on it with her sword drawn.

  “Krakeen demon, this woman will make the demon pay for daring to come here.”

  It roared a challenge; it hungered for her blood, her blood for its people, for its land, for the crown she had wrongfully stolen—stolen and then fled!

  “You dare come to this land, my town? You dare pollute this place with the stench of your hide? This woman cannot even make clothing out of your skin, you stink so badly.”

  It gnashed its teeth and rushed at her, ducking under her swing and slashing at her. She wrenched herself back, and all it could do was scratch her, not gut her as it had intended.

  “He shoots and he misses and, oh, ladies and gentlemen, have you ever seen such humiliation?”

  Yes, it would kill the dread queen, and then it would hunt down that bedamned voice and kill it, too!

  It followed up, swinging its long arms, each finger tipped with a razor-sharp claw an inch and a half long, and she had to backpedal out the doorway to avoid getting cut again. It ducked as she swung, but not quite fast enough, and it lost an ear.

  “Oh, man! She’s cutting pieces off you! And you’re the best of the bunch? How embarrassing is that?”

  “A fine point, Krakeen,” the usurper said and bared her teeth at him in what the soft pink things called a “smile.” “Rae, remind this woman never to anger you.”

  “D’you know how long it’s going to take me to fix this door?” the voice griped in response.

  The Krakeen kicked, its powerful feet also tipped with sharp claws, and the dire queen backflipped out of the way, catching it on the underside of its chin as she did. It shook its head and went after her again, only to find its feet were stuck in the hard walk outside the house. It wrenched itself free easily enough and stepped onto the grass, where it caught the usurper’s sword with one hand as the blade descended.

  Got you now, dread queen! Your guts will feed my young! Ignoring the blood pouring from its hand, it held the blade away from itself, readying its other paw for the killing blow, when she abruptly let go of the sword. As it staggered in surprise, it felt something hot slide into its throat.

  Hot, and then very, very cold. And something was wrong with its throat. It was getting its chest wet. It was getting dizzy. It tried to swing at the dread queen and missed by too much, missed, and then the odd colored grass was rushing up to its face, and the Krakeen demon knew no more.

  Seventeen

  Withering stepped back, neatly avoiding the splash, and coldly watched the Krakeen fall facedown onto Charlene Hautenan’s lawn. Then she looked up into the nearest oak tree.

  “This woman would ask her sisters to come down.”

  “Why? We helped, didn’t we?”

  “There may be more, dear ones, and this woman would not see you hurt. It is bad enough,” she added sternly, “that you disobeyed me in the manner of following me here.”

  “Point,” Scornful replied, and they both climbed down with the speed of monkeys on crack. Then they stood over the body of the dead demon, which was bleeding black all over the grass. “Guh-ross!” she continued. “Those things come from where you used to live? This one’s even nastier-looking than the other one. It’s a miracle you made it out alive!”

  “Mom’s gonna freak,” Derisive added.

  “Only if you tell the good lady,” Withering said, squatting to wipe her blade on the grass, retrieving her sword, then standing in time to see Thad’s pizza van drive over the curb and straight up to the house, ruining more grass. He leaped out, leaving the engine running, and nearly fell onto the corpse.

  “Are you okay? I got your sister’s message. One of your sisters. I don’t know which. Are you okay?” He took her into his arms, feeling her for injuries. “Withering, you nut, you shouldn’t have tackled that thing by yourself!”

  “Why?” she asked, honestly puzzled. “Who else should have ‘tackled’ it?”

  “You dope! You could hav
e been sliced! Chewed! Skinned! Gutted!”

  “Indeed, the Krakeen would have seen to all those things if it could.”

  Thad actually staggered. “That statement did not make me feel better. At all.”

  “But it did not, and will not, ever.” She gently divested herself of his frantic grip and slid her foot under the body.

  “Careful,” Scornful warned. “In the horror movies, this is where it leaps up for one last scare.”

  “Not once my knife has been in its throat.” She flipped the body over and examined it carefully. Finally, straightening, she said with surprise, “It is a Krakeen.”

  “Yeah, you said that. You called it that. You also mentioned it would have gutted and stabbed and mangled and mutilated you. So?”

  “So. Krakeens inhabit the other side of the planet. It once took me the better part of my sixteenth year to reach their territory. This one could have been nowhere near the thin spot where I fell through and, later, returned. That means—”

  “I don’t care what it means!” Thad shouted. “You’re not leaving me—or Mysteria! This is your home, and nobody made you killer of demons and giver-upper of a social life.”

  She squinted at him. “That doesn’t make any—”

  “I don’t care if this thing was from halfway round the planet or the house next door; you’re staying.”

  “What he said,” Derisive said.

  “Yeah, except without that weird ‘giver-upper’ line,” Scornful added.

  “As I was saying,” Withering continued gently, “it would appear the wishing well is now a conduit between Earth Prime and Secondary Earth.”

  “Sorry if you’ve heard this before: So?”

  “That means a demon from anywhere on Earth Prime might find its way here.”

  “Gross,” Scornful commented.

  “Not to mention inconvenient,” Derisive added.

  “And unless I am here, in Mysteria, to protect its citizens, that could be disastrous. I cannot leave my dear mother and dear sisters to defend themselves against such creatures, nor any citizen of the land.”

  “So . . .” Thad held his breath and then, because the stress appeared to be too much, let it out in an explosive sigh. “So you’re staying.”