The Ghoul Next Door

by Victoria Laurie

  “Kendra!” I called.

  She jumped a little and looked up. I waved and she waved back. I introduced Gil and Kendra thrust out her hand, a glint of interest in her eye. “Hi,” she said. “Nice to meet you. M.J. didn’t tell me you were such a cutie.”

  Gil blushed and I wondered if Kendra was one of those rare individuals that didn’t recognize a gay man even if he came packaged in a pink feather boa. “Aww,” he said. “Stop it! And by that, I mean, go on, please.”

  The two laughed and she winked at me; she was definitely interested in Gil. Oh, this ought to be good.

  We headed in and took the elevator down two floors to some basement level, then followed behind Kendra along a dark corridor into a room at the end that was filled with volumes of large record books, most of which looked very old.

  There was a woman at a wooden desk who appeared to be as old as the oldest, dust-covered volume, and she croaked for us to sign in. We did and then Kendra waved at the volumes. “These are all the property records. First we have to look up the legal description . . .” Kendra’s voice trailed off as she headed toward a stack of books to the far right.

  I looked at Gilley and crossed my eyes; he giggled and crossed his too. We let Kendra take the lead and soon the both of us were standing dumbly next to her while she flipped pages in a huge volume. At that moment my phone bleeped. It was a text from Heath.

  I’m outside in the car with the motor running if you want to attempt an escape.

  I tucked my phone back in my pocket and turned to the withered woman at the desk. “Which way is the ladies’ room?”

  She croaked out a response and I excused myself, promising to be right back. The minute I was out the door, I ran for the elevator. Pressing the button, I tapped my foot anxiously until the doors opened. I rode it up to the main floor and walked quickly out of the building, finding Heath just down the street, double-parked and staring at his phone—probably waiting for me to text him back. I dashed to the car and got inside. “Go!” I yelled, and he hit the gas.

  We zipped away and no sooner had we rounded the corner than Gilley called my phone. “Hello?” I said.

  “You ditched me, didn’t you?”

  “Not at all, honey. I’m in the ladies’ room.” I motioned for Heath to drive faster.

  “I can hear sounds of traffic in the background, M.J.”

  “There’s a window open in the ladies’ room.”

  “We’re belowground.”

  “I went to the one upstairs.” A car honked right next to us and I sent the driver a dirty look.

  “When are you gonna give up the ruse?”

  I sighed. “Probably now. We’re far enough away that you can’t catch us.”

  “Yes, but I know where you live.” With that, he hung up.

  I put my phone away. “Gil says hi.”

  Heath chuckled. “He’ll get even, you know.”

  “I’ll worry about that later. For now I’m just glad to be out of that dungeon. That was gonna be a hell of a boring morning.”

  “Yeah, well, I actually have a good reason for springing you.”

  I eyed him with interest. “What’s that?”

  Heath turned to me and bounced his eyebrows. “I have a lead.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “I took the car and parked it downtown. Then I went for a run down Stoughton Street and talked to one of the neighbors.”

  “You did?”

  “Yep.”

  “That was really smart, honey. I didn’t even think of that.”

  “That’s why you keep me around, Em. I’m good for a few things.”

  I laughed. “Oh, honey, you are good for more than just a few things.” It was my turn to bounce my eyebrows.

  “Anyway, the guy who lives next door said that the house has seen quite a few tenants over the years. For the most part, the renters keep to themselves, but he became friendly with one guy who lived there about three years ago. A guy named Ken Chamblis.”

  I gasped. “Killer Ken!”

  Heath nodded. “The neighbor, Brad Rowe, says that Ken was a little weird, but they got along, and they used to hang out and share a beer every once in a while down at the pub at the corner of Stoughton and Knox.”

  I consulted my internal map of the area. “That’s about three blocks away from the rental house, right?”

  “Four. And get this: Brad says that Ken moved out shortly after one of the waitresses from the bar was found murdered in the alley behind the pub.”

  My eyes widened. “Do you think . . . ?”

  Heath shrugged. “Pretty suspicious coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “Did you research the murder?”

  “I didn’t have a chance. I had kind of a long run back to the car, and by the time I got to the condo you weren’t there, so I had to shower and see if I could coax you out of the records room.”

  “Ha! Didn’t take much, did it?”

  Heath reached over and squeezed my knee. “Didn’t figure it would, babe.”

  “So what do you want to do?”

  “I think we should start with the pub and see if anybody who used to work there during the time of the murder remembers Ken and this waitress. It’s just about eleven thirty anyway. How about I buy you an early lunch?”

  “You’re just full of good ideas,” I said.

  We parked in the small lot at the front of the pub—Sheedy’s Place—and headed inside. The bar was dark and dingy—as if it’d never seen a decent scrubbing. We took a seat at the bar and Heath ordered beers for the both of us. The bartender was a woman who had the practiced and precise movements of someone who’d been at the job awhile. Heath asked for menus and also asked politely for her name. “Tracy,” she said. “Just let me know when you’re ready to order.”

  There wasn’t much on the menu for vegetarians, so I ordered a simple side salad and a basket of fries and Heath had the fried fish sandwich. I let him take the lead, as I’d noticed Tracy’s eyes widen a little at the sight of him. I understood completely. Heath was a beautiful guy.

  “So, Tracy, a buddy of mine who comes here says there was a waitress who was murdered here a couple of years ago. Is that true?”

  Tracy, who’d been tapping at her computer screen, paused and turned to Heath. “You mean Gracie? Yeah, it was really freaky what happened to her.”

  “Was she really murdered?” Heath asked.

  She gave him an odd look and said, “Why you want to know about that?”

  Heath grinned at her in that way that could make women swoon. Pointing to me, then back to himself, he said, “We’re documentary filmmakers, looking for a new topic. My buddy mentioned the murder that happened here, and it sounded interesting. But he didn’t know any details. He told us to come here and talk to someone who might’ve been here that night.”

  Tracy cocked her head at him. “I was here that night.”

  Heath’s grin widened and he held his fingers up to form a square. “You know, I thought you might’ve been. And I gotta say, you have a face for the camera. If we do this project, I’ll definitely want to interview you.”

  Tracy’s face brightened. “Really?”

  “Really,” Heath said. “So, what’s the story?”

  Tracy moved away from the computer and over to a cutting board, where she began slicing lemons. “No one really knows exactly. I mean, it was just another Tuesday night and kinda slow. Gracie, me, and Sarah—another waitress—were working and Sarah really wanted to go home early, but it wasn’t Gracie’s night to close. Anyway, Sarah—who’s this total drama queen—finally wore Gracie down and talked her into closing, but Gracie wanted one more smoke before Sarah left, so she heads out back ’cause that’s the only place we were allowed to smoke back then, and after about twenty or twenty-five minutes, she’s still not back. We
usually only get ten minutes for our breaks, and I thought Gracie was pushing it a little because she was pissed at Sarah, but still, close to a half hour seemed kinda rude. So Sarah asks me to cover for her while she heads off to find Gracie and drag her ass back in here, and about a minute later we all hear screaming. Everybody ran out to see what the hell happened, and Sarah’s standing in the alley, screaming bloody murder. She’s hysterical and she’s pointing at some garbage bags stacked up next to the Dumpster. Nobody knew what the hell was going on until Trevor—our dishwasher—pulled one of the garbage bags aside and there’s Gracie—eyes wide open, this really creepy expression frozen on her face . . . like a grimace or something, and she’s covered in blood. Her throat had been slashed, man. Deep.”

  “That must’ve been awful,” I said, feeling bad for Tracy that she’d had to witness that.

  “I threw up,” she admitted softly. “And so did Kyle, our manager. Seeing that . . . it still gives me nightmares.” Tracy shuddered and her eyes watered. I felt even worse that we were dredging this up for her.

  “Sorry I brought it up,” Heath said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Tracy shrugged, and forced a smile. I could tell she didn’t want him to feel bad. “Hey, what’re you gonna do?” She then held up a finger and moved into the kitchen, returning a moment later with our food.

  “Did they ever catch who did it?” I asked as she set the meal down in front of us.

  Tracy shook her head. “The police investigated for a couple of weeks, and they thought maybe her ex might’ve done it, but I guess he had this really good alibi.”

  “What was that?” Heath asked.

  “He was locked up that night for a DUI.”

  “Alibis don’t get better than that,” I said.

  Tracy nodded. “Nope.”

  “Were there any other suspects?” I asked casually. “Like maybe one of the patrons?”

  Tracy shook her head. “The police asked us that, and sure, there’re always a couple of customers who have a little too much to drink and get obnoxious, but nobody any of us thought could be capable of that.”

  Heath squinted at Tracy. “You sure?” he asked. “Nobody before or after Gracie’s murder sort of give you the creeps?”

  Tracy squinted back at him. “Naw,” she said, but then she seemed to catch herself. Lowering her voice, she said, “Well, there is this one guy, but I think he might just be crazy. Sometimes, that is. Other times he’s almost okay. It’s weird. I think when he’s on his meds, he’s okay, but there are days when I don’t exactly want him to stay until closing, you know?”

  Heath looked around the bar as if trying to scope out whom she might be talking about. “Is he here now?”

  She shook her head. “No. But he comes in usually around lunchtime.”

  “What’s his name?” I asked.

  “Ken.”

  “Ken?” I said.

  “Yeah. I don’t know his last name. But he’s weird.”

  “Weird how?” Heath pressed.

  Tracy seemed to think about it for a minute. “It’s hard to say. Like, he used to be almost normal but not quite, you know? Like, he wouldn’t say much, but he’d watch people like he suspected them in some way. It’s hard to explain, but he had an edge to him. A mean edge. He was someone you just knew you didn’t want to piss off, ’cause he’d find a way to get even and the punishment would be way more intense than the crime. Anyway, he used to come in with another guy . . . Brian . . . no . . . Brad, I think. Brad was super nice, and he seemed to chill Ken out when Ken started to get ticked off about something or at someone. Ken was here almost every Tuesday and Thursday night, and his buddy Brad joined him usually on Thursdays, but right after Gracie was murdered, both of them stopped coming in. That wasn’t unusual—the murder sent a lot of our regulars packing. I saw Brad once by himself about a month after the murder, but he said that his wife was about to have a baby and he didn’t think he’d be able to come in again after the kid was born.”

  “What about Ken?” I asked.

  Tracy shrugged. “After Gracie died, I didn’t see Ken again for, like, six months. The next time he came back in was just after Christmas and what was so weird was the guy was covered in crosses.”

  My forkful of salad paused on its way to my mouth. “Covered in crosses?”

  Tracy waved her hand over her chest. “Yeah. He was wearing like ten crucifixes and had a couple more pinned to his coat. I didn’t know if he’d gotten super religious or what, and I didn’t ask. I just pretended to be really happy to see him. Anyway, he sorta sat down and ordered a beer, and he’d completely changed. Like I said, Ken used to have an edge to him, but when he started showing up again, it was like that edge was sharper. Meaner. Darker.” Tracy shrugged a second time and she seemed at a loss as to how to completely convey what Ken was like now. “He creeps me out and all the crosses and the fact that he barely talks anymore sort of makes me want to keep my distance from him, but it’s hard to get away when you’re stuck behind a bar, you know?”

  “Has he ever threatened you?” I asked. I had a feeling the crucifixes were to ward off Sy the Slayer, but I wanted to be sure.

  Tracy shook her head. “No,” she said, but I could tell she had more to say. “I mean, not in a way that would make me want to call the police, but every once in a while I’ll be working, you know, in the weeds a little and the bar will be packed and all of the sudden the hair on the back of my neck will stand up on end and I’ll feel goose bumps on my arms, and I don’t know—it’s like there’s a change in the atmosphere, and I’ll stop and look around and Ken will be looking at me like he wants nothing more than to do really bad things to me. I can’t explain it other than—”

  Tracy stopped midsentence and her gaze traveled to the door.

  “What?” Heath and I both whispered to her.

  “Speak of the devil,” she said.

  We turned slightly and looked behind us, spying a man in his mid to late thirties with dirty blond hair, unshaven, a little unkempt, and his own gaze firmly on the floor. He started to shuffle our way and Heath and I both turned our attention back to our lunch. Ken took a seat at the bar and Tracy greeted him warmly, but I could detect the false note in her voice.

  Ken muttered something unintelligible and I eyed him discreetly. He took off his coat and I could see half a dozen necklaces wrapped around his neck; each had a crucifix dangling from the chain. He crossed himself as the beer he’d obviously ordered was set in front of him. “Your usual, Ken?” Tracy asked him.

  He grunted but didn’t look at her. Then I noticed he had started muttering under his breath, and although I couldn’t quite catch what he was saying, I swore it sounded like the Lord’s Prayer.

  Tracy turned and put her back to Ken as she made a face for us like, “See? He’s a freak!” We nodded subtly.

  Heath and I continued to eat in silence, both of us sneaking glances at Ken here and there. As we were wrapping up our lunch, Ken’s burger and fries arrived and he finally lifted his chin to mutter a thanks to Tracy. As he did so, however, something really odd happened. I’d been watching Ken subtly, taking in the way he fiddled with his crucifixes and noting that he was clearly right-handed, but as he finished thanking Tracy, something in his expression changed. It was almost exactly what Heath and I had experienced with Guy Walker. In an instant he became someone else; even his voice changed as he said Tracy’s name.

  She hid it well, but even she seemed startled and somewhat alarmed. She backed up and headed straight for the kitchen, and as she passed by us, I could see the goose pimples lining her arms.

  Ken lifted the burger and did something else really odd. He sniffed it. The burger was dripping with juices—I could tell it was quite rare—and the way he sniffed at it was revolting to me.

  Ken then snickered and put down the burger. Turning to me, he looked me dead in t
he eyes. “Hello, Mary.”

  I heard Heath’s breath catch and felt his hand immediately go to the small of my back.

  Ken then took his left index finger and swirled it in the juices from the burger on his plate. Lifting it then to put it in his mouth, he made an Mmmm sound and I felt my stomach muscles clench.

  Heath stood up, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his wallet. Taking out a twenty and a ten, he laid it down on the bar and grabbed my elbow. “Let’s go.”

  “Leaving so soon, Mary?” Ken said. “And here I thought we could have a playdate together.”

  I took Heath’s hand and let him pull me quickly toward the door.

  “Maybe next time, then,” Ken called, and he followed that with a wicked laugh that sent my skin crawling.

  Once we were outside, I said, “We can’t leave Tracy to deal with that!”

  Heath hesitated, looking back toward the bar door, and I could tell he was really torn. That spook had tried to get inside his head down on Comm Avenue, and I wondered if it might try again. It was dangerous to let him get too close to the spook. And it was clearly dangerous to let me get too close to Ken. We had no magnets with us. We were completely vulnerable.

  Heath solved the problem by taking out his phone and punching the screen. “Hi, I’m outside Sheedy’s Place on Knox Avenue and I think I see smoke coming out of the roof and it smells like something electrical might be burning. I don’t know if there’s a fire up there, but maybe somebody should check it out?”

  With that, Heath hung up and grabbed my hand again and we were rushing toward the car. Once inside we hunkered down and waited as a series of sirens began to sound in the distance. They got closer and closer and within another minute there were two fire trucks parked outside the bar. The patrons and staff came out soon after, and Heath and I watched Tracy hover safely with the other employees as Ken, back in his coat with his head down and crossing himself, ambled down the street without a backward glance.