THE BIKER AND THE BOOGEYMAN (The Cracked Mirror Series Book 1)

by Carolyn Q. Hunter

  “Before I started my own bar, I was working downtown at the Old Bar.”

  “That’s its name?” Betty made a sour face. “I thought my dad was joking when he called it that.”

  “Yep,” he affirmed. “The Old Bar. I was still fairly new on the staff and the boss and his wife were glad to have me.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone being happy to have you around,” Muddy joked.

  He ignored her comment and continued his story. “Most of their other bartenders were afraid to work the late shift. They all talked about strange things happening. Drinks vanished under patron’s noses, things moved on their own across tables, horrible noises from the basement.” He shook his head. “But none was worse than the second floor.”

  “The second floor?” Betty pressed. “I thought it was walled off. That’s what Pop told me.”

  Carlos nodded. “It is walled off. I should know, I helped do it.”

  “What?” both women exclaimed at the same time.

  “I’d been working the late shift for a couple weeks. Like the others said, there were some odd things that went on at night, but nothing that bothered me enough to send me packing. Not until that night.”

  Both women leaned in, eager to find out what had happened. What could be so horrifying that it still haunted their good friend to this day?

  “The ghosts seemed extra active that night. I kept hearing a woman crying in the basement, there was scratching on the walls, all sorts of things. My boss had made it a policy to not go down in the basement after dark unless it was absolutely necessary.”

  Betty could understand why. Wailing women trapped in walls was hardly the thing most employees wanted to encounter when grabbing some more stock.

  “Little did we know, it was the second floor we needed to be more worried about.”

  “What was on the second floor?” Betty whispered.

  “The Boss’s wife was up there doing some measurements. They were hoping to renovate and turn it into a pool hall. She’d only been up there a few minutes when we heard her screaming. She came running down the stairs and tripped.”

  Muddy leaned forward. “She tripped?”

  Carlos nodded. “Broke some of her ribs, had a concussion.”

  “And that’s why you walled it up?” Betty pressed.

  “No. As we ran to help her up off the floor, we both looked up the stairs and saw him.”

  “Him?” Muddy inquired.

  “He was tall, at least six-foot, and he just stood there smiling down at us, a cigar smoking between his teeth. His clothes were spattered with blood, and he had a big old axe in his hands, also dripping with blood.”

  Betty was enraptured in the story, afraid of what it meant for the bar.

  “He started coming down the stairs toward us and we left, just left without even locking up.” He shivered. “The boss’s wife died after that.”

  Muddy’s mouth hung open in surprise. “From a couple of broken bones and a concussion? Was she old?”

  “No, that’s what was odd. It was like she just started wasting away. Her wounds wouldn’t heal, she had no energy, and she kept losing weight. No matter how much she ate, no matter what the doctors tried, she just continued to fade. Finally, she died.”

  “And that’s when you walled up the stairwell?” Muddy asked.

  “Right. After she died, the Boss was sure his wife had been cursed by the man with the axe. He never wanted that to happen again, so we went in with some new bricks and mortar and built up a wall so no one could ever go up there again. After that, we moved everything into the basement for storage.” He shrugged. “I think he was afraid that anything he took with him from the building might be cursed, too.”

  All Betty could think about was how she and her father had spent most of the morning down there, touching all that stuff and washing it down.

  Would they be cursed, too? Did the curse even exist or was it just a coincidence about the woman’s death?

  Worst yet, how was she going to talk her dad out of opening a new bar there?

  CHAPTER 10

  * * *

  “What am I gonna say to Pop?” Betty groaned as they climbed back into Muddy’s SUV. “I mean, if Carlos is right we could be sitting on a death trap here. Pop’s over there right now. We should go and get him out.”

  “Hold on, Betts,” Muddy said. “Let’s not rush off and do anything yet.”

  “Hold onto what?” she burst out, unable to bear the thought of her dad dying. She knew he was old and that he had to go sometime, but she refused to let it happen anytime soon if she could help it. “Pop could be cursed or something, and we wouldn’t know it,” she moaned.

  “Take a deep breath, and listen to me,” Muddy instructed in her older sister way she always did. “All I’m saying is, no one else was cursed except for the wife, right?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So, maybe the only way to get cursed is to actually come in contact with that ghost—the one with the axe.”

  Betty hesitated, unsure of how to respond. “You think?” she asked hopefully.

  “I’d bet on it,” she nodded. “Also, for all we know the lady just had an undiagnosable degenerative disease.”

  “Okay, you’re right, as usual,” she sighed, feeling slightly better.

  “So, maybe you guys can just open up the bar and never have an issue with the axe ghost. He’s trapped upstairs, right?”

  “I have no idea,” Betty offered. “I’m not a ghost hunter.”

  “Hey, if it makes you feel better, I’ll do some research on sealing ghosts away or exorcism or whatever you want to call it. Maybe there’s some sort of symbol we can put on the wall in front of the stairwell to keep him up there for good.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Betty agreed, giving her friend a nod. “But I didn’t know you knew anything about ghosts.”

  “Heck,” she laughed. “I don’t really know anything myself. I’ve just seen a lot of horror movies.”

  * * *

  Betty and Muddy were pretty sure Carlos would be back to his normal self the next day. As long as he didn’t have to go help move things from the basement—or ever go in the Old Bar again—he would likely be fine.

  Muddy dropped off her friend and headed back into work. Betty spent most of the afternoon at Carlos’ bar, just waiting for three o’clock. At three, the trio of Pentagram Sisters were supposed to go and help Pork move things upstairs from the basement. Luckily, the relief bartender arrived on time and Foxy could leave the bar. Muddy was able to get off work at the garage a little early as well.

  The women decided to carpool in Muddy’s SUV downtown.

  Arriving and parking just outside, Foxy glanced up at the building. “It doesn’t look like it’s haunted,” she noted.

  “Believe me, it is,” Betty patted her friend on the shoulder.

  “And this is coming from Betty, mind you,” Muddy joked. “The great skeptic of all things mystical and supernatural. Heck, I don’t think you ever even believed in Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.”

  “I didn’t,” Betty declared. “I had nothing to prove me otherwise.”

  “But this time you do?” Foxy asked, a little surprised.

  “You’re darn right I do.”

  Leading the girls inside, they each made note of the dropped temperature. “It’s cold in here,” Foxy whispered, pulling her leather jacket around her body.

  “Pop?” Betty called a little too eagerly. While Muddy had assured her he would be fine, she was still a little nervous to double check that everything was all right.

  “Down here, girls,” came a shout from the open basement door.

  Betty sighed with relief while Muddy looked at her with an I told you so stare.

  Shaking her head and smiling, Betty realized everything was okay. She was even beginning to like her father’s idea of owning and managing a haunted bar. If the truly malicious ghost was locked away upstairs, maybe she had nothing to fear from the voices in the
wall downstairs.

  Leading the way down the basement steps, she felt the familiar chill she’d had when she first set foot in there that same morning. The memory of being locked in the basement with the screaming woman came back and she couldn’t hold back the shivers.

  “Woah,” Foxy cried upon reached the concrete floor, “It’s like an icebox down here.”

  “Afternoon, girls,” Pork waved with a rag, his hair half pulled out of his ponytail and frizzing out on the sides of the head.

  Betty couldn’t help but giggle quietly because he looked like a mad doctor crossed with a biker. Of course, the white t-shirt with an eighties rock band logo along with his tattoos made him always look like the biker he was.

  “I’m glad you girls are here, and I really appreciate the help. There is just no way I could get some of this stuff upstairs by myself.”

  “And you shouldn’t even be trying to move some of this,” Muddy pointed out.

  “Oh, you girls give me such a hard time.” He stood up from where he was sitting polishing glasses. “Back in my prime, I could lift all three of you little twigs at the same time.”

  “Well, you’re not in your prime, Pop,” Betty said.

  “I know, that. I’m living in this body, aren’t I?” he shook his head. “And I don’t need you telling me what the doctor already blathers off every time I see him.”

  All three women couldn’t help smiling and shaking their heads. They all loved Pork, dearly, and would do anything to help him. “Tell us what you need moved and we’ll do it,” Muddy said.

  “I’d say let’s start with the tables.” He jabbed a thumb at the round, black tables with fold out legs. “They’ll be the most taxing to move, so we can just get them out of the way.”

  “Sounds good,” the dark-haired woman nodded, heading straight over and rolling one away from the wall. “Shall we, sisters?”

  They quickly got to work, one of them on either end while they moved the tables up the stairs. As they got each one onto the main floor, they unfolded the metal legs and stood it up. Meanwhile, Pork continued to clean cups, shot glasses, and peanut bowls, getting crates of dishes ready to be taken up.

  After over an hour of work, they’d finished moving all the tables and started in on the chairs.

  “You know what we really need?” Betty smirked, raising an eyebrow at her band mates.

  “A little music,” they all said in unison, laughing at how in sync they sometimes seemed to be.

  “I’ve got a mini-speaker in my car,” Muddy announced. “I’ll go get it.” Dashing up the stairs, she disappeared onto the main floor.

  “I think I’ll take something a little easier this time,” Foxy sighed, walking over and picking up a plastic crate of shot glasses.

  “I don’t know. That might be heavier than a stack of those chairs,” Betty noted.

  “See for yourself.”

  Walking over, the blonde-haired band member picked up a crate. “Oh, you’re right. Definitely lighter than the chairs.”

  Heading for the stairs, Betty reached the mid-landing when Muddy appeared at the top. “I got it,” she announced, holding up the little pink speaker.

  Betty was about to shout her approval when she noticed someone standing directly behind her friend. The man had no features she could make out, just a large black silhouette, at least six feet tall, if not bigger.

  “Muddy,” she shrieked, “Look out.”

  It was too late, Muddy was falling forward through the doorway, screaming as the speaker in her hand went wild. Flailing her arms, she tried to grab for the brass railing, the wall, anything to brace herself. She missed and ended up in a free fall directly toward Betty.

  “No,” she screamed as Muddy toppled into her.

  The tray flew from her hands and the shot glasses spun out of control while the two women tumbled down the second flight of steps. Hitting the concrete floor with a hard smack, they were soon rained upon with the contents of the plastic dish tray. Dishes broke and shattered all around them, sending glass shooting in all directions.

  Once the storm had finally subsided, Betty uncovered her head and glanced over at Muddy. “No,” she cried. Her friend’s eyes were closed and blood ran down her forehead.

  From the top of the stairs, a disembodied voice laughed.

  CHAPTER 11

  * * *

  Moments later, the local ambulance arrived and rushed their friend off to the emergency clinic for preliminary treatment. Betty only had a few little cuts and bruises, but she was more worried about her band mate.

  She drove Muddy’s SUV with Foxy and Pork in tow behind the ambulance. “This is all my fault,” she moaned mournfully. “If I hadn’t brought up the stupid music, she wouldn’t have gone out to get the speaker.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for this,” Foxy comforted her. “These things just happen sometimes. We can’t control them.”

  “She’s right, hon,” her father agreed from the backseat. “Sometimes there are things you just can’t plan for.”

  The image of the evil laughing specter flashed in her mind again. These things didn’t just happen. That ghost had pushed her. She knew she should have gone with her initial gut feeling and told her dad to forget about the bar—to cut their losses and leave.

  However, she’d let Muddy talk her out of it, and she couldn’t bring herself to crush her father’s dream. Even now, she couldn’t bear to say it.

  Arriving at the clinic they all got out and ran inside the ER. The lady at the reception desk instructed them to sit down and wait. Any news would be brought out to them right away.

  “I saw him, Pop,” she whispered after almost a half-hour of sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. “I saw him push her down the stairs.”

  “What are you talking about, Betts?” he asked. “Who did you see?”

  “A ghost, I saw him behind Muddy. I know he pushed her.”

  “Sweetie, you’re probably just a little upset. Muddy tripped. That’s all.”

  She shook her head. “I know what I saw.”

  Pork shrugged, and let out a sigh, his mustache moving with his breath. “You know, sometimes there are things we just can’t understand or explain. It’s just part of the road.”

  “But we’re not on the road, Pop. We’re in our hometown in Arizona.”

  “The road of life never stops going, and our motorcycle engine is constantly going. We can stop one place for a little while, but eventually, we have to get up and go.”

  “So, you’re saying we couldn’t have avoided Muddy’s fall?”

  “Maybe not. Maybe it was in the wheels of fate.”

  Betty sighed. “You and your philosophies.”

  “They’ve kept me well all these years,” he confessed. “Believe me, I felt awful when your mom died, but a new bend in my road had arrived. I still had you. I got that part time job at the hardware store and made sure you were enrolled in school. I only loved you more and more with each passing mile of our lives.”

  “Yeah, I love you, too, Pop,” she replied. Her father had a habit of waxing eloquent when it came to his spirituality and the road—especially when something serious had happened.

  “She’s awake,” the doctor announced, stepping through the door into the waiting room. “Have you contacted her family?”

  “We are her family, doc,” Pork proclaimed proudly, standing up.

  “You can see her now,” he informed them, holding the door open.

  Pork took the initiative, leading the way

  “Thanks,” Betty nodded at the doctor.

  Only one bed in the small ER was filled, and Muddy was its occupant. Despite having just taken a tumble, she didn’t look so bad. A few fresh bruises, scrapes, and cuts covered most of her body. A bandage was taped over her forehead where it had been gashed open.

  “Muddy,” Betty exclaimed, running to the bedside and gripping her friend by the hand.

  “Hey, Betts,” she responded, her voice slightly t
ight and strained.

  “We’re all here for you,” Pork added.

  “T-Thanks,” she whispered.

  “How are you doing?” Foxy asked, pressing in close to the bed as well. “Does it hurt too much?”

  “The doc says I’ve got a couple broken ribs and had to have just a few small stitches on my head.”

  “Doesn’t sound like fun,” Foxy admitted.

  “Well, I’m sure my ribs hurt, but I can’t tell. Right now, my head is throbbing way more.”

  Betty sighed, looking down shamefully. “This is all my fault,” she confessed. “If I hadn’t asked to have some music—”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Muddy interrupted.

  “That’s exactly what I told her,” Pork agreed. “Sometimes accidents happen. We can’t always help them.”

  “It wasn’t an accident,” Muddy whispered.

  At this, Pork raised both eyebrows in surprise. Betty gave him an I told you so look.

  “I felt someone push me down those stairs—hard.”

  “I knew it,” Betty blurted. “I saw a ghost or something standing behind you.”

  Muddy nodded. “I know it had to be him. . . the axe man.”

  Betty’s eyes began to tear up. “No, no, no,” she cried. “The axe ghost? Does this mean he cursed you?”

  “I don’t know,” she confessed, her face twisting with worry. “I guess we can only wait and see.”

  “Cursed?” Pork asked. “What the heck are you girls talking about?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” she responded.

  “I-I heard him, Betts,” Muddy whispered in a frightened tone, her already milky skin only growing lighter. “I heard him while I was laying there on the basement floor. He said, next time, he’ll do more than just push me down the stairs.”

  CHAPTER 12

  * * *

  “I want to talk to that realtor who sold you this building,” Betty insisted, walking out of the emergency clinic.