by Alexie Aaron
“Does the librarian know you borrowed it?”
“Old Man Taylor does.”
“Didn’t he die fifty years ago?” Ted asked.
“Closer to sixty years I believe,” Mia corrected.
“You didn’t scale two stories and take it out the window like last time?”
“Oh no. I simply walked in, picked the lock on the historical room, retrieved the box, wrapped it up, and walked out the front door.”
“And where was the librarian during this time?”
“Flirting with Deputy Braverman,” Mia said, putting the bacon in the hot skillet.
“You enlisted an officer of the law in your thievery?” Ted asked, surprised.
“Tom, unlike Whit, isn’t conflicted. I simply asked and he said yes. He knows that in order to maintain the safety of his town, sometimes you have to step outside the law in order to do it. Oh and I borrowed the box. I didn’t take it,” Mia qualified. “Actually, I was quite surprised it was there to begin with. Last I saw of this box, it was being carried out of Dad’s apartment by a large Italian fellow.”
“Angelo.”
“That’d be him,” Mia said. “Evidently he’s not a thief when it comes to rosewood boxes.”
“Crows can be selective,” Ted said absently. He ran his hand over the cloth covering and asked, “Do I want to know how dangerous this box is?”
“Nah, it would give you nightmares, dear.”
“K. Wouldn’t it be better in, let’s say, the barn?” he suggested.
“No, it’s equally dangerous no matter where we put it. Inside that box is knowledge, and knowledge is…”
“Power,” Ted finished.
“But this time the power is going to be ours,” Mia announced.
Murphy finished tending to his seedlings and headed down the hill. He heard the pounding of the horse’s hooves and stopped to gaze upon the residual ride of One Feather. The warrior’s journey to warn his village of the rising of the witch from the swamp was replayed each day at four in the afternoon. He and Mia used to sit on the picnic table by the woodpile and watch the valiant young man ride, as if hell was at his back, over the rise and across the prairie grasses and disappear into the woods. Mia had mentioned that it would be great if his mission was accomplished, and he saved the village from the hag. But you couldn’t change the past, and One Feather was just an echo from another time.
Murphy stepped aside as the ghostly image approached him, and for one brief moment as the brave passed by him, he could have sworn that One Feather had made eye contact with the farmer. Was it his imagination that fear had been replaced with a look of determination?
Murphy took off his hat and shook his head, hoping this action would clear his vision. When he replaced his hat, he sensed he was being watched. He looked around him and saw nothing amiss. He moved down off the hillside, taking the path through the trees and headed towards the barn.
The brave directed his mount out of the woods. Together they followed the farmer down the hill, keeping just out of sight, careful not to disturb the ether more than it was necessary to move through it. One Feather got off his horse and moved stealthily through the trees, watching the farmer enter one of the buildings.
Satisfied that he had the woods and prairie to himself, the ghost got back on his horse and turned his mount northwest and rode towards Cold Creek Hollow.
Chapter Three
Lorna Grainger looked around the waiting room, trying to figure out what, if anything, she had in common with the men and women sitting there. It wasn’t the patients she was pondering but the suit-clad pharmaceutical reps. She, like them, rolled a black sample case full of the latest and greatest chemicals guaranteed – side effects withstanding - to solve the health concerns of the ailing. Like her peer group, she wore an expensive suit, was young and physically fit. She also wore the rich-girl non-threating blunt-cut hairstyle that would identify her occupation, see her in the door past reception and into the offices of the doctors in charge.
Each rep eyed the competition. Some played the game of being helpful, exchanging data on doctors, handing out their cards while stripping the other of much needed information to increase the profitability of their assigned territory. Territory, now there was the difference. Lorna had no set region she had to stay within. No lion for whom to bring back her kill. She had the independence of being her own boss. She peddled health supplements that may or may not fit the doctor’s idea of healthcare. She wasn’t one of them, she thought. The suit, the hair, the roller bag were just her disguise, her mask. This persona gave her the ability to move around the country doing what she did best, crossing over spirits.
She wasn’t the hand holding type of crosser. She was more of an enforcer. Spirits that crossed the line and fed off the living were her primary concern. If a spirit wanted to stay on this side of the veil, they would have to follow the laws of said place. She and her partner, Tonia Toh, dispensed justice with a strong but careful hand.
Lorna was born with the sight. It was in her genes, passed down from her mother’s people. Her mother was a stolen child. The daughter of poverty-challenged parents on the Rez. Her mother’s birth parents weren’t drunks. They didn’t beat her. She was fed with whatever they could afford, clothed out of the charity barrels, nurtured with culture, and above all, loved. But the rabid, privileged do-gooders from the white world only saw the beautiful young girl as someone that needed their help. They took her away from the world in which she was meant to inhabit and thrust her into the sterile, cold halls of the orphanage until she was fostered into a family and her surname stolen from her.
Lorna shifted in her chair. Her muscles screamed to be set free from the confines of the spandex-encased frame. She needed to run, to cast off the stillness and open up her lungs and breathe. How her mother adapted to the change and not lost her will was still amazing to Lorna. Was it that she had lucked out and been placed with a family who saw the potential in her smart quick mind, two people who helped the child to navigate through the world into which she was dropped? Or was it the spirit of Lorna’s great grandfather that whispered to her at night, telling her stories of her people and inspiring her to survive?
Lorna winced at the memories of her own rebellion, her rejection of her mother’s counsel, her father’s money, and her pilgrimage to the land that was forced upon her people. She was so full of anger and hate for the circumstances that made her a Grainger that she didn’t see the trap she had walked into. She didn’t see the soul-crushing parasites until it was too late. Once they had fed upon her and stolen all she had, they left her for dead with a needle stuck in her arm for good measure. That’s when Tonia found her and nursed her back to health.
“How did you find me?” Lorna had asked.
“The father of your mother’s father guided me,” Tonia said. “He told me to bring you home.”
“You call this a home?” Lorna asked, looking at the aging Airstream trailer.
“It’s a home,” Tonia said, looking around with pride. “I have a few others, none as nice as this, but they all provide shelter from the elements and the elementals.”
Before Lorna could ask any more questions, Tonia imparted these words, “Seek out the father of your mother’s father. It is he that should answer your questions. I’m just the messenger,” and she left her alone.
“Miss Grainger, the doctor will see you now,” the receptionist announced.
Lorna pushed away thoughts of the past and walked with the dignity of the present.
~
Mia placed the tray full of her special cookies and Ted’s favorite snack cakes in the middle of table. “Does anyone need a top off?”
“I’ll keep mine on, but you go ahead,” Mike said.
This brought a lifted eyebrow from Mia. “Clever. I meant coffee, but you knew that didn’t you?”
Mike played the innocent card.
Audrey looked over at Ted who watched his wife with adoring eyes. She wanted that; she wa
nted a Ted and to be a Mia. She took a quick glance at Burt and wondered if that was possible with him.
Burt looked long and hard at Mike, as if that would stop him from teasing Mia, and shuffled his papers. He cleared his voice before speaking, “Before we begin our weekly check-in meeting, Ted has asked Mia and me to tell you what happened at Rose’s cottage the day we fought the witch from the swamp.”
“We call her the hag,” Mia said, sitting down.
“Yes, the hag. For you that know and were part of some of these events, I apologize, but I think if we start from the beginning, it will help us to explain what we may be facing if our informant is for real.”
“Whoa, what informant?” Mike asked.
“We had a visitor here at the farm. A Tonia Toh. She claims she is a ghost tracker who has followed a real nasty piece of work all the way from San Francisco to here,” Mia filled in.
Burt continued, “She asserts that the middle house in Cold Creek Hollow is harboring an entity that rivals the hag we defeated at Rose’s. And since only Mia, Murphy and I were there, Ted has asked us to tell you what happened. He feels all of you need to know the complete story, in order to let you know what we may or may not be dealing with.”
“Knowledge is power,” Ted added.
Cid looked over at Audrey and said, “As redshirts, we need to be aware of what’s out there so we can decide whether or not we’ll hang around, or seek out an honest living elsewhere.”
“I’m not a redshirt. You are,” Audrey argued. “I may be the newest, but I had guest star status at one time.”
Cid frowned.
“She’s got you there,” Mike said, patting the once coke-bottle-lensed handsome investigator on the back.
Audrey, who knew she should hold the redshirt title, sat back feigning confidence. Her short red curls, cut close to her head, bounced at the slightest movement. This wasn’t her idea of a fashionable look for a woman her age, but it was the best the hairstylist could do with the half-shorn head he was presented with this last winter.
“Okay, back on topic,” Burt said. “I’ll start. Mike and I were contacted by April Johnston, the previous owner of this house…”
Mia sat back, sipping her coffee, intermittingly staring at Murphy as Burt told his side of the story regarding the hauntings at Cold Creek Hollow. He explained how when they all thought things were finished, they were faced with the cold hard truth that they had just made a dent in restraining the horror the hag was ready to unleash upon the world.
“I never felt so miserable as I did when I was restrained by the unseen, but it got worse when I could see my attackers,” Burt said, stopping to take a long drink of the coffee set before him.
“Entities, depending on how powerful they are, can give you the ability to see them,” Mia explained. She nodded to Burt to continue.
“Instead of shrinking from the sights before me, Mia encouraged me to use it in my defense. It only lasted as long as the witch existed. When we took her out of the picture, the sight went with it,” Burt said.
“But you did defeat it,” Cid said. “You stopped her.”
“She’s gone that’s true, but what fueled her existence and rise from the swamp is still here,” Mia said. “It’s an energy that spirits draw from. It’s what keeps Murphy fueled while he tends his land,” Mia said softly. “We can’t get rid of the energy, but we do need to monitor who is using it.”
“I don’t understand, “Audrey said honestly. “If you defeated the hag, why didn’t you clear the middle house?”
“We were working with Father Santos and his group. Our primary goal was to free Sherry Martin’s spirit. In order to do so, we needed to destroy the hag. When the witch left, some of her minions went with her. The others returned to the safety of the middle house,” Mia explained. “Father Santos and his group of professional paranormal investigators had experience behind them. When he told us that he would return to take care of the spirits who were taking sanctuary in the hollow, we believed him.”
“Tell us about your experience,” Audrey urged Mia.
“There has always been a pall upon the land here. Aside from the trees, nature only ventures here for the necessities of life. The birds build their nests far from the hollow. As kids, we used to dare each other to spend time at the Murphy farm. No one ever lasted the night. Cold Creek Hollow remained dormant until the renovation company decided that the three remaining houses, with a little work, were fit for occupancy. They cleaned up the graveyard, planted hedges around the ruins on the churchyard and paved the road in, hoping to attract buyers that wanted a certain atmosphere.”
Mia looked over at Ted a moment before continuing, “I had a friend, Whitney Martin, from school whose wife Sherry became enamored with one of the end houses. She was an artist and wanted a true studio. He wanted her to be happy. They ignored my warnings about the hollow and went with Rose to claim their house. There, Sherry was seduced by an entity that had done the same to Stephen Murphy’s wife while he lived. He was an evil man in life and a horror in death. He was seduced by the witch in the swamp, but he probably would never admit that the atrocities he participated in weren’t his idea. The hag was tricky. She bore into the minds of the weak, encouraging the susceptible that dreams didn’t have to be worked for but could just be given, if the listener gave their soul over to her.”
“She was responsible for the downfall of the original community of Cold Creek Hollow. She was to blame for the high suicide rate of Big Bear Lake and the area that surrounds the hollow. Did we defeat her? Yes. It took a trunk full of road flares; two fools who didn’t know any better; a ghost who wanted his land back, free from the hag and her influence - not to mention Father Santos, Angelo, Tom Braverman, Sherriff Ryan and Whitney.” Mia took a moment to let this sink in. “If what has come here has anywhere near the firepower the hag had, then I’m scared.”
The PEEPs looked at the sensitive. She had placed her hands behind her, but they could still see her lip quiver in fear. When Mia was afraid, which was rare, they knew that they were in trouble.
Mia took a deep breath and spoke, “But all is not lost. If we can solve what is behind those doors, we stand a good chance. I’ve brought materials home with me that may enlighten us at least to what went on to produce such a haven for the spirits. This spirit tracker will have the dossier on the dangerous entity. Together, perhaps we can cleanse this place once and for all of the disruptive, negative entities that choose to call Cold Creek Hollow their home.”
Burt looked over at his fellow fool and gave her a half smile. “We’re not trying to scare you, but we want to give all of you a gracious exit if you want it.”
“One of the reasons we didn’t force the issue of emptying the middle house was my feeling that a ghost or spirit should be able to make the choice if they move on or not. And as long as they do not disrupt, harm or cause the living around them pain, they should be able to exist on this side of the veil,” Mia said earnestly. “Just as a tree that dies and falls into decay nourishes the next generation of plant life, a spirit acting as a guide can do the same. I have learned so much from Murph, and before him, the spirit of a young girl cared for me in ways my earthly mother was unable to do. They’re what has kept me from blowing the place up.”
Ted reached out and drew his wife over to him. She sat down on his lap and felt the warmth of his strong arms around her. She felt safe and respected. Whitney Martin couldn’t do this for her. Burt had tried and failed. Mia had found a home and that home was Ted.
“On to further business,” Burt said, breaking the silence. “We received the lion’s share of ratings on our Haunted Hotel special. We’ve been asked to join a panel in 2015 at the San Diego Comic-Con. Time to make hotel reservations. Mike’s received an invite to walk the streets of London with a Ripper consortium.”
“Bravo, Mikey!” Mia said clapping. “London won’t know what hit them when you turn up.”
Mike, wary of Mia’s compliment, said, “It
all depends on our schedule.”
“Bring me back a t-shirt,” Cid said. “Something to cover up my red one…”
This brought a bubbling of laughter amongst the crew. The stress that had invaded the room fell away, and the undercarriage of camaraderie and humor moved the team into a better state of mind.
Stephen Murphy, who was normally silent during the meetings, not wanting to use too much energy, whispered in Mia’s ear, “One Feather has changed.”
Ted looked up at the ghost, saw the seriousness of his expression and asked, “In what way?”
“In every way,” Murphy said.
Mia shuddered and closed her eyes before reaching a bare hand to Murphy.
He clenched it and thought about the hillside and One Feather.
Mia was transported beside him. And when he turned away and left the hill, she stayed and watched the return of the Indian. She was now in a plane of existence she’d never traveled before, one where the spirit taking One Feather’s form didn’t reside. She waited until the spirit turned the horse away from the farm before letting Murphy’s hand go.
“Ted, we’re being watched,” Mia whispered.
“Mia, Ted, would you like to share with the rest of the class?” Burt asked, a bit put out by their inattention.
“Murphy has discovered that we at the farm are being watched,” Mia answered.
“You’re talking about this Toh woman?”
“Not just her. I would caution anyone from moving about this place alone,” Mia warned. “I think the entity has sensed our presence and is seeing if we are going to make the first move.”
“Are we?” Audrey asked, looking at Burt.
“No,” he said firmly. “Until we are presented with verifiable facts, we are going to operate as we always do.”
“Blindly stumbling into shitstorms,” Mike said. “Any more of those cookies, Mia?”
“Coming right up,” Mia said, hopping off of Ted’s lap.