by Adam Dark
So he gave himself the time to shower and pop half a dozen waffles in the toaster oven before diving into the role of hunting-party organizer. When his black coffee had been guzzled and only a puddle of syrup remained on his plate, he went to work. Not very hard, actually.
He texted Peter first; the last thing he wanted was to set up a group text with Chase, despite how effectively it would have cut a few corners logistically. It also might set those two up perfectly for killing each other later tonight.
—6 work tonight?—
It took a few minutes, but Peter’s reply was at least helpful.
—Sure. Meet at my place.—
Also a little surprising.
—Chase too?—
Ben stuck his dirty dishes in the general vicinity of the sink with all the others he hadn’t touched in a day or five and returned to Peter’s reply.
—Yeah. If he tries to break in later, he’ll know I know he knows where I live and what’s in my apartment.—
Ben burst out laughing. That was one way to cover the bases. Later, he’d have to ask Peter what exactly made him think Chase was going to try to break into his apartment. To be fair, Peter had a few nice things, like the TV and Xbox and a wireless sound system, but he’d had them forever. The guy just took care of his stuff. And if Chase was actually serious about messing around on the dark web, something told Ben the guy was also pretty up to date technology-wise. A person had to know something about computers and IP addresses or something to do that kind of thing, right? And the only other thing Peter kept there of any potential significance was the wooden cabinet with the two demon stones inside and his metal box. Chase already knew about half of those. And it reminded Ben that he hadn’t had the chance yet to tell Peter that the box was most likely a dud for this alley spirit. Also not a conversation best explored through texting.
—Okay.—
Then, mostly against his will, Ben pulled up Chase’s unsaved number and sent him the time and Peter’s address. Almost instantly, he got a thumbs-up emoji and that little purple devil face as a reply. Either this guy was way too eager for his first ride-along, or he was intentionally trying to be stupid. Whatever.
The rest of the day felt like waiting for bad news. He couldn’t exactly say why beyond the fact that he literally couldn’t focus on anything. Apparently, basic cable didn’t offer anything remotely entertaining on a Friday afternoon, he pinned down only the first three words of his dissertation title—“An Examination of”—and it was way too cold to head out for a walk. The sun had broken through the clouds once.
He texted April to meet at Peter’s place again, then spent about an hour and a half Googling every combination he could possibly think to type of “ghost”, “haunting”, “cat”, and “eaten alive”. He even tossed in “indigenous beliefs” and “cannibalism” and “exorcism” just for fun, but that took the searches down an even creepier road he wasn’t quite ready to explore. It was at least worth a shot—until it wasn’t even worth all the time he still had before 6:00.
So he settled for a few hours of marginally funny YouTube videos that had less than nothing to do with anything else in his life, because why not?
Even though he got to Peter’s apartment about ten minutes late, he was fortunately the first one there. Ben imagined Peter forcing Chase to wait out in the hallway if the guy had shown up before anyone else, which wouldn’t have started anything on the right foot for anyone. At least tonight.
When Peter answered the door, Ben almost thought he’d stopped at the wrong apartment. “Woah,” he said.
Peter rolled his eyes, tossed open the door, then basically threw himself back on the couch, where he’d obviously just set up a nest of blankets and pillows and, yes, that was actually a steaming cup of tea.
“You look like—” Ben laughed when he realized it was the wrong thing to say.
“What?” Peter groaned and leaned back against the couch’s armrest.
“I mean… well, you look like you got hit in the face. Again.” He snorted and tried to swallow back more laughter and more bad jokes.
“It’s almost worse,” Peter replied. His naturally pasty skin had taken on a clammy sheen. While the bruise Chase’s fist had left under his eye had faded to nothing more than a sick-looking yellow, it didn’t even matter anymore; Peter had some of the largest, darkest circles under both eyes Ben had ever seen on a person. And the guy’s constant sniffling over the winter—and pretty much every other time of year—had mucked itself into what now sounded like Peter trying to talk through a mouthful of bread.
Thanks to the wooden cabinet from Peter’s secret admirer, his heat still seemed to be fully functioning, and Ben shrugged out of his jacket. When he tossed it on the kitchen counter by the door, a decade of his best friend nagging at him not to be a slob made him reach for the jacket again preemptively. But Peter didn’t say a thing about it. The guy had to be seriously sick. So Ben left his jacket where it was and parked himself on one of Peter’s barstools instead. This might have been the only time he ever saw an actual use for the ridiculously uncomfortable seats. No way was he sitting on that couch. “When did this happen?” he asked.
“Halfway through my lab this morning.” Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned again.
“And it’s this bad already?”
“I didn’t notice it until it was this bad. Halfway through my lab. It’s not like I have a low tolerance for feeling crappy.”
True, but Peter was also a bit of a hypochondriac by necessity. “Sorry, man. You still up for doing this tonight?”
“Yeah. Hand me that DayQuil.” He waved at the counter, and Ben reached down by the sink for the bottle of gag-worthy syrup. It was already only about three-quarters full. “You open this today?”
Peter finally opened his eyes again to glare at Ben. “Thank you, Nurse Robinson. I think I got it.” He wiggled his fingers at the medicine bottle, which Ben lobbed over the couch, narrowly missing his friend’s face. “I said hand it to me, man.”
Even if Ben had intended to apologize, Peter probably wouldn’t have heard it as he unscrewed the cap and took what looked like a too-healthy gulp of the stuff. Yikes.
“I’ll be fine,” Peter added through a little shudder as he put the lid back on. “But the second we get that thing in the bag, I’m coming back here to pass out.”
“Here’s to a super awesome Friday night,” Ben said flatly.
“Whatever.”
Ben had heard somewhere that chugging a whole bottle of DayQuil would make a person trip their balls off. Or was that NyQuil? He’d never tried it, and he never planned to; unnecessary psyche meds crammed down his throat for six years was enough to keep him off pretty much everything else. But he really hoped Peter wasn’t as sensitive to that medicine as he was to every other physical ailment that even so much as looked at him. They really didn’t need him stripping down in that alley or trying to dance the spirit there into his metal box.
Oh, right. He still hadn’t explained their little blind spot.
“Hey, so this one’s a little different tonight—”
A quick, loud, triple knock came from the front door. Perfect timing, naturally.
“I got it.” Ben made sure to look through the peephole first, because he wanted the time to prepare what his face would look like depending on who was there. It was Chase, so Ben didn’t actually have to show any emotion. He opened the door. “Hey.”
Chase stepped inside like the door had opened itself, ignoring Ben and gazing around Peter’s apartment with a mix of surprise and something that looked like distaste. The guy gave off this vibe that very little impressed him anyway. “We ready to do this?” he asked, finally turning to face their host for the evening. Then he jerked his head back with wide eyes. “You look like shit.”
So much for starting off on the right foot—or if not that, at least Ben had hoped for some kind of neutrality. A truce. Nope. He shook his head at Chase in warning as he closed the doo
r, but the guy was staring at Peter’s pitiful display on the couch.
“And you’re an asshole,” Peter grunted.
“So I was talking about what we’re going up against tonight,” Ben cut in, providing the seriously necessary intervention before this got way too out of hand. They hadn’t even done anything yet. “This thing is a—”
“Why don’t you just say what it is?” Chase asked, finally acknowledging Ben’s presence. “‘This thing’ makes it sound like you’re scared of it.”
“Not scared,” Ben said. Mostly true. “We’re kinda trying to keep the terminology discrete. Still haven’t figured out exactly what to use.”
“Little weird running around saying demon all the time,” Peter added.
“But that’s what it is.” Chase looked back and forth between Ben and Peter, raising a super condescending eyebrow beneath that stupid lock of hair poking out from under his beanie again. Did he do that on purpose?
“Not really,” Ben said. Peter sat up on the couch, apparently more interested now in the conversation. He realized he’d only told Peter about looking up ghosts at the library, not that this was actually what they were dealing with tonight. Well, at least he’d only have to say all this once. “Normally, they are demons. Or at least we’re calling them that. But this level-one is a ghost. Or spirit.” He got two matching blank stares in reply. “The dude used to be alive, and now he’s dead. So those sightings are ghost sightings, I guess.” Did anyone who’d reported to Chase’s alleged forums actually put two and two together with the half-eaten cats?
“That’s why you said looking up ghosts at the library,” Peter said, nodding slowly.
“The library?” Chase snorted. “Do you guys realize how outdated everything is there?”
“Like real books?” Peter snapped.
“Like old information.”
“You think ghosts are just a twenty-first-century thing, is that it?” It was a lot more likely now that fists would be flying at any minute, just because they had once already. Peter looked pissed. Chase sneered and opened his mouth for something else.
“The library didn’t have anything we could use anyway,” Ben said quickly. Apparently, he’d have to be on damage control for a while. “So it doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to get at is that I think the box and the crystals are only good for demons.”
Peter finally pulled his glare away from Chase, which softened a little when it fell on Ben. “Was that part of the message you got?”
Yep. Ben had to keep lying to Peter about this, too. “Yeah.”
“So, what? We just show up and try to talk the ghost out of…” Peter scrunched up his face. “What’s it actually doing, anyway?”
Chase looked a little startled by the question, then he frowned at the far wall. “‘Kay, that’s probably something I should add to the list.”
“Ya think?”
“It’s eating stray cats,” Ben said. The others both stared at him again. “Like without killing them first.”
Peter attempted to make some kind of disgusted noise, but the sound that came out of his congested throat was even worse. “Gross.”
“Yeah.”
Chase waved his hand in an exaggerated gesture. “Your hand thing work against ghosts?”
“Maybe,” Ben replied. “April was with me at the library yesterday, but there’s a chance she found something out on her own. I was gonna ask her when she got here, but she’s taking a while.” He pulled out his phone—6:20 p.m. For as long as he’d known her, April had always been on time by being early. Or she’d given a window like she had for meeting at the library. “You hear from her?” he asked Peter.
“Nope.”
“Okay. Hold on.” He pulled up April’s number.
—On your way?—
“Oh, by the way,” Chase said, sticking his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, “you got a package sitting outside your door.”
Ben jerked up from his phone and met Peter’s gaze. “Did you see who left it?”
“No… It was there when I got here.”
Ben sighed and went for the door. New packages had apparently become cause for concern now, or at least more attention. In the hallway, he found a brown box about the size of his shoe, which looked small and relatively benign compared to the package with the wooden cabinet in it. And it wasn’t very heavy, either. But it did have ‘Peter Cameron’ written across the side in those same black, boxy letters. When he closed the door again and turned toward the living room, he didn’t have to say anything.
“Another one?” Peter asked. Ben just nodded and set the box on the counter.
“Another what?” Chase stepped up beside Ben to eye the package.
“Peter’s getting anonymous gifts, now,” Ben said.
“Cool.”
“Don’t touch it.” Ben glared at Chase’s outstretched hand just a few inches from the new gift.
“Dude, relax,” Chase said. “What, you think I’m gonna break it or something?”
“The last thing he got was… to help us with those crystals we bind the demons to.” No, Ben didn’t exactly want to be explaining all this to Chase before they knew for sure they could trust him, but he really didn’t want the guy messing with whatever was inside this box.
“Looks like somebody’s stalking you, then.” Chase turned to smirk at Peter, who ignored him and just nodded at Ben before slurping at the tea in his hands.
“Open it,” Peter said.
Ben dug his car key into the tape and slowly pulled back the cardboard flaps. Packing peanuts. What a nice touch. He dug around a little, cringing at the thought of something stabbing, shocking, or otherwise maiming his fingers, then finally pulled out a little wooden figurine. Honestly, it looked more like a voodoo doll than anything else, with patches of maybe straw or some other dry, brittle fiber sticking out of the top of the thing’s head. Two eyes and a mouth had been gouged into the mostly round face, and it didn’t have any arms. The blue sticky note had fallen off when he pulled the figurine from the packing peanuts. So yes, this was definitely from the same person.
He grabbed the sticky note and flipped it over to read aloud. “‘For your cat problem. Apply before death.’”
“Whose death?” Peter squeaked.
“A doll?” Chase muttered.
“What are we supposed to do with this?” Ben turned the figurine over in his hands, but there was literally nothing else there—no hidden message, no moving parts, no secret compartment. No help, whatsoever.
“This is driving me nuts,” Peter said and dropped his head back against the armrest again.
“Yeah, I know.” Ben set the figurine down on the counter. At least it looked more stable than the wooden cabinet. Admittedly a little creepier, too.
“You guys don’t have any idea what this is?” Chase asked.
“Do you?”
The guy snorted and raised his hands. “Only that I wouldn’t touch it. That thing just looks nasty.”
Ben rolled his eyes, and then the phone rang. His stomach dropped when he saw it was April calling him. “Hello?”
“Ben?”
“Yeah, hey. Everything okay?”
“I… uh, I don’t think so.” She sounded like she might have been crying. But the terror in her voice came through with perfect clarity. “There’s something going on at my apartment, and I’m… I don’t really know what to do at this point.” She took a shaky breath. “Ben, can you get over here? Like right now?”
“Yeah, yeah. Absolutely. Just… text me your address, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Are you hurt?”
The brief pause on the other end made him hold his breath. “Not right now. But I think, maybe… Just get here. Please?”
“Yeah, we’ll be right there.”
She hung up before he could say anything else, and he shoved his phone back into his pocket and whipped his jacket off the counter.
“Who was—”
“Somethi
ng’s up with April,” Ben said and nodded across the living room to Peter’s metal box sitting on the carpet beside the wooden cabinet. “Grab the box. We’ll just take everything. We gotta go right now.”
For as sick as he looked—and probably felt—Peter was off the couch remarkably fast. He kind of stumbled toward the far wall, scooped up the box, and stormed back into the kitchen. Then he shoved the metal box into Chase’s startled arms, grunted, “Hold this,” and grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. Ben snatched the figurine off the counter and tucked it into his jacket pocket before all three of them were headed for his car.
19
Ben had never paid much attention to the Back Bay apartments right off Stuart Street, because he’d never had a reason to do anything but occasionally drive past them on his way to somewhere else. But now, he had to glance again at the GPS on his phone and double-check the address April had sent him. Okay, so she apparently lived here in one of these. This place was massive.
It was already dark at close to 6:45, but the parking lot was incredibly well lit by the numerous light posts dotting the huge space, which was mostly filled with cars even with the parking garage on the ground floor beneath the apartments. The Fresh Pond Mall was just another few blocks down on the other side of Stuart Street, and that gave off plenty of its own light too. Despite all of it, Ben felt like something was going to pop out of the shadows at him the minute he parked and jumped out of the car. He didn’t care.
Peter might have said something as he and Chase got out of Ben’s car behind him, but everything else was just noise at this point. Ben’s ears had filled with a deafening rush, his heart pumping away so hard, it felt like that was what moved him forward with each step. And it made finding the entrance to the apartment complex beside the parking garage a little more difficult than he would have liked.
“Ben,” Peter called.
Ben turned around to see his friend pointing a bit farther into the parking garage at the illuminated elevator sign. Okay, he would have seen that eventually. He almost jogged to the elevators and punched the call button. “Go see what’s there with her,” Ben muttered, too anxious now to think it to Ian as he willed the elevator to get the hell down to the ground level already.