Topher Nightshade vs. The Camp of The Undead Apocalypse

by Drew Hayes

  “Sounds like a win to me,” Topher agreed.

  Auggie glanced around quickly, realizing they were two people short. “Where are Art and Clinton?”

  “They started fading a few seconds ago, right after the sun rose and that portal thing got bright again. I guess the magic that let us see them is gone.”

  “So, Velt did it? She stopped the apocalypse?”

  “Seems that way,” Topher said.

  “That is a relief.” Auggie’s sense of ease lasted roughly as long as it took him to stand, after which, his default pragmatism set in. “Of course, that means now we have to deal with a wrecked rental car, damaged property we don’t own, getting back to town, and where is . . . oh no.”

  “What?” Topher tensed, eyes darting about for another rogue spirit to pop up.

  “Kay. Kay is going to have to hike all the way down that cliff. She’s going to be in a terrible mood when she finally gets here.”

  Topher sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Do we have any alcohol left? It might calm her a little.”

  “Let’s hope so. You check the main hall, while I call someone to come get us.”

  Epilogue

  “Come on, pleeeease.”

  “Topher, can you not see how busy I am?” Auggie gestured to the massive stack of papers spread over his desk. “Between booking our new locations, sorting out the mess from all that damage we did to the camp, and trying to find a use for that footage, I’ve got more than enough on my plate.”

  “The footage is easy. Just use it for an episode, like I said.” Kay was sitting at her editing station, feet up on the desk, with what she insisted on referring to as a Moscow Mimosa in her hand. In the three weeks since they’d gotten back from Camp Tekonichia, the shooting schedule had been delayed while Auggie got their ducks in a row. Originally, this had been a bit boring, but ever since they discovered Auggie’s new talent during the first week, it had provided Kay with ample entertainment from Auggie and Topher’s bickering.

  “You know darn well we can’t use that footage,” Auggie snapped. “No one would ever believe it was real. Even I find myself wondering if it was touched up with CGI, and I was there for all of it.”

  “Not all of it,” Topher said. “The remote camera on the dock caught a lot of stuff you weren’t around for. You know, the swarm of ghosts, the car explosion, the big fight at the end.”

  “I was very much there for the car explosion, thank you.”

  “I mean the part where it landed. You were floating in the air by then,” Topher said.

  Auggie was about to lay in to Topher on the agreed-upon meaning of “there,” when he realized it would take him longer to make that point and then persuade Topher to leave him alone, than it would to just humor the large man’s request.

  “If I do this, you have to promise to let me be for three days. No matter what tool or trinket you find, you let me do my work. Deal?”

  “Deal!” Topher declared. He pulled out his newest purchase from the envelope it had arrived in, walking over to Auggie’s desk and setting it down. It looked like a pocket watch that had been hollowed out and had electronics stuffed in.

  Auggie stared at it, clearly unimpressed. “And what does this one do?”

  “It’s supposed to let ghosts be audible to humans.” Topher practically beamed with excitement as he stared down at the oddly-designed device.

  “Didn’t we have like four of these?”

  “We did, but none of them worked; I’m trying to find one that does.”

  “Maybe you should just cave in and make him one,” Kay suggested. “Otherwise, you know he’s going to keep buying these things and bugging you to test them.”

  “Oh, wonderful. Another project to add to my plate.” Though Auggie protested, a part of him was intrigued. Now that he knew spirits were real—and actually had the capacity to analyze them, no less—the scientist inside him was roused by all the possibilities. He could break unforeseen grounds in understanding the capabilities of a spirit after leaving its body; perhaps even usher in a whole new field of science. All of that would have to come after he settled the show’s accounts, however.

  “Make sure to turn it on,” Auggie ordered. “I don’t want to spend any longer on this than necessary.”

  Topher reached down and pressed a button on the side, causing three lights inside the device to glow lightly-blue .

  Auggie stepped out of his chair and lay on the ground. Through some trial and error, he’d found that even the most seemingly secure position in a chair was dangerous once his body went slack. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed against his body in a way he’d never have been able to describe to those who hadn’t spent an entire night as a spirit.

  Once a body has been vacated, it is far easier for the spirit to leave of its own volition. Auggie had learned this accidently one evening when he was relaxing in bed and unintentionally slipped right out of his physical form. After a panicked reentry and a frantic call to Velt, who had thankfully been kind enough to give them her number, Auggie learned that as long as he didn’t evacuate his body for periods of time longer than an hour or so, he should be fine. The woman had been rather blasé about it all, as if she’d expected it to happen.

  Auggie’s spirit floated up into the air, examining the room with his spectral eyes. No other ghosts about; that was a good thing, at least. He was anxious to see how his ability to interact with other spirits would impact Specter Quest, since he could now suss out legitimate ghosts and convince them to play for the camera.

  “Topher, if you bought this from a place without a return policy, I’m taking it out of your paycheck,” Auggie said, speaking as directly to the device as he could. To his great lack of surprise, the device did nothing more than intermittently blink a fourth light.

  “I hope this one works,” Topher said. “The Web site I bought it from is already down, so I don’t think I can get my money back.”

  Auggie rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to smile, since the other two couldn’t see him. It was a strange life with these two—even stranger now—but it was a happy one. He was thankful that the world hadn’t been overrun with ghosts, and reminded himself that he still needed to send Velt a Thank You card. Perhaps he’d have Kay bring it on the trip those two had scheduled.

  No sense in wasting unnecessary postage.

  * * *

  The apartments were hideous: sea-foam green paint with red and black Spanish tiles along the roofs. The sign was derelict, and the grass was at the stage where it was just long enough to be ugly, without being so long as to bother the city. Of course, that wasn’t actually what it looked like, merely how it appeared to her. This was a place where mortals weren’t usually welcome, and despite all her gifts and powers, Velt was still a card-carrying human.

  She walked up the gray brick path, destination affixed firmly in mind. Without a willful mind, one could easily get lost in the twists and turns of the corridors, which were designed to lead one back outside over and over again. It was a good defense against most mortals, but Velt had never been accused of lacking willpower, though others often called it “pigheadedness.”

  “He’s not here.” The voice called to her just before she was about to step into the shaded expanse of the walkway. It came from a young man with thin, pale yellow hair sitting on one of the few benches outside.

  “Don’t be ridiculous; he’s everywhere.” Velt knew where this was going, but she refused to walk over to him, anyway.

  “In a way. Yes, he is everywhere, but he isn’t everywhere. Not unless he wants to be, which obviously, isn’t the case since I got stuck sitting out here, playing messenger. Now, hurry up and come over so I can go back inside.”

  Velt let out a sigh and walked over. There was no sense in getting mad at Chet for the bullshit his roommate pulled. Despite his job, that guy was weirdly non-confrontational, leaving Chet to deal with a lot of his messes.

  “What’s my message?” She plun
ked down next to him, nose crinkling at the overwhelming smell of pot. If Chet felt any shame about his rampant drug use, he certainly kept it to himself.

  “That you did a good job, that the two spirits who helped you have been properly crossed over, not that either of us really knows what that means, and that the money will be in your account in a few days.”

  “See if you can hurry him along. I’ve got a vacation coming up, and I could use the cash.”

  Chet tilted his head slightly. “That’s a surprise. Going off the grid, huh?”

  “Only for a little while. I think even I’m due for a vacation every once and a while. Besides, this was a big one.”

  “Too bad they couldn’t have handled it,” Chet agreed.

  “Meh, the rules are the rules. Mortal-made apocalypses have to be handled by mortals. No point in getting pissy about it.” Velt hauled herself carefully up from the bench, leg still tender from the car crash and fight. At least she’d have the cast off her right arm by the time her and Kay’s trip rolled around. “Tell him he’s an asshole for ducking me.”

  “Already did,” Chet replied.

  “Appreciate it.”

  Velt headed back down the gray stone walkway toward her car. Vacation would be nice, when it finally arrived, but until then, she still had a few smaller jobs to knock out. There was no rest to be had in this world; not even for the dead.

  Well . . . not for the dead that were assholes when Velt was around.

  Bonus Story!

  Years before the adventures of Topher, Kay, and Auggie coalesced into enough material for a small novel, I wrote a different piece about a young woman with a strange gift that put her in a unique job. The woman was, as you have surely already guessed, a medium who went by only one name: Velt. While previously only available for short times, I decided to include her original story (though it is certainly not her origin story) in this piece as a bonus for those who rolled the dice and purchased a book with such a strange and silly title.

  This story takes place before the events of Camp of The Undead Apocalypse, so don’t be too surprised to see her making discoveries here that popped up in the earlier book. Please enjoy this novella, or skip over it if you’ve had your fill of the character. The choice is yours.

  I present to you: Velt’s bonus story: Substitute Medium

  Happy Reading!

  Chapter 1

  “I know this must seem crazy,” Lucille said, the tears of desperation she had kept off her face leaking in to her voice. “I’m just at my wit’s end. The noises were okay at first, then the lights turning on and off, but now my children are seeing things. Last week, the knife drawer flew out and flung everything across the room.” The middle-aged woman held up her right arm to show a dressed wound along her bicep. “I never believed in any of this, but now, I just don’t know what else to do.”

  The young lady sitting across from her kept a stoic face. Lucille was clearly in distress, and had Velt been better with people, she would have undoubtedly reassured her with a gentle pat or kind words. Velt did neither of these things. Nobody called her because of her penchant for sweetness, or her personality. They called Velt when business needed to be handled.

  “I can help,” Velt said, her voice low, but solid. “Adrienne explained things to you, right?”

  Lucille nodded. “She said the ghost here was an angry one, and that she couldn’t put it to rest. That’s why she recommended you.”

  Adrienne was a fellow medium. She wasn’t as skilled as Velt, nor did she possess Velt’s unique talent, but she had a knack for sussing out what a ghost needed to pass on. All of the mediums who referred work to Velt were quality; she didn’t associate with charlatans.

  “What you have here is not a ghost, it’s a ghast,” Velt corrected.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “A ghast. There’s a core difference. All spirits are sustained by strong emotions. Ghosts are sustained by positive ones: love, dedication, protectiveness, things like that. Ghasts are on the other end of the spectrum. Their fuel is hatred, fear, and anger.”

  “I see,” Lucille said. Though initially, she’d been the one worried about not being taken seriously, she was finding it hard to trust that the copper-haired woman in front of her was being entirely forthcoming. She didn’t look like the other woman had. Adrienne had smelled like jasmine and cinnamon, and had shown up wearing a long, flowing dress and several crystal pendants. Velt had her tarnished-red hair cut almost mannishly short. She wore blue jeans, sneakers, and a tight tank top that left little to the imagination, not that there was a tremendous amount to showcase. She was not quite pretty, her face sharp and angular, but she might be if she would actually smile. Lucille wasn’t sure what to make of this woman, but at this point, she had little choice.

  “So, it’s a ghast, not a ghost,” Lucille said. “Why does that matter?”

  “Because ghosts can be put to rest with comfort and love,” Velt explained. “Ghasts usually require a sterner hand.”

  “Well, you’re the expert,” Lucille said, a polite smile tugging on the laugh lines etched across her face.

  “That I am,” Velt replied, standing from the couch.

  “What are you doing?”

  “My job,” Velt said flatly. “You said that most events occur in the kitchen?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Good. Stay out of your kitchen until I come back,” Velt ordered her. “If you come in, I can’t be responsible for your safety.”

  Lucille swallowed hard and nodded her understanding.

  Velt walked through the house and into the kitchen, her sneakers making no sounds against the soft carpet. She admired the cooking space; it was well-decorated and had modern appliances. She’d been thinking about redoing her own kitchen for some time, and briefly paused to wonder if Lucille had any of the design catalogs used for this place left over.

  Velt rested her hand against a granite countertop and examined her reflection. Something about spirits: they loved creeping up on people while they were looking in a reflection. Given that most people couldn’t see them, and only the sensitive ones could even feel them, Velt would never have fathomed that spirits would have such a penchant for the dramatic. Sure as honey covered salmon in a bear trap, though, it brought them running. Velt let her gaze linger on her own visage for a bit longer before turning back to the room at large.

  The ghast was a few feet behind her. He hadn’t been an attractive man: bald and overweight, with pockmarks on his face. A faint, red energy swirled about inside him, indicating he was gathering strength to let his presence be known. If he’d been a smarter ghast, he would have recognized her as a medium already, or have listened in on the living-room conversation. That was fine, though. Velt didn’t need him to know who she was. In fact, it usually made her job easier when his kind didn’t.

  The red glow around the ghast intensified. He wanted to make a strong first impression. That was the thing about spirits; the initial emotions that sustained them could only do so much. They needed to create more of those feelings in the people around them to get stronger. As they fed off a person’s emotions, that person also grew more vulnerable to the spirit. It was the reason ghasts worked incrementally, beginning with small displays and escalating as the humans grew more and more afraid. The inverse of this was that humans who weren’t scared were much harder for a ghast to physically assault.

  “Boy, you were ugly in life,” Velt said offhandedly, not bothering to look at the ghast as she made the remark.

  The ghast momentarily lost control, his gathered energy dispersing before he tightened his hold on it again.

  “Another seer, like the bitch before,” he snarled.

  “Hey now, she might be chatty, but Adrienne is a sweet girl. If you’d let her, she would have put your soul at rest,” Velt said.

  “I’ll tell you what I told her: I’ll rest when these darkies get out of my fucking house!”

  Velt tilted her head. “Really? In this d
ay and age? You’ve been dead for less than a year, so don’t even try to blame the culture that raised you.”

  The glow strengthened and began to spread across the ghast’s arms. He was preparing himself to attack her, and pretty poorly at that. All spirits were usually little more than sentient, shaped ectoplasm. They couldn’t physically interact with the material plane unless they used their energy to force their will upon the living world.

  Velt crossed the distance between them and stared in to the dead man’s eyes. He was a few inches shorter than she, and she was positive that if he’d been alive, her nostrils would have been assaulted by the rot of his stench.

  “This is the only warning I give. Leave this place, let go of whatever is keeping you here, and move on to the next world. Now.”

  “Suck my cock,” the ghast spat at her.

  Velt drove her knee into the ghast’s crotch, lifting him up several inches as his eyes filled with shock. Before he could recover, she slammed her fist into his head and sent him sprawling with an elbow to the stomach.

  “You can’t . . . I’m dead . . .” the ghast gasped, something quite like pain shooting through him. The red energy was entirely dispersed now, his concentration annihilated. More than that, he felt weaker. Less substantial. He touched his chest where she had last struck him and noticed wisps of his form leaking out, like fog breaking in the morning sun.

  “Yeah, that’s what they all say.” Velt strode across the crisp marble tile and slid her toes under the ghast. She delivered a powerful kick upward, shooting him into the air. With a mechanical reaction, she snapped him into her left hand and began punching him rhythmically with her right. Each blow resulted in a billow of ectoplasm, leaving the ghast increasingly transparent.

  “How . . .”

  “Some people can see spirits, some can talk to them, some of us can kick their asses,” Velt replied. She threw a deft elbow into his head, knocking out a huge chunk of ectoplasm. “I don’t question why, I just accept that there are some things in life we’ll never understand.”