The Bookseller's Secret

by Catherine Jordan

  “No one will believe you,” she said. “They won’t do anything, even if they did believe.”

  “So what have you got to lose?” I asked.

  “She wrote a book,” Caroline said.

  “I know.”

  “I read it,” she said. “Then I came here, looking for more. The more you read, the more you want, and more is revealed in the pages. A piece of drywall from her house is what got me killed,” she said. “I thought I could take it away as a talisman. I put it in my mouth and swallowed, but it made its way out, seeping through my navel. Granger came to my home, traveling through the walls, even when I was in the hospital, to scoop away the dried up powder and take it back. Granger said I would never have peace of mind ever again. The hospital put me on morphine. The pump was placed in my hand and Granger pumped me with four doses and encouraged me to do the rest. I did.”

  “I wouldn’t consider that suicide,” I said. “Sounds more like murder to me. Like coercion.” She was dirty. Ragged clothes hung from her limbs. I lifted my glance to her hideously decayed face. I saw she had once been very beautiful and suddenly felt sorry for her. Her lower jaw drooped, her mouth opened, and her breath made me wince. She wiped at her runny nose. I wished my damn cell phone worked so I could get a picture, record the conversation, make notes. “If there were some proof of this, I could get your file reopened, have them look into murder.”

  “I had proof,” she said. “I had a tape recording of Granger. There was video of the doctor and of Jeffrey leaning over my bed. They never accused the doctor, but the blame was put on Jeffrey. Once Jeffrey agreed to stay in the house with her, the charges were dropped. All embezzlement and tax evasion charges were dropped against his father’s firm, which Jeffrey now successfully runs.”

  “Where is the tape?”

  Caroline snickered. “She ate it.”

  “Did she tell you all this after the fact, or were you made aware in the afterlife, or … what?”

  “I know my sister very well,” she said, scowling.

  “Who was your doctor?” I asked.

  “He’s her oncologist, Dr. Rhymes. Granger lives in him.”

  Mental note: Eva has cancer. She is not immortal.

  “Mr. Granger? The one who lives in the barn?”

  Another scowl. “Granger lives in the walls and inside the doctor. Granger haunted me and Jeffrey at the same time.”

  Mental note: Time and place do not constrict the demons. Was this also true of Lowther? And where the hell is Lowther?

  “Have you tried talking to anyone else?” I asked.

  “Like who?” she asked. “I can’t leave.”

  “Aren’t there others like you? You get together, right, like at cemeteries.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “The ones in the cemeteries are raised by sangomas. Those zombies are imbeciles, like robots on auto-pilot. She gave the power to the sangomas, but they can’t make zombies whole, not like she can, not like the ones in this forest.

  “She brings back those with features like hers. Vanity, I suppose. The little ones grow up to resemble her more and more, depending on how long they nurse on her blood.”

  “Wait. Back up. She gives birth to baby zombies? Zombies giving birth to zombies. No fuckin’ way. And she nurses them?”

  “Their mother’s nurse them. My sister’s blood is in all of us. There are only a few of us right now. There hadn’t been any zombies in her forest over the past thirteen years, even the sangomas had not been able to raise a spirit. But now the zombie sightings are rising.”

  When I asked why, Caroline explained about Eva’s name; her lack of one had made her powerless. Until Jeffrey finally gave her one.

  “I have to go now,” she said. “You should, too.”

  I watched her walk away, and when I realized I was utterly alone and the dark had thickened, I scurried to my car and drove back to the hotel.

  46

  “Where were you?” I asked, slamming the hotel room door. Lowther stood in his corner, his skin shiny and pasty, more human, but like a wax figure. I stopped and stared. “You’ve changed,” I said. “What happened?”

  “You’re changing, too,” he said. “Have you looked in a mirror recently?”

  I marched into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. “Okay. So I look like shit. Stress will do that. Do you understand the pressure I’m under? I mean, fuck, give me a break.” I massaged my cheekbones. I never had high cheekbones. My eyes, green. My nose, bigger. My hair, darker. My skin, darker, tighter. “Am I taller? Shit. What’s happening?”

  “You and I have become very close,” Lowther said. “Have you seen those stories about married couples who start to resemble each other after having spent a long time together? That’s sort of what’s happening here.”

  I looked at Lowther. I looked back in the mirror. He was right. We were starting to resemble each other. “Will I go back to myself when you go away?”

  “I don’t want to go away.”

  “Oh no?” I asked, storming out of the bathroom. “You did. You left me alone with that Caroline zombie.”

  “I already told you, just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not there.”

  “So you were there. You saw everything.”

  “Pretty much. You have to trust me, Mason.”

  “Fine. Fine. Then you know Caroline was murdered and raised from the dead and is now being held against her will on her sister’s property. I have to get that story out.”

  I dropped to the seat at my desk. “I have to write really fast,” I said. “Otherwise, I forget stuff. All kinds of things are happening, and if I don’t get it on paper now, I might not ever.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Lowther said, keeping to his corner, as usual. “What would you say is the most interesting thing that’s happened so far?” he asked.

  What a question. “The most interesting, out of everything?” I stopped writing to think about an answer. “Meeting you, I guess.”

  “You know what’s weird? I was going to say the same thing.” Lowther took a few steps out of his corner. “You don’t mind if I read what you’ve written so far, do you?” Lowther took another step toward me.

  I shrugged and said, “Yeah, you can see what I’m writing.”

  He took baby steps and peered over my shoulder, reading what I had written. “May I offer a suggestion?” he asked.

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t think you have the proper word here.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “There are over fifty different ways to say this and you used that word? It’s as if you don’t even know your own language.”

  “All right,” I said. “What word would you use?”

  “I’d say ‘peccant.’ It’s an adjective. The word was first used in 1604. It’s old Latin, present participle of pecc re, meaning to stumble or fall; to sin. It can also mean to cause disease.”

  “How many languages do you speak?” I asked.

  “Oh, I speak all of them,” Lowther said as he straightened. He smiled, dipped his chin, and went on to say, “There are over seven thousand different languages. Every day a different dialect comes and goes. It’s silly, if you think about it. Why not use one universal language everyone understands? Wouldn’t that make life easier? Wouldn’t it cut down on all the confusion when translating and writing and reading?”

  “It would,” I said.

  “Isolation,” Lowther said with a nod. “It encourages self-reliance. Languages developed to meet the needs of the few within the tribe, and their language developed without the influence of others. As tribes began to come into contact with another, they had to figure out a way to communicate. Sometimes they tried to learn the other’s language, adapting it to their own way of speaking, changing dialect, tense, and meaning.”

  “Makes sense,” I said, turning toward my computer, intent. My next stories would be doozies. If they didn’t send superstitious locals and curious visitors or even the
police rushing to see her house, then I didn’t know what would.

  “Think about the word gay,” Lowther continued. “It used to mean happy, but now has an entirely different meaning.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “I should get back to work.”

  “Fine,” Lowther said. He strutted over to the couch and took a seat.

  South Africa’s Haunted Forest

  Chilling Firsthand Account

  Mason Barry Saturday 1 June 2013

  Enamored with haunted places? The most haunted forest in the world was the Aokigahara Forest in Japan, said to be the site of hundreds of suicides. But I say the most haunted spot to visit is Llandudno, South Africa.

  Nestled between the Atlantic and the Table Mountain sits a house that appears to teeter on a ledge. Want to visit? The owners do not welcome visitors. But if they did …

  You would travel the long path to her house, which winds up and down the mountain and is dark and eerily quiet. A dense forest surrounds the property, and if you venture off the beaten path, you might never be found. You will wonder if someone or something isn’t hiding in the trees’ shadows, watching.

  The house is rumored to be haunted by deceased author Eva van Hollinsworth. According to her relatives, Eva was involved with fortune telling, spell casting, and concocting potions. She died tragically in her home giving birth to her daughter. She is survived by her partner, Jeffrey Thurmont, Esquire, and their daughter. Neither has confirmed nor denied the haunting.

  Haunted Forest Possible Host To Missing Persons

  Woman Claiming to be a Zombie Calls the van Hollinsworth Forest Home

  Mason Barry Monday 10 June 2013

  A thrill comes with going deep into the dark woods where ghosts and goblins are up to no good. Or in this case, the zombies in the woods are up to no good.

  Supernatural rumors have circulated about Ms. van Hollinsworth’s house and forest over the years. So has her peccant influence.

  One woman stated she lived in Ms. van Hollinsworth’s forest and also maintained she was one of the walking dead, a zombie. Her name was taken and given to the local authorities. This particular woman has a death certificate filed by Groote Shuur Hospital in Cape Town, but does not have a burial plot on file.

  Jeffrey Thurmont, who resides on the property with Ms. van Hollinsworth, called the allegations fictitious. “This is nothing short of harassment,” Jeffrey said. “And we will be pursuing legal action.”

  Captain Massu Thuzien tried to explain the woman’s claims by saying, “Disorienting powers are typical in dense and dark areas, especially ones where age, like an old forest, is a factor. This woman was probably scared and confused.” He agreed to look into the matter and warned against trespassing.

  Inspector Dusu would not comment without further information.

  South African Police Hunt Grave Robbers

  Body Parts are Being Removed From Graves

  Mason Barry Monday 8 July 2013

  Police are looking into a bizarre trend of grave robberies in the north province area. The robbers are exhuming bodies within hours of burial and removing body parts from the deceased. At least one open grave was missing the entire corpse.

  Police officer and spokesperson Captain Massu Thuzien said, “We do not know why anyone would do this. We have launched an investigation, but, as of yet, we do not have any leads.”

  No witnesses have been found in any of the crimes, and police are asking the public to come forward with any information they might have.

  When asked if the robbers are targeting the graves for black magic purposes, Captain Thuzien said, “These past few bizarre incidents have been very difficult for the families. We want everything left in the hands of the police.”

  Zombies Sighted In South Africa

  Several Witnesses Reported Sightings

  of the Walking Dead

  Mason Barry Monday 22 July 2013

  The Unit, a specialized police force dedicated to supernatural crimes, is looking into several zombie sightings. Inspector Dusu of the Unit said, “In light of recent crimes, we are taking these sightings very seriously.” The recent crimes Dusu refers to are the robberies of body parts and corpses from graveyards.

  According to South African legend, zombies are brought to life by sangomas. The zombies are then used to do the sangoma’s bidding.

  Police Captain Massu Thuzien said, “This is all nonsense. The last case we had of a zombie was from a man who claimed his wife had come back from the dead. It turned out to be a mistaken identity. The woman he thought was his wife was an escaped schizophrenic from a local hospital who looked very similar to his wife.”

  Scientific evidence has introduced another theory. Tetrodotoxin, a neurotoxin found in puffer fish, can induce a trance-like state by introducing the toxin into the bloodstream.

  Inspector Tseme Dusu rejected the scientific theory. “Tetrodotoxin is extremely toxic, one hundred times more poisonous than cyanide. Even if someone with an expert knowledge of the toxin injected it into a human’s bloodstream without causing death, the tetrodotoxin would leave the victim paralyzed.”

  47—Father Charles Thurmont

  Eva van Hollinsworth was only a thirteen-year-old girl, and the most vile, evil creature on the planet. So, Charles asked himself, why was he on his way to her haunted house?

  Charles drove past a sign for Llandudno on R27. Since she feared the ocean, travel was safest along its scenic route. The South African turquoise waters hosted several yachts farther out, an inland fishing boat, and a few jet skiers. Taking his car around the bend, a beach drifted into view. People in swimsuits and kids running around with kites enjoyed the warmth of the beginning day. Charles only had the day to travel, and he began his journey at dawn while Eva slept, confined to her home. Jeffrey once warned Charles about Eva and told him Eva feared the water. That is why Charles stayed along the oceanfront. Just in case.

  Charles had given up on his nephew, Jeffrey. If Jeffrey wanted to make his home with Eva, then so be it. She wasn’t named Eva anymore. Jeffrey never told Charles her new name. Uncle and nephew did not keep in touch. The letters Charles received could have been from him, but Charles doubted they were. They sounded false and diabolical.

  The road curved again, and he realized he traveled on M6. Getting closer. A shiver went up his spine. He would never have come back to this continent if not for the letters.

  Whoever wrote them had asked if he would help. “Please, Father Charles. You’re the only one who can help me.”

  Charles drove into Llandudno, a town full of billionaires and socialites who only called on God when cussing at their staff. No wonder Eva chose to live amongst those people. She didn’t bother hiding. She was eccentric, powerful, wealthy, and relatively anonymous. Her anonymity might be short lived with the book she wrote, and that’s exactly what she wanted. She had lived for generations under their noses.

  Her timing was perfect. Eva published her magik book in a modern age where people did not fear her. They were curious, interested. Magik was historical and entertaining. In a town full of bored rich people—those who thought they had seen everything inside the continent of magik and beasts, the mysterious Africa—Eva seemed different. Thankfully, few knew her book existed. It was only a matter of time.

  Once he arrived at Green Point, M6 took him off the oceanfront and inland. Not exactly where he wanted to be, but he didn’t have much choice. Prudence warned him to stay on the road well-traveled. He could’ve taken a boat and docked in Cape Town, but that option meant traveling with strangers.

  The road curved sharply, and Charles slowed the car. A sign saying “Victoria Road” stood in the grass on his immediate right.

  Had he been asked to pick any location in the world to play home to such a monster, he would’ve picked the Middle East. Theology taught the anti-Christ will be a man of Middle Eastern descent, as Christ had been. Terrorism being where and what it was, Iraq seemed like a logical place to host a well-bred man bent o
n destroying the world.

  Instead, she was an unassuming woman who had been living since the beginning of time, working not with terrorists and bombs, but with a book. At this point, he trusted no one. Her nomad spirit, her worldwide reach, was the root of his paranoia.

  48

  By the time Charles drove into Llandudno, he began to feel his belly sink. Collywobbles, Jeffrey used to say as a young lad whenever he was nervous. He was always anxious after his mother died. Suicide. She hung herself with a scarf in their home. Jeffrey’s father got on just fine, so it seemed. Jeffrey never did.

  It was warm outside, and a cool breeze blew off the ocean and in his window. He switched lanes, reduced gear, and slowed to a stop.

  It was a clear, sunny day, and most people would’ve enjoyed the drive and the view. But he was looking for changes in the air, disturbances in the atmosphere. He listened for voices, including the cautionary one in his head telling him to turn around and go home. Was it his memory warning him? Or was it her voice disguising itself as his? There was no way to tell, so he shook the thought of her from his mind and concentrated on the road. But it was hard to stop thinking about her when he was headed directly toward her. He tried to think about the town, its history, and people.