Society for Paranormals

by Vered Ehsani

  “Is there any chance that this is all a fever-induced delusion?” Lilly added wistfully. “Or a dream?”

  Just then, Jonas darted into the cave, glanced about and surmised that all was as well as could be expected, for he left the bow and arrows strapped across his back. Nelly trotted up behind him.

  “Bee,” Lilly asked, “why are your horse’s eyes glowing?”

  Mr. Elkhart patted her arm, Nelly snorted and burped, Jonas shook his head and Mr. Timmons laughed uproariously.

  I sighed again. “Lilly, have you ever heard of the Society for Paranormals?”

  Chapter 32

  I must admit to a degree of disbelief at the matter-of-fact manner in which Lilly accepted the news that reality was far more complicated than it appeared.

  As we sat about the fire, she inquired into each person’s abilities. She was most disappointed to hear that I was unable to change shape and clucked disapprovingly upon hearing of Mr. Timmons’ talents. And she asked if she too could have a possessed pony.

  By the time we were all caught up with each other’s stories, and had provided declarations of undying love (between Lilly and Mr. Elkhart) and of secrecy (from Lilly to me), the gloom of the night had faded into a glowing green as sunlight filtered through the foliage.

  As there were only two horses – Jonas having run all the way and Mr. Elkhart having flown – Mr. Elkhart insisted the ladies be allowed to ride.

  “Poor dears, they’ve both suffered possession,” he pointed out, “a very nasty ailment indeed.”

  I refrained from pointing out that while nasty, it wasn’t an ailment. Mr. Timmons acquiesced with grace that may have been more to do with extreme fatigue than anything else. Jonas muttered something about his sore feet and disappeared into the bushes, probably using a short cut inaccessible to horses and the English.

  And so it was that we plodded out of the forest: a bat man and an identity thief on foot; a possessed pony and a regular horse; and a part-werewolf, part-witch riding alongside a girl who, from what I could see of her energy field, still carried the lingering effects of demonic possession. I feared those effects would be rather permanent, although how they would manifest was still unclear.

  When we arrived at the Steward residence, only Nelly had any energy left and she used hers to chomp at the remaining flowers. Jonas appeared just in time not to stop her, and once I’d dismounted, he wordlessly led the horse away from the decimated rosebush.

  The men continued on their way, and Lilly and I tottered inside, supporting each other. The house was silent apart from a gentle snore. I couldn’t tell which Steward it belonged to, but I was grateful they were all still blissfully ignorant of our nighttime absence.

  The last coherent thought I had was in regard to Mrs. Steward’s reaction: how obnoxious would she be when she noted the lack of roses on her last remaining bush? And then I too slept.

  Apart from a dream of roses getting married while sporting bat wings, I slept well enough and would have continued doing so had Mrs. Steward’s shriek of “My roses!” not pierced my dreamy bubble.

  “I didn’t eat them,” I mumbled and wondered if I could pretend not to have woken up. Perhaps I could fake a fever.

  The door to my room slammed open, smacked against the wall with a reverberation I felt in my head, and banged back into place with a horrific thunk.

  While I’m quite adept at imitating a recently deceased corpse (a most useful skill in my profession), I knew Mrs. Steward wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded by such trivialities as dead nieces.

  “Sorry about the roses,” I muttered.

  “I couldn’t give a damn about the roses,” Lilly remarked crossly. “What I want to know, what I need to know…” She hesitated and I peered up at her warily. She took a deep breath. “Did last night really happen?”

  I pushed myself upright and clutched my blanket around me. I knew what she meant, despite the oddity of the question, but I remained silent.

  She began to pace in front of me. Given the size of my room, she didn’t have much space in which to do so, and she eventually halted in front of my face.

  “What I mean to say is,” she said breathlessly, a mixture of hope and resignation battling for ascendance, “did I have a very odd and realistic nightmare, or is my fiancé really a giant bat?”

  I sighed deeply.

  “Oh, no,” she groaned and sunk onto the edge of my bed, her head hidden by her hands. “I’m engaged to a bat.”

  I decided not to mention her possession by Mrs. Cricket, hoping that Lilly had no recollection of that part of the night’s activities. Instead, I shifted over and placed an arm around her slumped shoulders. “Well, to be precise, you’re engaged to a Popobawa.”

  She sniffed and straightened up. “It all boils down to the same thing.” She swiveled slightly to face me. “Is it a full moon issue? Or something of that nature?”

  “No,” I said, trying for a reassuring tone, “he can control when he changes.”

  She glanced down at her hands. “Well, at least that’s one condolence. It wouldn’t do to have him sprout wings in front of guests, now would it?”

  “Absolutely not,” I agreed. “I believe Mr. Elkhart is more than capable of keeping up appearances.”

  “Then that settles that,” she said and stood up resolutely. “For he is a very charming man, after all, and a most suitable prospect.”

  I marveled at her ability to overlook the not insignificant consideration of his paranormal nature, not to mention the complications that might ensue once children were produced. Nonetheless, she seemed happy enough, and I hadn’t the heart to suggest my concerns. Besides, given the unpredictable side effects from Mrs. Cricket’s possession, perhaps this was indeed for the best. For who better to understand her than a creature like Mr. Elkhart?

  The two of us ate a late breakfast together, Mrs. Steward having retired to her room in a great huff over her roses. At least that spared us any tantrum she might have inflicted on us. Mr. Steward had already departed and Bobby came in only long enough to grab a piece of toast and grin at me conspiratorially.

  “What was that about?” Lilly asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Boys.”

  Jonas entered to toss two envelopes on the table by my plate before stacking the dirty dishes so high I was sure they would cascade onto the floor. Somehow he managed to stabilize them, scowling at them as if daring them to succumb to gravity.

  I picked up the first envelope. Inside was a note from Mr. Timmons; he inquired after my health, assured me that he was ever ready to assist me if another exorcism was required, and invited Lilly and I to join Mr. Elkhart, Cilla and himself for afternoon tea the following day. Gideon was welcome to attend, he continued, if he promised to behave and to return the automaton to Dr. Cricket.

  That caused me to wonder where Gideon had disappeared to, as I hadn’t seen him since finding him in Liam. I marveled how Mr. Timmons had thought of my dead husband’s wellbeing before I had.

  The second envelope contained a slip of thin yellow paper, a telegraph. It was dated from a few days ago, and sent from Mombasa. The sender was not named and there were only two words in the message section:

  AM COMING.

  Chapter 33

  In those two words, any tranquility I had acquired shattered. My escape from my past had all been an illusion.

  “Are you all right, Bee?” Lilly asked. Her eyes were older, more compassionate, more knowing.

  In hindsight, I experienced a pang of sadness that so much had been lost in one night. At the time though, I was far too wrapped up in my fears to take heed of hers.

  “It’s nothing,” I hurriedly lied, even though she was now a member of a very small group of people to whom I could unburden the truth of my reality.

  Perhaps I didn’t want to add to her concerns, although I suspect I didn’t yet fully trust this new aspect of our relationship. Whatever the case, I left the table and upon entering the kitchen, I stuffed the off
ending paper into the belly of the stove.

  That of course changed nothing.

  I spent the day, what was left of it, outside tramping around the hills that bordered the forest. I cursed Prof. Runal for giving out information of my whereabouts to the gentleman caller who must’ve been acting under orders of Koki, a creature far worse than Mrs. Cricket. Who else could’ve sent me the telegraph but that revengeful Mantis?

  Kam found me near the forest’s edge. One minute I was alone, apart from birds and insects, and mulling over the prospect of Koki’s arrival. The next, he was standing off to one side.

  “Blast it, Kam,” I said, in no mood to put up with paranormal people popping in and out of my vicinity.

  “Miss Knight,” he said in that gravely voice. Somewhere overhead, thunder rumbled and I was sure I’d see a fork of lightning if I bothered to look about.

  “We stopped her,” I said, too soul-weary to elaborate.

  He understood. “Thank you.”

  I didn’t expect anything more from him, so I wasn’t disappointed when he merely nodded and turned to disappear.

  “Why is there always lightning or thunder when you’re around?” I demanded, not particularly caring if he answered or not. On the other hand, it would be gratifying to have at least one question answered.

  He gave me one of his slight smiles, his shaved head shining like polished ebony. “One day, we shall share our truths.”

  With that, he strode away.

  “Another classic Kam response,” I remarked and continued on my walk.

  As the day wound down to evening, I stood under a thorn tree to survey the land and ponder my next move. I should tell Mr. Timmons about the message, I reflected, and Mr. Elkhart too, for they might have some clever ideas, and Gideon of course. The agitation stirred up by the telegraph settled into a certain uneasy acceptance, and I further calmed myself by focusing on the view.

  Sunset here was a peculiar and startling affair. Sun’s light didn’t linger for long, as it did in England (whenever light and sky could in fact be seen). Over there, light would kiss the horizon longingly with colors that clung on, determined not to relent to night.

  But here on the edge of a great expanse of land and wildlife, the day and night were quick to exchange greetings before going on their merry way, as if the twelve intense hours each dominated the sky had drained their will to fight each other.

  With a slight staining of colors, day was swallowed by night from above and below. For night here doesn’t just descend from the abyss of space, but oozes out of crevices and clumps of trees, in between blades of grass and out of the rivers.

  In those brief moments between the bright heat of day and the cold starkness of night, all the life of the land mingled in the same space and time, the nocturnal hunters and gathers emerging while the creatures of light slowly retreated.

  These meditations eased me into a more positive frame of mind and, before it could become too dark, I meandered back to the house. I resolved to share my fears, and by extension certain unsavory experiences and truths from my past, with my friends tomorrow at tea. While I was loath to involve Lilly any further into my world, she was already there in the thick of it.

  Maybe I should also bring up the subject of her changed energy, I mused. At some point she would discover it anyway and it was best to be prepared for such a thing and with support.

  So absorbed was I in mentally planning out these rather difficult conversations that I failed to notice the details of my surroundings.

  In particular, I didn’t see the unusual shadow lingering amongst the other shadows under the tree in back of the house. Only when it shifted position slightly was I alerted to its presence.

  By then, it was too late.

  Chapter 34

  Just before I could walk past the shadow, several things transpired in rapid succession:

  The shadow stepped out from under the branches of the tree, blocking my path.

  For a confused moment, I assumed it was Jonas but that wasn’t possible, my mind sluggishly pointed out, because there was a light in the kitchen and a knobby head peering over a pot on the stove.

  I gazed up at the obstruction in my way, recognized a face I had thought never to see again, and involuntarily gasped and stepped back.

  All of that occurred in the space between one breath and the next, but that bit of time seemed to stretch out to encompass many more breaths. Past and future ceased to exist while simultaneously co-existing.

  We faced each other, neither daring to make the first move while we observed the other’s reaction. We silently noted the impossibility of meeting, particularly here in a small railway camp in the midst of East Africa, both so far from home.

  All of this was proof to me that one can’t ever really escape from the past, no matter how far one runs, no matter how remote the hiding place. History has a way of tracking the fugitive down and confronting her at the most inopportune moments.

  I could barely breathe past the constriction that afflicted my throat. Yet one word squeezed out: “You.”

  “Hello, Beatrice,” the shadow said and stepped further out into the path.

  “You’re dead,” I said, gaping at the man before me.

  He smiled, a weary flicker of his lips. “I can appreciate why you might’ve believed that. It seems I’m harder to kill after all.”

  “Indeed,” I whispered, staring at the elongated canines. “How very impolite of you.”

  That was a strange statement to make, even for me, given the nature of my visitor. But amidst the chaos of emotions, I found my mind wasn’t functioning quite as astutely as it normally did and so I wasn’t capable of responding in a more appropriate manner.

  Then again, I wasn’t sure there was an appropriate response.

  I inhaled deeply, my overly developed olfactory senses easily detecting the wet dog smell of a werewolf.

  “Did you receive my telegraphs?” he inquired.

  “Only one,” I said.

  “Pity,” he responded.

  There was another long pause as we struggled with the odd encounter.

  “So you didn’t die that day,” I said, grappling with the notion that something I’d taken as fact for much of my life had in fact been wrong.

  “No,” he said. “I sometimes wish I had.”

  And finally, the emotions clarified into a confused gratitude and a warmth I hadn’t felt since before Gideon was killed. I dropped my walking stick and hugged Drew fiercely while trying not to breathe in his scent too deeply. After a brief hesitation, he wrapped his arms around me. Thus we stood under the branches of an old tree, while some eager mosquitos buzzed around our heads in search of a vein or two.

  When we were able to release each other and we stood in an awkward silence, I did what any sensible woman does upon discovering her long-dead brother is no longer dead but is instead a werewolf.

  I invited him in for tea.

  Facts & Fiction

  For those with little appetite remaining for historical matters, skip this section and go directly to the next, to learn how you can collect your free books!

  For the rest of you, I suppose I should clarify what parts are based on some semblance of reality. Below are the facts as I understand them, and the fictional aspects pointed out. And don’t forget to keep reading in order to receive your gifts.

  Fact: Dr. Rosendo Ribeiro was a doctor from Goa (part of Portuguese India). One of his claims to fame is that he rode about Nairobi on a zebra in the early 1900s. He was the first (and for a while, the only) Western-educated doctor in the area. As far as I know, he is still the only doctor who ever did house calls on a zebra.

  Fiction: Dr. Ribeiro came to Nairobi in the early 1900s, so he may not have been there at the end of 1899, when Lilly became sick.

  Fact: The first Governor appointed to the British East African Protectorate was Sir Arthur Henry Hardinge.

  Fiction: Governor Hardinge was appointed in July 1895, a few years befor
e the Stewards and Mrs. Knight arrived in Nairobi, and he was based in Zanzibar. He did have a family but later on. And as far as I know, he was never the legal guardian of a Popobawa.

  Fact: There was a global influenza pandemic in 1889-1890 during which 1 million died. At the time of this story, there was another, smaller outbreak in London.

  Fact: There was a total of 320,000 Indian workers involved in constructing the Uganda Railway. Africans were hired as unskilled labor to clear the way. A total of 2,493 workers died during the six years of work: 4 men per mile, an average of 38 deaths/month.

  Fact: Mrs. Isabella Beeton’s Book of Household Management did indeed describe housewives as Household Generals.

  Fiction: Vered doesn’t consider herself a housewife and therefore can’t claim the lofty title of Household General.

  Fact: A big round of applause is owed to: Monica La Porta, a good friend, a great Beta reader and an awesome author (http://monicalaporta.com); Starla Huchton, cover designer extraordinaire (http://www.designedbystarla.com); and of course Gideon for being the long-suffering, dead husband.

  Fiction: Vered doesn’t have to chase zebras (possessed or otherwise) out of her garden; she lets her pet hyena do that.

  Fact: Subscribe to Vered’s blog at http://veredehsani.co.za and receive a free book all about African paranormal and supernatural creatures.

  REVENGE OF THE MANTIS

  Society for Paranormals: Case 3

  By Vered Ehsani

  from Africa… with a Bite

  Chapter 1

  Dear Reader,

  The very fact that you have persisted in reading my pages of scribbled memories reveals much about either your perseverance in paranormal studies or your perversity in subjecting yourself to the horrors revealed thus far.

  However, I feel compelled to warn you that the following pages containing the next installment of my misadventures might test even your impressive perseverance / perversity.