by S. A. Hunter
She paused a moment as she collected her thoughts. They had died when she was four. A drunk driver had crossed the center line and plowed into them. She’d been in a child's car seat in the back when it’d happened. She remembered them in a vague sort of way. She could recall a sense of love and warmth. Everything else that she knew had been gleaned from Gran and photographs. She didn’t really know them and never would, but she still felt a connection. They were her parents. That meant even dead, they were a part of her life, a part of who she was.
“I’m a junior now in high school. The year has been pretty good so far, I suppose. Rachel’s still my best friend. I’m still making good grades. I got my learner’s permit. Gran’s been trying to get me to drive, but I don’t like it. I’m probably the only teenager in America who isn’t eager to get behind the wheel, but there you go. I know I need to learn, but I'm worried I'll make a mistake or someone else will make a mistake and bam! I'll get over it eventually.
“We got a ghost dog for a pet. His name’s Chowder. He’s pretty great. Don’t tell him or Gran that I said that. His previous owner gave his body to us. She'd taken it to a taxidermist. It's kind of weird having his body. He's a Scottish Terrier. He's pretty cute. Darn, I should've brought him to meet you. Anyway, he helped me get rid of a really nasty ghost a month ago. The ghost was haunting the house of a guy from school. The guy and I were friends, but we sort of aren’t anymore. He doesn’t like any of the paranormal stuff. His brother seems a little cooler about it, which is ironic considering he was possessed.” Her eyes drifted off the tombstone as she thought about that whole debacle. She really didn’t want to rehash it any further. “Anyway, Mr. Landa is still working on making me a nice, well adjusted member of society. I don’t think he’s made much progress.
“Gran just got out of the hospital. It wasn’t serious, just a sprained ankle, but she put herself there on purpose, which is insane. She wanted to badger an old man for help because we’re trying to stop a Shadowman from hurting patients at the hospital. A girl from school is the one who told me about it, except she’s in a coma, and she told me in a dream. So nothing weird there. I’ve been trying to help her, but it seems pretty hopeless. We don’t know what will get rid of the monster.”
She hung her head. “This thing scares me pretty bad. I don’t know what it is. It isn’t a ghost. Mr. White says it wasn’t ever human. I believe him. It’s an honest-to-God monster.”
She picked at the grass as she struggled to push her fear back. It rose up so easily when thinking about that thing. “We think a ghost might be able to stop it. Mr. White has offered the anchor for one that he thinks will help us. He didn’t tell us much about the ghost except its name: Horace Thistlebottom. With a name like that, I’m not holding out much hope.”
She paused again to think. She really didn’t know why Gran had decided that today would be a good day to go to the cemetery. She looked at the tombstone for a few more moments, tracing the letters etched into it with her eyes. “I wish I were normal. I wish I had a normal life. Like I could sit here and tell you about a new dress, or a party, or something nice, and not about ghosts and Shadowmen. I try to stay strong. I really do, but I wish I didn’t need to.” She looked up at the sky and tracked clouds for a few moments. She turned back to the grave with wet eyes. “You’d probably say I’m doing good and that you’re proud of me, but I wish I were normal, and life were ordinary, and you were alive to tell me everything was going to be okay.” She rubbed her eyes and stood up. “Sorry for getting weepy. I know it doesn’t do much good. See you next time.”
When she slipped into the car, Gran looked at her silently. Mary gave her a small smile but couldn’t think of anything to say. Gran didn’t seem to expect anything. She just reached across and patted her arm. “Let’s go to Ezekiel’s,” she said. Mary nodded and started the car. With Gran’s sprained ankle, she couldn’t drive, which left Mary to chauffeur. This was the biggest bit of fallout from the hospital incident. She checked her mirrors carefully, turned on her blinker (even though they were on an empty lane in the cemetery) and put the car in drive. Actually, driving in the cemetery was the best place for her. She drove everywhere like she was in a funeral procession. Gran said she just needed more practice, but after losing three hubcaps so far, Mary was beginning to wonder.
“You’ll take a right out,” Gran offered.
She nodded and carefully steered down the lane. She was holding the wheel too tightly and watching the road too closely, but she couldn’t help it. She was in a machine of death. She couldn’t help being overly vigilant. She slowly rolled to a stop and checked the street several times. She pulled out and stayed five miles under the speed limit.
Mr. White lived on a narrow side street above his shop, White’s Rare Books. Mary parked on the street, only scraping the tires along the curb and not going up on it, which was an improvement for her. She helped Gran out of the car.
The windows for the shop were boarded up and a cardboard sign was stuck up that said, “Closed Indefinitely.” A handwritten note was tacked up under it: “Good Riddance”. It seemed Mr. White made as many friends outside the hospital as he did in.
They went to a side door and pressed the buzzer. A screech of “No solicitors!” came out of the box. Gran rolled her eyes and pressed the call button. “Zeke, let us in.”
There was a buzz, and Mary held the door. She looked up the staircase that greeted them and glanced nervously at Gran. She’d never manage the stairs with her crutches. Mr. White appeared at the top. “There’s a remote down there. Do you see it? Hit the button to call the chair.”
Mary picked up the small single button remote and pressed it, not really sure what she was doing. In response to the remote, a chair started descending the stairs on a rail. She had never seen anything like it before. It seemed pretty neat. When it arrived, she took the crutches, and Gran sat down on the chair. Gran took hold of the joystick and started gliding up the stairs. Mary walked a step behind as she followed her up. She sort of wished she could give it a try.
Mr. White was waiting for them at the top. “Any developments since the last time I saw you?”
“It’s been only eight hours,” Mary commented, as she helped Gran get back on her crutches.
“A lot can happen in eight hours. I found the sword. This way.”
“Sword?” She glanced at Gran. What was she going to do with a sword?
“It’s his anchor. Come on.”
They followed him from the landing into a room filled with bookcases and jammed with furniture. Gran wouldn’t be able to navigate it with her crutches.
“Here have a seat,” he pulled a chair out for her. It had a stack of folders on it. He cursed under his breath as he picked the pile up and set it on top of another pile. Gran carefully sat down. He motioned for Mary to keep following him. They snaked between old beaten-up furniture and had to step over crumpled papers and dirty dishes as they crossed the room. Mr. White was in serious need of a housekeeper, or maybe just a keeper.
“Well, here it is.” Off one of the bookcase shelves, he picked up a plastic costume sword, complete with plastic, bejeweled sheath. Mary began to think she was being had.
“This is the anchor?”
“Yes. Horace, this is Mary, the young woman I was telling you about.”
She waited a moment for Horace to respond. Nothing happened.
“Well, what’s he saying?” Mr. White asked.
“Nothing. Are you sure it’s haunted?”
“Am I sure? Of course, I’m sure. Horace just plays dumb sometimes. He’s chatty enough with me and my spirit board.” He shook the sword. It rattled in its sheath. A paste gem fell off. Mary wondered if she should point it out. “Wake up, Thistlebottom. We’ve got visitors.”
He looked to Mary to see if the ghost had responded. She shook her head. From the other side of the room, Gran spoke up. “Maybe if Mary took the anchor, he’ll speak. She’s a natural amplifier for spirits.”
; He thrust the sword at her. It looked like something a kid would carry at Halloween. It felt curious in her hands, though. Like Ricky’s locket.
She pulled the sword out of its sheath to reveal the gray plastic blade. A cold blast swirled around her, raising goose bumps along her arms.
“Blast him, he is always forgetting to unsheathe me. How do you do, my dear? I understand you need a champion?”
“Oh, I knew I’d forgotten something,” Mr. White muttered as he took a seat.
“Horace Thistlebottom?” she asked.
“At your service, my dear, but please call me Maximilian, or Max, if you prefer. Though Juliet would argue that the name means nothing, I cringe at the sound of my birth name and shudder at the thought of it at the top of a playbill.”
“Okay, Max. Has Mr. White explained exactly what we need you for?”
“Maybe you could do so again with more matter and less art?”
She wasn’t sure exactly what he meant but figured that had been a yes. “Um, okay, there’s this thing called a Shadowman. It feeds off people in the dark. It’s been feeding off people at the hospital, which is bad, obviously. We need to get rid it. We know light hurts it, and it doesn't like ghosts. We’re hoping that you might be able to help us get rid of it.”
“Fear not, I be no Falstaff. I will imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood; Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let it pry through the—”
Mary cut him off. She feared how long he’d go on if she didn’t. “I get it. You’re willing and able. Thanks.”
“Getting stuffy, ain’t he?” Mr. White asked. “Imagine if you had to use a spirit board. Takes fifteen minutes to spell out what's essentially ‘Yes, that’s right’.”
“Humph, unlike some, I choose my words to flow trippingly off the tongue.”
Pushing forward, she asked, “What now?”
“Now, we go to the hospital and deal with the Shadowman,” Gran said from across the room.
“What, just like that? We don’t even know if this will work,” Mr. White said. Mary let out a small sigh of relief. Glad someone was erring on the side of caution.
“And how will we know if it will? You have a test Shadowman to try this on?”
“Why am I the one worrying about your granddaughter’s safety? Shouldn’t you be?”
Gran’s eyes slanted to her and then skittered away. Mary wasn’t sure what her look meant. “Mary set out to help her school friend, and the Shadowman is what she found.” She stopped herself from correcting Gran’s continuing misconception of Vicky.
“Yes, I know that, but why must she be the one put in harm’s way?”
“It’s just the way it is,” Gran muttered and wouldn’t look at them.
“Gran?” She understood less now than when Max was talking.
“Helena, explain yourself. It’s clear Mary is scared of this thing and doesn’t want to face it, but you’re pushing her along like some sacrificial lamb, and she looks up to you too much to speak up. Well, I’m speaking up for her, and I won’t let you out of this house with Horace until I get an answer.”
A steely glint came into Gran’s eyes, but Mr. White’s glare was just as flinty. Mary didn’t know if she should speak up or, if she did, what she should say.
“Tell me, were these two ever involved?”
Mary jumped and looked down at the costume sword. “What?”
“What is it, Mary?”
“It seems possible to me. They certainly fight like they loved each other once.”
“Mary, you don’t have to face the Shadowman. If you don’t want to, just say so,” Mr. White said.
“But who will get rid of it if I don’t?” Mary was happy not to have to respond to Max’s weird suggestion. Gran did not have ex-boyfriends.
“Exactly,” Gran said.
“Exactly, nothing. Someone else can deal with this. You can go on about your life.”
Gran didn’t answer, just stared at Mary. It seemed Mary would have to be the one to argue this with Mr. White. “Who else can deal with it? You said no one really knows how to get rid of these things, but we at least have a plan. We should try. We’re the only hope for those people in the hospital, of which you were one just this morning.”
He shook his head. “This isn’t your burden.”
“Then whose is it? If not me, who? Just give me a name, and I’ll leave it to them.”
Mr. White didn’t reply.
“She will do this with or without your help, Zeke. Accept it. Now, Mr. Thistlebottom, would you be willing to come with us and assist?”
“Quite, my dear madam. It would be an honor.” Mary nodded her head to indicate his answer. Gran pulled herself up with her crutches.
“We could use your help too, Zeke, but we will be doing this with or without you.”
Mr. White threw his arms up and turned away from them. Mary felt bad that he was upset. She appreciated his concern for her. “I know you’re just trying to look out for me, but if something isn’t done, people will die. There's a possibility that some already have. We have to do everything we can.”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “But what if something happens to you?”
She really didn’t know what to say to that.
Chapter 11
Rude Awakening
She was sitting on a bench at the park. There were kids playing on the jungle gym. She didn’t know where Rachel was, but she wasn’t worried. She'd be along eventually. It was nice just watching the kids. “I don’t know how you did it, but thanks.”
She turned to find Vicky, who had just appeared beside her on the bench--or had she been there the whole time? Mary shook her head. “What?” Was she dreaming? Why weren’t they in the hospital room?
“The monster’s gone. How’d you kill it?”
“You’re out of your coma?”
“Not yet. So how’d you do it?”
“Why aren’t we in your hospital room?”
Vicky shrugged. “Don’t know. This seemed nicer. So what’d you do?”
Mary looked towards the kids. She didn’t feel like she was dreaming, but she decided to go along with it for now. “We haven’t done anything yet. How do you know the Shadowman’s gone?”
“Don’t feel it lurking around anymore. So if you didn’t do anything, who did?”
Mary rubbed her forehead. Was the Shadowman really gone? Was she really dreaming of Vicky in the park? Was this really Vicky or was she dreaming a fake Vicky? Her head hurt, and she didn’t feel well.
“No one has done anything.”
Vicky huffed and crossed her arms. “Then what happened?”
She stared across the park. The kids were playing tag. One was chasing all the others. He was dressed in black. “Maybe it moved on.”
“So it’s still out there hurting people?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but a tugging at her pant leg made her look down. Nothing was there. She shook her foot to get rid of the sensation.
“How’d we end up at the park? We were always in your hospital room before.”
“I said I don’t know. You’re the freak, not me.”
Mary hoped that this was really Vicky and not a dreamed-up one, because dreaming up a Vicky to insult her would mean her subconscious was just evil.
“Pot, meet kettle, Vicky. You’re the one who pulled me into your dreams.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Everything seemed to go darker and sharper. The kid, the one chasing the others, had caught a little girl. When he tagged her, she went down and didn’t get back up. “You are so the one doing this. Stop denying it.” The tugging on her pant leg began again.
“No, I'm not. This is all you. You're the weird one. I'm completely normal. I'm a cheerleader, for Pete's sake.” The kid in black was chasing the other kids again. The little girl lay motionless on the ground. Mary wondered if she should she get up and check on her.
“Are you sure? You can talk to ghosts. Why not pull me into your dreams?”
The kid in black had tagged another kid, and he went down, too. She looked for the little girl, but she was gone. Something was still tugging at her leg. “I didn’t pull you in; you pulled me.” She kicked her foot straight out to get rid of the tugging.
“Nuh uh, and why’s everything going scary-movie ominous?”
The last boy who’d been tagged wasn’t getting up either. She’d never seen anyone play tag like this. She didn’t like it. “I don’t know, maybe because you’re pissing me off.”
“Aha! So you admit it. You’re the one causing this.”
Mary stood up and turned away from the children. She didn’t like watching them any more. “Talking to ghosts does not mean that I have telepathic dreams. Being able to do one does not mean that I can do the other.”
Vicky jumped up, too. “Just admit it! You’re a complete freak who does all sorts of freakish things in freaky ways!”
She shook her head and instantly regretted it. She was really beginning to feel sick. “I’ve never entered anyone’s dreams before. Why should I be able to all of a sudden?”
Vicky threw her hands up. “How should I know? I’m in a coma!”
“That’s right, you’re in a coma. I’m not the one who needed help with no way to ask for it. You did this. You somehow tapped into my head or pulled me into yours so you could tell me about the Shadowman. We shared the first dream before I even knew you were hurt, so you have to be the one doing this. If I could do this, which I can’t, why would I have a telepathic dream with you before I even knew anything was wrong? Welcome to Club Freak, Hickey. Here’s your membership card.”
Vicky’s face screwed up as if she were about to yell at her, but instead, something bit Mary’s foot hard. She grabbed her injured foot and started hopping around on one leg. She shot Vicky a glare. “Ow! Stop that!”