Puzzle (Haunted Series)

by Alexie Aaron

  “I don’t smell anything,” Ted said. “But you do have enhanced senses since your eyeballs, er, ball is defective, Cyclops.”

  “That’s Mr. Cyclops to you, Batman.” Cid walked over to the side wall and put his hand up to the vent. “It’s coming through the ventilation system.” He brought his hand down and rubbed his fingers together. “Moist and,” he stuck his finger in his mouth, “salty.”

  Burt and Mike followed Cid’s lead and confirmed his findings.

  “Why would a ghost fill his lair with salt?” Mike questioned.

  “To keep the other ghosts out. Mia said Murphy bounced off that wall so violently, it was as if his own energy was used against him. A salt ring does that,” Burt deduced.

  “But it would also weaken the entity,” Mike argued.

  “Remember that behemoth at Lucky’s? The holy water stopped it at first, but then he grew used to it. I’m thinking the ghost in here has been experimenting and found a way to survive in a salt-infused environment.”

  “It could be routing the water softener through the humidifier,” Ted said thinking out loud. “If we could get to the environmental control room and disengage the softener, then Murphy may be able to join us gentlemen.”

  “Let’s keep that in mind as we wander the halls. If we get close, then go for it. Otherwise, we better play this game and find the boys,” Burt ordered.

  “Is anyone but me noticing that this school is immaculate?” Mike asked. “Look at the polish on this floor. It looks buffed and ready for inspection. I would think the salt would accumulate on the tile.”

  The others looked down, and with the exception of the blood trail, the floor in the corridor was clean and shiny. They followed the droplets of blood until they reached an open door. Inside was a classroom devoid of furniture. In the far corner there was a desk with an antique postal scale on it. As they approached the desk, the door closed behind them with such force, the glass panel rattled.

  They examined the scale closely. On one end, a series of hexagonal weights set. The other side held a card. Mike picked up the card and read the instructions to the team. “Place items of yours on the scale. All must contribute. Balance the scale and move on.”

  Ted took a mental calculation of the weights resting on the one side. “We need to come up with seven and one half ounces total. Seven point five.”

  Burt dug into his pocket and came up with three quarters and his money clip from which he extracted all his cards and the receiver before setting it on the scale.

  Ted looked at the sliding measure and calculated, “One point six ounces, we need five point nine more.” He dug out a nine volt battery and set it on the scale. “Another one point six. We need four point three more from you two,” he said addressing Cid and Mike.

  Cid turned his pockets out, and they were empty. He contemplated for a brief moment his glasses but knew the one lens alone would be six ounces. He smiled and kicked off his shoes, took off his socks. He rolled them into a ball and set it on the scale.

  “Two point three ounces. Cid, your sacrifice will be noted.” Ted looked over at Mike who stared at his feet. The dress socks he wore wouldn’t amount to much.

  “How about that skinny watch?” Ted suggested.

  “It’s a Skagen…” Mike said and paused, weighing the sacrifice. He looked at the floor by the desk and the small amount of blood that had pooled there. He flipped open the back and took the watch off. He placed it on the scale.

  “It balances! They heard the lock disengage. Mike moved to take his watch, but Burt grabbed his hand in time.

  “We take it off, the lock goes back on,” he cautioned, “or worse. It may be considered going backwards and that…”

  “Is punishable by death,” Mike filled in.

  “Since there is only one door, be careful to go to the left, we came from the right. We don’t want to break a rule accidently,” Burt warned. He put his hand on the door handle, but the knob would not turn. A fog moved over the glass in the door revealing words.

  What was the weight of your object?

  “One point six ounces,” Burt said aloud and tried the door again. The knob refused to turn. He looked at Ted.

  “Draw it in the condensation,” Ted instructed.

  Burt wrote 1.6 in the fog. He tried the door again, and this time the knob worked. He walked through, and the door closed right behind him.

  Ted approached and touched the knob. The same words formed on the glass. Ted quickly took his finger and answered, 1.6. He turned the knob, and the door opened for him. Just like with Burt, it closed after him.

  Cid approached the door and put his hand on the knob, waited for the message and entered 2.3 oz on the window. He turned the knob and stepped through.

  As the door closed and Mike was left in the room alone, two things occurred to him. One, Ted didn’t announce the weight of his object. Two, he was lousy at simple math. He stepped up and put his hand on the knob.

  What was the weight of your object?

  Numbers, points, plus and minus signs filled Mike’s brain. He tried to sort through it. “There were two one point sixes and that makes fuck, wait, sixteen twice is thirty-two. Three point two. Cid’s socks were two point three. Thirty two and twenty three are… shit… fifty-five?” He looked at his hands and flexed his fingers. “We needed seven point five. Seventy five minus fifty five is twenty. No, two point zero!”

  The question and condensation had faded away. Did it mean his time was up? He put his face close to the glass and breathed his hot air on it. A small amount of fog clung to the area, just large enough to accept the number two.

  He turned the knob, and it opened. He breathed a sigh of relief and moved quickly out of the room. The others were waiting for him a little ways down the hall on the left. “So what the fuck kind of test was that, Batman?” he asked Ted.

  “Weights and balances,” Ted said. He frowned, and his eyebrows knitted together. “A bit easy though.”

  “This is a middle school,” Cid said. “Maybe the tests are geared towards younger kids.”

  “Or maybe they progress in difficulty,” suggested Burt.

  “Let’s hope there isn’t any more math,” Mike said and meant every word.

  ~

  Dave handed Mia a camera which she fixed on the tripod and focused it on the door. “I don’t know why it took me this long to think to do this. It would have saved us some shoe leather.”

  Dave picked up the remaining tripods, and they continued around the building. They fell into a rhythm, and soon they were back in the command truck. Mia reached over and offered Dave some of Ted’s coffee before pouring herself a hit.

  “It isn’t for the weak I can tell you!” Mia said. “It helps me to focus when I get drifty.”

  “I think that’s why I smoke, and before you give me a lecture, I know I’m killing myself.”

  Mia didn’t say anything. She knew that Dave didn’t need a mother right now, he needed a friend. She would choose another time to work on Dave’s smoking. She got up and began looking through the boxes. She cursed after several failed attempts to find what she was looking for.

  “Do you need some help?”

  “Actually, yes. Ted has this unique filing system. I’m looking for a battery-powered wi-fi booster to set on that open windowsill. It just occurred to me that when, or if, the team reaches the second floor, we may be able to communicate with them now the bricks are gone.”

  “Excellent idea. Tell me about how Ted files first.”

  “He has names for all his cameras and inventions. Girl names. For example, Chesty Morgan is the mega camera that sits at chest level.”

  Dave raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t say anything, I love the guy and will react physically if you dare say anything bad about him,” she warned.

  Dave raised his hands in surrender. His eyes lit up. “Check in the B box. B for Boosty Bonnie or Brenda.”

  Mia walked over and pulled open the canvas box.
“Betty Boost,” she announced, lifting the device out of the box. She walked over and pulled out a chair and sat down. “Ted insists that all batteries be checked before we use a device,” she explained as she powered up Betty.

  “There’s more to this ghost investigation stuff than I thought,” Dave commented.

  “It’s not just the ghost hunt. It’s the collection of information. Burt and Ted see this as a science of sorts. Mike sees a career move towards Hollywood. Me, I do it to use my gifts to help people and entities.”

  “Is there any money in it?”

  “Nope. Ted makes a living off the patents of his inventions. PEEPs has some revenue from the cable show. We had a paying gig too. But if you plan on making it your living instead of your hobby, have a good plan B in place. This popularity for ghost investigation shows can crumble overnight. The science aspect can be supported by grants, but there isn’t enough to go around. We do a lot of free stuff too. We only ask that we may invade people’s lives and film it. I’ve crossed a few over for nada. It feels good.”

  “This is why you want me to get an education?”

  “Yep, and I think you owe it to yourself to look at all your interests. Don’t let this gift control you. If you wanted to be a doctor for instance, there is no reason a few ghost hangers-on at the hospital should stop you from performing your tasks. I found out that with proper training I could exist in the real world too.”

  “Could you help me with the real world?” Dave asked.

  “That’s why I’m here now. That’s why the team came down gratis. We’re here for you, and on Burt’s part, he wants film on this entity.”

  “Always a catch, an angle, people that want to use you.”

  “Life is full of them. Be aware of them. Use them when you can. Build yourself a security, and then offer yourself to help others. The universe didn’t give you this power to torture you. It’s given to those it thought was best able to wield it. Like the sword in the stone type of thing,” Mia explained.

  “You believe that fairytale crap you’re spouting?”

  “I’ve lived it. This world of hurt you’re feeling is unfortunate. But if you look at your friends, or those you think have everything, look deeper, and you will find they fight demons of their own. Go ahead and climb on your elitist victim pedestal. But be careful, the damn thing may not support the weight of your bullshit.” Mia got up and headed towards the front of the school.

  Dave sat for a moment thinking before following her. Part of him was ashamed because her friends were risking themselves trying to save his friends. But the other part of his psyche wanted someone to take a beating for what destiny did to him.

  By the time he reached the façade, Mia was already halfway up. This time she walked up without using her hands to balance herself. The axe man paced below her, watching, ready to catch her if she fell. He stared at the two of them. He could see the ghost was devoted to the woman, and she had a loving manner towards the entity. They had history; there was no denying that. Dave puzzled over what had happened to each of them to cement this bond. In his meager experience, he found that broken people somehow fit better into each other’s lives because of the parts that were missing.

  Mia placed the booster on the windowsill before attaching the light disks. She fitted them with duct-taped shields to cast directly inside the open window and onto the barrier she could now identify as composite wall paneling. She worried that the lights would not be seen behind the thick plywood. With these tasks completed, she turned around and carefully moved downward. Her boot slipped, and she fell hard on her right knee. Murphy moved to intercept her, but she waved him away. She got up and continued on down until she reached the ground.

  Mia sat down, pulled her ripped pant leg up and examined the bruised and torn skin. She also saw something strange going on. It seemed that her skin was already healing. Mia jammed down her pant leg before Dave reached her.

  “Hey, Guano Loco, you hurt?” he said as he offered her a hand up.

  “Not too bad, must have a guardian angel,” she said, acting unconcerned. Mia, however, was troubled that she was experiencing some things, perhaps residual, from her guardian Angelo’s ministrations or the gray ladies’ ointments.

  She took his hand and got to her feet, testing out the knee she fell on. “Works, hurts, but works,” she said and limped away.

  Murphy, who had seen everything, stared at her. He could feel her fear. Fear of being different she could handle, but being a super freak was another matter. He knew who was responsible for that. If they ever met up again, Murphy was going to take him to task. If he didn’t listen to Stephen Murphy’s words then he would have to answer to the axe.

  Chapter Six

  He awoke to arguing and the vibration of many sets of feet. It was not the steady rhythm of runners timing themselves to cross the distance as quickly as possible, but the disjointed plodding of youths. He opened his eyes and saw a huddle of scared teenage boys moving towards him. Two of them were supporting the weight of a boy who was leaving a trail of blood behind him. Moving quickly to intercept them before they met his fate, he pounded on the floor beneath them. They didn’t stop. He screamed, “Stop, don’t continue, go back!” But they continued on. The broken boy, whose swollen eyes were trained on the floor as they dragged him away, had to have seen him. The bloodshot slits opened wide for a moment. He blubbered something but was ignored by the others. They moved away from him and closer to the danger.

  ~

  Cid stopped and put his finger to his lips. He angled his head as if it would make his hearing better. He nodded and said, “I hear the teenagers. They’re on the other side of these locked classrooms.”

  “Cyclops does it again. Gentlemen, I should point out that he is outscoring us two to one,” Ted said half in jest.

  “He’s got super powers, we are just mortals,” Mike stated. “We should at least get a handicap of five.”

  Burt looked at the members of his team and wondered about their sanity. Here they were in a perilous situation and the jokes were starting. He knew it was to relieve some of the tension, but he hoped it wouldn’t distract them. The PEEPs needed to focus. The creak of a door opening to his right interrupted his thoughts. “Hold up, I think we’re meant to go in here,” he told the others.

  “Another minute, we would have been out of range. I think our entity is slipping. Perhaps, too much on his plate. Two groups may be too much for it,” Mike observed.

  The classroom was a mess. Torn papers littered the floor. Maps were hung askew. Several broken globes were left to collect dust and debris. There was another door, perhaps one that would open to the hall where Cid had heard the kids. Ted moved immediately to the door and found it was locked.

  “What fresh hell is this?” Mike asked as he looked at the blackboard.

  Thieve at tomes cite for apple

  EG

  “Is it instructions?” Burt pondered. “Tomes are big books. It could be those, torn up all over the floor. I don’t see anything resembling an apple.”

  “Apples are gifts for teachers,” suggested Mike.

  “Is EG our captor?” Cid asked.

  “It’s an anagram,” Ted announced.

  “A what?”

  “A word game,” Ted answered. “Well, sort of. You rearrange all the letters and come up with a different phrase or sentence, in this case instructions.”

  “Well at least we don’t have to deal with all this detritus on the floor,” Mike mentioned as he kicked through it on the way to the head of the classroom. “Did the kids have a shit fit or something? Look at those globes, there are foot-sized punctures in them.”

  Ted didn’t comment; his head was already finding words in the phrase, but none would use all the letters. “Victim, people,” he mumbled under his breath. “Secret, athlete…”

  “Earth to Ted,” Mike said, touching his back.

  Ted jumped two feet in the air. “You scared the crap out of me, dude,” he accused.r />
  “Do you have a solution?” Mike asked.

  “Too many letters,” Ted whined.

  Burt walked up to the blackboard and found a piece of yellow chalk. “How about we work on it together? We are a team, and I think we’re meant to solve this together.”

  Thieve at tomes cite for apple

  EG

  “There are a lot of words I can make out of the letters, but in solving an anagram, you have to use all the letters, and the phrase or message must make sense. I see victim, people, athlete, athletes, plural forms of all, secret…” Ted’s voice trailed off as his mind engaged. “What does any of this have to do with where we are?”

  “We’re in a classroom, dude,” Cid said. “History, no geography! See if it has anything to do with maps?”

  “The word maps is in. Burt erased the M, A and P. Leave the S for later,” Ted directed.

  Thieve t to es cite for a ple

  EG

  Mike squatted down and sifted through the papers on the floor. “There seems to be a lot of… shit! Ted, pieces!”

  Ted nodded, and they watched as Burt listed the words they had and subtracted the letters.

  map pieces Th ve t to ite for a le

  EG

  “So we are to do something with the map pieces,” Cid surmised. “We need verbs, guys.”

  To Mike it looked like a mess. Maybe they had a wrong word? He looked around the room for clues and only saw the destruction lying in heaps upon the floor.

  “V is an unusual letter,” Ted voiced. “If we can make a word with V in it, then maybe the rest will fall into place.”

  Burt pushed the wayfarer glasses up his nose before he started writing all the words, as he came up with them, on the board. He read them off, “Eve, eave, evil…”

  “Go back,” Ted instructed. “Eave or perhaps leave.”