by M J Waverly
George joined us. “What about the animals? Are they okay?”
“Yes, they are fine.” Kylantha smiled.
George sighed in relief.
I helped Jason to his feet. He reeled, and I steadied him, and he leaned against me for support.
“The other doorway in the cave. Did that lead to the Void?” I asked.
“We’ll talk later, Kylantha fluttered her wings. “Let us depart. Evil lingers, and we don’t want to stay too long.”
George removed his bear head. He looked like an average middle-aged guy with graying hair. “It’s time for me to leave this world.”
“I can help you,” I smiled.
“I know.” George winked. “Meet you at the top of the trail.” He faded out.
“See you at the top of the trail.” Gold light shimmered around Kylantha and she teleported out of the cave.
Jason stood on his own, but continued to hold my hand. “I guess, we have to walk.”
“Looks like we won’t be alone. I guess we follow him.” A large black bear scooped up the still unconscious Babs Abernathy and carried her up the trail.
We followed. Accompanied by seven foxes, ten raccoons, and twenty or more so squirrels along with other animals. Jason arrived at an area that wasn’t known to the public because the Thunder Mountain Festival was in full swing, and it would be hard to explain about an unconscious Gabs Abernathy, a Disney-like collection of living animals who could talk, and a fairy.
The black bear placed Babs up against a tree. I called the sheriff’s department and reported a sleeping woman in the woods.
“We only have a few minutes before they arrived.” I thumbed off my phone.
George descended and kissed Babs on the cheek. “Goodbye, Honey.”
“Georgie,” Babs mumbled, but she remained unconscious.
With tears in his eyes, George flew in front of the gathered animals. “Goodbye, my friends.”
They waved their paws in farewell and then scattered off into the forest.
Kylantha materialized. “I wanted to say goodbye, George. You now begin a new journey.”
“Goodbye,” George wiped his eyes.
Kylantha faded out like a lost memory as a slow autumn rain began to fall.
George guided Jason and me out of the forest and onto Bear Falls Trail. We could see the Visitor’s Center, the colorful vendor tents, even the Iceberg Cooler motorhome.
George hovered close to the spot where he’d fallen to his death. “Hard to believe the Nightstalkers killed me because I refused to take part in the dark magic. I found something different. I found new magic. The magic of love. The magic of a place. The magic of nature. A place so good, you want to protect it. I died protecting this park from the Blood Collector’s evil and dark magic.”
I stepped forward. “You found the light within.” I wiped the rain water away from my face.
Something flicked on me like a switch. Power. Good energy. I tapped into it. I waved my hand, and an opening formed on the trail filled with a brilliant radiance. “It’s time,” I said.
George nodded. “My Teresa waits for me.” He soared through the opening and then disappeared.
As the sphere collapsed in upon itself. My grandmother’s voice echoed in my mind. “You’re doing well, Sidney. Very well. Keep writing. Finish your screenplay and submit it before the deadline.”
“Nana,” I called out to the opening now the size of a baseball. “Nana.”
Nothing. The ball of light, nothing more than a dot winked out.
“Sidney?” Jason rose from the bench, a worried expression spread across his face. “What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t breathe. My heart stilled. It was the first time I had any inkling, any feeling, and any knowing of Nana.
“I heard her.” I trembled.
“Your Nana?” Jason wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
“Yes.” I clung to Jason for support before my legs buckled out from beneath me and I collapsed onto the muddy ground into a grieving mass unable to move.
“Do you think she has journeyed to the Bright Side?” Jason asked in a low voice.
“I don’t know.” I honestly didn’t know. Part of me didn’t want to say Nana reached out from somewhere. Part of me wanted to say yes she did reach out from the Bright Side because it meant she dwelled in the light.
Rain poured down over me, mixing with my tears as grief filled me. “Nana. Nana. Where are you?”
Chapter Seventeen
Early the next morning, I waited on the park bench in front of Rudolph’s statue and clutched my laptop case close to my chest. I hadn’t slept all night.
I’d stayed up all night and had almost finished my screenplay for the Scream Dreams contest. Deadline to submit online was this afternoon.
Usually, Rudolph would step out of his statue to greet me. The gold leaves on the trees glistened with early morning dew. Today, I wanted to see him because I had questions for the town founder. The sun rose and bands of light pink striped the horizon. I caught a whiff of sausage and eggs from Birdies. I still refused to believe Nana was dead. I just couldn’t.
Freshly brewed coffee from Crooked Spoons wafted in the morning air. I hugged myself. I had heard Nana’s voice last night when I had opened a gateway to the Bright Side for George Abernathy. It had been brief, but I had heard her.
I had consulted with Nana’s Book of Shadows. Nothing. The wall of silence had returned, now mixed with confusion, but still . . . Hope.
Several crows cawed from the rooftop of Chapman Reality. On the other side of the town square, from atop Fred’s Frame Shoppe, a group of squirrels watched with beady brown eyes. Kylantha’s minions were out gathering more than nuts.
A bright silver glow illuminated the statue, and Rudolph stepped out and buttoned his frock coat. I straightened and zipped up my hoodie to keep out the morning autumn chill.
“Good Morning, Rudolph.” I normally smiled, but this morning, I kept my expression stern. I meant business.
“Good Morning, Sidney. You’re here early. I thought you would’ve been sleeping after such a late night. Not only, did you send George Abernathy to the Bright Side, but you managed to send The Blood Collector back to the Void. Congratulations.”
I crossed my legs and clasped my hands around my knee. “Yes, but something else happened, too.”
“I know. Seems the cave in Thunder Mountain is a magical crossroads to the Void.
“Indeed.” He floated over to the other side of the bench and studied the crows.
“Nana spoke to me last night.”
He turned. Rudolph’s light dimmed, and he glided back over near me. He descended and sat down on the bench without sinking into the wooden boards. “Oh my. Elizabeth. Where?”
“The Bright Side,” I answered.
He reached into his coat and removed a lacy handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “Thank goodness.”
“I don’t think she’s dead.”
Rudolph grimaced. “Why not?”
I don’t know. The part of me, my heart which is connected to Nana doesn’t believe she’s dead.” I unclasped my hands from around my knee. A couple of cars had parked on the square and people exited and walked over to Birdie’s Restaurant for breakfast. I marveled at how people went about their ordinary lives not having to deal with ghosts, spirits, or coming to terms someone they loved very much might be dead.
Rudolph cleared his throat. “This could be denial. . .”
I made a cutting motion with my hand across my throat. “Don’t even go there. Not after what I had dealt with this week.”
Rudolph cleared his throat. “Did Elizabeth say or do anything which gave you the idea she is still alive?”
“No. She told me she was proud of me. That was it.” I didn't mention she'd encouraged me to continue writing. Not to give up. I decided to change the subject.
“I want to know more about the Blood Collector.”
The loud crows cawed atop Chapman Realt
y and then several flew away.
Rudolph dimmed, again. “Something is happening at the old Chapman resident out on Wickersham Road. I think you need to be prepared to take on another entity.”
I recalled the cackling of whatever had escaped last night. “What?”
“Better ask the fairy. She can explain her kind to you. I must go.” Rudolph faded out.
I sat up. “Wait a minute.” Rudolph disappeared again without revealing anything about the Blood Collector.
I stood up and walked over to Crooked Spoons. Seems I wasn’t going to get a break between ghosts. However, today I was taking one.
I opened the door to the coffee shop. Before I started investigating the next ghost or whatever was running loose in Cloverville. I needed to fuel up and finish my screenplay and submit it to the Scream Dream contest before the deadline.
Just like Nana encouraged me to do. Wherever she was, she was still watching over me.
About the Author
M. J. Waverly writes quirky cozy mystery and fantasy romance. She loves to hike in the mountains, and is known as Staff to three demanding cats.
For more information on upcoming books in the Cloverville Mystery Series check out www.mjwaverly.com.
If you enjoyed Trouble At Thunder Mountain, check out Poltergeist Party Girls on Kindle.
Coming soon to Kindle!
Haunted Hobgoblin
Spirits of the Season.
Download Eternally Emma, the free short story Sidney met Emma the ghost for the first time.
Preview of Haunted Hobgoblin
Crooked Spoons Coffee Shop
Cloverville, Georgia
“You broke my heart, Sadie. Now, my spirit is in Hades,” Bryce Manley spoke in a deep dramatic voice as if he was a performing Shakespeare actor. A bad Shakespearean actor.
"Excellent, Bryce.” Dr. Hawthorne cleared his throat. My writing teacher is vampire, who only teaches at night.
A scowling Emma floated beside me. “He’s horrible.”
Fortunately, no one else could see or hear the ghost, who haunted Cloverville Community College. I wasn’t quite sure about my writing teacher, who was a vampire.
Plastering an encouraging grin on my face, I gave Bryce a thumbs up. I want to support anyone and everyone in their pursuit of the writing of art or any form of self-expression. However, it can be challenging.
Next week, would be my turn for everyone to offer their opinion on the opening three pages I’d written at lunch of my new screenplay, Monsters on the Appalachian Trail. Sort of a twist on my recent experience at Thunder Mountain Park with a dark spirit known as the Blood Collector and George Abernathy, the ghost in a bear suit.
I squirmed in my seat. A few days ago, I uploaded my screenplay, Poltergeist Party Girls to the Scream Dream screenplay contest. I barely made the deadline.
Dr. Hawthorne lowered his tea cup onto the table. “Sidney, do you wish to add any comments about Bryce’s poem tonight?” He cast his eyes in Emma’s direction.
“Bryce should find a new hobby.” Emma tucked her white blouse into her long black skirt and adjusted round rose-gold eye glasses over empty eye sockets. Her neatly coiffed hair was styled in a neat bun. I think this was her writer outfit except I didn’t think her skeletal face with a worm slinking in and out of each eye was writerly. Emma possessed a flair for the dramatics.
“No. I wrote my comments in the margins,” I grinned.
Bryce wrinkled his nose, and then stacked his papers neatly. I must have offended him by not singing his praises.
“I’d like to hear what he has to say about your writing.” Emma’s lips quirked into a smile.
Bryce raised his hand. “I did want to make a comment on the beginning of Sidney’s screenplay, Monsters on the Appalachian Trail.” He pursed in lips as if he’d eaten a bitter persimmon.
I jerked my head up in surprise. Was he a speed reader? Surprised at Bryce’s comments, I clenched my jaw from releasing a smart-ass retort.
“Please share, Bruce,” I said in my sweet tea Southern voice.
He nodded. “I think you’ll appreciate my advice before you write more of this.” He waved his hand dismissively at the paper he held in his other hand. “Horror movie.”
I squeezed the handle of my leather messenger bag in an attempt not to snap at Bryce. I get really angry at snooty people who think horror movies are above them.
“Sidney started in the wrong place. She needs to start on page five and add more description to anchor the reader into the scene,” Bryce didn’t even look at me. "Dr. Hawthorne, what do you think?"
Emma drifted over to Bryce’s side. He shivered as the cold from Emma flowed around him and read his comments over his shoulder. “Maybe he’s right,” she said.
“I will have to read the latest pages from everyone, and then I can offer an opinion at our next meeting,” Dr. Hawthorne answered in his elegant British voice that sent chills down my spine.
“I look forward to reading it,” Leanne Jones said. She worked as a secretary at Chapman Reality.
“Thank you.” I smiled at Mrs. Jones. Emma circled over Mrs. Jones, who wrapped her sweater tighter around her shoulders.
Emma straightened her metal round-rim glasses, eyes appeared in her eye sockets, and skin covered her bony face.
I held my breath.
You could never tell about Emma, she could change moods in one breath to the next. One minute appearing like a demure Victorian girl. And then the next minute, her Medusa-like personae would reveal itself with writhing twisty-snake appendages sprouting from her head.
Emma tapped her index finger against her chin. “I like her.” She then glanced out the window and a slow smile crept up her lips. “Time for me to go.” She dematerialized.
The tension in my muscles released. Why was I even here at the Crooked Spoons Coffee shop in downtown Cloverville? Because of my ex-boyfriend, Camden Lawrence.
He’d stolen my television pilot idea and presented to his agent at the Creative West Agency as his own.
My television pilot idea. Zombietown was my idea. Yes, the popular television series, Zombietown is my creation based on Cloverville. I'm still very bitter about the experience, but I’m attempting to move on.
When I opened the gateway to the Bright Side for George Abernathy, the ghost haunting Thunder Mountain, I’d heard my Nana’s voice call out to me. She encouraged me to keep writing.
I blinked back tears.
It had been the only contact or clue to my Nana’s whereabouts since her disappearance several months ago. The communication had buoyed my hope that Nana wasn’t dead but, but existed on a different plane, and we could find a way to bring her home.
It had been affirmation not to give up on my writing dreams. Confirmation I was good. After Camden’s betrayal my confidence avalanched. All the way downhill into the deepest chasms of Earth. More like Hades.
Dr. Hawthorne checked his watched and then motioned toward the door. "Looks, like our time is ending.”
Everyone began clearing their cups, scooted back chairs, and rose to their feet.
“Did you hear about what happened at Thunder National Park?” Bryce asked. "Gave me an idea for a story, but without all the unsavory ghost stuff.”
Dr. Hawthorne and I exchanged knowing glances. Cloverville was like a human magical power outlet which included ghosts among others and people with supernatural abilities.
Last night, I stayed up late reading The History of Cloverville to better understand the origins of The Blood Collector, a ghost with necromancer magic, trying to break free of his imprisonment inside the Void.
He grew stronger and stronger with each of our encounters. The worst part, I hadn’t been trained to deal with ghosts. I had to depend on my gut instincts and a snarky Book of Shadows that only provided the briefest of information whenever I asked it a question.
My phone rang. I checked the caller. Uncle Joe. I dreaded answering because it could involve a dead body or my parent
s.
The short version of my current family drama. Dad divorced Mom last year and left Cloverville for Sturgis, South Dakota, with one of my former high school classmates, Taffy. They’re now expecting their first child, my little half-brother or sister.
Now, Dad wants to move his dilapidated camper sort of like Cousin Eddie’s R.V. from National Lampoons’ Christmas Vacation on the two acres behind Mom’s house until he’s financially stable.
That’s not all. My Dad’s financial plan is that his daughters should support him. I couldn’t even support myself.
I held up my phone. “I have to take this. Family.”
Everyone nodded at the table. I grabbed my messenger bag and stepped outside into chilly evening air.
"Hey, Uncle Joe. What's going on?" I said.
“Can you come out to Chapman Coven House out on Wickersham Road?” His voice sounded tense. “We have found two dead scare actors?”
Dead body call. "Isn’t that the location of the new haunted house?" I asked. I swallowed as cold frosted through blood. Whenever I experienced this sensation, it meant bad news.
"I need your particular expertise,” Uncle Joe said.
My psychic abilities helped the Cloverville Sheriff’s Department solve four cold cases in the past few weeks.
"I'll be there?"
Uncle Joe texted me the address, and I punched it into my phone's GPS. I flicked my gaze over at Rudolph’s statue, but I didn’t see a shimmer, and lately, he had been avoiding me, particularly when I questioned him about the Blood Collector.
"Is everything okay?" Dr. Hawthorne’s asked.
I jumped. “You’re really quiet.”
“My apologies for startling you. You seem distressed.”
"I may have a new case.
"Where?" Dr. Hawthorne folded his arms across his chest. The leather of his jacket stretching across his white denim shirt. He was quite handsome, but he was also two-hundred years old and might have been romantically involved with my grandmother when she’d been my age.