Brown Eyed Ghoul

by H. P. Mallory

  Mon amour, Drake continued while I riveted my eyes on the above-ground tomb that towered over me. The MacGregor family crypt had housed the MacGregor family for centuries, Adele included. And now Peter …

  I’m okay, Drake, I thought, even though I wasn’t.

  Perhaps you are considering this from the wrong angle, he continued. One thing I liked about Drake was how he always assumed the role of protector; and he played it very well. Perhaps the old man finally came to terms with the past and decided he already fulfilled his purpose and was no longer needed here? Perhaps by ending the mystery of his wife’s passing, he could finally pass on, himself?

  I guess that’s one way to look at it.

  I believe it is the only way you should look at it, ma minette.

  I nodded, even though I wasn’t convinced of the truth in Drake’s words. All I can say is that I’m finished with this medium stuff, I thought as my lips tightened on their own. I don’t want to get involved in anyone’s business anymore. Sometimes, it’s better to let some mysteries just remain as such. Not all of them need to be solved.

  Come now, ma minette, you know as well as I that you do not believe that! Whether you care to admit it or not, you helped that old man. He came to you with a problem and you provided him with an answer, Drake insisted.

  Maybe, I started, loath to admit he could be right, even though I knew he was deep down.

  Maybe!? Maybe nothing! Drake sounded irritated. This is your calling, mon chaton! You feel it, I know that you do. You like to help people and this is the best way you can help them!

  What?! By telling husbands that they killed their own wives? I spat the words back at him even though I knew it wasn’t fair of me.

  Non, he insisted. You help people by solving the mysteries that they, themselves, cannot solve, he responded in a level tone. You were blessed with a gift, ma minette, a gift that you should share. Use it wisely to help those who need it.

  I sighed, long and hard. I couldn’t deny the truth in his words. I’m just not ready to hear this yet, Drake, I said after a few seconds. I understand what you’re saying, but I just can’t handle it at the moment. Too much has happened and it’s still too fresh. The pain I feel is too much for me to deal with.

  Very well, I understand, he said. I suddenly felt like I could breathe a little more easily.

  “Another one bites the dust, eh?”

  I wheeled around at the sound of a woman’s voice. When I saw the young woman who stood smiling at me, I gasped.

  “Guarda?” I said aloud without meaning to do so.

  It is the voodoo witch! Drake chirped from inside me, his tone of voice on high alert.

  The woman laughed and shook her head, but didn’t say anything. Of course, I realized there was no plausible way this young woman, barely in her thirties, could really be Guarda. But she looked exactly like the Guarda I’d seen in my visions … I almost felt like I was hallucinating.

  “This day be a long time comin’ for him,” she said, motioning to the tomb in front of us. I noticed she wasn’t carrying an umbrella and the rain was doing a fine job of soaking her entirely.

  “Did you know Peter MacGregor?” I asked suspiciously. Taking in her tight, black tank top and the dark blue jeans that clung to her shapely lower body, I found her choice of clothing strange for a rainy day. What was even more strange was that she wasn’t wearing shoes …

  “Ah know everyone in this town,” she answered without removing her gaze from the tomb. She looked at it longingly almost, staring with a mix of wistfulness and what appeared to be melancholy.

  “Who are you?” I asked bluntly before shaking my head as I revised my question. “Er, what’s your name?”

  “Ah’m everyone an’ Ah’m no one,” she answered with a strange laugh. Shaking her head, she pulled her attention away from the tomb. She glanced over and almost studied me for a few seconds, but nothing in her face revealed whether or not she liked what she saw. It almost seemed like she could see right through me.

  Just like that, she started walking past me.

  I wanted to say something to her, and demand she identify herself, or tell me why she looked so much like the Guarda of the past. I also wanted to ask why she seemed to know Peter, but words escaped me. It was all I could do just to stand there and watch her retreating across the grass threshold that separated the walking path from the graveyard itself. She began weaving in and out of the tombstones and vaults, dragging her hands over each one almost languorously.

  “Wait!” I called out to her when I finally found my voice again.

  She stopped walking. Resting her hands on two tombstones that flanked either side of her, she turned around to face me.

  “You never told me what your name is, or how you knew Peter,” I started.

  “None o’ that matters,” she answered as she shook her head. With that same knowing smile, she added, “We will meet again.”

  Then she turned on her heels and continued to walk deeper into the graveyard. The sun set behind her, consuming everything in darkness.

  About Brown Eyed Ghoul

  The last thing Peyton Clark wants to do is visit the evil voodoo witch, Guarda, again. But once she promises two elderly and kind ladies that she will solve the missing-person case of their long dead relative, she realizes there’s no way around it.

  With the help of Guarda’s magic, Peyton will find herself in 1910 New York with none other than Drake Montague, the twentieth century policeman, who used to haunt her house but now haunts her body… and her heart.

  While Drake and Peyton begin to unravel the mystery, Peyton can’t help the fact that she’s deeply attracted to Drake, regardless of the fact that her very real boyfriend, Ryan, is back in her own time, eagerly awaiting her return.

  Brown Eyed Ghoul

  ONE

  I opened the front door to find a tall, blond, handsome man holding a white paper bag in one hand, and a tray with a two coffees in the other. Dressed in his signature pair of worn blue jeans, which were my favorite since they showed off his backside quite nicely, and an old t-shirt, he’d come fully prepared. His perfectly dimpled grin completed the picture. My heart skipped a beat as his dimples deepened when he took in my tousled hair.

  “Did I wake you, Sleeping Beauty?” Ryan asked, stepping over the threshold.

  If you would please spare me, ma minette. I am not in the mood to watch le barbarian drool over you this morning, Drake said from inside my head.

  Yep, you read that right. And, no, I’m not crazy. My inner voice belongs to a dead policeman, Drake Montague, who lived in the early 1900s. He used to haunt my house, formerly his house, and now he just haunts my head.

  How is that possible, you may ask? Well, it’s a very long story, but basically, I saved Drake’s ghostly soul from a bloodthirsty demon (who was also haunting my house) by allowing Drake to possess me.

  Being that it’s my body, I have ultimate control, but Drake can still see, hear, and feel everything I do. That is, unless I shut him out. Which is exactly what he asked me to do once I opened the door and we both caught a glimpse of Ryan.

  Drake’s tolerance for witnessing any interaction between Ryan and me was at an all-time low. This might be a good time to add that things between Drake and me… well, in brief, things have become complicated. Of course, that’s to be expected with two people occupying the same body, right? But, ahem, did I also mention that Drake is incredibly handsome, charismatic and funny? No? Ha! Okay, more on that later.

  I said the words internally to shut Drake out, a habit that had become so familiar, it hardly took any effort now. Then I moved out of the way to let Ryan walk past me. “You know, you could have just let yourself in if you wanted,” I started as I smiled up at Ryan flirtatiously. “You do have a key.”

  Ryan only had a key because he was currently restoring my house. Ryan was one of the most, if not the most, successful general contractors in New Orleans, and his specialty was accurate restorations of hist
oric homes and buildings. I considered myself lucky when I hired him to help me fix up my house, a three-story Greek Revival mansion from the late 1800s. I inherited it from my great Aunt Myra, in a state of disarray. She was a distant enough relative that I’d never even met her.

  Ryan smiled down at me, planting a kiss on my lips that made my toes curl. When we broke apart, I cleared my throat and took the bag from him.

  “What’s this?” I asked a little too innocently, my eyebrows raised.

  “Well,” Ryan started as he shifted the tray that held the coffees to his other hand. “Even though it’s nearin’ ten o’clock, I figured I’d still catch you before breakfast, so I grabbed some beignets and kolaches on the way over.”

  I unrolled the top of the bag and inhaled a deep breath of the sweet pastries before I smiled up at him. “Did I ever tell you what a great boyfriend you are?”

  He chuckled at me before the smile left his face. “Where’s the behemoth also known as your desk that we’re supposed to be movin’ upstairs?” he asked as we walked toward the kitchen.

  I nodded to the piece when we went past the living room. “In there.”

  Ryan paused to check out the couch while I kept walking before I pulled out a kolache from the paper bag. I sank my teeth into the soft, sweet dough, my mouth instantly watering. Poor Drake, I thought. He was missing out on something wonderful. I decided to be nice and save some room in my belly to allow Drake to enjoy it too.

  I took another bite. I wasn’t exactly sure how much room I could save, but at least he’d get a taste.

  “That thing is monstrous,” Ryan said as he came in the kitchen behind me, shaking his head, visibly concerned.

  “It just has a lot of character,” I replied, somewhat offended. ”It’s a damn good replica of a Wooton. So good in fact, that the antique store where I bought it had the gall to try to overcharge me.”

  “What does that mean?” Ryan asked, eyeing me speculatively.

  “That they wanted to charge me ten thousand dollars for it.”

  “Peyton,” he started but then shook his head, knowing it was better not to reprimand me.

  “That’s not what I paid,” I nearly interrupted him. “And before you ask, it’s not polite to ask your girlfriend what she paid for her Wooton replica.”

  “I’m impressed you knew it was a replica,” he started, changing the subject as his eyebrows reached for the ceiling. “So I guess all your studyin’ at the library paid off,” Ryan said with a smirk as he set the coffees on the counter.

  I was a history nerd through and through, having majored in it at college. New Orleans offered the perfect setting to immerse myself in another time. The city’s rich past was recorded well in books, and I could easily find the places and put my hands on actual relics I learned about. And actual relics were what I was after these days.

  With Ryan’s encouragement bolstering me, I decided to open up an interior design business, specializing in early twentieth century styles. Before soliciting clients, I spent quite a while at the local libraries, reading anything I could find about furniture from the various time periods. I regularly browsed the antique shops, museums, and historic homes, which were open to the public to further expand my education. I also cultivated friendships with a lot of the local museum docents, antique store owners, librarians and other long-time residents who had a keen knowledge of history. I managed to win most of them over with a smattering of tidbits provided by my secret weapon: Drake.

  He enjoyed the searches for early twentieth century items probably even more than I did. He said it gave him a great sense of nostalgia to be surrounded by the things that were from his time period. Through me, he could touch the old wood again, and even smell it. There was nothing like the smell of well-cared for antique furniture. It brought back many memories for Drake, which I shared with him. And that was like crack to my history-hungry soul.

  Ryan wrapped his arms around me from behind as I took down a couple of plates from a cupboard. “We’ll never get it up the stairs; not just the two of us,” he said softly, his breath tickling my neck as he spoke. “I’ll swing by Monday with the crew and we’ll move it then.”

  Aside from hanging a few pictures, it was the last piece of furniture to complete my office and I really wanted my office completed. So I was about to protest when one of his hands slipped under my t-shirt just above my waistband.

  “Which means, we’ll have to figure out something else to do this mornin’…” he added.

  I almost dropped the plates, and my skin flushed from my cheeks all the way down to my neck. Although we’d been dating for a while now, the man could still make me melt just as easily as he did the first time I met him.

  Ryan began to trail kisses down my neck, and my stomach growled.

  “Hmm. Maybe we should eat first,” I said, disappointed that my body’s other needs trumped the burning desire still sending pin pricks down my spine. His arms fell away from my sides and I turned to face him. He looked at me with obvious disappointment, his caramel eyes flashing beneath the sun’s glare in the bright kitchen.

  I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Now that I was looking up at his dimpled smile and strong shoulders stretching the cotton of his t-shirt, I started to reconsider. He chuckled, clearly amused that I was wrestling with the decision. “We’ll eat fast,” he said, taking the plates from my hands and leaning past me to put them back in the cupboard. “Won’t even put our food down,” he finished with a grin.

  I sighed and gave him a look as I picked my kolache back up. “So I take it you skipped breakfast too?” I asked as I took an enormous bite, “because I can’t think of another reason why you’d be so quickly convinced to…”

  Ryan was about to chastise me for my lack of manners, as usual, when the doorbell rang. We both paused and looked at each other, neither of us expecting company.

  “Probably Jehovah’s Witnesses,” I said with a shrug.

  Shoving the rest of the pastry in my mouth until I was sure I looked like a squirrel packing away for the winter, I left Ryan standing with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. My manners weren’t orthodox Southern but they amused him at least.

  When I got to the front door, I looked out the peephole. Two older women were standing there, waiting expectantly. My curiosity piqued, I swallowed down the last bite of pastry before I pulled the door open.

  The first thing I noticed was the troubled expression in their eyes. The second was the glimmer of hope I spotted when they addressed me.

  “Are you Peyton Clark?” the frail, older woman asked, her voice sounding raspy. She looked to be somewhere in her eighties. A pink scarf that contrasted with her otherwise drab clothing was draped over her rail-thin body. A matching one was wrapped around her ostensibly bald head.

  “That’s me,” I answered with a quick smile as I self-consciously wiped my hand across my mouth, fearing my lips might still be littered with crumbs.

  The younger woman stepped forward. Though her cheeks were significantly plumper, she resembled the older woman, especially around the eyes. She held out her hand before a big Southern smile bloomed on her face.

  “I’m Jill. And this is my mama, Ada.” She gestured to her mother. “Mama was good friends with Peter MacGregor.” Despite her smile, I saw grief written plainly on her features.

  As soon as she mentioned Peter MacGregor’s name, the stirrings of guilt churned in my guts almost immediately. I still blamed myself for what happened with Peter, and wondered if I’d done the right thing by getting involved.

  Story time…

  So Peter had somehow heard about how I’d defeated the Axeman (remember the bloodthirsty demon I mentioned that was trying to kill Drake and me?—yeah, that one). He soon learned that I’d been able to travel back in time through the power of voodoo magic; and he came to me, hoping I could bend space and time to find out who murdered his wife.

  Of course, as much as I’d wanted to help Peter find out who killed
his wife, I also realized that going back in time meant I’d have to face Guarda again, since she remains the only one who is capable of manipulating time.

  Guarda, the most powerful voodoo priestess in New Orleans, possesses extraordinary connections to the world beyond our living realm. The only problem is: she can’t be trusted.

  But back to Peter. In a generous and regrettable moment, I agreed to contact his wife’s spirit in the attempt to discover who killed her. But the experience didn’t exactly go as planned.

  It turned out that Guarda had commanded Peter to kill his wife, and in a zombified state, Peter obeyed her. Although I tried to keep the truth from him, he managed to piece it all together and died a short time later. Apparently, the revelation of his horrible act was too much for him to bear.

  Admitting I still suffered from unending guilt over the incident was an understatement.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said quickly, wondering why Jill and Ada would come to see me. I never exactly advertised my connection with Peter for obvious reasons.

  “Thank you,” Jill continued. “Before he passed, Peter mentioned… well…” She eyed me with a searching gaze and asked, “Do you think we could come in?”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” I said, scolding myself for not inviting them. The protocol of Southern hospitality was still new to me. I moved to the side so they could both enter. With that, I also remembered Drake, and internally recited the words that would allow him back into my world.

  At last! he groaned. You know how much I hate it when you shut me out, ma minette!

  Sorry, I answered in my head.

  Who are they? Drake asked of the women who were stepping past me into the house.

  They just arrived and I’m not sure what they want yet, I started. But they said they knew Peter MacGregor.

  The man who killed his wife, Drake added sadly. Then he quieted before his tone sounded more serious. I so hoped your days of visiting the spirit world were behind you, mon chaton. It’s been so peaceful these past couple of months with you when le barbarian isn’t prowling around, of course.