Poltergeeks

by Sean Cummings

  "That's Matthew Hopkins," I whispered. "The Witchfinder General!"

  I should have been terrified at my glimpse into the past, but fear was the last thing on my mind. That poor old woman was either a witch or someone who was falsely accused and there was nothing I could do for her since the image was just a shadow in time. Not that it mattered much because Matthew Hopkins was back with stone cold vengeance aimed squarely at me.

  And I wasn't going down without a fight.

  I drew my spirit into a counter-spell that would act like a computer virus, latching onto the menacing path of flow, short circuiting his magic and sending him a reminder that I was onto him. Black magic might be forbidden, but I was a Shadowcull and the vile image of inquisition and torture ignited a primitive set of emotions in me. Here was the entity that was responsible for what happened to my mother. He was close. So close I could push through his centuries of hatred and repugnance. So close I could almost reach out and tear the skin from his face. I was a Shadowcull. I had the ability and license to draw upon the darkest magic in the name of protecting the innocent and dispensing with anyone who would threaten me and those I loved. I decided then and there to lace my power with malevolence so that Hudibras would know that I wasn't going to go down without a fight.

  The spell flew out of me as a toxic mixture of hatred, vengeance and rage. The words poured out of my mouth like a torrent of water through a spillway. My magic cascaded out, levelling headstones and hedges as a plume of brown dust and debris spewed high into the air. An inky column of black magic connected with Hudibras' spell like a battle tank smashing through a brick wall. A hundred feet below me, the rotting husks of the dozen creatures cried out in one shrill terrified scream, splitting the air with an explosion of pain and frustration. They dropped to the ground, writhing in agony as the magic that fuelled their decaying bodies shrivelled and withered like vines dying in a drought. I reached out, channelling my rage through Hudibras' spell, shaping and moulding it into a dagger that would mark my target. He was my prey now.

  I watched with calm fascination as the energy of his dark spell dissolved like a morning fog burning off in the sunlight. I willed the Volatilis to carry me back to the ground and the last thing I saw as I drifted over the treetops was a scorch mark etched into the soft turf below.

  It was my sigil, my mark and my birthright. I was a Shadowcull and it was payback time.

  Chapter 20

  My father escorted us down a winding path leading to the north gate of the cemetery. Marcus said very little after witnessing me dispatch Hudibras' spell using dark magic.

  You know, really nasty dark magic that was laced with every ounce of malice I could muster.

  Yeah, he was pretty freaked out. Being chased by a swarm of rotting corpses bent on tearing your limbs off is probably a one-way ticket to the land of posttraumatic stress disorder, and my gut told me (not to mention the distance Marcus was now putting between himself and me) that he was probably scared to death of me now.

  "You've no need to feel like you've broken a vow, kiddo," my father's ghost said. "Were you not a Shadowcull, yeah, your coven would be coming after you right now. Pfft, the idiots would probably try to plug you into some kind of deprogramming regimen."

  I shrugged hard as we shuffled down a twisting path. "I don't feel bad about it. I did what I had to do. I've marked Hudibras with my magic and now all I have to do is follow the trail right to him."

  My father floated in front of me, as if to block my way down the path. His eyes narrowed and a look of foreboding washed over his face. "Yeah, well don't get too over-confident there, kiddo," he said grimly. "The spirit of Matthew Hopkins has spent more than four hundred years in the afterlife, bags of time to brood and plot against our kind. You need to understand that this guy was a pro during life. He used any and all means to extract a confession of witchcraft from thousands of innocent women and children. Don't even think for a moment that he doesn't have an arsenal of tools at his disposal to take you down."

  "But spirits can't do magic, unless…"

  "Unless they can latch onto someone who can," he said, finishing my sentence. "If their malice is strong enough, they can possess a human being just as well as a demon. I'd say your Hudibras is likely possessed, sure would explain everything that's been happening around town."

  I dug my index finger underneath the copper bracelet and scratched. My wrist and forearm had been itchy for the past ten minutes and I made a mental note to carry some lotion in my backpack from now on. I glanced at Marcus who was still four or five paces ahead of us. His hands were dug into his pockets and his backpack dangled limply from one hunched shoulder as he followed the path around a cenotaph, its small flame flickering away in the darkness. I could see the wrought iron gates of the cemetery ahead and I knew my visit with my father was nearly over. It wasn't the kind of homecoming I'd have liked, but then again, I'd only known that his spirit still lingered in the world of the living for a few hours.

  There was so much I wanted to ask him about Mom and our lives together before he was taken from us and there were still those faint wisps of memory of my living father: a strong warm hand brushing against my left cheek when I had chickenpox; the sensation of being lifted high onto his broad shoulders and seeing the world though his grown up eyes. I wanted to rekindle the feeling of being scooped up in his arms as I ran to him after being frightened by a hippo at the Calgary Zoo. Most important, though, I wanted to know who was responsible for the car crash that claimed his life.

  "We don't have a lot of time left tonight," I said, slowing down my pace. "You told me that you dropped your guard and that's why you were taken from Mom and me. Do you have any idea who was responsible?"

  My father floated down to eye level and he clenched his jaw. "That's a good question, kiddo," he said in a dark voice. "And one that can be answered another time. You go get your mom back. You've got more pressing matters for now."

  "It matters to me," I said flatly.

  Dad offered a regretful shrug and glanced at Marcus and then back at me. "I don't have a clue who took me down, sweetheart. When this is all over, you and me, we'll work together to find whoever did it, okay?"

  I nodded. "What I'm not getting is why Mom hasn't come to visit you. I mean… Maybe it's just me, but that seems to be something regular people do."

  "Practitioners aren't regular people, sweetie," he said calmly. "Anyway, who says that she hasn't?"

  "What?" I nearly shrieked. Marcus turned around and offered a concerned look that did absolutely nothing to buffer the shock of the news that my mother had been coming to the cemetery to visit my father without telling me.

  "It's really complicated, sweetheart," Dad whispered. "I know what it looks like and your mom is innocent of all charges, got it? She wanted to bring you here ever since you were a little girl and I talked her out of it."

  "But why?" I asked in confusion. "What on earth for?"

  "To protect you," my father said firmly. "I didn't want my enemies to know that your magical signature came even close to resembling mine until you were strong enough to hold your own, plain and simple. Your mom argued like a crazy woman that you should be allowed to visit me and I absolutely refused. The risk was too great."

  It was everything I could do to keep myself from having a meltdown right then and there in the middle of the cemetery. All those years without him might not have happened if Mom had shared the knowledge that his spirit lingered on in the world of the living. I knew that everything he was saying about the risk was probably right, but it did little to soften the pain at knowing that he wasn't gone. Surely there could have been some way for me to have visited with him that didn't put me at risk? Surely his enemies knew that person visiting his grave was his wife and the mother of his child?

  Marcus seemed to shrink a little. "Julie, your dad is right. They had to protect you. Servo Parvulus, remember?"

  I ground my fists into my eyes in an attempt to stop myself from bawling. "I
know it was the right thing to do, but it feels so wrong," I whimpered and turned to face my father. "Someone killed you, Mom's going to probably die and I'm the next one on the hit list. Look, Dad, I understand that you both had to protect me, but damn, if she could have at least told me you weren't gone forever; if she'd only let me know that you were here, somehow there could have been a way for me to see you."

  "There was no possible way that could have protected you, sweetheart," my father said in a firm but tender voice. "Listen, sometimes fate forces you to grow up pretty darned fast, and this would be one of those times. It was my decision. You were too precious to be put in harm's way until you were truly ready."

  I breathed out very slowly in an attempt to regain my composure. There was no point in arguing about the past. It was pretty clear that if I could find Hudibras then I would find Matthew Hopkins. And once I'd found Matthew Hopkins I could extract his soul for Holly. My debt would be paid and I'd save my mom.

  "And you really think I'm ready?" I asked with a sniffle.

  "After what I've seen you do tonight, I think you're well on your way, baby girl," he said proudly.

  I bit my lip and said, "All right, what's done is done. Any ideas on how I'm supposed to take down Hudibras, not to mention trap the spirit of Matthew Hopkins?"

  My father let out a small dry cough and then said something so glaringly obvious that I felt like a fool for asking.

  "Kiddo, you call him out and throw down."

  Chapter 21

  As Marcus and I left the cemetery, I couldn't help but wonder where the heck Betty Priddy had disappeared to. She was supposed to be my guardian and while I could understand that she had to find another host since the body of Margaret Somerton had reached its best before date, it would have been nice if she'd given me a heads-up about a few things.

  Like Shadowculls and coven justice, for example. No, wait. Betty couldn't volunteer information and would only give me answers if I asked the right questions; a lovely arrangement.

  Marcus and I walked along the edge of the iron fence surrounding the cemetery. We said very little to each other as we headed to the Cambrian Heights bus terminal.

  "It's ten to eleven," Marcus said quietly as he sent a text message to his parents. "I'm going to get hammered by my folks for being out this late on a school night, so I told them I'm crashing at your place. I hope they buy it."

  "Sorry, Marcus," I said, sliding my hand around his bone-thin arm. "I've dragged you into all of this, just like I do every time, and I never take into consideration how hard it must be for you to be my friend."

  He slipped his cell phone into his jeans and put his arm around me. "It's never been hard to be your friend, Julie. Anyway, I don't know how useful a friend I can be, what with all this supernatural crap flying at you from every direction. I guess the next thing on the todo list is for both of us to head over to the Beltline."

  I shook my head. "No need. I checked it out while you were hanging onto that poplar tree for dear life."

  Marcus threw me a surprised look. "Come again?"

  I waved my band covered wrist in Marcus' face. "Enhancing my magic isn't all this thing can do. Apparently when I'm wearing it, I can use my peripheral focus to do long range reconnaissance."

  "No way!" he gasped. "So your mind left your body?"

  I shrugged. As I spotted the 24-hour McDonald's across the road from the bus terminal, my stomach gurgled loud enough for both of us to hear. "I don't know how to describe it. What I can tell you is I saw what had to be a five-foot in diameter Baphomet Sigil on top of a ritzy looking apartment building. There was no sign of anyone there… Hey, are you hungry? We should get something to eat and formulate a plan, got any money?"

  He smiled. "So let me get this straight: we nearly get killed by a bunch of zombies after digging up the grave of your father and I have to pay for the Big Macs? Wait… I already know the answer, so yeah, I've got twenty bucks on me."

  We consumed the Big Macs in less than two minutes. My hunger was temporarily sated, so I sat quietly and sipped away at my Coke as Marcus inhaled his French fries.

  "You know," he said dipping a French fry into a tiny cup filled with ketchup, "Everything that's happened so far has been according to someone else's plan. One thing that doesn't make sense is the poltergeist at Mrs Gilbert's – the spirit of John Stearne."

  "What about him?"

  "Well, I don't see how he's connected to all this unless…"

  "Unless what?"

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone. He slid his index finger across the touchscreen a few times and within seconds his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

  "I freaking knew it!" he almost shouted. "I just Googled John Stearne and it turns out he worked with Hopkins back in the 1600s. Look!"

  Marcus handed me his iPhone and I squinted to read a Wikipedia entry.

  "'John Stearne was an associate of Matthew Hopkins the Witchfinder General,'" I read aloud. "'He was known at various times as the witch–hunter, and witch pricker John Stearne. A family man and land owner, he was ten years older than Hopkins. He maintained a house in Manningtree which is where he met Hopkins following Stearne's accusations against witches. Within a year of the death of Matthew Hopkins, Stearne retired to his farm and wrote A Confirmation and Discovery of Witchcraft.' Oh my God!"

  "Oh my God is right," Marcus gasped. "Julie, this is huge!"

  I nodded without taking my eyes off the tiny screen. "I know, but Stearne said that he'd been dragged back into the world of the living."

  "Maybe Hudibras did it," Marcus said grimly.

  "Maybe," I said as I stole one of Marcus' fries. "But I didn't detect any malice associated with Stearne's spirit. There wasn't a hint of it when the door blew in on the shed and the first time I felt malice bordering on full blown hatred was when I was attacked at school. I mean, I've been thinking about it and you know what? Hudibras has to be someone with a magical pedigree that packs a punch. There's just no way a malevolent spirit can do magic on its own; it simply can't be done."

  Marcus grunted. "It seems like a heck of a lot of work to put together a YouTube video as a lure to smoke out a witch. That just doesn't add up somehow."

  I blinked. "What are you getting at, Marcus?"

  He pulled a notepad out of his backpack and cleared the top of our small table. With a click of his pen, he started writing and in less than a minute, he spun the pad around for me to examine.

  "The attack on Mrs Gilbert was the first thing that happened. After that was the shed. Then we looked online for any weird poltergeist activity in town and that led to the YouTube video with those poor dogs. The next thing we did was to send an email and the very next day, the attack at the school happened. Call me crazy, Julie, but I'm not seeing any randomness with this at all. Everything points to someone who knows you – someone who knows how your mind works."

  "How?"

  Marcus stuffed the pen in a small pouch on his backpack and pulled the zipper. "Think about it, Julie. Someone had to know that you'd respond to the poltergeist at Mrs Gilbert's. They had to know that you'd go to your mom and exorcise the spirit. They'd have known that you'd use a tracking spell to find them and I'm absolutely certain they'd know that you'd look online for clues. It's just not random at all."

  I stared at the list and was quiet for a moment. Marcus' hypothesis seemed plausible and I crunched my brain to figure out who might know me well enough to understand how my mind works, but to no avail. I could think of no one who would be a threat to me.

  "I got nothing," I said, sounding deflated. "Mom's been out of the coven for years and the only people I can think of who understand how I'm hard-wired are Betty, Holly Penske, my father's ghost and you."

  Marcus pointed a bony finger at my back pack. "That book of your dad's. Maybe it's got a spell you can use to take down Hudibras."

  Well, it was a Shadowcull's grimoire. Surely there'd be something inside I could use to devise a plan for throwing
down with Hudibras before the clock ran out on my mom. I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the two-inch-thick book. Marcus got up and dumped his tray of garbage as I started flipping through the yellow sheets filled with hand-written entries in a strange code that resembled Egyptian hieroglyphs.

  It was an impressive work. There was no table of contents, only a page with a series of symbols and rubbings. I recognized the sigil from my amulet and decided that if the amulet could be used to unlock the box in my father's grave, it could also be used to decode my father's grimoire. I pulled my amulet off the thin copper chain around my neck and pressed it against the drawing of the matching sigil. Amazingly, the complex pattern of coded entries transformed into English and within seconds, I'd found an index.

  "There's a section on something called 'quick spells'," I said as I searched for the right page. "I wonder what that's about."