The Skinwalker Conspiracies - 02

by Jim Bernheimer

  A couple of songs on the radio later, Amos came running up with the other ghost right behind him.

  I climbed out again. “What’s the deal Amos?”

  “C’mon Mike, she left her baby in the woods to die!”

  “Aw hell! Show me where.” So much for good deeds – this day was heading straight into the crapper.

  “He can really see us?” The young Hispanic spirit said, easily pacing me as I chased him and Amos into the trees. They, of course, could run right through them while I got to relive my glory days of exercising on an obstacle course.

  “I can also hear you,” I casually mentioned. His name was Hector Lopez – no relation to George.

  “Oh, right! Thank God you came along man. Amy’s trying to kill my little boy! Bitch!”

  “Why?” I grunted, dodging a cluster of trees and tripping over an exposed root. The woods changed over into swampland. Usually, I’m whining about stomping around graveyards, but I wouldn’t have minded one right then. This muck was for the birds.

  “He starts, you know, having these seizures like a week or two ago. The doc at the clinic wasn’t sure if it’s just a development thing or something worse, and wanted her to take Daniel to the hospital for some tests, but she don’t wanna spend no money. You … you, Ferryman, better sic the police on her skanky white ass!”

  It never ceases to amaze me how often the root cause of a ghost’s problems end up being the living.

  “He’s right there! He’s right there!”

  Running up to the bundle, I saw a little baby boy wrapped up in a towel with some duct tape across his mouth. Hector said that little Jesús (pronounced “hay-soos”) was only three months old. It’s probably providence that the skanky bitch in question was not here. I wouldn’t have been responsible for my actions.

  Honestly, I’m not good with babies. Under the circumstances, I was forced to be Mary Poppins and Doctor Spock rolled up into one short, cranky package. Of course, I wondered if the late Mrs. Poe had anything to do with all this. With a good night’s rest, we’d still be two hours and a hundred miles away from this spot and the woman would’ve been long gone. Ever had a notion that someone’s pulling the strings? Now seating in the marionette cafe – manipulated, party of one – answers to the name Chump.

  Either way, I’d mention this to Mrs. Poe when I next saw her. The little tyke needed help. My concern was for the living, not the dead. Removing the duct tape as gingerly as possible, I was rewarded with his cries. That was about par for the course, but I couldn’t blame the kid. I’d be in a bad mood too, if I were him. Jesús had a couple of red blemishes where some mosquitoes visited, but on the whole, he wasn’t in terrible shape.

  As the product of a “broken” home, I had a lot of sympathy for baby Jesús – or Daniel Jesús Aldridge. Sure, this hit a bit close to home, as the saying goes. I’m glad my mom had kept it together when my dad left. Funny thing was, David Ross, Senior didn’t actually run off on his own accord. A Skinwalker had snatched him. Those were a type of ghost that possessed the living. Fortunately, not everyone met the criteria to be Skinwalker bait. Dad qualified; I did, too. But the Skinwalkers that have tried it to-date haven’t had what you’d call a smashing success.

  Philadelphia, of all places, had a “body market,” where hapless souls could be traded like used cars. Should I ever get my powers under control and enough support from spirits like Vincent, I planned to shut that place down!

  In my rather biased opinion, Skinwalkers are the vilest of the ghosts I’ve encountered. They steal people’s lives and some consume the bodies, leaving them an empty shell. When I get to Texas, I plan on tracking one of these monsters down.

  I slowly made my way out of the woods – baby on board and all that. The trip took about ten minutes and “little DJ” wasn’t very fond of strangers. I noticed his eyes kept darting over to where his father walked next to us. Maybe there was something to the online crap about toddlers and babies being sensitive to the paranormal. Heck, the neighbor’s dog back in Maryland got an obedience school upgrade because of all the ghostly traffic at Casa de Ross. Now instead of going into a barking fit at anything that walks by the house, it mostly whimpers. I’d be sad about that, but it’s an improvement over how obnoxious he was before.

  Finally back at the car, I woke Silas up, handed him the little bundle of tears, and got the cell phone out. Time to call the man.

  “Yes officer,” I said, trying to maintain my cool. “She had sunglasses on, and what looked like a peroxide blonde wig. I saw a bit of brown hair sticking out and she was acting pretty strange.”

  Twenty minutes my ass, Amos! At least they’d taken DJ to the emergency room to get checked out. Hector had followed and, hopefully, the baby would get the attention he needed.

  “What do you mean by ‘strange,’ Mr. Ross?” He kept quizzing me while brushing the crumbs of god only knows how many donuts out of that mangy shrub growing all over his face.

  “In a hurry – slightly panicked. Said she left her cell at her house.”

  “Still you wandered a couple of hundred feet into the woods and found a baby … who had tape on his mouth.”

  “Like I said, ‘I’m a medium.’ The spirits of the departed tell me things. I can give you the numbers of some officers I’ve worked with in Virginia and Maryland if you need a reference. Either way, you don’t have to believe me. All you have to do is go and ask this Amy Aldridge where her baby is and why she needed to borrow the neighbor’s Toyota.”

  “How do I know you’re not doing this for some kind of weird publicity stunt?” “Buford T. Justice” here wasn’t quite ready to hitch his wagon to the Mike Ross Express yet. “Trying to get your own reality Tee Vee show, kid?”

  “Think I should call it The Clairvoyant and the Old Blind Deacon? Gimme a break! I was at a hotel off of I-65 last night and it’s pretty easy to confirm my whereabouts.”

  “You’re a bit of a smart ass, aren’t you?” Some spittle made its way out of his mouth and onto his beard.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t change the facts, officer. Fine let’s give you a little proof.” I stood up and stepped away from his desk. “I’ll go stand over here and you can write something, anything you want, on that notepad. Then I’ll tell you what you wrote. I’ll even turn around and look straight at the wall.”

  Buford took me up on it as Amos floated next to him. My Civil War buddy could’ve crashed his computer, but that wasn’t impressive.

  “His handwriting’s awful,” Amos said. “I think it says, ‘Get this wrong and I’ll stick my foot up your ass.’ Better make sure, because he’s got some pretty big feet, Mike.”

  My mouth got me into a lot of trouble. Sometimes I couldn’t help it. “So if I get it right, officer, where do I get to stick my feet?”

  “Well this is boring,” I said, using the touchpad on my laptop to move a four under a five. Without any internet access, or anything watchable on this hotel’s lousy cable package, computer games constituted the only entertainment available.

  Not wanting to venture outdoors on such a hot day, I’d already done a hearty “Herschel Walker” style workout after breakfast and showered. I regretted picking this fleabag motel and not finding a place with a gym and a connection to the digital world. Still, I was on a fixed budget and didn’t have a huge bankroll for this little adventure.

  “Maybe if you hadn’t been so stubborn, Michael, we’d be back on our way,” Silas stated while casually strumming his fingers across his Braille Bible.

  Ms. Aldridge wasn’t going to be arraigned until Monday morning and we’d been told to not leave town. It was all the fun of being a material witness without the police paying for the hotel, courtesy of my sunny disposition and smart remarks to Officer Fatass.

  “Yeah, hopefully the next time I decide to piss off a cop, you’ll be around to talk some sense into me.”

  He guffawed for a few seconds and stopped when it morphed into a coughing fit. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I’
ll try, but I ‘spect it won’t take.”

  “Thanks,” I deadpanned back to him.

  A smiling Hector came through the door. “My parents … they are coming down from Jackson to take custody. I was such a disappointment to them, but I know they will not hold it against their grandson.”

  “That’s good. How is DJ?” I asked.

  “Jesús had another seizure at the hospital, but my touch stopped it. I’ve lived a very sinful life. Is this penance?”

  And they say dying people are quick to find God! I shrugged, pointed at Silas. “Ask the preacher, that’s his department. I’m the guy who tows away the wreck. He fixes the car. Silas, Hector’s touch stopped one of the baby’s seizures. He wants to know if that is his penance.”

  Silas’ fingers kept moving across those tiny bumps. “Mr. Lopez, if that is the case, you shouldn’t think of it as atonement, but a responsibility. Your baby … he knows when you’re around, so be around for him. That is, unless you have something better to do.”

  Hector Lopez nodded, proving Silas could talk sense into some people – myself excluded. He turned to leave, “You’re right. Thank you both for my son’s life. There’s nothing I can do to repay you, but I told some of the others nearby. Perhaps one of them will have the means to pay you.”

  “You didn’t,” I said, a familiar feeling of dread settled over me.

  My reaction must’ve confused Hector. He said, “Yes, yes I did. Is this not what you do? Help ghosts? They followed me from the graveyard and are waiting in the hallway to speak to you. Please accept my apologies, but I must go.”

  Hector faded away from view, obviously anchored to his kid. I brought Silas up to speed about the slew of ghosts waiting to bug me for freebies. Naturally, he started laughing at my expense again before saying, “Well, you did say that you were bored. Maybe you’ll remember this the next time you think about saying that.”

  On Monday, I met the Assistant District Attorney, Hank Olsen. He was a nice enough guy – for a lawyer.

  His attractive and rather friendly secretary brought me coffee and a couple of muffins as I waited in the lobby for about twenty-five minutes. She and I made small talk until the buzzer alerted Janey and she sent me inside.

  “So Mister Ross, do you prefer David or Dave?” he started.

  “Actually, it’s Mike,” I didn’t want to get into why I didn’t care for my first name.

  “Alright then, Mike it is. I spoke with a couple of departments you’ve helped in the past and they corroborate your story. The sheriff verified that you were, in fact, a couple of hundred miles away the night before that little baby boy was abandoned. Tell me something, what’s life like in the ghost business?”

  “Most of the customers are already dead. Makes paying the bills difficult. Even when I help someone out, people still look at me like I belong in a nuthouse.”

  The man guffawed. Hank was a thin and wiry man, with black hair just starting to collect a bit of grey in it. He was going for the picture of a “southern gentleman” look. I was sure, if he smelled blood in the water, Hank’s pleasant demeanor would disappear in an instant.

  “So, what happens next, sir?”

  “We’ll take your sworn statement and use it at the arraignment tomorrow morning, but first I was hoping for a little demonstration.”

  “Unfortunately, there aren’t any ghosts here right now,” I answered. Amos was still tracking down a few odds and ends from the crowd of spirits that had been harassing me all weekend and Hector was with his kid.

  “Fair enough, but I reckon I know where we can go find us one. You game, Mike?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well then, let’s get to it!” He toggled the intercom and said, “Janey, Mister Ross and I are taking a ride out to the old Compton place, and we’re going to meet up with Gae. I expect to be back after lunchtime. Be a dear and reschedule my eleven o’clock.”

  I walked out of the building with him. “Do you want me to follow you? My car’s over at the hotel.”

  “No,” he answered, pointing to his four wheel drive, full-size truck. “Where we’re heading, the road’s a bit rough.”

  “Where’s that?” I was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable.

  “Wife’s into real estate and got this one property she picked up in at auction a few years ago. Place’s changed hands all kinds of times since it first went on the market, but it’s sitting on about twelve of the prettiest acres you’d ever see down this way.”

  “I’m guessing it’s haunted.”

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling my wife. Gae thinks she could sell the land off to a developer or even remodel the house into one of those Bed and Breakfast places. So, you ever meet those plumber fellows on the TV?”

  I knew who he was talking about. They liked doing this and had also figured out how to make a few dollars along the way. I was pretty much the exact opposite on both counts. “No, can’t say that I have.”

  “Oh well, I figured I’d ask. Gae loves that show. She’s even sent them an email to see if they’d consider coming down here. I’m sure she’ll be asking you at some point.”

  “So, what should I be looking for when we get there?”

  “Don’t you psychic types say you don’t want to know and that you’ll figure it out for yourself?”

  “No, I’m more of the ‘go ahead and tell me what I’m getting myself into’ type.”

  “Well, it kind of goes like this…”

  “Water! Water!” I heard the faint moan. Every few minutes it would repeat. The old steps creaked under my weight as I carefully went upstairs. Hank, Gae, and I had been standing in the holed-out shell of the kitchen when I first noticed the sound over the constant stream of questions the lady had. I’d followed it all through the first floor before tackling the rickety staircase. Thankfully, Gae took one look at the steps and decided to wait downstairs.

  My personal opinion was that Mrs. Olsen’s best bet would be to flatten the place and subdivide the land into individually marketable parcels of land. Refurbishing this place would require a lot of time and a considerable amount of money.

  I found a sad-looking ghost of a man in a wheelchair in one of the upstairs bedrooms. He was very old and his voice had a hoarse quality to it. Sunken eyes and loose flesh hanging from the neck greeted me as he turned to stare.

  “Water! Water!”

  “Isaiah Nixon, I presume,” I said.

  The ghost’s semi-vacant stare sharpened and he said, “You can see me?”

  “Sure enough.”

  “Can you get me some water?” His request tied into the story Hank told me on the way to this house. Nixon was an old man who’d been confined to a chair because of a car accident. His equally old wife, Eunice, took care of him, but snapped one day, killed him, and dumped his body into the well outside. Next day, she called and had a new one dug. Since they were a reclusive pair, the wife got away with her crime. That is until some relatives came to take care of her during an illness, and discovered no trace of her husband. Fortunately, depending on how you looked at the situation, Eunice didn’t live long enough to go on trial.

  “Is that all you want?”

  “More than life itself, young man.”

  “You do realize you’re a ghost? You could get right out of that chair, if you want to.”

  “Take a closer look, sonny boy,” he replied.

  Upon closer inspection, there were phantom pieces of rope lashing his hands to the arms of his chair. His ankles were the same way.

  Frowning, I said, “Let me see if I can get you out of those.”

  “She ain’t gonna like that.”

  “Your wife’s still around?” I look over my shoulder while loosening the first knot.

  Isaiah’s laugh was one part insane cackle and the other a phlegm-laden cough. “I was kind of hoping for the old death-do-us-part thing, but I was sadly mistaken.”

  “Where is she?” I’d deal with “granny” if and when she showed up. Ho
pefully, it wouldn’t get violent. He certainly didn’t sound sane and it was a good bet his wife didn’t have her oars in the water either.

  “She usually takes a walk this time of the day, but may be on the way back if she done heard the cars coming down the dirt road, or saw a dust cloud.”

  When I finished untying his left arm, he started working on his right arm. I moved down to his legs and asked him the question on my mind. “So you died a few years before she did. Why’d you even hang around?”

  “I kept hoping that when her time finally came, we could forgive each other for the way our lives turned out, but she was too damn angry. A few days after she died, I’d thought we’d reconciled, but that witch done cold-cocked me and I woke up tied to this. Look at my hands! That crazy bat brings a switch back from the woods each night and whips my hands like some kind of Catholic school nun!”