Hallowed Horror

by Mark Tufo

  “Matt,” Peter said. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yeah, man. What the hell?”

  “I’m out of my body. Lean over and take my pulse, will you?”

  “You’re what?”

  “Just take a pulse reading, would you? Em, how about you? You’ll be better at it than him.”

  “Right beside you,” Emma said.

  Peter and Allyson heard the words inside their heads. They looked over and saw Emma hovering there beside them.

  “Well, this is pretty easy. I’d say we’ve all got the talent of astral projection. Matt, take that pulse and get up here.”

  Matt got up and stepped over to Peter’s body. He lifted Peter’s wrist and checked his watch for a few seconds. He laughed. “I have to start over. My mind's wandering a little.”

  “Can't imagine why,” Peter said. The he realized something. He hadn't said anything. He'd only thought it.

  “We're communicating telepathically.”

  “Wow,” Emma said. “Astral projection, telepathy. Isabel ought to be happy.”

  “This is for us, not her,” Peter said.”

  Matt chimed in again. “Got it. It's around fifty-eight a minute.”

  “That’s healthy,” Emma said. “Matt, lie back down and lift outta there.”

  Matt smiled, laid back down beside Emma’s body, squeezed her limp hand in his, and closed his eyes, smiling.

  “Now just feel your body rise up, Matt. Nice touch, by the way, holding my hand.”

  “Felt right,” Matt said. “Oh, my God.”

  “He’s coming,” Emma said.

  “No, I’m already here.”

  The three looked behind them and saw Matt’s semi-transparent image floating there, a wide smile on his face. “I couldn’t see you when I was still in my body,” he said. “I felt you and heard you in my mind, but the second I separated, there you were.”

  “That’s good,” Allyson said. “If we can recreate this without the drug, we might be able to use it somehow.”

  Peter floated in a wide circle around the other three. “A little covert spying? Sounds like fiction to me, but I guess it isn't. We have to see if we can get back in.”

  “Fuck, I didn't even think of that,” Emma said.

  “I’m not exactly sure how I got out, much less how to get back in,” Allyson said.

  Like constellations, the four floated in a perfect circle over their bodies, one with each other and one with the night. Peter wondered how they coordinated their movements when nobody spoke of what they would do.

  “I’m going to think of myself back inside my body,” Allyson said.

  And seconds later, as the others looked on from above, Allyson’s body below reanimated and stood, looking skyward.

  “It’s that easy,” she said. “Think it, and you’re in.”

  Seconds later, the others stirred. They all stood, brushing off the sand.

  “We have to go,” Allyson said. “The police are coming.”

  Peter and the others looked southward down the beach, then turned to check the north approach. There was nobody.

  “There’s nobody coming,” said Peter. “It’s the paranoia.”

  “Oh, they’re coming,” she said. “From the south. Let’s walk.”

  And they walked. As they approached the worn, wooden stairway, they all stopped and watched the beach. Two tiny flashlight beams appeared from the next stairway down, about a quarter mile away, but only about a hundred yards from where they had sat moments before.

  “Psychic ability,” Emma said. “You can see the future.”

  “I’m not sure I want to,” Allyson said. “I wonder if Ellen can, too.”

  They made their way back up to Peter’s house, enjoying the remaining high, but all deep in thought.

  As they sat inside Peter’s house, Matt had his feet on the coffee table, inches from the dying bonsai tree Peter had struggled to keep alive. It had once been the coolest thing, but after six months with Peter, the tiny pine had started to brown and wither.

  “You have a brown thumb,” Matt said. “That poor tree.”

  “You’re not much better.”

  “I know, but dude, I can grow a damned tree.”

  Peter knew it well. Everybody else in Laguna Beach could plant a bougainvillea and it would thrive with no attention whatsoever, but when Peter planted one, they would never flower, and would ultimately dry up and become vines for kindling.

  “So maybe you should take it,” Peter said. “Anyone want some coffee?”

  Emma and Allyson both raised their hands, but Matt said nothing.

  “Brother? Coffee?” Peter asked.

  But Matt wasn’t answering, nor was he even hearing. He sat staring at the bonsai tree, keenly focused. As they all watched him, their eyes followed his gaze to the tree.

  And they watched it change. The dark brown trunk went to a healthy brown color, the bark defined and infused with life. The tiny needles began slowly turning from brown to green, and getting greener by the second. They began to tilt ever-so-slightly skyward, as though an unseen sun were drawing them to its warmth and light.

  Within one minute the tree looked as though it had been reborn. It thrived.

  “You . . . you can manipulate plants?” Emma said, her voice barely audible.

  Now Matt leaned forward and picked up the small glazed ceramic pot and turned it in his hands.

  “I guess I can,” he said. “I pictured it like it was when Pete got it, and now it looks even better than that. Holy shit.”

  “Wow,” Emma said, turning to Allyson. “Better add that to the list, Ally.”

  *****

  In another week the school year ended, and Peter was glad he was now free to address the most important issues of his life.

  His tentative life if he didn’t learn everything of which he and the others were capable, and of course, the identity of the Evil One.

  He had considered Glenn almost immediately, but he’d grown up with his twin, and while his brother was not what anyone would consider a nice guy, he was just that: a guy. Peter had known him his entire life, and knew the last thing his brother was capable of was murder.

  Now, getting murderers off, that he was good at. But taking life? Not Glenn. Not human life, anyway.

  But it nagged at Peter. If they were born at the same time, did the same hold true for the Evil One as it did for the others? Was the warlock’s most recent incarnation born the same day as Peter because he died the same day as Chris? Perhaps in the act of killing Chris?

  Was the Evil One aware of his power? Or did he feel it, revel in it, but attribute the feeling to his own success, such as the power of the wealthy or politically connected? Perhaps he was as unaware of his own purpose as the four benign witches of each past incarnation had been up until this one.

  So many crucial questions, all of them needing answers in order to save all of their lives. At the very least, just to allow them all a final rest for eternity, rather than all the incessant reincarnation lifetime after lifetime.

  Since school ended, Matt would also be off work for the summer, as he hadn’t applied for summer school driving this year. They desperately needed the time.

  And usually for nothing. Talk about a flawed spell. To remember one’s purpose seemed like a required ingredient if they were to ever be successful in their quest of discovery and finally, execution.

  Isabel said the only way to find out would be to venture back into the previous life to discover the truth.

  Peter had not yet called Emma; he was content to sit in his small seaside home, listen to the waves crash in the distance, and toss the entire situation around in his mind. What of the missing photograph? Surely that implicated Glenn. Was it sleight of hand? Did the photo simply drop and Peter missed it? Maybe it had simply fluttered beneath the restaurant table, unnoticed by both of them at the time, only to be found by a restaurant staffer that evening during cleanup.

  Maybe he’d ask Emma what she t
hought. She was still off on medical leave, so was available, while Allyson was at work.

  Might be time to raise the question of Glenn. He locked the place up and went down to his car. He’d call Emma on the way.

  *****

  Emma sat on her living room sofa, the idle fireplace directly opposite her across the polished wood plank floor. It was summer now, and it would not see a fire for months.

  Peter sat beside her, a pillow on his lap. He squeezed it nervously, having shared with Emma his suspicions.

  “Glenn?” she said? “You think?”

  “I don’t know,” Peter said. “He’s an asshole.”

  “Yeah, but a witch? Or warlock? He’s more of an Eddie Haskell than a demon.”

  Peter shook his head. “Maybe. You know, Em, I was thinking. You know how unlikely it was that we ever learned about this thing? I haven’t seen any sign that Chris or Lilly or Ellen know anything about this. I haven’t interacted with Father Joshua enough to evaluate, but do you get the feeling they ever realized what was coming? Who their enemy was?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have to think Ellen knows something. The painting, Web. When it came to life, she saw it, right? It allowed her to see, as Isabel puts it. She can see the future and the distant present, I guess you’d put it. But as for Lilly, when I’m her, I feel great, but it’s because of my celebrity, I’m pretty sure. I have no awareness, either felt or sensed, of any powers.”

  Peter shook his head. “So, if they never knew who they were, they never even knew what their purpose was. So how did the Warlock kill them?”

  “Who says he killed them, Web? Maybe they just died of natural causes, never the wiser.”

  “I never thought of that,” Peter said. “But the way Joshua Mattingly died is suspect.”

  “What about Ferguson Carver’s obituary? Did you find that one?”

  “I don’t think we looked!”

  Peter shared with Emma his further questions because of Glenn’s birth date.

  “If Ferguson Carver somehow died while killing Chris, it would explain us coming back at the same time.”

  Emma shook her head quickly. “Isabel says you wouldn’t necessarily be born the same day, but maybe a week or even a month later.”

  Yes, but two were born to my mother on that day. I couldn’t help but wonder.

  “Em, I have a question. Has Isabel mentioned spells? It sounds ridiculous to even say out loud, but if a spell caused us to continually reincarnate to stop this warlock, then shouldn’t we have the ability to cast them? Maybe to reveal who it is we’re after?”

  Emma thought for a moment, her brow furrowed, her face intense.

  “Isabel said she couldn’t direct us too much. I wonder if she’s waiting for us to bring it up.”

  “Maybe,” Peter said. “I think we should. She must have books or something. Shit, she’s got everything.”

  “I wonder if there are any reports of the actual spell we cast back when we were them. If anyone heard it in the crowd and made a record of it.”

  Peter said, “What I don’t understand is if Vickar died that day and cast a curse or a spell or whatever, saying that he’d return again and again, how in the hell do we stop him? How can we put a final end to him?”

  “Another spell?” Emma said.

  “But why didn’t they just cast the counter-spell at the time, rather than one that would bring them back to destroy him?”

  “Fuck, I don’t know, Peter!” Emma said. “I’ve only known I was a witch for a little while, and I’m afraid I don’t have the answers yet. But I will.”

  “Well, let me try to speculate, then,” Peter said. “Maybe they needed more time. Maybe on the spur of the moment while they were set to burn on the pyres, the pressure was a tad intense to come up with a better plan.”

  Emma snapped her fingers.

  “No. No, that’s not it. But I think I know.”

  “What?”

  “They have to kill him dead before he can cast another spell. Maybe each time he expires, he then casts another spell to continue his rein of terror.”

  Peter shook his head.

  “That means, Em, that he’s had an awareness of who and what he is with each incarnation. We, on the other hand, didn’t. So he must be aware that we follow him through time, and he’s probably aware we’re out here now, even if he’s not sure who we are.”

  “So if it is Glenn or Ally’s dad, we should be careful not to let them know we’re onto them. Or even have any suspicions.”

  “Too late for that now,” Peter said. “If it’s Glenn, he knows about the pictures.”

  “Which means if he’s the Evil One, then he’s had plenty of lives to put two and two together, and you showing him that photo might’ve just made the discovery in this life a piece of cake. I don’t have a good feeling about this,” said Emma.

  “So if it’s my brother . . .”

  “If it’s your brother, we have to kill him.”

  Peter and Emma stared at each other in a disturbing silence.

  “I’m fucking with you, Webby!” said Emma, slapping his shoulder and laughing. “Glenn’s not the one.”

  Peter shook his head, and his mood did not turn playful as Emma’s had.

  “We need another session with Isabel,” Peter said. “And everybody else. This time she needs to send us to a place where we can actually get some answers.”

  At first Allyson said she couldn’t come. Peter pressed her, and she was tight-lipped about it. Something about a late shift, but no specifics, and Peter could tell she was lying.

  “Ally,” he said. “This is so important. You have your suspicions about your father, and we have to find out if it’s true. If it is, then we need to figure this thing out. Maybe there’s a way to put an end to it without hurting him.”

  “Web, it’s . . . believe me, sometimes I do want to hurt him.”

  Her voice was weak over the phone and she sounded strange, as through she were biting on a tissue or something.

  “So you’re at the hospital now?” Peter asked.

  “Yes, and I’ll be here until 6:00 tomorrow morning.”

  Peter pulled up to her place and parked at the curb, turning off the engine. Her Audi was there in her driveway.

  She was lying.

  “Well, okay. We really need you, Ally. I need you. Call me? As soon as your shift is over?”

  “Okay, Peter.”

  “Hold on a sec,” Peter said. “I’ve got to do something.”

  “Okay,” came her reply.

  Peter closed his car door quietly and walked quickly to her front porch. He raised his hand and knocked firmly three times. After a long few seconds, the door opened.

  Peter closed his cell phone. “Can I come in and talk?”

  Allyson stepped aside, lowered her cell from her ear, and led the way into the kitchen, where the waning sunshine of the day had begun to cast intense light on the walls and deepening shadows beyond.

  She lowered the shades to shield them from the heat magnified through the glass.

  She did not look at him.

  “What happened to your face?”

  “It’s . . . I got home late the other night – the night we took the mushrooms – and father didn’t like it.”

  “Did he know where you were?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, yes and no, really. He followed us to the beach, but he parked and assumed we went into a restaurant rather than through to the beach access. But he was parked on Coast Highway, and heard the police call about some mischief on the beach. So when he saw us back on the street a few minutes after, he put two and two together.”

  “So he followed you home and hit you?”

  “It’s not the first time, Peter.”

  Allyson opened up the Keurig and dropped one of the k-cups in. “Regular or decaf? I’m having regular.”

  Peter shook his head. “None. Ally, how often does he do this to you?”

  “When he ge
ts very angry and frustrated. Like the night we were at Isabel’s late. He was outside with binoculars. Peter, he’s a cop, and a paranoid one. Besides that, I’m suspicious he’s this Evil One that Isabel keeps talking about. I even asked her about it.”

  Her coffee was done, and she brought it to the table and added sweetener and powdered creamer.

  Peter moved to the chair beside hers and turned his chair to face her. “Babe, do you know what I feel for you? In here?” He put his palm, fingers spread, over his chest. “I love you, Ally.”

  Allyson closed her eyes and nodded, putting her cup quickly down to avoid spilling it. Tears squirted out from beneath her closed eyelids, and she began to sob.

  Peter moved in and put his arms around her. “Shh,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

  “Peter, if he’s the one,” she lamented.

  “We don’t know that. We need to do more investigation. I know about your face now, so you don’t have to hide it from us. Did he hurt you anywhere else? Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Allyson nodded, then picked up her coffee and sipped it. She wiped at her eyes. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s not the first time, and he never really goes beyond the first rage. One nice smack and he’s usually finished.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “My mother died when I was very young,” Allyson said. “I don’t know how. He’d never get into it, and I never found any records or death certificate, so I have no idea what happened. I’ve tried to tell him it’s important that I know for medical history, but he says it wasn’t something I could catch, so it wasn’t important.”

  “How old were you?” Peter asked.

  “I was six. He was a cop before, but he became bitter and more of an angry cop after.”

  “Your mother was there one day, gone the next?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Do you suspect it was an accident? Car crash, something like that?”

  Allyson sipped her coffee again and put the cup back on the table. She stared into Peter’s eyes a long time and said, “The car she drove was gone, yes. So it could’ve been that. But really, it was like she just disappeared, Peter. She was just gone without a whisper.”