Ghost Maven

by Tony Lee Moral

  “Come on,” Henry urged. “Drink!”

  I followed him to the edge, cupped my hands, and dipped them into the sparkling pool. Then I brought my hands to my lips to savor the cool water. I gulped greedily, and then I started to splutter.

  “Not so fast,” Henry joked. He drank leisurely, in slow, long gulps, and then he lazily rested on his back to enjoy the sun.

  After a few more swallows, I settled back and started to take in the surroundings. “Does anyone live on this island?” I asked.

  “Yes, which is why we must keep it a secret.”

  “A secret? From whom? I don’t understand why ships can’t find this place,” I said, trying to make logical sense of it. “How it can just appear and disappear?”

  “There are some things that simply cannot be explained, like apparitions.”

  I looked at him and cracked a smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You sure can’t explain ghosts.”

  “Follow me,” Henry said as he stood up.

  He marched to the side of the waterfall, where an overhanging branch jutted out of the rocks. The leaves were green, plump, and succulent. Henry tore some generous strips off and offered them in his palm for me to smell.

  “This is the plant that sticks like glue,” he said. “We’ll need it for the boat.”

  “Mmm. It smells like eucalyptus,” I said, savoring the aroma.

  I had never seen such a plant before, but I figured Emily would know about it, as she grew herbs, so I tore off a few leaves and put them in my own pocket as a souvenir and a bit of proof.

  “Okay, let’s go”, Henry said.

  He quickened his pace and headed back into the forested slope. It was much easier going down, but I still had to watch my step because I knew just one misplaced foot could send me tumbling.

  Halfway down, a strong breeze raced in from the ocean shivering the leaves on the trees with a restless sigh. My still-damp hair caught the breeze; it covered my face and adhered to my skin.

  Then a loud cry from the forest burst into my peaceful awareness. “What is that?” I asked fearfully. It sounded half-human, too human to be any kind of animal as far as I knew.

  Henry froze. “We must go now, Alice,” he announced, pulling me roughly by the arm.

  “What! “Why?”

  He pulled my arm so hard that it almost popped out of the socket.

  “What’s wrong?” I muttered.

  “Alice, we have to leave right now,” he repeated urgently. “I follow the rules in your world, you must follow the rules in mine,” he added sternly.

  It was too late; from over the crest of the hill, a large tribe of men appeared. About a dozen of them—looking like young warriors, some with beards but most unshaven. All wore ragged, weather-beaten clothes—gray slacks and flannel shirts. Even from a distance, I saw they were barefoot. I heard the loud cry they howled when they caught sight of us.

  “Run!” shouted Henry.

  My heart beat rapidly as I followed his orders. He sprinted down the hill, back to the beach. The men were in hot pursuit, jumping over the bushes and rocks, as agile as mountain lions, crunching the branches underfoot.

  “Who are they?” I asked, panting heavily as I tried to keep up with Henry.

  “No time to explain. Just keep running,” Henry commanded.

  We reached the end section of forest, where the trees met the beach. I looked back and saw the men catching up with us, leaping and hollering like warlords. One of them, a fierce, strong-looking bearded man broke free from the main group and charged toward us, looking dangerously determined.

  Henry’s head shook as he ran. “I never should have brought you here,” he repeated. “I-I broke the rules,” he muttered.

  “What rules?” I asked, panting. Curious to uncover the island’s secrets—even in fright.

  “No mortals are allowed on the island,” Henry answer, slowing a bit so I could catch up to him.

  My heart raced and my mind tried to keep up with my legs. If no mortals are allowed, who are those men chasing us? My legs burned, and I was sure I would collapse as soon as we reached the sun-drenched sand.

  “Do not stop,” urged Henry. “We must get to the boat.” He tore down the beach like a track star, pulling my hand, urging me to run faster.

  I looked back and saw that the leader of the group had broken through the tree line and quickly closed the distance between us, running and shouting at us to “Stop!”. Again, I found myself wondering who these men were and what we had done to incur their wrath.

  Henry had reached the boat and, without hesitating, began to push the bow into the water. Waist high in the shallows, he quickly steered the boat out to sea, pointing the bow resolutely toward the horizon. Then he turned back to face me. “Make haste!” he urged. “Don’t stop, Alice. You can do it.”

  I quickened my pace, but every step became pure agony. I could almost feel the leader’s hot breath at the back of my neck. I heard him exhaling, kicking up the sand under his bare feet as he tried to catch me.

  In seconds, I had reached the boat. Henry quickly hauled me over the wooden side, where I floundered on the deck like a seal. My lungs felt as though they would burst while I writhed in agony, my mouth pressing against the hard wooden boards. I prayed the boat was sea worthy.

  Henry pushed the boat a few more feet out to sea, then acrobatically leapt onto the deck and hoisted the sail.

  I struggled to get up to peer over the stern of the boat. The lead man reached the tideline, and there were a dozen men not far behind him. Now about fifty feet out to sea, our boat quickly gained distance from the shoreline.

  The lead man didn’t stop; he leapt into the water. In a fury, he started to swim after our disappearing boat, making strong, rapid strokes.

  I screamed, convinced he was going to catch us, but a gust of wind picked up in our favor, moving the boat out of reach just in time.

  The man stopped swimming about thirty feet from the shore and, realizing his efforts were futile, started treading water. He raised his fist and cursed at us.

  “Who are they?” I said, finally resting on the deck.

  Henry’s pale face seemed even paler than usual. “They are the immortals,” he said solemnly, “the undead.”

  “The undead,” I repeated in a hushed voice, shivering.

  “I fear a terrible curse will come,” said Henry.

  He reached into his pocket and started to plug the patchwork of timber with the leaves we had collected. Just like he said, when wet the leaves acted as glue, sealing the holes between the wood.

  I stole a final glimpse of the island as it disappeared, becoming shrouded in mist once again, then it was gone.

  “Will I ever see it again?” I asked no one in particular, a hint of sadness swimming in my heart.

  Chapter Sixteen: Ghost Maven

  Henry was silent for the remainder of the trip back to Monterey. He was an expert navigator—following a combination of the sun position, the wind, and the direction of the tides—and knew exactly where we were headed. I tried to get him to talk, in my constant quest for answers about what had happened and the island inhabitants, but he refused.

  When the boat docked on the small beach by Lovers Point, I reached into the compartment to retrieve the wooden box found in the buoy. Surprisingly, it was still there and seemed to be intact. I imagined opening the box to find mysterious contents and the meaning behind the inscription.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled to Henry, not knowing quite what to say as I jumped onto dry land.

  He nodded, took a deep breath, and finally spoke. “I think we should lay low and not see each other for a few days,” he said. “It will be better—safer.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Henry, I need to understand what happened. Who were those men?”

  “They are—egregores.”

  “What is an egregore? You mean they’re dead?” I asked hesitantly.

  Henry just looked at me, probably deciding whether or not to tel
l me.

  “Well . . .,” I prompted.

  “They are the protectors of the island. Not dead because they were never alive. Created only to guard the island—no emotion, they follow the directions they’ve been given and that is all they will do.”

  An island of ghosts and egregores? I expected mystery but it seemed to go beyond mystery into realms completely unknown to me. I couldn’t fathom what Henry told me. On the surface, the place seemed so idyllic and beautiful. I couldn’t believe—didn’t want to believe—it harbored such terrible secrets. . . Nightmare stuff.

  “Where does the island come from?” I asked, trying to put these—crazy stories—together.

  “At certain times, because of how the Moon regulates our tides, the two worlds collide, yours and mine, and the island appears, giving access to the fourth plane.”

  My mind felt so overwhelmed and confused by Henry’s explanation, I just jumped onto the dock and without speaking another word to Henry, carried the box up the path and headed home.

  I turned to look at him, to see if he would meet my eyes—instead, he already set sail—away from Lovers Point and his boat soon disappeared. Henry not even looking back disappointed me, I was hurt he kept his gaze fixed on the horizon. Can’t he understand how this must feel for me? I’m not dead—am I supposed to be familiar with his world when I’ve never even been exposed to it before? How incredibly insensitive!

  When I arrived home, Dad was still out with Sophie. The empty house gave me a chance to ponder all that had happened. I trudged up the stairs to my bedroom, placed the mysterious wooden box on my windowsill, and sat down to do a mental review of the day’s adventures.

  “Well? What did you find?” asked Emily excitedly when we met for coffee at Magnolia Bakery the next day.

  “This plant?” I said, showing Emily the resin leaves from my pocket.

  She lifted them to her nose, inhaling the scent to help with identification. I knew she was an herbalist and made funny-tasting tea out of local plants. Our classmates often ridiculed Emily for bringing in strange concoctions to drink.

  “Where did you find these?” she asked in surprise. “They look and smell like Acantholyptys, only found on tropical islands, they definitely don’t grow here around the bay.”

  I reached into my backpack and pulled the wooden box gingerly out of the flannel wrapping.

  “And that’s not all. Look” I said, placing it on the table for Emily to see.

  “Whoa,” exclaimed Emily, looking curiously at it as I carefully unwrapped it. “You found that at the buoy?”

  I nodded. “Yep. Tethered at the end of a rope, sealed in a watertight bag. Look at this inscription,” I said, motioning to the lid.

  Emily examined the rose inside the circle and narrowed her eyes.

  “What? Have you seen something like that before?” I asked.

  Emily nodded. “It looks like the symbol for necromancy.”

  “Necromancy?” I repeated slowly.

  “Yes. A rose inside the circle is the symbol of a Maven, someone who has command over evil spirits.”

  Evil spirits? I gulped. “Wait. You mean, like, werewolves and vampires, that kind of thing?”

  “Yes—and ghosts,” Emily said. She shook the box lightly. “What’s inside?”

  “That’s the thing,” I said. “It’s locked, and I can’t figure out how to open it without damaging it.”

  “Have you even really tried?”

  “Not really. Truth be told, I’m a little afraid of what I might find inside.”

  “Your mom wanted you to find this, Alice. I think we should open it.”

  “Did she? Did she really?”

  “I’m not lying. She told me.”

  “I’m sorry. I know. I-I just don’t understand what all of this means. Have you ever heard the word egregore?” I asked, hoping with all of her metaphysical knowledge, Emily would be able to explain since Henry assumed I should already know.

  “Well, I’ve read about them. In ancient Europe, they were protective spirits created by the village sorceress. They didn’t have law enforcement and the police for protection so they would create egregores to act as sentries. If someone tried to enter with ill-intentions, they would suffer weird accidents and illnesses. You know, there’s this place near Salinas where we can get more specific answers” Emily, rose from the table and said, “Let’s go.”

  I had no choice but to follow.

  “What is this place?” I questioned, darting my eyes around the crumpled, dilapidated sandstone building on the edge of Salinas.

  We’d driven twenty miles in Emily’s Volkswagen Beetle from Monterey. A clapped-up old thing with lots of character and personality of its own. As eccentric as its driver with a colorful interior and a Native American talisman hanging from the rearview mirror.

  “It’s an old Spanish mission. I spent much of my time here when growing up,” said Emily, turning off the ignition. “Mom had to drag me away when I was a kid. C’mon. There’s someone that I think will be able to help you.”

  With a peaked curiosity, I followed Emily down the broken footpath to the front door of the mission. The grounds were overgrown: the place obviously hadn’t employed a gardener for a long time, if ever.

  We paused at the door, but instead of knocking, Emily called loudly, “Adriana! Adriana, it’s Emily.”

  “Who’s Adriana?” I whispered, but before she could answer, someone opened the door. I wasn’t at all prepared for who stood there.

  The tiny woman, about eighty-years, with gray, wispy hair and leathery skin. Her eyes were sunken, and her head seemed to be shriveled, atop a slender neck. She appeared extremely frail and incredibly strong all at the same time. “Emily?” she said, and the two embraced warmly.

  “Adriana is my psychic mentor,” explained Emily. “She taught me how to meditate, how to predict the future, and how to harness my clairvoyance. I wouldn’t know the things I do if not for her help.”

  “And you are even more beautiful than I remember.” Adriana chuckled and brought her hand up to Emily’s face to caress her cheek.

  At that moment, I realized the old woman was blind. Still, when she turned to me, her white eyes studying my face, I sensed that she could see me.

  “And you are Alice,” she said.

  What? Did Emily tell her about me or something? Amazed and a bit uneasy the old woman knew my name, I hoped a reasonable, logical explanation existed. Maybe Emily phoned ahead and told her about our plans. “Yes, I’m Alice,” I said, “how did you hear about me?”

  “I’ve been expecting you,” she said, ignoring my question. She smiled and invited us in.

  We sat in a shady corner of the mission, under two weeping orange trees. Adriana had made us some mint tea, that we sipped from dainty porcelain teacups. It was almost as if she weren’t blind at all; so agile as she went about her business of hospitality.

  “Now, I believe you have something to show me,” she said, her white eyes peering directly at me.

  I glanced at Emily, and she nodded. As if on cue, I took out the box and placed it in Adriana’s wrinkled, frail hands.

  Her gnarled, old fingers traced the lid of the box and ended their journey on the rose inside the circle. “Ah, yes, the rose within a circle. . . This is the symbol of a necromancer or as I’ve been taught—a Ghost Maven.”

  “A Ghost Maven?” I repeated. “What is that?”

  “A ghost-keeper, the sacred keeper of righteousness and justice over the fourth plane—Ghost Maven for short.”

  “A Ghost Maven. . .fourth plane. . .” I repeated to myself with a shiver, how can anyone govern ghosts and where is this fourth plane supposed to be? Instead of asking what I really wanted to, I blurted, “You mean, like, a ghostbuster?” That must have sounded absurd.

  Adriana chuckled, releasing a drawn-out laugh. “That’s what they called me for many years, the county ghostbuster.” She looked at me intently with bulbous, white eyes. “But there is more to it
than that.” She settled back in her seat as she began an epic tale.

  “Go on, Adriana,” Emily coaxed.

  “Ghost Mavens were once the guardians of peace along this coastline for many centuries. Gatekeepers—protecting the sacred lands from evil through magic. Incredibly strong, they could harness the power of the sun and earth to help them ward off wayward spirits, demons and other bad omens. They kept evil at bay and could detect and track ghosts then banish them to a place where they could do no harm to beings on earth. But a thousand years ago, a terrible uprising occurred. . . The lost souls rose up, and many Ghost Mavens were killed in the fierce battle. A few of us survived, but our legacy was lost, powers weakened. We had to take sanctuary, knowing we’d been sorely defeated.”

  “Ghost Maven,” I repeated slowly to myself, loud enough that Adrianna and Emily could hear.

  Adriana looked at me with frightening consternation, “Yes, my dear, and one day you may bear that title, too.”

  “Me?” I asked incredulously, looking from the blind woman to Emily. “What has any of this got to do with me? I’m—just a girl.”

  “You will know when the time is right,” said the old woman.

  I shrank back in my seat. Adrianna made me feel very uncomfortable, with her gnarled hands and faint smell of eucalyptus that engulfed her. “How will I know when to use what’s in the box?” I added, still shocked and confused, questioning my reality.

  Adriana’s face became solemn. “You will know, Alice. You must listen only to your heart.”

  “How did she become blind?” I asked when back in the car, driving home. Dust flared up from either side as we drove the Bug through the arid agricultural land that separates Salinas from Monterey.

  “She fought a ghost,” said Emily, not taking her eyes off the road, “and lost her eyes in battle.”

  Chapter Sixteen: A Real Date

  I hadn’t seen Henry for a few days, not since our visit to the island. I’d been preoccupied with the wooden box, as well as suffering from more nightmares about Heather. I desperately wanted to learn more about her disappearance, and all the questions had me tossing and turning through many sleepless nights.