Ghost Maven

by Tony Lee Moral

  I shuddered, feeling the chill in the air that cut through me like a sharp blade and it wasn’t just the temperature making me shiver. All the windows in the church were closed, so I couldn’t figure out where the draft came from. Probably the chill of death—the Grim Reaper wrapping his threatening, skeletal hands around me.

  Through the windows, I saw thick vapor rolling, tapping on the panes like ghostly fingers. It spread out and wrapped the church in an ice-cold embrace. We had no escape so it looked as though we would be trapped inside for the long haul.

  I wondered how Henry was doing and if he was safe. I didn’t believe he could fight off a dozen enemies. I tried not to imagine what they would do if and when they caught him.

  Christian sat beside me on the bench and noticed that I shivered uncontrollably. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You’re shivering.”

  “Just a little,” I said.

  “Here.” He took off his jacket and offered it to me.

  I took it and nodded my thanks, then wrapped it around my shoulders.

  Christian walked to the altar and started lighting some small candles, one after the other, until the entire row burned brightly, giving off a yellow glow. “These should give us a little light and warmth,” he said, applying the flame to the last wick.

  I watched the burning flames and thought of my mother again. As a kid, I used to go to church and light the candles with her. We would say a prayer for each of the members of our family—Dad, Mom, Sophie, Aunt Bess, Grandma, and me. It was comforting to see those flickering flames, all of them attached to my loved ones. Now, as I watched the flames dance, I realized it would take a miracle to save me.

  We huddled together for warmth, Christian’s shoulders brushing against mine.

  “You’re a great friend, Christian,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For helping Henry and me and for, uh…putting your own personal feelings aside.”

  Christian nodded slowly. “Sure, Alice. It’s the least I can do. That’s what a good Christian is for.”

  I laughed at the irony of his name. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course. Always.”

  “Are you afraid of dying?”

  Christian thought on my question briefly then said “Nope.” He answered quickly as though pondering the question for so long, he felt confident in the answer.

  “Neither am I,” I replied. “It’s living that frightens me.”

  “What have you got to be afraid of?” Christian asked. “You’re young, bright, and beautiful. You have an incredible future ahead of you.”

  “Oh, if only that were true! I’m scared about a lot of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, that my life won’t amount to much and that I’ll be a failure. I don’t want to be a disappointment to my dad and my mom.”

  “I don’t see any chance of that, Alice. In fact, I know there isn’t.”

  “Really? And how do you know?”

  “Oh, I just know. You’re gonna have an amazing life. Just wait and see.”

  Sharp voices from outside interrupted us.

  Only then did Emily break from her reverie, opening her eyes, and gazing fearfully at the door.

  “What’s that noise?” I whispered, convinced O’Reilly and his men found me.

  A loud banging on the solid oak door, assured me that my time had come.

  Chapter Twenty-three: Blazing Vengeance

  The banging on the church door grew louder, like terrible demons banging on the very gates of hell. Every bang struck my soul, and I quaked.

  “Open up!” shouted a hoarse voice, harsh and desperate.

  Christian ran to the door and peered through the keyhole. “It’s my dad!” he shouted and started to unbolt the latch.

  The heavy doors swung open, and Reverend O’Neill ran into the church, followed by about ten parishioners. I was startled to see Mrs. Prescott and Ethan among them. All had the same fearful look in their eyes, as if having confronted the devil himself. They huddled in a corner like frightened mice behind the minister, looking as though he just performed an exorcism.

  “Thank mercy you are safe,” the minister said, looking from me to Christian. He was normally a composed, very elegant man, but on that fateful evening, fear had caught him in its ugly grip and wouldn’t let go. Sweat glistened across his forehead, and bile choked his lungs.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “There’s a terrible evil outside,” he answered. “It hides itself in the fog and stalks its prey. It is not of this earth. We are here seeking solace and safety from God. Shut that door, for goodness sake!”

  Some of the men pushed the double-doors shut just as the heavy fog began to roll inside the church. I was relieved to hear the heavy thump confirming the doors were closed.

  The crowd seemed to calm down a little once inside. A few clustered around the minister, waiting for him to tell them what to do next.

  Mrs. Prescott, on the other hand, turned to face me with wrath and hate in her eyes. “I warned you that this day would come, but you wouldn’t listen to me! You have toyed with the devil, and now we are all to pay for your sins!”

  I shrunk back in disgust at the sight of the old woman. She had jaundiced skin, her eyes bloodshot and bulbous. I had never encountered anyone so hateful and full of spite.

  “How dare you even step foot in the house of the Lord, you vile thing! You are responsible for this,” she accused, looking me directly in the eye as she walked slowly toward me.

  The crowd hushed as they watched her approach. I felt naked and exposed, what ‘sins’ is she referring to? Even though I didn’t know the answer, I still felt guilty—laid bare before the old woman and the others, looking on like jurors.

  “You’re an evil girl! Evil!” she shrieked in a loud voice.

  I said nothing and just stared at her, horrified. She looked like she wanted to strangle me like when she assaulted me outside my house.

  Christian stepped between us when she was just inches away blocking my view. “This is no time for blame!” Christian shouted. “Alice is welcome here, and all are welcome in the house of God. If you can’t accept this, Mrs. Prescott, I must ask you to leave.”

  The harshness of his words silenced her, but didn’t stop her from looking at me with contempt.

  I couldn’t bear to meet her eyes—too consumed with guilt. I wondered if my unexpected romance with Henry had really brought about all the turmoil and unleashed havoc on the townspeople of Pacific Grove. If I had heeded the old hag’s advice and stayed away from the water, could we really have avoided this?

  I slowly walked up the aisle toward the altar, away from the crowd, so they wouldn’t see my shame. Just in front of the altar, kneeling down on one of the pews, I saw a lone figure, praying. The closer I got, I could see his shoulders tremble. I put my hand on his shoulder and tried to calm him. “Ethan? What’s the matter?”

  “Forgive me, Father. Forgive me,” he said over and over, a desperate plea begging God’s forgiveness for something he’d done.

  I leaned in closer, “What’s wrong?” I asked again trying to console him, “Why are you in so much turmoil?”

  He looked at me with wide, terrified eyes— eyes of a boy frightened for his life. I had never seen so much fear in a person before, not even in my mother while on her deathbed. “I-I was walking home from the store when I got caught in the fog. It was all around me, and I was instantly lost. Then I heard footsteps following me. I saw something, Alice—something terrible.”

  “What Ethan?” I urged, realizing that whatever it was scared the life out of him.

  He swallowed and in an almost inaudible sob, he uttered the words, “I saw Heather.”

  While having that terrifying conversation with Ethan in the church, across town O’Reilly and his men found my house. Their shadows loomed large and monstrous as they stood outside the white Victorian clapboard, pausing a moment to look up
at my bedroom window. None of the lights were on, since no one was in, but that didn’t deter the hell-bent sailors.

  O’Reilly motioned forward, and a couple sailors followed him up the path, carelessly trampling the flowers that bordered our cobblestone walkway—flowers Sophie helped me plant. When they reached the door, they found it locked and without a second thought, O’Reilly kicked the door down with a brute force then he and his wet crewmen marched inside.

  He contemptuously glanced around at our possessions; Mom’s china and silver plates then at Sophie’s dolls. O’Reilly paused at the bottom of the stairway and looked up, sniffing the air, nostrils again flaring like a bloodhound’s.

  “Empty! There’s no one here,” he said, not bothering to climb the stairs. “Come on.” As he walked out, he stepped right on Sally-Anne—Sophie’s doll, breaking her limbs and squashing her head.

  Meanwhile, Henry had run to the Coast Guard hut, hoping to intercept O’Reilly and his men. Per Emily’s vision, the dirty dozen would strike there first. When Henry reached the jetty that skirted the hut, he could hardly see due to the fog’s density. While running through the mist, he almost tripped over something. Bending down to investigate, he found himself staring into the lifeless eyes of Captain Pickard.

  “Dear God!” said Henry, “They are merciless!” On instinct, he whirled around in the darkness and spotted several figures looming behind him and that meant he was outnumbered.

  “You saw Heather. . .?” I asked, struck by Ethan’s strange confession.

  “On my way back from working at the grocery store, I took the coastal path home, thinking it would be quicker, then the fog rolled in from across the bay. I couldn’t see a thing, so I took a wrong turn that led me down to the sea. That was where I saw her, standing right there in the fog only feet away.”

  “Are you sure it was her? Did she look like she was ok?”

  “She looked—terrible—her hair was wet and dirty, with tiny crabs crawling around. It was disgusting. Not only that, but something about her face. . .”

  “What?”

  “Her eyes, Alice, full of hate. As if she wanted me to die,” he said before breaking into an inconsolable sob. “God is punishing me. I know He is.”

  “Why would he want to punish you, Ethan?”

  Ethan sniffed, looking up at me with eyes black as coal. His empty stare said nothing mattered to him anymore, that he gave up all hope of living. “It was me, Alice. I-I pushed her into the bay, and she must have drowned.”

  “You pushed her?” I said in disbelief, the puzzle pieces slowly falling into place.

  He nodded.

  “After she had that row with Channing, I gave her a lift home, but I took a detour to the coast. I just wanted to be alone with her. She looked so pretty in that gold dress, in the moonlight. I’ve always thought her beautiful, but she had never looked lovelier. I just wanted to go for a walk with her, but—”

  “—But what, Ethan?” I prodded, getting impatient.

  “Well, when I suggested it, she started shouting, saying hideous things to me. She was freaking out, yelling at me, demanding to know where I was taking her. I told her she owed me a favor.”

  “Owed you a favor? For what?”

  “She hated doing her homework, so I always helped her with math and well, it sort of developed from there.”

  “What developed?”

  “Favors. I did her homework in return for…certain kinds of favors. Heather hated studying. She didn’t like school, except the socializing part. She wanted to be popular, but she had to hide all that from her super-religious mom, so we made a kind of deal. I did her homework, and in exchange, she let me, uh…touch her.”

  I sat back on the wooden bench, stunned. It was hard to imagine Heather with geeky Ethan. The homecoming queen, the most popular girl in school, and he is not a popular guy. Doesn’t excuse his unspeakable crime—now he was desperate to be absolved. By God and—us.

  Would I be absolved if I did the same?

  All that time, since the others had gathered in the church, Emily had remained silent, with her eyes closed. She sat on one of the benches, as if in prayer. Her breathing remained calm and rhythmic, as if sitting in meditation. I knew she was concentrating so she might be able to predict the movements of O’Reilly and his men. She kept very still and quiet, hoping to pick up any flashes or vibrations. Suddenly, she opened her eyes and cried out, “They’re coming!”

  “How do you know?” Christian asked, a question echoed by the crowd around her.

  “I saw a flash of all of us huddled here, inside the church. A strong voice calling to us. . . They will be here soon.”

  We waited with apprehension, everyone so quiet I could hear Christian’s rhythmic breathing, falling in line with the rise and fall of his chest. The fog outside continued to swirl around the church as we silently, helplessly waited to hear any telling noises whispering of our imminent doom.

  The bang on the door sounded sharp and hollow, startling everyone in the church. A strong voice with what sounded like an Irish brogue called out, “Come out! It will be easier for ye if ye surrender. There is no escaping Judgment Day.”

  I glanced at Christian and said, “O’Reilly,” my voice trembling.

  He shook his head. “Don’t say anything,” he whispered. “We must not speak to such evil.”

  “It is universal law!” O’Reilly continued. “There is no escaping accountability.”

  “What do you want of us?” Reverend O’Neill shouted through the thick oak door. Despite his position of authority over evil, his voice trembled, and his knees shook.

  “We want only the lass—Alice Parker,” demanded O’Reilly.

  I shuddered at the mention of my name, and all eyes focused on me instantly. I knew they blamed me for what was happening.

  “If you don’t surrender her, we will burn the church down, and ye will burn with it,” O’Reilly threatened.

  The other parishioners began to cry out in fear. I gasped—This is a nightmare where I won’t be able to escape through waking-up. O’Reilly was prepared to destroy the church and everyone in it just to seek revenge on Henry—hard to believe such hate exists in the afterlife.

  Silently, I did something I hadn’t done for a long, long time: I said a full prayer. I prayed my mom would survive every night while she was ill, and became so angry that God did not see fit to answer my prayers. He took her from me anyway and after that, I gave up hope that God heard and answered prayer.

  “Heavenly Father, deliver us from evil,” began the minister, his voice reverberating around the church.

  “Come out!” O’Reilly bellowed. “We vow not to hurt you. We simply want the girl.”

  “Must we trade all our lives for hers?” Mrs. Prescott asked, pointing a gnarled finger at me.

  Christian shook his head. “If we surrender Alice, they’ll burn this place down anyway. We mustn’t listen to him.”

  I sensed some of the parishioners staring questioningly at me, sure they would willingly trade my life to save their own.

  Most of all, I wondered about Henry, and prayed he was safe. For all I knew, he had already confronted O’Reilly and lost. Twelve against one is an odd that doesn’t stand a chance—even a ghostly boyfriend.

  “Let me go, Christian,” I finally said. “It’s me they want; I had no idea my relationship with Henry would end up involving the entire town.”

  “If she wants to go, you should let her,” said a man I recognized from the grocery store.

  “I’m not sacrificing myself for some lovesick teenager. I’m the mother of two, for God’s sake,” one of the women said.

  “If it’s the girl they want, they should take her. Why should we get involved?”

  “What have we done to deserve this? Let the girl go.”

  “Over my dead body,” said Christian, bravely facing the crowd. “What kind of people are you? You go to church, yet your faith is so weak that you are willing to sacrifice Alice to those e
vil things out there?”

  “She will only be getting what she deserves,” Mrs. Prescott hissed.

  “And who are you to say what Alice deserves?” Christian argued, casting his eyes on each one of them. “Who among you has never sinned? Because if there is one perfect among you, perhaps that statue at the front of this church should be a statue of you!”

  “This is thy last chance,” O’Reilly’s voice bellowed through the door. “Surrender, or ye will all burn in hell!”

  The parishioners cried out in anguish.

  Reverend O’Neill looked at me, and I sensed that even his resolve wavered.

  Mrs. Prescott stepped up from her pew. “This is all your fault. You will burn in hell for this!” She shouted at me, her eyes glaring furiously. “Why are we still even debating this? She would not listen to me, and now we will all pay for her sins.”

  The other parishioners began to murmur. Some of them looked at me with hateful glares, and I sensed a mob beginning to form.

  “Why should we die because of her?” another woman said. “Give her up! My children need me!”

  Mrs. Prescott seemed to enjoy stirring up the others. She pointed an accusing finger at me again and declared, “If we release her, they will not harm us. All they want is her.”

  Christian jumped up and shook her wrinkly, liver-spotted shoulders violently. “Shut up, you silly old woman.”

  “Christian!” shouted Reverend O’Neil, shocked. “Let her go.”

  “I’m sorry, Father, but she’s been on Alice’s back since the very first day she moved to Pacific Grove, scaring her with her ghost stories, filling her head with nonsense.”

  “Because I saw what was coming! This evil tempest is upon us because of her!” Mrs. Prescott shouted.

  I remembered Johnny—from the gathering in the woods. “Mrs. Prescott,” I broke in, “I have a message for you. Before I came here tonight, I met your son. Johnny asked me about you and wanted me to tell you that he misses you.”