by A. D. Folmer
That night I got to share a room with Steve again. The house he was renting had been broken into. It could have happened any time since we’d gone to the bar the night before. Whoever had done it had taken the door off the hinges, and Cecilia’s complaints about lost business aside, Towenridge was a town that shut down on Sundays. He’d have to wait until Monday to get his door fixed.
That morning in the hotel lobby we heard that Cecilia’s store had also been broken into. Cecilia was the one who told us because she was worried about me.
“They took all of Obadiah’s clothes that you didn’t buy,” she said. “So if you need any more clothes I’m afraid it’s disco fever for you.”
“Then I’d better hang on to what I’ve got,” I said. “Is there some connection between the mall and Obadiah?”
“He owned the land before he died,” Steve said. “His estate sold it to us.”
“His estate?” Cecilia repeated, “You mean his sister-in-law? That settles that. There’s probably something terrible out there, and she either didn’t know or dismissed it as her brother-in-law’s crazy ramblings.”
“So someone’s going through his old clothes for a hint?” I said.
“Or,” Cecilia said, “the person who bought the land bought something else at the estate sale that made them want the land, like a diary or a painting, but whatever they expected to find wasn’t there.”
“Or is surrounded by killer plants that an old man couldn’t possibly have fought off,” Steve said. “So he must have had a way of warding off the chupacabras. Like a talisman, or a magic symbol, or a-”
“A tunnel?” I suggested. “You said you knew where the tunnels are.”
“I don’t know of any that lead out of town,” Cecilia said. “And the mall is over twenty miles away by road! I can’t imagine Mr. Fry being up to digging one that long.”
“I could ask him,” I said. “Do you know where he was buried?”
“You can really talk to the dead?” Cecilia gasped. “Wow! Can I come watch?”
“I . . . I was going to ask you to show me the way,” I said. “You’re sure easy to convince. Even my clients are usually more skeptical than that.”
“You were so matter of fact,” she said. “You should have seen your face. You were like ‘enough with the bullshit, I’ll just ask him!’ So let’s go.”
“Is Earl around?” I asked. “He’s working on the Bishop’s Corner thing.”
“Are you going to try to charge him too?” Steve asked. “Double-dipping is unethical, you know.”
“No, I just think that if we solve the mystery in the middle of a cemetery it might be nice to have someone with a gun around.”
“Can’t you raise zombies to eat anyone who threatens you?” Cecilia asked.
“No,” I told her. “I can’t do zombies.”
Earl agreed to come with us. Theresa overheard us and wanted to come with us, even after I warned her that she wouldn’t be able to see anything. School had been closed as part of the drill, and she was antsy. It wasn’t hard for her to convince her father that it would be okay for her to get out of the hotel for a while. Cecilia had a van that we could all fit in, so she drove.
Chapter 9: It’s going to be lawsuits and voodoo dolls all around
Obadiah Fry was buried in the Lutheran cemetery. As soon as I stepped into the place specters began popping up from the ground. Sparks climbed out of my pocket and started making friends. I tried to dodge the new specters. It was no use, they could tell that I could see them and started swarming around me. I was glad that my companions weren’t talking because the new information was almost too much. Everyone in the cemetery seemed to have a deep dark secret. I petted and soothed the individual specters and the roar of information settled into a trickle. I sighed.
“Does that happen every time you go to a cemetery?” Cecilia asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Why, did it look strange?”
“You sounded like you were trapped in a boring conversation with a lot of people,” Theresa said. “With a lot of uh-huhs and oh that’s interestings. And your hair and clothes were moving around like it was windy. Your hair is still moving around.” So much for looking normal.
“Well, I’m surrounded by specters,” I said. I reached up, and she was right. There was a specter sitting on my head. I petted it a few times and nudged it away. Like all specters, it was light as air and soft to the touch. “It’s a good sign. The cemetery is healthy, and the spirits are socialized.”
“What’s that mean, exactly?” Earl asked.
“You know all those movies where a bunch of idiots drive into a foggy cemetery at night to make sure someone’s still dead, and monsters eat them?”
“Yup.”
“That can’t happen here.”
“It can’t?” Theresa said.
“You could get attacked by bears, I suppose, but no supernatural evil, and absolutely no raising things from the dead. Specters are kind of like the frogs of the spirit world. They’re the first spirits to bail when things start going to Hell.”
“That’s good to know,” Cecilia said. “Now, how about Mr. Fry?”
As I’d expected, there was competition to see who could tell me the most about the late Mr. Fry.
“There is a tunnel out of town,” I said. “It was an old project started around the time the town was founded. It was meant to be an evacuation route under the mountains until they ran into something evil underground. The man who built it claimed all the land along the route, sealed up the entrance and told his family never to dig there again. Obadiah told Abner about it when they were younger, and they convinced each other it would be a good idea to open it up and see what was on the other side.” I listened some more.
“There’s a portal of some kind at the end of the tunnel. Obadiah thought it was an evil shrine. Abner was convinced it could grant wishes. After Obadiah locked the door and refused to open it again, Abner never forgave him. Oh, he really never forgave him. Obadiah died convinced that Abner killed him.”
“The medical examiner said he had a heart attack,” Earl said.
“He isn’t very clear on how Abner killed him,” I said. “Anyway, that’s your answer. There’s a mysterious, possibly evil magic thing under the mall. Obadiah didn’t know about the chupacabras since he never visited the above ground part of his property.”
“So the man I shot was wasting his time looking for that tunnel,” Earl said.
“Not necessarily. It was already sealed up when they found it the first time. It would be faster to unseal it than to dig a whole new tunnel.”
“What makes you so sure of that?” Steve asked. “An old tunnel might collapse on itself faster than you can dig it out.”
“I’ve seen his memories of the tunnel,” I told him. “I don’t know much about ancient tunnels, but the floor looks level, and it’s got supports. Parts of it even have electric lighting.” Cecilia nodded.
“I told you they’re convenient.”
“So, in addition to monsters and a mystical evil thing, there is an unaccounted for tunnel under my project, is what you’re saying,” Steve said. He sounded tired.
“It looks that way,” Earl said.
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Steve said. “There was nothing about this on the bill of sale, and nothing on the surveys. It’s going to be lawsuits and voodoo dolls all around when I get back to my office.”
“Did your bosses know you dabble in the occult when they assigned you here?” Cecilia asked.
“I try to keep my work and my personal life separate,” he replied. “Hiring Jaspar is the most occult thing I’ve done during my tenure there.”
“Mr. Windisle?” Theresa yanked on my jacket.
“Yes?”
“Could you talk to Abner, too?”
“Why?”
“Maybe he really did kill old Mr. Fry.” She looked up at me with big, pleading eyes. “Please? I want to know.”
“I’ve got time if you want t
o,” Cecilia said. “He’s buried over in the Protestant cemetery.”
“Fine,” I said. “But I can’t guarantee good results in a different cemetery.”
***
We drove over. The Protestant cemetery was closer to the freeway, behind the line of hotels. It didn’t have a church attached and didn’t have much of a parking lot either. According to the plaque on the gate, it was a historical site maintained by the town. None of the graves had flowers on them, and most of them were over fifty years old. There were far fewer specters here. They mostly wanted to talk to me about the war. ‘The’ war seemed to be World War I or II; there were a handful of memories of the Revolutionary war, and one memory that was either a Renaissance Fair gone horribly wrong or someone who was much older than their grave marker indicated. There was a lot of that going on around here. Abner was buried near the end of a row, out of sight of the parking lot.
Abner was a wealth of information. Much of it, I didn’t need. Cecilia and Theresa had been correct in their assessment of him; he had been a con artist all his life. He’d worked so hard to encourage tourism because everyone in town was on to his schemes, and he didn’t want to move. He also liked cupcake cakes, a black mark against anyone in my book. He didn’t want to move because he was sure that the cave he and Obadiah had found was worth a fortune to the right buyer if only he could get his hands on it. And to that end . . .
“He hired someone to kill Obadiah with magic,” I said. “He figured out how to unseal the tunnel and he contacted an evil wizard to kill Obadiah because he wouldn’t sell him the land. You might want to ask Obadiah’s sister-in-law about it,” I said to Earl. “I don’t know if she was in on the murder, but she and Abner were scheming together about something to do with land and money.” They were also sleeping together. I don’t share all the details I pick up from the specters, even when I’m being paid.
“Something?” Earl prompted me.
“I’m only getting bits and pieces,” I said. “It doesn’t make sense to me. For some reason Abner thought Obadiah would sell him the land much more cheaply than he would sell to you,” I nodded to Steve, “and when he didn’t, Abner thought it was worth killing over.”
“I never heard that Abner had been having money troubles,” Earl said.
“Neither did I,” Theresa said, “but he was always working an angle, wasn’t he? He couldn’t organize a picnic without finding a way to make it crooked. At least, that’s what my dad said. If he knew Abner had been sneaking onto our property, he’d be furious.”
“Oh, and Abner was murdered too. By something . . . I’m not sure what. Some kind of monster. What was he supposed to have died of?”
“A stroke,” Earl said. “He spent a couple months in the hospital doing rehab, but it didn’t help. After a while, he just faded away.”
“No, he didn’t,” I said. “He died in his living room. It’s hard to tell from his perspective, but I don’t think rehab was in his future.”
“That’s another mystery to investigate then,” Earl said. He stared at the grave for a minute or two; then he was back to business.
“How did Obadiah unseal the tunnel?” He asked.
“With a hex wrench,” I said. “A really big hex wrench, about the size of a giant novelty pencil and made of steel. Not the sort of thing that could be hiding in a piece of clothing. I’d say if no one saw him wandering around town with it, then it’s near the entrance of the tunnel.”
“Why a giant hex wrench?” Cecilia wondered.
“The seal is a big metal plate with a bolt in the middle. I’m kind of surprised one person could open it, let alone an old man you’ve all described as out of shape.”
“Perhaps that’s where Mrs. Fry comes in,” Earl said. “I’ll have to have a talk with her.”
***
Theresa was mostly silent on the way back to the hotel. As we were getting out of Cecilia’s van, she asked me
“What’s a hex wrench?”
“Have you ever assembled your own furniture?” I asked her. She shook her head.
“We live in the hotel. All our furniture is antique.”
“A hex wrench is a piece of metal shaped like a candy cane except it’s bent at a right angle, and it has six sides. They’re used to screw and unscrew bolts. They usually come free with self-assemble furniture.”
“Wouldn’t it be easy to copy?”
“If you were determined, I suppose. You can’t buy a hex wrench the length of a car off the shelf so you’d have to make it. I wouldn’t know where to start. I guess a blacksmith could do it.”
“I’m going to have to ask your father about looking for that tunnel,” Steve said. “I need to see what’s going on down there before I decide what to do about it.”
“I’ll be looking for that tunnel too,” Earl said. “If I’m not mistaken you fellas have a kill zone to map out.”
“Can I help you look for the tunnel?” Theresa asked.
“No,” Earl said. “You need to tell your dad what’s going on and help with that drill.”
“But Earl-”
“No buts,” Cecilia said. “He’s right. There are cultists roaming the woods again. You don’t want to get kidnaped, and we don’t want to quit looking for the tunnel because we have to search for you.” Theresa made a face and agreed. Steve and I headed back to the construction site.
Chapter 10: 100,000 hits!
We took Steve’s car, which was sleek and black and, most importantly, company owned. No killer vegetable was going to damage my car. We had free range of the field, as there were no construction workers or protestors to be seen. Caution tape was strung across the entrance to the construction site. We argued about whether to park as far away as possible to protect the car or as close as possible in case we had to run for it. We compromised and parked in the middle of the field. Steve took a can of spray paint and a clipboard out of his car. Zebulon Akeley pulled up next to us in a pick-up truck. He was dressed in green digital fatigues, a baseball cap, and an orange vest. He pulled something that looked like a rifle on steroids out of the back of his truck, along with a wand and backpack ensemble that I recognized.
“Those are illegal,” I told him.
“They are,” he agreed. “Earl would be cool with it, and the sheriff is busy elsewhere.”
“You’ll burn the forest down,” Steve objected.
“You’ll set yourself on fire,” I said. “I’m speaking from experience here.”
“You’ve set yourself on fire?” Zebulon asked.
“No, but I’ve seen it happen,” I said, “and that’s one of the better outcomes.”
He shrugged, unimpressed.
“Relax. If I have to resort to this thing, we’ll all have bigger problems. I’d rather hedge my bets.”
“So the elephant gun is your first choice?” Steve asked. So that’s what that was.
“No, dynamite is my first choice. But have you ever seen a dynamite launcher? And a grenade launcher would maim us all if I tried to use it in a small area like this.” Clearly occult interests weren’t the only odd thing about the residents of this town. Or maybe the heavy firepower was for dealing with cultists.
“So what’s your plan?” I asked him. He pulled a series of straps and hooks out of his truck.
“I’m going to climb a tree and cover you from above while you do your thing. If anything moves I’ll shoot it, and we all head back here as fast as we can and leave in my truck.”
“You aren’t going to be able to climb a tree with a flamethrower on your back,” I told him. He grumbled a bit and put it back in the truck.
Once that was settled, I set up my pendant. Sparks was shifting around a bit, and the pendant was wobbling, but that was because my hand was shaking. I started walking towards the flags marking where construction might begin someday with my arm held out in front of me. I hadn’t made it to the tree line before the pendant began jerking around in earnest. Sparks wasn’t even near it yet.
“That was about what I expected,” I said.
“We’re past the point where the protestors got killed,” Steve said. He marked it with paint anyway.
“I think they provoked it,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”
After the tenth or so time, I backed up Sparks seemed to figure out what I was doing. He started flying back and forth from me to the danger zone. I was able to trace it by listening to the screams fade in and out. We were slowed down by Zebulon needing to switch trees every dozen feet or so, but we were done well before dark. When I checked my watch, it had taken only two hours thanks to Sparks.
“The edges are wobbly, but we made a circle,” Steve said, consulting his clipboard.
“A big circle,” I said.
“Yes. The entire mall would fit inside it.”
“You think so?” I replied. “Wouldn’t it have a corner sticking out somewhere?” Every mall I’d ever been to was L-shaped or had odd corners sticking out where they’d added more stores.
“Our mall is circular,” Steve told me. “With no outlying buildings. We’re making up the lack of square footage with more floors.”
“Almost like someone wanted it to fit inside the circle of killer ferns,” Zebulon commented.
“Yes,” I agreed. “It’s funny how that worked out.”
We made it back to the parking lot without incident. I’d put the pendant away and was getting ready to open the car door when Zebulon shouted something.
“What?” Steve called back as he opened his door.
“There’s someone in the back of your car!” Zebulon yelled. I jumped away from the passenger side. The door opened, and a hand reached for me. I turned and ran towards Zebulon’s truck. I could hear Steve cursing behind me, but he can take care of himself.
Suddenly there was a bang like the sound of every tire in an eighteen wheeler blowing out at once, and it felt like I’d been stabbed in the ears. I put my hands to my ears, relieved to find they were still attached. I couldn’t hear Steve anymore. I could see Zebulon and his mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. So I was deaf. No, scratch that. I could hear static, and a high pitched whine. It was like my ears were on strike and complaining bitterly about harsh working conditions.