by Mac Flynn
A smile slid onto his lips. "That sounds quite interesting, but I'm keeping you from your efforts to rid yourself of an evil spirit."
Roland sat up and looked around. His eyes widened and he looked to me. "Where is the box?"
"It's in the church," I told him.
"Was something left behind?" the father asked us.
"Yeah, but we can get it," I assured him.
He stood and shook his head. "Allow me. The ghost has no grudge with me."
"No, but she-well, she's really interested in this box," I admitted.
Father Malone paused and looked between us. "I see. That is what she seeks."
"Yeah, but we can get it," I insisted.
He shook his head. "No, please allow me. It's the least I can do for you in this strange battle you fight."
I couldn't stop him before he walked to the door and opened the entrance. The mist stood just outside the door.
"Wait!" Roland shouted. "Your cross!"
I remembered too late that Father Malone had stuffed his cross necklace into his pocket. A tendril of mist flicked out and wrapped itself around him. Father Malone was pulled into the depths of the white evil. Roland tried to stand, but I pushed him back onto the couch.
"I'm not losing two guys!" I snapped at him.
"We cannot risk that she will take a bound soul!" he argued.
I reached into my nun outfit and pulled out the fake cross. The other necklace, the one Frank left, came with it. "Then I'm about to become a believer."
I rushed around the couch and dove through the door. The mist didn't part like it had for Father Malone's cross, and I found myself in a white void. There was nothing but blank white around me, and I couldn't hear anything but the sound of my own heart as it danced the tango. I reached out my hands and felt the air in front of me as I took a few hesitant steps forward.
"Father Malone?" I called. "Violet? Come on, I'm right here. Nice, juicy, and defenseless."
I started back when Lady Violet made her astral appearance in front of me. This time I could see her whole body, and beside her was Father Malone. The tendril was still wrapped around his arms and one was slapped over his mouth. He twisted in its grasp, but couldn't free himself. The spirit glared at me.
"I am not some monster who eats flesh," she snapped at me.
"Could've fooled me," I quipped.
Her eyes narrowed and a long, misty tendril whipped out from the whiteness. It slipped around me and pinned my arms to my sides. I winced and squirmed, but the bonds only tightened. Lady Violet floated over to me and grabbed the cross around my neck. She shook it in my face.
"You believe such a thing would deter me? You have no faith in God," she mocked me.
"But I have faith in her," a voice spoke up.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Roland step out of the void. He clutched his chest and stumbled more than walked. His face was as white as the mist and he had a constant grimace on his face. Lady Violet dropped the cross and smiled at him.
"And I have faith that you need to get your ass back inside!" I yelled at him.
Roland straightened and shook his head. "I won't leave you. Ever."
Lady Violet sneered at him. "That is not your choice."
A tendril of mist snapped out to bind him like us. Roland stepped to the side out of its reach and sprinted forward. More tendrils flew around him, but he dove, ducked, and dodged them all. He slid to a stop in front of the ghostly form of Lady Violet and swiped his hand across her face. Her features were distorted like ripples in a pond, but they quickly reassembled themselves. She reached out with her hand and grabbed his throat. Roland was lifted a foot off the ground as she snarled into his face.
"I will have your soul, vile creature, and I will live again!" she insisted.
I watched as her fingers tightened on his throat. He squirmed and gasped in her hold.
"No!" I shouted.
A blinding light erupted around me and spread across the ground. Lady Violet snapped her head to me and her eyes widened. She let out a banshee wail as the light engulfed her and her mist. The bonds that held us disappeared and the mist was swept down the hill to the far reaches of the park. I looked around and saw Roland face-down on the ground.
"Roland!" I yelled.
I raced up to him and turned him over. His eyes flickered open and smiled up at me.
"Like the sun," he whispered.
I shrugged. "Yeah, but how'd I do that?"
"Love is a very powerful thing," Father Malone spoke up as he walked up to us. He pulled out his cross and draped it over his neck. "My apologies to your religion, my friend, but I believe this is necessary."
"We must hurry," Roland spoke up.
"Why? She's dead. Permanently, I hope," I told him.
He sat up and shook his head. "Things are not as they should be." His trembling hand pressed against his chest, and I realized his strength was still gone.
"To the library?" I asked him.
He nodded. "To the library."
"Then let me fetch your box and you can be on your way," Father Malone offered.
The father hurried away to the church, and I helped Roland on his feet. He was unsteady, but could still sprint as fast as me.
"So what exactly happened with that light?" I wondered. "I'd say it was your box, but it's kind of AWOL right now."
Roland shook his head. "I don't understand it myself, but-" he turned to me and his eyes softened, "-I can't thank you enough for what you did."
I shrugged. "All in a night's work for Misty, Diner Waitress and Exorcist."
"I believe this is it," Father Malone spoke up as he hurried back to us. In his hands was the soul box. There was a soft glow under its lid. We were probably lucky half the energy was gone or we'd be dealing with half a priest. He handed the box to me. "I wish you both luck in your endeavors, present and future."
"If we live past this one," I commented.
Father Malone smiled and winked. "I think spirit and other things of God's creation will get you through."
"And on that note, it's time to leave. We've got a couple of blocks to walk," I returned.
I spun Roland around and marched him down the hill.
CHAPTER 7
"Other of God's creations?" Roland asked me as we reached the edge of the park.
"You know how these priests are. They have to insert God into everything," I quipped.
We stepped onto the streets and normalcy invaded our normal world. Something short and white flew past us followed by another creature that looked like a goblin or a really ugly woman.
"Jeremy, get back here!" shouted the goblin.
"Come on, Mom, or we'll miss the best treats!" the short ghost shouted over his shoulder.
"Jeremy!" the goblin yelled.
The pair disappeared down the street. In the distance a few blocks away came the sounds of music, and lights lit up the sky.
"Is that the Halloween celebration?" Roland asked me.
My stomach grumbled, and I sighed and nodded. "Yeah, and our chance at dinner and a treat."
"Then let me give you a treat," a voice spoke up.
We turned to our left and our eyes fell on the wet-rag figure of David Ginsleh. He pointed the barrel of his dry, clean gun at us and looked into the scope. "Now you both-"
"Watch out!" I yelled as I pointed behind him.
"I won't fall for-ah!" A herd of ravenous costumed children raced around and through him. Several of them knocked into Ginsleh, and his knees buckled.
"I tried to warn you," I quipped as I grabbed Roland's hand and pulled us away.
We were halfway down the block before I looked over my shoulder. Ginsleh had a group of mothers around him and they all appeared to be apologizing for the behavior of their little monsters. He couldn't escape their little circle of sincerity, and that gave Roland and me a long head-start.
We raced down the streets and wound our way through an alley until we hit Main Street in all its Hallow
een glory. The downtown of my small hometown had rows of shops on either side of the main street. They were all decked out in terrifying things that related to their business. The sewing shop had sticky cobwebs over their door. The grocery store hung fake slabs of meat outside their windows. The worst was the accountant's office. They had a suit-wearing dummy outside with an IRS badge on its jacket.
People streamed up and down the street attired in frights, cuteness, and everything in-between. Spooky music played over speakers set up above the open shop doors and business owners and citizens alike passed out candy by the pound.
"Where is the library?" Roland asked me.
I snorted. "You never dined near there?"
He smiled. "The library is not one to find people loitering at night."
I nodded across the busy street. "It's that way two blocks down and across the park. We can get there-" Roland shoved me against the brick wall of the building to our right.
I saw something knick the wall opposite us. One quick glance in the direction we came told me Ginsleh had escaped the apologizing mothers. He stood at the other end of the alley with his gun pointed at us and a sneer on his lips.
Roland grabbed my hand and pulled me into the crowds on the street. The throngs of costumed candy-eaters and their haggled parents made for good shields, but weren't thick enough to hide us.
"We must lose him," Roland whispered to me.
"Did somebody turn on a fog machine?" I heard someone ask.
I looked in that direction and my eyes widened. "I think we have another problem."
Roland followed my gaze and frowned. At the far end of the street on the edge of the festivities was a giant wall of fog that stretched above the rooftops of the buildings. I didn't need three guesses to know what, or who, made that cloud bank. Roland looked to our left and frowned.
"We must decide quickly which one is the worst," he told me.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Ginsleh make his way through the crowds after us. I turned back to Roland and the wall in front of us.
"Great. Stuck between a spook and a hard bullet. . ." I muttered.
Our situation got a little more complicated when one of the people in charge of the event strode up to the wall of fog. He tapped the mist and his hand went into the whitness. The man turned to the crowd with a frown on his lips.
"Does anybody know who did-" A white tendril whipped out and grabbed him. The arm pulled him into the depths of the bank.
And that's when everyone decided they had somewhere else they needed to be, and they needed to run there. Men and women emitted high-pitched screams and ran in all directions. Parents picked up their kids and joined the stampede. The panicked people swallowed Ginsleh in their madness and pulled him down the street away from us.
Roland kept a firm hold on my hand and navigated us across the stream of chaos and to the other side of the street. We stumbled into an alley and looked back at the terrifying scene. The mist floated forward and tendrils shot out and dragged people into the void.
"You think they're going to be all right?" I asked him.
"We are her target," he reminded me. "So long as they don't pose a threat or use to her then she will not harm them."
"And if we don't find anything at the library?" I wondered.
He pursed his lips. "Then we can't be sure she won't change the status quo."
I glanced down at the glowing box in my hands and pursed my lips together. "Then let's hurry up and see if we can't find out more about this spook."
I grabbed Roland's hand and pulled him down the alley to the next block. There was just the park beyond that and then the library.
"Can we be sure the library is open on Halloween and this late?" Roland asked me.
"If Drummond's still working there then it'd be open for the end of the world," I quipped.
"'Drummond?'" Roland repeated.
I grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the park and the library beyond it. "Less air, more footwork," I encouraged him.
Roland and I sprinted across the park and up the tall stone stairs that led up to the heavy double doors. We raced through the doors and stepped on the brakes. The floors were waxed wood and we slid the ten yards across them to the front counter. Behind us were tables with computers, and beyond those were long bookcases filled with books. The library had two floors, and the second was an open balcony. It was a point of pride for the community that we had such a fine library. I only hoped there would be enough community left to have pride. The library was empty except for us and the woman behind the desk. Everyone else was too busy running for their ever-loving lives.
I slammed the soul box on the desk and looked at the small woman behind the desk.
"We need every newspaper clipping you have on the Lady Violet ghost!" I yelled.
The librarian behind the desk was a stereotype of the typical middle-aged spinster librarian. She had a beaked nose atop which sat a pair of thick spectacles. Her graying hair was pulled back in a tight bun and her eyes were in a constant state of narrowness. Her thin frame was cloaked in a flowered dress with a high, white collar. She was Librarian Drummond, and she was not happy.
"You're going to have to tell me more than that, and please don't shout," she snapped.
I tamped down the urge to inform her about the imminent doom of the town. "It happened in the fifties," I told her.
"Everything prior to 1970 was put onto microfilm," she informed us.
"May we view those?" Roland spoke up.
Drummond smiled at him and bowed her head. "You may." She walked around the desk and gave me an ugly side-glance. "This way, please, and please be quiet."
She led us towards the back wall where stood a rickety old table and a couple of old school chairs. On the table was a large, old screen with wheels beneath it and on its side. Beside the screen on the table sat a rickety old shelving case with cubby holes. Each hole contained a small reel of what looked like film.
Drummond took a seat in front of the screen. Roland and I stood on either side of her with me close to the rack of reels. Drummond turned to me with her narrowed eyes.
"You mentioned the Lady Violet ghost?" Drummond asked me.
"Yeah. We wanted to know if there was anything to the stories about an accident," I explained.
She pressed her spectacles against her nose and pursed her lips. "Of course there was an accident. I remember it very clearly."
"Do you recall the date?" Roland asked her.
Drummond glanced between us and her eyes narrowed so much I couldn't tell if she really had them open. "If this is some sort of Halloween dare or prank then I must ask you to leave."
I glanced over my shoulder at the tall windows across the library. The far-off lights of the downtown festival flickered, and I caught a glimpse of mist that slid between the buildings and towards the library.
"Believe me, I wish this was a joke," I replied as I turned my attention back to her. "But we really do want to know about her."
Drummond sighed and pulled out one of the reels. "Very well, but I don't believe for a second that ghosts are real. I want you to know that."
If she didn't hurry we'd have a newly conformed believer on our hands. Drummond placed the reel inside the machine on one of the wheels. She wound out a bit of the film and attached it beneath a piece of glass that looked like a science slide. The machine was clicked on and a light from beneath the slide illuminated the film and projected it onto the screen.
"Now let me see. It was some time in August, if I remember. . ." she muttered as she turned the dial on the side of the machine. The reel spun and the film passed across the across the bottom of the screen to the top. "Ah-ha!" She stopped the wheel and leaned back. "There you are."
Roland and I leaned forward and read the contents.
A tragic accident occurred last Saturday night when locals Mr. Francis Truman and his fiance Miss Violet Knick were found in Mr. Truman's overturned vehicle off Highway 12. Early reports indic
ate the recent rain had made road conditions unsafe and Mr. Truman lost control of the vehicle. The car rolled several times before coming to a stop near Vine Road. Mr. Truman was killed instantly, but Miss Knick lingered for a day before she, too, succumbed to her injuries.
Funerals will be held separately at the behest of Miss Knick's family. Both will be buried at Portham Cemetery in their respective family plots.
There was a picture of the vehicle, but not of the two people.
"See? Just a simple, tragic accident," Drummond commented. She made an horrific car accident sound like someone had stubbed their toe.
I glanced at Roland. "So what's the plan now?"
CHAPTER 8
"Are there any pictures of the deceased? Or any further information on where they were buried in the cemetery?" Roland asked her.
She scrolled up and down, and shook her head. "That's it. Back in those days everyone knew everyone else, so detailed information like family plots was deemed a waste of space."
I leaned towards the screen and the necklace from Frank dangled down and dragged across the wheels. I grabbed it and pulled it out of my way, and my arm knocked into the rack. The reels shook, and some of them rattled off their shelves and onto the floor.
"Be careful!" the librarian scolded in her not-library voice.
I stooped and snatched at the rolls that tried to roll away. The necklace was against me at every snatch. It swung like a heavy pendulum in front of my face. The flower on the end knocked against one of the reels and knocked that one underneath a nearby table where it collided with a leg of the table. I stood, grabbed the flower and glared at it.
"You're not helping," I growled.
"Misty, we don't have time to waste," Roland reminded me. Another reminder was the distant sound of screaming. It didn't sound as distant as before.
"Thanks, Frank. . ." I grumbled as I walked over and knelt beside the table.
I snatched the reel from the floor and noticed some of the microfilm stuck out of the case. The contents were tiny and without color, but I could make out a picture and some print words. I frowned and squinted. There was something familiar about that figure.