by Leah Cutter
Franklin had never dealt with old souls before. All the ghosts he saw were modern-day people, who’d died recently and couldn’t pass on.
What would an old ghost be like? Raised from over a century ago? Would it be stronger? More angry?
And what was the doctor going to do with all those souls?
“You don’t have to go with me,” Franklin told Julie as they parked in the lot behind the museum.
“Now you see? That’s where you’re wrong,” Julie told Franklin firmly as she got out of the car.
Franklin followed suit, though he just stood on his side, struggling to breathe through the pain.
Julie hurried over to where he was standing, looking at him critically. “You’re bleeding,” she said flatly.
Franklin looked down. It weren’t much blood, just a bit through the bandage on his side. “I been resting it,” he complained.
“Not sure that matters,” Julie said, obviously worried. “Now, come on. We got an insane doctor to stop.”
Franklin took her hand and paused, just for a moment, wanting to kiss her.
He knew he shouldn’t. But there weren’t no one there to see. And he didn’t know when the next time would be that it would be safe to kiss her.
So he leaned down and kissed her lightly anyway. “Thank you,” he whispered against her lips.
“For what?” Julie asked.
“For everything,” Franklin said.
“You’re welcome. Now let’s go stop a madman.”
Franklin nodded and fell into step beside her.
While he wanted to stop the doctor, and he knew that it was important, he was also aware that protecting his love had a much higher priority than ever before.
Ξ
They walked along the walkway through the open field, passing by signs of interest, explaining the battle and the farm it had been fought on. It was a bit chilly, so Franklin gave his jacket to Julie, over her protests that he’d been wounded and needed it instead.
Franklin wished they was taking this walk for some other reason, that they weren’t so desperate and scared. At least the pain in his side had diminished.
Whatever the doctor had done to the blade, however much he’d shaved off of it, he was finished.
For now.
Franklin still felt the blade calling to him. As they reached a grassy hill he turned, abruptly, tugging at Julie’s hand. “This way,” he said.
The hill gently sloped down to a narrow valley, then up again. Mist gathered in long lines across the bottom of the hill. An old cannon on a cement block pointed toward the sky. There weren’t any cover on the slope, no trees to hide behind, no rocks either. Franklin felt exposed standing there, as if that old cannon could suddenly turn and fire on them.
But the blade was calling to him, just up the next hill.
The cicada chorus suddenly dimmed and the night grew still, as if it were holding its breath.
More mist rose out of the grassy slope. Could they hide in that if it grew thick enough? Franklin started leading Julie that way, straight down the hill, then stopped abruptly when the mist split itself, dividing into separate pieces.
Separate bodies.
Ghosts.
Franklin had never seen so many ghosts all in one place before. He’d only ever dealt with one or two at a time.
The cold they gave off spiked through his bones, making him shiver.
These weren’t regular ghosts, either. They was the raised ones, with holes for eyes and a despair blacker than the night. No intent, nothing they needed doing, just rage.
Old, old rage boiled out of them, anger about the war and dying too young and now being ripped out of what little peace they’d found.
Some of them wore uniforms that Franklin recognized from watching documentaries on TV.
“Can you see those?” Franklin whispered to Julie, pulling up short.
“See what?” Julie asked, also whispering.
“Nothing,” Franklin said, relieved.
“Nope. I don’t see nothing. Except the armies of ghosts in front of us,” Julie added. She thwapped him on his shoulder, expertly missing all his existing injuries. “What did I say about sharing these things with me?”
“Sorry,” Franklin said. And he was. He vowed to do better. “These aren’t regular ghosts, you know,” he whispered. “These are the raised ones.”
Julie nodded. “They aren’t really there, are they? They keep shifting, fading out.”
Franklin nodded. He would bet that the only reason Julie was seeing anything was because he was still holding her hand. If it got too bad, he could always let go, though she’d probably yell at him for that.
But he also understood what she meant. The doctor was raising lines of ghosts, one at a time, in a wave. A line of ghosts would rise up, then the next, then the next, and the first line would start to fade.
“Why is he raising all these ghosts? How is he doing it?” Julie asked.
“The blade,” Franklin said, suddenly understanding. “He was shaving off part of the blade before. He’s using its power to raise these souls, draw them to him.” Cheating, again.
But why?
The doctor had to be at the top of the hill in front of them. They was gonna have to skirt around the valley, see if they could get closer without being seen.
A single crop of trees stood on the south slope of the hill, close to the top. It would hide them from view if they climbed from that side, maybe until they could rush out and surprise the doctor.
“This way,” Franklin told Julie, tugging on her hand.
“Why don’t we just go across the valley and up the hill?” Julie asked, not moving. “I don’t think he’s gonna hurt us none. And we could ruin his—”
The first of the ghosts stated howling.
The sound turned Franklin’s insides to jelly. Now, Franklin had never thought of himself as a brave man. Sure, he’d faced a lot of ghosts, but that was just doing his duty.
This howling came straight from Hell. It made him shiver all the way to his bones. It was the most awful sound he’d ever heard. Angry and terrifying, like demons was chasing the ghosts, on their tail and they couldn’t escape, there weren’t any way out.
If they’d been in Heaven before, now they was in Hell. And they didn’t like it, not one bit. Like God himself had turned his back on them.
Julie’s eyes grew big. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. “Around. We go around.” She looked at the ghosts gathered below them and shivered.
Franklin nodded. But before he started walking again, he held up their linked hands. “If I let go, you might not hear that noise as much,” he told her, offering her the choice instead of just letting go. “Might not see as much either.”
He figured she’d prefer the choice, rather than him just letting go, trying to protect her.
Julie thought for a moment, then squeezed his hand tighter. “Don’t even think about it,” she whispered fiercely. “We’re in this together.”
Franklin couldn’t tell Julie that he loved her. It weren’t the right time, on a battlefield with an army of ghosts from Hell howling below them. She might not think it was real.
But Franklin knew, suddenly, that this was it. What he was feeling was real.
They just had to survive the rest of the night so he could tell her proper.
Seven
THE HOWLING OF the ghosts got louder as Franklin and Julie skirted the hill. Seemed that the doctor was raising ghosts in a circle, on all sides of the hill he were standing on.
Was he staying up there so he had a better view of everything? Or did he have some kind of protection up there, so the ghosts couldn’t get at him? Would they have something more to fight once they got closer?
Franklin thought it had to be for protection. Those ghosts were angry. He’d bet they’d give Mama a run for the money in glaring power, even if their eyes was hollowed out. He weren’t sure what they could do to the living—besides scare ’em to death�
�but there was so many ghosts. Maybe they could combine and have more power to move things.
At least they weren’t trying to get in Franklin’s way as he hurried to the side of the hill.
Franklin had walked into his share of ghosts, or had them walk through him. The worst thing about that kind of happenstance was the cold, freezing him worse than ice slipped down his back.
But so many ghosts all in one place generated their own type of cold. Instead of spiking through Franklin, it was like a living thing, creeping over his skin and coating it in a blanket of ice.
Suddenly, the ground underneath their feet trembled.
Franklin didn’t like that one bit.
“What’s he doing?” Franklin asked as he rushed them around another clump of ghosts.
“Don’t know,” Julie said.
Franklin stopped and looked at Julie. Her teeth were chattering, and Franklin had never seen her look so pale.
Or scared.
She held up her free hand before he could say anything. “Don’t even think about suggesting we turn back. We’ve got to stop this doctor. What he’s doing is wrong.”
Franklin meekly nodded. “Would it help if you closed your eyes?” he asked. The ghosts around them loomed closer. “I can lead us up the hill.”
Julie shut her eyes briefly, then snapped them open again. “Nope. But thanks. Let’s just get going.”
Franklin tucked Julie’s hand closer, under his arm, trying to warm it up. She was freezing, despite wearing is jacket. At least she was wearing jeans and not her usual shorts.
A lone clump of pine trees huddled together near the top of the hill. Just beyond them, a sickly yellow light glowed.
Franklin recognized that light. It looked like what the doctor had used to raise Mama.
Only this light was much bigger, spreading out like mist, creeping along the ground.
Franklin led Julie into the trees, the sweet smell of pine surrounding them. The brown needles under the trees muffled their footsteps.
At least there weren’t any ghosts there.
The trees started swaying as they hurried underneath them.
Franklin didn’t realize his mistake until they was almost to the edge.
He remembered Miss Adrianna, how her trees reached down with their branches, holding her hand, like they was her children.
These trees had also been woken up.
But like the ghosts, they was angry.
Hard branches grabbed at Franklin’s arms. Harsh needles stung his skin. “Ow!” Franklin complained, though he tried to keep his voice hushed. His shoulder still ached from where the thorn bush had bit him, the stitches in his side pulling, sharp and tight.
The branches immediately loosened their grip. However, they didn’t let go—neither Franklin nor Julie would be allowed to pass.
The trees weren’t trying to hurt them either.
Franklin turned to see Julie. She was just as stuck as he was, held tight.
Were the trees trying to protect them? Or was they protecting the doctor? Franklin didn’t know. He tugged at the branches holding onto his arms, but he couldn’t get himself loose.
Just beyond the trees, Franklin thought he saw a solitary ghost. His uniform was torn and muddy, and the bandage around his head looked like it still bled.
Like the other ghosts, his eyes was dark and hollow. But he moved apart from the others, as though he’d held onto some of his will. He appeared to nod at Franklin, then ambled back down the hill, disappearing.
Franklin turned back forward. The doctor continued his spell. He had a camp table set up with a gas lantern on it, the old-fashioned kind that burned kerosene. The blade lay on one side, whimpering. Instead of three, equal-sized edges running the length of it, one had been shaved away.
Franklin didn’t know what was in that witch’s cauldron bubbling in the center of the table, that had the sickly yellow mist pouring out of it, but he’d bet the pieces of the blade were there.
The doctor was in his familiar scrubs, but he weren’t wearing a mask. Maybe he didn’t expect to be caught this time. Franklin studied his face, trying to memorize it, so if Sheriff Thompson asked maybe he could describe it to a sketch artist, like they did on TV.
The doctor had a strong jaw. It seemed to stick out from the rest of his face as he chanted in that weird language he’d used before, twisting his tongue and chewing on the words. His nose was just a tiny thing compared to the rest of his face, short and flat, while his forehead pushed out over his beady eyes.
He was older than Franklin would have guessed, probably in his late fifties or early sixties. His scalp was mostly bare, with just white fringes around the edges, curly.
This had to be the same man who’d gone to see Beulah. Who’d stabbed Franklin.
But why was he raising an army of ghosts? What was his intent?
Franklin could only wait and watch.
Ξ
When the ground rumbled again, Franklin looked around, trying to see what the hell it was.
The ghosts of cannonballs flew through the air, raising from the valley up to the top of the hill.
Was the doctor gonna fight a war? Or was that the ghosts, trying to fight back?
But the cannonballs didn’t strike the doctor, or his table. They pounded the hill, causing the ground to shake.
Franklin sure was glad he’d never had to go to war. What little he was seeing was awful.
The howls of the dead grew louder, drowning out all the other sounds. Franklin weren’t sure if he called out to Julie if she’d hear him. She looked pale hanging there.
Franklin tried breaking himself free again, but he couldn’t get to her.
At least he weren’t holding her hand anymore. Maybe the screams weren’t as loud for her, piercing her soul, though from her face was crunched up together, he knew some of the terrible racket were getting through.
Finally, the doctor finished with his spell. The howls of the dead died down to just moaning on the wind, constantly sending chills down Franklin’s spine.
Franklin looked over to where Julie hung, also trapped in the trees. She was watching the doctor too. She glanced over at Franklin and said something.
Franklin couldn’t quite catch it, but if he was reading her lips right, she’d just said, “I know him.”
Julie knew the doctor? Had she worked with him? Did she still work with him?
“My brave soldiers!” the doctor called out, addressing the army of the dead before him.
The ghosts howled in reply.
“I know you bravely gave your lives once in the defense of this country,” the doctor continued once they died down. “Blue or gray, it doesn’t matter. However, I ask for your lives once again, in the service of our great people.”
The ghosts howled again, louder this time. Franklin felt himself trying to back away, though the trees held him fast.
It weren’t right, whatever the hell this doctor were about to do. And Franklin wanted no part of it.
“No death! No birth! Just life eternal!” the doctor called out.
What the hell did that mean?
The doctor held up the blade, though it weren’t happy with him, not one bit.
If the blade had any ability to move, it would have driven itself into the doctor, tried its darnedest to take his soul. Bit him.
But the blade was just a tool, and the doctor was much more powerful than it was.
The ghosts surged up the hill, so many bodies that they hid Franklin’s view of the doctor. The cold rolled out from them, making Franklin’s teeth chatter.
Then they started to thin. The wide river of ghosts became a stream, all flowing toward the doctor and the blade he had raised over his head.
What was the doctor doing? Why had he raised so many souls, just to take them again?
The blade started complaining. It weren’t made to take and hold so many souls, not all at once.
Suddenly, instead of everything rolling in, it all rolled out
, like a mighty belch that the doctor couldn’t quite contain.
Heat blasted Franklin, baking his front. It was like suddenly stepping close to a camping fire. The warmth sunk deep into his skin, seeping into his bones.
The trees sighed in the wind, sagging, but not letting go.
Franklin felt as though all his muscles relaxed suddenly. His shoulder, where the thorn bush had impaled him, stopped hurting him. Hell, all the places where the thorns had bit him felt better.
What the hell was that doctor doing?
Even the wound from the knife felt better.
Was this what the doctor was raising souls for? Killing ghosts so he could heal the living?
It was a cheat, Franklin knew. But he could understand why the doctor was doing it, at least.
The doctor started chanting in that strange tongue of his, the words whipping the ghosts into shape, drawing them all in again. The howling of the ghosts thinned to a single wire of pain as they faded.
The knife grew more bloated, overly full and unhappy about it. It struggled to release the souls it had taken again, but the doctor held it firmly in his will.
Finally, the ghosts faded to nothing, the mist and the light dying.
The doctor sagged, but he still called out across the now empty hill, “Healed!”
He looked younger. The white fringes of his hair had red shot through it, now. Franklin hadn’t noticed the age spots dotting the doctor’s skull, not until they was all gone.
Was the doctor just trying to make himself young?
That didn’t seem right. He wouldn’t need a whole army of ghosts to do that.
Faster than Franklin would have thought, the doctor packed up. Franklin struggled with the trees again. They held fast, strong. Franklin turned to see Julie, who shook her head at him.
She didn’t want them to go confront the doctor? But why?
Did she really know him? Was he that dangerous?
Franklin waited until the doctor had disappeared down the far side of the hill before he pulled at the tree limbs holding him again.
The trees reluctantly loosened. Franklin pulled his arms away, his skin sticky with pine sap.