“That can’t be good!” Why was Charlie Dewdle just lying there, slumped over like a moron? Any reasonable kid would’ve left by now. Couldn’t he sense something terrible was about to happen? There were too many creatures for Walter to fight, and how would he even do that in the first place? His pulse quickened. He couldn’t fail his assignment within the first hour.
Walter jabbed his hand in his pocket and pulled out the ready-reference pamphlet. Five folded pages with large boldface type, a couple of pictures of Guardian Agents in various poses, and a few step-by-step bullet points of instruction were all he found.
“This is it?” He pored over the pamphlet ravenously, sheer panic overwhelming him.
STEP 1—ASSESS THE SITUATION. Agents should never act until they have properly assessed the level of danger. A calm demeanor will…
Yeah, whatever! There was no need to stop and assess the level of danger. There was no doubt—it was bad. He skipped to Step 2.
STEP 2—IDENTIFY THE ENEMY. Agents should know the makeup and constitution of each level of dark creature, from the basic Underworld nuisance to the most threatening demon.
Walter looked at the accompanying pictures as he read.
Consider this on a four-point scale, with one being the easiest enemy to engage and four being the deadliest.
LEVEL 1—SHADES. Composed of wispy, dark material and generally characterized by their high-pitched squealing and whimsical flight patterns, shades pose the lowest threat to Agents. Avoid attacking them in groups of five or more and be wary of their touch, which, although causing no permanent threat or harm, can induce a slightly uncomfortable jarring sensation.
Walter’s eyes shot up from the book as he remembered what was more than a slightly uncomfortable sensation when the shades had zapped him.
“Right. Shades.” His eyes darted around the room. “More than five. Definitely more than five! What happens when there’s more than five? Darwin, you’ve got to hear me!”
The giant creature floating above the bed had grown more distinct. The chanting continued from the shades, and the monster’s eyes homed in on their target. If Walter failed to act, Charlie didn’t stand a chance. Walter looked back down at the pamphlet.
LEVEL 2—WRAITHS. Humanoid in shape and characterized by bloodred cloaks and scythelike claws, wraiths make formidable opponents. Avoid staring directly into their eyes, as this will inflict immediate paralysis, and do not, under any circumstances…
“Blah, blah, blah!” Walter scanned the room. No wraiths yet, so no need to dwell on them. What he needed to know was the level of the hideous floating woman in the center of the room. The one almost completely formed into an evil octopus lady.
LEVEL 3—DARK OMENS. Like wraiths, Dark Omens are humanoid in shape. Despite having several extra tentacle-like appendages, they are entirely female in appearance. Primarily used as harbingers of death and frequently referred to as banshees, or miseries, Dark Omens always pose an immediate threat to the life of an Agent’s HLT (High-Level Target). Dark Omens are the only creatures capable of transporting living humans directly to the Underworld against their will.
Walter reread that line. Transporting living humans to the Underworld? That didn’t sound fun.
Unpredictable and deadly, Dark Omens use their unnatural abilities only on rare occasions. Refrain from direct confrontation, as their voices are capable of shattering spiritual bones. Never engage alone…
LEVEL 4—DEMONS. Demons are the rulers of the Underworld and control Levels 1 to 3. They themselves have a variety of classifications, from lesser to…
Walter didn’t need to read any further. There were no demons in the room, from what he could see, but this was not going to be easy. If he didn’t think of some sort of plan of action, Walter’s HLT would be transported to the Underworld by Old Ugly.
“Come on, Walter. The head of the Afterlife Academy believes you can do this. You can do this.”
The chanting came to a chilling conclusion, and the banshee was now fully formed. One of its spectral tentacles drifted down and grazed Charlie’s cheek. Charlie writhed and began to convulse.
Walter took several quick breaths and readied himself to do something totally insane.
“Hey, losers! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”
The outburst startled the shades. Snarling, they surrounded Walter.
“Begone! Do not interfere! We shall attack!” Their voices hissed like the sound of air leaking from a tire.
Walter had a respectable record when it came to after-school fights. He had no clue if his hands would pass right through the shades like everything else, but it was worth a shot. He swung his right fist and connected with the midsection of the closest shade. He felt an electric bolt go up his arm, but like a black towel in a dryer, the shade tumbled, releasing an agonizing cry. Walter stared at the creature. He could hurt the shades! He snapped his eyes toward the others.
“Leave well enough alone!” a voice called from somewhere in the middle of the crowd. “Do not interfere!”
“Yeah, you said that already.” Walter flexed his fingers in and out of a balled fist. “Now get out of my way, or I’ll thump every one of you!” He brought both hands up, squaring off like a boxer. To his surprise, the shades retreated a few paces.
One of them extended its arm to shock him, but Walter reacted with a right hook to the creature’s hooded skull. Squeals erupted. Walter felt his jaw chatter from the electricity passing through him, but he was causing more damage to the shades than they were to him.
“Want some more?” He made a few sparring jabs. Their cloaks flapped. Their eyes narrowed. Yet they seemed to fear him.
Undeterred, the banshee wrapped a tentacle around Charlie’s throat and into the unconscious boy’s mouth.
“Back off, ugly!” Walter shouted. The banshee paid him no attention, alert only to its prey. Walter highly doubted his uppercuts would have the same effect on the wriggling Dark Omen. Should he hop on top of it? Wrestle it? Maybe take jabs at its eyes with his fingers?
The tentacle slithered deeper into Charlie’s throat. Walter didn’t have time to check his pamphlet, but he guessed a banshee’s tentacle in anyone’s mouth was not a good idea. Walter raced toward the banshee.
The surrounding shades attacked, zapping him from all sides with electricity. Fifty different strikes hit him in the chest, the back, and the head. His vision blurred. His knees felt gooey. Walter punched, kicked, and head-butted his way through the swarm. The shades weren’t happy with their injuries, but Walter was losing. And so was Charlie. Three more tentacles had entered Charlie’s mouth.
Walter made one final charge, propelling himself through the air with the last of his energy. He fell through the banshee and collapsed flat on top of Charlie.
Charlie opened his eyes and blinked as torrential rain peppered his bedroom window.
“Yuck!” He gagged and stuck out his tongue. He had eaten part of a dead toad once. Not his idea, of course. Grady Hinkens had forced him to eat it in third grade. This tasted worse.
Charlie pawed at his eyes with his palms, wondering if he had fallen asleep in a coat closet. What was with all the cloaks hanging everywhere?
Several pairs of eyes peered out from the cloaks, and Charlie sucked in a breath. Moving fabric flapped about him, as if blown by a strong wind. Above him, floating near his ceiling, an ugly woman gaped, openmouthed.
Charlie could smell sulfurous brimstone, even taste the pungent flavors on his tongue. His skin felt cold, and everything around him seemed in perfect focus. All of his senses seemed to be functioning properly. What kind of dream could do that?
“Don’t just sit there, doofus, get out of here.” A boy’s voice, loud and piercing, sounded in Charlie’s ears.
“What?” Charlie exclaimed, spinning around in search of the source of the voice. “Who said that?”
“You can hear me?”
“Yes, I can hear you!” Charlie’s heart leapt into his throa
t as the woman above him released a shuddering scream and then rapidly dissolved into the ceiling. The cloaks circled around him, glaring with evil red eyes and squealing like baby pigs. They were not pieces of clothing at all. Charlie remembered seeing something like them in his books on paranormal creatures.
Shades!
What were shades doing in his room?
But as soon as he noticed them, they vanished. Charlie clutched his hand to his chest. He collapsed backward onto his pillow. The rain on the window settled until only a few sporadic drops kissed the glass. “Mom’s fried okra and those onions,” he babbled. “They always give me bad dreams. Get a grip, Charlie.”
“That wasn’t a dream,” the boy’s voice said.
Charlie jerkily sat up. “Is this some kind of prank? Real funny.”
“It’s not a prank. How can you hear me?” the boy asked.
“With my ears. I’m not deaf. Where are you hiding?” Charlie dropped to the floor and snapped the cover up to peer under his bed. He pushed around a few boxes of old toys but found no one under there. Racing toward the closet, he kicked the T-shirts aside, ready to scream for his parents if anyone appeared. But the closet stood empty as well. He must be losing his mind. Charlie sat down on his bed, removed his socks, and yawned as he fluffed his pillow.
“You’re not going to sleep, are you?” the boy’s voice asked. “Not after all that.”
Charlie flung himself at his bedroom door, wrenching it open.
“Aha!” He stared out into an empty hallway. His shoulders slumped in surrender. “I give up. Please come out and show yourself.”
The boy began to laugh. But the laughter sounded bewildered rather than scathing. “I didn’t think anyone living could hear me.”
“Well, congratulations,” Charlie said. “I guess I’m the lucky— Wait. What do you mean, ‘anyone living’?” The voice chuckled, and the tiny red hairs on the back of Charlie’s neck prickled. “That’s it. I’m getting my dad.”
“At this hour?”
It was dark out, but Charlie couldn’t remember getting ready for bed or kissing his mom goodnight. He glanced at the hall clock. Just after midnight. His dad had to wake up early every morning for work and wouldn’t appreciate having his sleep interrupted. But what choice did Charlie have?
“What are you going to tell him? That you’re hearing voices?” the voice chattered right behind Charlie’s ear, and he whirled to face the intruder. Only his reflection peered back at him from the hallway mirror.
“This isn’t funny. I don’t want to play this game anymore.” His eyes darted left to right and even shot up, as if expecting to see someone hanging from the light fixture.
“Look, dude, you’re not going to believe this, but I’m standing…inside you.”
“You’re what?” Charlie’s lips pulled into an uncomfortable grin. He felt nauseated. Okra and onions always did that to him, but this felt different. Not wasting any time, Charlie hurried down the hallway, but he hesitated before knocking on his parents’ bedroom door.
“I’m not playing any games,” the boy’s voice said calmly. “My name’s Walter Prairie, and I’m a spirit, and I’m inside you.”
A pasty gob of saliva slid down Charlie’s throat as he swallowed. The doorknob, though less than a finger’s width from him, seemed a mile away. Shades, a creepy floating woman, and spirit visitations? What had Charlie gotten himself into?
“Okay, let’s say I believe you. What kind of spirit are you?”
“Uh, I’m a dead one. Duh.”
Charlie blinked. He could hear the murmuring snores of his parents just beyond the door. “Are you some sort of warning spirit, like a…Are you my conscience?”
“Like Pinocchio and Jiminy Cricket?” Walter laughed. “I don’t think so, man.”
“Okay. You’re not my conscience. But only I can hear you?”
“I think so,” Walter said. “But let’s test it out, just to make sure.”
“How are you going to—”
“Wake up, losers!!!” Walter’s voice boomed in Charlie’s ears.
Charlie held his breath and stared at his parents’ bedroom door, listening for any movement. The shouting should’ve sent them crashing out of bed.
“See? It probably has something to do with me being inside you. I don’t know for sure. So, where do you go to school?” Walter took on a casual tone.
Charlie once more considered waking his parents but then thought about his dad’s reaction. Voices in his head…His room swarming with shades…He’d be grounded for sure. “Cunningham Middle School,” he answered. “Why?”
“Are there any cute girls at Cunningham?”
“I’m sorry, is that really important right now?” Charlie tiptoed back to his bedroom and closed the door with a soft click.
“Girls are always important. At my school, Yorkshire Middle, there are tons of cute girls.” Walter sounded more like a buddy at a sleepover than a ghost. But Charlie didn’t have buddies, and he didn’t have sleepovers, so he was only guessing.
The top drawer of Charlie’s bedside table held a stack of magazines containing pictures of zombies and vampires. As Walter rambled on, Charlie went to get one and flipped through until he found the article he was looking for. Holding up his hand with his pointer and middle fingers curled downward in hexing position, he suddenly shouted, “Demon, begone!”
Silence.
Charlie puffed out his cheeks in relief.
“What was that supposed to do?” Walter asked.
Charlie jumped. “It was supposed to get rid of you,” he said with a groan.
“Get rid of me? I’m not a demon!” Walter’s voice rose in anger. “I’m an Afterlife Academy Agent, and I’ve been sent here to protect you.”
“I’ve never heard of the Afterlife Academy, and why do I need protecting?” Charlie tossed the magazine on the floor.
“Did you not see what was going on in your room? Lucky I showed up when I did.”
Charlie pounded his hands against his head. “Please stop talking for a second, and let me think.” He needed to find a more peaceful location, one where he could gather his thoughts.
Charlie walked to the study and opened the door.
“What’s with all the birds?” Walter asked.
Ignoring him, Charlie poked his finger through the wires, allowing the small creatures to nibble. He always found refuge among his feathered friends. Their soft fluttering and chirping soothed his mind after a troubling day at school.
“If you’re telling the truth, there has to be a logical reason for why you were sent to me. And why those things tried to attack me.” Charlie stroked the head of one of his finches. “For starters, it’s obvious the cloaked black creatures were—”
“Wraiths!” Walter blurted out.
Charlie shook his head. “No. Not wraiths. Wraiths are much bigger and more dangerous. Those were shades. Wraiths can’t enter homes—not without an invitation.” He rattled off a memorized definition from one of his magazines. “Shades are nothing more than minions of more powerful creatures like demons. And all Underworld creatures are subject to the law of demons.”
“And you know this…how?” Walter asked.
“I read books and magazines.” Charlie had devoted most of his young life to the study of paranormal creatures. His extensive collection of literature had proven its value. “But I don’t have a clue what that other thing was. That woman.” Whatever it was, it was powerful.
“It’s a banshee,” Walter said.
Charlie smiled dismissively. “Don’t be stupid. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Banshees don’t exist. That’s just what people in places like Ireland believe.”
“Whatever. It was a banshee. That much I do know. My pamphlet called it a Dark Omen. And I think I know more than you on the subject. I am an Afterlife Agent, and your Guardian Agent, after all.”
“Fine. We’ll call it a banshee until I can discover its real title. What’s this pamphle
t you keep talking about?” Charlie checked the level of the canaries’ water container by tapping the bottle with his finger. A few drops fell to the bottom.
“It’s a ready-reference pamphlet for Afterlife Agents like myself.”
“I’m going to need to see it,” Charlie said. “Maybe it can help us figure things out.”
Charlie heard Walter grunting and straining. “Uh, I can’t reach it. I’m kinda stuck inside you at the moment.”
“Then why don’t you get out?”
“Believe me, I’ve been trying to do that for a while now,” Walter said.
With his birds sufficiently fed, Charlie sat down in the desk chair. He connected to the Internet and then wiggled his fingers above the keyboard.
“Hey!” Walter said suddenly.
Charlie yelped. “Would you stop scaring me?”
“What am I supposed to do if I want to talk?”
“Try saying things calmly. Like in a whisper.”
“Can you check something for me on the computer?” Walter whispered using a very creepy voice. Charlie’s skin turned cold from the sound of it, but at least the spirit had taken his advice.
Within a couple of minutes, per Walter’s request, Charlie brought up the online site of the Poleman County Times, the main newspaper of Walter’s hometown in Virginia. An article about a tragic lightning storm accident appeared on the screen.
The Afterlife Academy Page 4