The Afterlife Academy

by Frank L. Cole

  “You were struck by lightning?” Charlie asked in a solemn tone once he finished the article.

  “Yeah. Bummer, huh?”

  “That was just a few days ago. Then you came directly here?”

  “Well, not exactly. First I went to a Categorizing Office. Then I was supposed to go through four years of training at the Afterlife Academy before I got assigned to someone. But”—Walter sighed—“I’m a bit of a natural.”

  “What does that even mean?” Charlie hovered the cursor over the black-and-white school photo of Walter Prairie, a tough-looking kid with a confident smile and what looked like either a cold sore or a cut on his lower lip. The chances of the two of them hanging out in a normal situation seemed highly unlikely. Of all the spirits to be possessed by, why did Charlie have to have someone like Walter?

  “It means I have a knack for this type of stuff even if I don’t know what I’m doing in the beginning. I just have to use my instincts.”

  “So you don’t have any training?” Charlie asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Perfect.” Charlie didn’t believe in relying wholly on instincts. And he seemed to know more than Walter did. If the shades came back, how was Walter going to help him at all? Charlie navigated to SpiritSpy.org and typed “spirit possession” into the search bar.

  Several images flashed on the screen, all of them displaying people either sleeping or sitting in chairs with their eyes closed while faded representations of ghosts hovered above them. After reading a few paragraphs, Charlie clicked on one of the video links.

  Black-and-white and laced with static, video footage of a supposed spirit possession blipped on the monitor. The date in the bottom right corner of the screen had been blurred out deliberately. A boy waist-deep under his sheets writhed in his bed as several adult onlookers circled him. Charlie turned up the audio as a man’s voice chanted through the computer speakers. It was shoddy work. Poor lighting and sound. Not one close-up of the boy in the bed. He was the main attraction, for crying out loud!

  Charlie snickered. “Who filmed this? It’s so fake!”

  “Turn that junk off,” Walter whispered.

  Charlie leaned closer to the screen. “The guy can’t even hold the camera still.”

  “Did you hear me?” Walter’s voice rose shakily. “I said, turn it off!”

  “I heard you,” Charlie answered. “But I’m not finished watching. Ah, come on! That boy’s not even acting believable. He keeps looking at the camera! Amateurs.”

  “I don’t care. It’s freaking me out!”

  “Who ever heard of a ghost being scared of other ghosts? Who are you, Casper?” Charlie sighed. “We’re going to have to find a better instructional video. This one’s worthless.”

  Suddenly, Charlie’s hand yanked forward out of his control, clicked the mouse, and X’ed out of the video. As if sensing the disruption, all seven birds, including Doris the parakeet, erupted with a cacophony of unsettling squawks.

  “How—how did you do that?” Charlie blubbered, flexing his fingers.

  “I told you to turn it off. I don’t like watching weird ghost videos. And I don’t know how I did that. I’m trying to do it right now, but I can’t.”

  “Well, please don’t.” Charlie scooted his chair back from the computer.

  “Charlie,” an eerie woman’s voice whispered from the doorway.

  Charlie and Walter screamed at the top of their lungs in harmony.

  The birds joined in as the boys’ screams echoed through the small apartment like screeching tires at a demolition derby.

  Charlie’s mother stood in the doorway wearing a nightgown, arms folded in front of her. “Do you realize what time it is? You’re going to wake your father!”

  “Too late,” Charlie’s dad muttered from the hallway.

  “What have we told you about playing on the computer after bedtime?” she asked.

  “But, Mom, this is different,” Charlie tried to reason. “I was just—”

  “Don’t tell her anything about me, stupid,” Walter said in Charlie’s ears.

  “Shut up!” Charlie snapped.

  His mom’s jaw dropped, and his dad’s stern face appeared in the doorway. “You do not talk to your mother like that!”

  Charlie put his hands up in submission and backpedaled. “Oh no, I wasn’t talking to her. I was talking to—”

  “Watch it,” Walter warned. “I don’t think you should be telling them about me just yet.”

  Closing his eyes, Charlie swallowed. “I was talking to my birds. They were about to get noisy again, and I know how much you hate that when you’re trying to sleep.”

  That got him off the hook for snapping at his mother, but he was still banished from the computer for the rest of the week—with the threat of much worse if he didn’t go to bed immediately.

  “Man, you got off easy,” Walter said, once Charlie had nestled down under his covers.

  “Easy? We just lost our ability to research what’s going on,” Charlie whispered. “Thanks a lot!”

  “So? It’s only for two days. What about your cell phone? Don’t you have Internet?”

  “I don’t have a cell phone.”

  “What? How old are you? Everyone in middle school has a cell phone.”

  “Would you please stop shouting? I can hear everything you say.” Charlie rubbed his eyes and yawned. None of this made sense. Where had Walter come from? Why had he possessed Charlie? And most important, when was he going to leave?

  “Hey!” Walter shouted once more. “Oh, sorry.” He lowered his voice. “What does your dad do for a living?”

  “My dad? What does it matter?”

  “I just remembered something important. Demons and other Underworld creatures are attracted to kids because of their parents’ jobs.”

  Charlie sat up and rested against the headboard. “Did you make that up just now? That’s really worthless information.”

  “It’s not worthless,” Walter protested. “Just answer the question.”

  “He drives an armored car.” Charlie dropped back down onto his pillow.

  “Like a tank?”

  “What? No! An armored car. He picks up money from businesses and delivers it to the bank.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “I guess. He has to carry a gun.”

  “Maybe that’s it! Does he have to shoot people from time to time?” Walter probed.

  “Seriously, would you please just be quiet for a few hours? I need to get my sleep. It’s the only way I’ll have a clear head tomorrow so we can figure out how to get rid of you.”

  Walter didn’t argue. Charlie rolled over and tried his hardest to fall asleep—a task made extremely difficult when Walter turned out to be a heavy breather.

  Down in the Underworld, an enormous demon named Hoonga sat behind a stone desk. Around him, dusty chairs lay overturned. Mangled pieces of garbage floated on the backs of insects. Dark sludge bubbled from a gaping crack in a refrigerator and pooled on the floor next to a rolled-up rug. Occasionally the rug would twitch as something caught within the rolls released a low whimper.

  It was Hoonga’s office, and it was just the way he liked it.

  Hoonga was a hideous sight to behold. He had brown, leathery skin, elephant-like tusks, and a single blinking eyeball centered on his forehead. He owned the title of Controller at a highly successful demon outpost. As of late, his business had been booming. This wasn’t the case with other demon outposts, and Hoonga felt incredibly fortunate. Almost all of his staff had been called upon to carry out multiple tasks, ranging from temptations to full-fledged human possessions. All he had to do was sit around and wait for his demons to finish their assignments and report back to him as the riches from a variety of benefactors flowed continuously into his office.

  The demon examined a colored photograph in front of him and drummed his black claws against his chin. “This is him?” Hoonga asked the lesser demon seated cross-legged on the corner of th
e desk. “You’re sure this is his picture?”

  Trutti’s floppy bat ears shook as he vigorously nodded his head. “Yes, master. The shades assured me this is the one you’re looking for.”

  Hoonga lifted the photograph off the desk and squinted his single eye. “Doesn’t look like much, does he?”

  Trutti shook his head. “He seems like an easily squashable child to me.”

  Hoonga raised his eyebrow and smirked. “And yet he has somehow acquired the most powerful book in the Underworld and bested a fully formed banshee. Not to mention a whole squadron of shades.”

  Trutti discovered an annoying itch on the back of his neck and immediately went to work at it. “He didn’t do that alone, master. He had the help of his Agent.”

  “His Agent,” Hoonga muttered under his breath. “That’s what bothers me.”

  “You know what you should do?” Trutti snapped his fingers. “You should send some hired muscle. Someone to get the job done. The shades can be so unreliable.”

  Hoonga began to nod in agreement, but then he narrowed his eye and glared at Trutti. “Are you trying to tell me how to run my post?”

  “Oh no! Never!” Trutti bowed his head low. “I was merely making a suggestion, I would never dream of—”

  Hoonga held up a finger to cut Trutti off, and the lesser demon instantly fell silent. The Cyclops pondered his options and then pressed the call button on the intercom.

  “Yes?” a sniveling voice asked above the static of the receiver.

  “Send word to Gorge,” Hoonga instructed. “Tell him to come to my office at once. I’m in need of his services.”

  “Of course, master,” the voice responded.

  Hoonga tossed the photograph aside and heaved himself up from his chair. Trutti stood as well, but even standing upon the desk, the tiny creature was dwarfed by Hoonga’s massive frame.

  “Excellent choice, master,” Trutti squeaked. “Gorge is a frightening spectacle.”

  “He’s an idiot,” Hoonga said. “But he’s a powerful idiot. And if what you say is true”—once more, he raised the photo of the boy for a closer look—“Gorge should be just enough muscle to capture this easily squashable child.”

  Charlie had a horrible night’s sleep. There had been actual shades in his bedroom! Things Charlie had only read about in his magazines were now happening to him. But that wasn’t the worst of it. For a dead guy, Walter sure had a lot of things on his mind. After only about an hour of silence, save for his breathing, he didn’t stop talking until early in the morning. Before Charlie knew it, the blaring shrill of his alarm woke him up for the day.

  “So, let’s get started,” Walter said, once Charlie had sat up and stretched. “What exactly were you doing last night? Before I showed up?”

  “What do you mean? I was sleeping.”

  “No you weren’t. Were you playing with a Ouija board or something?”

  Charlie rolled his eyes. “I was just in my room. I got ready for bed and started looking at— Oh my gosh!” He stared at the object lying on the floor next to his bed. “The book!”

  “What book?”

  “I found some weird book buried behind the shopping mall yesterday. I was looking at it after dinner when all this started.”

  “Do you still have it?” Walter’s voice grew louder.

  “Yeah, it’s”—he gulped and pointed to the floor, where the old leather book rested beneath a pair of his dirty socks and a few of his magazines—“right there. It must’ve fallen off the bed during the, you know, the whole shade…thing.”

  “It just looks like some dumb book.”

  “It’s not dumb. But Wisdom Willows said that books don’t generally register readings on EMF detectors, so I—”

  “Wait a minute,” Walter interrupted. “Who said that? And what the heck is an EMF detector?”

  “Wisdom Willows,” Charlie answered in an exhausted tone. “He’s a genius. He runs SpiritSpy.org and is the author of fifteen books on paranormal activity. I’ve read them all. Wisdom gives talks all over the country. And an EMF detector collects paranormal data and points out hot spots where there are spirits.”

  “Uh-huh.” Walter didn’t seem to be absorbing all of this.

  “Anyways, when I found the book, the EMF detector started blipping and stuff, and I figured maybe it contained paranormal signatures.” Charlie was rattling off the information in rapid speed, his voice energized. “But then Wisdom said he didn’t think books could register data on an EMF—”

  “How is any of this useful?” Walter snapped.

  Charlie’s chest heaved. “How come you didn’t notice the book? Didn’t you see me reading it?”

  “Oh, right. Your room is filled with dozens of shades and one fat octopus lady, and you expect me to figure out that some book has to do with it?”

  “Well, you’re supposed to know how to protect me,” Charlie said.

  “Hey! I think I’m doing a pretty good job so far. You’re not dead…yet.”

  Charlie swung his feet over the edge of the bed. But when he saw the book still lying there, he decided to drop to the floor on the other side.

  “I’ve gotta get online and do some more research. Someone will know what kind of book that is.”

  “Well, hurry up and go!” Walter urged.

  Charlie reached for the doorknob, but then stopped and groaned. “I can’t. My parents forbade me to use the computer, remember?”

  “So just sneak in there. No one’s gonna know, and what they don’t know can’t hurt them.”

  “Believe me, they’ll know. My birds are always super noisy just before breakfast.” Charlie hurriedly changed out of his pajamas and into school clothes. “It’s okay. I have computer lab right after lunch.” He picked the mysterious book up off the floor and hid it under his pillow.

  “You’re not going to take it with us?” Walter asked.

  “I don’t need it to search online. Besides, I don’t want to carry it around with me all day at school. What if more shades show up and try to grab it?”

  “They seemed more interested in you than the book.”

  “Yeah, but maybe it was because I had the book.”

  “I really don’t see what an old book would have to do with anything.”

  “This is why you are less than useless.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “No problem.”

  After four excruciating hours of class, during which Walter did not stop talking, it was finally time for Charlie’s lunch period. Sixteen foldout tables with connected benches lined the cafeteria floor. Each of the tables held a collection of students. There was the popular table. The sporty one. The nerdy one. And so forth. Charlie sat in his usual spot at the table closest to the entrance. There were other students seated at the same table. Though he didn’t exactly consider them close friends, Charlie liked them well enough, and they would share an occasional conversation.

  “What’s her name?” Walter asked as a cute blond-haired girl pranced past Charlie’s table.

  Charlie groaned. “Melissa Bitner,” he mumbled. “And please stop asking me people’s names. I can’t answer you when everyone’s looking.” His voice had taken on an almost pleading tone.

  Walter had been firing a barrage of questions almost nonstop since entering the school. According to him, Cunningham Middle had a far superior selection of hotties than his own school.

  “Melissa Bitner,” Walter echoed. “She have a boyfriend?”

  Once Melissa was out of earshot, Charlie answered. “Yes, I’m her boyfriend. We’ve been going steady since I was four.”

  “Seriously? No. You’re lying.”

  “Man, you’re a tough one to trick. I’m sure she has a boyfriend, not that I care.” Opening his sack lunch, Charlie took out his food and jabbed his straw into his box of lemonade. He unwrapped a pimiento cheese sandwich on dark rye bread and took a bite.

  “Ugh, why are you eating that?” Walter asked as Charlie chomped the sandwich
, smacking his lips.

  “Because it’s delicious,” he answered. Two girls sitting on Charlie’s side of the bench looked up from their meals. Charlie fumbled with the sandwich. He was going to alienate himself from the other kids even more than he already was, if it kept looking like he was talking to himself. “You can’t smell it or taste it anyways. What do you care?” he said very softly, without moving his lips.

  “I still have eyes, and that looks disgusting!”

  “Psst! Watch out, Charlie,” whispered a boy named Terry Romans who was seated diagonally across the table.

  Charlie’s eyes widened, and he understood the warning just as someone sat down with a thud in the seat next to him. A brute with a flattop and beefy arms slid the rest of Charlie’s lunch out of reach.

  “Hello, Charlie Doo-doodle,” Mo said as he plucked the half-eaten sandwich from Charlie’s hand and smashed it into a ball. “Having cheese again for lunch?”

  Three other boys sat down too, flanking Charlie from every angle. All of them wore similar clothing: dirty, grass-stained football jerseys and cargo pants.

  “Who are these guys?” Walter asked. “Are they bullies? I hate bullies. I used to get picked on too, up until the moment I decided to pound the next person who shoved me. You’ve just got to set them straight. That’s all. Once they realize messing with you will cost them a black eye or a fat lip, they’ll stop bothering you.”

  Oh, that’s all? Charlie wanted to say. All he needed to do was pound Mo, and the bullying would stop? How perfectly simple. Walter was full of great ideas.

  “Were you trying to make us look stupid yesterday?”

  Charlie shook his head. “I wouldn’t even know how to do that.”

  Mo’s eyes narrowed. “You’re still trying to be funny?”

  “Tell them to go walk in front of a truck,” Walter ordered.

  “Did you hear me, Doo-doodle?” Mo pressed his pointer finger into Charlie’s shoulder. “No one thinks you’re funny. Everyone thinks you’re weird.”

  The other boys snickered, but Charlie held his tongue. It wasn’t worth causing another scene. Why hadn’t Mo gotten bored with picking on him already? There were plenty of other kids just as weird as him.