The Afterlife Academy

by Frank L. Cole

  “Yes!” Charlie exclaimed as well before clearing his throat and answering in a calmer manner. “The CEO. Exactly. What’s that guy’s name?”

  “The CEO of Carmichael is a man named Sheldon Underhill. He’s been there for several years.”

  “Jackpot!” Walter cheered. “Ask him where he lives.”

  Charlie whimpered. Really? Did he really have to continue?

  “Ask him!” Walter said, unrelenting.

  “Where does Mr. Underhill live?”

  Mr. Dewdle folded his arms and stared at Charlie; his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What kind of homework assignment is this? Some kind of career-day project?”

  “Sure. I mean, yes,” Charlie answered. “We’re supposed to learn about corporate businesses and about where their CEOs live.”

  “Nice one,” Walter said.

  “Thank you,” Charlie replied, failing to catch himself before responding to Walter.

  “That’s so polite, Charlie. You’re learning your manners. You should always say thank you.” Charlie’s mom beamed as she poured dressing on her salad.

  “He owns a big house in Pressley. We went there once for a company dinner. Remember that, Dana?” Mr. Dewdle asked. “They had that indoor basketball court and the swimming pool with that hot-tub grotto.”

  Mrs. Dewdle’s eyes lit up and she smiled. “Oh yes, I remember.”

  “Okay, Charlie. Last question. Ask him if Mr. Underhill has any kids your age.”

  Charlie fell silent and shook his head. Enough was enough. Now Walter was just trying to make things uncomfortable for him. What did the age of the CEO’s kids have to do with their problem? What did any of this have to do with anything?

  “Do it, please!” Walter begged.

  “I’m not gonna ask that,” Charlie mumbled under his breath, and then covered it up with a loud cough.

  Walter released a grunt of frustration. “If you don’t, I’ll make you throw your lasagna in your father’s lap.”

  Charlie tried to imagine how his parents would react if Walter carried through with his promise.

  “Don’t test me,” Walter warned.

  “So, Dad, does Mr. Underhill have any kids my age?” Charlie nudged his fork away from his plate.

  “He’s got a few kids,” Mr. Dewdle said. “Maybe his son is your age. I don’t know for sure….” He once again glanced at his wife.

  “No, I think Tyrone’s in high school, isn’t he?” Mrs. Dewdle said.

  “Tyrone!” Walter shouted. “That’s it! Excuse yourself from the table, and go get on the computer. If your parents catch you, say you’re researching for the project.”

  Charlie breathed a sigh of relief and excused himself.

  “Okay, what the heck was that all about?” Charlie sat at the desk, his fingers gently nudging the mouse. The screen saver of random Dewdle family photos disappeared, and Charlie clicked on his folder where he’d saved the pictures from The Summoner’s Handbook. “We still don’t know what to do about this,” he whispered, waving the cursor over the pictures. “Demons are going to keep attacking until we figure out what to do with the book. And I don’t have any emails from Wisdom Willows. Even he can’t figure out what to do. How are we supposed to?”

  “Well, I might just be able to help with that. Do you have a Facebook account?” Walter asked.

  “Facebook? Yeah, I guess, but I don’t get on there much. And I don’t really have a lot of friends.”

  “Just log on to your account. Trust me.”

  Charlie did as told, and an awkward picture of him wearing wax vampire lips and dark, drawn circles around his eyes stared down at them. Also staring at them were the words “17 Friends.”

  “I’d probably have more friends if I—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Walter interrupted. “I don’t care how many friends you have. Search for Tyrone Underhill.”

  “The CEO’s kid? Why do you want to do that?”

  “Please, just do it!”

  Several different Tyrone Underhills registered in the search field, forcing Charlie to research a few of them before finding a match. Tyrone was a dark-skinned boy of about sixteen. Most of his information had been blocked from public view, but Charlie could see that Tyrone went to Afton High School in the neighboring town of Pressley, Iowa.

  “Wow! He’s pretty popular,” Charlie said, taking note of Tyrone’s three thousand friends. “Are you happy now?”

  “Is there an address?” Walter asked.

  “It doesn’t say. That information’s blocked.”

  “I guess that’s okay,” Walter said. “We’ll just have to go find him at the school—hold on, maybe his father’s listed in an online directory.”

  “Okay, I’ll check.”

  “There it is! Sheldon Underhill, Twenty-Two Richfield Lane. We can wait for him to get home after school. Just skip last period and take a transit bus or something. We can look up how to get there from the nearest bus stop.”

  Charlie leaned back in the swivel chair and stuck his index finger in the canaries’ cage. They immediately fluttered down to peck lovingly at his fingernail. “Okay. Now what’s so important about this Tyrone guy?”

  “Tyrone Underhill is currently being guarded by an Afterlife Academy Agent named Ronald Logan. I know him! I met him right before I came to your place. When I saw your dad’s name badge tonight, I finally remembered.”

  “So what’s this have to do with our problem?” Charlie asked.

  “Ronald’s a fully trained Agent. He knows what to do when demons attack. And maybe he’ll have an idea what we should do with The Summoner’s Handbook. Maybe they teach how to destroy it in the Afterlife Academy.”

  Charlie leaned forward in the chair. “How good is he?” A hint of excitement rose in his voice.

  “He’s awesome!” Walter answered. “I guess. I really don’t have a clue, but he’s had four years of Afterlife Academy training. He has to be better than me.”

  “That’s not saying much.” Charlie folded his arms.

  “And since I’m so happy about this news,” Walter said, “I’m going to ignore that and not make you do something painful to yourself.”

  Charlie once again navigated to SpiritSpy.org. There was still no message from Wisdom. He leaned over and unzipped his backpack.

  “What are you doing?” Walter asked.

  Charlie pulled out The Summoner’s Handbook and flipped it open on his lap. “Maybe there’s something in here that could tell us who keeps attacking us.”

  “Like the mastermind behind it?”

  “Exactly.” Charlie began turning the pages and reading the headings. Befriending Banshees, Enslaving Lesser Demons, Warding Off Angelic Pests. He smiled. “That could come in handy.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Walter warned. “I’m the only one keeping you alive.”

  “I’m not going to do anything. It’s just good to know I have options.”

  The computer chirped as an instant message from Wisdom Willows appeared on the screen.

  Charlie held his breath.

  How are things going? Wisdom asked.

  Charlie flexed his fingers and typed his reply.

  Okay, I guess. It hasn’t exactly been quiet around here.

  What do you mean?

  Charlie briefly filled in Wisdom on the demon attack and the appearance of the wraith outside the apartment. He was about to include the part about being possessed by his Guardian Agent, but Walter erupted.

  “Don’t tell him about me!” Walter shouted.

  “Why not? He’s just trying to help.”

  “He doesn’t have to know everything. And what if he tries to do some weird voodoo magic to pull me out of you and I end up inside something else? Like one of your dumb birds?”

  “He won’t do that.” Charlie’s finger hovered over the mouse.

  “I don’t want anyone to know about me just yet, and I should have a say in that, don’t you think?”

  Charlie
sighed. “Fine.” He deleted the line about Walter and added another question.

  Have you found out what I should do about the book?

  Not yet. There’s not a lot of information available.

  “Ask him about how we can find out who’s behind the demon attacks,” Walter said.

  Charlie nodded as he typed, then waited for Wisdom’s response.

  It’s difficult to say. The Summoner's Handbook will draw the attention of all Underworld creatures, particularly higher-level demons. You have to understand how dangerous that book is. It’s the holy grail of demonic artifacts. Every dark thing has dreamed about getting their claws on it. I’m impressed you’ve managed to fend them off so far by yourself, but you won’t continue to be so lucky. They’ll just become more and more aggressive. My advice would be to stay in your home at all times. I’m close to discovering a way to destroy the book. Until then, don’t travel anywhere out of your neighborhood, especially at night.

  “That’s good advice.” Charlie closed the Internet browser.

  “Agreed. But we have to make that trip to Pressley.”

  “You read what Wisdom said. The demons are just going to become more desperate.”

  “All the more reason to get help from another Agent. Trust me, Charlie, we have to do this.”

  The three shades floated in midair beneath a faded Slumber Inn billboard sign poking above the freeway. Their long black cloaks fluttered and flapped as if caught in a strong wind, though the air in Gabbiter, Iowa, was still. From their position, they could see the front parking lot and pickup zone of Cunningham Middle School.

  Down below, lounging on a rock, sat Trutti, picking at his toenails with his teeth. Hairless, with flaky gray skin and a foxlike snout, which he constantly licked with his forked tongue, Trutti was definitely not easy on the eyes. Had he not been invisible to most humans, he would’ve looked to them like the world’s ugliest dog. Everything on his body, except his ears, drooped and sagged. He could stand upright if he chose to, but he preferred walking on all fours. He called to the shades in a bored yet agitated voice.

  “Has he left yet?”

  “No one has exited the school,” one shade replied.

  “All is quiet,” hissed another. “No, wait! See now. The boy is the first to leave. It hurries out. It trips, but stands again. Just as you said, it leaves well before any others, and it seems to be headed—”

  Trutti growled, cutting the shade off midsentence. “Could you cool it with the play-by-play? Does he have the book with him? Is it in his possession?”

  The shades paused, peering down upon Trutti and then back toward the school. “We cannot know for sure. But the boy has a pack. Something on its back.”

  Trutti scampered up the billboard post until he stood just beneath the shades. Looking out over the trees, he narrowed his eyes and watched as Charlie walked quickly away from the school.

  “He has it in his possession,” Trutti said. “Can’t you see its aura?” He pointed at the rippling waves of energy pulsing from Charlie’s backpack. “And he’s definitely not headed for his home.”

  “How do you know?” the shades asked.

  “Because his home is in the opposite direction!”

  The shades turned, silently processing this information. Satisfied, they nodded. “Yes, you are wise.”

  Trutti rolled his eyes. “Okay. Follow him. Stay close, but don’t get spotted.”

  “Why should we worry about being spotted? It cannot harm us.”

  Trutti puffed out his cheeks. Next to the tall shades, the lesser demon truly looked like a small, pathetic animal. But with surprising speed and leaping ability, he snagged the cloak of the closest shade, dragging it down through the air until its face floated at eye level.

  “Hoonga put me in charge here! Do you understand?” Trutti hissed.

  The shade nodded its hood and began stammering an apology as the other two lowered next to it. But before it could finish its groveling, Trutti muttered and stuck his hand into the hood, and the shade blinked out of existence with a black puff of dust.

  “Master!” the two remaining shades wailed, bowing reverently. “Shade One Hundred Fifteen deserved it! Always it questioned. Always defiant. But not us, Master Trutti. We obey—always obey!”

  Trutti rolled his eyes again. “Whatever. Now go and find out what the boy is up to. Don’t be seen, and meet me at the rendezvous point tonight once the sun has fully set.”

  “Yes,” the shades acquiesced. Dropping down from the billboard, they kept hidden beneath the cover of trees as they took off after Charlie.

  The day after Charlie’s victory over Mo was relatively uneventful. Before he knew it, school was over and he was walking briskly through a part of town he’d never been to before. Most of the buildings were dilapidated. He passed Tebo’s Pawnshop and an Asian market. A man walking a rottweiler on a leash approached along the sidewalk. The dog had its hind leg at half-mast over a fire hydrant when it caught wind of Charlie and began to snarl. Charlie instinctively stepped sideways into a parking lot to give the dog and its owner a wide berth.

  “All right, let’s review the game plan. You have the bus schedule printout?” Walter asked.

  “Where else would it be?” But Charlie patted his back pocket just to make sure.

  “Okay, okay. I’m just checking. You’re acting nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous!” Charlie snapped. But he was. Extremely nervous. He and Walter had reviewed the plan several times the night before, but he highly doubted it would work.

  When the bus arrived at the bus stop, Charlie boarded the near-empty vehicle headed to the town of Pressley, just a couple of miles away.

  The bus stopped in the center of town, and Charlie got out. The neighborhood was quite different from the one he’d just left, and from his own. Beautiful mansions towered over him as he walked the five blocks to the Underhills’ residence and waited. Ten minutes later, a jet-black Jeep Cherokee pulled into the driveway.

  Tyrone and another high school boy stepped out of the car and onto the lawn. They both wore baseball caps, and Tyrone was talking on a cell phone. A third boy, closer to Charlie and Walter’s age and dressed in an odd all-white uniform, emerged from the back of the vehicle. Only he didn’t use the door. He simply materialized on the outside of the Jeep as though by magic.

  Walter gasped. “That’s him! That’s Ronald Logan. You’ve got to move now!”

  Charlie sprang from the bench, bolting toward Tyrone.

  “Don’t run!” Walter groaned. “You’re gonna get—”

  “Where you going, kid?” Tyrone asked as he noticed Charlie, clicking his phone closed.

  Charlie turned and stared at the sidewalk in embarrassment. “Uh…me?”

  “Yeah, you,” Tyrone said. “You don’t live around here, do you?”

  Charlie forced a laugh and ran his fingers through his hair. “Oh no, I’m just visiting my friend.”

  “You have to get closer to him,” Walter said. “Or I might not be able to get Ronald’s attention.”

  Suddenly, an explosion of purple light enveloped Tyrone. Charlie covered his eyes with his hands as the light shone brighter than anything he had ever seen. He could barely make out Tyrone from behind the purple barrier. It was like looking through murky glass.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Tyrone asked from behind the bubble of glowing purple light. “You sick or something?”

  “What is that?” Charlie pointed. “Why is it so bright?”

  Tyrone looked genuinely concerned. “Maybe there’s something wrong with him,” he said to his friend. Ronald moved in front of Tyrone and held his palms together, wearing a determined glare.

  “He’s making some sort of shield to protect his target,” Walter said. “Maybe that means he can see me. Ronald! Hey, Ronald! It’s me. Look over here!”

  Ronald didn’t respond. Instead, he muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and more light erupted from his fingertips, shooti
ng directly at Charlie.

  “Get down!” Walter shouted. Charlie felt his whole body lurch forward as the light hurtled overhead. Then he heard screaming and hissing behind him. Two black-robed figures swathed in the purple light were writhing in the air.

  Still shielding his eyes, Charlie scrambled to his knees and watched as the shades burst into clouds of wispy black smoke. The shield faded, and Charlie timidly got to his feet.

  Tyrone and his friend backed away slowly, looking at Charlie as if he were a rabid squirrel, and entered the house. But Ronald still stood on the sidewalk, brooding with concentration as his eyes scanned the street.

  “Where did they come from?” Charlie whimpered.

  “I don’t know, but hurry! Try and get Ronald to look at you,” Walter ordered.

  “Hi there!” Charlie waved his hands to get Ronald’s attention.

  Ronald ignored the gesture. Charlie shouted louder, and the Agent’s eyes rested on him apprehensively. He didn’t say anything, but turned to see whom Charlie was waving at.

  “Ronald Logan,” Walter said. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

  “Who said that?” Ronald whirled around with his hands poised to strike.

  “You and your brothers died in your sleep,” Walter continued. “Of smoke inhalation.”

  Ronald muttered another incantation, causing a surge of purple light to crackle at his fingertips. “Show yourself, demon!”

  “I’m standing right in front of you, but I’m guessing you really wouldn’t recognize me, since we barely met less than a week ago,” Walter said.

  Ronald turned and looked once again at Charlie. His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Is that you? Can you see me?”

  Charlie wore a goofy smile and nodded. “Yeah, I can see you, but I’m not the one talking.” He pointed at his chest, whispering, “He’s inside me.”

  Ronald’s right eye twitched. “Inside you?” The small orb of light began to pulsate. “Were those shades with you?”

  “No—I mean…I guess they were following us, but they’re not with us.” Charlie held up his hands. “They were trying to attack us. That’s why we’re here. We need your help!”