Midnight Whispers

by Curtis Christopher Comer

  They embraced again and agreed to remain friends. Before they parted ways, Blake promised he would continue to help Brian with unsolved cases at the SFPD. As Blake rode MUNI back toward downtown, however, he felt alone.

  As he stood in the window looking at his spectacular view, he shook his head. Sex with the waiter had been a mistake. If anything, it made him feel even more alone. Why couldn’t Brian have accepted him for who he was?

  With a sigh, he turned off the lights in his beautiful, empty apartment and went to bed, pushing the bitter memories aside.

  Chapter Eight

  Melody Adams was sitting at her desk at Danzig Paranormal Investigations, reading a tarot spread. Technically, she was there to answer the phone and field any possible walk-ins, but since business had been unusually slow, she decided to practice the tarot. Since his breakup with Brian, Blake had taken some time off to work on his next book. Fortunately, there were no episodes to be taped for another month and, as usual, Melody had readily agreed to help out.

  Melody stared at the cards in front of her and wrinkled her nose disapprovingly. She quickly consulted her tarot guide, a book she had bought downtown, and after a moment snapped it shut with a sigh. Clairvoyant or not, she doubted she would ever get the hang of card reading. There were simply too many rules, too many variables. And it didn’t matter that the Death card really meant new beginnings—every time she drew the card it creeped her out. But born the youngest of three girls, Melody was anything but a quitter, having learned long ago that nothing in life ever came easy. Someone was always bigger or stronger, and, in order to get ahead, she would have to fight. She was reshuffling the cards when the bell above the door startled her. She looked up to see a heavy-set, middle-aged man cautiously enter.

  He looked around nervously and cleared his throat before he spoke. “Is this the ghost place?”

  Melody appraised the new arrival. His rough hands had what appeared to be motor oil under the nails, his faded jeans needed a good washing, and he looked as if he hadn’t shaved in two days. The baseball cap on his head was an advertisement for a car-parts manufacturer. Melody sensed he was in great distress.

  “Yes,” she said, rising from her chair. “May I help you?”

  The man hesitated and looked as if he wanted to bolt for the door.

  “Is…is Mr. Danzig in?” he asked, having great difficulty meeting Melody’s eyes.

  “Mr. Danzig is working on a case out of the office,” she lied. “I’m his assistant, Melody. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  “Do you see them, too?” His voice was nearly a whisper.

  “In a sense,” Melody replied, vaguely. “And I can sense that you’re really quite distressed about something. Would you like to tell me about it?”

  She gestured to a chair in front of the desk and the new arrival regarded it suspiciously before slowly sitting.

  “See, I’ve got a garage…an auto-repair place over on Divisadero,” he said, nervously, “and things happen there, especially at night.”

  “I see. What sort of things?”

  “I don’t know. Hell, things move around by themselves, doors open and close by themselves, weird noises. It’s wearing me out.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Since I bought the place ten years ago, but it’s been getting worse lately.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It’s throwing things at me…in broad daylight!” the man shouted. “You think I made this up?” He removing his hat and pointed to a large red bump on his head.

  “I understand that you’re upset,” she said, trying to calm the man. “We’ll do everything we can to help you. Please write your address down here and maybe we can come by tomorrow, around two?”

  As the man scrawled his address, he seemed to relax. “Two o’clock would be great,” he said, “the sooner, the better!”

  After he left she couldn’t help but laugh. A couple of years earlier she would never have imagined herself working in paranormal investigations. It was certainly different from the downtown law office where she had been working—and not fitting in—before she quit, sick of the corporate world. And it was even further from her Southern Baptist upbringing back in her small Midwestern hometown, where everyone—her parents included—considered her an unholy freak because of her unusual “gifts.” Even the other kids in her small school avoided her, nicknaming her “spooky girl.” Her only friend was her mother’s sister, Jane, an unmarried, childless woman, who treated Melody as if she was her own child. She suggested that Melody leave their small town as soon as she was old enough.

  “I wish I’d gotten out of here when I was your age,” Aunt Jane whispered conspiratorially.

  And, although she wasn’t sure, Melody had suspected that Aunt Jane was perhaps a lesbian, too, although back then Melody was many years away from discussing her sexuality with anyone. Unfortunately, Aunt Jane died from cancer when Melody was seventeen, leaving her alone in an unfriendly town, anxiously waiting to be old enough to leave.

  On her eighteenth birthday, Melody said good-bye to her hometown and jumped the first bus to San Francisco to start a new life. After a series of disastrous jobs, including one at a law firm where she was forced to wear corporate drag and uncomfortable shoes and another at a coffee shop where she was overworked and underpaid, she had walked into Blake Danzig’s storefront to inquire about a job ad she had seen in a newspaper. The volume of new clients had overwhelmed Blake, so he needed an assistant, and the two of them quickly hit it off. He hired Melody immediately, saying that he was especially impressed at Melody’s lack of surprise when he informed her that an elderly, female ghost was following her.

  “Oh, I know,” she had replied calmly. “That’s my aunt Jane. She came with me to California when I moved here to keep an eye on me.”

  Melody looked at the clock on the wall and remembered she was supposed to meet Blake at the Bayside Bar, a South of Market watering hole. She cursed and hurriedly began to gather her things.

  *

  Blake was seated at the bar of the Bayside Bar waiting for Melody. Just across the street was the restaurant where he had met the redheaded waiter, Darren, or whatever the hell his name was, the night before, and Blake tried once again to push away his loneliness since losing Brian. How many guys had he been with since the breakup? Fifteen…twenty? Blake couldn’t recall but only knew that none of them wanted to hang around a guy who talked to ghosts—no longer than a fuck or two, anyway. He glanced at his watch. As usual, Melody was late. He took a sip of his beer and scanned the crowded room. The bar was dark, with its walls painted black and the only windows near the front of the bar. Those were tinted, so passersby couldn’t see in. Why did so many gay bars choose to be so dark and dreary inside? Perhaps because so many gay men seemed to love an air of mystery?

  Even though he was the star of a very popular show on the FX network, nobody seemed to have recognized him, and he was grateful. In fact, the only person paying Blake any attention—aside from the cute bartender—was a hot blond at the end of the bar. The kid was probably in his late twenties, a little young for his personal taste, but the kid’s lean body and muscular biceps were enough to pique Blake’s curiosity. Like with the redheaded waiter, Blake could see where this was heading.

  The blond leered at Blake and rose from his bar stool, never removing his eyes from Blake.

  Here it comes, Blake thought. Either he’s seen my show or wants me to fuck him or both. Instead, the blond walked toward the bathrooms at the back of the bar, a signal that Blake interpreted as an invitation for bathroom sex. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been blown in a men’s room, and at least he had a condom with him. He was still mulling over the invitation when the blond walked through the back wall and vanished. Blake sighed loudly, finished his beer, and ordered another.

  This wasn’t the first time Blake had seen a ghost in a bar. They were everywhere, and Blake had learned long ago never to speak to
someone unless he had seen another living human speak to the stranger first. Blake realized this behavior, especially in a bar, might make him seem like an asshole to some, but it was necessary. Otherwise, he risked looking like a drunk or, worse, crazy, which had happened a year earlier in a bar in Pasadena. Blake had wandered in for a beer, only to find the place nearly empty. Aside from the bartender, the only people present were an older gay man, who nodded at Blake as he passed, and a dark-haired, fortyish man sitting near the far end of the bar. After he ordered the beer from the bartender, the dark-haired man spoke first. His name was Chad, he had explained, and he was very happy to see a new face in the bar. Blake had smiled, mistaking the stranger’s banter for flirting. After twenty minutes of back-and-forth with the stranger, Blake was surprised by the bartender, who suddenly appeared in front of him, his arms crossed.

  “I don’t know what you’re on, buddy,” he had said, his eyes narrowed. “But you’d better go.”

  Blake stared dumbly at the bartender but, when he turned to his companion for help, he was shocked to see that he had vanished. Humiliated, he quickly paid the tab and retreated, under the accusing eyes of the bartender and his lone customer. It had been an embarrassing moment, but it had taught Blake two valuable lessons: First, ghosts are everywhere and sometimes they look like real, living people. Second, he needed to use caution when speaking to anyone in public. Otherwise he risked ridicule and, possibly, the loony bin. Still, the blond who had just walked through the wall intrigued Blake and, since he was still waiting for Melody, he caught the cute bartender’s attention.

  “What’s up?” he asked in a friendly manner. “Your drink okay?”

  “Yeah.” Blake looked from side to side to make sure nobody was eavesdropping. “Have you ever felt anything here…anything creepy?”

  The bartender chuckled. “You mean like ghosts?”

  “Yeah. It wouldn’t be unusual for a place like this to be haunted.”

  “Sorry,” the bartender said, then laughed, “but I don’t believe in ghosts. Now, the owner, he’s a different story…says things move around in the office.” He gestured back toward the restrooms.

  “The office is back by the restrooms?”

  “On the other side of the wall. The owner calls the ghost Charlie.”

  “Why Charlie?”

  “Who the hell knows? Probably too many drugs in the seventies. Excuse me,” he said as two men approached the bar at the other end.

  Just then Melody walked in the door looking harried. Blake waved at her from his seat and she joined him. “You’re late,” he teased her.

  Blake chuckled at the words as soon as they escaped his lips. Melody was always late, and it had become an ongoing joke between them. Blake suspected, in fact, that Melody would one day be late to her own funeral. Had Melody been early, now that would have been a true surprise.

  “Sorry,” she said, “it was murder getting a cab.”

  “How was work?”

  “Mostly dead, no pun intended. But a guy named Jake came in late in the day…says he’s got a haunted business space over on Divisadero.”

  “Do you think he does?” Blake took a sip of his beer.

  “He had a knot on his head he says the ghost caused.”

  “A poltergeist? Did you schedule him?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon. How’s the book going?”

  “Okay, I suppose.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m not that into it. I mean, it’s just a rehash of some of the more interesting episodes of the show from my personal perspective.”

  “So that should be easy.” Melody waved for the bartender’s attention. “You always keep good notes. Just work from those.”

  The bartender appeared in front of them and Melody ordered a beer.

  “Maybe that’s the problem,” Blake said, once the bartender had gone. “Maybe it’s too easy and that scares me.”

  “You worry too much.”

  The bartender came back and placed the beer in front of Melody. “You know what you were saying earlier?” he asked Blake.

  Blake nodded.

  “I guess I never thought about it until now, but I have noticed strange things, like glasses moving or the jukebox coming on for no particular reason.”

  Melody looked at Blake, clueless. Blake quickly explained and turned back to the bartender. “And you don’t think those things are odd?”

  The bartender shook his head. “A big truck driving past could make glasses move,” he shrugged, “or an earthquake. As for the jukebox, well, electronics fuck up all the time.”

  It amazed Blake how many people simply refused to believe in spirits, despite the mountains of evidence right in front of them. Then again, maybe he was wrong. Maybe the spirits fed off the energy of the believers of the world in order to gain the strength they needed to appear. As soon as the bartender had excused himself to serve yet more customers, Blake turned back to Melody.

  “Clueless,” he said, though not unkindly.

  “Most people are.”

  “Listen,” he said, changing the subject, “I’m thinking of taking a trip to New Mexico to see my parents. Maybe I can work on the book while I’m down there.”

  “Okay. When are you going?”

  “Friday. Maybe I’ll stay down there a week or so.”

  “Friday? This Friday? That’s day after tomorrow.”

  “I know.” Blake laughed. “We’ll take care of the Divisadero poltergeist tomorrow, then close for a week. Unless you want to work while I’m gone.”

  “Danzig Paranormal Investigations isn’t much without you. I’m just a clairvoyant. I can’t get rid of ghosts.”

  “You’re a very valuable part of what we do. Take the week off, then. I’ll consider it vacation.”

  The next day Blake and Melody met Jake at his auto-repair shop on Divisadero. From the outside, the single-story white stucco building looked like any other garage. Once inside, however, it was as if alarms were going off inside Melody’s head. To make matters worse, the temperature seemed to have dropped considerably.

  “I don’t like this, Blake.” Melody’s breath was visible in the chilly air.

  Suddenly, the overhead lights began to flicker.

  “He’s here,” Jake whispered, looking terrified.

  “You wait outside.” Blake pointed the terrified owner out to the sidewalk. “You don’t need to be here.”

  A hubcap careened through the air, nearly striking Jake in the head. Without further prompting he ran for the door.

  Suddenly, from the darkness that was the back of the garage came a low animal growl.

  “Get out!” screeched a voice that sounded like a hundred voices in unison.

  “Who are you?” Blake demanded. “Show yourself!”

  The shadows at the back of the garage began to converge into one spot, thickening until they made up one single form.

  “Blake,” Melody said, terror in her eyes, “this isn’t a ghost. This thing was conjured by dark magic.”

  Melody did her best to hide her fear, not wanting to give the entity negative energy on which to feed. But that someone, possibly inexperienced teenagers, had toyed with the Craft as if it were a game and unleashed a dangerous demon infuriated her. How would witches ever gain respect when so many kids recklessly cast spells they found all too easily in books and on the Internet?

  “What the hell is it?” Blake asked.

  Before she could elaborate, unseen forces picked Blake up and tossed him like a rag doll against the far wall. He fell to the floor and the dark mist advanced upon him.

  “Stop,” Melody bellowed.

  The entity stopped and drifted toward Melody, hovering in front of her.

  “Who summoned you?” she demanded.

  Although she was terrified, Melody refused to show it. To do so would most definitely mean defeat and, worse, possible possession by the entity. An amateur witch had probably conjured this thing—a demon�
��and not properly released it. With luck, perhaps she could.

  “Witch,” the black form hissed.

  “I release you back to your realm,” she said, and stretched out her arms. “Go now. Leave this place and cause no more harm. I command you!”

  The entity did not respond, merely cackled a low, gurgling laugh, a laugh that sent shivers down Melody’s spine.

  “You did not summon me,” the entity replied, “and you have no power to banish me.”

  Melody pulled a dagger from under her skirt and the prop shocked even Blake, who stared at her with disbelieving eyes. Melody raised the dagger and drew a banishing pentagram in the air, her eyes tightly closed.

  “By the powers of the Guardians of the Four Watchtowers, I banish you,” she chanted. “Return to your realm now!”

  The entity hissed in response, but Melody repeated her words once more.

  Blake, who was still trying to shake himself from the stupor caused by being slammed against the wall and by the sudden appearance of the dagger, was amazed to see the dark cloud shrink, then disappear altogether, the hundreds of voices slowly falling silent. Almost immediately the temperature began to rise in the garage. Blake pulled himself up from the floor and approached Melody, who was as amazed as he was that her trick had worked.

  “Not a poltergeist?” He cradled his injured arm.

  “No,” a grin slowly crept across her face, “a demon.”

  “Where the hell did you get that dagger?”

  “It’s my athame.” Melody tucked it back under her skirt. “A good witch never leaves home without hers.”

  Blake put his arm around Melody and squeezed her shoulder. “Who says Danzig Paranormal only works when I’m around?”

  Together they walked out onto the sunny street in search of Jake to tell him the good news.

  Chapter Nine

  Friday morning was gray, with no hint of blue sky. It was one of those San Francisco days that was neither sunny nor rainy, and Blake was happy to be headed for a warmer climate, if only for a week. He arrived at the gate, single carry-on in tow, just as the first call for boarding was announced. As he waited in line with his fellow passengers, Blake became aware of a familiar voice nearby. He craned his neck to find the source, somewhere in front of him, and was mortified to spy none other than Clive Damon, his British counterpart.