by Terri Grimes
“No way, dude. You are out of your ever-loving mind to even entertain the thought of going in my attic. Are you nuts?”
“Gertie, why is it okay for you to go up there but I can’t? Ghosts don’t come out this early. They only hang out in attics in the middle of the night. I know this stuff, I watch Haunted America.”
“The hell they don’t come out in daylight,” I protested.
He dismissed my protests with a flamboyant sigh. “Oh ye of little faith. Have I ever steered you wrong before?”
“Yes!”
“Well that’s too bad because I’m in front of your house now and I’m coming in.” With that the phone went dead as he hung up. A minute later, he came prancing through the front door, his excitement apparent.
“Maybe we should wait until nine o’clock when Sam gets here for tonight’s investigation?” I cautioned.
“No, Gertie. This is the best time to go in the attic while there is still a vestige of light outside. There is no way I’m going up there in the dead of night and you know I’ve always wanted to get a look at the attic and the treasures up there.”
“I don’t know, Timmy.”
“Antiques! Think of the awesome antiques, Gertie! You’ve got a treasure trove of delights up there. I just know it! I wouldn’t be surprised if we even found your grandmother flapper dress.” He clapped his hands together. “Remember that old fashioned picture she showed us of her wearing that dress?” A look of rapture crossed his face. I could almost see visions of antiques and flapper dresses dancing through his head.
“No antique is worth taking the risk of something happening up there to you, pal.”
“Why is it okay for you to put yourself in the path of danger, but I can’t do the same? Need I remind you that I am older than you?”
“Oh yeah, three months older makes you so much wiser.”
He tossed his head. “I’m glad you agree. Now where’s the flashlights Sam uses on investigations?”
I shook my head in defeat. I had enough sense to know when I was beat. It would take a swat team to stop Timmy from going up in the attic with me tonight. “You’re the tech manager, Timmy. Aren’t you supposed to keep track of where all the equipment is?”
He giggled as he skipped into the dining room, digging into the pile of equipment Sam had left on my dining room table. “Score,” he hollered a minute later as he held up two small flashlights.
And in the blink of an eye, we were off.
“That’s weird,” Timmy said as we made our way up the narrow attic steps.
“What’s that?” I asked, my mind intent on probing the shadows as I wrapped my fingers around the medallion in my pocket.
“The temperature’s dropped. It’s got to be a good twenty degrees colder in here than in the rest of the house. Do you feel it?”
“Yeah, I feel it,” I admitted. I wasn’t talking about the temperature.
We stood at the top of the attic steps, both of us shining our small flashlights and their tiny beams into the attic. The chilled air had a heavy ominous feel to it.
“Maybe you were right,” Timmy ventured. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”
“Why don’t you head downstairs? I’ll follow you in a couple of minutes.”
“No, I’ll stay with you till you get whatever it is you came up here for.” I felt sorry for him as I heard his fear causing his voice to quake.
“Boo,” a voice whispered in the small space between Timmy and I.
I glanced over my right shoulder, the ends of my hair brushing across my face as I tossed my head. I didn’t need to see the expression on Timmy’s face to know he was panicked. I’d seen it on his face often enough this past week. Lips parted, eyes wide and glittering beneath arched brows, jaw slack. A look that translated into, “What the hell am I doing in this situation and how the fuck do I get out of it?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Timmy released a high-pitched, girlish squeal. He shot down the attic steps so fast that he stumbled over his own feet.
I laughed, an automatic response born more of hysterics than humor.
Hearing my laugh, he teetered on the bottom step, turning to look up at me, his face a mask of confusion and hurt.
“Sweetie, I’m not laughing at you.” I widened my eyes and witnessed, in horror, as he rose several inches off the step, his feet dangling in mid air for a brief second before his body flew sideways, slamming into the stairwell wall with a sickening splat.
I could feel my jaw dropping open.
Timmy lay in a crumpled, whimpering heap at the bottom of the attic steps for several seconds before my brain registered what I had just witnessed.
A low, otherworldly laugh reverberated through the stairway, it’s echo bouncing off the walls as I raced down the steps two at a time. The sound of the demon’s laughter made Timmy whimper to the point of keening.
“Timmy,” I screamed as I reached the bottom of the steps. I clutched at his arms. “Are you okay? Can you move your legs? Should I call an ambulance? Oh God, Timmy, speak to me!” The words tumbled out of my mouth at breakneck speed.
He straightened his leg, testing it, wincing at the movement.
“Just help me get me out of here,” he pleaded in an unnatural monotone voice. “Please!” A wild, terrified look distorted his pale features.
I put my hands under his arms, pulling him up to a semi standing position. “Lean on me, pal and we’ll get the hell out of here right now.”
“Hurry,” he said, his voice a flat tone as he leaned against my torso, allowing me to lead us through the doorway and into the second floor hallway. It was hard to say whose limbs were shaking more, but somehow we managed to make our way down the second floor stairway to the kitchen without further incident.
Twenty Four
Ten minutes later, I was blowing on a cup of tea as I willed my trembling limbs to be still to no avail. Timmy and I sat at the kitchen table, both of us silent. Neither of us had spoken a word since we left the attic stairwell. I was the first to break the silence.
"You know how they say life isn't measured by the breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away?" I asked.
“Yeah, I suppose so,” Timmy mumbled, staring in his teacup.
“Well, I think we both just lost ten years of breath on that one.”
Neither of us laughed.
I looked at Timmy sitting across the table from me. His thoughts were clearly elsewhere. “Here,” I said, pushing the pot of hot tea under his nose. “Drink some more, it will help.”
“Nothing will help,” he muttered as he attempted to lift the teapot with a trembling hand. Unsuccessful, he set the pot back on the table with a clatter. I pushed my chair back and stood up. Walking over to Timmy’s side of the table, I took the teapot from him and refilled his cup.
“I saw him, Gertie. I saw the devil himself.”
I made my way over to the cupboard next to the stove then extracted a small sugar bowl from the cabinet, while I snagged a teaspoon from the silverware drawer on my way. One my cousin had missed in her earlier foray. Returning to the table, I poured two heaping spoonfuls of the sugar into my teacup.
“It wasn’t the devil, Timmy, it was just a demon.”
“Just a demon? Just a demon? Are you out of your mind? I could have been killed!”
Timmy was the queen of overreaction. I pushed the sugar towards him with one hand while I handed him the used teaspoon with my other hand.
“Sugar in hot tea? No thanks,” he said with a shudder.
“Put some sugar in your cup, pal. It helps with shock. And I think we can both agree that we are suffering from a good case of shock right now.” I wiggled the spoon at him, hoping for a smile.
He took the utensil from me, glumly nodding his head as he stirred the sweetener into his tea. After taking a tentative sip, he said, “A jolt of sugar couldn’t hurt, I guess.”
“It wasn’t going to kill you, Timmy. I think it just likes fr
ightening people, shaking them up a bit.”
“The sugar?” He looked up from his teacup, confusion marring his features.
“No, you know who I’m talking about.”
“Oh, right, just your friendly neighborhood demon, having a bit of fun with the gay guy. I get it.”
“You do?” I asked.
“No, you nimrod. Don’t you watch the SyFy channel? Demons are dangerous. Did you not see that monster throw me down the steps? The steps, Gertie. He threw me down the attic steps.” He laid his head on the table and moaned to himself while I sighed with sympathy for my friend. There was nothing like a gay BFF in crisis mode.
I didn’t point out the fact that, to be technical, the demon threw Timmy against the wall of the attic stairwell. He did his own stumbling down the steps action. And to be accurate, neither of us saw the demon in action, we saw Timmy rise up several inches off the stairs and go flying through the air. At least that’s what I saw. I kept those points to myself though.
“You should consider yourself lucky,” I ventured. “The thing always grabs my boob or pinches my butt. All it did to you was smile, say boo and lift you up a little. Seems to me you got off easy.”
Timmy’s head snapped up. “I got off easy?” The high-pitched tone was back. “You have the nerve to tell me he is just a Horny Harry wanting to get his freak on? Hell no! You didn’t see the look in that demon’s eye, Gertie. That devil wanted my soul. My soul, I tell you!” He took in a much-needed gulp of air. “And he didn’t lift me up a little, as you so aptly put it. The fucker picked me up and threw me against a frigging wall.”
I fought the bubble of laughter threatening to come up and erupt from my diaphragm. “Um, Horny Harry?”
Timmy stopped his rant. I saw a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I suppose if you’re going to have a demon, it might as well be a horny one. At least that way I’m sure to get some action on a Saturday night,” I quipped.
Timmy broke out into a full belly laugh. I joined him. We sat at the kitchen table, both laughing so hard, tears streamed down our faces.
Once our laughter abated, I looked at Timmy and said, “In all seriousness, you are right about old Horny Harry being a problem. We’ve got to figure out a way to ground this demon.”
“We?” Timmy questioned. “Let’s make that plural a singular.”
I thought about what my grandmother had said in her little middle of the night bathroom chat. Yeah, Timmy might be right, singular was the way to go with this one.
Twenty Five
When Sam arrived an hour later, Timmy and I both stumbled over our words in a rush to tell him our version of the events that had occurred on the attic steps.
“Whoa!” Sam said, holding both hands in the air, palms facing out. He lowered his tone to a calmer level. “One person at a time, please. Timmy, what’s this about something happening to you in the attic?”
My friend’s voice cracked several times as he tried to explain what he had seen and felt. When he got to the part about the demon lifting him in the air and throwing him against the wall, he covered his face with both hands. Trembling, soft mewing sounds escaped his lips.
Sam turned his gaze to me.
“The demon picked him up,” I said, my own voice quavering. “And Sam, although Timmy was seeing the demon, I wasn’t. Isn’t that weird? I just saw Timmy being lifted in the air by an unseen force. And then bam! He was slammed against the wall of the attic stairwell.”
“Neither of you should have gone up in that attic in the first place. You both know what kind of a dark evil force we’re dealing with.”
“We do now,” I muttered halfway under my breath as I shoved my hands in the front pockets of my jeans.
Sam put his hands on my arms and pulled me to him. “We have to do this, Gertie. We have to get rid of this demon tonight. It’s gone on long enough. You can’t stay here with this thing any longer.”
I sighed. “You’re preaching to the choir. I agree with you. Let’s do it tonight.
He released my arms and stepping back scratching his chin, deep in thought. “We can try burning sage, now that we know he’s trapped in this dimension—”
“No,” I interrupted. “I know what I need to do. I’m going to drive one of those magnetized medallions right through the demon. That’s the only way to get rid of it.”
“You might be on to something, Gertie. That would probably send the demon into a lower realm and yet without creating a portal. Either way it will neutralize him so he can’t do any more harm to anyone. Yeah, I think that might actually work. Good thinking,” he complimented me.
I gave him a quick smile. “Great. I say we go ahead and load up with Saint Ubaldus medallions and take care of the son of a bitch right now. Let’s send that demon back to hell and ground him there so he can never enter this realm again.”
“Let’s go for it, Sugarbaker!” Sam gave me a high five. Our hands made a smacking sound as they met mid-slap.
We both turned to Timmy who still sat at the kitchen table nursing a now cold cup of tea. I walked over to him and rubbed his shoulder. “Buddy,” I said in a gentle tone. “Are you going to be up for manning command central tonight?”
“It’s okay if you’re not up for it,” Sam confirmed, patting him on the other shoulder. “We’ll understand if you want to just go home.”
Timmy looked at Sam before turning his gaze to me. A smile spread across his face. He drew in a deep breath before he spoke. “This is the second time that fucker has tried to throw down with me. Do you think I would miss the chance to see that son of a bitch get his? I’m in the long haul, guys.”
Sam patted Timmy on the back several times. I bent and gave him a hug.
“Thank you,” I whispered in his ear as I gave him a little extra squeeze.
We all tromped into the dining room and began gathering devices from the pile of equipment spread out on my dining room table.
Sam shoved one of the magnetized religious medals into his back pocket. “First thing we need to do is find out where that asshole’s hiding. A demon will have an area of the house where it hides, laying in wait, gathering strength. Often a little used area of the house.”
“Oh, I think I can tell you exactly where it hides,” I said.
Sam raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
While he went about setting the equipment up for the night, I filled him in on the little adventure I had that afternoon before Timmy and I went in the attic. “I could feel the demon’s hot breath on the back of my neck when I came back in the house. I could smell him too.”
Sam nodded. “I bet anything he was playing games with you. He wanted you to know he was there.”
“I think you’re right. And I don’t know how I know this, Sam, but as sure as I’m standing here, I know that I’ve got to face down this demon. I’m the only one that is going to be able to get it out of my house. I’m the one that has to spike him.”
Sam’s lips were set in a thin, grim line. “This isn’t good, Gertie. Demons are tricky and they’re dangerous.”
“You’re telling me. I think Timmy and I found that out tonight.”
“No, I’m serious. Orcas is gaining strength. I wish we could wait for Bishop Shoal to come from Louisville or even Father Quinn. But we’ve got to take him down tonight. The longer we wait, the stronger he gets.”
“Who are Father Quinn and Bishop Shoal?” Timmy asked.
“They are the leading demonologists in the United States,” Sam replied in a tone that implied Timmy should have already known this. “In fact, they teach demonology classes. They’re well renowned.” His face was wore a grim expression as shook his head in what I took to be regret. “Like I said, I wish we could wait but we don’t have the time. I can feel this thing building up.”
“I can feel it too and I know you’re right,” I agreed.
“Wait, isn’t Louisville a two hour drive to Indy?” Timmy chimed in.
�
��To be more accurate, an hour and forty-five minutes,” Sam replied.
“Or an hour and thirty minutes if I’m driving.” Both men swiveled their heads and focused on me, surprise showing on their faces.
“What? I’m a slightly aggressive driver.”
“Slightly?” Sam asked.
“You’re not exactly a passive person yourself,” I flirted while I looked at him from underneath my eyelashes.
Timmy cleared his throat. “Focus people.” He snapped his fingers high in the air. “Let’s keep it in the here and now, you two. Since Louisville is only a short drive away, why don’t we at least give Bishop Shoal or Father Quinn a call and see if they can drive down here tonight.”
Sam looked at me with raised eyebrows. “We never know unless we ask.” He clapped Timmy on the back. “That’s a great idea. Way to use the old noodle, sport.”
Judging from the look of adoration Timmy was giving Sam, I figured he was about three seconds away from trying to use a noodle of an entirely different kind than what Sam referred to. I stepped in between the two and rested a protective arm on Sam’s chest. “We could even wait three or four hours if they can manage to drive down tonight.” I batted my eyelashes at him before shooting Timmy the stink eye.
Timmy had a difficult time wiping the shit-eating grin off his face as he mouthed, “What did I do?”
Oblivious to our little drama, Sam whipped out his cell phone and pressed a few numbers before putting the device to his ear.
“Bishop,” he said with a warm tone. “Sam Valentine from Urban Ghost Hunters.” There was a pause as the bishop spoke. “I’m doing just great, how about yourself?” Sam said. After another lag while Bishop Shoal spoke again, Sam got down to the nitty gritty and said, “I’ve got a favor to ask of you, Bishop.” Then Sam explained in great detail what we were dealing with, or more aptly, who.
I was none too pleased to see an expression of frustration cross Sam’s face. After several minutes of Uh-huh’s and I see’s, Sam thanked Bishop Shoal and ended the call.