by Misty Simon
“You want to hand me the book.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Becker try to take a step forward, but something held him back. Patrick’s eyes had gone blank, and her hands were moving away from her body again, holding out the book to the mustached ghost, who roared with laughter.
Absolutely not! She clasped the book to her again. “No, you son of a bitch!”
“Don’t insult my mother like that.” If ghosts could stamp their feet, he would have. “Give me the book! You’re not strong enough to resist me. Though I will give you that you’re stronger than those idiots at the auction. They thought they were going to get bargains, but I needed your father to buy all of us so we could bring together the energy to open the door.”
“What freaking door?”
“The door to the Bad Place, of course. It’s the only door worth opening, and then I can run this whole world, bring to it possession of the best kind, and kill anyone who stands in my way. Like you and yours. Your ancestor thought it was a bad idea, which is why he was stupid. We could have done so much, but he threw away the chance by having our mentor send me away. I died that night in a carriage accident. Coincidence? Perhaps. It was 1869, and accidents were not out of the norm, but very convenient. And now I’ve spent my whole afterlife getting back here to take what should have been mine. So now you’re going to give it to me.” There was that sassy smile again, and Mel wanted to use the book to knock it off his face.
But she clasped it hard to her chest, so much that her boobs hurt, but it was a small price to pay for the certainty that the world did not need an open portal to Hell, or the Bad Place, or Hades, or whatever you wanted to call it. Hell, no, literally.
“Give me the book. I possessed the man who called himself a philosopher. I worked for years to have him collect all those objects into his house. And then he up and died on me, the fool, before I could make him come get the book from you. Too much fried chicken. But you are not near death unless you don’t give me the book. Now. Give. Me. The. Book.”
“Take it from me, you piece of slime.” Daring him might not be her best idea, but it was better than standing and continuing to fight him.
He hovered near her, but he couldn’t physically take the book, for whatever reason. Fine by her.
But then her breathing grew shallow, even though she wasn’t physically exerting herself. And the book became heavy, like someone was sitting on it. The spine dug into her fingers as she tried desperately to not drop the thing on her feet. She could do nothing but wheeze, her lungs burning, her fingers tingling, spots flying around before her eyes.
“I can take you first, Ms. Hargrove,” the ghost said. “I can take you right to the edge of death and leave you to hover there.”
Her lungs felt like they were on fire, and shallow breathing turned to gasping. Her fingers cramped hard around the binding of the book she would die before handing over.
And that might just be true this time…
But she fought back, finding a piece of herself she hadn’t known she possessed, something that would not let it end this way. Mentally she fought him back, took control of her lungs again, breathed thinking of water misting through her lungs and dousing the burn.
The ghost wavered like the others had that first day on the pavement. She concentrated harder, and he looked like static.
“Now,” she croaked.
Patrick came back to full force and gripped the ghost by the arm. “You will not menace these people.”
The ghost chuckled. “You can do nothing, old man. Watch how I take one more from you, Mel.” And his eyes turned red as he screwed up his face and used his hand to punch through Patrick’s torso right where his heart would have been if he were still alive.
Patrick shrank and faded, his shoulders dropped, and his whole form became paler and less substantial.
Oh, God!
She couldn’t throw the book on the ground to use her hands to help him. She couldn’t help him anyway. Dammit!
And then Becker was there, obviously able to break through whatever barrier had been holding him back. He grasped the ghost’s other arm, then linked arms with Patrick. They formed a strange circle that literally glowed in the darkness.
What the hell was happening, and was it going to hurt Becker?
“You will never hurt another person again. You will go back to where you came from and never return. The Underworld will deal with you as appropriate. The governing body there knows this is not right and will punish you for all you have done. There will be balance—even they want that because they know how important it is. Your bid for dominance will cost you your soul.”
What was Becker saying, and how did he know to say it?
The ghost screamed, and something reached out from the old outhouse to tear his apparition to shreds, taking him chunk by chunk with its clawed hands. Whatever the hell that was, Mel was standing far away and wished she could drag Becker and his great-grandfather with her.
But then it was done. The glow subsided, and she was left staring at an exhausted Becker, and Patrick who had regained his color, or at least as much color as a ghost could have.
Chapter Eleven
“What in the world was that?” she gasped out.
Becker hunched over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard, but at least he was breathing. She tried to stop the shaking that had begun in her shoulders but felt more like she was in the middle of an earthquake she couldn’t stop.
“My word.” Tucking the book under one arm, she laid a hand on Becker’s back. “Are you okay?”
“We have a lot to talk about,” Patrick answered. “But I’d rather not do it by an outhouse, if you don’t mind.”
They all trooped into the big yellow Victorian house. Mel rushed in the door to find her father sitting on the couch, looking a little dazed but breathing okay and awake. She ran over to hug him and held on for longer than she had in years. “Thank goodness, you’re okay!”
He stroked his fingers over her hairsprayed hair and chuckled. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Mel.” He looked around at the many ghosts streaming in around her, and coughed. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to step outside for moment. I need to get the blood flowing. Take notes for me, sweets, and we’ll catch up later.”
Sweets. He’d called her Sweets. Mel smiled to herself and met her mother’s eyes. Things might be changing around here for the better. Nothing like an almost-portal to hell to bring a family together.
After she watched her father stroll out onto the porch, she turned back to the room. Pretty much every ghost now filled the living room. Some just poked their heads in through the walls or ceilings, since there wasn’t enough space for them to fully manifest in the space.
Mel got tea, and Mrs. Hatchett was all too happy to hand over cookies from her own stash that she had taken to keeping in a plastic container since that ring was still in her jar. Normally only Becker got those cookies, but apparently Mel had done a good enough job tonight to be able to partake also.
Chester and Mabel were cozied up in a corner, holding hands.
“Start at the beginning,” Mel said, snuggling into the couch with Becker tucked up against her. She put an arm around his shoulders and bent her elbow to be able to run her hand through his hair and soothe him.
“I can’t go back that far, but let’s go back several generations,” Great-Grandpa answered.
“Fine by me.”
“The Becker family has a long line of tradition, much like yours, Mel. Our tradition is just a little different, and a little more spread out. I’ve said before that we have powers, and I wasn’t sure if they would manifest in Becker, or a child of his, but we’re reapers. You are the next reaper, Gregory Becker.”
“What?” Becker sat up, dislodging Mel.
She caught herself at the last second by shoving her hand into the couch cushion so she didn’t topple over onto the floor. Mumford got a lift to the couch and took the opportunity to insert
himself between Mel and Becker.
“Reapers. We’re reapers, Gregory. We reap souls instead of allowing them to move on at their own will.”
“I…what? I can’t be.”
“I realize it’s a lot to take in. I stayed for this specific purpose, though. Not everyone in our family has been, your father and his before him were not, but the watch has been passed down so that he who was a reaper would have the knowledge at the right time. This is that time.” Patrick looked as satisfied with himself as Becker looked horrified.
“Why hide it?” Becker asked in a flat tone, one that had Mel sitting forward. She never wanted him to be less than all he could be, but was he thinking about what this could do to her junkyard? If Patrick was a reaper, and now Becker, then they could choose to eliminate her whole life…
Becker would never do that. Would he?
The love of her life shook his head, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“But I don’t want to do that. I see the value of what Mel does here, and I can’t make those decisions for someone’s soul. I won’t.” Becker stood to pace, and Mumford whined.
Mel petted the dog to calm him down.
“You don’t have to, son, but this is your destiny. If you reject it, then the world misses out on a true keeper of the balance.”
“I can’t. I can’t take that choice from people.”
“And yet, would you be? What about the ghost tonight, the one you sent off to the great beyond? You’ve seen many of the souls be lost, and afraid, and not know why they’re here, or how to move on. They live in fear, they live in solitude. They live, even though they should be resting. Reaping is the natural order of things.”
“Hold on a damn minute here,” Mel chimed in. “I’ve used reapers before, and they don’t do that, and you’ve been around here long enough to know that there are certain things that people stay around to fix years after it happened. What about Harold today, who had to stay long enough to help his ex get over her anger? Or the man who accidentally killed his niece who had to be here to tell us where to look so they could both be at peace?”
“I will give you those.” Patrick also paced, but he actually floated up and down through the air instead of back and forth across the floor.
“You don’t have to give me anything other than your agreement that not everyone is just in need of sorting,” Mel said. “Some people have reasons, and they’re valid reasons. You can’t take those people away from what they have to do. They’d never rest even if you sent them on to where you think they need to go.”
Becker sat down next to her and held her hand. “I’m with Mel on this. I won’t be a reaper, and it can go to someone else if it’s a matter of taking away the ability for people to make peace. I can’t do it.”
Patrick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going about this all wrong.”
Mel was not going to argue with him. She’d wait him out, but she wasn’t going to argue with him.
“A reaper’s purpose is to help those who can’t let go long past when they should have, to move those along who have no real purpose here and to help those who don’t know what to do.”
“Well, you should have said that the first time.” Mel grasped Becker’s hand. “That doesn’t sound too bad. It’s not a lot different from what I do, just a little more concentrated.”
“I’m a veterinarian, Mel,” Becker said. “I take care of dogs and cats, and castrate cows. I don’t mess with souls, other than to say hi to them whenever I walk past. I never wanted any of this.” He rose from the couch again and went out to the porch. Mel listened to the front screen door slam and got up to go after him.
“You’ll want to give him some time. This can be difficult,” Patrick said.
“Why didn’t you prepare him better? Surely, you could have said something long before, in that watch of yours.” Mel glared at him, then glanced at the front door, trying to decide what to do.
Patrick chuckled. “I don’t even need the watch. I only attached to that because I thought it would be easier for Gregory to accept since it was a known part of your world. Reapers need none of those trappings.”
“So what will he do? If he decides to be more than a vet, that is.”
“Well, first he’d have to travel. A reaper has a territory and a known area that he must service, generally at cemeteries. It’s a nomadic life but a good one, in service to others, as you are yourself.”
“But I can’t be nomadic.” She had to stay here with the ghosts.
“And that’s where I draw the line.” Becker came back into the room with his hands behind his back and a severe expression on his face.
“I don’t want to take you away from your calling,” Mel said.
“My calling is with animals and here with you.” He got down on one knee. “Will you spend the rest of your life and the afterlife with me, Melanie Hargrove? I don’t want to live or die without you.”
Tears welled in Mel’s eyes. This was not exactly how she had wanted to start their wedding story, with Becker feeling forced to propose to show his great-grandfather that he wasn’t leaving her. The ring was exquisite, though.
“And since I know you, I’m going to tell you right now that this has nothing to do with the reaper thing. Seeing you tonight, and every day, made me realize that I always want to be with you, to make a life with you, and I’ve had this ring for weeks. I was just looking for the right time. And that time is now.”
Mel almost blurted out that she knew about the ring, but Mrs. Hatchett gave her the beady eye, and it dried the words right up on Mel’s tongue. “I would love to marry you, if you’re sure,” Mel said instead.
“I’ve never been more sure in my life.” He put the ring on her finger, and it felt like a second skin. After kissing her squarely on the mouth, as the ghosts whistled and cheered, he turned to his great-grandfather. “I release you. If you don’t want to stick around, or don’t have to because I refuse to take on that job, then I release you to wherever you’re supposed to go. I appreciate all your help, but if you’re just going to try to convince me to be a reaper, then I don’t want to fight you all the time. I’d rather keep the memories of my good times with you instead of sully them with anger.”
Patrick smiled. “I think I’ll stick around a little longer, and I promise not to bother you about it. I’ve liked helping, and quite honestly, I already told the powers that be that this would be your decision. I warned them, and they are thinking about how they can have you anyway. I suggested reaping from here instead of a cemetery, but I didn’t want to promise you that before I knew where you stood.”
Mel’s mom slapped Patrick in the shoulder hard enough to have him stumbling back. “Don’t you ever do that to my baby again! We’re finally going to have a wedding, one I wasn’t sure we’d ever get, and you don’t get to play with them, or make it difficult.”
Patrick hugged her mom, laughing, just as Mel’s dad came in from outside.
“What’s the hullaballoo?”
Mel kissed Becker and flashed her hand at her father.
“We’re going to have a wedding.”
“Good God, your mother is going to be a force to be reckoned with.”
“Why do you say… Oh,” Mel said as catalogs for dresses and chairs and china patterns started flying through the air to land at Mel’s feet. They stacked on top of each other in a tower until they were at Mel’s waist, and then her mom sat on top of them to be eye to eye with Mel.
“Let’s get planning!”
Heaven help her.
A word about the author…
Misty Simon loves a good story and decided one day that she would try her hand at it. Eventually she got it right. There’s nothing better in the world than making someone laugh, and she hopes everyone at least snickers in the right places when reading her books.
She lives with her husband, daughter, and three insane dogs in Central Pennsylvania, where she is hard at work on her next novel or three. Sh
e loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at:
[email protected]
www.mistysimon.com
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