Last Halloween (The Deadseer Chronicles Book 2)

by Richard Estep

  “Hey, I called you up to help you! I didn’t ask to get yelled at!” I was seeing red, and the desire to make things right with Becky was slipping further and further away from me with every passing second. “I’m not the bad guy here, and if you think I’m going to just sit here and take this—”

  “You called me, remember?” Yep, now she was yelling, and so was I. I thought I could hear Mom stirring in the next room. The walls of our trailer were basically paper-thin.

  “Yeah, and I’m starting to wish that I hadn’t!”

  “That’s easily fixed.” Her voice was suddenly cold, flat, and almost scarily calm.

  She hung up.

  “Dammit!” I curled my fist up in sheer frustration, then threw the phone down on the unmade bed.

  Why did she have to be so maddening? All I had wanted to do was to warn her that she was in danger, and she hadn’t even let me get a word in. Well, that was it. If that was how she wanted it to go, then it was just fine with me.

  Ping.

  It was the phone. A text. I looked down.

  It was from Becky.

  I’m blocking you, so don’t bother calling or texting me again. EVER.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I’m usually not much for swearing, but the only word that really works to describe the week that followed is “shitty.”

  I spent most of Sunday stewing. No, that’s a lie. I spent all of Sunday stewing, although I half-watched A New Hope for the thousandth time (by “half-watched,” I mean that I watched all of the movie but my mind wandered right back to the Becky situation every time I tried to focus on it).

  Just who the hell did that girl think she was? All I was trying to do was to protect her, to warn her of a possible threat from a dark spirit that seemed to be attached to her. I wasn’t the one who was acting like a jerk here…right?

  It took until Thursday for the doubt to really creep in, sit down, and make itself at home. Even Mom started to pick up on my mood, asking politely at first but with increasing concern as the week wore on, whether I was doing OK. I just bit my tongue and mumbled that everything was fine, thank you very much for asking.

  By Friday, it really did sink in.

  I had been a jerk, and not just a jerk — a world-class jerk.

  It didn’t hit me all at once; this was more of a gradual realization, probably caused by my mind replaying the events of the last few months over and over again, looking for even more fuel to keep my anger at Becky burning.

  When did I start hating on Becky so much…and why was I actively trying to keep that anger going? That wasn’t like me at all…not the real me, anyway. I’ve always had a temper problem, what the shrink liked to tactfully call “anger issues,” but Becky was the last person on the planet that I wanted to push away from me.

  Now look what I’d gone and done. My anger had basically pushed her away with both hands.

  Fear leads to anger, a certain green philosopher had said in the movies, anger leads to hate…

  Reaching up, I slapped myself hard in the center of my forehead with the palm of my hand.

  Dude, you have been such an idiot…

  It might have taken the best part of a week, but it was all becoming clear to me now. Becky needed — and deserved — my support and compassion. What she’d gotten instead had been a mixture of judgment and snarkiness. I really couldn’t blame her for not wanting to deal with that any more…and it was all because I was scared, I realized now; scared of rejection, mostly, and scared of losing Becky as both a friend and perhaps as something more (as long as she only got a clear look at the me I wanted to become, rather than the real me.) I was terrified that once she saw me for who I really was, she would want nothing to do with me, and would run off to be with someone else…probably someone who could bench-press two-fifty and actually understood the rules of football.

  Danny, what on Earth were you thinking?

  I don’t remember a single thing we covered in school that Friday. The whole day was spent going over and over everything in my head yet again, but this time, I was seeing things in a new and a totally different light. Although I wasn’t quite sure how, I had somehow gone from being the good guy in this mental movie of my life, to being the villain.

  It was time to do something about that.

  I sat down at an out of the way table at lunchtime, keeping one eye out for anybody who might try to look over my shoulder. Pulling out my phone, I logged into my Gmail account and began putting together an email to try and explain my feelings. It wasn’t going to be a masterpiece — I’m a Seer, not a writer — but it would hopefully say what I wanted it to say. What I needed it to say.

  Dear Becky,

  It’s really tough to know how to begin this email, so I’ll just start at the beginning and give it my best shot.

  I’m really, really sorry. I’ve been a jerk and I see that now.

  I’m going to save the rest of the apology for when I can give it to you in person. Things got really out of hand when we talked last time, and I don’t want that to happen again. I called you because I’m worried about you. I think that there’s some kind of dark spirit attached to you. I don’t know who it is or what it wants, but you can bet your life it won’t be anything good.

  Please get back to me.

  Danny.

  I hesitated, then thought better of it and typed a single ‘X’ at the bottom and hit send.

  Letting out all the air from my lungs in an epic sigh, I locked the phone and slipped it back into my pocket.

  There was nothing left to do now but wait.

  I didn’t hear anything back from Becky for the rest of that day.

  That night, I had the dream again. If anything, it was even creepier and more intense than before. The contents were pretty much the same: flying towards the old building on the hill, through the double doors and into a dark tunnel that opened out into a mirror maze. That feeling of there being something twisted and evil was back, only this time it was much stronger. Becky was still screaming, and she came running around the corner and passed through my helpless body just like she had in the first go-around of this particular nightmare.

  The mirrors were still full of shadow people, and once again they managed to somehow free themselves from the glass and break out into the physical realm. Becky found herself pushed into the same dead end, trapped by the shadow figures and fighting desperately to fend off their attacks.

  He was back too.

  The Dark Man floated up to where I stood. Just like the first time, I couldn’t move my legs. I felt totally powerless. The fact that even if I could get control of my body back, there wasn’t much I could actually do to help Becky…that made me angrier than anything else.

  “Let her go, you son of a bitch!”

  Laughing, the Dark Man planted his face right in front of mine again, until I could see nothing except for the shape of a dark head outlined against the slightly brighter blackness of the maze — and two coldly burning eyes.

  “And what if I don’t?” he asked playfully, cocking his head to one side like a dog reacting to a whistle. God, but that British accent was so freaking annoying. It made me want to punch him in the mouth…if I could find it. “What will you do, young sir?”

  “I’ll make you sorry you were ever born.” Even to me, the threat sounded pretty weak.

  The Dark Man leaned in closer to whisper in my ear, his breath (if that’s what it really was) cold and frigid on the side of my neck. “What makes you think that I was ever born in the first place?”

  A chill ran through me, one that I couldn’t even begin to disguise. He must have noticed, because he laughed again. There was no genuine humor or amusement in that laugh at all; it seemed affected, like an actor putting on a performance. I got the feeling that the Dark Man had no understanding of what laughter truly meant, or what the point of it was.

  Could he be telling the truth? It was certainly possible. There was no shortage of inhuman spirits to be found out there. P
erhaps this was one of them. Maybe the Dark Man had never walked the Earth in human form at all.

  Then again, dark spirits were liars whenever it suited their purpose. It was at the very heart of who and what they were. I would be mad to trust a word he said.

  “Go to hell.”

  “I am very well acquainted with the place,” he shot back snidely, “and to tell you the truth, it is really rather over-rated. I much prefer Tyrant’s Grove.”

  “Tyrant’s Grove?” I was confused. What the heck was Tyrant’s Grove - a rock band?

  Another laugh. Annoyance was starting to compete with fear inside me now. If only I could slam a fist into that formless black face…but I couldn’t even curl my fingers to form a fist.

  “Oh, you shall find that out soon enough, my dear boy. Soon enough.” A sneer, heard but not seen. “Soon enough indeed.”

  Behind me, Becky screamed again.

  The Dark Man simply laughed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  This time, I woke up angry rather than scared.

  Whoever he was, this Dark Man — and I wasn’t at all sure that I was dealing with a ‘he’ at all, as opposed to an ‘it’ — was deliberately playing games with me now: sick and twisted games, for what I assumed was his own sick and twisted amusement. Well, that I could handle. What I couldn’t handle was seeing him use Becky as some kind of pawn in the game. I didn’t know for sure whether the nightmares were just that — dreams — or whether they were actual spirit travels. Based on the fact that I’d seen the Dark Man on the sidewalk in Boulder as plain as day, I was guessing that this was much more than a bad dream…but then, why couldn’t I control my spirit-self, as I could normally? What was keeping me frozen in place when I so desperately wanted to go and help Becky?

  It looked as though I’d kicked the comforter off in the night. It was Saturday morning. I picked up my phone and checked the time: 8:28 on October 31st.

  Halloween.

  Then I did a double-take. There was a “new email” alert on the screen. I punched in the four-digit code and brought it up.

  My heart was suddenly pounding hard in my chest.

  It was from Becky.

  Hi Danny,

  Look, I’m sorry that we fought. I really appreciate what you wrote in your email. I’m not going to say you were a jerk, but if you want to say that, who am I to argue? :-)

  You have to admit though, things have been…difficult lately. I’ve been having bad dreams. Mostly they’re about Long Brook, and poor Jake, and about what happened to my grandmother. Some nights, I dream that I’m back, walking through those corridors and hearing the screaming of the patients while von Spiessbach cuts them up on his operating table. That’s why I kept wanting to go back up there at the weekends. I was looking for…something. Answers, I guess. Maybe closure. I’m not really sure. I keep waking up screaming, and it’s freaking Mom and Dad out even more than it is me.

  Mom and Dad are starting to think I have issues, so we’ve all agreed that I need a little space to clear my head…you know, some time for me to think things over. My cousin Jessica works at a haunted house attraction up in the mountains, just out past Sterling. It’s a pretty cool place called the Snare of Souls, Danny, an old community hospital that was shut down years ago. Now it’s full of skeletons and zombies and all kinds of fun stuff. I came out here last weekend, mainly to stay with Jessica and decompress a little, but I’ve kind of gotten caught up in volunteering at the Snare. I’m dressing up as a zombie nurse (yeah, I know!) and helping to scare the crap out of the customers.

  It seems like forever since I’ve had this much fun.

  The plan is for me to stay until Halloween is over and done with tomorrow night, then come home sometime next week…maybe Monday or Tuesday. I love this place, Danny…it’s hard to explain, but it feels like I’ve finally found a place where I really belong. Well, except for the mirror maze. That place freaks me out! The other volunteers all say that it’s supposed to be haunted. It gives me the creeps so much, it’s even giving me a whole new set of bad dreams to enjoy. They’ve taken over from those about Long Brook. I’m not sure whether that’s an improvement or not! Anyway, I just stay away from there, and it’s all good.

  We can talk when I get back next week. Until then, take care.

  Becky.

  There were, I couldn’t help but notice, no kisses. Not even one. But that wasn’t what bothered me the most.

  My eyes kept going back to the same parts of her email.

  Well, except for the mirror maze

  And

  …it’s even giving me bad dreams.

  Yeah, I just bet it was.

  I went over to my computer and shook the mouse to wake it. The monitor came alive right away. Opening up a browser window, I went to Google and searched for Snare of Souls. The first few hits were all for a grunge band out of Salt Lake City, but after that I started to see links that looked more promising. I clicked on one at random, and brought up a web page for what looked like the right kind of place, if their image gallery was any kind of accurate reflection.

  Latex werewolf heads growled back at me out of darkened old hospital room doorways.

  Click.

  Zombies chowed down on the rubber heart, lungs, and guts of a helpless man, his body frozen in a wordless scream.

  Click.

  Two rows of white-sheeted human figures, sitting side-by-side on what looked to be church pews. Their hands looked to be made of kitchen gloves.

  Even knowing that it was fake, the figures were still creepy. Snare of Souls was, said their mission statement on the “Contact” page, a full-contact haunted house which was intended to offer up thrills and chills only to those older than thirteen years of age.

  My eyes scanned down to the business address. I checked it twice, my jaw gaping.

  140 East Street. Tyrant’s Grove. Colorado.

  Tyrant’s Grove…

  “Mom, I have to talk to you.”

  She took a deep breath, and gave me a look that was somewhere between worried and cautiously optimistic.

  “Of course, honey.”

  Mom poured her first cup of morning coffee into her favorite mug, then walked across our small kitchen into the living room. She sat carefully down in her favorite recliner, which was getting a little threadbare. She nodded toward the couch. Reluctantly, I took a seat across from her. She looked at me expectantly, warming her hands on the coffee cup and waiting for me to begin.

  But where on Earth should I begin?

  I couldn’t tell her about the Dark Man. It would sound much too crazy. She thinks the world of Becky, and she knows that we’ve both been having problems. Start there. Mom was still convinced that I was actually dating Becky, and I hadn’t the heart to tell her that I seemed permanently stuck in the friend zone.

  “Mom, it’s about me and Becky…” I paused, searching for the right words. None came. Finally I cleared my throat and started over. “I’ve been kind of a jerk to her lately…”

  That was when something weird happened. I’d been putting together a story in my head, something half-way between the truth and a…not exactly a lie; more of a white lie, to spare her from the freaky facts of the Dark Man and the danger I just knew he posed to Becky. I still left out all of the paranormal stuff, but to my total surprise I found that my mouth was suddenly starting to run away with itself. One minute, I was talking cautiously about how I was feeling really, really terrible for having treated Becky so badly (which was totally true, by the way) and the next, the dam of truth had burst, flooding the conversation with way more truth than I was comfortable revealing.

  But I couldn’t stop.

  “I didn’t mean to treat her like that, Mom, I swear. I was just scared.”

  “Scared of what, honey?” From the sound of her voice, Mom already knew the answer. I needed to remember that this wasn’t exactly her first rodeo.

  “Scared that she’s going to dump me,” I admitted, my shoulders slumping in defeat. �
��I mean, what does a girl like Becky want with a geek like me? She’s friends with guys on the football team whose arms are thicker than my entire chest! I can barely even do a push-up! She’d be the laughing stock of all her friends if we were dating for real.”

  Mom’s expression was one of total sympathy. She reached out a hand and squeezed mine. Normally, I’d have yanked my hand away like it was burned, just from the sheer embarrassment factor — but somehow, that simple human touch shot me with a big boost of compassion and support that brought a tear to my eye. I hadn’t realized, up until that moment, just how badly I had needed it.

  “Honey, have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, Becky sees something in you that’s much more important than your build or how fast you can run? Or how much weight you can lift?”

  Uh, no. Not really. I haven’t.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you, sweetheart. Like who you are, deep down inside where it really, truly matters.”

  I really didn’t think so. Becky was a teenage girl. Most teenage girls were pretty shallow and superficial, based on my (admittedly very limited) experience of being around them. Shallow was practically part of their job description, wasn’t it?

  Then a voice in the back of my head, something far smarter and wiser than the everyday smart-ass me, piped up: judging each and every teenage girl by the same stereotype, Danny? Now who’s being shallow and superficial?

  Ouch. Zing.

  The voice had sounded suspiciously like Dad’s, which was probably why the sudden realization that it was right and I was wrong hit me like a slap in the face.