Paranormal University- Second Semester

by Jace Mitchell

  He didn’t bother asking Joey about it again. He just made sure the beer kept flowing while he watched the invisible being float around the small area, grabbing whatever it could get its non-existent hands on.

  Finally, the creature left the tiki bar.

  Frank hopped down from his stool and heard Joey yell at him. “Frank! You better pay your tab!”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll get it tomorrow. Got some things to attend to.”

  “You better, Frank!” Joey yelled after him. “I’m not covering this any longer than a day!”

  Frank waved the threat away and walked off the wooden floor onto the beach. The sun was gone now, and his bowling tournament would be going full speed. Frank wasn’t happy about missing the match, but this ghost couldn’t be left to its own devices.

  I’m going to have to tell Claire, he thought. Maybe there are such things as ghosts on Earth, and maybe there aren’t. But it’ll be better if she knows about this. This could mean something bad is about to go down.

  The hotel lights lining the beach cast a glow onto the sand from one side, and the moon shone down from the sky on the other. The creature dressed in linen was about thirty feet ahead. It stopped and turned around, appearing to be facing Frank.

  The beach’s wind blew against the clothes, outlining shapes of a torso, legs, and arms—yet none existed outside of the outline.

  Frank knew it was looking at him.

  “What are you following me for, Leppy?” The voice sounded as it had before, not completely human, but the words were unmistakable.

  It didn’t make sense.

  “What are ye?” Frank called across the beach.

  “None of your damn business,” the non-existent being yelled back. It raised an arm up, and though Frank couldn’t see it, he felt certain the thing was giving him the finger.

  I’d break that finger off if I could see it, Frank thought. Careful now. I need to be able to tell Claire more than ‘I saw a ghost. She’ll just think I was drunk.

  “Are ye from across the Veil?” he asked. He didn’t move from his spot, not wanting to lose the thing on the beach. About fifty feet beyond the invisible creature, a group of people were walking toward them.

  “Let me ask you a question,” the weird voice asked. It didn’t hit Frank’s ears as usual but seemed to pass by him like the wind. “Do I come down to your job and tell you how to suck dicks? No? I didn’t think so. So why are you here bothering me about mine?”

  Frank’s right hand turned into a fist. Calm down. Ye’re letting this overgrown fart get under yer skin. “You call that a job? Seems more like you’re just stealing.”

  “Ha!” the voice yelled. “A leppy talking to me about stealing. That’s rich!”

  Frank’s other hand turned into a fist. “You got a problem with leprechauns?”

  “You look like an overgrown child throwing a temper tantrum,” the creature called with mirth in its odd voice. “Why don’t you go back up to that tiki hut and drink some more booze, and leave the living to the creatures who know how to do it? Or go to an AA meeting? Either way, just stop following me because I’m going to have to hurt you if you don’t.”

  “Hurt me?” Frank laughed, his eyebrows rising. “Ye? I’d like to see ye try. I blow boogers out of me nose with more substance than ye.”

  “Go on, Leppy. Get on up there to the bar. I got things to do tonight, and I don’t want you following me around.” The clothes turned so that the back of the shirt was to Frank. “Last warning.”

  Frank relaxed his hands and chuckled. “What ye got to do that’s so important?”

  “Leave me alone, Leppy,” the ghost replied as it started walking away, heading toward the group of people.

  Fuck that, Frank thought. He started walking, picking up his pace to match the Myther’s. I don’t give a damn what it says. Frank goes where he wants and does as he wants, and no mouse fart wearing clothes is going to tell me different.

  The ghost passed the group first. Frank was close behind. He was about twenty feet beyond the tourists when the clothes stopped and turned around.

  “Leppies are about the dumbest creatures I’ve ever seen. The Leppy ghosts are the absolute worst, but I think you may surpass even them.”

  Frank grinned. “Why don’t you come over here and say that a bit closer to me face?”

  The clothes moved toward Frank. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Frank’s grin widened. He balled both hands into fists and started running toward the creature.

  Ten feet from it, Frank leapt into the air.

  The clothes appeared to be looking up at him.

  Good. Keep looking. Right where I want ye, Frank thought. He teleported, disappearing in a flash of light. Then he reappeared behind the clothes.

  Or, Frank was supposed to be behind the clothes. Instead, he saw only the open beach in front of him.

  What the hell? He only had a short moment to think the thought.

  Frank saw a piece of cloth cross over his vision, stretched out like a rag. The cloth was yanked back against his neck, and Frank felt his access to oxygen cut completely off. His hands bolted up, trying to pull the cloth away

  The damn thing’s shirt, Frank thought. He couldn’t budge it.

  “You wanted me to say it up close.” The weird voice spoke from behind him. “Leppies, your kind are the dumbest creatures I’ve ever come across. Leppy ghosts are the worst. However, good sir, you’re dumber than all of them.”

  I might just be, Frank thought as he struggled against the shirt. He tried to push up with legs, wanting to jump, but it felt like a thousand pounds held him to the ground.

  He couldn’t teleport either. He’d never encountered a ghost, but it appeared like their grips somehow counteracted his abilities.

  Frank could do nothing. His struggles were useless.

  “There now, Leppy. Get some sleep, ya damned drunk,” the odd voice whispered into his ear.

  Blackness slowly crept into Frank’s vision, then all at once, it swallowed him.

  “Mom, what’s wrong with him?”

  Frank opened his eyes, barely seeing someone standing above him before he was forced to shut them again quickly. The sunlight burned.

  “Charlie!” the mother shouted from somewhere nearby. “Get away from him! He’s homeless!”

  Frank squinted again, looking up at the kid.

  The kid wasn’t moving, just staring at Frank with a sense of wonder. “I’ve never seen a homeless person look like that before,” the boy remarked. He might have been ten years old.

  He sees me for what I am, Frank thought. His mother? Well, she’s worthless.

  Frank grimaced at the boy. “I’m not homeless, ye little brat. Now scram.”

  Frank pushed himself up as the kid took off—clearly frightened of the hungover leprechaun. Frank’s head hurt like hell, and he wondered if this was what a hangover felt like.

  How much did I drink? he wondered as he got to his feet. He looked at the mother hurrying toward her fleeing son.

  She didn’t see Frank as a leprechaun, but just a short drunk. She threw an evil glance at him.

  Frank grinned and tossed her a wink and a kiss. She shook her head in disgust, and Frank smiled wider.

  As she turned around, half-dragging her son up the beach, Frank placed a hand on his head. What the hell happened?

  It came back to him quickly—the linen shirt wrapping around his neck and strangling him.

  “Damn it,” he mumbled, rubbing his neck lightly. It hurt to touch, and he imagined when he looked in a mirror, he’d see large bruises across his throat.

  Still, the bastard could have killed me. He didn’t.

  “Okay, Frank,” he told himself as he stared at the waves crashing on the beach. “Few things ye have to do. First, get a beer. Then, get another. After that, ye need to find a way to get in touch with Claire. Things aren’t exactly peachy down here in the south.”

  Chapter T
hree

  Dean Kristin Pritcham wasn’t happy to see the FBI agents again. It wasn’t that she’d thought they’d left forever, only that she’d hoped for more time. “You two rarely bring good news. And by rarely, I mean never.”

  Remington looked at Dean Pritcham’s hair. “I like the new cut.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled. “I hope you came here just for that, actually. Is there anything else we need to discuss before you gentlemen get on your way?”

  Remington chuckled, moving from the door to the chairs in front of Dean Pritcham’s desk. He sat down, with Lance following closely. He had a white envelope in his hand, which was sealed at the top.

  The dean nodded at the envelope. “It’d be great if that was full of future haircuts you’d like me to try. Are you going to show me some new fashions?”

  Remington grinned while Lance’s face remained its usual placidity. “I wish that were the case, Dean. But I don’t think you’d like my style too much. Lance here, however, is a master at hair. Look at his. He cuts it himself.”

  The dean laughed quietly as she looked at Agent Lance’s blonde hair. “That the truth?”

  Lance nodded. “Helps with expenses.”

  She shook her head, still laughing. “I don’t understand much about men. I really don’t understand cutting your own hair.”

  “You saying it doesn’t look nice?” Lance asked.

  “I’m shocked,” Remington said in mock surprise. “That you would say such dastardly things about Lance’s skills as a barber after the compliments I gave you.”

  Dean Pritcham leaned back in her chair. “Let’s just say he’s a better FBI agent. Now, enough with the pleasantries. I’m running a university here. If you weren’t aware, it does take a lot of attention. What brings you here?”

  Remington’s own levity dissipated. He placed the unopened envelope on the oak desk. “That’s what brings me here.”

  The dean stared at the envelope as if it were something decidedly nasty. “I’m going to have to open it, aren’t I?”

  Remington nodded. “If you want to get back to running your university, you are.”

  “Fair enough.” Dean Pritcham reached forward and took it. She peeled the flap open and then pulled out the contents.

  Pictures, she thought. She flicked through them, counting seven in total. What she saw made the hair on her arms stand at attention.

  She finished looking at all seven and pushed them across the desk to the agent. She did not want to go through them again. She might need to, but she didn’t want to. “What did I just look at it?”

  “Tell me what you think you saw,” Remington shot back without reaching forward to take the photos.

  I wish he would, she thought.

  “Dead people.” Dean Pritcham kept her eyes on Remington’s. “You brought me photos of dead people.”

  “What do they look like to you?” The FBI agent’s eyes narrowed. Lance remained silent and still next to him.

  Dean Pritcham’s mind answered immediately, although she didn’t speak it. Their faces were terrified. Eyes wide and lips peeled back in grimaces.

  They all look like they’ve seen a ghost.

  “Dean Pritcham?” Remington asked.

  “Get to the point, please. They’re dead. I don’t know what else they look like.” She didn’t want to say what her mind had thought, didn’t want to speak such a thing into existence.

  Lance reached forward and spread the pictures out on her desk, one by one. “When Remington and I first saw them, an odd phrase went through both of our heads. They all look like they saw a ghost. Anything similar happen to you?” He glanced up as he finished laying the pictures out.

  “Maybe. You’re telling me ghosts killed these people?” Dean Pritcham didn’t look down. She didn’t need to see those terrified faces anymore, despite the FBI’s insistence on keeping them out.

  Both agents leaned back in their chairs. Remington spoke. “Yes. That’s what we think.”

  Dean Pritcham met Remington's gaze. “So, you’re here because you think ghosts are coming across from the Veil?”

  Remington nodded and grinned slyly. “I knew we picked you for a reason. That brain of yours.”

  The dean rolled her eyes, not taking the verbal jab seriously. “Do either of you even believe in ghosts?”

  Remington sighed. “Before the Veil? No. After? I believe in everything, including Santa Claus.”

  “It doesn’t matter if any of us believe,” Lance interjected. “Enough people do believe in ghosts that this is a serious threat.”

  “I suppose you’re right on that point.” Dean Pritcham rubbed her chin lightly. “I didn’t believe in Dracula. Okay, fine. But just because people died looking scared doesn’t mean that creatures from across the Veil did this. Maybe they just had bad indigestion right before they died?”

  “That supposed to be a joke?” Lance asked, his face humorless.

  “I waste the good ones on people like you, I suppose,” the dean shot back.

  “All of these people died in the same geographic area.” Remington gestured with his hand toward the pictures. “They all died in Miami-Dade county, and all within the past month. They all look almost exactly the same in death, and you know what else is similar?”

  Dean Pritcham leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “Cause of death?”

  “Bingo.” Remington tapped the desk. “Lance, tell her what’s she won.”

  Lance gave Remington a serious look. “Most likely a new battle, although we’re not one hundred percent sure yet.”

  Dean Pritcham groaned. “That’s really what I was hoping you two would bring. A new battle.” She opened her eyes. “Okay, enough of my complaining. What are we talking about here?”

  Remington pointed out each image as he spoke about it. “All these people died in ways that look like accidents. One stepped where a manhole cover should have been. Indeed, it was there the day before, according to eye witness accounts. Another had a chandelier fall on her head. A chandelier that had been hanging for five years, with no need for repairs.”

  “The one on your left there.” Remington pointed at the picture. “He was walking his dog when a live power line fell on him. The dog managed to get away, but not him.”

  Dean Pritcham’s brow furrowed. “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re supposed to be an agent. None of those causes of death are the same.”

  “They’re all accidents, Dean,” Remington responded. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Further, they’re all improbable accidents. They all occurred within a fifteen-mile radius of each other, and they all happened within a very short period of time. Do you know what type of ghosts might do this?”

  Kristin shook her head, ignoring the question. “This doesn’t make sense. They all died in different ways, but I can see their faces. They all look pretty similar. They all look scared…” She trailed off, still unwilling to recognize her fear could be real despite the circumstances.

  “To death?” Remington finished. “That’s right. All of these deaths were accidents, but each person has this same terrified look on their face. The bodies look different, depending on how they died, but their faces? Well, you've seen them.”

  Dean Pritcham kept her eyes up. “That’s not enough to prove Veil involvement. Faces that look the same, and accidents?”

  Remington sighed. “You don’t really think that’s all we have, right? There’s activity in Miami. We’ve got sources telling us the Veil has torn down there, and the evidence we have so far all points to the existence of ghosts. Now, again, do you know what type of ghosts could do this?”

  Dean Pritcham shrugged. “I’m not an expert. But if I had to guess, I’d say poltergeists.”

  Remington nodded. “That’s our guess, too. We think we’ve got a problem down there, and we think it’s going to grow bigger.”

  “How sure are you?” She asked. She knew who they would want—Claire’s group. But she di
dn’t want to pull them out of class unless it was absolutely necessary.

  “We’re growing more sure with each death. We want to talk with the students,” Remington told her. He picked up the pictures, placing them on top of each other before putting them in the envelope. He leaned back in his chair. “Well, not all of them, of course. We need the rest continuing to learn. Except our little team.”

  Dean Pritcham sighed. “Never any good news, the two of you. Never any good news.”

  “We love you too, Dean,” Remington told her.

  They were in the same lobby where they’d killed the vampires who'd attacked the Academy last semester. Dean Pritcham sat in a chair at the end of the table, Claire, Marissa, and Jack were sitting on one of the large couches, and the two FBI agents had taken the opposite one. A glass table with magazines separated the two groups.

  Remington looked at the unit with a serious smile. “We’ve got good news, and we’ve got bad news. What do you want to hear first?”

  Claire raised an eyebrow. “Good news? When’s the last time you brought good news?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Dean Pritcham agreed.

  “Well, it’s all relative.” Remington raised his hands in front of him, palms up. “But since you don’t seem to have a preference, we’ll go bad news first. We’ve got a ghost infestation.”

  Marissa groaned as she leaned back and placed her hand over her eyes. “This can’t be happening.”

  “‘Fraid so,” Remington affirmed with a nod.

  “What’s the good news then?” Jack asked.

  Lance spoke up. “Well, we sent Frank to Miami, and that’s where the ghost infestation is.”

  Now Claire raised both eyebrows. “And that’s good, how? At best, it’s neutral news. Good news would be that we have a ghost infestation, but we don’t need to worry because you know how to fix it.”

  The smallest of smiles appeared on Lance’s face. “We do know how to fix it. We’re here to talk to you three.”

  “That’s worse news,” Marissa remarked without removing her hand from her brow.

  “Okay, okay,” Remington spoke up. “It’s good news that Frank is down there. He might have seen some things that can help. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to get in touch with him.”