Paranormal University- Second Semester

by Jace Mitchell

  “What in the hell?” she asked the empty room. She looked up to make sure the light was still on as if the lit up room wasn’t enough to show her this.

  Fran was pissed because even though she’d been ready to go to sleep, she paid for television. If she wanted it running all night, then it should run all night, damn it. She stood up from the couch and walked over to the TV, not even bothering with the remote. She pressed the button on the side, but the television remained black.

  “What in the hell?” Fran asked again, not realizing she was repeating herself.

  She heard the stove’s gas pilot turn on from the kitchen. She turned to look at it, and as she did, the television turned on again, blaring much louder than it’d been before.

  “Oh!” she shouted, stumbling away from the screeching TV. She could see the stove now, fire licking up from beneath the grill.

  Fran didn’t know what was going on, and while she wanted the option to run her television all night, she certainly wasn’t going to pay for the gas on her stove to continue burning. She marched to the kitchen, spooked. Her heart beat faster, but she was determined to turn the damn stove off. She’d deal with the television once that was done.

  Fran reached the stove and turned the knob, but the flames continued burning. “What in the hell?” she asked for the third time.

  “STOP SAYING THAT!” The voice rushed across the kitchen as if God was speaking, filling up the entire room without any problem.

  Fran’s eyes went wide, and her face lost all its color. “Who’s there?!”

  Music started playing upstairs, a tune Fran didn’t recognize.

  “I’ll call the cops!” she screamed.

  She listened as the television from upstairs turned on, matching the music, and she heard the volume rise.

  Fran looked around the kitchen one last time, seeing the stove still burning. She didn’t know what was happening, only that she wasn’t going to stay in this house one more second—the gas bill be damned.

  She streaked through the kitchen and into the living room, bolting by the television and grabbing the front door. She twisted the knob and rushed out into the street, screaming the whole way.

  In downtown Miami, the night was bustling along. A cool chill had taken over the evening, which was a bit odd given the time of year—yet most people were too intoxicated to realize it.

  The weirdness that Fran saw in her house, however, wouldn’t go unnoticed.

  In Gino’s Pizza Parlor, whose claim to fame was their wood-fired ovens, all of the ovens blazed at once, scorching each pizza and pissing off customers and workers alike.

  Down the street, a rave was happening on a rooftop bar. People danced, many of them on illegal substances, and so it took them quite a bit longer to understand what was happening. A green apparition appeared in the middle of the dance floor. Most of the audience thought it was some kind of hologram the club hadn’t used before. It stood seven feet tall, high above all of the dancers. Its teeth were large and jagged—looking like a human whose head had somehow been stretched into that of a bear.

  They screamed at the image, but in happiness, because it seemed so lifelike.

  One girl ventured close to the spirit, wanting to move her hand through the green light.

  She reached up to touch its chest, and the creature’s head ducked at the same time, its eyes huge like bowling balls. It clamped down on her arm and snapped it off at the elbow. Blood spurted onto the dance floor, but still the people didn’t understand. They thought it was some kind of gag—except for the ones who got hit with blood.

  The ghost liked what it tasted, apparently, and it didn’t stop with the first bite. It bent forward again and ripped the girl’s arm off at the shoulder.

  The girl bellowed in pain, blood coating the floor like fresh paint.

  That was when people understood that things might not be kosher. The screams started next to the wounded and dying girl, but they soon emanated out into the crowd. People started rushing toward the exits, which created a major blockage.

  This suited the ghost fine. It was certainly hungry.

  A block farther down the street, manhole covers hurtled a hundred feet into the sky. Howling screeches came from the tunnels. The dozen or so manhole covers all came down, some smashing into people and others ruining property.

  A group of teenagers was around a bonfire on one of the beaches. There were, of course, the illegally purchased alcohol bottles and beer cans among them. If the cops came down, they’d get tickets for both the underage drinking and the illegal fire, but those things turned out to be the least of their worries.

  The flames flickered as a cold breeze rolled over them. A few of the boys used this as an opportunity to wrap their arms tighter around their girlfriends.

  “It’s cold,” one of them remarked, putting her arms over her knees. “Brrrrrr.”

  “I’ll keep you warm,” her boyfriend responded with a mischievous grin.

  “I bet you’d like to,” she shot back, slapping his hand as he reached for her breast.

  Another of the girls pointed at the bonfire. “What in the world?”

  It was growing, stretching higher into the air. Much higher than should be possible, given the wood available to it.

  The guy who’d tried to fondle his girlfriend stood up, eyes wide. “What the…?”

  The fire wasn’t stopping; it seemed to want to lick the sky.

  “Hey…that’s not funny,” someone complained as if it was a practical joke.

  “Hell no, it’s not,” the boy who was standing responded. “It’s getting hotter.”

  “No shit.” His girlfriend stood up, then backed away from the stretching flames. “Get away from it, Gary.”

  Everyone else was starting to stand as well, backing up as the first girl had done. Gary, perhaps the dumbest of the bunch, didn’t move. He stood there staring slack-jawed as the fire grew. “This is so cool!”

  “Gary, quit it!” another guy shouted.

  Gary peered into the fire, leaning closer. “Do you see that?”

  “What are you doing?” his girlfriend demanded, taking a step closer but not actually reaching out to touch him. “I don’t see anything. Get away from it!”

  Gary was seeing something, though. He thought he saw his…

  But that’s not possible, he thought.

  Yet, he couldn’t pull himself away, because his grandma’s face was dancing in the flames. Or rather, the flames had become his grandma’s face.

  “No way,” he whispered.

  “Hey, honey,” the flames said to him, his grandma’s mouth moving in unison with the words.

  That was when Gary felt compelled because while he was not the brightest crayon in the box, he had loved his grandmother. He reached forward, suddenly needing to touch her.

  And as he did, the flame reached out—a hand made of fire—and grabbed his wrist.

  The flames spread up his arms, and Gary screamed into the night.

  His friends? His girlfriend? Well, they took off running down the beach, wanting no part of the human torch named Gary.

  In other parts of the city, similar events cropped up. Sometimes people died, other times, they were injured, and in still others, no one was hurt.

  However, by the end of the night, no one could deny that something very, very weird was going on in Miami.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dean Pritcham had requested Claire’s presence in her office, and when Claire had asked about Marissa and Jack, the dean had told her no. “Just you.”

  Now Claire was in Pritcham’s office, sitting alone on one of the three chairs in front of the dean’s desk. Remington and Lance weren’t sitting this time, but standing in front of their usual couch. Dean Pritcham sat behind her desk and Frank was in the corner, although he stood as well. He was looking out the window, showing no sign that he even knew anyone else was here.

  “This is worse than anything we saw with the vampires. It’s worse than anyt
hing we’ve seen at all, with any Mythers or Veil tearing.” Remington looked at Claire. “You’ve seen the news?”

  She nodded. “Why am I here alone? Why didn’t we get Marissa and Jack?”

  Dean Pritcham spoke from behind her desk. “We wanted you at this meeting alone. We’re not keeping anything from them, but you’re the one who makes the decisions for the unit. Having more people involved right now might cause… Well, it could keep us from making the most rational decision.”

  Claire’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t like what she was hearing, at least not immediately. “I’m not making any decisions without their backing.”

  “We know, Claire,” Lance assured her. Claire turned in her chair to see him. “We’re not asking for a solid decision right now. We’re discussing options. No one is doing anything without the unit’s backing.”

  “Okay.” Claire’s eyes relaxed some. “So long as that’s understood.”

  Remington waved his hand dismissively. “We know all about your loyalty. We’re the ones who recruited you. We need to focus on what happened last night. You’ve seen the news?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  Claire nodded. Saw it and didn’t like it one bit, she thought.

  Remington placed his hands behind his back. “What did it say?”

  Claire sighed, looking up in the air as she remembered. “People died. Sightings of ghosts. Manhole covers exploding.” She turned back to Remington. “To be honest, a lot happened. I don’t remember everything right now.”

  Remington nodded in agreement. “That’s okay. What the news didn’t say is how many people died. At least fifty, and the number is rising. We’ve asked them to keep that number out of the media for now. They’re agreeing, but they won’t continue to do so for long. A few more hours is all.” He looked down at the floor. “It’s becoming untenable—the situation in Miami. The governor has declared a state of emergency. They’re evacuating.”

  “That’s why we’re all here,” Lance picked up the conversation. “We need to decide what we’re going to do about it.”

  Claire leaned back in her chair. “What are our options?”

  “We’ve got to get down there. We want to know how well prepared you feel the team is?” Remington asked.

  Claire glanced over at Frank. He still hadn’t looked away from the window. She met Remington’s eyes. “Fighting ghosts isn’t like fighting vampires. How are Mitchen and his group doing on weapons?”

  Dean Pritcham spoke up. “He needs more time. He’s doing something different.”

  “Different?” Claire asked.

  “Yes,” Pritcham affirmed. “I won’t get into it right now, in case it falls through. Your job is to focus on what Dr. Kilgore is training you with.”

  Claire thought back to his ‘funhouse’ and shook her head. “We’re not ready yet. If the weapons aren’t here, then we’re definitely not ready.”

  Remington looked at the floor once more, then to his partner. “That’s what we were afraid of.”

  Lance kept his eyes on Claire. “You don’t think you can improvise once you get down there?”

  Claire laughed, shocked at the question. “Tell me, Lance, how would one improvise with fighting a ghost, or a witch for that matter?”

  Lance put his hands up defensively. “I’m just asking.”

  “No.” Claire shook her head. “We’re not ready. We were more ready for the vampires than this. We need more time to prepare.”

  Lance sighed, but Claire could see he was accepting her decision. This is why they wanted me here alone. The group doesn’t need to hear what the leader thinks, not always.

  “What about the other school?” Claire asked. “The one on the west coast?”

  “You have to deal with your own problems. We’re not relying on another school.” Remington shoved his hand into his pockets. “The National Guard is being called to Miami.” He met Pritcham’s eyes. “You have any ideas?”

  “What’s the National Guard going to be able to do?” Claire asked, turning to the dean.

  Dean Pritcham shrugged. “Mainly assist with the evacuation, but that’s not going to do a whole lot of good against ghosts.”

  Claire looked at Remington again. “What about the witches? Has anyone located them?”

  “No.” Remington pursed his lips together, clearly not happy with his own answer.

  Claire looked at all three of three, nearly exasperated. “So then what’s the plan? This is growing to the size of a national emergency, right?”

  Dean Pritcham only nodded in silence.

  “I’ll go.” Frank didn’t turn away from the window as he spoke, his small, strong hands folded over one another behind his back.

  “You’ll what?” Remington asked in disbelief.

  “I’ll do it. I’ll go down there.” He turned around and looked at the group. “The FBI guys aren’t ready. They might be able to see Mythers now, but neither are anywhere near being able to fight these things.”

  Claire leaned forward, her face stern. “You’re nowhere near ready to fight a ghost either, Frank. You ever fought one before? You haven’t even been through Dr. Kilgore’s funhouse out back.”

  Frank shrugged. “They come from where I come from. Plus, I’m not going down there looking for ghosts. I’m going down there looking for witches. I know a thing or two about them.”

  Claire didn’t like it one bit. “You can’t go alone.” She turned to the FBI agents. “He can’t go alone.”

  “We could go,” Lance volunteered. “But he’s right. We’d probably be more of a hindrance than any help.”

  She turned her ire back on Frank. “And what are you going to do? Go kill all these ghosts and witches by yourself, like some little green Rambo?”

  “Ram-who?” Frank asked quizzically.

  “It doesn’t matter!” Claire shouted, standing up now. “You can’t go alone. What the heck is your plan?”

  Frank put his hands in front of him, palms down, and pumped them toward the ground. “Calm down, Claire. I’m not going down there to wage war. I’m going there to find out where the witches are. If we know that, we can avoid a lot of headaches.”

  “And if something happens to you, what am I supposed to do, Frank?” Claire was almost to the point of pleading.

  “What do ye mean, lass?” the leprechaun asked, his hands falling to his sides.

  “What if you get hurt?”

  A sad smile came over Frank’s face. “Are ye trying to say ye like me?”

  “Oh, shut up, Frank, or I’ll throw you out that window. I'm serious. I can’t have you getting hurt.” Claire felt like she wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t do it in front of all these people. She had come to care about Marissa and Jack, but Frank was her closest—and oldest—friend at this place. She’d be devastated if anything happened to him.

  “Lass, nothing is going to happen to me,” Frank responded softly. “I’m going to go down there and find out where these witches are, then I’m going to report back to everyone up here. Ye and those two friends ye run with continue ye training. Ye will have a week or so.” He looked at Pritcham. “Is that going to be enough for the science-wiz to have whatever ye’re trying to get him to do?”

  “He said a week or two,” Pritcham answered. “But he knows the pressure we’re under.”

  “Okay.” Frank nodded and looked at the agents. “So, I’ll go down there and snoop around. I’ll find out where the witches are, come and report back, then those three go once they’re prepped.” He raised his hands, palms up. “Sound good?”

  Remington and Lance looked at each other. “What do you think?” Remington asked.

  “Right now, it’s the best option we have,” Lance answered.

  “And my issues with it, are we just going to act like they don’t exist?” Claire asked, still standing.

  Frank waddled across the room, showing none of the speed she knew he had. He looked at her. “Hey. I’m in this now, too, lass. For all I know, Earth is
the only home I have anymore. Them jokers behind me say they don’t have a plan, and ye say ye aren’t ready. I’ll be fine. I have been for hundreds of years before I met ye. Do ye trust me?”

  Claire looked down at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “It’s dangerous, Frank. It sounds more dangerous than the vampires.”

  “Maybe that’s true.” Frank nodded, his own face showing only concern. “But I don’t plan on fighting. I’m just going to find out answers—answers we will all need if we want to stop whatever is happening.”

  Claire looked up, the tears in her eyes not falling out. “You two. I’m holding you two responsible if something happens to him. You understand?”

  “We’re just as invested in Frank’s safety as you are,” Remington answered.

  Claire swallowed, forcing the tears away. She looked at Frank once more. “You’re going down there, finding where the witches are and coming right back, right?”

  Frank nodded. “Yes, lass. Ye worry too much. Just like all females.”

  Claire shook her head, a smile crossing her face. “Don’t make me hit you, Frank.”

  “Why did they have a meeting with just you?” Jack sat on the opposite side of the room from Claire, his feet up on her table again.

  “Get your legs down,” she commanded from her bed.

  Jack sighed but twirled the chair around so that he was facing them and put his feet on the floor.

  “So why weren’t we included?” Jack asked again. “That seems a bit unscrupulous to me.”

  Marissa eyed him. “Unscrupulous? That’s an awfully big word for you. Did you read the dictionary this morning or something?”

  “Don’t forget, Sissy,” Jack said. “I was accepted at Yale. Now, stop avoiding the question. Why weren’t we invited?”

  “They didn’t want…I don’t know...” Claire wasn’t completely comfortable with the position she was now in. She wasn’t going to outright lie to either of them, but she knew she couldn’t divulge all the information.

  “I guess they just didn’t want too many voices,” Claire finished. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Frank is the one going down there.”