Ghouls Gone Wild

Ghouls Gone Wild Page 4

by Victoria Laurie

Still I worked to pump up the smile as Meg sorted through the many bags by my feet. “First up,” she said, her voice still filled with enthusiasm, “is this little bundle right here.”

  I watched Meg reach into a large brown duffel and pull out something small, black, and furry. “Ohmigod!” I squealed as she held up a wriggling puppy triumphantly. “You found him!”

  Meg grinned from ear to ear. “Yep,” she said. “And he’s a little rascal, let me tell you.”

  Eagerly I wrapped my arms around the squirming little guy, who was snorting and licking his nose and mine just like pugs do. “He’s adorable!”

  “And he’s for rent,” she said.

  “Rent?” Gilley asked. “What do you mean, he’s for rent?”

  “I found him at this small shelter called A Paws Sanctuary. Sarah Summers is the owner, and to help offset the cost of caring for the local strays, she rents out some of the animals to anyone interested in a little puppy or kitty lovin’ for the day.”

  “Hold on,” I said as I tugged my sleeve out of the pug’s mouth, which he must have found delightfully chewy. “You mean to tell me that this woman is renting animals to people?”

  “It’s a great idea when you think about it,” Meg explained. “Sarah says that by renting out the animals for a few hours a day, she can keep a steady flow of donations coming into the shelter as well as offer the chance for a real connection to form between man and a dog or cat. It helps convince those folks who might be on the fence about bringing a pet into their lives whether or not they’re making a good decision. More often than not, they rent Fido or Fluffy for the day, then come back and claim they’re in love and want to adopt. It’s win-win for everyone involved.”

  I frowned. “Unless you’re this pug and the guy who’s rented you is some sadist who gets his jollies by tugging you down a haunted street.”

  Meg’s eyes dropped. “Yeah, I mentioned that to Sarah. She knows it’s wrong, but Fergus rents several of her pets a week and he’s her biggest contributor. She says that she never rents the same strays to him twice, and that the pets may come back frightened, but not permanently traumatized. She believes that it’s for the greater good of all that a few have to endure the experience.”

  I felt my temper flare, worked hard to rein it in . . . and failed. “Sarah’s an idiot!” I snapped. “And anyone who believes that these dogs and cats aren’t being treated with undue cruelty needs to have their head examined.”

  “M. J.,” Gil murmured, adding a look that said, “Chill, please.”

  I sighed. “Sorry, Meg. I know you’re just repeating what Sarah told you, but Heath and I can fully attest to the fact that the experience on Briar Road was something you don’t soon put out of your mind, even if you’re only a dog.”

  “Oh, I get it,” Meg agreed. “But, M. J., you didn’t see this shelter. I think Sarah puts every spare penny she has into it, and she really is trying to do her best by these animals. It’s a tough situation for her to be in. I mean, Fergus contributes about fifty pounds a week to her cause.”

  Heath and I exchanged a look. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked me.

  I smiled. “Down the middle?” I asked. Heath nodded. “And let’s increase it by twenty-five.”

  Again, Heath nodded. “Meg,” he said. “When you take this little guy back, can you tell Sarah that M. J. and I will be more than happy to take over Fergus’s generous weekly contributions, and increase the donation by twenty-five pounds to a total of seventy-five pounds a week.”

  Meg’s eyes lit up. “That’s going to make her day!” she said.

  Heath held up his finger. “But there’s a catch. We’ll only give her the allowance if she stops renting her shelter animals to Fergus.”

  Meg shrugged her shoulders like that wasn’t an unreasonable request at all. “Everyone comes out ahead,” she said. “I can’t see her turning that down.”

  I stroked the pug’s head and asked, “When do you have to take him back?”

  “I rented him for twenty-four hours, so not until noon tomorrow.”

  I picked up the pug under his shoulders and he dangled there limply in my hands with the most adorable buggy brown-eyed expression before licking my nose. I then looked meaningfully at Gilley.

  “Uh-oh,” Gil said with a shake of his head.

  “What?” Meg asked.

  Gil pointed to me. “I know that look. You want to keep him.”

  I swiveled the pug around so that he could face the group gathered round the fire. “Of course I want to keep him!” I exclaimed. “I mean, wook at da widdle guy!” I then turned the pug back to me and cradled him in my arms. He farted noisily and Meg, Heath, and I laughed.

  Gilley rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”

  But I knew that any logical argument he was about to lob at me was already moot. “I’m going to call him Wendell,” I said. “And I’m totally keeping him.”

  Gil made a tsking noise. “What about Doc?” he asked.

  “Oh, he’ll be fine,” I reasoned. “I mean, it’s not like I’m bringing home another bird.”

  “Getting that guy through customs isn’t going to be easy,” Heath cautioned.

  “Oh, I think it works,” said a voice from the hall. We all looked up to see Gopher coming into the room with his hands positioned in a square, like he was looking through a camera lens. “I mean, we could use a mascot, and Wendell would definitely pull in some viewers. Plus, we could tie it in to the earlier footage we shot with him and Fergus on Briar Road. You know, Ghoul Getters steps in to save a helpless puppy. I smell an Emmy for Best New Cable Show, people!”

  I made an “I told you so” face at Gilley, who gave me another eye roll.

  Meg turned back to the pile of packages. “Well, I also bought you some warmer clothes and long underwear, M. J., along with a down coat for the night shoots, but I’ll need to go back out if you’re keeping Wendell and pick up some supplies like a dog bed, a crate, and some food.”

  “That’d be fabulous,” I told her. “Thanks, Meg.”

  She smiled broadly at me, and I felt bad for treating her so poorly earlier. “No problem,” she said. “I’ll just take these up to your room and be on my way.”

  I watched her gather up several of the bags when I heard Gilley clear his throat and give me a pointed look, then motion to Meg struggling with the bags. “Um,” I said quickly, “why don’t you leave those, Meg. Gil and I can take them upstairs.”

  Meg looked unsure, but Gilley came over to her and gently took most of the load out of her hands. “Leave it to us,” he assured her.

  Gil helped me with the packages up to my room, complaining the whole way that he’d turned into a pack mule. I did my best to ignore him while I walked Wendell down the hallway on the short leash he’d come with. “Renting a dog is actually a genius idea,” I said when we got to my door and I worked to unlock it. “I mean, for people who can’t have a dog in their apartments but still want some puppy love, it makes perfect sense.”

  “Except when they act impulsively and adopt the thing on the spot.”

  I gave him a withering look as I walked into my room and set some of the bags on the bed. “Subtle, Gil. Subtle.”

  “You coming out to eat with us?” he asked after he’d brought the others in.

  I yawned and stretched. “Naw,” I said tiredly. “I think I’ll try and take a nap here with Wendell.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll do a little more digging on these caverns and try to find us a good spot tonight for the shoot.”

  “Keep it well away from Briar Road,” I cautioned.

  Gilley winked. “Will do,” he promised.

  After he’d gone, I gave Wendell a little of the food Meg had stowed in the duffel, then took him back outside, where he watered and fertilized the lawn. Then we came back in and I ended the afternoon with him curled in my arms, snoring softly.

  The gentle gurgling rhythm put me to sleep within minutes.

  I slept soundly for a while, but soon my slumber was disturbed by the most unsettling dream. I was cold, chilled to the bone in fact, and I was in a very dark, damp place. Somewhere nearby the wind moaned
in a disturbing way, and I swore there were voices riding the currents of air that added to the eeriness of the place in which I’d landed in my dream.

  I shivered, and felt an awful presence. A phrase floated through my mind, Something wicked this way comes. . . .

  My head swiveled right and left, searching out the source of the malevolence, but for the longest time the only way the sinister presence made itself known was by the heavy weight in the atmosphere. I had the urge to move—in fact, I had the urge to run—but my feet felt leaden and stuck to the floor. With tremendous effort I pulled myself forward one step at a time, but it was difficult.

  I also struggled to keep my eyes open. My lids felt heavy and it was difficult to see. I knew I needed to get out of this place, but I didn’t quite know how I would manage it.

  And then, from somewhere behind me, I heard the sound of wicked laughter. Something, it seemed, found my efforts to escape delightfully funny. “Who’s there?” I called out.

  The laughter increased. It became shrill and set goose bumps all along my arms. I felt the hair stand up on the back of my neck, and the chill in the air intensified. “What do you want?” I demanded, my breath quickening as the adrenaline continued to course through me.

  Something moved in the shadows just off to my right. There was a rustling of clothing almost like the swish of skirts before the laughter surrounded me, as if it were coming from all sides. “Come for a visit, lass?” said someone with a thick brogue.

  I fought to keep my eyes open, but my eyelids seemed to have a mind of their own. I felt almost as though I’d been drugged. Every movement was an effort and all I wanted to do was sink to the ground and give in. There was also an intense buzzing sound happening all about my head, like I was wearing a bonnet made of bees.

  In the back of my mind I realized that this dream had all the characteristics of an out-of-body experience. My astral body was reacting lethargically because it was caught between worlds—half in the physical plane, half in the astral one. “Clarity now!” I shouted, and immediately the buzzing stopped and I felt the lethargy leave my limbs.

  This was good in a way, but bad in another because it also brought my environment into full focus . . . and let me state for the record—it wasn’t pretty.

  The cold dampness that I’d felt made sense because I saw immediately that I was, in fact, in some kind of cave. The flickering shadows that I’d caught out the corner of my eye appeared to be cast from a torch set into the wall, the flames making swooshing sounds as they were battered by the cold wind swirling about the chamber I was in.

  And then, right in front of me, dangling in the air, as if suspended by invisible wires, was a wicker broom that looked like something right out of Harry Potter, but way scarier.

  It was jet-black, with a knobby handle, and thick branches made up the head, and these ended in jagged angles. I doubted that there was a floor in the world that this broom could clean. To make it even more menacing, it hovered in the air without moving for a moment right before it began to twirl in a tight circle. It moved slowly at first, then faster, and faster, until it became a swirling blur.

  I watched it, growing increasingly dizzy under the sort of hypnotic spell it was creating, when, without warning, it spun away from its location and came straight at me.

  I had no time to duck; in fact, I barely managed to close my eyes before it swatted me full in the face. I felt the sharp twigs that made up the bottom of the broom scratch my cheek and forehead, and the force of the blow from the broom sent me sprawling to the ground. I landed hard on my right knee and elbow, and I know I either grunted or shouted out in pain because someone nearby shouted, “Stop this!” and everything changed.

  I rolled over and sat with my back against the wall, able to open only one eye while my other eye throbbed and leaked tears. “Who’s there?!” I demanded, terrified out of my mind by the ferocity of the assault.

  To my surprise, as I forced my good eye open, I realized I was no longer in the cave but now leaning against a huge oak tree in the middle of a beautiful field of wildflowers.

  Gone was the damp air and its chilly temperature. It had been replaced by a soft breeze that brought the sweet fragrance of fresh-cut grass and springtime flowers to my nose. “Where am I?” I mumbled, and put my hand to my mouth. “Oh, great,” I muttered. “My lip is bleeding.”

  “You’re lucky that’s the only thing bleeding,” said a gentle male voice that startled me.

  I realized there was an old man with a long mane of silver hair wearing a white linen tunic and matching pants standing right in front of me. “Holy freakballs!” I exclaimed. “Where did you come from?”

  The old guy laughed. “Me?” he said casually. “I’ve been here all along. The question is, M. J., where did you come from?”

  I looked around. “You might be right.” I tried to stand up, but my knee hurt something fierce and my elbow was throbbing. Still, it seemed rude to sit while the older man stood.

  “Stay where you are,” he said gently when he saw me trying to get to my feet. “I’ll sit and we’ll have a talk.”

  A blanket with a beautiful Southwestern pattern appeared underneath me, and the old man sat down next to me, also leaning against the trunk of the tree. “That was cool,” I told him, referring to the blanket.

  “I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he said with a wink.

  “So . . . not to be rude,” I began, “but who are you, anyway?”

  That won me a chuckle. The old guy reached out his hand and said formally, “I am Samuel Whitefeather.”

  I took his hand and eyed him curiously. “Any relation to a friend of mine named Heath Whitefeather?”

  Samuel nodded. “My grandson.”

  I could see the small resemblance in the nose and maybe around the eyes. “Heath’s a great guy,” I told him truthfully.

  “Yes, he is,” he said proudly. “I was glad to see him partner up with such a talented spirit talker as yourself. Although, why you two want to go meddling around in foreign lands dealing with evil like that . . . well, I just don’t understand.”

  I wiped my sore eye gingerly and managed to open it a fraction. “ ‘Evil like that’?” I asked. “You mean the bully that just whacked me with the broom?”

  “Exactly like that,” Samuel said gravely. “She’s a wicked one, M. J. You and Heath are going to have to watch each other’s backs.”

  I rolled up my pant leg to inspect my knee. There was a long gash in it and the beginnings of a pretty good bruise. I blew on it and said, “Want to let me know who we’re dealing with?”

  “The Witch of Queen’s Close,” Samuel told me. “In life she went by the name Rigella. That’s important,” he added. “Remember that names have power.”

  “’Kay,” I said, not really knowing where all this was leading.

  Samuel regarded me critically for a long moment, and I felt like I was somehow coming up short. “You’ll need help,” he said. “From the Spirit World.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re volunteering,” I said, only half-joking.

  “I don’t know that I have much of a choice. Rigella’s way out of your league, kiddo. And she’s up to something.”

  “What’s she up to?”

  “Something bad. Vengeance.”

  “Vengeance? For what and against whom?”

  But Samuel only looked up at the sun, which was quickly sinking on the horizon, before he reached into the folds of his white tunic and pulled out a small charm with a green crystal. He leaned forward and secured this around my neck before he said, “Do your homework. You’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, you’ll want to get some peroxide on that knee.”

  I shook my head. Samuel wasn’t making much sense. “Some perox—” and that was as far as I got. There was some sort of a snapping noise, and all of a sudden I felt a strong tug backward. The next thing I knew I was sitting up in bed, Wendell stirring near my lap right before a pounding sounded on my door.

  Chapter 3

  The person making all the racket was Gilley. He and Heath had come to my room to fetch me for
dinner. But the moment I opened my door, they both took a step back and sucked in a breath. “What the hell happened to you?!” Gil demanded.

  I blinked hard at him, and when I did, I felt a soreness around my eye. “I was sleeping.”

  Gil reached out and put a finger under my chin, inspecting my face. “Okay, Mr. Tyson, while you were sleeping, did you go a few rounds with the lamp or the bedpost?”

  My own hand flew to my face. I could feel the heat coming off my left cheek and my eye was definitely puffy. I turned and walked back into the room, and as I did so, I could feel my knee throb—something I hadn’t noticed when I’d bolted out of bed to get the door. “This can’t be real,” I said, moving quickly to the mirror. But the evidence was right there in my own reflection. My cheek was red and swollen, as was my eye, and there was a small cut on my puffy lip.

  Gingerly I pulled up my pant leg to reveal my knee, which was bruised and marred by a small gash. “M. J.?” Heath said, coming around to stand right next to me. “What happened?”

  I sat down in a nearby chair and Wendell whimpered from the bed. Gil moved over to pick him up and sit him in his lap. “Tell us,” he said gently.

  I shook my head. I had no idea how to explain it, and the fact that I’d encountered something on the astral plane that had injured my physical body was really blowing my mind. I glanced up at Heath and decided to start from the beginning. “You know about astraling, right? Having out-of-body experiences?”

  Heath nodded. “I have OBEs all the time,” he said.

  “Have you ever been hurt or injured on the astral plane?” I asked. “I mean, have you ever encountered anything evil that maybe took a swipe at you?”

  Heath cocked his head to the side curiously. “No,” he said. “The worst thing that ever happened to me was that I got stuck half in my body, half out, and I got so sick that when I finally managed to get myself back into my physical body, I threw up.”

  I nodded. I’d had a few similar experiences myself. “M. J.,” Gil said from the bed. “Are you telling us that you just had an OBE and something on the astral plane hurt you?”

 

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