by M J Waverly
“Sidney, there you are.” Uncle Joe walked up. “What happened?”
Detective Longwood closed his notebook with a loud flap. “Your niece found Dr. Smith’s body.”
“She’s dead.” Uncle Joe scrubbed his face.
“I was asking your niece how she happened to be here.” Detective Longwood scribbled in his notebook.
“I told him I came by to pick up my last paycheck before I went to class tonight.”
“Tom, do you have any other questions for my niece, “Uncle Joe held Detective Longwood’s penetrating gaze.
“Not right now, but I will.”
My heart pounded with loud thumps as Detective Longwood fixed me with a calculating eye.
Don’t act guilty because you’re not guilty.
“Right now, I need to speak to the coroner.” Detective Longwood strode in the direction of the ambulance.
The forensic team arrived and began gathering evidence. This scene was theirs to investigate. Not mine. I may talk to ghosts, but I couldn't handle dead bodies.
"Where's my Ingrid? Please tell me she's here." Commissioner Ralph Smith, Ingrid's husband, stumbled up to the ambulance. He plastered his body up against the closed doors. "My darling wife." His words slurred as tried to stand.
He’d been drinking.
Uncle Joe led me away, but I caught a glimpse of Ingrid hovering next to her husband. From the scowl on her face, Dr. Ingrid Smith wasn’t pleased.
Uncle Joe followed my gaze. “Do you see a ghost?”
I nodded.
We walked to his patrol car. “Who is it?”
"Dr. Smith," I whispered.
“Does she know what happened?”
"She doesn't know. One minute she's sending out an email. Then I’m there
telling her she’s a ghost. She mentioned dark, menacing presence, and then the ambulance arrived."
“How did you find out about Ingrid?”
“Emma told me.” I pushed my hands back into my hoodie front pockets.
“Emma Bailey.” My uncle widened his eyes. “Not even Mom spoke to her.” Uncle Joe was like my mom, he hadn’t inherited any magical abilities, but he did have a mysterious and persuasive way of getting people to talk.
"She likes me. "Am I a suspect?" Despite the chilled evening breeze blowing, my palms were sweaty. The ambulance took off.
One of the deputies helped Commissioner Smith into the back of the sheriff’s car. The patrol car’s elliptical lights cast a menacing glow on his face.
"You found the body, and we have to rule out all suspects. You'll be cleared." He waved his hand dismissively. "What did you tell Tom?"
I assumed that was Detective Longwood’s first name. “I told him I was here to pick up my last check.”
“Your last check?” Uncle Joe arched an eyebrow.
"I was fired the day before yesterday due to some of Emma's activities. She entered the computer, and it exploded, wiping out the hard drive. Ingrid had a meltdown, and she fired me."
Uncle Joe gave a low whistle.
A crowd had gathered near the trees on the front lawn near the streetlight.
Thunder rumbled in the background.
Professor Hawthorne stepped over the crime scene tape. He joined Uncle Joe and me. "Excuse me. I have a class tonight along with some other teachers. Do we need to cancel?" He asked.
Uncle Joe looked at the crowd. “Does anyone else have classes in the administration building?”
“No. We meet in the language arts building.” Dr. Hawthorne pointed to the north.
“It should be fine, but if you see anyone or anything suspicious, call me.” Uncle Joe handed his card to Professor Hawthorne.
The white ghost cat materialized and sat down beside me, and purred. What was it ghost night? I almost expected the poltergeist party girls to make an appearance.
Dr. Hawthorne nodded. “Sidney, if you need to miss class then I won’t count you absent.” He gestured toward the flurry of investigators in and out of the administrative building.
“Uncle Joe, do you still need me?” I asked.
“Not now, but we’ll talk later.”
“I have to stop by my truck to grab my messenger bag,” I said.
Dr. Hawthorne swept his hand forward. “Lead the way.”
After I grabbed my messenger bag from the truck, we walked along together to the language arts building. The ghost cat followed us. The golden glow from the Victorian styled gas lamps lit the paved path lined with well-maintained shrubs.
“I won’t pry and ask for gory details of Dr. Smith’s demise, but if you wish to talk about it, I’m all ears.” Dr. Hawthorne’s English accent made the grizzly incident sound like something from a Shakespearean tragedy.
I couldn't reveal I'd seen a ghost to my writing professor.
"Thanks," I said. "It was grizzly to see the blood around Dr. Smith's head."
“Yes, blood can be disturbing to some people.” He slicked his tongue around his mouth.
You can mention the word blood to some people, and they become queasy. Apparently not, Dr. Hawthorne.
“It seems Dr. Smith has joined the tragic ranks of those that have met an early demise here in the hallowed halls of Cloverville Community College.”
“I know about Emma Bailey from the early part of the twentieth century and the sorority sisters from nineteen-eighty.”
"I find it ironic." Dr. Hawthorne cut a sidelong glance at me.
“What?” I stopped.
“That Ingrid Smith has died just as the investigation into the sorority sisters’ murder has been reopened.”
The ghost cat hissed.
Eight
The crescent moon hung low on the horizon on the drive home from writing class. I mentally cataloged today's events beginning with my ill-fated job interview at Burger Belle and Betty Johnson's accusation Nana about being involved with people who wore cloaks and capes. It sounded like the coven Rudolph Clover mentioned.
Nana had never been part of a coven. She was a psychologist. I could deny it all I wanted, but I needed to embrace the possibility she was a witch. My body flushed with heat, and I rolled down my truck window and inhaled the fresh evening air scented with incoming rain.
This afternoon I accepted Jason’s job offer, and then Emma arrived at my house and told me about Dr. Smith. What was the menacing presence she felt? The murderer? Another ghost?
Dr. Hawthorne's remark about the investigation into the sorority sister case being reopened . . . Did it have something to do with Dr. Smith's death?
The ghost cat popped into the passenger seat, and her spectral illumination provided a comforting light. There were no street lights on this section of our rural road. The moon had disappeared behind some tall trees. It made the drive home even darker than usual. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted.
The ghost cat turned her head and blinked her eyes.
“You need a name. I’ll call you Snowball.” The cat purred louder. I didn’t know why she was here, but I liked having her nearby.
As I looked up, something or someone stepped in front of the truck. “What the fuck?” I slammed down on the brakes. The ghost cat hissed and slid off the seat onto the floorboard with a thud.
I tightened my hands on the steering wheel. A cold mist crept up the windshield and fogged the windows. A person in phantom-like robes drifted across the road and disappeared into the woods to the other side.
I couldn't breathe, and my hands trembled. If that was a ghost, I didn't want to stick around and meet it. I punched the gas pedal, and the ghost cat climbed back up into the passenger seat, her fur sticking out at odd angles.
"Sorry." I glanced down but stared in the rearview mirror. What was that? Cloverville's version of Voldemort?
At home, I parked beside Laney’s food truck. Loud rock music boomed from the truck speakers.
Laney opened the window and stuck her head out. “Warning. Mom was trying to reach you. Uncle Joe called. She’s pacing in
the kitchen, and she has made a pot of coffee.”
Pot of coffee at midnight. I was in deep shit. “I guess she is upset. Have you seen anything out here?”
Laney had flour on her nose and wiped it off with her forearm. “No. Are your ghostie senses detecting something?”
“I think I saw Voldemort?”
Laney wrinkled her nose. “Voldemort? Good one.” She gave a small laugh.
I leaned against the truck. Fatigue hit me, and the only thing I wanted to do was go to bed and pull the covers over my head.
“I need to go to bed. Just be careful out here.”
I started walking away, but Laney ran up and reached for my elbow. “This isn’t like you. Normally, you would have a smartass answer.”
"I've had a rough day," I said.
Laney followed me into the house. "You saw something like Voldemort?"
I nodded.
“Glad to see you are home and graced us with your company.” Mom sat at the kitchen table with her huge stoneware mug. “What is going on?” She had pulled her long graying brunette hair into a messy bun. She had a pair of glasses perched on her head, another pair dangling from a chain, and another pair hanging from her Cheshire Cat pajama top.
“Mom, it’s been a rough night. We’ll talk in the morning.”
"We'll talk now." She leaned back in the ladder back chair. Mom's hands shook with fear and too much coffee. "Your Uncle Joe just called to see if you made it home safely after you discovered the body of Ingrid Smith, and then you went to class. Didn't you think to call me? Your grandmother disappeared, and now you're involved with this."
I knew Mom meant well, but I was too exhausted for a confrontation.
“Mom. Stop. Stop right now.” I motioned my hands in a calming movement. “I’ve had the day from hell. I mean from hell. I start a new job in the morning, and when I get home tomorrow, we can discuss everything calmly and rationally.”
“No, we’ll talk it about it right now.” She stabbed the kitchen table’s surface so hard I thought she’d break her finger.
This discussion was happening, now. I tossed my messenger bag onto the table and then plunked down in a chair. “Talk.” I folded my arms over my chest.
“Don’t take an attitude with me. You were like is when you insisted you wanted to be a writer. I knew better than to let you go out to California.”
Laney leaned against the kitchen counter.
Mom and I argued like this before I left for California. In my mother’s mind, I’m too much like Nana and my grifter father.
“Mom, it’s my life. It’s my decision.”
“Sidney. I want you to live your dreams, but you need to be grounded in reality, especially given our family history.”
“This is why I didn’t return home after I left California,” I sighed.
“Why?”
“This.” I leaned forward.
“Mom. When I was in California, I had a boyfriend, and he was a writer. We lived together, but he broke my heart. I dealt with it.”
Mom sucked in her breath.
I wasn't ready to tell her how Camden stole Zombietown from me. "Since its confession time, I might as well reveal everything," I explained about Emma, Jason, and then getting fired.
With her mouth opened wide, Mom held her mug up the entire time I talked.
"Tomorrow, I start my new job with Jason and his ghost hunting team, and I do paperwork in the auto store on the side."
"You're working with Jason Hunsinger?" Mom's voice rose, and her face paled as she lowered her mug to the table with a soft tap.
“Yes. Why?”
“His mother died in a car accident about fifteen years ago. She knew your grandmother.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Mom sighed. “You’re as independent as my mother. I can’t say to understand you, but I want you to know I love you. I’m just so worried since your Nana’s disappearance. Promise me you’ll be careful. You’re right. We need to talk tomorrow.” She stood and held out her arms for a hug.
I fell into my Mom’s reassuring and loving embrace, and Laney wrapped her arms around both of us, making a Latimer smushie sandwich like we did when I was younger. My sisters, Mom, and Nana—we were a team.
Later, I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head. Through the sheet, a soft glow surrounded me and a purring filled the room.
I crashed into a deep sleep.
I traveled up and through silver clouds and then into a tunnel until I landed in front of the sorority staircase. A white cat slowly slinked down the steps.
The tiny bell on her pink collar jingled.
The door opened, and Jason walked into the foyer.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I think we’re astral traveling, soul travel in our dreams.” Jason reached out and rubbed my upper arm. It felt real.
“That means we’re conscious on a different level and somehow we’re communicating like on a dreamland internet.”
“Yeah. Something like that.” Jason wore jeans, a Beatles tee-shirt, and tennis shoes.
“This place reminds me of the sorority house, but it’s different.” I studied the room, trying to make sense of where I was.
“It is the sorority house,” Jason turned around. “Let’s go into the next room.”
We walked into the main room decorated with velvet sofas, and a grand piano sat in the corner under the window. Girls laughed nearby.
We stepped back behind an Oriental screen as three college girls dressed in eighties style clothes walked into the room.
"I can't believe she lied to us that she was still a virgin," one of the girls laughed.
“I know.” Another poofy blonde-haired girl, wearing a floral dress placed a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling.
“Who does she think she’s kidding? She’s not one of us.” The third girl glowered.
I recognized the sorority sisters from the photograph on the wall and from their sad faces when they’d materialized before me yesterday.
A dark and angry presence watched them. This person who hated them so much it felt like venom burned through his or her soul. Kill them. Kill them all.
I couldn’t see who or what it was because he or she hid in the shadows.
Suddenly, something landed on me with a heavy thud, and I woke up.
I bolted upright. Snowball glowed brightly from atop my chest. She jumped from the bed, dashed beneath my window, hissing.
"What is it, girl?" I pushed my quilt off and followed the cat.
I looked out in our overgrown front yard. I saw the Voldemort thing in a robe drift across the top of my sister’s food truck, and then disappear into the dark.
My blood froze, but I didn’t dare go out and investigate. I jumped back in my bed and pulled the quilt over my head. Nana, I need you.
Nine
Gray clouds scuttled over downtown, Cloverville. Thunder Mountain's majestic stone peak along with the other mountains cloaked in mist.
After my experience with the hooded whatever-spooky-something and the murder of Ingrid Smith, I decided Rudolph Clover and I needed to talk. Pronto.
With coffee in hand, I arrived at the town founder’s statue was covered in bird poop. A flock of crows squawked from the rooftop of Luna’s Restaurant and Fred’s Fine Frames.
Rudolph Clover stepped out from his statue and raised a fist up at the birds.
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
“I don’t think it’s amusing.” Rudolph straightened the collar of his jacket. “They have taken to relieving themselves upon my visage.”
“I’m sorry. Doesn’t the city hose you down?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
"A concerned citizen could complain to public works the town founder statue has been abused by the city crows." My lips smirked upward.
“Do you know of a concerned citizen?” Rudolf brushed at his sleeves and pulled his coat down.
I gave a slight laugh “I’ll see what I can do. We need to talk.”
"Of course." He motioned to the bench. I sat down on the wet bench and cringed when my blue jeans soaked up some of the morning dew.
"Did you hear what happened at the college?" I watched Rudolph's face for any expression that would reveal any emotion. He was more robust, almost human looking, but with a shimmering silver light outlining his body.
He grimaced. “About the murder of Dr. Ingrid Smith. That’s one reason the crows are here. They delivered the news of Ingrid’s death. I’m afraid it has started.”
The black-feathered birds cawed to one another. Two crows flew north. “What do you mean it has started?” I couldn’t handle anything else.
Rudolph swept his hand in a grand gesture towards the direction of Thunder Mountain. “A great darkness grows in Cloverville because of the magical connection to the earth.”
“What do you mean?”
He frowned. “Your grandmother really didn’t teach you anything, did she?”
I shook my head.
Rudolph glowed brighter than before. "Cloverville is like a portal between the Void and the Bright Side and to other worlds. Spirits that remain on the earth can grow in power. Living beings with magical ability are drawn to the power like your ancestors were drawn here hundreds of years ago. Even other beings like fairies have found homes in Cloverville.”
I frowned. “I should’ve known it’s like Cloverville is like Sunnyvale?”
“What is Sunnyvale?” Rudolf asked.
A similar California town, where a girl named Buffy faces some of the same problems that I do, but she has to deal with vampires.”
“We have vampires in Cloverville.” Rudolph nodded.
“Vampires are here?” I looked over my shoulder and shivered.
The ghost nodded. “Yes. You have made the acquaintance of one.”
“Who?” I asked.
Rudolph jerked his head back. “You haven’t figured it out, yet. I’m surprised. You said you knew about vampires.”
I puffed my cheeks and blew out the air. “I know about vampires like in the book Dracula and the sparkly vampire named Edward. I didn’t know vampires resided in Cloverville. Who are they?”