Cold Cases and Haunted Places

by Trixie Silvertale

  Winslow’s feet seemed to have a mind of their own, and she followed the cat, not really wanting to, the stench of death looming ever closer.

  “Humans should be glad that they can’t smell this like we do,” she muttered.

  “More crimes would be solved if they could,” Chalice shot back.

  “You are so cranky tonight,” Winslow commented, picking up her pace and looking for a way through the vampire’s fence.

  Chalice had merely slipped beneath, but that wasn’t an option for her, until she perfected her reduction potion. Last time she’d tried it, one of her feet had shrunk to the size of a hamster, but the rest of her had stayed the same. It was most disconcerting.

  Finding a gate, Winslow lifted the latch and the door swung inward with a loud creak that made her shake in her shoes. She froze, listening.

  “Great work,” Chalice commented dryly, after a few seconds. “Come on, they obviously aren’t home, or they would’ve heard that.”

  “Right,” Winslow nodded, her teeth chattering, despite the warmth of the summer evening.

  “Over here,” Chalice directed, standing in the grass next to the garden so that he didn’t make footprints.

  “I know. I smell it,” Winslow cringed.

  She knelt down, lightly touching the soft, loose, earth that had recently been dug up. The knowledge that the earth was the only thing between her fingers and the corpse rattled her to the core, and she stayed crouched, in a daze. Then she smelled another smell that shook her to her foundations. She was going to die.

  “May I help you?” a cultured, slightly amused voice spoke, startling her, though she had expected it.

  She jumped and lost her balance, landing with a plop, on her backside, in the grass.

  “Oh! I just…um,” she faltered.

  Chalice was nowhere to be seen.

  “Here, let me help you up,” a young-looking vampire, attractive, with a chin-beard and a man-bun, extended a hand.

  It was ice-cold, as expected.

  “Thank you,” Winslow pasted on a plastic smile, taking his hand and scrambling quickly to her feet, brushing grass from the back of her jeans. “Wow, you must’ve just come from the air-conditioning,” she commented, snatching her hand away as quickly as possible, without seeming rude.

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” the vampire grinned, and she saw no evidence of his fangs growing, so that was good.

  Chalice had reminded her to put a shield spell around them that would make them smell like a human and a cat who were too unhealthy to eat. The vampire probably felt sorry for her because of it, and Winslow was inspired to use that to her advantage.

  “No worries,” she shrugged, still smiling as she headed toward the gate.

  “So…I have to wonder,” the vampire mused, his voice reaching her just as her hand touched the latch.

  Winslow’s stomach churned with dread and she turned slowly, barely able to maintain the plastic smile.

  “I have to wonder,” the hipster vampire repeated. “Just exactly what such a lovely young lady was doing in my backyard so late at night.

  He folded his arms and waited for her reply, his eyes seeming to glow a bit in the darkness, much like those of a wolf…or a demon.

  “I…uh…I have a holistic medicine shop,” she replied truthfully, blinking twice so that a flashlight appeared in the hand that she held behind her back. “My cat finds the best herbs and flowers for me to use, and he led me here. I thought there might be something of interest in your garden, but none of the flowers are useful, so…” Winslow shrugged, inching closer to the gate.

  “How did you happen to see them in the dark?” the vampire quirked an eyebrow.

  “Uh…with this,” Winslow brought the flashlight out from behind her back.

  “I see,” the vampire didn’t sound convinced.

  “Well, sorry to have bothered you. I’ve gotta run,” Winslow lifted the latch and opened the gate.”

  “Where’s your cat?” The vampire’s voice was as cold as his hands.

  “He ditched me,” Winslow told the truth again. “He does that. Have a good night,” she waved and slipped out, closing the gate behind her.

  The vampire didn’t move. Not only could she smell him, she could feel his presence. The entire way home, it felt as though he was following her. He probably was, she realized, so she disappeared into some thick overgrowth in a yard and snapped her fingers, trying to turn into a grasshopper, so that she could hop home in great leaps. She promptly turned into a snail, which was rather uncomfortable, given the prickly nature of the plants in which she found herself.

  “Well, I won’t be hurrying home now,” she sighed to herself, sliding into the shell and preparing to wait until she didn’t feel the presence of the vampire any longer.

  Suddenly, she was scooped up into a warm moist environment that smelled profoundly of fish.

  “Chalice?” she thought.

  Snails don’t have vocal ability, so she had to reach out telepathically.

  “Yes, he snapped back, joggling her in her shell as he ran through the undergrowth.

  “What are you so cranky about? I’m the one who had to deal with the vampire,” she growled.

  “When you shifted to a snail, your shield dropped. I can only hope that I took you in my mouth quickly enough that he didn’t notice,” Chalice reprimanded her sharply. “You’ve got to start thinking things through, and stop just bumbling through life.”

  “Yeah,” Winslow agreed, sad and embarrassed.

  Her cat had saved her because she was such a mess that she’d put her own life in jeopardy.

  “Thanks, Chalice.”

  “Thank me when we get home…alive,” he muttered.

  5

  Feeling more than defeated, Winslow added more bits and pieces of herbs and ingredients to her invisibility potion. She hadn’t told Bronwyn that she was working on it, because she didn’t want to arouse suspicion and have to explain her plan, so she was working alone. That meant that she didn’t have the older witch’s sage guidance as to how to properly prepare the complicated potion. She had to hurry. Chalice wanted her to go to the police today, which meant tweaking and testing the potion until she could trust it, hopefully with minimally damaging results.

  “Please tell me that you’re not going to test that on poor Morty again,” Chalice commented, sitting on the counter, paws tucked under.

  “Would you rather I use it on you?” Winslow arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Oh please. I’d never stand for that,” Chalice turned his head, pretending to stare out of the window.

  “Well, if you’re not a part of the solution, then at least don’t be a part of the problem. Stop nagging me if you’re not volunteering,” Winslow replied archly. “Besides, you’re a cat, you’re supposed to eat mice. I don’t know how it is that you and Morty have become friends,” she shook her head.

  “Now you’re just being gross,” Chalice made a face, his tail flicking back and forth, warning of his mood.

  “Hey sweetie-pie,” Winslow cooed, reaching her hand into the fat mouse’s cage and ignoring her acerbic feline. “Let’s see what happens,” she said sweetly, hoping for the best. “At least this one tastes good,” she assured Morty the mouse, setting him gently on the counter.

  Squeezing small drops from a glass dropper with a squishy black bulb on the end, she gave Morty some of the potion, which, in the bottle, looked like the ocean, with complex swirls of greens and blues, and just a touch of gold flake.

  Winslow and Chalice watched the mouse with laser-focus. Every twitch of its ears made them startle a tiny bit. Morty laid down with a blissful look on his face, and quite suddenly, his feet and ears turned invisible.

  “Oh no. Did they actually disappear, or are they just invisible?” Chalice gasped, worried for his furry friend.

  “Let’s see,” Winslow replied, her heart hammering in her chest. “C’mere, Morty,” she beckoned the mouse.

  If he heard he
r command, it meant that he still had ears, and if he walked over to her, it meant that he still had feet. When Morty rolled over onto his invisible feet and trotted over to Winslow’s outstretched hand, both Winslow and Chalice let out a huge sigh of relief.

  “Good job, buddy,” Winslow stroked between Morty’s invisible ears. “Feet and ears, reappear,” she commanded, and, thank the stars, they did.

  “Well, at least you’ve got that down,” Chalice pointed out, sounding doubtful.

  “Yeah, but I need to figure out how to make all of him disappear,” Winslow mused.

  “Maybe give him a bigger dose?” Chalice suggested. “I can’t believe I just said that,” he muttered, twitching his whiskers.

  Winslow nodded.

  “I think you’re right. Okay, Morty, my sweet little guy…here you go,” she cooed, watching as the happy little mouse slurped up more of her potion.

  While he was still drinking, the bottom half of him disappeared.

  “That’s enough!” Chalice warned, looking decidedly alarmed.

  “Oh dear,” Winslow exclaimed, withdrawing the dropper.

  As soon as it was out of his mouth, Morty vanished.

  “It worked,” she said uncertainly.

  “Or, it didn’t,” Chalice said darkly, glaring at her.

  “Morty mouse, if you can hear, I command you, reappear!” Winslow said loudly, as though it would help.

  Morty was nowhere to be seen.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Chalice accused. “You’ve zapped him out of existence,” he growled.

  “Oh please no,” Winslow worried. “Maybe he had such a big dose that it’s just going to take him a little bit of time to reappear,” she proposed.

  “Or…maybe he’s been turned into particulate matter, and is scattered about the universe,” Chalice sounded rather upset.

  “Maybe we’re rushing things,” Winslow brightened suddenly.

  Chalice looked at her suspiciously.

  “We have to rush things. You need to solve a murder today,” he reminded her.

  “No, that’s not what I mean. Hang on,” she waved a hand at him. “Morty the mouse, whether far or near, paws and tail, reappear!” she commanded.

  They both held their breath, not knowing where to look, and suddenly, so close to Chalice’s paw that he sprung back in surprise, Morty’s paws and tail came into view, clearly attached to a still invisible body.

  “It worked!” Winslow clapped her hands together, and proceeded to call upon parts of Morty to reappear until he was completely visible once more.

  “Okay, great, now let’s go,” Chalice leapt from the counter to the floor and looked at her expectantly.

  “How will I know whether it works for me?” Winslow’s expression turned to fear.

  “You won’t,” Chalice said quietly. “Now make the call, then we’ll hustle over there before the cops arrive. We need to prepare the scene.”

  6

  Winslow pressed her left hand to her temple, and held her right hand toward the spot under the vampire’s balcony that had smelled like blood. There was still enough daylight for her to feel comfortable standing in his backyard, but she instinctively stayed away from the shadows, preferring the safety of the searing sunlight anyway.

  “Fortunes lost and fortunes found, bring the blood of the victim back to the ground,” she commanded, totally not expecting what happened next.

  Stains appeared on the patio below the balcony, dark reddish-brown stains, the exact color of dried blood. From the stain, arose something that looked like steam – it was white, hazy, and undulating. The steam morphed into the form of a human, and hovered over the stain, a few inches off of the ground.

  “Aaaaand now you’ve summoned a ghost,” Chalice commented.

  “Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Winslow whispered. “That was not my intention. She looks so sad.”

  “Well, yeah, she was murdered, what do you expect?” Chalice rolled his eyes, sitting down and staring up at the apparition.

  The ghost moaned, and slowly raised an arm, pointing toward a spot below the balcony. Chalice slunk over to investigate, keeping his eye on the ghost. They were usually friendly, but he’d encountered more than his share of rude ones, so he tried to always keep his distance. Concealed by the ivy that pooled underneath the balcony, on the patio, he found a lipstick case, engraved with a woman’s name, Polly Frances, and a broken strand of pearls. One at a time, he brought the items out of the ivy and onto a clear area of the patio, by the blood stain, where they’d be easily seen.

  “She must’ve fallen from the balcony before he was done sucking her blood,” Winslow mused, glancing from the ghost to the bloodstain.

  The ghost slowly nodded, moaning softly. She turned and pointed at the garden.

  “So he finished the job, then buried you to hide the evidence?” Winslow interpreted, her voice a sickened whisper.

  The ghost nodded again.

  “We need to make sure that the police find the body,” Chalice said grimly.

  “Well, how on earth are we going to do that?” Winslow asked, horrified. “It’s not like we can just draw an arrow in the dirt.”

  “Well, not precisely, but you’re on the right track,” Chalice swung his gaze to meet hers.

  “If you think that I’m going to dig up a body,” Winslow began, feeling the bile beginning to rise in the back of her throat.

  “You know for a witch, you’re kind of wimpy,” Chalice observed.

  “There’s no need to be rude,” Winslow chided him. “You’re an animal, just dig down until you find…something.”

  “Did you actually just call me an animal?” Chalice demanded, mightily offended.

  The ghost moaned again, loudly this time.

  “Shhhh!” Winslow hissed reflexively.

  The apparition moved toward her.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, but we can’t have the neighbors peering over the fence right now,” she explained, holding up her hands to placate the ghost.

  “Dig, before you get all of us busted,” Chalice ordered.

  He turned to the ghost.

  “Can you show me where your hand would be?” he asked gently, padding over to the garden.

  The ghost moved quickly over to a spot in the garden and hovered there, looking down. It broke Winslow’s heart, and moved her to action.

  “Is that where your hand is,” she whispered, drawing near to the grieving apparition.

  The ghost nodded.

  “You’re Polly?” Winslow asked, starting to move the dirt away from the spot that the ghost had indicated.

  Polly moved to hover over the blood stain again, and nodded.

  “We’re trying to get justice for you, Polly, so that you can be at peace,” Winslow stopped digging long enough to say.

  Polly dipped her head once, in gratitude, then slowly dissolved back into the blood stain on the patio.

  “Poor girl,” Chalice mused.

  “I know, I feel so bad for her,” Winslow agreed. “How far down do I need to dig?”

  “Far enough so that when the police come, they can see that there’s a body in the garden,” Chalice said quietly, with none of his usual smugness.

  Winslow shuddered, and dug faster.

  “For Polly,” she whispered.

  “For Polly,” Chalice nodded.

  When her gruesome task was complete, Winslow made herself the size of an ant so that she could get into the house. Once there, she resized, and ran from room to room opening all of the drapes to let the sunshine into the dusty old house. Coughing and sneezing, she came back out and ran to hide in the bushes with Chalice to wait for the police, vial of invisibility potion clenched tightly in her fist. She’d been in such a hurry that she hadn’t taken time to look around inside the old house, and had no idea where the vampire’s sleeping pod might be. Cursing herself for the potentially deadly mistake, Winslow crouched down when Chalice hissed that he’d just seen the police arrive in the front
of the house. She’d left the gate open so that they’d be drawn to the backyard.

  7

  Officers Bud Sprat and Carl Flugel were dispatched to an address on Burberry Lane, after an anonymous call came in about the discovery of a murder victim.

  “Man, why did it have to be this house?” Bud groused, easing the patrol car into the driveway of the vampire’s house.

  “Looks like a nice place,” Carl shrugged, logging in their time of arrival.

  “It’s supposed to be haunted. Somebody bought it a few months ago, but nobody ever moved in,” Bud made a face.

  “Oh, c’mon, Sprat,” Carl guffawed. “You don’t seriously believe in ghosts, do you?”

  “Of course not,” Bud glared at his partner. “There are just some places where all kinds of weird stuff seems to happen,” he replied gruffly, getting out of the car and hitching up his belt.

  Bud unsnapped the holster of his sidearm before walking up to the door.

  “It’s broad daylight, Bud. I think we’ll be fine,” Carl mocked his partner again.

  Bud stopped in front of the door, standing on the wide porch, glancing about.

  “You gonna ring the bell, tough guy?” Carl goaded him.

  Bud shot him a dirty look. Every rookie knew that you never ring the bell, there might be fingerprints on it. He pounded on the door, down low, where the likelihood of an intruder having touched it was almost nonexistent. No answer.

  “See, nothing to worry about,” Carl shrugged. “Nobody’s home.”

  Bud shook his head.

  “Something doesn’t feel right,” he muttered, trotting down the porch steps and examining the yard. “Gate to the back is ajar. Let’s go check it out,” he motioned with his head.

  Carl sobered immediately, and followed his partner through the gate and into the backyard.

  “Not much on yardwork, are they,” Carl remarked, his voice quiet.

  “There,” Bud pointed, catching a glimpse of the blood stain.

  Both cops removed their weapons and scanned the area. When they got close to the stain, and saw the lipstick case and pearls lying next to the ivy, Bud crouched down to take a closer look. Seeing the name on the lipstick case, he paled.