Chapter Eleven #3
Probably so. “Okay, we’ll do that in the morning.
” I turned to find the mare rider still in the circle, his arms folded over his chest, the dirty workman’s coat he wore slipping in and out of visibility.
It was wholly unsettling. “We found the grave, or I guess we should say we got close to the pit. The voices of the wrongfully buried made me ill, but we will get the authorities on it as soon as we can tomorrow. Those souls will be laid to rest in a manner that frees them.”
It stared at me for the longest time. “Good. Then my work here is done. Open the door. I wish to go through it.”
“Oh.” I threw Phil a look and got a shrug. “Oh, well, sure. I mean, I can try to call forth Papa Legba, but I’m not sure he’ll reply. I’m not a Houdon practitioner. I’m just a college kid with a genetic anomaly.”
“Try.”
Sure. Well, I could certainly try. After a sip of water.
I grabbed the slushy spring water bottle out of my shoulder bag, rinsed my mouth, and then made my way to the card table that held all the ritual paraphernalia that was needed to speak to a Loa.
I was hoping that this would take place.
Not the throwing up. The being able to lead this entity to a better place, whatever that may be.
Yes, I was a ghost hunter, a Kee, but I was also a seer who was trying not just to eradicate any spirit with an attitude.
Much like angry people, an irate phantom generally had a reason.
If you could find that reason, then you could lead the spirit to a positive place. I hoped.
“If it’s willing to move to the land of the dead, Papa Legba will open the door between the human world and the spirit world.
” I looked back over my shoulder at Phil as he spoke.
“That’s what Monique is saying.” I gave Phil a thumbs up and turned to the rider.
The forms of the other specters that were trapped in this terrible place appeared, gliding through the walls.
Timothy came to stand beside me as he surveyed the offerings on the table with mild curiosity.
“If you’re lying or trying to free yourself to continue harming others, then a darker fate will await you. ”
I had no clue what that would be. I’d never dispatched a phantom that was fighting to remain in this realm. To be honest, the only tussle I’d ever had with a specter was at Lake Killikee, so maybe I should stop shit-talking the big, scary resurrected boogeyman.
“How do you propose to release me from this place?” he asked, his question grabbing the attention of the other spirits.
“Well,” I said as I looked down at the paraphernalia spread out before me. “With the aid of the great Mambo Kiwi, I will invoke a might Loa that may grant you and these others, if they wish to move on—”
The phantoms packed into the game room all spoke at once. I winced. They quieted and budged Timothy forward. He seemed leery of the rider, for good reason, and gave him a nice wide berth as he came to float beside me.
“We would like to move on, all of us,” he whispered. I smiled down at the ghostly boy.
“Then we’ll do our best to send you over,” I replied, the vow one I wasn’t sure I could actually make good on, but I was going to give it the old Kee try. “Phil, can you reach out to our friend, the awe-inspiring Mambo Kiwi, to find out how to ask a deity to come chill for a bit?”
“Suuuuure,” Phil said, but he seemed less than happy to pass along the request. Calling forth a divine being might be the cherry on top of the “what the fuck am I doing here?” sundae for my boyfriend.
And hey, I’d not fault him if he called this whole paranormal investigation thing done.
Two cases. Two rounds of being mauled and misused by the undead.
Maybe we needed to look into something less mentally and physically dangerous to make money.
Like selling knitted socks with ghosts on Etsy.
“Okay, so there we are then.” I looked right at the camera.
“We’ve got a large group of phantoms here who wish to be freed from this awful place.
I’m going to try to reach out and see if I can make contact with a godhead, I suppose you’d call him.
Bet when you dropped that twenty bucks for a few hours of spooky streaming, you never thought you’d see what you’ve seen so far! ”
My fake cheerfulness felt…well, fake. I was exhausted, ready to crumble, and was in severe need of a bed.
Phil slipped in beside me, his arm brushing mine. The touch was so nice. I’d be happy to curl up into his arms for the rest of January. Classes be damned.
I picked up the cold coffee, glanced at the rider, and took a massive chance. “Before I start, I need you to break the circle of blue paint and let the rider free,” I said to my boyfriend. His eyes went as big as manhole covers. “I know it’s risky—”
“Risky?! He was in my head just last night. He made me, and hundreds of other people, cry or worse. He probably pushed some people into losing their minds, and you want me to let him out?!” Phil barked, his arms waving madly as he spoke. Good thing we had static cameras.
“He’s expressed a desire to be free, Phil. We can’t not allow him the chance to move over.”
Phil chewed on his inner cheek as I took the lid off the coffee cup.
“What happens when he gets out and sticks his fingers into my head again?”
“You’re awake. He won’t.” I peeked around Phil at the shadowy form.
It stood as still as a Sequoia, face and hands shifting into smoke and then back to a more solid form.
Partially resurrected. What a ghastly way to spend eternity, which was why people who didn’t know what they were doing shouldn’t monkey with the supernatural.
Said the guy raised by a Buddhist grandfather about to try to group chat a Haitian Vodou God for a call a friend moment in the middle of a sanitarium full of ghosts. No chance of a royal f-up in that scenario, huh?
Well, sure, when I put it that way…
“Arch, I don’t like this. If something goes wrong…” Phil shot a harried look at the circle of salt and paint.
“If this fails, we go to plan B.”
“Which is what?”
“I’ll tell you as soon as I figure it out.”
“Great. Great. Just great.” He stomped over to our duffel bags, placed his camera on the floor, and dug about until he found the pint of turpentine we’d brought along. With a great deal of mumbling, he dumped some on his hankie, gave me a look, and then knelt beside the circle.
The rider watched with an aura of mild interest, but he also had an undercurrent of expectation that pulsed off him in muted waves of dark, dark green.
He truly was like no other entity I had ever encountered.
This would be a fascinating entry in the Kee ledger for all those future Kees.
Just then, I saw a flash as quick as a single fast frame shot appearance of Tyler Durden early on in Fight Club.
Me, Phil, and a little kid with black hair and bright blue eyes, toddling around the bookstore in a light blue jersey with Kestrel on the back, flashed me a toothless grin as he brought me a book to read.
Just as fast as it appeared, it was gone.
Whoa. Just…whoa. Was that a trickle of the future sight that several of my ancestors possessed, or was that just exhaustion combined with low mana and life force making me imagine homey scenarios?
Whatever it was, I shook it off like a staticky sock stuck to my pant leg.
“Awesome. I love you,” I called while trying to settle into a calm state. But not too calm. No dozing off while meditating. My tailbone still ached from the last go-round.
“Love you too,” he muttered as the stink of turpentine filled the air. “Mambo Kiwi says to invite him in, you’re to talk with respect.”
“Always. The request, please?”
“Mambo Kiwi says you’re to chant ‘Antiban Legba, please open the gate for me’ over and over while handling the offerings.
She says this would work better at a crossroads but inviting Papa Legba with sincerity and respect will help.
And to know that many times he only shows when he is truly needed and when the offerings are made with sincerity. ” His voice was thick with unease.
“Got it. I sincerely wish to aid these trapped souls in their search for peace.” I could not be more sincere than I was right now.
Phil cleared his throat. The spirits in the room began to grow nervously excited. The rider was harder to read. Not quite full phantom, not quite resurrected human. His presence was felt. I prayed I was doing the right thing by freeing him.
I had to be sure of myself now—no wavering, no nerves. This was important, and I had to be self-confident. Assured. Sincere. Respectful.
“Antiban Legba, please open the gate for me.” I arranged the gifts for the mighty Loa in what I hoped was an appealing display.
I’ve decorated the store windows, and some people complimented me on them.
I began chanting the invitation over and over.
The other ghosts fell into incanting as well, even little Timothy and Flapper Franny.
I cast a glance at Phil as he scrubbed at the circle, his sight on the floor as he rubbed like a madman.
Turpentine fumes wafted by, caught on the cold winds that blew through the sanitarium.
A few balloons, flat now, skittered across the tiles, catching here and there.
Thankfully, we had some fresh air, or we’d probably be in trouble.
Sniffing turpentine was not on my to-do list. My brain had enough wonky stuff taking place inside it already.
“Wherever you are be cool,” I heard Phil say. I looked over to see my boyfriend leaping to his feet, soggy blue rag tossed aside in favor of his camcorder, to dance away from the rider now striding through the small break in salt and haint paint. “Do not touch my dreams, dude!”