Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Slate’s hand cramped and he set down the chalk to flex his fingers.
Even with help from his father and Morten, it had taken longer than Slate expected.
As a kid, Slate played down here, but barely paid attention to the white marks on the stone he’d occasionally seen.
It explained why his father insisted they use the basement for this summoning.
Dash worked with his grandfather, changing the symbols to match the ones in the old ERP book. Once each cardinal point was correct, Dash placed a candle just outside the lines.
His father stepped through the last open space, set the paper in the center, and placed a small weight to keep it in place. When Clifford was outside the circle, Dash connected the lines.
“That should do it,” Morten said, helping Dash to his feet. “The binding will hold as long as the circle remains intact.”
“Can Gary disrupt the lines from inside?” Dash asked, wiping chalk dust from his hands.
“No.” Morten handed his grandson a box of matches. “No spirit can. Only another medium can break the containment.”
Slate hadn’t felt the presence of any ghosts, but he suspected they were steering clear of the area.
The circle spanned eight feet. Slate had wanted to make it smaller, but Morten rejected that idea.
Evidently, it should ideally be larger, and this was the minimum size for such a summoning.
Scanning the floor, the remnants of another circle extended well beyond the new lines.
Dash came over, still wiping white powder from his hands. There was a spot on his cheek, and Slate instinctively brushed it off.
“Thanks,” Dash said. He lacked his usual cheerful demeanor. Of course, this was a somber moment, so his mood matched the circumstances. “What if he refuses the ballroom idea?”
They’d avoided this conversation ever since Meredith suggested the idea. Slate still didn’t want to discuss it, but they needed a contingency plan. “We give him time to think it over.”
“Not to be negative, but won’t keeping him bound while we ‘give him time to think it over’ only make him angrier?” Dash asked. “I think if he doesn’t agree, we need to be prepared to move on, not give him time to reflect on all the ways we wronged him.”
Slate knew that binding Gary long term wasn’t a viable option. If he got free, the amount of bedlam an angry ghost could cause wasn’t worth the risk. Banishment was the only option if Gary wouldn’t listen to reason.
“One step at a time,” Morten said. “Let’s see if he’ll listen to reason first. He’s not an evil spirit, just a bit light on responsibility.”
Morten’s response earned him a grateful smile from Slate.
It also put the brakes on the ‘would they really banish Gary’ discussion.
The struggle for Slate was—he sympathized with Gary.
His great-grandmother would’ve too. It was hard to impose the nuclear punishment on a spirit who died just before he got to live the life he wanted.
Slate admired Gary for never ‘living’ that life after he died.
The absolute last thing he wanted, was to banish Gary, because as far as anyone knew, banishment was not a pleasant option.
Clifford squeezed Slate’s shoulder and spun him around so they could speak face to face. “The two of you have got this. Your mother and I will be upstairs with Morten and Millicent if you need us.”
Morten and Clifford’s footsteps echoed off the stone walls as they disappeared up the stairs. The basement door closing made the silence heavier. Dash’s fingers slipped between his, and the mood lightened. Just a little.
“Lay it out for him.” Dash kissed Slate’s cheek. “You are utterly charming when you try. I should know. I was content to avoid commitment, but you charmed the fear out of me.”
It wasn’t an exact retelling of history, but it was sweet that Dash remembered things that way. “As inspirational pep talks go, I’ll give it a six, but most of that is because it came from your heart.”
“Whatever it takes.” Dash snuck in another kiss before walking around the circle.
A binding spell was easier than creating the portal, but emotionally it was harder for Slate.
“Ready?” Slate asked.
Dash nodded.
Slate took a breath and centered himself. He was there to support Dash in creating the energy to summon Gary. Objectively, Dash had the harder job. All Slate had to do was talk to Gary.
Right. Because convincing a stoner-bro ghost that just having fun was somehow a danger to hundreds of unknown spirits—most of whom hadn’t died yet.
He closed his eyes and reached for the connection between the living world and the realm beyond. After years of practice, he tapped into it quickly. A second later, he linked with Dash. Touching Dash’s power was like merging their souls.
The walls Dash had put up to protect himself were gone, and what Slate saw was the kind man who’d been willing to die to protect him. Slate was determined not to let the near sacrifice be destroyed.
He heard Dash recite the words, but didn’t pay attention.
Power thrummed through the floorboards and up through his legs as the circle activated.
The candles flickered despite the still air, their flames bending toward the center.
Finally, the chalk lines glowed with a faint blue light that had nothing to do with the basement’s overhead bulbs.
Gradually, the temperature dropped. Across the circle, Dash’s breath misted in front of his face as he finished the summoning.
Spectral energy coalesced above the paper, swirling like smoke caught in a whirlwind. It was beautiful in its own way, all silver and blue light twisting and condensing. Slate kept his focus on keeping the energy between him and Dash stable. They didn’t want to lose this when they were so close.
The shape elongated and shifted. Soon Slate could make out arms, legs, a torso, and a head. Then the features resolved out of the light until Gary Torrente floated in the center of the circle.
“Whoa!” Gary’s form flickered as he looked around, disoriented. His expression was loose and wondering, like someone who’d just woken from a vivid dream. “That was trippy, man. Like that first time I got high. Some dude handed me a fat doobie and—”
He drifted toward the circle’s edge, still talking, still oblivious. Then he hit the barrier. Gary bounced back, his form rippling like disturbed water. He stared at the invisible wall, then at the chalk circle beneath him, then at Slate and Dash.
His expression shifted from confusion to understanding to anger in the span of two seconds.
“What the hell, man?” Gary’s voice had lost all its casual warmth. “I thought we were cool!”
Slate forced himself to hold Gary’s gaze. “We are, but—”
“No, seriously, what is this?” Gary gestured at the circle beneath him, his movements sharp and agitated. His spectral form brightened, casting harsh shadows on the basement walls. “You trap me like some kind of criminal? I haven’t hurt anybody!”
The hippie persona was missing, and Slate imagined this was how Gary had been when he worked at the bank.
“We’re not trying to punish you,” Slate said.
His voice was steady, but even he heard the tension underneath.
“But you’re not listening, and you’re jeopardizing something very important with this party. ”
“It’s a party, man.” Gary spun, looking at Dash. “How is having a good time dangerous?”
“We’ve explained this several times,” Dash said. “Every conversation ends with you drifting off to invite more spirits or plan a new demonstration. Your party threatens the portal souls can use to cross over.”
“That’s your solution?” Gary asked. His appearance sputtered, and Slate glimpsed a bloody, mangled face and body. “Lock up the guy trying to bring joy to other dead souls?”
This was more than just a happy-go-lucky stoner who couldn’t comprehend complex explanations.
The refusal to listen seemed deliberate to Slate.
“That’s exactly the problem, Gary. You care only about your party.
We’ve told you several times how important the portal is, and this party is going to draw unwanted attention to the town.
Spirits won’t come because they’re afraid of ghost hunters and mediums who want to banish innocent souls just trying to find peace.
“But we told you all that—several times—and you still act like this is all about the fun. We’re trying to get you to act responsibly.”
“So you went straight to imprisonment.” Gary crossed his arms, his form still flickering. “Real peaceful of you. Real groovy.”
“Cut the act, dude,” Dash said in an icy voice. “You know exactly what we’re talking about, but you don’t care. You think if you act like some hippie bro, we’ll look the other way. Guess again. This is too important to risk just so one ghost can hold a groovy party.”
Dash was slow to anger, but he didn’t hold back when he got mad.
He’d also caught that the dude-man persona was an act.
“Do you know what happens when too many people notice genuine paranormal activity?” Slate asked.
Gary swung around to face him. “What if someone with a camera catches undeniable proof that ghosts are real?”
“People would finally understand we’re all connected, man.” Gary’s affect was noticeably less hippie. “That death isn’t the end. They—”
“No,” Dash’s voice cut through Gary’s rambling like a knife.
“It means the government gets involved. Special agents will descend on Oriskany Falls. That will attract other mediums who think ghosts shouldn’t exist. They will scare away the spirits who want to use the portal to cross over peacefully. That’s what your party will do.”
“That’s pretty paranoid, dude.” Despite his objection, Gary’s demeanor dulled a bit more.
Dash might have embellished a bit, but the result would be the same.
“No, it’s reality,” Slate said. “Why do you think my great-grandmother kept you away? My family handled the occasional medium who came to Oriskany Falls to rid the world of ghosts, but if you make us go viral, we won’t be able to handle the number who will descend on us. ”
“Viral?” Gary sounded confused. “We’re not carrying any viruses.”
“Viral is the modern equivalent of the front page,” Dash explained. “If you put us on the front page of the paper, it will cause big problems.”
“Man,” Gary’s form flickered, but the anger bled out of his posture. “I’ve waited fifty years to party here on Halloween. Now that your great-granny is gone, you’re telling me I still can’t because it will hurt a bunch of spirits. That’s heavy, dudes.”
They’d reached a tipping point, and Slate needed to nudge Gary a little further. No pressure at all. “We know, but what if you could still party here, and not cause a problem?”
“You just said the party was the problem.” Gary folded his arms and appeared to backtrack from a moment before. “You dudes are confusing me.”
“The party isn’t a problem,” Dash said. “The way you and your friends act is the problem. There are too many of you, and you’re here for an extended period of time. With that much spectral energy in this small town, things happen that people can’t explain.”
“We’re worried that you’ll attract too much attention,” Slate said. “This isn’t the world you knew. People carry phones that have cameras, and they can snap a picture and make it available for the entire world to see. That’s what we want to avoid.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” Gary drifted in a slow circle, his movements more subdued. “I tell everyone the party’s canceled and they need to go home?”
Meredith predicted they’d get an opening, and when it happened, they’d have to sell the deal. “No,” Slate said. “We have a different idea.”
Gary watched Slate with a wary expression. He hadn’t jumped to accept the offer, but he hadn’t pulled away either. “Which is?”
Slate exhaled to steady himself. “Blackwood Manor has a ballroom. It hasn’t been used on Halloween for decades.
It’s large enough for a hundred ghosts, maybe more if you don’t mind being a little crowded.
We’ll ward the house so that what happens inside stays inside. You can decorate it the way you want.”
“A private venue?” Gary tilted his head.
Slate held in a grin. They got him. “Yes. In exchange, we need you to keep the other ghosts in line. No more floating objects, odd sounds, or partially materializing around the living.”
“How do I do that?” Gary asked. “I’m not the ghost police.”
“Bribe them.” Dash sounded like his sister when they’d asked the same question.
“Play up how amazing this will be, and no one wants to miss it. Then spread the word—this is invite-only. Anyone who acts up or breaks the rules not only doesn’t get a ticket, but they’ll be run out of town by those who want to party.
If you sell it right, everyone will beg for a ticket. ”
“And they’ll behave to make sure I let them in,” Gary said. After a few seconds, he smiled like he’d hung the moon. “A celebration just for us, in a historic ballroom that we can decorate, will be legendary.”
The way he talked, Gary had already agreed. “Exactly,” Slate said, trying not to sound too eager. “And when the party is over, everyone leaves town.”
“And if everyone has an amazing time, we can do it every year.” Gary got more animated as he spoke. “It’ll be a tradition. An annual ball for ghosts.”
That wasn’t part of the offer. This was supposed to be one and done. Behind Gary, Dash had on his ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ face. When their gazes met, Dash shrugged. “Fine,” Slate said. “Do we have an agreement?”