Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
The cold hit Slate before he saw the spirits.
It was sharper and deeper than the temperature in town.
“Well, that’s not normal.” Dash’s breath misted when he spoke.
Slate pulled his jacket tighter. It didn’t help. “At least we know we’re in the right place.”
They stood at the edge of the woods. The sounds of the festival—laughter, music, and children playing—drifted from the Commons. Oriskany Falls enjoyed its Halloween celebration, oblivious to what waited in the shadows ahead.
Thomas materialized on Slate’s left. For the past few weeks, he’d seemed lighter and happier. Didn’t take a PhD to know why. Standing beside Slate, however, the old, serious Thomas had returned. Not a good sign.
“They’re still here,” Thomas whispered, pointing toward the tree line. “They’re watching us.”
“I see them.” Dash pointed toward an ancient oak. “And they see us.”
Two figures stood on either side of the tree. The taller one wore a vest and high-collared shirt. Slate had gotten good at recognizing when a ghost died by their clothes. This one was from the 1920s. His companion had on work clothes from the same era, rougher fabric, sleeves rolled to the elbows.
“Looks like they’re expecting us,” Dash muttered.
Before Slate could respond, the shorter spirit took a few steps forward. “Evening.” His voice carried easily across the distance.
He didn’t sound like the spirit that scared Mrs. Schemanski. He’d have written off her reaction, except Thomas and Cain were on alert. “Good evening to you, too,” Slate said. “What brings you to Oriskany Falls?”
“Interesting,” the taller one said. “Two ghosts and four mediums. Quite the welcome party, wouldn’t you say, Wilbur?”
There was an edge to the voice that turned what tried to sound pleasant into smarmy—“I want to punch you in the face,”—arrogance.
“I thought they said the place was friendly,” Wilbur answered in the same tone.
“Interesting,” Dash said, imitating the taller ghost. “You welcomed them to town, and they respond with fake manners and stupid comments.”
Dash’s snarky comeback wouldn’t win them friends. Judging by the expressions on the spirits’ faces, he wouldn’t be besties with these two. “Dash might have been a bit blunt, but the sentiment is accurate. We came to ask why you’re here.”
“We’re here for the party.” Wilbur’s smile didn’t match his tone. “The invitation said everyone was welcome to the biggest spectral Halloween party ever.”
“Then why are you hiding in the woods?” Clifford said. “The invited guests are preparing the ballroom for the party.”
“We’re a bit late,” the taller said. “We asked someone for directions, and she ran off without answering our question.”
These two had an answer for everything. Slate believed they’d come for the party, but he was certain they didn’t plan on attending the ball. “She mentioned you’d arrived but left out the part about asking for directions.”
“Funny,” Wilbur said. “It was the first thing Theodore asked after introducing himself.”
The pair took a step closer, and the chill in the air deepened. When his great-grandmother was upset, the temperature dropped, but this was different. Slate felt the change in his lungs—like the air lacked something essential.
“The party’s at Blackwood Manor.” Dash pointed over his shoulder, then stuffed his hands back in his hoodie pockets. “Would you like an escort?”
“Curious,” Theodore said. “Most people don’t offer to help. They run away.”
People clearly included ghosts. Slate noticed that Thomas and Cain hadn’t spoken, and they kept their attention on the newcomers. “Well, we didn’t run,” Slate said. “So why are you really here?”
“As we said, we’re here for the party.” Wilbur stepped closer, and the wave of cold pressed against Slate’s skin. “Sounded like fun. Spirits deserve fun too, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Gary’s guests don’t make people feel like this,” Dash said flatly.
“Like what?” Theodore’s smile widened. “Cold? Tired? A little… drained?”
Slate’s skin crawled at the way he said ‘drained.’
“Enough!” Morten’s hand moved as he and Clifford stepped forward. “Let’s cut to the chase. You’re not welcome in Oriskany Falls.”
Wilbur and Theodore laughed, clearly amused by the ultimatum.
“Relax.” The shorter one held up his hands and stepped back. “We’re here to look around, not cause trouble.”
“Exactly,” Theodore added. “The invitation said Oriskany Falls was a safe place for all spirits. We wanted to see for ourselves.”
“Well, you’ve seen it,” Clifford said. His hands moved until they matched Morten’s. “Now you can leave.”
Theodore’s smirk faded, and Wilbur frowned. Slate expected them to protest, but Theodore nodded his head and backed up a step. “We’ll leave,” he said. “For now.”
“We’ll be back in time for the party,” Wilbur added. “We don’t want to miss the celebration.”
They vanished, and with them the oppressive cold lifted. Slate breathed in, and the air didn’t feel as heavy.
“What the hell was that?” Dash asked.
“Dark spirits,” Morten said softly. “And they’re not here for Gary’s party.”
“And then they left,” Slate said.
It had taken a few minutes to bring those not there up to speed. At first he questioned why he needed to explain things to non-mediums, but after a few questions from his mother and Millicent, Slate realized they probably knew more about ghosts than he and Dash.
The room went silent. Of course it did. The hard part was deciding what to do next. Everyone wanted someone else to go first.
“I know I’m new here,” Meredith said. “And maybe I don’t need to know, but what’s a dark spirit?”
This was precisely why he didn’t want to ‘gather everyone in the parlor to discuss the issue.’ If it hadn’t been his father who said it, he’d have pushed back. Faced with this question, maybe he should have pushed harder.
“Spirits that feed on negative energy, dear.” Morten turned from the window.
“These ghosts create fear and terror and then drain the emotions from the people involved. It’s harmful to the person affected.
They get depressed, can’t sleep, turn overly anxious, all the things you’d expect from someone who is being haunted.
As you can imagine, no community wants them around because they sow discord wherever they settle. ”
“Like the Amityville Horror, only real,” Marjorie said. “The father, George, was a wannabe medium who studied paranormal activity, then faked the encounters for some purpose only he knew. The symptoms he claimed his family suffered, however, would have occurred if it had been real.”
While his mother spoke, Slate watched Gary float back and forth in a corner. His cheerful, upbeat persona had been missing since Mrs. Schemanski had brought them the news. A few seconds after his mother finished, Gary floated into the center of the room.
“I brought them here,” he said, not looking anyone in the eye. “They weren’t supposed to show up. When I said all are welcome, I meant all good spirits. I didn’t think dark spirits would want to come.”
Gary’s extreme reaction to Theodore and Wilbur’s arrival confused Slate. Certainly, he knew dark spirits existed, but he assumed other ghosts were immune to their powers. “Can they hurt other ghosts?”
“Yes and no,” Thomas said. He’d been quiet since they’d met Theodore and Wilbur.
“Just like people can bully one another, so too can ghosts. Most of us learn to keep them away, but some are too timid. Their fear feeds beings like Theodore and Wilbur just as well as humans. If it gets bad enough, it can cause the tormented spirit to go mad, and then a medium needs to come banish that soul.”
The way his friend spoke, he’d clearly encountered these bullies before.
“What the dude-man says,” Gary said, pointing at Thomas. “I had a friend who got harassed by some crazy old ghost. The nasty spirit sent my friend to scare people so the dude could feed. Drove my friend insane. I didn’t mean to bring two of them to the party. They’ll terrorize my friends.”
“It’s not your fault, Gary,” Cain said immediately. Moving to stand behind Gary’s chair, he placed one hand on the back of it. “Those things come and go no matter what we do.”
“Exactly,” Clifford said. “Dark spirits go wherever they like. I imagine a party full of ghosts is a tempting target. They could send them into the crowded festival. Imagine the energy that would create?”
If his father meant to allay Gary’s guilt, the ghost didn’t look convinced. “Which means it is my fault.”
Slate agreed in the broad sense it was Gary’s fault—he got all the ghosts to show up—but that was overly simplistic.
“Don’t beat yourself up over this,” Slate said.
“They would’ve gone somewhere. You, however, brought them to a town that has four mediums trained to banish dark souls.
If you think about it, you did the world a public service. ”
Dash stiffened in the seat beside Slate. When Slate looked over, he kept his gaze on the floor.
“What makes a spirit turn dark?” Oliver glanced at Thomas, but when he didn’t answer, Oliver turned to Morten.
“For most ghosts, nothing,” Morten said.
“Who they are in death reflects who they were when alive. In a few cases, the manner of death warps their personalities into something dark. Those souls, however, are easier to spot. They are angry spirits who focus on a singular person or place. The two we encountered in the woods appear to be the former. They remain on this plane because they fear crossing over to a place of peace and joy.”
“They stay because they’ve learned to feed on misery, and they like it,” Clifford said. “There’s only one way to deal with them—banish them.”
Slate had never heard his father so strident about dealing with spirits. Clifford hadn’t displayed this level of animosity when they discussed how to handle Gary. Clearly, his father drew the line with dark spirits.