Chapter 3 #2
The tome was special. It felt important when I held it.
The scent of the old pages—a touch of dust and history—filled my sinuses when I opened it.
I strongly suspected that it came into our family through my ancestor Kee Houng, a famed seer rumored to have the spiritual eye that allowed him to see and speak with ghosts or guǐ as they’re known in China.
My grandfather and I both believed that my ancestor was a follower of Zhong Kui.
How else would this book be in my family’s possession for several centuries?
It held powerful magic in the faded ink.
I could feel it when I touched finger pad to page.
“I’d done some research into the asylum itself,” I added when the two oldsters sat there, lips pressed into paper cuts, wrinkled brows deepened into furrows you could plant potatoes in.
“It’s not a great place, but those old mental hospitals were all pretty horrendous.
This one in Cornwall Cove is no exception.
” My gaze moved from my grandfather to his girlfriend.
“Lots of people were shoved into these places, the dredges of society for the most part, although lots of rich snots with family who suffered from mental illness stuffed their sick relatives into the home for the chronically insane, as they were sometimes known. This one took in all kinds of patients, and then they subjected them to cruel and inhumane treatments. Patients at The Cove, as it was called, were routinely chained to walls, given shock therapy, forced to endure ice baths, pumped full of poisons to cleanse the mind, placed in straightjackets, and given lobotomies. They had tours where the patients were put on display for the wealthy and curious members of the community.”
“Oh, sugar, that place is not a good place for someone with your gifts,” Monique whispered as she reached for my hand, her thin fingers weaving into mine.
“I know, and I’m not looking forward to it.
The records that they found when the asylum closed in the 1950s note that over two hundred deaths took place at The Cove between its opening in the late 1830s and its closure a hundred twenty-some years later.
” I took a deep breath, then slowly let it out, forcing a smile for Grandpa and his lady love.
“Lots of ghosts there, but I’m going to be prepared for that. ”
“Archimedes, can we not talk you out of this?” Grandpa gently asked.
“I need to do a new stream. Classes will be starting at the end of the month, and we need kids to visit the store. Also, if we don’t provide content, the subs will drop and the sponsors will abandon us.
We need to keep making shows for the viewers.
” I could see a shadow of deep concern in his dark brown eyes.
I took his hand with my free one. The three of us now joined in a triangle of interlocked hands between plates with egg yolk and empty teacups.
“I know what to expect. I’m going to try to set up some mental shields to keep the stronger ghosts at bay, to quiet their voices, and Phil and I will be wearing some of the ghost bead bracelets that our family sent over for us. ”
“You will wear them all!” Grandpa announced in his firm “my say is final” voice, which we seldom heard in this house of peace and meditation. Monique bobbed her head.
“I have some tricks as well to give to you. We’ll not let you and Phil tread on such sorrowful grounds without suitable protection from the undead,” Monique added.
I opened my mouth to protest, but the looks they both hit me with snapped my mouth closed.
I had no clue what Monique had in mind, but I could envision Phil and me with plain beaded bracelets blessed by a Buddhist monk from wrist to shoulder trying to do a livestream. Yep, that would be super cool. Not.
“I’ll find the bracelets in the closet before lunch for you to wear.
Now I must go let the dogs out.” I bit my tongue not to follow that up with who, who, who, who, who.
“Listen well, Archimedes. When I said you should use your seeing eye for good, making money from silly computer shows is not what I had in mind. Our ancestors would not be proud,” Grandpa said with a sad shake of his bald head before levering himself up with his cane to toddle off.
I gaped at his bowed back, the sting of his words burning deep.
“He didn’t mean that, honey, he’s just worried. We both are. You were so sick after that last stream.” Monique gave my fingers a squeeze. “He’ll be fine. He’ll go meditate and work out his emotions.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I stared at our joined hands. “What dogs is he talking about?”
“The little ones next door. The Connors have gone south for a week to celebrate New Year’s at Disneyland and needed someone to feed and take care of their dogs. Jaw-Long and I have been tending to them.”
“Oh, let me do that.” I shot to my feet.
“Tell Grandpa I’m doing the dogs, and I’m sorry he feels like I’m an embarrassment, but I’m doing what I can to keep the shop afloat.
What I did last time was good. I helped reunite a mother and child.
Maybe it wasn’t heroic in his eyes, but I think it was important. ”
I left her sitting at the table with a stricken look, which I would apologize for later, but for now, I was hurt.
I gathered a coat, my boots, some white sage and cedar, and headed out.
After a short stop to grab the keys marked CONNOR KEYS from the side table by the front door, I eased down the stairs to the quiet shop.
We were opening late today and closing early, same as for tomorrow, and taking the first day of the new year off.
Wishing Phil were with me instead of off running and then heading to campus for practice, I pushed out into the cold, feeling raw.
A few cars and people moved about, but overall, Main Street was as dead as the two young girls I was about to pay a visit to.
Something that I knew Grandpa saw as well as I did.
Commerce in this tiny town was dying. Everyone shops online nowadays.
We had to do something, anything, to keep food in our mouths and the heat on, even if that something made my honorable ancestors ashamed of me.
As soon as I turned the key in the Connors’ front door, their dogs, two peke-a-poos named Millie and Mollie, started barking.
They snipped at my pant legs as I led them through the narrow townhouse to the back door.
The house was nice and clean, with light oak paneling and shiny hardwood floors.
A total flip from the dark duo who called the attic home.
Everything was tidy in the kitchen, with a bag of kibble and a box of tiny biscuits on the counter beside the fancy bread machine.
“Go be inconsiderate outside,” I told them as I threw the back door open.
They snarled at me before darting out to pee on their tiny little patch of grass.
Our backyard was cracked cobblestone with two battered trash cans and a drain to carry rain and melting snow to the sewers.
After dumping kibble into the two dishes on the kitchen floor and giving the dogs fresh water, I glanced at the ceiling.
The vibes here were off. Usually when I entered, I could sense the twins’ energy.
Not malevolent, not really, but not as cheery as Reggie’s essence either.
Oddly, the house seemed settled, which is unusual for a home with two bratty poltergeists.
“Sorry for thinking you’re brats,” I whispered as I dug into my coat pocket to remove the small bundle of herbs.
With a flick of a lighter, I had the smudge parcel lit.
Then I slowly made my way through the house, ensuring each room on the first and then the second floor got a good dose of smoke.
I likened it to smoking bees. When beekeepers are going to fiddle with their hives, they smoke the bees to calm them.
This was much like that, only with spirits and not honeybees.
At the bottom of the narrow stairs that led to the attic, I paused, drew in a deep breath, and began to climb.
There was no knocking on the walls as I neared the antique door, no crashing in the attic, no wails to scare me as there normally was.
A shiver ran down my spine as I turned the knob with one hand, then stepped into the attic, using the smudge parcel as a torch of sorts.
Which was silly because there were lights up here.
I flipped on the light and gave the area a quick scan.
Boxes, totes, bundles of magazines, old toys, the usual stuff people crammed into an attic.
Green and red totes filled with holiday decorations, some big cutout pumpkins that the Connors set out for Halloween.
A fake tree, an old rocking chair, and a trombone sitting atop a mouse-chewed chaise lounge.
“Hello, girls,” I called, waving the smoky bundle as I padded about, the floorboards creaking as the dogs barked at each other in the back.
Nothing. Very odd. The last time I had come over to give the house a cleansing, they lobbed wooden blocks at my head and tried to push me through the window that looked over the alley to my room.
Sure, they later claimed to Reg that it had been an accident, and they had merely meant to hug me and not shove me, but I wasn’t buying it.
“Miss Angelica? Miss Polly?” I called and got no reply.
“Reggie is worried about you. If you’re all right, please show yourselves so I can tell him you’re fine. ”