Haunted

by Tredick Foster

  I tilt my head, “How’d you know I’d take the job?” She rolls her eyes, “Oh, c’mon. You’re only good at two things. This and eating p-” She cuts herself off, knowing it’s not the appropriate moment. I turn away from her, looking around as my blood starts to boil. I had a feeling I was being played, but not to this degree.

  “So what did you take, Fi?” I come out and ask. She takes a deep breath, looking away before she says anything “I-” I interrupt her before she can think of one of her bullshit lines and remind her, “Don’t, ok? I saw the car in the parking lot when we were leaving.” She sighs again, looking at me in defiance. “I’ve been with him for a fucking decade, Rick. I played his concubine and blood bag for his little suckers, but he never gave me what he promised.”

  She’s standing up straight, her hand out of her pocket as she taps her chest. “I deserve what he had. I earned it!” I tilt my head, “Yeah? What did you earn?” She looks at me and scolds me, “Don’t be stupid, Rick. Eternal youth! His spell, his ritual!” I close my eyes, tilting my head back. I slide my hands in my pockets as she keeps going.

  “After you left, I took that car.” She starts. “That wasn’t easy, since you up and left that demon inside it.” I sigh while extrapolating, “If anyone can get a demon car to work for her, it’s Fiona freaking Hawkins.” She squares her shoulders, like I’d given her validation. “Took long enough too. I ended up having to get Wyatt to tow it from the goddamn store half an hour ago. By the time I got to the club, you and Kyle were about wrapped up with your little fun.”

  In a quick decision of regret, I take my hands out of my pockets and take her by the arms. “That’s enough, Fi.” I say, but she keeps on, clearly too pissed to listen. “I saw you making a drink while Kyle ripped those suckers to pieces like some wild animal. That’s when I heard him.” I shake her a little, “Fiona, stop!” I bark, but she doesn’t listen to me.

  “I ran to the library. I pulled out the pages I needed and I ran!” I shake her harder, “Please stop!” She grabs my face and looks me in the eyes. She wants to say something, but I don’t give her the chance. I pull her close to me and kiss her. She holds onto me tight, her tongue pushing past my lips and sliding around my tongue. I hold her as tight as I can for as long as I’m allowed.

  We’re suddenly pulled apart; Fiona being ripped out of my grasp by Deputy Campbell while Brendan holds onto me. Their SUV is pulled up in front of the old store front. Fiona struggles hard in Campbell’s hands as she yells, “Get off me! Get off!” Campbell is telling her “Stop resisting! You’re under arrest!” I can’t help but reach out to her, being held in place by Brendan, “Fiona, stop!”

  Campbell manages to get her into handcuffs as she starts reading Fiona her rights. “You’re under arrest for theft and possession of dark magic paraphernalia. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  Campbell continues as she shoves Fiona into the back seat of the SUV. “You coming with?” Campbell asks Brendan, but he shakes his head. “Book her in Woodcrest without me.” Sarah nods, going around the SUV. I try to make my way towards the car, but Brendan has too tight a hold on me. Fiona is looking to me, her eyes begging for help. This time, the shiny gloss over them isn’t just for show.

  Brendan and I watch as they drive off down the street. The scene is silent again; maybe more so than before. I sigh heavily while Brendan takes his hand off my arm. We stand in silence for a little while.

  I slide my hand under my shirt, pulling out the wire I had taped to my chest. I wrap it up and hand it to him. I can’t even look at him. Taking it, he can see the amount of guilt I have on my face alone. I’m left thinking about how things might’ve worked out between us had I not said anything. Maybe I could’ve talked her out of murdering people.

  Brendan pats me on the shoulder, “I know what she means to you.” I pull away, turning around. I don’t say a word as I start back down the sidewalk, heading home. That’s when he says, “Forget it, Rick.” I turned around, my eyes reflecting curiosity. Asking him with my gaze how exactly I can just forget about it? His only response is one that is all too true to me and everyone else. “It’s Potton.”

  I sigh, shaking my head while still silent. I continue down the empty, orange lit sidewalk in silence. My hands slide into my pocket, feeling the bonus check Lena gave me. I’ll have to remember to deposit it in the morning.

  Chapter 17

  My head hurt. My muscles ache. My stomach is swelled. I couldn’t sleep like I needed. I must’ve rolled around in the bathtub every half hour last night. The blankets were a mess all around me. I’d been lying on my right side for a while. I could feel the cold fiberglass on my elbow. All I’m wearing is a pair of boxers and that’s it.

  The bathroom light was off, but the door was cracked. The sun leaked in, like it were a bright and cheerful mother peeking in on her… well, her hungover, adult son after a night of drinking. I covered my face with a blanket on top of me and sighed heavily, trying to go back to sleep for the billionth time.

  I dreamt of Lilith. I dreamt I fucked her, lying down in the back seat of the car. I dreamt we fought and argued. About what, I’ll never remember. Even under the covers, I could smell her saliva on my neck.

  I tried not to think of it, but it kept me from falling back asleep. I groaned again, trying to close my eyes and sleep again. I was met with a lump in my throat that had a different idea. I quickly sat up, reached over to the toilet to flip the lid up. I grabbed the side of the tub and stuck my head in the bowl, throwing up.

  I slapped the cold porcelain tank a few times before finding the handle and flushing. I sit back in the tub, looking up at the shower head. Sweat and tears roll down my face as I catch my breath. My sense of time fades in and out as my mind goes blank.

  I can’t fall asleep like this; head leaning against the wall with my pillow at my lower back. All I can do is focus on breathing. My eyes half open, the shaded room seems much darker. The feeling of regret grows in my stomach. I shouldn’t have done what I did last night. I shouldn’t have drank like that. I shouldn’t have done what I did to cause me to drink like I did.

  All I want in life at this very moment is to stay just like this. I want to stay in the bathtub, frozen in space by my own fears of fucking the world up even more. However, the phone pierces the still air with ringing. More goddamn ringing. I close my eyes, narrowing my brow as I whine to myself “Just let die, goddamnit…”

  My body completely ignores my mind, begging for us to ignore the fucking thing. Instead, I climb out and stumble towards the door to fling it open. The sunlight blinds me. With quick and desperate flails of my hands, I stammer forward and grab my phone off my desk. The charger pops out and pulls back towards the wall.

  “Yeah.” I answer, trying to sound as neutral as possible. “You awake?” The voice on the other end asks. It’s Wyatt. I wipe the tears off my face and keep up the charade. “Hold on, lemme check… Uh, yep! Yeah, I’m awake!”

  He chuckles before getting down to business. “So I just got done checking out the car.” I nod, heading towards the windows to open them. I remember Fi saying she had Wyatt tow it to his place. “Cool, what’d you find?” I ask. It takes considerable effort for me to pull the windows up; no doubt the wood swollen from moisture and age. “Well, that’s the interesting part. At least it is for me.”

  I finally get the second window open and the breeze drifts in. The air flow is welcome on my bare stomach. I’m tempted to drop my boxers altogether and air it all out. I tell Wyatt “Lay it all on the table, man. What’d you find?”

  I hear him groan, no doubt situating his head out as he goes to sit down. “I combed over the whole fucker, front to back. The oil is good, I topped off the transmission fluid. Hell, even the wipers are in good shape and they look like factory stock.” I chuckle with a smirk, clearly all the energy I had. “Right, makes sense. When does it start not to?” I ask.

  “It sta
rts not making sense when I went to check the plugs.” Wyatt starts, “They’re good too, by the way. It’s the headers that don’t look right.” I lean on the window sill, resting my head on the painted wood with one arm lying against the screen. “Not right how?” I ask, which he starts to explain.

  “They’ve got all kinds of weird shit etched into them. Not like wear and tear scratches, but carved in. Like some kinda old language or some shit.” I nod a little bit, trying to find the energy to stay on my feet. “Yeah, with patterns and shapes too, right?” I extrapolate. “By the way,” Wyatt tacks on, “I found the original owner’s name. Had to dig through DMV records on the dark web.” I perk up a little bit, looking out the window and into the sunny day. “A name?”

  “Yeah,” He chuckles a bit, “maybe you can look him up. I couldn’t find anything on him. Name’s Jason Locke. L-O-” I interrupt him, “Lock with an E on the end.” Wyatt immediately says, “So you’ve heard of him, huh?” I stand up straight, looking over to the utility closet. “Wyatt, let me call you back.” He just says “Ok, sure. You gotta call me back though, tell me what you find, ok” I mumble and hang the phone, dropping it back on my desk.

  I fling the folding closet doors open and look over the two file boxes sitting side by side. I pull out one of them, flinging the top off. Inside lays an old English-model flintlock pistol. However, it’s been heavily modified.

  The top breaks at the base of the barrel, folding in half to accept one of the 12 gauge rounds that are freely rolling around inside the box. The barrel of the gun has two sets of rings made up of cuneiform-like writing etched into the metal itself. Burned into the wood under the barrel is the name Jason Locke.

  The rounds have a strange make as well. Starting with the shell itself being all metal, seamlessly covering up the business end. A spent shell sits inside, rolling freely among the other six rounds with the head blown outward. The unused shells are distinctly marked with numbers 2 through 7 on the heads.

  Three loud and hard knock causes me to jump a little. “What?” I call out, instinctively. I wasn’t even sure if it was the front door or not until I had a second to think. My call apparently warrants the response of another three hard knocks followed by “Open the door, fucker!” Kyle called out. I quickly got up and headed to the front door. I honestly didn’t care that I was only in my boxers, I was too fucking hot.

  I unlocked and opened the door. There stood Kyle with a big box in his arms with McSling’s printed on the side. “What the fuck?” I asked as he walked right in. Heading to the kitchen, he starts chuckling and explains, “Remember I got shit canned yesterday? Like, right after we did the Vlad thing.”

  I look to him brow raised and slowly nodding, “Oh yeah. Shit, I’m sorry, man.” I close the door and he punches the side of the box, ripping the packing tape off the top. I never forgot how to open boxes like that; I learned it from McSling’s when I worked there.

  “Well,” He continues, “they fucked me on my paycheck too. Said a drawer came up $100 short. So!” He flicks open the flaps of the box, tearing the plastic open and exposing it packed full box of beef patties. I can’t help but laugh, covering my mouth to at least acknowledge how wrong it is. “I’m getting my $100, god dammit!” He exclaims.

  Kyle opens up my freezer and looks inside. He sees it full of booze and an empty ice bucket. Without saying anything, he starts grabbing the frozen patties by small stacks and starts putting them inside the bucket. “Uh, dude?” I ask, without following up. He just looks at me, sympathetically. “What?” He asks, “I still owe you for the nightclub thing.”

  I chuckled a little and shake my head. “That’s not how getting paid for a job works, but alright.” He laughs as he fills my ice bucket with more stacks of patties inside and slams my freezer shut.

  “By the way,” Kyle asks, picking the box up, “I thought Fiona stole the Coronet.” I nod as he heads for the door. “Yeah,” I explain, “it’s at Wyatt’s. He just called to tell me what he found while looking it over.” I open the door for him as he chuckles, “Well, either he brought it back or it followed your ass home.”

  Kyle trailed off as he headed outside. My line of sight was lead from him to the car in the parking spot. There sat the Coronet, shining in the sun with a clean white and marlboro red paint job. He looked up at me with a smile on his face. I folded my arms with a smirk, “Well looky there.” He chuckled with a nod, “Fuckin’ nice, man!”

  I lean in the doorway, shaking my head as I ask the car “What the hell am I supposed to do with you, now?” Walking down the parking lot, Kyle calls out “I think you’re supposed to drive it!” I take a beat, looking the car over. Kyle calls out again, “After you get dressed!” I look down, remembering I’m only in my boxers and I jump back into the house, “Goddamnit!”

  Chapter 18

  I threw some clothes on and headed out to the car, barefoot. Simply a clean blue t-shirt and jeans. The asphalt was ice cold since this side of the apartment casts a good shadow. The Coronet was just sitting there; white and red paint job contradicting it’s look from the other night.

  The keys to it were hanging out of the ignition; the trunk key still moving slightly as it reflected some ambient light. This time the reflection was annoying, rather than enticing. The driver’s side window was open, so I leaned in with my arms propping myself up.

  I looked around the white and red leather interior, giving a heavy sigh. I mumbled to myself, “How the fuck am I gonna afford you?” I stood back up, walking around the back to see that there wasn’t any license plate. I shook my head, sighing again.

  I get in the car, slamming the door shut with my mind overclocking itself, thinking of solutions. Wyatt and I could probably get some license plates somewhere and slap them onto this thing. I might be able to catch a break with Brendan and Campbell, but I’d still have to deal with the staties. Wyatt and I could hack into the DMV and register it, then bypass the personal property tax that Virginia makes you pay… but that might be too much work.

  My hands slide up both sides of the white steering wheel, cold and seemingly empty. A stark contrast from what I’d felt that night. The leather bench seat seems cold and uninviting. I don’t even like the color; white with a red top? This thing is gonna drain me dry in gas alone. What the fuck am I supposed to do with it?

  I convince myself that I should at least give this a try. I take hold of the key and turn it, the engine roaring to life in no-time at all. I look around once more and realize the stick shift is gone. My brow narrows as I look around, confused. Is this even the same fucking car? That night, there was a stick shift in here; my hand is still sore from rolling around the head of it. Rather, it’s sore from Lilith rolling my hand around it. Even the clutch pedal is gone!

  I sit back up with a smirk, taking hold of the wheel again. I might not be able to pay for this thing, but at least I can actually drive the damned thing! I look around and find the shifter, pulling it down into reverse. A few times around the building shouldn’t hurt anyone.

  I throw my arm around the back of the bench seat and turn my head to look back. Suddenly, there’s Lilith. Her hair done up and dressed in a black floral sundress. I jerk my arm back a little in surprise, exclaiming “Fucking hell!” She can’t help by giggle with a wink, “Hey, baby.”

  “So, what? Are you my car now?” I ask her. She ends up sighing a little and shaking her head, “You know, you made me mad the other night. After all, you had help.” I roll my eyes, groaning “Oh my god, for the last time. I don’t know who she is or where she came from!”

  She holds her hand up, waving me down a smirk on her face “I know, I know. I got over that after a while. After your friend went through me with a fine toothed comb, I came to you. Either way, you aced the test and you earned me.” I raise an eyebrow, “I’m sorry, earned you?”

  Lilith points to the glove box and I look over at it. However, when I look back to ask what she means, she’s gone. I look back at the glove box again and I
immediately get it. This cryptic bullshit ghosts, demons and the occult have going on got old with me almost a decade ago. However, I’ve learned to let it roll off my back and go with the flow.

  I have to scoot over on the bench seat in order to reach the glove box. When I pop it open, the only thing inside is a folded piece of paper, which I unfold and begin to read.

  To Whom it may concern,

  I would like to extend my congratulations to you on having earned this 1956 Dodge Coronet Coupe. By now, you no doubt have several questions. I suggest you not look a gift horse in the mouth.

  The woman in which you are no doubt seeing is not a hallucination, but a demon I gave a better purpose than feeding on the souls of men. Good luck in dealing with her, her presence is necessary for the various functions of this car. Without her, the work I did will become null and void.

  Firstly, just twirl the keys on your finger and this will summon her no matter where you are. Second, I’ve replaced the need for gas. You need only feed Lilith souls or your own life force. I’m sure she’s already informed you of the latter. Lastly, should you ever find the need, the car itself has the added benefit of having the ability to travel beyond the veil.

  Sincerely,

  Jason Edmond Locke

  Scientist and Occultist

  I folded the letter back up and set it on the seat. I looked around the car, Lilith nowhere to be seen. So, I just asked out loud “Why didn’t you put Fiona through the same kinda hell you put me through?” Her voice comes over the radio, “I did, at first. Then I smelled your leftovers in her.” I roll my eyes, “Don’t be gross, please.”