Ghoul Trouble

by John Passarella

  Perspiration had appeared on Willow’s furrowed brow, while droplets of sweat that trickled down her face formed tracks in the light coating of plaster dust on her cheek and neck. Still, her gaze remained fixed on the keys. Xander’s own nose itched from the dust, but he resisted scratching it, worried the slight movement would jar Willow out of her self-imposed trance.

  When the keys dropped off the table and struck the floor in a metallic clatter, she let out a sharp gasp. With the break in her concentration, she cast a quick glance at Xander, who gave a smile and nod of encouragement. After a brief respite, just enough time to take a deep breath and try to work the kink out of her neck, Willow resumed her effort.

  Soon the tendons in her outstretched hands quivered like high tension wires and the trembling of her fingers intensified. Inch by inch, the keys scraped along the floor, pulled by the large ring that seemed the sole focus of her concentration. She was pulling the ring. The keys just came along for the ride.

  As her body stretched forward her chain became taut, and the iron collar bit into her neck. Xander thought he could make out a trickle of blood that would probably require a tetanus shot. Just a few feet more and she would have the keys. They would be free and the nightmare would end.

  * * *

  Oz switched off his headlights as soon as the Vyxn van took a right turn onto what appeared to be a private access dirt road. Fortunately, Cordelia was paying attention and likewise extinguished her own headlights. Otherwise, away from the main flow of traffic, it would be too obvious to the ghouls that they were being followed. Even with his headlights off, Oz stayed back a considerable distance. The dirt road was uneven and cratered with nasty potholes, forcing him to slow down. If the Scooby Gang’s luck held, the ghouls would have all their attention on the hazards of the road and not on the dark blue van a hundred yards behind them. In addition to the natural cover of night, Cordelia’s flashy red Cirrus would be shielded behind Oz’s bulkier van.

  Beyond the trees, the road followed the steady incline of a hill, terminating beside an abandoned and probably condemned two-story house with a peaked roof. Ominously dark in silhouette against the skyline of the modest hill, the house was fronted by a field of wild grass interspersed with patches of rampant weeds.

  Something about the house triggered a memory in Oz. “No,” he whispered in sudden realization, involuntarily hitting his brake.

  Giles looked at him. “What?”

  “That’s the Gatton place.”

  “Afraid I’m unfamiliar with—Gatton, you say?”

  “Late eighties,” Oz said. “Old man Gatton hung his wife, two kids in the attic, shot himself.” And Willow’s in there! She has to be in there.

  “Judging by its state of disrepair, I’d say it’s been unoccupied ever since.”

  “Rumor says it’s haunted.”

  “Well—given our location over the Hellmouth—I suppose that’s entirely possible.”

  “We may not find any ghosts,” Angel said from the back. “But it’s home to a pack of ghouls right now.”

  The Vyxn van had parked on the weed-strewn gravel driveway beside the house. Their lights winked off a moment before the doors opened and four wild-haired figures climbed out of the van.

  “Let’s park here,” Giles said. “We’re obscured by the trees and less likely to draw their attention.”

  Oz nodded. A glance in the rearview mirror showed Cordelia’s Cirrus backing up into a three-point turn. She risked a broken axle or worse if she attempted to navigate the dirt road in reverse. She’ll bring Buffy, assuming Buffy has finished with Solitaire by now. And no guarantee of that. “What now?” Oz asked. With every fiber of his being he wanted to charge the house, kick down the door and get Willow out of there. Then again, he had to admit to himself he probably wasn’t thinking rationally at the moment.

  “We surround the house,” Angel said. “Attack from all sides.”

  “We need to approach this situation with some caution,” Giles warned. “Three of us against four bloodthirsty ghouls who possess a supernatural ability to bend us to their will.”

  “Their singing has no effect on me,” Angel pointed out.

  “Interesting, that,” Giles remarked. “I suppose the flesh of the undead has no appeal to ghouls and therefore—”

  “Giles!” Oz interrupted.

  “Oh, yes, sorry. As I was saying, three against four, while I only have the use of one arm and you, Angel, are still recovering from—”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Angel said. “I’m eighty-five—make that ninety percent.”

  “If Oz and I succumb to their . . . spell, that would make the odds four against one,” Giles said. “Possibly six against one if they can turn us against you.”

  “So what are you suggesting?” Oz asked. “We can’t just wait! Not while Willow—and Xander—could be in there.”

  “I’m not suggesting we wait,” Giles said. “Just that we should not charge in unprepared.” Giles reached into one of the pockets of his tweed jacket. It lay draped over the seat of the van, as he’d been unable to slip it on comfortably over the cast on his arm. “That’s why I brought these,” he said as he produced several small packages.

  “Earplugs,” Oz said, reading the label.

  While Ulysses’s men had stuffed wax in their ears to navigate past the sirens, the Scooby Gang would rely on cushioned earplugs. “They may not be completely effective,” Giles explained. “So we must not become careless.”

  “Gotcha,” Oz said. He took a package, ripped it open then rolled the cylindrical plugs between his fingers until they were narrow enough to push into his ear canal. Almost immediately they began to expand. “Talk to me.”

  “Can you hear me?” Giles said in a normal speaking voice.

  “Yes, but you’re muffled,” Oz said. “Even my own voice sounds strange.”

  “That’s natural,” Giles said. “Angel, I suggest you use a pair as well.”

  “But I’m not aff—”

  “They’ve only been trying to control humans,” Giles said. “They may have other . . . pitches or frequencies or whatever to control vampires. Best to be safe.” Angel nodded and took a package from Giles.

  Oz removed his own earplugs temporarily and asked, “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Ideally, Buffy would lead the attack,” Giles replied. To forestall Oz’s interruption, Giles held up a hand. “However, we can’t know how long she’ll be . . . otherwise occupied. So it’s up to us.” He cleared his throat. “If Willow and Xander are in the house, we need to attack decisively, while we have the element of surprise.”

  “I’ll scout the house for entry points,” Angel said.

  “Very good,” Giles said.

  Angel eased open the side door and slipped into the night. Silently, Giles and Oz watched his progress, a low darting black shape in his long duster, flowing through the tall weeds and grass. Now and then they lost sight of him, only to see him reappear as he looped around the far side of the house. Staying low, close to the wall of the Gatton house, he slipped around the back.

  The seconds ticked by.

  * * *

  As she approached the intersection where she needed to turn left to return to the Bronze, Buffy spotted Cordelia’s red sports car racing up the cross street. She knows where the ghouls live! Buffy’s glance returned to the intersection and saw her green turn arrow had already changed from yellow to red with a line of traffic ready to roll from the opposite direction.

  “Sorry, Giles,” she said as she floored the accelerator of his car and swerved hard to the left, a full fifty yards before the intersection. As the Citroën rumbled over the median strip, her head bounced painfully against the roof. She angled in front of the opposing lanes of traffic well ahead of the oncoming cars and a potential head-on collision, but grimaced at the squeal of the car’s dipping undercarriage as it scraped against the wide driveway of the corner gas station. She zipped between a massive display of shrink-wrapped so
da cases and a startled gas station attendant, who dropped his squeegee and dove across the hood of a car he’d been filling with premium.

  Cutting across the corner of the gas station lot, she drove out onto the cross street, headed in the wrong direction until she jumped another median strip with a spray of sparks. As soon as she spotted Cordelia’s red car, just three blocks ahead, she started pounding on the horn and flashing her headlights, a display that should catch even Cordelia’s attention.

  * * *

  Willow strained to reach the key ring as it inched ever closer to her fingertips. Xander was taller and would have had a long enough reach to grab the keys already, except his hands were still chained behind him. It was up to her, completely. The large ring wavered in the air and lurched another inch closer, dragging the long keys behind it She almost moaned with the effort. Her concentration was so focused she was barely aware of Xander urging her on . . . or the reason for his sudden agitation.

  The other voices, coming from outside, never registered.

  But the door to the outer room, to the outside world, creaked and she knew it was almost too late. Her fingers brushed against the ring but were quivering so much she missed on the first grab.

  Someone yelled, “The door’s open!”

  “The keys!”

  Willow gasped as her index and middle finger curled around the large ring. “Got it!” She yanked the key ring—

  —as a foot slammed down on the keys.

  “Not thinking of leaving us, were you?” Lupa asked, tugging the keys from Willow’s trembling hand.

  Xander caught Willow’s pained expression as she scrambled back against the wall. “You did your best, Will.” She nodded but felt dejected nonetheless. Almost isn’t good enough.

  Lupa took in the battered wall, the proliferation of plaster dust. “Certainly have made a mess of the place, haven’t you. Look, I admit we have been less than perfect hosts, but things are just about to get interesting.”

  “Anyone notice if we were followed?” Lupa asked the other ghouls.

  “Thought I saw taillights at the end of the road,” Rave replied.

  Lupa looked to the others, but both shook their heads. They hadn’t noticed anything. “Let’s assume the encore is on, then. Nash, why don’t you make sure everything is ready for our special guest. Including our little Slayer surprise.”

  “Ghoul’s motto, I say. Always be prepared.”

  Nash slipped into the outer room, leaving the door open wide enough for Willow to watch as the ghoul drummer lit and turned up the wick of the oil lamp, filling the outer room with golden light. Next she opened a wooden chest and reached inside for some metal contraption.

  Lupa turned to her lead guitarist. “Rave, let’s begin the Rite of Initiation.”

  Rave nodded, left the room for a few moments, then returned with an ancient metal chalice and a jeweled dagger, in the bronze hilt of which had been carved human bodies twisted in torment. She’d left the door open wide enough to provide some light, but not wide enough for Willow to watch Nash as she assembled the “Slayer surprise” in the outer room. Rave handed Lupa the dagger, then placed the chalice in the center of the floor.

  “Hold his hands,” Lupa said to Carnie and Rave. “We’ll begin.”

  All three ghouls in the room with Willow and Xander transformed into their ghoulish aspects, their true appearances, with mottled green skin, sharp rows of gnarled teeth, nasty claws twitching at the end of powerful arms. Once again, Willow was unnerved by their multiple rows of sharp teeth. She could imagine tendrils of rotting flesh still caught between all those fangs, which would certainly account for their foul breath.

  The two ghouls positioned themselves on either side of Xander and gripped his arms—still locked behind his back—and twisted his hands so his palms faced up. Though he struggled in their grip, Xander was unable to pull free, so he began to kick at Lupa and her ceremonial dagger.

  “Enough of this, Lupa,” Rave said. “Compel him!”

  The leader of the ghouls sighed. “Oh, very well. Though it’s so much sweeter when they put up a little fight.” Lupa stared into Xander’s panic-stricken eyes. As she spoke, her voice was warm and soothing, a blanket wrapped around his fear, an aural drug to lull him into a state of complacency. “Xander, you must stand perfectly still. Nod if you understand.”

  Willow didn’t understand how it worked, but it certainly seemed effective. Xander became still, relaxed even. His eyes became unfocused, staring off into space, as if he were completely unconcerned with what was about to happen to him. Slowly, to Willow’s horror, he nodded.

  “Good,” Lupa said. “Now let’s continue.”

  Carnie and Rave held his palms in position again.

  “Stop it!” Willow shouted, jumping up and grabbing one of Carnie’s arms with her manacled hands.

  Carnie released Xander long enough to drive an elbow into Willow’s stomach, then backhanded her with enough force to drive her against the wall, where she stumbled and fell with a rattle of chains. “It’s impolite to interrupt, little girl,” Carnie said.

  Lupa made two quick slashes across Xander’s palms.

  His eyes abruptly alert, Xander cried out in pain. “I gotta say, that smarts.”

  Carnie and Rave positioned his hands over the chalice Lupa had picked up off of the floor, letting his blood stream into it. Xander pulled against the two ghouls holding him. Again, Lupa commanded, “Stand still.”

  Xander nodded.

  Rave finished collecting blood. She poured it slowly on the floor, forming a circle. After she set aside the chalice, she unlocked Xander’s collar, freeing him from the wall chain. Next she unfastened and removed his manacles. “Stand in the circle, Xander.”

  Xander walked stiffly, as if fighting the overwhelming impulse to do exactly as she said—but obeying nonetheless. When he reached the center of the circle, he stopped and waited.

  “Xander?” Willow said. “You’re free! Run!”

  Lupa laughed. “You’re not a ghoul yet, Willow. But someday men will run when you tell them.”

  “I have no intention of becoming a ghoul,” Willow said, lifting her chin in defiance.

  “We don’t stand on ceremony,” Lupa said. “Well, not much. All that remains is for you to eat of his living flesh and after about a fortnight of fevers, nausea and hallucinations, the transformation will be complete. You’ll be one of us.”

  “It’s not as bad as all that,” Carnie assured her. “Go on, we’ll have a blast.”

  Nash returned to the room. “So we’re dressing for the occasion,” she said and transformed into her ghoulish aspect as well. She turned to Lupa. “All ready for the Slayer.”

  “Good,” Lupa said. “If I close my eyes, I can almost taste her still-beating heart.”

  “All right for you,” Nash said. “But what about the rest of us? We’d like a taste, wouldn’t we, ghouls?” Rave and Carnie remained silent, refused to make eye contact with her. “C’mon now, I’m not the only one’s thought about taking a nibble. Enough for all, I say. Why should you be the only one—?”

  In a flash, Lupa had the bloodied point of the ceremonial dagger pressed under Nash’s chin. A single upward thrust of the long blade and Lupa would impale Nash’s mouth and skewer her brain. “You’re forgetting, Nash. The ceremony is explicit Slayer’s heart must be devoured whole. Only die leader may reap the strength of ten ghouls and be made invulnerable for a hundred years. The question is, Nash—and recall that poor Viola answered this very same question incorrectly—are you challenging me for leadership of the troupe?” Nash’s eyes were wide with fright as she shook her head. “So nice to reach consensus,” Lupa quipped. She still held the dagger to the drummer’s throat. “Any questions, Nash?”

  The spiked collar on the drummer’s neck bobbed as she swallowed hard. She shook her head. “Miss anything, did I?”

  Finally Lupa released Nash. The drummer casually rubbed the nick on her flesh and found a drop of g
reen blood there.

  “Willow was just about to join us,” Lupa told her.

  “Try it,” Nash encouraged, apparently hoping to make amends. “You’ll really like it.”

  Lupa held up the jeweled dagger, which was still streaked with Xander’s blood. “Just tell me where to cut Slice of the thigh? Abdomen? Upper arm?”

  “You’re crazy,” Willow whispered. “You’re all crazy.”

  “She’s just not hungry enough yet,” Carnie remarked.

  “I’d rather starve to death!”

  “Unfortunately, we can’t wait that long,” Lupa said. “All our ceremonies take place under the dark of the new moon.”

  “Tough cookies,” Willow said, crossing her arms over her chest. Just mentioning the word cookies set her stomach to a new fit of grumbling, despite the lingering soreness from Carnie’s attack. Willow was awfully hungry . . . but would never be that hungry.

  “We’re wasting time,” Rave said.

  “Let’s just force feed her,” Nash said, her wide grin exposing about thirty yellowed teeth, saliva running between them in stringy rivulets.

  “You wouldn’t!” Willow said, then caught herself. “What am I thinking? Of course you would.”

  “Forcing is hit or miss,” Lupa admitted. “We could prepare a ghoul nectar from special bodily secretions, but it takes time to prepare and even more time to kick in and . . . loosen your inhibitions. And we’re certainly not waiting around another month for you to become sufficiently starved to eat what you’re offered. So, how about a deal? Take a few bites of your pal here. I’ll even convince him not to feel much pain, if you’d like. Fog his memory on just who took a few bites out of him. Then we’ll set him free, let him live.”

  “You would let him go?” Willow asked.

  Lupa smiled, taking special care not to expose too many of her daggerlike teeth. “Sure. Why not? The important thing is when we next hit the road, you’ll have a healthy green glow and we’ll have a brand-new keyboard player.”