by Mac Flynn
"Aunt Ma, Uncle Seward, stay here," I ordered them.
"But-"
"No buts, pork or otherwise," I insisted.
Roland and I strode over to the people and pushed through the crowds. In the open center we saw the were-sheep face-deep in the shoe-in for largest squash.
"What a great costume!" one person commented.
"But what is it?" another asked.
"Some sort of mutant," someone suggested.
The owner of the former shoe-in stalked through the crowd and grabbed the were-sheep's shoulders. He pulled its head out of squash and shoved it a few feet away. The sheep fell on all fours and braced itself in the dry grass.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he shouted.
The were-sheep snarled and showed off a fine set of dentures that would make any dentist swoon. The crowd backed up and stopped their guessing game. A creeping fear swept over them that maybe the thing they were looking at wasn't such a great costume.
The beast leapt at the squash owner. Roland jumped forward and shoved the man to the ground. The were-sheep flew over them and crashed into a table. Squash flew in every direction. Screams erupted from the crowd and the people performed a not-so-stationary panic. They trampled over tables, squash, and each other as they tried to get out of the hoofed clutches of the monstrous mutton. Not a single entree was saved from the carnage.
Roland shoved the man away from the ruins and stood. The were-sheep rose from the ruined pumpkins like some demented childhood cartoon character. Its beady eyes swept over the vegetable wreck and its nose furiously twitched. The were-sheep whipped its woolly head to something behind me. I turned and saw Aunt Ma and Uncle Seward.
They stood twenty yards off among less ruined tables. Half the crowd stood around them and watched the carnage in morbid fascination. The were-sheep broke from the mess of tables and raced down the track to the unspoiled tables. Aunt Ma held her precious prized pumpkin in her hands.
"Run!" I shouted.
The people screamed and turned tail into the tables. The lit pumpkins scattered onto the ground. Their candles tumbled onto the ground, and the flickering fires caught on the dry grass. Flames leapt up and slithered along the ground. The keep-away game was changed to a disorganized game of beat-you-to-the-car as people parted and raced to the parking lot. Uncle Seward grabbed a long, unblemished squash and stepped in front of Aunt Ma.
"You're not getting-" The were-sheep sprinted past them and leapt onto the piles of ruined squash.
It stuffed its face into the broken rinds. Roland and I hurried over to my aunt and uncle, but there was one tiny problem in reaching them. The flames from the ground gobbled up the flimsy paper table decorations and crackled to life. They swept across the ground and blocked the two directions that led away from the parking lot. A few separate walls of flames rose up between Roland and me, and my relatives.
"Aunt Ma! Uncle Seward!" I yelled.
"We're okay!" Uncle Seward replied.
Something past them moved. I saw the were-sheep rise from the ashes like a wool-lined phoenix. Its eyes swept over the burnt remains of its food until they came upon my aunt and uncle. Aunt Ma still had her pumpkin in her hand, and Uncle Seward was armed with the long squash. The were-sheep leapt across the flames and landed in the open area where they stood. Its lips curled back and it crept towards them.
"The squash! Throw the squash!" I ordered them.
The were-sheep leapt at them. Uncle Seward swung the squash and it smashed into the face of the creature. The squash exploded and the were-sheep was knocked to the side, but it stood and growled at my uncle.
Roland swept past me and flew over the flames. He landed between the were-sheep and my uncle just as the monster jumped. Roland grabbed the creature's wide mouth, but he was forced to the ground. Apparently it wasn't all wool under that coat.
I saw a clearing in the flames and made my way to Aunt Ma. She stood five yards from the battle. I grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the men and monster. She dug her heels into the ground and tried to shake off my hand.
"We can't leave Pat!" she insisted.
"Roland's with him, and if we don't get out now there won't be enough of us left to fill a teaspoon!" I told her.
I pulled her away even as the were-sheep lifted his head from Roland's face. Its eyes zeroed in on the last untouched pumpkin. The one in my aunt's hand. The aunt who stood right beside me.
"Um, Aunt Ma?"
"Yes?"
"Run!"
I pushed her ahead of me and we ran down the row of overturned tables. I looked over my shoulder in time to see the were-sheep push off from Roland and race towards us. Roland tried to follow, but my uncle had more troubles. The flames closed in on them and my uncle was trapped. Roland looked between my fleeing back and my uncle. I pointed at my uncle and turned my attention to the were-sheep. It was ten yards from us and closing.
I looked ahead of us. We faced the left side of the fairgrounds, and twenty yards ahead was one of the corn fields. My aunt wasn't a spring chicken, and at her speed she'd be plucked before she could reach the corn.
"Sorry, Aunt Ma!" I shouted at her.
"Sorry for-" I snatched the pumpkin from her and shoved her to the ground.
I raced towards the corn field and held up the pumpkin.
"Here, sheepy! Here, sheepy!" I called without turning around.
"Misty!" Aunt Ma called behind me. "You get back here this-run, Misty! Run!"
I looked over my shoulder and watched the were-sheep jump my aunt and sprint towards me.
"Oh shit!" I yelped.
CHAPTER 9
I booked it into the cornfield and zigged and zagged through the rows. The were-sheep crashed through the dry, crunchy stalks behind me, but I could hear myself gaining some ground. Unfortunately, I didn't know what ground I was gaining because I couldn't tell which way I was going. I stopped a couple dozen rows in and turned left and right. Nothing but corn and the slight smell of popcorn from the fire in the fairground.
My only solace was the dark, clear sky. The full moon shone brightly above me. A cool wind rustled the corn leaves. I stiffened as, from the darkness, came the hideous cry of the were-sheep.
"Baaaa!"
That was followed shortly by something that crashed through the cornstalks just to my left. I decided the right was a good direction and took off down the rows. The pumpkin in my hands grew heavier and heavier.
"You need to go on a diet, Jack," I gasped. "And I'm not just talking about brain weight-loss."
I saw a light at the end of the tunnels and stumbled out onto the far lane of the main road in front of the fairgrounds. The noise behind me grew louder and I turned around in time to see the were-sheep emerge from the cornfield. It flew through the air at me with its teeth bared and its sharp hooves pointed at my gut.
A pair of strong headlights and a blare of a horn caught both our attentions. I looked down the road and watched a semi truck barreling towards us. The shiny grate slammed into the were-sheep and drove it down the road a few yards before the driver slammed his foot on the brake. The truck skidded to a stop two dozen yards from where I stood.
The truck door opened and the driver hopped out. He glanced back and squinted his eyes at me.
"That you, Misty?" he called out.
I blinked at him. "Charlie?"
He walked towards me and looked me over. "Sherry told me about last night, so when I heard on the CB about some trouble at the fairgrounds I came right over."
I smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "Perfect timing."
He glanced over his shoulder at his truck and frowned. "What was that thing I hit, anyway? Was it chasing you?"
"A were-sheep," I told him. I passed him and walked over to the truck.
"Where's what?" he returned.
A shadow flew overhead and Roland landed in front of me. He stepped forward and grasped my shoulders. His lips were tight and his eyes looked me over.
; "Are you all right?" he asked me.
I held up the pumpkin. "Me and Jack are fine, but I don't know about the were-sheep."
We all glanced at the front of the truck. There wasn't a bleat out of our foe. We inched forward and peeked around the front. We found the sheep, or what was left of it. I cringed and turned away.
"That's gotta hurt," I commented.
Charlie pursed his lips and shook his head. "If I would've known it was just a sheep-"
"It was a were-sheep," Roland corrected him.
Charlie took off his cap and scratched his head. "What's that?"
"A sheep with attitude," I quipped. Roland stepped forward and inspected the grill of the truck. "That's going to take a hell of a cleaning."
Roland frowned and turned to Charlie. "Silver?"
Charlie smiled and shrugged. "I thought it might be useful. My truck's the biggest weapon I've got."
"Silver what?" I asked them.
"My grate," Charlie explained. "And I've got a garlic-scented freshener in the cab and this baby-" he pulled a large pistol from his coat, "-I got just the other day after I called you, Misty. The clip's got twenty silver bullets in it.
"Misty!"
I turned and saw my aunt and uncle rush down the trucks towards me. Aunt Ma wrapped me in a hug that threatened to make my victory pointless.
"Are you all right?" Uncle Seward asked me.
"Fine," I squeaked.
Aunt Ma pulled us apart and looked down at Jack.
"And my pumpkin!" she exclaimed. I handed the jack-o-lantern back to her and she smiled at me. "I'm so proud of you, Misty, but never do that to me again."
I snorted. "I don't think I'll be in that position again."
Uncle Seward looked past me at the truck. "Is it dead?"
"Deader than Roland," I assured him.
"So what now?"
I glanced at the fairgrounds. The fires danced high in the air, and far-off came the cry of the firetruck and ambulance sirens. Most of the parking lot was empty, but a few other people straggled out from the dark corners of the fairgrounds buildings.
"I think Roland and I'll get going. I don't think we could explain to the medics why he doesn't have a pulse," I pointed out.
"Then we'll see you tomorrow night for dinner," Aunt Ma insisted. "It's the least we could do for you both."
"Just as long as there isn't any squash on the menu," I requested.
She smiled and held up the pumpkin I'd risked my life to save. "Of course. My jack-o-lantern will be the prized centerpiece as a pie."
My face fell and I turned to Roland. "You ready?"
"Very much so," he replied.
He swept me into his arms and jumped into the air. We flew over the decimation once before headed back home. I snuggled against his cool chest and glanced up into his pale face.
"So what was it you wanted to talk to me about earlier?" I asked him.
"I was curious if you wish for me to take you out to dinner," he revealed.
I snorted. "Is that it?"
"A vampire takes his meals very seriously," he pointed out.
"All right, but I get to choose the place, and no ordering Bloody Mary's," I insisted.
Roland smiled. "And no garlic."
"It's a deal."
On a final note, Aunt Ma's pumpkin won first place in the jack-o-lantern category and the grand champion for the festival, mostly because all the other contestants were razed to the ground or squashed flat. Elmira threw a fit and her back out, and Aunt Ma comforted her by sending her a couple dozen pumpkin muffins.
Speaking of pumpkins, Halloween was still a week away, and Roland and I were about to discover our trick-or-treat.
SPIRITS TO DIE FOR
CHAPTER 1
These days the diner was a twilight zone of weird. Take that fateful night before Halloween, the eve of All Hallow's Eve, when Ned stumbled through the doors. He climbed onto a stool and looked at me like a man who would have obliged someone who told him to walk off a cliff.
"Coffee. Now," he ordered me.
I filled a mug and slid it over to him. He tipped back and let the thick sludge slide down his gullet. I watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as he consumed his daily amount of grime in a second.
"Easy there. That's a terrible way to go," I told him.
The pale trucker slammed the bottom of the cup onto the counter and gasped. "You'd want to die, too, if you saw Lady Violet."
"In the flesh?" I teased.
He shook his head. "This ain't no joke. I saw her with my own eyes. She stood on the side of the road and stared at me like she was searching my soul."
"What the heck are you blabbing about?" one of the other guys spoke up.
Ned whipped his head to his peer and glared at him. "I'm talking about Lady Violet, you idiot!"
"What's that? Some sort of new scent?" the trucker retorted.
"Don't you know anything?" Ned snapped. "She's a ghost! A phantom! An apparatus!"
Regardless of Ned's obvious deficiency of spiritual jargon, I was interested.
"Where'd you see her?" I asked him.
He waved his hand in the direction of the diner doors. "Out on the old Vine Road just off the highway. She was just standing there in a long white dress waiting for someone."
"Who's this Lady Violet dame, anyway?" the same ignorant trucker asked him.
Ned threw his hands into the air. "Don't you know anything about these roads?"
"I would if you'd tell it," the guy snapped.
"Lady Violet's a ghost of a woman who was supposed to have been in a car crash along the highway seventy years ago. Her boyfriend was driving and he lasted for a few days before he died, but she was killed instantly," a trucker by the name of Frank interrupted.
Frank was one of the more unusual usuals. He finished all his 'ings' when he spoke and he came around on the dot once a month for his coffee and pie. He also paid in cash, and that made him one of Ralph's favorite customers.
"You sure it wasn't just some Halloween prank? Kids like to pull those things with those old stories," the trucker suggested.
Ned glared at him. "How can this be a Halloween prank if Halloween isn't until tomorrow night?"
The trucker frowned back. "I've been by that place tons of times and ain't seen no ghosts."
The other truckers crowded around the pair and tossed out all the old-wives tales their old wives had told them.
"Maybe ya weren't there at the right time," one of the guys suggested.
"Or maybe she only comes around once a year," a guy in the back of the crowd suggested.
"You know, I heard it's bad luck to see a ghost," Frank spoke up.
"I know that, but what am I supposed to do about it?" Ned shot back.
"There's some folks believe you have to take the ghost back to its grave," Frank told him.
"What about garlic?" one of them suggested.
"This ain't no vampire," another pointed out.
"You could recite their name over their grave and tell 'em not to mess with ya," someone answered.
"Or sacrifice a chicken over their grave," another offered.
"That better be ordering or ya all need to pay yer bills and git out of here!" Ralph shouted from the kitchen.
The crowd dispersed back to their tables in pairs and talked under their breath to each other. Their eyes flickered to Ned so much I was afraid that I'd breathe and blow them out. Frank took a seat beside Ned, and Ned closed his eyes and shuddered.
"Damn ghost. I can't even get myself steady enough to drive my truck. . ." he mumbled.
"Some bottom-of-the-pot for Ned here. I think he needs it," Frank told me.
"We want to calm his heart, not stop it," I quipped.
Ned opened his eyes and glared at Frank and me. "I don't want none of your pity. Just give me some of the Soup Surprise and let me alone a while."
"Isn't your blood running cold enough?" I pointed out.
Ned slammed his fis
t against the counter. "Just give it to me!"
The diner went as silent as the grave talk. Ralph stepped out with a bat in one of his hands. It's name was Beater. In all my years working the diner I'd only seen him take that bat out twice. Once was to get a black bear out of the place and the other was to get the point across to a drunk that he wasn't welcomed in the diner. The drunk got the blunt end of the point when Ralph knocked him out cold with a hard swing to the guy's temple. He lived, but for a few weeks after that the guy's diet had a wide range of fruit juices courtesy of the county hospital.
"Ah'm mighty fond of my diner and not much fond of ya, Ned," Ralph growled as he tapped the head of the bat into the palm of his hand. "If ya try to rearrange so much as a salt shaker Ah wouldn't mind rearranging yer face. Ya know Ah will. Ya were here when Ah had to take care of Flat-Nosed Finnegan." Ned scowled, but turned his head away. "Good, now pay yer bill and get out. Ah don't want to see yer mug around here until ya've got over this here ghost business of yers."
Ned tossed a large bill on the counter and marched out the front doors. Ralph turned to the rest of the customers. "Anybody else wanna try anything?"
Apparently no one else felt adventurous because they whipped their eyes down to their plates and mugs. Ralph shuffled back into the kitchen, but paused between the two swinging doors. He looked at me with his lips pursed.
"Tell me if he bothers ya again and Ah'll take care of it." He disappeared into the kitchen.
"I'll have some of the apple pie, and your opinion on what Ned said," Frank whispered to me.
I shrugged and cut a slice from the crumbling pie in the display on the counter. "He believed it."
Frank took the plate from me and smiled. "Don't you?"
"I've got enough pains in my neck without getting mixed up with people who have transparency problems," I replied. I leaned on the counter and looked him over. "Why? Do you believe him?"
"Ned likes to tell tales, but he usually gets them from someone else," Frank pointed out.
"So you really think it was that Lady Violet?" I asked him.
"A lot of strange things have been happening lately," he commented. He looked up from his coffee and caught my eyes with a steady stare. "Your aunt and uncle have been in a lot of the trouble. Brady's disappearance, the Squash Festival fun."
I snorted. "I wouldn't call dealing with a crazed squash maniac fun." The final police report on the festival was that a maniac had donned a costume and run amok among the gourds.
