Hungry Ghosts 01 Hungry Ghosts

by Ron Ripley

  Mei Ling hesitated and then said in a thoughtful voice, “She tells him he is sweet.”

  “Yes,” Hu said, nodding and switching the phone from one hand to the other.

  “He’s the one,” Mei Ling said without hesitation.

  “How do you know?” Hu blurted out.

  “The sweetness,” she answered, her voice soft. “He was a child when the attack happened. I have seen it. His love for his mother never soured. It is sweet. Pure. All want to partake in it, though they do not understand that to do so would destroy them and send them to their own personal hell. He does not grasp that this sweetness is strength, that he will be able to command them, so long as they understand his native tongue.”

  A silence filled the space between them, then Mei Ling chuckled and added, “Best to do it quickly, Colonel. There are a great many seeds your Priest has sown.”

  Before Hu could thank her, she ended the call.

  He held onto the receiver for a few moments longer, then he put the phone back in its cradle. A nagging sense of worry grew within him. The idea that Connor Mann was the answer to some of the issues concerning Feng and the Priest had been faint at best. Mei Ling’s statement about the younger man’s importance overall was disconcerting.

  Hu saw strength in Connor, but he also acknowledged the weakness.

  In the silence of his room, Hu wondered if there was enough courage in the younger man to overcome the deficiencies created by a lifetime spent in a mental hospital.

  Do we have another choice?

  Hu got to his feet and readied himself for bed. He didn’t bother answering the question.

  He already knew.

  Chapter 40: A Ruckus in Pine Grove, August 14th, 2016

  When Lloyd Strafford walked out to gather his newspaper from the front steps, he was surprised to see police officers in the cemetery. He counted at least ten of them, and as he stood with his front door open, trying to fathom what the officers were doing there at 6:30 in the morning, a policeman noticed him. The young man pulled the iron gate open a little further and passed through.

  Lloyd waited for him, and when the man arrived, he greeted him.

  “Hello, I’m Officer Pappas,” the young man said. “I was wondering if I could speak to you.”

  “Certainly,” Lloyd replied. “Do you want to come inside?”

  “Let’s hold off on that for now,” Officer Pappas said with a tired smile, “but I was wondering if you noticed anything odd in the cemetery over the past few days.”

  Lloyd kept his initial response to himself, saying instead, “Not really. May I ask what’s going on?”

  “We’ve got a teenager who’s gone missing,” the young man said, his face becoming grim. “There was an incident reported two days ago where a girl said she had been chased by a tree in the cemetery. Everybody thought she was nuts, of course. Then this teenager went missing last night, and one of his friends said the same thing. Damned tree chasing after them.”

  Lloyd felt cold, and sick to his stomach.

  “Has anything been found?” he asked in a tight voice.

  Officer Pappas shook his head. “We’re hoping someone saw something. Now, you haven’t seen anyone new hanging around the neighborhood, have you?”

  Lloyd shook his head confused. “No. Why?”

  “There have been some new, designer drugs put out on the market,” the officer said. “A few of them have some lethal side-effects. Others cause massive hallucinations, so there’s a possibility the kids could have had a bad reaction to some recreational drug.”

  “No,” Lloyd said, “I am sorry to say I haven’t seen anyone new. Or even the children you spoke of. I tend to keep to myself.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Officer Pappas said, smiling. “Thank you for your time, sir. We may be back to question you again.”

  Lloyd nodded, waved goodbye to the officer and watched the young man cross the street and reenter the cemetery. Feeling numb, Lloyd walked back into his house, closing and locking the door behind him. He dropped the newspaper onto the coffee table and sat down on the couch. His heart was heavy as he thought of the unknown teenager. As well as the girl who had been chased by the tree.

  Lloyd could hardly wrap his head around the idea of it. The mental image of a tree chasing someone was absurd and made him physically ill. He knew what the ghosts in Pine Grove Cemetery were capable of committing against adults, and the thought of those same pains being visited upon children brought the bile up into his throat.

  He choked it back down and sank further into the couch’s old, spring cushions. Part of him knew he was too old to be concerned with the ghosts in the cemetery. To be worried about the silver fox.

  Lloyd needed to let young men such as Officer Pappas pick up the mantle and save the day. Connor Mann could make an effort as well to keep people safe. Lloyd was too old. It would be far too dangerous for him to risk a confrontation with the fox, or any of the dead who haunted the cemetery.

  And what of Hu? Lloyd asked himself. What about his age and what is he planning to do? Can you do no less?

  He sat for another minute, then pushed himself to his feet and got ready to visit Hu.

  Chapter 41: Investigating Pine Grove, August 14th, 2016

  Meg Ward chewed on her thumbnail as she stood in the late afternoon sun. Her shift had finished hours earlier, but the disappearance of the teen from the cemetery upset her. In her gut, she felt it had something to do with Connor Mann, although she knew there was no evidence or reason to think so.

  She pulled off a small bit of nail, spit it out, and clenched her hand into a fist.

  Meg, along with half of the police force, had scoured Pine Grove. Their search had revealed nothing except a New York Yankees baseball hat. The missing boy’s mother had identified it as his.

  Over the years, Meg had grown a thick skin when it came to investigating crimes. Children and grieving relatives always left her drained and wanting to do more.

  Which was why she was alone in the cemetery going over the ground again.

  She scanned all around, searching for anything odd. Her head stopped and her eyes locked onto a shape. An animal. A small, silver fox. It stood in front of a headstone and stared at her. The creature was the strangest she had ever seen. It was as if someone had dipped the fox in a vat of silver paint. The idea that it might be a pet dyed in the way some people did to French Poodles caused Meg to take a cautious step forward.

  When the fox didn’t move, Meg advanced several more feet.

  The animal seemed amused, its tail flicking from the left to the right and back again, the rhythm casual and hypnotic. Meg found it fascinating, and she lost all sense of caution.

  “Hello,” she said, coming to a stop a few feet from it. “Are you okay? Are you lost?”

  The words sounded stupid and absurd, but she couldn’t stop them. She was worried about the fox.

  Its tongue slipped out, licked its chops, and watched her.

  A small part of Meg realized the entire situation was unnerving.

  Meg latched onto that thought and forced herself to take a step back.

  The fox lunged at her, shifting its shape.

  By the time Meg reached for her pistol, and the weapon cleared the holster, a man had replaced the animal.

  He was old and Asian, and she could see the hatred in his eyes.

  She fired off three rounds, each passing through the man without any effect.

  He struck her, the force knocking her backward, her head slamming into a gravestone. Meg was plunged into darkness, but she could still hear and feel. Something warm coursed down from her cracked skull, and she knew, without any doubt, that there were more brains than blood running down her neck.

  As she lay immobile, Meg felt a cold hand reach out, caress the side of her face, and several voices rang out with laughter.

  “Thank you,” a woman said in Meg’s ear, “our master was ever so hungry.”

  Meg found she couldn’t scream w
hen teeth as sharp as razors burrowed into her flesh.

  Chapter 42: A Harsh Awakening, August 14th, 2016

  Connor jumped out of bed, his heart pounding. Rex was up as well, pacing the room and growling. Connor’s head throbbed as he made his way to the window and pulled up the curtain. A second later, he heard the door slam and saw Hu hurrying across the street towards the cemetery.

  Connor looked to see what had caught the older man’s attention.

  There was movement in Pine Grove. One woman was bent over another, who was propped against a large headstone. Connor rubbed sleep from his eyes as he tried to focus on what he saw. As the image became clear, a sense of horror welled up within him. The woman who was propped against the headstone was at the mercy of the other, who was tearing at her flesh.

  A scream tore out of Connor’s throat and the attacker’s head snapped around.

  It was his mother, and her mouth was twisted in a vicious grin.

  Hu, in spite of his age, grabbed onto the crossbar of the wrought iron fence and pulled himself up.

  Connor’s mother pushed herself away from her victim and vanished.

  Clamping a hand over his mouth, Connor was able to silence himself. Yet when he saw the victim, a fresh scream built up in his throat.

  It was the police lieutenant from earlier in the week.

  Gagging in horror, Connor turned and stumbled to the door of the bedroom, wrenching it open. He staggered to the stairs, clung to the railing and made his way down to the first floor as quickly as he could.

  In the kitchen, he found the man, Lloyd Strafford, looking pale and concerned.

  “Hu told me to wait here for you,” Lloyd said. “I think something bad has happened.”

  Shaking, Connor settled down across from the man, and they sat in silence until Hu returned several minutes later. The man walked to the phone, picked it up, and called 911. Connor listened as Hu described the condition of Lieutenant Meg Ward, and heard that she was dead.

  After he hung up the phone, Hu faced Connor and Lloyd.

  “I will be in the cemetery,” Hu said, his voice stiff. “I will sit with her until someone comes.”

  “My mother killed her,” Connor whispered.

  Hu raised an eyebrow, and shook his head. “She may have quickened the Lieutenant’s death, but she did not kill her. When the woman fell she struck a headstone and cracked her skull open. Most of her brains were literally knocked out.”

  Connor shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I saw my mother’s face. She enjoyed it. She needs to be stopped. They all do. Can I stop her? Is it even possible?”

  “I don’t know,” Lloyd confessed.

  “Of course it is,” Hu said. “The most difficult part is finding someone strong enough to cast her out, and burn her bones.”

  “Where would we find someone like that?” Lloyd asked.

  “He’s already here,” Hu said, taking his pipe and packing the bowl with tobacco.

  It took Connor several seconds to realize both Hu and Lloyd had fixed their attention on him.

  “Yes, Connor,” Hu said around the stem of the pipe, “it’s you.”

  “No,” Connor said, shaking his head. “Why would you say that?”

  “It certainly isn’t me,” Lloyd said, shaking his head. “If it were, I would have been able to do something decades ago.”

  “And I would have found Feng long before you ever returned to your father’s home,” Hu added, putting his lighter away. Smoke curled up from his mouth and the pipe’s bowl. “No, you are the only one. I have received confirmation of this.”

  “From whom?” Connor demanded, trying to keep fear out of his voice. “Who told you that?”

  “Someone I trust,” Hu said, “and we shall leave it at that. You are the only one.”

  Connor shook his head, panic building.

  “Listen,” Connor said, glancing frantically from Hu to Lloyd, “I can’t do anything. I can’t. Come on, I wasn’t even supposed to be out of the facility. If my uncle hadn’t died, I’d still be in there. I should never have been let out. You know that, right?”

  The older men looked at him with impassive expressions.

  Connor’s shoulders slumped.

  “I can’t do anything,” he whispered. “I can never do anything. Why don’t you believe me?”

  “There isn’t time for a pep talk, son,” Lloyd said. “People are dying. Faster now since you’re out, and you can’t think that’s only coincidence.”

  Connor looked down and saw Rex, the dog’s brown eyes staring into his own.

  “What do I need to do?” Connor whispered.

  “Nothing yet,” Hu responded. “There are some steps and precautions I must take first. When those are complete, then we will begin our hunt for Feng’s bead.”

  “I think I know roughly where it is,” Lloyd said, and both Connor and Hu looked at him in surprise.

  “Where?” Hu asked, an excited note entered his voice. “Where is it?”

  “Shortly before Debra Mann was killed,” Lloyd said, looking apologetically at Connor, “only a few graves had been dug in the section where she died. I have seen the fox linger near them, but I thought he was at Debra’s grave. There is the distinct possibility that he was at his own resting place. It would make sense for the bead to be deposited there. In one of the deep, pre-dug holes.”

  ”Yes,” Hu agreed, “it would make sense. Could you draw a map from here to the grave where you believe you saw Feng. I do not wish you ill luck, my friend, but I would hate for you to become injured or slain. Such an event would leave us without the information we need to carry on.”

  Lloyd gave a wry smile and said, “Bring on the pen and paper then.”

  Connor watched the interaction between the two men and felt neither confidence nor joy. Instead, a black cloud settled over him, and he wondered what would happen to them if he failed.

  Chapter 43: Preparations are Made, August 15th, 2016

  For hours on end, Hu worked.

  He gathered iron and salt and went into a small room in his basement he rarely frequented. There were basics of ghost lore that spanned cultures and civilizations. Iron and salt formed the keystones of those essentials, and while they could be found in America, it was not as easy as it seemed.

  The United States had long ago focused upon steel, as had most nations, and so iron was no longer in abundance. Recent economic downturns in America also factored into that supply as more and more people sold their scrap metal to private businesses. Hu, in turn, spent the better part of three days traveling up into the northern parts of New Hampshire, and the southern parts of Maine. He rummaged through indoor flea markets, stopped at junk yards, and prowled through antique stores.

  In the end, he had done well. He had gathered up enough old and pure iron to protect himself, Connor, and Lloyd. With the metal in hand, Hu had found a man with a forge, a retired blacksmith in Brookline, New Hampshire, who had agreed to forge the items Hu needed.

  And for a cost that didn’t put a dent in Hu’s limited operational budget. China wanted Feng’s Mala back, but they were being notoriously cheap about it.

  Hu snorted and looked down at what the blacksmith had created for him.

  Three pairs of leather gloves, courtesy of the Home Depot garden center, were studded with small, iron spikes. The gloves would allow them to defend themselves from any attacks they could see.

  Salt gathered from a local lick that Hu had found years earlier would serve as a rough barrier. A circle of it spread out around them while they worked would prohibit the passage of any of the dead.

  As long as the circle remained unbroken.

  Hu nodded, lit his pipe, and felt satisfied with their preparations. If all went well, they would gather the bead. He hoped it would solve the problem of the other ghosts created by the Priest.

  If not, then Hu would be forced to find himself a Buddhist monk to assist him.

  And they were in short supply.

  H
u lit his pipe, inhaled, and let the smoke out through his nose.

  After decades, Hu was looking forward to running the Priest to the ground.

  Chapter 44: With Silent Fury, August 16th, 2016

  Noah Rattin took out a cigarette, lit it, and stared out of the window of his car at Pine Grove Cemetery. The world had taken on a bleak tint, his vision fuzzy from the half-pint of sloe gin he had picked up.

  With Meg’s death, he had lost any sort of reason to remain sober or quit smoking.

  She had encouraged him and wanted him to be better.

  He tapped the ash of the cigarette into an old Pepsi can and tried not to imagine how angry Meg would have been with him.

  Noah would have given anything to be able to listen to her yell at him.

  He took another drag from the cigarette and then followed it with a swig of gin.

  Noah glared at the cemetery, hating every aspect of it. He despised the fact that a teen had disappeared there, and when Noah thought of Meg, his skull ached.

  He ground his teeth together and shook with rage.

  Her death was inexplicable.

  For three days, they had combed through every inch of the cemetery within a hundred feet around Meg’s body. They found the shell casings from her pistol. Trace evidence from Hu had been discovered, but the older man had been ruled out as a suspect.

  For Hu to have been the cause of Meg’s fall and subsequent death, there would have been some sort of powder residue on his clothes. Noah and anyone who had ever watched Meg qualify with her pistol knew Hu would have been wounded, if not dead.

  Meg never missed her target.

  Every round hit the target center mass. She wasn’t a sniper, but she never missed what she shot at. The fact that she had fired off three rounds and there hadn’t been any blood, disturbed Noah. Something was wrong with the entire situation.

  He reached out, ignored the gin and picked up the old manila folder from his passenger seat. It contained all of the information gathered in 1979 when the death of Connor Mann’s mother had been reported. Connor, as a boy, had talked about a fox that had transformed into a man.