Ghost Bully

by Brian Corley

  “And you set it under I-35. Nice touch,” I said.

  “Yes, that wasn’t my idea, but I must say I rather like it. Traffic is a torture even we could not envision, but you humans always surprise us with your creativity.”

  “Thanks,” I said and gave him two finger guns.

  He laughed.

  “Shall I take you on a tour?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Brilliant, then follow me,” he said as he turned back toward the opening.

  We flew down the limestone hall and made a sharp right, past openings large and small, lit and dark, until Masephson pulled to a stop and hovered in midair. He held his left arm out, leading me to a large room filled with spirits.

  “Do you like ping-pong,” he asked.

  “Um, not really,” I replied.

  Masephson straightened his lapel with the flat of his palm as he looked over the room. Hundreds of ghosts huddled around tables in various states of play and observation. The room was peppered with demons watching and officiating different games. The game was almost something else entirely when the players could float and fly.

  “Shame, it is quite popular here,” he said.

  A mixture of groans and cheers rose up from one of the more crowded tables, and I focused in on the action. It was clear that someone just scored a decisive victory as one ghost’s arm was held aloft by a grinning demon, earning the smiles and admiration of his gathered friends and colleagues. The other was escorted away, head down, by another demon smiling just as wide. His friends dispersed without making eye contact.

  “What’s going on there?” I asked.

  Masephson took a few seconds to evaluate the scene after he turned in the direction I was pointing.

  “Ah, yes, looks like those two put stakes on the game. Happens all the time.”

  “Stakes?” I asked.

  “Yes, we’re big on punishment and reward here. We love winners—we need winners. So we encourage winning.”

  “What does he get?”

  “Depends on what he risked. Could be first choice of opponent on Fight Night, better seats for Fight Night, time with one of the demons, etcetera, etcetera.”

  “What about the other guy?”

  “Based on who’s leading him away, I’d say mucking out latrines.”

  “Latrines? We don’t need them. I don’t understand.”

  “You’re right—you don’t need them. We don’t need them either, but we have the ability to take physical form, and will happily do so when the occasion arises.”

  Gross. I thought about how long it took Willard to move the knife across the house to bump me off and shivered to think how long it would take to clean up a demon latrine. I decided against asking more questions on the subject.

  “Ready to see more?” Masephson asked.

  “Sure,” I said.

  Masephson waved to the largest demon on duty, and I watched the demon snap to attention and return a salute. We floated back into the hall and picked up speed, Masephson indicating rooms as we passed—general quarters there, another rec room, an improv theater—until we slowed to a stop.

  We floated into a beautifully lit room of blues and golds bouncing across the ceiling of a large open space the size of a city park. A crystal-clear pool of water shimmered below us with demons and ghosts floating, splashing, and having a good time.

  We floated back out and down the hall a few hundred yards into another room of similar size, but with a giant sign that read “No Swimming.” The room had a natural beach with the same gorgeous, crystal-clear water, but no one was in it. The beach was large and accommodated beach towels, bocce ball, and meticulously ornate sand sculptures. A new group of spirits wandered in below us, and Masephson’s posture changed. A smile cracked across his sharp face, and he leaned forward, eyes flitting from the group to the water.

  Most of the group observed the sign and veered off toward the other activities, but two ghosts ventured out on their own into the water. One spirit, who appeared to be in his early twenties, leapt into the water, went under, and emerged to splash his young lady friend on the beach. She playfully recoiled and laughed, rising off the beach to either avoid the splashing or make a bigger one herself. Her faced transformed from joy to horror as she hovered over the water. I followed her eyeline to a massive shadow materializing from the blue.

  My mind jumped to various documentaries and shows about sea life I’d seen before, to the shots of the ocean floor that look simply like rocks and sand until the sand shifts and a predator emerges to grasp an unsuspecting fish. I shared the young lady’s terror as her partner was caught unaware and pulled under with terrible speed and unforgiving brutality by the massive, hulking shadow.

  He was gone within fractions of a second as she screamed out in terror. It all happened so fast, she couldn’t warn him. Some ghosts noticed her distress and flew to her aid; some turned around to watch. A cheer emerged from some. Demons rose above the water to observe the creature recede back to the deeper, darker parts of the pool, settle to the bottom, and become practically invisible again.

  This was a game to them, a common occurrence, probably like clockwork when they received new recruits. Masephson chuckled.

  “Always read the sign,” he said as he turned to me.

  “What happens now?” I asked.

  “Well, we can continue the tour, or I can take you back.”

  “No, I mean, what happens to him?”

  “Ah, yes, of course. The creature below is a leviathan—ancient and pseudo-spiritual, as though a demon mated with a shark.”

  “Did it?”

  “Jonah. Surely, you wouldn’t believe such an abominable act could take place … maybe.”

  “So, what happens now? Did he die?”

  “I think you meant to ask, was he destroyed? He was already dead, but no, he was not destroyed. The creature below can feed off his energy for as long as we allow, potentially until the end of time if we’d like … or if she’d like.”

  “What do you mean, as long as you allow?” I asked.

  “Periodically, we’ll arrange for her to spit them back up. She can be very specific, regurgitating certain spirits as we call for them. It is quite amusing. It’s an annual event we all look forward to.”

  “So he’s stuck in there for a year?!”

  “No, no, just a few months. The purge is coming soon.”

  “But why? That guy trusted you, and you need spirits for your army.”

  “We need discipline, Jonah. We need recruits that will follow orders. This is a simple test, and a lesson they won’t soon forget.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Oh yes. Not only is she leeching energy, but it’s quite a confined space—not the cavernous stomach from the Pinocchio movie or even the story of your namesake. Although they’re all trapped with others, they tend to keep to themselves with the occasional whimper or cry of pain and frustration. It would be very boring if not for the constant electrical burning sensation.”

  I nodded and looked down at the beach. The young woman had been escorted from the room, and life had returned to normal. A sculptor put finishing touches on a large, detailed, cartoon-like dinosaur invading a stereotypical Tudor-styled castle. Bocce balls hit sand, and laughter echoed throughout the enormous cavern.

  Masephson looked down and waved to a scaly demon of authority who quickly snapped to attention and returned a disciplined salute. He began to float out of the room and motioned for me to follow.

  Chapter 32

  We picked up speed down the hall and passed room after room. Masephson looked over his shoulder, then rolled his body so that he was floating on his back, slightly inclined toward me.

  “That’s one our movie theaters,” he said with an arm outstretched, “stocked with the latest projectors and releases.�
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  “How?”

  “You know how churches have long feared that the entertainment industry is fueled by Satan and his armies?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s much worse than they ever could have imagined.”

  “Really?”

  “No,” he said, then laughed. “No, I’m joking. We pay for them. We practically invented money. We have quite a lot of it.”

  “What’s showing tonight?”

  “‘Today, I think you mean,” he replied.

  “What?”

  He pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat, flicked it open, snapped it closed, and returned it.

  “My boy, it’s four o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “But, how?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I thought, with some exceptions, we ceased to exist during the day. I always just kind of fade away as the sun comes up,” I said.

  Masephson came to a stop and hovered, and I did as well.

  “You see, up there,” he pointed, “during the day, the atmosphere is constantly being bombarded by radiation from the sun. When the solar radiation hits the atmosphere, atoms lose their electrons and become ions. Follow me?”

  Oh god, no, I didn’t.

  “Yeah, sure, go on,” I said.

  “Now, there is a particular level in the atmosphere called the ionosphere that actually restricts electrical activity while being bombarded with radiation during the day.”

  “OK.”

  “Are you old enough to have ever used the radio, Jonah? Not satellite or Wi-Fi mind you, but AM/FM radio?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you ever experience dialing in a signal at night that gave you a perfectly clear sound, only to find it fuzzy and cluttered the next day, or vice versa?” he asked.

  I knew exactly what he meant. Growing up, we liked to leave the radio on for our dogs when we left the house. I liked to dial in classical music for them when I’d go to swim practice in the morning while it was still dark outside. It was always static-y when I got back later on when the sun was up.

  “Yeah, I know what you’re talking about,” I said.

  “Same principle. Solar radiation stimulates the ionosphere during the day and relaxes it at night, allowing you to come

  to form.”

  “So how am I here at four o’clock in the afternoon?”

  “How familiar are you with the Faraday cage?”

  “Doesn’t it block electricity, or redirect it?”

  “Yes. Smart boy, Jonah, smart boy. A Faraday cage is a mesh-like structure that keeps external electric fields from interfering with what’s inside it.”

  “So this place has a Faraday cage around it? But wouldn’t it further restrict the electricity like the ionosphere?” I asked.

  “Maybe, if we set it up without a power source of our own to offset it. Down here, we’ve created our own, stable environment. Also, I should point out that we exploit something like a Faraday cage. It’s actually something I discovered long ago.”

  “Nice. So, now I’m curious. What’s the power source keeping us here twenty-four hours a day?” I asked.

  “Ah, have to keep some of my own secrets, I’m afraid. Besides, who doesn’t love a bit of mystery?”

  “OK, cool, I guess … so what’s showing right now?”

  “I don’t know. I think Guardians of the Galaxy or Casino Royale. I forget.”

  “Those aren’t new releases,” I said.

  “Yeah, but they’re good, and we have the prints, so we might as well show them. Have you ever seen Bedazzled?”

  “That old Brendan Fraser movie?” I asked.

  “Oh no, no, no. The Dudley Moore version,” he said.

  “Who’s Dudley Moore?”

  Masephson sighed.

  “It’s showing later. You should go—it’s quite good. A local favorite here,” he said.

  He floated on again, and I followed. Picking up speed, the rooms flew by faster and faster, blurring until I could no longer see individual entrances. I felt a hand on my shoulder and an immediate stop in momentum. We were in a large clearing the size of ten football fields with a cavern-like ceiling ten stories tall. It reminded me of one of the Death Star scenes from Star Wars where hundreds, if not thousands, of stormtroopers stood in formation among a handful of parked starships.

  There were thousands of spirits in the room in front of me, some in precise military drills, free from the construct of gravity. Hundreds of ghost soldiers in precise, geometrical patterns that were changing shape through the air to the call of a scaly demon commander shouting orders from a riser on the ground below.

  Large groups practiced fighting mechanics in unison with what looked like large spears. There were circles of spirits on the ground with two combatants in the middle, fighting each other to the cheers of their comrades in arms. I looked down to the circle closest to us and recognized a figure standing head and shoulders above the other soldiers in his squad.

  “Is that Kip Johnson?” I yelled loud enough to be heard in the room.

  The tall, burly figure turned toward me, eyes squinting to try to distinguish who was calling him. They widened and slacked, along with whatever other tension that was held from the shoulders up.

  “Is that … is that Jonah Preston?” he yelled back.

  “It sure as hell is, Kip. Good to see you.”

  “I told you I would,” he said with a broad smile.

  “Friend of yours?” Masephson asked, arching an eyebrow.

  “Eh, not really,” I replied.

  “Eyes on, soldier!” Masephson shouted down to Kip.

  Kip wheeled back to the action within his circle, and Masephson turned to me.

  “I wanted you to see this.” He floated farther out into the room, arms wide. “All of it could be yours, Jonah. A legion to command.”

  “I don’t want a legion to command,” I replied.

  He nodded, floating back toward me.

  “Some of the greats said the same thing.”

  I looked out over the assembly without saying a word. It was awe-inspiring. The precision of the drills, the discipline in the ranks. I could lead … maybe I could even be great. It was still a demon horde though, and I couldn’t do it.

  I didn’t need to say anything; Masephson could read me. His head bowed and shoulders slumped for a fraction of a second. A momentary drop in his mask revealing defeat, but it was only a moment. He mustered his glorious form back with a pointy smile and led me away from the room. We began to float back down the hallway.

  “Jonah, Jonah, Jonah. Look around you—that room, the tunnels we took to get here, the channels that you saw leading off to other rooms, tunnels that lead to other chambers and so on, and so forth, etcetera. All were created by spirits just like you. Do you understand?”

  “No,” I replied.

  “We recruit talented individuals such as yourself for several reasons. One, to build. We …” he looked up and rotated his hand as if searching for a word, “demons, as you would say, we’re creative, but we’re not builders. In fact, it was only a few thousand years ago that we noticed the spirits of humans creating copies of the world they’d left behind—usually with improvements. It was quite the breakthrough as it developed a new reality in this plane as you’ve already experienced for yourself, no doubt.

  “I must say that it was a particularly ingenious idea to deconstruct your house, by the way. Poor Mr. Hensch. Your friends, the architects, do outstanding work.

  “I am a great admirer of theirs. Ms. Kunkel, in particular, is quite talented. Mr. Randolph shows great promise, but is a bit overindulgent for my taste.”

  “OK, so why am I here? You know I can’t build things—or haven’t yet,” I replied.

  “Haven’t yet—see?! That’s one
of the reasons we’re interested in you, Mr. Preston. That enthusiasm. We need you to join us, Jonah, join our ranks. You could someday command my legions with your talents and leadership abilities. Just think of what you’ve done so far!”

  “I had help,” I countered.

  “Of course, and you’ll have more, much more!”

  We picked up speed. I stopped trying to keep up with directions as we took hard lefts and rights, zigzagging through tunnel after tunnel.

  “Mr. Hensch is quite a strong spirit, Jonah, as we’ve discussed, and yet you were able to overcome him your first night in this plane of existence. That shows a tremendous amount of natural ability. Just think what you can become once we hone those natural reactions into well-practiced skills. You would learn from some of our best from over the millennia, travel the world! Have you ever been to Rome, Mr. Preston?”

  “No.”

  “It is beautiful—you would love it. Although, now that I think of it, you may enjoy Vienna just a bit more,” he said as we slowed to reenter the large room from before, parts of my cage still scattered about.

  “I like it here—well, not here at the moment, but I like Austin,” I said.

  “As you should. It is quite a delightful little town, isn’t it? Well then, what is it you want to do, Jonah?”

  “I want to keep helping people. I want to spend time with my friends, and make new ones.”

  “Yes. Good. Well, I suppose I could help you spend more time with your friends,” he said, then clapped his hands twice and boomed, “Bring them here!”

  I could hear a noise in the distance, the soft sound of wings beating against air. The sound grew louder until I saw two more reptilian demons enter the room carrying a cage identical to the one in which I was previously held. They came to a stop and slowly descended to set down George and Ramona Rodriguez.

  Masephson strutted over to the cage, released a latch toward the bottom of the cage with his foot, and signaled for the creatures to exit the room. They slowly ascended as the lower part of the cage fell open to release George and Ramona into the room with us.

  “Welcome!” he beamed. “Welcome, welcome, George and Ramona!”