by Debra Dunbar
“I’m going to call Aunt Marie. That thing wasn’t a zombie or a Palero, but she may know what it is and how we can kill it.”
“Well, our guns didn’t have any lasting effect, and neither did the salt. You’re the one who hangs out with demons; do you have any ideas? Wild guesses?”
“It’s definitely not a demon. No self–respecting demon would be found running around inside a dead body.” Nyalla hesitated, thinking that in all honesty, that might be a demon’s idea of fun. “Well, even if they did do it, the angels would be all over this thing by now. Demons give off a particular energy signature, and I’m pretty sure animating a dead body would bring the nearest angel running.”
Nyalla got up from the table and paced as Eric watched her intently. What a rush it was to be the expert here, even if she knew so little.
“Whatever it was, it said its name was John Mayfield.”
“No! The John I knew would never do things like this.”
“It could just be inhabiting his dead body. I think it has some access to John’s memories though. It mentioned Shelly, Ben, and Jack by name.”
She was reluctant to tell Eric that the creature had threatened to kill and eat them. A chill went through Nyalla as she thought of the baby. Could the monster really do that? He’d been only digging up and eating corpses so far. Maybe his threat had been a bluff to scare her.
Eric’s phone buzzed on the table and he picked it up to read the text. His shoulders slumped, and Nyalla walked over to him. “Bad news?”
“Murder. Parents and two kids. One kid survived by hiding in a closet. Even their dog was killed. It was pretty gruesome from what Miller says.” He sighed and looked up at her. “I need to go in.”
“You don’t think… .” Nyalla hesitated, unsure whether she was being paranoid or not. “That thing last night threatened to kill John Mayfield’s family and eat them, and he seemed ready and willing to bite your arm off. Do you think he’s responsible for these deaths?”
Eric exchanged a sober look with her. “I’ll check Miller’s report when I get in. With the timing and the proximity, we’ll assume there’s a link between the incidents. For a murder like this, we’ll probably call in the feds for assistance.”
She nodded. “I’ll talk to Aunt Marie and do research, and we’ll connect later and compare notes.”
Eric headed out, and Nyalla left an urgent message for Aunt Marie. She paced, feeling frustrated with the waiting and inaction. Should she search the Internet for intelligent flesh–eating corpses? And where was Boomer? As if on cue, the hound appeared at the door, his eyes tired, although his tail wagged.
“Kibble in the bowl,” she directed, letting him in.
Had he gone back last night? Where had he been? Nyalla watched the hound eat as she pondered what to do next. They had to stop this monster. She suspected it was going to keep killing and was worried it may make good on its promise to kill Shelly and the baby. How could she protect them? If the murders Eric had mentioned were connected to the grave robberies, then John Mayfield’s family truly was in danger.
“Boomer, is the monster we saw last night a zombie?”
The hound looked up briefly from his breakfast, his brow wrinkled as he tilted his head in confusion.
“You don’t know that word? Zombie?”
Boomer shook his head and returned his nose to the bowl. The zombies Aunt Marie had described were vastly different from the ones on Wyatt’s video game. Maybe there were different types of zombies. But if so, how could loving and cheerful John Mayfield rise from the grave and become so evil?
“Is it something evil that’s taken over John Mayfield’s body?”
Boomer gave the contents of his bowl one more swipe with a long tongue before looking up at her and nodding.
Then this must be some kind of possession they were dealing with. She’d always thought demons were the only spirit beings capable of possessing another.
“Is it a demon?”
Boomer looked indignant and shook his head.
“Okay, okay. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
That was a relief. But if it wasn’t a demon, what was it?
“An evil spirit of some sort is residing in the corpse of John Mayfield. How did it get there?” she mused.
This surely couldn’t be a normal occurrence. What could have happened that would allow such a monster to take possession of a dead body? Nyalla made a mental note to ask Eric, and possibly Shelly, if John had any enemies. Perhaps there was someone who hated him and his family enough to summon an evil spirit into his corpse.
Nyalla heard the scraping of a bowl across the floor and turned to see the hellhound, ears draping on the floor as he licked the last crumbs from the food dish.
“Did he kill that family last night? Them and their dog?”
The hound pulled his nose from the bowl and nodded, his golden–brown eyes sorrowful. She sighed. “Great. How do we stop him?”
The hellhound trotted to her and rested his head on her lap, his eyes trusting as he looked up at her. “Me? How am I supposed to kill this thing? I don’t even know what it is.”
Her phone chimed, and she picked it up, a sense of relief running through her. Aunt Marie. Hopefully she could get some answers.
The woman’s voice was groggy with sleep, her tone irritated, as if nine in the morning was far too early an hour to be making urgent phone calls about vicious undead attacks. The events from the night before poured out of Nyalla in a rush.
“Wait. Hold on just one second here, child. You say the thing had the capability to move quickly?”
“Yes. It chased me and was right behind me. I think it could have easily overtaken me if it wanted to. It jumped over a six–foot fence in one leap, and it vanished, leaving behind a cloud of mist. I don’t know if it moved too fast to see or if it did some kind of teleportation.”
“Hmm. And it was eating the dead bodies? It spoke?”
“I saw it eating the corpses, and it said it was going to kill and eat the living too. Boomer says it killed a family last night, although I don’t know if it ate them after it killed them.”
“And you said it claimed to be this John Mayfield — the one whose grave was neatly dug up?”
“Yes, yes. He seemed to know John Mayfield’s memories, but Eric insists it wasn’t him, that John would never do these things.”
Aunt Marie made a disgusted noise. “Well, I don’t know who this Eric is, but I’ll tell you right now you’ve got yourself a ghoul. Some fool done raised up a ghoul. This is what happens when amateurs go messing in the world of the spirits. Raisin’ zombies is bad enough, but bringing up a ghoul is a terrible thing.”
“I thought they were the same thing.” Nyalla’s throat felt dry. A ghoul. Even the name sounded evil.
“Not a bit, child. Zombies don’t hurt nobody. They just shamble around and do their bokor’s bidding. Ghouls eat everything they can get their claws on. Dead, living, souls that have been left behind… .”
“Souls? Like ghosts? Ghosts are real?” Nyalla’s voice rose to a squeak. She thought knowing about elves, demons, and angels covered everything. This was just one more thing about this world she had no clue about.
“Mmm hmm. See, when a human dies, part of his soul goes straight to the afterlife, but a small bit remains. Takes three days for that little bit of soul to figure out it needs to go — time enough to see his folk one last time. Some little souls never leave; they stay on as ghosts, unable to let go of the physical world. Most move on. In the case of a zombie, he has that little soul still there, attached to the body.”
“So a zombie is still the person it was before death, just slower and not able to communicate?”
“Pretty much. Powerful sorcerers can take the larger soul right as a person dies and keep it in a jar, but that’s cruel. And it’s a lot of work. Souls gotta be fed regularly, or off they go and all your work is for nothing.”
Nyalla didn’t want to contemplate how Aunt Marie
could possibly know this. The thought of someone’s soul being trapped in a jar was horrifying.
“How is a ghoul different?”
“Ghouls are creatures all on their own. They usually don’t have much interaction with the human world. They live in graveyards and pretty much sleep all the time until an idiot comes along and wakes them up. Then they seize a body with the little soul to possess and run around snatching up and eatin’ everyone they can.”
Nyalla’s breath caught. “And how does an idiot wake up a ghoul?”
“Botched resurrection spell.” Aunt Marie’s voice sounded smug, as if she was beyond botching such a thing. “Doesn’t happen too often, because resurrection carries a heavy price. That’s stuff for God. I don’t think even the greater spirits will help with that. You’re either calling back the larger soul into the body, or using the one you’ve kept in a jar. It’s not pretty. Bad, bad stuff, my child. Bad.”
“Have you ever…? Or anyone you know?”
“Oh lordie no, not me! I’ve known people that have done it, though. One, the resurrected person died again in three days, and the mage soon afterward. Burned up from the inside out, he did. Other one, his resurrected wife killed him before taking her own life again. Larger souls don’t like coming back, no, not one bit.”
“But did any of them wake up a ghoul? And what did they do to kill it, or put it back to sleep, or something?”
“I know of one who did. He saw right away what he’d done and managed to kill the ghoul before it got too strong. Not that you ever can really kill one. You just gotta send it back, out of the physical plane.”
“How did he kill it? And when are they too strong? This one’s been around for days.”
“Well, the one I know of was put back by dirt from the corpse’s grave. The dirt wakes up the little soul still in the body and reminds it to be dead. Once the little soul leaves, the ghoul can’t stay. Another way I’ve heard of is to destroy the host body, although you gotta do it fast because they can regenerate. They might look like an old, torn up, dead body, but in a few seconds they can repair enough to grab you. Then you’re dead.”
Aunt Marie hesitated, and Nyalla waited patiently, dreading her answer to the second part of her question.
“Child, I worry about this ghoul you’ve got. If the fool that raised it didn’t see fit to take care of his mess right away, well, you’ve got a problem on your hands. They get strong once they start eating other dead, and that makes them harder to catch and kill. If they can find ghosts, they’ll steal them to eat, too. Once that happens, they begin killing the living. Unchecked, they’ll slaughter every night, making sure each victim dies in terror. They especially like to torture the little soul in the body they’re possessing, killing and eating those they hold dear.”
Nyalla felt sick. That was why the ghoul had threatened John Mayfield’s family. It hadn’t been just to scare her, but to torture whatever remained of the man who’d once walked in that body.
“So what can I do?”
“You’ve gotta find that lousy excuse for a necromancer who raised that thing and tell him to fix this.”
Nyalla doubted there was a listing for necromancers in the phone book. This wasn’t like back in Hel, where all the mages knew each other and their specialties.
“What if I can’t find him or her? I’ve got no idea who would have the skills to do something like this, or where to begin looking.”
Aunt Marie made a sympathetic clucking noise. “Child, with zombie raising, any number of people could have done it. If you need a zombie to work your farm, or your call center, and you got the skills, you just go raise one. With resurrection, someone’s gotta have a reason — a really good reason, to take them kinda chances. There aren’t many necromancers in the world. Look for the people who really didn’t want this guy dead. They might not be your necromancer, but they probably were the ones that paid one to do the spell.”
Nobody wanted John Mayfield dead. He was a beloved local guy. Still, those most pained by his death were his wife, his mother, and his brother. It was a place to start.
“What if the original necromancer skipped town, or is dead, or is unwilling to assist me? Is there something that I, or anyone else, can do?”
“Hmmm. Well, you could find yourself another necromancer. If you could convince them to get involved, they should be able to do a reversal spell. I don’t know much about this type of magic. Maybe one of those sorcerer types could help you.”
Nyalla didn’t know any of those, and she had a sinking feeling that by the time she managed to scour the earth for a necromancer, it would be too late.
“What about a werewolf? Or an angel?”
If only Sam were here. She’d know what to do. Demons were fairly territorial, but Sam took that trait to an extreme. Everything was hers. She’d be livid that some spirit had trespassed on her home turf. Too bad she was in Hel for an indefinite period of time.
Aunt Marie snorted. “A werewolf? Guess they might be able to tear the body up enough to evict the ghoul, but I can’t see one of them wanting to get their teeth into rotting flesh. Mind you, I’ve seen them eat some pretty disgusting stuff, but nothing that bad. And angels? Who knows? The old ones have great power, but they like to keep things hands–off as far as day–to–day doings with us humans. I’d have more luck wishing on a star than relying on an angel to save my sorry butt.”
Nyalla breathed a sigh of relief. She’d not been looking forward to any future dealings with angels. Yes, one had given her a gift, but he’d still been terrifying. The idea of approaching him to ask for help with a ghoul sent her heart racing. Going alone on vacation to the beach would be a breeze in comparison.
“Do you know any necromancers? Anyone I could approach as a back–up? I can pay.” Sam had given her a credit card before leaving, and it seemed to have an unending amount of money available to it. Plus there was a safe behind the picture that the demon had given her access to. That thing was full of money.
“I don’t know any necromancers still among the living, but I do know a ghost chaser who might be able to help you. I’ve been told she’s done exorcisms and dealt with revenants before. I’ll give her a call and have her contact you.”
Well, that was better than nothing. Nyalla thanked Aunt Marie for her time and hung up, thinking she should spend the day talking to John Mayfield’s relatives. How that was going to go down, she had no idea. ‘Hi, you didn’t by chance try to raise your husband from the dead’ wouldn’t likely be a good conversation starter. Still, she had to try. The ghoul was now killing, and it wouldn’t be long before he was powerful enough to turn his attention to Shelly and Jack. Nyalla thought of the baby, his round chubby arms and legs, how his mouth curved into a perfect bow as he slept.
“Boomer, we can’t let anything happen to that baby.”
The hellhound whined in agreement.
17
I’m sorry; I’m not the best hostess right now.” Shelly’s smile was wan as she held out a glass of soda toward Nyalla.
“I don’t expect you to be. Not after losing your husband so unexpectedly.” Nyalla took the glass, ice clinking merrily as she sipped the liquid. Soda was such an odd beverage — sweet with a burn on the tongue from the carbonation. It was most likely an acquired taste — one she had yet to acquire.
“It’s not just that,” Shelly looked nervously out the big bay window facing the front of the tiny house. “The grave robberies, and now the Findleys. Did you hear? All of them murdered in their home, except their son Max.”
Nyalla had been stalling her whole visit, wondering how she could possibly approach the topic of necromancy with this young woman. The mention of the murders steeled her resolve. She glanced over at Jack, on a blanket and batting happily at a toy suspended above him. It could have been him last night — him and Shelly.
“I need to ask you something, and you’re probably going to think I’m crazy, but did you ever consider doing something to bring John back to
life? Consult anybody in the supernatural community about the possibility?”
Shelly froze, slowly turning to face Nyalla. “I won’t say the thought didn’t cross my mind. I spent night after night at the hospital, praying to God for John to wake up and be all right. Right before we removed life support, I begged for a miracle. At that moment, I would have sold my soul to Satan to have John open his eyes.”
She swallowed hard, eyes bright with tears. “But after he died? That was it. It was God’s will. Surely there is some greater purpose, some larger plan I’m unaware of where John couldn’t live. I don’t know. All I do know is I have to have faith or I’ll go crazy. He’s gone, and I need to trust that I can put the pieces of my life back together and have the strength to move on.”
Nyalla felt the burn of tears in her own eyes. “So you never considered turning to the dark arts? Seeking out someone who promised to raise him from the dead?”
Shelly gave a hollow laugh. “Not even if such a thing were possible! I said I’d bargain with the Devil himself, because in my darkest hour I was weak and would have done anything. But once he died, I found strength I didn’t know I had. No, I would never have pursued such a thing.”
Nyalla sipped her soda, glad for the burn of bubbles on her tongue. Who then? John’s mother? His brother? Or a clandestine lover? She’d seen such things on numerous television shows. A girlfriend may not have the same scruples Shelly had.
“Do you think… .” Shelly’s voice trembled. “Do you think that someone stole his body believing they could do such a thing? That some crazy person seriously thinks they can bring him back to life?”
Nyalla squirmed. “Sort of. Eric did say they were looking into any occult practitioners in the area. There were other graves besides John’s that were disturbed, but there seems to be some significance about his.”
