Demons Are a Ghoul's Best Friend

by Victoria Laurie

  “Nervous,” said Steven. “But ready to run.”

  “Shit!” I said into the microphone.

  “What’s happening?” Gilley said. “M.J.? You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, throwing the wood plank away to the side of the cabin. “But there’s a solid wood door behind this plank and it’s locked up tight.”

  “Can you get in?” Gilley asked.

  “I’m running now,” said Steven, and I looked down at my watch. It was six on the dot.

  “I’m gonna have to,” I said, raising the crowbar again and jamming it into the frame of the door. “Steven, what’s your position?”

  “I’m on the trail over at the dorm area,” Steven said, breathing a little hard.

  “Remember to keep it slow but work up some fear,” I said, jamming the crowbar into the door again.

  “How’s the door coming, M.J.?” Gilley asked.

  “Grah!” I said, pulling back with all my might on the crowbar. “You damned piece of wood! Move!”

  “That answers that question,” Gilley said.

  “Son of a bitch!” I snapped as I pulled the crowbar out and regarded the door. “This thing isn’t budging!”

  “How about one of the windows?” Gilley suggested, and I could sense the tension building in his voice as Steven moved along the trails, waiting for Jack to show.

  “Good idea!” I said, and quickly moved to one of the windows.

  “Wait!” I heard Steven say, and I held my crowbar in the air, alarmed by his tone.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “I think I heard footsteps,” Steven said, and I knew he had automatically increased his speed.

  With adrenaline now coursing through my veins I thrust the crowbar into the crevice between the board and the outside wall as hard as I could. The old wood splintered and cracked and a small piece of it broke off. “Steven, are you sure you have Jack in sight?” Gilley said into my ear.

  “I am not sure,” Steven said, his voice holding a bit of fear. “I thought I did, but now I am not sure.”

  I moved closer to the wood plank over the window and examined it. If the wood gave way in small chunks instead of one big piece it would take me longer to remove it. “M.J.?”

  “I’m here,” I said, moving the crowbar up along the other side of the window and gently easing it away from the wood of the cabin.

  “How’s it coming?” he asked anxiously.

  “Focus on Steven,” I commanded. I didn’t want to add any more tension to the moment by revealing that I was having a hard time getting inside the cabin.

  “Steven?” Gilley asked. “What’s your status?”

  There was puffing through the airwaves, and I knew Steven was still jogging along on the trail. “No sign of him yet,” Steven said; then a moment later we all heard Steven’s voice spike. “What was that?!”

  “You heard something?” Gilley said.

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Steven screamed, and it was so piercing that I dropped the crowbar and yanked at my earpiece.

  When I’d collected myself I shoved it back in my ear, and I could hear Gilley’s voice shaking over the airwaves. “Just run, Steven! Run!”

  “He’s right behind me!”

  “M.J.! I am tracking Steven along the trail. He is T minus thirty seconds from the dock! What is your status with getting into the cabin?”

  My knuckles were white as they gripped along the crowbar and pulled at the wood, tearing it away from the window frame inch by inch. “Almost…there…” I puffed.

  “Ahhhhhh!” Steven screamed again, and I winced but kept going.

  “Steven?!” Gilley squealed. “What’s happening?”

  “I see him! I see him! He’s right behind me!” Steven shouted.

  “Run!” I shouted to Steven. “Get to the dock, Steven, and run for your life!”

  “He’s on top of me!” Steven yelled. “I’m going for the grenade!”

  “No!” I commanded as the plank finally came completely away from the wall and fell to the ground. “You’re almost here! Run to me!”

  In my other ear I could faintly hear the pounding of footsteps and splashing water. Steven was at the Instadock, and I still had a glass window to break. Holding the crowbar like a bat I swung with all my might and smashed the window into dozens of shards.

  “M.J.!” Steven yelled, and I could hear him both in my ear and in the distance. “I’m…almost…there!”

  My heart thundered in my chest as I pulled the crowbar out of the window and smashed at the remaining glass. “Keep coming!” I shouted.

  “He’s cleared the dock!” Gilley shouted. “M.J., he’s almost to you!”

  I grabbed at the sides of the window and pulled myself quickly inside. There was a stabbing sensation in my leg, but a nanosecond later I’d hit the floor and I rolled away.

  “I can see the cabin!” Steven yelled. “M.J.! Open the door!”

  I bolted to my feet and took two lunging steps to the door. Snatching at the dead bolt I flipped it back and hauled at the handle. The door stuck fast, and I stumbled backward. “Shit!” I swore.

  “Open the door, M.J.! Open it!” Gilley now.

  I flew at the door and firmly gripped the handle. Gritting my teeth I set my foot against the doorjamb and gave a tremendous heave. I felt the door giving way and shouted,

  “Steven! Use the grenade! Now!”

  The door released its tight seal on the jamb and opened wide. Through the opening I could see Steven running for me just yards away, and Hatchet Jack in full horrific human form was chasing him down with a bloody hatchet waving wildly about his head. Steven had the magnetic grenade out of his pocket, and he pulled at the top before tipping it and pulling out the magnetic spike.

  The air seemed to ripple around him, and I watched Jack’s form waver and spin away from Steven, who had suddenly stumbled and was going down. “Hold on to the spike!” I yelled at him, and somehow he did and rolled to the side of the path leading to the front door.

  Jack’s face was a mixture of hatred and confusion as he skirted away from Steven and the painful reaction of the magnetic spike. “Yo!” I shouted at him. “Ugly! Over here!”

  Jack’s face jerked up and he looked at me with his soulless eyes. There was something like a growl that emanated from him, and I knew he recognized me as the one who had stolen Hernando away from him. “That’s right,” I called, and moved backward into the cabin. “Come to Mama!”

  Jack’s figure disappeared, but there was a pounding of footsteps dashing to the cabin, and quickly I retrieved my own grenade from my coat pocket. I could feel him when he entered the cabin, a sort of smoldering electrical current oozing with hatred and malice. A dusty old chair by a stone fireplace toppled over, and a picture on the wall fell to the floor with a loud crash.

  “Here I am!” I goaded. “Come and get me, hatchet man!”

  I had moved behind the kitchen table, and without warning it slammed into me. I fell forward onto the top of the table with a loud, “Ugh!” as I felt it pushing me backward against the wall.

  The lead pipe holding my spike had dropped from my grasp, and I watched in horror as it rolled across the tabletop and onto the floor with a thud. “The spike!” I yelled the moment before my back was slammed into the wall.

  The table came up and smashed me against the wall with an incredible force. I couldn’t get air into my lungs, and my arms were pinned next to me.

  “M.J.?!” Gilley squealed. “M.J.! Come in, M.J!”

  I couldn’t respond; my head was pressed sideways, and my chest couldn’t move to speak or take in air.

  “He’s got her wedged behind a table!” I heard Steven shout. And suddenly the table dropped and I was free.

  I took a deep breath and looked at Steven in the doorway, still holding his spike in his hand. Jack’s energy had retreated away into one corner by the fireplace, and as I fought for air I waved Steven back away from the door. “I got it from here,” I s
aid, quickly retrieving my lead pipe from the floor.

  Steven looked concerned, but he complied.

  “What’s happening?” Gilley shouted, and Steven brought him up to speed while I inched forward to the repellent nastiness in the corner of the room. “So, you like to murder little boys?” I said with loathing. “And you like to scare people around here as well, huh, Hatchet Jack?”

  There was an awful laughing sound that came from the corner of the room. “Tag,” I heard him say. “You’re it!” And with that he charged me.

  I stood my ground until he was almost directly on top of me, and that was when I released my own grenade. The room rippled and the ether shook, and I could feel the impact of Jack’s energy as it hit the magnetic force field my spike had created. He bounced away from me, and I charged at him with my spike held high over my head, and his energy shifted from predator to prey. I could feel him become panicked, and he ducked around me and dashed to the other side of the cabin through a closed door.

  I chased after him and said, “I’ve got him cornered!” into my microphone. With my adrenaline fueling new strength I kicked the door open violently, and as I entered the doorway I came up short.

  The room had been a bedroom. It smelled of dust, mold, and something else too nasty to describe. There was a rotten old bed in the center of the room, and on it a skeleton lay fully clothed with a hatchet sticking up out of the center of its chest. Above the headboard was a vapory, round ball of energy. Jack’s portal.

  Recovering myself I moved quickly forward to the bed and pulled a chair close to the edge. Standing on it I heaved the spike into the very center of the portal, and I saw the ether around it shiver and become unsteady.

  “I’ve got him!” I shouted. “Steven, if you’re outside, please bring me my duffel bag with my drill and the other spikes.”

  “Coming!” Steven called.

  “M.J.?” Gilley said. “What’s your status?”

  I wiped my brow and stepped off the chair, bending over to catch my breath. “Jack’s trapped,” I said. “It’s safe to come here, Gil. And please bring Muckleroy. He’ll want to see this to believe it.”

  Chapter 13

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Muckleroy said when he entered the doorway to Jack’s bedroom.

  I was back on the chair with a hammer and my spikes, pounding them into the wall and sealing up the spirit of Hatchet Jack forever.

  “Whoa,” said Gilley. “That is freaky!”

  I stepped off the chair, panting for breath. Steven handed me a bottle of water from my duffel, and I took it gratefully.

  “At least now we know what happened to Jack,” Muckleroy said, indicating the hatchet sticking out of his skeleton.

  “Not quite,” I said, and looked at the dean standing directly behind Muckleroy. “What we need to put all these pieces into place is to hear from one of the boys Jack brought here to play his sick and twisted games with.” With that I took a long swig of the water before pointing to the opposite wall, where four sets of shackles were screwed into the wood.

  Everyone turned to look where I was pointing. Everyone, that is, but the dean. I smiled, because then I knew for certain I was right on the money. “He offered to take you boys fishing, didn’t he, Dean?”

  Muckleroy and Gilley snapped their heads back to me; then they both turned and stepped away from Dean Habbernathy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the dean said.

  “Ah, but I’m afraid you do,” I said. “You and Nicky both know.”

  The dean blanched, and his face drained of color. We all watched him carefully as he put a steadying hand out to the door frame. “You don’t understand,” he said.

  “I think I do. It didn’t make sense until I saw the shackles,” I said. “There’s a set for Eric and Mark, but the two extras threw me until I thought it through. At first I thought that one of the sets might have been for Hernando, but then I remember Maude’s sister telling us that Jack took a group of boys from the foster home to go fishing in August. That means he’d already killed Hernando. So the two other sets of shackles could only belong to two other previously unidentified boys. And then I started thinking about how you told us Jack had chased after you when you were young, and how Eric had saved you. That wasn’t the ghost of Eric and Jack, was it? That was the real, live boy and the man.”

  The dean stared at me with large, unblinking eyes, as if I were recalling memories that were terrifying to him. Finally, and almost imperceptibly, he nodded. “Nicky and Eric were brothers,” he said. “We all lived with Maude up until Jack took us and brought us here. After that night Winston Habbernathy took us in, and from that point forward I became Owen Habbernathy.”

  “Tell us what happened, Owen,” I said.

  The dean let out a long breath and sagged against the wall. “Jack took the four of us here one weekend to fish on the pond and have a sleepover.”

  “The four of you?” Muckleroy asked.

  The dean nodded. “Yes. It was me, Eric, Mark, and Nicky, but back then his name was Ethan, and my name was John.”

  Muckleroy had taken a small pad and a pen out of his pocket and was scribbling notes on the pad. He looked up and asked, “John who?”

  The dean smiled sadly. “Smith,” he said. “As mundane and ordinary a name as they come.”

  Muckleroy looked at him with sympathy and waved his hand. “Please continue, Dean.”

  “When we arrived on the school grounds Jack gave us a tour. He said that he was the groundskeeper here, that he knew the property like the back of his hand. He added that there were no hiding places that he hadn’t already discovered, and the only area that was off-limits to him was the dean’s private suite—where Nicky now lives.”

  “That’s why Jack’s ghost never goes there,” I said, clicking that piece of the puzzle into place.

  Owen nodded. “Yes, which is exactly why, when Nicky got older and wanted some independence, I felt it was a good place for him to stay. My father, the former dean, had used it as his private suite during those nights he worked late here at the school. When Nicky wanted a chance to live on his own, I felt it was the safest spot for him.”

  “And it was,” I said. “A safe place for him to live and be close to his real brother, Eric.”

  The dean’s shoulders slumped and he continued with his story. “As I was saying, initially Jack appeared to be true to his word; the weekend began as planned. We took the tour of the school, fished on the pond, and cooked dinner here in the cabin. Jack seemed to be perfectly normal, and there was nothing in his manner or behavior that alarmed or frightened us. Then, as dusk settled, things changed.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  The dean drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I couldn’t really put my finger on it. One minute he was telling us stories of his time in Vietnam—he had served a tour of duty there—and the next he was fidgety and anxious. Almost nervous.”

  “When did you know you were in trouble?” Gilley wanted to know.

  The dean’s mouth pulled down into a deep frown. “When he got up from the table and walked to his bedroom door. He told us that he wanted to play a game of tag with us, but first he had something to show us in his bedroom. We followed after him like trusting fools, and a moment later he’d grabbed Nicky and had him shackled to the wall. Eric went crazy and jumped on his back to kick and punch him, but Jack knocked him out cold with a solid punch to the face.”

  “That’s awful.” I gasped.

  “It gets worse,” said the dean. “Mark and I were terrified, and we ran for the front door, but it was locked tight and we couldn’t get out. Jack then shackled me up next to Nicky and secured Eric’s unconscious body before taking Mark by the scruff of the neck, and he left the cabin.”

  Muckleroy stopped scribbling. “Where’d he go?”

  The dean closed his eyes as a wave of emotion seemed to overwhelm him. After a moment and in a hoarse whisper he said, “Somewhere out on the grounds. It was quie
t for a long time. Nicky and I were straining to hear anything at all, and then the silence was broken by screams—Mark’s screams. Eric woke up just as the last of them died out, and I suppose that’s when Mark died as well.”

  Everyone in the room was silent for a long moment, but finally Steven said, “Then what happened?”

  “We heard digging,” said the dean. “I learned later that it was Jack digging Mark’s grave behind the cabin. After that Jack came back into the cabin. He was covered in mud, sweat, and blood. He was wearing this crazy smile and holding this bloody hatchet. He pointed to me and Eric and said, ‘Normally I like to play this game with just one of you, but I think I’m up for something more challenging.’ And that’s when he unshackled the two of us and dragged us out onto the school grounds. The sun had completely set by then, but the moon was full, and Jack pointed to a tree on the other side of the pond. He told us that was home base, and if we got there we were free, but if we didn’t we were dead. He then turned his back on us and began to count.”

  “Sick son of a bitch,” Muckleroy spat.

  “How did you survive?” I asked.

  The dean pushed away from the wall and began to pace the room as he spoke. “Eric ran and pulled me along. He said that Jack would expect us to go right for the tree, and that he probably didn’t mean it when he said the tree would give us our freedom. He said we’d have to hide out for a while; then we could try to make it off the school grounds and go for help.”

  “So you ran to the elementary wing,” I said, sliding in another piece of the puzzle.

  The dean nodded. “Yes. We hid there for a while, lying low, and we were beginning to think we had outsmarted that lunatic when we heard Jack calling for us out on the grounds. He said that if we didn’t show ourselves he was going to play his game of tag with Ethan.”

  “Nicky,” I said as I felt the color drain from my face.

  “That bastard!”

  “Eric couldn’t let that happen,” said the dean. “He came up with a plan. He said that he was going to make a run for the tree. While he led Jack away from me he wanted me to go back to the cabin, free Ethan, and run for help.”