“No you wouldn’t. It’s in your blood. Besides, you have the only qualification that matters. You know about the Fey.”
“Lucky me.”
“Listen,” McCoy said. “I’m going to be out of town for a few days or so. Maybe a week at most. You’ve got my number. If anything screwy happens, no matter how small or insignificant it seems, give me a ring.”
“Where are you off to?”
“South Carolina, near Myrtle Beach.”
“You’re going to the beach and you want me to bother you if a fairy jaywalks?”
“I’m serious. This truce is new territory for all of us. I’m not saying I don’t trust the Fey, but, well…they are the Fey.”
“And I’m sure they’ll be here when you get back. Go to the beach. Relax. Eat till you’re stuffed. Enjoy yourself. If anything wacky happens, you’ll be the first to know. Trust me.”
“Okay,” McCoy muttered, now feeling a little foolish. “Just so you know, though, it’s not just a vacation. An old friend’s having some strange goings-on near her home. I’m going to go check it out.”
John laughed. “Why am I not surprised? You need a hobby, man.”
“This shit is my hobby. Well, that and Springer. And he’ll be on in an hour or so.”
“Hope it’s a good one. Listen, I gotta go. Give Amanda a kiss for me. And Finn?’
“Yeah?”
“Try to stay out of trouble.”
“Why does everyone keep telling me that?”
“I wonder,” John said. “Talk to you later.” And then he was gone.
McCoy put the cell phone down and wondered where he might find some trouble to get into.
Chapter Three
The Gray Man watched the others, and his apprehension grew.
They were not like him. He had once been alive, and he had been in love. He could still remember the taste of his lover’s lips as she pressed them against his. He could remember the sting of the salty ocean air and the warmth of the sun upon his face.
He had not been alive for a very long time, but the fact remained that he had been, once.
The others were different, though. They had never been alive. Or, to be more specific, they had never been human. The Gray Man sensed an innate evil within them that was as natural to their kind as swimming was to a fish. It was as if they existed only for the death of others.
And they had already killed. Twice.
The Gray Man had been powerless to stop the others. They were spirits, but they were not human spirits. The Gray Man didn’t think that he could interact with them even if he wanted to, which he most certainly did not. But since they didn’t seem to be aware of his presence, he might be able to get close enough to spy on them, to see if he could glean any useful information.
Until then, the only thing he could do was to try to warn the residents of the island. But could he get them to take heed? This danger was not a tropical storm or hurricane—it was more cryptic, and much darker than any catastrophe nature could provide. The Gray Man, though himself a denizen of the supernatural world, was out of his league here, and he knew it. But he had to try.
He sensed that many lives depended on him.
***
“Pull over at the next rest stop,” McCoy said. “I need to stretch the leg a bit.”
“We just stopped fifty miles back,” Amanda said, not without some exasperation. “This is like travelling with a five-year old.”
“A five-year old with a bum leg,” McCoy muttered unhappily. He was acutely aware that he was a liability on this trip, and it was beginning to foster a bad mood within him. He wanted nothing more than to turn around, go back to Shallow Springs, dig up the demon that had done this to him, and kill it again. Just for the hell of it.
“Next rest stop is thirty minutes down the road,” Amanda said. “I can take the next exit. There’s bound to be a gas station or something.”
“That’ll work. I need to take a leak, too.”
“Small wonder. You drank a gallon of tea when we stopped to eat.”
“Chili cheese fries make me thirsty.”
“Don’t even get me started about those.”
“Hey. Vacation rules, remember?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Amanda said as she pulled off the interstate and onto the exit ramp. “Since this is technically a working vacation, I’m not sure the same rules apply.”
“They do. Trust me. Besides, this is going to be more vacation than work. The Gray Man isn’t a vengeful, evil spirit. This is probably just your garden variety haunting, spooky but harmless.”
“But what about the other ghosts Nan saw? And the two drownings? They happened too close together to be pure coincidence.”
“Maybe,” McCoy conceded. “But Nan wasn’t even sure that the figure she saw in the water was a ghost. Other than that, all she’s seen is glimpses and shadows. Nothing concrete.”
“Turning into a skeptic in your old age?”
“Not at all. But probably half of all alleged ghost sightings are either cases of misidentification or outright hoaxes. Ghosts do exist, but they’re not as common as some people think. It’s not like there’s one hanging out on every street corner.”
“Says the man who believes in fairies and demons.”
“Well, demons are actually more common than human spirits. It takes a lot to tie the human spirit to this world. How many demons have you seen?”
“Counting the one that broke your leg? One.”
“Okay. How many ghosts?”
“None,” Amanda admitted. “So far.”
“Well, there you go.”
Amanda pulled into a convenience store with several rows of gas pumps in the front. She angled the car into one of the gas lanes.
“Might as well go ahead and fill up,” she said. “That way, we shouldn’t have to stop for gas again.”
“Okay,” McCoy groaned as he pulled himself out of the car. “I’m gonna go take a leak, maybe get a candy bar. You want anything?”
“Just a bottle of spring water.”
McCoy walked across the parking lot and into the store. The interior was so shiny and brightly lit that it almost hurt his eyes. A quick glance around revealed that the store offered nearly everything a weary traveler might need or want. There were groceries and snacks, of course, but there was also a deli in the rear that served up burgers, hot dogs, and sandwiches. Aisles of food gave way to automotive supplies, health and beauty aids, books and magazines, and even a few racks of t-shirts and ball caps.
McCoy shook his head. He could remember when gas stations sold gas and precious little else. Sure, you could get motor oil, brake fluid—stuff like that. Otherwise, you’d be lucky to find a rack of peanut butter crackers and a cooler of pop. Times sure had changed.
He ambled toward the back of the store, where a neon light above two doors promised the relief of a restroom. His leg was feeling a little better now that he was using it, and he was already dreading returning to the cramped confines of the car. On the bright side, they were only a couple of hours away from the coast. Though it was early in the year and still quite chilly, he hoped that the change of scenery and crisp, ocean air might serve to improve his mood.
The restroom was even brighter and shinier than the rest of the store. McCoy had to let his eyes adjust before he could even unzip his jeans and go about his work. As far as he could tell, he was alone in the room. That was good, because the chili cheese fries had also given him a grand case of the Fiery Farts. He let one rip, and it echoed off the porcelain walls.
McCoy finished his business and zipped his pants. He walked over to the sink, turned on the hot water, and washed his hands. As with most other modern facilities, the owners had shunned actual paper towels in favor of hot air hand dryers. Supposedly, this was done for environmental reasons, though McCoy suspected that the real motive was to reduce the amount of trash that had to be taken out daily.
He tapped the dryer’s start button wi
th his elbow and was in the process of rubbing his hands together under the lukewarm air when he glanced into the mirror and saw that he wasn’t alone anymore. There was a man standing behind him.
McCoy almost voiced a noncommittal greeting, then stopped short as he took a closer look at the man. At first glance, the figure looked solid enough. It was only through closer inspection that the telltale visual signs became apparent: the slight flickering around the edges of the figure’s outline, the way the man’s facial features blurred slightly, defying recognition.
McCoy turned slowly, trying not to spook the spook, as it were. To his relief, the ghostly figure did not vanish, but stood its ground. The man was eyeing McCoy with great interest, as if sizing him up.
McCoy sensed no malevolence within this spirit. He waited for the phantom to make its intentions known. With earth-bound spirits, this was usually one of three things: a warning, a plea for help, or else they just wanted to scare the hell out of you. Since the spirit didn’t seem to be interested in frightening him, McCoy waited for it to speak.
The spirit began to flicker like an image on an old silent movie. It took a lot of energy for a ghost to manifest itself to the living, and McCoy guessed this particular haint had nearly depleted its batteries already. That was strange, because it had only been visible for a few moments. Unless, perhaps, it was projecting itself from a great distance.
The phantom seemed to sense that its time was running short. It opened its mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The ghost redoubled its efforts, strain showing visibly on its blurred features. Finally, it found its voice.
“Hurry!” the spirit shouted, though to McCoy it came out as little more than a whisper. “You…hurry! Lady Roberts…danger!”
Then, as if someone had turned off an old cathode ray tube television, the spirit was gone. McCoy suspected that the warning was incomplete, that the phantom had not been able to fully articulate its message due to the amount of energy required, but he had heard enough to get the gist of it.
Lady Roberts obviously referred to Nan. And if Nan was indeed the subject of the ghost’s warning, then there was little doubt as to the identity of the spirit itself: the Gray Man.
McCoy was impressed. He knew of very few spirits which were capable of projecting themselves to a location several miles away, much less several hours. But it must have been the Gray Man. The spirit’s image matched the descriptions given by several eyewitnesses to previous encounters.
But regardless of the spirit’s true identity, the fact remained that the phantom perceived Nan to be in danger. It was only a little past noon; surely they would arrive at White Pine Island by three at the latest, well before dark. Not everything related to the supernatural, however, roamed exclusively at night. A few beers and a deserted stretch of beach might be all that was needed to lure Nan to an untimely death.
McCoy finished drying his hands on his pants and exited the restroom. He ignored the purchases he’d planned to make and went straight to the gas pumps where Amanda waited for him.
“Where’s my water?” she asked as he crawled awkwardly into the passenger’s seat.
“It’ll have to wait. We need to get going.”
“Why the sudden rush?” Amanda eyed him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
“Let me make a quick call, then I’ll explain everything. Just go.”
As Amanda started the car, McCoy pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialed Nan’s number, and hit enter. For his trouble, he was greeted by an automated message informing him that his call could not go through. “Please try again later,” the cheery robot-woman voice told him.
“Problem?” Amanda asked.
“Must’ve misdialed,” McCoy mumbled. He checked for signal strength, saw that it was good, and dialed the number again. The automated woman, seemingly not perturbed at all that McCoy had called back, gave him the same message.
“Yeah, we might have a problem,” he said as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. “I saw a ghost in the men’s room. I think it was the Gray Man. He was trying to warn me, something about Nan being in danger.”
“What is it with you and bathrooms? Do you have an experience every time you use one?”
“Generally, not one of the paranormal kind. Anyway, I’ve got the feeling we need to hurry. And I can’t get through to Nan.”
“Well, it’s the middle of the day. We’ll be there in a few hours.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just a bad feeling I can’t shake.”
“Just try to relax,” Amanda said as she pulled back onto the interstate. “We’re running right on schedule, and the traffic’s not bad this time of year. It should be smooth sailing from here on out.”
Before McCoy could reply, the right rear tire blew.
***
Nan Roberts hummed to herself as she went about tidying up the house for what had to be the third time today. She knew she was being a little obsessive, but she rarely had anyone over, and she hadn’t had overnight guests since the week or so following Pete’s death.
She was anxious for McCoy’s arrival. In truth, they had never been close friends back in the day. He was a couple of years younger , and they hadn’t really moved in the same circles. But in a small town like Shallow Springs, everyone pretty much knew each other, and they had developed a friendly acquaintance that had lasted through the years.
Growing up, Nan had not been aware of McCoy’s interest in the supernatural. No one had; he’d always seemed like a normal, well-adjusted kid who played sports and made decent grades. Nan had been away at college when that business with the Peterson kid had happened, but she had heard all about it from friends who still lived in the Springs.
There had been no shortage of speculation and outright fabrication concerning the event. Some said that Todd Peterson had been cursed by a witch, while others insisted he’d been possessed by a demon. A few maintained that the devil himself had come looking to collect Todd’s soul. In any event, McCoy had somehow intervened, thus saving Todd and, some said, the whole Peterson family.
At the time, being busy with her college studies and having just met Pete, Nan had been curious but not overly interested in the whole affair. After all, she didn’t believe in the supernatural, and had almost felt ashamed to think that the people from her backwoods hometown could fall for that kind of mumbo jumbo. She was sure that something had happened, but she’d been just as positive that it had nothing to do with witches or demons.
Nevertheless, McCoy had gained somewhat of a reputation after that. Most of the residents of Shallow Springs regarded him as something of a flake, though none of them had ever been hesitant to call upon him if they started experiencing unexplained noises or sights within their own homes. And Nan did know that when Todd Peterson’s father had died, he had left no small amount of money to McCoy in his will. The windfall had served to keep McCoy from having to hold down a regular job and had freed him to spend his time ghost hunting, or whatever it was that he did.
Several years later, with the advent of social media, Nan and McCoy had reconnected. They had communicated on a regular, though somewhat infrequent, basis. During these conversations, McCoy had deftly avoided mentioning anything to do with the supernatural, and Nan had just as deftly avoided asking. Though she truly liked McCoy, she supposed she had always secretly thought of him as either a harmless charlatan or mildly delusional.
Now, however, her opinion had definitely changed.
Nan forced herself to stop her nervous fidgeting. She walked out to the deck and plopped down into her favorite Adirondack chair. She wanted a beer, but she thought she should wait until after her guests had arrived. She didn’t want to greet them with alcohol on her breath; it wouldn’t make a very good impression, and it might make McCoy wonder if the spirits she’d seen had come from a bottle, after all.
The sky was hazy and overcast, but not yet dark and threatening. That would come later, if the weather reports were to be trusted. Storms on the co
ast could, of course, be violent at times, but they were generally short-lived. Nan hoped that whatever bad weather was on the way would move in and out quickly, for her plan was to take McCoy and his girlfriend up to Murrells Inlet for a seafood dinner. Nan had not cooked for anyone other than herself in quite a while, and she knew that her culinary skills were rusty. It didn’t take a lot of effort to throw together a sandwich or bake a frozen pizza.
The sea was starting to get rough in advance of the approaching storm. The crashing of the waves almost completely drowned out the cries of the gulls and terns. Yet, above this, Nan thought she could hear the sound of someone singing. At first, she thought she might have left the television or radio playing, but when she turned her head toward the sliding glass doors, it became apparent that the singing was not coming from anywhere within the house.
Nan rose from her chair and walked to the deck’s railing. From this vantage point, she had an unobstructed view of the beach for as far as the eye could see in either direction. The beach was deserted. No one was walking along its sandy stretch, and there were no fishermen trying their luck in the surf.
Puzzled but unconcerned, Nan went back into the house, blissfully unaware that she was humming a melancholy tune to herself.
Chapter Four
Prucilla Pridemore was bored.
Only two days into her long-awaited vacation, she was ready to go home. This had not turned into the experience she’d hoped for when her mother had told her that they were taking a trip to the beach to visit her aunt and uncle.
Of course, the blame lay mostly with Pru herself for letting her expectations get so high. Though she was only twelve, she should have been bright enough to realize that a beach trip taken during the first week of March would not result in the fun-in-the-sun adventure she had dreamed of. She should have done some research on the seasonal temperatures of South Carolina instead of blindly assuming that it was always hot and sunny at the beach.
Shadows in the Sand (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller Book 2) Page 3
