Popcorn Thief

by Cutter, Leah

  “Will it come back?” Ray asked.

  Adrianna gave a merry laugh. “No, I don’t think so. We drove it off, didn’t we boys?” she said, addressing the tree men.

  “Did you…hurt it?” Franklin asked, skeptical. He’d never seen anything that could actually hurt a spirit.

  “Skewered it good, at least once,” Adrianna said proudly.

  Would an injured spirit return? Or seek an easier target?

  The spirits around Lexine were usually hurt, and always returning to her for comfort.

  “It might come back,” Franklin warned. “I’d camp out here, for a day or so, at least.”

  “Camping!” Adrianna said, clapping her hands together. “We haven’t been camping for ages.”

  “Then we should camp right here, under the trees,” Ray said, encasing her hands in his and drawing them up to kiss them, quickly. “I’ll get the tent. You stay here.” He glanced at Franklin, who nodded: Yes, he’d stay, while Ray cleaned up, got everything ready.

  Not that Franklin felt he could do any good against this angry spirit.

  Chapter Four

  FRANKLIN THOUGHT ABOUT CALLING CHARLENE and asking to take the day off, but it was Saturday, one of the busiest days at the Kroger. So he promised the Sorrels he’d stop by again after work, then rode his bike home as fast as he could. Maybe he wouldn’t be too late to work after he got into his uniform.

  Besides, he didn’t want to change anything in his routine, in case the cops finally came to see him about his cousin.

  Franklin had been expecting a call from Aunt Jasmine about Lexine, but he hadn’t heard anything yet. She must know by now, right? Though Franklin and Lexine hadn’t been close, they’d still been cousins. And he was close enough with the rest of his family, seeing them every Sunday at church, then going over to Aunt Jasmine’s place for Sunday dinner.

  Franklin slowed as he approached the farm. A brown sheriff’s Crown Vic sat in the driveway. Sheriff Thompson leaned against the door.

  Shit.

  Franklin didn’t even know what he could tell the sheriff about the Sorrels. He couldn’t tell him that they’d been attacked by an angry spirit—not without being hauled off for being crazy.

  But the sheriff already knew something was going on. Nothing to it but for Franklin to tell as much of the truth as he could.

  “Morning, Sheriff,” Franklin said as he rode his bike into the driveway. “What can I do you for?” He casually got off his bike and walked up, telling himself again and again, Nothing’s wrong. Everything here’s cool.

  “Where you been?” the sheriff asked as he pushed himself off the car and tipped his hat up a bit, showing his white face, tiny suspicious eyes, big nose, and disapproving grimace. The only thing soft about him was the big brown mustache he grew. He combed it frequently, lining all the hairs up neatly.

  “Over at the Sorrels,” Franklin admitted. “They was having a problem with their koi pond.” While that might not be the first thing Ray would say when the sheriff asked about it, he would back Franklin up. Franklin had been there about the fish pond, if not that night.

  “Didn’t know you were also a speaker to the fish, not just a speaker to the dead.” Sheriff Thompson grinned as if he’d made some kind of joke, though Franklin didn’t get it.

  Franklin just shrugged. He knew the reputation he—and the rest of his family—had in town. He wasn’t surprised that the sheriff had heard the rumors.

  “Anyway.” The sheriff paused and looked down. “I’m here about your cousin Lexine.”

  “She in trouble?” Franklin asked. He’d prepared himself for that, as well as he could.

  Those sharp eyes were back on his face again. Luckily, Franklin was already sweaty from his ride.

  “You could say that. She’s dead.”

  “What?” Franklin exclaimed. “No—what happened?” He kept easy eye contact, certain that those shows on TV weren’t lying about everything. Eye contact meant he was telling the truth, that he was surprised.

  “Murdered,” Sheriff Thompson said. “I was sitting here, waiting for backup, in case you turned out to be the same.”

  “Murdered?” Franklin asked, unbelieving. “What? How? Who?”

  “We’ll find the bastards. Them and their wild animals. Really tore the place apart. You wouldn’t happen to know of anyone who had a problem with Lexine?”

  Franklin shook his head, as if bewildered. “I don’t—I mean, there was that contractor. Who built her the house. And his wife. But they wouldn’t do something like that.” Franklin looked up. “I gotta go see Aunt Jasmine,” he said. “I need to go see how she’s doing.”

  The sheriff nodded and said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” Franklin said. He turned and walked his bike to the front porch. Guess he was calling Charlene, telling her he needed to take the day off.

  “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be missing any of your crop there, would you?” Sheriff Thompson asked casually.

  “No sir, not that I know of,” Franklin said, looking back over his shoulder, his heart pounding in his chest. “Why?”

  “A few corn cobs were found around the bodies. Like some kind of ritual.”

  “Bodies?” Franklin asked, leaning his bike against the front porch and walking back toward the sheriff. “Did you say bodies? Who else was killed?” Franklin demanded.

  “A businessman,” the sheriff admitted. “Earl Jackson. Developer, come here to see about turning some of the nearby land into a resort. Did you know anything about that?”

  “No, sir,” Franklin said. “I can ask Aunt Jasmine about it, though.”

  “I’ve talked with her,” the sheriff said with a sigh. “She didn’t know anything either.” He gave Franklin a softer look. “Give my regards to your aunt. And the rest of your family.”

  “I will. Thank you for letting me know, Sheriff,” Franklin said. He paused, then asked, “You check with Karl Metzger? About his corn?”

  “No. Why should I?” Sheriff Thompson asked.

  Shit. Franklin shouldn’t have said that. “Just a thought,” he said as easily as he could. “You know. Since we’re rivals and all. His family and mine. Coulda been his corn.”

  “You thinking he did this?” Sheriff Thompson said.

  “No, no, not Karl,” Franklin said, horrified. Had he just fallen into some kind of trap set by Gloria? Getting Karl in trouble because of the corn at the crime scene?

  “I’ll go talk with him. You take it easy,” the sheriff said as he walked around his car and slid in.

  Damn it. Franklin hadn’t meant for the sheriff to start thinking Karl was a suspect. He also hadn’t known that Gloria had carried more than one ear of corn to the cabin. She must have moved fast, as the sirens had been close.

  But there was nothing for Franklin to do but call work, shower, then gather with his family to mourn.

  * * *

  Franklin sat out on the back stoop with his older cousins: Darryl, Jason, and May. A slatted, yellow-painted wooden fence boxed in the yard, closing it off from the alley and its neighbors. A passel of younger kids ran around the browning grass. They didn’t really understand what was going on, and they’d barely known Lexine. Since the adults had been so serious all day, they were now racing around like crazy things. Franklin couldn’t really follow the rules of whatever game they were playing: It seemed like tag, only they were all bomber planes.

  Darryl and May were drinking beer, of course, although Franklin suspected they might have spiked their cans with something more potent. Not because they was gonna miss Lexine that much—Franklin had been the closest to her—just any excuse to drink.

  Jason sat quiet, alone with the three of them. He’d had to go with Aunt Jasmine to help identify the body, and he couldn’t seem to shake what he’d seen.

  Franklin couldn’t either. How had a spirit broken her neck like that? And made those gouges? It was awfully strong, stronger than any spirit Franklin had ever heard about.


  “You reckon you’ll start seeing Lexine?” Darryl asked with a smirk as he took another drink. His blue work shirt had seen better days, and he used the sleeve to swipe at the sweat on his tall, shaved head. While Franklin’s brown uniform shirt wasn’t the best looking, at least he took care of it. Darryl’s eyes was perpetually bloodshot, like he’d been in a smoky room, though his main indulgence was liquor. He had the same sharp nose as Aunt Jasmine, making his face look long and serious, though he was forever cracking jokes and laughing, usually at Franklin’s expense.

  “No,” Franklin said. He’d be real surprised if she showed up to haunt him. She had power all on her own. She wouldn’t need him to settle anything for her.

  Except to find her killer.

  “I still say it was a lover’s spat,” May said with a smile that wasn’t appropriate and gave Franklin the willies. Mama would have tsked at how low cut her sundress was, though it was a pretty red. She’d straightened her hair again, and dyed part of it a lighter brown. She looked more like Mama and Franklin, with a rounder face, softer lips, and kinder brown eyes.

  “No,” Jason said firmly. “It weren’t him. It weren’t something human.” He looked up finally and caught Franklin’s eye. “Do you know what it was?” Jason looked so tired. Was he coming down with something? Though he was the youngest, white still tinged the temples of his close-cropped brown ’fro. He was a meld of the two families, with a long nose, round face, and thin lips.

  “Something evil,” Franklin said.

  May snorted. “Evil? Now you’re sounding like Preacher Sinclair.”

  “None of your mouth, now,” Jason said sternly. “Taking another life like that is evil. Nobody deserved that.”

  Franklin nodded. “It hasn’t gone away, though,” he warned.

  “What, you think this thing’s got a hard-on for our family?” Darryl asked. “If so, it can just say hello to my friends, misters Smith and Wesson.”

  Jason glared at Darryl. “That’s the stupidest—”

  “Rock salt,” Franklin said.

  Everyone looked at Franklin like he was nuts, a regard he was used to. “Shotgun, not filled with buckshot, but rock salt. That might help.” The thing kept going after his lard, like a regular ghost would. And ghosts liked salty stuff. Maybe filling it with salt would distract it, or fill it so it would leave.

  “I can do that,” Darryl said, nodding slowly. “You need to borrow a gun?”

  “Naw, got one,” Franklin lied. He wouldn’t ever borrow anything from Darryl: Never knew when Darryl might just show up on his doorstep, drunk, wanting to reclaim it.

  “Why do you think it went after Lexine?” Jason asked, still trying to understand.

  “’Cause she was special,” Franklin said. He ignored May’s snort. “That businessman, too. Earl Jackson. He must have had something. Otherwise it would have left him alone.” He’d been trying to get away, and the thing had kept attacking him, while it had left Ray alone, and only gone after Adrianna.

  “What kind of power did that fat old man have?” Darryl asked.

  “I bet it wasn’t his dick—Men are the only ones who think they’re magic,” May said, laughing.

  How much had May already had to drink? Franklin just shook his head.

  “He was here to develop property, right? Maybe he could see the wealth flowing in,” Jason said. “I’d love a power like that.”

  “Naw, maybe he found oil or gold or something, and wanted to dig it up,” Darryl said, playing along for once.

  Lexine had seen spirits. Franklin saw ghosts. Adrianna saw lines of power, which Franklin had always thought was some kind of mystic crap. Maybe the businessman could see money or future fame, though that didn’t seem right—that was manmade, artificial, not natural from the earth.

  “Someone at work said something about them making a resort here, right?” Franklin said, thinking out loud. “And maybe diverting the Wolf River.”

  “So maybe he was a dowser,” Jason said.

  “A what?” May asked.

  Jason said, “Someone who can find water. They used to be real respected, could find the place where you should dig your well. Used a dowsing rod.” At the collective blank looks, Jason added, “I read about it once.”

  “You were always the brainy one,” Darryl said. “The brain, the weirdo, the slut, and the hick. Here’s to the four of us,” he added, raising his can in salute.

  “Who you calling a slut? Asshole,” May said, thwapping him on the arm.

  “Sounds like the start of a bad joke,” Franklin said. “What, do we all go into a bar or something?”

  Darryl laughed. “Say, did you hear the one about—”

  A wail rose from one of the kids—Jason’s daughter—she’d run headlong into Darryl’s son, and now had a bloody nose. While Jason and May went to go deal with them, Franklin sat in silence with Darryl, wondering.

  Jason had always been attracted to water, had loved swimming more than any of them. He could find a path to a crick more easily than a water roach in a drought.

  Had Jason been talking about himself? Did he have a power too?

  What if that thing went after his cousin Jason next?

  * * *

  Franklin tried to find a time to talk with Jason on his own, but then there was dinner, with people bringing over food, then getting the kids ready for bed, so Franklin didn’t have a chance.

  The coroner finally said she’d release the body by Wednesday, so they wouldn’t be able to schedule the funeral until Thursday. It would be closed casket, something that made Aunt Jasmine howl and Jason and the others hurry her to her bed.

  Franklin went home after that, glad to see Mama was back to her glaring self. Gloria was there as well, sitting side-by-side at the kitchen table like an old married couple. But Gloria was tapping her nails again, click click click.

  Franklin didn’t know what Gloria was waiting for, but it was something. Her impatience filled the kitchen, making his skin itch like ants was crawling all over it.

  “What is it that thing wants?” Franklin asked as he settled in with a tall glass of sweet tea. The only light in the kitchen was from the stove, behind him. It didn’t make the ghosts more human: In the gloom, they glowed with their own weird light.

  “Why did it kill Lexine? Why did you bring those cobs of Karl’s corn to the cabin? Were you trying to get him arrested?”

  Neither of the ghosts replied. Franklin wished for one of Darryl’s beers, or even a straight shot of bourbon. The night felt loose and dangerous. Was that creature going to come after him next? Or Jason? How could Franklin defend himself? Or his family? Or the other special people in town?

  Franklin had more questions than answers. And the uncomfortable feeling that this was just the beginning.

  * * *

  Franklin arranged to work only half a day the next day, then only half a day on Thursday, the day of the funeral.

  That morning, he put on his Sunday best—short-sleeved white shirt, blue tie, and dark blue suit—and went to church to be with his family. The building was modern, which made Franklin more comfortable: Fewer ghosts haunting the sanctuary. White stone went up to a tall arched roof, with plain glass in most of the windows, the fund-raiser to replace them with stained glass ongoing.

  Miss Karen and Miss Kay stood outside, greeting everyone, a pair of spinster aunts who Franklin had thought were ancient when he’d been a boy over fifteen years ago.

  “We’re so sorry for your loss,” they both said, holding his hand in their soft white gloves. They wore identical corsages on their bright lavender and yellow dresses, hats shading their dark faces from even the most slender beam of sunlight.

  “You let us know if we can do anything to help,” Miss Karen added.

  “Anything at all,” Miss Kay said, getting in the last word.

  “We will,” Franklin promised, though he didn’t want to get anywhere near the sisters’ constant feud to outdo each other.

  Aft
er stepping across the threshold, Franklin paused to let his eyes adjust. Tables in the nave held huge vases filled with gladiolas and spiky ferns: Franklin knew he’d be seeing them again at the funeral. The red tile floor held in the cool from the AC. To the right were two darkened staircases, one going upstairs to the classrooms, the other downstairs to the kitchen and community hall.

  Franklin considered going downstairs—they’d still be serving coffee and pastries—but he caught sight of Jason in the sanctuary so stepped in there instead.

  Light-colored wooden beams lifted the peaked roof, as if raising it closer to God. Franklin liked the openness of the room, how the aisle running down the center was wide enough for three lines of folks. The cross at the front was carved out of dark wood, and the same dark wood made up the pulpit.

  “Hey,” Franklin said, sliding into the pew behind Jason.

  Jason turned around. “Hey,” he said, holding out his hand, giving Franklin a firm shake.

  “Morning, Lisa, Karen,” Franklin greeted Jason’s two girls.

  Jason’s wife Elise wasn’t there. She hadn’t been at Aunt Jasmine’s earlier, now that Franklin thought about it. Should he ask?

  “Elise’s still sick,” Jason said before Franklin could mention it. “Horrible flu.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can bring her? Soup from the store?”

  “Thanks,” Jason said. “You could come over and babysit sometime.”

  Franklin gave a mock shudder. “For these two hellions?” he teased.

  “Uncle Franklin,” Lisa complained.

  “We’re not as bad as Tom,” Karen added—Darryl’s eldest, the one who’d given her a bloody nose the day before.

  “True,” Franklin said. “I suppose I could come by some night. Give you some relief from these two,” he said. Then he paused. Would it be safe? Were any of his family safe around him while that thing was still out there, stalking them?

  “It’ll be fine,” Jason said, interrupting Franklin’s thoughts.

  Franklin nodded, but he wasn’t sure. Unfortunately, because the girls were there and without their mother, Franklin couldn’t get Jason on his own.