by Ann Charles
“Are we talking about my black aura again or my clogged chakras?”
“The last time I flew back from Nevada,” he said, “I read an article in a renowned parapsychology magazine about how hydrotherapy for the colon can widen a channeler’s receptors, allowing spiritual energy to flow with more ease.”
There was no way I was sticking a hose anywhere near my nether regions anytime soon. Although I wouldn’t mind taking a fire hose to Cooper’s keister one of these days. “Cornelius, an enema isn’t going to cure what ails me.”
However, a lobotomy might do the trick.
“Oh, it’s not an enema. Those procedures clear only the lower end of your—”
“Gahhh!” I shouted, turning into the parking lot behind the office building. “This subject is officially off limits for us from here on out until the end of eternity.” I made a karate chop in the air several times for emphasis.
“See.” He poked my karate arm. “Look at that tension. Your sphincter must be coiled up tighter than a—”
I reached over and covered his mouth. “I mean it, Cornelius. One more word and I’m going to stab you with a trident.”
His black eyebrows rose. “You have a trident?” he mumbled through my hand.
Placing both hands back on the steering wheel, I shot him a scowl. “Not yet, but my son wrote it on his Christmas wish list so I’ve been searching online for one. He wants the real deal, though, not a plastic one.” Layne’s list this year had made me laugh when I’d first read it the other night. A laugh that bordered on hysteria, which made Doc look up from the dining room table where he’d been working on his laptop. When I’d shown him the list, he’d reached for his beer and muttered, “Like mother, like son.”
“I may have a trident source for you,” Cornelius said.
“Why does that not surprise me?”
“But you’ll have to help me lure a clown ghost.”
“You play dirty.”
“You would too if the little terror had carved a fiendish message into your skin.”
A month ago, Wilda Hessler’s ghost had possessed Cornelius for a couple of weeks, making his world a living hell. During her stay inside of his head, she’d manipulated him into carving words into his arm, leaving scars that would spur paranormal groupie chatter for years to come.
I parked in my usual spot and killed the engine. “Explain to me how a ghostly clown doll can be possessed by an evil presence. And don’t try to use that Chucky movie as an example, because that shit is fiction and he isn’t a ghost. He’s plastic and yarn, or whatever they use for his doll hair.”
Cornelius stroked his goatee. “I fail to see why you are having trouble comprehending the situation at hand. This is basic paranormal studies. The changeling is possessing Wilda’s ghost.”
“And by ‘changeling,’ you mean …”
“Wilda Hessler’s twin. Did your Tall Medium neglect to inform you of his discovery?”
“Oh, he told me about the clown in the old picture of the Hessler family.” We’d been up at the family grave markers in Lead at the time.
“But did he explain what he has since learned about that clown?”
“He said there was a notice in the paper about the Hessler twins’ births saying both babies were healthy, but that one child seemed to have suffered distress in the womb.”
“The twin was disfigured,” Cornelius stated.
How could he know that based on an old newspaper photo of a kid in a clown costume? “Did Doc find another picture?”
“No, I saw the twin.”
“Recently?”
“Wilda was in my head for weeks. I saw things during that time. Things I didn’t understand. Now that I’m free of her and I’ve learned of the existence of her twin, those visions make sense.”
“What visions?”
“I thought I was seeing a distorted version of Wilda. She would appear with gnarled limbs and a contorted face, lurching more than walking, sometimes with a clown mask, other times not.” He frowned out the windshield. “That wasn’t Wilda I was seeing. It was her disfigured twin.”
I covered my chest with my hand. “That poor child.”
“Apparently,” Cornelius continued. “The Hessler family didn’t like having their jewelry empire tarnished by a disfigured child. My belief is they dressed the daughter in clown attire when in public to hide her in plain sight. At some point early on in Wilda’s young life, the ‘clown’ twin disappeared entirely, never to be seen again.”
My heart hurt for Wilda’s twin. Her family hadn’t even given her the honor of an official gravestone, hiding her existence well after death. A small rectangle of concrete mostly covered by weeds and dirt was it for the child.
A disfigured child? I returned to what Cornelius had called the twin a moment ago—a changeling. “I thought a changeling was a nefarious child that was secretly exchanged during infancy by evil fairies.” An idea the old movie The Changeling had played upon with chilling effects.
“There are various definitions of a changeling depending on the culture and paranormal subgroup in which one participates. Would you like me to list them all?”
I narrowed my eyes in response.
“Violet, it appears the tightening in your sphincter has spread to your eyes.”
I pinched his arm, making him squawk while he laughed.
“And your fingers, too.” He chuckled still as he rubbed his arm.
“So, you think Wilda the ghost is actually being manipulated by yet another ghost?”
“Another entity,” he clarified.
“Whatever. She’s the puppet and the changeling is pulling the strings?”
“That is mostly correct.”
The twin was reaping revenge. “But if it’s inside of Wilda’s ghost, how is the changeling inside the clown doll Wilda carries, too?”
“The entity is using the doll as a vehicle for its non-physical form. A separate apparition, if you will, created via telekinesis from Wilda and visible to you and me through telepathy.”
I let that gobbledy-gook speak bounce around in my brain for a few heartbeats. “I’m sorry, but that’s too nuts to believe.” I reached for the door handle. I didn’t have time for this right now. I had a ghost town to visit.
“It’s a solid theory.”
“Seems more gelatinous to me, and I reject it.”
Cornelius frowned at me over his round sunglasses. “You can’t reject my theory, especially when it’s still in the formation process.”
“I just did.”
“You can dispute it and provide another theory, but you don’t have the power to reject.”
“Oh, yeah?” I smiled across at him. “Watch this.” I traced an “R” on my open palm with my finger and then slammed my other fist into it, as if I had a stamp in my hand.
“What’s that mean?” he asked.
“It’s the letter ‘R.’ It stands for ‘Rejected.’ “
I climbed out of the Honda, scanning the parking lot for my coworkers’ rigs. Mona and Ben were at the office, but there was no sign of Jerry’s Hummer or Ray’s SUV. That explained why Mona had answered when I called in earlier about taking the day off to run some errands. I didn’t mention that my errands involved another venture into a creepy mining ghost town, and Mona didn’t prod for details.
The Picklemobile, Doc’s winter set of wheels, was parked a couple of spots down. I wondered how late he stayed up last night reading my family history book, and if Cooper had been as bossy with Doc when setting up our morning meeting as he’d been with me. Probably not, since Cooper liked Doc more. Hell, I had a feeling Cooper liked just about everyone in town more than me, especially when he was looking in the mirror at his crooked nose.
Cornelius joined me at the bumper of my Honda. “I reject your rejection.” He walked beside me toward Doc’s back door. “And I trump it with a prediction.”
“You can’t trump a rejection. You can try to fight it, but there’s a lot of bureaucrati
c red tape to cut through and darn it, we’re all out of scissors.” I stepped over a mound of dirty slush. “What prediction?”
“You’ll change your mind.”
“Why would I change my mind?” I paused outside the door, kicking the snow off my boots.
Cornelius did the same before following me inside. “Because the Tall Medium wants to go fishing, too.”
“He does?” Why hadn’t Doc mentioned anything about it last night? As soon as the door was closed, I said, “How in the world did you convince Doc that trying to lure this ghost clown out of hiding is a good idea?”
We wiped off our boots on the bristly mat.
“I had him listen to my EVP recordings from the séance we had in the Hesslers’ root cellar.”
I paused, frowning up at Cornelius. “What did you pick up?”
“It took some cleanup work with all of that other noise, but I was able to single out some voices, including the changeling’s.”
Goosebumps peppered my arms. “You’re kidding.”
“There are two things I never joke about, Violet: malevolent spirits and toy poodles.”
I blinked away all poodle questions. “What did the changeling say?”
“You mean, what did you say?”
“Huh?”
“It spoke through you.”
I shook my head, words log-jamming in my throat. I’d acted as a microphone for the dead once before for Harvey’s grandpappy, but he was a harmless old romantic who liked to mix his homemade hooch with blondes. This was different. This was a creepy clown doll, or rather an evil twin pretending to be a clown. Either way, I didn’t like the idea of being its speaker.
A sound at the other end of the hallway made us both turn. Doc stood, his hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans, leaning against the wall. His cheeks and chin were dark with beard stubble, adding a shade of ruggedness to his face. Cooper must have rushed him this morning, too. How long had Doc been standing there?
“Cornelius thinks Wilda’s twin used you to channel more than her mother,” Doc said, answering my unspoken question. “He suspects your services were used to bring over a parasitical entity that has attached itself to Mrs. Hessler’s ghost.”
Shit. I was starting to see why Doc had waited to talk to me about this. Snaring Wilda and her entourage would be tricky with more risks than Doc or I had anticipated, and I already had plenty of other problems stacked high in my head like a leaning tower of unread books.
“You mean like the lidérc?” I asked Doc.
Cornelius looked back and forth between us. “What lidérc?”
“Sort of, but the lidérc feeds off the living. This is more of a ghoul that feeds off spiritual energy.”
“A ghost leech?”
He shrugged. His shoulders looked broader in the green flannel shirt he wore over his black thermal undershirt. “If you will.”
“And in your EVP recordings …” I turned back to Cornelius. “You could hear this ghoul speak?”
“Technically, we can only hear you speak.”
“You know what I’m asking.”
“I believe we can hear the changeling and the ghoul speaking, but the latter is not comprehensible.”
“Is it a foreign language?”
“Maybe,” Doc answered. “There were noises that weren’t normal human sounds mixed in with your voice.”
I grimaced. “Mrs. Hessler stood right next to me.” I held my hand a couple of inches from my cheek. “She was this close, Doc.”
“I know.”
I closed the distance between us with Cornelius on my heels until he reached the door to Doc’s back room where his equipment now resided. At that point, he veered off course and left Doc and me alone.
Crossing my arms, I frowned up at Doc. “You also know that I’ve had nightmares with her whispering terrifying threats in my ear, touching my face with her icy dead fingers, and turning my skin into a charred black shell that cracked and oozed with pus.”
Doc reached out and ran his thumb down my cheek. “They were only nightmares.”
“For now, maybe, but what about when I run into Mrs. Hessler and her soul-sucking ghoul next time? We don’t know what that thing is capable of doing to the living—to me.”
“We need to send it back where it came from before it wreaks havoc on some innocent bystander.”
“True, but we don’t know how to do that, do we?”
His mouth set. “We have some theories on the subject.”
“Theories? Now you sound like Cornelius. Just a warning, I’m in theory rejection mode today.” I ran my knuckles along the scratchy stubble on his jaw. “This five-o’clock shadow look is really sexy. It makes me want to play pirate with you. I think Aunt Zoe has a headscarf with skulls on it in the attic along with a fake cutlass and scabbard. What time did you go to sleep last night?”
“Around two, matey.” His gaze dipped down my front side. “The way those jeans hug your hips makes me want to wrap your legs around me while I squeeze your sweet pirate booty. If I don the skulls headscarf, will you wear one of those corsets over a white frilly shirt that laces up the front? I’ve always wanted to see what happens when I slowly loosen those strings.”
“Aye, Captain.”
His focus slid northward. “We’ll need some rum to wet our pipes.”
“Oh, I’ll wet yer pipe, swashbuckler.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and went up on my toes to whisper in his ear. “And I know just the trick to hoist your Jolly Roger.”
His hands slid down my sides, his mouth lowering. “Yo ho ho,” he whispered over my lips.
The backdoor creaked open, letting in a blast of freezing air.
“Jesus, you two!” Cooper slammed the door. “It’s too early for that shit.”
“Go away, Coop. I’m busy.” Doc teased me with soft kisses.
Cooper stomped his feet on the mat. “Save it for tonight. We need to hit the road. They’re calling for another storm later this afternoon.”
With a growl of frustration, Doc pulled away. “I’m thinking mutiny is in order,” he said to me. “What say you, lass?”
“I’ll poke him with a cutlass all the way down the plank.”
“Parker, get in the pickup,” he ordered, grabbing the doorknob. “Let’s get this surefire catastro-fuck underway.”
Doc grabbed his thick winter coat from his desk chair along with his gloves and stocking hat. “Ready?” he asked me, pulling on his coat. At my nod, he ushered me down the hall.
“Cornelius,” he called out. “Lock up on your way out.”
As we passed the back room, Cornelius waved absently from where he sat on the floor next to one of his monitors.
Outside, Harvey’s pickup waited for us with chains on the tires and Harvey in the back seat.
“You want the front?” Doc asked me.
Next to Cooper’s canines? No, thanks. “I’ll keep Harvey company.”
Doc held the door for me before climbing in front with Cooper. “Let’s roll, Coop,” he said, aiming the heating vents toward the back.
“Hey, ol’ buzzard,” I greeted Harvey, clicking on my seatbelt as Cooper shifted into gear.
“How’s yer tobacco taste today, Sparky?”
I had a feeling that was some sort of greeting, so I answered, “Bitter with too much sour law dog sprinkled in the mix.”
“Save it, Parker,” Cooper said, his focus on the slushy parking lot. “I left my pity party hat and balloons at home.”
“What has your stinger sticking out already?” Harvey asked.
“Your nephew blames me for his informant going missing.” I glared at Cooper’s profile.
“That’s not true,” Cooper said. “I’m blaming you for me having to return to Slagton again today. Had you not gotten out of the pickup yesterday, as I requested—”
“You mean ordered,” I interrupted.
“As I requested,” he repeated in a louder voice, “I would’ve had time to scout around the p
lace and possibly find clues to my informant’s whereabouts.”
“Any news on that situation?” Doc asked.
“Not one damned bit.” Cooper turned onto US Highway 385, heading out of town. “I’ve reached out to the other contacts I have in Slagton, and none of them have seen or heard from him. The son of a bitch seems to have disappeared into thin air.”
I tried to ignore the heavy feeling in my gut about his missing informant and today’s task, but I couldn’t shake the anchor of unease sloshing around in it.
“What’s the plan for today?” I asked Cooper. Maybe if I had an idea of what I was riding into, I’d be able to get a grip on my anxiety.
“Are you going to bite my head off if I answer you?”
“Probably, but tell me anyway.”
“Did you bring your war hammer?” Harvey asked under his breath.
“She better not have.” Cooper must have his bionic ears turned on.
I shook my head. “Your nephew told me I’m not allowed to kill anything today.”
Harvey snorted. “You can’t tame a natural-born killer, boy.”
“For starters, we’re going back to the house.” Cooper moved to the side of the road to allow a snowplow to pass and lead the way. “I want to check for any clues I might have missed yesterday thanks to you two yahoos.”
“You’re the silly yahoo,” I muttered.
“What’s that, Parker?” His steely eyes glared in the rearview mirror.
“Just drive the damned truck.”
“And after that?” Doc asked.
Cooper shrugged, pulling back onto the cleared road. “We’ll see where the wind takes us.”
Settling into the back seat, I stared out the window at the snow-covered landscape as we climbed Strawberry Hill and made our way south, deeper into the Black Hills. In the front seat, Doc and Cooper talked about truck engines for several miles and then various kinds of firearms, with Harvey joining in when they somehow wandered into a discussion about cannons.
I zoned in and out, thinking about what I needed to accomplish yet before Christmas when it came to my kids’ gifts from Santa. Addy’s wish list was full of pet accessories, including several items for pets she didn’t have, which made me wary of what she was up to. Why on earth would she want a fish tank with a castle, a warming light for reptiles, and an igloo-style doghouse? As far as I knew, we had a cat, gerbil, and chicken.
