I staggered until I fell, then crab-walked backward, wracking my brain for anything in my bag of tricks that might buy me time. Fire didn’t harm the creature, and none of my puny guns would make a mark on its tough hide. It roared again, and my head snapped up at the change in the sound, desperate hope leaping in my jaded, cynical heart.
The dragon was transforming as the castle behind it burned.
When I’d first glimpsed the monster, it had been straight out of a Peter Jackson blockbuster, fearsome and menacing. That was the tulpa, taking its form from the way the energy of the park had grown dark and twisted through its failure. But as I watched, the outline of the dragon shifted, growing shorter and rounder, its blood-red hue fading, damaged wings disappearing altogether, long legs and powerful tail turning stumpy.
It roared again, this time in frustration as much as menace, as if it realized what had happened. Gone was the terrifying creature of legend. In its place was a light pink, goofy looking cartoon dragon with innocent, wide eyes. The tulpa had been robbed of the well of dreams that fed its energy, and what remained was its original form, the silly caricature from the Wonderama map.
Before the tulpa could get used to its new form, I lobbed a grenade in front of the dragon and threw myself down on the ground, arms protecting my head. I didn’t figure that the grenade would hurt the tulpa, but it made a nice hole in the ground, giving me a moat of my own for the shell-shocked monster to navigate around and providing me with at least a little head start.
I glanced behind me as I dragged myself to my feet, forcing myself into a gimpy run as my knee protested. The castle had nearly burned to the ground, going up even faster than I expected. I circled around, giving the carousel a wide berth, though I realized its music had gone silent. With the flames behind me, I navigated the Enchanted Forest much more quickly, and this time, the creepy trees were only constructs of chicken wire and plaster, nothing more. I heard the dragon lumbering in pursuit, and I quickened my pace as fast as I dared, afraid that any moment I would feel its breath on the back of my neck.
Mother Goose Land loomed ahead, and this path took me past Humpty Dumpty on his wall and the Billy Goats Gruff bridge, but I paid the broken and faded figures no attention, too afraid of the monster closing the gap behind me. In the distance, I heard sirens. I had no intention of being caught by the fire department, but I didn’t want to lead them into an ambush by the tulpa.
Time to turn around and face my fears. I turned around, leveled my rifle, and fired my last incendiary bullet. And as I did, I focused on my own hopes and fears, visualizing the dragon’s heart and wishing it real.
Tulpas are thought-creatures, and robbed of its dream-well and its hoarded wishes in the cindered castle, it took direction from the next strongest source—me. My bullet tore through hide the color of cotton candy, burrowing through flesh and sinew, and bursting into flame inside the heart of the dragon.
For an instant, its cartoonish eyes widened in shock, and then an age-old knowing overtook them, an instant before the pink dragon vanished in a puff of smoke.
I limped the rest of the way to my truck, slung my bag into the back, and took off, hoping the old road still came out at the park’s back entrance, since I didn’t want to explain myself to any arriving firefighters. The asphalt had long ago crumbled to gravel and potholes, giving me a rough ride as I navigated the park’s perimeter. I kept my headlights off, but that meant trading off speed for stealth, and I almost ran into the wooden barricade that blocked off the far end of the exit road. It was meant to keep traffic on the main road from turning into the abandoned park, not to keep anyone in. I nudged it with the grill of my truck, and the old boards fell apart, as rickety as the rest of the park.
With the glow of the flames in my rearview mirror, I turned onto the road and flipped my headlights on. The gashes from the big bad wolf still bled across my arm and chest, my knee hurt like a son of a bitch, and I couldn’t get the smell of smoke and mold out of my nose. I headed for home, deciding that dragon slaying was highly overrated.
Chapter 5
My favorite Star Trek quote is, “Social occasions are only warfare concealed.”
I found myself thinking about that quote as Sara adjusted my tie before we walked into the dinner for her hotelier conference at the historic Hotel Conneaut. “Relax,” Sara said, smoothing down my collar, and giving my cheek a pat. “It’s just a bunch of people who run B&Bs. You face down scarier things for breakfast.”
Sara knows I’m a hunter more often than I’m a mechanic. We met when I was up in the Big Woods hunting a were-squonk, and I ended up staying at the B&B she runs up in Kane. She’s smart, practical, and not into drama; plus it’s a relief being with someone who knows the truth about what I spend my nights and weekends doing. She’s widowed, I’m divorced, and we’ve both been hurt, so we’ve been taking it slowly. This was the first time I’d been her plus-one for any kind of gathering. To say I was out of practice being someone’s arm candy would be a powerful understatement.
“They’re your colleagues,” I grumbled. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”
She smiled. “Don’t exorcise the hotel’s famous ghosts, don’t throw holy water on the speaker, and it’ll be fine.” I think she was joking, but maybe not.
“Okay,” I said, feeling far more nervous about the reception and dinner than I did hunting things that could kill me and suck out my soul. “Just don’t expect much small talk.”
She stretched up to kiss me, and I felt some of the knots in my gut loosen. “I’m glad you’re here.” Sara laced her fingers through mine. “Don’t give the others another thought.”
I made it up to Kane every few weeks, mostly on monster business, but sometimes just to see Sara. My job gave me more flexibility than hers did, since running a B&B is a 24-7 kind of thing. That was another reason for moving slowly. We knew we liked each other, a lot. But neither of us were the casual relationship sort, and if we got serious, we still didn’t know where that might end up. Would I relocate my mechanic business to the Big Woods when my friends and support crew were here in Atlantic? But unless Sara sold her B&B and bought something near me, then what would she do?
We weren’t ready to answer those questions yet, so we took things one day at a time, trying not to go too far too fast, and maybe both scared about getting our hearts broken if we mucked this up.
Which is why the conference gave Sara both a reason to see me closer to my home and an excuse not to spend the night. She’d invited me to the reception and dinner, but with the caveat that she had a late-night business session afterward and an early breakfast. I can take a hint. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t be taking a cold shower when I got home, but I was on board with the going slow thing, except when she pressed up against me, and I could smell her shampoo and kissing her sent my downstairs brain into overdrive.
I really hoped I did the same for her. From the flush in her cheeks and the naughty smile she gave me, I thought maybe so, but it was hard for me to feel confident. Give me a gun and a round of silver bullets, and I’m a scary SOB. Ask me to win over a beautiful woman with my charm and sparkling personality, and I’m SOL.
She kissed me again, this time lingering a little longer. “I’m glad you’re here, Mark,” she repeated. “Really glad.” The way she brushed against me almost made me believe it. My ex-wife Lara took my self-confidence along with my DVD collection and half the cash in my bank account when she left me, and while I’ve replaced the movies and the money, the confidence is still missing-in-action.
We walked in hand-in-hand, and I tried not to hyperventilate. Hotel Conneaut is a beautiful Victorian resort on Conneaut Lake, with wide porches, lovely period details, and several documented ghosts. Since the ghosts have never hurt anyone and the hotel plays them up as a feature, I figure they don’t fall into my job description. And with a ballroom full of people, spirits from the other side were highly unlikely to make an appearance. They are almost as uncomfortable around the l
iving as I am.
A big banner that read “Welcome NW PA B&B” hung across the far wall, a jumble of letters that actually did make sense. I took a deep breath and did my best not to freeze in my tracks as several people turned to watch us enter. Friends of Sara’s, regarding me with interest. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t recognize anyone here, and no one would have heard about me, or at least, about my side job. Oddly enough, many people are dubious about the whole “monster hunter” gig.
Sara pulled me forward, and I let her lead me into the crowd. I guessed that about a hundred people filled the ballroom, which was set up with round dinner tables. Not a huge crowd, and maybe half of them were just like me, smiling with deer-in-the-headlights eyes, doing their best to make nice as spouses and significant others. I squared my shoulders and told myself to man up. Surely I could get through a cocktail party and dinner without causing a catastrophe.
“You must be Mark.” My head whipped up as a red-haired woman in a tailored pantsuit sidled up to us. Sara and I were the same age, thirty-five, and I judged the woman to be perhaps a decade older. She had the perfectly put-together look that usually screamed “real estate agent,” and her gaze made me suspect I had lint on the lapel of my sports jacket that she wanted to flick away, but she resisted, and I tried not to tense up.
“Mark, this is Joanna Wright,” Sara said, and I knew from her body language Joanna wasn’t someone Sara completely trusted. I shook the woman’s hand, and her thin fingers were ice cold.
“We’ve heard just enough to be intrigued, Mr. Wojcik,” Joanna said. As usual, she mangled my last name, but I was used to it.
“Voy-chick,” Sara corrected reflexively, sparing me.
“So are you also in the hotel business?” Joanna probed, letting the mispronunciation slide.
“I’m a mechanic,” I replied. “I own an auto body shop out in Atlantic.”
“Then I’m guessing you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.” There was nothing wrong with what Joanna said, but something about her inflection added an innuendo I didn’t like.
“I like cars,” I replied, finding that much safer than saying that I liked “working with my hands.” “Always have. Fixing them, keeping them tuned, refurbishing a classic now and then—it’s satisfying.”
“Sounds like fun,” Joanna replied in a tone that told me she thought it was anything but. “Maybe Sara can tempt you into the inn-keeping business,” she said with a broad wink. “It would be good for her to have a man around the house, up there in the frozen north,” she added, with a side glance at Sara as if she expected collusion. When Sara didn’t play along, Joanna looked a little flustered.
“Well, glad to finally meet you,” she said. “Pardon me—I see the bar just opened.” She hurried away, and Sara gave a quiet sigh.
“Sorry about that.”
I shrugged. “There’s one in every crowd. But…how did she know my name?”
Sara blushed. “I’ve mentioned you, more than a few times. Some of my friends kept trying to fix me up and, well, I wanted to let them know I wasn’t in the market.”
My heart beat a little faster at that, and I hoped I didn’t have a dopey smile, but that was likely asking too much. I’m not smooth, or good at playing hard to get. I’m a WYSIWYG kind of guy, and that’s a blessing and a curse.
Sara led me in the opposite direction, toward the bar on the other side of the room from where Joanna headed. I had to drive back, so I just got a Coke, but Sara chose a white wine, and then we headed back into the fray. She introduced me to a dozen people, and I knew I’d never remember their names. I smiled and nodded and tried to look manly but harmless.
“You work on cars? Sweet.” Jon, a dark-haired man with green eyes, looked genuinely interested, and I tried to relax. “There’s a garage near the inn we own in Brookville—specializes in classics and imports. I like to stroll by now and again and look at what they’re working on.”
Jon and I discussed cars for a while, saving both of us from having to mingle while our partners worked the room and talked shop with colleagues. I felt like I’d dodged a bullet, and Jon looked equally relieved until his partner, Pete, returned to claim him when the emcee asked people to head to their tables.
“Hope to see you around,” Jon said, as Pete led him off toward their assigned table. Sara showed up a few seconds later.
“We’re over here,” she said, steering me to the left. I’d enjoyed the chat with Jon, and from the way several other adrift significant others had joined into the conversation, I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt out of my element.
Our table for eight included six total strangers to me. It didn’t seem as if Sara knew them either, except to recognize that they were with the group. One of the guys, Chip, looked familiar, and he kept glancing in my direction as if trying to place me.
“This hotel is beautiful.” Carly, a woman in her middle years with a bright red bob haircut, gestured with a sweeping motion to encompass the old Victorian. “So well maintained, and a great lake view.”
“It reminds me of some of the grand old hotels in Cape May, or up in the Adirondacks,” Simon added. He and his partner, Chip, ran a B&B near Grove City.
“Ooh, I bet it’s seen plenty of history,” Shelly chimed in. She was married to Nate, and they ran a mid-century modern B&B outside of Greensburg.
“You think it’s haunted?” Nate asked. From the look on his face, I couldn’t tell whether he thought that was a plus or a minus.
“That’s what the brochure says,” Kendall replied, and I guessed he went with Carly. “I bet they charge more for the thrill of maybe seeing a spook.”
“What I read says the hotel has a bunch of ghosts,” Carly added. “There’s a bride who was killed in a fire, a little girl on a tricycle who fell off a balcony, and a couple of other regular ghosts. It would be cool to see them.”
“You’re that ghost hunting guy.” Chip hadn’t said anything since we sat down, but his voice silenced everyone at the table. Nate’s comment had probably made the connection for him of where he knew me from, although I didn’t recognize him.
“Actually, I’m a mechanic,” I replied. “Everything else is a hobby.” Technically, that was true. Although my garage manager, Pete, could tell anyone who asked that I tended to spend more time away from the job than on it.
“But you’re a ghost hunter, like on TV,” Chip persisted. “Simon’s friend Maxine said somebody put you in touch with her when weird things happened out at her lake house, and you took care of it.”
I remembered Maxine and her lake house. An antique leather trunk she’d bought at an estate sale ended up having a nasty poltergeist attached, and by the time Father Leo and I waded into the mess, the negative energy had attracted a bunch of dark entities and angry ghosts that were more than happy to come along for the ride.
“It’s really not anything like what you see on TV,” I replied, really wishing someone, anyone, would change the subject. Nate looked like he wanted to ask questions. Carly’s gaze was cool and assessing. Simon crossed his arms over his chest.
“I call bullshit.” Simon’s gaze bored into me. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. It’s all just parlor tricks, like those fake mediums who con people out of their money and break their hearts. It’s a scam.”
“Maybe some of the time it’s fake,” Shelly agreed. “But my sister has had a bunch of experiences she can’t explain, and that convinced her.”
“It’s all subjective,” Simon replied. He wasn’t just a skeptic; he was an evangelist for skepticism. My heart sank. I didn’t want to be the focus of the conversation, and I definitely did not want to embarrass Sara in front of her fellow innkeepers. “How much do you charge people to get rid of their ‘ghosts’?” He made air quotes.
“He doesn’t charge,” Sara spoke up. “And you can believe what you want to believe, but lay off him, Simon. Everyone’s entitled to a hobby—don’t you collect toys or something?”
Simon glared at her. �
��I collect vintage action figures. They have resale value.”
I got the feeling that Simon and Sara had faced off before, and that I might just be collateral damage in an ongoing war. That didn’t make me feel any better about being put on the spot, or about having Sara feel like she needed to defend me to her peers.
“I want to know more about the ghosts,” Nate said. “Are you some kind of medium?”
I thought for a moment Nate was trolling me, but he looked sincere. Much as I wanted to the conversation to shift, I didn’t want to be rude. “No. I’m not a medium. I only step in when ghosts get dangerous. Then I help them move on.”
Honestly, ghosts aren’t usually a big problem. Monsters and supernatural creatures were where the real danger lay, but I was not going to bring that up.
“So like the ghosts in this hotel, you wouldn’t banish them?” Nate asked.
“Not as long as they aren’t hurting anyone,” I replied. I could feel the others staring at me and felt judged. Sara’s hand gripped mine under the table.
“Ghosts aren’t real,” Simon lectured. “How can you take this seriously? Ghosts are just a figment of people’s overactive imagination. They’re invisible friends made up by people who want attention. Most of this crap is all rooted in mental illness—”
Just then, the lights suddenly went out. I felt the temperature drop in the room, where it had been pleasantly warm only minutes before. People gasped as an orb of light zipped from one end of the ballroom to the other and vanished. The scent of jasmine filled the room, and off in the direction of the front porch, I heard the brrring of the bell on a child’s tricycle. Only the tea light candles in the centerpieces lit the room, but we had just enough light to glimpse a bride in a white gown glide past the window and disappear.
Deep Trouble Page 7
