The Afterlife Academy

by Frank L. Cole

  “You said this whistle works with animals? Why would you need to use it?” Walter asked.

  “Animals have weaker wills than humans, so demons use them from time to time to attack an HLT. If you’re lucky, blowing on the Feral Whistle can snap an animal out of a trance. Or, it can be used to control animals for an Agent’s benefit. But it depends on the animal and how deep a trance it’s been put under.”

  Charlie pointed to the last item in Ronald’s hand. “What’s that other thing do?”

  “This”—Ronald held up a shard of what looked like purple glass—“is a piece of Celestial stone. Every Agent is assigned a piece. I’d let you touch it if I could, but it would explode.”

  “Explode?” Walter and Charlie asked together.

  “It only works when the Agent assigned to it uses it. If another Agent or something else takes hold of it, the stone’s rigged to blow up. It has some sort of internal self-destruct button.” The shard of Celestial stone glittered in the sunlight. Charlie could feel energy emanating from it. “Do you remember the shield of light I made earlier to protect Tyrone? And the bolt I shot at the shades? If I didn’t have this, I couldn’t have done that. Celestial stones are very powerful. But a piece this small can do only so much. It can destroy up to four shades at a time without any difficulty. A weaker wraith or two, no problem. If you get attacked by a Dark Omen or a demon, nuh-uh. Not a chance. I don’t need any more than this, because I’ll probably never see anything bigger than a wraith while guarding Tyrone. You should’ve been given a brick of Celestial stone.” Ronald returned the items to his pouch.

  “Why didn’t they give you any of this cool stuff?” Charlie asked Walter.

  “Who knows? I think there’s something fishy going on.”

  “It’s obviously the demon leader,” Charlie said.

  Ronald bit his lip. “I’m not even sure there is one leader. Demons hate rules and order. Things are a bit chaotic down there. Even if there were one leader, I don’t think he’d be able to organize and activate the rest to get the book. And anyway, he’d need a nondemon to help summon an army of demons.”

  “What nondemon would want to do that?” asked Charlie.

  “Someone who’s unhappy with the way things are.”

  “Well, that could be anyone on earth,” Walter said.

  “I’m not thinking about people on earth,” Ronald responded.

  “Huh?” Charlie and Walter intoned in unison.

  “I’m thinking it has to be someone at the Afterlife Academy. Someone who’s unhappy but doesn’t have enough power to change things from within.”

  Walter and Ronald spoke at the same time: “Alton.”

  “Who?” said Charlie.

  “Alton’s a Categorizer,” Ronald explained. “He’s not really in the Academy, but he has access to a lot of Academy information, especially about the members he’s Categorized. Who knows what he’s learned over the years. He’s been there forever.”

  Walter added, “He’s the guy who gave and graded the assessment I got the perfect score on—the one that showed I didn’t need any training before becoming an Afterlife Academy Agent. He’s not the chirpiest guy. Still, it’s hard to believe—”

  “Yeah, but you don’t know the whole story. When Alton died, he tried to enroll at the Academy but was turned down. Instead, he was assigned to Janitorial Services.” Ronald stuck out his tongue. “Cleaning toilets.”

  Charlie scrunched his nose. “You guys need toilets?”

  “He did that for a long time, but finally made it into Categorizing,” Ronald continued, ignoring Charlie’s question. “Over the years, Alton has applied to dozens of positions at the Academy, but the board rejects him every time. Apparently, they don’t think he has what it takes to be an Agent.”

  “The board?” Charlie said.

  “The Board of Directors. They make all the big decisions at the Academy. Who gets in. Who’s rejected. Who gets assigned to world calamities. All that stuff.”

  “You think Alton could be doing this to get back at the board for not letting him into the Academy?” Walter asked.

  “I guess, if he’s bitter enough. He always just seemed grumpy to me. But he has been Categorizing a long time now, and he probably knows a loophole or two in the system.”

  “That has to be it,” Charlie announced. “Alton must have altered Walter’s answers and tricked the board into thinking he was so much more than some regular kid. Why else would they have let us wander around without any protection?”

  “Hey! I’ve protected you some. And who’s to say I didn’t get all the answers right?”

  “I’ll check on Tyrone, make sure he’s secure,” Ronald said. “Then I’ll head back up to the Academy to do some digging.”

  “You can do that?” Walter asked. “Just go back up there whenever you want?”

  Ronald growled in frustration. “Were you not set up with an Access Portal?”

  “Probably not,” Walter answered pathetically. “Who’s in charge of doing that?”

  “I don’t know where they come from, but Alton was the person who gave me mine.”

  “I remember!” Walter raised his voice. “That little paper-clip thingy on your belt.”

  “All right. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, don’t go outside at night. There’s bound to be more wraiths or other things out there waiting for you. Plus, there’s going to be a rainstorm late tonight, so do your best to stay hidden and out of sight.”

  “What’s so bad about rain?” Walter asked.

  “The changes in the atmosphere from a rainstorm allow demons to come out of their underground hiding places.”

  “We have had trouble mainly when it’s been raining!”

  “Yeah, and tonight’s storm is going to spread across two or three states. It’s a big one. That means the demons will be much stronger, and you can’t take any risks, especially now, since they can attack Charlie.”

  “Hey, I’m looking out for the little guy,” Walter said.

  “Little guy?”

  “You need to be careful too, Walter,” Ronald added. “Demons don’t just hurt your essence when they touch you, they can destroy you completely.”

  “But wouldn’t I just end up back in a Categorizing Office?”

  “Not for a very long time. You’d spend eons in a place neither here nor there. Your spirit would need to be rebuilt, and that takes loads of time. It’s not a fun way to go.” Ronald pulled out a small pad of paper and a pencil from his utility belt and scribbled a message. “Here, take this.” He held out the paper, and Charlie, with Walter’s help, closed his fingers around it.

  rlogan36@afterlifeacademy.hvn

  “You have an email address?” Charlie asked.

  Ronald nodded. “The Internet is just waves of communication. Agents can use it too. We all have accounts. Email me if you get in a jam, and I’ll send help. Otherwise, I’ll plan on meeting up with you guys once I find out what’s going on.”

  Charlie stuck the note in his pocket, then held out the Feral Whistle to Ronald.

  “Keep it,” Ronald said. “It could come in handy.”

  Alton stared down at the white envelope in his hands. It was different from the other envelopes stacked on his desk, the ones containing Categorizing information on the new arrivals. This one was addressed directly to Alton and bore the Afterlife Academy crest stamped at the center of the envelope. Alton ran his thumb under the flap and pulled out the letter. He held his breath and scrunched up his face in stern concentration as he read.

  Dear Alton Tremonton:

  We the members of the Board of Directors appreciate your recent application to the position of Team Leader. As you are well aware, this is an exceptionally difficult position to fill. There are many supremely qualified applicants interested in joining the Academy leadership. It is with regret that we must respectfully reject your application, as we have selected a different candidate, one who has the precise qualifications and
experience we are looking for at the Academy. Please don’t let this discourage you. There will be future opportunities.

  Another rejection. Alton’s nostrils flared as he glanced at the bottom of the letter, where Darwin Pollock’s fancy signature took up a quarter of the page.

  “Pulled some strings, did you?” Alton grumbled. He ripped open his bottom desk drawer and tossed the rejection letter in with the others, all signed by Darwin.

  “He thinks I’m a fool. That I’m incapable. That I don’t know what’s going on here.”

  “What is going on here?” a girl asked from one of the chairs across the room. The chair had been empty just moments before, and the girl looked around the office in utter confusion.

  “Name and age!” Alton snapped. “Make it quick, and don’t trifle with me, young lady. I’m not in the mood.”

  The girl blinked, but complied.

  “I’ll show Darwin,” Alton muttered under his breath as he fished the girl’s file from the tower of folders. He removed his glasses and wiped a smudge from one of the lenses. “I’ll show them all who the real fool is.”

  Charlie hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. When the transit bus dropped him off at the stop nearest his street, the sun had already begun to set, leaving a pink pool of sky overhead.

  “I’m so dead!” He raced up the street toward his apartment.

  “What is it?” Walter demanded. “Get low! Hide somewhere! What do you see? Is it a demon? A wraith?”

  “It’s my parents,” Charlie said.

  “What’s wrong with them? I don’t see them!”

  “They’re gonna kill me! Do you know what time it is? I have a strict curfew!”

  Charlie didn’t participate in any after-school activities. No sports, no extracurricular clubs, like German or chess. Unlike Walter, Charlie had never gotten a detention and had always arrived home promptly just before three-thirty. He should’ve been home from school three and a half hours ago. How was he going to explain the gap of time?

  “No offense, but your parents are the least of our worries right now,” Walter said.

  “Easy for you to say.” Charlie bounded up the steps of the apartment three at a time. “You’re not the one they’re gonna mutilate.”

  A police officer was standing outside the apartment door jotting down information on a notepad when Charlie reached the top of the stairs. He was going to be grounded until Christmas.

  “Mrs. Dewdle, is this him?” the police officer asked through the opening in the doorway.

  Charlie’s mom’s tear-streaked face appeared beside the officer. She raced down the hallway and enveloped Charlie in a bone-crunching hug.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked, examining him for injuries. Charlie quickly shook his head. “Where have you been?” Her growl sounded almost demonic.

  “Mom, it’s—I can explain.”

  Mr. Dewdle shook the officer’s hand, thanked him, and pointed a shaky finger into the apartment. “Get inside, and sit down!”

  With Mrs. Dewdle’s fingers digging into his shoulder, Charlie was escorted past the police officer and through the door.

  “You’re so dead,” Charlie’s little sister, Darcy, whispered in Charlie’s ear as he sat in one of the wingback chairs in the living room. His parents were standing in the kitchen, discussing the proper punishment. Darcy was relishing every minute of it. “Mom called all the neighbors. She called the school. And then she called the police.”

  “Get out of here, Darcy!” Charlie hissed.

  “So grounded!” Darcy smiled and folded her arms.

  “She’s adorable,” Walter muttered. “How old is she?”

  “She’s seven,” Charlie answered.

  Darcy blinked, her smile faltering. “Huh?”

  “I just said you were seven.”

  Darcy looked around the room. “To who?”

  “To my friend Walter.” Now it was Charlie’s turn to fold his arms. “He’s a ghost, and he’s in the room right now, looking at you.”

  Walter laughed. “That’s hilarious! Look at her face!”

  “Stop it!” Her hands fell into her lap. “You’re lying. Stop trying to scare me.”

  Charlie grinned. “I’m not lying. Am I, Walter?” The uneasy silence in the room was all it took to set her squirming.

  “Mom!” Darcy jumped off the couch, retreated down the hallway, and slammed her bedroom door.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Walter said, still laughing.

  “I don’t care.” Charlie stared down at the floor.

  Both Charlie’s parents sat down on the couch across from him, their expressions solemn. “I spoke to the assistant principal this afternoon,” Charlie’s mom started. “He says you didn’t show up for your last two classes today, and others this week. Is that true?”

  Charlie managed to shrug.

  “That doesn’t sound like you,” she said. “Since when did you start skipping school?”

  Charlie didn’t know how to explain any of what had been going on lately. It wasn’t like they would believe him anyway. He glanced up from the floor. His parents did not look happy.

  “So you just skipped school for no reason?” his dad asked.

  “No.” Charlie opted to offer only one-word answers until he could devise an appropriate alibi, but his mind was drawing a blank.

  “I know you’re doing an amazing job explaining things to them, but maybe you should try telling them what’s really going on.” Walter’s voice broke the temporary silence.

  Tell them the truth? He couldn’t do that.

  “Your sister tells us she’s heard you talking to yourself lately. Is there something you want to tell us? Do you have some sort of imaginary friend?” his mom asked meekly.

  How old did she think he was?

  Mr. Dewdle rolled his eyes. “Imaginary friend? Don’t be ridiculous, Dana.”

  “It’s perfectly normal, Martin. Children have imaginary friends,” she said.

  “Four-year-olds have imaginary friends,” his dad snapped. “You’re not four, are you, son?”

  Something thudded against the apartment door.

  Charlie’s dad stood. “What was that?”

  “It sounded like someone knocking,” Charlie’s mom said.

  “Are you expecting somebody?” his dad asked.

  She shook her head. “No, but it could be the police stopping by with follow-up questions.”

  Mr. Dewdle walked to the door and opened it, and Charlie peered over the couch for a better view. His dad stepped through the opening, looked in either direction, and scratched his chin. “You heard the knock, right?”

  Charlie’s mom turned toward the door. “Is someone playing a prank?”

  Charlie stood up. He had a really bad feeling. Who would doorbell-ditch an apartment on the third floor? They had all heard the knock. So where had the knocker gone?

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Walter asked. Charlie nodded slowly. “I knew there’d be trouble.”

  As Charlie’s dad pulled the door shut behind him, something small and brown shot through the opening.

  Charlie yelped and hopped up on the chair.

  “What is it?” his mom asked, also rising to her feet.

  Nipping at Mr. Dewdle’s feet stood a miniature cocker spaniel with floppy brown ears. “Where did you come from?”

  “Is that a dog?” Charlie’s mom asked.

  “Looks like it.”

  “Well, get it out before it wets the carpet! Oh, Martin, I just had it cleaned!”

  “I’m trying, dear, but he’s pretty mad. Maybe he’s rabid.”

  The dog’s head pivoted like an owl’s until its glassy eyes focused on Charlie. With a new target in sight, it charged around the couch and leapt onto the coffee table. Charlie’s parents snatched the couch pillows in their hands, trying to corner the dog, but it kept its focus on Charlie.

  “You’ve got to get rid of your dumb birds, Charlie!” Walter shouted.

&nb
sp; “Dogs don’t normally just charge into apartments,” Charlie fired back. Then he noticed something unusual about the canine. “Look at its eyes!”

  “I see them!”

  The cocker spaniel’s eyes were like two hollow marbles, but instead of black pupils, it had faint reddish lights dilating in its eye sockets.

  “What about them?” his father asked.

  “You think it’s—” Charlie whimpered to Walter.

  “Get the whistle!” Walter ordered.

  Charlie crammed his fingers in his pocket, and with Walter’s help, pulled out the whistle. Placing the small instrument in his mouth, Charlie pressed down with his lips and blew. A sharp sound pierced the air, and the dog barked in reply. The red color in its eyes faded, and a panting tongue replaced the previous snarl. The dog began to wag its tail and bowed when Mr. Dewdle reached down to pick him up.

  Mrs. Dewdle ran and filled a bowl with water, and the dog drank thirstily.

  “Well, that was bizarre, wasn’t it, now?” Charlie’s dad laughed.

  Charlie and Walter knew the dog’s behavior was no laughing matter.

  “Where do you think it came from? Do any of your neighbors own pets?” Walter asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Charlie answered.

  “You don’t think that was bizarre?” asked Charlie’s dad. “It doesn’t get much stranger than that.”

  Having drunk its fill, the dog trotted around and began to paw at the door.

  “It’s probably from across the street,” Mrs. Dewdle said. “Charlie, why don’t you take it to the vet and see if they’re missing one of their dogs?”

  “Why me?”

  Both of his parents glared at him.

  Charlie bent down and cradled the dog in his arms. It sniffed him, then looked away with a disgusted expression.

  “I don’t think you should go outside,” Walter said. “What if that wraith is there?”

  Charlie glanced back at his parents. “It’s not like I have a choice.” Slowly pulling open the apartment door, he peered out into the hall.