Monster Mash

by Gail Z Martin

  The custom shell hit center mass, filled with a mix of salt, silver, iron filings, and holy water. A second later, Brent fired the tranq pistol and hit the brute in the shoulder.

  I don’t know what that would have done to a real bear, but this was a bear-shifter. The grenade caught the brown bear just as he rose up on his hind legs, ready to swat me into ribbons with that massive paw, and bowled him over, but not before the dart lodged in his skin.

  He lay on his back, paws churning, roaring like he intended to rip us apart. I didn’t doubt that the silver stung, and while his shifter metabolism would heal him rapidly, that shell had to hurt like a son of a bitch. I braced myself, expecting him to spring to his feet and gobble us down.

  A snore like a chainsaw rumbled through the corridor. Brent and I exchanged a look, and he shrugged. As we watched, the bear’s outline shimmered, and in the next instant, a brawny biker dude lay buck naked on his back, sawing logs.

  Cautiously, I rose to my feet, but the biker-bear didn’t move. I re-holstered the grenade launcher and pulled the shotgun again. Brent went to zip tie the bear shifter, just in case.

  “Where’s Brunrichter?” I asked Travis, figuring his ghosts would know.

  Travis got that far-away look in his eyes again and then led us back down the way we’d come, just a few doors, to what might have been an office. “In here, the ghost says.”

  I pulled the door open, and Brent had his gun trained on the opening. Travis shone his light over Brent’s shoulder.

  Old-fashioned office furniture filled the room, looking like it had been left behind when the place closed down. Filing cabinets stood along one wall, and on another was a large bookshelf. Travis swept his light from one side to the other, but there was nobody inside.

  We stepped in, expecting a trap. The furnishings might be old, but the room had been used recently. Folders on the desk weren’t dusty, and a coffee cup was still warm. That meant Brunrichter was close. But where was he?

  “Hello, Travis.”

  The voice that sounded behind us managed to be both casual and ominous. Before any of us could react, we were flying through the air, slammed against the walls or furniture by an invisible force.

  Then I remembered that the Sinistram employed witches.

  “Grady. I should have figured.” Travis’s voice sounded forced, as if he’d had to fight to speak.

  “When they assigned me to this, and I knew we wouldn’t be far from Pittsburgh, I wondered if you’d show up,” Grady said, moving into the room. I got a look at him, and nothing about the man was memorable. Forgettable, bland features, pale blond hair parted to one side, and a weak jaw. He looked like a bad casting agent’s idea of an accountant.

  Only our flashlights broke the darkness, crisscrossed beams of light from where they’d fallen when we were thrown. Grady’s magic kept us pinned. I still had a grip on my gun, but I couldn’t move. Even breathing took effort.

  Brent still held the tranq pistol, but Travis’s shotgun lay at his feet, where he was splayed against the wall like a gigged frog.

  “And then I thought, Travis Dominick wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that, not when he got out and turned his back on everything he’d sworn vows to protect,” Grady continued.

  “Fuck you.” Travis sounded like he had to force the words out.

  “You have no idea how important the work is that’s being done here,” Grady went on. “This could put us far ahead of any of our enemies. It’s a game-changer, a shift in the balance of power. But all you can see is that we’re breaking the rules.”

  His lips twisted in a sneer. “Rules were meant to be broken, didn’t you know that?”

  My heart pounded, and I tried to keep my breathing steady. Travis didn’t have any magic, to my knowledge. Not beyond his abilities as a psychic and a medium at least, not the kind that threw people across rooms or sent fire streaking from their fingertips. So I didn’t have a clue how we were going to get out of this, and with his head tipped back against the wall and his eyes closed, it looked to me like Travis had given up.

  “Answer me when I speak to you!” Grady snarled, and his breath fogged in the rapidly cooling air.

  I’d been so focused on being pinned to the wall, I hadn’t realized how cold it was getting. Travis hadn’t given up. He was doing what he did best.

  The ghost of an old woman in an ill-fitting dress blinked into view right in front of Grady’s face, then walked through his body as if he wasn’t there.

  Grady shivered convulsively, and panic dimmed control of his magic.

  Brent and I fired at the same time. He hit Grady in the chest with a tranq dart. I shot the mofo in the knee. Grady dropped like he was poleaxed, managing to shriek once before the tranquilizers kicked in.

  We all fell to the ground as Grady’s magic failed and released us. Travis landed on his feet. Brent onto his hands and knees. I landed on my ass and tried not to shoot anyone by accident.

  “How much was in that dosage?” I asked Brent, looking down at the immobilized agent.

  “Enough to knock out a brown bear.”

  “Damn.”

  I couldn’t read Travis’s expression. I knew he had said he wanted to deal with any Sinistram agents himself, but that really hadn’t been an option. And to be honest, the ghost he summoned made all the rest possible. If he wanted to quibble about it, there would be time enough later—if we survived. Brent and I zip tied Grady, not that we expected that big of a dose to wear off anytime soon.

  Out in the atrium, the shrieking and chanting continued. That was one hell of a stubborn demon.

  “The ghosts said Brunrichter was here.” I turned in a slow circle, taking in the room. “So where is he?”

  The same ghost who had freaked out Grady reappeared near the bookshelves on the far wall. She beckoned to Travis, then walked right through the shelves and disappeared.

  “If I remember how it worked in Scooby-Doo, that means there’s a secret room,” I said.

  Brent and I each took one side of the shelves and put our backs into it. My shoulder hurt like a mother, and blood soaked my shirt, making it stick to my skin. The shelving slid along the wall with a whine, suggesting that we were forcing a mechanism that would have moved it automatically.

  Behind the shelves was a door.

  Brent reached for the knob.

  “Wait!” Travis said. We looked at him, not understanding, and then he closed his eyes and his face tightened with concentration.

  The temperature in the room plunged further, until I shivered despite my coat. Frost tipped Travis’s eyelashes and his blue-tinged lips.

  Ghosts flickered into sight around us, like staticky images on a bad TV signal, gradually growing more solid. Young, old, men, women—they looked careworn and angry, people who had suffered in life and then been denied dignity even in death.

  “Shock troops,” Travis said when he opened his eyes, with a slight twist of his lips at the bad pun. Brent pulled the door open, but stayed to the side, and so did Travis and I. The ghosts swept in like a storm surge, and we heard a man’s startled shout.

  Brent and I pivoted into the doorway, guns drawn, with Travis right behind us.

  A skinny man with a long face and owlish glasses stood in the middle of the small secret room. But where I’d expected him to have been overrun with vengeful spirits, all the ghosts kept their distance, leaving Brunrichter standing alone in the middle of an empty circle.

  “You can’t touch me,” the mad doctor crowed. “I am protected.”

  Travis slipped out from behind us, and a moment later, I heard his voice rise in chant with Father Leo and Father Jacinski. This was a new litany, one I hadn’t heard before, but Travis apparently knew it by heart. I couldn’t imagine how the padres had gone this long without losing their voices, but with Travis joining in, the litany sounded loud and defiant.

  The demon shrieked again, but this time the screech was more of pain and fear than frustration.

  Brunricht
er’s expression changed from smug to angry. “No, you can’t! That’s not possible. They told me it wasn’t possible!”

  “Domine expuere!” Father Leo shouted.

  “Domine expuere!” Father Jacinski echoed, his bass voice strong and commanding.

  “Domine expuere! Vade retro Satana!” Travis’s baritone finished the incantation.

  I knew enough Latin from hunting to get the gist. Lord, eject! Get thee behind me, Satan!

  “Stay away!” Brunrichter’s panicked voice brought my attention back to the twitchy man in the center of the room. “I’m warning you. Stay away!”

  The ghosts didn’t listen. Before Brent and I had a chance to fire a shot, the vengeful spirits closed in, eager to take their revenge on a proxy for all those who had done them wrong. A sea of gray forms enveloped Brunrichter, hiding him from sight.

  Then the screaming started.

  Brunrichter’s shrill cries sounded like the ghosts had started by ripping off his balls, and maybe they did. Blood spurted, bright crimson against the writhing gray mass, painting streaks across the dirty white walls.

  As quickly as the ghosts appeared, they vanished. All that remained was Brunrichter’s bloodied corpse, skin shredded as if by sharp fingernails, human bites covering his arms, eyes gouged out, and chunks of hair ripped from his scalp.

  The ghosts might not have gotten their pound of flesh, but it was damn close.

  Travis stumbled in behind us. He’d only been gone for minutes, but the effort of the exorcism and using his mediumship looked like it had taken a toll.

  “As soon as you sent the demon packing, Brunrichter lost his protection.” Brent filled in his partner without being asked. “And the ghosts finished the job.”

  Travis swallowed and nodded. “That was too damn close.”

  “Mark! Brent, Travis—where are you?” Father Leo’s voice was a raspy echo of his usual tone, but he and Father Jacinski came in looking for us and stopped cold when they saw Brunrichter’s body on the floor. Both men crossed themselves reflexively.

  “Then it’s done,” Father Jacinski said. “We did good work tonight.”

  “What about the prisoners? Donny and the bobcats…” I said, able to think about more than not getting killed for the first time since we entered the old facility.

  Brent chuckled. “I know it’s not really funny, but every time you say that I think it sounds like a singing group. Two nights only—Donny and the Bobcats!”

  I had to laugh because he was right. Then I turned to Father Leo. “You’d better call the clean-up crew. There’s a bear shifter who might be dead out in the hallway, a dozen or so dismembered ghouls in the lobby, and two vampires might still be duking it out near the other stairs.”

  “Don’t forget the four goons tied up in the other wing,” Brent reminded me.

  “Yeah. Them, too,” I added. The Occulatum had people who made evidence like this disappear, the kinds of things that would attract too much attention if the authorities got involved.

  “I’ll do it as soon as we’re out of here,” Father Leo promised.

  We headed toward the big main staircase, exhausted, bloodied, and for some of us, covered in ghoul guts. The second-floor balcony had a huge salt ring on the floor, with other symbols I didn’t recognize painted in what might have been blood on the tile floor. I decided I didn’t want to know. The air stank of sulfur and charred meat, and a large scorch mark marred the middle of the circle.

  When we reached the main lobby on the first floor, we found a German Shepherd and five bobcats huddled together beneath the steps. The fifth big cat’s fur was matted and streaked with blood, and even in his feline form, Corey’s eyes looked haunted. Joel stood next to his brother protectively, arching his back and raising his hackles even to me.

  I gave him a look. “Don’t give me that attitude,” I warned him. “I’ve got a plant mister, and I’m not afraid to spray you.”

  Donny looked like he’d been in a dog fight, with a notch in his ear and a slash on his haunches. He yipped when I looked at him and managed to thump his tail. “The other prisoners?” I asked.

  Donny dropped his head and whined. I took that to mean Corey was the only survivor.

  Brent and Travis slipped off to double-check, but I was willing to take Donny’s word for it.

  “You were terrific,” I told the shifters. Joel licked one paw and slicked it over his ear, as if he knew they’d done well.

  Brent and Travis returned after a few minutes. “Looks like there were more goons downstairs, but they’re all dead,” Brent reported. “As for the other prisoners…there were some bodies, but no one else alive.”

  I startled as Otto appeared next to me. “I won,” he told me, with a bloody smile. He looked as if he’d rolled around in a slaughterhouse, but honestly, I didn’t want to know the details.

  “Thanks, Otto. I owe you one.”

  “Anytime, boss. This was fun.” He vanished as quickly as he’d come, and I hoped he remembered that he was supposed to head straight back to the preserve to relieve Tristan.

  I turned back to the shifters. “How about a ride back in the bed of Father Leo’s truck?” I asked, knowing that they wouldn’t be able to walk the whole way. Donny yipped twice, and then let out a howl. The other cats glared, but Joel actually looked amused.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said, as we headed for the door. “If we hustle, I might not miss all of the Friday the 13th marathon on TV.”

  We headed back to my place because as tired as we all were, we knew that Chiara, Blair, and the kids would want to know what happened.

  Travis spotted the black SUV and tensed. “You expecting company?”

  “It’s Dastardly and Muttley,” I sighed.

  “Who?” Brent shot me a look.

  “Agents Smith and Jones, Occulatum and CIA—we think,” I clarified. “The guys who said they’d have our backs. Can’t you tell by how easy it was?”

  We got out of the car at the same time Father Leo and Father Jacinski climbed down from their truck. Interestingly, Donny and the bobcats were nowhere to be seen.

  “Brunrichter’s dead—no thanks to you,” I said as we closed the distance on the two agents. My arm hurt like a son of a bitch, my head pounded, and I had no filters remaining and no fucks left to give.

  “It’s done.” Father Leo shot me a warning glare. “The cleaners are on their way to handle the rest.”

  “Were there any survivors?” Jones asked, staring us down behind his dark glasses.

  “None.” Father Jacinski’s deep bass sounded like the voice of God. “All dead.”

  Jones raked his gaze over our group, but no one blinked. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “Good.”

  “Nice work,” Smith said. He turned toward me. “Not that I’m required to tell you, but we scrambled all communications coming out of the target, cleared the airspace, and hijacked any video feeds so no reinforcements were sent. You’re welcome.”

  “We went along with this because it was in our backyard.” Father Leo’s stern tone made it clear he was at the end of his patience. “But we aren’t your strike team.”

  “This isn’t over,” Smith said, raising his head. I knew Father Leo outranked Smith, but for once, the man looked ready to stand his ground. “Brunrichter and Tumblety’s rivalry to create the perfect weaponized creatures is just part of the big picture. Tumblety’s a little harder to reach, but we have our people infiltrating his team, slowing his work. We can’t allow either C.H.A.R.O.N. or the Sinistram to get an advantage.”

  “It’s over for me,” I said. “All I want is some whiskey and a soft bed.”

  “You don’t get it,” Jones snapped. “Last time, it was witches pitted against each other. Now, two infamous mad scientists. Someone is lining up these ‘death matches’ to either eliminate the competition or find the strongest players. There’ll be more. We have to disrupt it.”

  “Or what?” Brent challenged. Travis elbowed him, but with an expressio
n that made it clear he didn’t think Brent would listen.

  “We don’t know yet,” Smith replied. “Which should make you very worried.”

  It did, but I was too tired to care right now.

  “Send me the report,” Father Leo replied, with a look on his face that made it clear pushing him any further tonight would be a bad idea. “We’ll get back to you. Now make yourselves scarce.”

  “Yes, leave us,” Father Jacinski said. “We have vodka to drink and songs to sing.”

  Jones looked like he might have made a retort, but Smith grabbed him by the elbow and practically dragged him to the SUV. Behind us in the cabin, Demon had noticed our return and was barking his fool head off. I had the feeling we’d discover that Donny and the other shifters had gone through the woods to the back door and would be waiting for us inside.

  I didn’t doubt that Smith and Jones were actually telling the truth or that we’d get dragged back in at some point. I didn’t even doubt that this might all be part of some vast conspiracy. Tonight, we were alive, and we’d won. That was all I cared about right now.

  “Fuck Wayne and Garth and the horse they rode in on,” I said as we watched the taillights recede. “We’ve got food, alcohol, and bandages inside. Let’s celebrate.”

  Afterword

  We grew up in the area Mark Wojcik claims as home territory, and part of the fun of writing this series is getting to research and explore history, legends, and lore about a place we used to live. We’ve discovered a whole lot of things we didn’t know and found some really unusual stories, including some pretty strange cryptids said to be native to Pennsylvania.

  The Mercer County Poor Farm (also called the Alms House) did exist, and old photos are online. It ceased to function as a place of last resort in the 1960s, and while many of the old buildings have been torn down (including the brick castle), the grounds and newer buildings are used as a nursing facility. Woodcock Lake is only a few miles from where Gail grew up, a very nice place for a picnic or a bike ride.

  If you’re looking for a new region to explore, take a trip and check it out!