Ghouls, Ghouls, Ghouls: A Ghost Hunter Mystery

by Victoria Laurie

  “Coming right up!” Gilley said, dashing off to the bar.

  “I’ll get the lime!” Heath said, moving far faster than he had in the last two days to chase after Gilley.

  “I’d love a vodka and cranberry,” I muttered, glaring hard at their retreating backs.

  “Oh, M. J.!” Alex said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for your order to be left out.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” I told her. “I’m sure I can flag down a server.”

  And we actually were treated to some rather immediate table service from three separate waiters, all making goo-goo eyes at Alex. Reluctantly, one of them even took my order.

  Gil and Heath returned with one bottle of sparkling water, one chilled glass, and one accompanying lime—each. They set their prizes down on the table in front of Alex like obedient golden retrievers looking for a cookie. “Why, thank you,” Alex said politely as she considered the two sets of refreshments in front of her. “I’m quite thirsty, so this won’t go to waste.”

  Heath and Gilley smiled huge, and that was when Heath caught me giving him the evil eye. He quickly lost his smile and moved back into his own chair, where I’m sure he started to consider spending every night in the near future bunking with Gilley.

  An awkward and uncomfortable silence followed until my drink was brought. The waiter set down a vodka-grapefruit instead of a vodka-cranberry, but I decided it wasn’t worth the effort to send it back.

  After he left, Gilley asked, “When did you start drinking greyhounds?”

  “When you two failed to ask me if I wanted a drink from the bar,” I snapped, still irritated with both of them for making me feel like chopped liver.

  Gilley’s face softened a bit, and I think he finally started to feel sorry for me. I watched him get up and come around to give me a quick peck on the cheek before he said, “Let me fix it for you, okay, sugar?” He then took my glass and headed to the bar.

  “What a charming man,” Alex said.

  “He has his moments,” I told her. Heath slumped farther down in his seat.

  “I’m sorry, M. J.,” he said. “I should’ve gotten you something.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Gilley returned with a vodka-cranberry with two lemons and a bowl of nuts for us to share. And I think that finally broke the ice and relaxed the mood among all of us, because we settled into easy conversation for a bit until Alex brought us around to the topic at hand. “So, tell me about your encounters with the phantom.”

  We took turns telling her the story of our first, second, third, and fourth encounters. I was the one who filled her in on our last dance with that hateful spook, and how we’d been so fortunate to discover the hidden stairway in the church and the underground tunnel underneath the causeway, which—I also pointed out—had not been outlined on the castle blueprint.

  Alex was surprised and I think quite impressed by our discovery. “I so wish we’d known about that four years ago,” she said with a hint of sadness.

  “Well, we know about it now, and I think we can use it to our advantage,” I told her.

  Alex nodded and took a sip of her sparkling water. “We’re going to need all the advantages we can get when we take on the phantom.”

  “What can you tell us about it?” Heath asked.

  “The phantom?”

  “Yes.”

  Alex inhaled deeply and seemed to gather her thoughts. “It’s an incredibly dangerous spirit,” she began. “I’ve been able to trace its origins, in fact.”

  “Don’t tell me,” I said. “It came from South America, right?”

  Alex’s eyebrows rose. “Yes,” she said. “How did you know?”

  “We met the ghost of Gaston Bouvet. He more or less took us through what happened to him the night he died. A lot of what he said was in French, but we managed to decipher a few words.”

  Alex leaned forward. “Tell me more about your encounter with him.”

  “He was in the tunnel with the crypts, and Jeffrey Kincaid brought him a present, which Bouvet indicated came from South America. When he opened it, the phantom was released.”

  Alex’s face registered a mixture of emotions, from shock to understanding to great sorrow. “I always suspected the rumors were true,” she said softly. “That Jordan’s father was somehow responsible for the phantom.”

  “What did Jordan think?” Gilley asked.

  Alex shook her head sadly. “He didn’t believe it, which was why he came here, actually, to clear his father’s name, find the gold, and send the phantom back to hell.”

  “Did Jeffrey ever tell his son what happened that day with Bouvet at Dunlow?”

  “No. Jordan was only twelve when it happened, but he clearly remembered his father leaving for a bit of treasure hunting with his dear friend from France, and returning a week later so distraught that he had to be admitted to a mental hospital for several months.

  “According to Jordan, once Jeffrey was released, he was never the same, and he never spoke about what happened that day at Dunlow. I met Jeffrey Kincaid only once, when he came here to take Jordan’s body home, and our exchange was heated.”

  “Why was it heated?” Gilley asked.

  Alex looked down at her hands. “Jordan never told his father he was coming here, and in his grief Jeffrey accused me of convincing him to come, even though it was the other way around.”

  I wanted to learn more about the phantom. “You said you know of the phantom’s origins. What can you tell us about it?”

  Alex took another sip of her water. “I’ve traced its birth all the way back to the Incas,” she said. “There is a legend that goes back to the Tupac tribe in Peru that speaks of a time when the Spanish conquistadors invaded their society and corrupted it, taking their gold and disrespecting their people. At that time, some of the most powerful shamans within the great nation gathered together and invoked their ancestors to bring to life a powerful protective spirit. This spirit emerged as a dark phantom, and the shamans invoked it to protect their gold, because they knew the conquistadors valued that above all else. They also gave the phantom spirit the ability to call up the conquistadors’ worst nightmares, driving them mad and chasing them from their land, which was hilly and treacherous. Many conquistadors were driven right off the high bluffs that made up the Tupac’s terrain.

  “The phantom worked wonders to secure the tribe from the conquistadors, but the shamans didn’t realize that it might have worked a little too well until they encountered their own issues with the wraith. According to the legend, when the phantom was created, it wreaked havoc, not only on the Spanish invaders, but also on the Incan youth too, whose hearts had not yet learned to hold their courage and steel their minds against a force like the phantom. The shamans decided that their protective spirit was too dangerous to remain on the loose, so they then created a talisman to trap the phantom and hold it until such time as it was needed again.”

  “That sounds an awful lot like our phantom,” Heath said.

  “I’m convinced it’s the same one of the legends.”

  “And this talisman sounds like a portal key,” I said.

  “Like the knife we’ve got back in Boston?” Gilley asked, referring to another very powerful spook and its portal we’d had to contain in a magnetically lined safe.

  “Exactly like that, Gil.”

  “Portal key,” Alex repeated. “That’s an interesting description. But I don’t believe this talisman is a portal to anywhere. It’s simply the phantom’s cage.”

  “So where can we find this talisman?” Heath asked.

  Alex shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But that’s what Jordan and I were here four years ago trying to locate. Jordan came to South America, in fact, to find me and convince me to aid him in researching the phantom. When we thought we knew where it came from, and how to control it, we set out for Ireland to see if we could find the talisman and the treasure. But none of it went according to plan.”


  “Alex,” Gilley said, “I know this question might make you uncomfortable, but can you tell us what happened that night on the rock when Jordan was killed?”

  Our guest shivered slightly and looked down at the tabletop. “It was an awful night,” she said. “The worst of my life, really.”

  I put my hand on her arm and squeezed. I’d seen what’d happened from Jordan’s perspective, and I could only imagine what she’d gone through. “I’m so sorry to drag you back here,” I told her. “But we’re desperate to help our friend.”

  Alex took a deep breath and forced a small sad smile. “Yes,” she said. “I know. And if I help you, you’ll help Jordan, right?”

  I held up my hand and vowed, “I promise I will not leave Dunlow until I’ve helped Jordan Kincaid cross over to the other side.”

  Alex nodded, blinking back tears, and she took another big breath. “We’d been at it for several days,” she said. “And we’d already encountered so many setbacks. Our friend Antonio had been ambushed by the phantom for several hours in one of the smaller rooms of the castle, and he was tortured for all of that time until we were finally able to break through to him and get him out.

  “He’d been so traumatized that we had to admit him to the hospital, and Jordan and I almost quit because of it. My greatest regret in the world is that we didn’t.”

  Alex’s voice had dropped to barely above a whisper, and the three of us were leaning in close to listen to her.

  “Jordan wanted to carry on,” she said. “He was convinced that the phantom was far too destructive to allow it to remain free. More than anything, he wanted to find the talisman and contain the phantom. And I believe he wanted that even more than the gold.

  “We made plans to make one more thorough search of the castle, but that night I had the most amazing dream, and I woke up thinking that I might know exactly where Dunnyvale’s treasure was.”

  “In the crypts,” I said, remembering her backpack next to Dunnyvale’s tomb.

  Alex smiled. “Yes,” she said. “How did you know?” I told her that I’d found her pack filled with spikes and she nodded. “I was so stupid to venture there alone,” she admitted. “I should have woken Jordan up to go with me, or waited until the morning, but he’d had such little sleep in the four days we were there, and he was resting so peacefully that I thought I could just check to see if my hunch was correct before disturbing him.

  “I was sure I could do it on my own, so I wrote him a note telling him where I’d gone in case he woke up, and I took most of the magnetic spikes and left him sleeping in our camp. After I’d made my way to the crypts, I began to use my dowsing abilities to look for the gold I was convinced was there. It took me some time, but eventually I thought I had discovered the location. Just as I was about to get to work to recover it, I heard Jordan’s scream. I grabbed several spikes and ran to help him.” Alex’s eyes had filled with moisture, and her voice began to shake with emotion. “But by the time I reached the cliffside, it was too late.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her arm again.

  She nodded and wiped at her eyes. “Thank you,” she said after a moment.

  I then pulled out the letter that Jordan had written to Alex, and handed it to her. “We found this at your campsite.”

  Alex regarded it, recognizing the handwriting immediately. “It’s from Jordan,” she gasped. “To me.”

  We waited while she read it, pausing at parts I suspected were the sections where Jordan explained how much he loved her, and what he planned to do to break through the phantom and get to the gold. The letter itself moved her deeply, because she began to openly weep. Finally, she swallowed hard and wiped at her cheeks. “He was such a fool to go off alone like that,” she said. “Why didn’t he wait for me to get back?”

  “Because he’d had the same dream you did,” I said, understanding blossoming in my own mind.

  Alex cocked her head. “What?”

  “That night you dreamed of Ranald Dunnyvale, right before you went to the crypts—am I right?”

  Alex’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “Yes,” she said.

  “So did Jordan.”

  “But why didn’t he come to me?” she insisted. “If we dreamed the same thing, why didn’t he come find me in the crypts instead of venturing into the castle with barely any protection from the phantom?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  We sat in silence for a bit before Gilley came up with another question for our guest. “Alex, how do you know that the talisman is even on the island? I mean, Bouvet could have unwittingly unleashed the phantom and taken the talisman over the side with him. For all we know, it’s been washed out to sea.”

  “I know the talisman is still at that rock because the shaman legend states that the phantom is bound to return to it. While it’s true that the talisman is the phantom’s cage or prison, it is also its home, and it is bound by powerful magic to return there. If the talisman had been thrown over the side of the cliffs, then the phantom would have moved to the base of the rock or into the water in search of it, and it most certainly would have entered the talisman again.”

  “In other words, the phantom can’t go beyond a certain distance of the talisman?” I said, wanting to be sure I understood.

  “Exactly. Given that the phantom cannot move down the stairs, I’d say that the talisman is somewhere hidden in the center of the castle.”

  “You noticed it wouldn’t come down the stairs too, huh?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It seems strangely bound to the first story of the castle.”

  “What rooms did you manage to search when you went looking for the talisman?” I asked next.

  “Most of the ones on the first story except for a section of the west end of the castle with several small parlors and the church at the back. The phantom seemed to guard those two areas fiercely.”

  “Both of them had escape routes,” I commented. When Alex appeared confused, I added, “One of those rooms down that corridor in the west section had a trapdoor similar to the one we found in the church, only that door led to the crypts.”

  “It did?” she asked, surprised.

  I nodded.

  “Maybe the talisman is within the crypts?” Gilley suggested. “And because of Alex’s backpack filled with spikes, it couldn’t get to it.”

  But Alex shook her head. “I don’t think so. If the talisman were still at the crypts, then the phantom would be able to move down the outside stairs at least to the door leading to it from the stairs. I believe, given the radius of the phantom’s range, that it is somewhere in the heart of the castle on the first floor.”

  “How big do you think this talisman is?” I asked.

  “Oh, it can be as small as a coaster. In the tradition of other Incan talismans, I’d say it’s a round disk made of stone inscribed with Incan words of power. In the center there will likely be a hole with some sort of stopper made of gold or precious metal. It’s when the metal is pulled from the hole that the phantom is released.”

  “Like a genie from the bottle,” Heath murmured.

  “Exactly,” Alex agreed. “Only this genie’s a mean son of a bitch. And my dowsing abilities have never been at their best when I’m distracted. Finding that talisman is going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack, but I’m hoping I can focus my sixth sense on the gold in the stopper and locate it.”

  “Well, at least now we have a general description of what we’re looking for,” I reasoned. “And if we go in together, I can let you focus on finding that talisman, while I work to give you a nice wide berth from the phantom.”

  “How’re you going to do that, exactly?” Gilley asked, his forehead creased with concern and his hand reaching for the nuts.

  “The phantom likes to chase things,” I said more calmly than I felt. “I plan to give it something to chase.”

  The table erupted in a chorus of objections, but my mind was made up and
I wasn’t going to back down. “Listen to me!” I said loudly, getting them all to quiet down. “It’s the only way to make sure that Alex can focus her intuition on finding the gold in the talisman.”

  “It’s suicide,” Heath spat. “And I’m not letting you do it.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Really? And how exactly are you going to stop me, Heath?”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Right,” I snapped. “And how fast do you think you can run with that wound on your back? Don’t be ridiculous!”

  Heath winced as if I’d physically hurt him. “Gee, M. J.,” Gilley said. “Cut the guy some slack. He’s just worried about you.”

  I blew out a sigh and considered what I’d said. “You know what, Gil? You’re right. Heath, I’m really sorry. That was totally out of line.”

  “It’s okay,” Heath muttered, but I knew he was still a little wounded.

  Alex tried to ease the sudden tension by saying, “I think it will be okay.” We all looked at her. “I think M. J. knows her limits, and if the phantom starts getting too close, she can head to the church or the stairs. Those are our safety zones.”

  I reached down and took out the copy of the blueprint to the castle. Unfolding it, I spread it onto the table and began mapping out a plan of attack. “Alex, you and I will go in through the underground causeway tunnel and come up here,” I said, pointing to the church. “That way, we can avoid having the phantom know that we’re coming. We’ll just suddenly appear in his territory. From there we can work in a circular fashion outward from the church. I’ll use my spikes to push the phantom to the farthest corners while you work the middle, slowly moving toward the outside stairs. While I’m distracting it over on the west side of the castle, you can head upstairs and search the upper floors.” When everyone eyed me as if I’d suggested the wrong thing, I added, “I think it’s important to be thorough. We suspect that the talisman is on the first floor, but Alex already said she’d looked for it almost everywhere but for a few spots, and I didn’t see anything like the talisman she describes in the church, so we have to assume that it’s possible that this disk is upstairs.”