The Ghost Files 4: Part 2

by Apryl Baker

  Laughter echoes inside the dark entrance of the now open crypt.

  Just as I turn to run, something snakes out, grabs my arm, and drags me inside, the door slamming shut behind me.

  Leaving me in the dark.

  Only I’m not alone.

  Chapter Two

  Crap, crap, crap.

  Leave it me to get trapped in a crypt with no cell phone. Not that I have any hope of getting service behind the heavy stone walls, but at least I could have used the flashlight app.

  It’s darker than the blackest of night in here, and it stinks to high heaven. More than that, I can hear something scuttling around in the dark. It has to be rats. They love places like this. I have bigger problems than rats at the moment, though.

  The laugh I’d heard earlier whispers around me. No more creepy children, please. Not here in the dark.

  Someone’s banging on the door, so I know they’re trying to find a way to get me out. Dan won’t leave me in here. He knows how I feel about small, dark places…places where I’m trapped with no way out. My captivity at the hands of Mrs. Olson still gives me nightmares. He won’t leave me here. Please don’t leave me in here.

  Steps sound to my left, and I whirl in that direction, fighting the uncontrollable panic trying to bubble up at the memories of my time with Mrs. Olson. Where is it? It’s either one of those little yellow-eyed demonic children or one of the things Reaper Boy was talking about. He said it wasn’t only ghosts that resided in cemeteries. All those horror movies I’ve watched are haunting me now. I keep imagining ghouls, monstrous creatures that burrow through a maze of tunnels beneath us then through the graves, eating the rotting flesh of the decaying corpses.

  Stop it. This isn’t helping. I will get out. Dan knows I’m in here. I am not strapped to a chair in a basement with a crazy lady intent on doing me harm with no hope of rescue. Dan’s right outside the door. He’ll get me out.

  Before I let my panic get the best of me, I make myself focus on the issue at hand—whatever ghost or creature is in here with me and trying to stay out of harm’s way until the crypt doors are opened.

  “Hello?” The words are barely a whisper as they leave me, and I try again, attempting to sound braver than I actually am right now. In the dark, alone with…something. “Hello?”

  Silence.

  Great. It wants to play with its prey. Well, I can play too. Anger helps to chase away the panic, and I embrace it like an old friend. Anger has saved my butt on more than one occasion.

  “Look, buster, I am not in the mood to play. I have no qualms about opening the Between and tossing you in!”

  A chuckle echoes behind me, and I turn, expecting the creepy yellow-eyed kid, but he’s not there. Only a vague outline of some kind of square, with another one above it. Fudgepops. It has to be a coffin box thingy. I’ve seen them in movies, but never expected to see one in real life. What if a zombie pops out, all hungry for brains? Dang it, I have no weapons for zombies. Had Reaper Boy meant zombies? Crap, crap, crapola!

  The gentle tap on my shoulder sends me scurrying backward, a scream escaping.

  “Easy, it’s just me.”

  Reaper Boy.

  “Don’t sneak up on me in the dark!” Fury laces my words, but I can’t help it.

  “I can leave if you want me to.” He sounds just as angry as I do.

  “No, no, no. Sorry, I’m just freaked out.” And as long as he’s here, I’m not alone.

  “You and me both.” A small light appears, casting shadows everywhere, but I can see. It’s not bright enough to blind me, but bright enough to make out where we are. The light sits in his hand, like a glowing baseball or something. That’s handy.

  “Where is it?” He holds out his hand and spins in a circle, and we both scour the area. I see nothing but the crypt box thingy in the middle and two doors, on each side of us, as well as the main door.

  “I don’t know.”

  The giggle has him inching closer to me. “What was that?”

  I roll my eyes. I hope all reapers aren’t as cowardly as he is.

  Where is the little bugger? They can hide from even me when they want to.

  “What is that?” His voice wavers and he points to the right.

  In the corner, a little boy sits hunched over. He’s picking at the wounds on his feet. Big holes have been bored into the soles of his feet. Black pus oozes from the blackened wounds, spreading across the paleness of his skin. His hands are mangled. Two of the fingers on his right hand are bent at odd angles, while the thumb on his left hand is gone. What I can see of the left side of his face is caved in, and a large portion of the skin missing. His upper teeth and gum line are clearly visible, and his Adventure Time t-shirt is covered in black stains. Blood. Most people don’t realize blood dries in tones of black and browns.

  None of that is what horrifies either of us. Usually, a soul has a bright light about it. Even the ones that have gone all demented retain some of that light. This little one’s is gone. There is no light about him at all. What’s wrong with him?

  I take a couple steps toward him, and his head turns, his movement stiff, zombieish. His eyes are glowing with a yellow haze. Not like the other two kids I’d seen. It’s like he’s being turned or something. His eyes gradually taking on the yellow hue, until there’s nothing of him left.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Reaper Boy’s voice is loud in the stillness of the tomb. Those yellow eyes swing to him, and he takes an involuntary step back.

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “I’ve never seen something like this.” The kid hisses at him, and he cringes. “Why is it looking at me like that?”

  “He’s hungry.”

  “Hungry?”

  He’s being turned into one of those creepy kids in my dream that fed upon the soul of the other kid. Reaper Boy is practically glowing with the souls of the people he’s reaped today.

  “Stay back, or you’re going to be his next meal.” I take a few more steps toward the kid, making sure to stand in front of the reaper I now find myself having to protect.

  When I’m a few feet from him, I stop and squat, praying he doesn’t take a bite out of me. I’m made up of ghost energy too. For all I know, I have the same essence inside that the reaper does, which puts me squarely on today’s lunch menu. “Hi. I’m Mattie.”

  He cocks his head, his eyes so full of pain and rage, it makes me ache for him. The reaper in me wants to ease his pain any way I can, but everything else is screaming to run.

  “What’s your name?” I try again.

  He moves faster than I can blink. His hands land on my head, and horrific images flash in front of me. Him. In a room. Horrible pain. Every second of his torture is funneled through me, and I start screaming, unable to stop. A man in a cloak, leaning over him and inhaling deeply while another man tortures him. Laughter. More pain. My entire body shakes with the awful pain. More than that, it’s his soul that suffered the worst pain. He felt it. I feel it.

  Pain jackknifes through my head, blinding me. An overload of images floods my vision, overwhelming my brain in a way it hasn’t been before. It takes its only recourse and shuts down. My vision blurs, and then nothing but blessed silence.

  ***

  ~Dan~

  I’d seen the crypt door swing open, but she’d been pulled in before I could shout a warning. The door won’t budge. Why won’t it open? What is in there with her? I don’t hear anything. I bang on the door and shout her name, but the only answer I get is silence. Can she hear me through the heavy stone door?

  Her panic, her fear, all of it is turning every nerve cell I have into a living, breathing thing. Her terror pulses in the rapid beating of my own heart. She needs me. I know how she feels about being trapped. I was the one to hold her after every nightmare, assure her she was safe and no one could get to her. No one knows how bad it really was, not even Mary. She hid her fear from everyone. Everyone but me. I’m pretty sure she still has a mild case o
f PTSD from her time with Mrs. Olson, and being kidnapped by Paul had to have aggravated it. She’s spiraling out of control. I feel it eating away at her. My own panic starts to rise. I have to get in there. I pound on the door again. “Mattie!”

  My cell phone lights up, and I yank it out. Eli. He must feel her too.

  “What’s wrong?” My brother doesn’t even give me time to say hello.

  “Something pulled her into a crypt, and I can’t get the door open.” I throw the phone down and try once more to pull the door open.

  “She’s terrified.” Frustration and fear coat Eli’s voice.

  “I know. I feel it too.” I have to shout a little because the phone is on the ground.

  “You do? You shouldn’t be able to. Only her Guardian Angel can do that.”

  “You’re not the only one with a strong bond to her.” The words come out with more bite than I intended.

  “Young man?”

  I turn my head to see the minister who had presided over Meg’s funeral frowning at me. “I’m sorry…”

  “Reverend Mike. Just call me Reverend Mike. Is something wrong?”

  “Yeah, my friend is in here, and now the door won’t open.”

  “How did she get in there?” He frowns and pulls at the door himself. “This one has been closed up for over fifty years, when the last of the family died. No one’s opened it since, and Mother Nature took over, sealing it closed with the elements. Are you sure she’s in here?”

  “Yes, I saw her go in myself.” I hesitate a moment, but then blurt out, “I think someone’s in there with her. She was dragged inside.”

  Alarm spreads over the reverend’s face. “Let’s get this door open.”

  “Something dragged her in?” Eli’s voice is muffled by the sound of the reverend and me pulling against the door with all our might.

  “Dan? What are you doing, and where is Mattie?”

  “She’s in here, Dad. Somebody dragged her in. We’re trying to get the door open, but it’s stuck.”

  “Dragged her in?” He runs up the steps and pushes the reverend aside. The man is older and doesn’t need to be doing this. It might give him a heart attack at his age.

  Pain lances through my head, and I fall to my knees, clutching my head. Something bad just happened to her. I can feel it.

  “Dan?” Dad’s voice is panicked, but all I can focus on is this intense pain running rampant everywhere.

  “What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Eli’s muffled voice floats up to us.

  “Eli?” Dad asks, confused.

  “I believe the boy’s on the phone.” That from the reverend.

  Dad picks up my phone. “Eli? Yes, this Dan’s father. Something’s wrong with him. He’s in a lot of pain, and he won’t answer me.” He listens for a moment. “Mattie? No, she’s still inside.” Another pause. “Why would getting her out help Dan?” This time I can see his face, and he looks more than a little skeptical.

  “Dad.” My voice is weak. I’m fading, dark spots dancing in front of my eyes. “He’s right. Get her out.” I can’t black out. Not when she needs me. I blink and force myself to stand. “We have to get her out.”

  A gasp sounds from behind us, and the reverend is staring at me in a sort of awe. “You have been touched by God, son.”

  What nonsense is he going on about? Even Dad looks at him like he’s nuts. Then again, my parents aren’t religious. Neither am I, not really, but Mattie is.

  Reverend Mike lays a hand upon my arm, and it burns where he touches me. I try to yank my arm away, but he holds on like a dog with a bone. “You hold one of the sacred swords.”

  How does he know that?

  “I saw it when you stood up.” He nods to my back.

  That’s not true. I gave the sword to Caleb and Eli for safekeeping.

  “Not the actual sword.” The reverend laughs when I glare at him. “It’s more of an outline of white light. I see it because I held one myself once. You can open the door, son. You just have to draw strength from the sword and ask for help.”

  “Dan, what is he talking about?” Dad holds me as I sway, fighting to keep from blacking out. “You do not own a sword.”

  Another white-hot bolt of pain nearly buckles my knees. The darkness leaches away more of my vision. At this point, I’m willing to try anything. Eli has to be going through the same thing. I need to help all three of us.

  I stagger over to the door, pushing my dad aside, and lay my hands on the heavy iron rings that serve as a door handle for the crypt. I pull, and it doesn’t give.

  “No, son.” The reverend is right behind me. “Think about the sword, think about how strong it makes you feel when you hold it. Focus on that and pray. Pray for help, and when you feel all that strength build up, then pull.”

  Doing as he says, I close my eyes and think about the sword. The image appears instantly. I don’t even have to work to conjure it up. It had been heavy in my hands the night the angel handed it to me. I’d felt more than just the physical weight of the sword. I’d felt the responsibility of possessing it, the responsibility of using it to help those around me who had no other recourse. I’d felt the weight of truth. The sword and I merged that night. It became a part of me. I’d not thought about it because I didn’t want to remember, but now I have to face the truth. My truth. It’s a warrior’s sword, a holy warrior. Whether I want to admit God’s real or not, I can’t hide from the truth. The sword makes us face truth.

  Dear God, help me. Help me open this door.

  The prayer is simple, a hesitant utterance, but the result is immediate.

  Strength surges through my being, and the blackness eating away at my vision gives way to a blinding bluish white light, and I pull, I pull with all my might, and the door swings outward, nearly knocking us to our feet.

  And then I see her, lying unconscious on the floor, with that thing bent over her, its hands on her head. Without thought, I rush forward and reach to grab it, but someone pulls me back. I turn, ready to smite whatever else is in here, and stop mid-strike.

  The reaper.

  The one who’d come to collect me. I remember him. He looks terrified, but resolute.

  “We can’t hurt it.”

  “Of course we can. It’s hurting her.”

  “No.” The reaper shakes his head. “I saw what it showed her. It’s a lost soul, trying to escape the monster who is consuming it. It came to her, her ghost light a beacon to it. It wants help. We can’t hurt it.”

  “But it’s hurting her!” When the next wave of pain hits, I do fall. “It’s hurting all of us.”

  “Why did no one tell me this?” Anger burns in the reaper’s eyes. “I was not told your soul was connected to hers. This changes everything.”

  The reverend squats beside me while Dad rushes over to Mattie. He’s lightly tapping her cheeks to try to wake her up, but he can’t. I’ve seen this. The night the first ghost attacked her at Zeke’s. We’d pulled her away from it before it could inflict any real harm, before I’d felt any of the pain.

  “Who are you talking to, son?”

  “Dad.” My voice is low, almost strangled. “Pull her outside. Hurry.” The reverend helps me to my feet then guides me outside. The moment Dad picks Mattie up, the pain stops. Instantly. No more pain.

  The last thing I see is the pissed off face of a reaper before my eyes fall shut, my mind finally succumbing to the darkness of blessed oblivion.

  Chapter Three

  ~Mattie~

  My head is flipping killing me. That’s the first thought I have upon waking up in the hospital. I touch it gingerly, trying to remember what caused me to end up here yet again. The beeping of the machines is a telltale sign I’m in the hospital. I don’t even have to open my eyes to confirm it.

  “I know you’re awake.”

  Eli. “Turn the lights down if you want me to open my eyes. I have a headache the size of Mount Everest.”

  There is a bit of rustling, and I sense him standing nex
t to me, reaching above me to dim the lights. “You’re good to go, Hilda.”

  I hate the cursed nickname he gave me. He shortened my name, Mathilda, down to Hilda. Irritates me to no end.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “There she is.” He leans down and places a soft kiss across my lips, and that familiar warm, tingly sensation starts. “You scared me, Hilda.”

  “What happened?” I don’t remember anything past speaking to Meg’s dad at the funeral. After that, it’s a big empty space.

  “You don’t remember?” Confusion stamps his expression. “A ghost attacked you at the cemetery.”

  Nope, not ringing any bells. Just a big old black hole of nothing. This is the second time a ghost attacked me and I can’t remember it.

  “Where’s Dan?” He’s usually here when I wake up in the hospital.

  “Talking to your dad, I think.” There’s something in his voice that causes me to look up at him. Jealousy flickers in those beautiful aqua orbs. Before I can question him, Mary’s mom bustles in. She’s in her uniform, so I’m betting she’s my nurse for the night. Technically, Zeke has custody of me, so they can’t not let her be my nurse anymore. As my foster mother, she couldn’t have cared for me. Family can’t take care of family, but that’s moot now.

  “Visiting hours are over, Eli.” The no-nonsense mom tone has him backing away, hands up. “You can come back tomorrow.”

  He purses his lips, but doesn’t argue. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.” He leans down and kisses me. It’s a kiss that says a lot, a lot more than he could say. He’s jealous and trying to prove I belong to him in that kiss. It leaves me breathless and staring after him when he walks away.

  “If a man kissed me like that, I wouldn’t be staring after him looking perplexed.” Mrs. Cross fusses with the blankets before taking my blood pressure.

  “Dan kissed me.” Why did I blurt that out? I close my eyes and groan.

  “Well, that explains the perplexed look.” Mrs. Cross laughs as she waits for the blood pressure pump.