[Anthology] The Paranormal 13- now With a Bonus 14th Novel!

by Dima Zales

  McSpadden feels a chill run up his spine at the memory. He wouldn’t have put two and two together, but after the carpet incident and all the damn unicorn sightings in Mark Twain National Forest, he had the sense to bring the paw back to the station and call it in. Patches had thrown a hissing fit. She has a sense for these … weird things. Some of the boys call it magic.

  “Yo, Colbert!” McSpadden calls through the open door.

  Deputy Colbert tears himself away from CNN and comes into McSpadden’s office. “Give this back to Thor,” says McSpadden.

  Colbert opens his mouth to speak, but McSpadden points to Patches. She hops up onto McSpadden’s desk again and starts rubbing her head against the computer.

  Colbert’s eyebrows go up at Patches’ unusual display of activity. Nodding, he takes the license and leaves the office, wisely not saying a word.

  McSpadden picks up Patches and carries her outside. It’s 4 a.m. and still dark. He walks over to one of the cars in the parking lot and sets Patches down on the hood. She sprawls out and does what she normally does best. She sleeps.

  Feeling a little more confident and a little less watched than he did inside, McSpadden pulls out his cell phone. He clicks on a contact he’s never actually met, but he’s all too familiar with.

  After three rings the call’s picked up on the other end. “Laura Stodgill here, U.S. Department of Anomalous Devices of Unknown Origin. McSpadden, what do you have for me in your vortex of weirdness?” Her voice sounds sleepy and a bit disoriented.

  “You mean this shit isn’t happening all over?” McSpadden says.

  Suddenly sounding very alert and awake, Laura says, “I can neither confirm nor deny that. What do you have?”

  “The question is who do I have,” McSpadden says.

  Laura sounds distressingly nonplussed by that response. “Does he or she have pointy ears or green skin?”

  “Uh … no,” says McSpadden.

  “Speak English?”

  “Yes,” says McSpadden.

  “Do you have a picture?”

  “On my phone, sending it now,” says McSpadden. He actually took it by accident when they first brought Thor and Miss Lewis into the station. Damn camera button was too easy to hit — he has hundreds of pictures of the inside of his pocket.

  “Got it,” says Laura, “Sending it through the proper channels. Now tell me everything that happened.”

  When McSpadden is done, Laura says, “Get his signed statement and go through the usual rigmarole. I’ll be back to you within a few hours. Don’t treat him like a criminal … he may be one of the good guys, and even if he’s not, you really don’t want to tick him off.”

  “What?” says McSpadden, but Laura’s already gone.

  Loki sits in a small room in the sheriff’s station. Next to him is the comely wench of the extraordinary bosom who he had rescued — and the dog inaptly named Fenrir. At his feet is the knapsack. His sword is invisible at his waist. Killing the man-beast they’ve identified as Ed Malson would have been far cleaner with his sword, but since swords have fallen out of fashion here on Earth, it raises too many questions. Hence he settled for beating him to death with a small log.

  The snake venom and hunger made him irritable, and he’d slipped out of character right after rescuing Miss Lewis. But now he sits with his shoulders slightly slumped, his face schooled into an expression of solemness and a bit of intimidation — just like a 25ish year old man who had never killed someone and found himself in a police station would look.

  He’s not sure a human 25 year-old would be eating from a bag of Ghirardelli 60% dark chocolate chips — a gift from Miss Lewis — but he is so very hungry and these chips are so very good.

  He looks over to Miss Lewis. Her knuckles are bandaged, but she still is tapping away at the little device called an iPhone. She’s called her grandmother in Chicago and is now “texting agents of insurance.” He’s learned a lot about her from the things she’s babbled to the police so far. Primarily that she is of no import to this world whatsoever.

  But he heard her praying, three times. Before he killed Malson when she was begging for help, when she commanded Fenrir to distract him, and afterwards, when he wanted to leave before the police arrived — he heard her asking him not to go, and telling him how afraid she was.

  He understands her fear. He thought the memories of Cronus were buried deeper, but something about Malson — his sadism, his white hair, even his baby like features, brought the memories to the surface.

  He shakes his head. He hates remembering himself as so helpless and vulnerable.

  Scowling, he pops another chocolate chip in his mouth. Why did he hear her prayers? None of the Aesir, or Loki, for that matter, hear all the prayers sent to them. Only some filter through. Odin believes that only requests relating to the receiver’s higher purpose are heard. So she’s important to Loki, in some unfathomable way. Maybe just to see that he eats something?

  He looks down at the chocolate in his hands. He’s too weary to World Walk right now. He might as well be here. Maybe he’ll learn something about how their latest technology impacts criminal investigations. It will be very helpful if he and his boys are forced to stay on Earth for a while and need to rob banks to support themselves. Bank robbing was very lucrative for Loki in the 1940s. Granted, it was more bank burglary — no humans were harmed, or even noticed his presence. Hoenir is fond of humans, and Loki wouldn’t purposely upset Hoenir.

  But would his sons even accept burglary? Valli might … he is a bit twitchy, but since Nari infected him with his idealistic zeal for political reform even Valli might be repulsed by the idea of a life of crime … unless Loki somehow managed to convince him it is for “the greater good.” How could any children of his be so fatally idealistic? Where did he go wrong? He warned them Odin would turn a blind eye to all sorts of mischief unless it threatened the throne.

  For a moment his boys’ faces, frozen in that instant in deep space, hover before his eyes and he blinks. He can do nothing right now.

  To distract himself, he looks over Miss Lewis’ shoulder. The small device called an iPhone has no resemblance to a phone at all. It is, in fact, a small computer that has phone-like capabilities — it doesn’t work everywhere, apparently. Last time he was on Earth, computers occupied whole rooms and had to be tediously programmed with punch cards. The boxes on the sheriff’s desk are impressive enough, but this one fits in her palm. It has a calculator in it, a location device, a camera, music, flickering little games, and a way of connecting with other computers all over the world through a thing called the Internet. All these “apps” interface with a tiny keyboard that disappears and reappears at her touch. It’s fascinating, and the sort of thing he could ordinarily be very distracted by.

  A noise at the office door catches his attention. He looks up to see Deputy Colbert walk in. “Here’s your driver’s license … Thor,” he says handing Loki a little card. Loki takes it and taps it against his knee; he can feel the deputy’s suspicion in the air. It’s actually Miss Lewis’ card; Loki has made it look like it belongs to his current alias: Thor Odinson. Choosing the name of his sons’ betrayer was just a little game — to tick Odin off, to test the humans, and to give himself a quiet laugh.

  It turned out to be not such a great idea. Thor Odinson, that bastard, is apparently a hero in a “comic book” and “movie franchise” and they thought he was lying. Hence, stealing Miss Lewis’ ID after they’d “photocopied” it — whatever that meant — and proffering it to the sheriff with an apologetic smile and a smooth excuse of “thought I lost it in the scuffle.” The fake social security number he gave them wasn’t enough.

  They ran the license and the social security number he provided through their computers. It was an interesting challenge, making the computer screens appear as though his alias’ info checked out. Fortunately, Loki can project his consciousness — even create immaterial doubles of himself if he wishes to. He hovered over their shoulders while th
ey used their devices to pull up Miss Lewis’ info. He was able to create the same screens for Thor Odinson. The magic involved put the station’s cat in a happy tizzy, but he’s sure the humans are oblivious to the reasons for the cat’s joyful frolics.

  As Colbert leaves the room with a small nod, Miss Lewis turns to Loki. “I heard you tell them that you … ” Taking a breath she licks her lips. “ … don’t have a permanent address. And I want you to know, if you need it, my grandmother has an apartment over our garage that isn’t occupied. You’re welcome to it … until you get on your feet.”

  Loki blinks. What an utterly naive, far too trusting offer. For some reason it puts to mind a childhood story about a wolf, a little girl and her grandmother.

  … But he isn’t really the wolf, is he?

  Trying to keep the bemusement from his features, he says, “Thank you … Miss Lewis.”

  She flushes, and looks down at her phone. “You can just call me Amy.”

  Loki raises an eyebrow. And then, taking a purposefully loud breath, he says, “I will consider it.” Smiling softly and as non-threateningly as he can, he adds, “Is there food there?”

  Glancing back to him, Amy smiles … just a little, and says, “My grandmother will feel it’s her duty to make sure you’re positively stuffed.”

  Well, that sounds promising. But he doesn’t want to seem too eager. He looks at the device in her fingers. “What are you searching for on your iPhone?” he asks.

  “Oh,” she says, turning to it. “I’m trying to find bus schedules. My car isn’t going to be repaired for at least a week, and I can’t stay here.”

  What a wonderful device! “That information could be useful to me as well,” says Loki. “Perhaps I can lean over your shoulder?”

  “Sure,” says Miss Lewis — Amy — and Loki watches with fascination as she navigates through the iPhone’s many screens.

  He jerks his head up with a start when Sheriff McSpadden and Deputy Colbert come back in. Colbert has the cat in one arm.

  “We’re going to need to get your statements. Miss Lewis, you can stay here. Mr. Odinson, will you come with me?”

  They’re going to question him. He isn’t surprised by this; he spent a little time with the police in the 1940s. Humans have fallen so far since the early days when they’d just throw you a party when you killed a monster. But it can’t be helped.

  Nodding, he scratches his leg and uses it as a distraction to grab his knapsack. Cradling the chocolate chips in the other hand, he stands. “Of course.”

  As they leave the room, the cat perks its ears in Loki’s direction. Walking down the hall, he hears Amy say, “He’s not going to be in any trouble, is he? He saved me.” It’s a bit touching, actually.

  The room he is taken to has no windows, only a single table with a small gray mechanical box on it, and a mirror that undoubtedly is a window to another room. McSpadden inclines his head towards a chair, and Loki sits down. He’s not afraid. The sword is in easy reach, he has enough magical energy left to make himself invisible if he needs to, the lock on the door is a non-issue; and actually, he’s very curious.

  Before they begin to talk, the sheriff presses a button on the small box on the table and says, “We’ll record this whole conversation.” Loki watches with fascination as two little wheels in the box start to turn, and the man says, “You kids, never seen a cassette recorder before … ”

  The question and answer session that follows goes as well as these things can. Loki fabricates details of “Thor’s” past from his last journey to the realm.

  And then they get to the immediate present.

  “So, after the trucker you were hitching a ride with kicked you out of the cab, you heard Miss Lewis call for help?” says the Sheriff.

  “Yes,” says Loki.

  “She says Malson said he’d kill her if she opened her mouth,” says the Sheriff.

  For a moment, Loki thinks he’s being cross examined and feels the corner of his lip start to tug upward into a cruel smile. But then he realizes McSpadden’s body language is still non-confrontational. He seems almost … confused.

  Loki schools his features into a look of sympathy. “Yes.” He blinks. “She thinks she saw a wolf, too. But … ” he shrugs. “There was only her little dog. She is understandably distraught.”

  “Yes,” says McSpadden. “The wolf … ”

  There is a knock at the door, and McSpadden excuses himself from the table. The door opens and Colbert is there with the cat. “She’s clean, but Patches didn’t like the dog. Thought you might like her … ”

  Before Colbert can finish the sentence, the cat launches itself out of his arms and walks over in Loki’s direction, tail swishing madly back and forth.

  Loki’s eyes go up to the two men in the door. Both of their mouths are slightly agape.

  “Do you want me to stay?” Colbert whispers.

  They know the cat senses magic! But how have they even come in contact with magic before? Loki closes his eyes a moment. Of course. The same branch of the World Tree that sucked him here from the Aesir magical dump. They’ve had other things drop in … possibly very unpleasant things.

  Loki looks back to Patches. Holding out a finger, he says, “Here, Patches, no need to worry. The Sheriff and I are just having a little chat.” Patches approaches Loki slowly. She sniffs his finger carefully, and then rubs her head against it.

  Loki looks up to McSpadden. The Sheriff straightens. Loki restrains a smile.

  “I’ll be alright, Colbert,” says McSpadden.

  Loki tilts his head. As the door closes and McSpadden sits down again, Loki projects a warm cloud of warmth around his hand. As he expects, Patches’ caution quickly evaporates. She begins purring and rubbing her head and body against his fingers.

  With a smile Loki reaches down and puts her on his lap, settling another warm bubble of air around her. Patches lies down on his knee and begins purring loudly, kneading her claws, and staring in McSpadden’s direction. Cats are utter whores for a warm lap.

  Loki can’t restrain his smile. “You have more questions?”

  In the interrogation room McSpadden’s phone buzzes with a text message. He looks down. It’s from Laura Stodgill. He carefully peeks at it beneath the table.

  Positive match. In discussion as to what to do. Don’t make him angry.

  Well, that’s comforting. Tilting his head, he looks back up to Thor.

  “ … and so you are on your way to the Dakotas to take part in the oil boom,” says McSpadden. It’s plausible; in fact, out in the main lobby CNN has been running a show about just those very jobs this evening. McSpadden scowls — is that a coincidence?

  “That’s right,” says Thor. Popping a chocolate chip into his mouth, he smirks slightly. It’s a smirk that says, I know you know I’m lying, and it doesn’t bother me at all. In Thor’s lap Patches is rubbing her head against his stomach, purring so loudly that McSpadden knows the tape recorder is going to pick it up.

  On the one hand, he’s glad she’s not hissing. On the other hand, he can’t even imagine he’s in charge of the situation here.

  Before Patches came into the room, Thor had every appearance of a vaguely disoriented, slightly frightened young man who had almost inadvertently saved a young woman from terrible tragedy. As soon as Patches started acting up, he seemed to pick up exactly on what was going on. Apparently he decided a facade wasn’t worth maintaining anymore.

  Now Thor sits straight up, eerily light blue eyes focused down on McSpadden. McSpadden isn’t a small guy at 6’ 2”, but Thor’s got a couple of inches on him. Thor isn’t cocky, not like a petty thief. No, he’s confident, like he knows he can get up and leave at any moment; he’s just playing along because this is some sort of amusing game to him. Before the weirdness in McSpadden’s neck of the woods he would have written Thor off as crazy. Now with Laura’s response, and Patches’ response … McSpadden sighs. Ah, for the good old days.

  “I don’t suppose you hav
e any idea how the pictures caught on fire?” McSpadden says.

  Thor’s jaw goes hard. “They were very disturbing.”

  Which isn’t an answer but is definitely true. McSpadden had gotten to the point in his job where he thought he couldn’t see anything worse than he already had. He’d been wrong.

  “Well,” says McSpadden. “We’ll need to type this out, and then have you sign it and then … ”

  Thor raises an eyebrow.

  … and then normally it would be McSpadden’s call to decide whether the guy should stay or go.

  Frustrated, McSpadden turns off the tape. Thor blinks and bends over to look closer at the cassette player. It’s the first time since Patches came in that he looks even slightly less than in complete control.

  Thor looks up at McSpadden and straightens. “You have no say over my being allowed to stay or go, do you?” says Thor.

  McSpadden rubs his eyes. He should lie, but frankly, he’s a little fed up — fed up with not being in charge of what went on at his station, and fed up with the Department of Anomalous Devices of Unknown Origin for not filling him in on what the Hell is going on.

  “Nope,” McSpadden says.

  Thor cocks his head. “Thank you for that bit of honesty.” He reaches a hand into the bag of chocolate chips, and then scowls down at it. Picking it up, he peers inside and the scowl intensifies.

  And suddenly McSpadden has a bit of a quantum leap. Maybe The Department of ADUO won’t talk to him, but maybe Thor will.

  “I was told to be nice to you, though,” McSpadden says.

  Thor looks up.

  Standing up, McSpadden says, “While we get this and Miss Lewis’ statement typed up, you’re welcome to have breakfast with us.”