by Alexie Aaron
“She says she doesn’t believe you,” Sabine’s voice came up behind him. “She says you lie. You always lie.”
“Sherry, Murray...”
“Feinstein,” Gerald filled in. “Director of Acquisitions.”
“Sherry, Murray Feinstein, Director of Acquisitions, is going to put your work on display tomorrow at ten o’clock. We have to hurry to get there in time...”
When the mass moved off of Mia, she crawled away and got back on the backhoe and continued to dig.
The mass moved in front of Whit.
“The hag and Sherry are arguing right now. The hag says not to trust you. You’ve failed her before.”
“You’ve been to the house. You’ve been through the paintings. I took ‘Springtime’ to New Jersey and put it on display by your casket,” he explained. “Momma Martin is driving it to New York right now on invitation from Murray Feinstein!”
Burt watched in horror as the hag moved towards Whit and sent a snarled hand into his face. Whit flew backwards into the arms of Angelo.
“Sherry’s listening. She believes you,” Sabine interpreted.
Angelo planted Whit on his feet. “Go on. This is the time to save Sherry.”
“Sherry, come with me to the opening. Sabine and Bev, our new friends, are coming too. Sabine will take you into her and bring you safely to the MoMA. I’m going to be there. I couldn’t be more proud.”
The mass was graying as Sherry was pulling out of the hag’s control.
“Come to me, Sherry Martin, come share my body,” Sabine cooed. “I always wanted to see the paintings. I can’t wait to see our paintings.” Sabine felt Sherry’s presence and nodded to Bev.
Bev gently led them to the sedan that Gerald had started. Whit followed, walking backwards, not daring to turn his back on the raging storm now materializing for all to see.
“I think the black dress would be nice, Sabine. I agree with you, Sherry.” Sabine held on to Bev while the transformation was settling in. “Whit, do you think my mother will be there?”
“I can make a call, but you know how she feels about your art.”
“She never had any faith in me. But now, the MoMA,” Sabine’s voice drifted down the hillside as Whit shut the door and the car sped off.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” the hag howled. “Come back! I can give you men and women to love. I can teach you to eat the tender flesh of the young. Come back!”
Mia continued to dig. Something caught her eye, and she moved her shovel closer and pulled back. A hope chest tumbled along with the dirt. She stopped the hoe, grabbed a shovel and started digging around the box. Burt was there, and together they righted the chest.
The hag gave out a mighty howl that shook the trees. Mia turned in the direction of the hollow and saw movement amongst the undergrowth. A black mass oozed out of the brambles and moved towards them. As it got closer, it took the individual forms of the hanging man, the five peepers from the middle house and Gustav Lewis’s father.
“Ah, shit,” Mia said to Burt whose mouth just refused to close.
“Five and the hag. One for each of us,” Burt said with bravado. He climbed up into the back of the truck and began tossing materials out towards the open chest.
John Ryan and Tom Braverman headed for the car and returned with four loaded, pump-action shotguns. John started firing as he ran towards the approaching hoard.
Mia pried up the lid and moved her hands through the rotted potpourri until she found the bones. “Fuck! She bit me.” Mia hauled her hand out and attached to it was the skull of the hag.
Burt doused the skull with salt, and it let go. Mia resisted the urge to kick the head twenty feet and opted to return it to the box.
Tom and John’s assault on the hollow denizens only slowed them. The hanging man grew stronger as he neared the hag, and with that power, he was able to cloak himself with invisibility. He smiled, showing his yellow teeth, before disappearing in front of the lawmen. His hands found Tom’s throat, and he squeezed as he lifted the flailing deputy off the ground. Tom fought the unseen foe with everything he had, looking in vain for help so that he could breathe.
John Ryan managed to reach his deputy even though he was surrounded by the now unseen quartet that was taking potshots at him with their fists. He judged carefully and fired a shot of rock salt at the space between Tom and the ground. Stunned, the hanging man dropped the deputy, and Tom crawled away gasping.
Father Santos and Angelo moved forward chanting, one in Latin, one in something much older. The hag surged upward and spat maggots at them.
Mia watched and saw that the hag moved too fast for any containment. She wasn’t anchored to the earth by any body. This gave Mia an idea. True, she only had tried it a few times, but as things were, she wasn’t going to live long enough to try it again. Mia put her mind in launch mode. She had a moment of dislocation, and she fell to the ground. Her mind kept moving upward. She thought hard in order to change her appearance. She faced the hag. “Look at me, old woman,” she commanded.
The surprised hag stopped moving and stared at the form of Mia emerging in front of her.
Mia fought to stay aloft while willing her body to take on a frightening form. But all she succeeded in doing was filling her petite form with light while turning the air around her pink.
Burt found what he was looking for and headed back to the box. He almost tripped on Mia’s prone form. He turned her over and confirmed she still had a pulse. “Interesting time for some bilocation, dear.” He pulled her body under the protection of the trailer before resuming his task in the garden.
John and Tom were surrounded by shapes that defied the physical world. They were losing the fight as the hoard moved closer to the garden.
John was spraying wildly from the holy-water-filled bottles he had taken from his back pocket. This only succeeded in angering the entities, as it seemed to burn like acid when the drops came in contact with them.
Once again Tom was lifted into the air, but this time John was ready and fired his last shot. The men scrambled towards each other, hoping that united they would be able to buy Mia more time.
The rock salt was gone. John and Tom stood with their backs to each other failing to fight off the invisible punches and kicks.
A terrific crack sounded, and one of the five attackers fell. It was followed by another crack, and another one fell. The three turned to face their attacker.
The sound of Murphy’s axe gave Burt a ray of hope. He shoved the last of the magnesium road flares into the gaping mouth of the hag’s skull. “Stand back, Mia. Move,” he yelled as he ignited the flare in his hand and dropped it in the box and ran.
Mia dropped out of her bilocated state and into her body which Burt had covered with his own to protect her from the explosion of heat and flame.
Angelo and Father Santos observed the hag twisting and withering above the box and eventually succumbing to the flames. Tom, John and Murphy fought the last three ghosts until they vanished, about the same time as the last of their mistress’s ashes burst into fine dust.
Chapter Fifty-five
All was quiet and still. A tentative tweet and a responding chirp started the birds of the forest gossiping. Burt rolled off of Mia and helped her to her feet.
Father Santos nodded to Angelo, and he opened his phone to call Gerald.
Tom and John tried unsuccessfully to locate Murphy to give him a high five. Mia called, “To your right and... a little bit more. Okay, right in front of you.”
Tom reached out and felt a ticklish feeling in his palm. He nodded to the sheriff to do likewise. John reached out, and Murphy connected and smiled. “That’s some axe, fella,” he said.
“Murphy’s smiling. I’d leave him be, he has a wicked sense of humor,” Mia cautioned.
“So you’re an heiress, I hear,” Burt said, whirling Mia around.
“Don’t remind me. I wonder what the taxes are on this place?”
&
nbsp; “The ever practical. That was some wicked move you pulled over there. Next time warn me.”
“Could you see me? What did I look like?” Mia asked excitedly. “I was going for a dragon.”
Burt wrinkled up his face. “Kinda like a Japanese anime character.”
“Not very scary.”
“Nope, you could work on it a bit,” he suggested.
“Hey, Murph, thanks for the assist,” Mia said to the air beside him.
“Murph’s here? I can’t see him,” Burt said disappointed. “I owe you so much, Stephen Murphy. You are a stand-up kind of guy.”
Mia looked at the two men in her life and fought back tears. “He’s reminding me about the pictures. Did any come out?”
Burt brightened up. “I don’t know. I’ll call Ted and Beth and see what’s happening.” Burt pulled out his phone and walked up the hill for better reception.
Murphy looked after Burt and took a hand to one of his eyes.
“The sight must have been tied up with the hag’s power. She wanted him to see Steele and, today, her eating him. I’m not going to tell him that was what was on her mind.”
Murph nodded in accord with Mia’s decision. He pointed to Father Santos and Angelo who were coming their way. He backed up and moved away. “If you need a ride back, I’ll be going as soon as I clean up this mess,” she called out as he disappeared.
“Angelo and I were very impressed with the bilocation.” Father Santos patted her on the back.
“Burt says I have to work on looking more fearsome.”
“Well, there is that,” Father Santos agreed.
“I thought I saw a certain farmer in the fray,” Angelo inquired. “Is he still around?”
“He’s afraid you and the father will try to get him to move on.”
“He wants to stay?” Angelo asked puzzled.
“Yep.”
“You’ll let us know if he changes his mind?” Father Santos asked.
“Of course, but don’t hold your breath,” Mia counseled.
“What are you going to do with this place?”
“After I receive it legally, I will probably raze it. Let nature take everything back.”
“There are some things in the house that really shouldn’t travel. Secrets and lies all mixed together.”
“I’ll dispose of every last bit of poison. I promise,” Mia said, covering her heart. “On a different subject. What are we going to do about the hollow?”
“It seems to be a constant source of problems lately. I don’t know what can be done. It’s owned by Restoration Realty presently.”
“You know, if we could get support, a wildlife refuge wouldn’t be a bad idea out here,” Mia schemed.
“I’ll get Gerald on it,” Angelo said.
“Keep me in the loop. I hate to be rude, but I got to get this backhoe and trailer back by five,” Mia said, surveying the hole she needed to cover.
Chapter Fifty-six
Carol Martin waited for her son and friends at the entrance to the museum. She had arrived earlier with Sherry’s painting. Whit didn’t tell her exactly why it was necessary that it be in New York, but he was her son and that was enough for her.
A long limousine pulled up, and the driver walked around and opened the door. A man of West Indian looks got out and aided a beautiful, middle-aged blonde out of the vehicle. They stood aside while her son appeared. He was dressed uncomfortably in a rented ensemble. He glanced up at Carol and gave a discrete wave before reaching in and helping out a tiny Nordic blonde waif. She was the palest woman Carol had ever seen.
The quartet moved towards Carol with Whit in the lead.
“Mom,” he said as he rushed into her arms. “You have no idea what you’ve done. You may just have saved the world.”
Carol, not letting her confusion get the best of a quip, said, “All in a day’s work for the American housewife.”
Whit introduced Gerald, Bev and Sabine. Sabine seemed a bit distracted and kept talking to herself. Whit opened the door for the group and whispered to his mother as she passed through, “I’ll explain everything later.”
Sherry had been to the MoMA many times before, but this was her first time as a contributing artist. She moved restlessly in Sabine’s care. She pushed out of her body and surged upwards. Her newfound freedom enabled her to speed through the halls upstairs at lightning speed. She danced along her favorite artists’ exhibits.
When she approached “Springtime in Illinois,” she drifted to a stop. With tender care she caressed the placard holding her name. She backed up and moved around, taking in her painting at different angles. The adjoining media enhanced the new oil with their darkness and acute angles. She was pleased.
~
Mia eyed the laptop suspiciously. Burt had brought it into the house and set up a wi-fi link. He had to explain how it was virtually impossible for a ghost to enter her home through this connection. “And if it did happen, it would be some hacker-nerd ghost, and, face it, we know two techies that could eradicate that threat with relish.”
“Speaking of techies, did Ted get a photo of Murph?”
“Several, I’ll be able to show you once I log on, plus see this little motion eye?”
“Yes.”
“We can talk person-to-person with PEEPs. Once we set up a link, we can see them and they can see us, so get some clothes on,” Burt ordered.
Mia ruffled his hair and walked off to the bedroom to find something to wear.
Burt looked after her, and his heart swelled. He had lived more in the last few weeks than he had in his previous thirty-five years, but it paled in comparison to meeting his soul mate. True, there would be many battles between them. Both of them being so headstrong would cause problems, and they would fight. Of course, then they would make up, and that was almost worth stirring the pot.
He messaged Ted, and soon the connection was set up. Ted was in his mother’s basement, hat on backwards, a large coffee steaming up on his right.
“Burt, heard from Mike you had a little excitement after we left. But enough about your sex life...”
Mia loomed behind Burt, shaking her finger at Ted. “He looks all fidgety,” she complained.
“That’s what he normally looks like,” Burt teased. “Mia wants to see the Murphy pics.”
Ted smiled, and his fingers flew along his keyboard. “There, you should have them soon. If you process one for the old bugger, make sure you use a filter over the picture before sealing it,” he suggested. “Mike wants to know if you’re going to be able to make the meeting Friday?”
Burt looked at Mia, and she nodded. “Yes, I’ll be there, and have Mike tell his mom I’m bringing a date.”
“You know I hate to see another of the great bachelors fall, but congrats on getting your head out of your ass, dude.”
“So beautifully phrased,” Burt said wryly. “I see the files have arrived so I’ll talk to you later.”
“Later,” Ted said, and the connection was severed.
Burt pulled Mia onto his lap and kissed her. “Now, let’s see Murphy.” He reached around her and punched a few keys.
Before the couple, a picture emerged of a lost piece of America. Stephen Murphy stood tall, his axe at one side and Mia on the other. His face showed windy days of plowing, nights worrying about crops, and a light heart easily humored. Mia was looking up with pride at the man who played such an important role in her life.
“I think I’m jealous,” Burt said, his eyes watering. “Let’s look at the other shots. Mia put her hand over his, silently telling him that he had nothing to worry about. “I love you, Mia Cooper.”
“I love you, Burt Hicks.”
Chapter Fifty-seven
Murphy gazed at the photo hung on the wall of the barn and smiled. April had moved back in, and she placed the picture herself. Murphy liked April, and she had conceded that it was nice to have her own personal bodyguard around the place.
After many a serious conversation
with Mia and Burt, she came to the conclusion that she could share the space with the farmer. April was overjoyed that she wouldn’t be disturbed further with the nocturnal ramblings of Chastity Murphy.
Summer was coming, and with it a new set of problems for her to sort out with the phone company.
“Redwing customer service, April speaking. How can I help you?”
***
Alexie Aaron
After traveling the world, Alexie Aaron, a Midwestern native, returned to her roots where she’s been haunting for years. She now lives in a village outside of Chicago with her husband and family.
Her popular Haunted Series was born from her memories of fleeting shapes rushing around doorways, an heirloom chair that rocked itself, cold feelings of mysterious dread, and warm feelings from the traces of loved ones long gone.
Alexie also writes the Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries. These cozies set in England and south Florida combine action and intrigue with a liberal dose of humor.
