The Revenants

by Castle, Jack

  Oh, I’m evil now? Even sounding far away Donnie’s voice sounded petulant.

  (That shoots down that theory)

  Despite hearing Donnie’s voice, Becca still didn’t feel the same way she did back in the motel. Only on the cusp of it, like how one feels at a zoo on the opposite side of the glass of a charging gorilla, but at least you’re not inside the pen.

  Even Donnie seemed a bit diminished now, almost pleading. No, pouting was a better word.

  (A pouting child. Now there is a good analogy for what Donnie really is. What? Too much? We’re not telling them that yet? I am Sooooo sorry. I did it again. Please continue. It sounds like Donnie is jabbering on about something anyway.)

  Wasn’t I the one who told you to run away from the Christmas Kewpie Doll? Wasn’t I the one who told you to leave that possessed Bible alone. If you had listened to me in the first place you wouldn’t be…

  Wouldn’t be what?

  When Donnie didn’t answer her right away, Becca asked again, ‘Wouldn’t be what, Donnie? Tell me.’

  No answer. And Becca noted that in the end, Donnie’s voice sort of faded away.

  ‘Good riddance.’

  The PFFTTT…PFFTTT…PFFTTT… of the multiple paddle fans overhead only added to the place’s warmth and she felt the sound comforting somehow.

  The kitchen and counter were separated from the main dining room by a short retaining wall. She could hear casual conversation and laughter coming around its corner and by the sound of the clinking utensils on ceramic plates, the joint was packed.

  A feeling of blessed familiarity washed over her. The house spiders, haunted Bible, and constant feeling of eminent death, all of it seemed a bit silly to her now. Even though it was only on the other side of the highway, more and more, the Paradise Motel began to feel as though it was as far away as another continent across a distant ocean. Even the posters on the walls were inviting; a smiling family of four spelunking the nearby Wind Caves; which according to the poster was…

  “Home of the world’s longest limestone caves!”

  Most of the posters catered toward the tourists but one framed piece of art was an actual painting--it was the church on the island again, only this time the scene was a meandering path around the cobblestone church. Probably the same artist. Becca didn’t get the same freaked out feeling she got from the artwork back at the motel. If anything, she felt a twinge of sadness, as though part of the painter’s soul was trapped in the canvas somehow.

  Ohhh… that’s good, you should write that one down. NOT!

  ‘Shut up, Donnie.’ It was good while it lasted. But again, Donnie’s voice was detached, like he was outside the diner now, maybe even across the street.

  (The cobblestone church on the island again… hmmm. A clue perhaps? And doesn’t the landscape around the church look somewhat familiar?)

  “Hi there!”

  A man greeted her with menus. At first he appeared to be very young, but after a second glance Becca could see he had gone to great lengths to conceal his age with quite a bit of makeup, plucked-and-then-painted-on eyebrows, and a darn good dye job.

  “Hi, I’m Jaden,” he announced, practically singing. “And welcome to the Paradise Motel Diner.”

  Before Becca could answer, he guffawed. “I don’t really work here. I’m actually a tour director based out of Spokane, Washington. We were headed for New York when our tour bus got stuck here in the storm. There was nobody working here when we got here so…” flamboyant hand gesture worthy of a Vegas flamenco dancer “…we decided to help ourselves.” His face and tone turned suddenly serious, and he held his hand solemnly over his heart. “But don’t worry, everybody here is on the honor system and we are collecting everything due to the diner’s owners.”

  DING.

  “Order up!”

  Becca lifted her eyes to the rectangular window in the back wall that separated the diner from the kitchen. A smiling elderly man had whapped the bell on the window’s counter (seriously, note to self, buy stock in those bell thingies) with his spatula, and could not have looked happier.

  “Excuse me, hon.”

  An elderly woman (wayyyyyyy too old to be your average waitress) brushed past her. She was wearing a pink waitress’ blouse that was at least one size too big for her frail-looking body and she weaved in and out of the tables delivering orders like a pro to what appeared to be mostly a senior crowd.

  Catching her gaze Jaden explained a bit too happily, (Seriously, dude, take a Xanax) “Ralph back there in the kitchen is a former Marine, and as luck would have it, he and his wife Elaine sure know their way around a kitchen.” Jaden placed one hand on his hip and beveled like a Vegas Showgirl far more nicely than Becca ever could have. “I swear, when I first met Ralph and Elaine, they were a couple of gloomy Guses, but just look at them now. When this is all over they’ll probably open their own diner.” Jaden held a hand up to one side of his mouth as though sharing some secret (only not really) and added in not as quite a cheerful voice as before, he said, “And they got the cash to do it too, he’s a retired Geologist, or something or other, and she’s a former nurse; they’re easily my best tippers.”

  Becca didn’t remember seeing any bus in the parking lot. “Where’s your bus?”

  Jaded looked a little embarrassed, his tone became a little more serious when he said, “We, uh, had a little accident last night, and lost one of our passengers.” Jaden had lowered his voice to the appropriate amount to convey solemnness, “Of course we called 911 but nobody showed up. So we decided to press on for New York but wound up stuck here instead.”

  Despite his sudden change in tone Becca could tell that, like Ralph and Elaine, the aging tour guide was enjoying every minute of this latest adventure.

  Elaine (the aging, no, scratch that, aged waitress) grabbed a couple menus from Jaden and pranced off once more. Becca fought down her irritation with Jaden as he still hadn’t answered her question. “And, your bus?”

  “Oh, right. Enrique, our bus driver, dropped us off this morning and went up the road to see how far he could get in the storm. I’m worried though, he should’ve been back by now. Most likely he got stuck in a ditch or something.”

  Becca thought of Peyton’s school bus and figured whatever happened to Enrique probably was a lot worse than your normal vehicle in distress, but she didn’t say anything.

  Rounding the corner of the dividing wall completely, Becca could see everyone was there. Wally the firefighter, the utility lineman Big Leonard… and that little bitch, Peyton, who had stolen her gun and left her behind to get eaten by spiders (oh, and somehow got out of their motel room without so much as moving the chair parked under the doorknob. Did you forget that?).

  Wally was the first to spot her. He flashed her a lopsided grin and said, “Oh hey, Sleeping Beauty, glad you finally decided to join us.”

  Ignoring the firefighter’s stupid greeting, Becca strode right up to Peyton.

  “Where’s my gun?”

  The cheerleader’s smile vanished immediately and she looked over at Wally and Big Leonard as if to say, ‘Do you know what she’s talking about?’

  Becca’s patience ran dry. (Nearly getting consumed by a billion spiders tended to have that effect on you) “Don’t look at them like you don’t know what I’m talking about, you took it. Where’s my damn gun?”

  Peyton sputtered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eyes searching her memory frantically she finally responded, “Last time I saw it was on the night table, by your bed.”

  “Well it wasn’t there when I woke up, and how the hell did you get out of the room with the chair still tucked underneath the doorknob?”

  (Right?)

  “What?” Peyton asked timidly, shrinking in the booth. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You were asleep when I left.”

  Becca took a step forward, grabbed Peyton roughly by the arm and leaned forward. “Where is it? I know you have it.”

  But Bec
ca could see she didn’t have it. Peyton was wearing only her tight-fitting cheerleader uniform. There was absolutely nowhere she could conceal a firearm on her person.

  I’ll bet that little witch hid it somewhere. I say you beat the truth out of her.

  (Oh good. Look who’s back.)

  “You’re hurting me,” Peyton said, now looking less like a teenager approaching adulthood and more like a little kid.

  Wow, say what you want about the little brat, but she can sure act. Give that kid an Academy award. Bravo! Bravo!

  Wally must have fell for it to because he slid out of his side of the booth and grabbed her by the elbow. “Hey, Becca, that’s enough. Look at what you’re doing. You’re hurting her.”

  The diner had gone quiet. Everyone was staring. Peyton was playing the part of a victim perfectly, and doing such a fine job of it even Becca was starting to believe her. Becca let go of Peyton and when Wally didn’t release her fast enough she shook him loose.

  A tense moment passed.

  Alleviating the the tension, Jaden held up a coffeepot and shouting, “Okay, who wants more coffee!”

  Several of the elderly patrons sprang their cups into the air and everyone was eager to get back to normalcy.

  “Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll get you some breakfast,” Wally said. He was about to maneuver her into the booth but one look from her and he immediately withdrew his hands and held them up in supplication. “I’ll bet once you have a little food in you, you’ll start to feel better.”

  Becca slid into the only empty seat at the table. She was about to unload on the group about the spiders in her room and tell them about the expanding highway when she got her first real look at the Big Lineman sitting opposite her.

  Big Leonard looked terrible. He removed the bag of ice in a plastic baggie to reveal a black and blue lump on his forehead that was so large it was ridiculous.

  Becca’s hands rose to her lips in surprise. She kept them there for a moment to stifle a giggle; it was that large.

  Naturally, Donnie had something say on the subject, Good Lord, look at the size of that thing. He looks like a damn unicorn.

  Ignoring Donnie she asked, “What… what happened to your head?”

  The Big Lineman’s only reply was a rolling of the eyes. So Wally,his wry grin spreading into a full-on smile,answered for him and said, “He got beat up by a can.” Clearly the firefighter thought this hysterical.

  As Becca reached for a menu she asked, “Someone hit you with a can?”

  Big Leonard put the ice bag back up to his bruise and answered irritably, “No. That’s not what happened. A can flew off a shelf all by itself and hit me in the head.”

  Becca remembered her own encounter with the Bible and went cold. “What, you mean like a ghost?”

  “More like a poltergeist.”

  Becca tore her eyes from Big Leonard with the unicorn horn and lifted her eyes to see the newcomer who had only just arrived. What immediately came to mind was the old school yard rhyme, ‘Hey, this is an A and B conversation, why don’t you C your way out of it.’ Even before laying eyes on the man she settled for, “Excuse me?”

  Overall, the stranger reminded her of Ichabod Crane from the old Disney Classic animation story based on Washington Irving’s classic tale about a Headless Horseman. The man was tall and skinny, small head, long pointed nose, and bottle-cap glasses that made his green eyes seem like two lima beans. His baby-face was contradicted by the smoky-grey mound of unkempt hair he held back in a ponytail and the ridiculous Don Quixote mustache and beard. But instead of an 18th century petticoat he wore jeans and a frayed Star Wars shirt that read Han Shot First.

  That… is one odd-looking duck.

  “Hi, I’m Calvin the middle-aged nerd. And I believe you’re in my seat,” he said matter-of-factly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  (Middle-aged nerd! Middle-aged nerd!)

  (Wait. Why is he important again?)

  “Oh, sorry, Cal, I forgot you had gone to the bathroom.” Wally got up, grabbed a chair from an empty table nearby and placed it at the end of the booth. “Here you go.”

  Calvin didn’t seem overly pleased with the new seating arrangement and just stood there blinking his lima-bean shaped eyes behind those bottle-cap glasses of his. Eventually, seemingly in mild protest, he flipped the chair around and sat down, resting his forearms on the backrest. He reached purposely in front of Becca, grabbed his coffee, and brought it back to the end of the table. As he neatly arranged his napkin and spoon so everything had right angles he said, “Anyway, as I was saying, I don’t think it was a ghost that hit Mr. Leonard in the head with a can, but a poltergeist.”

  “A poltergeist,” Becca repeated dryly. She looked at Wally with raised eyebrows and asked the firefighter, “C’mon, you don’t actually believe in this stuff?”

  “Well, I didn’t exactly see the can fly off the shelf…” Wally began.

  “What do you mean,” Big Leonard exclaimed, “You were right there! You saw it!”

  Wally, holding back laughter, answered, “I told you, I was turning away…”

  “You think I hit myself with a can? Why would I do that? And before you say it, I did not sustain it in the fall.”

  In a move that surprised even her, Becca leaned forward in her seat and clasped Big Leonard’s hand in hers. “Alright, Leonard. Let’s say I believe you. A ghost hit you in the head with a tin can.”

  “A poltergeist,” newcomer and middle-aged nerd Calvin corrected, stirring in yet another packet of sugar into his coffee, and clanging the spoon annoyingly while doing so. Everything he did seemed to grate on her already frayed nerves.

  It’s stirred! I hate him. I really hate him. I say we throat-punch him right now.

  ‘Quiet, Donnie,’ although she was inclined to agree with him. Instead of doing as Donnie suggested, Becca suppressed a sigh and reluctantly gazed over at him. “What’s the difference?”

  Calvin scratched his chinney-chin chin hair trying to recall. “A ghost is the spirit of a person who hasn’t passed on yet, sometimes caught in-between planes of existence, whereas a poltergeist, well, let’s just say its existence is pure unadulterated rage and hostility. There have actually been several documented cases where they turn ordinary objects into deadly projectiles.”

  “What are you a Ghostbuster or something?” Becca asked.

  Calvin lowered his gaze and mumbled, “Not exactly.”

  “What then?” Wally asked.

  Calvin looked around the room for a second, like an animal looking for an avenue of escape, finding none, and avoiding the even stare Becca was giving him, he finally said, after adjusting his glasses again, “I’ve watched every season of Ghost Detectives.” Calvin’s manner grew even more animated. “In fact, that’s why I was in Seattle, attending one of their conferences. I even got a picture with most of the cast; wanna see?”

  Becca shook her head briskly. Is this guy for real? He seems a little old to be such a nerd. Turning back to Big Leonard she asked him, “You don’t believe in this crap, do you, Leonard?”

  The big man lowered the bag of ice to the table again and in answer pointed at his giant-sized lump.“Like heck I don’t. I’m a Christian, ma’am. I taught Sunday school for about nineteen years while my kids were growing up. But I don’t think this is any ghost or poltergeist we’re dealing with. I think what we are dealing with here is a demon.”

  Calvin sipped his coffee loud enough to get everyone at the table’s attention, put his cup down, straightened his napkin so it was at a perfect right angle again and said, “A demon is a form of poltergeist. And whether you believe in them or not. Ghosts do exist.”

  Big Leonard made a sour face. “Don’t you get it? Demons know everything, you know. So if you see your Aunt Sally in the kitchen making tea, that’s not her. That’s a demon trying to gain your trust.”

  Becca thought about Christmas Kewpie Doll in the Paradise Lounge across the street. She wasn�
��t so sure. The young singer seemed, if anything, confused. And she really didn’t seem to have an agenda. No. Big Leonard’s theory still didn’t quite fit. At least not everything.

  Calvin raised his tea cup to his lips and before slurping another sip, said calmly, “Agree to disagree.”

  Before Big Leonard could do what Donnie was thinking earlier (throat punch) Wally asked, “But why here? Why the motel?”

  Calvin raised his eyebrows waiting for Big Leonard to answer. When he didn’t he finished another long sip, lowered his cup to the table, and straightened his utensils on his napkin., “Normally there is a perfectly good explanation for a place to become a Nexus for evil. For example the Catholics believe that churches are built over gateways to hell. A cork if you will. Sometimes, if a church is torn down and something is built in its place, supernatural activity can occur.”

  Becca started thinking about the painting of the cobblestone church she saw earlier. Interrupting these thoughts, loudly, Donnie interjected. Bullocks. This man is a complete moron.

  Calvin allowed everyone a moment for this to sink in.

  Surprisingly it was Peyton who broke up the tension. “Oh, c’mon. For a bunch of people who are supposed to be adults I’m surprised all of you are actually buying this guy’s garbage?” (Nerd. You could tell she wanted to say nerd.)

  Peyton got up from her chair, grabbed her jacket roughly, and turned to go. Before leaving entirely she turned back long enough to say, “It’s a storm, people. That’s all it is. It was a storm that picked up my school bus and killed all of my friends, it was a storm that trapped us here. And as for the rest of it? People are going to see what they want to see, or whatever they’ve been told to see by watching too much television.”

  And then she stormed off.

  I’m starting to like this girl!