Devil's Taunt and Other Stories

by Percival Constantine

  “Just like it passed through the headstones,” said Luther.

  Zoe looked down, her eyes beginning to tear up. “After that, it was over. The car disappeared and Jenny was lying in the middle of the road, dead.”

  “What did the police say?”

  Zoe sniffled. “What do you think? They said we were probably drunk or high. Said we were making up stories. We swore it was the truth, but Turner wouldn’t have any of it.”

  Luther scoffed. “Of course he wouldn’t. That man’s not really capable of thinking outside the box.”

  “I heard they’re saying she died of a heart attack or something. But that’s not what happened!” She slammed her palm on the table, shaking it and the cups. Luther grabbed them both to keep them from spilling, then set them down once the table stopped rattling.

  “I’m gonna find out what happened to her. For real,” said Luther. And also get a healthy check from Jenny’s parents, but he declined to mention that.

  Luther remained with Zoe a little longer in the coffee shop, giving her a chance to calm down after the excitement. When she was finally relaxed—or as relaxed as she could be given the circumstances—he left the coffee shop and used his cell phone to make a call to Sean.

  “It’s me,” he said once the reporter answered. “Listen, I want you to do me a favor. Check into deaths in or around Cuba Road involving people with connections to organized crime. I have a feeling our ghost might have been mobbed up. Limit the search to the fifties and earlier, that should narrow it down.”

  “Seems that kid knew quite a bit,” said Sean.

  “Enough to get us started. You take care of that, I’m going over to White Cemetery, see if I can stir up some spirits.”

  * * *

  The Camaro came to a stop just past the gates of White Cemetery. Luther gripped the steering wheel with both hands and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and concentrated, sending out his spirit through the area to try and see if he could get a lock on anything.

  He could sense a congregation of spirits. There was a focal point for the energies and he shifted the car into gear, driving along the road while keeping his eyes closed. Despite depriving himself of sight, he was somehow able to perfectly maneuver through the narrow roads of the cemetery.

  Luther stopped and parked the car, turning off the engine. He opened the door and walked slowly amongst the headstones. There was such a mixture of emotions he felt in this place, far beyond anything he had imagined. What’s more was how disparate they were.

  The emotions started to flood through him. Don’t fight the spiritual current and don’t let it drown you, either. But instead, find a way to remain afloat and just ride it out. Like surfing on the waves of energy.

  But the emotions were so powerful. Almost more than he could bear. The spiritual energy here was so powerful that it began overwhelming him. Pain. Fear. Anger. Desire. Lust. Love. They flooded through him one by one and he collapsed to the ground.

  Luther struggled, reaching inside his pocket. His fingers found the object, his talisman, and he pulled it out, holding it in front of his face. His eyes stared at the small gold locket hanging from the chain. He kept his gaze fixed on it as it moved back and forth, calming him. It helped him find his center, remember who he was. Reminded him of his mission.

  The emotions subsided and he was able to finally climb to his feet. But when he looked around, he saw that hours must have passed. It was night and ghostly figures moved all around him. Except they were fading in and out of the background, almost like he was only being allowed to see what was most important.

  Luther placed the locket back inside his coat and held out both hands, concentrating as he reached out to the spirits. The ones with the strongest emotions were usually those who had the most power in the physical world. The power of those emotions enabled them to cross the dimensional planes, playing out their personal dramas.

  “How could you?”

  He turned. The voice was faint, difficult to hear. But it was there. Luther moved through the ghosts who reached for him with their translucent hands. He passed right through them, none of them powerful enough to command his attention.

  Finally he came to the source of the voice. The ghost of a young woman, couldn’t have been any older than twenty. She looked at him, tears streaming down her face while at the same time, her mouth was fixed in an expression of rage. She raised her hand and smacked him.

  He felt it. The hand didn’t pass through him, he was struck just as if she were a real person. And it certainly hurt.

  “How could you?”

  “Lady, I have no idea who the hell you a—”

  Luther paused. He could feel the spirits getting closer to him. Solidifying. The ghost of this woman, her rage directed at him was now spurring the others to action. They were drawn to him and Luther found himself very quickly in a precarious position.

  He tried to run from them, but one of the ghosts flew through him and the experience caused his body to seize up. Pain shot through his every nerve and he collapsed, breathing deeply as he struggled to stand once more. Luther gritted his teeth, his demonic eyes now pulsating with an eerie crimson glow. The ghosts surrounded him, their eyes like bright blue lights against the quickly darkening sky.

  “Okay, so you want to play.”

  Luther reached into his coat for the holster hidden under his shoulder. His fingers wrapped around the butt of the modified revolver and he drew it out. Polished chrome, with arcane symbols engraved all along the barrel. And the rounds it fired were specially made—crafted from a mixture of silver and iron, crosses branded on the heads, and the hollow points were filled with a cocktail of salt, holy water, and garlic. An all-purpose supernatural ward.

  Luther fired at one of the ghosts that flew toward him and he screamed, his translucent form burning away from the night. The weapon wouldn’t kill them, but it would keep them at bay. And all he needed to do was fight his way through in order to reach his car.

  He saw the ghost responsible for this. She repeated the question over and over again—“How could you?”—and the other ghosts seemed to act on her rage. They were coming at him one after another and Luther was having trouble keeping up with them. He fired bullets into each of the spirits that approached, but the chamber could only hold six and now the trigger simply clicked impotently.

  “Sepio!” Luther’s eyes hummed with power when he uttered the Latin word. The space around him crackled with crimson energy and the ghosts found a mystic barrier between him and them.

  They pounded on the field, wailing and clawing at it. It wouldn’t hold long, but it would give Luther the time he needed to reload. He snapped the new rounds into the chamber and closed it, also reaching for the ornate dagger sheathed behind his back.

  Luther watched as they continued to pound on the barrier, their combined power weakening it just as fast as he expected it to. And when it fell, he was ready.

  The first ghost that came at him received a bullet to the face and evaporated into thin air. Luther felt another trying to flank him and he swiped with the dagger. The entity dissolved as the blade passed through him.

  He shot off two more rounds and the ghosts now began to back away from him. Luther focused his attention on the entity responsible. The ghosts all parted, leaving a path open between the two of them.

  “How could you?” she repeated again before she retreated slowly, hovering away from him. Finally, she became nothing more than a glowing orb, floating in the middle of the cemetery. Luther looked around and saw all the other ghosts had taken on similar appearances.

  He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, the sun was beginning to rise. Luther arrived in the cemetery just before five in the afternoon. Now he looked down at his watch and saw it was six in the morning. He’d been here for almost twelve hours, even though it felt like barely an hour had passed.

  Once Luther reached his car, he looked at his cell phone, still held in the holder installed above his
radio. There were several missed calls and just as he was about to check the voicemail, the phone rang.

  “Where the hell have you been?” asked Sean once Luther answered. “I’ve been calling you all night.”

  “I know, I just saw my phone now,” said Luther. “I’m still at the cemetery.”

  “What’d you do, spend the night there?”

  “Actually…yeah, I guess I did. Just didn’t plan on it,” said Luther. “There’s something powerful here. A lot of somethings, as a matter of fact. No wonder this place has so many haunting stories.”

  “So it really is haunted then?”

  Luther looked out the car window, seeing the spirits floating around the cemetery. “That just might be the understatement of the century.”

  “At least we know what we’re dealing with then. I dug up that information you asked for. You wanna get some rest first or come over now?”

  “Strangely, I’m not tired at all. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Luther ended the call and placed the phone back in its holder. He reached inside his coat and took out the locket once more. He opened it and looked at the picture inside. A young woman with big, brown eyes, light brown skin, and a wide smile. Full of life, or so she seemed. Too bad it all changed so quickly.

  He closed the locket and put it back in his coat, then started the car and drove off.

  * * *

  Once he heard the knocking, Sean went to the front door and opened it for Luther. He gestured for him to come inside and led him over to the couch. Luther sat down and procured the cigarette case and lighter from his pocket as he surveyed the coffee table. The surface was covered with documents, photos, and scans of old newspaper articles, arranged into two sloppy piles. All of them dealt with deaths involving mob-connected figures near Cuba Road.

  “Christ,” he muttered. “Didn’t think there’d be so damn many.”

  “Yeah, you and me both.” Sean stood behind the couch, sipping coffee. “Want some?”

  “No thanks, just get me an ashtray.” Luther lit the cigarette and Sean brought over a small glass dish for him to deposit the ash. “Where the hell do we begin?”

  “What you’re looking at here is actually the start of a lot of the ghost stories,” said Sean. “During the heyday of the Chicago mob scene, the gangsters would drive out to this area and stir shit up. It was their way of blowing off steam. They’d terrorize the locals, get drunk, start fights, and a lot of time, people died. Other times, they’d take bodies up here and dump them. The people in this area lived in fear whenever they heard those roadsters.”

  “Not unlike the one that killed Jenny Graeber,” said Luther.

  “Right, so now it’s just a matter of figuring out which ghost is haunting this place.”

  “It’s a she, I know that much. And she’s got a lot of rage and pain. Her grief is so strong, she was able to will just about every damn ghost in the cemetery to attack me,” said Luther. “It’s a wonder I got out of there alive.”

  “Okay, well that can narrow it down a little.” Sean reached for one of the piles and took about half of the papers, passing them to Luther. “I figured the car might factor into it, so just in case, I separated all the deaths that involved a car into a separate pile.”

  “Good work.”

  “Any other leads we have besides a dead girl and a car?”

  Luther nodded. “She was young, pretty. And she kept saying, ‘how could you?’ So I’m guessing we’re looking at a jilted woman.”

  They searched through their respective piles for a few minutes, scanning the headlines and the articles. Luther removed the cigarette from his mouth and set the remains of it in the tray, allowing the embers to burn away what was left of it. He set his pile of articles on the table, all except for one.

  “I think we might have something.”

  Luther passed it to Sean. The headline read TWO DIE IN CAR CRASH. He continued to read ahead, scanning the story. “‘David McLaren, rumored to have connections with organized crime in Chicago, was said to be a frequent visitor to the area. The female victim, Barbara Kern, was a local girl and frequently seen in McLaren’s company. Ms. Kern was found behind the wheel of the car and it’s believed she lost control.’”

  “Look at the photograph,” said Luther, pointing to the separate images of the two victims. His finger tapped Barbara’s picture. “That’s the woman I saw at the cemetery.”

  “You sure about that?” asked Sean.

  Luther nodded, then reached into his jacket and took out his case. He lit a fresh cigarette. “But we’ve got a problem. Her anger makes her pretty damn strong, even for me. We need to know more, or else it’ll be a repeat of last time.”

  “There’s not a whole lot in the article to go off,” said Sean. “What do you suggest?”

  Luther exhaled the smoke and stood, rubbing his goatee in thought. He held up the cigarette. “Why don’t we see if she’s got any family still around?”

  “Might be kind of a leap, this happened over sixty years ago.”

  “Still, worth a shot. See if you can locate any relatives.”

  Sean nodded. “I’ll get right on it.”

  * * *

  Luther approached the reception desk of the retirement home. The receptionist was a woman whose nametag had the name LISA printed on it. She looked up at him and smiled. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, if you don’t mind.” Luther removed his sunglasses and when he looked up at Lisa, his eyes hummed with his demonic power. “I’m here to speak to a resident of yours. A Mrs. Janet Brown.”

  Lisa remained still, like she was stuck in a trance. After a moment or two, she blinked a few times. “Sure, let me just take a look.” She checked the computer, entering in some commands and bringing up the appropriate record. “Are you friend or family?”

  “Family,” said Luther. “I’m her nephew.”

  “Funny, she never mentioned a nephew,” said Lisa.

  “Well, I hope she hasn’t forgotten about me.”

  Lisa looked at Luther, his glowing eyes not even giving her a moment to doubt his story. For her, there was nothing unusual about this man who stood before her. “I’m sure that’s not the case, hon. She just probably never thought to mention you.” Lisa handed him a clipboard with a sign-in sheet. “If you could just sign your name here.”

  “If she keeps it up, I’ll remember that the next time she asks me to smuggle in some of her favorite gin,” said Luther, flashing Lisa a grin. The receptionist gave a good-natured frown in response.

  “Now, you shouldn’t say stuff like that in front of me.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m just having some fun,” said Luther. He passed her the clipboard, and though he hadn’t written anything, she saw the fields filled in and set the chart down.

  “She’s in room 115,” said Lisa. “You have a good day now.”

  “Thank you, Lisa. Now you remember to forget I was ever here, okay?”

  His eyes pulsated one final time and Lisa smiled warmly. “Absolutely, that won’t be a problem.”

  Luther placed his glasses back on and left the desk. He proceeded through the corridors, looking at the numbers on the rooms until he came to 115. Luther knocked on the door and he heard a voice on the other end invite him in.

  When he stepped inside, he saw an old woman in her late seventies sitting in a chair over by the window. She turned her head and looked at him, studying his features carefully and with confusion. She reached for the glasses hung around her neck by a lanyard and put them on, trying to get a better look at him.

  “Mrs. Brown,” said Luther as he walked inside. “You don’t know me. But my name is Luther Cross.”

  He took off his sunglasses and his eyes pulsated with a glow, casting the same glamour over her that he used on Lisa. “I’m here to ask you about Barbara Kern. Your sister.”

  Janet Brown took off her glasses and gestured to the dresser. Luther approached and looked at the framed photographs on the surfac
e. He saw Janet’s life in the pictures, from a little girl up through adolescence, adulthood, and the present. Saw her with her parents, her children, and her grandchildren. But one black and white photo drew his attention. The one that featured a teenage Janet with Barbara Kern.

  “I was fifteen when it happened,” said Janet.

  Luther looked up from the photograph. “What happened?”

  “Even though she was older than me, we were real close. ‘Bout as close as two sisters can be,” said Janet. “We talked about everything. Back then, there weren’t many people living ‘round here.”

  “Tell me about David McLaren.”

  Janet sighed. “Now that was a character. He seemed nice. Fast talkin’ city boy, always had a roll of cash on him. Real charming. Always bought me ice cream or a soda or something whenever he came around.”

  “But something wasn’t right about him.”

  Janet nodded. “One night, I overheard Barb and my parents arguing. Daddy found out about Dave and he was pretty angry. Told Barb that the Kerns are good people who make an honest living, said he didn’t want her associating with goons like him. Told her to get out.”

  “And she did?” asked Luther.

  “Yeah, she ran out of the house. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t hear of it.” Janet rubbed her glassy eyes. Evidently even after all these decades, the pain of losing her sister still weighed on her soul. “But she came back the next day. Tears in her eyes. She said that she went to Dave an’ he told her…” Janet nearly choked on the next words. “Told her he was married. That what he an’ Barb had, it was just fun and nothing more.”

  Luther slid his hands into the pockets. How could you? It all made sense now.

  “She wasn’t going to let that lie, was she?” he asked.