Friday Nightmares

by Corey Edward

  Alexander Carter would have to face justice, or his crimes would be repeated.

  I slid the invitation under the door and a blue light appeared within my closet. I grabbed Rusty and held him close, opening the closet and walking inside.

  In just one step, I was in the middle of a thousand-year-old castle in the Chzeck Republic, deep in the heart of an enchanted forest. Ahead of me unfurled a stone corridor decorated with floating lanterns and twittering orange Fireflits. Standing guard along the length of this corridor were mechanical creatures with swords in their hands: Automatons, I realized. Statues animated with the power of Mana.

  I walked past them as they stared silently ahead, hands gripping their swords, ready to fight intruders if need be. The wide double doors at the end of the hallway opened, and within them lie the meeting chamber of the Council of Magi.

  For thousands of years, this one governing body has ruled over all of Spellcraft and fought to ensure the preservation of the race. The room in which they did so was fittingly majestic: the floor was made of pure crystal, and the walls were beautifully preserved stained glass. Each panel of glass depicted another scene from the life of Merlin: Merlin fighting the dark wizard Mordred. Merlin guiding Arthur to the sword in the stone. Merlin sealing the Holy Grail away for eternity so that the forces of evil couldn’t find it.

  Dad always said the Council members were an “ancient bunch of old fuddy-duddies.” That was putting it mildly. Seated around the chamber in floating thrones were ten robed figures, each of them more wrinkled and decrepit-looking than the last. The bearded wizard that hovered higher than the rest was wearing a blue robe whose bottom reached the floor.

  Kneeling in the center of the room was the nearly unrecognizable figure of Alexander Carter. His face was grizzled and unshaven and he was wearing brown prisoner’s clothing. He was no longer the classy man I had interviewed a few weeks back, but a sad figure, starved and wan.

  “Merry meet and blessed be, Henry Candle and little Rusty, too,” said the wizard wearing a blue robe. “I am Lord Zephriam XII, reigning Master Mage of all Spellcrafters. These are my compatriots, the other members of the Council. Welcome to our chambers, and a happy Samhain to you.”

  “Happy Samhain to you as well,” I said back, wary.

  “We have in front of us one Alexander Carter, former director of acquisitions at the Boston Museum of Ancient History and current prisoner. He is called forth to stand trial on charges of allowing a foreign entity to inhabit his body, threatening to expose the existence of Spellcrafters to the general public, and four counts of supernatural murder. One of those counts is the murder of James Candle. Henry, you are the one who uncovered this man’s most heinous crimes — and for that, we are eternally grateful. You are called upon today to give a testimony of how you uncovered information about his insidious intentions.”

  “Uh,” I said. “It’s kind of a long story. I —”

  “Fools,” muttered Carter. “Fools, every last one of you!”

  “SILENCIO,” boomed Zephriam, sweeping his hand forth. Carter’s voice was instantly muted by the spell. His lips were moving, but not a sound was produced. “I understand, Mr. Candle, that you discovered evidence that Mr. Carter here was trying to conjure up some ancient Darkcrafter in the hopes of achieving his insane dream of revealing our kind to the human race?”

  I nodded. “Yes. He found the tomb of an ancient lost pharaoh named Narlothotep. He-”

  The mention of the Black Pharaoh changed the entire environment of the chamber. Zephriam coughed as if choking on tea. The other members of the Council also started murmuring amongst each other.

  “Narlothotep?” Zephriam said. “The Black Pharaoh?”

  “Yeah. You know him?”

  “Know him? Of course, I know him! He’s the most powerful necromancer ever to walk the face of the Earth! The Lord of Maggots himself! That’s who this idiot was trying to set free?”

  “That’s right. He wrote about it in his journals, which are located in his office. I think he was under the impression that Narlothotep was going to, uh, be of some assistance in that regard.”

  “Is this true?” Zephriam asked Carter. “Speak, prisoner.” He waved his hand again, and Carter was able to speak once more.

  “Not only is it true,” Carter said through gritted teeth, “it is righteous. It is just. Narlothotep’s vision is of a world where Spellcrafters and humans stand side-by-stand, helping one another and intermingling. A world where they are as accepted as any other minority in the world today. History vilified him, reduced him to a villain. He was not that. He was a hero.”

  “You raving lunatic. Narlothotep wasn’t some peace-loving symbol of justice. He was a conqueror who raised legions of undead soldiers in the hopes of one day ruling the world. It was his own brother who killed him, sealing him away and burying him deep below the Earth with his Phylactery. There he stayed for thousands of years until you disturbed him and willingly let his evil spirit inhabit your body. What say you to this allegation?”

  “No.” He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “You don’t understand. Narlothotep is on our side. He knows there can be no peace without war and bloodshed. He will force the humans to accept us. They will have no other choice.”

  Zephriam laughed humorlessly. “Why should we care what humans think of us? We are people of magic, not of Earth. Our souls are infinite, always being reborn; theirs vanish after death. Why concern ourselves with them when we will far outlast them?”

  “You’re wrong. We need humans if we are to survive. I’ve done the math. We’ll be extinct by the year twenty-sixty if we don’t start reproducing with them.”

  “Hear that, Henry?” Zephriam joked. “Better find yourself a nice witch and get busy!”

  The entire Council laughed at his horrible joke, but neither I nor Carter saw any humor in it. And why should I? Twisted as his methods might be, he had a point- a point that the Council was failing to see.

  “I don’t think he meant for all this to happen this way,” I said. “I think Narlothotep was the one pulling all the strings. Carter was possessed, and possession can warp someone’s mind and soul.”

  “Well, that really doesn’t matter now,” Zephriam said. “Narlothotep is vanquished. You destroyed his Phylactery. His soul should be gone, provided it was his only one. The Grimoire was his only Phylactery, right, Mr. Carter?”

  “Yes,” Carter said, after a moment’s hesitation.

  “Fine, then. As always, we owe you a debt, Mr. Candle. And so does your city. Automatons?” The two intimidating soldiers marched into the room at the Mage’s behest. “Take Mr. Carter away and throw him in the holding cell while I decide which dimension is appropriate for his banishment. I’m caught between the Crab Dimension and the Dimension of Eternal Pneumonia.”

  “You’ll all regret this,” Carter said as the Automatons dragged him out of the chamber. “I will be vindicated in the end. This, I swear. I curse you, all of-”

  “Blah, blah, blah. You evil types wear me out,” interjected Zephriam. Carter’s voice faded down the hallway. After Carter was gone, Zephriam turned to me and smiled. “So. Before me stands the son of James Candle, Heir of the Candle bloodline. Tell me, child. How have you been?”

  “I’m… okay.” I shrugged. “I mean, I have until midnight to decide whether I want to take over Candle Paranormal Investigations, so it’s kind of a tense day for me.”

  “Oh, and what a choice indeed. A momentous decision! I remember when your father said yes to his father. For a while there, I didn’t think he would.”

  This came as a surprise to me. “Really? Why?”

  “Well, he was a boy just as you are now. And boys can’t exactly envision the future when they’re only sixteen, can they? It’s a momentous thing to choose, especially if choosing wrong could have such dire consequence.”

  “I… guess you could say that.”

  “So what are you going to choose? Do you know yet?”

&nbs
p; I paused. “I’m not sure. I know it sounds crazy to say, after solving the case of what happened to my father, but… I’m really not. I mean, I could either follow in his footsteps and sacrifice my entire life to others, or I could give up magic and exist with my human friends and grandparents, living a normal human life. But that would also mean giving up my connection to Rusty, which would change everything.”

  “So if you had to choose right here and now, do or die, what would it be?”

  “You can’t expect me to do that. I’ve just barely woken up.”

  “Try, please. For me?”

  “Okay, then.” I looked back at Lord Zephriam. “These last two weeks, I’ve been taking on supernatural cases as if I were in charge of Candle Paranormal Investigations. I chased a Vextable out of a woman’s apartment. I saved a girl from a Grinner that wanted to steal her soul. And I cracked the case of my father’s death and the death of other wizards throughout Boston. It’s been tough, yes, but it’s also been some of the most rewarding work I’ve ever done. You should’ve seen how wide Tiffany smiled after I banished her Vextable, even though the kitchen was ruined. And that girl, Molly? She slept soundly for the first time in days. I don’t want to take on the family business because it’s tradition, because my father told me to do so, or because my magic might leave if I don’t. I want to take on the family business because I want to help people. I want to save lives, and improve them, and rid this world of all the supernatural darkness that might infiltrate it — because Merlin knows there’s enough of the non-supernatural kind. So there. Does that answer your question, Your Majesty?”

  The entire chamber floor went bone silent. I was dangerously close to tears, even though I didn’t think the crowd here would mind if they fell. Zephriam clapped and was slowly joined by the others.

  “Yes,” said Lord Zephriam. “It does. Magic walk with you, Henry Candle. I will see you in time.”

  He waved his hand and the chamber faded. I was thrown backwards with Rusty and the world was a blur of colors and lights. The next thing I knew, I was lying on my bed and Rusty was lying on my chest.

  He was a heavy load to bear, but it was nothing compared to what I now felt inside. I grabbed my phone and left my bedroom, eager to start the most important magical holiday of the year.

  ~&~

  I pulled up to Candle Paranormal Investigations and sat in my car, my heart beating like a hammer against my ribcage. I was mere seconds away from making the most monumental decision I’d ever make in my entire life at the ripe old age of sixteen. Could I really march on in there and carve my name upon that plate, claiming the business for my own? It would mean a lifetime of hard work, sacrifice, and dedication. It’d also mean that I couldn’t turn my back on the business in a few years’ time. The moment I started to turn away, my magic would follow.

  I left my car, opened the door and walked into the shop. The bell dinged, as it always did, and the stench of old smoke and Lysol attacked me, the same as always. Everything was calm and quiet, aside from the noise in my own soul.

  “Are you ready to do this, Rusty?” I asked him.

  He barked happily.

  If he thought it was a good idea, then maybe, just maybe, it was.

  I moved forward, taking a step toward the nameplate. One foot, then another, then another; just like that. Soon, I was there, a mere hand away from the rest of my life.

  For years, this plate had followed Candle wizards as they made the decision to take control of our business. Living son after dead father. Oldest-born before youngest.

  And now me, forever undecided, forever the only child.

  It was up to me to carry on their legacy and mold it into my own. And mold it I would, over the coming years, but never losing track of Henry.

  Never could I ever do that.

  I laid my hands over top of the nameplate and closed my eyes. This was in my blood… in my-

  The scent of cigar smoke and leather filled the air and the temperature plunged to freezing. Rusty barked.

  Someone laid a hand on my shoulder…

  I spun around.

  Standing behind me was my dead father.

  Or rather, his spirit. I could tell because he was translucent, letting some light filter through his body but not all of it. Even his suit — the suit he’d been buried in- was ethereal.

  I gasped, nearly tumbling over the desk as I stepped backward.

  Of all the things I was thinking would happen today, this was the last. But it was Halloween, and the day was for nothing if not unexpected surprises.

  “Hey, kid,” he said, letting the cigar tilt out of his mouth as he spoke. “Nice to see you ain’t dead yet.”

  “Dad,” I exclaimed. “H-how did you — how are you-?”

  “A ghost? Same way, every other Spellcrafter becomes one. I bound my soul to an object.”

  “Which object?”

  “Take a wild guess.”

  “The nameplate,” I realized. “It’s your Phylactery. That’s how you’ve been able to send me those messages and visit me in my dreams.”

  He nodded and laughed. “Bingo, kid. Maybe you’ll make a good paranormal investigator after all.”

  “But if I put my name on the plate, then…”

  “I’ll be gone for good.” He smirked. “Same as all other Candle wizards before me. The greatest gift we give the world is our lineage. Always has been. But you, kid… you’re different. You’re special. You’ve got another gift to give.”

  “Special?” Was this his usual sarcasm, or was he paying me a compliment for the first time in sixteen years? “How?”

  “That librarian of yours was the first to notice it. She came to me your freshman year of high school and told me that you were gifted, even amongst Spellcrafters. I kept a close eye on you after that, and I started to notice it, too. How you feel different. How you fill up a room with your light. How the forces of darkness never seem to be able to claim you for their own and not for lack of trying. I didn’t want to believe it, at first… I’ve never been a faithful man, see? You know this.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  He laughed and blew a ring of smoke into the air. I used to hate it when he did that. Now, it was no harm, no foul. Where’s the risk of cancer if you’re already dead?

  “I was wrong about you in life. All wrong. I mistook your empathy and your kindness for weakness and I think it went to your head. That’s why your magic struggled, like a car that would only sputter and never quite get going. Same principle. Now that I’m gone, your magic has blossomed — and it’s beautiful, kid. It really, really is.”

  It was the closest I’d ever gotten to an apology from him, and I didn’t want to take it for granted. Our relationship when he was alive was one of push and shove, and I didn’t want it to be the same in death.

  “Thanks,” I muttered. “But I’m still not seeing how that makes me capable of following in your footsteps.”

  “Maybe not now, but you’ll come to see it in time. See, I had a dream last year. A vivid dream of this world imploding in on itself, overrun by Darkon, and it will all start right here in Boston. This will come to pass if you don’t stop it — and that’s why I’ve been so adamant about you taking over the family business. Our world needs you. And if you don’t step up to save it, nobody else will.”

  “Why does it always have to be me?”

  “Because it’s our destiny, and it may be closer than you think. When I left you that message last week saying it wasn’t over, I meant it. Something is going to rise tonight. Something dark. Us spirits have some foresight, you know? The future is blurry, but what we see is always true. This ain’t over. This is big. And that’s why you must wait to sign your name until you have no other choice. I can help you if I’m here, even in spirit. Especially on this night, where spirits are at their strongest. All you’ve got to do is call on me. You get it?”

  I thought about it for a while. I didn’t know what could possibly happen tonight. But I
did catch on to what he was saying about the phylactery. If I signed my name, his connection would vanish and he would pass on. And if something does happen, I’ll have to face it alone.

  “I got it,” I said. “But if midnight comes to pass and I don’t sign my name…”

  “I know,” he said. “But we have to risk it. Halloween is the night where the Nether Realm is closest to the Earthly Realm, which means black magic is at its most powerful. I want to help see you through whatever’s coming.”

  I nodded in understanding. “Okay.”

  “Good. And, kid?”

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  He looked like he wanted to say something he’d never said to me before. Something I had always wanted to hear, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself. But he was gone before the thought could even leave his head, dissipating into nothingness.

  I didn’t want to think about why he couldn’t say it.

  Somehow that hurt even worse.

  ~&~

  Halloween had come to the Miller household at last. The sun was glowing orange over the horizon, and the trick-or-treaters of Dunwich Heights were starting their annual parade from gated-house-to-gated-house. Thus far, we’d had three superheroes, two Elsas, one Freddy Krueger, and a ninja. Grams acted just as surprised for the next kid as she did the first, merrily handing out Reese’s cups like her social security check depended on it.

  “Do you remember the first time your grandfather and I took you trick-or-treating around here?” she asked as she plopped a handful of treats in a cowboy’s bucket. “You were just a little tyke- no older than four or five. Your father got you a Superman costume to go in, but you didn’t want to be Superman. You wanted to be a witch.”

  “A witch?” I asked. Thank Merlin, we weren’t having this conversation around my friends. I could hear them now. “I don’t remember that. How? Why?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t ask me. Kids are funny that way. Needless to say, your father was angry. He said that boys couldn’t be witches, and that you were a wizard already, so there wouldn’t be much of a costume to be had. Naturally, I disagreed, and thought you should be able to decide what you wanted to be. So I sewed you a boy’s version of a witch costume — made it from scratch. That Halloween, you were a witch. I think I still have the pictures around here somewhere.”