Ghoul Interrupted (2 page)

I remember dropping the Barbie and getting to my feet, the shock from the certainty of Mama’s passing crushing something fragile inside of me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, and I certainly couldn’t think past the terrible heartache building inside me.

My vision had clouded and stars had begun to dance in front of my eyes and I felt myself sway on wobbly knees. Somewhere nearby, I could sense that Gilley had noticed my strange posture and was calling my name, but I was unable to reply, or even acknowledge him. I felt like I was dying, and I didn’t know how I would ever be able to live in a world without my mother. My only thought was to pray that she’d somehow find a way to stay with me.

And then, as if by some miracle, my silent prayer had been answered and my mother appeared standing in the doorway right in front of me.

“Breathe, Mary Jane,” she’d said softly, coming quickly to my side. “It’s okay, dumplin’. Just breathe.”

I’d managed to take a very ragged breath, and with it my vision had cleared. I’d blinked and she hadn’t vanished and that crushing heartache inside me eased. Maybe I’d gotten it wrong? Maybe she hadn’t died after all?

“I have to go away for a spell, sweetheart,” she’d said, that Southern lilt in her speech so sweet and caring.

“Mama?” I’d said as she’d knelt down in front of me and placed her warm hands on the sides of my cheeks.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t stay with you, Mary Jane,” she’d whispered tenderly, bending in to kiss my forehead. And then she’d looked me right in the eyes and added, “I know what you can see, and I know what you can hear. I also know that your daddy and your nanny, Miss Tallulah, don’t want to believe that you’re a special gifted child, and not just imaginin’ things. But you are special, dumplin’. I’ve known it from the day you were born. And during this whole time I been fightin’ the cancer, I’ve known in my heart that if I couldn’t beat it, then you’d still be able to hear me when I come round to visit with you.

“I’ll never really leave you, puddin’,” she’d assured me when I’d started to cry. “Anytime you need me, you just call out to your mama and I’ll come, so don’t be scared and don’t be sad, you hear?”

I’d nodded with a loud sniffle, trying hard to be brave for her, and she’d let go of me and stood up. I’d noticed then how beautiful she’d looked. How radiant and gloriously healthy she’d seemed. Such a far cry from the bone-thin pale woman who’d occupied her bed for the last year.

A little gasp from behind me had told me that Gilley could see her too. She’d looked at him then, and she’d said, “Now, Gilley Gillespie, you don’t be afraid neither. I need you to stay close to my Mary Jane, you hear? You be a good friend to her, ’cause I believe she’ll be needin’ a real good friend for a spell.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gil had squeaked obediently.

And then my mother had looked one last time at me with such tenderness and love that I’d nearly shattered inside. She’d blown me a kiss, mouthed, “I love you,” and then she’d vanished into thin air.

Gilley and I had never once spoken about that morning, and I carried the memory of it like a safely guarded secret. It was such a bittersweet memory that to tell anyone about it might forever taint it in some way, which is why I told no one, and I pushed it to the back of my thoughts to keep it safe and pure.

So, I couldn’t imagine why, after all these years, I’d be dreaming about it on the eve of leaving Ireland for Dunkirk to film the next segment of our reality-TV show,
Ghoul Getters
, but here I was all grown up now having a dream about visiting that same porch back in Valdosta, which was once again scattered with Barbies, Ken dolls, and tiny clothes, and there was my mother, standing in the doorway, looking every bit as lovely as I remembered.

“Hello, Mary Jane,” she said softly, almost shyly.

I blinked—just like when I was eleven. “Mama?”

My mother stepped forward, her smile filling up the room and my heart. “I’ve been watchin’ you,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye. “My, what a lovely lady you’ve turned into!”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the emotion of seeing her was too much and the words just wouldn’t come.

Mama was kind enough to ignore that and simply stepped closer. Taking my hand, she said, “I am so proud of you, Mary Jane. You just light me up with how smart you are and how courageous you’ve become. Why, I remember when you were afraid of your own shadow!”

I swallowed hard and attempted a smile. In recent years I’d played on my natural psychic-medium talents, and become a credible ghostbuster. While working on the
Ghoul Getters
show, I’d faced and fought back against some of the most fearsome poltergeists you could ever imagine.

“Lord, Mary Jane!” my mother exclaimed knowingly. “I’ve watched you tackle murderous spirits, and vengeful witches, and now even a phantom!”

My chest filled with the pride and love from my mother. But just then her beaming face turned serious, and she seemed to hesitate—as if she was about to choose her next words carefully. “There is a mission about to be offered to you that I know you’ll accept, honey child. One that involves the most horrendous evil imaginable.”

I blinked again. Was she talking about the ghosts in the haunted village in Dunkirk—the next place on the
Ghoul Getters
agenda? “I’ve already read the literature,” I said, trying to reassure her. “This time I’m going in prepared, and honestly, Mama, I don’t think it’s anything we can’t handle.”

My mother squeezed my hand, however, and sighed heavily. “Nothing can prepare you for this, Mary Jane. But I know better than to try and talk you out of it. Sam has come to me, you know.”

I shook my head, utterly confused. Was she talking about the deceased grandfather of my fellow ghostbuster and current boyfriend, Heath? “You mean, Sam Whitefeather?”

My mother nodded. “He’s tellin’ me he’s your new spirit guide.”

I smiled. Sam had made himself noticeable to me shortly after I’d met his grandson, and since then he’d worked hard to keep me from getting too beat up during our ghost hunts.

“He needs your help,” my mother continued. “He wants my blessin’ before he asks you to help his people. I’ve seen how Sam’s been lookin’ out for you, and how he’s even saved your life a time or two. For that, I’m truly grateful, but I just don’t know that I can give my blessin’ on this.”

“Mama,” I said, trying to sort through this cryptic bundle of information and decipher why my mother looked so uncharacteristically worried. “I don’t understand. Are you telling me Sam won’t be coming with us to Dunkirk?”

My mother didn’t answer me. Instead she stroked my hair, stared deep into my eyes as if she was considering telling me more, and then abruptly looked over her shoulder. I followed her gaze and saw that Sam Whitefeather was now standing in the doorway. He seemed to be waiting for something like an invitation or permission to enter the room.

“May I, Maddie?” he asked, bowing formally to my mother.

Without answering him, my mother turned back to me and cupped my face in those familiar warm hands. “Stay safe, Mary Jane,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss me on the forehead. “And under no circumstances are you to even
think
about joining me for a very,
very
long time, you hear?”

I nodded, still wondering what this was all about, but my mother turned then and moved away from me. “Mama, wait!” I called after her, but she simply walked over to Sam, placed a gentle hand on his arm, and said, “Protect her as much as possible or you’ll have me to answer to, Samuel Whitefeather.”

And then she was gone.

It was another moment before I could tear my eyes away from the place where she’d been standing to look directly into Sam Whitefeather’s grim-looking face. “What’s this all about?” I managed to ask.

Sam studied me for several moments, as if he was privately weighing whether or not to fill me in. “My grandson is about to receive a call. His uncle has been murdered.”

I gasped. “Oh, no!”

Sam’s shoulders sagged a little. “I didn’t know until it was too late, M. J. The demon used dark magic to obscure itself from us, and by the time we understood that it was free, my son was dead.”

My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh, Sam! I’m so, so sorry!”

Vaguely I remembered Heath talking at length about his three uncles, and I wondered which one of them had been murdered. I knew his favorite uncle was Milton, who’d been like a second father to Heath, and I held my breath hoping that it wasn’t him.

“He’s stuck,” Sam said sadly, referring to the murdered man. “I’ve tried with our ancestors to reach out to him, but he’s been through a terrible trauma and he’s trapped now by his own fear.”

I opened my mouth to assure him that Heath and I would certainly do what we could to help the poor man’s soul cross over, but Sam held up his hand. “I know you’re going to volunteer to do what you can,” he said to me. “But I want you to know what you’re getting into by volunteering.”

“What am I getting into, Sam?”

My spirit guide sighed, as if the weight of the spirit world now rested on his shoulders. “There’s a terrible evil afoot amongst my people. It’ll kill again. And it’ll keep killing until every last descendant from my tribe is wiped from your world.”

“Sounds serious.”

“It is.”

“How do we stop it?”

“You must find the person who now controls it, and you must kill them.”

I sucked in a breath.
What
had he just asked me to do? “You’re joking!” And when Sam’s serious expression didn’t falter, I backed away from him. “Sam!” I said. “I can’t
kill
someone! That’s murder!”

“No, M. J., in this case it’s definitely not murder. This demon can only be summoned by a willing and evil soul. Sending the person to jail won’t stop the killings, and if you don’t do as I say, then the demon will rise again and again until it kills all my children and grandchildren.”

I was shaking my head vehemently. I wouldn’t do it. Hell, I
couldn’t
do it.

“And,” Sam added, “once it’s killed all of my family, it will come after you.”

“Me?!”
I squeaked. “Why
me
?!”

“Because I’m your spirit guide, and like it or not, M. J., you are now a member of my tribe.”

Sam seemed to gather himself then and he began to move over to the doorway. “Tell my grandson what I’ve told you,” he said over his shoulder. “He’s about to have a terrible morning. Heath and his uncle Milton were very close. Heath won’t be much help to you as you work to change your plans, but he must participate in bringing down the demon and the person who controls it.”

My mouth fell open. Sam was assuming a lot right now, but my mind was so muddled with his statements and the visit from my mother that I was having a hard time coming up with a reply.

Sam paused then in the doorway and turned back to me. “The others may choose not to come along,” he said. “But Gilley must accompany you. Your mother was right all those years ago when she left you in his care. He’ll do what’s necessary to help keep you safe. And so will I.”

With that, Sam disappeared and I woke up to a ringing telephone.

Climbing out of my slumber with the dream still very much in my thoughts, I heard Heath’s hand drop heavily on the phone and a moment later his throaty voice said, “Yeah?”

My eyes flew open and my heart began to hammer hard in my chest. Heath was lying on his side with his back to me. I sat up and leaned over him to try to get his attention. “Heath!” I whispered urgently, knowing what he was about to learn.

Heath’s eyes were closed; he was clearly still half-asleep. “Ari?” Heath said, his eyes blinking a little. “Ari, is that you? Why’re you crying?”

I squeezed his arm. “Please, honey! Give me the phone!” I didn’t want him to hear the terrible news like this—half-asleep and jarred awake. I wanted him to have a minute to brace himself.

But it was too late. In the next moment I heard Heath suck in a breath and he sat up so fast that I was tossed to the side. “No!” he gasped into the phone. “Ari, there’s got to be a mistake! Not Milton!”

I watched with pain in my heart as the caller repeated the information and Heath’s handsome face seemed to crumple in on itself. His grief was quick and total.

I eased the phone out of his hand and spoke to the caller, but Ari—whoever that was—wasn’t there. I could hear the phone being passed to someone else, a man who didn’t identify himself but asked me who I was. I told him and then said that Heath couldn’t talk right now, but that we’d call back soon for more details. After hanging up the phone, I just hugged Heath for a very long time. I know about losing a loved one better than most people my age, and I also know what a hug from someone you care about can do to ease the terrible grief.

 

Later, while Heath packed, I went in search of Gilley, our
Ghoul Getters
producer, and the rest of the crew, already bracing myself for the argument to follow. They wouldn’t be happy that we’d have to put Dunkirk on hold, but I’d make sure they knew they had little choice in the matter. I was going with Heath to New Mexico to attend his uncle’s funeral and figure out who or what had killed him. And if the other members of my special team wanted to tag along while we kicked some demon butt, all the better.

 

Heath, Gilley, and I landed at the tiny Santa Fe airport around midnight. I couldn’t tell you the day; I’d lost all sense of time. I know only that when I looked at the clock on the airport wall and saw that both hands were pointing straight north, I felt a shiver of foreboding go through me.

Next to me, Gilley checked his pulse, then reached for my hand to lift it to his forehead. “Do I feel hot to you?”

In our struggle west to Santa Fe, we’d had the misfortune of spending forty-eight solid hours at Chicago O’Hare, stranded by a snowstorm. As all the local hotels were booked to the rafters, Gilley had been sent out as a scout in the jam-packed terminal to find us a spot to settle down for the long wait until we could get a flight out. He’d come back triumphantly announcing that he’d found room for the three of us at the back of the terminal right next to four businessmen. I wondered what the catch was and soon discovered why there was available space in such a coveted section of the airport. The four businessmen were all sick with the flu and each of them was sneezing, coughing, wheezing, and hacking, creating a wide berth around them. Of course we discovered this only after we’d collapsed on the floor exhausted and spent, too tired to get up and look for something else. We kept as much distance from the men as we could, but I have to admit that it was like hanging out with four of the seven dwarfs, Hackey, Wheezy, Coughy, and Sneezy.