Popcorn Thief (5 page)

That morning, he put on his Sunday best—short-sleeved
white shirt, blue tie, and dark blue suit—and went to church to be with
his family. The building was modern, which made Franklin more comfortable:
Fewer ghosts haunting the sanctuary. White stone went up to a tall arched roof,
with plain glass in most of the windows, the fund-raiser to replace them with
stained glass ongoing.

Miss Karen and Miss Kay stood outside, greeting everyone, a
pair of spinster aunts who Franklin had thought were ancient when he’d been a
boy over fifteen years ago.

“We’re so sorry for your loss,” they both said, holding his
hand in their soft white gloves. They wore identical corsages on their bright
lavender and yellow dresses, hats shading their dark faces from even the most slender
beam of sunlight.

“You let us know if we can do anything to help,” Miss Karen
added.

“Anything at all,” Miss Kay said, getting in the last word.

“We will,” Franklin promised, though he didn’t want to get
anywhere near the sisters’ constant feud to outdo each other.

After stepping across the threshold, Franklin paused to let
his eyes adjust. Tables in the nave held huge vases filled with gladiolas and
spiky ferns: Franklin knew he’d be seeing them again at the funeral. The red
tile floor held in the cool from the AC. To the right were two darkened
staircases, one going upstairs to the classrooms, the other downstairs to the
kitchen and community hall.

Franklin considered going downstairs—they’d still be
serving coffee and pastries—but he caught sight of Jason in the sanctuary
so stepped in there instead.

Light-colored wooden beams lifted the peaked roof, as if
raising it closer to God. Franklin liked the openness of the room, how the
aisle running down the center was wide enough for three lines of folks. The cross
at the front was carved out of dark wood, and the same dark wood made up the
pulpit.

“Hey,” Franklin said, sliding into the pew behind Jason.

Jason turned around. “Hey,” he said, holding out his hand,
giving Franklin a firm shake.

“Morning, Lisa, Karen,” Franklin greeted Jason’s two girls.

Jason’s wife Elise wasn’t there. She hadn’t been at Aunt
Jasmine’s earlier, now that Franklin thought about it. Should he ask?

“Elise’s still sick,” Jason said before Franklin could
mention it. “Horrible flu.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can bring her?
Soup from the store?”

“Thanks,” Jason said. “You could come over and babysit
sometime.”

Franklin gave a mock shudder. “For these two hellions?” he teased.

“Uncle Franklin,” Lisa complained.

“We’re not as bad as Tom,” Karen added—Darryl’s eldest,
the one who’d given her a bloody nose the day before.

“True,” Franklin said. “I suppose I could come by some
night. Give you some relief from these two,” he said. Then he paused. Would it
be safe? Were any of his family safe around him while that thing was still out
there, stalking them?

“It’ll be fine,” Jason said, interrupting Franklin’s
thoughts.

Franklin nodded, but he wasn’t sure. Unfortunately, because
the girls were there and without their mother, Franklin couldn’t get Jason on
his own.

Darryl, May, and Aunt Jasmine came in a short while later,
with all their kids and spouses and friends. The family huddled together in
misery in the front pews.

However, Franklin felt out of place. He didn’t enjoy Preacher
Sinclair’s comments on how Lexine had found a better place—Lexine had
been perfectly happy on her own. She’d stopped coming to church when she’d come
of age. Hadn’t stopped praying, just followed her own path.

Franklin did know Lexine had passed on, though he was never
sure what that meant. Did the ghosts he helped go onto Heaven? He doubted they
went to Hell—they weren’t ever fearful. They needed help, not counseling.

Finally, the service was over. Franklin felt as impatient as
Gloria, squeezing his hands together, waiting while the reception line passed by
Preacher Sinclair.

It wasn’t that the preacher was a bad person. He just had a
different view of the world than Franklin, who’d help every soul who asked him,
not just those who was saved.

After they’d finally passed that gauntlet, Franklin went
over to Jason. His girls were playing with their other cousins, and Franklin
finally got a chance to speak to Jason alone.

“You remember what you were saying about dowsers?” Franklin
asked, standing with his arms crossed, watching the girls instead of his
cousin.

“Yeah,” Jason said warily.

“You wasn’t describing yourself, were you?” Franklin asked.

“Why would you ask that?” Jason said. “I ain’t like you.”

“You sure?” Franklin asked, finally turning and looking at
Jason. “This thing attacked the Sorrels too. Adrianna.”

Jason gave a dark chuckle. “Of course,
she’s
gonna be special like you. But it ain’t me you should be
giving warnings to. I’m just a plain Joe. Nothing special about me.”

Why was Jason so bitter? Did it have something to do with
Elise’s “illness”?

“If you’re not the one I should be talking to, who is?”
Franklin asked.

“You won’t believe me,” Jason said.

“Try me.”

“Darryl.”

Franklin opened his mouth, then shut it again. “You’re
right. I don’t believe you.” Of all his older cousins, Darryl had always been
the hardest on Franklin when they’d been growing up, always teasing him about
seeing things that weren’t there, calling him crazy and freak and weirdo.

“It’s easiest to hate yourself, hate your own kind,” Jason
said.

Franklin couldn’t help his laugh. “You read that in a book
somewhere too?”

“Sure,” Jason said easily.

“What’s going on?” Franklin asked, concerned.

“Nothing.”

“Really?”

“Elsie’s been sick a lot,” Jason said quietly. “I’ve been
dealing with the girls on my own too much.” He gave a false smile. “Come by
Wednesday night. If you dare.”

Franklin let Jason go, though he was still worried.

But he couldn’t help someone—human or ghost—who
didn’t want help, or wouldn’t ask for what they needed.

* * *

Franklin knew better than to accuse Darryl of being special,
or even asking him directly. Darryl might say something when he was drunk: then
again, he was drunk so often, he could probably control himself, at least a
hell of a lot better than Franklin could, who rarely drank.

So how could Franklin get Darryl to talk with him? Or to
take his warning seriously? Franklin couldn’t figure out a plan as he stacked
carrots, or mopped up spilled milk, or even as he rode his bike home. He’d had
to stay late that night at the Kroger, so he’d go and see the Sorrels the next
night.

As Franklin rode up to his house, he saw Darryl’s pickup in
the driveway of his farm.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to come up with something to say.

Darryl sat on Franklin’s front porch, only four of a
six-pack of beer still unopened sitting next to him.

“Jason told me he’d been blabbing his big mouth,” Darryl
said as Franklin walked up.

“Maybe,” Franklin said, sitting down carefully next to
Darryl on the steps. Darryl could be mean as a cornered snake and sometimes
settled things with his fists. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“No,” Darryl said. He took another long slug of beer and
looked out at his truck.

“Then why the hell you here?” Franklin said as the silence continued.

“You really think that thing came after Lexine because she
was special?” Darryl asked after another long pause.

“Yeah, that’s what makes sense,” Franklin said. “But I don’t
know for sure. Can’t figure out what it wants. Besides my good lard.”

“I don’t see stuff like you and Lexine,” Darryl said
finally.

“Then you ain’t got nothing to worry about, do you?”
Franklin said. He was tired and hungry and wished Darryl would just get on with
it or leave.

“But sometimes, like when I’m hunting, I get a feeling, you
know? Like I can see the trail of an animal. It’s like a clear path through the
bush.”

“Maybe you’re just seeing the clues that most folks miss,” Franklin
said, trying to help Darryl out.

“Exactly! Like if a branch is bent, or if there’s spoor or a
hoof print. That kind of thing.”

“So you ain’t special,” Franklin clarified. “You’re just a
good hunter.”

“Right.” Darryl took another long gulp of beer. “Just
that—I see those things whether they’re there or not. That trail.” He
finished his beer, crushed the can, threw it out into the driveway, then opened
the next.

Franklin knew better than to say something about not making
a mess. He’d just be called a Suzie Homemaker again, or worse.

“I can always see where an animal’s been. Whether it’s daylight
or dark. Whether there’s really a trail left behind by a critter or not.”
Darryl sighed and looked at his beer can.

“So you see animal trails through the woods. That no one
else can see. Right? For all kinds of animals? Or just the ones you’re hunting?”
Franklin asked. What kind of thing was Darryl seeing?

“I gotta be hunting it. And serious, too. If I’m just
farting around out there, nothing shows up.” Darryl said, finally warming up to
his subject. “It’s why I switched to bow hunting, two seasons back. It felt
like too much of an unfair advantage, you know? I wasn’t having to sit in a
blind like those other guys. I could always just find a trail. Go after my
deer.”

“When’d you start seeing your trails?” Franklin asked,
curious.

“Fourteen, fifteen. Something like that. I think I might’ve
been seeing ’em before, too, but I didn’t know what I was seeing. I just
thought I was a good tracker, you know?”

“Right when your dad left?” Franklin asked. Then he pressed
his lips together, wishing he could take the words back. His step-uncle had
left Aunt Jasmine with four kids, a stack of bills, and angry creditors,
calling at all hours.

Lexine had never talked much about her dad after that.
Franklin wondered sometimes if she’d found a way to get revenge on him, ’cause
she did mention once that his dreams were never gonna be sweet, not ’til he
died.

“Yeah.” Darryl said shortly. “Just before he left, I showed
him, how I could see.” He sighed and took another drink. “Was I the reason he
left? Hell if I know. He hated Lexine. Hated how she was different. Was happy
to drop her off in exchange for ‘his boys.’ But I never trusted him, not like
Jason.”

“I thought you two were like lost souls who’d finally found
each other,” Franklin said, stunned. Their biological dad had left right after
Jason, the youngest, had been born. Franklin remembered how happy Darryl and
Jason had been with their new Dad, following him around and always imitating
him. He’d never liked Franklin, either, which was part of why Darryl had always
been so hard on him.

“Sure, it was like that for a while. I mean, it was nice to
have a man in the home, you know?” Darryl said. “Or maybe you don’t. Your mama
never picked up with anyone, did she.”

“Mama always said she’d lost her one true love in the war,”
Franklin said. He’d never known Mama to date, even. He’d wondered, once he was
in his twenties, if she’d start going out. She’d started dressing nicer, and
maybe…but then she’d never taken care of herself, and wouldn’t go see a doctor
even when the chest pains started.

“But Dad, well, he wasn’t one for seeing what was there, you
know?” Darryl said. “He’d say that things were fine when they weren’t, or that
we had money when we didn’t. It was like he kept thinking that saying a thing
would make it true. It never did.”

“When’d you get to be so smart?” Franklin asked, amazed at
his cousin.

Darryl grinned at Franklin. “Had it beat into me by the
school of hard knocks.”

“Didn’t know they could get anything through that wooden
block sitting on top of your shoulders,” Franklin teased back.

They sat on the stoop in the cooling night, the crickets
bringing up their chorus.

“So, you want to go out hunting?” Darryl finally asked.

“No,” Franklin said, confused. “I don’t really hunt.” After
Lexine had shown him how the spirit of an animal stayed near its body when it’d
been wounded, not killed outright, he hadn’t had the heart.

“No, idiot. I mean
hunting.
Like tracking this thing that killed Lexine.”

“Oh!” Franklin said.

“I figure it’s an animal-like thing, right? So let’s go out
into the woods, behind Lexine’s cabin. Let’s see if I can’t track this thing.”

For the first time in a week, Franklin had hope. “And I’ll
bring some of my special lard. As bait.”

“See, Cuz? I knew you weren’t completely useless. Just
mostly.”

“Same to you,” Franklin replied.

FRANKLIN WAS GLAD THAT CHARLENE was
understanding about family when he went in to ask her about taking more time
off.

The command center screens showed the produce section, the
two checkout lanes, the beer and wine cooler, and the outside of the store.
Charlene wore her usual uniform, sitting with her feet on a small stool,
flicking through the displays.

“Hey, honey,” Charlene said. “How you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” Franklin said. “But Aunt Jasmine asked us to
come over this afternoon. Evidently there’s a will, and we all need to be there
when it’s read.” Which was sort of the truth. There was a will, and they were
gathering that night at dinner to read it.

“I understand,” Charlene said, nodding. She put her feet on
the floor and turned to face him. “You go be with your family this afternoon.”

“Thanks, Charlene. You’re the best,” Franklin said.

“You doing okay?” Charlene asked, the warmth in her voice
coming through loud and clear. “You look tired.”

Franklin nodded, not sure what else to say. Darryl had
stayed way too late, making Franklin miss his Ab-Buster workout as well as
snooze his alarm twice that morning.

“Losing Lexine like that. Quite a shock. You go ahead and
take the rest of the day off. Tomorrow, too, if you need it. Just call.”

“Thanks, Charlene,” Franklin said, relieved. “You’re the
best. I’ll work double shifts next week, or volunteer for the whole time we’re
doing inventory.”

Charlene chuckled. “I may just hold you to that. Now, take
care of yourself. Go be with your family.”

“I’ll tell ’em you were asking about them,” Franklin said as
he left. He only felt a little guilty for taking the afternoon off—he was
going to be spending time with his family.

Darryl counted as family, right?

Franklin rode home, changed out of his uniform, picked up
another jar of lard, then rode out to Lexine’s.

Sun blazed down on the blacktop road. The air was sticky and
wet, and smelled like hot tar. Even the shade under the trees brought little
relief, though at least it smelled more like pine there. Franklin was soaked
through by the time he rode up the path to Lexine’s cabin.

Darryl’s big black truck was already there, parked a bit
down the road. Yellow police tape—just like what Franklin had seen on
TV—was strung across the road, blocking the driveway. The businessman’s
SUV no longer sat parked there.

The door to Lexine’s cabin had more police tape over it in
an X. The police had passed along the name of a company who would come out and
clean the cabin, once they released it. Right now, it was still a crime scene.

Sweet Bess showed up as Franklin got off his bike.
Shit
. Darryl might be a bit more
friendly right now, but he’d tease Franklin mercilessly if he ran away from a
spirit.

The big sow glared at Franklin and pawed at the ground. Oh
hell. Was it even angrier because Franklin had some of her lard on him?

A crashing noise came from the side. Darryl came out of the
trees, wearing dark jeans and a bright orange T-shirt.

Darryl looked at Franklin, then at the spot Franklin stared
at. “You got that crazy look on you. What the hell are you seeing?”

“A sow. One I slaughtered this spring. Sweet Bess.” Franklin
edged closer to Darryl, as if that might stop the sow from ramming him.

“That monster? I remember her.” Darryl said. He gave a low
whistle. “So what can she do to you?”

“She’s run at me before,” Franklin admitted. “And when a
spirit or a ghost goes through you—” He stopped and shuddered. It’d take
him at least a day to recover.

“How about I go through it?” Darryl said. He walked forward,
straight through Sweet Bess.

The spirit disappeared.

“Did you feel anything? Franklin asked, surprised.

Darryl gave a quick shake of his shoulders. “Naw, not
really. Just—like I was passing through an extra shadow, you know?”

“Thank you,” Franklin said, leaning his bike against
Darryl’s truck. It should be safe there.

“How bad is it, do you think?” Darryl asked, pointing toward
the cabin with his chin.

“Pretty bad,” Franklin said. He wasn’t about to admit he’d
already seen it.

“Let’s go,” Darryl said, striding off toward the cabin.

Franklin followed, also curious. They ducked under the
yellow tape across the driveway and approached the cabin, which sat still and
empty. The front window was still dark, and now, from outside, Franklin heard
the flies buzzing.

Darryl paused and put his hands up against the glass to see
better. “Jesus,” he muttered.

Franklin walked around the side of the cabin, to see in through
the blown-out window. The cops hadn’t covered it up, and it framed the scene
with fragments of broken glass around the edges.

The police had moved the couch, probably to get a stretcher
in, for the bodies. Blood lay dark and heavy on the floor. None of the cobs of
corn remained—Franklin figured they’d been taken into evidence. Paper and
glass still lay strewn in a spiral pattern.

“That’s just messed up,” Darryl said, coming to stand beside
Franklin. “You think she fought back?”

“With everything she had,” Franklin said. But it was hard to
fight something you couldn’t see.

“Let’s get this bastard,” Darryl said grimly. He turned and
headed back to the truck.

“We’ll find whatever did this,” Franklin promised. Though
that was also his fear.

* * *

Darryl hauled a backpack from the bed of his black pickup truck.
“Here,” he said, thrusting it at Franklin.

The weight of the bag surprised Franklin. “What the hell you
got in this thing?”

“Extra ammo, water, energy bars, emergency kit, like that.”
Darryl hauled out a second backpack that was similarly packed. From under the
seats of the front cabin, he pulled out two shotguns. “Have you shot one of
these before?” Darryl asked.

Franklin held it up and looked it over. “They’re like the
ones we used when we went hunting with your dad.” The shotgun had the safety on
and it wasn’t loaded.

“These are probably the exact same ones we used as kids,”
Darryl said proudly. “They’re all clean, oiled, and in good working condition.”

Franklin felt better that Darryl took care of his guns, took
them seriously. And also, that there wasn’t any beer or bourbon in his pack.

“Did you see a trail of the thing in Lexine’s cabin?”
Franklin asked as they finished getting themselves ready.

Darryl shook his head. “Don’t mean nothing, though. Needed
to get ready. As I said, just farting around don’t cut it. Got to be hunting before
any kind of trail shows up.”

“Where do you want to start?” Franklin asked.

“Think that thing came in the front? Or the back?” Darryl
asked in return.

Franklin thought for a moment. “I bet it came in the front,
then went out the back.” Because it had probably attacked Lexine first, which
gave the businessman time to run away.

“The businessman was in the kitchen, wasn’t he? You think he
was attacked second?” Darryl said as they walked back toward the cabin again.

“Yeah,” Franklin said. He couldn’t mention the bloody door,
how the businessman had been trying to get out. At least the businessman’s
ghost had passed on, or was haunting someone else if it hadn’t.

The trees loomed a few feet from the house, as if they were
just waiting to take the land back. Leaves and scraggly grass covered the dirt
path going from the front to the back. The chorus of cicadas was deafening,
cycling up and down, like sirens.

Darryl walked right up to the first kitchen window, Franklin
beside him. They couldn’t see much—the thing hadn’t been as destructive
there, and the counter hid the floor where the body had been.

“See anything?” Franklin asked. All he received was a glare.

Darryl looked through the window above the sink, then the
one over the kitchen table, but he didn’t seem to find anything.

“What are you looking for?” Franklin asked, still curious.

“A way to shut your hole,” Darryl complained. He glared at
Franklin, who grinned at him. “This was what it was like, wasn’t it, when we
found out about your gift? Us asking about it all the time?”

“Maybe,” Franklin said, rocking back on his heels,
delighted. “You know what they say about payback.”

“That he’s a bitch about to get his ass kicked? Yeah, I
heard that,” Darryl said, sounding mean.

Franklin didn’t care. It still felt good to get back at
Darryl for all those years of teasing.

Out behind Lexine’s house, the trees had been cut back
further, giving Lexine a place for a garden. Franklin was going to have to come
out and tend it once a week or so, until they’d settled what they was gonna do
with her place. Tall okra plants grew along one side, standing like prickly
guards. Lexine’s purple and red heirloom tomatoes needed harvesting. The yellow
and green striped squashes were nearly ripe as well. Franklin didn’t know what
to do with all her herbs—sage, oregano, rosemary, thyme, basil, and
others. Maybe he could dry ’em out, like Lexine had, and sell ’em in town.

Darryl scouted from the cabin to Lexine’s garden, then back
again, then out, walking in wider circles, always examining the earth, looking
for some footprint or clue or the hint of a trail. He reminded Franklin of a
hound trying to catch a scent.

At the edge of the woods, where the path started, Darryl
called Franklin over. “Something came through here recently. It was big, moving
fast. See this broken twig?”

Franklin winced. That damage had probably been caused by
him, leaving with his bike. “Ghosts don’t generally go through things, or along
paths. They just disappear and reappear.”

“Something went this way. Come on. It’s as good a place to
start as any.”

“You know this path leads back to the main road, right?”
Franklin called after Darryl as he hurried along, the bushes slapping at his
legs. At least this time Franklin was better prepared, wearing thick jeans and
boots.

“Yeah,” Darryl said, unerringly turning where Franklin had
turned, taking the same trail. “So maybe it isn’t some kind of spirit we’re
hunting. Maybe it had some human help.”

“Okay,” Franklin said, though he knew it wasn’t the case. If
anything, the spirit had had ghostly help, from Gloria.

Were Gloria and the spirit connected? If so, what connected
them? How were they connected? They’d both shown up at about the same time. . .
.

Darryl stopped just before they took the final left to the
highway. Sunlight filtered down through the pines above them. The air felt
still and thick. He swung his head to the right and the left, his back hunched,
like a left guard about to make a flying tackle. He held up his hand and kept
looking around, his eyes growing unfocused, his mouth slack.

Was that what Franklin looked like? When he talked with a
ghost? Darryl didn’t seem to be all there anymore.

No wonder people thought Franklin was crazy, if he looked
that way.

Suddenly, Darryl took off again through the woods, going a
different direction. They weren’t following no proper path—it was more
like a deer trail.

Franklin hadn’t ever gone this way before, though he was
sure Lexine had: She’d know every inch of land surrounding hers, and probably
all the property marked private as well.

Branches grew across the path that Darryl leaped over with
ease. He slid to the left or right, avoiding brambles gracefully. Not a leaf
stirred as he ran, and his footsteps were silent.

Franklin had never seen his cousin move that way. Had
Darryl’s sight lent the hick a grace he’d never had before?

Squirrels chittered at them from above. Some small
creature—a rabbit, probably—bounded away through the dry leaves of
the underbrush as they came up. The cicadas kept up their deafening cries.
Franklin felt a headache creeping up from the back of his skull.

Darryl paused at the edge of a clearing. It was barely fifteen
feet across, just a pause in the trees.

Franklin looked out and felt his heart push hard against his
chest.

What the fuck was that?

On the far side of the clearing hung a gray dust devil. It
was maybe three feet tall, and another couple wide. It could have been a
tumbleweed, but it had black vines growing through it, laced with sharp thorns.
It floated two feet off the ground, whirling in place.

Even from where they stood, Franklin felt it radiating
evil
. Its
intent
was clear: It hated him and all those like him, viewed them
as competitors and prey. It planned on getting rid of all of them, dipping its
thorns into their flesh, ripping out what made them special.

“Shit,” Darryl said. “We got to help him.”

“What? Are you crazy?” Franklin said, reaching out and
grabbing Darryl’s arm. That thing didn’t need their help.

Without warning, the thing whirled toward them, arms
failing, intent on cutting them to ribbons. Franklin tried holding Darryl back
but his stubborn cousin shook him off and walked into the clearing.

The thing disappeared before Darryl reached the other edge.

Only then did Franklin see the man on the ground.

* * *

“Hey, Mister, you okay?” Darryl asked as he knelt down.

The man lay just under the edge of the trees. The cicadas
cycled up loudly, filling the air with their screeching. Smells of mulching
leaves and black dirt floated up.

“Is he breathing?” Franklin asked as he came up.

“Yeah, he’s still alive,” Darryl said.

Franklin looked over Darryl’s shoulder. The man was white,
mid-fifties he’d guess, and probably some kind of bum, given how beat up and
dirty his clothes were, how the dirt was caked along the wrinkles of his face, and
how blistered up and sunburnt his hands were. He had gouges in his right cheek
where the thing had attacked him, the same gouges that Franklin had seen in the
businessman’s face, and the two long scars running down Adrianna’s cheek.