Chapter 7 - Revenge of the Autumn People - The Dead of Night

                                        Chapter 7 – The Dead of Night

As a retired Literature Professor, I’ve always found the phrase "the dead of night" provocative. Generally, it describes a time of silence and comments upon a quality of stillness. However, even though the locomotive called the Storm Cloud Express, came to town in the dead of night, it was not quiet. The train noisily blasted down the railways of the foothills to the south and streaked by the edge of Dusk Thorne, Colorado to finally arrive in a field outside of the northern part of town. When it came to a stop, the engineer blew a shrill and unnerving whistle that signaled the arrival of Josiah Pandemonium’s Dark Carnival.

As the reader doubtlessly already knows, there are many unusual aspects to the town of Dusk Thorne. Most living there were acclimated to the periodic presence of the undead or things-that -go-bump-in-the-night. But the town itself was so unusual that many residents did not realize that long ago, they (or their family) had been summoned to live there by the town itself.

Dusk Thorne was very selective about who settled and stayed within its fold. This presence, that came by train every seventeen years with the emergence of the cicada, was not welcome. It was dark, and not of this world. The beings that belonged on this train were not able to enter this realm except when the veil, the Great Mist, was at its weakest. These beings were not welcome in the town. They camped beyond, in a nearby meadow.

Amid the rugged Colorado landscape, 'the dead of night’ descended from train cars and began to unload. Under a vaulted sky scattered with indifferent stars, the ominous silhouette of the Storm Cloud Express sat steaming and hissing like some enormous blacksnake. The train carried with it the weight of a dark legend and an unknown future for the town.

This was the last stop before the carnival reentered the Great Mist for another seventeen years. Since time forgotten, the carnival had never left the town of Dusk Thorne without poaching at least one of its members. Once a person agreed to leave with the Dark Carnival, they became part of it. They said goodbye to neighbors and kin forever. They became part of ‘the dead of night’.

The train inched forward to facilitate the unloading. Forged of tarnished metals and flickering with eerie lights the Storm Cloud Express radiated dark magic from another dimension. The wheeze and grind of the unholy mechanisms cut through the night air.

Upstairs in Doc’s old Victorian two story home, next to her sleeping husband Joe, Alice’s sensitive ears could hear the din. She opened one of the bedroom windows. She listened and inhaled the night air. The noises from the train resonated like the murmurs of lost souls. These sounds mingled with the odor of burnt ozone and rust. Then she could stand the tension no longer.

In a panic she woke Joe. She told him of a horrible thing she saw earlier in the day. Shaking she tried to explain to him that she was a Seer and what that newfound ability might mean. Joe, who had always had a steel-trap mind, held her and listened to her story. He always knew that Alice would one day have to confront her unusual abilities. Part of him realized that she had avoided moments like this because the larger part of Alice simply wanted a normal life. A life with him. Indeed, that may have been why she chose to marry him. Joe was a bit quirky and had an outrageous sense of humor, but at his core he was ‘normal’. He was solid.  Of the three of us, I was the risk-taker. I occasionally was her go-to person when she wanted to flirt with danger. But Joe was her ‘rock’. He made her feel safe. As he held her, she stopped shaking. He resolved that he would find a way to protect her from whatever this situation brought to our doorstep.

                                                                  *       *      *

In the wake of the train’s arrival a cadre of shadowy carnival workers emerged. In work clothing, some in tattered costumes and moving with unsettling precision, they set about erecting booths and tents in the meadow. Creaking rides and a great Ferris wheel went up under a waning moon.

A lean and hungry figure stepped down from the club car of the Storm Cloud Express. He held a cigar in his calloused hand. The eyes, so much like the ones of a bird of prey, gazed at the ongoing construction in the open field and smiled. His hair was slightly disheveled. He removed a top hat, the sign of his station, the owner and master of this dark congregation. He regarded the collection of roustabouts, gypsies, criminals, and vagabonds. He took a deep breath of the night air and then smoothed his hair.

A large figure approached him. The shadow was over seven feet tall and to any other being, fearsome to behold. Josiah simply nodded and lit his cigar. “Bell.” he said casually as he donned his top hat “How is the crew holding up?”

“Everything is going up on schedule Mr. Pandemonium.” This was one of Josiah’s assistant managers. He was not native to our plane of existence. Gordon Bell was a half breed. A Nephilim. He wore an old-fashioned derby hat pulled low around his considerable brow ridge. Underneath the hat his bald skull was as thick as 12^th century English plate armor. His forearms were strong and formidable. His coworkers had bore witness to his ability to bend the very rails of the tracks they traveled upon. He was not a featured performer. Bell didn’t much like crowds or humanity in general. He was not required to perform. He was hired to keep order.

“Good man. I’d like the tents up by dawn. We will start opening the booths and the rides the day after tomorrow. We pushed hard today. Arrived in record time. Did the crew get any rest after we crossed over into Colorado?”

“How would I know?” Bell was indifferent to the human need for sleep. Nephilim didn’t sleep. “They can rest soon enough. This is our last stop.”

“That it is. It has been a good year, Bell. Oh, when we hit the Colorado state line I had an uninvited guest trespass into my thoughts.” Josiah blew a smoke-ring, and the corners of his mouth turned up.

“One of the performers. Let me guess, Qwan Chang? You want me to yank that little telepath’s neck again.

“No this wasn’t one of our folks.” The lean man stretched.

“What are you sayin’?” Bell’s face was blank.

“She entered my mind from a distance...while we were rolling.”

“At the speed we were traveling at. Seems unlikely. Chang can’t even do that sort of thing.”

“This was a Seer, and a young one at that. I think she was assisted by another Seer. At any rate, she could have been psychically present for quite a while...But I kicked her out.”

“Where was she when this happened?” Bell’s curiosity was indeed aroused.

“Right here in this fair town Mr. Bell.”

Gordon Bell smiled. “Possible new talent for next year? Will she be coming with us when we pull out of town?”

“Perhaps. I got a sense of where she was in town, but I’ll need to send the Twins into some of the neighborhoods to make inquiries about her. Carry on Mr. Bell.”

“That’s what we do here Mr. Pandemonium. Carry on!”

                                                            *      *      *   

Joe descended the stairs in the dark. I was aware that he was agitated. I could smell the stress hormones on his sweat, and something else. Gun oil?

“Wake up Doc. We need to talk.”

“I’m already awake. Who can sleep with a carnival in town?” I smiled and batted my eyes at him as if I were a giddy five-year-old.

“I’m serious Doc. Were you aware of what Alice did yesterday.”

“Yes, Dorthy told me she peer-pressured her into being a bad little witch. Never trust anyone over the age of 230. I think it was Dylan that said that.” I smiled.

“This is an emerging crisis Doc. I need to get ahead of it. Alice made a supernatural long-distance call to something with powerful Ju-Ju.” Joe started to pace.

“I love it when you talk like a lawyer.” I snickered.

“What am I going to do?” Joe was beside himself. “I have a business to run, and I can’t watch her 24/7. Ordinarily that would be your job.”

“Admittedly I’m not in good shape but I’m getting there. I’m still having trouble initiating “The Change.”

“I never thought of you as the shiftless type.” Joe quipped.

“Hey, words can hurt you know.” I grinned at him

“Have you tried it in a phone booth? Maybe if you were wearing a cape?” He suggested.

“There is also the matter of a missing chunk of my shoulder that hasn’t grown back yet.”

“Perhaps some Propecia for a couple of weeks and then a comb over? It worked wonders for my Aunt Grace.”

“Look, I’ve already thought about this. I can watch Alice. Petey will spell me off if I get drowsy from Dr. Dorthy’s stink balm.

“I’m telling her you said that.” Joe laughed. “God, that stuff is hideous.”

“Seriously Stink-O-Rama, as Alice would say.” I looked at him and sighed. “We won’t let anything happen to Alice. Knuckle-Butt will be around part time. In fact, Knuckle-Butt and I will ride out tomorrow and check out this badass that had got Alice all wound up. Petey will be at the house while you are at work. As her boss, I can give Naydene some time off if we think she needs extra supervision.

“I’ll be here too.” A quiet little voice said.

“Billy, I assume that is you and not a side effect of Dorthy’s medication.”

Billy popped into the room causing Annie to back up next to me and begin sniffing him from a distance.

“What are you doing in the house young man?” Joe pinched between his brow and nose momentarily. He let go. "I saw this in a David Niven movie once. Unfortunately, it doesn't relieve tension. But it looks great on the screen."

“I sometimes sleep in the basement.” Billy floated through the coffee table as he spoke.

“That is where Petey sleeps.” I said more sternly than I meant to.

“I know. He doesn’t care.”

“Because he doesn’t know yet.” I pointed out to the phantom child. “Look, everyone needs to go back to bed right now. Dorthy is coming over tomorrow, and we can firm up our plans about what to do to help Alice then. We also need to quit talking about her like she is helpless. Remember, she was the one who snuffed Calvin Pryde.”

“I know.” Said Joe. “By the way, here is your gun back. Compliments of Deputy Lawrence Goodwin.

“I’ve asked for that back three times.” I said in astonishment. How did you do it?”

“Principles of Business 101 professor. Bribery. He now eats for free at Colorado Charlie’s Chicken Coop for the rest of the year.  You owe me.  

The Storm Cloud Express Arrived in the Middle of the Night!

 

Chapter 6 - Revenge of the Autumn People - The Storm Cloud Express

                                      Chapter 6 – The Storm Cloud Express

Alice and Dorthy kept staring off into the distance. Somewhere southeast of Dusk Thorne the locomotive called the Storm Cloud Express climbed higher into the foothills of Colorado. In the mid-1870s, carnivals and circuses were no longer horse-drawn wagon shows. The transcontinental railroad permitted the same locomotive to pull a train long distances across the United States. The gauge of train rails which at one time varied across the country, eventually became standardized because of this feat. After that, it was considered more profitable at the time to have a large show travel by train.

The Storm Cloud Express and the entire carnival train was unique for its time. The carnival moved between the foothills of Appalachia to the foothills of the Rockies, a vast distance, and provided shows and other entertainment to as many as 100 different towns for three seasons of every year. The flatcars were fitted with removeable ramps which could be installed between the cars when the train was stationary. Pullies were installed which allowed loaded wagons to be moved down the entire length of the train. Loading and unloading could be done in an amazingly short period of time.

The size and logistics of the train allowed for expansion of the number of acts or carnival booths. The Josiah Pandemonium’s Dark Carnival train was much longer than the famous Buffalo Bill’s Wild West, which featured numerous cars easily over sixty and seventy feet in length. The number of circus and carnival trains peaked in 1903 and then rapidly declined. By 1945 many more carnivals were traveling via trucks as more interstate highways were built. Right after WWII only 6 circuses or carnivals traveled by train.

Josiah, preferring this more private mode of transportation with his company, kept updating his equipment and kept the Storm Cloud Express in good repair mechanically, often using supernatural resources. By 1982, the Storm Cloud Express and The Dark Carnival was a completely unique endeavor. Many people would turn out just to watch the Storm Cloud Express pass through their small town.

                                                       *      *      *   

“Can you feel him approach child?” Dorthy inquired in a whisper. Alice locked eyes with the old necromancer.

“I feel something…what is coming? Who is he?” Alice whispered back.

“He is less of a ‘who’ and more of a ‘what’…he looks like a man. In reality, he is a terrible type of darkness. He, or should I say ‘it’, has been here before. Josiah Pandemonium is his name now, but he has had many names. This thing that looks like a man is immortal and cannot die an ordinary death. He means to harm the innocent. He threatens what lies resting now, waiting to come into this world.” Alice instinctively moved her hands over her womb.

Dorthy saw Alice’s movement. The old woman nodded. “That’s right. We must protect others in Dusk Thorne and guard your unborn child. I’ll speak to Isadora Browning and Winnie. All of you need to help Doc heal. We will need his talents as well.

“I can’t see what you see yet. The train is too far away. I need to see what is coming.” Alice implored Dorthy.

“It isn’t for the naive or untrained eye.”

“Show me!” Alice said suddenly. “Show me anyway. I need to see.”

“Very well.” Dorthy grabbed her hand. “You are a Seer. Let it begin here!”

A wave of coldness spread over her. Alice felt nauseous. Then she looked past the town of Dusk Thorne and into the foothills. She saw the Storm Cloud Express climbing toward her little town. She saw into a club car.  She saw dark magic curling around a lone figure sitting in the dark. He was smoking a cigar, and he smelled foul. His eyes were like that of a biblical carrion-bird. He was staring back at her. Then he winked. Alice psychically recoiled from the encounter. She nearly passed out and ended up on her knees next to Dorthy.

“I understand now. I mean sort of.” She looked up at Dorthy as Naydene ran over from Tim’s truck to help her up.

“Sup? Hormone Roller Coster time again?” Naydene teased. Alice had broken the news about her pregnancy to her husband Joe and the others around the time she was a person of interest in Calvin Pryde’s murder. The investigation was minimal. Lawrence Goodwin, then Deputy Sheriff of Dusk Thorne, and several members of the department had been participating in a drug ring ran by Pryde as well as Pryde’s human trafficking organization. Goodwin saw Alice’s slaying of Pryde as an act of self-defense. It was advantageous for him to make any further investigation of Alice (and myself) go away as he was running for Sheriff in an upcoming election.

His department burnt Pryde’s body along with several hundred zombies on the Tyler farm before it could be examined. Then all the officers involved testified that Calvin Pryde had become a supercharged Zombie, an Abomination, a member of the undead with traces of Honkey Kong in his system. He had attacked Alice, and she had shot him in the head (four times). The investigation was considered closed. I never received my army .45 semiautomatic that Alice used to kill Calvin back. Apparently, it is still in an evidence locker somewhere. So, I’m still waiting.

Alice regained her feet. She looked at Naydene. “Nope, this wasn't the baby. It was different.” Alice touched her abdomen. “She usually just creates ‘happy hormones’.”

“You said ‘she’? How do you know it’s a girl already?” Naydene asked excitedly.”

Alice looked at Dorothy “Witchy stuff. I just know”. She winked at Dorthy and Dorthy winked back. Dorthy brushed Alice off a bit.

"So, the other thing? Learn a new trick? Naydene teased.

“The first time is always the roughest.” Dorthy announced.

“Suffering Sock Monkey! You aren’t kidding.” Alice laughed.

“What! What just happened?” Naydene said at high volume.

“We just went remote and peeped at the Boogie Man riding that train that will be pulling into town.”

“How?” Naydene was nearly beside herself.

“More witchy stuff. My first time.” Alice looked at Dorthy.

“Now what?” Alice said uneasily.

“You’ve just had your first genuine experience as a Seer. You saw him, but part of that was an illusion. I need to contact the Wampus. He can debrief you and give you some more background on Josiah Pandemonium.” Dorthy adjusted her shawl. “And I need to speak with Doc. I'm worried about him.”

“Um, now that I’m officially doing ‘witchy stuff’ should I start accessorizing? Should I go out and buy a pointy hat or something” Alice said shyly.

“Please don’t.” Dorthy walked back over to Tim’s truck. A faint smile was on her face

Josiah Pandemonium's Dark Carnival Has Arrived!

 

Alice and Doc's Harley "Patsy"

 

Billy Blande (1951 - 1959)

 

Chapter 5 - Revenge of the Autumn People - The Dark Carnival

                                            Chapter 5 – The Dark Carnival

It was a large, sturdy truck that might have hauled lumber at one point in its lifetime but now was full of weathervanes and other large outdoor accessories for homeowners. Many of these devices were made of iron. Many also looked used.  The driver of the beat-up green truck got slowly down from the cab and stretched.

I squinted at the lettering of the side of the driver’s door. The sign read “Tom Fury and Son: Lawn and Outdoor Antiques and Oddities. All Items Made from the Highest Quality Iron. Good Luck Charms and Wards Against Dark Magic”. Billy stopped playing with Annie and they both approached the driver.

“Hi Tim. Is it that time again?” Billy held his hand out and Tim politely shook it. Annie sat like a good girl and offered the driver an opportunity to shake. She extended her paw. Tim chuckled and bent down to shake her paw and pet her head. Then she rose and nosed him asking for an “ear scratch”.

“Who is he talking to?” Petey asked curiously.

Knuckle Butt snickered “Talkin’ to Billy. Be patient. You’ll meet him sooner or later.”

Petey looked at me as if to ask whether Knuckle Butt was teasing or had momentarily lost his wits.”

“Regarding things you can’t see…just remember what I said about keeping an open mind.” I reminded him as I slowly rose and buttoned up my shirt once again. Dorthy and I descended the porch steps together.

“Well hello Billy.” Tim said. “It’s been a long time. You haven’t changed a bit.

Billy drew closer. Although his feet moved, he still seemed to glide towards Tim. “Wow, you sure have. Um, you have a beard now.” Billy added to avoid being rude. He noticed the crow’s feet at the corner of the ironmonger’s eyes and the gray in his hair.

“Yes sir. When I first met you, I was too young to grow a beard and was learning my trade from my father.   I see you have made friends with the neighbors. I want you to know Billy that my dad showed me where your parents are buried. I put flowers on their graves last year because I knew I would probably see you this year.”

“Thank you, Tim. How is your dad doing?” Billy looked at the ground and tried to scuffle his tennis shoes on the soil. Although his feet never touched the dirt, pebbles moved, and leaves arose and blew away in the autumn wind.

Timothy Fury was a long and lean man. His shirt was tattered, and his waistcoat was worn and frayed. His boots reminded those who met him that he worked hard for a living. Even though his face still looked young, indeed, his long hair was starting to go gray. It whipped around in the autumn wind that now had turned suddenly chilly.

“Dad took ill two years ago and turned the business over to me. He is retired now back home in Illinois.” Tim looked up at members of the porch crowd walking towards him. He nodded at them and then looked back at Billy.

“Why don’t you climb up on top of that load back there and poke around. See if you can find anything that you or your friends might need.” Tim suggested.

“Gee, thanks!” Billy floated up to the top of the pile of iron artifacts and lawn ornaments.

“Dorthy, you haven’t changed a bit since I was a boy. It’s good to lay eyes on you again! Is Deke still down at the garage? Lord, have mercy. Grant! Is that you under that mustache?” Tim Fury laughed. It was a long and heartfelt laugh. The sort of laugh that radiated from his eyes as much as his lips and cleansed your soul.

“Most folks call me Knuckle Butt these days.” Grant replied.

“Of course they do!” Tim laughed all over again.   

As we drew closer to the truck, Alice brushed up against me and whispered. “Why can’t Petey see it too?”

“It, really? He has a name. He is an eight-year-old child Alice.”

“No, I mean, I don’t want to be insensitive. It’s just that I’ve never seen a ghost before.” She looked confused.

“Petey can’t see him because he doesn’t want to see Billy.” I offered. It isn’t simply the fact that he doesn’t believe in ghosts.” I continued.

“I don’t believe in ghosts either Doc. Why can I see him?”

“Good question. I think Billy has some role in whether you can see him or not.  You say that you don’t believe in ghosts, but on some level you do. According to Dorthy, you’re not only a witch but also a Seer. You can see magic Alice. You’ve been able to do that for as long as I’ve known you.

It was true. Alice could see magic which is invisible to most people. Not only could she see it, but she could sometimes hear, smell, taste and feel it. Alice knew the difference between Dark magic and White magic or other sorts of enchantments, spells or sorcery. She could tell simply at a glance, although she was only now becoming comfortable with that ability.

I whispered, “I believe Billy has opened a channel allowing you to see him if you are receptive to the idea that ghosts might exist...even a tiny bit. Like a child inviting another child to play.

“Even if he can’t see Billy, how can Petey account for the fact that objects are moving around, seemingly by themselves?” Alice pointed at the pile of iron objects on the back of Tim’s truck that were moving and clinking and shifting around as Billy poked through piles of doorknobs, trellises, and garden gates.

“We have had this conversation before. Remember when I said that as long as I don’t rub people’s noses in my enhanced genetics and transform right  in front of them, people invent reasons to account for my enhanced abilities. My hearing or sense of smell. My extraordinary strength. Do you remember when I single-handedly picked up the back of a truck and pulled it over to the garage by myself? The neighbors didn’t think it was a big deal. If someone had thought it was an unusual sight, I would have just lied. I would have said that I had already pulled the motor out of the truck or something of the sort.  The point is that people believe what they want to believe.

Naydene joined the conversation. “You couldn’t have fooled me that day.” She smirked.

“That is because it was your truck. You had more familiarity with reality of it. Also, your father was the strongest man in the county. Could he lift it?” I challenged her.

“Not until after he turned into a zombie and Calvin started him on Honkey Kong.”

“So, you had a very firm grip the realities of that particular situation,” Your beliefs were rock solid,” I said.

“When Petey watched Billy play ball with Annie, doubtless he thought the wind was moving the ball. This is what he chose to believe.” I suggested. “Mostly, people believe what they’ve been told to believe. They strive for consensus. In cultures where everyone believes in ghosts it isn’t uncommon for people to see them everywhere. Even when they aren’t present. I’m with Knuckle Butt, though. Given enough time, I think Petey will become a believer and start to see Billy. Billy will also meet him halfway and permit himself to be seen.”

I noticed Petey, Knuckle Butt and Dorthy pointing to a weathervane that now had mysteriously moved to the top of the iron pile in the back of Tim’s truck.

“So, I assume your presence in Dusk Thorne means that other visitors aren’t far behind?” Dorthy fixed Tim with a stern look.  “At least that is what it always meant when your father Tom passed through town.”

“Yes Mame. There are already posters up on the other side of town. I ripped this one down of a telephone pole in front of a phone booth downtown.” Tim pulled a large piece of cardboard from the cab of his truck and handed it to her.

A star-spangled poster read Josiah Pandemonium’s Dark Carnival. The was a picture of a sinister clown grinning wide and showing a row of pointed teeth. The lower caption read “You will be captivated”.

“Not too subtle, is it?” I muttered.

“Jumping Jack Rabbits on Pogo Sticks! That is mondo creepy.” Alice shouted.

“Can I have that, for my room?” Naydene whooped.

Alice shuttered and handed the poster to Naydene. She hopped up and down with it.

“I remember the last time they came through town was seventeen years ago back in ’62.” Knuckle-Butt closed his eyes as if trying to visualize the memory. “That was a weird autumn.

“Who?” Alice, Petey, and Naydene said in unison.

“The Autumn People.” Dorthy said ominously. “So, he is calling himself Josiah Pandemonium now, is he? I remember him when he was just a boy.”

Petey yelled from the back of the truck. “Hey Doc, look at this! We need this for our house!”

I smiled not only because Petey called the old Victorian structure “our house” but also because Billy had dragged the iron pole over towards Petey. He had practically put the weathervane in the young werewolf’s hands. Doubtless Petey thought the iron load had just shifted causing him to notice the object.

It was a beautiful weathervane with a silhouette of a wolf on top. I shook my head in agreement. “Wrap it up Tim. This belongs here with us.”

Tim rubbed his hands together. “No dickerin’ huh. I like doin’ business with you folks. Tell you what…I’ll throw in a lightening rod since you are new customers.

“Who or what are the Autumn People?” Alice asked Dorothy anxiously.

“They are grifters and scallywags. You’re a Seer. Soon you will behold them for yourself. Some of them aren’t completely human. He and his kin are Abominations. They come every seventeen years like the cicada. At this time of the year, the Great Mist parts and the divide between the worlds weakens.” Dorthy stamped her cane and from far off we heard the skies peel with thunder. Then, the sound of a locomotive whistle in the distance answered.

“They will be here soon,” She said grimly.  

POSTER - Josiah Pandemonium's Dark Carnival

 

POSTER - Lady Fortuna

 

POSTER - Electric Jack

 

POSTER - Storm Cloud Express

 

Chapter 4 - Revenge of the Autumn People - The Autumn Breeze

                               Chapter 4 – The Autumn Breeze

It was hot inside the Cage. Sweltering. I could hear the noise of the surrounding crowd outside building up by the minute and getting louder. It was already starting to go out of control. There was a fever pitch to the noise as a security team they led another man towards the door and opened it.

Flood lights blazed down. It is night.  How is it night already? And where am I?  I look out at the crowd. It is a blur of faces. Indistinct. I can see a few in the crowd now but I don’t recognize anyone. What did the bastards do to me? Why am I here? Did they dart me? Was I tranquilized? Something hit me. The crowd had begun to throw bottles and other trash toward the Cage.

Then the towering steel Cage rattles as the crowd roars with anticipation. Two of the four security goons are leading a huge man. He is wearing leg irons and chains, but he is no ordinary man. He is a monster. The team quickly removes the chains. He turns and gives me a feral grin.  I stare across the raked earth at Cletus Tylor. But Cletus is dead. Made an Abomination, a Super-Zombie by a demented maniac named Calvin Pryde.

I looked at him. I could see scars from past fights across his huge frame. I remembered how Calvin’s drug, Honky Kong, not only turned the strongest man in Winkler County into a gigantic rage machine but also helped Cletus rapidly heal from any damage I inflicted on him the last time we fought. His long dirty blond hair blew in the night wind. His jet-black eyes fixated on me.

I reasoned; the crowd didn’t come to see me. Not like this. They came to see two monsters. But, I’m not a monster. People often react as if I am, however. No one “made me” into what I am. I was born genetically enhanced. There are more people like me than you might imagine. The person-on-the-street would call me a werewolf. I blame Hollywood for that. But the plain truth is that I don’t resemble a wolf. I am a mutation. An apex primate predator that can morph at will. The “at will” part of my abilities have been giving me a lot of problems lately, however.

The last time I faced Cletus, I fought him side-by-side with Big Mary Zimbardo, another werewolf. Even the two of us together weren’t a match for Cletus. I knew I had to transform quickly or I wouldn’t survive this ordeal. I summoned “The Change”. It happened in a flash. I felt another brief sharp pain. This time on top of my head. “Damn crowd is still chucking bottles at us.” I thought.

“Werewolf “someone screamed.

“YOU GOT THAT RIGHT!” I shouted. My voice had already dropped an octave.

Cletus laughed at me. “You’re gonna’ look and smell like roadkill after I get through with you.”

I thought, “Wait a minute. He’s a jacked-up zombie. Since when do the undead talk?” Last time I tangled with Cletus he spent all of his efforts trying to eat me.

Still, I was pissed off that the redneck was trying to “talk smack”.  “Tylor, I’m going to break all four of your filthy limbs and then pop your freaking head like a zit!”

I raged as the transformation swept over me. Then I could no longer speak. My jaws elongated. I was a vortex of fur and fury…I spun and leaped onto the Cage bars howling at the crowd. Saliva dropped from my lips as I stared down at Cletus. I snarled. My eyes blazed golden.

“Werewolf…WEREWOLF?” A familiar voice was screaming at me this time. Again, I felt sharp pain. This time in my ribs.

Suddenly I woke up. I had been dreaming. Looking around I saw Alice. Her hands were over her mouth. The Widow Dorthy Biggs was beside her. “Werewolf, wake up!” She smacked me again with her oaken cane. I then became aware that Petey was restraining me. He had me pinned on the porch swing. My hands were furry, and my fingers tips were claws. I was in mid-transformation. Annie whined and then hopped up on the porch and began to lick my face.

There was another person on the porch. It took me a second to place his face. It was eight-year-old Billy Blande. Billy was not only our neighbor but also our paper boy.

His eyes were the size of saucers and as I made eye contact with him, he screamed “A werewolf…awesome!”

Petey tried to calm me. “Doc, you went out to nap on the front porch and had a nightmare. I found you struggling to wake up. You were in the middle of “The Change” but it was starting to reverse itself.

“Perhaps you should do your napping inside and on the couch from now on Kyle.” Dorthy said matter-of-factly. I could smell the worry on her however (werewolf nose…Bruno is never wrong about odors and emotions). This was the first time Dorthy had ever called me by my first name or called me anything else besides “werewolf”. Annie was upset as well. Petey let me up and I hugged Annie until she was reassured that I was fine. Except, it was obvious to me that I wasn’t.

Clinical Psychology wasn’t my forte, but I knew that I had just had a nightmare that had its roots in past trauma.

“One of the people on my paper route is a freakin’ werewolf!” Billy shouted.

Knuckle Butt heard Billy and came around our large Victorian house with Naydene, shovel in hand. My last landscaper, Curtis, had started an autumn garden in the backyard. Naydene had been helping him finish the job before she went on her late afternoon shift at Colorado Charlie’s Chicken Coop. Knuckle Butt said she had a flair for gardening and a “green thumb”. Right now, however, they were just turning over the earth in back. A month ago, Alice and I found a human finger bone in the basement of our old house. I had requested to be notified of any unusual find out back.

“What’s all the racket about?” Knuckle Butt said cheerfully.

“Doc fell asleep and had a bad dream.” Alice said, keeping a steady eye on Billy to see how he would react.

Billy seemed to be an all-American kid. He had a rather largish head that made him look a bit like a cartoon, curly blonde hair that he wore cut short in the back and bright green eyes. His striped t-shirt and overalls gave him a Dennis-the-Menace vibe. But Billy was a polite and well-behaved kid that showed up frequently in our yard after suppertime to play with Annie. Initially I thought Billy’s family was staying at the Rodeo Motel across the alley. It seemed to be where he lived. He also faithfully delivered a paper to our yard every morning before dawn.

“Billy!” Knuckle Butt said in astonishment. “What are you doing out here? It’s a little late in the day to see you about.”

“I was collecting for my paper route. Mr. Paloma won’t answer his door and Mr. Green walked past me twice. It was like he didn’t see me.  I heard Dr. Franklin screaming in the porch swing, so I came over to see if he was okay…and well…”

Dorthy took control of the conversation.  “Billy, Dr. Franklin was attacked by an Abomination a while back. Kyle, show him your shoulder.” When Dorthy told someone to do something, they usually did it. I complied with her and unbuttoned my shirt to reveal my shoulder.  The bite was a nasty one. Dorothy continued. “So, you understand that Doc isn’t well right now. What you saw was a symptom of the zombie bite. We must respect Doc’s privacy and not gossip about this.”

Might this be related to being bit? Maybe it wasn’t a complete lie. I was beginning to wonder how much of my problem might be psychological.

Billy was standing behind the porch swing. Rather than moving around the swing for a better look at my shoulder, he moved through the swing. Did I mention Billy was a ghost? Alice gasped and took a step back. Dorthy gave her a stern look, and she seemed to regain her composure.

Not everybody could see or hear Billy. It seemed that a lot of what happened around him was determined by his perceptions and level of awareness of the environment.

Billy inspected my shoulder. “Wow, that looks like some of the shark bites I’ve seen in National Geographics pictures. Did it hurt a lot? I bet it hurt like a bastard.”

“Billy”, Alice said. “Language!” Apparently, Alice had gotten over being intimidated by Billy’s incorporeal state. Alice could be a prude sometimes.

Sorry Mrs. Esch.” Billy looked remorseful and for a second turned nearly transparent, which, I guess, was his version of blushing.

Knuckle Butt reached out and gestured as if to ruffle Billy’s hair. His hand passed through the top part of the boy’s scalp. About a microsecond later, Billy’s hair ruffled itself. The result was a bit eerie.

Knuckle Butt told me that Billy had died sometime in the late 1950s.   Annie came near Billy and barked excitedly. She jumped off the porch and returned quickly with an old baseball.

I rebuttoned my shirt. Petey sat down next to me.

“Can’t seem to fire up the ole change again? Hey, Doc, you need to quit worrying about this.  You’ll give yourself the 'yips' and you don't need that.  Focus on something else for a while. This is just performance anxiety. Sometimes it happens to us.  Well, I mean, not to me, but to a werewolf of a certain age it is a common thing.  It even happened to my brother Mike once.”

“Not helpful Peter!” Dorthy said rather forcefully.  Alice stifled a giggle.

“Maybe I need a shrink.” I mumbled as I watched Billy play fetch with Annie on the lawn. It looked like the baseball was throwing itself as a strange man pulled up in a beat-up green truck full of weathervanes and steel poles. The autumn breeze started blowing from the west. It suddenly became much cooler.      

Chapter 3 - Revenge of the Autumn People - Knuckle Butt

 

                                             Chapter 3 – Knuckle Butt

As I walked out onto my front porch to get a better look at my neighbor running back down the street towards home in his pajamas at 9:30 in the morning, I noticed Ralph run past my new landscaper Grant Pillsbury AKA Knuckle Butt. Grant earned the nickname “Knuckle Butt” from his biker buddies because, when he wasn’t mowing, watering, or landscaping he was riding a 1977 Springer Hardtail. The absence of rear shocks on a hardtail made the bike a bit rougher riding and often the rider would bounce around in the saddle.

Grant hadn’t done any serious landscaping for two seasons. He explained the situation when he first approached me looking to recruit me as a client.

“Haven’t been able to make any serious money landscaping since the zombies started wandering over to the north side of town. You can’t dig a damn hole and watch your back at the same time for fear of getting snacked on by those undead vagrants.” Knuckle Butt grinned. “Even if you managed to dig a hole, a zombie was likely to fall into it.”

“How did you stay in business?” I asked, trying to size him up.

“Oh, I mowed a lot of lawns.” He said simply.

“And they left you alone while you did that?”

“Oh, hell yes. They are terrified of lawn mowers.”

“Really?” I said in disbelief.

“Yep. Stands to reason. Most neighborhood pets are skittish around the noise. Some people too.”

I immediately liked “Knuckle Butt” when we first met. My previous landscaper, Curtis Rusk, had been turned into an Abomination by the late Calvin Pryde. Curtis now had a grave marker in the Little Pine Acres cemetery across the street. Calvin had also become an Abomination. Alice, in an act of self-defense dispatched Calvin with four .44 caliber shots to the head. His body was burned along with hundreds of the undead on Cletus Tylor’s farm last month.

“Howdy Doc.” Grant drawled as he climbed up the porch stairs. “How’s the shoulder?” Knuckle Butt’s face looked as tanned and creased after many summers of tending lawns as the old brown saddle bags of his Harley. You could see a life story etched into every line of his weathered face and every scar on his calloused hands. His deep-set brown eyes were framed by a permanent squint from strong sunlight and long rides.

Despite a sometimes-brash exterior there was a reflective side to Knuckle Butt. He was a man that knew both the thrills and the solitude of the open road. He seemed to be, like myself, another motorcycle enthusiast that somehow ended up in mysterious Dusk Thorne, Colorado and had chosen to love the little town unconditionally.

“My shoulder is doing better. Thanks for asking. I’ve got the Widow Biggs looking after me now.” I replied.

“She knows a lot more about medicine than most in this town realize. I understand zombie bites can be purdy nasty.” Knuckle Butt stared down the street at Ralph, who was still hot footing it for home. He shook his head. “He does that every morning now, doesn’t he?” It wasn’t so much of a question as it was a declaration of something seen before. Like seeing a reenactment.

“Yes. He does it every day according to Alice. So, what do you suppose is up with Ralph?” I asked.

“Welp, he is livin’ in the old Baily house. So, probably there’s a lot goin’ on with him these days. He’s lasted a bit longer than ole Ozzie Farnsworth did though. Poor bastard.” Knuckle Butt put a pinch of chewing tobacco between his gums and lower lip. Generally, you couldn’t even see Grant’s mouth because of a colossal mustache that drooped down both sides of his face.

“Any insights you want to share with me? I’ve only been in town for about a month.” As I looked at Grant I felt a tingling around the nape of my neck. It usually meant the I was about to go down one of Dusk Thorne’s many rabbit holes.

“Yep, I reckon you’re still a bit green when it comes to this place.” He spit tobacco into a small can he was carrying. Annie bumped into the front screen door and opened it with her nose and ambled out onto the porch. Grant bent down and stroked her coat. It was September at the tail-end of summer. Annie’s coat looked like the color of wheat right before harvest in the summer sun.

Knuckle Butt suddenly looked up at me from his crouched position next to Annie. “Doc, I ain’t gonna’ ask if you believe in ghosts or not. Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. Most people that live here for a long time eventually come around on that issue. But either way, would you like to hear a decent ghost story?”

“I would!” chirped Naydene as she bounded out onto the porch. Petey was with her. He looked at Knuckle Butt and just quietly nodded ‘yes’.

Alice came out as well. “Does this have anything to do with Raph Green and Jerry across the street?”

Knuckle Butt cleared his throat. “Less about Ralph and more about Jerry Paloma, but also about a guy named Arnie Foster. All of them are part of the story, fer sure.”

Alice’s eye burned with intense interest. “Let her rip, Knuckle Butt.”

Grant chuckled. “Well okay then. First off, most people assume that ghosts are attached to places. That is inaccurate. I think Hollywood is responsible for this. How many movies have you seen that featured creepy haunted houses?”

“Quite a few.” Said Alice.

“She’s not kidding.” I interrupted. “Alice and Joe are movie buffs. They have seen thousands of movies.  

 Knuckle Butt nodded. “Oh, a special type of ghost, called a poltergeist, can become attached to a place. Most ghosts simply pass on into another dimension. They don’t linger. If one does hang around, it is probably attached to some unfinished business associated with other people that they have known while they were still alive.”

Naydene volunteered, “Oh, one time my grandmother said that she would see my dead grandfather when a fishing buddy of his came into her store. She ran a hardware store, but he was a farmer. He didn’t die in the store or anything. They didn’t run the store together. He hardly spent any time at all there. But after he died grandma said he would just follow certain people around. After a while though, she quit seeing him.” She settled back into the porch swing and sighed.

“Yep, that is the sort of thing I’m talking about. Anyway. About 24 years ago, when I had barely graduated from the local high school (Highland High, go Hornets), A guy named Arnie Foster was having some marital problems with his wife Doris. Arnie was a workaholic. He was rarely home and drank quite a bit in his off-work hours. Arnie sold used cars. He was an honest guy. I bought my first car from him. At the time of this story and his business was down. Doris was unhappy and understandably lonely. After five years of marriage Doris decided this arrangement wasn’t what she had signed up for, so she began to have an affair another local guy.”

Petey offered a raised eyebrow and a “Hmm.”

“Unfortunately, this guy was Jerry Paloma, Arnie’s best friend.” Alice’s eyes bugged out of her little skull. “Great Jehoshaphat’s Jello! Alice blurted out.

“Let me tell you this was very bad judgement on Jerry’s part. It didn’t take long for this small town to begin to gossip about this situation, as small towns usually do. Doris and Arnie had several bad arguments. He started to drink even more.”

“You seem to know an awfully lot about this man’s life.” I mentioned casually.

“I do. It sounds like I know more than I really have a right to. But Doris was my sister.”

“Sorry to hear that.” I offered.

“Hey, it was twenty-four years ago. Water under the bridge.” Knuckle Butt grinned again. “At about this time, however Arnie received a couple of pieces of bad news. My sister announced that she wanted a divorce. The day after that Arnie went back to his doctor’s office to receive the results of some tests that were ran weeks before.”

The results indicated that he had late-stage pancreatic cancer. His mind couldn’t process the information at first. My sister told me before she left town that Arnie showed up on Jerry’s doorstep late one night with a loaded gun.

Alice gasped. All present on the porch sat forward. All was silent except for the thumping of Annies tail. She loved being around people.

“When I heard the story, I assumed Arnie was going to end their lives. My sister tried to reason with him while Jerry sat on the bed and wrung his hands. Then she said the conversation went something like this:

After a short moment of deliberation Arnie put away his gun. He told Jerry that he had realized that shooting him wasn’t really going to give him what he needed from him.”

Jerry: “What do you want? An apology, money, for me to just ‘get lost’. To leave town?

Arnie: “No. I want you to suffer. I want you to suffer as much or more than I will have to before this cancer kills me.”

Jerry: “I still don’t understand.

Then Knuckle Butt pulled a letter out of his hip pocket. He waved it in front of his face slowly. "I’ve read this letter hundreds of times. Arnie wrote it before he passed away. His lawyer gave it to my sister as per Arnie’s instructions."

“Oh my God! What does it say? Naydene exclaimed.

“I’ll get to that in a minute. I brought it over as evidence that this story about Jerry isn’t just a campfire tale.  This letter is in Arnie’s own handwriting. Back to what happened the rest of that night.”

Knuckle Butt then supplied his sister’s thoughts that she shared that night so many years ago.  Doris believed that Arnie had lost his mind. That he had become a stark raving psychotic and she called the Sheriff’s Department. To make a bad situation worse. She laughed in his face about the “haunting” remarks. 

“What happened then?” Alice said cautiously.

“Well, after that the Sheriff’s Department showed up. They took him into custody more for his own safety than threatening Jerry and my sister. Those charges were dropped the next day. Doris didn’t want any more embarrassing publicity about her affair with Jerry or her husband possibly going insane. The Sheriff released Arnie.”

“He returned to the doctor monthly for pain killers and then later died at home under the care his doctor and brother Tony. Hospice wasn’t a thing back in those days. That was what family was for. Before he died, he turned his used car business over to Tony and paid off the small house he and Doris lived in. The same house he died in. He gave the deed to Doris, who chose to rent it out. This was one of my first mowing jobs. The Old Baily place.  The same place your neighbor Ralph now lives. Just down the street.

I could feel some tension building in our little group on the porch. Alice looked at Naydene. Naydene looked at Petey. Petey just rolled his eyes. “I don’t believe in ghosts.” Star Trek looked at me.

“I’m still on the fence Petey. I’ve seen plenty of weird things since I’ve come to Dusk Thorne.” Petey scratched his long curly locks (the young werewolf needed a haircut in my opinion). “Okay Doc, maybe I’ll try to keep an open mind about this. We’re not in in Xerxes anymore.” Star Trek muttered.

“What about that letter?” Alice’s eyes sparkled.

“Yep. Let’s look at it.” Knuckle Butt took it out of the worn envelope. It read:

Dear Doris,

You laughed at me when I told you both that I wanted to haunt you and Jerry. Nobody really knows much about the afterlife. I was never very religious as most of you will remember. However, if I’m not in hell right now for my hatred of Jerry, then rest assured the rules of the afterlife aren’t working as advertised. If allowed I will torment him, using whatever devices I have available to me, for eternity. He will never know a moments peace again.

I’m asking not to be buried in Little Pine Acres cemetery as there are too many monkeys (for some damn reason) over there. It’s like a zoo. I have chosen to be cremated.

Well, don’t be surprised if we run into each other later.

P. S. - Tell Grant that if he returns all the R. C. and Pepsi bottles behind the house to the ‘Pay Way’ store up the street he can cash them in and keep the money. I understand he is saving up for a motorcycle. Finally, there was a huge black cat in the back yard last night. If either of you see it, please run it off.

Indignantly,

Arnie Foster

Knuckle Butt passed the letter around. The groups reread it. “I would like to point out that my sister rented the old Baily house out to a young man named Ozzie Farnsworth. Within three weeks Ozzie started to look ill kept and began depositing letters in my brother-in-law’s handwriting to Jerry’s Paloma’s mailbox. Jerry removed his mailbox. The letters kept coming. Ozzie would shuffle up the street and deposit them in Jerry’s door or on his front porch much in the same fashion as Ralph Green deposited his letter today.

“And Ralph Green now lives in the Old Baily place!” Alice added. “Great Gravy Stain! Arnie’s somehow writing letters to Jerry. He’s haunting him.”

“Also stalking and harassing him.” Naydene muttered.

“Yeah, I understand you can go to jail for that.” Petey smirked. Naydene giggled and punched him in the arm.

“Hey, if I can get ahold of that letter Ralph left in Jerry’s door…”

“I’m betting the handwriting matches.” Knuckle Butt winked. I’m thinking Ralph needs some assistance as well.

“What happened to Ozzie? Where is he now.” Alice inquired.

Knuckle Butt looked grim. “Across the street in Little Pine Acres cemetery.”

Chapter 2 - Revenge of the Autumn People - The Pajama Shuffle

                               Chapter 2 – The Pajama Shuffle

Despite being restricted to the house, save for walking Annie, I had had plenty of company. Alice and Joe had settled into one of the four bedrooms upstairs. There was discussion about Joe claiming the adjacent bedroom for a home office.

Joe had been promoted to head manager at the local Colorado Charlie’s Chicken Coop about a week after he started working there. Colorado Charlie’s was thriving under Joe’s management style, which seemed to be successful thus far.

It is hard to describe Joe as a human being. At home he is warm and affectionate to Alice. Despite his nearly psychopathic and aggressive business model at the chicken shack, Joe was very easy to get along with at home. In fact, I have seen Alice steam-roll Joe dozens of times. Alice mostly gets what she wants from him.

In the world of business however, Joe is a Great White Shark. A combination of Don King when it comes to promotion and unless I miss my guess, the shrewd legal mind of a criminal lawyer. Perhaps a young F. Lee Baily. Joe had already signified to the community (most specifically the local cops) that he was “my attorney” and that he would retire from the fried chicken business as soon as he passed his bar exam. His knowledge of the law and ability to intimidate those bothering his family and friends had already proven useful.

Alice technically rents from me, but she advertised herself to the local cops as my daughter when I moved here. Alice’s real father passed away years ago. We kept up the charade until we finally realized that we fit nicely into the “empty spaces” in each other’s lives. Thus, we adopted each other, and I am proud to call her my kin.

Although Alice is happy to spend time with Joe and occupy the upstairs region of our large Victorian home, she lets it be known that she is “the woman of the house”. From her choice of furniture to the ever-growing collection of plants downstairs and on the porch, she has effectively marked the house with her personal touches.

Rounding out the other members of my household are Petey Gambino, AKA “Star Trek”, and Naydene Tylor. When Alice and I first met Naydene, she was working under Joe as assistant manager at Colorado Charlie’s Chicken Coop. Her father Cletis (same guy that chowed down on my shoulder) had been stalking her after he had turned into an Abomination. A showdown on the Tylor farm resulted in Alice shooting the man that made Naydene’s father into a Super-zombie in the head and another friend of mine, the sorceress Isadora Browning, burning Cletis to a crisp on his own farm. Now he is dust in the wind. Never a dull moment in Dusk Thorne.

However, this left Naydene with no home. The local authorities decided to set fire to the farm property to cleanse the area of the many undead that had settled there. Hence there are now fewer zombies roaming the streets of our fair city. Naydene, grateful that she was no longer being stalked by her father, accepted my offer to stay in one of the bedrooms downstairs. She and Alice have begun to relate to each other as dorm roommates although neither one of them has ever set foot on a college campus.

Petey just came clomping up the stairs from the basement and groped his way into our spacious living room. He was wearing a pair of red striped pajamas and proceeded to drag his feet across one of our large throw rugs. Using his hyper senses, Petey both smelled and felt his way to my couch. Without opening his eyes, he reached out and picked up the cup of coffee sitting on the table that I had poured for him ten minutes ago.

“Petey” I said in a low tone. “Open your eyes.”

“Not yet.” He replied. There was no reason that he should. Petey didn’t need eyes to drink coffee. Petey slept on a cot in our basement. Often Chester slept with him. Chester found Petey a suitable bed partner. After years of sleeping with me Chester had become used to the smell of a werewolf. Chester preferred Petey as a bunk buddy because he didn’t toss and turn. I move around a lot in my sleep.

Yes, Petey was Lycan like me. Also, as do all werewolves, he had enhanced hearing and had heard me pour his coffee from some fair distance away (werewolf ears are remarkable). Petey would open his eyes after he had finished his coffee. He wasn’t a morning person.

Annie rose, stretched and ambled over to smell Petey and generally say her “doggy good morning” to him. He stroked her ears and sipped his coffee.

“Now this is the way everybody should wake up.” He said without opening his eyes. Annie seemingly agreed as she nosed his pajamas from top to bottom.

The pajamas were new. Petey, when questioned by Alice about where he was going to sleep, indicated that the basement was cool and he would be comfortable there. When she found out that Petey usually slept naked (a habit not uncommon with werewolves and younger males in general) she marched straight downtown and bought “Star Trek” some pajamas. Alice can sometimes be a bit of a prude.

Petey wore the sleepwear without complaint. Unlike his older brother Crazy Mike (who earned the nickname righteously), “Star Trek” was a “go along to get along” type of house guest.

Petey was in the middle of repairing a wall in the basement. Initially several bike club members and I had demolished the wall in search of a possible stash of old “depression era” money. In the beginning of the money hunt, we found some fifty and one hundred dollar bills that Alice persisted in calling “Ghost Pirate money”. Enough loose cash to warrant our club president Crazy Mike to launder the currency (that dated back to 1931 through 1935). 

Since the brick wall in question wasn’t a load bearing one, it looked suspicious to my eye when I first bought the house. When the wall came down, to my astonishment, we found two doors slightly ajar. Alice wanted to go exploring immediately. Joe vetoed the idea until I could get blueprints of the house for some clues as to where the passages might lead to, if anywhere. When I saw the doors, I told Petey to hold off on restoring the wall for a few days.

Alice, with visions of discovering more Ghost Pirate money, was disappointed that she couldn’t immediately spend the Ghost Pirate cash at first. Then, two weeks later, she received a check in the mail from the Gambino Brothers Garage. It was a hefty amount. More importantly it was “clean money.” Alice said immediately that she was going to use it to purchase a preowned car. Since coming to Dusk Thorne Joe and Alice had been a one car family. I had allowed Alice to use my Jeep when she needed to run errands or visit Joe at work. But she did need a car of her own and hadn’t been motivated in the short time we had been in town to find a job.

Crazy Mike Gambino wrote me to tell me he could handle any other loose cash we might discover under our house. Mike was a very cautious individual when it came to agencies like the I.R.S. He reasoned anyone caught flashing old “depression era” paper money might draw the attention of authorities like the I.R.S. or the F.B.I. or even snoopy local law enforcement professionals. There was no shortage of the last type in our little town.

Mike insisted that any money we found should be likewise “laundered” The Gambino Brothers Garage was occasionally a front for more clandestine activities. Mike’s paranoia may have been inspired by something hinky that was currently going on back home in gold ole Xerxes, Louisiana.  At any rate, Mike was getting a cut of the newfound cash for his efforts.

I heard Alice come clomping down the stairs. She was wearing her new motorcycle boots Joe had purchased for her last month. I had advised her that she needn’t wear them when she wasn’t riding behind me on Patsy. The fact was that neither one of us had been on my Harley since I was injured. Notwithstanding the fact that Alice doesn’t own a bike of her own, she insisted on dressing in biker drag.

“Noise bad…” said Petey, in response to the energetic red-headed Alice as she headed for the coffee-pot.  

Chester emerged from the basement covered with dust bunnies. Curious about the stomping noises upstairs, he double-timed through the kitchen past Alice. She screamed “Stop him! He has something in his mouth.”

Chester ran straight for Petey. He jumped over the coffee table and stuck a perfect four-point landing right on Petey groin. Petey opened both eyes and spit coffee on a nearby rug. Chester stubbornly kept his balance on “Star Trek’s” lap.

Naydene entered the living room with a whoop. “Doc, there he is! Right on schedule like I said.” She pointed out the window.

I looked out of one of my front windows to see my neighbor, Ralph Greene, in his pajamas and housecoat shuffling down the street. He was holding a letter or some type of envelope. He stopped in front of Jerry Baxter's house. Jerry was a rather stern and quiet person who hasn't yet warmed up to my southern charm.

“What is he doing?” I remarked out loud.

“He does that every day. Every morning. Watch, he will knock on Jerry’s screen door and then just leave the letter on the threshold jammed in the screen door.” Naydene pronounced. “He doesn’t wait for Jerry to answer. Then he just walks away.

Petey had overcome his groin pain. He lifted Chester into his arms.  The large cat still retained a piece of paper in his mouth. Petey walked to the window rubbing his crotch.

“Naydene looked at him and grinned. “Need some help with that?” She teased him. He shook his head but smiled.

When Alice had first met Petey, she had remarked that he was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. Naydene had been flirting with him mercilessly since she moved in.

Alice crowded in beside me as we watched our neighbor. “Yep, I’ve seen him do it too. I don’t think he is conscious…Doc, is he turning? Like becoming undead or something?”

“I don’t think Mr. Green is a zombie. He looks healthy enough to me. Maybe he is sleepwalking.” I reasoned.

Alice looked over at Petey holding Chester. “Oh my God!” She snatched the item from Chester’s mouth. It was a dingy-looking one-hundred-dollar bill covered with lint and dust.

I stared at it. “Petey, was this downstairs when you went to bed?” I looked at the bill as if it might be a figment of my imagination.

“Nope. He must have gone exploring into the passages last night.” The young werewolf mused. “But which one, I wonder.”

“Doc!” Alice shrieked at the top of her voice. “I don’t care what Joe says. We’ve got to get into those tunnels today! There is Ghost Pirate money just begging to be found.

"Are there Ghost Pirates as well as zombies running around in this neighborhood?" asked Petey. You should get some kind of property tax break for that."

"No Petey, the only Ghost Pirates are inside of her greedy red-haired head." I mumbled.

Outside, mild-mannered Ralph Green heard Alice shriek. He quit doing the pajama shuffle and straightened up. “Where am I?” he moaned. “Oh God, not this again!” He turned and stumbled back to his house.