At first glance, the apartment at 326 Lake Street building looked fine, if a little run down. But as Flora parked, she saw the front facing side, its exterior walls partially gone, and while the porch and first floor looked largely intact, its upper floors had been hollowed out by the greedy flames, leaving behind only black charred remains.
Flora had found a news clip about the house fire on her phone and listened to the audio on her drive over – a sad description of a space heater left on overnight, catching fire to the too close curtains and spreading to the whole building.
There were several deaths noted: a senior citizen who liked to teach kids how to play chess at the local library; a local grocery store butcher who was friendly with the whole neighborhood; and then, a young married couple and their ten-year-old son, active in their local church and community.
At a stoplight, Flora risked a glance at her phone screen to catch a picture of the family at Christmas, smiling wide and eagerly into the camera, unaware of their impeding fiery fate. She blinked quickly and looked back to the road ahead, trying to erase the unwanted image of their skin melting off their faces, exposing white bone beneath, mouths open in a perpetual scream.
Exiting her car, she opened the trunk and grabbed her field bag. She pulled the mace from the bag and fixed it to the holder at her belt. Shrugging the bag’s strap onto one shoulder, she turned to the house, her mouth set in a grim line of determination.
“Remind me never to cross you in a dark alley,” said a now-familiar voice. A man stood at the porch, tall, dark-eyed and dark-haired. He wore a long trench coat, opened to a gray t-shirt and jeans.
“Why would you be following me into an alley?” Flora asked, trying not to sound intrigued but failing.
“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” he returned with a grin, and it was so disarmingly charming with his white teeth and smile crinkles around the eyes and nose, that Flora found herself unexpectedly flustered, red-cheeked and speechless, and that only seemed to make him smile more.
“Pardon my manners,” he said, reaching forward with an offered hand, “Clovis Jones.”
“Flora Sedrickson,” Flora countered, taking his hand with hers, intent on a brief shake, but finding herself lingering in the contact; neither did he withdraw. “Nice to meet you,” she said, quietly.
“Nice to meet you,” Clovis repeated, as Flora finally let his hand go. He gestured to the house with a nod. “I called the landlord and got permission look around.”
Flora shrugged. “That’s nice, but not needed. If there’s a suspected supernatural activity, I have papal authority to be on the property, regardless of the owner’s wishes.”
Clovis raised a brow. “Is that so? What about private security?”
“Church enforcement supersedes all local and federal laws,” Flora told him as she walked past, up the porch stairs. She heard his footsteps behind her. “In theory, I could go wherever the job takes me.”
“Interesting,” Clovis said as he stepped up onto the porch next to her. Flora looked aside at him as he continued, “So, you go wherever you please, laws be damned.”
“Wherever the Church pleases,” Flora corrected, trying to blink away the shape of the word please on his full lips from her mind. She looked back at the house, determined to focus.
“Of course,” Clovis said, sounding amused.
Flora chose to ignore it, instead, pulling out her EMF reader. It was a small, hand-held device, with a row of lights across the top of a band of colors, going from blue, to green, yellow, orange, then red.
“What’s that?” Clovis asked, peering closer.
“An Electromagnetic Field Reader,” Flora explained as she switched it on, it blinked blue, then jumped to yellow. From inside the house, Flora heard a child’s distant wail of fear. “Although I don’t think I’ll need it,” she said, putting the device back in her bag. “Poor kid.”
“Yeah,” Clovis agreed, then asked, “Is there anything you can do?”
“I think so,” Flora said, then cleared her throat. “Let’s go inside.” The door wasn’t latched, swinging idly in its hinges, and Flora pushed it open easily and stepped in. “Do you know which apartment the crying is coming from? Where the young family lived?” she asked Clovis, who followed behind her.
“You know who it might be already?” Clovis asked, surprised. “They lived on the first floor.”
“I did some quick research and he’s the only child who died,” Flora explained solemnly; child hauntings were especially hard. The first floor’s door and most of its walls were burned away, charred wood and ashes left behind. Flora stepped through the threshold and looked around. It was a modest apartment, its kitchen was the central room, a family room connected on one side and hallway to bedrooms on the other.
Faintly, like it was coming from another room, Flora could hear a child crying. She exchanged a look with Clovis, who frowned.
“What’ll you do?” Clovis asked, following closely behind her. He watched curiously as she knelt to the burnt floor and began unpacking several items from her bag.
“Encourage him to move on,” Flora answered. She picked up the sage bundle, hesitated, then put it back; smoke suddenly seemed like a bad idea. “Help him find the way if he’s scared.” She picked up the cross instead.
“Can I help?” Clovis asked, watching as Flora cleared debris from the floor, enough for her to sit. Dust and ash, disturbed by the action, floated aimlessly around them, making the air feel thick.
“Come help me perform a séance,” Flora said as she sat cross-legged, a hand on each knee, palm up, the cross in her right.
“What do I do?” Clovis asked as he sat opposite her, mimicking her posture.
“I’ll act as the medium,” Flora said, resettling herself, unexpectedly too aware of his nearness. He smelled like the outdoors, of fresh rain and clean air. “You’ll be the sitter. It involves just that, sitting. The presence of sitters amplifies the medium’s power. But it also helps if you can relate to the deceased, if you have anything in common, or a way to connect to them.”
“What do you mean?” Clovis sounded uncertain.
“Did you know him at all?” Flora asked. “Do you know anything about his neighborhood?”
“No,” Clovis answered. “I didn’t know him. But…” he paused, frowning thoughtfully. “I might know something about him.”
“Oh?” Flora prompted, curiously.
“We’ll see,” Clovis said. “Go ahead with your séance, and we’ll see if I’m right.”
“All right,” Flora said, setting the cross between them. She reached for his hands, hesitated, then looked up to realize Clovis was watching her. He smiled suddenly and somehow that made it worse. Internally, she floundered. Externally, she took a deep breath in, then exhaled. Then she linked her hands with his, creating a circle. She focused intensely on the cross.
“If you were a child lost from your parents, what would make you feel better?” Flora asked quietly.
“I…” Clovis hesitated, apparently caught off guard by the question. “I suppose nothing would make me feel better, except finding my parents.”
“Exactly,” Flora said, closing her eyes. She took another deep breath and released it. “Martin?” she asked, gently. “I know you’re here.”
The crying became louder and more forceful, devolving into gulping sobs.
Clovis sat abruptly straighter, eyes wide in alarm, but did not let go of her hands.
“Martin?” Flora asked again. “It’s okay to come out. We want to help you.”
There was no reply, but the sobbing continued.
“Marty?” Clovis tried next, sounding unsure.
Who’s there? a tiny child’s voice whispered back, coming from both nowhere and everywhere; the crying stopped.
“Uh…” Clovis looked at Flora, alarm in his dark eyes.
Flora nodded in encouragement then mouthed the words, Go on.
“Don’t worry about me, Marty,” Clovis continued, “but I heard from the boys next door. Bill and Georgie said your folks were looking for you all over, and that you’d better go find them right away.”
I’m trying, the child’s voice came through, frustrated and watery. I can’t find them. Where are they?
“The cemetery right next to the library over on Second Street,” Clovis prompted quickly. “Bill said they’d meet you there.”
Is it Sunday? Marty asked, unsure, We visit Grandma’s grave on Sundays after church.
“Must be,” Clovis agreed easily. “I bet they’re still there, waiting for you.”
Maybe I should go… Marty pondered, his voice now sounding distant, Before I get in trouble…
“They’ll be glad to see you,” Clovis said, his voice oddly strained. “Go on, before you miss them again.”
Okay… Marty agreed; the tension suddenly went out, like everyone had been holding a collective breath and just released it, all surprised to find oxygen still in the room.
After several seconds of relieved silence, Clovis quietly asked, “Did it work?”
“I think so,” Flora said cautiously; she realized then she still held Clovis’ hands and abruptly dropped them, drawing her hands protectively back into her own lap. “You did well – there’s an old fey magic in a name. You said you didn’t know him? How did you know his nickname or his friends?”
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“I was talking to the New Haven boys,” Clovis answered. “They knew him. All the local kids go to the same school, walk home together, and play in the neighborhood. You know, kid stuff.”
“How did you get involved here?” Flora asked; she began digging through her field bag, looking for something. “You seem to be avoiding the question. And if you’re not a neighbor, why do you care what happens here?”
“I don’t,” Clovis admitted carefully, watching her with a wary eye. “I was checking out a lead on a case.”
“Law enforcement?” Flora asked, surprised; he did not strike her as the type. She finally found the salt jar and opened it, taking a pinch full out.
Clovis seemed to agree, shaking his head with a laugh. “No, private investigator.” He watched her curiously as she began sprinkling salt on the baseboards of the walls.
“What are you investigating?” Flora asked as she rounded to the main door. She took an extra big pinch for the entry. Portals of any kind, even simple doors, were tricky things with magic and especially needed safeguarding.
“Trying to track something down,” Clovis replied with a shrug. “I can’t say much else about it.”
“How mysterious,” Flora remarked dryly.
“Something like that.” Before Flora could comment on anything else, Clovis continued, “Do you want to get dinner?”
Flora blinked in surprise. “Dinner?”
“Yeah.” Clovis ran his hand through his hair, leaving behind dark disheveled curls in the wake of his fingers; he looked oddly nervous. “My treat? As a thank you, for helping the boys.”
“Oh, sure.” Flora found herself agreeing before she could even think about it. She began repacking her bag, trying to ignore the thundering beat of her own heart roaring in her ears. “Where to?”
“I know a place. I’ll grab something from my car, and we can take yours?” Clovis suggested casually. “It’s not far from here.”
It was a hole-in-the-wall typical diner, with mediocre coffee and greasy fries, but Flora didn’t mind. Clovis was surprisingly easy to talk to and seemed genuinely curious about her job as a Cleric.
“So, you have jurisdiction all over the city?” Clovis asked, as he handed her the small bowl of packet creamers. “No territorial disputes with other agencies? Or other departments?”
“Not really,” Flora said, as she tore open the creamer and poured it into her cup. She tried to focus on the swirling cream disappearing into the coffee but was uncomfortably too aware of his intense eyes watching her. “All supernatural activity falls under Church authority, but paranormal specifically falls under the Undead Department.”
“What’s the difference?” Clovis asked.
“Supernatural is the umbrella term for all things outside of nature,” Flora explained, still surprised by his interest. “Witchcraft and sorcery, demonology, parapsychology, miracles, anything that might be termed a ‘monster’ all fall under the header of supernatural.”
“And paranormal?” Clovis prompted, leaning in closer as he asked.
“Another subcategory of supernatural. The undead and necromantic magics. Things like ghosts, zombies and vampires. Haunted places or objects.” She paused to sip her coffee, unusually worried that she was rambling.
“So basically, anything that is supposed to be dead but isn’t,” Clovis suggested.
“Basically,” Flora murmured in agreement.
“What if I knew of another haunted spot?” Clovis asked, his tone light.
“Oh?” Flora raised her eyebrow. “What sort?”
“Strange noises at a nearby storage facility,” Clovis said as he took out his phone and tipped the screen toward her. He pulled up a map and zoomed in on a location. Fred’s Storage Services.
“And you think it’s haunted?” Flora asked, dubiously. She touched the phone’s screen and panned around the map, looking around at the location. A small cemetery was located one block north. She frowned. “And how do you know about this place?”
“Rumor has it that it’s an old museum’s storage unit. Might have some haunted artifacts or something like that,” Clovis said with a shrug as he withdrew his phone and slipped it back into his pocket. “You up for another investigation? It could be fun.”
“Fun?” Flora repeated uncertainly. She looked at her watch; it was seven-thirty and well-past dark outside. She frowned. “I’ll need to research the case, first; I can’t just go in blind.”
“You’re never impulsive?” Clovis asked with a grin; it was knowing and smug. “You’ve never thrown caution to the wind and just went for it?” He leaned in closer with a conspiratorial whisper, “Never found yourself having dinner with a stranger?”
Flora’s mouth was suddenly dry, her lips and tongue tacky. “Not usually,” she admitted.
“I say indulge whatever whim you initially had when we first spoke,” Clovis said as he leaned back in his seat. “Let’s go do something spontaneous and possibly stupid.”
His smile was infectious, and Flora found herself returning it. “Why not?”
“Turn right in here,” Clovis directed, the light from his cell phone casting a harsh glow across his face.
Flora turned the car, pulling into a narrow driveway. It was a crowded lot, with a small administrative building at the front of the property. Behind the building, the storage units sat in neat rows, surrounded by a tall chain link fence, with a security guard station at the gate’s entrance.
“Let me do the talking,” Clovis said as Flora pulled the car into a parking space.
“Excuse me?” Flora asked incredulously. But she didn’t get a chance to question further as Clovis got out of the car. Flora reached into the backseat and grabbed her field bag before exiting herself. Clovis was already across the parking lot, approaching the guard station; Flora hurried to catch up to him.
“Back again, I see.” The security guard did not look up from his post, seated inside. Flora could see multiple camera views on staticky screens surrounding him; nothing moved in the darkness. “The answer’s the same: no warrant, no access.”
“I have better than a warrant,” Clovis said, gesturing to Flora beside him with a tip of his head. “Right, Sister Flora?”
Flora hesitated for a second, then pulled her badge from her jacket’s inner breast pocket and flipped it open to reveal the papal crest: two crossed keys, one gold and one silver, a crown between them. “I’m with the Church,” she said simply. “I need to investigate a suspected haunting.”
“Is that so?” the guard asked, squinting to peer closer at Flora’s badge. Behind him, one screen flickered, then went dark. The security guard gripped the radio on his shoulder and leaned away to mutter something into it. The radio gave an indistinct, staticky response. The security guard nodded to himself, then leaned back. “You can go in.”
“Really?” Clovis asked, sounding surprised. He mastered himself quickly, however, his expression became neutral again. “Let’s go, then.”
“Let’s go,” Flora repeated absently, a suspicious shiver prickling up the hairs on the back of her neck. Something wasn’t quite right – not just Clovis and his transparent excuse to break into this place, but something else felt wrong. Flora could not explain why, though, and could only follow Clovis cautiously, hoping she was wrong.
Clovis led her around one row of units, then down another. He seemed to know where he was going, following a set path around, until coming to a stop in front of a specific unit: 166.
“Here?” Flora asked, peering up uncertainly. “It’s locked, though, so we can’t get in, even if some mysterious unknown object inside is haunted.”
Clovis looked aside at her, not missing her obvious doubt. Somewhere from his trench coat’s deep pocket, he produced a bolt cutter. He looked insufferably pleased with himself, like a cat who had caught a canary and wasn’t the least bit sheepish about it. “What?” he asked at her disapproving look. “I came prepared.”
“That you did,” Flora agreed reluctantly, watching as Clovis easily snapped off the padlock that kept the door closed. The door’s hinges screeched in protest as Clovis lifted the door from the ground.
Inside were neat rows of stacked boxes, each meticulously labeled. ‘Sales Records, 1990-2000’ sat at the bottom of one row, and ‘Authentication Records, A-C’ on the top of another. Clovis turned on the flashlight of his phone, reading each one in turn; he was obviously looking for something.
“What’s this about?” Flora asked, intending to be stern but instead sounding small and hurt.
“What do you mean?” Clovis asked. “Ah, there it is,” he announced, as he dragged a box down from one pile. He pulled off the lid and began digging through the contents.
“Who are you, really?” Flora asked, blinking back angry tears. “You’re not worried about hauntings! You wanted something from here and used me to get it.”
“Not exactly,” Clovis said. “Not like that – oh, don't look so wounded.”
Flora glanced away, hiding her face from the exposing beam of his phone’s flashlight. “You’re a conman and I fell for it,” she said in quiet accusation.
“I’m an investigator. I was investigating,” Clovis corrected her. He hastily stuffed a few sheets of paper inside his trench coat. “You saved me a lot of trouble getting in here. And for that, thank you. I promise I’ll find a way to thoroughly show you my appreciation later.”
“You’re an asshole,” Flora said bitterly. “And I’m leaving, you can find your own way out of here and—”
“Wait!” Clovis called after her, a new alert tension thrumming through him. “Do you smell that?” he asked, then inhaled deeply, nostrils flared. “Like... dirt.”
“Dirt?” Flora asked, whirling back around to look behind her. In the distance, she could faintly hear several sets of shuffling footsteps dragging along the pavement. She fumbled with her bag briefly, and withdrew her mace, holding it at the ready. “We need to get out of here, fast.”
“What’s going on, Flora?” Clovis asked as she wielded her weapon. He reached into his trench and pulled out a hefty revolver. He looked around wide-eyed at the darkness around them. “What’s coming?”
“I could be wrong –” Flora started, but was interrupted by a nearby gurgling moan, too familiar to deny further.
“Is someone following us?” Clovis asked gruffly. He cursed under his breath.
“They’re following me,” Flora declared in awe; it was the only explanation for encountering undead so closely together. She looked down both aisles and saw nothing beyond the feeble glow of the security lights. “I’ll distract them,” she said, a decision made. “Make your way to the exit and get out of here.”
“Chivalry’s not that dead, Flora,” Clovis said with a sardonic laugh. His gun audibly clicked as he cocked it. “I dragged you into this mess, and I’ll get you out of it.”
It was Flora’s turn to laugh, but this time at the sheer absurdity of a civilian offering to protect her against the undead – what she had trained literally her entire life to fight. She would have explained to him – at length – just how wrong he was, but—
A figure emerged from the shadows, dripping inky darkness behind it. Their staggering steps were wrong, like their ankles didn’t fit properly to the feet. They came closer and Flora saw it was a woman, wearing what had once probably been her Sunday best, a pretty floral dress that was now ragged and dirty, turned brown and muddy at the hem.
“You,” the woman hissed, raising an accusatory finger at Flora. “Death knows you well,” The woman came closer, and Flora could now see rotten flesh sagging at her cheeks, one eyeball dangling loose from its socket. The smell, too, was overwhelmingly foul and too close. “She is coming for you,” the zombie-woman announced with a terrifying laugh that lapsed into gagging cough. Blood and bile sputtered from her lips, dribbling down her chin and neck, smearing the white lace of the dress’s collar. The zombie smiled, showing decayed teeth. “You can’t deny the truth for much longer,” she rasped.
“What the hell is that!?” Clovis demanded.
Flora didn’t have the time or opportunity to explain; the zombie-woman charged forward, teeth bared, and hands curled into claws. Before Flora could meet the zombie with her raised mace, a gunshot cracked loudly. The zombie-woman staggered back, then trudged forward again, unaffected by the bullet.
Somewhere behind her, Flora heard Clovis curse indistinctly. She had no time to look back, however, as the zombie woman started her charge again.
In Flora’s Cleric training, zombies and other risen dead were generally described as slow and easy to counter. Their bodies, depending on the state of decay, were typically not sound enough to mount an attack of much threat. Fire or dismemberment of the revived corpse was the only way to fully neutralize a zombie.
It was a surprise, then, how complete this zombie woman was and how fast she moved. Flora tried to lift her mace to block, but moved too slowly, the zombie crashing hard into her. They stumbled back together, and Flora could feel the zombie’s teeth graze her neck in an attempt at a bite, only narrowly missing. The zombie threw her arms around Flora and pulled her in, her long nails digging into Flora’s shoulders where the zombie gripped her; the embrace was almost intimate. The putrid smell of rotten meat, foul and almost sweet, crawled down Flora’s nose and throat, making her gag.
Somewhere in the chaos, Flora dropped her mace. She heard Clovis shouting something in the background but couldn’t hear him over the panicked roar of her blood in her ears.
“You will rejoice in the coming darkness,” the zombie-woman said, papery lips brushing dryly against the shell of Flora’s ear. If the zombie had been alive, Flora would have felt the zombie’s hot breath on her skin, and somehow its absence made the zombie’s proximity more overwhelming.
Weaponless and with her arms pinned down in the zombie’s embrace, Flora felt a rare moment of helplessness. As the zombie reared back, mouth open, ready to bite again, Flora wondered if this was how she was going to die. She wondered, too, if Clovis would have the presence of mind to put a bullet in her head before she fully turned; she truly hoped so.
Light suddenly flashed in front of Flora’s eyes, bright and blinding. No, it wasn’t in front of her, she realized – it was her, skin afire, glowing in bright white flames but surprisingly without pain or burning. It surrounded Flora, then greedy flames leapt across to the zombie-woman. The white fire spread, but unlike Flora, this liquified the zombie’s skin and burned off her clothing and hair. Screaming shrilly, the zombie let go of Flora and stumbled away, then abruptly collapsed to ground, still burning but now unmoving and silent.
The light gradually died, and Flora took half a step forward, then swayed uncertainly. “Clovis…” she called out to him. Briefly, she saw him running, his hands reaching for her. Her vision dimmed, then started to shrink. “The holy war begins…” she managed somehow through numb lips.
As her knees buckled beneath her and she began sinking into darkness, Flora’s last coherent (yet strange) thought was to wonder if Clovis would catch her as she fell.
