Ghost guard, p.1
Ghost Guard, page 1
GHOST GUARD
J. Joseph Wright
Text copyright 2013 by J. Joseph Wright
Cover copyright 2013 by Krystle Wright
Author’s website: jjosephwright.com
Artist’s website: krystledesigns.wordpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
I want the world to read GHOST GUARD. If you’d like to share it with your friends, feel free. Just don’t make a material gain off of it, because that would constitute copyright infringement. Thank you, J.
For my loving wife Krystle—
May our souls never part.
ONE
DIANNE FORSYTHE HADN’T planned on being unfaithful to her husband, especially with a man who’d been dead almost nine decades. She couldn’t help it. The dead man was, in a word, irresistible. And, by night’s end, she wasn’t one bit sorry. Besides, her husband had it coming.
It all took place one enchanted Saturday evening at the Forsythe residence, a lavish 8,000 square foot mansion, ensconced in Portland’s West Hills, where the Rose City’s elite gathered nearly every weekend. On this particular night, Dianne pulled off what was considered in many social circles a triumph of singular distinction. Along with the requisite five-star dining and exquisite dancing, she’d secured the attendance of a very special guest—the world-renowned psychic, Madam Dominika.
“Madam Dominika, are you ready for the sitting?” Dianne timed her question so the lady didn’t have to answer through a mouthful of chardonnay. The elderly woman sipped from her tumbler anyway, a tangle of golden bracelets jingle-jangling on her wrist.
“Born ready, dear. Born ready,” Dominika spoke with a thick Polish accent, her alert and glistening gaze peering from fleshy, rugose folds. “And, if you ask the dwellers of the spirit plane, Madam Dominika expects she’ll die ready as well.”
Nervous chuckles. Apprehensive guests shifted in their seats. All of Dianne’s favorite people were there, in her elegant two-story library. Roberto DuPont, the conductor of the Oregon Symphony, and his wife, Frieda. Bob Frond, the CEO of a famous computer animation studio called Mint Graphics, along with his life partner, Earle. Her Friends of the Opera friends, and, of course, her mentor, Zelda Brown, ex-wife of the wealthiest man in town. She’d taught Dianne everything she knew about spending her husband’s money.
“This isn’t going to be scary, is it, Dianne?” asked Zelda. “Like your husband’s TV show? Are we going to be attacked by ghosts? I bruise awful easily at my age, you know.”
“Don’t worry, little filly?” Dom Peterson, owner of a local discount furniture chain, patted the empty chair next to him. “You can sit here with me. I’ll protect you from those wicked little unclean spirits.”
“Unclean spirits?” Zelda’s pulse shot up. “You never said anything about that, Dianne.”
“There better not be unclean, clean, or any other types of spirits around here,” Richard Forsythe, Dianne’s husband of fifteen years, puffed his barrel chest.
“Richard,” Dianne eyed him sideways. “You promised to behave.”
He exhaled loudly. Dianne knew he was threatened by such a powerful and venerated medium in his midst. She didn’t care. Tonight she planned on teaching him a lesson—that he didn’t hold the patent on the spirit world.
“If everyone will remain quiet,” Dominika gestured gently. “The spirits are anxious to communicate this evening.”
“They’re anxious?” Dom snickered. “How do they think I feel? I’m as jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs.”
“You’ve got nothing to fear,” the medium produced a bundle of twigs from her coat pocket and circled it over a small porcelain container she’d laid out earlier. After a few seconds, the bowl erupted with a tall flame and a Whoosh! that startled the witnesses, Dianne included.
“Oh, my!” she covered her upper chest with her palm. “That was impressive.”
“Not really,” Richard leaned back in his chair. “Just a simple pyrotechnic trick. Seen it done a hundred times. A former producer once tried to get me to use it for an episode of Ghost Bounty.”
“You don’t say,” Dom spoke with a fake country twang. “So, did you do it?”
“I said he was a former producer, didn’t I? All my events are real. Everything,” he glared at Dominika. “I don’t need to fake anything on my show.”
Dominika glared back. Her accent became even more pronounced.
“I don’t have to resort to tricks, either. My mind and body are portals to the spirit plane. Now observe as I call my spirit companions to come forth and communicate with us from the afterlife.”
She circled the brush over the bowl once again, chanting under her breath. A silent stillness settled over the two-story reading room. Dominika’s incantations echoed through the shelves of first editions, the rare and original paintings, the marble busts of Greek philosophers.
Another Poof! from the bowl made everyone jump in their seats. A small, bulbous billow of smoke drifted up, inch by inch, and took on an oval shape. Stubby arms formed out of the cryptic nothingness. Then a pair of lopsided shoulders. Then an oddly abnormal head. Mutated eyes. A strangely adorable nose. A little, impish mouth. Finally, with two crooked ears, it became human—and it was tiny.
“Oh, my god! It’s a child!” Zelda captured the entity’s attention. The cloud fluttered and folded inside out, facing her. She took an immediate deep breath, sat in her chair, and fainted.
“Zelda!” Dianne caught her friend before she crumpled to the floor.
The apparition flashed a large grin, then proceeded to produce a maddening cacophony of chirps and whistles. Resonant and otherworldly high-pitched, staccato giggles echoed through the book collection. The guests felt a chilling tension.
“Dominika!” Dianne fanned Zelda’s face. “What have you done!”
“Relax. It’s only Ruby. One of my spirit companions. She’s harmless. A little puckish, but harmless.”
Ruby darted toward the ceiling, racing through the rafters until it came to the far wall. There she dropped to the open second floor and whisked past the books, rattling several shelves along the way.
“Some of those volumes are priceless,” Richard pointed with his reading glasses. “I’m taking note of everything that you damage or destroy with your little tricks.”
“She’s just having a look around,” Dominika said flatly. “No need to be concerned.”
Ruby swooped over the table. Candles flickered in her turbulent wake. Guests flinched and held their breath. They weren’t afraid, just curious at the provocative sight.
Then there was Zelda.
Dianne’s friend stirred and awoke in time to see Ruby race by. She shivered and went lights out again, dead weight in Dianne’s arms.
Dominika circled her crude brush over the little bowl a third time and another small explosion illuminated the spacious room, sending a gray haze which formed into a distinct figure much more prodigious than Ruby.
“What the—” Dom gaped at the great column of smoke.
“Wait a minute!” Richard stood, pointing an electromagnetic field detector at the newest guest to the party. “This is what I was afraid of! This crap!”
“Crap?” Dominika skewed her head. “What is crap?”
“This!” his readings were irrefutable. The beings were of otherworldly origins. “I knew you were gonna bring ghosts into my house! If you don’t keep those things under control, I won’t be held responsible for what happens!”
“Richard!” Dianne shot him a glare. “We all know your show’s a big hit. We get it. You’re the star of the world famous Ghost Bounty. You don’t have to threaten Madam Dominika with the ghost gun!”
“Ghost gun!” Dom clasped his hands. “You finished it?”
“I have a working prototype,” Richard boasted. “It can detect and locate ghosts—even eliminate hauntings. And I won’t hesitate to use it on your ghost friends, Dominika. If they’re real, that is.”
“Hush!” Dominika’s formerly tiny voice overpowered every sound. “Listen as I relay a message from the afterlife,” she pointed at Richard. “A message meant for you, sir.”
The smoke coalesced above her, becoming an ominously thick and dark mass, crackling and flashing like a tiny thunderstorm. In a quick motion, it stretched toward Dominika, surrounding and seemingly evaporating into her. She convulsed, throwing her arms high, tossing the trinkets asunder.
“Dominika!” Dianne wanted to help, but she had her hands full with Zelda. “Madam Dominika? Can you hear me?”
“Not Dominika!” the old lady’s face contorted in wild and haunting ways. Sharper angles. Deeper eyes. A broader chin. The voice didn’t sound at all like Dominika’s. It roared in a low bass, impossible for such a petite throat. “I am Brutus…and I must tell you, Richard Forsythe, no more hunting ghosts. Do you hear me? No more!”
Richard was stoic. Dom, though, more than made up for it with his animated ardor.
“But why! Why don’t you want him to hunt ghosts anymore?”
“Why? You dare ask WHY!” Dominika’s chair levitated a few inches, then crashed back down on the floor to yet more gasps and whimpers. “How would you like to be hunted, tracked down like an animal? It’s not good, what you’re doing, not good at all!”
Dom leaned back.
“Well, yeah. If you put it that way, I can—”
“Shut up, you idiot!” Richard glared at him.
“You all witness. You all see. You all hear,” Dominika swept her arm and stopped at Richard. “I warn you. Do not take my words lightly. Stop hunting ghosts, if you know what’s good for you.”
She took in a deep and ragged breath, then dipped her head as an abysmally dense steam appeared to lift from her body and dissipate into oblivion.
“I’m sorry, everyone,” her voice and facial features, astonishingly, were back to normal again. “But my spirits have departed, rest their souls. I am finished.”
A modest round of applause. Dominika appeared unmoved.
“Wait,” Dom spoke up again. “She’s not leaving yet, is she?” he glanced around the table. “We want more, right, people?”
“I happen to agree,” added Zelda. The ovation had woken her up again. “The show was all too brief as far as I’m concerned.”
“That’s because you were passed out for most of it,” Dianne laughed.
“I’m not going to allow it,” Richard tilted up his nose. “No, she’s done.”
“Come on, Richard,” Dom insisted. “She hasn’t done any personal readings. Don’t we want to see some readings?”
“Readings!” was the general murmur, and that’s when Dianne slipped out of the library. She was too preoccupied with the incessant ringing in her ears, the witchy cloudiness in her head, the flimsy way her legs felt—all of which came on quite suddenly. Thankfully, nobody seemed to notice.
IN THE BALLROOM, a jazz trio played to a sparse yet enthusiastic group of dancers. A pianist tickling the keys. A wire whisk against a snare drum. A baritone sax purring a gentle tune. She glided past the dance floor, watching a half dozen couples sway to the sounds.
A cool zephyr blew the hair from her eyes, chilling the perspiration on her exposed flesh. She tightened at a disquieting sensation. More than just a slight breeze, but a touch. Skin to skin. A soft hand on the small of her back.
She spun and flung her palm, aiming for the cheek of whoever dared be so presumptuous, yet slapped only air. Her face warmed with embarrassment as the room filled with people lured from other areas of the house by the intoxicating sounds.
She shot a glance through the crowd, toward the doors leading to the balcony, and then held her chest abruptly. The sight of two penetrating green eyes forced her to turn and stare timidly at her feet.
She resisted looking over her shoulder to see if those breathtaking eyes were still gazing at her. But her will had deserted her, replaced by a hungry curiosity. A feeling she both hated and relished at the same time. She faced the opposite direction and offered a smile. The vision had disappeared. No eyes drawing her in. Nobody watching. Then she felt coolness again, and caught a musky, masculine scent. A streak of light, barely noticeable, but certainly there, whipped by, creating a forceful whirlwind that twirled her one hundred and eighty degrees.
A man’s face confronted her. Bold chin. Square jaw. Strong cheekbones. Symmetrical nose. Then she saw those dazzling emeralds once more. Her knees wanted to fold. Her ankles were in jeopardy of popping sideways in her six-inch heels. She had to close her eyes. The sight made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t get over it, though. That face. Ruggedly handsome. Young. Eager. Almost mischievous.
The song ended to a rousing ovation. Before the applause died down, another number began, this one lively and reckless. A Tango. She felt her body lift into the air. Her stomach stiffened. Her pumps fell off her feet. Then she did a weightless pirouette, her pointed toes skimming against the travertine.
Surrendering, she let her head fall back. She summoned the nerve to sneak a peek at her phantom partner, this man who came to her in a vision. Those eyes. Deep pools of green with a hint of blue when the candlelight reflected off of them just right. She tried not to fall into a trance.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
“You can call me Rev,” his voice was smooth yet stimulating.
“I don’t remember inviting you, Rev. This is a private party. How did you get in?”
He stepped in rhythm then dipped, lifted, twirled, and dipped her once more before drawing her nose to his.
“You might say I’m a friend of your husband’s.”
She giggled. The room was spinning.
“Friend, huh? Do you work on the show?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what? Don’t tell me you work for another show,” she lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’re not a spy are you? From a rival network? Looking for some inside information on Richard’s newest toy.”
“A spy? No. But close.”
“Well, you’d better be good friends with him. If Richard sees you dancing with me like this, I don’t know what he’d do. He’s got quite the jealous streak.”
“Don’t worry about him,” Rev twirled her again, holding her hand high, her bare feet squeaking on the tiles.
“It’s a shame. You’re so beautiful. So delicate. What’s that man thinking, neglecting you so much? He’s such a fool. Such a fool.”
She tried to get away. He tightened his grip on her waist and shoulder, pulling her close to his chest. She felt him trembling for her.
“But we mustn’t,” she managed a hoarse moan. “What will the guests think? What will they say?”
“To hell with them.”
“No,” she stepped away. “No, I can’t! Stop, please!” she tossed her hair, feeling his hands on her shoulders, feeling him tug her close. Her silky locks shrouded her vision. He repeated her name as if lost and calling for help. His whisper carried on a mysterious wisp of air, circling her, swishing against her cheek with the softest of strokes. Her heart felt like he’d plucked it from her chest.
“NO!” she spun the other way.
The music stopped. Confused looks. Dancing couples froze in mid-step. All heads turned to Dianne.
“Dianne?”
She hopped to attention, veins surging with nervous energy. Sweeping her hair from her forehead, she found Richard, squinting and in search of something.
“Who the hell are you talking to? What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she threw up her hands and stomped to the parlor. Richard turned and smiled.
“Everything’s fine,” he gestured at the band. “Strike up the music. Dance, dance, everyone! Dianne’s just going to freshen up a bit. She’ll be back. In the meantime, let’s have some drinks!”
A round of cheers as Dianne climbed to the top of the grand staircase. She came to a mirror and paused, not at all happy with her appearance.
“Damn dress,” she straightened her bust, tugging on the top and shaking her hips in an altogether unladylike fashion. She didn’t care. Who could see her? Then her pulse flushed at the hint of a pleasurable fragrance. And, when a man stepped into the light behind her, she froze. She recognized the face.
“Rev, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be up here.”
“I can’t help myself,” he glided to her, pushing against her from behind. His bold approach left her breathless. She wanted nothing more than to surrender.
“If Richard catches you up here, he’ll kill you.”
He laughed and brushed the straw-colored hair from her shoulder, running his forefinger from just below her ear to her diamond necklace.
“I don’t fear death. Death fears me.”
She tilted her head, watching him in the reflection as he pressed his lips against her bare skin. Her eyes rolled to the backs of their sockets. She inhaled and exhaled deep and slow. Icy pinpricks teased her senses. One more second of this and she would have no choice but to give in.
“I-I-I can’t!” she paced forward, placing a wrist on her brow, feeling the floor buckle and sway. The bedroom at the end of the hall became her only goal. She stumbled through the double doors, forcing them open then falling onto an elegant Indian rug. She felt a pair of strong hands lift her up, and she couldn’t breathe.
Slam! the doors swung closed. Poof! twenty candles burst aflame. A swift wind blew apart the bed canopy drapes and he lowered her onto the plush comforter. As she sank into the downy mattress, he flicked a finger and the air sweetened with the melody of a slow, rhythmic ballad.
