The Beast Cometh Page 2

  “I can’t believe it,” Becky said, wheezing from laughing so hard. We had arrived at work and Moody had already run off to blow off steam by chasing some unsuspecting mice around the museum.

  “I know,” I said sighing as the laughter wore off. It was nice to just laugh at something for a little bit. Everything had felt too serious for too long. “I wish everything they did was just as funny.” I almost wished I had stopped our conversation before adding this on. Leave it up to me to end a funny story on a negative note. Fern was always calling me a negative Nelly. I would always retort reminding her that she’s no Mary Sunshine either, but I worried that she might be right. I had always thought myself a realist, but maybe realist was just a softer descriptor for pessimist in my case.

  “Has it really been that hard?” Becky asked, sensing my change in the course of the conversation.

  “They’re not happy to be cooped up inside all the time, and I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t be either, but they pose such a threat to us.” I said the last part quietly as our boss hovered over us for a moment before nodding and leaving us be. He had been hovering a lot lately, or maybe I wasn’t used to his presence anymore because he had been on so many vacations in the last few months alone. I knew he would want Becky and I to stop our conversation all together and continue working in silence. We were currently cleaning the already immaculate main floor of the museum. There weren’t many tours to give today, so it was just a matter of biding our time until someone came in.

  “I hate to think of them like that,” Becky whispered back to me after Mr. Harrison walked out of earshot. “As a threat,” she clarified after I gave her a look not sure what she had meant at first.

  “I do too,” I agreed. Had they not been dead, I would have considered them friends. I’m sure Becky did consider them to be her friend, regardless of their living status. “It’s what they are though. They don’t mean to be, but they are so unaccustomed to our world, just one slightly nosey person with an open mind would be able to figure them out and I doubt it would be long before they figured us out either.” I wasn’t exactly sure what it would mean for people to know our secret, but it wouldn’t be good. We’d become oddities, called phony’s and I don’t know, maybe we’d become the next Area 51.

  “Not to mention, what would happen if they became victims of whatever is coming?” Becky wondered. I was surprised that her thoughts went so dark...I hadn’t even really considered that possibility. I knew instantly that it would be far worse if something like that were to happen to them. Not only would it be terrible, but people would most likely search into the ghost's pasts. Their pasts were much older than what would be considered possible and even if that wasn’t discovered, it would lead back to Fern and I since they were staying in our house.

  “I don’t even want to think about it,” I said back to her. Becky nodded in agreement, though I expected she was only thinking of how terrible it would be to have them really gone. I was the only one selfish enough to think about how it would effect me if they were to die. I did wonder what would happen to a ghost if it were killed. Would they just go back to being ghosts, or would they crossover completely? I hoped we would never learn the answer.

  “Are you two working or talking?” Mr. Harrison barked at us. I jumped as I didn’t notice him walk back up to us. Becky looked startled but recovered well.

  “Sorry, Mr. Harrison,” Becky let her smile loose on the man, who softened instantly. “We were just figuring out which of us would take the next tour if anyone came in requesting one.” She lied easily. Becky was an extremely talented liar and a quick thinker. She’d had to be for so many reasons. Growing up without a family, with powers and then having to run from a vicious hunter, lies became a bullet proof vest for her. I envied her ability. I often found myself in situations where lying would be handy, but I almost always stumbled through a half concocted story that was an obvious lie to everyone.

  “Did you bring that blasted feline of yours?” Mr. Harrison asked. He had turned his attention to me after nodding pleasantly at Becky’s response.

  “I did,” I replied. Another good time for a lie, but I wasn’t able to think of one in time so I just blurted out the truth. “I had noticed there were some mouse droppings in the east wing. I thought she might be useful,” I said with what I hoped looked like an apologetic shrug. This wasn’t exactly a lie, though I would have brought Moody in regardless.

  “You’d think she’d have killed all the rats in this town by now,” Mr. Harrison grumbled. This had satisfied him though and he walked off without another word. I knew he wouldn’t be bothering us again. He seemed to consider his job done after scolding us for something or other, then holing up in his office for an hour or two and I could almost guarantee that he would leave early. The reason for the seemingly constant return of the mice and rats to the museum was not something we needed to enlighten him on. Becky had convinced Moody to stop killing the poor things and let them simply run off. Begrudgingly Moody agreed, but I suspected that she liked it this way herself. She enjoyed the chase more than the kill and this meant that she would never run out of prey to terrorize.

  Almost every witch, to my knowledge, had some sort of ability that was additional to the power shared by all witches. It was always something seemingly reflective of the personality of the witch. Though I only had a very small pool of people to draw my conclusions from, Hazel had begun to explain it to us in more depth which had confirmed many of my assumptions. Becky could feel the emotions of other living things. It was strongest with animals and with more extreme emotions like sadness or fear. This was the reason she had asked Moody not to kill the poor mice and rats anymore, because she could feel the terror that Moody bestowed on them. Fern was able to see a person’s last moments and memories of being alive. Her’s was strongest when she was touching the body of someone recently deceased. The visions often didn’t make sense and were difficult to decipher, but they certainly came in handy with being a detective and hopefully a Sheriff soon. Until recently I thought I was exempt from this rule. I didn’t think I had any special ability, which I had never admitted bothered me, though it did. I wondered if I might be the world's dullest supernatural being. It turned out that my power was just very subtle, and with the comet heightening it we were able to realize what it was. I had what could be called an extreme gut instinct that was almost always correct. My intuition was more than that of other people, and it always led me towards the truth. When Hazel went missing I was certain that she was okay, and she was. My gut had told me that we needed to stay at the anniversary ball in order to find Hazel and that was where she turned up.

  “I’ll take care of this,” Becky whispered to me. I looked around unsure of what ‘this’ was that she was referring to. It was a family that had come into the room we were cleaning. They looked expectant, like we were the answers to all their problems. I hadn’t noticed them come in, and clearly Becky could tell that I was once again selfishly occupied with my own thoughts. She smiled making sure I knew she didn’t mind, and I knew she never would, but I still felt bad. This was twice now that I had been lost in my own thoughts.

  I wondered if my instinct was what made me so anxious about the trouble that was to come. I could practically feel it in my bones as if it had already arrived. I knew it had, it was just lying in wait for its moment to strike. Hazel was helping me with my newly realized ability. I had always just thought I was headstrong and stubborn. Turns out my gut was just leading me in the right direction all along. It was still difficult to weed out what was my ability and what was my headstrong stubbornness though. They were easily confused things. I knew that it was my ability warning me of the demons the comet brought with it. I wanted nothing more than to run. If I were honest, that was the real reason why I hadn’t been sleeping. My legs kept me up late at night, willing me to run as far from Stillwater as I could. I even went as far as packing and then unpacking a bag. I did this almost every night, I wouldn’t dare tell Fern abou
t it or even mention it to Becky. I didn’t want them to get the wrong idea. I had no intention of abandoning them, but I couldn’t help myself from allowing the instinct to take over even momentarily. Once I came back to my own control I’d unpack and get back into bed to sleep restlessly. I also didn’t want them to think that I thought our crusade was hopeless. I was eager to fight whatever was coming and to protect those that I could, but I’d be lying if I said I expected us to win. In fact, I was certain we wouldn’t.

  Chapter Three

  I drove Becky home after work, even though I knew I was just going to have to pick her up not long after to go to Hazel’s. It had already been a long day and I had a feeling it wasn’t going to end anytime soon. I wanted to go home and take a shower - maybe attempt to relax for a few minutes before going to Hazel’s. I knew that was more than likely a pipe dream, but at the very least I wanted to shake free of my doubt beforehand. I wasn’t going to be able to hide it from Hazel, she would be able to tell as soon as I got there and I wouldn’t want to not tell her. So I needed to push it back down and pretend it wasn’t there at all.

  “What do you think we’re going to learn tonight?” Becky asked, playing with the window crank. My car was ancient and probably a hazard, but I loved it regardless.

  “You’re guess is as good as mine,” I shrugged. I didn’t really know the limits of what magic could do, so I couldn’t even begin to guess what our lesson would entail. We weren’t exactly the most well versed in magic, and I doubted that google was very accurate when it came to information on witches.

  “I hope we learn how to heal,” she said wistfully. I was momentarily caught off guard. I hadn’t thought of that as a possibility, though it made sense. Once again, I had only thought of the negative and how to fight against our mysterious enemy. I hadn’t even considered that we might be able to help save the people they, it, whatever, would inevitably attack. “I think that would be a good use of our powers,” Becky said almost to herself. I knew what she meant though. It did feel like a great responsibility to be gifted the way we were and here I was wasting it on household chores.

  “That would be nice,” I said, though I still didn’t know if we could learn to heal or if it would even be a good idea. I wouldn’t want to save someone only to end up being discovered. Another terrible thought I would have to keep to myself, pretend it had never crossed my mind. “It all feels very Harry Potter,” I said with a laugh trying to lighten the mood. It did the trick and Becky giggled about it as we arrived at her driveway. She hopped out and reminded me needlessly to come and get her.

  “How to heal,” Moody grumbled next to me. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It might not be,” I said feeling defensive of Becky. Moody wasn’t buying it for a second and gave me an incredulous look. “So, maybe it is,” I acquiesced.

  “If you were to heal someone, then they’d just go off and you me and everyone else would be holed up like science experiments in some dark government building.” I tried not to give Moody’s words any credit or weight, and they did sound ridiculous out loud, but her concerns mimicked mine exactly. I wondered what it said about me that I had a similar thought process to a cat and not a very pleasant one at that.

  “I’m sure whatever Hazel teaches us will be useful,” I said, not commenting on Moody’s worries.

  “But you think we’ll all lose anyways,” Moody said lazily stretching out on the passenger seat. I looked at her shocked. For a moment I was worried Moody had some kind of secret ability to read minds.

  “Why do you think that?” I asked.

  “You’re not the only one having trouble sleeping,” she said, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “I’ve seen you pack a bag like you’re going to be on the run only to unpack the last few nights.”

  “You’ve seen that, huh?” I asked eyeing her. I knew she'd been waiting to bring this up with me for a while. “I have no intention of leaving, but my instinct is that we should bolt,” Moody looked at me smugly, glad to have gotten me to tell her this. “And if you even think about telling anyone, I will make sure that you don’t get liver treats again for the rest of your miserable little life.” She narrowed her eyes at me.

  “It isn’t my fault that you're a coward,” she said, with ice in her voice, but she was trying to hide it. She didn’t want me to know that I had gotten to her.

  “As if you wouldn’t leave if you were sure we didn’t stand a chance,” I replied quicker than I thought it through.

  “You don’t think you stand a chance?” Moody asked, uncharacteristically serious. There was another note to her tone, one that I didn’t recognize. “Not at all?” She pressed, and I realized that she was scared.

  “How am I supposed to know?” I asked sarcastically. I was trying to make it so that she didn’t take my words too seriously even though I had meant them. “I don’t even know what it is we are getting ready to face. I couldn’t possibly know that we couldn’t beat it.” I even felt a little bit better after saying that, because it was true. How could I possibly be certain of anything when I didn’t even know what was coming?

  “Fine, but if you figure it out and you still feel the same way, let me know,” she said, relaxing once more kneading her paws into my already nearly destroyed passenger seat. “I wouldn’t want to stick around too long after that.”

  “Who’s the coward now?” I asked laughing at her, even though I knew she was right.

  “I’ll let you know tonight when you’re repacking your suitcase,” she responded quickly. I grimaced at her, but that marked the end of our conversation until I parked in the driveway.

  “Do you think there will be any hot water?” I asked rhetorically. The ghosts had been thrilled by the invention of a shower and I’d guess they were each taking multiple showers a day only because of the novelty of it. I guess they didn’t get to wash much during the Civil War Era and it wasn’t like they could wash at all as ghosts. I groaned internally when I heard that the shower was occupied once I got inside. Moody ran right past me and straight into Fern’s room. She had been trying to avoid the not ghosts as much as possible. I could hear Mary Jane singing some ancient song in the shower, and my hopes were dashed. She took the longest showers of the three, and the loudest. She had a good enough singing voice, but I wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear Civil War Era shanty’s non-stop.

  “Mazie, you’re home,” I heard Fern sigh in relief. I hadn’t really expected her to be home before me, but by her expression I could tell that she wasn’t either. Her hair, which had been neatly done up when I had seen her at the diner, was askew. Bits of hair had fallen out all around the nape of her neck and framing her face. Somehow she still looked beautiful, even with her mascara smudged underneath her eyes from rubbing them. It was when she stepped aside that I realized why she looked so downtrodden. The microwave had clearly exploded, the door knocked off it’s hinges with broken glass and what looked like tomato sauce everywhere. “Mary Jane tried to cook,” she explained.

  “Is everyone okay?” I asked, forcing myself to be cordial, though I wasn’t in the mood. Fern nodded.

  “Mary Jane is showering, the thing exploded all over her, and you’d have to kill the Colonel and Little Timmy before they’d take their eyes off the television.” She sounded like an exasperated mother. I turned to look into the living room and had to stop myself from laughing at the two men sitting on the floor inches from the television screen. They were watching some awful daytime soap opera that I was sure Moody and I would soon be addicted to, a guilty pleasure of both of ours. I observed them for a couple moments, every few seconds, Colonel Augustus would reach out and touch the glass of the screen before turning to see Little Timmy’s face. They both looked like they were amazed and scared by it.

  “Is there anything good on?” I asked them, making them both jump.

  “Mazie, it is a pleasure to have you here,” the Colonel said standing to bow in greeting. Little Timmy followed suit. I almost felt as though I should curt
sey back, but I thought it might be more offensive for me to attempt a courtesy than to not at all.

  “What is your meaning to the question?” Little Timmy asked me curiously. His name felt ironic now that he appeared human-like. In ghost form he seemed so small and sullen, but he was nearly as tall as the Colonel. I supposed it referred more to his age than his actual size. He was only sixteen years old when he died. All three of them had passed away in battle. Mary Jane was a nurse on the frontlines, Little Timmy a soldier, and the Colonel was, obviously a Colonel. I knew how each of them died, but only because I had gone over the records dozens of times. Their deaths were neatly recorded in history and sometimes I even noted them on tours of the museum and battlefield where they typically resided. Until now, they had been compelled to stay where they had died.

  “I was just wondering what it was you were watching.” When I spoke it sounded stiff, formal, like I was mirroring the way they spoke.

  “The television,” the Colonel replied as though I was a fool for asking. I laughed softly, but decided it was probably in my best interest to not explain how television shows worked. I had more than once been drawn into a discussion longer than I wanted since they had come to stay with Fern and me. It was true that they had been able to observe some of the changes in the world by watching it go by from the battlefield. I would sometimes explain things to them when they had questions about something specific regarding a tourist. I remembered explaining flip-flops to the Colonel more than once and no matter how many times I reminded him he still called them ‘flippity-floppities.’

  “Of course,” I replied, turning my attention back to Fern. “Just leave it,” I said as she was trying to clean up the mess.

  “I’m not going to leave it!” She said indignantly.