Once back in her freezing bedroom, Deegie sat cross-legged on her mattress with the blankets draped cloak-like over her shoulders and Bast curled in a fuzzy, purring bundle on her lap. She held Zach’s business card and her cell phone in hands that trembled slightly, and she argued with herself over whether or not to call him right then and there. She had no reason to be afraid of a bunch of old jars full of poisonous herbs and severed fingers; she’d seen and dealt with much worse in her twenty-seven years. But there had been great evil in that basement at one time, and the remnants of that baleful energy still lingered in the damp, forgotten room. She tucked her phone and Zach’s card back into the side pocket of her purse; she would accept his offer of assistance tomorrow, when he came into the shop for his newspaper and tea.
In Deegie’s mind, the next logical step would be another attempt to contact the spirit that roamed the house. If a close enough attraction were formed, she might be able to glean some information from the singing ghost as to what had taken place in the basement. The instant the thought came to her, Tiger Spirit bellowed again. He wasn’t in the room with her, but paced the hall outside the partially closed door; she heard the rasp of huge paws on the wooden floor and the singular grunt and rumble of the big cat. Bast raised his head and watched the doorway, attentive, but unafraid. Deegie still found it odd that Tiger had come to her so often lately. Although he had been her guardian since birth, there were occasions when he didn’t appear for weeks at a time. Perhaps he sensed the residual energy in the basement too. She veiled herself and Bast in white light and sent out a silent greeting to the timid ghost.
She heard the singing again, muffled and eerie, and once more Deegie strained to make out the words. It sounded like an aria in an opera and was vaguely familiar. The indistinct melody wafted down the hall, and she felt the presence of the ghost cat she’d seen in the garden, then several more, followed by the singing ghost herself. Deegie sensed a roiling ball of energy at the end of the hall: the ghost woman and the purring, mewing shades of a dozen or so long-deceased cats. Tiger Spirit grunted and huffed, his invisible body still stationed at the bedroom doorway as he protected his mistress.
We cannot pass ...
The voice was a puff of cold air in Deegie’s ear, and it carried an edge of despair and regret: Tiger Spirit was blocking any further contact. The spirit could communicate, but Tiger would not let her come near.
He is my guardian, Deegie sent out her reply. Despite the chill of the room, beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. He is only trying to keep me safe. I am Deegie. Who are you and what is in the basement?
We sing together. All of us on guard ...
I don’t understand. What is your name?
The purring and mewing of the ghost cats increased. Deegie smelled warm fur, and litter box, and the dried meat smell of kibble.
Elisabeth. I am Lisbet ... Lisbet ... we cannot pass ...
Tiger Spirit’s deafening roar thundered throughout the house. Contact, tenuous to begin with, was snapped, lost, and the ghost (Lisbet ... Lisbet ... ) faded, along with her feline companions. Deegie’s concentration dissolved, and her brilliant net of white light snuffed out. Bast hissed and dove under the bed sheet with his tail fluffed to three times its normal size.
“Tiger! Why did you do that? I only wanted to talk to her! She’s harmless!” She was dismayed, but Deegie knew the mighty guardian spirit had his reasons. Through the partially open doorway, she saw the rose-print wallpaper ripple as though it were briefly underwater, and Tiger Spirit huffed, uttered a rough purr, and vanished too.
Deegie awoke later, just as the full moon reached its apex in the night sky. She experienced the brief “where the hell am I?” sensation one gets when waking up in a new place, and when it passed, she sat up in bed, groggy and wondering what had awakened her. The kitten was a fuzzy sleeping ball next to her pillow; Bast hadn’t disturbed her sleep. The floor was freezing under her bare feet as she went to the window and looked out at the yard. Shrubbery, a pile of leaves, and a few gardening tools lay bathed in bluish-white moonbeams, but nothing moved. Ordinarily, she would have disregarded the annoying experience and gone back to bed, but something beckoned to her then, called to her without words, and after a moment’s concentration, she pinpointed its source: the basement.
“Lisbet? Is that you?”
There was no reply from the frail little spirit she’d communicated with earlier, but the restive energy from the bowels of the house continued to pull at her, needing her, requesting her presence. Deegie tugged on a robe and slippers, and, shivering, heeded its unarticulated call once more.
The basement lights blew out with a loud pop when she pressed the button on the old-fashioned light switch, but she was undaunted and determined once again to venture down into the dark depths beneath the house. The kitchen was to the right of the basement door, and, taking advantage of the moonlight that poured through the window, Deegie located her flashlight in the utility drawer. She flicked it on and shone its powerful beam down the old wooden stairs.
Those shadows again, like angular, curious heads turning in her direction and wondering what she wanted this time. Deegie paid them little mind; they were unsettling, but she knew they were only shadows. Veiled in her own protective light, she held the flashlight in front of her like a weapon and shone it on the nicked and filthy wooden table against the far wall. The cluster of grimy canning jars, with their garlands of spider webs and coating of thick dust, sat waiting for her on the tabletop. This is where it came from, that insistent pull; that irresistible, voiceless call. Deegie obeyed, suddenly finding herself unable to do otherwise. She crouched before the table, eye level with the collection of jars, and she reached out for the one in the very center: the one holding the withered remains of five human fingers.
Something moved inside the jar. Specks of black dust whirled and twined around the dried fingers, making a stealthy, slithering sound, and turning the jar and its contents into a macabre snow globe saturated with dark energies. A red, slit-pupiled eye appeared in the center and peered out at Deegie, and, entranced and unable to help herself, she put her fingers on the rusty lid, ready to open it.
A rush of warm air and an unearthly growl dissolved the strange trance that Deegie had slipped into. The jar slipped from her grasp and fell on its side, mere inches away from the edge of the table. Tiger burst through the membrane between the worlds in a furious whirlwind, and Deegie felt his fangs graze her skin as he seized her by the pajama bottoms and dragged her towards the staircase. With his huge head, he urged her up the risers, none too gently, and when she reached the top, a final shove sent her sprawling across the floor. He circled her, uttering his distinct grunt and rumble, and nudged her until she got to her feet.
“Tiger! What the hell are you doing?” She braced herself against the wall, brushing handfuls of hair away from her face and staring in bewilderment at the open basement door. She had a vague recollection of going down there, but the reason escaped her.
Was I sleepwalking?
She closed the basement door and found herself wishing it had several more locks. Tiger Spirit seethed against her legs; she felt his steamy breath against her bare feet. “All right, all right, I’m going.” Baffled and drowsy, she headed back to her room, and bed, and Bast, wondering what in the hell had just happened.
Exhaustion and stress. That has to be it. I was just dreaming, simply sleepwalking. Go back to sleep, Deeg.
Back in her room, sleep eluded her. Deegie lay in bed, awake and alert, and watched the pine branches shift in the breeze just outside her window. Sometime before dawn, she caught the faint, ethereal voice of Lisbet singing to her cats.
***
The Silent Cat would not open for another hour, but Deegie already had the register stocked and the shelves dusted. A full pot of hot water sat waiting to be poured over tea bags, and Zach would be here soon. She’d texted instead of calling, telling him to meet her at the shop before it opened. She wasn’t ready to reveal her true nature to him, but she certainly needed someone to listen to her fantastic tale, and, hopefully, to help her clear away the gruesome artifacts in the basement. She didn’t want to touch those jars again, didn’t even want to look at them. While she waited, she briefly considered moving back into the Bus until all the junk was out of the basement and it had been cleansed, both physically and psychically, but it was only a passing thought; that house was rightfully hers now and she had every right to be there. Besides, Tiger Spirit was always on guard. Deegie heard the distinctive sound of the Jeep’s engine and saw the Greenpeace flag flickering through the screen of trees, then spotted the bright red of Zach’s beard as he drove through the puddles in the parking lot. She unlocked the door, opened it, and waited for him.
“Hey.” Zach’s greeting was hesitant and his face bore a look of extreme concern as he entered The Silent Cat. “What happened? Everything okay?”
“Of course,” Deegie said as she locked the door. “If I weren’t okay, I’d have called instead of texted.” She brought over the kettle and filled their cups, then sat down opposite him. “I just need to tell you a couple of things, both creepy as hell. Okay?”
He nodded, bobbing his tea bag up and down in the cup. “Yeah. Go ahead. I like creepy things.”
After a long breath, she said, “Looks like ol’ Shit Splat, or whatever his name is, was telling us the truth. Sort of. I found jars and jars of poisonous herbs in the basement, the kind used in raising demons. Looks like they’ve been down there for decades.”
“Well, that is kind of strange, but they’re just jars of herbs, right? Maybe someone had an herb garden, or something like that. Doesn’t mean they were raising demons.”
“There’s more.” She curled her own fingers into her hands, as though she were protecting them. “There’s another jar with human fingers in it. Mummified ones, all shriveled up.”
“Fingers?” Zach cringed and stopped bobbing his tea bag. “Seriously? Actual fingers?”
“Yeah. You know nothing good was going on down there in that basement.” Her hands went to her forearms, trying to smooth down the goose bumps that rose there. “There’s also the ghost of an old lady, and about a dozen ghost cats, give or take. I’m not making it up, I swear.”
Zach smirked. “You’re not trying to pull a Shit Storm Murphy on me?”
“I’m not. Swear. The house is definitely haunted, and there are severed fingers in the basement.”
Zach said nothing for a moment, and Deegie was beginning to think he considered her a nut case after all, when he finally spoke. “I think you should talk to my brother.”
Deegie narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“He knows all about this stuff. He’s kind of like a—well, you’ll see. To me, that sounds dangerous as hell. Stay out of that basement until I can get over there and get rid of that stuff for you. I’ll bring Gilbert along so you can meet him. He’ll know what to do, don’t worry.” He stood up to go, then added, “You two have the exact same color eyes. It’s uncanny.”
Deegie felt better for having told Zach about her predicament, at least in part. “Thank you, Zach. You’re a true friend, and no, I won’t go anywhere near the basement.” That last part was the complete truth. Deegie had no desire to ever go down there again.
It was agreed that the Altman brothers would come to Deegie’s house that evening, and the first order of business would be the removal of the jars from the basement. Deegie supposed she could have done this herself, and she chided herself a little for being so freaked out, but it would feel better having someone there to help her. Two someones, now. She was looking forward to meeting Gilbert, and seeing just how much he “knew about this stuff.”