“Trouble, brilliant sleuth in feline form, roams around the office on the trail of clues. His lithe, muscular form, wrapped in black fur the hue of midnight, allows him to blend into the shadows beneath a large object that his beloved human, Tammy Lynn, has occasionally referred to as a credenza. He notes with approval that the floor is clean with very little dust. The human in charge of the office, an old friend of Tammy’s named Melba Gilley, obviously holds to high standards when it came to housekeeping. He approves of cleanliness, as he himself is a fastidious bloke.”
That sounds good, don’t you think? One of these days I’ve got to figure some way to write me memoirs, like any other respectable genius of sleuthing. Maybe I only need a biped Watson who can understand cat talk. Interesting notion.
Right now, I’m paying only intermittent attention to Tammy and Melba, gabbing away to each other. They haven’t seen each other in a decade, and there is a lot of gossip about mutual friends to share. I usually root out all the gossip, especially when I’m hot on the trail of a killer or another type of miscreant, like my idol, Sherlock Holmes. One never knows what tiny tidbit will yield the one clue that will allow me to pounce on the truth and bring another baddie to justice.
My ears perk up. Now Melba is telling Tammy about a large cat upstairs, a moggy named Diesel. Just how big can this gentle giant really be? The more Melba talks, the more interested I become in meeting this paragon. If this Diesel is as smart as Melba claims, he might prove a good Watson if I stumble over a mystery over the Halloween weekend. When the spirits are abroad, anything can happen, after all....
Charlie Harris glanced at the student working at the table nearby. He thought the young man, a junior history major named Tolliver Bradstreet, bore a heavy burden of some kind. Tolliver’s shoulders remained hunched, his head hung low over the hand-written pages he studied so closely, and the heavy sighs he emitted on a regular basis bespoke turmoil. Probably emotional, Charlie guessed.
When the student had walked in two hours ago to consult an old book in one of the Athena College Archives’ more obscure collections, Charlie had been struck by the handsome face with the woebegone expression. Diesel, Charlie’s Maine Coon cat, had immediately jumped down from his perch on the windowsill behind Charlie’s desk to inspect the newcomer. Tolliver gave the cat a cursory inspection and an absent-minded pat on the head even as he handed Charlie a piece of paper to inspect.
Charlie tried making conversation with the young man but to little avail. Tolliver appeared so inwardly focused that Charlie went to the archive room next to his office to find the object of the student’s request without pushing the attempt at conversation. It took him several minutes to find the box that housed the collection, a group of papers and a few books that had belonged to a woman named Albertine du Vernay who had died in 1839. Charlie wasn’t familiar with the collection, and he wondered what had sparked Tolliver Bradstreet’s interest in it. Perhaps at some point the young man would be willing to talk about it.
Charlie watched the student for a minute or two, then forced himself back to his own work cataloging a set of books recently donated to the archive by the heirs of one of the college’s founders. He soon became engrossed in his task, fascinated by the notations he found in what he presumed was the original owner’s handwriting. He was vaguely aware of Diesel jumping down from his perch again, but he figured the cat needed to visit his water bowl, or perhaps wanted a snack from the bowl hidden nearby in an alcove.
Soon, however, he became aware of low sounds emanating from somewhere near him. He glanced toward the alcove and, to his surprise, he saw Diesel nose-to-nose with a black cat. For a moment, he felt alarmed because Diesel didn’t often meet strange cats, and he wondered where this one had come from. Then he remembered Melba’s friend Tammy. This must be her cat, Trouble. He relaxed but kept an eye on the two. After a moment, he had to grin. They seemed to be having a conversation in chirps and trills and other low-voiced sounds, none of which sounded like an argument. He wished he could interpret what they were telling each other.
I have never seen a cat as large as Diesel. I can’t recall ever having to look up to another cat, but this big furball seems like a right good bloke. Diesel has been telling me all about Charlie, his human, and what a great guy he is. Naturally I have to list my own biped’s virtues. Once those preliminaries are done, though, I cut straight to the heart.
“So, what kind of action is there in this town? I’m used to mysteries wherever I go. I’m an ace mystery-solver.”
Diesel responds that he has often helped Charlie solve murders, but he isn’t boasting, I decide, merely stating the facts. I try not to let him see how impressed I am.
“Any mystery going on at the moment?”
Diesel answers in the negative, but then he hesitates, and I’m quick to pick up on this cue. “Something’s going on. What is it?”
Diesel jerks his head in the direction of the guy at the table who is engrossed in some book he’s reading. I turn to look up at the young bloke. He looks tense.
“What’s up with him? Do you know him?”
Diesel explains that he doesn’t know the guy, but he has picked up on the young man’s distress. He knows something is worrying Tolliver Bradstreet but as yet he isn’t sure what the source of it is.
“Bears watching, you think?”
Diesel chirped an affirmative and explained that he and Charlie always tried to help young people in distress.
I take pains to assure my new acquaintance and potential Watson that Tammy and I do the same. Although, to be completely honest, I’m the one who figures things out. Then I have to nudge the bipeds into taking care of the details.
“So, let’s watch him.” We edge closer to the bloke’s chair.
Charlie caught the cats turning their heads at least twice to gaze at Tolliver Bradstreet. He could tell that Diesel was concerned. He was a sensitive cat, and if a nearby human was troubled, Diesel always knew. If Charlie had been acquainted with Tolliver he would have asked what was bothering him and encouraged him to talk. The student was a stranger, however, and he was reluctant to intrude on the young man’s privacy.
Diesel and the visiting cat—what was the cat’s name, he was sure Melba had mentioned it—slowly approached the chair and settled themselves to the right of it. They gazed up at Tolliver, and Charlie caught a few low-voiced sounds from the two cats. The student appeared far too absorbed in his examination of the book to notice the feline chatter, and Charlie soon allowed his attention to drift back to the work in hand.
When the black cat suddenly jumped onto the table near Tolliver, the student started, and Charlie pushed back his chair, worried that the cat might harm either Tolliver or the contents of the box that stood on the table. Contrary to Charlie’s expectations, the cat didn’t seem to be interested in the box. That was a first in his experience. Tolliver put out a tentative hand and stroked the cat’s head, and soon a soft purr rewarded him. Charlie relaxed but continued to watch.
After perhaps thirty seconds of stroking, Tolliver let his hand fall, and his attention turned back to the book in front of him. Charlie thought the cat might jump down then, but Trouble—that was his name, he remembered suddenly – remained on the table. Charlie couldn’t see clearly, but for a moment he would have sworn that Trouble was reading along with Tolliver Bradstreet. Then he dismissed the thought with a grin. Even as smart as Diesel was, he knew cats couldn’t read, of all things.
He thought Diesel might have returned to his window, but he appeared content to sit beside the student’s chair and watch whatever was going on. Diesel was big enough that he could see pretty clearly, Charlie thought. He checked his watch. In another half hour he would be heading home for lunch along with Diesel. He returned to his work.
I have already explained to my potential new friend in crime-solving that I know how to read, and Diesel admits that he can read a little. He is not as proficient as I am, however, so I’m the one to jump on the table to see what holds the bloke’s interest so fiercely. I’m thinking he might shoo me away but that doesn’t happen. After a brief petting session, stroking me in the approved fashion, Tolliver returns to his reading. I remain beside him, inching closer to be able to see the words clearly.
The handwriting is old-fashioned, but I’ve seen similar writing before. Some of the words are a bit strange, like Comfrey and Lovage. I’m familiar with Datura and Tansy, however. This book is some kind of herbal. I wonder why Tolliver is interested in herbs. I read along with Tolliver. When he turns the next page, I hear a sudden intake of breath. What caused this reaction? I peer more closely to figure it out.
I can’t help letting a soft hiss escape when I read the heading at the top of this new page. “Potion to Revive the Dying and the Dead.” I pull away from Tolliver for a moment. This is witchcraft, surely, maybe even black magic. Why is Tolliver so interested in this? I can see the intense concentration with which Tolliver is reading. He pulls a notebook from his bag on the table and finds a blank page on which he starts scribbling.
I crane my neck out a bit further in order to read Tolliver’s sloppy scrawl. Looks to me like he’s copying all the ingredients for this spell into his notebook. Why is he so interested?
Diesel emits a trill. I can tell he wants me to jump down so he can talk to me, but I twitch my tail impatiently to let him know it will have to wait. Instead of reading what Tolliver is writing, now that I’m certain he’s going to copy down the complete potion, I instead go back to reading from the book.
The list of ingredients is short, mostly common herbs but with a couple of odd items, like the urine of a lizard and the whiskers of a dog. What really catches my attention is the directions on what to do with the potion once it’s ready.
I’m not going to repeat all the instructions, because I wouldn’t want anyone reading my memoirs to try this on their own. Suffice it to say, the potion has to be sprinkled on a possession of the person who is dying or who is to be resuscitated, and it must be done two minutes past midnight on the oldest grave available. Evidently old graves possess the powerful energy that is necessary to make the potion and the spell work. It must be done as All Hallows Eve shifts into the Day of the Dead, when the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest. I feel my spine tingling at the thought.
Time to consult my local source, I decide. If Tolliver is going to try this, I’ll have to find out which cemetery he’ll likely go to. Tonight is All Hallows Eve, so there is no time to waste. I jump down to consult Diesel and to find out what he wants to tell me.
Charlie glanced toward the table in time to see Trouble leap down. The black cat immediately stuck his head close to Diesel’s, and once again it appeared to Charlie that the two were having a conversation. He grinned. If he told members of his family about this feline confab, they’d probably say he was daydreaming.
Tolliver Bradstreet claimed his attention by turning in his chair and clearing his throat. “Excuse me, sir, I mean Mr. Harris?”
“Yes, how can I help you?” Charlie noted that the student’s expression no longer looked strained. Rather, it had a suggestion instead of suppressed excitement.
“Do you know much about the history of Athena?” Tolliver asked. “Like what are the oldest buildings, stuff like that?”
Charlie noticed that the two cats had turned to face him and both seemed intent on him. He forced his attention back to the young man. “Yes, I grew up here, so I know at least as much as the average citizen, I suppose. What do you need to know?”
Tolliver hesitated briefly but then said, “Are there any really old cemeteries here? I’m interested in genealogy,” he said, as if struck by sudden inspiration, “and I’m looking for the really earliest residents and their graves.”
Charlie considered Tolliver’s question, and as he pondered he could see the youth become more anxious. “There are probably some family cemeteries out in the country around here, dating back to the early nineteenth century,” he said. “The oldest cemetery in Athena, however, is a few blocks from the college. It’s an old Episcopal church, St. Matthew’s. The church was founded in the early 1840s, I believe, so there should be some really early graves there.”
Tolliver pondered this for a moment. “Thank you. That’s probably my best option, I suppose. I don’t know how you’d go about finding all those old family cemeteries anyway. Thank you, sir.”
“You’re quite welcome.” Charlie wanted to ask Tolliver what family he was looking for and why the interest in old cemeteries. That wasn’t normally the focus of the young. But perhaps there’d been a death in young Tolliver’s family. Offhand, Charlie couldn’t recall any Bradstreets in Athena, but that didn’t mean much. The family could have been here a few generations past and then moved on. Or maybe Tolliver was looking for family on his mother’s side. “Good luck.”
Tolliver nodded and turned back to his study of the book. Charlie watched him for a minute or two longer, troubled by unease. He couldn’t decide what was bothering him, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was wrong with the young man.
“Did you get all that?” I asked Diesel, and he trilled an affirmative. “D’ya know where this church is?” Again, the big bloke acknowledged he did. That was that. Since tonight was All Hallows Eve, Tolliver would be sure to try the potion and the spell in the graveyard at St. Matthew’s at midnight. I had to be there in case the boy managed to get himself into a situation he couldn’t handle.
“Think you can get there yourself?” I asked. “Surely you’ve learned how to open doors and locks on your own.”
Diesel got huffy with me for a moment, and I offered a quick apology. “I’m not casting aspersions on your intelligence. I simply never know how advanced other felines are.” Time for a bit of flattery, methinks. “But you’re a right smart bloke, that’s for sure.”
Diesel accepted my apology, then went on to tell me that he would contrive to meet me at a quarter to midnight in the graveyard at St. Matthew’s. He asked whether we should try to get Charlie involved, and I pondered that for a moment. Bipedal reinforcement might not be a bad idea, I decided. The question was, how to get him there without his barging in and making a cock-up of it all.
At another trill from Diesel, I looked at the bigger cat. “What is it?” He reminded me that he had tried to tell me something earlier, while I was still on the table reading. “Go ahead.”
Turns out Diesel is one of those empaths, cats who can zero in on what is bothering a human. He can’t always pinpoint things exactly, but he can get close enough. In this case, Tolliver’s trouble is a girl who may be seriously ill in the hospital. Diesel thinks her name is Bethany.
“Are you sure she’s still living?” I ask, remembering the name of the potion. Surely Tolliver doesn’t intend to try resurrecting a dead girl.
Diesel can’t be certain. He just knows that Tolliver is anxious about this girl for some reason.
Charlie checked his watch again. A few minutes past the time he normally left for lunch. If he didn’t get home soon, his housekeeper, Azalea Berry, would be annoyed with him. She had spoiled him ever since he moved back to Athena and into the house his Aunt Dottie had left him. He was actually a little afraid of her, she could be so stern at times.
He pushed back his chair and called out to the student. “Mr. Bradstreet, I’m sorry to interrupt your research, but the archive closes during lunch. I’m afraid I’ll have to evict you for an hour.”
Tolliver, scribbling away in his notebook, didn’t appear to have heard him, so Charlie came around his desk and approached the table where the student was working. He called out the young man’s name again, and this time Tolliver looked up at Charlie, who repeated his intention to close the archive for lunch.
Tolliver glanced down at his notebook and the open book. “When will you be back? I have a little bit more to do.”
“In an hour,” Charlie said firmly. He hated to interrupt research, but he certainly could not go off and leave the archive unattended. The materials were too valuable, too irreplaceable. “I know this is probably inconvenient for you, but the hours are clearly posted on the library’s website and by the door to this office.”
“Yes, sir.” Tolliver stood, jamming his notebook into his bag. “I’ll be back in an hour.” He hurried from the room without thanking Charlie.
Charlie sighed. He often deplored the manners of young people these days, but he had already observed that Tolliver Bradstreet was under considerable strain. He gave a cursory glance to the book that had so absorbed the student’s attention but he didn’t read the page. He was ready to go home for lunch.
“Come on, Diesel. You too, Trouble. Time for lunch.” He stifled a laugh at the sound of the cat’s name. He wondered if the cat really deserved that moniker. Diesel, he knew, understood the word lunch. His big boy headed for the door, and Trouble followed him without demur. He paused to lock the archive door, and by the time he caught up with the two cats, they were in Melba’s office. He paused long enough to assure Tammy Lynn that Trouble had been no trouble, that he and Diesel got along just fine.
“That’s good,” Melba said pertly. “Tammy needs someone to keep an eye on him while she goes to a meeting at the Farrington House during lunch. I said I’d look after him while you’re gone, and when you get back, he can go up with you and Diesel while I have my lunch.”
Charlie shrugged. It was like Melba to make arrangements without asking his permission. “That’s fine. We’ll be back in about fifty minutes, if not sooner.” He bade the women goodbye, while Diesel and Trouble meowed at each other. Then Diesel followed him from the room and to the parking lot behind the building.
I watch Diesel leave with his human, thinking I wouldn’t mind a bit of grub meself. Tammy grabs her bag and tells Melba she’ll be back as soon as the meeting’s finished. Melba assures her that I’ll be well taken care of. Even as Tammy walks out of the office, Melba is opening a drawer in her desk and pulls out a package of what looks like treats for blokes like me.
I move closer to the desk while Melba coos at me about how handsome – naturally – I am and how she loves having a kitty to visit with. I reward her with a winsome look and a soft meow, and she finally gives over with the treats. I have to admit she’s generous with the grub, and I enjoy myself. When the treats run out, I groom my front paws for her. Bipeds always seem to find that endearing for some reason. You think they’d take the hint and be more fastidious about their own paws.
The phone rings, and while Melba talks on it, I wander around the office. I spy a framed map on the wall beside the door into the room. There’s a table under it, so I leap onto it to have a better recce at the map. Tammy and I are staying with another friend of hers, a bookseller named Jordan Thompson, and I know Jordan’s house is really close to the campus. Certainly a break for me, given the plans for tonight.
As I peruse the map, I hear Melba telling the person on the other end of the line that the cat is reading a map. She laughs, but little does she know.... The map is focused on the college campus, but it covers enough of the area surrounding it that I can easily spot St. Matthew’s and the street where Jordan lives. Only a few blocks from the church. This way I won’t have to traipse halfway across town to meet Diesel in the churchyard. I study the map for a few minutes longer, fixing the details in my memory, then I look for a place to nap.
Charlie had expected to find Tolliver Bradstreet waiting outside the archive office when he returned from lunch, but there was no sign of the student as he unlocked the door. Diesel and Trouble preceded him into the room, meowing to each other the whole time. He smiled, wondering what on earth they could have to talk about so intensely.
He busied himself with checking email and then went back to cataloging the new arrivals for the collection. He occasionally glanced toward the door, expecting to see Tolliver turn up any moment, but as time passed he began to think that the young man wasn’t coming back. Given the student’s intense interest in the book, still on the table where he’d left it, it was surprising he hadn’t.
Half an hour before he was due to close the office, Charlie decided he might as well put everything away. If Tolliver returned the following Monday, he would retrieve the collection again. The two felines had ceased chattering to each other. Diesel slept in his window, and Trouble had found a spot near a heating vent.
Tolliver had left the book open on the table. Charlie glanced cursorily at the page and started to close the book. The words “Potion to Revive the Dying and the Dead” registered with him suddenly, however, and he sat down at the table and began to read. He scanned the section quickly, then again more slowly, his flesh creeping. When he finished, he put the book down on the table, disturbed by what he had read and his memory of the young man’s intense interest in it.
Surely, Charlie thought, Tolliver Bradstreet wasn’t planning to try this on his own. He remembered the young man’s question about old cemeteries. Why would he have asked that? Simply out of curiosity? Perhaps, Charlie reckoned. He had the uneasy feeling, however, there was more to this than a young history student’s curiosity. He recalled the intense interest that the two cats had evinced in the young man. Charlie knew Diesel enough to realize that there had to be something about Tolliver to engage Diesel the way he had. Trouble had even jumped onto the table beside Tolliver.
Charlie read slowly through the potion section again, and he could see in his mind’s eye a picture of Tolliver scribbling away in his notebook. Charlie glanced through the ingredients for the potion. For the most part, they could be found at the organic market in Athena, except perhaps for the urine of a lizard. Unless Tolliver knew someone with a pet lizard, that is.
On impulse, Charlie called the registrar’s office to see whether he could get Tolliver’s phone number or address. The registrar declined to give out that information, and Charlie did not persist. As he replaced the phone on the hook, he remembered another source of information. He logged into the library’s circulation system on the back end and searched for Tolliver. All students were automatically registered with the library, but to his surprise he couldn’t find Tolliver Bradstreet.
Charlie logged out of the system. He hadn’t insisted on any credentials yesterday when Tolliver showed up at the archive. He had accepted the young man at face value as a student. He looked the right age, had a pleasant manner, and was neatly attired and groomed. How did Bradstreet find out about the du Vernay collection? There was a brief entry in the online catalog, but it was not particularly informative. Charlie had read over it again himself yesterday when he received the request to look at it.
On impulse Charlie decided to look up Albertine du Vernay. He found several hits, including one from a digitized version of an early history of Athena and Athena County in the library’s collections. He clicked on the link and opened the document. He found the first mention of Albertine du Vernay and began to read.
By the time he finished, his sense of unease had increased dramatically. Albertine du Vernay, who had died in 1839, had been known to the citizens of Athena as a “conjure woman” of a somewhat frightening reputation. She had been left alone because people were too afraid of her, although many swore by her curative powers. There was one story of her reviving a young boy whom all thought was beyond help, and Charlie supposed this was the origin of the potion and its associated ritual.
Charlie closed the document and turned off the screen of his computer. He decided that, since he didn’t have an address or phone number for Tolliver Bradstreet, he had no choice but to show up at St. Matthew’s at midnight to make sure the young man didn’t harm himself or anyone else.
Getting out of Jordan Thompson’s house proves to be much easier than expected. She leaves windows on the second floor open so the night breezes can come in. It’s easy enough to push the screen open in Tammy’s bedroom and slip out. There’s a tree right near the window, and one easy jump and I’m scooting down the tree. I pause on the ground for a moment to orient myself. I don’t want to go the wrong way.
I look around. Everything’s pretty still. The night is clear, there are plenty of street lights, and there is no one about that I can see, hear, or smell. The full moon was a couple of weeks ago, so there won’t be any help from the moon when we’re in the graveyard. I head out to the street and turn left at the next crossing. Down one block and then right. There’s St. Matthew’s ahead.
I see a shadow near the gate to the cemetery. Must be Diesel, I decide. I move cautiously closer until I’m even with the gate. I call out to him, and he answers from deep in the shadows on the other side of the gate. “Hang on, I’m coming.” I slip through the iron bars in the gate, thankfully more than wide enough. It’s certainly not designed to deter quadrupeds my size.
I find Diesel, and after a quick exchange of greetings, I say, “We don’t have much time to find the oldest grave here. Any ideas?”
Diesel replies with a rather smug trill. He explains that Charlie found an online map of the cemetery that afternoon and looked at it for quite a while. Someone had surveyed the graveyard and labelled all the graves. Diesel asserted that he knew exactly where the oldest grave was.
“What was Charlie doing looking at the cemetery?” I ask, a bit alarmed by this information.
Diesel replies that Charlie is concerned about Tolliver Bradstreet and what he plans to do. He informs me that Charlie read the page in the book and knows all about the potion and the ritual that goes with it. In fact, he tells me, Charlie will probably be here any minute.
I don’t bother to ask Diesel how he managed to get out of his house ahead of Charlie. We have no time to waste. We have to find our vantage points for when Tolliver arrives. I say as much to Diesel, and he promptly leads the way to a far corner of the graveyard.
The shadows are deeper here, with old oaks towering over the stones in this section. There is muted light coming from the street lights. Enough, anyway, for me to make out the inscription on the headstone.
“Here lieth Mariah, beloved daughter of Bushrod and Jane Meriweather, aged 1 month and 3 days.” This inscription is accompanied by the date 1842. I think for a moment about the sad loss of such a beloved child, but then I remember the job at hand. I hiss at Diesel to obscure himself in the shadows. He isn’t black like me but he is dark gray, so he should blend easily enough. Now we wait, and I hope Charlie doesn’t blunder in and screw everything up.
Speak of the devil…. I hear the gate squeak open and then closed again. A looming figure is coming toward us in the uncertain light. Whoever it is must have some of those night vision goggles they advertise on TV because he is making his way steadily toward us. He passes me, and I see it’s Charlie. He hides behind the nearest tree, and all is quiet for a few minutes.
There is a soft breeze soughing through the trees around us. A few minutes pass, and once again the gate squeaks open and shut. We wait as another figure approaches.
Charlie tensed. This had to be Tolliver crossing the cemetery now. He must have found the same online map of the graveyard that Charlie had because he’s walking slowly but surely to the oldest grave with the aid of a flashlight. Charlie had already spotted Diesel hiding behind a headstone a few feet away, and he thought he had located Trouble as well. How on earth had the cats known to be here? And why were they here? He recalled that both cats had appeared intensely interested in Tolliver in his office. Trouble had even jumped onto the table and peered at the book while the young man was reading. Charlie had a sudden wild thought that the black cat had been reading the book, but he dismissed that as ridiculous. The two cats had also seemed to be having a conversation, almost as if they were planning their adventure, but that was pretty far-fetched.
Still, he thought, the cats were here, and he had no other explanation for their presence other than their possible concern for Tolliver. He’d have to delve further into this mystery later, because Tolliver was now almost in front of the grave.
Arriving at the grave, Tolliver knelt before it. He propped the flashlight so that it spread its glow over the earth in front of the headstone. Tolliver shifted his bag from his shoulder to the ground, opened it, and extracted a flask and a small object. Charlie strained in the darkness to see what it was. It looked like a tiny figurine of some sort, but he couldn’t discern exactly what it was. Surely not a voodoo doll? He felt a chill of horror on his neck at the thought. What was the young man going to do next?
This is seriously spooky, I decide. Tolliver places a tiny figurine on the grave. Looks like a ballerina to me. Then Tolliver picks up a flask and begins to sprinkle the contents on the ballerina and around it while intoning the spell. I’m not going to repeat the words here, because I don’t want anyone trying this at home. You’ll just have to take my word for it. He intones the spell three time as he continues to sprinkle the figurine and the grave. When he finishes doing this, he sits back on his heels, closes his eyes, and waits.
Nothing happens for a few seconds, and I can almost feel the tension in the air, almost as if there is a current of electricity somewhere around us. I focus my eyes on the grave as I detect a vague motion over it.
Slowly mist begins to emanate from the grave. It swirls gently as it rises, and more mist rises from the grave. Soon the mist is swirling faster and faster, and I feel my hair bristling along my spine. I hear Charlie’s quick intake of breath behind me, and I know Diesel is on alert as well.
The mist continues its dance, moving faster and faster, until a definite shape emerges, that of a young woman. Although I can see through her, she is a definite, almost tangible presence among us. Tolliver opens his eyes, gasps, and sits back with an awkward motion on the ground.
“Bethany, is it really you?” Tolliver says, his voice trembling.
“Yes.” The word issues softly but unmistakably from the spirit of the girl. “Why do you disturb me?”
The words float in the air for a moment. I can hardly breathe.
“I wanted you to know I’m sorry,” Tolliver says, his voice husky. “I never meant to kill you.”
“But you did,” Bethany whispers back. The spirit extends a hand toward him. “Now you must come with me. You must pay the price.”
“No, no, I can’t.” Tolliver’s anguished cry echoes around us. He begins to sob. “I’m sorry, so sorry, now that I’ve said I’m sorry, I’ll go away and never hurt anyone again.” Tolliver continues to sob, his face in his hands.
Charlie felt his skin crawling. This was not anywhere near what he expected. Tolliver confessing to the murder of Bethany, whoever she was? No, this was too bizarre. His wits felt scrambled. What should he do? Step out from behind the tree and denounce the young man? Haul him off to the police station?
While Charlie is dithering behind us, I see the spirit, arms outstretched, moving closer to Tolliver. In a moment she is going to surround him. Will she try to take him with her? Can she really do that?
I decide that I can’t let that happen, even if it’s possible. I scream and jump atop the headstone, and from there I launch myself into the mist. I feel the freezing cold as I jump through the spirit toward Tolliver. I’m so surprised that I fall to the ground short of Tolliver. He is screaming, too, and I see Diesel sitting wide-eyed nearby. He is meowing loudly.
I look up and see the mist swirling again. It swirls faster and faster until it disappears. I blink, but it’s gone. I look at Tolliver. He is collapsed on the ground, his body heaving. I wait, tense, expecting the spirit to reappear, but it doesn’t. Diesel approaches us, and so does Charlie.
Charlie had watched, unable to move, as Trouble attacked the swirling mist when it reached out for Tolliver. His hand trembled as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. When a voice responded, he tersely explained the situation. He had to repeat his insistence that this wasn’t a Halloween prank.
It wasn’t long before the sound of approaching sirens reached his ears. By this time he was kneeling beside Tolliver under the watchful eyes of the two felines. Tolliver continued to sob, but Charlie put his arm around the young man, and the sobs lightened in intensity.
“What happened to Bethany?” Charlie asked, his voice soft but firm.
“I killed her,” Tolliver said, his voice raw with grief. “I was drunk and driving her home. Ran off the road and into a tree. She died, but I lived.”
Charlie pulled the young man close and held him tightly, but that didn’t seem to bring Tolliver any comfort. When the police and the EMTs arrived, Charlie explained what he had witnessed. The EMTs immediately got to work on Tolliver, but the police officers clearly thought Charlie had been hallucinating. He insisted that he be allowed to bring Diesel with him to the police station. He had intended to take Trouble as well, but the black cat had disappeared.
Nothing more I can do here, I decide. I have a quick confab with Diesel while Charlie is occupied with the police, and then I slip off into the shadows. I make my way back to Jordan Thompson’s house. Up the tree, jump to the window, and I am soon curling up near Tammy. Maybe when I wake up in the morning I’ll discover this was all a dream, simply a Halloween nightmare….