Three

FRANKLIN DRAGGED HIS ass to the fruit and vegetable stand Saturday morning, dreading the day ahead. He was so tired he could barely see straight. The ghosts had really set up a racket all night right outside his bedroom window after Julie had left.

He was kind of glad she’d gone and hadn’t had to listen to it.

Karl took one look at Franklin and gave a low whistle. “I don’t want to hear about the good time you had with your girl last night. But man, you look like you was rode hard and put away wet.”

Franklin nodded sheepishly. At least Karl had just given him a good excuse for being tired that day.

Not that he’d ever tell Karl the truth about the strange ghosts. It all felt like too much of a failure, somehow. He’d done his duty. What more was he supposed to do?

“You stay in the back of the stand as much as you can today,” Karl instructed. “Just restock. Don’t be trying to count change. Okay?”

“Thanks,” Franklin said.

“And here,” Karl added, thrusting a bottle of soda at Franklin.

Franklin grimaced at the taste. Too sweet, with a chemical burn in the aftertaste. But he’d forgotten to bring any of his own sweet tea.

And he did need the pick-me-up.

The teenage girls helping at the stand that day—Laticia and Samantha—didn’t make any smart remarks. But he caught them looking his way and giggling a couple of times.

Franklin was too tired to decide if it was better to be laughed at or called weird.

At the end of the day, Karl told him to skedaddle early. Franklin pedaled his bike into town instead of going straight home.

He was tempted to go to his old grocery store, but the store manager, Charlene, had never forgiven him, either for getting in trouble with the law or for Julie. So Franklin went to the fancy new pharmacy store up the hill from Main Street,.

He was going to sleep that night, ghosts be damned.

The store was only a couple months old. It had those annoying fluorescent lights that Franklin hated. The floor was wide open, just a big boxy space with row after row of low shelves.

At least the air conditioning was nice. For a while. Franklin suspected he’d freeze if he had to stay here for any length of time.

Franklin went straight to the section marked, “Sleep Aids.” He found himself some orange, squishy earplugs, like the kind that Darryl had made him wear the one time they’d gone to the gun range. And he found three different types of sleep medicine. He was too tired to figure out which would work best for him, so he just bought all of them.

One of them was bound to do the job.

He paid cash for his goods, helping the girl behind the stand count out his change when the register didn’t show it right.

It weren’t that Franklin thought that the sheriff might be tracking him. But Franklin had seen too many TV shows where paying for something on credit was what brought the police to the criminal.

Though he wasn’t a criminal. And it weren’t really his fault. He’d done his duty, though part of him was starting to feel like he’d failed. Was there something more he was supposed to do?

Stupid ghosts.

Franklin tiredly pedaled back home. He merely glanced at his field, doing a quick count. After the first dozen stalks or so, the ghosts had stopped ravaging his field.

He hoped they wouldn’t pick up where they’d left off. He still really wanted that blue ribbon prize for the best popping corn awarded by the Kentucky State Fair every year.

But he couldn’t fight the ghosts. Not tonight.

Instead, Franklin picked at a bit of leftovers from the night before, even eating a bit more of the green lettuce salad that Julie had left for him.

As the sun went down and the ghosts picked up their howling, he found that the earplugs didn’t really work. The sound pierced through them, straight to his soul, raising goose bumps all along his arms and across his back.

If he couldn’t get them to shut up, at some point, he might have to try a pair of those fancy noise cancellation headphones that he’d seen on the TV.

Though that was just more money flying out the door.

Franklin tried to read the ingredients on the sleeping medicine, finally picking the one that was just pills, not the liquid that smelled too much like cough medicine.

Franklin didn’t like how woozy the medicine made him feel. The room was spinning, like when he’d gone into shock after the creature had attacked him.

He weren’t sure that taking the medicine were any better than listening to the ghosts howl.

In the morning, he didn’t feel a whole lot better. Sure, he’d slept some. But it were, to use the phrase, the sleep of the dead, and he didn’t feel rested.

More stalks of his corn had been trampled that night. What, had the ghosts been having a dance? They lay swirled on the ground.

Franklin shivered. The creature who’d attacked him the year before had looked like a whirlwind, with black whip-like arms made of thorns.

The creature hadn’t come back. But there had been a wind out there, blowing last night, that Franklin had slept through.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, Franklin was gonna fetch that knife from Darryl. Just the prospect exhausted him. But he had to do something.

He weren’t about to go a second year not competing with Karl for who grew the best popping corn. That just weren’t right.

Ξ

While Franklin was dressing for church that morning, putting on his good gray Sunday suit with the green shirt that both Julie and his cousin May liked, he thought seriously about calling May and asking for a ride.

Though she’d be happy to come and pick him up, or send her husband Henry after him if she was too tied up with the kids, she’d also insist on knowing all the particulars of why he wasn’t feeling up to riding on his bicycle. It weren’t too hot a day, and it weren’t raining, either.

Franklin couldn’t lie to May any more than he’d been able to lie to Mama. Maybe it was a woman thing. But he couldn’t just tell her it was cause he felt like a ride that day.

Besides, he had to go talk with Darryl after church, and probably follow him home after dinner at Aunt Jasmine’s. Best he have his own transportation and not be relying on others.

Franklin took his time pedaling to church. He always liked Sundays, riding along the quiet streets of Katherinesville, waving at folks just getting up themselves, at the kids playing in their yards. He took the pretty route, along the streets with the old oak trees growing and the colonial houses, made out of brick and solid.

If he’d had time, he might have driven by the Sorrel’s place. But Franklin didn’t like going by there as often anymore. After Adrianna died—killed by the creature—her husband Ray had seemed to have the wind knocked out of him. He’d always had white hair, but he’d been a hearty soul. Now, he seemed old.

Franklin still made a point of inviting Ray to dinner at least once a month. He was going to have to do that again in the next week or so.

That was, if he could quiet the ghosts at his place. Adrianna had been special, able to see lines of power in the very earth itself. Ray didn’t need any reminders of that, of ghosts or special abilities.

The church itself was at the edge of town. It was a modern building. White stone went up to a tall arched roof, with plain glass in most of the windows, the fundraiser to replace them with stained glass ongoing. On the side were the classrooms, and back behind was the communal hall, where the youth ministry was serving donuts, cookies, homemade coffee cake, coffee, and sweet tea.

Franklin locked his bike to a bike stand on the side of the building, then decided to just go in the front. Miss Karen and Miss Kay stood outside, greeting everyone, a pair of spinster aunts who Franklin had thought were ancient when he’d been a boy.

They hadn’t gotten any younger, but they hadn’t gotten much older either. They’d both reached that ageless time, when they could be sixty or eighty, with as many smile-wrinkles as age-wrinkles around their eyes, their dark skin not showing any age spots.

They both had white hair, neatly trimmed, that had been allowed to kink naturally. Miss Karen had a small pink hat pinned carefully to her hair, while Miss Kay wore a bright yellow sun hat. They were smartly dressed in their Sunday best with matching gloves, of course.

“Good morning, Franklin,” said Miss Karen.

“Nice to see you, young man,” said Miss Kay, not to be outdone.

“Morning, ladies,” Franklin said, nodding to them. He didn’t usually wear a hat, but he’d been thinking that maybe he needed a church-going hat. Not his Stetson, but something similar.

“It’s gonna be a hot one, today,” Miss Karen told him.

“Though it’s supposed to rain tomorrow,” Miss Kay added.

“Thank you,” Franklin said gravely. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He stepped into the cool nave. Red tile made up the floor. The door to the sanctuary arched up, made from a pale wood. The greeters—Mr. and Mrs. Smith, a younger couple, just recently joined the church—handed him a program.

Quiet organ music filled the sanctuary, something soothing. Light-colored wooden beams lifted the peaked roof, as if raising it closer to God. Franklin had always liked the openness of the sanctuary, how the aisle running down the center was wide enough for three lines of folks. The cross at the front was carved out of dark wood, and the same dark wood made up the pulpit.

Franklin spotted his cousin Jason sitting toward the back, where he generally sat, with his two girls, Lisa and Karen.

Jason’s wife Elise wasn’t there again.

The girls’ dresses were clean and pressed, but it looked as though Lisa, the youngest, had done her own hair, the ends all pulled up into an uneven ponytail, though someone had tried to pretty it up with a bright red bow.

He couldn’t imagine Elise letting the girls go to church like that. What was going on with her?

But Jason wouldn’t say, had even gotten huffy and left the one time Darryl had asked outright.

No one in the family could help Jason until he asked for help. They’d all offered, only to be told there weren’t no problem, and to leave him alone. He’d even threatened to stop coming to Sunday dinners.

Then again, Franklin understood where Jason was coming from. He hated asking for help from anyone as well.

Particularly with ghosts and things that no one in his family really understood.

“Howdy,” Franklin said, coming up and sitting behind his cousin. Jason wore a good Sunday suit as well, light brown with a white shirt.

“Morning, Cuz,” Jason said, turning around in his seat and shaking Franklin’s hand. He held on for a moment, really looking at Franklin. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Just tired,” Franklin assured him. And really. There weren’t anything Jason could do. Franklin was just going to have to talk with Darryl.

“You seen Darryl?” Franklin asked as he got settled in.

“They won’t be here this morning,” Lisa said breathlessly. “They had to go to the hospital!”

“What happened?” Franklin asked, frowning.

Jason chuckled. “Fool went out hot rodding on his new bike, showing it off for the kids.”

“Who, Tom?” Darryl’s eldest had recently turned twelve and felt as though he no longer had to listen to any of the adults.

“Nope. Darryl,” Jason said, still chuckling. “Broke his arm.”

Franklin gave his own chuckle. “Really?” he asked. Seemed like something his cousin would do, though. He was the oldest of them, six years older than Franklin, who was the youngest.

“Yeah. We’ll be going over there for Sunday dinner,” Jason said. “Didn’t May call you?”

Franklin sheepishly shrugged. “Didn’t check my phone for messages,” he admitted. Had he been so tired that he hadn’t heard it? What if Julie had left him a message? When he pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open, he saw he had both a voicemail as well as a text message.

“Why you got such an old phone, Uncle Franklin?” Lisa asked.

“’Cause I don’t barely use it,” Franklin said. He didn’t need something fancy that could take pictures and play music and connect to the internet. He could send text messages on his little phone, but it was hard, having to press through all the keys to get to the right letter.

The text message from May was typically brief: Sunday dinner at Darryls. He assumed the voicemail would say the same, though maybe offering him a ride, too.

He’d have to remember to send a note to Julie, later.

“There you are,” May said from behind Franklin.

She whapped him on the shoulder.

“Ow,” Franklin said, turning to see her.

She looked good, though that yellow dress she was wearing was too tight, and the length was barely appropriate for church. She wore her hair short on the sides and tall on top. Franklin recognized the style as something Mama would do for short women like May.

May got her three kids settled, Franklin shaking hands with Henry, her husband, just as the prelude music came to an end. As Franklin was about to stand up with the congregation and sing the first hymn, May gripped his shoulder hard.

“We gotta talk,” she whispered urgently into his ear.

Franklin cast a worried look over his shoulder. Was there something going on with his cousin? She looked fine, though, her broad eyes clear, her brown skin healthy. She was the only one of them to have his mama’s nose, flat and wide, with an equally wide mouth.

May, however, just made a shooing motion with her hand, getting him to turn back around and face the front.

What did she want? There weren’t ghosts haunting her too, were there?

Franklin would just have to wait until the end of the service to find out.

Ξ

Franklin spent most of the sermon disagreeing in his head with Preacher Sinclair. It weren’t that the preacher were a bad man. He’d even tried to help the one time Franklin and Darryl had gone out after the creature the year before.

But the preacher didn’t always see things like Franklin did, and not just ghosts. Where he’d come up with the notion that folks was frail, Franklin didn’t know. Even the most timid of folks would turn and stand up and fight if they was pushed too far.

The preacher had his own demons, his own depression to battle. Maybe that was why he felt that only God could help him.

While Franklin believed in the power of prayer, and knew that God worked miracles, folks also needed to help themselves.

The phrase that caught Franklin this time was “how death comes for us all.”

But what if it don’t? Or what if death weren’t the final end? What if there was more?

Franklin just didn’t know, and it hurt his head going round and round about such things.

At the end of the sermon, though, Franklin still shook the preacher’s hand and told him it was good.

It had made Franklin think, and he figured that was the point, even if he weren’t thinking along the same lines that the preacher wanted him to.

Jason offered to put Franklin’s bike in the back of his Suburban and to give Franklin a ride to Darryl’s. Aunt Jasmine was already there, helping Georgia, Darryl’s wife, with the boys.

Franklin accepted, particularly when he saw May making a beeline toward him.

It weren’t that he was avoiding his cousin. He knew that was impossible. He still wanted to put off the inevitable.

Franklin played “I spy” with the girls on the drive out to Darryl’s. They both knew their letters real good, but Franklin was better at “spying” things.

Darryl’s brand new black pickup sat in the driveway, Aunt Jasmine’s old green Ford beside it. Franklin knew that when Lexine had died, she’d left a will, and Aunt Jasmine had inherited a bunch of money. He’d thought she’d be the one buying a new car.

Jason pulled up behind the truck, then waited while Franklin pulled his bike out of the back.

“I’d be happy to give you a ride home,” Jason told Franklin quietly as he walked his bike up the driveway.

“Naw, I’m probably going to hang out for a while tonight,” Franklin said.

Jason nodded. “You and Darryl aren’t getting into trouble again, are you? Like last year?”

Franklin opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I sure hope not,” he said fervently.

“You ever need anything, you let me know,” Jason told Franklin. “I mean it.”

Franklin turned to face Jason. “I could say the same thing to you, Jason,” he said quietly. “If you need help with the girls…”

Jason sighed. “Maybe…Maybe next week. You should come by. With that girlfriend of yours,” he added with a sly grin.

“I’ll find out what her work schedule will be next week and give you a call,” Franklin promised.

And he would.

It was nice to know that his family was worried about him, and would support him as well, even if they didn’t quite know what it was that he did with the ghosts.

It was also nice to be able to support them in return.

Ξ

May didn’t corner Franklin until after supper, when he was fetching Darryl another sweet tea from the kitchen.

“Okay,” May said, stepping into the doorway leading to the living room. “Spill.”

“What do you mean?” Franklin asked, taking a step back.

He’d taken off his suit jacket, but he was still in his good green shirt and dress slacks. May had changed completely, wearing a black-and-white striped top that would have looked better on a teenager, as well as tight jeans that looked sprayed on.

“You look as pale as those ghosts you see,” May told him. “Now, don’t try to lie to me. I know you better. I seen you last year, when you been injured. And I know you ain’t sick. You ain’t never been sick a day in your life. So what gives?”

Franklin took a step back at her onslaught, but smiled. May was pure fierceness, as much a force of nature as Mama had been.

“It’s nothing,” Franklin said with a casual shrug.

“You don’t have girl troubles or something, do you?” May asked. “You and Julie still doing all right?”

“We’re fine,” Franklin assured her, though they wouldn’t be if he didn’t take care of this ghost problem.

“You sure?” May asked, peering closely. “’Cause something’s going on with you. Oh lord. You haven’t made her pregnant or something, have you?”

“No, ma’am,” Franklin said, horrified. He wouldn’t just get Julie pregnant, then leave her. She’d assured him that she was on birth control and they didn’t have anything to worry about.

“Kids ain’t the end of the world, you know,” May said, her tone softening. “Your whole life changes, but that’s just part of the fun.” She looked Franklin up and down critically. “You ever gonna have any kids of your own?”

Franklin shrugged. He’d been thinking more about that since he got himself a serious girlfriend. But it was too soon for that kind of thing.

“All right. I know something’s up. And you’re as stubborn as a pregnant ass when it comes to talking about these things. Worse than Jason. I swear. Men.”

May turned to go, then turned back. “But honey, if you need anything, or you need to talk with someone, you know your family’s here, right?”

“I do,” Franklin said fervently. “And thank you.”

May gave him a soft smile before she marched back out to the living room to make sure that her own three hellions continued to play nice.

Franklin wondered how he’d got so lucky to have such a good family. That was something that he was thankful for, and he didn’t need no preacher to tell him that.

Ξ

After Jason and May had left with their respective broods in tow, Franklin asked Darryl, “Can I talk with you for a minute?”

Darryl nodded warily. His arm was in a white cast, held in place by a black sling across his chest. The kids had all signed it. Little Shanna had even put a pink sparkly-heart sticker on it. “Let’s go out to the garage,” he suggested.

He stood up slowly from the couch, obviously in pain. He’d dislocated his shoulder and fractured his forearm, putting his hand out to stop himself from falling at high speed. He’d joked weakly about the other guy, but Franklin could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

The garage was cool, filled with the chill of the night. It smelled like fresh car oil and shaved metal. Darryl flipped a light on over his workbench. He had more tools than Franklin could name, all neatly arranged, hanging on the wall. Beside the workbench stood a metal blue-and-gray toolbox that was almost as big as Franklin’s dresser.

Darryl walked directly to the small refrigerator under the bench, pulling out a beer, then offering one to Franklin.

“Ain’t you supposed to only be drinking tea while you’re on the pain meds?” Franklin asked, shaking his head.

Darryl grinned at him. “Little beer ain’t gonna hurt. So what’s up? You been sitting there long-faced all night. Got girl trouble?”

“No, I ain’t got girl trouble. Why does everyone assume that’s what’s wrong?” Franklin asked, exasperated.

“’Cause it’s fun to get you riled up,” Darryl said. He leaned his butt against the workbench. “So what’s up?”

Franklin took a deep breath. “You remember that knife I asked you to hold for me?”

Darryl straightened up. “Yes, I do.”

What had Darryl all serious all of a sudden?

“I need it back,” Franklin said plainly.

Darryl shook his head. “No, you don’t. Not until you explain why.” He took a long drink from his beer, looking away into the shadows. “It ain’t a good thing. That blade’s haunted or something. I ain’t saying it’s evil, but it ain’t good.”

“I know,” Franklin said. “And I wouldn’t ask you for it if I didn’t think I really needed it.”

“Needed it?” Darryl turned back to stare hard at Franklin. “Need it for what?”

“Ghosts been coming back. After they’ve passed,” Franklin finally admitted.

“So?” Darryl asked. “Help them pass again.”

“They’re not…they’re not like regular ghosts.”

“They tearing things up?” Darryl asked.

Franklin wondered what Darryl thought he could do about it. It weren’t like the ghosts were hiding somewhere and needed to be hunted down.

“A little,” Franklin said. “Mostly, they’s howling. Making an awful racket. Can’t sleep.”

“That’s why you’re so tired looking,” Darryl said, nodding. “I kept telling ’em that you’d been having too much fun with your girl.”

“Thanks,” Franklin said, though he weren’t sure being thought of as a hound dog was much better.

Darryl just grinned at Franklin, but didn’t say anything more.

“These ghosts—they can’t tell me their intent. They’re lost here. I don’t know how to help them pass. And I got to get some sleep,” Franklin said. “The neighbors are starting to complain. Plus, they scared Julie away the other night.”

“I see how it is,” Darryl said with a leer.

“Oh please,” Franklin said, rolling his eyes.

Darryl grew serious again. “I understand you need something. But ain’t there something else? You don’t know how that knife will twist your soul.”

“Did you use it?” Franklin asked, curious. Because Darryl hadn’t seemed like he’d changed at all.

“Nope. Not once,” Darryl said. “I did take it out with me, hunting, one time,” he said. “Now, you might accuse me of making stuff up. And hell, maybe it was all in my imagination. But that blade wanted blood. And pain. It ain’t good.”

“I know,” Franklin said. He still had to try it. He had to do something. “But I got to help these ghosts pass. It’s my duty. Even if they don’t know how to leave this world. I got to help them.”

“And you think the knife will do that? Force the ghosts into Heaven?” Darryl asked.

“Or something,” Franklin said, nodding.

Darryl sighed, took a long swig from his beer. “I don’t like this,” he said.

“I don’t like it either,” Franklin told him. But he was desperate tired. It was the only thing his poor brain could think of.

Darryl nodded. “Okay then. Let’s go get the knife. But you don’t have to keep it, if you don’t want to. Don’t have to use it.”

“Where is it?” Franklin asked. He’d assumed that Darryl would have kept it in the gun safe, locked away. “You didn’t give it to someone else to keep, did you?”

“Hell no,” Darryl said. He walked over to the side of the garage and tried to get down a shovel hanging there.

Franklin hurried over to help, taking the shovel in both hands.

“And can you grab those as well?” Darryl said, pointing at a set of long-handled clippers.

“Where the hell is the knife?” Franklin asked, perplexed.

“I couldn’t keep it out here. It…it…I could hear it, okay? And I was afraid of how it might influence the kids,” Darryl said, angry.

“You should have given it back to me then,” Franklin told him quietly. “I would have held it.”

Though Franklin had also found the knife disquieting. He’d thought Darryl, though, would have been immune to it.

Darryl shook his head. “You asked me to hold onto it for you. I figured it was louder for you. So I buried it. In the backyard.”

Franklin looked down at his good dress pants. Damn it. He wasn’t prepared to do some kind of yard work.

Darryl mutely pointed to a pair of overalls.

Franklin pulled them down, grumbling. He had a feeling that he wasn’t going to like this.

Not one bit.