Scott Nicholson Library Vol 3 Read online

  Bone knocked over a few DVD’s in the Foreign Films, causing the old lady to jerk erect and sniff the air like a rodent checking for danger. Bone drifted back to the counter and went solid again.

  “How do I close that hole?” Crystal asked her.

  “Like, how would I know? Ask your Momma.”

  “And get the lecture? About how all the other Aldridges could cast closing spells by the time they were twelve?”

  “Either that, or just ignore it. Works for me.”

  “Something’s moving in there.”

  The thing that looked like a swollen tonsil throbbed in the recessed shadows of the Orifice. Crystal had never seen anything move in the Orifice on her bedroom wall, except Bone plopping through like an overgrown fetus with an attitude, so maybe this one was different. And if there were two gateways to Darkmeet, that meant twice as much trouble on the way.

  “That’s a Lurken, the afterlife’s version of a peeping tom,” Bone said. “They just like to watch.”

  “Lurken? Should I recommend a movie?”

  “Maybe you can give it one of Dempsey’s.”

  “Drop the Dempsey stuff already.”

  “He speaks French.”

  “I don’t do subtitles.”

  Crystal cast a sideways glance at the Lurken, which now appeared to be about six feet away from the mouth of the Orifice, though distances were difficult to judge, what with all the undulating stalactites and pulsating walls. Splotchy, wet noises spilled forth and a few trickles of dark goo made trails down the wall.

  “Get a load of this,” Bone said, going solid by the door.

  “Get over here,” Crystal said. “You’re supposed to stay close, remember?”

  “What, are we joined at the hip now?”

  “As soon as I get my magic down, you’re dead meat.”

  “I’m not holding my breath.”

  The Lurken let loose with a rattling belch, though that may have been the Orifice. Crystal wasn’t sure about the rules of Darkmeet, and Bone was either just as ignorant or else reluctant to share. Every time Crystal asked her dead best friend about the other side, Bone developed a convenient case of laryngitis and amnesia.

  Madame Fingers, who was now over at the Disney section ripping off Mickey, said, “Excuse you,” in that accusatory tone reserved for old bags who lived alone with a dozen cats.

  “Excuse me what?” Crystal said.

  “Really.”

  The Lurken expelled another oily burp. Crystal, who smiled through the whole thing, said, “Can I help you find anything?”

  “I changed my mind,” the old woman said, shouldering her handbag, which appeared to be bulging with hot merchandise. She walked past the counter, nose tilted indignantly in the air. “I think I’ll try someplace where the clerks mind their manners.”

  “Want me to trip her?” Bone asked.

  The woman stopped and squinted at a spot beside the door, where the glass was grimed with handprints. Maybe she’d heard a faint whisper or echo. Bone sometimes had that effect on people.

  “Special this week,” Crystal called out. “Steal three and get one free.”

  “Hmmph,” the old woman said.

  “Come back and see us,” Crystal said, waiting for the electronic alarm to buzz as the woman left. Two panels by the door should have detected the microchips in the DVD’s. Paying customers had their chips demagnetized. Thieves got the old “woop woop woop.”

  But she passed right between the panels with barely a stir.

  “She’s getting away,” Bone said. “You can’t just let her walk out.”

  “I don’t stick my neck out for nobody,” Crystal said.

  The woman turned, one hand on the door. Technically, if she stepped outside the store, she was a lawbreaker. “It’s not polite to mutter,” she said.

  Crystal wasn’t sure of the next sequence of the events. Perhaps they occurred simultaneously, or in two worlds at once.

  Parson’s Ford was weird that way.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “It’s coming,” Bone shouted.

  The Lurken poked through the wall of the video store, probing the air with what appeared to be a tentacle. The long black noodle roped across the room in the direction of the old woman. Foul mucus covered the quivering limb, and Crystal could only imagine what kind of creature owned it, because the rest of it was hidden in the black folds of the Orifice.

  I should have listened to Momma.

  But Momma was in the trailer, probably watching “All My Children” or some other soap, and the potions in the bathroom wouldn’t do a bit of good. And the first law of magic was that magic always had a price. For Momma, the price was a lonely life in a trailer park. But Crystal had plans, and those plans didn’t include Parson’s Ford, gateways to the afterlife, and hanging around with a dead best friend.

  But maybe if she tossed out one of her training spells, the Orifice would close and she could get on with her life. She chanted:

  “Open mouth and shut the gate,

  Stop the squirming hands of Fate.”

  The Lurken’s limb kept sliding out, reaching for Madame Fingers, who turned again at Crystal’s shout, a look of confusion in her squinty eyes.

  “It’s supposed to be ‘turning,’” Bone said, still invisible. “‘Stop the turning hands of Fate.’ No wonder you dropped out of school.”

  “Have you been watching us practice?”

  “What else is there to do? Besides, if you haven’t noticed, Lurken don’t have hands. So come up with something that rhymes with ‘nub.’”

  “Young lady, if you’re going to shout at me, I shall report you to the proprietor,” Madame Fingers said, pointing a knotty finger.

  Crystal wished she knew a good transformation spell, so she could turn the old bat into an old bat. Madame Fingers appeared oblivious to the tentacle, which now hovered around the woman’s face, as if the nub ended in a nose and was sniffing her. Maybe seeing if she were edible.

  That might solve two problems at once. Lurken eat, Lurken go home, no more Madame Fingers.

  But how many times had Momma preached it was an Aldridge’s job to guard the afterlife Orifices and protect Parson’s Ford from what she called “untelling horrors”?

  To hell with Parson’s Ford, or maybe Parson’s Ford to hell. Whatever. I’m all out of spells and my lifetime supply of give-a-dookie is running low.

  “This is not going to be pretty,” Bone said, as the tentacle inched forward.

  “Whoever figured the end of the world would start in a video store?” Crystal said.

  Madame Fingers, getting her dentures out of joint with her pout, said, “You need some churching to learn some respect.”

  The tentacle brushed a tuft of her brittle gray hair and the woman swatted at the air as if a gnat were buzzing in her ear.

  The tentacle curled like a hook, but just before the Lurken grabbed her, the door swung open.

  Dempsey burst into the store, slamming into Madame Fingers and knocking her purse from her shoulder. As the purse struck the floor, DVD’s spilled across the carpet.

  The tentacle stiffened and beat a hasty retreat back into the black, greasy hole and into the unseen world of Darkmeet.

  “My bad,” Dempsey said, bending to pick up the woman’s purse and collect the fallen DVD’s. “You okay?”

  Madame Fingers sprang up in a blur of knobby knuckles and elbows, tugged her coat tight around her ribs, and snatched her purse from Dempsey. Throwing a last evil glare at Crystal, she pushed past him and hurried down the sidewalk.

  “Hey, you forgot your videos,” Dempsey shouted.

  “I don’t think she forgot,” Crystal said.

  Dempsey shuffled through them like they were a deck of cards. “This crap, I don’t blame her for leaving them. Do people still watch Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant?”

  The Orifice was folding in upon itself, collapsing like a tunnel of mud. Dempsey didn’t seem to notice the splashing and squishing, or the tarr
y balls of Darkmeet that squirted out and plopped on the carpet.

  Dempsey approached the counter, the DVD’s stacked in his hands. He grinned at Crystal. She noticed for the first time that he had diastema, a cute gap between his upper front teeth. A nice accoutrement to the nasal wool.

  “Sorry I was such a jerk,” he said. “If I’m going to make you like horror movies, I’ll have to make you like me.”

  “Uh oh,” Bone whispered. “This could get interesting.”

  “It’s okay,” Crystal said to Dempsey. “I sort of like horror. I watched ‘Twilight.’”

  Dempsey chuckled. “One step above Casper the Friendly Ghost, but it’s a start.”

  He laid the DVD’s on the counter. “When do you get off?”

  At first, Crystal thought he was making some sort of lewd comment. “None of your business.”

  “The time, dummy,” Bone called from somewhere in game rentals. “He wants to know when you get off work.”

  “Four,” she said, glancing at the clock above the wall, the one Fatback Bob set 10 minutes fast so the overdue fines would rack up more quickly. An hour to go.

  “Groovy,” he said. “I’ll be back and we’ll have coffee.”

  He repeated his journey out the door, this time not looking back, confident she was watching him.

  “Insouciant,” Crystal said. “He’s got an insouciant stroll.”

  Bone went solid. “You’ve been reading big books again?”

  “Studying for GED’s. Community college is my only ticket out of this town.”

  “Unless you jump on a broom and fly South for the winter.”

  “We don’t use brooms anymore. That went out with Salem and getting burnt at the stake.”

  “Dempsey might be worth sticking around for.”

  “I’ve got Pettigrew. I told you, I’m not interested.”

  “Then why are you meeting him for coffee?”

  “Professional development.”

  “You’re a high school drop-out. Are you trying to be the best video clerk ever?”

  “You’re one to talk. You didn’t get past the tenth grade, either.”

  “My excuse was better.”

  Bone’s eyes did that thing where the pupils seemed to swell until the orbs were completely black. It always made Crystal shudder and wonder what went on inside that skull.

  Part of her knew her best friend was a pile of rotted cloth, bones, and worm food under six feet of dirt in Greenway Meadows Memorial Gardens & Landscaping Supplies. But right now she seemed so tangible and human, it was easy to forget she was roadkill.

  Bone glanced at the wall and the slick cave that was now opening again. Her head cocked as if her mother were calling her home for dinner.

  “Gotta go?” Crystal asked.

  Bone nodded and brushed her red bangs out of her eyes. She was so fresh and real that she might have been getting ready to paint her nails or dial a guy on her cell phone. She always got this way just before stepping back through. Then came the next part, which Crystal could never bear to watch but couldn’t look away from, either.

  Bone’s flesh curdled and crinkled, clothes giving way as the off-the-rack JC Penney threads unraveled and faded, then her skin melted away until she was a stack of ropy meat on a crooked, broken skeleton. The hinge of the jawbone creaked, and the grinning rictus of the skull fixed on Crystal.

  “So,” said the toothy, trash-fashion skeleton. “You going to meet him?”

  “I don’t know. Pettigrew–”

  “—is a Big Mac, but this guy is caviar and champagne.”

  “I like Big Macs.”

  “Sure, it’s filling, but you should sample the buffet.”

  Crystal looked down at the black-and-white movies Madame Fingers had tried to steal and thought of long-dead dreams and flickering fantasies. “Maybe.”

  “See you later, kiddo,” Bone said, teeth clacking. “I got homework.”

  Bone crawled into the hole and merged with the darkness, and the Orifice collapsed upon itself with the sound like the dropping of a watermelon—thwunk-splorsh.

  Crystal supposed she should call Momma and tell her she would be late for dinner.

  And hopefully late for the end of the world.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Parson’s Ford’s only coffee shop, The Daily Grind & Fabric Outlet, was a former auto parts store. Instead of modern art, local photography, or even stylized posters of New York City coffee-shop interiors, the walls were covered with junk. Vanity license plates were lined like a periodic chart, jumbled alphabet that required at least six shots of espresso to decipher. One section of the shop was devoted to an array of cloth wrapped around long, slender spools, along with a table for measuring and cutting fabric.

  Dempsey had been waiting at a table in the corner, positioned where he could watch the door. The dim shadows and scent of scorched Folger’s heightened his moody edge. Perhaps that was why he chose this milieu.

  Crystal had even been tempted to say, “You look like a man in his milieu,” but she wasn’t sure whether it was pronounced “mill-you” or “mill-oo.” Best to skip it.

  “So, been here long?” Dempsey asked. In the dim light, his protruding nose hairs were less noticeable. In a spirit of generosity, she’d originally considered them a mark of virility, but it was hard to put positive spin on nasal wool for long.

  Concentrate on the eyes.

  “I got here five minutes ago. You saw me walk in.”

  The soulful brown eyes narrowed and flicked wide. “I mean, did you grow up here?”

  “Born and bred.” Though she wasn’t so sure about the “bred” part. It’s possible she’d been hatched, or perhaps conjured up from one of Momma’s ceramic crucibles.

  “Not a bad little town, if you like Hicksville.” Dempsey gulped his latte.

  “It ain’t so bad,” she said, immediately wishing she’d bitten down the word “ain’t.” If she wasn’t careful, she’d be cutting in with “ya’ll” and “possum butter” and this little dance would be over before she even put on her shoes.

  Instead of defending Parson’s Ford, which held no special place in her heart but was home turf all the same, she remembered something she’d read in Cosmopolitan: “To interest your man, turn the conversation back to him.”

  “What brought you here?” She spun her coffee cup a quarter turn.

  “The usual.”

  Right. Like she knew what “the usual” was. Could be anything from distilling moonshine to retracing Daniel Boone’s footsteps. “Passing through or staying a while?”

  “Depends,” he said, drooping his eyelids just a little. “I kind of like the scenery here.”

  She fought an urge to touch her hair. Damn, where was Cosmo when you needed it?

  “If you like mountains, it ain’t so bad, I reckon.”

  Jeez, “ain’t” and “reckon” in the same sentence. Might as well cram some snuff behind my lower lip.

  Before he could respond, she copped a phrase from the tourism brochures. “I mean, well, if you enjoy a milieu of scenic mountain vistas.”

  She went with “mill-you,” saying it with such certainty that even if Dempsey were a direct descendant of the headless Louis XVI, he wouldn’t have challenged her. Dempsey grinned, milk stippling his soul patch and taking the “sexy factor” down a notch.

  “It will be a great setting for my next movie,” he said. “Small-town horror is hot right now.”

  “That auteur thing, right?”

  “I’m breaking in a new star,” he said. “And I’m going to need some extras. Know any actors?”

  Crystal immediately thought of Cindy Summerhill. Every town had a Cindy Summerhill. Beautiful, spoiled, rich, and utterly cunning. If there was a homecoming crown or dance trophy to be won, she’d do whatever it took. If that didn’t work, her dad, the attorney and county commissioner, would be twisting arms behind the scenes.

  Of course, all the guys followed Cindy like hungry puppies, sniffing
at the crumbs even if they could never touch the pie. Crystal was almost glad she’d dropped out of high school, just so she wouldn’t have to witness that sickening display.

  “There’s a drama club at school,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t ask her about school. Then she’d have to explain why she’d dropped out. Or else lie.

  But he went on, as if thinking aloud to himself. “And a killer location. A set with atmosphere.”

  Like maybe my bedroom? There’s a gateway to the afterlife and a lot of slimy creatures on the other side just waiting to crawl through. What’s the market these days for trailer-park horror?

  “Parson’s Ford is pretty creepy,” she said.

  “It’s got that ‘straight-to-video’ vibe, for sure.”

  Still not listening. At least not to me.

  Cosmo advised that if you wanted to open him up, catch him off guard, and see the real man inside, you asked questions. “What’s your movie called?”

  “‘The Halloweening.’ There’s this Halloween party, and some teenagers play around with an Ouija board and summon a ghost. Only it’s a real ghost.”

  The idea didn’t sound so original to Crystal. But Cosmo said not to challenge your man on a first date.

  But this is NOT a date, dang it. I’m perfectly happy with Pettigrew.

  I think.

  Before she could respond, Dempsey launched into a caffeine-fueled jabber. “The movie’s the easy part. The real trick is spreading the word. I need fans. I need a street team, social media disciples. I need a well-placed person, someone I can trust to help me take over this one-horse town.”

  He leaned forward and the silver cross in his left ear lobe caught the shine from the counter lights. “And that’s where you come in.”

  She didn’t know whether to be thrilled that he trusted her or annoyed that he was trying to use her. “I don’t get it.”

  “The movie biz is tough. Without word of mouth, you’re dead in the water. And you got a mouth that looks like it could work wonders.”

  Cosmo never said anything about a line like that. “Thanks, I guess.”

  She glanced around the shop, wondering if she could count on help if Dempsey turned into a pervert or creep. Or Lurken, Momma silently warned. Darkmeet could send its advance scouts any day now. Talk about a street team.