Ghouls Gone Wild

  Heath grabbed the railing and swung up and over the last flight of stairs, landing at the bottom with a loud thud. I took his cue and launched myself after him. We passed a confused and frightened Gopher without pausing to explain, and tore back down the cavern as if our lives depended on it, tripping and stumbling over the rocks as we went.

  I knew the other exit was nearly a half mile down the close, and that meant we were also a half mile away from the van. I didn’t know what was attacking Gilley, but whatever it was, it was super scary and apparently powerful enough to get to him despite all the magnets. I was panting heavily as Heath and I ran, but pressed the microphone up to my lips and called out, “Gil! Tell me what you see!”

  Gilley was sobbing so hard it was tough to make out what he was saying. But after several tries he managed, “There’s something outside the van! I can see it through the windows! I think it’s the witch!”

  A tiny ripple of relief ran through me. If Rigella’s ghost was outside the van, then that meant she couldn’t make it past the huge magnetic field we’d set up inside. “Is the door closed?”

  “Uh . . . yeah . . . ,” Gil said. “I slammed it shut right after I made it back inside.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  Gilley sniffled and his voice quivered. “No, just a little bruised and my new shirt’s torn.”

  “Where are you in the van?”

  Something pounded loudly in the background and Gilley shrieked. “I’m in the middle!” he said. “But something just hit the door hard!” Another tremendous thud echoed through the earpiece, followed by another shriek from Gilley. “M. J., where are you?”

  “We’re coming, honey!” I shouted. “Hang on!” I didn’t want to let Gil know that we were taking the long way. I knew that would just add to his fear.

  By this time Heath was about twenty yards ahead of me, and from behind I could hear Gopher’s footfalls pounding after us. “Wait up!” he called, but there was no way I was slowing down. Especially when I heard another loud boom making its way through my headset, followed closely by yet another screech from Gil.

  It occurred to me that maybe the witch was attempting to frighten Gilley out of the van, and I knew that he was so terrified that he could well dissolve into panic and attempt to flee. “Gil!” I shouted while I fought for more air. “Whatever . . . you do . . . don’t get out . . . of the van!”

  I had no idea if Gil heard me because immediately after I’d said that, another thunderous crash sounded in my ear. I saw Heath glance at me over his shoulder. He’d heard it too. “She’s trying to get him out of the van!” he shouted back.

  I nodded and dug deep to put on a little more speed. “M. J.!” Gilley squealed. “Please! Help me!”

  Tears of frustration stung my eyes and I fought to get a grip on my emotions. My best friend was being attacked by a murderous spirit—and by now I was convinced that the ghost of the witch was powerful enough to kill Gilley if she could get at him—and I was still about a hundred yards away from making it out of the cavern. “Hang . . . on . . . buddy!”

  For the longest ten seconds of my life I said nothing as I heard the witch pounding on the side of the van and Gilley screaming with each new assault. The things I imagined were happening to Gil were enough to drive me to the brink. The only thing that kept me going was to see Heath reach the exit door and tug hard on it. He disappeared through it and five beats later I was through it too.

  I could hear him out of my other ear as he rushed up the steps, and his own labored breathing echoed down to me. I was fighting hard myself to suck in enough air, but there was no way I was going to stop and rest now.

  Meanwhile it sounded as if Gil had simply dissolved into a puddle of blubbering incoherency. I imagined him sitting in a little ball in the center of the van with his hands over his head while the witch threw everything she had at the side of the van. “Stay . . . inside . . . Gil!” I gasped as I crested the first landing and willed my wobbly legs to keep climbing.

  Above me, Heath got to the top and pulled at the door. I heard it open almost immediately. “M. J.!” he called down. “It’s open!”

  “Gooooooooooo!” I shouted. “Get to Gil!”

  Heath disappeared through the door and I pumped my legs up the last few steps. I realized as I got to the door and yanked it open myself that I hadn’t heard any crashing sounds through the earpiece in several seconds. But Gilley’s sobs continued.

  I paused for just a moment outside the door to gulp in air. I was in really good shape from the daily jog I always took at home, but I’d run at almost a full sprint for a half mile, then up two flights of stairs, and I was winded.

  I could see Heath still racing down the street, but even his pace had slowed. I bent over and grabbed my knees, my sides heaving. “Gil . . . ,” I finally managed.

  There was no response.

  “Gil!” I said more forcefully, standing up again and stepping forward to hurry down the street.

  “I’m here,” he answered with a sniffle. “I think she’s gone.”

  But I wasn’t so sure. “Stay . . . put . . . ,” I ordered.

  I could hear Gilley moving around. “Seriously, M. J.,” he whispered. “I really think she’s gone.”

  “We’re almost to you,” I lied. Even Heath was at least a quarter mile away.

  Gil sniffled again. “I’m gonna look out the window.”

  I was panting too hard to reply, but I knew the witch had not given up. Still, I listened to the muffled sound of what I thought was Gilley putting his sweatshirt back on, then shuffling over to a window.

  “I don’t see her,” he said softly. And then, “Hold on. . . .” Every nerve in my body tensed. “. . . What’s that noise?”

  “Don’t move!” I heard Heath’s ragged voice command. “Gil! Get to the middle of the van and stay there!”

  “Someone’s under the van!” Gilley shouted. “Ohmigod! I’m moving!”

  “Do you have the keys?!” I yelled. “Gilley, start the van!”

  “Gopher has them!” Gil screamed. Then there was more shuffling and he yelled, “The steering wheel is locked up and the brake isn’t working!”

  “Shit!” I swore, and cranked up my pace again. I could just see Heath two hundred yards ahead of me also find a second wind and pour on the speed.

  “I’m moving backward!” Gilley shouted. “I think I should jump for it!”

  “NO!” Heath and I both roared together.

  I remembered where the van had been parked. It was at the top of a small hill. If the van really was moving, it was heading downhill toward a row of brownstones.

  “I’m going to crash!” Gil screamed.

  “Brace yourself!” I pleaded, rounding a corner and seeing the van for the first time still a hundred yards away, moving backward down the hill.

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!”Gilley cried just as a dark shadow dived after the van.

  “Heath!” I shouted when I saw him closing in on the van. “Get to him!”

  I took maybe three more strides, running as fast as I could go, when I heard a terrible scream that didn’t come from my headset and then a horrible crash that seemed to go on far too long. “Gillllllllley!” I cried, as tears trailed down my cheeks and my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest.

  I couldn’t see the van anymore. It had rolled out of sight. But I could still see Heath, who faltered, nearly stopped, then raced forward again.

  My limbs were like rubber as I dashed after him, and when I crested the hill, I took in the nightmarish scene at the bottom. Debris littered the street, and parts of the van were spread out over a wide area.

  I came to a stop at the top of the hill, too shocked to move the rest of the way. My eyes took in a demolished brick wall, a light post that’d bent nearly in half, broken glass, crumpled pieces of metal . . . and one obviously dead body covered in blood lying in the middle of the street.

  Chapter 6

  Already the street was filling with people. Residents of the quiet neighborhood raced out of their homes wearing robes and nightgowns and shocked expressions.

  A couple knel
t by the body, their hands covering their mouths in horror. Others raced toward the van, which had come to rest on its side. Heath was already there, pulling with all his might on the handle to the crumpled door.

  My chest was heaving so hard that my ribs hurt, and panic raced through my veins. I stumbled a few steps forward, nearly tripping over some debris under my feet. I looked down, tears blurring my vision as I vaguely noticed some wires and broken black plastic at my feet. Then I hurried forward another few steps, staring hard at the crumpled form in the middle of the street. I couldn’t tell if it was Gilley. I stopped again and until I knew one way or the other, I didn’t think I could move another foot.

  Someone came up alongside me. “Holy Christ!” he exclaimed. Absently I realized it was Gopher.

  “Gil?” I said meekly, and pointed down to the prone figure in the street. “Is that . . . is that Gilley?”

  Gopher gripped my hand tightly. “No,” he said, his voice hoarse. “At least, I don’t think so.”

  My eyes swiveled to Heath again. He and two other men had managed to yank open the door. In the distance I heard the urgent sound of a siren. It occurred to me absently that it was a different noise than the sirens back home made.

  Heath disappeared inside the van, and I let out a sob. “Please . . . ,” I whispered. “God, please let him be okay!”

  “Come on,” Gopher said, and he tugged me forward down the hill.

  I stumbled along on stiff legs. I couldn’t face it if Gilley was hurt—or worse. He’d been my best friend since I was a little kid and he was more my family than my own relatives. “There!” Gopher exclaimed, pointing ahead of us. “See?”

  I blinked, but I was crying too hard to see what he was indicating. I wiped my eyes just as a police car and an ambulance whizzed past, pulling up next to the van and obscuring our view. “Did you see him?” I asked Gopher desperately.

  “I think so!”

  I willed my limbs to move again and loped the rest of the way down the hill, trying hard not to stare at the beaten and partially squashed figure nearby.

  We reached the ambulance and just when I didn’t think I could take not knowing one more second, Gilley appeared, wobbly and bruised but otherwise okay from around the side of the police car.

  “Gilley!” I cried, and threw myself at him, hugging him fiercely and sobbing into his neck.

  “Ow,” he complained, and I quickly backed away.

  “I’m so sorry!” I told him, running my hands gently along his cut and battered face. “I’m so sorry!”

  Gilley eyed me grumpily. “What took you guys so long?”

  “The door to the exit was locked,” Heath said as he joined us. I noticed he was soaked through with perspiration and he looked terribly winded.

  “Are you all right?” I asked Gil.

  Gilley rubbed the back of his head. “I think so,” he said. “Just a little banged up.”

  “Are you the driver responsible?” someone to my right asked. I turned and saw a wide-eyed constable asking Gilley the question.

  “I wasn’t driving,” Gil explained.

  “Had anything to drink this evening?” the constable pressed as if he hadn’t heard Gil’s answer.

  “Constable,” Gopher said to the policeman. “My associate here was merely in the van when it rolled down the street.”

  The constable had a small notepad and a pen out and was taking notes. One of the paramedics came over to him and whispered something, but I managed to catch the words. “. . . no signs of life and massive head trauma . . .”

  The constable nodded gravely and eyed Gilley with obvious contempt. “Looks like you’ve just won a visit to the station.”

  “But I didn’t do anything!” Gilley protested. “M. J.! Tell him I didn’t do anything!”

  I stepped in front of Gil and attempted to talk to the constable. “My friend was in the van, which was parked at the top of the hill. The van’s brakes must have given out and it rolled down the hill and into that poor pedestrian. Gilley wasn’t driving at the time. He didn’t even have the keys.”

  “That’s correct,” Gopher said, and for emphasis he took out the van’s keys from his pocket. “I had them with me the whole time.”

  “And where was you,” the constable said to Gopher, “while this bloke was in the van?”

  “Running back to the van,” Gopher replied.

  The constable eyed Gopher curiously. “Why was you running back to the van, then?”

  “Because my associate was under attack.”

  “Under attack?” the constable asked.

  Gilley was pumping his head up and down. “Yes!” he said in that tone that was extra high and squeaky. “The ghost of the Witch of Queen’s Close was attacking the van, and I think she vandalized it enough to make it roll down the hill!”

  I tried to make a subtle slicing motion across my neck. Gilley was sounding crazy to anyone but those of us aware of Rigella, and I knew he and Gopher were about to get us all into trouble.

  The constable looked at Gilley with disdain. “Oh, so you’ve heard about our village spook, have you?” he asked, but I had the feeling it was a rhetorical question.

  Still, Gil answered him. “I have, and I’ve seen her firsthand! She jumped me, you know. It’s a miracle I’m still alive actually.”

  The expression on the constable’s face changed, and it was clear he was completely out of patience with Gilley and he didn’t for a second believe anything we’d said to him. Before we could say anything more, the constable had Gilley twisted around and was placing handcuffs on him. “I’m arresting you,” he said, and motioned with his head at Gopher. “You too.”

  Gilley’s face drained of color and he looked at me with buggy eyes. “M. J.!” he pleaded. “Do something!”

  “Sir,” I said, “this is all just a simple misunderstanding!”

  The man finished handcuffing Gilley and regarded the body in the street. “Tell that to the man’s family,” he said gruffly before reaching for Gopher, who looked ready to bolt.

  Heath laid a firm hand on his shoulder and said, “Easy, guy. Just go along with them for now and we’ll work all this out in time.”

  Gopher’s jaw clenched, but he turned cooperatively around so that the constable could cuff him.

  Gilley, however, was still crying and staring at me with pleading eyes. “But, M. J.!” he said again. “I’m too pretty to go to jail!”

  “Gil,” I told him softly, “just go along for now and we’ll figure this whole thing out as soon as possible, okay?”

  My partner didn’t have a chance to answer as he was pushed roughly toward a police vehicle and placed inside. A minute later, Gopher joined him.

  It took much longer than expected to get Gil and Gopher out on the British equivalent of bond. First, we had to locate a barrister willing to help us, and that took several calls to the United States embassy as loads of red tape and diplomatic channels had to be navigated.

  But eventually, after meeting with our barrister, we understood that both Gilley and Gopher were being charged with the equivalent of vehicular homicide.

  We were also told that our friends would need to remain in jail for a day or two until they had an opportunity to go before the court and be let out on bond—and at that preliminary hearing, both men had to surrender their passports and were ordered not to leave the area.

  This was a major setback for us, as after the incident with the van I fully realized that the only safe place for Gilley was anywhere but Scotland. The ghost of the Witch of Queen’s Close and her coven were hell-bent on doing him in—of that I was certain. So when I greeted him with a warm hug the moment he emerged from the police station, looking a little thinner and depressed, I wondered if I’d be able to keep him out of harm’s way long enough to figure this whole thing out.

  “Get me out of here,” he whispered desperately in my ear as he gripped me tightly.

  I pulled away from him and stared him straight in the eye. “Soon, honey,” I promised.

  Gilley’s head hung and a tear leaked down his cheek. “She’s going to kill me, isn’t she, M. J.?”

>   I was saved from answering when Heath came up next to us and handed Gilley a bag. “Your new sweatshirt, buddy,” he said, indicating the one we’d put together after the old one had been shredded in the accident. “I’d put it on and leave it on no matter how hot you get.”

  Gilley ripped open the bag and immediately donned the shirt. While he was shrugging into it, Gopher came down the steps of the police station with a thick file in his hand and his cell phone to his ear. “I know it’s bullshit, Mike!” he was saying, and after a pause he added, “Sure, we can beat it. No sweat. The barrister we hired is one of the best in Scotland. We’ll have this whole thing cleared up in no time.”

  “Who’s Mike?” I asked Heath.

  But it was Gilley who answered. “One of the network dudes. Gopher had to call him and let him know we’d been charged and that our shooting schedule’s been delayed.”

  “What do you mean, ‘delayed’?” I asked, and then it dawned on me. “You mean to tell me Gopher still wants us to continue the ghost hunt?!”

  Gilley nodded. “Yep.”

  I waited impatiently while Gopher wrapped up his call. “What are you thinking?” I shrieked the moment he clicked the End button.

  “Hey, M. J.,” he replied with an unfazed smile. “Yes, it is nice to breathe fresh air again after my incarceration. Thank you so much for asking about how I’m doing!”

  “Cut the crap,” I snapped. “How can you even think about having us finish this bust after what’s happened? Gilley was almost killed and both of you are now facing criminal charges!”

  Gopher’s eyes swiveled to Heath, but if he was looking for loyalty there, he came up short. My fellow medium merely folded his arms across his chest and raised a judgmental eyebrow.

  Gopher frowned. “You have to finish it,” he told me bluntly. I opened my mouth to tell him where he could stuff it, but he cut me off quickly by saying, “And the reason you have to finish it, M. J., is because Gilley’s freedom and possibly his very life depend on it.”

  I shut my mouth but continued to glare at Gopher, hoping that he’d just offer more information without my needing to ask. But he played the game well, because he waited me out and I finally grumbled, “How exactly do you figure that?”