Ghouls Rush In

  I didn’t bother admitting that I’d never chopped firewood in my life and probably never would. Instead, I just shook my head. More tears started in my eyes so I dried them off on my arm. Ryan’s gaze followed my arm to my hand.

  “You’re hurt,” he said, gripping my wrist and turning my hand around to inspect it. Then his eyes moved up the line of my hand to my arm to my shoulder and then to my neck. By the fact that he gulped and then brought his fingers to my neck, I had to imagine I had a bruise or something from my run-in with the entity.

  “Who did this to you, Peyton?” he asked immediately, his eyes suddenly turning hard and angry. His lips were as tight as his jaw. It was the first time I’d ever seen Ryan angry, and I pitied anyone who was on the receiving end of such hostility. If I didn’t think Ryan was fiercely protective of those he cared about before, it certainly dawned on me now.

  I shook my head when I realized where his line of thinking was going. “I can’t tell you who or what is responsible for whatever’s on my neck,” I started. “But, as to my hand, I cut myself on the gate while I was trying to get away. The latch was busted and the wood splintered and sliced my hand.”

  “Come on,” he said, standing up and offering his hand to help me from the couch. I didn’t argue but allowed myself to be led from the living room to a bathroom just down the hallway. “I have to admit I’m havin’ a very difficult time imaginin’ a spirit is responsible for your injuries,” he said after a protracted silence.

  “I’m not lying to you, Ryan.”

  He nodded immediately. “I’m not inferrin’ that you are. It’s just difficult for me to wrap my mind around the idea that something ethereal could have actually attacked you.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t get me wrong, I believe in spirits and the like but I’ve never heard of one actually makin’ physical contact with someone.”

  “I have no other explanations for you,” I said and then sighed.

  “Then let’s focus on topics that are more easily explained,” he started. “What do you think it meant that someone left the ax on your back steps?” he asked while glancing down at me.

  “I think someone was trying to break in,” I answered with no pretense.

  “With an ax?”

  “No,” I responded, shaking my head, while Ryan instructed me to sit on the lip of the bathtub as he flicked on the light. It was intensely bright and I immediately crossed my arms over my chest as I realized how see-through my white T-shirt was. I wasn’t wearing a bra. I watched Ryan open one of his cabinets and fish inside it for something. He returned with a brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

  “That stuff hurts,” I protested, bracing my arms around myself.

  “We need to clean it out, Peyton,” he answered before unscrewing the cap and reaching for my hand. I gave a theatrical sigh but allowed him to take my hand and hold it over the bathtub. It wasn’t lost on either of us when I freed my arms from in front of my chest that his eyes settled on my breasts like a lion’s on a baby gazelle. He immediately redirected his eyes to the wound on my hand and even cleared his throat uncomfortably. I felt myself instinctively hunching over, trying to make my nipples a little less protrusive. But, since it was basically freezing in the bathroom, they stood at full attention. Ryan pretended not to notice as he poured the bubbly liquid over my wound.

  He tipped my chin back and inspected whatever marks were on my neck, sighing and shaking his head as he ran the pad of his finger across my skin. “There’s nothin’ I can do for the bruises,” he admitted.

  I just nodded, making the decision then and there that I didn’t want to see the bruises. Somehow I felt it was better not to be confronted with them.

  “Why do you think someone was tryin’ to break in?” Ryan asked, his gaze traveling from my palm to my feet. He was pretty good at completely avoiding my chest. “Jeez, Peyton, it looks like you banged up your feet too. Your toe is a bloody mess.” He reached for my foot and held it over the bathtub, rinsing it with the hydrogen peroxide as well.

  I winced in expectation that the peroxide would sting but tried to remind myself not to be such a big baby. I mean, there were way bigger issues for me to be concerned about—like stray axes. “Because on the step above the ax, there was also a chisel and a bunch of wood shavings from where someone tried to chisel out one of the panels in my back door.”

  I heard his swift intake of breath. He didn’t say anything as he recapped the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and patiently placed it on the counter beside the sink. When he turned to face me again, his expression was dour—all business. “We need to call the police.”

  I knew there was more to it than simply calling the police on a failed robbery attempt. Especially because this was something far more ominous. “Ryan, no one was trying to steal from me.”

  “Why else would they try to break in?” He did a good job of keeping his eyes riveted on mine, although somehow, I could tell he was itching to see my breasts again. He just seemed nervous, fidgety.

  I shook my head. “This wasn’t a robbery, I’m sure of it.”

  “So what—” he started.

  “It was exactly the same thing that happened to the victims of the Axeman,” I blurted out, my tears suddenly returning full stream. I realized how ridiculous it sounded, but I was convinced it was the truth.

  “The Axeman?” Ryan repeated, clearly at a loss as he shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows.

  “Yes,” I insisted. “During the hysteria of the Axeman’s attacks, a few people reported finding the aftermath of attempts on their homes. They found chisels and axes left outside and gouges in their doors from where he’d tried to force his way in.”

  “So you think a crazy person is tryin’ to recreate the scenes of some of the Axeman’s attacks?” Ryan asked, taking a deep breath as his eyebrows reached for the ceiling. “That’s a big leap to take, Peyton. It could just be that someone found the ax and thought they could break in and rob you with it.”

  “Then why not break a window? Why bother with the arduous task of chiseling out my back door?” I shook my head adamantly.

  “And someone breakin’ in makes a hell of a lot more sense where the bruises on your neck are concerned.”

  I shook my head and sighed, knowing I needed to tell him the whole story to try to make him understand exactly what was going on. “I haven’t told you everything,” I started as I took a deep breath and told him about the dreams I’d had about Drake. I also told him how Drake figured into the Axeman’s murders and how he’d appeared in the vision I’d had while the dark, shadowy figure had been choking me.

  “He was the police officer in the newspaper clippings that were on the wall in the guestroom?” Ryan asked, piecing the puzzle together for himself.

  “Yes,” I admitted, nodding ardently. “He worked on all the cases, as far as I know.”

  “And you think he’s visitin’ you in your dreams?” Ryan continued. Although his question made it sound like he doubted my sanity, his expression wasn’t quite as oppressive.

  “I’m sure of it,” I answered immediately. “And I’m convinced he’s also haunting my house.” I took a big breath, then let it out. “He was the one whose footsteps I heard that night.”

  Ryan nodded and looked like he was trying his damnedest to suspend his disbelief for a minute to hear me out. “Okay, I can accept the idea that your house is haunted and you’re havin’ dreams about the ghost. Whether or not the ghost…”

  “Drake,” I corrected him.

  “That Drake is contactin’ you through your dreams is a harder pill to swallow.” He paused for a few seconds. “I have to admit, I still can’t fully buy into the idea that you were attacked by a spirit, and believin’ the same spirit was responsible for the ax on your doorstep is even harder for me to wrap my head around.”

  “I was dreaming about Drake at the same time someone or something attacked me,” I continued, trying to stress how everything was linked. “Drake was the one wh
o first noticed that something wasn’t right and he tried to warn me! But, instead, whatever this thing was…it attacked me.” I took a deep breath as I continued to remember the details. “Then I heard that strange scratching noise and I followed it to the kitchen and found the chisel outside my door.”

  “Those are just dreams, Peyton,” Ryan started, obviously trying to soothe my frazzled nerves.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head immediately. “Drake speaks French and translates it for me! If he weren’t real, it would be impossible because I’ve never studied French!” I finished, jutting my chin out. “So, no, they aren’t just dreams. He is contacting me; I know it.”

  I sighed, realizing how completely insane I sounded. “Ryan, I know this sounds absolutely crazy. I know you think I’ve really lost my mind—”

  “I don’t think that at all,” he interrupted. “I do think you’ve got a lot of weird stuff goin’ on in that house and it’s makin’ you lose sleep and jump to conclusions.”

  But I shook my head again. “I’m not jumping to conclusions. I know there is a ghost in my house and I know it’s the ghost of Drake Montague. And what’s more, I am completely convinced that he’s reaching out to me in my dreams because, currently, that’s the only way he knows how.” I dramatically inhaled and then exhaled. “What’s even more important is that he can feel the energy of this entity, whatever it is. And he says it’s draining his power.”

  Without saying anything, Ryan just stared at me and slowly swallowed. “You don’t have any way of provin’ to the police that this incident is tied to the Axeman. Most everyone wouldn’t even remember who the Axeman was, since it was nearly one hundred years ago,” he said in a low voice.

  “It doesn’t matter because we aren’t calling the police,” I answered with my mouth in a stubborn frown.

  “What do you mean, Peyton?” Ryan demanded, his lips tight. “We have to tell the police! Someone tried to break into your house!”

  But I emphatically shook my head. “Not someone. Something.”

  “The police need to be notified,” Ryan insisted. I knew he still wasn’t exactly convinced that something spiritual was to blame.

  “And what will the police do?” I parried. “They won’t believe there’s an otherworldly connection to any of this!”

  Ryan narrowed his eyes at me. “How are you so sure there’s an otherworldly connection?”

  “Because!” I roared back at him. “This is not a case of coincidence! Drake was one of the officers working on the Axeman case! And it’s a well-documented fact that the Axeman left behind axes and chisels outside of people’s homes when he wasn’t able to get inside. And think about all those articles I found in my guest bedroom! Every single one had to do with this case! Do you think it was just coincidence that someone posted them all over the room?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe it was Drake who left them there. Have you asked him?”

  I didn’t think he intended for his question to sound so sarcastic, but it came out that way—or maybe I was just overly sensitive. “I haven’t asked him about the clippings yet. We’ve been too preoccupied with trying to get the house cleansed of the malevolence that won’t leave it.”

  “Trina’s cleansin’—”

  “Didn’t work,” I interrupted. “Drake said it simply goaded the entity.”

  Ryan shook his head and sighed long and hard. I knew this was difficult, if not impossible, for him to come to terms with and accept. “Peyton, step outside of the situation for a moment and listen to yourself. You’re talkin’ about Drake, a ghost, as if he were real. I think you’re takin’ all of this a little too far.”

  I felt my lips tighten. “I’m not taking it too far, Ryan.” I stood up and hobbled to the door, but he grabbed my hand.

  “Let me bandage that hand up,” he offered. He pulled a bandage, scissors, and medical tape from his cupboard. I took a seat on the lip of the tub and allowed him to perform his ministrations on my toe. He was very gentle as he applied the bandage and taped it in place.

  “So you think it’s a ghost that left the ax outside your back door?” he asked, with no tone of condemnation in his voice.

  “I don’t know,” I responded as I watched him carefully tending my toe. “All I’m saying is that I don’t believe in coincidence. Not in this case. Not when I know better.”

  He tightened the tape around the bandage on my toe and stood up, returning all the items to their proper places in the cupboard. Then he turned around again and faced me, his arms crossed against his chest as he leaned against the counter. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds but just looked at me with an unreadable expression on his face. “I’m tryin’ my best to suspend my own disbelief so I can be here for you. And I’m really tryin’ to see the advantage of not notifyin’ the police about this.”

  I smiled up at him, genuinely appreciating his concern with all my being. “I know this all sounds very far-fetched, Ryan, but please know that I appreciate your help more than I can say.”

  A slow smile took hold of his lips. “So the cleansin’ Trina, the not-so-effective voodoo priestess, performed didn’t work?”

  “According to Drake, no.”

  He dropped his attention to the floor and shook his head as he sighed. “It’s gonna take me a while to get used to you referrin’ to a ghost as if he’s a friend of yours—I mean, a corporeal one.”

  I smiled but held my ground. “I’ll grant you as much time as you need.”

  Silence stretched between us as we both just looked at one another. Ryan was the first to break it. “So if the cleansin’ didn’t work and the entity’s power is growin’ stronger, what’s next?”

  I nodded as I took a deep breath and focused on the chipped paint of my toenails. I’d intended to repaint them days ago but just hadn’t gotten around to it. I picked at the baby-pink lacquer while I tried to remember what the next step was, according to Drake.

  “Our next step is to find someone who can cleanse the house. Drake said something about finding a voodoo priestess who was well versed in magic.” I paused for a second before smiling. “I don’t think we should tell Trina her cleansing didn’t work.”

  “Good idea. She’s already done enough damage,” Ryan agreed before his smile vanished and he scratched the back of his head contemplatively. “As to voodoo priestesses, that isn’t my realm of specialty. I have no idea where to start.”

  “That makes it problem number one because neither do I.”

  We were both quiet again for a few seconds when Ryan glanced up at me and suddenly smiled. “Well, I might not know any voodoo priestesses, but I do know a warlock.”

  “What?” I asked with a laugh.

  “I headed a construction project for him. It was an old convent he purchased in the French Quarter, which we remodeled into a house,” Ryan said with a knowing smirk. “Christopher Raven Adams. He’s a warlock for hire.”

  “I don’t even know what that means,” I answered, shaking my head.

  “He practices witchcraft but he’s a he, so he’s not exactly a witch. I don’t know if he’ll be able to help us, but it won’t hurt to find out.”

  I nodded and couldn’t stifle the sense of relief that was already welling up inside me. I couldn’t think of a better place to start other than a witch, er, warlock. “When can we go see him?” I asked.

  Ryan chuckled and glanced at his watch. “For one thing, it’s three in the mornin’. Although he’s probably awake and more than likely performin’ some sort of séance, propriety dictates that I call him at a reasonable hour.” He quirked an amused brow. “And three a.m. doesn’t constitute a reasonable hour.”

  “Okay,” I answered with an air of disappointment as I glanced down at the floor and tried to talk myself into being patient.

  “Hey,” Ryan started, offering me a smile as he closed the gap between us and tilted my chin up. “We’re in this together, Peyton. I don’t know if this thing is a spirit, a demon, or just some psycho human, but
whatever or whoever it is, it isn’t gonna hurt you again,” he said, his lips tight and his voice strong. “Not on my watch.”

  We’re in this together. Ryan’s words echoed in my head and I couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you,” I said and tried to hold my tears back. I just felt like I’d been through so much in the last few hours, and my ability to cope had definitely taken a toll.

  Ryan shook his head, and his eyes burned into mine. “Don’t thank me, Pey,” he insisted. “I care about you…I care about you in a way I haven’t cared about a woman in a very long time.”

  At that precise second, the screeching sound of breaking glass interrupted an otherwise perfect moment. The barking cacophony of Stella and Ralphie as they tore down the stairs was the next assault on my ears. Ryan’s eyebrows furrowed as he glanced down at me in startled wonder. A split second later, he jumped up and headed for the stairs. I was quickly behind him, as were Stella and Ralphie, but instead of following him up the stairs, they both stopped short at the foot of the staircase. Ralphie continued to bark while Stella whined and pawed at the ground.

  “Come on you two,” Ryan said as he patted his thigh. But neither of them budged. When he stepped onto the first stair, Ralphie lunged forward and barked with even more ferocity while Stella clawed at Ryan’s pant leg. He eyed me and shrugged. “I have no idea what’s gotten into them.”

  But I did. I stepped beside him and took a deep breath. “They don’t want you to go upstairs.”

  He shook his head like it sounded silly to him and started for the second step. Ralphie lunged again and Stella continued to whine. “Go to your beds then!” Ryan roared at them. Neither made any motion to leave; instead, they watched their master take the next two steps. Ralphie’s bark grew increasingly louder and more determined while Stella dropped onto her stomach in submission. I took the first step but paused, feeling like neither of us should venture upstairs. I couldn’t explain why, but there was a feeling deep in my gut—something warning me to stay where I was. I’m sure it also had something to do with Ryan’s enormous dogs cowering in fear, their tails between their legs.