The Super Spies and the Cat Lady Killer (24 page)

 

“Charlie, I'm scared. I don't want the bogies to come.”

Four-year-old Millie Foster looked up at her big brother with wide, frightened eyes as she pointed out the window toward the cemetery. Charlie focused his attention in the same direction and his stomach tightened. He didn't want the bogies to come either, dreaded seeing nightfall approach. The scene out the window only heightened his fear.

Dusk had set in, causing long, eerie shadows of the gravestones to stretch toward the house as if reaching for them. The grassy field between the cemetery and the back door of the Foster home was the only barrier of protection they had against the restless souls buried there. The bright, deep red of the setting sun cast a glow across the earth that made it look like blood was blanketing the cemetery. The mist on the ground billowed up, mixing with the dark shadows and the crimson rays of the sun, making it appear that the spirits were rising up from their graves, escaping. And Charlie had no doubt that on this night, the night when the veil between the dead and the undead lifted, the roused spirits would once again descend on their quiet home.

A chill ran up Charlie's spine and he wrapped his arm around Millie, pulling her close. He knew if he was scared, Millie had to be terrified.

“It'll be okay, Silly Millie. Me and Jack'll keep you safe.” At least he hoped so, wondering where their eight-year-old brother was. He should have been back from his supply run by now. Charlie hoped he hadn't been caught by their mother.

“And Mommy too?”

“And Mommy too.”

“Can I sleep in your room tonight?”

“Sure. You and me and Jack can have a slumber party.” Charlie tickled her and Millie giggled. “But we better not tell Mom.”

“Cuz Mommy will get very mad if she hears us talkin' 'bout ghosts. She don't believe us that we saw them come right in the house.”

Their mother had scolded him and Jack for hours for scaring Millie with their “silly nonsense” about the dead coming to life on Halloween. Said she'd lived by the cemetery her whole life and had never seen any ghosts and that if she caught them filling Millie's head with more of their stories she'd wash their mouths out with soap every day for a week. Then she'd make them read five chapters from the Bible. Out loud.

“I wish Daddy was here.”

“Me too, Silly Millie.” Charlie smiled at the little moppet. He knew there was no way Millie remembered their father. She'd only been a few months old when he'd left for war. Charlie barely remembered their dad and he'd been six when Charles Senior's unit had been called to fight. But she talked about him like she knew him, claimed to play games with him. Charlie thought that was good, even if their mother didn't like it and told him to quit encouraging Millie's imagination. But he liked talking about their father and told her stories about him, mostly to keep the man fresh in his own mind, just in case…

Millie puffed her chest out. “He'd believe us. He'd help us keep the ghosts in the graveyard!”

Charlie smiled at her conviction. “He sure would, Silly M—”

“I got it! I got it!” Jack yelled as he ran into the room, a flour sack in one hand and one of their mother's kitchen crocks in the other.

“Quiet! We don't want Mother to know what we're doing,” Charlie whispered as he resisted the urge to clamp a hand over Jack's big mouth.

Eight-year-old Jack winced. “Oh, yeah, sorry.” He lowered his voice. “I got everything on our list.” Jack crouched down, sat the crock on the floor, opened the sack, and pulled out a canister of salt, a mason jar full of clear liquid, some string, and some book pages.

Millie ran to Jack, flopped down on the floor beside him, and picked up the glass jar. “What's this?”

“Holy water,” Jack answered.

“Where did you get holy water,” Charlie asked.

Jack's face and the tips of his ears turned almost as red as his hair. “I, um, got water from the kitchen and as I held the Bible over the top of the jar I repeated ‘I turn you to holy water' three times.”

Since Charlie had no clue if that would work or not, he just nodded his head at Jack. He bent down, picked up the book pages, and scanned a couple lines.
A fine rain now made her still more dismal…
“Jack! You tore these pages out of Mother's Virginia Woolf book! She'll clobber you!”

Jack winced. “We need them to make paper straws so we can blow the black salt on the ghosts if they come, Charlie. I'll put them back. I promise.”

“Black salt?”

He picked up the crock. “Yeah. I emptied the salt from the shaker into this bowl and got ashes and soot from the fireplace and mixed it together. That makes black salt and—”

“You scooped up ashes from the fireplace and put it in one of Mother's good kitchen crocks. She'll tan your hide for sure. You're going to get us all in trouble.” Charlie shoved his little brother on the shoulder, causing the boy to tip over backward onto his bottom.

“I couldn't find anything else to put it in,” Jack whined. “And she'll never know we used it. We'll clean it up and put it back.”

“No,
you'll
clean it out and return it. And if you already put salt in that concoction, why did you bring the whole canister of salt with you?”

Jack gave him a toothy grin. “You'll see.”

Millie touched her finger to the mixture and sniffed it. Her eyes watered and she broke into a series of sneezes. “That—stuff—burns,” she finally managed, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her shirt then shaking her head vigorously.

“Goofy, why'd you do that?” Jack pulled the crock back.

“Because she's four. Are you okay, Millie?” Charlie asked.

She shook her head. “I'm okay.”

“Well, genius, I hope it works better on ghosts,” Charlie said in a tone that clearly said the black salt wouldn't be of any use.

“It will. Don't worry.” Jack picked up one of the book pages and rolled it to make a tube. “Charlie, hold this real tight.”

Charlie did as requested, holding the cylinder at each end. Jack picked up the string and wrapped it around the tube from one side to the other, having Charlie reposition his hands so he could cover the whole thing with string. He made a couple more passed around and then tied the string off. He took the tube and held it vertically. “Thanks. What you do is cover the bottom with a finger, take some of the black salt, and drop it in the top.” Jack demonstrated as he spoke. Then he turned his back to Charlie and Millie. “Then you hold it up to your mouth, take your finger off, and blow.” Black particles flew from the straw.

Millie squealed and clapped her hands. “Do it again! Do it again!”

“Don't you dare. You've made enough of a mess,” Charlie said, annoyed.

Jack squinted one eye and a frown pinched his forehead as he focused on Charlie. “Quit scolding me. You could make yourself useful and help make up the straws. We have to be ready or the evil spirits will come and get us.”

Charlie glanced at their sister. “Shut up, Jack!”

Millie let out a yelp and slammed into Charlie, knocking the air out of him. “Don't let the evil spirits get me, Charlie. I want Mommy.” She began to cry.

Charlie bent down and wrapped his arms around her. He locked eyes with his brother and gestured his head toward their little sister.

Jack shrugged his shoulders. “What?”

Frustrated, Charlie rolled his eyes. “Silly Millie, Jack's just been reading too many scary books. No goblins or ghouls are gonna come to get you.”

The frightened girl buried her face deeper into Charlie's shoulder. “B-but th-they will come. You said so. I don't want the bogies to get me. I want Mommy.”

Charlie's shirt was damp from the tears. He was going to beat Jack senseless the first chance he got. Better yet, he'd make sure their mother found out about her book being destroyed. That would get Jack in a whole mess of trouble.

He squeezed his sister, not sure how to comfort her when he was scared himself. Maybe Millie had the best idea and they should tell their mother they were scared. But she hated Halloween and all the talk of ghosts and monsters. Called it the work of the devil and said if someone could see those things, that person was evil. Even refused to let them participate or watch the church's yearly rendition of Charles Dickens's
A Christmas Carol.
But Charlie didn't feel evil. Millie certainly wasn't evil. Jack was an idiot who didn't think before he opened his big mouth, but not evil. Still, Charlie couldn't deny what he'd seen with his own eyes over the past few Halloweens, whether his mother believed them or not.

Jack rummaged in the sack. “Hey, Silly Millie, I have something that'll for sure keep you safe. Ah ha!” He pulled out a string of garlic cloves and offered it to the crying girl.

Millie lifted her head and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her shirt. Her face was stained with tears and covered in red blotches. “It smells funny. What is it?”

“It's the best protection you can have. Nothing will come near you as long as you're wearing this.” Jack leaned over and looped the necklace around her neck.

Millie pinched her nose. “It smells bad.”

Charlie gagged. “You moron. She can't go down to dinner wearing that. How will we explain it to Mother?”

Jack thunked his head with the palm of his hand. “Oh, right. Sorry, Millie, we'll have to wait until after we eat.”

“Okay, Jack.” She pulled the string over her head and held it out to him, then jerked her arm away before his fingers touched the garlic. “You promise to give it back, don't you?”

“Of course. I made it just for you. I got one for me and Charlie too.”

“I'm not wearing that thing.”

“You gotta, Charlie! Please,” Millie said, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Jack! Ugh! Now see what you've done! All right, all right. I'll wear the stupid necklace.”

“What did I do?”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “Where do I even sta—”

“Millie, Charlie, Jack, dinner!”

“We're coming, Mom,” Charlie called. He pointed to the supplies scattered about the floor. “Jack, get that stuff picked up and hid somewhere in case Mother comes up here.” Then he took Millie by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Listen, Millie, remember not to tell Mother what we're doing up here. She won't like it and we'll all be in trouble. And we won't be able to put on the garlic necklaces Jack made and make paper straws.”

“I won't say anything. I promise.”

“Good. Once we eat and Mother goes to bed, me and Jack'll come get you.”

“Okay! Come on. Let's hurry and eat before it gets dark.” She jumped up and ran out the door.

Charlie was slower to get to his feet, dreading the night ahead. Jack scooped up the things from the floor and dropped them in the sack then carried it and the crock to the closet and set them inside, covering them with a quilt. As he crossed the room toward the door, Charlie whopped him upside the head.

Jack rubbed the spot. “Ouch! What did you do that for?”

“Because you're an idiot.” Charlie stalked out the door, disgusted.

“Charlie.”

He jerked around and stared at his brother. “What?”

“We're gonna be okay, aren't we? I mean, this stuff's gonna work to keep the ghosts out of our house this year, isn't it?”

“I hope so, Jack. I hope so.”

 

Astraea Press

 

Pure. Fiction.

 

www.astraeapress.com