Slayer: A Horror Novel (Carver Book 3), page 19
With nothing holding it, the spirit bucked and struggled. Nearly tripping as I fought to keep the lid closed, I hit the wall and slid down. I hugged the top of the can to my chest and pressed with the little strength I had left—which wasn’t much.
Inside, I heard something like a scream. It was followed by a series of crackles, as if a live wire had grown a mind of its own and started whipping and spitting and hissing like an angry snake.
Then, with a puff and a sizzle, like the dousing of a campfire, the ghost was gone.
Hopefully forever.
Arch helped me up. Cotton was groaning, saying, “Who shot me? What the fuck? I been shot in my—”
“Sorry, Cotton. It was all business,” Arch said as we limped toward the door. “We’ll get you fixed up. Don’t you worry.”
“It hurts!”
A lot of people had been shot tonight. I looked down at the trash can. “Sheriff, you got any duct tape?”
He arched an eyebrow. “I think so. Somewhere ‘round—” His eyes ballooned. The arm he had around me dropped. “Fuck! Where’s Blackwood!”
This was the part where I expected Blackwood to come out of the shadows, having gotten a weapon from somewhere, ready to kill all of us.
You know what I’m talking about. The surprise ending, the last-second jump scare. And if that happened, there wasn’t shit I could do about it.
I was beat, man. I was beat to hell.
Almost as soon as Arch turned the corner, I heard him laughing. Curious, I limped to see Blackwood not holding a gun but curled up into a little ball, fresh tears in his eyes.
“Is it—is it gone?” he mumbled.
Arch said, “Yeah, Silas. You’re home free. From the bogeyman, at least. You and I, though, we still got some business to attend to.”
He cuffed him. No resisting arrest there. I felt kind of bad for the guy. But not as bad as I felt for Officer Switch or Mr. Brooks or even Officer Cotton, nor certainly not as bad as I felt for Harry, who had saved my life, or Annette, who had pretty much saved the day.
Speaking of Annette, she was sitting on the floor. Unhurt, not scared. Really, she just seemed exhausted, but there was a smile on her face.
I set the trash can down, never taking my hand off the lid, and knelt beside her.
“Annette, holy shit! That was amazing!”
The smile widened. “Thank you.”
The EMTs showed up as I was duct-taping the hell out of the trash can. An hour or so after that, thanks to a timely call from Harry, the Order arrived in their black SUVs and sedans to help clean up the mess we had made.
Harry was fine—well, as fine as anyone who’d been shot in the side could be—and he kept saying, “I fuckin missed it. I can’t believe I fuckin missed it!” as he shook his head. He was even saying this when the EMTs got him up on a stretcher and wheeled him out of the station.
Officer Cotton was most likely going to be fine too. He’d have a decently long road of rehab ahead of him, and some issues to work out with the sheriff for shooting him in the first place, but once the EMTs got him up, he surprisingly limped a few steps and then collapsed on a desk.
Mr. Brooks’ chance of survival were not for certain. He was lucid, however, and talking about suing the whole town of Channel Falls. So that was probably a good sign.
Officer Switch wasn’t going to make it. He was dead as soon as the bullet hit his head.
So, unfortunately, it wasn’t a completely happy ending.
But that’s life, isn’t it?
AFTER
THE ITCH
Over a week later, I was back at HQ, somewhere in the middle of nowhere.
The ceremony was held in a cavernous auditorium deep underground. I wore my recruit uniform, the one that looked like it belonged to a United States Naval officer.
There was a stage and a whole lot of seats, but not many were sitting in them.
The auditorium was dimmed save for a spotlight on the podium onstage. Doc had a stack of leather folios next to him.
Seated behind were all our teachers from training. Scooter, Beth, our combat instructor Fink, and even those who worked the lunch counter every day and kept our tater tots crispy. There were others too—people I didn’t recognize but had seen around HQ in the time I had spent here.
Doc gave a speech on the importance of sticking together in the Order, and then he began to call our names. As you know, there wasn’t many of us. I was surprised they had even had a ceremony, but I guess tradition ran deep in the Order.
“Harry Barnes,” Doc said.
“Welp, here goes nothing,” Harry said from beside me and pushed out of his seat. The guy didn’t even struggle, but I could see the thick pad of gauze on his gunshot wound beneath his uniform. He bounded up the few steps, and Doc handed him a folio. The two shook hands, and the auditorium erupted with applause. Harry held up a peace sign.
“John Carver,” Doc said.
I looked at Annette, and she winked. I winked back, then up the stage I went. I took the folio from Doc and shook his hand. There was a quick stab of pain when he squeezed. “Oops,” he said over the applause. “Forgot.”
I grinned. “It’s okay.”
“It looks good, Carver. Congratulations.”
As I made my way off the stage, I looked at my hand, which was throbbing beneath the fresh ink of the tentacle.
After the ceremony, the party moved to the rotunda. It had been cleared except for a few tables for us to sit at, a refreshment and snack bar, and another table full of beers and wine. Music was playing over speakers I didn’t know existed.
I was sitting by myself, sipping a beer, watching the others dance. I was never a dancer. Last time I danced, I had almost gotten killed by a coven of witches. That wasn’t the reason I didn’t feel like dancing, though.
To tell you the truth, which I have been trying my best to do in these stories, I was a little bummed, and it was because Ziggy and Zeke hadn’t made it to the ceremony. Not their fault, of course. They were busy fighting vampires somewhere in Ohio, but still, it would’ve been nice to have them there.
Nearby, Marvin and Ellie were in an animated conversation about their first assignments. Felix was dancing by himself, spilling his beer all over.
“A zombie?” Marvin was saying. “It actually died like that?”
“Yeah. Pow. Right to the rotted brain. It wasn’t hard at all. We were in and out in a few hours—”
I zoned out. Sipped my drink, finished my drink. Didn’t dance.
About half an hour of this passed before I decided it was probably time to call it a night. Harry waved for me to come to the dance floor around then. I don’t know how he was doing it with the gunshot wound not anywhere close to healed, but he was busting a move. The alcohol probably helped.
Doc and Scooter were also getting down, and let me tell you, that was a sight. Beth too.
I waved back at Harry, shook my head, got up, and just as I made a move for the nearest exit, I heard a gruff voice.
“What, you don’t like to dance, Carver?”
A smile cracked my face.
“Zeke!” I spun around. There he was with Ziggy by his side, the dog’s ghostly tail wagging like nobody’s business. “Zig!”
“Major congrats, kid!” Ziggy said.
Zeke held a burlap sack in one hand, a cold beer in the other. “Yeah…congrats.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you!” Then I eased my way over to Zeke. “I think—can I? Oh man, I’m just gonna do it.”
“Hug me and you’re dead, rookie,” Zeke growled.
“Aw, lighten up, Zeke,” Ziggy said. He manifested on the chair next to me, stood, and put his paws on my chest. The sensation of being dipped in ice water went through my body, but I didn’t mind. I was all smiles.
“No hugging,” Zeke said. “It’s a rule of mine.” He dropped the sack on the table and took a seat. “But I got you a present. A graduation gift. Go on, take a peek.”
My eyebrows rose. “Yeah?”
He nodded, waved a few fingers. “Go on.”
I opened the bag. Two dark, glassy eyes set in the most hideous, monstrous face stared back. From its black lips protruded large, crooked fangs. One of them was broken off. “Is that—?”
“An Ancient. Yeah, kid.” Zeke stuffed a hand in his jacket, and it came back out with a pair of pliers. “I already broke off one. You can have the other.”
“The fang?”
“Yeah.” He whistled. “Find the right buyer, and you might even be able to retire early.”
“What Zeke’s trying to say with this morbid show of gratitude is that an Ancient’s fangs are one of the rarest on earth,” Ziggy said.
“So…” I said. “It’s a good gift.”
“Great gift,” the dog said.
“Thanks, Zeke.”
He winked. “Don’t mention it.”
I stayed for the rest of the celebration. I caught up with my former mentors. I told them about my first assignment, which Zeke had a good laugh about, and they told me about theirs.
At some point, maybe after four beers, Zeke got up and scavenged what was left of the snacks. Once, I even thought I saw him tapping his boot, but I wasn’t completely certain about that.
Harry and Annette eventually came over and joined Ziggy and I.
They were talking about going on leave. Annette was heading to New York, the Big Apple. Harry wasn’t sure what he was going to do.
“What about you, kid?” Ziggy asked me. “You got a few weeks off. Any plans?”
I shook my head. “Not really. I think I’ll probably just go and visit my mom in Pennsylvania. It’s been a while.”
“I can respect that. Nothing like a mother’s love.” The dog nodded with approval.
Then, from behind me, Zeke said, “C’mon! Really, rookie? Now I know it’s a tall order for you, but you don’t gotta be lame all the time.”
“Hey,” Ziggy said. “You can’t call him a rookie anymore! He’s one of us now.”
Zeke rolled his eyes. “Well, shit. I guess that’s true, ain’t it?”
I was grinning.
The talking ghost dog was right. I was officially no longer a rookie. I was part of the Order of the Octopus now.
I had the tattoo to prove it.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Flint Maxwell lives in Ohio with his beautiful wife, his son and daughter, and their four furry best friends.
Flint Maxwell, Slayer: A Horror Novel (Carver Book 3)
