Oddly Enough, page 18
“Try it again.” She kept the phone camera trained on him as he reached out carefully, and pushed a book with his fingertips. He didn’t look any more solid, and his fingers sank into it up to the first knuckle, but then it moved, sliding out of place and teetering on the edge of the shelf before falling to the floor. Rachel winced as it flopped open, and she went to pick up both books. “Okay, so that’s interesting.”
“Lizards.”
“Indeed. Why haven’t you vanished, now you’re been able to say your words? I mean, can you see a door, or a white light, or anything?”
“Lizards.” The ghost picked up the piece of chalk gingerly, managing to hold onto it for a moment before it fell to the floor. “Lizards!”
“Yes, but this wasn’t the point. You were meant to move on once you could talk, not turn into a poltergeist.”
“The lizards are anxious!”
“Stop that!” Rachel grabbed a book before it could fall to the floor. “You’ll scare Laetitia!”
The cat gave her a bored look from the back of the sofa.
“Lizards! Lizards lizards lizards!” The ghost spun in a circle, grabbed the chalk from the floor and flung it across the room. “LIZARDS!” Then he dived into the shelves and was gone.
Rachel looked at Laetitia. “This did not go quite the way I intended.”
The cat gave a yawn that was uncomfortably close to laughter.
The ghost didn’t appear again that afternoon, and when they arrived back at the library the next morning everything seemed normal.
“Are you sure you’re okay hanging around here again?” Rachel’s mum asked her. “You know I could get a babysitter some days.”
“And what? Have to go to the park or the movies or something? No. I’m happy.” Rachel was examining the shelves for signs of disruption.
“Are you sure? You seem a little anxious.”
“Anxious? No! I mean, no. I’m fine. Is Angus working today?”
“Yes, he is. Don’t be hanging around bothering him all the time, though.”
“No, Mum.”
“And please stop calling Angela the Unfriendly Librarian. It’s not nice.”
“Yes, Mum.” Rachel was already heading into the stacks.
The library was quiet. It was sunny outside, and not many people bothered with the library on sunny days. Rachel and Laetitia patrolled the shelves, the sound of footfalls and books on the counter making her jumpy. But all was quiet. No whispers, no supernatural activity at all. Maybe it had just been a bit of a delayed reaction. Maybe the door had opened for him during the night or something, and off he’d gone into the light.
“Rachel?”
She jumped. “Yes?”
“What’re you doing? You’ve been walking in circles all morning.” Angus stepped around one of the stacks. “You’re going to wear poor Laetitia’s paws out.”
Rachel peered around him. The Unfriendly Librarian was on the front desk, ignoring them. “Have you noticed anything unusual?” she asked him.
“Other than you?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, other than me.”
“No. Why?”
“Because I think the library has a ghost.”
“Oh! You found one! Well done.”
She scowled at him. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. That’s great ghost hunting.”
“Well, the thing is, we may have a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“The lizards are anxious!”
The whisper came from right next to her ear, and she jumped, spinning around. The ghost grinned at her from among the books.
“Rachel? Are you okay?” Angus asked.
“Didn’t you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Lizards.”
“Shut up!” Rachel hissed.
“I’m sorry?” Angus folded his arms, frowning at her in a most un-Angus way.
“Not you, the ghost.”
“The ghost’s here now?”
“Lizards. Lizards. Lizards lizards lizards!”
“How can you not hear that?” Rachel asked.
“Humour me. What’s it saying?” Angus still looked unimpressed.
“’The lizards are anxious.”
“’The lizards are anxious?”
“Yeah. Or quite often just ‘lizards’.”
“I see.” Angus scratched his beard. “Umm – do you think maybe you’re spending a bit much time in here?”
“There’s a ghost!”
“Okay, but Rachel—”
“Lizards! Liz-ards!” Three books spun off the shelf from behind Rachel and onto the floor.
“Rachel!” Angus was frowning again.
“It was the ghost!”
“Put them back.”
“But it wasn’t me!”
“Lizards?”
“Oh, shut up!” Rachel shouted at the shelves.
“Pick those books up, then go and calm down,” Angus said. “Otherwise I’m going straight to your mother.” He turned and walked away, and Rachel slumped against the shelves, her face hot and tight feeling. Laetitia sniffed the fallen books, then sat down and started cleaning a paw, unconcerned.
“Lizards?” A voice said, rather apologetically, and the ghost emerged from the stacks. He tried to pick up the books, accidentally putting his hand through the cat, who hissed. “Lizards.”
They sat on the sofa, the girl, the cat and the ghost. Every now and then the ghost would forget he was meant to be sitting on top of the cushions, and would sink in up to his waist, which was disconcerting.
“I helped you,” Rachel said to him. “I mean, I know the door and the white light didn’t appear, but I helped you.”
“Lizards,” he said, rather disconsolately.
“Now Angus is angry at me, and thinks I’m a liar. And a book damager, which is even worse.”
“Lizards.”
“It’s just no good. You’re going to have to stop.”
“Lizards!”
“Well, it’s just too bad. You should have behaved.”
The ghost pulled himself out of the chair and picked up a book carefully. “The lizards are anxious,” he said earnestly, and the book floated into the air, followed by a sofa cushion.
Rachel gaped, watching the book turn a lazy somersault, then land on top of the cushion, which was still adrift in the air. “That’s amazing!”
“Lizards!” The ghost gestured toward Laetitia, who rose into the air, looking mildly astonished.
Rachel burst out laughing, then covered her mouth with her hands, still giggling. The ghost grinned, and another few books slipped off the shelves and headed skyward, circling each other like some complicated mobile.
“How did you learn that so quickly?” She’d quite forgotten to be angry at him.
“Lizards.”
Rachel felt her feet leave the floor, then her bottom lift off the sofa, and she covered her mouth again, smothering a torrent of giggles as she floated past Laetitia, banging her knee on a bookshelf and rolling upside down with her hair in her eyes.
“Lizards?”
“I’m okay, I’m okay.” She paddled wildly at the air, managing to right herself, still giggling.
“Lizards!” The ghost sounded happy, and she saw him smiling as she spun slowly on the spot, like a ball drifting in a pool.
This would all have to be recorded in detail, of course, but right now she didn’t even care that her phone was still on the arm of the sofa below her. They’d do it again, properly documented, and then she’d write a ghost hunting – no, a ghost befriending book, and be world famous and— she was upside down again, and looking at a pair of pointy purple heels with green skulls on them.
“Oh, no—”
“Lizards!”
Then she was falling, everything was falling, and the floor was too close for her to get her legs under her, and she was going to break her nose or lose a tooth or—
The owner of the purple shoes caught her before she could face-plant into the worn green carpet (although it was a close thing), and helped her straighten up. Laetitia gave an indignant hiss as she plunged to the floor behind the sofa, and books rained down all about them. The Unfriendly Librarian caught one just before it could land on Rachel’s head, and looked at the shelves.
“Ghosts,” she said thoughtfully. “Has Angus been giving you books?”
“Umm … yes?” Rachel offered, her ears rushing with the adrenaline of the fall.
“Damn warlocks. I thought he was one.” The Unfriendly Librarian shook her head, sleek hair shimmering over her shoulders. “That’s a dirty trick, though, getting you working spells for him, to keep the stink off himself. Bet he was hoping for a demon. Never mind. I’ll sort it out.”
Rachel stared at her as Laetitia wandered out from behind the sofa and rubbed against the woman’s legs.
“What?” the Unfriendly Librarian said. “You’ve never seen a witch before?”
Rachel made a very small sound in the back of her throat, and wondered how exactly she was going to work this into her Ghost Hunter’s report.
A Demon of Small Frustrations
I loved living in France. It was a beautiful place of old towns curling into the sea and sprouting from hilltops, of crowded beaches and hulking, empty hills, of small streets swelling with tourists in the summer only to have them ebb away like the tide every autumn. Living there year-round felt like being let in on a secret, as life reasserted itself outside the busy season. It was fancy modern cars and brutally roaring motorways, crammed artisan cheesemakers and crowded markets, flash tourist shops and well-worn local tabacs, and always the beautifully fragrant, ubiquitous boulangeries.
And, unfortunately, also home to some ferociously complicated bureaucracy.
Although I’m sure that writing this particular story in one sitting immediately after three days of being sent back and forth between two different towns’ tax offices was purely coincidental.
Zod, the perpetual irritant, the constant frustration, the leaker of pens and loosener of bottle caps, eyed up their latest victim. The human morsel was flopping around in that discomfiting way they had, with their four weird appendages and white-rimmed eyes.
“Ugh,” the human said to no one in particular. “I’m going to be late. I’m going to bloody well be late again, and where is my damn phone?”
Zod snickered, and pushed the phone a little further behind the breadboard that was leaning against the wall.
“I just – dammit!” the human jumped back as the piece of toast they’d been holding snapped in two. Zod gave the falling piece a little flick with one of their tentacles, making sure it landed butter-side-down.
“Today sucks,” the human said. “Today totally, totally sucks.” It bent down – Zod was always fascinated by how they bent, all at funny angles, instead of concertinaing or oozing – and picked up the toast. It inspected it, sighed, and threw it in the bin. Zod gave the bin a tiny push, so the toast hit the edge, flipped, and landed on the floor again. The human gave a shriek and waved its funny arms about, then sat down on the floor and covered its face with its hands. Zod took the opportunity to scoot to the table and take the human’s keys from the cloth receptacle sitting on top of it. It appeared humans didn’t have proper, practical pouches, and instead carried all their various accoutrements around in external ones. It made them very easy to visit frustration upon.
Zod wrapped a couple of tentacles around the keys and was turning to stash them behind the fridge when the human said, “What the hell?”
Zod froze. The problem with using physical things to implement little acts of chaos is that one needs a physical body to affect them. While Zod could slip between the atoms of a wall and step from one continent to the other in their thought form, if they wanted to start a tap dripping, they had to take their corporeal one. Which was painfully visible.
They met the human’s eyes with half a dozen of their own, the rest roving about wildly in several dimensions trying to see if there was a supervisor in the vicinity or if their slip-up had gone unnoticed so far. The human’s eyes were even wider and more stare-y than usual.
“Are those my keys?” it said after a moment.
“I am Zod, Queen of Triplicate Forms and Lord of Pointless Delays!” Zod roared, flinging their longest tentacles wide and raising the ruff around their legs. “Bow before me, worthless meat-monster!”
Or, rather, they tried to roar that. The air of Earth and the aether of the Not-Quite are different, so what came out was a purring squall that made the human bare its teeth to show its amusement.
“Aw, look at you! Where did you come from?” it said, getting up off the floor and crossing to the table. There was water on its face, and it smelt of hideous things like soap and toothpaste. Zod tried to will themself back into their thought form, even though they knew it was impossible now that the thing had seen them. They had to wait until it looked away again.
“I am of the Other!” Zod bellowed. “I stride the demon realms! I am the caster of stubbed toes and the conjurer of slightly-off-even-though-you-only-bought-it-yesterday milk! Tremble before me!” Prrrrrah-squeee! Prrrr! Grr-maow!
“Okay, seriously, you are adorable.” The human crouched in front of the table, and Zod twisted themself into a taller and more terrifying shape, really putting the writhe into their tentacles. The human made a little squeaking sound and held a hand out toward them. “Where did you come from, little guy?”
Zod abandoned their efforts at communication, as the horrid thing was obviously clueless, and wrapped half their tentacles around its hand instead, putting vigorous effort into melting the flesh from the bone, even though that was a talent for the so-called lower demons. Zod wasn’t sure how only being able to exercise your powers when summoned by a human (even if accidentally), then suffering through the inevitable exorcism that followed, qualified you to be a lower demon and enjoy all the status that came with the position. It didn’t seem that special to them. Not when compared with inflicting splinters under nails and unexpected items in bagging areas.
The human giggled, a noisome sound. “Aw, are you hungry?” To Zod’s horror, the thing picked them up. Them, Zod, King of Snagged Tights and Empress of Broken Zips! The revoltingly clean creature pressed them against its soap-stinking chest and carried them in an undignified bundle to the kitchen worktop. They squawked in horror, eyeballs watering with the shock, and the human laughed again. “Okay, I’m doing it. I just bet you’re hungry. I wonder what you eat?”
“Your Tuesday gloom and Sunday boredom!” Zod screamed. “Your Saturday terror of not finding a parking space and Monday morning elevated anxiety!” Prrah-prrah-prrrrrrah!
The human took a jar from the cupboard, still prattling on in its horrible mouth-voice, and opened the lid. “I don’t know what to give you,” it said, sticking a finger in the jar. “Maybe— whoa!” Because Zod had flung themself at the jar, thinking that if they could throw it across the room the human’s attention would be diverted, and they’d be able to make good their escape.
They’d have to report the incident, of course. There was no way around it. The human would need to have its mind scrubbed by lower demons, and Zod would be disciplined. They’d probably be relegated to the Mildly Troublesome But Expected Department, where they’d have to do things like put blisters in new shoes, or make sure people forgot their umbrellas on rainy days. Ugh. Or – oh, devils, no – maybe they’d have to bruise new bananas and stick chewing gum on seats in the Everyday Issues Department. Oh, what a devastating promotion that would be! That would be unthinkable. Surely it couldn’t come to that. Maybe they could put a spin on this somehow. Maybe— They stopped, some of their tentacles still wrapped around the human’s hand.
Prrah?
“Dude, I’m not at all sure you should be eating that,” the human said, and Zod moved some more of their taste organs to where there was … something. What was that? They made a little inquisitive noise, and when the human used its other hand to take the jar away, they didn’t resist. They were focused on the taste of … of …
“Well, you sure like it.” The meat-monster shook the jar at them. “I’m getting a spoon, alright? Stop … just stop whatever you’re doing to my finger. It’s gross.”
“You’re gross,” Zod retorted, but without much heat. Not that the human noticed – the word still came out as a little squawk, and Zod went back to slurping the magic jar content off the human’s finger. It tasted like a torn fingernail at the end of a too-long week. It tasted like takeaway coffee cup lids that don’t seal on early mornings. It tasted like someone else eating the last piece of cake. It tasted like a small scrap of soul, less stolen than worn away.
“Here,” the human said, and offered Zod a spoon piled high with the brown goop from the jar. “You weird little thing.” Zod detached themself from the human’s hand and wrapped themself around the spoon instead, humming with high-pitched pleasure. The human watched them for a moment then said, “I have to go. I can’t be late.” It sighed, took its keys from the table, and left. Zod barely noticed. They were lost in an ecstasy of taste.
When Zod came back to themself, the apartment was empty, as was the jar. They sat up, shaking themself off and rearranging their tentacles, shifting from an amorphous blob to their normal multi-limbed self. They felt a bit shaky, and their eating tubes had been drooling on the worktop. The jar lay on its side next to them, glass polished clean. They burped, loud enough to penetrate the layers of reality, and set about cleaning their tentacles.
They had a problem. Demons fell for earthly delights all the time, which is how they so often ended up exorcised, returned to the Not-Quite in bouncing glass balls that sang with on-hold music. Even for demons, that’s unpleasant. And if they didn’t get exorcised, but started getting too humanised instead, the real lower-downs dragged them back. Usually in pieces. Neither of those options sounded like something Zod wanted to experience. True, said earthly delights usually seemed to involve flesh of some sort, not – they checked the jar – chocolate-hazelnut spread, but they trusted the lower-downs no more than they did any other demon. Which was to say, not at all.
