Grave Danger Read online

  “What do you mean by that?” Clarissa took a book off the shelf, scanning the cover. It was a book of mythology. Many of ancient cultures ventured into the concept of cannibal-like creatures who consumed living flesh and even practitioners of these pagan arts believed in consuming flesh as a religious or spiritual practice. Christianity incorporated these beliefs into their faith system. But the flesh-eater or zombie as it was referred to in modern culture was more of an intellectual concept than a flesh and blood creature.

  “There are two schools of thought when it comes to a flesh-eater and even these don’t accurately describe the creatures that live in our city.” Leah took the book Clarissa was holding from her, putting it back on the shelf. “Hollywood, as always, tries to help us understand these night creatures. The eighties in particular seemed to be a high point in zombie mania. And even within Hollywood there are various interpretations on them. Some think they are slow moving, dull witted humans and others make them more active and cognizant. But it comes down to two reasons why there are zombies. One is based on some chemical or bio-logical accident where humans are turned into mindless, angry creatures whose only goal is to consume as much blood and flesh as they can get their hands on. The second and slightly more accurate version is that they are the dead who because of a curse or the influence of a psychic medium re-animated them into something not quite human.”

  Leah picked up two books on an opposite shelf, putting them in Clarissa’s hands. Clarissa looked down at her hands. The one on top was a book entitled: Vodou: Life in the Spirit World. The one beneath it was a philosophic study on the human zombie. It looked like a text book and probably read like one. “But you don’t believe either of those theories, do you?” Clarissa questioned as they moved on to the next aisle.

  “No,” she said, continuing to layer books on top of the ones Clarissa was holding. “I think they have some solid arguments but in truth the supernatural world doesn’t always make its history so black and white. Everything you think you might know about the flesh-eaters is usually false or almost false. Yes, they do consume flesh and blood, but they are not slow witted or human like as many believe. Flesh-eaters are almost nothing like what you’ve likely seen in movies or read about in a book which is why the Eidolon community doesn’t refer to them as zombies. The zombie refers to an animated human corpse that is without conscious or a soul. I’m not sure if that’s true. These creatures are only as human as they look, and the rest is bestial, but whether or not they have a soul, I don’t know.”

  Clarissa had heard this before from Richard. The flesh-eaters, because of the nature of their creation, lost what little humanity they might have once had. The living called these creatures soulless and perhaps they were not wrong. “Do you know anything about a death bokor or I think sometimes they are called death dealers?” Clarissa went to the counter and placed her small stack of books on it as Leah went around the other side to ring up her purchases. “I believe they have some connection to vodou, but very little is known about them. I was wondering if you might have more information, considering you’re a witch.”

  Leah laughed. “I’m not really a witch. I mean I don’t fly on a broom stick or cast spells or anything. But the term, witch, is the closest word to describe my talents which to be quite honest I’m not even sure what they are. I just know things or see things that other living people don’t understand or won’t take the time to.” Tallying up the purchases on a slip of paper, she put it in a box marked St. Augustine Eidolon customers.

  “As far as I know we haven’t heard of a death bokor in over a century. For all we know they could have all died out by now. The vodou practitioners believe that any spirit in the natural world is vodou. And they believe that they can speak or interact with the dead to some extent. The voodoo priestess or bokor is said to be able to control and create the zombie. However, a death bokor or a death dealer is like a policing force, they dish out justice to the dead. They are the force that can impart death to the dead, all dead, not just a flesh-eater. And it’s not something you will likely come across in voodoo practice, its dark magick. Most of the vodou practitioners will have never heard of such a person.”

  “How much do I owe you for the books?” Clarissa reached into her purse for her wallet. Eleanor had helped to pick one out for her today insisting that she have the natural accessories that any normal woman would possess.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Leah said, pointing to the box on the counter. “I charge everything into the Eidolon credit accounts. As long as you don’t over indulge, I think you’ll be fine. I’m sure you don’t know this, but I get paid to be an S.S. member.” At Clarissa’s astonished expression she continued. “You didn’t think we worked for the dead for free, did you?”

  “I don’t know,” Clarissa admitted. “I haven’t really thought about it. But of course you should be paid for your assistance to the Eidolon.”

  Leah went on to explain a little about what the S.S. members did for the dead. “You have to be eighteen to join. Jackson just turned eighteen this past month and he’s itching to be initiated. No one is allowed to join until they turn eighteen and a legal guardian has to agree one year in advance before initiation if you’re under the age of twenty-one. So far Jackson’s parents have declined to agree. Not that I can blame them considering what happened with so many S.S. members recently.”

  Clarissa didn’t at first connect what she meant by that last statement until Leah continued.

  “The deaths that you mentioned earlier have not just been ordinary citizens and tourists; they have been S.S. members. Until now, they have been off the flesh-eater menu for obvious reasons. It’s a breach in contract to attach an S.S. member and what makes it worse is that none of my people would have been out in the dark for them to get, which means the flesh-eaters are not sticking by the rules anymore, they are coming into our homes.”

  Clarissa walked home with her canvas bag of books, one of those environmental bags that all the stores now carried. The store bag was black with a white logo of the stores name in thick curving lettering on the outside. One might assume that the living should have noticed a bag being carried down the street with no human arm supporting it, but they didn’t. It wasn’t that the bag disappeared when Clarissa touched the tangible item. It was more likely that many of the living refused to believe they saw anything as strange as floating bags. A part of their brain functioning dismissed what was right in front of their eyes, a kind of veil that kept the supernatural and paranormal out of their living lives.

  Moving up the steps onto the front porch of Mrs. Connors home Clarissa reached for the front door only to have it burst open with a hand from the other side, quickly stepping back as she encountered another living human. He was taller than her by several inches. Except for some of the men, Clarissa had felt like the tallest dead person among the Eidolon community and she wasn’t particularly tall herself.

  Jackson paused as he took in the ghost woman in front of him. His grandmother was an S.S. member, a secret society of living humans who worked for the Eidolon community throughout the country. But unlike the Secret Service who protected and worked in Washington, Spectral Services catered specifically to the dead. Jackson wanted more than anything to be initiated into the S.S. He felt he had certain gifts that made him more than qualified to assist the non-corporal entities of this world. Unfortunately his parents hated anything to do with the supernatural.

  “Hey,” Jackson called as he flew past Clarissa, taking the stairs in one leap. He was already half way down the street when his grandmother came to the open door.

  “Jackson,” she called out, holding her hands to her mouth to amply her voice. “Remember I have a meeting to go to tonight. Be home before seven or else.”

  “Or else what,” Jackson shot back as he slowed down, turning around and walking backwards. He was antagonizing the woman, Clarissa could tell. He was grinning as he waited for his grandmother to threaten him.

  “Or e
lse I’ll take that motorcycle away from you. I know you’re keeping it on the next street over, thinking that if I don’t see it I don’t know you have one. I think your mother would have a lot to say to you if she knew you were riding around on one of those death rockets.” Maddy grinned, turning to wink at Clarissa before she continued shouting at her grandson who had stopped dead in his tracks in the street. “There is no such luck trying to keep secrets from me.”

  “Fine,” he shouted back, throwing his hands up. “We’ll then expect to see it parked outside your house from now on.” He turned swiftly and sprinted down the street to his motorcycle. He had bought it with his own money, paying for the insurance on the thing as well. He had worked to save up the money for years, since his eleventh birthday when his grandfather had written him a 100 dollar check. Jackson had worked every part time job that he could, from helping mow lawns with his friends’ dad’s Lawn mowing business to fishing for golf balls in the ponds at the Daytona PGA golf courses. In Jackson’s opinion it had all been worth it. He had learned over the years that there was nothing girls loved more than a guy on a motorcycle.

  “Did you have a nice time today in town?” Maddy asked as Clarissa followed the woman back inside. Her ladies meeting had ended a few hours ago. Jackson had arrived shortly after the women left, on his motorcycle, from his parent’s house in Daytona Beach.

  “I did,” Clarissa answered. “Eleanor and I went to Mrs. Sands dress shop and she helped me choose a new wardrobe. Eleanor’s coming over to walk with us to the meeting tonight and to bring over the clothes. Did you and your friends have a good time gossiping?”

  Maddy arranged herself on the chaise lounge in the front sitting room. “Of course we did. You in fact were a point of interest to the discussion.”

  “Me,” Clarissa exclaimed as she paused, hovering over the plump cushioned couch across from the living woman. “Why would I be of any interest to your ladies group?”

  Maddy motioned with her hands to Clarissa. “Sit down and I’ll tell you.” Clarissa sat down hesitantly, folding her hands demurely in her lap as she watched the other woman reach down to the coffee table in front of her. The tea service was still out from the meeting with a pot of tea that was likely stone cold by now. Maddy picked up an unused tea cup and poured the remainder of the tea from the porcelain pot into her cup.

  Holding the tea cup in one hand she moved her other over the brim of the cup. Moving her fingers in a counter clockwise pattern, Clarissa watched as the tea inside the cup swirled with the movements of her hand. It had been cold to begin with, but as her fingers moved over the cup the tea began to steam, growing warmer. When it was an appropriate temperature, her fingers stopped. Smiling, she looked over at Clarissa who was watching the cup, her expression clearly revealing she was impressed by the parlor trick.

  “Are you a witch too?” Clarissa hesitantly asked, even though she already knew the answer.

  “No, Clarissa, and you know that I am not.” Maddy held the cup to her lips, taking a sip of the hot tea before putting it down on a matching saucer on the coffee table. “Will you take a cup of tea with me?”

  Clarissa frowned, looking from the tea cup on the table to the unique woman in front of her. “You know I cannot consume living substances, Maddy. You of all people should know that.” It was one of the reasons the Eidolon people used other means to create food and drink for themselves, not because they needed the nourishment but because the little things like eating and sharing a drink with friends made them feel like a normal human being. If Clarissa tried to consume the tea offered to her she assumed it would pass through her and stain the couch, embarrassing herself and Maddy in the process.

  “I don’t mean to be insensitive Clarissa. I was just curious about something and I thought we could try a little experiment.” Maddy picked up another empty tea cup. Taking her tea cup, she poured a small amount of the liquid into Clarissa's empty cup. Holding it out to the other woman she said, “Take it. If it spills it spills, don’t worry about it. A stained couch can be easily fixed.”

  Clarissa didn’t at first take the offered cup, unsure of trying this seemingly innocent experiment. But Clarissa was not a person to shy away from the uncertainty of life, death had not changed that. Accepting the cup, Clarissa brought it slowly to her lips. For the ordinary manifestation of a classical ghost, the interactive entity could manipulate the tangible world to an extent. They could touch and interact with the world, but it did not interact with them. Unlike a living human, the ghost repelled all physical molecules, and was not subject to the laws of the natural world. The liquid in Clarissa’s tea cup would be expelled by her form instead of being accepted like it would in a living body.

  Clarissa held the cup to her cool lips, feeling the brim of the cup on her mouth. She didn’t know what the cup should feel like to her ghostly form, nor did she remember what it would have felt like against her once fleshy body. With slightly parted lips, Clarissa downed the contents of the tea cup in one swift gulp. Closing her eyes, she placed the tea cup back on the coffee table in front of her. For a moment she wanted to believe that she wasn’t dead, that she was a normal living woman, sitting in the home of an equally normal woman, having tea and chit-chatting like any other person would on a quiet Friday afternoon.

  “I’ll help you clean up the mess, Maddy.” Clarissa spoke when Maddy remained silent for several more seconds. “There wasn’t a lot in the cup, so it should come out easily if we don’t let it set too long. I told you I can’t drink tea. This was a stupid experiment and I shouldn’t have let you give me that tea. I feel like a child that just messed itself.”

  Clarissa heard laughter. As she hadn’t yet opened her eyes, she was confused by Maddy’s response and a little hurt as well. It had been her idea, and now the woman was laughing at her for creating a stain on her perfectly clean sofa couch. “I don’t think this is anything to laugh about. I’ve embarrassed myself and you’re laughing at me.”

  Maddy stifled her laughter with a cough and a sigh. “Open your eyes, Clarissa,” she said in a quiet voice. “I think it would be easier to explain if you could see it.”

  Clarissa slowly opened her eyes, focusing her eyes on Maddy’s face and not yet ready to look down at her-self and what she was sure to see when she stood up and saw what had become of the upholstery. Maddy’s expression was calm, a large smile plastered across her aged face. Nodding her head, she insisted that Clarissa see for herself the results of their experiment.

  Standing up with a quiet dignity that she didn’t really feel, Clarissa turned about and faced the sofa couch. The floral patterned cushions matched the chaise lounge that Maddy was sitting on. A cream color with bursting flowers of pinks and rose red, it suited the older styling of the home. Where Clarissa expected to see brown water spots and crushed tea leaves she saw nothing but pristine fabric, not a drop of tea had marred the couch. Which meant that the tea had been accepted into her body, her form had accepted the offering, making it her own.

  Spinning back around to face Maddy, Clarissa saw the shifting thoughts in the other woman’s head. Clarissa could consume living nourishments. She was indeed different from the ordinary specter. And the question that rose in both women’s mind: What kind of ghost was Clarissa? Was she even a normal ghost at all?

  “What does this mean, Maddy?” Clarissa stepped away from the couch, going over to the front windows. “What am I?” It was so frustrating, not having the memories of her living self to rely on for comfort. What she did remember didn’t account for much. She knew that she had been a reasonably happy human woman living in the Orlando area. She liked to read and she had once had friends and a family, though their faces were distorted in her thoughts. The answer to her question should have been easy, she was human – she was ghost who used to be human – she was dead. But that wasn’t the whole of the answer.

  “It means that you are a very special woman.” Maddy explained, watching the young woman pace back and forth in front of the
large front windows. “The gods have seen fit to bless you with these gifts. Don’t distress yourself because you don’t understand who you are right now. In time I think you will find the answers to your past identity and find your place in this world. For now let things just be, there is no sense in worrying over what you cannot change.”

  “I think I will just go to my room for a bit,” Clarissa responded absently as she brushed past the sofa couch, not daring to look at it again. “I’d like to rest before tonight’s meeting, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind, Clarissa.” She picked up the tea service, leaving Clarissa alone in the front room.

  The poor young woman, she thought. It wasn’t easy being odd even in the paranormal world. Clarissa was trying to come into her own with this existence and it wasn’t going to be easy for her, not that it was easy for any of the others. And if Maddy was correct in her seeing, Clarissa was going to be faced with many more obstacles to come.

  Chapter 8-

  The Government House was packed with people. A large conference room had been reserved and set aside for the meeting, hoping it was large enough to accommodate the unusually large numbers. Eleanor had arrived on Mrs. Connors door step to escort the two women to the town meeting at a little after six in the evening.

  Clarissa had spent the remainder of the afternoon closeted in her rooms, going over the books Leah had selected she read. A few had been slipped in unknowingly. One was quite humorous, a non-fiction story written by a deceased ancestor of Edgar Allen Poe; a ghost writer. The woman had written a first person account of her dealings with the melancholy man who spent too much of his time drinking. During his perennial bouts with drunkenness, she and he would have long discussions, and sometimes she would make suggestions to works he had in progress or she made suggestions for future works.