Page 7 of Purrfectly Haunted

Maybe I should have kept my eyes closed just now, when I saw the flames reflected in the window. Or maybe I shouldn’t have taken this job in the first place.

But I wanted to know... I wanted to be sure I hadn’t just been crazy all this time. The weird kid, too big and clumsy and dumb and crazy.

I just wish this wasn’t the way to prove me right, with the Burning Crone walking out of her pyre.

I scream.

James screams. “Holy shit!” He trips on his own feet and falls to the kitchen’s floor. “What the fuck?”

I’m frozen in place, horror-stricken, as the entity emerges from the fire. She’s made of the fabric of nightmares: blackened skin, gray hair aflame, and twisted limbs. She’s walking like a puppet being led by a twitchy puppeteer, all jerky movements and missteps.

“Shoot her, Ewan!” James roars. “SHOOT HER, YOU BIG OAF!”

His voice pulls me out of my stupor and I fumble with the PolterPulse. I aim loosely and pull the trigger, but nothing happens. How does this thing work? I should have tried it before going ghost hunting! What was I thinking? I knew ghosts were real... Why did I..? Tears prickle my eyes and my hands shake as the old fear wakes from its slumber. My hands are too big—too clumsy—and I drop the gun.

“EWAN! I SWEAR TO GOD!” James shouts.

He is fury incarnate, but unlike me, fear seems to urge him into action. He throws the EMF meter at the Burning Crone’s melting face, but it sails right through her and hits the fridge on the other side with a loud bang. He swears, then he rolls on the ground like a video game character, barely escaping the Burning Crone’s fiery grasp by an inch. His back hits my shins heavily, but the least we can say about me is that I’m a sturdy fella, so I don’t budge.

James gets a hold of the PolterPulse and aims. His hands aren’t even shaking as he finds the safety to unlock it—of course there’s a safety!—and he pulls the trigger.

My awe manages to pierce the fog of terror. My teammate is a badass.

The PolterPulse doesn’t shoot bullets, but some kind of zapping blue energy. It hits the Burning Crone square in the chest. But instead of going through her like the EMF meter did when James threw it moments ago, it turns her more substantial for a heartbeat before rebounding. The blue energy hits the the crystal chandelier above our heads and it explodes in a shower of sparks and broken pendants. I curve my body over James to protect him from the shards pelting down.

The kitchen is plunged into darkness except for the Burning Crone and her flames, and she’s fuming—literally and figuratively. Her mouth opens unnaturally wide, and she wails.

How much pain must she have been in when they burned her at the stake? How much fear? Her fury is understandable.

James pushes to his feet and stands between me and the ghost. He shoots at her a few more times, until the PolterPulse sputters and stops working entirely. He shakes it madly. “The fuck is this junk they gave us? It’s barely slowing her down!”

The Burning Crone reaches for us again with her thin arms, flames licking her charred skin. Smoke burns my nostrils and stings my eyes.

Desperately, as I grab James and start walking him back with me, I shout, “Sorry! We’re so sorry! We didn’t mean to anger you. Go away, please!”

She stops her advance and lets out a long exhale, head tilted to the ceiling. For a moment, I think I can see chains unravel around her. The chains they used to bind her to the pyre?

Then her fire dies as suddenly as it came to be with a great whoosh, as if all the air is sucked out of the room, and we find ourselves in the dark.

The silence is deafening.

The little lights on the appliances blink like stars in the night sky. The clock on the oven says 02:34.

“Is she gone?” I whisper. I’m shaking all over.

“Looks like it,” James says. “We just had to ask nicely. Who knew?”

I laugh wetly.

I feel him move in front of me. “Ewan. Are you crying?”

I shake my head, even though he can’t see it in the dark. “N—no...”

“Oh my god, you are! What’s up, big guy, scared of a little ghost?” His words sound mean, but his hands are gentle as they find my face and dry my tears.

My heart gallops in my chest like a wild horse. “Sorry...”

“I mean... holy shit. Ghosts are real. Let’s find some light.”