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“You promised.”
“I lied.”
“Then I won’t teach you what I know.”
“Then I’ll throw your friends over the side.”
“Get… Owwwwwwt!!!!”
Allie clenched her fists and let off an angry growl that only made the McGill laugh. She might have held some of the cards, but the McGill would not let her forget that he held all the aces.
“We will come back each morning,” the McGill said, “until we have a bright sunrise. Then we will go on to step two.”
Allie had no choice but to agree. She rode the lifeboat in furious silence back to the Sulphur Queen, even more determined than ever to outsmart the McGill.
As for the woman Allie had possessed, once she regained control of her body, she took one look at the words scrawled on the wall, and concluded that all the stories about this house were true. She immediately contacted her Realtor, and put the house up for sale, determined that she and her husband would move as far away from Amityville as possible.
“Beware of fortune cookies that cross into Everlost,” Mary Hightower writes in her book Caution, This Means You! “They are instruments of evil, and the proper way to deal with them is to stay far away. AVOID TEMPTATION! Don’t even go near Chinese restaurants! Those wicked cookies will rot off the hand of anyone who touches them.”
Chapter 19
Evil Chinese Pastry of Death The McGill followed Allies lead, letting her direct him through the first three steps of human possession. He supposedly now had “soulsight,” allowing him to see which humans were possessible and which were not, however when he looked at the living, he saw no difference between them. He wouldn’t tell Allie this, though. Soulsight would come, he convinced himself. Once he worked his way through the remaining steps it would come. It had better.
The second step was to follow the actions of a living person for twenty-four hours. “The point,” Allie explained, “is to become in tune with the things living people do.” It was a deceptively difficult chore, because the living could travel through the world in ways that the McGill could not. Every single time the McGill chose someone to follow, they would eventually get into a car, or a train, or, in one strange instance, a helicopter, and be carried away too quickly for the McGill to follow on foot.
It took several days until he finally settled on someone who wasn’t going anywhere; an inmate at a local jail. He spent twenty-four hours observing the prisoner’s various limited activities, and the McGill returned to the Sulphur Queen triumphant.
The third step, however, was much more difficult. According to Allie, he was required to commit an act of selflessness. The McGill didn’t think it was possible.
“You could release one or two kids from the chiming chamber,” Allie suggested.
But the McGill flatly refused. “It wouldn’t be selfless,” he told her, “because I’d be doing it to gain something.”
No—if selflessness was what was required then it would be a difficult task indeed. This required consulting with the cookies. After Allie had gone to her quarters, the McGill once more pushed his hand into the spittoon and withdrew a fortune cookie, crushed it, and pulled out the slip of paper. This time it read:
The answer comes when the question is forgotten.
Annoyed, the McGill threw the cookie crumbs over the side, rather than giving them to his crew.
The McGill wasn’t the only one annoyed by this turn of events. Allie silently cursed herself for not being more clever. Did she actually think the McGill would be tricked into releasing her friends? True, the challenge of this “third step” bought her time, but if the McGill was truly incapable of selflessness, it would only serve to make him angrier and angrier.
She now had freedom on the ship—more than any of the McGill’s actual crew—but something was happening to her. Each time she looked in a mirror, her reflection looked a little off. Did one ear look larger than the other? Was this bottom tooth always crooked? She wondered how long it would be until she became no better than the rest of his crew. Allie pondered all this as she stood on deck one afternoon, looking toward shore—only she couldn’t find it. The sky was clear, but all she could see was ocean. It seemed to her that the Sulphur Queen always hugged the coastline, but now they were out in the open sea. It was unsettling, for although she knew she could no longer be a part of the living world, seeing it gave her some connection to the life she once had. By her calculation, they should have been off” the coast of New Jersey—the southern part of the state, where her family lived —but the shore was nowhere in sight.
As she stared out at the horizon, the McGill approached her, lumbering in that awful way of his.
“Why are we all the way out here,” Allie asked him, “if you’re supposed to be checking your traps?”
“I have no traps in New Jersey,” was his only answer.
“But what’s the point of coming all the way out to sea?”
“I didn’t come here to answer stupid questions,” he said.
“Then why did you come?”
“I was on the bridge,” the McGill said, “and I saw you staring over the side. I came down to see if you were all right.”
Allie found this show of concern even more disturbing than the slime that so freely oozed from the McGill’s various bodily openings. The McGill brought his flaking three-fingered claw to her face and lifted her chin. Allie took one look at that swollen, turgid finger, purple and pale like a dead fish three days in the sun, and she pulled away from him, revolted.
