A World of InTemperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 2) (2 page)

Point of View, Ichabod

“Happy New Year, Miss Plumtartt!”

“I say, may the new year be joyous for you as well, Mr. Temperance. However, need I remind you, we are still twenty minutes from midnight, and the dawning of the year, 1876, eh hem?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I’m just excited at being back in the states and in Los Angelos, I reckon. Gee, 1876! This year will mark one hundred years of independence from English colonization, begging your pardon, Ma’am.”

“Oh no, Mr. Temperance. I must say that I am most pleased that your little country has been able to stumble along without the need of Great Britain’s guidance.”

“Gee, that sure was swell of you fellers to meet us at the docks and give us a lift into town. How did you know we were coming, Officer O’Hagan?”

“The lovely Abigail asked us to hurry you to her upon your arrival. Methinks she has a mystical way of knowing when people come and go.”

“I say, that is fascinating, Constable. The imposing Abigail GoldenBear is a woman of many talents.”

“Aye, Persephone, my lovely child. Perhaps little Icky would like to ride in the front seat of this steam-carriage and have Officer Smith, here, explain her operations. I could then join you in the rumble seat that we may continue our conversation, more intimately.”

“Come on up, Citizen Ichabod.”

“Yessir!”

“Eh hem, I say, no, I think I prefer Mr. Temperance to remain where he is, thank you.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Oh well, you can’t blame a man for trying, eh?”

“I am flattered, constable, but I remain hopeful that I will one day inspire a more courageous romanticism within Mr. Temperance, eh hem?”

“I wish you good luck in that endeavor, Persephone.”

“Eh hem, yes. I understand that this city is still plagued by occurrences that border on the supernatural.”

“That’s right, British Citizen Persephone. That is why O’Hagan and I now head up the L.A.-X-Dossiers.”

“What are them, Officer Smith?”

“Well, Citizen Ichabod, ever since the pass of the ‘Revelatory’ Comet, there has been no end to ghostly hauntings, fantastic creature sightings, and spectral manifestations.”

“Aye, Keefer, me boy. It happens naturally, but Los Angelos is also home to dozens of covens, demon summoners, and naughty citizenry, prone to ouija board misuse.”

“Gosh, that ‘Revelatory’ Comet sure did put a whammy on our unsuspecting world!”

“Let me see, the visit of the Comet was in July of 1869. This is December 31, 1875, making that occurrence to have been six and a half years ago. I say, I still sense the anxiety our planet suffered at its swift approach.”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, I’ll tell you what, when that comet got slung around the Sun and back towards Earth, I thought we were goners for sure! As it was, the Comet passed before us, and we just rolled on through her tail.”

“Aye, lad, and look at us now! Everywhere you look, wild inventions of steam, spring, and electricity surround us in this mad age of hyper-invention. Why, this lovely coal-stoked, steam-carriage is just one of the wonders. You, little Ickety Temperance, are as fine a tinker as any other! Why, Keefer and I would be lost without our ‘Green Beauties’! Those clever goggles you made for us that have the ability to see the otherwise invisible world of the extra-normality have been of invaluable assistance in our expressed duties.”

“I say, gentlemen, why are we stopping? I thought we had an urgent appointment with Miss Abigail GoldenBear?”

“We have a little business to conduct here on the West side of town. As you two are so good at this sort of thing, I thought we would press you into service. It shouldn’t take too long, and beside that I believe you know the gentleman involved.”

“Golly, this whole neighbourhood is dark and quiet. It does not sound like anything is stirring inside of a half mile.”

“Why, Mr. Temperance, our chauffeur has brought us to a church. It’s a cute little white-washed frame building, with little curlicues and wooden tassels adorning the eaves.”

“Yes, Ma’am, but something seems off. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there is a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach telling me to stay away from this otherwise friendly place. The sign in front reads:”

The Right Reverend Alonzo Dolomite’s Church for Wayward Girls and other Attractive Ladies

“Why, Mr. Temperance, you don’t suppose that is the same Right Reverend Alonzo Dolomite that we met while traveling by train last year, do you?”

“Ahhh-eee-
yea
-
ess
-ah!”

“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am, I do! That Southern accent is unmistakable! The strong delivery and classic evangelical enunciation that stretched that little ol’ monosyllabic word into an accordion of pleasing tones could only be pronounced by our good friend and traveling companion, the Right Reverend Alonzo Dolomite!”

Standing in the churchyard is an excited coloured gentleman. Clothed in the garb of a Priestly frock, the Reverend’s shaven head gleams in the moonlight.

“I demand to be liberated,
yes
, from the tribulations that plague me so.”

“I say, Reverend Dolomite, your loyal and obedient coptic constabulary are augmented by your faithful friends, Ichabod Temperance and Persephone Plumtartt.”

“Persephone! Hallelujah! My prayers have been answered, and you have been delivered from the desert’s wasteland! Praise the Lord! Hello, little Itchy-bod, glad to see you’re still alive, son.”

“Yessir, thank you, Reverend Dolomite, sir, the last time we saw you we were wanderin’ around the desert like some folks from out of the Old Testament. I didn’t never to thought we was gonna get outta that ‘un.”

“Rather, I say, I do so apologize for my discourteous departure, at that time, Reverend Dolomite.”

“Think nothing of it, my lovely child. I am just so relieved to see you both again unharmed. Praise God!”

“How have you been, Reverend Dolomite?”

“Ah, Itchy, this has been a difficult time for me. You see where I have built my Church that I have always dreamed of, but it is unsafe for any creature to enter. Something is not ah-right-ah. Hallelujah!”

“What seems to be the problem, Citizen Reverend Dolomite?”

“A foul criminal has defiled my lovely church! That rascal has vandalized this property!”

“Aye, well, you are a stout and righteous man, me consternated clergyman. I look at you and do not think I would want to be trying your patience. Why did you not tend to this little chore yourself?”

“There is not a man walking God’s Good Earth that I would not lay hands on and throw out, if he trespassed against this church; maybe even three or four at a time, but this one is special. I thought I would leave him to you professionals.”

“Miss Plumtartt, are you all right, Ma’am? You just shuddered and fell back away from the churchyard a few steps.”

“Eh hem, yes, Mr. Temperance. Do you remember my explaining my talent for observing things supernatural without the aid of your goggles?”

“You mean how you were involved in a dangerous laboratory experiment explosion? The one involving forbidden occult knowledge?”

“That is the very one, sir. You may recall, this occurrence bestowed powers preternatural upon me. I sense and see into realms that others do not. I daresay, with the proper motivation and preparation, I am even able to cast a defensive, dynamic outburst.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Indeed, then further, I should like to communicate my observance of something distressing as concerns this property. Might one suggest that all who are so equipped, don your supernatural-vision, ‘Green Beauty’ goggles, eh hem?”

“Holy Guacamole, watch out, citizens! This property is oozing foul miasmas in creepy, invisible steam, shrouding this churchyard in a supernatural smoghat.”

“Ahoy there, me good Reverend Dolomite, just how did ye come by this charrr-ming loo-cay-tion?”

“I got a great deal on this property. I let it be known I was building a new church-ah. This man came to me and said I could have this empty lot for free! Praise God! If I only would build a church here. I said, yes!”

“Yeah, about that, I’ve been a’ lookin’ into the history of these properties. This area was once used as a paupers’ graveyard. Also, it was used as a dumping ground for those unfit for burial in a normal cemetery according to the custom of the peoples of this area in years gone by. Suicides and mur-r-r-derers were buried in unconsecrated ground; this ground. This only appeared as an empty lot, because there were no headstones. Someone has set you up somehow, Reverend Dolomite.”

“I knew it! It was too good to be true! Well, get in there and Exorcise my Temple!”

“Let’s carry the ‘hardware’, Keefer.”

“Right, O’Hagan.”

“Hey, y’all still got those ectoplasmic-discharge rifles I built for you!”

“They are essential for ectoplasmic based criminals, lad.”

“Yessir. Are you coming with us, Reverend Dolomite?”

“Do you have an extra set of those goggles?”

“Nossir.”

“That’s all right, I’ll come along anyway. I want to look after Persephone.”

We stand there, every one of us loath to step foot on the dreadful plot.

Slowly, on an unspoken command, we take the first tentative steps onto the cursed domicile. The thick, green, miasma clings to our clothing. The cloying fog tries to hold us back. Though it should be dry, the ground feels squishy beneath my boots.

“You hold that parasol as a weapon, Persephone.”

“Yes I do, Reverend Dolomite, for it is. I see that you hold your over-large Holy Bible as if you would use it to strike with, as well, eh hem?”

“Yes, Persephone, my posture speaks true, Hallelujah!”

This cute little church should be a place of warmth and greeting; instead it is a dwelling of the worst foreboding.

We pause at the bottom step, straining our ears to listen. Just at the edge of hearing, an unearthly wail is faintly detected.

Spooky mists, like unhappy spirits, swirl about us.

Ghosts of ancient, Spanish Californios whirl into coalescence and just as quickly dissipate.

“Keep the faith, Reverend Dolomite, your blessings keep the evil at bay.”

“Praise God, keep us safe from these evil spirits!”

“I say, yes, I appreciate all of you big strong men wanting to protect me from harm, but in fact, an observer might think that you were all leaning toward me
for
protection, rather than to
lend
it, eh hem? In further observations, I think it uncanny that we all manage to coordinate our steps to move up the steps in unison.”

A few short steps through the vestibule and we are looking into the sanctuary.

“What has happened to my church? All the pews are thrown up against the walls!”

“Take care, Citizen Dolomite, a space has been cleared in the middle of the floor to paint a large circle. In the center lies a large, crude star, surrounded by carefully drawn terrible symbols.”

“Yuck, that dark paint is awfully thick and nasty.”

Miss Plumtartt gasps and falls back a step.

“I cannot enter this place. We should flee immediately. Yes. Quite so and forthwith.”

~SLAM!~

We all jump and whirl about at the sharp, and ominous, concussion of the doors being slammed closed, directly behind us.

“Who shut them doors, y’all?”

“Ha, ha, ha, I did, little mon.”

Our troupe whirls back around to face our spooky adversary.

“The suspect is in the pulpit, O’Hagan.”

A dark figure stands opposite to us, across the sanctuary. The black man is tall and strongly built, wearing a tailed coat; his head is bowed beneath a shiny top hat.

“Hey! You’re the lying heathen that sold me on building my blessed church on a ghostly grave-site! I’m gonna take it out of your hide now, you treacherous turkey!”

The Right Reverend Alonzo Dolomite bursts out from our cluster to confront his vesper transgressor.

The sinister minister raises his head.

The Right Reverend Alonzo Dolomite lands on his rear end trying to back pedal from that hateful visage.

The man looking at us wears a skeletal face.

Miss Plumtartt gives a sharp cry. “Aaah!”

The frightful apparition throws back his horribly painted head and laughs out loud. “Hahahahahahahaha!”

“Bonjour, bonnes hommes.” A thick French accent, born of the Caribbean, flows like half cooled lava. “Welcome to my party.”

“Freeze, punk, er, Citizen, you are coming in for some intensive questioning, you occultist clown.”

“Hahahahahaha!” laughs the man with the skeletal painted face. Unnaturally white irises make it difficult to maintain eye contact with the strange fellow.

“I am the one questioning you, mon! Which of you shall be the first to sacrifice their life for me, the mystic from the island of San Monique? I stand ready to seize this land in the name of the ‘Sin-dicate’! I am Sku LeBiz’zare, and you shall be my offerings!”