Grave Danger (11 page)

“
Shows over folks,” he called out over his
shoulder to the other patrons in the restaurant. “You can go back
to your meal. There’s nothing else to see here.” After a few
minutes, most of them took the hint, either returning to their own
table conversations or leaving the restaurant all together. And
Clarissa and Richard were given a measure of privacy.

“
What do the flesh-eaters have to do with the
town meeting tonight? You said earlier that you believed they might
somehow be the topic of discussion.” Clarissa asked this question
only because she wanted to distract Richard from his own melancholy
thoughts. He wasn’t quite as immune to them as he would lead others
to believe. He might behave outrageously most of the time, but
Clarissa suspected it was a way to keep people away from him. His
worst fear was to have people pity him if they knew his past, to
feel sorrow for the poor soul no one had ever cried over in life or
death; unloved and unwanted.

“
I know what you’re doing, and thanks.”
Richard took another sip of his soda before he began. “It isn’t
like this comes as a surprise to any of us. It’s in their genetic
make-up to kill. But up until now it’s never been like this, or so
they tell me. There have been more unnecessary deaths in the past
two months than in the past ten years and it’s getting worse. If
something doesn’t happen quickly I have a feeling there’s going to
be a war of some kind; dead against dead to see who would get the
control of the city.”

“
I’m not going to say I told you so because I
think that might be bitchy of me,” Clarissa began, her face
twisting in a humorless smile. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if that
didn’t actually come true. These creatures have to be stopped.
We’ve let them use this city as their feeding smorgasbord for too
long and it’s time to put the natural balance back in our
favor.”

“
As far as I know there aren’t too many death
dealers waiting around for a phone call so they can swoop in and
take these creatures out. The fact that we have been able to
negotiate with them at all is a miracle in and of
itself.”

Clarissa scrunched her face in confusion. “What do
you mean by death dealers, what’s a death dealer?”

Richard forgot she wasn’t as familiar with their
world as he was. She wouldn’t know anything about these
supernatural beings that the Eidolon referred to as the Death
Dealers or Death Bokor. They were living humans who could control
the dead and un-dead, all of them; from ghost to ghoul, mummy to
vampire and most importantly the zombie or flesh-eater. And they
were rare in these modern times with science relegating their
beliefs in the paranormal as the fanciful imaginings of quacks and
charlatans. The vodou, a religious practice combining the gods of
Western Africa with European Christianity was still a practiced
faith in this country. Finding its beginnings in the Caribbean
islands when African slaves were brought over from their homelands
by the Europeans and later, spreading up into the Florida peninsula
and farther north becoming part of the culture in the cities it
touched. Most people were familiar with Voodoo and Hoodoo practices
of New Orleans, popularized by Queen Marie Laveau in the 1800s. But
other forms of Vodou have been practiced in this country even
before this country was a country at all.

The swamps and rivers of Central and South Florida
housed small Haitian communities who held true to their ancestral
African values even when the rest of the population dismissed them.
The religious practice of vodou was an inclusion religion which
promoted religious tolerance, evolving with its practitioners,
incorporating Roman Catholicism and European mysticism. The Death
Bokor was created through this religion, though most vodou
practitioners would know nothing about these persons. As secretive
as the freemasons these wielders of ancient magick kept to
themselves. And as time went by there weren’t many bokors on hand
to manage the flesh-eaters and so the Eidolon community was forced
to manage without them.

“
A Death Dealer is kind of like a medium to
the paranormal world. Their living humans who can speak to the
deceased and through the ancient arts manipulate the un-dead. It’s
a very rare talent that only a handful of livings possess and for
some time they’ve been a near extinct species.”

“
So you’re saying a bokor could control these
flesh-eaters.” It was the natural world counteracting the creation
of such a monstrous being. If they could exist in this world, then
there needed to be something to keep their numbers from
spreading.

“
Yes, but as far as I know there are no bokors
in the St. Augustine area. We’d have to go down south or even
farther to Louisiana where most of the vodou population lives; not
that those places would know of any death bokors. That is if there
is any death bokors left.”

“
Would you know a death bokor if you saw one?”
she queried. “Are they dressed a certain way to let others know
what they are?” These Death Bokors seemed to be an elusive bunch.
If it was their natural responsibility to protect the balance of
the supernatural world, then they should be out doing so, not
hiding away in the bayou or Everglades.

“
No, they look just like you and me.” He
grinned. “Well, maybe not exactly like you and me. They have flesh
and blood to sustain them. What I mean is that they are ordinary
looking living humans, but they’re anything but normal. I only know
about them from other ghosts, but apparently centuries ago they
were like supernatural warriors taking down hundreds of
flesh-eaters at a time. Now, who knows if all that wasn’t just an
embellished tall tale?”

Clarissa and Richard left
The Boneyard
several minutes later. Richard
offered to escort her back to Mrs. Connors home, but Clarissa
kindly declined. It was still daylight and she was getting a little
tired of being chaperoned around town. If she was to get used to
this existence then she needed to acclimate herself to the city on
her own terms and without someone constantly watching over her.
Clarissa had an uneasy feeling that she was being carefully watched
by the community, making sure that she could be trusted within
their city. There were secrets in this city that someone didn’t
want let known, she could feel it. But right now at the forefront
of her mind was figuring out a way to find a death bokor and bring
one into the city.

Chapter 6-

Clarissa left Richard at the corner between Rhodes
Avenue and Fletcher Street. He was going to stop off at Henry’s
home to get a couple of LP’s he had loaned out back from him.
Clarissa nodded her goodbye as he walked away from her. He was such
a peculiar soul, she thought. But she suspected that Richard would
be a person to trust, someone who wouldn’t turn their back on a
friend even if what they were doing could endanger them all.
Clarissa shook herself mentally at that last thought. She wasn’t
doing anything to endanger the community. If anything she was going
to help them.

Testing out her knew spectral abilities Clarissa
imagined the layout of the old city, figuring out where St. George
Street was in conjunction to where she was standing now. Closing
her eyes, she imagined herself standing on the pedestrian
thoroughfare. If she was lucky Clarissa wouldn’t accidentally
manifest herself on top of a living person or a ghost.

With a silent prayer Clarissa felt herself move
through the atmosphere. It was an exhilarating feeling, a strange
pulling and tugging as she rode through on the waves of lateral
time. It was an experience she hadn’t thought to encounter in this
world. Opening her eyes finally as she felt her body settle, she
found herself on a busy street. This street always seemed to be the
most populated, brimmed to capacity with tourists and locals. And
no one seemed a bit concerned that there were monsters eating their
friends and family members.

Traveling alone now she continued down St. George
Street. She had come through here yesterday with Henry and he had
kindly pointed out several local shops he thought she might like to
enjoy looking through.

Clarissa nodded a hello as a group of ghosts made
their way down the street toward her. Most ghosts she noticed
traveled in groups, but occasionally there would be a lone soul.
However these ghosts were tourists as evidenced by their outfits.
They were all sporting matching t-shirts with the words Florida
stitched onto them and a multi-colored palm tree underneath.

One of them stopped her with a hand signal, assuming
she was a local ghost. Clarissa paused as they drew closer to her.
She smiled as the lead male ghost stepped out from his friends to
speak to her.

“
You wouldn’t by any chance know how to get to
the Fountain of Youth, would you? We’re from out of town as you can
guess.” He pulled on his Florida souvenir t-shirt. “You have a
great city. We heard through a couple of friends of ours that you
have the best haunts in the state.”

“
Where are you traveling from?” Clarissa
couldn’t help but find the idea of ghost tourists comical. But it
could be possible and it did seem logical. Why would a ghost want
to spend their entire afterlife in one town? They obviously had the
time and ability to travel around the globe. So why not make the
most of their existence?

“
Ohio,” he said. “Valerie came here once when
she was a kid, but back then it was mostly sand and small farming
towns. Now you have theme parks and hotels, not mention tourists
like us. At first when we made plans for a visit I thought Florida
was just a place for retired people.”

Clarissa grinned at his obvious false generalization
of the state. “No,” she corrected. “Florida is a very exciting
place, not just to visit but to live. I hope you enjoy your stay in
the city and here,” Clarissa imagined the layout of the city in map
form, creating it as a visual in her hand. “Here’s a map to the
city with points of interest on it. This is where we are standing
right now,” showing them on the map St. George Street. “Running her
finger along the map she pointed out the mythical Fountain of
Youth. “There’s a big steel gate that reads Fountain of Youth. You
can’t miss it.”

“
Thanks,” he said, taking the map from her.
His companions also thanked her for her assistance as they left,
continuing down St. George with the map outstretched in front of
their faces. Tourists were the same in any city, living or dead.
They were always getting lost.

Clarissa followed the street down toward
the
Happy Haunts
tavern, where
across the street from the ghostly hangout was a small book store.
Henry had said the store was owned by a local family who had moved
to the city years earlier from somewhere on the west coast. When
Clarissa had first seen the little book store Henry had been quick
enough to see the glimmer of interest in her eyes and he had
suggested that she check it out. Clarissa had a fondness for
reading, more than most. She grew extremely attached to her
imaginary characters, sometimes even daydreaming about characters
from one story interacting with characters from another story. She
would imagine a large get together where all the characters she had
ever read about would gather in one room and she would be their
hostess, introducing each of them and having fabulous conversations
with these imaginary people. It was silly, but she loved her
stories and the people in them. They were her friends and even the
worst of them had some redeeming qualities. Unfortunately life
wasn’t a novel and bad people got away with murder in this life and
there were never enough heroes to save us all.

Psychic Imprints
couldn’t compete with the larger retail book depots and so
they didn’t bother. The larger retailers had to cater to a huge
demographic, from teenagers to middle-aged moms and every type in
between. But the family owned establishment had no wish to be a
conglomerate selling bargain books to the masses. Instead they
bought and sold what interested them, preferring to deal with small
publishing houses and unknown authors, a risky move during tough
economic times. Their stock consisted mostly of fiction,
non-fiction, and mostly paranormal, sci-fi and fantasy. Their
clients were people who liked to believe in conspiracy theories and
truly thought that the old city was haunted.

Clarissa opened the painted wooden door to the shop
where a black wreath hung over the outside. Much like a Christmas
wreath except instead of holly berries and green and red ribbon,
the wreath was adorned in red roses and gold and silver spiders.
The windows were also adorned in similar fashion with skeletons and
whimsical shapeless ghost cut-outs. It then dawned on Clarissa that
it was almost Halloween, a time of year when many of the living
enjoyed fantasizing about a macabre world, one with ghosts and
witches, vampires and werewolves, demons and ghouls, and all those
creatures that put the tiny hairs on your arms on instant alert;
the dark night creatures that stalked the living. Except Halloween
was only one night a year. The rest of the days of the year most
people forgot about them and thought nothing of their safety.

Walking in to the store Clarissa could smell the
paper of the books, the dust on the shelves that were probably
cleaned once or twice a month. The aisles where tall book cases
lined side by side held an assortment of reading topics. An open
section near the front of the store had wooden tables, books
stacked on top of each other making several towers on each table
top.

The walls of the store were covered in wallpaper
that in some places was peeling away from the wall, the glue drying
out and dissolving over the years. The pattern of the paper was a
mass of geometric designs and numerology that at first glance
didn’t look very attractive, but then after looking at it from a
distance gave a person a strange calming sensation and then the
notion came to the observer that they actually liked the look of
the paper even if it was old and peeling.