The Soul Thief (3 page)

Franklin had never met anyone special like he was. His cousin Darryl had a different kind of special, one that involved being in the woods and hunting.

Maybe Eddie would know—the lady who was the head of the pagan group that his girlfriend Julie belonged to. Franklin had never gone back to that group, had always made excuses every time Julie had asked. It was just too hard to see Eddie. She’d refused her gifts, wouldn’t move how the spirits wanted her to go.

Maybe she’d know something about an out-of-place ghost, however. He’d have to talk with Julie, maybe accept her next invitation to go visit the group.

Franklin finished his beer, then quickly drank down a second. He weren’t much of a drinker, never had been. He hoped the alcohol would help him sleep through the howling.

Because he sure had no idea what else to do.

Ξ

In the morning, the ghost was still there, though he’d grown quiet. Franklin went out to sit with him after breakfast, like he had for the week before that.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Franklin asked quietly. “Why you came back?”

The ghost stared intently out into Franklin’s field, as if he was searching for that portal out of there again.

“I don’t know how to help you,” Franklin said.

The ghost finally looked at Franklin and nodded.

“What do you need?” Franklin asked. The first time he’d met this ghost, he’d never really pushed his
intent
toward Franklin.

Now, the ghost’s eyes was too haunted. And lost. There wasn’t anything the ghost knew. He didn’t have something compelling to do. Or something equally compelling to keep him there.

He was just stuck.

“I’d help you if I could,” Franklin told the man.

The ghost sighed, the sound carrying on the wind. He seemed more solid that morning as well, his light blue suit like a gash in the morning light instead of blending in.

He didn’t belong there, back on earth, sitting in Franklin’s backyard. That was what kept striking Franklin. That ghost just didn’t fit.

Franklin didn’t recall feeling that way about the other ghosts he’d helped. Dying was part of living. Sure, the ghosts needed to move on, but that, too, was part of the natural order of things.

There weren’t nothing natural about this ghost—how he was stuck, what he needed to help him along. How lost his eyes looked.

Though the ghost didn’t ask Franklin to stay, he sat for a while anyway, soaking in the calm morning air. Franklin didn’t want to admit that maybe he didn’t want to go to the stand, didn’t want to have to deal with Sheriff Thompson.

He hadn’t slept well that night either, not with all the howling.

Still, Franklin couldn’t delay for too long.

Just like he had a duty to his ghosts, he also had a duty to Karl.

Besides, maybe that afternoon he could try a different combination of popping corn.

Ξ

Franklin gave a low whistle as he rode his bike up to the fruit and vegetable stand after his afternoon break. He’d gone back to his house, hoping that maybe the ghost had passed along, but had only gotten howled at for his questions.

Seemed as though Karl and the sheriff had come to some kind of agreement.

Posters for the charity ball were plastered on the sides of the shed, as well as across the front, obscuring Karl’s name and the rest of the fancily painted sign. Hanging from the sign they had next to the highway was a large plaque, advertising the KYLEM Charity Auction and Ball.

A picture of a gold shield against a bright blue background took up most of the poster, with bold black letters proclaiming the event. Under that were all the particulars.

Franklin had to admit the posters were catchy. But did they really have to be up everywhere?

Karl just glared at Franklin as he came up, not even bothering to say hello. So Franklin just helped the next customer, not asking his partner any questions until the rush had died down for a bit and they’d finished restocking.

“What happened?” Franklin asked quietly.

Karl shook his head, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against a corner of the stand. “Sheriff came out. When I said we’d help, two deputies got out of his car and started putting up posters everywhere while the sheriff kept jabbering at me.”

“It ain’t right, covering up our stand that way,” Franklin said.

“I know that,” Karl replied, heatedly.

“It’s our stand,” Franklin said. “We get to say how many posters are put up.”

“You gonna take them down?” Karl asked. He seemed surprised.

“Yup.”

This felt too much like bullying, and Franklin flat-out
refused
to be bullied. Particularly by Sheriff Thompson.

Franklin walked out from the stand and into the cool evening air. He didn’t want to take down all the posters—it was for charity, after all. But they didn’t need to be everywhere.

He started at the side. He was tall enough to reach the ones up high, but as those didn’t cover the fruit stand sign, he left them. But he tore down a bunch more, until there was only three on that side.

When Franklin moved out to the front of the stand, Karl joined him.

“How about we take down the ones in the center, but leave the ones on either side?” Karl suggested.

“That’s good. It’ll look balanced,” Franklin replied.

Karl helped Franklin take down some of the posters from the front of the stand, as well as some of the ones on the other side.

When Franklin stepped back, it looked like a normal fruit and vegetable stand again. Sure, some of the words painted on the stand were covered over. But enough letters was showing through that people could read the sign.

“What do you think the sheriff will say?” Karl asked.

“Don’t care,” Franklin said.

“You’re a stubborn one, ain’t you?” Karl said, shaking his head and giving Franklin a sly grin.

Franklin just shrugged. “It ain’t about being stubborn. It’s about being right.”

And Franklin knew he was right about this. Just as he’d been right the year before, refusing to give the sheriff his fingerprints.

Of course, the sheriff had got his way anyway. Franklin’s fingerprints were now in the system, though he’d tried so hard to stay on the right side of the law.

Maybe the sheriff would come back and complain. Or maybe he wouldn’t notice. Franklin thought the posters looked better, now that there were fewer of them. It looked more professional, maybe.

Whatever the sheriff thought, Franklin was sure he’d find out about it in the morning.

Ξ

Franklin didn’t sleep well that night, not with the ghost howling again. What did it want? Why was it haunting him without telling him how to help him pass?

Was it really a ghost?

As Franklin was checking his bike that morning, making sure that nothing had happened to it, he felt a cold wind down his back.

That generally meant another ghost had shown up.

Franklin sighed. It was his duty, he knew. He’d wondered if the loud, howling ghost had scared off the others. Since the previous year, he’d generally had two or three ghosts visiting at the same time. It took some effort, trying to figure out what each one wanted. But it was his duty, and Franklin was usually happy to do it.

Franklin turned to see what new ghost had shown up. Karl would understand him being late. Again.

But it weren’t a new ghost.

It was the lady Franklin had helped earlier that month, the ghost in the bright red dress, who he’d taken to the graveyard to talk with her son.

Franklin swallowed. Fear spiked through him. What was going on?

The woman’s dark skin had grown darker, and her eyes were black holes. The red of her dress had darkened as well, looking less like happy poppies and more like blood.

She fixed him with a piercing stare then opened her mouth.

And howled.

Ξ

Franklin carefully counted out the customer’s change twice. He’d made a couple of mistakes earlier that morning. At least the folks had been honest about it, coming back and returning the extra change.

“What’s going on with you?” Karl asked when the morning rush had cleared away. He had his usual dour expression on, though Franklin wondered if there was a hint of worry there as well.

“Too many ghosts,” Franklin said cautiously. He weren’t about to tell Karl his real problems. Hell, he weren’t sure what his real problem was.

Were they ghosts? They didn’t sound like ghosts. The guy in the backyard was getting more solid, too. Like he was starting to return to this world, having bounced out of the next.

Would he get strong enough to start tearing apart Franklin’s fields?

And why had that woman reappeared? She’d done what she’d needed to do. She’d
passed
. Why had she come back? And what did she want now? Besides to howl at Franklin?

“Okay,” Karl said, nodding. “You okay for staying here on your own this morning?”

“Yeah,” Franklin said. He was tired, but he wouldn’t fall asleep on the job. And besides, none of the ghosts had followed him to the stand.

“All right,” Karl said. He pushed himself off the counter where he’d been leaning. “If the sheriff comes by, you don’t let him give you any grief.”

Franklin snorted. “Sure thing.” He was so tired he might give the sheriff a piece of his mind if he showed up.

“Got any plans for tonight?” Karl asked as he made his way through the back of the stand and out toward his truck.

“Julie’s coming over for dinner,” Franklin said. He’d even put fresh sheets on the bed. Not that there was any guarantee they’d get to using them. Julie might be tired too. That had happened once or twice. Franklin was still hopeful, however.

Karl gave Franklin a grin. “Maybe I should come back early so you can nap. Save up your strength for later.”

Franklin just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Get going, so you can get back.”

“Sure thing, lover boy,” Karl teased.

Franklin just rolled his eyes again.

After Karl had gone, Franklin swept up the loose dirt on the inside of the stand. The floor was just rough boards laid down. If Franklin ever dropped anything, he had to be careful picking it back up, or he might get splinters. While he was breaking down the empty boxes he served a couple more customers, Mr. Hanson from just up the way and a tourist passing through.

Franklin was just about ready to start up the propane gas tank and try his hand at some more popping corn when the sheriff’s brown Crown Vic pulled up.

Sheriff Thompson got out of his car and took a long look up and down the stand. Then he grinned at Franklin. “Looks mighty nice. Glad you boys agreed that this place needed some sprucing up.”

Franklin opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. Wouldn’t do him no good, and he really didn’t want to get on the bad side of the sheriff.

“You got deputies coming by tomorrow to sell tickets?” Franklin asked as the sheriff came up.

He nodded. “That I do. You sure you don’t want a pair of tickets?”

“I’ll be seeing Julie tonight. Will ask her,” Franklin said. That way, it wasn’t just him saying no.

Not that Franklin couldn’t stand up to the sheriff if he set his mind to it. Mama might call him all kinds of fool for doing it, but Franklin didn’t care.

It weren’t right, the sheriff trying to bully them that way.

“Now, you sure you don’t want to try and sell some of these tickets on your own?” the sheriff asked.

“No, sir,” Franklin said. “Don’t want to be responsible for them that way.” Too easy for them to get lost or the money not accounted for or something.

“There’s a prize for the officer who sells the most tickets,” Sheriff Thompson admitted.

“What, you gonna split it with us?” Franklin asked.

The sheriff snorted. “Not likely.”

Franklin shrugged. “No reason for us to sell any, then,” he said.

The sheriff nodded. He leaned against the front of the stand, looked out at the semi passing by on the highway, then asked, “You been hearing any strange sounds out at your place lately?”

Damn it. Was the ghosts howling loud enough that the neighbors could hear?

“No, sir,” Franklin lied. “What kind of sounds?” He made himself take deep breaths and stay loose and calm, just like they did on TV.

The sheriff turned to stare at Franklin with his hard, beady eyes. “I think you’re lying. There’s been complaints of eerie sounds coming from your place. I think that some kind of trouble’s starting up again. And I don’t want any part of it. You hear me?”

Franklin gave the sheriff an easy nod. “I don’t want no trouble either. And I still don’t know what you mean by strange sounds.” He weren’t about to give in.

His cousin Darryl would be proud of him for lying to the police.

“Howls,” Sheriff Thompson finally said. “Beastly howls on the wind. Like something’s wounded, in pain, and not yet dying.” He seemed angry.

“Don’t got nothing like that out at my place,” Franklin told the sheriff.

“Then you won’t mind me coming out and taking a look at the place,” the sheriff said.

“I would mind, Sheriff,” Franklin said, his back stiffening. “You want to come out and look at my place, you get yourself a search warrant.”

The sheriff narrowed his eyes at Franklin. “You sure that’s how you want this to be?”

Franklin sighed, exasperated. “Look, there’s nothing out there for you to see. There’s nothing
nobody
can see.”

Sheriff Thompson stroked his mustache, considering, before he nodded. “Y’all is talking about those damned ghosts again, aren’t you. What’d they do this time?”

“Sheriff, I don’t know what you mean,” Franklin said. “Now, I ain’t admitting to talking to ghosts. But if I was, believe me, these wouldn’t be no ordinary ghosts.”

“The ones howling? Then what’s going on?” the sheriff growled.

“Nothing,” Franklin said adamantly. “Nothing’s going on. No ghosts is out at my place howling and making noise.” No regular ghosts, at any rate.

“Fine,” the sheriff said. “But if I get any more complaints, I will be getting that search warrant.”

“It’ll just be a waste of your time,” Franklin said. And it would be. The sheriff couldn’t see ghosts. No one could but him. But despite what all had happened the year before, the sheriff still didn’t believe in ghosts. Still figured he’d be able to do something with Franklin’s visitors.