the cavalier inn

8/14/2019 The Cavalier Inn

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For Madison.


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In the absence of light, darkness prevails.

Unknown

Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious con-viction.

Blaise Pascal

It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways.

Buddha


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Prologue: Violence


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Violence

He was a man of importance, both by the way he walked down the street and theway he dressed. And how he actedwhen people looked and when they didnt. But itnever mattered if they did.

Never.Fierce blue eyes peered out from deep within his sockets. A bright, toothy grin

hung on his face like a crooked photographboth ugly and out of place. Sideburns thecolor of char, the same as his short hair, shot down from both sides of his top hat, follow-ing alongside his pale jaw. The hat, an unorthodox accessory for even this time, had longsince outlived its popular peak.

It was on Main Street in Steadfast, Maine, which this important man strode down.Steadfast was an isolated little town in Blue Valleyunassuming, quaint, the kind of

place that made postcards. Towering mountains, the color of wintery night, encroachedupon the feeble town, preventing the light of dawn for several hours in the morning and

bringing on night at an inversely fast rate. Were it late autumn or winter, it would seem asthough Steadfast were located in Alaska instead, for night nearly consumed the entireday.

But, it was summer now; an overcast and cool day it was, and the mountainsmerely cast a gloomy, massive silhouette over the valley, their bulk obscured by a lightfog. This town, with only one means of entrance and escape, was, for the most part, adead end. A place to turn around in and depart from when one gets lost, in search of a bet-ter place to be.

But not to him; it was perfect. The middle of literally nowhere. It was idealfor his plans, his dreams, his desires. And their lives.

From inside their shops and houses, the residents of Steadfast watched the new-comers walk up the street with suspicion and fearas most residents of small towns do.Few people visited Steadfast, let alone anyone of such corporate regality as these two.And this left the townsfolk to ponder: what were they here for? To buy up all of their land, turn it into some huge multi-resort-centered town? Or, worse yet, to collect taxes?Either option seemed dreadful to the townsfolk of Steadfast.

The other man beside this original was of a much duskier complexion, somethingwhich the townsfolk had seen little of, as wellthe darkest person anybody saw for mileswas the well-tanned Old Ted Burke, a farmer of potatoes, corn and naught else. This dark man was also youngbarely over twentywhereas his white companion was easily inhis late thirties.

This dark man wore a felt bowler hat on top of his shaven heada hat whichmatched his lavish gray suit, yet not his massive frame. He had a small, pitch goatee andeyes to match. His large, imposing body far dwarfed his companion, and it was obviouswhat this mans job wasafter all, very few men would approach someone so large, let

alone challenge him, even if the scrawny, pale scarecrow next to him in the top hat cursedthem with obscenities. And so, together, they walked up the street, alone.

Save for a dog.


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It was ragged, starving creature, one that had led a wretched existence. Its ribswere marked by skeletal rings and divots, like fence posts a child could run a stick alongfor amusement. Short fur, the color of urine, was matted against this thin frame. Muddy,cataract-filtered eyes bulged obscenely out of its head, leaking a pale pus. The dog hadrelied on begging for food scraps from the people of the town who felt sympatheticif not piteousfor it. From whom the poor thing came from, no one knew; yet, no one took it in. No one felt the need to care for it. Somewhat because it was such a vagrant thing;mostly because it was so sad to even glance upon.

The dog had spent most of its days scurrying amongst the rubbish of the alleys,rooting in the litter for rotten morsels. As a result, it created a great deal of messfar more than the alley cats and rodents ever did. No one, though, could bear to kill it; to putit out of its misery. In a strange way, it had became a sort of mascot of Steadfast, a town

pet, shared link amongst the folk. Perhaps it was even reflective of its people: abandoned,

malnourished, weak.When the pale man saw the dog, he hated it. How pathetic! How revolting! How

vulgar! How utterly and unequivocally shamefuleven in a town such as this! Howcould any sane man leave such a mess as this unattended to?

The dog saw the men and scampered over, whining, bony tail between its bonylegs. Food . That was the only thought than ran through its simple, nave mind. Food . Itcrouched down, crawling lower and lower as it drew nearer to the pale man, begging.

Food. It looked up at him, cloudy eyes large and examining, awaiting its usual morsel. Food. The man looked down at the deplorable mutt, disgusted.

The dog whined once Food! and that was enough for the man in the top hat.He brought back his polished leather shoe, its toe hard and unforgiving. The shoe

came forward, the man turning, aiming for the animals side; the dog didnt know whathappened until it was too late.

The shoe smashed into the mutts ribs, shattering them as a hammer would stem-ware. A grotesque dent was left in the dogs side where its frail ribs once made thin ringsand divots. The dog stumbled back, whining for mercy, not food, now. Pain exploded allover its side, up its neck, a deep, awful ache blooming into agony. The poor thing stilltried to escape, but the man kicked its hip, breaking it with a snap like thin veneer beingfolded; malnutrition combined with a detrimental life had made the dogs bones frail, itseemed.

The already weak dog barely managed to stay on its three feet as it tried to limpaway to prevent further, mortal damage. But it failed miserably.

Youre not getting away from me, you filthy , pathetic BEAST! the man bel-lowed, emphasizing the last three words with passionate animosity.

The townspeople merely watched or looked away; they knew not to intervene, notto go running out into the street, yelling for it to stop. For, who knew what that large, dark fellow could have under that jacket? Or what federal authority they answered to?

The man in the top hat advanced to the other side of the yelping, scrambling crea-ture, considerably faster than the sick dog. He showed no mercy as he booted it again,shattering its other rear leg with the hard toe of his shoe. The dog collapsed, crawling on


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its belly with its front paws. As it dragged itself along at a sluggish pace, still it held on tothe vain hope of escapeeven to get away and die alone somewhere, far from this cruelman and his hard shoes. That hope was trampled after a few feet; the dog lay there on its

belly, whining and panting. A lack of food had left it without enough energy to move anyfurther.

My gun, the pale man panted to his dusky-skinned associate. The pale manseyes were colder than ice; colder than the most frigid Winter night above the Arctic Cir-cle. The kind of coldness which sent shivers down a persons spine just thinking about it.

The large, dark man pulled out the revolveran old gun with a pearl handle. Itwas a simple gun, made from crude iron and kicked like a pissed-off mule (as the gun-smith had informed the pale man when he purchased it in New Orleans). To most, theguns pearl handle seemed out of place; an odd adornment of luxury on a weapon better suited for killing pigs. Or dogs.

Here you go, sir, he said as it exchanged hands.Thank you, the pale man replied, smiling. His white teeth glowed in the gloom

of the day, almost as if they were illuminated by some malevolent light.He turned, savage blue eyes glowing in their deep sockets as they stared down the

barrel of the gun. They looked, just then, like tiny jewels of azure color, hidden withindark cavescaves which contained phantasmagorias of the most hellish variety.

The whimpering dog turned its head to find the barrel of the gun staring at it like asingle, black, and unblinking eye. The dog knewthe damned thing knew that it wasthe end. It tried to crawl again but it was of no use. I t didnt have the energy, nor the mus-cle, nor the time.

Thunder filled the air, reverberating off the towering mountains with a bassdrums echo, as the dogs frail skull was smashed inward by an unseen hammer. The poor creature yelped, head whipping back in a morbidly graceful curve, as if it were to howlone last time to the sky above. Red spray spewed out the other side of the dogs head,staining the dirty street. Then the dogs head hit the ground, dust pluming around itsgaunt features. Blood pooled around the dogs jowls and bubbled up through a soft,lumpy spot revealed by the broke-open skull. It would beg no more.

Smoke poured out of the end of the dark, hot, iron barrel. It did, indeed, kick likea pissed-off mule, the pale man thought in maniacally ill humor. A smile slowly spreadover the his face; his eyes glinted with illuminated blue levity. Imitating a cowboy, the

pale man twirled the gun around his finger and blew out the smoke from the barrel. Givena Stetson and a set of stirrups, he would have surely cried, Yee-haw!

Clean this up, he said, passing the gun to his associate and moving around thedead dog. He observed his work with an expression of self-criticism across his face, as anartist would his own painting or sculpture. He squatted down beside the mutts corpse,grabbed it by its chops, and moved them up and down, open and shut. He squeaked in ahigh, cartoony voice as he spoke. Yeah Joe, clean dis up, now! Take care of my mangy

hide! He threw the dead animals head to the ground, more filth and blood adding to itsmatted fur, which was so much like a worn out rug.


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The pale man stood up. Joe, who saw nothing unusual in his companions obscene behavior, passed him a kerchief.

Thank you, Joe, the man said, wiping his hands. Make sure that when you getrid of the thing that no one finds it. It could implicate our credibility.

Yes, Joe replied plainly. It was as if he were listening to the man give a pressconference, and not directions as to what to do with an old dogs cadaver.

Good, he said, looking at the Municipal Building up the road, Now, I have adate with the selectmen of thisthis wondrous town. His sarcasm coated his words likeheavy cream, yet made them as tasteless to the ear as bleach.

Dont worry, sir, Joe said, Im sure theyll be convinced once you speak tothem. You can be very persuasive. The pale man smiled.

I concur. Now, get this cleaned up. The man left Joe to take care of the dog andwalked up the road. Joe bent down to pick up the dog, replying,

Yessir, JC.


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Money and Rivalry


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1

Jasper Garrison bolted upright in his bed. The dream. It was that damn dreamagain. What was it, now? Eleven? Eleven times?

Jasper turned, hanging his legs over his bedside. He flipped his lamp on his standon. Pale light illuminated the room, leaving many large, dark, stretching shadows. Jasper,now fifteen, was lanky and lean; neither overweight or particularly muscular. He woreonly a pair of gray boxers, leaving his white, hairless torso exposed, looking much likeskeleton wrapped in white nylon.

It was a stifling night, and his skin was sticky and sweaty, almost as if it werecovered in adhesive of some kind. An oscillating fan turned, back and forth, back andforth, on the stand next to the light, spreading air that was only slightly more comfortablethan the dead air hanging around him. A copy of Stephen Kings Skeleton Crew lay face-down between the light and fan, creased spine up.

Jasper ran his hands through his short, black hair. His cool, blue eyes shifted tothe clock on his stand. 3:00 AM it reported, red numbers bright like the broken stems of maraschino cherries, background black like oil. 3:00 AM. And it was always 3:00 AM.3:00 AM eleven goddamn times .

He sighed, rubbing his aching eyes with his slick palms. He let his hands dragdown his face, feeling his cheeks stretch and burn in the heat. Feeling the beginnings of facial hair on his upper lip and chin and pimples on his cheeks and mouth-corners, feelingsweatgreasy, greasy sweatdousing his face in a stinging, salty glaze. It felt as if hehad just taken a swim in mild acid.

He wouldnt fall asleep againnever did. He had learned this ten times over. Hegot up, instead, and left his room. His dog, Bo, was asleep in a corner of the room, tonguelolling out of the side of his mouth so he could pant.

At least Im not covered in black fur, Jasper thought, though it gave him no com-fort, as he glanced at Bo before he left the room. He walked down the dark hall, feet pad-ding across the inhospitably warm carpet. The air was a damp soup of heat that broiledthe body and boiled ones emotions. Even just after waking up, Jasper all ready felt furi-ous and frustrated with the weatherit was the seventh day, now, of extreme humidityand heat. Had there been anyone in the houseanyone at all: intruder, friend, who-everJasper had a feeling that he wouldnt be on the best of terms with them at the cur-rent moment. Even Candy Stevens, warm brown hair flowing down upon her bare

breasts, with nothing but her signature plaid miniskirt covering her lower quarters, she beckoning him closer. Alas, even if this fantasy came to reality, Jasper would still have been mildly annoyed, still, by the weather.

Yet, apart from Bo, he was the only one in the house. There were no friends, ene-mies, or girls of divine carnal form visiting this early morning.

His grandfather, Dean, was the only father he ever knew. Jaspers father walkedout on his mother, Alicia, when Jasper was born, without so much as a goodbye. Hehardly cared to make any sort of contact with his son, even many years later.


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Jasper didnt give a damn now, anyway. The bastard always paid child support,even if he was a few dollars short of the actual amount due, and as long as he didnt seek him out, Jasper wouldnt want anything from him. Dean was his father, now; he had beensince Jasper was three when they moved in with him. Jasper saw this old manwhosmoked fat, fragrant Swisher Sweets cigars, complained about the Yankees constantly

beating the Red Sox, and who would have cried when the Sox finally won the WorldSeriesas his real father, not the man who had impregnated his mother one drunkennight, and left for the West coast.

The foremost of these endearing traits his grandfather possessed had a deathlytwist in it: lung cancerand it was slowly killing him. He and Alicia took turns betweenthe house and the hospitalone watching over an empty home and one over an emptyingman.

Jasper tried not to think about it much, yet his mother cried a lot. Sometimes she

did it front of him on purpose, as if reaching out nonverbally; other times she tried to cryalone. Jasper knew she was crying, thoughhe always had a feeling for emotional strife.It was as if he sorrow had left an electrical charge in the air, and Jasper was a lightningrod for it.

He remembered from Basic Science that electrons had a negative charge, and pro-ton were positively charged, so the two were attracted. He saw it like that: he was a pro-ton, and all the billions of tiny electrons in the world seemed to findto cling tohim.

Not just his mother, but the people of the town. The clerk at the store, who was worriedthat her husband would find out that she was screwing the manager; the sheriff, who wasembarrassed of his openly gay son; the mailman, who was depressed because he had noone to come home to but his old, blind cat. Sometimes he considered suicide, and it wasthese days that Jasper noticed him the most.

But, unlike his mother, Jasper never cried. If there was anything he learned fromhis grandfather, it was to be strong. To persevere. After all, thats what being a Sox fansall about.

Jasper entered the dark living room. It was silent, as if Jasper had entered a vac-uum. Dark silhouettes filled the room, obscure furnishings made of night. The dense air smelled faintly of cigar smoke and dog hair. Dim, yellowish light came from the kitchennext to the living room via an open archway. It revealed a light-blue, wall-to-wall carpetstretching out into the dark living room. Jasper entered the kitchen.

The scuffed, torn linoleum in the pattern of blue and white tiles was somewhatcooler beneath his feet, but not by much. Cupboards made with faux wood adorned thekitchen, above and below an off-white sideboardoriginally white when first purchased.The source of the weak light was a single light bulb over the sink. A microwave down thecountertop from the sink had a green readout that read: 3:02; an electric stove to Jaspersright disagreed, arguing in the same green that it was still 3:00. To Jaspers immediate leftwas the fridgea new (if barely used or secondhand were synonyms for new)

double-door that his mother had been very proud of. It was the result of a pay raise shehad recently received as secretary for Smith and Sons Truckingan extra reward for her late nights and long weekends.


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Jasper turned to the massive, humming machine, opening the fr idge-side door and pulling out a partial two-liter of Mountain Dew. He unscrewed the cap with a half-heartedhiss and drank some of it. It had gone flat, and was like antifreeze in appear-ancewhich, he had heard, was sweet, so this probably wasnt far from the truth, taste-wise. When he brought the bottle back down, he dropped it, cool, flat soda spilling allover the floor. Across the room from him stood Dean. He wore his signature plaid shirt,

blue Boston Red Sox cap, and old, faded jeans.Gra-Grandpa, Jasper stuttered out, surprised, I thought you were supposed to

be at the hospital.I just got out, Grandpa Dean said. He smiled. Something was wrong. Very

wrong. Something about the way Grandpa Dean said it, Jasper guessed. And there wasaa glow ; an aura that seemed to illuminate him. A backlighting to his image.

Jasper knew it a moment laterlike he knew how the mailman wanted to kill

himselfand his gut clenched up. His muscles refused to obey him, he shuddered andshook, painful cramps aching in his stomach. He doubled over, and a shot-put ball be-came logged in his throat, making breathing difficult. A hot tear streamed down hischeek, followed by a choked gasp. He face cramped, features distorted.

Youreyoureyoure Jasper tried and tried again, voice cracking andskipping like some busted disc. He couldnt manage the word dead. Jasper began to sobuncontrollably, feeling both remorseful and ashamed; ashamed that he was blubbering infront a man whom he greatly admired. It was a bitter cocktail he hoped he would never have to down again.

Jaspah Christopha Garrison, Grandpa Dean said, Maine accent thick, Whatsthe mattah with you?

Whats the matter with me? Jasper said, snapping upwards in shock, anger,rage. He walked forward a step, his blue eyes tinged with brilliant red, Youre dead! Thats the fucking matter with me! Youre dead and Im never going to see you again!Jasper buried his sweltering face into his broiling hands, his burning palms. Numbly, as if some of his nerves had been severed, he felt his knees hit the cool linoleum, splashing inthe soda. Grandpa Dean walked forward, unseen to Jaspers hidden eyes.

Dont cry, Grandpa Dean said, cooed, putting a hand on Jaspers bare shoulder.It felt just as warm and rough and real to Jasper as if it were Grandpa Deans actualhandyet, he knew, it was not. Jasper looked up, reluctant at first, tears streaming fromhis red, shiny face. Youll see me again, Boy. Im not gone forevah.

Really? Jasper spluttered. He sounded like a little child who had found out,smashing a vase, that his father wasnt going to kill him, after all. And he hated himself for it.

Tears blurred Jaspers vision, making Grandpa Dean hard to see at times. ButDeans aura was still there, always clear, always visible to him. The lump in his throatwas a large as ever, and metallically hard, indestructible throughout the visitation.

Yes, Grandpa Dean said and smiled. But before I go right now, theres some-thin ya need to know.


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What? Jasper asked, wiping his eyes. He took in a deep, rattling breath, but that ball of steel was still lodged in his throat, making his breath short.

That ya need to prepare yourself, Grandpa Dean said, voice now solemn,There are things out there, Boydark things that make up nightmares. And, one day,theyll find ya. Ya need to be ready. Ya must protect yourself.

What are you taking about, Grandpa? Protect myself from what? Again, thatchildish voice. And, again, that self-hatred.

I cant explain; Ive got to go, now, Grandpa Dean said, and then smiled. I loveya, Boy.

Love you too, Gramp, Jasper said, rising. His voice cracked. His face stungwith sweat and tears, salt and vinegar. His eyes ached, like he just punched himself in theretinas. He was wearing a pair of boxers; nothing else.

Hardly the goodbye Jasper had in his mind.

Jasper hugged the only father he had ever known.How funny it wasJasper had always thought that ghosts were cold. Yet, here

was Grandpa Dean, just as if he were really there. And, it seemed no different to Jasper than if Dean had survived his bout with cancer, and that he really had been dischargedfrom the hospital, deemed healthier than before. How sadly ironic it was, indeed.

When they let go of one another, Grandpa Dean looked into Jaspers eyes, their shared shade of blue fused in that moment. Dean put his burly, carpenters hand on hisarms, and said,

Now, if ya evah need me, Boy, just call. Ill be there.

Jasper awoke upon the kitchen floor, air still a few degrees below the record highin Hell, and all ready five times the record humidity. Once again, the microwave and thestove argued the time: one claimed it was 4:16, the other 4:14. Jasper leaned up, andrubbed the back of his sore head. He looked around and saw that he had been lying in a

pale green pool of Mountain Dewwhich did resemble antifreeze very much, now thatJasper looked at it. He managed to get up off the slippery floor and looked in the corner of the room where he had seen Grandpa Dean.

A tableseated for three, but that now would be only occupied by twoand ahutch with a small array of mismatched dishes stood there. And one other thing.

A lighter.Jasper walked over, picked it up, rolling it around in his hands. D.O.G. had been

engraved into one side. Dean Oliver Garrison. Dog, too, now that he looked at it; and thismade him think of JC. He pushed away the thought, not wanting to reflect on a nightmareafter going through another. He looked out the window next to the hutch, which lookedout upon all that they owned: a small plot of dying grass in front of the turnpike. Jasper yanked a ream of paper towels from the roll on the sideboard and lazily tossed them ontothe pool of flat soda.

Jasper entered the cramped bathroomthe only one in the double-wide. Heflipped on the switch next to the sink. Suddenly, a red-eyed teenage boy with messy, shorthair and pale frame looked back at hima horror-show, to Jasper. His boxers were dark


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and damp on one side, like he had pissed himself miraculously through his own hip. Dark rings had just begun to form beneath his eyes. He looked tired.

Thats when he got scared. Thats when he started to see correlationsbetweenJC and himself. Blue eyes, for one.

No, he said to himself, No, lets not go down that path. Speaking to yourself, said a cynical, mocking, jester-voice, Real sane, buddy. Im sure nice big men in the white

jacketsll believe you when you tell them youre not crazy. Then theyll put you in thecomfy, padded van, and take you away to the Happy Hotel.

Jasper rubbed his temples, glaring at his reflection. His eyes all ready seemed asthough they were taking up residence in more cavernous sockets, he saw. And his black hair was the right shade.

Jaspers throat ran dry as he made the last connection. He turned on the hot water faucet and let it run, steam rising up. When it clouded up the mirrorand turned the

bathroom into an unbearable saunaJasper shut off the sink. His raving mind, possessed by what it saw as a vital clue to his future, ignore the roasting heat of the bathroom.

Shakily, as if he expected something to reach out from the mirror and consumehim, he wrote, JASPER CHRISTOPHER. And then, below it, JC. A shiver crawled downhis back, like scuttling, flesh-eating beetles, making him feel cold even though it wasmuggy and he had just filled the bathroom with hot steam.

A screen door slammedJasper looked away from the mirror, his focus lost.Ja-Jasper? called out a womans light voice a few heart-thundering moments

later. Youyou up? Jasper took the pale pink towel that hung above the toilet behindhim and wiped the mirror off frantically. He barely had to move to reach the towelthetoilets cold bowl nearly touched Jaspers calves. Jasper then tossed the towel into theoverflowing white hamper between the toilet and baby-blue shower-tub combo. Cur-rently, a stained yellow shower curtain hid the inside of the tub.

Jasper walked out into the hall and saw his mother. Alice Garrison wore a brownshirt she managed to find at the Salvation Army that didnt display a cartoon character or tobacco product. Her mousy hair was untidy, ponytail half-undone. She was a corpulentwoman with warm brown eyesthe color of chocolate, a favorite of hers. Even in thedimness of the early morning, it was oblivious she had been crying.

They stood there, staring at each other.Then Jasper broke into a run and embraced his mother. They both criedshe

more than him. Words neednt be said. Both knew that other did.Dean was gone.

As a messiah would take a divine ordinance from the Almighty, so Jasper took Deans message. Endless days were spent, it seemed, in the musty local library; some-times with his only friend, Vic Sterling. Together they would scour the shelves for anyand all books related, in whatever way, to the supernatural. Fiction or nonfiction, history

or fable, he searched them all twice and thrice over.To his dismay, all the books which held more information than a dictionarys

definition were, it appeared, sensationalized half-truths. They all had some great New


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Age theology driving theme.g., the Great Spirit oversees all those who enter the After-life, but those who choose to stay behind, whether it is for vengeance, unfinished busi-ness, or simply denial, may linger at the cusp of eternity.

Then there was the Dark One, who has many minions crawling about the Earth,seeking out innocent souls to destroy or consume totally.

And so on it would go, never going into great detail, but always affirming thatthere was and Afterlife, there was a Higher and an Evil Power. Always disguising itself asfact, while all it was was a tasteless fusion of personal theologies and opinion.

Jasper didnt believe it. Even after rereading all the books to grasp the dizzyingsilliness of it all, he couldnt get it. There never was a clear explanation of what was outthereand, therefore, what he should be preparing himself for.

A demon, for example, was only listed as a dark entity or servant of the Devil. Never did any book actually explain what it was, where it was, what weakens or kills it.

And then there were the mediumsveritable metro stations for the dead into the livingrealm. Never was it elaborated upon what made one, nor was the possibility of hoaxesexplored, even mentioned. Only the blind faith in these seers truth was to be practiced.

Jasper began asking himself what kind of people read this stuff and actually swal-lowed it. And he began to feel like a jackass as it dawned upon him that the majority of the supernatural community surely believed it all.

Finding himself disgusted, Jasper would often spend long nights in bed, stewingover the pseudoscience and exaggeration of the books. Often times he would look back upon hi own life, pluck moments out of his memory as scientists pluck specimens fromthe wild, placing them under bright lights, high-powered microscopes, and scrutinizingeyes. One particular memory would often float to the surface of his memory, bobbing upand down there, awaiting further inspection.

It had been a rainy day. Jasper and Alicia were packing, Alicia mostly doing thework. Jasper, like all kids of his budding age, was of little use when it came to organizing

boxes, or anything else besides making food messes or loud noises.The house they were in was drafty, sending icy phantom breezes throughout the

rooms, even on warm days. The floral wallpaper in Alicias bedroomwhere they satgoing through the boxes, packing new oneshad begun to peel, turning a sickly shade of spoiled lemon. The uneven floor creaked and squealed as they shifted about, walking be-tween rooms in search of worthy belongings.

As they sorted through a box of keepsakes and nostalgia, Jasper found a locket.Made of gold, it had a long, deep scratch going diagonally across its back. He pried itopen with his small fingers and looked at the black and white photo of a woman withdark hair and a sleek face. Her face was cheery, full of energy, a person whose charismaleaked through the photo, across time and space, warming the observers heart.

Mommy, Jasper said, his small voice barely over a whisper, Whys Grammy

Evas picture in Grandpa Deans necklace? For a moment, Alicia stared at her son, her then thin features stressed with concern. Had she ever told him about her mother? Or thelocketa gift from her father after her death?


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Jasper, honey, how did you know thats Grammy Eva? Alicia said, concernstreaking her round face. She had yet to put on some weight after Philip left her.

Hmmm? Jasper said, as though he hadnt even known what he had just said, or the implications it had brought. He was transfixed by the locket.

I said, Alicia said, her throat dry, How did you know that was GrammyEva?

I dont know, Mommy, Jasper said, eyes suddenly, disturbingly, shooting up ather. Philips eyes. Cold blue eyes. I just knew.

Jasper remembered whole slew of other examples of his ability throughout hisyoung lifeexamples he labeled episodes, as if they were epileptic fits of some classi-fication, easily controlled by a diurnal medication prescribed by a psychiatrist, had heever scheduled a meeting with one. They were just engraved into his memory like epi-

taphs, specific checkpoints his mind had recorded the progress to and from.The outcomes of baseball games, including scores. How stories would pan out,

even halfway through with no clues to allude towards an ending. And, especially, whereothers had left thingseven those he had never even seen before.

When he and Vic were eight, Vic lost his book of ghost stories. 13 Spooky Stories ,it had been called, or something close to that. Jasper had never read itnever even heard about it before. Yet Jasper knew where it was: in the ancient apple tree a few hundredyards from Vics back door. Vic was surprised to find the tattered paperback in a knot-hole. How it had got there, years later Jasper was still unsure.

The last major episode before the conversation with Dean was when Jasper wastwelve. His dog, Kip, had diedhit by a relentless tractor-trailer after the leash hadslipped from his grip. Living next to the Turnpike, obviously, had its disadvantages.

Had Kip been humanwhich he had been very much in Jaspers young mind the crime wouldve been called a hit-and-run. Yet no such accusation could be placedover the case of a simple, and quite honestly, extrinsically worthless mutt.

Like any other kid who had lost his beloved pet, Jasper was upset. He cried on-and-off for hours, all the while trying to stop himself, trying to tell himself he was being agirl. Yet, just when he thought he was stable again, just when he thought he had stopped,another happy memory would resurface and he would burst into another fit of sobs. An-other electron added on, as it were.

The last time Jasper wept was while he tried to drift off into some kind of sleep though any meaningful rest was a waste of effort and timethe night after Kips ceremo-nial burial in the backyard. However, the hot tears pouring from his eyes protested theidea of sleep, loathed, despised it. And, as he lay there on his side in the dark, he feltsomething heavy sit on the bed.

No, sit wasnt the word; land was much better, as if it was some immenselyheavy piece of paper that had floated down from above. Jasperhalf-scared, half-

curiousturned and looked at what was in the bed with him. Sitting there, panting lightlyand totally intact (unlike how he had been found after the truck motored on to Bangor),was Kip. His bushy tail wagged.


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K-Kip? Jasper said, disbelieving. Kip sat there patiently, as if waiting to be pat.Jasper reached out with a wary hand and stroked the dogs shiny fur. Just as it would bewith Grandpa Dean years later, Kip was just as warm and real as if he had never been randown, innards mashed into the hot top like pesto to a cracker. Jasper half-laid there inawe; Kip had came back. Then, as suddenly as he had been there, Kip faded away, leav-ing Jasper to pet the cool, empty air.

He stopped crying.

2

Jasper graduated from Carlton High School not at the top of his class, but stillwith a 94 average. His friend Vic graduated, and left it at that. Jasper moved on to NortonUniversity of Innovative Technologies, where he took the new courses in Paranormal In-vestigation and Parapsychologyhoping, if a bit vainly, that they wouldnt be anythinglike the New Age books he had endured in high school. And, still hoping that what hewas to protect himself from was of supernatural, not human, nature.

Vic, as far as Jasper knew, moved away to Boston and started up a supernaturalconsultant agency, skipping the college course. Jasper received one letter from himstat-ing that he was going to get married and wanted Jasper to be the best man. Jasper replied,stating that he would, but never was an answer sent back.

This concerned him for a week or so, until he assumed that the letter got lost inthe mail. He tried two more times to contact Vic, but Vic either never got the letters, or had simply fallen off the face of the earth.

Fortunately, the courses Jasper took werent like the numerous, pseudoscientific books he had read. He, in fact, enjoyed the courses for the most partthey were logical,scientific, meticulous; not a steaming load of pious bull.

Despite his delight in the course, however, there were still problems. Namely, ayoung woman by the name of Eliza Chapman.

They had gathered in the classroom on the first day to both ask questions and todiscover if they were suited for this particular course. Freshman, seething with excite-ment, clogged the entrance into the lecture hall. A low, dull clamor of cluttered speechdrowned out all other sounds; as a result of the dense populous, one couldnt see the lec-ture halls interior from the entrance. Even if someone were to be speaking at the bottomof the hall, they would go unheard.

Once he forced his way through the herd, Jasper was able to take in the hall. Itreminded him of the Colosseum: rows of desks lined the edge of the cone-shape interior,which narrowed as he descended the steps. Lights hung higher and higher above him, il-luminating the center semicircle, where a whiteboard and a desk had been set up. Behindthe whiteboard, a door stood.

Jasper sat down near the front of the hall, next to a man with wiry, apricot hair and mustache. He sat at a desk, absent-mindedly doodling on his Steno, the seats around


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him in all directions vacant, not just the horizontals. He wore glasses with thick, black frames, magnifying his brown eyes immensely. He wore a blue-striped dress shirt and

jeans. He looked over at Jasper.Nigel Harrison, he said, extending a hand for Jasper to shake. He took it; it felt

cool and slightly damp.Jasper Garrison. Unknown to Jasper at the time, he was meeting his roommate.Well, arent we a poet, Nigel said, smiling. His teeth were off-whitealmost a

very pale yellow. At least theyre not bleached, Jasper thought, and the man named JC flashed be-fore his eyes. The rest of reality had fallen out; there was only Jasper, JC, a dead mutt,and some tiny town somewhere.

(Treadpast? Medfast? )Jasper smiled back at Nigel and gave a small, polite chuckle, despite the jokes

utter flatness.So, where y from? Nigel said. He wasnt looking at Jasper anymore; someone

further down the hall beckoned his attention.Carlton, Jasper said, Its a small town in Maine. And you?Austin, Nigel said, giving a quick glance at Jasper, And, Im liberalimagine

that? Jasper nodded, and followed Nigels eyes to the back of a womans head. Blondehair poured down her back in undulating, golden waves. She sat alone in the front row of the lecture hall, bent over what appeared to be a sketch pad. Nigel gave a faint, dreamysigh.

Why dont you go talk to her? Jasper said. Nigel looked alarmed, as if asked toattack a bear with a BB gun, or told that his pants were missing, or both.

Wha Nigel said, then flushed, Oh, well, yes, um, you see, thats the thingHe swallowed. Ive never, um, been, uh, how do you say smooth, with the ladies.Jasper raised an eyebrow.

Youre scared, arent you? Jasper said a moment later, a smile twitching at thecorner of his mouth.

Uh, yes, Nigel said sheepishly.So, let me get this straight, Jasper said, shifting in his chair to use his hands to

emphasize his point. You are going to school to learn how to basically go into old,haunted buildings, at midnight, to find things which scare most people shitlessand thentry to talk to make contact with them? But youre too scared to talk to a girl? Have I gotthis straight?

Yup, Nigel said, as if it were a plain, well-know fact. The skys blue. The sunrises in the east and sets in the west. I cant talk to girls. Jasper smiled and let out a small,short laugh.

All rightjust you wait here, Jasper said, rising and walking down the stairs. Nigels eyes flashed to Jasper and watched him descend the steps, walk over to the girl,

and sit in the seat next to her. Nigel began to panic, wondering what he was going to do.Talk to her? Talk to someone as beautiful as that? Was this guy out of his goddamnmind?


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When he sat next to the blonde girl, Jasper saw that she was drawing a charcoalsketch of a roseand was doing an excellent job. It was almost as it she had taken a

photo of one and was simply drawing over it.Wow, Jasper said, I cant even draw a good stick figure.She was a little jumped by Jaspers sudden presence; she had been too enthralled

with her art to notice the world around her. This woman looked over to her left, examin-ing the man sitting next to her with her gray eyes. He had blue eyesthe color of glacialiceand black hair, the color of which matched her blouse, jeans, and fingernails. A dark leather jacket hung on his broad shoulders.

Jasper Garrison, he said, extending a hand to shake, smiling, showing his whiteteeth. She examined his hand for a moment, regarding it as if it were a rodent of somekind, or the hungry jaws of a poisonous snake.

Angela Sevlar, she said quietly, almost whispering. She shook his hand for a

few seconds and returned to her drawing. Jasper watched as she added a smudge to oneof the petals, shading it.

You look lonely, Jasper said, Would you like to join me? She looked Jasper over for a second, sizing him up. A look of general contempt shaded her face, as the char-coal shaded the rose petal.

Youre not my type, she said quickly and added a stroke of gray to the rosesstem. A highlight.

Oh, my heart shatters into a billion tiny pieces, Jasper retorted sarcastically, andAngela raised a frigid eyebrow. No, you really dont take my breath away, either. But,my friend up there He jerked a thumb back towards Nigel. Angela looked back, and

Nigel panicked, hiding his face with his Steno notepad. is being a jackass about talk-ing to you.

Hmm, Angela said, watching Nigel for a second longer, examining. She lackedthe same look of disgust as she had had with Jasper. She returned to her drawing, again.

So, what do you say? Jasper said, Care to join us? Angela added one lastsmudge to a petal then looked the sketch over. She closed her sketchbook, and stowed her charcoal pieces in a pencil pouch, her fingers somehow skillfully void of char smudges.She put both of these items into a worn black bag and stood.

Fine, she said, putting her palms on her hips, But Im not going to sit next toyou.

Nigel brought the Steno down cautiouslyas if it were a shield from a fiery at-tack by the woman in the front row; a vengeful angel bringing divine fire upon him. He

peered over the top of it and saw Jasper walking up steps, Angela behind him.Shit, shit, shit, shit, Nigel said, his heart thundering. He brought the Steno back

up, examining his doodle of a ghost being sucked up by a Electrolux vacuum from aninch away. Jasper sat down in the seat next to him, and he felt Angela brush by his shins;she sat in the seat to his right. Nigelsweating rather profuselyset the Steno down. He

brought a stiff hand up, waving jerkily, and said,H-Hi.


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Hello, she said back, and brought out her sketchbook and charcoal again. Sheflipped to a new page and started to draw. Nigel turned and looked at Jasper, who wassmiling. Jaspers smile faltered when he saw Nigels grimace.

What? Jasper said queitly, as to be inaudible to Angela. Yet it matterednaughtAngela was already long gone in her drawing, obsessed with what was quicklyturning into some sort of gothic-looking tower. Nigel took off his glasses and rubbed hiseyes, shaking his head. Oh, come on! Buck up

Buck up? Nigel hissed, throwing a glance over his shoulder. Angela was en-thralled by her drawing; she didnt seem to notice them. Nigel reset his glasses andlooked back at Jasper, who was grinning. What the fuck do you mean buck up? Thisfunny to you, or what? Before Jasper could answer, a tall man spoke from the front of the class.

All right class, his deep voice called out, Settle down, settle down.

He stood in the center circle of the lecture hall, facing the mass of students. Hewore a tan suit and black dress shoes buffed to a high sheen, making them look as thoughthey were made of obsidian and not leather. A silver-streaked black beard and curly, shorthair framed his rather squarish face, like the mane of a lion. His dusky skin was the color of mahogany.

Im Professor Maximus Dove, he said, Now, before we go over the syllabus,are there any questions?

There were a few, rather conservative questions: Will we actually see any ghostshere?, Will there be field trips?, et cetera, et cetera. One smartass said, Will we needto buy matching jumpsuits? Everyone chuckled at this, including Professor Dove. Thena woman spoke.

Will we be covering demonology? Jaspers brow furrowed; the word buzzed inhis ears and agitated his mind. Demonology?

He turned to look up at a standing woman with hair a much darker shade of redthan Nigels. The hue of fire. Her eyes, conversely, were the color clover, like deep poolsof viridescent water. Freckles, a slight shade darker than her skin, dotted her face as if they were paint splatter from some genius artist. She wore a more feminine, lighter col-ored version of the jacket Jasper wore. At first glance, Jasper thought an angel had landedin the middle of class to make sure the masses had been taught to be vigilant against theInterloper and his minions.

This fantasy, however, would be crushed swiftly.No, Miss? Professor Dove said.Eliza Chapman, the woman said. She had a rather imposing air about her, from

the way she stood to the way she spoke. Even the Jumpsuit Smartass, who sat next to her,seemed to be wary.

Yes, Dove said, Well, Miss Chapman, we will not be covering demonology inthis particular course.

Okay, she said, satisfied though disappointed. Jasper raised his hand.Yes, Mr.?


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Jasper Garrison, Jasper said, And I was going to say: isnt demonology a pseudoscience? Before Dove could answer, Eliza stood and spoke.

It is not! she said.It is too, Jasper replied, turning, There is no physical proof that demons actu-

ally exist.There is too! Eliza replied, Look at the historical evidence: the Bible, the thou-

sands of years demons existed in popular mind before that, the firsthand accounts of those who have been possessedits all there. Look at Ingrid Solvalise

What about her? Jasper bellowed, face contorted in a frustrated sneer.She was possessed by six demons, Eliza said, matching Jaspers expression,

And there was substantial evidence this was so. She spoke in multiple voiceswhich is humanly possible, and not necessarily demonic Jasper scoffed.And what about those who were there during her exorcism? Eliza said, They

reported anomalies, like levitation and telekinesis, which no human can performMs. Chapman, Mr. Garrison, Dove tried, I realize your passion but we must

reallySo what about them, huh? Jasper retorted, They were her irresponsible par-

entsa drunkard father, crackhead motherand a ludicrous priest! How do you knowthey werent lying?

How do you know that they were?! Eliza screamed back They made a movie about it! Jasper yelled, How can you consider that to be

concrete ENOUGH! thundered Dove, his voice like a bass drum being struck as two

flutes trilled. Jasper and Eliza stopped yellingstunnedand looked at Dove. He was breathing hard and was quite flustered. Mr. Garrison. Ms. Chapman. I would advise thatyou two both take your seats before I am forced to make you leave the classroom. Jasper sat, glancing over his shoulder to see Eliza doing the same. Both wore bitter expressionsas the class murmured in criticism and wonder.

Now, Dove said, taking in a deep breath and collecting himself, I see your pas-sion over this issue. Ms. Chapman, Im sure we can devote a class to demonology. Jas-

per opened his mouth to saying something, but Dove cut him off. And, Mr. Garrison,Im sure we can devote a class to debunking demonology and forming an antithesis. But,for right now, I must implore that you two not break into another fight. My heart justcant take it! The class chuckled at Doves crack. Afterwards, as one skinny, pallid girlasked how much spiritualism would be covered in the course, Nigel leaned over to Jas-

per, hissing sarcastically,Way to show that bitch, dude. Put her in her place. Not like it made you look like

an ass, or anything. Jasper merely grunted at the jeer.

Dove hoped Eliza and Jasper wouldnt get into another fight like the firsthoped

as passionately as Jasper and Eliza hoped that the other wouldnt take the course. Alas,nobody got their wish, and during nearly every class from then on, Jasper and Eliza brokeinto a heated debate over something. Whether it was the true nature of poltergeists (They


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intentionally try to harm people! Poltergeist activity is only an after-effect of the spiritsfrustrationnot their homicidal tendencies!) to which brand of thermal camera worked

better (FLIR! Argus!), to why blue eyes sucked and red hair was ugly, they were al-ways bickering about something.

One day, in mid-December of their sophomore year, they broke into a particularlynasty fight over orbssmall, spherical manifestations of a spirit.

Im telling you, Jasper said, pointing in at a photo in a booka book he par-ticularly despised because it was sensationalized, like so many others he had read in highschool, An orb is a projection of the spirit, not the spirit itself! Its just a mass of energycreated to draw attraction to its presence; nothing more!

And Im telling you that it is the spirit! Eliza retorted, Look in the book! Itsays it right here on page 259!

Oh, come on! Jasper scoffed, You cant honestly believe that!

Oh, so now youre an expert?...And so on.Meanwhile, Nigel and Angelawho had become rather good friends with one

another and Jasperwatched on, not daring to interfere. Much like surviving a hurricane,or dealing with cougars in the wild, they had found it always best to either run and/or hide when Jasper and Eliza came within a yard of one another. In some ways, it was likedealing with two volatile chemicals, who, when combined, formed a deadly acid with ex-

plosive tendencies.Students that December day had been paired up around tables to share tattered,

secondhand books and read about the different forms spirits can takecan manifest in.Professor Dove walked over to Angela and Nigel.

So, Angela, Nigel, Dove said, orators voice booming no matter what volume itwas at, Hows it going?

All right, I guess, Nigel said, his mustache bushier than it was the first day of college, his hair still wiry. Angela was staring, entranced, at Jasper and Eliza, who werescreaming at one another, inches away from each others face.

Will they ever stop? Angela said dreamily, as if she were in some other, tran-scendental plane. Professor Dove looked at Jasper and Eliza. He sighed, resting his handson his hips and shaking his head.

No, he said, Im afraid they wont. Never have. Never will. Theyll just keepon fighting until one of them dies, I guess.

So why have you kept them this long? Nigel said, Isnt it sort of college pro-cedure to kick someone out if they cause such a ruckus?

Technically, yes, Mr. Harrison, said Professor Dove, However, if you hadntnoticed, this program is just starting out with meager funds. As it stands now, we havelimited resourcesthe Board is skeptical of funding such an unconventional course asParapsychology. The fact that Im here teaching this class and Multimedia Tech is proof

that they want to check the water before they dive straight in. So, if this program is tosurvive, we need good results. Those two, he said, pointing at Jasper and Eliza, Asvolatile as they are, are our best hope.


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In June two years after that day, on a temperate day with few clouds in the sky,Jasper, Nigel, Angela, and Eliza all graduated with the rest of their classwhich con-sisted of five other students. A week before Jasper, Angela, and Nigel did, as they ate thefavorite restaurant, The Great Wall, they talked about their future.

They sat in an overstuffed red booth, next to the window. Outside, a beige car drove lazily past the restaurant. Red paper lights with golden tassels hung from the stuccoceiling, casting dim light onto the small dining area. Three platesone with lo mein noo-dles, two with fried ricesat at the one woodgrain table. A pu pu platter sat before them,a Sterno-powered fire at the center of it keeping the food lukewarm. There were fewother diners in the small restaurant.

My folks wont want to see my face after graduation, Nigel said, biting into achicken finger. They thought I was throwing away my life. Said I shouldve been an ac-

countant or lawyer, rather than chase ghosts, he scoffed, I dont even know if myrooms still the same. It was painted a different color when I came home for Christmasthis year, and my Weezer poster was taken down. Got in a big fight over that one.

So what are going to do? said Angela, using chopsticks pick up an egg roll. Shetook to using them ever since they started eating therea skill which only she of thethree of them possessed .

Dont know, Nigel said, finishing the finger, Definitely not Tex- ass . Thingsdown yonder are a bit awkward.

I can find a place for you, I imagine, said Jasper. Nigels eyes shot up from his plate, interested.

You know what, Jasper said, tentatively trying to deliver his radical idea, Ithink Ive got a place for all of us. From inside his jacket, Jasper pulled out a wad of folded papers. Unfolding them, Nigel and Angela saw that Jasper had printed off informa-tion from a real estate site.

A color photo of a two-story shop squeezed between two larger buildingsahardware store and a pizza parlorsat surrounded by blocks of information. Jasper read.

Old gift shop and apartment, he said, and passed the paper to Nigel, who staredat it in disbelief, Two bedroom, one bath. Theres a little kitchen, and even a back officefor the main room downstairs. Jasper passed another pagethis on filled with pho-tosto Angela.

We cant afford this, Nigel said, almost scoffing, skimming through the papers,Dude, its 85 grand for the place. Not to mention we have our student loans to pay off.

Yeah, Angela said, and exchanged papers with Nigel, And where is this place?I mean, unlike Nige here, my parents actually care about me. I dont want to have totravel across thirty states just to see them, you know.

Its all taken care of, Jasper said, My mum said shed take out a business loanand help us buy the place. Well just give her some of the money for the payment each

month until we get our agency off the ground.But Ive already been asked to work for TAPS, said Angela, I just have to sign

the contract.


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And PennParanormals got my resum, said Nigel, In the next week, I shouldget a call from them.

But, guys, said Jasper, This is our chance to start our own agency, to do thingsour way. Do you want to be rolling and unrolling extension cords for the next six months,really? The other two were silent. Besides, my mumll help float us along to our firstcouple jobs.

But, still, Angela said, Thats a lot of help. Jasper sighed, and looked out thewindow for a moment.

Ever since my gramp died, he said, eyes focused on his car across the street the sole patrimony he received from a man he registered as a father, Shes saved asmuch money as possible to help me out, you see, and shes bent on getting the place. For me. Jasper looked at them, imploring (even if a bit melodramatically), For us. Both

Nigel and Angela felt slightly uncomfortable now; how could they say no?

And, besides, Jasper said, looking down and examining his rice, scooping someup with his fork. Its not far from your parents, Angelaits in Carlton. My hometown.

Late October, and it was overcast. Jasper sat in the office of HGS (Harrison, Gar-rison and Sevlar) Paranormal Research Agency, alone. Three days it had been since theyleft. Three days of staring out the goddamn window.

They had received a request from a man named Daniel Fuller, who owned a light-house in Boothbay that wassupposedlyhaunted. To confirm this, he wanted some-

body, quote, scientific n all professional-likelike those guys on the Sci-Fi channel.He had found them in the phone bookThank Gawd for Yella Pages, doncha know.

Dude, can I ask a huge favor of you? Nigel asked the day after Fuller called.They had just had Chinese takeout. Again.

I guess so, Jasper said, though a bit cautiously.Angela was off in her rooma room she deemed hers, seeing as though she was

neither loathed or worshiped by her parentsprobably drawing. He and Nigel, left toshare a room instead of Jasper staying at his mothers, (much to Alicia Garrisons disap-

pointment) sat at the table in the cramped kitchen, dim light from the sink the only sourceof illumination in the room. The kitchen, somehow in its compact space, had a two-

burner electric range, puny, burnt-out oven, scratched metal sink, and linoleum sideboard.Three small cupboards hung above; four below. A light also hung over the table, but itwas, like the stove, burnt out. The compact fridge that came with the place hummedloudly.

I need you to stay here for the Boothbay Job, Nigel said in a single, hurried breath, obviously knowing it was an act of blasphemy and betrayal. Jaspers brows fur-rowed.

What?

I need you to stay here, Nigel repeated.Why? Jasper said, Nigel, this is our first jobour first time out on the field

besides our exam.


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Their examwhich they had taken two weeks before Jasper proposed buying thenow-unappealing building for HGStook place in a house that had been confirmed to behaunted by an established parapsychologist (i.e., Dove), unknown to the students. Theywere each armed with a set of thermal and night vision cameras, a flashlight, and their wits.

The largest chunk of points on the scoring rubric were that they had to find solidevidence of a haunting, and solid evidence of a hoax. A hoax that Dove had set up. Jasper had passed swimmingly, in an act of brilliance finding that a spinning mirror was hookedup to a motoras did Eliza.

I know, man. But, the thing is Nigel checked the narrow corridor that led tothe bedrooms and the bathroom.

Thing iswhat?The thing is, Nigel said, collecting himself, Id like to have some alone time.

With her. Her? Her. Ooh, Jasper mocked, barely restraining his grin, Does loverboy have plans?

Nigel stared at Jasper, his lips pursed beneath his bushy mustache.Seriously, Nigel said, graver than a mortician at a mass-murder site, I need

some time with her. But, I sort of cant with this Full House setup youve screwed all of us into.

Hey, you didnt have to live here, Jasper retorted, You could have lived withyour Republican-Nazi-SuperChristian parents down in the Lone Star Statewhat was thecolor of your room, now? Pink? Mauve?

Rose Blossom, Nigel spat, as if it were nasty and bitter.Rose Blossom Jasper echoed, nodding solemnly, though barely holding back

mad peels of laughter. He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck and said, Fine, but whenyou come back, suppers on you for a month. Nigel slammed his hand on the table andgot up.

Deal, He and Jasper shook hands.And youll wash and wax the Challenger, as well.But Nigel tried, but Jasper cut him off with two words.Rose Blossom.

HGS Paranormal Research Agency, Jasper said, trying not to sound too bored, but ultimately failing. He had spent the past hours counting the pinholes in the white sus- pended ceiling. He had run out books to readhe had all ready read them. Twice. Cabletelevision was not an option, here. His laptop lay shut on the desk next to his proppedfeet. They could only afford dial-up internet, and he had all ready run out of things to doon it. After a while, surfing the net for car parts, illegal music downloads, and porn just

got tiresome.The only thing interesting that had happened today was this call. The only call for

the past weeksave for his mother, just checking in.


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I wish to hire an investigator, said the voice on the other line. A chill ran downJaspers spineit sounded familiar. But, from where? Whose voice was this? He hadheard it before, knew he had. But that was irrelevant; he did not want to speak to it, any-way, didnt want to spend another moment on the line with it.

Yet, with great reluctance, Jasper did speak. At least he wasnt bored anymore.Im sorry, but all of our investigators are gone on a case, and I have to stay here,

said Jasper, throat dry, To, you knowanswer calls. Jasper hoped that the voice wouldhang up; it would just give up and he could continue being bored. Something within him,like an instinct of some caliber, didnt like the tone, the timbre, of that voice.

Thats too bad. I was willing to pay good money, said the voice, slick as oil,cold as ice, like molasses in an icebox, In fact, thirty thousand dollars. Jaspers jawdropped mentally, hung ajar physically. Thirty thousand! That was five times the maxi-mum he ever expected to earn on one joband roughly ten times Fullers asking price.

I think I can take that case, said Jasper quickly, reconsidering his options. Hetried to defy his instinctto dismiss it. It was, after, just a stupid instinct. It had no basisin reality, right? But, still, he could rid himself of it; so he just did his best to ignore it.

Really? cooed the voice in an almost-malicious glee, How fortuitous! Jasper shuddered, but, nevertheless, continued on.

Yeah, I'll just need to have an address of where well meet and some identifica-tion.

Ill meet you at the place I want you to investigate.Okay. Where's that?Its in the town of Steadfast, Maine. Ever heard of it?No. But he had. Had somewhere.(Treadpast? Medfast? )Its a quaint little place, nestled in a valley, surrounded by towering, blue moun-

tains, the voice said, as if reading a bedtime story to a childand not the bubblegum-Disney kind, either, but the gothic Grimm Tales, The place I you want to investigate isthe grand hotel at the head of that valley. The Cavalier Inn.

3

Jasper slid a piece of paper closer to him on the cheap, battered desk they inher-ited with the building. Several, random doodles covered the margins: a revolver, a wish-ing well, a series of right angles connected like zigzags. He wrote down the informa-tionSteadfast, Cavalier Inn, thirty thousand dollarsand pulled out a road map fromthe desk drawer. After Fuller had called, they started to panicthey, (not even nativeslike Jasper and Angela) did not know where Boothbay was, or how to get there. So, Nigelwent out, purchased two road maps, and left one behind as a spare.

Lines of red and green made a complex web across the yellow state of Maine,thousands of different numbers peppering the interlacing lines. Names like Portland,


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Augusta, Bangor, and Kittery dotted the terrain, behemoths to smaller towns like Bethel,Standish, or Rangeley. Yet no Steadfast Jasper could find, not even the directory.

I cant find it on the map, said Jasper, still searching for Steadfast, but to noavail. It was nonexistent. A ghost .

Oh, you wont find it on any map made in the last eighty years, or so, said thevoice cooly, The nearest town to it is Goff Falls.

Looking over the map again, Jasper saw Goff Falls. It was a small (nearly-infinitesimal) town in the middle of, quite literally, nowhere. Only one routeRoute201lead close to it, the last thirty-or-so miles a smaller northbound road. No other routes connected the townexcept one. A small, hair-thin red road that went just a mileor two north of Goff Falls and stopped dead. The line was so thin, Jasper thought that the

people who made the map didnt want anybody to see it.Is Steadfast north of Goff Falls? Jasper inquired, following the short road up

and down, up and down.Yes, at the end of the road, the voice replied, as if he were right there, reading

the map with Jasper. Meet me there the day after tomorrow. At noon. That should beenough time.

Wait, wh!The line buzzed a deathcry; the man had hung up. Jasper turned off the phone.Two days, and he didnt even know the clients name. Two days; thats all the time

he had to get the supplies he had to havesupplies, which were expensive; supplies,which would sap up the last of their moneyno, not even that; supplies that would sendtheir business credit cards bill through the roof and into orbit somewhere around Nep-tune. He had to buy an entirely new set of camerasNigel and Angela had taken the onlysparse set they owned, gifts of Dove. Cameras, which were very expensive. Cameras,whose overnight shipping costs would be enough to send the bills out into Plutos or-

bitas well as insurance to ship them. And, he had to talk to the Nigel and Angela andexplain his predicament. Explain that he had to spend the last of their pooled money and max out their shared business credit card. Good luck with that, Jasper thought, Considering youre just rolling in dough. Yetwhat choice did he have? Thirty thousand dollars; with that kind of paycheck and their current financial situation, why, he would be doing himself and the business a disservicenot to take the job. Picking up the phone, Jasper dialed Nigels cell number. After a fewrings, the voicemail message started.

Hullo, its me, Nigel. I cant answer the phone right now. Christ, Jasper thought, Its like he doesnt have a fucking soul. He grinned . So leave a message after the tone.The tone sounded, and Jasper said,

Hey Nigel, its me. Just calling to see how youre doingyou know, checkinginto see how the Love Games playing out. My moneys on a lobsterman with a bad legand crazy eye getting to her before you. Jasper tried to make it sound funny, but, in his

mind, it just came off as stiff, forced, corny, and obvious of its purpose: to lead into aninane proposalone that included the expenditure of money. Uhanyway, I also needto tell you about this incredible job offer.


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Jasper then went on to talk about the high pay, Steadfast, and the Cavalier Inn. Heneglected to mention that he had to buy cameras or the cold voice that had called.

Imagine it, Nige: thirty grand! Jasper said, But, the thing is, see, I have to bethere the day after tomorrow. So, seeing as though your not there, Ive decided to take theoffer. If you dont like it, buck up or call me on my cell sometime in the next two days.Hurry up, Romeo.

Jasper hung up the phone, and started Googling paranormal investigation suppli-ers on his laptop. The dial-up connection was sluggish, like an elderly man who had justawoken from a long nap and was expected to run a triathlon.

He found one site which could deliver overnightfor, of course, a fee. Revolu-tionary Industries, Inc. had everything he needed in a camera set: thermal and night vi-sion filters, and a rudimentary EMF detection device in them. Basically, if a ghost or alive wire came within feet of the camera, it would know. It wasnt very sophisticat-

ednor was the thermal or night vision, judging by the screenshots taken by itbut itwas useful, and, according to RIs webpage, the latest advancement in parapsychologicaltools, now available at a reduced price!.

Jasper set up an account with their credit card, and used it instead of using their pooled money on the cameras; it would be better suited for the trips expensesfood, amotel room, an whatever obstacles he might face. He hated to use their cardhe hadheard horror stories of bankruptcy and foreclosure from his mother enough times as itwas. But Jasper had no choice; he just didnt have any money or any time to waste.

While he was connected to the internet, he also did a little research on Goff Falls.As it turned out, the town had its own websitealthough it wasnt much of one, by Jas-

pers standards: simple, basic text, no animations, no banners. Hardly even a background;all that was done to it was a color change from the default white to an evergreen shade.

As he looked through the pages of scenic photos depicting urbane streets, peacefulforests, and a waterfallthe towns titular feature, which allegedly spewed from an un-derground spring inside Goff Mountainhe found a list of businesses. The only one heneeded was Goff Falls Motel, whose phone number was written beneath their businessdescription.

The small paragraph talked about the owner, Murray McGregor, how the businesswas started in the thirties, how they were one of the few motels in the area to provide acontinental breakfast, blah-blah, blah blah, blah-blah-blah. Jasper didnt pay attention tothe hubristic description muchpractically forgot most of it by the time he shut his lap-top. He just used his cell to call the number.

A gruff man answered.Goff Falls Motel, the man said, How may I help yeh?Uh, yeah, Jasper said, taken aback a little by the thickness of his voice, Id like

to get a room for this Thursday.All right, the man replied, And yer name is?

Jasper Garrison.


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All right, the man echoed, Check-In starts at eleven, ends at foah. The mansaid starts in a way which cannot be written down logically, with normal letters. Theclosest thing to it would be staahts.

Okay, Jasper said, Thanks. He closed his cell, shut his laptop.Jasper then, walking across the room and jogging up the stairs located next to the

door of their unused back room, started to pack the necessities (toiletries and so on) andwhat little ghost hunting equipment he had for himselfa digital thermometer, cheapEMF detector and high-powered flashlight amongst them. These items were, to the para-normal investigator, as knives were to a chef; each has to have their own, regardless if they were alone or working in a group. And each keeps them in prime condition as to be

precise and professional; for, as a dull knife makes a rough cut, inaccurate sensors createfalse readings.

When Jasper was packed, it was closing time; although, seeing as though he lived

there, closing time was more of a formality, if anything. He set up the automated mes-sage machine, and flipped the sign hanging in the door from OPEN! to SORRYWERECLOSED. Locking up the building, he headed out to his car.

His car, a 1970 Dodge Challenger, was the color of a maraschino cherry, with a black pit of a scoop on the hood. It was his one (and only) heirloom left to him byGrandpa Dean, who had gotten the car years agosupposedly right off the assembly linein Detroit. He had kept it in showroom-quality every dayup until the day he was com-mitted to the hospital, coughing up mucus the color of the scoop. Every Sunday, as peo-

ple went to church, Dean would wash the car, and inspect every square inch of it. Liter-ally.

After he died, Jasper continued the practice of obsessive car careevery Sundaythe car would be washed. Then looked over for any sign of wear or tear. Then repaired or tuned if needed. And finally driven around town, in a sort of victory lap. Jasper did thisevery single Sunday, as if it were his own form of sermon.

Jasper slammed the heavy metal door shut and turned the ignition. The old 426Hemi within the Challenger started with a low rumble, like a monster awakening from along slumber; a fuel-incinerating leviathan from many years past.

Nigel and Angela didnt particularly care for the ChallengerAngela especially.She drove a hybrid made by either Honda or Toyota; Jasper forgot which. One day, after class at Norton, Angela spoke up, at last, on how she felt about the Challenger.

Are you trying to destroy our planet? Angela said doggedly.What? Jasper said, grinning, sitting in the drivers seat. They were about to go

out to The Great Wall for dinner, and it was the first time that Angela had seen the Chal-lenger. She was, clearly, unimpressed.

It sends thousands of pounds of carbon dioxide gas into the atmosphere justidling there! she said, God forbid you put the damn thing in drive!

What in the hell are you talking about? Jasper said, smile gone, now on the of-fense.


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That! Angela said, pointing at the Challenger as a priest might point at the DevilIncarnate, That thing youre driving!

Yeah, Jasper said, eyes narrowing, What about it? Angela sighed, rubbing her temples, shaking her head.

Its releasing smog-forming emissions, she said, frustrated by this planet-killingsimpleton, Why cant you just drive a hybridor least a more compact car, like Nigel?

Nigel had been standing there, leaning against his green Neon, looking awkward. Awk-ward seemed to be a word that described Nigel most of the time; Weird at others.

What, Jasper said, then smiled slyly, You mean like Nigels Peon?Its a Neon, Nigel replied, And yes, I we think you should. It would save

you gas money.Oh, and I suppose that Peon of yours is a real chick magnet, said Jasper, A

real stud-mobile. Nigel flushed a bit, deflating.

At least hes not trying to deep-fry the planet! Angela spat in retort. Nigelseemed to re-inflate at her words, face beaming.

Well, Ill be sure to turn up the AC, then, Jasper fired back ignorantly.They still went to The Great Wall that night, although Angela a bit begrudgingly.

Jasper drove through downtown Carlton, rain pattering against the Challenger.Jack-o-lanterns, scarecrows, and other black-and-orange decorations dotted lawns andcovered home faades. Just days from now costumed children would be running abouttown, begging for candy. He passed the hardware store first, then the general store, theauto repair shop Micks , after Mick Flanders, a friend of the Garrisons; he and Deanespeciallyand finally slowed in front of a diner. Maine-ly Eats. A terrible pun, if ever there wasnt one.

Jasper parked across the street, in front of the municipal building. The rain wasstarting to grow harder now, pattering relentlessly against the Challengers steel body.The church, in a cul-de-sac at the head of the street, was beginning to blur. Jasper killedthe engine, shoved the keys into his pocket, and got out, slamming the door shut. He thenran across the street, pulling his leather jacket up over his head to shield himself from therain. The road had just begun to get wet, black splotches forming on the gray asphalt ashe burst into the diner, letting his soaking jacket back down onto his shoulders.

Maine-ly Eats had three large, rectangular windows, two wooden booths sitting ateach window. A long, white counter stood across the dining area from the booths, thewainscoting of the oak trim and the linoleum gleaming under the halogen lights hangingoverhead. Wooden stools with pine-colored cushions lined the gleaming counter. Jasper walked across the pale linoleum floor, looking at the signs and items that covered thewalls. Photos of farmers, lobstermen and woodsmen in mismatched picture frames. Li-cense plate with various, tawdry slogansMAIN-R, MY CAH, and the like. A largeclock, with a faint ring of green halogen around its face, hung high above everything else:

the time, it dictated with its brushed metal hands, was 5:36.Jasper walked past the first two pairs of boothsthe first had a husband and wife,

both middle-aged and solemn, the second, three teenagers in sable attire, with expressions


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to match the older couple. In the third and fourth, a portly man in a beige suit and a manwearing jeans and an oil-stained gray shirt and blue cap. Both looked too tired to eat their food.

Jasper took a seat in the farthest booth, the sixth, his back to the wall. A photo of a potato farmer hung above him, the man covered in grime and dust as he hauled a bushelof potatoes from his harvester. The clattering sound of washing dishes came from theopen window to his right; he looked inside and briefly saw a teenage girl in a bleach-stained black shirt, who looked as though she might use the one of the knives she wash-ing on someone.

Well, where have you been? Jasper looked up and saw a woman in tight, black jeans and a white blink-182 tee; a smiley face with Xs for eyes was stretched around her bosom. Her brown hair had been done up in a wild knot at the back of her head, her eyesof the same warm color. A black apron was tightly tied to her waist.

Oh, Jasper said, surprised, Hi, Candice. She was an ex-girlfriend of his fromhigh schoolin fact, she was one of the very few girlfriends he had ever had. Now see-ing Candice after so many years, he suddenly realized that.

I still prefer Candy, she said, and gave a sly wink. Jasper felt very awkward, just then. Felt like Nigel would have. So, whatll it be?

Something cheap thatll keep the dishgirl from stabbing me with a steak knife,Jasper said, throwing a glance to the window, She looks seriously pissed. A pot sud-denly crashed down into the sink, a steaming Hindenburg from the cook. The water, inconsequence, flew up her abdomen and onto her face.

Oh, Heather? said Candy, Yeah, shes always like that. Wouldnt blame her though; its a sucky fuckin job. So, will fingers n fries, do ya?

Itll do me just fine, said Jasper, and immediately thought, And you would, too, given the chance. He tried to wrestle his mind from the gutter, but had trouble doing so and got himself rather dirty in the process.

Good. Coke? Candy asked.As always.Havent changed much, then; thought college made people different, she said,

smiling, Be right back. She walked back behind the counter, and, as she did, Jasper could help but catch a glimpse of her backside. He forced his mind out of the gutter thistime, and instead looked out the window, watching the torrential rain fall upon Carlton asday faded into night.

A knock on the glass door. Jasper had been making himself a tuna sandwich up-stairs in the kitchen. Candy had left before he had awoken five-or-so hours ago, with nota note or kiss goodbye. Typical.

He was just in the process of smearing the tuna-and-Miracle Whip paste onto histoasted bread as the sound of thudding glass met his ears. He froze, like a zebra hearing a

twig snapped by a predator on the Savanna. Jasper hurried down the stairs, thud-thud-thud-thud-thud, like tires on a bumpy road. He slowed to a stride as he approached thedoor.


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A tall, chubby man in a brow UPS uniform stood outside, a red dolly loaded with boxes behind him; it was held in place at an angle by one hand, a clipboard cradled in theother. Jasper opened the door.

Jasper Garrison? the man said.Yes.With an order of, he looked over the paper on the clipboard for a second, then

read off it. Six GhostCam cameras and one receiver box?Yes.Please sign, he said, and turned the form over to Jasper. Jasper signed; the man

promptly took the clipboard back and studied it.Okay, he said, May I come in?Yes. That was the only word he said during the short time the UPS man deliv-

ered the boxessave for a thank you when he left.

There were three boxes, total. The UPS man left him behind a yellow copy to con-firm delivery and took the white copystill attached to the clipboardand his dolly.Jasper didnt want to look at the price in the bottom right-hand corner of the thin, yellowsliprather, he pretended that there was not a price to this order, but rather it was a giftfrom someone other than himself.

When the delivery man was gone, Jasper ran upstairs, finished making his sand-wich, put it in his mouth and brought a knife back downstairs with him. He bit into thesandwich with an audible crunch, set it on the desk, and, with his heart thumping,opened the boxes.

The first two boxes were thin and rectangularboxes that frail paintings mightcome in. He opened them both carefully, as if they contained such paintings, and laid theopen boxes out on the floor. The unblinking, black eye of each camera stared up at him ashe opened the boxes. There were three blue, chrome-accented eyeball cameras to each,held into place by flimsy white plastic. These cameras came with mounting brackets anda regular footso that they could be set on surfaces on hung on walls. One antenna wastaped to the side of each camera.

Jasper looked down at the six cameras for a moment, observing them, and thenopened the larger, cubic box. He pulled out a rectangular, bubble-wrap clad device thatlooked similar to a Wi-Fi receiver, except it was far thicker. He tore off the bubble wrapand saw the installation CD, receiver antennae and manual taped to the top of the box. Heset this on the desk next to his charging laptop. Looking back inside the box, he saw an-other bubble-wrapped rectanglethis one was gray, and Jasper knew what it was whenhe unwrapped it. The battery-charger.

Over the course of the following few hours, Jasper installed the GhostCam pro-gram and cameras and plugged in the charging stationit held twelve twenty-hour bat-teries for the cameras. The receiver box charged by itself when plugged in, holding it upto forty-eight hours of charge. After its battery became depleted, it would draw on the

computer through the wire connectionas to allow maximum portability. All these fea-tures added a level of convenience to paranormal investigation which Jasper had never seen; it was obvious that Revolutionary Industries was really onto something.


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But, still, Jasper didnt dare to look at the price.He shut everything down afterwards and packed it back up in the boxes. He pro-

ceeded to pack the cameras and receiver box in the Challenger, along with the two suit-cases he had packed previously. He didnt want to have to deal with it the next day.

Jasper would have to leave early.

The alarm buzzed, piercing his ears with minute pins and needles. Jasper clawedaround for the off button, cursing. He found the alarms off button and slammed down onit with such force that Jasper didnt even know if the button shut it off, or if he broke thealarm itself.

Either way, at 4:30 in the morning, Jasper just didnt give a damn. He could afforda new alarm with thirty grand.

He looked at the clockit was still in one piece, 4:30 still glowing in red. Groan-

ing, Jasper dragged himself out of bed; stumbling around, he managed, somehow, to gethis clothes together. Later, he would vaguely remember shambling down the hall and tak-ing a shower in the cramped bathroomit was a little too cold, the water, but it woke himup faster than coffee ever would. Clean and in fresh clothes, Jasper walked into thekitchen. The coffee pot he had set to turn on at 4:20 had failed to start. Again. He didnt

bother with it; he just had some cold chicken he had had for supper the night previous.Jasper walked back into his room and put on his shoes. He tossed on his leather

jacket, put on his watch and pocketed both his keys and wallet. He then descended thestairs and exited the office area, locking the glass door behind him. And, with one finallook at HGS, his current home and business, Jasper set out for Goff Falls as dawn barelycracked awake.

4

The ride to Goff Falls was long and dull.Towns passed by him sluggishly as the sun arose, splashing warm yellow light

over the states topography. Jasper watched as people evolved throughout the dayawak-ing, starting their cars and driving off to work, kids being picked up by buses to go toschool, the roads beginning to empty as midday drew nigh. And almost every house or

building he saw had some kind of decorationwere it a single jack-o-lantern, or an en-tire funhouse setup on their lawn.

He saw this all as he drove north, to Goff Falls. Several times, he had to stoptocheck if he was still on track, or to relieve himselfand promptly kept on driving there-after.

Finally, at around 11:30 or so, Jasper drove past a large wooden sign with the vis-ual aesthetics of driftwood, that said: Goff Falls: a Diamond in the Rough . Like a hypo-dermic of speed, reality was injected into Jaspers veins when he read the sign, breakinghis tunnel vision. He was, thank God, almost there.


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The town, which was about a half mile from the sign, sat underneath the sterngaze of a steep, evergreen-and-orange mountain. The mountain was so steep, in fact, thatin order for Jasper to see its top, he had to stick his head over the dashboard and crane hisface upwards. A waterfall spewed off the mountainsidefrom an underground source, asthe site had claimedand made a long, white, churning arc. Jasper couldnt see where itlanded, however, because the town blocked the view; he assumed that it must land in alake or river of some kind.

The town was a mass of buildings, all huddled together in a gully, like a smallherd of pale sheep nestled together against the cold valley. Few streets led off the mainroad, and even those didnt go very farthe steep base of the mountains surrounding thetown impeded them from doing so. As a result, businesses and homes clashed, sharing thesame space. Where there would be a hardware store and gas station, there would be twoVictorian farmhouses surrounding it; where a home was, the Municipal Building and Li-

brary crowded it. Jasper drove through the Main Street, observing this odd mash of resi-dential, municipal and commercial buildings, when he noticed something else.

There were no decorations. No pumpkins, no ornaments, no dried cornstalks. Nothing.

Jasper, rather confused about the lack of Halloween spirit permeating the town, pulled into the parking lot of the Goff Falls Motel at the end of town. It really wasnt theend; a worn, unkempt asphalt road still stretched on, undoubtedly leading to Steadfast.But, as far a Goff Falls was concernedand human civilization, for that matteritseemed, no such road existed; for there were no other buildings beyond the Motel.

He parked the Challenger. Across the street, he saw as he got out, the general storesat. Its parking lot was the same size of the Goff Falls Motelssmall. Callaghans, reada wooden sign above the front doors of the market, similar in style and condition to thetowns welcome sign. Jasper studied the store for a moment, scrutinizing the brick edi-fice, and then walked to the main office.

The main office for the Goff Falls Motel was sparsely furnished, with a compactcoffee table and two wicker chairs across from the front counter to ones right as they en-tered. Across the room, in front of a set of doors (two were bathrooms, one just a supplycloset) a woodgrain table sat, an orange cooler and steel coffee maker on top of it. Behindthe front desk, a teen girl with blonde hair sat, reading an issue of Interview . She wore anAvril Lavigne shirt, and numerous bracelets.

Hello? Jasper said, walking to the desk. The girl looked up. She wore pink lip-stick and was chewing gum. Doublemint or Winterfresh; either way, he could smell itsminty aroma from where he stood. It gave her a very bovine look. Im Jasper Garrison,I

Got yer room right heah, she said both impatiently and apathetically; as if shewere about to say, I know, I know, dont exert yourself too much. Thuhteen. She passedhim an old key with a green plastic tab with the number thirteen in bold, black print on it.

Thanks, he said, HowFifty-five, she said, and extended a hand. Jasper saw that the majority of the

snare of bands around her wrists were for charityLivestrong, and others. Jasper pulled


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out his wallet and gave a fifty- and five-dollar bill. She gave a forced smile, and returnedto her magazine. Ya have a good day, suh. Just as Jasper turned to leave, he turned back her.

Just out of curiosity, Jasper said and the girl sighed, looking up again, Whyarent there any Halloween decorations up?

Guess we dont like to look like complete idiots, she said, impatiently and apa-thetically again, Have a good day. She returned to her magazine and Jasper walked tothe door. But he stopped, and turned again.

And, sorry to bug you, but, Jasper said, and noticed that it obviously buggedher, Where does this road lead to?

Jasper pointed to the main road, and looked at the girl; she watched as a car leftthe Motels parking lot, and turned right. The girl remained silent, staring at the road, atthe car. At the misfortunate driver of such a doomed vehicle. The car ran between them

and Callaghans for a second,

the cavalier inn

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