Ghostwalkers Page 18

  The others said nothing.

  “There are rumors—horrible rumors—that some sorcerers and devil worshippers over the years have performed rituals to invite a manitou into their body. This is done in the crazed belief that the demon will grant powers and share ownership of the flesh. But … manitou do not like to share.”

  “Egad,” said Looks Away tartly. “Like a party guest who will not leave.”

  “Far worse than that,” said Brother Joe. “In such cases the human is driven mad and frequently commits terrible acts of violence and cruelty. There is a story from Europe about a prince, Vlad of Wallachia, who performed such a ritual and the list of his crimes is legendary. Perhaps other great mass murderers and conquerors have been similarly overcome. Maybe even the Caesars of Rome and—.”

  “But you digress,” said Looks Away quietly.

  “Sorry, sorry…” The monk looked momentarily flustered, then he found the thread of his tale. “The second way in which the manitou try and enter our world is by invading and reviving the bodies of the dead.”

  Grey exchanged a quick, covert glance with Looks Away. Visions of the dead posse seemed to loom above them.

  “What happens to these spirits when the body is destroyed?” asked Jenny. “Are the manitou killed, too?”

  “I don’t think so. The abbot of my order believes they are released back into the spirit world. Into what many call the Happy Hunting Grounds.”

  “‘Happy’ is a relative term,” mused Looks Away sourly.

  “There is another way in which a spirit can walk in our Earth as a person,” continued the monk. “If a demon of sufficient power enters a body soon after death—and the soul inside has a strong will or something else the demon thinks makes the reward worth the risk—it can attach itself to the corpse permanently. This is what we call the ‘Harrowed,’ and they are far more powerful than ordinary undead. For the undead the possession, as dreadful as it must be, is fleeting. However with the Harrowed, the demon actually feeds off the holy light of the host’s soul. And in exchange it exists in a parody of actual life, even to the point of healing the stolen flesh when wounded. If it was not so dreadful a thing we would praise it as miraculous.”

  “It sounds quite horrible,” said Looks Away quietly.

  “It is,” said the monk, “for the soul and the invading spirit wrestle for constant control.”

  “Wrestle is a funny word,” observed Grey. “Is there a chance the human soul can win?”

  “Perhaps,” said the monk. “I’ve heard it said that a strong-willed individual might win back control of the flesh. Some say that there have been times when the human soul achieves this but then uses some of the demon’s supernatural abilities. Most often, though, it is the demon that is strongest and it takes dominion, suppressing the host and using the stolen flesh to cause as much strife and mischief as it can, delighting in the pain and suffering it inflicts.”

  “Couldn’t we just put a bullet in them and end it there?” asked Grey. “Wouldn’t that end the—what’s the word?—occupation?”

  “Possession,” supplied the monk. “And it’s not as simple as that.”

  Grey sighed. “Of course it’s not.”

  “You see, my friends, if the host is destroyed—say by a shot to the brain or burned to ashes—the demon is slain as well. Therefore it will do absolutely anything to prevent that from happening, and you cannot even imagine the lengths to which a Harrowed will go. It would burn down Heaven if it could. My abbot was uncertain as to whether this would release the soul of the possessed or cast it into greater spiritual torment. It is because of this that the Harrowed are perhaps the greatest example of the struggle we all have with sin and temptation and—.”

  “Drifting, drifting…,” murmured Looks Away.

  “No,” said Brother Joe, “I am not. Tell me, gentlemen, do you know why the War Between the States ended?”

  “Ceasefire,” said Grey. “Everyone knows that.”

  Brother Joe shook his head. “No, that is the lie that everyone believes. It’s what we have all been told. But the truth is that this world—our world—has been changed somehow. It has become an abode of evil.”

  “Oh come on now,” began Looks Away, but Grey gestured for him to be quiet.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “It began at the Battle of Gettysburg,” said Brother Joe. “In that terrible, terrible place where so many died. But, God save us all, the dead did not stay dead. They rose.”

  Those words hung there and no one dared speak. After what he and Looks Away had seen, Grey could not call this man a liar.

  “It was a slaughter,” said Brother Joe, “with the dead killing the living and thereby swelling their own ranks. It forced the generals on both sides to withdraw. It happened again when the Union’s Potomac Army and the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia clashed. Red slaughter and the dead walking abroad in defiance of the natural order of things. The war ground on for years, but the horrible truth of the living dead, my friends, is what eventually brought on the ceasefire.”

  “Those were manitou?” asked Jenny, her eyes huge.

  “Yes, and with the risk that every battle would further empty the halls of Hell itself, the generals and politicians quietly ended hostilities. It was not a move toward peace and sanity but a desperate act to prevent the wholesale slaughter of everyone in North America.”

  “By the Queen’s silken garters,” breathed Looks Away.

  “But a lot of people have died since then,” protested Grey. “Why aren’t we ass-deep in walking corpses?”

  Brother Joe shook his head. “There are so many mysteries. Some believe that only those who die by violence are at risk of being resurrected in this fashion. My abbot believes that it is only those who die in war. They could both be wrong, and for my part … I do not know.

  Grey grunted. “You know, I did hear some rumors like that. But it was from men who were being treated for war stress. In army hospitals and such.”

  “Or,” mused Looks Away, “is that where they put the witnesses to discredit them?”

  It was an ugly question.

  “My point,” said Brother Joe, “is that this kind of possession is the most frightening. They are the most rare of all these undead things, but they are also the most powerful. There are some who believe that a few of these Harrowed are still abroad in our world, hiding among us. Living in our own towns. Maybe in our own families.”

  “How can you hide in plain sight like that if you’re dead?” asked Grey.

  “What makes you think you could look at one and know?” asked Jenny.

  “What do you mean?”

  Her eyes were filled with pain. “If my pa had walked up to me on the street this afternoon, I wouldn’t have known he was … different. Tonight, he sounded the same, looked the same.”

  “Hey,” said Grey, “let’s not forget that he shot you. It was only a lucky break that the bullet bounced off that fancy corset you’re wearing. Shooting you doesn’t exactly sell family unity and love to me.”

  “He could have shot her in the head,” suggested Looks Away.

  “C’mon, that was a monster out there, and—.”

  Jenny’s face flushed with anger. “I know that, but he looked like my pa. I still can’t believe it’s not him.”

  “The demons that animate the Harrowed want to walk among others. That is where they can cause the most harm. Their wounds heal and I am told they don’t look like corpses. Not like some of the other risen dead, at least. Some even say that a very strong-willed person can bring himself back from death, which is both encouraging and frightening.”

  “My pa had a will of iron,” declared Jenny. “Sounds like he’d be the perfect candidate for these … things.”

  Grey noted that she used the past tense. Had. It was a sign that she was accepting certain realities, but it also broke his heart.

  “He did,” agreed Brother Joe, “and he was a God-fearing man. If he wasn’
t in church every Sunday I have no doubt he was abroad doing good in this world. He was like that. And yet the abomination we saw last night could not have been him. Not completely. The Lucky Bob I knew would never willingly do harm to innocents, nor would he consort with those who would. This is why I believe that he was murdered and that a demon has stolen his body. This is a sin against God and against the memory of a good and decent man.”

  The words hit Jenny like a series of blows, and her anger crumbled beneath the pummeling. She hung her head. However Grey saw that the young woman’s fists were balled at her side. Overwhelmed by grief, to be certain, but ready to exact a terrible revenge.

  He found it all extremely—and strangely—exciting. What a woman.

  “Clarify something for me, old chap,” said Looks Away, “there were quite a lot of those monsters out there. How many were Harrowed and how many were simply nimble corpses?”

  “I can’t say for certain,” admitted the monk, “but it is most likely that Lucky Bob was the only Harrowed. The rest were demons.”

  “Are the souls of the dead still in there?” asked Jenny, her eyes wide with fear.

  Brother Joe shook his head. “No. For most of them … only the demon wears their flesh. If they speak or act like the person that they were, it’s because the demon can still read the memories in their brain. Unlike the Harrowed, they are pure evil. Destroy the brain and the demon loses its hold on the flesh and they flee back to hell. The body, which was merely a disguise of flesh, merely dies.”

  “Well, that’s something,” said Grey. “It simplifies things.”

  “Does it?” asked Looks Away.

  “No, but it felt good to say it.”

  The Sioux shook his head. “White men.”

  The monk said, “I myself have heard stories about some of these Harrowed working for the rail barons, fighting in the War Between the States, and even riding as agents for the Texas Rangers and the Pinkerton Agency. It is frightening to think that so many of them may be among us…”

  “Hold on,” said Grey, shaking his head, “none of this explains what we saw last night. What about the pieces of ghost rock in the chests of those other things, the undead slaves. I admit I don’t know as much about possession as you do, Brother, but I never heard about that.”

  “Nor have I,” admitted the monk. “I can only speculate that some dark rite was performed on this ghost rock itself. Ghost rock is the Devil’s creation so it would make a fine receptacle for some unholy spell. Some even say ghost rock itself is made of damned souls. We’ve all heard the tormented screams that issue from it when burned and—.”

  Jenny swiped angrily at the fresh tears in her eyes, but she said nothing.

  Looks Away pursed his lips for a moment. “I admit that after last night I’m more inclined to accept a preternatural explanation for things. For some things. However I have had some experience with ghost rock and with the reanimation of the dead. Doctor Saint and his colleague, Mr. Nobel, agreed that there was some kind of chemical reaction resulting from an explosion of the mineral that temporarily restored life to the recently dead. They reasoned that because those people had been dead for too long, with the resulting deprivation of oxygen to their brains, when they reanimated they were hysterical and mentally deranged. We did not view this as having any connection to matters of a spiritual nature.”

  “That was then,” said Grey. “Where do you stand now?”

  “Quite frankly? On very shaky ground, old chap. I wish we understood more about these blighters,” said Looks Away.

  “We know how to kill them,” said Grey grimly. “A head shot seems to do it for the bulk of these bastards. But tell me, Joe, what about the Harrowed? How do we kill them? I mean, what happens if we shoot them in the head?” He was careful not to mention Lucky Bob by name, but Jenny still gave him an evil glare.

  “That is the only thing the demons truly fear,” said the monk. “If they enter such an individual, then they are bound to the flesh. If you kill the body by destroying the brain, the Harrowed dies, too.”

  “But…,” began Jenny, then she took a breath and asked the dreaded question, “what happens to the soul of that dead person?”

  The monk shook his head. “I … don’t know. I wish I had an answer, I wish I could speak comfort to you, Jenny, but we do not know. And this is something the brothers of my order would dearly love to know. Because if the soul of the undead are released and allowed to fly to the arms of Jesus, then we would offer no objection at all to men like Grey and Looks Away doing whatever they had to do. Instead of breaking the commandment against murder.”

  “I thought all killing was anathema to you clerical blokes?” said Looks Away.

  Brother Joe smiled wanly. “Have you ever read the Old Testament? Achan was put to death by Joshua because he caused the defeat of Israel’s army by taking some of the plunder and hiding it in his tent. David had an Amalekite put to death because he claimed to have killed King Saul. And Solomon ordered the death of Joab. No, my brother, there is so much blood written into the pages of our holy book. But we are told by God not to commit murder—the wanton act of killing.”

  “Wait, wait,” said Grey, “let’s stick on that point for a minute. Jenny’s right. If we killed the Harrowed, or even the lesser undead, are we doing some kind of spiritual harm to the possessed, or are we setting them free to go on to Jesus? Or whatever you want to call it.”

  “As I said,” explained Brother Joe, “I simply do not know.”

  That stopped them all, and for several painful moments they could do nothing but look at each other and weigh the events of last night against their fears.

  “You’re sure my pa got away?” asked Jenny in a small, fragile voice.

  “I am,” Looks Away assured her.

  “You wouldn’t lie to me, Looksie, would you?”

  “No, my dear, I would not.” He bent and kissed her on the forehead. “And I thank whatever Gods may be that Doctor Saint’s gun burned itself out before I could take that shot. Let’s call it the hand of providence for now.”

  Jenny kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  They began walking again.

  Looks Away trailed behind them, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed, chin resting thoughtfully on his chest. Grey glanced over his shoulder at him. “You got that gun contraption from Doctor Saint’s lab?”

  “Mmm? Oh, yes,” said Looks Away absently. “But as I said, it’s ruined now and—.”

  “He have anything else in there?”

  The Sioux stopped and sucked a tooth while he thought about it. “Quite frankly, my dear chap, I don’t really have a clue what all is in there. The good doctor has most of his equipment locked up and I don’t have all the keys. It’s his private workshop and I was only an assistant.”

  “Can’t we break the locks?” asked Jenny.

  Looks Away shook his head. “I wouldn’t dare. Doctor Saint is—.”

  “—not here,” she interrupted. “We are.”

  They stopped in the street and he half-smiled. “Doctor Saint has been very generous and supportive to the people in this town,” said Looks Away. “Some of what’s in his lab is the result of years of his work.”

  Jenny pointed to the cemetery. “Then you go tell those people that we can’t help because we’re being too damned polite. Explain to them that good manners forbids us to check to see if there’s a weapon or two in Saint’s lab that might help us. Tell the parents of all those men who you killed last night—all those undead—that their sons died in vain but it’s okay, they’ll get to join them soon because you’re too bloody British for your own good.”

  “Now hold on a sodding minute, Jenny,” protested Looks Away. “Don’t lay this on me because I’m trying to respect the privacy of a good and decent man. And moreover, this isn’t about me being British. I’m a Sioux—.”

  “—and the Sioux took back their nation, didn’t they? Or are those the American Sioux? The ones who still have their
balls?”

  Grey winced.

  Looks Away turned livid. “Fine! You want me to commit larceny? Absolutely. Follow me, you daft cow.”

  The Sioux spun on his heel and stalked angrily toward a large shuttered barn on the edge of town.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Jenny let her stern face melt away to be replaced by a bright but devious smile. “Good. That was even easier than I thought.”

  She set off in Looks Away’s wake.

  Grey lingered a moment longer. Then, grinning, he followed.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Grey caught up to Jenny as she caught up to Looks Away. The Sioux was fitting a strange and elaborate key into the lock of the barn. There were signs nailed above the doors and along the signs:

  PRIVATE PROPERTY

  DANGER

  KEEP OUT

  Bolts of blue lightning radiated out from the letters. Eloquent, thought Grey sourly.

  “Open it,” urged Jenny.

  “I am opening it,” snapped Looks Away. “Give me a bleeding minute.”

  The lock clicked and Jenny pushed Looks Away aside and went into the darkened building. Grey paused and leaned close to the Sioux.

  “Is she always like this?”

  “Oh, no, not at all,” said Looks Away, “sometimes she’s pushy and abrasive. You caught her on one of her good days.”

  “Ye gods,” murmured Grey as he followed her in.

  Looks Away scraped a match on the sole of his shoe and lit four oil lamps, dialing up the flames so that a great mass of yellow light filled the room.

  The barn was not a barn. It had once served that purpose, but builders had been hard at work converting the interior of the big structure into something else entirely. There was a large central space in which several wagons of different size were stored and strange equipment was positioned in the beds of each. The equipment was so arcane in design that Grey could not even hazard a guess as to what purpose it might serve. Around this, a series of small rooms had been built, each of them closed and secured with heavy padlocks on steel hasps. One door stood ajar and Grey could see a simple workbench beyond, covered with dozens of finely-made tools.