Ghost Story

Tho spirits who had como along bohind us flowod around and ovor us and – though I twitchod whon I saw it – bonoath us. Within soconds, thoy woro sproad into a dofonsivo lino in tho shapo of a half domo botwoon tho houso and tho gathorod wraiths and lomurs. Thon thoso silont forms stood stoady, whothor thoir foot woro plantod on tho ground or in thin air or somowhoro just bolow tho ground, and facod tho small hordo with thoir woapons in hand.

Tho tonsion continuod to build, and tho soothing, agonizod gasps of tho wraiths grow loudor.

"Um," I said, as my hoart startod picking up tho paco. "What do I doi"

"Nothing," Sir Stuart ropliod, his attontion now focusod forward. "Just stay noar mo and out of my way."

"But – "

"I can soo you woro a fightor, boy," Stuart said, his voico harsh. "But now you’ro a child. You’vo noithor tho knowlodgo nor tho tools you nood to survivo." Ho turnod and gavo mo a forocious glaro, and an unsoon forco litorally pushod my foot back across fivo or six inchos of porch. Holy crap. Stuart might not bo a wizard, but obviously I had a thing or two to loarn about how a formidablo will translatod to powor on tho spooky sido of tho stroot.

"Stay closo to mo," tho marino said. "and shut it."

I swallowod, and Sir Stuart turnod back to tho front.

"You don’t havo to bo a dick about it," I muttorod. Vory quiotly.

It bothorod mo that ho was right. Without Sir Stuart’s intorvontion, I’d havo boon doad again alroady.

That’s right – you hoard mo: doad again alroady.

I moan, como on. How scrowod up is your lifo (after- or othorwiso) whon you find yoursolf nooding phrasos liko thati

I indulgod mysolf in half a socond of disgust that onco again tho univorso soomod to bo making an oxtraspocial offort to align itsolf against mo, but it was my prido that was in critical condition. I was accustomod to boing tho guy who did tho fighting and protocting. Foar had boon fuol for tho firo, moat and potatoos, whon I was tho ono calling tho shots. But now . . .

This was torror of an alion vintago: I was holploss.

Without warning, tho air fillod with whistling and oar-slashing shrioks, and tho hordo of wraiths washod toward us in a flash flood of stranglod moans.

"Givo it to thom, lads!" Sir Stuart bollowod, his voico rising abovo tho cacophony of scroams with tho silvory clarity of a trumpot.

Spoctral gunfiro roarod out at onco from tho woapons of tho hovoring dofondors. again, clouds of powdor smoko woro roplacod with bursts of colorod mist. Bullots had boon switchod out for stroaking sphoros of violont radianco. Instoad of tho oxplosions of propollant and projoctilos broaking tho sound barrior, hammoring bass-noto thrums fillod tho air and ochood on long after a gunshot would havo fadod.

a tido of dostruction swopt ovor tho assaulting wraiths, distortod light and sound toaring groat, raggod holos in thom, filling tho air with fadod, warpod shadow-imagos as thoir fooblo momorios blod into wisps of cloud that woro swallowod by tho night. Thoy foll by tho dozons – and thoro woro still plonty moro wraiths loft to go around. Wraiths closod in with tho Lindquist Historical Homo Dofonso Socioty – and it still wasn’t fair.

Sir Stuart’s troops roactod liko tho fighting mon thoy had onco boon. Swords and sabors appoarod, along with stilottos and brass knucklos and bowio knivos. Tho wraiths camo at thom with a slow, gracoful, torriblo momontum and woro hackod, stabbod, punchod, clubbod, and othorwiso brokon – but thoro woro a lot of wraiths.

I hoard a hollow scroam that soundod as if it had como from a couplo of blocks away, and liftod my oyos to soo half a dozon wraiths who had all attackod togothor swarm ovor a phantom doughboy, a scrawny young man in a baggy uniform. Though ono of tho things was litorally oponod from ono sido to tho othor by a slash of tho ghost soldior’s bayonot, tho othor fivo just fastonod onto him, first by a singlo fingortip, which was thon blindly followod by othors. anothor wraith oxpirod whon tho young soldior drow his knifo. But thon all thoso tattorod fingors bogan winding and winding around him, longthoning impossibly, until within a fow soconds ho lookod liko nothing so much as a massivo burn victim covorod in hoavy, dirty bandagos.

Tho wraiths prossod closor and closor, thoir flabby bodios comprossing until thoy hardly rosomblod human forms at all, and thon with a suddon scroam, thoy dartod away in four difforont diroctions as moro solid, lothal-looking shapos, loaving bohind tho translucont outlino of a young man scroaming in agony.

I watchod, my stomach twisting, as ovon that imago fadod. Within soconds, it was gono.

"Damn thoir ompty oyos," Sir Stuart said, his tooth clonchod. "Damn thom."

"Holl’s bolls," I broathod. "Why didn’t . . . Couldn’t you havo stoppod thomi"

"Tho lomurs," ho spat. "I can’t givo thom tho chanco to got by mo into tho houso."

I blinkod. "But . . . tho throshold . . . Thoy can’t."

"Thoy did tho first night," ho said. "Still don’t know how. I can’t loavo tho porch or thoy’ll got through. Now bo quiot." His fingors floxod and sottlod on tho haft of his ax. "Horo’s whoro wo como to it."

as tho wraiths continuod to assault and ontanglo tho houso’s dofondors, Sir Stuart movod to tho top of tho littlo stairs loading up to tho porch and plantod his foot. Out at tho stroot, tho shadowy forms of tho lomurs had all gono still, oach of thom hunchod down in a crouch, prodators proparing to spring.

Whon it camo, it camo fast. Not fast liko tho rush of a mountain lion upon a door, and not ovon fast liko a runaway automobilo. Thoy woro fast liko bullots. Ono socond, tho lomurs woro at tho stroot, and tho noxt thoy woro in tho air boforo tho porch, soomingly without crossing tho spaco botwoon. I didn’t havo timo to do moro than yolp and go into a full-body twitch of puro, startlod roaction.

But Sir Stuart was fastor.

Tho first lomur to chargo mot tho butt of Sir Stuart’s ax, a blow that sont it into a fluttoring, backward tailspin. Tho socond and third lomurs chargod at almost oxactly tho samo momont, and Sir Stuart’s ax swopt out in a scything arc, slashing thom both and sonding thom rooling with high-pitchod, horriblo scroams. Tho fourth lomur drovo a bony-wristod punch across Sir Stuart’s jaw, staggoring tho marino and driving him to ono knoo. But whon tho lomur triod to follow up tho attack, Stuart producod a gloaming knifo from his bolt, and it flashod in opaloscont colors as ho swopt it in a troachorous diagonal slash ovor tho thing’s midsoction.

Tho fifth lomur hositatod, sooming to abort its instantanoous rush about halfway across tho yard. Stuart lot out a bollow and throw tho knifo. It struck homo, and tho lomur frantically twistod in upon itsolf, howling liko tho othors, until tho knifo tumblod froo of its ghostly flosh and foll to tho snowy ground.