Chapter 41

“Okay,” Kendra said, more bravely than she felt, kneeling over Cody. “Come on out.”

She shined the light around the attic. Dust swirled from all the activity, and something fluttered in the distant eaves, a disturbed bat or bird. Cody’s breathing was heavy but even, so he wasn’t too seriously injured. But she’d have to lead him out of the attic before the Brat Pack played any more of its games.

“That boy,” Cody wheezed. “He’s the leader.”

“Rochester,” she called out. “Are you a scaredy cat?”

He appeared three feet in front of her, smirking, his hands behind his back. “Cat? I thought I was a rat.”

He brought her sketch pad out from behind his back and opened it to her drawing of him as the Rat-Faced Boy. “Not bad, but I think my whiskers are a little longer in real life.”

She blinked, as his face seemed to sharpen for a moment, drawing his nose to a point and exaggerating the size of his two front teeth.

“Cody,” she said. “Are you seeing this?”

“Be cool,” Cody replied, still too weak to stand. “Demonic haunting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she said, trying to remember Dad’s lessons on the various classifications of paranormal activity. She had tuned them out as yet more Digger blabber, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that “demonic” was not good.

If I live through this, I’ve got one hell of an idea for my next character. How would Emily Dee handle this?

Well, Emily Dee wasn’t a ghostbuster or a priest, more of a ninja Goth, and this situation didn’t really call for a flying skull kick. And she’d already tried screaming for help. That left relying on smarts. She stood and faced Rochester, figuring that the best approach was to show no fear.

“Help me out here, Cody,” she said. “What do demons want, exactly?”

“Different things,” he said.

“Like my soul?”

“Maybe.”

“Hey, Stick Figure, why don’t you ask me?” Rochester said.

“Because you’re acting childish,” she said.

“I am a child. I just happen to be dead, so I’ve been one for a long time.”

“I liked you better when you were sneaking around and playing pranks,” she said. “I’d think a demon would find a better host to possess. That one looks like it has worms.”

Rochester’s face narrowed and his teeth grew sharp again, his nose twitching in rage.

Oops. Maybe I better get a clue from Cody about how to handle this before I get my face bitten off.

“So, Mr. Future of Horror, what’s the next move?” she asked.

Cody raised himself to a sitting position, still rubbing his neck. “Well, a demon only has power over you if you invite it in,” he said.

“You invited us just by coming here,” Rochester said. “So bow down.”

Kendra’s feet flew out from under her and she banged hard on her knees, kneeling beside Cody as if the two of them were repentant sinners seeking forgiveness. Kendra had not been raised in the church, but she was offended both by this mockery of religion and the ease with which she could be manipulated. She tried to rise, but a great weight had settled on her.

“So,” Kendra asked Cody. “What does the book say about how to handle this?”

“There’s no book.”

“I don’t suppose I can all of a sudden ask Jesus into my heart?” she asked Rochester, planning to do the exact opposite of whatever he said.

“Be my guest,” he replied. “Jesus and me, we’re on the same team. Working for the Man, putting in time until time’s up.”

His delivery had changed, voice older and almost weary. She glanced toward the direction of the access door, but it now seemed impossibly far away.

“Where are Bruce and Dorrie?” Kendra asked.

Rochester shrugged. “Around.”

“We already knew the hotel was active,” Cody said. “If you’re a demon, why do you hang around with all these ghosts? Are you a scaredy cat like she said? Maybe you’re afraid of the dark.”

“I’m only afraid of one thing,” Rochester said. “And if you can figure it out, I might—” he gave a rodent grin—”might—let you live.”

“There are worse things than being dead,” Cody said, leading Kendra to wonder what those things were and how he knew.

“Suppose we don’t want to play your guessing game?” Kendra said. “What if we just walk out of here and pretend you don’t exist?”

“Free your spirit and your feet will follow?” Rochester adjusted the collar of his plush jacket and thrust out the sketch pad. “I don’t think you could leave without this.”

She propelled herself forward, but it was difficult to launch from a kneeling position, and she fell into the shredded paper that served as insulation. She was reminded of a rat’s nest her dad had found in the garden shed behind their house, and how much of it had been paper nibbled from Digger’s comic-book collection. The nest had smelled of old hair and pee, and this insulation was almost as bad.

A hand latched onto her, squeezing hard enough to hurt, and she figured Rat-Face was digging his creepy little paws into her, but when she glanced up, it was Cody stooping over her. The gypsum beneath her cracked, and she was reminded of Cody’s warning: Be careful, or you’ll step straight through to the floor below.

Sounded like a good idea.

“Okay, Rochester,” she said, as Cody helped her rise. She gave her best Emily Dee leap into the air, and landed squarely on the spot where she had been lying. The gypsum splintered and bent, but didn’t collapse. She glanced at Cody, who caught on, and he jumped beside her, their combined weight too much for the ceiling material.

She just had time to hear Rochester’s squeal before she was flying through the air, weightless, seeming to hang forever, or at least long enough to grab Cody, and then she struck the wooden floor ten feet below, and all was black.


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