The Smoky Corridor

126

“Thought you could come down here and steal my gold, did you?” said Azalea as she stumbled around the furnace chamber, her heavy backpack tilting her backward, throwing her off balance.

“Azalea?” said Zack’s dad.

“She’s not really herself right now,” said Zack. “She’s possessed by the spirit of Horace P. Pettimore.”

“The Horace P. Pettimore?”

“Yeah. His soul snuck inside Azalea so he could live again and retrieve his gold.”

“It’s downstairs,” added Malik. “Tons of it.”

“So,” said Judy, “do we need to find an exorcist or something?”

“Cut the chin music, you gallinippers!” grumbled Azalea. “I’m not pulling up stakes without my gold!”

“I don’t know what to do!” said Zack.

A young girl stepped into the room.

“Don’t worry, brother. I do.”

She looked like she was maybe eight. She wore a yellow head scarf and had strange black markings painted on her caramel-colored cheeks.

“Greetings, Cap’n Pettimore. We meet again, no?”

Azalea stumbled backward in horror. “No! You?”

“Yes, Cap’n. I remember the night you killed me. You thought you were oh so clever. Well, Cap’n, the teacher, she always know more than the pupil, no?”

The girl pulled a glass jar out of a burlap sack.

“Queen LaSheena?” Azalea sputtered out the words.

“Yes.” The little girl slowly twisted the lid on her jar and opened it. “My spy dog see your spy dog, no? For many years, I watch you and wait for you to make this mistake. I know all about the charm you bury in front of your mansion to lure your descendant to this place. I know everything. And so I wait for you to be foolish and greedy and put your soul inside a human body, where I can so easily snatch it.”

“But … I have gold.…”

“I have more.…”

“Tell me what you want! I’ll give it to you!”

“I only want the one thing, Cap’n.”

“What?”

“Your immortal soul!”

She quickly chanted words Zack had never heard before. They were angry, short, and sharp.

Then she slammed the lid on top of the jar and tightened it.

Azalea slumped to the floor.

“Is my friend your zombie now?” Zack asked.

The little girl shook her head. “No. She will be fine. Tomorrow, she will not remember a thing. It will all be a bad dream. But Cap’n Pettimore? He is now a zombie of the soul. He belong to me for all eternity.”

She held up the jar. Stared at the amber glow flickering inside.

“Joc-a-mo-fee-no-ah-nah-nay,” she mumbled. “Don’t mess with me, Cap’n!”