Ghoul Friend Page 9

  “No,” came Harrison’s low voice down the line. “I’m doing this because I had nothing better to do on a Thursday and the idea of driving around the Texas hill country while CeCe shotguns slushies in increasingly neon colors sounded fun.” His dry tone could have either been honest or the most brittle sarcasm ever. It was near impossible to tell.

  “Thanks for telling me I was on speaker,” I sighed. “Look, my phone’s having a crap time with the service out here, so I don’t know if you’ll be able to get in touch with me later. If I don’t answer, try this number.” I read off the car shop’s number to her. “Ask for Wally Carson and tell him you’re the sister of the guy whose car he brought in, and you need help getting here to pick me up, okay?”

  “That sounds like a lot,” she muttered.

  “Seriously?”

  “Ugh, fine.” Her sigh rattled on the weakening connection. “If I don’t see you in the next four or five hours, try to call me again.”

  “That means you’ll need to actually answer a number you don’t recognize since I might need to use a landline.”

  “Fine…” She made a kissy noise at me and hung up, already telling Harrison to turn left again.

  I tucked my phone back into my breast pocket and turned to look back up at the house. Enoch was striding across the field, away from the house itself and towards an overgrown patch of pasture that slowed downwards, towards a dark scar on the landscape I took to be the creek Carstairs had mentioned. He was alone but apparently talking to himself, waving his arms and throwing his head back as he strode through the high grass. Enoch looked back over his shoulder but kept going, maintaining a steady pace. Yancy came out of the house and joined the parade, albeit at a much slower pace, head hanging and shoulders hunched. A man resigned. I wondered if Enoch had himself an old fort or clubhouse he retreated to, a holdover from childhood he couldn’t let go. A rustle in the grass beside me jerked my attention away from them as I hurried to get back to the center of the drive, away from the possibility of attack snakes. When I looked back to see how far they’d gotten, Yancy had stopped and was facing the house, facing me. Enoch was long gone.

  “Y’all want to go into town?” Yancy called. The forced jollity was plain in his voice even over a distance. “I have some errands to run and figured y’all might like to talk to some locals about the Ghoul for your show thing.” He started towards me with one last look over his shoulder in the direction Enoch had likely gone in.

  “Um, I think that would be great, sure. Is, ah, is everything okay?”

  Yancy was close enough now that we didn’t need to shout. “Fine, fine. Kids, you know? Well. I don’t guess he’s much of a kid, is he? Teenagers.” He shrugged. “I, uh, don’t suppose you had much experience with them, teaching college and all?”

  “I had a few freshman seminars,” I admitted. “But mostly upperclassmen in my lectures while I taught.” My face felt hot, and it had nothing to do with the sun. I wondered if Yancy had heard about my ignominious booting from academia last year. It hadn’t exactly been part of the show’s promo package but, after the incident in New York, people were definitely starting to google names. The second suggested search that popped up under Ezra Baxter was Ezra Baxter single? And Oscar was Oscar Fellowes real medium hot, sexy gay. Mine was Julian Weems skeptic boring. So, you know… word of mouth was really great.

  Yancy grunted. “Well. You ever have one of your own, they’re a pain in the ass. I love him, but…” he trailed off. “Well. Let’s get our shit together and head into town before it gets too late. I still have chores to get going on with and MeMaw’s gonna want the groceries back in time for lunch.”

  The drive into Budding was shorter than I expected but seemed terribly long given how tensely quiet it was at first. Ezra had one hand pressed to his forehead as if it ached, and Oscar, after an initial attempt at conversation with Yancy which was rebuffed with a one-word reply, stared out the passenger side window. The curving blacktop road cut through summer-dry fields and the occasional oddly green patch with massive, self-propelled, watering tractors. “Corporate farms,” Yancy muttered. “They’re growing soybeans.”

  Which, given his inflection, was the worst thing you could do in cattle country. “Seems like a waste of water,” Ezra said. “Can’t they grow something more suited to the local environment?”

  Yancy snorted. “What’s that song, tale as old as time? That’s farming, least out here. Land’s not cheap—never has been—but it’s cheaper here than in the Midwest, for example. These companies love to come in and buy up struggling family farms and pop ‘em into their corporate models. Some of us,” he gestured vaguely as we came to a stop for a train crossing, “we’re part of a co-op group and we’re not in danger of being bought out. Our farm’s still barely considered one but we do keep the pecan groves going and Pops sells off one or two calves a year and has a few bulls that produce show-quality calves so he sells their semen and—”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Oscar looked aghast. “He sells bull semen?”

  “Well, yeah. How do you think you get baby cows? Setting the mama and daddy up on a date and hoping for the best?” This seemed to tickle Yancy so much, he chuckled the last mile into town and was still grinning when he dropped us at the square in the center of Budding. “I’ve gotta go by the grocery, the water office… Hell, a lot of places. Meet back here at half-past twelve?”

  Here was a bandstand. An honest to God, rural Americana, where’s-Robert-Preston-and-the-singing-quartet, bandstand. A swag of red, white, and blue bunting still hung over the entry from the Fourth of July over a month before.

  “Holy shit,” Oscar muttered as Yancy headed the opposite direction, leaving us to stare like we’d never seen a bandstand before.

  And to be fair they weren’t exactly thick on the ground where I’d lived. And by the looks of things, where Oscar and Ezra had lived, either.

  “This place looks like something out of a movie,” Oscar half-whispered as though people in the surrounding shops might hear and converge on the square in order to do something song and dancey, telling us about how great Budding is and maybe throw in a verse about their resident ghost.

  Ezra took point on the recording, positioning himself in front of the bandstand so the Budding, Texas sign hanging from the roof was clearly visible. “Hello, poppets!” he started, ignoring my snort. “We’re in Budding, Texas, home of the Wandering Ghoul!” He wiggled his brows and made spooky jazz fingers with his free hand. “According to our sources—”

  “CeCe,” Oscar muttered, and Ezra ignored us harder.

  “This ghost has been haunting the area since the late nineteenth century and has been spotted all over town and even as far as some of the farms outside the town-proper. We’ll be talking to some locals to get their perspective and maybe even some personal accounts of this Wandering Ghoul, and maybe get to see him ourselves.” He shut off the camera and glanced at where Oscar and I were standing, staring at him. “What?”

  “That was way more telly host than I was expecting,” Oscar admitted faintly. “I thought this was just like a travel blog or something…”

  Ezra shrugged. “We’re doing it for promo, right? May as well make it interesting. Just footage of us traipsing about town and asking people if they believe in ghosts isn’t going to get numbers.”

  “He’s been spending way too much time with CeCe,” I sighed.

  Ezra turned a full circle, camera out and recording. “Julian, you’re from Texas,” he began.

  “I’m from Houston. This,” I waved a hand at the Americana on display, “isn’t the same.”

  “It’s adorable,” Oscar cooed. “Seriously, it reminds me of that movie with Sandra Bullock where her husband leaves her, and she moves in with Gena Rowlands.”

  Ezra lowered his camera. “Hey, Oz. You, ah… you know?”

  Oscar’s face fell. “No. Nothing.” He darted a glance my way and looked, for the first time since I’d met him, nervous. Not uneasy. Not
mildly disturbed. Outright nervous.

  “What’s going on?”

  Oscar sighed, rubbing his arms distractedly. “It’s just that problem I mentioned the other day. It hasn’t cleared up.”

  “Prob—Oh. Oh.” He didn’t look at me and, in a heart-sinking moment, I realized he doubted my response would be a caring one. “Oscar, it’s okay if you need a break,” I offered. “There’s nothing wrong with resting or just stepping back for a little bit, especially when you’re dealing with stressful situations. Sometimes, the human brain can do stupid shit like forgetting basic information or—”

  “Or forgetting how to talk to ghosts?” he asked with more than a hint of archness in his tone. “Just what am I so stressed about that my brain flips the off switch on that?”

  “Bettina?” I suggested, though it came out more as a question than a statement and he rolled his eyes. “That was a fucked up situation and there’s no shame—”

  “You’re right,” he interrupted, waving me off in that imperious way he sometimes had. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long few days with the road trip, the car issues—Hell, probably even the heat.” He offered me a ghost of his usual smile and laid his palm, surprisingly cool in the morning heat, against my jaw. “Don’t worry, Julian. I’m fine. Just stressed. I’ll be okay.”

  “Hey.” I reached up and caught his fingers before he could pull away. “What did I say? Did I… Did I insult you? What’s going on? You’re giving me that fake show-smile you do when you’re annoyed and want to wrap up a séance.”

  Six months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to imagine saying that sentence with a straight face. Now… I had an odd little internal shudder when I realized I meant it without irony or sarcasm. Séances had become part of my life and I wasn’t feeling as annoyed by it as I would’ve been less than a year ago.

  Oscar closed his eyes and, for a moment, pressed his fingers a bit more firmly to my face and just seemed to wilt a little. “No,” he sighed. “No, you didn’t insult me. I’m not feeling myself lately and I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “We can go back to the ranch. I’ll tell CeCe she can forget about her vlog thing for this leg of the trip. Or we’ll just film the fucking cows or something.”

  “That’ll cost extra, if they’re fucking,” Ezra muttered.

  “Ew.” Oscar’s laugh was a little shaky, but genuine. He dragged his hand out from beneath mine, resting it on my chest for just a moment before stepping away. “Come on, then,” he said with a gusty sigh and almost believable cheer. “Let’s ask some unsuspecting townsfolk about a ghoul. I don’t need to use my abilities for this. We’re just chatting, right?”

  Lee’s wasn’t what I was expecting, and from the mild surprise on Ezra and Oscar’s faces, they weren’t expecting it either. Instead of the greasy spoon with worn vinyl floors and chipped Formica tables I’d thought we’d be walking into in a tiny rural town, the place looked like a hipster cafe in a big city. Soft white walls, artfully arranged black and white photos, a sleek wood-cased jukebox that looked more like an old-fashioned stereo cabinet than something that would blast Old Time Rock & Roll until my ears bled (for the record, the number of times that takes is one). The street-facing windows were done up with sweetly gathered eyelet curtains, pulled back to let in the natural light and keep the dark wood of the floor, tables, and service counter from making the space overwhelmingly dark.

  “Holy shit,” Ezra muttered. “I feel bad thinking we were gonna get a gum-chomping waitress named Flo who’d call us hon and have her hair all big and fluffy.”

  “We still might,” Oscar soothed, patting his arm. “Courage.”

  “Sorry, y’all, but I think we seat ourselves here and order at the counter.” I pointed to the small, cursive-printed sign by the door instructing patrons to ‘grab a seat and ponder your order before headin’ up to the counter to talk to Cookie.’

  Ezra looped his arm through Oscar’s and made a beeline for a table right by the window, leaving me to trail along after. I was only seconds behind them but by the time I got to my seat, they’d already decided on a plan of action. “We’ll grab something to drink and some, I don’t know, toast or something because I’m so full from breakfast I might actually explode if I tried to eat anything more than that,” Ezra informed me. “After we’re paying customers, Oscar’s going to ask the lady behind the counter if she knows of any ghoul stories.”

  “I get to ask because I’m charming,” Oscar informed me primly with a tiny wink and a nudge of his toes against my ankle. A warm flush stole up my throat and I know he noticed, judging by that dimple-popping grin he flashed me before sliding out of his seat to approach the counter.

  “I’m willing to bet he doesn’t follow the plan,” Ezra sighed.

  “Not taking that bet. I only brought my card with me, all my cash is back in my luggage.”

  Oscar returned a few minutes later with a rather smitten-looking young lady he introduced as Sandy, the owner’s daughter and the hostess as well as cook-in-training. “You’re both British?” she gasped when Ezra said hello. “Oh my God.”

  When she turned wide eyes to me, I offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’m from Houston.”

  Her own smile faded, and she gave me a considering look. “Well. Least you’re not from San Antonio,” she sighed before turning her eager expression back to Oscar and Ezra. “Y’all really want to hear about the Ghoul? Though I don’t guess he’s really a ghoul since those are like… corpse eaters, you know?”

  “She’s right. Ghouls are traditionally depicted as creatures that live in burial grounds and feed off the dead. The name comes from Arabic and—” I stopped myself. “Well. The word’s also been used to just refer to something like a ghost or other scary creature.” Sandra nodded, resting her hip on our table and settling in for a chat. “See, Carol?” she called towards the kitchen, “I told you! Now,” she turned back to us, “If you’re wanting ghoul stories, I got one for you. It happened to my mom and sister, though. I was, like, four and had to stay home with Dad while they went to Austin for one of Becca’s baton twirling things. Mom and Bec both saw the ghoul out off Main Street and Darling Road, near the Hannover Ranch’s old truck patch.”

  “I’m sorry, their what?” Ezra asked, frowning behind the camera.

  “Truck patch. You know, small garden? Grow enough veggies to sell out of the back of your truck? Truck patch? Y’all don’t have those in England, I guess.”

  “No,” Oscar said faintly, leaning closer. “But go on.”

  Sandy shrugged. “Mom and Bec had just turned off onto Darling, heading towards the highway so they could cut around Smithville and still make good time to Austin. It was super early, like just past dawn. Mom said she still needed the headlights, but it was getting bright out so when she saw him, she thought maybe it was a trick of the light or a scarecrow or something.”

  Ezra fiddled with a setting on the camera. I was pretty sure he was zooming in on Sandy’s distant expression and Oscar’s intent stare. It took a moment, but I realized Oscar wasn’t looking at Sandy. He was staring at some spot in the middle-distance, like he was trying to focus on a fuzzy picture. As Sandy went on about how her mother and sister saw the ghoul and he was staring at them, like totally right at my mom’s face and she was super scared, I watched Oscar.

  Oscar’s furrowing brow, his deepening frown.

  Sandy shrugged again, sliding her gaze back to Oscar and Ezra. “Anyway, that was the same day Carl West—he’d married one of the Dint girls—died and my mom swore the Ghoul had been there to pick him up, like he did just about everyone who’d been married into one of the founders’ families.”

  “Founders?” I asked. “Of the town, I’m assuming?”

  She shrugged again, distracted by the wall of a man who’d lumbered out of the kitchen looking for her. “Yeah,” she said, already walking away, checking her apron pockets for who knows what. “The old farmstead’s off that way,” she gestured vaguely towards th
e east, where the Carstairs farm lay, “The Carstairs place, the Hicks’ old wreck, the Dints—they have acreage across the creek from the Carstairs—and the O’Hallorans, who had a spread on the other side of the Hicks place. They were all the families who ended up starting the town, and one or two of ‘em always die when the Ghoul shows up.”

  Oscar and Ezra fell to their interviewing with enthusiasm, people finding excuses to stop by the table after Sandy had hurried back to the kitchen. Within half an hour, people were stopping by from elsewhere, coming in to see the medium and his sidekick according to one couple I overheard. Not everyone there was a believer—in fact, I’d feel safe in saying most weren’t, or were at least apathetic towards the idea. Several were laughing as they told the stories, repeating popular ones, some fantastical even by Oscar’s standards from the slight smile that fought his scowl from earlier in the morning. But there were a small handful that were devout. One or two had heard of Oscar and Ezra, had seen their show and were waiting for the episodes of the new one to air on UnReality. One young man enthused how he even got ‘one of those streaming sticks’ just so he could watch the show when it was on. I took the opportunity to stretch my legs a bit, get out from under the small crowd gathered around the table. Oscar shot me a glance, but I nodded, a silent you okay and I’m fine, really. He swept a look over me, head to toe, and frowned slightly, but went back to listening to one of the Buddingites talking about the time the Ghoul was spotted near the motor court, just the night before the murder of Casey Dint, who was apparently the ghost Yancy had mentioned to us the night before, and the last granddaughter of one of the founders.