What Haunts Me (4 page)

While Phil ordered a couple of beers, I found a quiet table in the back. The bar had a Victorian theme, complete with tufted red velvet booths and chairs, ornately carved dark wood features, and electrified gas-style light fixtures. There were a few older gentlemen perched on the bar stools chatting with the bartender, and a couple of younger guys on the other side of the large room playing pool. The music was on, but it wasn't blaring, making it an ideal place to have a nice quiet conversation.

Phil arrived with two Buds and placed them on the table, then he shook himself out of the heavy overcoat and hung it on an ornate hook on the wall behind our booth. He kept his top hat on though, which gave him an almost comical appearance, especially with his large eyes peeking out from under the brim and his wild curly hair sticking out in all directions.

I took a long pull off my beer and then said, “So, how'd you know?”

Phil picked up his beer and took a sip, then placed it on the table and said, “Edgar shows up every once in a while to watch that particular part of the tour. It's really the only house where a ghost is almost guaranteed to be present.” He grinned and shrugged as if apologizing for his previous claim that ghosts were at every stop we made that night. “He watches my customers closely, and if he sees someone paying particular attention to something that isn't there….” Phil used his fingers to emphasize the word “isn't” and then continued. “Edgar gets close enough to touch them. If he touches someone like you, he can see what you see.”

I wasn't sure what to say or how to react, but I quickly realized this might not be good, because this Edgar character didn't seem friendly in the least bit. Finally I said, “Can you see them too?”

Phil shook his head. “Yes and no, but I've been researching ghosts and paranormal activity for a very long time. I've seen and heard enough to know it's all real. I've also met my share of people like you, people that can see ghosts and…do other stuff.”

“So you know what they do? These ghosts I mean. I don't know if your Victorian lady does this stuff, but most of the ones I meet are evil…they're killing people!” My voice had risen a little and Phil looked around nervously.

“Calm down, okay? Listen, I'm guessing you're new to all of this, right? I mean, did this ability just happen?”

I nodded. “Yeah, about six weeks ago. I got sick, bad flu, had these weird dreams. Then these memories from when I was younger started surfacing and I remembered things. Next thing I knew I was seeing these ghosts everywhere and somehow I knew I had to kill them; it was like an instinct or something.” I didn't elaborate on my suspicions that I may have been able to do this ghost killing thing at a young age…the memories clearly indicated that I could. But I decided not to share that part, because if I did, I'd have to ask myself how and why those memories were blocked. I just wasn't ready for those answers yet.

“Okay, well I'm gonna try and help you out as best I can.” He placed his arms on the table, fingers tapping lightly and leaned forward. “First, you need to know about Edgar. He works for this doctor, guy named Vokkel. Vokkel used to be a big name in the paranormal community, real seasoned expert. Then one day, poof, he locks his doors, shuts off his phone, and becomes a recluse. Rumor has it he's nuts and, well…not a nice guy. But in the last few months, Edgar starts coming around all the time, like he's looking for someone. I also heard he's tried to lure some people like you home with him. I don't know what his end game is. I reported him to the Watchers, but I never heard anything back. Anyway, stay away from him. If he approaches you, just turn around and walk away.”

Perhaps Phil wasn't clear on the part about me being new to all of this. His diatribe was delivered in the tone of casual conversation, but in essence he'd just dropped a series of bombs on me that included a crazy doctor with an ominous assistant that was hunting down people “like me,” and he'd reported it all to someone or something called the “Watchers.” These bombs were surely going to make my head explode and I did the only reasonable thing I could think of. I downed my beer in one long gulp and sat back in my seat, held my hand up, and said, “Phil, you need to explain all of that. Start with the 'people like me,' move on to this doctor and his employee, and then tell me who the hell the 'Watchers' are.”

He smiled and chuckled lightly, then said, “Sorry man, I get ahead of myself sometimes.” He had such an easy going manner, and even though I'd just met him, I felt like we were old friends. It was a strange but comforting sensation.

“Let's start with the ghosts, okay?” He looked at me and I nodded. “Ghost sightings aren't rare…we've all probably seen at least one, probably more than that throughout our lifetimes. Most people just don't know that's what they're seeing. Maybe it's just a shadow in their peripheral vision, maybe they see it and they look like everyone else, but suddenly 'poof' they're just gone, disappeared. Maybe it's a bump in the night, a locked window that suddenly opens. We rationalize, decide it was just our imagination, and we move on. It could be a million different things, but bottom line, we've all encountered a ghost at one time or another in our life.” He paused to let that sink in.

“But ghost killers, now they're rare. There might be just a couple of thousand of you out there…maybe more, but not by much. The Watchers know who most of you are,” I started to ask who the Watchers were, but he held his hand up to silence me. “One thing at a time, my man, I'll get to them next. Anyway, a ghost killer can see a demon that haunts people, hurts them, and eventually kills them. And you guys strike back.” He shrugged like it was such a simple thing.

He drained his beer, waved the empty toward the bartender, who happened to be looking our way, then held up two fingers with his other hand. Phil remained silent for the two minutes it took our fresh beers to arrive.

“So, the Watchers…they're like guardians.” He paused and drank more beer, then waved his hand around as if it were doing a pirouette. “They seem to know everything that goes on with the ghosts and with you people.” He shot an index finger in my direction. “From what I understand, they fund a network that tracks ghosts and dispatches ghost killers. I don't want to get tied up in details, mostly 'cause I don't know a lot of the details…besides, I'm pretty sure a watcher has already got you on his radar, so you'll find out the rest soon enough. Let's get on to Vokkel and his sidekick, Edgar.

“So, here's what I know about him, Vokkel that is. Supposedly he was a well renowned doctor in Europe, a shrink of some sort I guess. From what I've read and heard, he was fascinated by people who said they saw ghosts, and would only treat patients that displayed some sort of paranormal delusion. I guess he was pretty respected for a long time, but then he moved here and was stalking some lady that ended up killing herself; he got blamed for driving her to it, and
voila
, locked his own doors and threw away the key. Edgar has been his faithful companion for as long as anyone can remember.” Phil held his hand up again, as if stopping me from asking a question. “I know what you're thinking. Edgar isn't old enough to wear the 'as long as anyone can remember' label, but it's true. That's one of the creepiest things about Edgar…he's a hell of lot older than he looks.”

“Who was this lady that he stalked?” I asked.

Phil shook his head. “Don't know, some socialite or something. I heard that he treated her back in the '50s in Europe and that's the main reason he moved to San Francisco…to be near her 'cause she was from here and had moved back. I heard she was a really powerful ghost killer.”

As nice of a guy as Phil seemed to be, I didn't think he realized that he was generating more questions than answers.

I decided to change topics. “Why did you say I was already on the Watchers' radar?”

He smiled, big and friendly, and said, “I heard a rumor from this other ghost killer that there was some sort of superhuman ghost killing machine out there. The rumor is that a guy no one had ever heard of was taking out those demonic bastards left and right.” He shrugged. “I'm guessing that's you,” he finished with a smirk. Again—more questions than answers—because I had no idea what he meant by superhuman ghost killing machine…

I switched gears again. “You said in the beginning that you don't see the ghosts, then you said almost everyone has seen them at one point or another in their lives….” It was a loaded question and I let him interpret it.

“Right. Here's the thing with ghosts…most of them can't control when they're visible to the layman, it just sort of happens. But you guys always see them all the time, and you know what it is you're seeing.”

“I don't get it. They just randomly appear, without provocation?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No, there's a connection, like maybe it's your beloved grandmother, or maybe you both like tomatoes and both you and the ghost are at a farmers market and the memories from the ghost's love of tomatoes causes him to materialize for a moment. It's not consistent and it doesn't make sense, it just happens for some reason.” That was confusing, so I moved on.

“All right, what about the bad ghosts? I mean, they're doing something in
this
world. Doesn't that mean they've got more…what would you call it…presence?”

“For them, it's power…they have more power than the other ghosts.” He did that pirouette thing with his hand again and said, “I'll let the Watchers cover that one.”

I sighed in exasperation. It didn't feel like I was getting very far, but at the same time he was dumping a lot of stuff on me that was just adding to what was becoming a perpetual state of confusion for me.

“Any other tidbits of non-information you wanna drop in my lap?” That came out with so much sarcasm that I could have filled a fifty gallon drum with it. I immediately apologized and he smiled an easy, laid back smile and waved me off.

“Well, I really think you need to talk to the Watchers. If you're this super dude then I'm guessing that's the reason Vokkel wants you, and like I said, that ain't good and the Watchers can help protect you. If you're not that dude, they can still help you understand things better.”

“Where are you in all of this?” I quietly asked.

He pointed to his chest and said, “Me? I'm just an outsider with a little inside knowledge.” He looked down at his hands, which were palm down on the table. He seemed to be in deep thought, and when he finally looked up his expression had lost the whimsical, animated quality he'd been displaying thus far.

Eventually he spoke in a low tone. “I grew up in a coal mining town in Pennsylvania. By the time I was ten, the mine had been all but shut down and the town was quickly turning into a ghost town…literally and figuratively. There wasn't much work and we had a huge health crisis, some sort of bronchial thing. They blamed it on the pollution from the mine, but that wasn't really it. Somehow the really bad ghosts just know where to find their victims, and a place like my hometown was perfect for them. They showed up in droves and…they began to make people sick. My mom was one of those sick people, and although she was still able to work and get around, you could see the toll it was taking on her, not to mention the horrible hacking sound she made when she coughed. Then one day, these four people show up, strangers with no legitimate reason to be in our little hamlet of hell. After a while, people stopped being sick. Now you gotta keep in mind, when you all kill a demon and save their victim, regular folk don't know the victim was sick…it's like the illness never happened.

“My pops had long since disappeared and my mom worked two jobs, so when no one was there to tell me otherwise, I'd take walks around town, night or day. This particular night I was having myself a walk-about and I see one of these strangers. He's got a rod or stick in his hand and he's poking at nothing at all, only maybe it isn't nothing, cause there's this…fuzziness to the air in front of him. Now don't ask me why I can see this, 'cause I don't know, but I did. I followed him the rest of the night and he did his poking routine a few more times. At the time I didn't think he knew I was following, but I was wrong. A few days later, I see him again in the local café where my mom works—she'd sneak me a free shake after school some days—and he was sitting at the counter when I got there. I took the only available seat, which was next to him. He looked over at me when I sat down, then he laid his hand on my knee and squeezed it. Then he whispered, 'Do you see them now?' I damn near jumped out of my skin, and I did jump off the stool, but in that split second before I did, I saw something.

“This guy smiles at me, then takes the unused straw that was lying next to his drink and reaches across the counter and jabs it at the very spot where I thought I'd seen something. And this something was practically hovering over my mom, who was too concerned about my flight from my stool to notice the guy poking the air next to her. Now, at the time I couldn't tell you what the hell had happened, but I can tell you that I never forgot it, and those four strangers disappeared within days of the café episode.

“I spent years thinking about that, especially the fact that my mom had been clearly sick and she wasn't sick anymore; in fact, she's still alive and kicking at the ripe old age of 75. Anyway, when I went away for college, I began to scour the libraries for stuff on the paranormal. I was pretty sure what I'd witnessed had something to do with ghosts or demons. I got hooked up with a group of people with the same interests, and eventually I met a ghost killer and he introduced me to a watcher that explained some things to me. He said he knew that the guy I followed and ran into at the café was a ghost killer, and he believed that I was able to see my mom's demon for two reasons: first, this ghost killer had the power to 'share'; unusual, but not unheard of. Second, because it was my mom, there was a connection on a stronger level and that allowed me to see the ghost and remember Mom being sick and then not sick.”

We had both drained our beers while Phil talked and after what he'd told me, I decided something stronger was in order. I got up and headed to the bar for two Bushmills on the rocks. When I returned and placed a glass in front of Phil, he picked it up, sniffed the amber liquid, and smiled. Angling the glass in my direction, he said, “Thanks and cheers.” We both took a healthy sip and relaxed back in our seats.