Ghosts ⚔️ Blackbeard's Treasure

Chapter 2.

Trembling, little Veronica burrows her head under her mother's arm. After a moment, her face peeks out from the crook of her mother's elbow. "What was that?"

I almost laugh when I see her pointy rat face has turned three shades paler. Haha, take that you little ghoul. Hiding a satisfied smile, I pick up my lantern. The shriek sounded like the male cat that stalks the alley way. Diego always puts on a good show. "Let's go and see, shall we?" Hesitantly, the tour trails behind me as we enter the small burial ground behind the house. Everyone freezes in their tracks when a loud rustling erupts in the thicket running along a dilapidated white picket fence.

"Look —it's Bloody Mary!" The pierced-lipped mother uses her daughter as a human shield. "The bell must have summoned her."

Lifting up my lantern, I whip my head around and glare at the hysterical woman. "Shhh...be quiet. That's not Bloody Mary. This tour is for Lizzy Borden's ghost."

"Mom, is it really Bloody...Bloody Mary?" The little girl turns her face into her mother's side, afraid to look.

Shit! Bloody Mary's been said three times. Enough to summon her. I'm certain the cold spell from earlier was malignant energy searching for a conduit; a portal —whatever the hell it needs to manifest -like some idiot repeating a demon's name.

Great-let's broadcast our vulnerable presence to the unsavory underworld.

As a precaution, my Wiccan friend, Blair, usually puts a protective spell around the tour, but she's skipped tonight's show. This haunted route's never had any real ghostly entities....until now.

Horrified, I decide to have the tour retreat to hallowed ground. "Everyone, let's move on to the church. It's next to the Haunted Ice Cream Shop. They might still be open."

An ethereal form in a white night dress rises from the graveyard. Gliding towards us, a ghostly woman blocks our path. Blood drips down her unearthly, pale face. Ominously, she raises a bloody finger and points it at us, accusingly.

"Oh, my God! It is Bloody Mary." Several people scream as the figure advances.

"Run!" The tattoed mother shouts. Fear spreads through the group like contagion. The whole tour stampedes down the street as if it's a Black Friday free-for-all and malfunctioning retail gates have busted open.

Behind me, I hear a familiar cackle. "Lizzie, you should never break character," a familiar voice chides. "You nearly lost it when that ghoulish brat baited you."

"For heaven's sake! Julia—is that you?" Exasperated, I swivel my lantern to get a better view of the so-called ghost. "You were the one ringing the bell?"

Chuckling, the white-clad figure removes its scraggly, dark-haired wig, revealing my grandmother's short, coiffed auburn hair. A former theater diva, she's ornery and unrepentant. "I was trying to help, Lizzie. The kid's right. Your ghost tour sucks wind compared to the Vampire & Werewolf's gory show. You need to up the fear factor. I learned that from watching Shark Tank." She pops out her gruesome black contacts, then nods satisfied. "Now word will get out there's a fearsome ghost on the loose in Seaport's Ghost Walk Tour. Where's Blair? Did she run off too?"

My anger fades as I contemplate her logic. It is brilliant marketing. "If you're supposed to be Lizzy Borden's ghost, then where's your axe?" I place my hands on my hips.

"I couldn't find one in the tool shed, just the chainsaw. I thought that would be overkill. Never mind, this worked." She points to her elfin face, slathered with white moisturizer cream. "That little brat was scared shitless. She ran off like The Roadrunner put dynamite up her ass." Julia bends over, tears in her eyes.

"I could have handled her, if Blair hadn't bailed on me." I have my pride. Negative energy looks for weak-minded hosts. There were more than a few in this crowd. Blair's protection spell usually surrounds everyone in the tour.

Indignant, my grandmother steps out of the shadows and joins me. "Admit it, you thought my act was terrifying." My grandmother's slight build is deceiving. She has tireless energy and acts much younger than her sixty two years.

"It's not funny, you trickster. Those poor customers only got half a...". My voice trails off when I walk into what feels like a freezing void. Whoah, cold. "People said the name they weren't supposed to say multiple times tonight."

Under the heavy, Edward Scissorhand's makeup, Julia's eyes narrow. "What difference does it make how many times someone screamed, Bloody Mary?"

I look around in the dark. "It only takes saying her name three times to summon her." I don't like the paranormal dots I'm connecting.

"It's an urban legend," she scoffs. "My girlfriend and I did that mischievous dare when we were teens and we never conjured any bloodthirsty ghosts, only bloody hangovers."

I wish I had my grandmother's double-barreled super power. Synthesizing alcohol and avoiding her sixth sense. She wouldn't feel ghosts if they flew up and bit her aerobically-toned ass.

Fueled by the approaching warm front, there's a hundred and eighty degree turn in the wind as it switches from East to West. We both hear footsteps—odd sucking sounds, as if bare feet are being pulled from deep, thick mud, surrounding us in the dark.

The buoy's clapper sounds as if it's under attack by a Great White. Clang!...clang!...clang!

Shit. Whatever this horrific entity is, it's blocking our exit.