Brian Keene - Ghost Walk

When the coast was clear again, Levi pulled a canvas tarp off a long wooden box and laid it aside, stirring up dust. He sneezed. The box was padlocked, and covered with charms to protect its contents from thieves, witchcraft, and the elements. The sigils were painted onto the wood, and in some cases, carved deep into the surface. There were holy symbols and complex hex signs, as well as words of power. Levi ran his fingers over the two most dominant etchings.

I.

N. I. R.

I.

SANCTUS SPIRITUS

I.

N. I. R.

I.

SATOR

AREPO

TENET

OPERA

ROTAS

He’d carved them himself, just as his father had taught him, carefully inscribing the words from The Long Lost Friend and other books. Levi smiled. All of the books had been passed down to him from his father. He wondered what his father thought of him now, as he looked down on Levi from the other side. Was he proud of his son? Did he approve? Did he understand that sometimes you had to use the enemy’s methods and learn the enemy’s ways if you were to defeat them? Or, like the rest of Levi’s people, did his father disapprove, even in death?

There was no way of knowing—not until the day when Levi saw him again. The day the Lord called him home. He prayed for that moment. Yearned for it.

And feared it, too.

Dee whinnied softly and pawed at the pavement again with her hooves.

“Okay,” Levi said. “I’m hurrying.”

He pulled a key ring from his pocket and removed the padlock. Then he opened the box. The interior smelled of kerosene and sawdust and dirt. They were comforting smells. They spoke of hard work and effort and honesty. Many people had boxes like this, on the backs of their buggies or in the beds of their pickup trucks. Usually, they held tools. Chainsaws, shovels, hammers, spare engine parts.

Levi’s box held different tools; the ones of his trade.

He sorted through the contents, pushing aside a bundle wrapped in duct tape. The package contained a dried mixture of wormwood, gith, five-finger weed, asafoedita, and salt—a charm against livestock theft, to protect Dee when Levi left the buggy unattended. As long as it remained in the box, no harm could befall the horse. Too bad that didn’t go for the rest of the buggy, which was why he’d asked the store manager to keep an eye on it for him. He’d tried perfecting a charm for the buggy, but so far his efforts had been unsuccessful. The last time he’d tried it, Levi parked the buggy in downtown Lancaster. A street gang had tagged it with spray paint ten minutes later. He’d been ready to forgive them until they turned their attention on Dee. Then the charm had kicked in and Levi had shown them the error of their ways.

The memory made him smile. The looks on their faces…

But as long as Dee and the box were safe, that was all that mattered.

He moved a few books and trinkets around, and found what he was looking for.

A stick.

Levi’s stomach fluttered. His lips felt numb. He started to sweat.

He didn’t want to do this, but he had no choice. The girl was getting farther away. If he didn’t follow her now, he’d lose her for sure, and thus lose any chance he might have of learning the entity’s true name. Then, whatever befell this community would be on him. He was charged with the task.

Swallowing, Levi reached into the box and pulled out the stick. It looked like a walking staff—four feet long, an inch thick, and round. It had been cut from a tree and the gnarled wood was smooth and hardened with age. It was a Rod of Transvection and Levi was terrified of it.

Since the time of King Solomon, Levi knew, scholars had believed that witches could fly with the aid of a broomstick or similar implement. Lambert Daneau, in Les Sorciers , and witch-finder Henry Boguet in numerous writings, both believed that the stick was covered with some type of magic flying ointment and that was how the witches traveled. Other scholars had believed it to be nothing more than delusion. Prierias argued in 1504 that it did not matter if a witch actually flew or not. Simply believing that they flew indicated a clear devotion to pagan goddess Diana, rather than God, and thus branded them a witch. Sir George Mackenzie, Scotland’s King’s Advocate, also explored the psychological side, writing in 1678 that the witches he’d interviewed only dreamed they were flying.

None of them were correct. Like many men, they presumed to know not only the mind of God, but of His enemies as well. In reality, flying was a combination of both theories. Transvection involved a displacement of the inner self—what some people called an “out of body experience.” Levi’s staff had been cut and cured according to the rules, and then lathered with a special home-brewed oil that seeped into the wood. Holding the stick in a certain way, Levi could indeed leave his body and “fly.”

He just didn’t like to.

Levi sat the rod beside him and locked the box again. Then he picked up the stick, climbed down from the buggy, and gave Dee a kiss on the nose, stroking the horse’s thick mane.

“I’m ready. Stay here and mind the groceries. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The horse stared at him with sad, brown eyes.

“Now don’t you start with that, Dee. I’m about to undertake the Lord’s work. It’s not like I have a choice. If I don’t do it, who will?”

Dee snorted, then lowered her head and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry, girl.”

Levi glanced around the empty parking lot. He needed seclusion, some place where he wouldn’t be discovered or disturbed. The back of the buggy was out, as were the street and sidewalk. He considered using the grocery store’s rest-room, but decided against that as well. What if somebody came in while he was out, and they removed the stick from his hands?

That would be bad. Without the physical tether, his astral form would have no means of staying anchored to his body. Unable to return, he’d simply float away.

He tied Dee’s bridle to a light pole so the horse wouldn’t wander away. Then he chocked the buggy’s wheels. Finished, Levi quickly walked across the parking lot and crept around the side of the building. Behind the grocery store sat three large, green garbage Dumpsters. Beyond them was a vacant lot, choked with dead weeds and debris. The sight made him sad. Why didn’t the town do something with the lot? Perhaps turn it into a park for children. Make it green again. Fill it with life and good things.

He squeezed between the Dumpsters, breathing through his mouth. The small space reeked of curdled milk, spoiled food, and urine. Frowning, Levi studied the pavement, looking for a spot that was free of broken glass, cigarette butts and other trash. Pickings were slim. He swept some of the debris out of the way with his shoe and then crouched down, satisfied. He lay back, stretched out, and positioned the stick between his legs. He lowered it, the tip touching his nose while the other end remained clenched tightly between his thighs. The phallic symbolism was not lost on him, but he ignored it. This was how it was done.

Grasping the staff with his fists, he closed his eyes and exhaled. He forced himself to relax, tuned out the sounds of traffic and the public address system inside the store, over which the manager was calling for a cleanup in aisle seven. A late-season gnat flitted around his face, but he ignored it. Levi shut out the world and focused on his breathing. He couldn’t feel the hard pavement beneath him. Couldn’t feel the pebbles digging into his back or the breeze on his skin. All he felt was the wood. All he heard was his heartbeat. His ears hummed. His pulse slowed. Within minutes, he’d entered a trance. His arms and legs began to tingle, as if asleep.