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"That Damn Rabbit's Foot"
"That Damn Rabbit's Foot"
2/28/2021
I.
"What did you waste your money on now?" screamed Naomi. "We got no paper towels, no bread or milk, and you bring home some damfool junk like that?"
At three hundred pounds, Ben Schilder had trouble getting into the trailer at the best of times. With a bulky down-filled coat on, it took some struggling before he could squeeze through the door. The fact that the interior was so cluttered and crowded didn't help. He yanked off his wool cap to reveal reddish-blond hair which had not seen a barber in years. "Babe, you don't understand."
From the rear of the trailer, Kevin stood up as much as he could. He was as far above average height as his father was above average weight, hitting six feet six. Kevin had the same color hair as his father but he kept it short himself with scissors. "Whatcha got there, dad?"
"Take a look." Holding out a broad hand, Ben dangled a small furry object on a thin cord. "This ain't no plastic souvenir thing, it's an actual rabbit foot. You can feel the bones inside it."
"Har! We sure could use some good luck! Lemme hold it."
Strangely, Ben stepped back and his voice was surly. "It's mine, boy. I paid for it with money I earned. You need to put in more hours at the dollar store and provide for yourself."
Sitting up on the bench at the front of the mobile home, Naomi lit a fresh cigarette with the glowing stub of its predecessor. "Dammit, Ben. You think it'll bring enough luck to get us out of this godawful trashtown?"
"Yeah. I do, truth be told." Ben held up the tiny white object. "Tell you what. Rabbit foot, get us out of this trailer park, willya?"
II.
Timothy Limbo had transition from being disgusted to being merely resigned. Snow packed down on these country roads meant driving needed more attention than usual. He saw skid marks leading off the road where apparently someone's car had had to be towed. Twice the GPS in the rented Nissan had sent him up dirt side roads that tapered down to end in the woods. He had made a three point turn each time and retraced his route back to Clear Lake Road and tried again. Being hungry didn't help. He had stopped on the way at a convenient mart and picked up an egg salad sandwich but it had tasted so spoiled that he had left it by the side of the road hoping some possum would be happy at the gift. At least he still had half a bottle of iced tea.
Not too tall, still thin and limber rather than muscular, Timothy's appearance did not hint at the unusual strength and speed in his body. Six years of Kumundu training under Teacher Chael and six years being on the Tagra tea regimen had made him as fit as any Olympic athlete and extremely dangerous in a fight. But the dark blue eyes under that mop of butter-yellow hair gave away his mild nature. After realizing he had passed a distinctive red barn with white doors twice, he gave up and pulled over to park.
"It's going to get dark soon," he said out loud. "Scoot up and down the road and see if you can find that trailer park, boys." He held out his open hands. Over each upturned palm, a barely visible swirling tornado five inches appeared and rushed out through the open window. His KDF teammates still thought these 'caspers' were manifestations of his subconscious mind but Timothy had long ago decided that they were independent life forms made of gralic energy. Why they had attached themselves to him was a mystery but they had become something between best friends and pets, and he loved them dearly. As many as seven appeared at one time, usually only one or two, and he couldn't tell them apart. He wasn't even sure if they had individual personalities and reformed when called. Maybe they only existed for the brief time they served and hundreds of them had materialized over the years.
Closing his eyes, Tim saw what his friendly ghosts saw, but not as if looking through binoculars. The experience was most like remembering what one had looked at a second earlier. Minutes passed and he sat up and released the first satisfied sigh he had given in a long time. The two caspers sped back into the car, circled his head like excited hummingbirds and popped out of existence.
"Thanks, guys." Timothy said as he started up the car again. He knew now where the trailer park was located. Now maybe he could make some progress on this mission. As he went further up the incline, Clear Lake itself could be seen reaching up almost to the road. The thought crossed his mind that after heavy rains or maybe when snow cover melts, water would cover the road many times. Then he saw the rectangular wooden sign on two posts, CLEAR LAKE PARK with a phone number. Timothy cheered up that finally he could feel like he was getting somewhere. He hit his indicator and swung into the wide beaten earth path between two rows of trailers and slowed to a stop as he saw where the fire had been.
It had been a fifty foot trailer, but all that was left was a blackened shell. He stuck his head out the window and could still smell the stink of burnt rubber and insulation. Yellow warning tape had been set up on thin metal poles around the wreckage. More than a dozen people were standing around the ruin, shoulders raised against the cold but drawn to the sight despite discomfort.
As he got out, Timothy realized he had not put his leather jacket on, and he reached into the back seat for it. Being on the Tagra diet had enhanced his metabolism enough that he genuinely did not feel hot or cold conditions unless thet were dangerously extreme. He had gotten used to it, but strangers sometimes seemed alarmed seeing him in a T-shirt and jeans during the dead of winter.
"Some sight, eh? Caught fire early this morning, while it was still dark," offered a man in a long peacoat, hands thrust deep in his pockets.
"Nobody hurt, I hope?" Tim asked, walking over.
"Nope. They all got out in time. It was the Schilders, Ben and Naomi and their son. They smelled smoke and got out before the flames took over."
"Well, I'm glad at least they weren't hurt." Timothy Limbo leaned over. "Wow. Everything is burnt like charcoal."
"You betcha. Po-leece think it was an electrical short. Bad wiring. That trailer wasn't what you would call brand new."
"Huh. Say, where is the family now?"
"Damfino. They weren't from around here."
"I can help you, Mr Limbo," broken in a hurried voice. A man in his early fifties stepped around the crowd. He wore a heavy topcoat an extremely wrinkled white suit with a red necktie. The shaggy red hair had a plentiful sprinkling of grey in it, not hidden by a crumpled white fedora jammed on an angle. "You ARE Timothy Limbo of the Kenneth Dred Foundation, right?"
Immediately suspicious, Timothy scrutinized the man. In a flash, all his Kumundu training sized up any possible enemy. This man was not in good shape, moved as if not having receiving any martial training and the hang of his clothes argued against any hidden weapons. Adding the excited body language that suggested a plea, there was no reason to see this stranger as a serious threat. Still, Tim did not smile. "I don't think I know you, sir."
"Ah, well in fact we haven't met. But I worked with your captain Jeremy Bane a few times. Heh, the Dire Wolf and I solved a few sinister Midnight War mysteries together. Maybe he mentioned me. Calvin Calvert."
"Calvert? Oh. Yeah. You run a blog or something, let me think, WHAT REALLY HAPPENED? Yeah. I recognize the name."
"That's all." The crestfallen expression bordered on tragic. "I thought he would have indluged
his teammates with more details than that. We were a classic team-up. That Pure Life creature, that was pure nightmare fuel."
Timothy's basic good-nature reluctance to hurt anyone worked against him here. Instead of snapping that Bane had warned the team that Calvert was an unbearable pest who always got in over his head and caused a crisis wherever he went, Timothy simply said, "Well, Jeremy is modest. He never talked much about his cases unless it affected us."
"Ah. I can see that. Listen, son, my blog gets over eleven thousand hits on an average day and advertising on that provides half my so-called income, so I'm always eager for fresh material. I'm on a hot trail right now of a Midnight War menace. And let me say that I suspect you after the same hellborn horror as I am. Am I right, tell me I'm right?"
"Maybe."
"Listen, listen, let's step over by your nice new car where these blank-eyed yokels won't hear us. I've been in the area for a week now. I managed to meet with a positively octagenarian beldame named Monichestra. Makes an Egyptian mummy look hydrated. Does the word Calveron ring any bells in your little towhead, my boy?"
Timothy thought for a second before cautiously replying. "Mr Calvert--"
"Calvert, please, we're going to be working too closely for formality."
"We are?! I didn't say anything about that. I'm sorry, err Calvin, but I'm going to be leaving now."
Calvert took off his fedora, held up as if to keep anyone from overhearing although no one seemed particularly interested as the cold was making them return to their own trailers. "We can help each other, son, let me mention that I know where the Schilder family is staying tonight."
"Okay. I understand what's what you have to offer. But what will you want from me?"
"First, a ride. I took a taxi here and the bandit charged an unreasonable fee. I've never been robbed so much by someone without a gun. Also, let me not put too fine a point on it, you ARE a KDF member and a knight of Tel Shai. If horrors from the netherworld are going to be lusting for my blood, having you around for protection will be comforting. Did I ever tell you how much your Trom Girl enjoyed working with me on that religious tract business where the church burned down? Lovely girl."
Timothy decided to play along. His impression after the past few minutes added up to Calvert being garrulous and vain but harmless. And since Timothy himself had not yet been able to find a Calveron and had no idea where the Schilders might be, this man might shorten the case.
Worst came to worst, he'd be giving Calvert a ride back to town and getting nothing in return. He would be going that way in any case. No harm done.
"All right. Hop in, Calvin. Let's see how this works out."
III.
"This dump is worse than the trailer park!" Naomi grumbled. Sitting on the edge of the double bed, she was cycling through all the channels on the TV without finding anything that appealed to her. "Did you see those junkies watching us? They're worse than a horror movie. Ben, what's the plan? We got enough on your Visa card for one more night in this hellhole, then we're going to be sleeping in the car."
"I'm thinking," Ben Schilder said, stretched out on the bed with his stomach rising so he couldn't see over it to watch television. "Give me a little time. That was quite a shock, getting rousted by a fire that way."
On a sagging couch gainst the far wall, Kevin had stripped down to a white T-shirt and striped boxers, but he had kept his socks on. A folded blanket on his lap, he was holding up the rabbit's foot he had finally managed to get away from his father. "Doesn't it seem weird that we had to leave the park right after everyone wished we'd get out of there?"
"What do you mean weird?" asked Ben.
"I dunno, it's a funny coincidence. This rabbit's foot is strange too. It feels so warm. But you know, if making a wish works, I sure would like to finally meet a girl who would never leave me."
IV.
"We have a couple of miles to go," Calvert said. He had begun digging through his pockets, evidently rearranging an impressive amount of scraps of paper, pencil stubs and ballpoints, keys, nailclippers, Chapstick, a cigarette lighter, a thick wallet ready to fall apart and two phones. "Confound that map, I know I brought it with me."
"So, Calvin. I have to say no many people even know about the Midnight War, let alone write blogposts about it. But from what I've heard, you qualify as an expert."
This seemed to shock the middle-aged redhead. Spiky eyebrows rose. "You don't read WHAT REALLY HAPPENED?! Really?"
"Afraid not," Timothy said. "I'm actually not online much. Our job keeps us hopping. Are we looking for the same thing?"
"Let me ask you, son, did you ever read that story about the monkey's paw?"
"Oh. Sure, I read it in school. We had to write essays about different short stories. I didn't know there were such things, though."
"Absolutely. Rare, you know. There's actually a sort of group of cursed talismans like that. They're made by the Calveron. No relation to the Calverts, my family isn't a bunch of witches posing as gypsies."
"And these sigils will somehow grant you wishes but the results are always horrible, right?"
"Exactly, exactly. They're a way to making people curse themselves. About twenty years ago in Chicago, a gambler found a hawk foot that did that. Awful things happened to him, I wrote a two-part story about it with pictures of where his body was found."
Timothy slowed. "Hey, we're coming to an intersection."
"Turn left. Go up Dutch Town Road. We'll be hitting what passes for a town in maybe ten minutes. So, anyway, the monkey's paw is famous and I found out about the hawk talons. Then one of my many loyal correspondents texted me that she had heard rumors in this area about a rabbit's foot that had ruined someone's life."
That forced a sharp laugh from Timothy. "That strikes me as funny. An UNlucky rabbit's foot. Sorry, sorry, go on."
"Hmmph. I came up to investigate but had to leave my car down in the city because the poor old beast is leaking oil as if it's been shot. I've been using taxis and believe me that adds up to some expense! I managed to locate that ancient Calveron witch and to my surprise she was more than happy to tell me who had bought the rabbit's foot from her. After I left a couple of twenties in her wrinkled little hand, har har."
Keeping it to himself, Timothy wondered if maybe the woman who told Calvert about the rabbit's foot was the same one who had called KDF headquarters with that information. It seemed likely. More than forty years earlier, Jeremy Bane had built up a loose network of people who owed him their lives or the lives of their loved ones. Instead of accepting rewards, Bane had asked that they keep an eye out for seemingly supernatural events and let him know right away. The KDF still used those observers, who by now numbered in the hundreds.
Maybe Calvert has done the same and ended up with a lot of the same observers, Timothy thought. Then he realized he had missed what the journalist was still saying.
"...now, swing up on Route 23. At the top of that hill over there is the sleazy hive of scum and villainy called Motel Skytop. Whew. What a forsaken dump. I have to conclude they offer discounts to drug dealers and hookers, you know?"
"Yikes. And you think the family that has the rabbit's foot came here?" Timothy asked as he hit his blinker and started up the steep slope that had a metal sign MOTEL SKYTOP - CABLE TV, AC. The parking lot was nearly empty, with only six vehicles despite at least twenty rooms in the long L-shaped concrete structure. From the untended grass and the delapidated condition of the cars, this motel did not promise luxury.
"I know so, Tim, pull over at the end. Room 19. See, the Calveron witch told me that the customer was driving a beat-up Ford truck, red, with plenty of rust by the rear wheels. Like that tragic specmen right there."
Timothy turned off the engine and gave Calvert a smile. "And how did you know the Schilders would be here and not some other motel?"
"Because their flat busted with hardly two nickels to rub together. This is the cheapest place in the area," Calvin Calvert said as he raised an index finger to his nose. "Reporter. Smart. Now is when you should dispatch one of your little ghosts to see if our quarry is domiciled within."
"Wait, how do you know about them?" As soon as he spoke, Tim bit his tongue. He had intended to give away as little as possible. So far, Calvert had cooperated by talking freely about what he knew, but now Tim had just confirmed the strange ability he had.
"Oh, I've researched your teams. Trom Girl, Blind Archer, that crazy little Gelydra with the bone knife. Did you realize your power to create these creatures is unique?"
"I never heard of anyone else being able to do it," Tim admitted.
"Neither have I, son. Go ahead, let's start this carnival."
"I suppose." Rolling down his window, Timothy held up his right hand and one of the small whirlwinds materialized over it. Even when consciously looked for, the caspers were difficult to see and the dim winter dusk made them effectively invisible. A few seconds passed and Tim sat up straighter. "My buddy saw three people in that room. A big heavy guy and a tall young one, both with blond hair. A woman with what seems to be a very shoddy perm. That matches the Schilder's descriptions?"
"You know, Timmy, seeing how useful I am in these investigations, I find it unjust that your KDF never called on me for help. Not to mention that your team really should be following my blog, it's indispensable."
Getting out of the car, Timothy used tact. "We don't want to endanger anyone not on the team. Please don't call me Timmy, no one calls me that."
"You bet." Calvert stepped up to the door, which still used old-fashioned keys rather than a slot for electronic cards, and rapped sharply with his knuckles. In the window to his right, a curtain was pulled aside and a middle-aged woman with an awful perm took a suspicious look at them.
Opening the door a bare half inch, she snarled, "Yeah? Who are you guys?"
"Good evening, ma'am," Calvert gushed. "Please let me introduce myself and my associate."
"Associate..." grumbled Timothy to himself.
"My name is Calvin Calvert, perhaps you've seen my blog WHAT REALLY HAPPENED. And this personable young man is Timothy Limbo. We're not going to sell you anything, we're not with the police. Our interest is in tracking down a small trinket you may have recently acquired. I should tell you that it is worth some money, up to a thousand dollars in fact."
"A thousand dollars, you say? Well, come in, come in, don't stand out there in the cold." Rather than merely ushering them into the motel room, Naomi Shilder grabbed Calvert and Timothy by the arms and yanked them bodily. "We might be interested."
Ben had laboriously propped himself up to swing his legs over and sit on the edge of the bed. "Yeah, a thousand dollars caught my attention. What's your racket, buddy?"
"No racket, I assure you," Calvert said with the most ingratiating smile he could manage. "We're sort of collectors. You know people collect everything from concert ticket stubs or old license plates. My partner and I are devoted to good luck charms."
"Partner?" interrupted Timothy without anyone noticing.
"Here, sit down. Kevin, get up. Make room for our guests," said the mother as she tugged at both Timothy and Calvert. "Would you two like some coffee?"
"Thank you but no," Timothy said, feeling he needed to take over from Calvert doing all the talking. "Could we see the rabbit's foot please?"
Over in the corner, pulling on his jeans, the tall young man made a non-commital sound. He had actually tucked the trinket under a cushion of the couch when the knock came on the door. At the moment, the redheaded man was sitting right next to it. "Umm.. Dad?"
"Let's get this straight first," Ben said. "A thousand dollars for a tiny little doodad I bought from an old gypsy woman?"
"Yes, exactly. I happen to have the money right here in an envelope. Tax-free, good old American greenbacks right in your hand." Calvert tapped the breast pocket of his suit. "Now, since I have a long bus journey to get back to the city, perhaps we can hurry this along-"
Timothy Limbo suddenly crossed quickly over to stand by the door. His normal mild attitude had abruptly tensed and everyone there could feel it. Even his voice became more authoritative. "Hold it. Someone was looking in through the window."
"One of them goddam crackheads," Naomi growled. "I saw a girl in a doorway as we were coming on, she's got meth written all over her."
"Calvin, come over here and look at this." Timothy gestured toward his new acquaintance. "The rest of you stay where you are."
"Huh? What's going on?" asked Ben.
Pressed up against the wide picture window, Calvin Calvert gave a violent start and shrank back. "God help us! Timothy, is that what it looks like?"
Swaying unsteadily inches from the window was the scrawny figure of a young woman wearing only a thin blouse and slacks in the December chill. She had lank black hair hanging in disarray around a narrow face that was bluish-white and her eyes were rolled up so only the whites showed. As Tim and Calvert stared, the revenant moved off to one side and they heard a scratching at the door.
V.
"That's not a cat trying to get in," Calvert muttered.
Timothy swung around to face the family. "Quick! This is urgent. Did any of you make a wish while holding the rabbit's foot?"
"How did you know that? Yeah. I, uh, wished for a girl who'd never leave me. See, I got dumped by someone without warning..." Kevin said.
"That's enough," Timothy cut him off. "Your dream girl is outside right now asking to come in and cuddle with you. I don't think you want that."
Back against the window, Calvert shuddered visibly. "I bet she died of an overdose. She looks like she hasn't eaten right in a long time. That's a meth addict's face if I ever saw, scabs where she's been picking at her face."
The three Schilders had huddled together without realizing it. Ben yelled, "You two are giving me the creeps! Who is that out there? What does she want, money so she can get a hit?"
"I wish that were all it was," Timothy said. "It's the girl who will never leave Kevin, whether she's alive or not. Give me that rabbit's foot right now!"
Calvert added, "I've never seen a Zombie before. Not the most appealing sight. Wait, Mr Schilder. Listen to me. I want you to make one final wish and then throw the rabbit's foot when I open the door. Do you follow me?"
"Yeah, yeah," said Ben, holding up the cursed trinket in one meaty mitt. "Let's go."
"Shout 'I wish you would bury this and yourself out in the woods!' Do it now." Calvert had one hand on the doorknob and his fedora crumpled up in the other.
"I wish you would bury this and yourself out in the woods!" shouted Ben, flinging the talisman hard as Calvert swung the door wide. To everyone's amazement, the undead form caught the rabbit's foot neatly with both hands and immediately whirled to stalk off into the night. Its stiff-legged unsteady stagger gave the impression of someone who was either extremely drunk or had just suffered a stroke.
"And she's out of our hair!" laughed Calvert. They all crowded in the doorway to watch until the revenant had lurched into the trees at the far end of the parking lot.
"Do you think she'll make it before someone sees her?" wondered Naomi, moving back into the warmth of the room.
"I really doubt anyone is going to offer her a ride in her condition," Calvert said, closing the door. "I mean, would YOU let her in your car? Man, it's cold out there."
Timothy Limbo crossed over and dropped down onto the brokeback couch. "Calvin. That was amazingly quick thinking. I was planning to tackle the zombie and tie it up, then destroy the rabbit's foot and see if it would break the spell. But you got rid of both problems at the same time. I'm so impressed."
Blowing on his knuckles and then rubbing them on his chest in self-congratulations, Calvin grinned. "Glad to help, son. Any time you need someone with a little experience, you can leave me a message on WHAT REALLY HAPPENED. Clicking on the ads wouldn't hurt either."
5/16/2021
2/28/2021
I.
"What did you waste your money on now?" screamed Naomi. "We got no paper towels, no bread or milk, and you bring home some damfool junk like that?"
At three hundred pounds, Ben Schilder had trouble getting into the trailer at the best of times. With a bulky down-filled coat on, it took some struggling before he could squeeze through the door. The fact that the interior was so cluttered and crowded didn't help. He yanked off his wool cap to reveal reddish-blond hair which had not seen a barber in years. "Babe, you don't understand."
From the rear of the trailer, Kevin stood up as much as he could. He was as far above average height as his father was above average weight, hitting six feet six. Kevin had the same color hair as his father but he kept it short himself with scissors. "Whatcha got there, dad?"
"Take a look." Holding out a broad hand, Ben dangled a small furry object on a thin cord. "This ain't no plastic souvenir thing, it's an actual rabbit foot. You can feel the bones inside it."
"Har! We sure could use some good luck! Lemme hold it."
Strangely, Ben stepped back and his voice was surly. "It's mine, boy. I paid for it with money I earned. You need to put in more hours at the dollar store and provide for yourself."
Sitting up on the bench at the front of the mobile home, Naomi lit a fresh cigarette with the glowing stub of its predecessor. "Dammit, Ben. You think it'll bring enough luck to get us out of this godawful trashtown?"
"Yeah. I do, truth be told." Ben held up the tiny white object. "Tell you what. Rabbit foot, get us out of this trailer park, willya?"
II.
Timothy Limbo had transition from being disgusted to being merely resigned. Snow packed down on these country roads meant driving needed more attention than usual. He saw skid marks leading off the road where apparently someone's car had had to be towed. Twice the GPS in the rented Nissan had sent him up dirt side roads that tapered down to end in the woods. He had made a three point turn each time and retraced his route back to Clear Lake Road and tried again. Being hungry didn't help. He had stopped on the way at a convenient mart and picked up an egg salad sandwich but it had tasted so spoiled that he had left it by the side of the road hoping some possum would be happy at the gift. At least he still had half a bottle of iced tea.
Not too tall, still thin and limber rather than muscular, Timothy's appearance did not hint at the unusual strength and speed in his body. Six years of Kumundu training under Teacher Chael and six years being on the Tagra tea regimen had made him as fit as any Olympic athlete and extremely dangerous in a fight. But the dark blue eyes under that mop of butter-yellow hair gave away his mild nature. After realizing he had passed a distinctive red barn with white doors twice, he gave up and pulled over to park.
"It's going to get dark soon," he said out loud. "Scoot up and down the road and see if you can find that trailer park, boys." He held out his open hands. Over each upturned palm, a barely visible swirling tornado five inches appeared and rushed out through the open window. His KDF teammates still thought these 'caspers' were manifestations of his subconscious mind but Timothy had long ago decided that they were independent life forms made of gralic energy. Why they had attached themselves to him was a mystery but they had become something between best friends and pets, and he loved them dearly. As many as seven appeared at one time, usually only one or two, and he couldn't tell them apart. He wasn't even sure if they had individual personalities and reformed when called. Maybe they only existed for the brief time they served and hundreds of them had materialized over the years.
Closing his eyes, Tim saw what his friendly ghosts saw, but not as if looking through binoculars. The experience was most like remembering what one had looked at a second earlier. Minutes passed and he sat up and released the first satisfied sigh he had given in a long time. The two caspers sped back into the car, circled his head like excited hummingbirds and popped out of existence.
"Thanks, guys." Timothy said as he started up the car again. He knew now where the trailer park was located. Now maybe he could make some progress on this mission. As he went further up the incline, Clear Lake itself could be seen reaching up almost to the road. The thought crossed his mind that after heavy rains or maybe when snow cover melts, water would cover the road many times. Then he saw the rectangular wooden sign on two posts, CLEAR LAKE PARK with a phone number. Timothy cheered up that finally he could feel like he was getting somewhere. He hit his indicator and swung into the wide beaten earth path between two rows of trailers and slowed to a stop as he saw where the fire had been.
It had been a fifty foot trailer, but all that was left was a blackened shell. He stuck his head out the window and could still smell the stink of burnt rubber and insulation. Yellow warning tape had been set up on thin metal poles around the wreckage. More than a dozen people were standing around the ruin, shoulders raised against the cold but drawn to the sight despite discomfort.
As he got out, Timothy realized he had not put his leather jacket on, and he reached into the back seat for it. Being on the Tagra diet had enhanced his metabolism enough that he genuinely did not feel hot or cold conditions unless thet were dangerously extreme. He had gotten used to it, but strangers sometimes seemed alarmed seeing him in a T-shirt and jeans during the dead of winter.
"Some sight, eh? Caught fire early this morning, while it was still dark," offered a man in a long peacoat, hands thrust deep in his pockets.
"Nobody hurt, I hope?" Tim asked, walking over.
"Nope. They all got out in time. It was the Schilders, Ben and Naomi and their son. They smelled smoke and got out before the flames took over."
"Well, I'm glad at least they weren't hurt." Timothy Limbo leaned over. "Wow. Everything is burnt like charcoal."
"You betcha. Po-leece think it was an electrical short. Bad wiring. That trailer wasn't what you would call brand new."
"Huh. Say, where is the family now?"
"Damfino. They weren't from around here."
"I can help you, Mr Limbo," broken in a hurried voice. A man in his early fifties stepped around the crowd. He wore a heavy topcoat an extremely wrinkled white suit with a red necktie. The shaggy red hair had a plentiful sprinkling of grey in it, not hidden by a crumpled white fedora jammed on an angle. "You ARE Timothy Limbo of the Kenneth Dred Foundation, right?"
Immediately suspicious, Timothy scrutinized the man. In a flash, all his Kumundu training sized up any possible enemy. This man was not in good shape, moved as if not having receiving any martial training and the hang of his clothes argued against any hidden weapons. Adding the excited body language that suggested a plea, there was no reason to see this stranger as a serious threat. Still, Tim did not smile. "I don't think I know you, sir."
"Ah, well in fact we haven't met. But I worked with your captain Jeremy Bane a few times. Heh, the Dire Wolf and I solved a few sinister Midnight War mysteries together. Maybe he mentioned me. Calvin Calvert."
"Calvert? Oh. Yeah. You run a blog or something, let me think, WHAT REALLY HAPPENED? Yeah. I recognize the name."
"That's all." The crestfallen expression bordered on tragic. "I thought he would have indluged
his teammates with more details than that. We were a classic team-up. That Pure Life creature, that was pure nightmare fuel."
Timothy's basic good-nature reluctance to hurt anyone worked against him here. Instead of snapping that Bane had warned the team that Calvert was an unbearable pest who always got in over his head and caused a crisis wherever he went, Timothy simply said, "Well, Jeremy is modest. He never talked much about his cases unless it affected us."
"Ah. I can see that. Listen, son, my blog gets over eleven thousand hits on an average day and advertising on that provides half my so-called income, so I'm always eager for fresh material. I'm on a hot trail right now of a Midnight War menace. And let me say that I suspect you after the same hellborn horror as I am. Am I right, tell me I'm right?"
"Maybe."
"Listen, listen, let's step over by your nice new car where these blank-eyed yokels won't hear us. I've been in the area for a week now. I managed to meet with a positively octagenarian beldame named Monichestra. Makes an Egyptian mummy look hydrated. Does the word Calveron ring any bells in your little towhead, my boy?"
Timothy thought for a second before cautiously replying. "Mr Calvert--"
"Calvert, please, we're going to be working too closely for formality."
"We are?! I didn't say anything about that. I'm sorry, err Calvin, but I'm going to be leaving now."
Calvert took off his fedora, held up as if to keep anyone from overhearing although no one seemed particularly interested as the cold was making them return to their own trailers. "We can help each other, son, let me mention that I know where the Schilder family is staying tonight."
"Okay. I understand what's what you have to offer. But what will you want from me?"
"First, a ride. I took a taxi here and the bandit charged an unreasonable fee. I've never been robbed so much by someone without a gun. Also, let me not put too fine a point on it, you ARE a KDF member and a knight of Tel Shai. If horrors from the netherworld are going to be lusting for my blood, having you around for protection will be comforting. Did I ever tell you how much your Trom Girl enjoyed working with me on that religious tract business where the church burned down? Lovely girl."
Timothy decided to play along. His impression after the past few minutes added up to Calvert being garrulous and vain but harmless. And since Timothy himself had not yet been able to find a Calveron and had no idea where the Schilders might be, this man might shorten the case.
Worst came to worst, he'd be giving Calvert a ride back to town and getting nothing in return. He would be going that way in any case. No harm done.
"All right. Hop in, Calvin. Let's see how this works out."
III.
"This dump is worse than the trailer park!" Naomi grumbled. Sitting on the edge of the double bed, she was cycling through all the channels on the TV without finding anything that appealed to her. "Did you see those junkies watching us? They're worse than a horror movie. Ben, what's the plan? We got enough on your Visa card for one more night in this hellhole, then we're going to be sleeping in the car."
"I'm thinking," Ben Schilder said, stretched out on the bed with his stomach rising so he couldn't see over it to watch television. "Give me a little time. That was quite a shock, getting rousted by a fire that way."
On a sagging couch gainst the far wall, Kevin had stripped down to a white T-shirt and striped boxers, but he had kept his socks on. A folded blanket on his lap, he was holding up the rabbit's foot he had finally managed to get away from his father. "Doesn't it seem weird that we had to leave the park right after everyone wished we'd get out of there?"
"What do you mean weird?" asked Ben.
"I dunno, it's a funny coincidence. This rabbit's foot is strange too. It feels so warm. But you know, if making a wish works, I sure would like to finally meet a girl who would never leave me."
IV.
"We have a couple of miles to go," Calvert said. He had begun digging through his pockets, evidently rearranging an impressive amount of scraps of paper, pencil stubs and ballpoints, keys, nailclippers, Chapstick, a cigarette lighter, a thick wallet ready to fall apart and two phones. "Confound that map, I know I brought it with me."
"So, Calvin. I have to say no many people even know about the Midnight War, let alone write blogposts about it. But from what I've heard, you qualify as an expert."
This seemed to shock the middle-aged redhead. Spiky eyebrows rose. "You don't read WHAT REALLY HAPPENED?! Really?"
"Afraid not," Timothy said. "I'm actually not online much. Our job keeps us hopping. Are we looking for the same thing?"
"Let me ask you, son, did you ever read that story about the monkey's paw?"
"Oh. Sure, I read it in school. We had to write essays about different short stories. I didn't know there were such things, though."
"Absolutely. Rare, you know. There's actually a sort of group of cursed talismans like that. They're made by the Calveron. No relation to the Calverts, my family isn't a bunch of witches posing as gypsies."
"And these sigils will somehow grant you wishes but the results are always horrible, right?"
"Exactly, exactly. They're a way to making people curse themselves. About twenty years ago in Chicago, a gambler found a hawk foot that did that. Awful things happened to him, I wrote a two-part story about it with pictures of where his body was found."
Timothy slowed. "Hey, we're coming to an intersection."
"Turn left. Go up Dutch Town Road. We'll be hitting what passes for a town in maybe ten minutes. So, anyway, the monkey's paw is famous and I found out about the hawk talons. Then one of my many loyal correspondents texted me that she had heard rumors in this area about a rabbit's foot that had ruined someone's life."
That forced a sharp laugh from Timothy. "That strikes me as funny. An UNlucky rabbit's foot. Sorry, sorry, go on."
"Hmmph. I came up to investigate but had to leave my car down in the city because the poor old beast is leaking oil as if it's been shot. I've been using taxis and believe me that adds up to some expense! I managed to locate that ancient Calveron witch and to my surprise she was more than happy to tell me who had bought the rabbit's foot from her. After I left a couple of twenties in her wrinkled little hand, har har."
Keeping it to himself, Timothy wondered if maybe the woman who told Calvert about the rabbit's foot was the same one who had called KDF headquarters with that information. It seemed likely. More than forty years earlier, Jeremy Bane had built up a loose network of people who owed him their lives or the lives of their loved ones. Instead of accepting rewards, Bane had asked that they keep an eye out for seemingly supernatural events and let him know right away. The KDF still used those observers, who by now numbered in the hundreds.
Maybe Calvert has done the same and ended up with a lot of the same observers, Timothy thought. Then he realized he had missed what the journalist was still saying.
"...now, swing up on Route 23. At the top of that hill over there is the sleazy hive of scum and villainy called Motel Skytop. Whew. What a forsaken dump. I have to conclude they offer discounts to drug dealers and hookers, you know?"
"Yikes. And you think the family that has the rabbit's foot came here?" Timothy asked as he hit his blinker and started up the steep slope that had a metal sign MOTEL SKYTOP - CABLE TV, AC. The parking lot was nearly empty, with only six vehicles despite at least twenty rooms in the long L-shaped concrete structure. From the untended grass and the delapidated condition of the cars, this motel did not promise luxury.
"I know so, Tim, pull over at the end. Room 19. See, the Calveron witch told me that the customer was driving a beat-up Ford truck, red, with plenty of rust by the rear wheels. Like that tragic specmen right there."
Timothy turned off the engine and gave Calvert a smile. "And how did you know the Schilders would be here and not some other motel?"
"Because their flat busted with hardly two nickels to rub together. This is the cheapest place in the area," Calvin Calvert said as he raised an index finger to his nose. "Reporter. Smart. Now is when you should dispatch one of your little ghosts to see if our quarry is domiciled within."
"Wait, how do you know about them?" As soon as he spoke, Tim bit his tongue. He had intended to give away as little as possible. So far, Calvert had cooperated by talking freely about what he knew, but now Tim had just confirmed the strange ability he had.
"Oh, I've researched your teams. Trom Girl, Blind Archer, that crazy little Gelydra with the bone knife. Did you realize your power to create these creatures is unique?"
"I never heard of anyone else being able to do it," Tim admitted.
"Neither have I, son. Go ahead, let's start this carnival."
"I suppose." Rolling down his window, Timothy held up his right hand and one of the small whirlwinds materialized over it. Even when consciously looked for, the caspers were difficult to see and the dim winter dusk made them effectively invisible. A few seconds passed and Tim sat up straighter. "My buddy saw three people in that room. A big heavy guy and a tall young one, both with blond hair. A woman with what seems to be a very shoddy perm. That matches the Schilder's descriptions?"
"You know, Timmy, seeing how useful I am in these investigations, I find it unjust that your KDF never called on me for help. Not to mention that your team really should be following my blog, it's indispensable."
Getting out of the car, Timothy used tact. "We don't want to endanger anyone not on the team. Please don't call me Timmy, no one calls me that."
"You bet." Calvert stepped up to the door, which still used old-fashioned keys rather than a slot for electronic cards, and rapped sharply with his knuckles. In the window to his right, a curtain was pulled aside and a middle-aged woman with an awful perm took a suspicious look at them.
Opening the door a bare half inch, she snarled, "Yeah? Who are you guys?"
"Good evening, ma'am," Calvert gushed. "Please let me introduce myself and my associate."
"Associate..." grumbled Timothy to himself.
"My name is Calvin Calvert, perhaps you've seen my blog WHAT REALLY HAPPENED. And this personable young man is Timothy Limbo. We're not going to sell you anything, we're not with the police. Our interest is in tracking down a small trinket you may have recently acquired. I should tell you that it is worth some money, up to a thousand dollars in fact."
"A thousand dollars, you say? Well, come in, come in, don't stand out there in the cold." Rather than merely ushering them into the motel room, Naomi Shilder grabbed Calvert and Timothy by the arms and yanked them bodily. "We might be interested."
Ben had laboriously propped himself up to swing his legs over and sit on the edge of the bed. "Yeah, a thousand dollars caught my attention. What's your racket, buddy?"
"No racket, I assure you," Calvert said with the most ingratiating smile he could manage. "We're sort of collectors. You know people collect everything from concert ticket stubs or old license plates. My partner and I are devoted to good luck charms."
"Partner?" interrupted Timothy without anyone noticing.
"Here, sit down. Kevin, get up. Make room for our guests," said the mother as she tugged at both Timothy and Calvert. "Would you two like some coffee?"
"Thank you but no," Timothy said, feeling he needed to take over from Calvert doing all the talking. "Could we see the rabbit's foot please?"
Over in the corner, pulling on his jeans, the tall young man made a non-commital sound. He had actually tucked the trinket under a cushion of the couch when the knock came on the door. At the moment, the redheaded man was sitting right next to it. "Umm.. Dad?"
"Let's get this straight first," Ben said. "A thousand dollars for a tiny little doodad I bought from an old gypsy woman?"
"Yes, exactly. I happen to have the money right here in an envelope. Tax-free, good old American greenbacks right in your hand." Calvert tapped the breast pocket of his suit. "Now, since I have a long bus journey to get back to the city, perhaps we can hurry this along-"
Timothy Limbo suddenly crossed quickly over to stand by the door. His normal mild attitude had abruptly tensed and everyone there could feel it. Even his voice became more authoritative. "Hold it. Someone was looking in through the window."
"One of them goddam crackheads," Naomi growled. "I saw a girl in a doorway as we were coming on, she's got meth written all over her."
"Calvin, come over here and look at this." Timothy gestured toward his new acquaintance. "The rest of you stay where you are."
"Huh? What's going on?" asked Ben.
Pressed up against the wide picture window, Calvin Calvert gave a violent start and shrank back. "God help us! Timothy, is that what it looks like?"
Swaying unsteadily inches from the window was the scrawny figure of a young woman wearing only a thin blouse and slacks in the December chill. She had lank black hair hanging in disarray around a narrow face that was bluish-white and her eyes were rolled up so only the whites showed. As Tim and Calvert stared, the revenant moved off to one side and they heard a scratching at the door.
V.
"That's not a cat trying to get in," Calvert muttered.
Timothy swung around to face the family. "Quick! This is urgent. Did any of you make a wish while holding the rabbit's foot?"
"How did you know that? Yeah. I, uh, wished for a girl who'd never leave me. See, I got dumped by someone without warning..." Kevin said.
"That's enough," Timothy cut him off. "Your dream girl is outside right now asking to come in and cuddle with you. I don't think you want that."
Back against the window, Calvert shuddered visibly. "I bet she died of an overdose. She looks like she hasn't eaten right in a long time. That's a meth addict's face if I ever saw, scabs where she's been picking at her face."
The three Schilders had huddled together without realizing it. Ben yelled, "You two are giving me the creeps! Who is that out there? What does she want, money so she can get a hit?"
"I wish that were all it was," Timothy said. "It's the girl who will never leave Kevin, whether she's alive or not. Give me that rabbit's foot right now!"
Calvert added, "I've never seen a Zombie before. Not the most appealing sight. Wait, Mr Schilder. Listen to me. I want you to make one final wish and then throw the rabbit's foot when I open the door. Do you follow me?"
"Yeah, yeah," said Ben, holding up the cursed trinket in one meaty mitt. "Let's go."
"Shout 'I wish you would bury this and yourself out in the woods!' Do it now." Calvert had one hand on the doorknob and his fedora crumpled up in the other.
"I wish you would bury this and yourself out in the woods!" shouted Ben, flinging the talisman hard as Calvert swung the door wide. To everyone's amazement, the undead form caught the rabbit's foot neatly with both hands and immediately whirled to stalk off into the night. Its stiff-legged unsteady stagger gave the impression of someone who was either extremely drunk or had just suffered a stroke.
"And she's out of our hair!" laughed Calvert. They all crowded in the doorway to watch until the revenant had lurched into the trees at the far end of the parking lot.
"Do you think she'll make it before someone sees her?" wondered Naomi, moving back into the warmth of the room.
"I really doubt anyone is going to offer her a ride in her condition," Calvert said, closing the door. "I mean, would YOU let her in your car? Man, it's cold out there."
Timothy Limbo crossed over and dropped down onto the brokeback couch. "Calvin. That was amazingly quick thinking. I was planning to tackle the zombie and tie it up, then destroy the rabbit's foot and see if it would break the spell. But you got rid of both problems at the same time. I'm so impressed."
Blowing on his knuckles and then rubbing them on his chest in self-congratulations, Calvin grinned. "Glad to help, son. Any time you need someone with a little experience, you can leave me a message on WHAT REALLY HAPPENED. Clicking on the ads wouldn't hurt either."
5/16/2021