The Savannah Paranormal Detective Agency
Free Halloween Short Story!
Savannah Paranormal Detective Agency
Savannah Paranormal Detective Agency 2: Chapter One
Savannah Paranormal Detective Agency 2: Chapter Two
Savannah Paranormal Detective Agency 2: Chapter Three
Savannah Paranormal Detective Agency 2: Chapter Four
Savannah Paranormal Detective Agency 2: Chapter Five
Free Halloween Short Story: The Savannah Paranormal Detective Agency
What happens when a man escapes a Haitian vodou ritual and meets a ghost only to be mistaken for being a zombie by an overeager vampire? You get the ghost and “zombie” drafted in the vampire’s effort to make a paranormal detective agency! Debra the vampire wants a profitable business, Fred the ghost needs to move on to the next world, while Max “the zombie” is desperate to return home in this humorous misadventure in a hidden side of Savannah, Georgia, filled with monsters, magic, and more.
The PDF of both the first and second books is available below or you can read it below.
Chapter One: Beginnings
It was Serpent and the Rainbow-type stuff but only horribly worse, as if that movie and book were a cakewalk. Max’s trip to Haiti “ended” with him eating a poisoned dish that knocked him out. The funeral was lovely and Catholic, so he was told. But later that night, he found himself with a horrible headache and a Vodou priest who claimed Max was now his zombie slave. Though still in a daze, Max made a hilarious joke, at least he thought it was funny, about eating dogs and cats. That started a fistfight that ended with a burning plantation house, an amazing sprint to the Dominican border, and smuggling himself on a haunted ship, where he met Fred.
Now, after sneaking out of the port of Savannah, he and Fred, a soul stuck in purgatory on Earth, were having the most surreal conversation, well, perhaps the second most after the Vodou priest’s talk. Standing before them was Debra, a vampire who looked like she had a great time in the 1920s and never wanted to move on.
“Okay, hear me out, my new ghost friend and brain-eating pal,” she said.
“Actually, I think you are confusing the Haitian concept of zombie for the Hollywood crossover of ghoul that misuses the term zombie,” Max replied.
Max didn’t know if her brain didn’t want to process what he said or if she decided to ignore him, but she continued on as if he had been quiet.
“Detective agency! There’s enough weird stuff in this city, like all of us and even weirder humans, to keep us rolling for decades!”
“I think I need to go to a church and have a Mass said for myself or something,” Fred protested.
“And I think I’m not-.” Max stopped his blabbering mouth when he noticed Debra wipe her tongue over her left fang.
“Come on,” she said. “It’s gonna be fun! I totally promise to help you if you assist me with a few cases. It’s getting so boring doing stuff by myself.”
Max and Fred looked at each other. None of them knew what the future had in store for them, but perhaps Debra could be some sort of help.
“Well, my wallet and cellphone probably are ashes in Haiti, so I need a little starting money; I’m in,” Max said.
Fred’s specter bobbed up and down. “And I never helped others in need when I was alive. Maybe I need to do some good here.”
Debra’s crimson eyes went wide. “Yeah,” her voice trailed off. “Good deeds and money. Totally. Yeah.” She clapped her hands together and regained her bubbly energy. “Now, who’s up for our first case?”
Chapter Two: The First Case
The first few days were odd, even for Max’s new standard of being shanghaied into a detective agency with his ghost pal Fred and the founder of the company, the vampire Debra. Well, the terms agency and company had to be used very loosely, like all other professional phrases when applied to this effort. Debra’s office was also her home: an old crypt she had moved into. Her word-of-mouth campaign involved signing Max up as a political volunteer so he could take candidates’ literature and write over it with a black marker.
Max could smell the approaching people before anyone could hear them at the crypt door. When he alerted his companions to the interlopers, Debra praised him for having a nose that could smell living brains from several hundred yards out. A silent shared glance between Max and Fred said “She thinks I’m dead so we’ll keep it that way” without using a syllable.
Into the crypt came three out-of-shape individuals. Their matching black T-shirts and black pants gave the appearance of organization. Max decided the best way to identify them was with each person’s main feature. That made the lead man Mr. Beard, the other Mr. Glasses, and the dirty blonde with her hair pulled back Ms. Bun.
“Greetings,” Mr. Beard said with a spluttering of spit, “I take it this is the Savannah Paranormal Detective Agency, yes?”
Debra leapt up and landed with both hands on her hips; her broad smile was distracting enough that no one seemed to notice her fangs. “Yes, it is, my good man. How can we help you? Is some rare fetish stolen? Is there a foul beast plaguing your land? Or,” she leaned in, “is there a lover involved?”
“Something even more diabolical, I fear.” Mr. Beard and his fellows nodded their heads. “We need protection against a foul spirit. Can you two be our protectors?”
“Of course!” Debra made the arrangements, and the people left. Then, she stood there beaming with pride at Max and Fred.
“Two?” Max asked. “Could they- wait a minute- they couldn’t see Fred!”
The vampiress gives off a gleeful laugh. “Someone had brains for breakfast! It’s going to be great. We’ll bring Fred along with us, have him do some knocking, and then we’ll upcharge for having a ‘protective spirit’ looking out for them!”
It was not great. Upon arrival at the abandoned schoolhouse, their employers turned out to be an internet show that did “ghost investigations.”
“We investigated all of New England,” Ms. Bun said, “so we decided to check out what’s down here—you know, ghosts but also the food. We make money off the videos, but we like spending too much at local restaurants.” She snorted while she laughed.
Debra leaned over and to Max called them “Carpetbaggers.”
Making matters worse, they were more interested in what their pseudoscientific tools measuring radon in the air had to say than any actual paranormal research. Fred lifted some things up and down to reveal his presence, but they all thought Debra was entertaining them with illusionary tricks. While Mr. Beard thought it was hilarious and impressive, Debra sighed and muttered something about lost profits.
Max remained ready for anything, though Fred floated beside Debra, bored.
“I don’t sense any spirits here,” Fred sighed. Debra nodded in reply.
The night may have been boring to the other two, but to Max, it was a window into the madness of the wannabe occultists. An open geography book? A spirit was apparently telling them to go to Peru. A warped wooden desktop? A spirit was demonstrating that it was stuck between this world and the next. Fred didn’t like that leap in logic at all. And a chalk mark on a blackboard? Well, a spirit was trying to leave them a message.
It was at 4:30 am when things changed.
Upon walking into an old science room and seeing a lab set up, Mr. Glasses declared, “It’s a spirit’s-.”
“Meth lab,” a deep voice behind them boomed before pumping a shotgun.
Upon turning, Max and everyone else saw a massive biker in a white t-shirt, leather vest, and leather pants. His long beard gave the appearance of hard living while his squinted eyes studied them all. The shotgun needed no explanation.
“Holy crap, he has a shotgun!” Debra exclaimed. “Quick, Max, use your zombie powers to overtake him and eat his brains.”
The biker leveled the gun straight at Max’s head.
“Crap, sorry for volunteering you, Max.”
His life flashed before his eyes. Having this go before him made him realize winning the law firm’s “Free Trip to Haiti “several weeks ago was where everything went wrong. Things were looking up before I thought that was a good idea.
Right as the biker’s finger was moving onto the trigger, Fred flashed across the room and threw all the objects in the meth lab at the biker. Chemicals, glass beakers, and wooden furniture all crashed into the man, hitting, burning, and cutting him at the same time.
“Way to go, Fred! And good job, Max. He must have been so scared of your ravenous zombie looks he couldn’t move!” Debra pumped the air with her fist. Then, turning to the ghost hunters, she said, “See, I told you I brought along a protective spirit! That’s double the price right there!”
Back at the crypt, Max was playing a game of war with Fred as it was the only card game they could play because Debra had an obsessive compulsion to count the totals of each hand they held, ruining every other possible game they could think of. In theory, they could have been playing another game because Debra was out. Max thought she may be hunting for blood, but the mere thought of that sent a shiver down his spine, preventing him from asking any questions such as “When will you be back?” So they stuck with war.
Boom! The crypt doors blew open, and a heavily breathing but smiling Debra stood with her arms stretched out.
“Guys! I got us a new assignment! We’re going to stop the evil Alliance for Intelligent Independent Businesses of Savannah!”
A flash of lightning lit up the night sky behind her, and a thunderous roar followed.
She turned her head towards the sky. “Oh, wow, I did not see that storm coming.”
Chapter Three: Storm Stories
The marble walls shook as the wind through the door wailed like a banshee, while the sheets of rain added a constant level of volume to the cacophony. Max and his specter friend Fred kept their eyes on the door as if the storm itself somehow wanted to enter the vampire Debra’s crypt. She, meanwhile, looked pensively at the cards on the table.
“Max has won eight hands and Fred six since I returned. That’s a total of fourteen. However, the total of all of Fred’s hands is 96, while Max’s total so far is 83. That’s a total of 179.” She rapt her fingers together. “Next round! Next round!”
Max wasn’t in the mood for more obsessive compulsive number crunching while the tempest raged outside. Even the sandwich that he was working on earlier lost its appeal. “Do you think that door is going to hold?”
Debra shook her head and loosened her tie. “That thing has been through hurricanes. I’ve seen worse when I lived in Louisiana anyway. When water comes down the steps and through the ground, that is when you have trouble brewing.”
“At least we are not in that situation,” Max said. “So, what’s this new assignment.”
The vampiress rolled her eyes and laid down on the tomb where she slept during the day. “Oh, that? That can wait until the storm is over. Plus, I need to figure out how we can get close to the Alliance without them realizing we’re monsters.” She twisted her head toward the ghost and human-mistaken-for-a-zombie. “Hey, let’s share stories. How did we all become monsters?”
A hard gulp traveled down his throat. With grace and precision, Max told the tale of his start as a lawyer, quick promotions, and the contest that sent him to Haiti. Most of his story dwelt on the hike past numerous graveyards, the churches that didn’t seem quite right, the strange twilight festival he was invited to, a cold dish of fish, and his awakening by the Vodou priest. While he told his spiel, he realized the part after his escape was a blur, thinking it may have been the drugs’ effects on him. Debra caught that too; however, she declared it must have been due to his zombie brain decaying.
Meanwhile, Fred told his tale of being a sailor. Indifference defined everything in his life related to the land, which included family, religion, and charity. Only things on or in the water mattered to him. When he died on the SS Limbo, no one noticed his corpse tucked in bed until what would have been the start of his next shift. When it came time to describe what he encountered after death, each word caused him to clam up. Quickly moving on, he told of his efforts of trying to communicate the Limbo’s crew. He thought he was forever cursed to be invisible until he met Max.
It was then Debra’s turn, and what a story she had to tell. Her face glowed, and her eyes shone like red rubies as she sat on the tomb.
“Like any good Louisianan story, it begins with the man himself: Huey Long. It was 1926 and Governor Fuqua had died under mysterious circumstances while Long was making inroads in New Orleans. So, me being a gumshoe reporter looking for my big break, I decided to bust the story wide open.”
“What did you find?” Fred asked.
She straightened her back and waved her hands in the air. “I found that the reason Governor Fuqua died was because of an occult conspiracy. Huey made a pact with Madame Apolline, the vampire queen of New Orleans.” She slumped. “Well, it is more accurate to say Madame Apolline found me and explained the plot, but that’s regardless of the point. The transformation was quick but painful. That night, I became the newest member of the La Sombre Société de Madame Apolline.”
Max and Fred gave her blank stares.
“Hello? It only was the most elite vampire society in all the South. And it was real vampire stuff, too; quality that was on par with New York’s Grand Orange Order of Vampires van New Amsterdam. We had the best nightgowns and late night parties that became blood baths, you know, the usual fair. Now, however, I must admit I was only a servant girl in the coven. On most nights, I had to clean up all the gore and wash everyone’s blood-soaked nightgowns. However, every election season, in return for protection, we would be the ones ensuring all the spooky things came out and voted for Long and his people.” Her eyes glanced over toward Max. “I also helped suppress the zombie vote.” With this confession, her hands rose in a stop formation. “No offense, Max, but back home, all the zombies supported reconstruction when they were alive so these walkers would vote Republican. If too many zombies got to the ballot box, people would have started talking. Can’t have that.”
Though Max’s stint as a “zombie” was in the Haitian sense and long over, he still felt a vague sense of offense.
“Anyways, that was my undeath for about forty years. Then, Madame Apolline made a deal with a two-timing music manager to have his pop star film a movie in the mansion. I think it was some insurance scam or something like we eat the star and the crew and he gets the money. No one told us that the pop star was a judo master trained to fight the undead. It was the last time- and only time I was glad to- have been sent out to buy new nightgowns. After that night, no one in the society was left but me.
“I spent the next few decades hanging around New Orleans,” she said while sighing, “but it was never the same. Over time, the city lost its Old New France charm, which for a traditionalist like all vampires are was depressing,” she said while shaking her head. “All sorts of weirdos started coming into town with a bone to pick with us monsters. Weirdo guys who read too many kung fu magazines, weirdo nuts who paid some other weirdo a hundred bucks to make them a priest so they could playact exorcists, and-.”
Debra gulped and her eyes went wide, though they stared not at anything Max could determine. He determined she instead was looking beyond space and time.
“Sister Mary Francis.” Her body shuddered. “I was running my own newspaper for monsters- okay, maybe it was more of a newsletter, but I made enough to afford a grave above the water table. Anyway, I received a tip about a mermaid murderer. I thought it was about to get to interview a mermaid who murdered people. It had been a few years since we had one of those in town. Instead, I got a nun who murdered a mermaid. She had a katana because every human apparently thinks they need something from the Orient-.”
She stopped for a moment and raised an eyebrow. “Can I still call it that? I know the Japanese wanted to call it the Co-Prosperity Sphere, but I don’t know if that caught on.”
Max’s jaw dropped, as did the specter of Fred’s jaw. “Well,” Max coughed, “I think people understand just fine what you mean when you say Orient.”
“Okay, good.” She gave a nod of appreciation. “Well, anyways, that nun chased me from the river to the French Quarter to the lake and out of the state. She would show up whenever I set up shop and got too comfortable elsewhere in the South. So, when I came to Savannah, I kept to myself for the most part.” She sighed but then lit up. “But undeath is too much just to lie low. So I thought about a detective agency to get out and about again. But one monster cannot make an agency by herself. And low and behold, you two appeared and walked straight up to Sherman Square, where I was hanging out!”
Ghostly Fred floated above the table. “Well, I was despairing before I met Max. Being noticed gave me hope. Working with you, well- I was hoping stopping that drug manufacturer was the opportunity for me to move on, but I guess we’re a team for a while, huh?”
No one replied. Instead, Debra turned her attention to the door, still rattling from the storm. For his part, Max grabbed a bite of his sandwich and began chewing. His gnawing added to the symphony of sound.
All of the sudden, Debra’s eyes went wide and then jolted towards Max. Her head was ten times slower but a hundred times more unsettling as it moved to follow her gaze. Finally, a large smile parted her lips, revealing her pristine white teeth and fangs.
“Max! What university professor brain did you eat? Knowing that eating regular food would help you pass for human! Exactly what I needed to figure out! Oh, I got just the dangerous assignment for you!”
Chapter Four: The Business Meeting
Debra rattled off like an old typewriter punching out breaking news as she fiddled with Max’s hair. Her hand would push his hair in one direction, only for the result to be reversed with the next swipe. Every fourth or fifth hair modification she would take a moment to lick her fingers and wipe something on his face. Then, after every tenth hair change, she would take a step back and state, “You look so life-like I could just suck your blood!” Thankfully for Max, she was oblivious to his look of horror.
Besides the deadly praises, the only things Max could make out with certainty were that the Alliance for Intelligent Independent Businesses of Savannah were “weirdos” and “pure evil, and not in the ha-ha evil way.” Ghost Fred asked what that last part meant, but Debra kept yammering.
Once she completed her task, Max was able to get in some words. He asked what his assignment was. Debra, with her bright crimson eyes and wide smile blurted out some words that Max made her repeat.
“You’ll go up to their temple and introduce yourself as some member from another chapter elsewhere. Just make something up. Once you are at their ritual, wait until they start doing something evil. Once they begin, stop them! See, it’s that simple.”
“Okay, who’s the client, and how much is he paying?”
Debra’s eyes rock back and forth. “Well, she is a human and manages the Henry Slocum Bed and Breakfast. She sent me a text about how they kicked her out and how they do all sorts of, and I quote, ‘evil and occult stuff.’ In return for us getting revenge for her- well- she’s promised us some coffee cake and shampoo bottles. I think I can sell the shampoo on the street.” Taking a step back, she pauses before continuing. “Look, guys, the word of mouth campaign will take time. When our only client so far has been some foodies who do ghost hunting videos as a side project, we still have to focus on humans until we can build up to the the deep pockets of our fellow monsters. Maybe in a few weeks we’ll have a contract from one of Fred’s ghost kin,” she snapped her fingers, “or maybe even the Tybee Island Apeman!”
Max gave a hrumpf and muttered his disbelief at everything. In return, Debra tilted her head and shot him a cocked eyed look.
“My zombie brother in monsterdom,” Debra said, “you’re in a crypt with a vampire and a ghost. I know your zombie brain is probably suffering from eating that sandwich, but I need you to think through what you say.”
There was nothing he could say to object to her statement no matter how hard he wanted to. Despite the last assignment being one of fake ghost hunters and a drug dealer, here he was with a friendly ghost and a vampire who was somehow both smart and dumb at the same time. However, since he was taking orders from said vampire, he wondered what that said of him. Resigned to the existential question, he nodded and accepted his fate.
The address of the Alliance’s temple turned out to be the location for Beauregard’s Burger, an unassuming restaurant nestled between a shoe store and a locally-made condiments shop. From the outside, he could make out a gaggle of gray haired women milling about, laughing, drinking coffee, and eating burgers. Then, turning his head, he saw Debra, Fred, and the client standing on a street corner. Fred’s features were too faint to make out, but he could spot the smile on Debra’s face that betrayed her nervousness. The two thumbs up she was sticking out failed to boost the façade.
Once he entered the restaurant, all the women stopped and turned their attention to him.
He coughed. “Yes- umm- I am- Max- and I am a member of the- umm- Alliance for Intelligent Independent Businesses of Ohio- I mean- Cleveland- which is in Ohio. Is there a meeting tonight?”
A thin matriarch in the back wearing an art school sweater declared in a Southern regal voice, “He’s a Yankee.”
With that, the congress of women erupted in laughter and smiles. The matriarch introduced herself as leader of the Mistress of the Alliance for Intelligent Independent Businesses of Savannah Auxiliary. After grabbing Max a burger, soft drink, bag of chips, and an apple, they ushered him downstairs into the basement dining hall. There, spread out at the various tables, were a mix-match of men in their fifties, sixties, seventies, and even a few in their eighties. White and Black, polos and suits, loafers and sandal-wearers all mixed about. Each man there took his turn to introduce himself to Max. Only one man asked for Max’s membership card, to which laughing howls of “Why would anyone want to sneak in? He’s fine!” ended the request.
It was like every other fraternal or charitable business meeting Max had to attend as a lawyer, but somehow staler. Opening Ode? The song was to the tune of “Oh, Christmas Tree.” Pledge of Allegiance? Check. Bills, receipts, and letters from members on vacation? Yep. Max began zoning out during the report from the property tax advocacy committee. His mind popped in a bit later during old business when passions got tense over whether to buy a new flag for the library from the Atlanta Flag Company or the Parris Island Wives Club. However, the flare up between state pride and patriotism lost his interest just as quick.
Maybe it was during new business or perhaps the dignitary report when squeaking wheels grabbed Max’s attention. A member named Steve, wearing bright yellow cargo shorts and a t-shirt, rolled a cart carrying a lava lamp connected to a car battery.
“Gentlemen, including our fine guest from up North,” Scott said with a lisp. “The short visit to our fellow businessmen in Davos that you all funded was a success! Not only did the Society of Illuminated Freemasonics of Davos-Geneva-CERN fix our gateway, but they also refilled it with fresh gnome blood at no extra cost!”
Polite clapping provided enough noise to drown out Max’s jolting body. While his tense frame looked about, everyone seemed normal. Nor did anyone seem bothered when Steve flipped a switch that caused the lava lamp to bubble, rock, and finally become a gaping portal to a fiery alternative dimension.
It was when a flaming creature in obsidian black armor began walking toward our universe that Max yelled, “Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!”
“No, no,” said a member leaning over to Max, “Jehoshaphat was a king on the light’s side. That is Gimoshaphat, the demon assigned to our circle. Don’t feel bad; it’s a common mistake we’ve all made at least once.”
Max’s roar of terror was loud and long, something the Ancient Greeks would have written poetry about. However, now it was the thing that betrayed him as an outsider to the Alliance members. The demon, standing mere feet away from our world, pointed towards Max and spoke in a deep bass voice that was followed by a legion of screams from upstairs.
Fire licked up from the portal, seemingly beckoning to Max. Hard hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up. The cultists were dragging him to the demon.
“Max!” Debra’s voice from the stairwell caused everyone to freeze. “Fred and the client are clearing the upstairs and I got the shotgun and- WHAT THE HECK IS THAT?!”
A loud burst erupted from the shotgun. Debra jumped backward, her eyes fixed upon the smoking weapon as she tossed it down.
Pellets ripped apart the car battery, causing a massive explosion, and the portal became a pillar of fire. Alliance cultists screamed and dropped Max on the floor. He felt a burst of wind as Debra used her vampiric speed to dash to him. She grabbed his collar, leaped through the panicking cultists, sending them flying when she collided with them, and up the stairs and threw a window.
The moment they were out, the restaurant imploded into a tiny speck that then poofed out of existence. Nothing of the business was left except for a hole in the ground where the basement was.
“What the heck just happened?!” Max exclaimed.
Fred and Debra just kept looking at the empty site.
“Hello?! I was bored out of my mind when they casually summoned a demon that they were going to sacrifice me to before disappearing into nothingness! How did that all happen?!”
Debra’s head dropped, her hands rising to cradle it. “Our client ran in to help Fred scare the women upstairs. Our payment just imploded with the cultists.”
All Max could do was scream.
Chapter Five: The Book Man
There was no denying that the bed and breakfast had seen better days, but now it was their home, and wallpaper dating from the 1980s was still better than the concrete of the tomb. After occupying the inn when their client, the owner, disappeared in Beauregard’s Burgers singularity, Debra was in her element. She pranced and danced around the Slocum Bed and Breakfast in its Union blue nightgown, regaling Fred and Max with stories of her time in New Orleans. Drunk on past memories, she wistfully told them, “If we were to have met when you were alive, oh, I would have given you such a good night. You’d die, of course, but still, I would have thought it was a great night.”
Fred had found work in using his ghost powers to fix clogged toilets. In the past week, Debra “promoted” him to move objects around in the room when guests were relaxing. That allowed her to add the upcharge of having a haunted room.
Meanwhile, Max had the brunt of the work because he could “pass” for human. Checking people in and making breakfast were his primary tasks. Thankfully, he shared the secondary duty of housekeeping with Debra, who still had all her skills learned from decades of servitude in Louisiana.
However, despite the new digs, malaise settled in with Fred and Max. The ghost remained stuck in his purgatory while Max’s heart yearned to return to normalcy. Their day-light card games became a forum for Max to muse about plans. A fair amount of them involved the money in the till. However, despite Fred’s acquiescence to Max’s ideas, Max was unwilling to implement any of them without first finding a solution to Fred’s situation.
It was a Tuesday, so they were playing poker when Debra, wearing her 1920s suit and crimson tie that matched her eyes, came bursting in. “You guys, I just got-.” She gasped upon seeing their card decks. “Fred has three of a kind of eight of diamonds plus a seven of hearts and a two of spades for a total of 33, while Max has a pair of fours and a pair of threes as well as a nine of hearts for a total of 23. That’s a combined sum of 56! Do another hand!”
Both the ghost and former zombified lawyer put their cards down, along with their enjoyment of the game.
“Oh,” she said while slumping her shoulders for a moment. “Anyways, I just got off the phone with our first monster client! An Electronic Voice Phenomena told me about a Voodoo spirit called ‘the Book Man.’ Apparently, this fiend runs a Voodoo temple and is trapping our fellow monsters in various books at his library. The EVP told me he’s captured Frogman Jim!”
Fred’s visage shifted about through the chair he was hovering over. “Who is Frogman Jim?”
Debra gave off an awkward smile. “A bit of a misnomer. Frogman Jim is more of a cryptid. He was a normal amphibian until the radiation from the lost nuclear bomb off Tybee Island turned him into a massive frog. Last year he tried eating a little league team, but those buggers had aluminum baseball bats.” The vampire’s words caused Fred and Max to scream, to which Debra explained it was an away team so the locals let Frogman Jim escape.
Fred was satisfied with the answer, but Max had his own question. “How do you know it was an EVP?”
“Huh?” Debra asked.
“If you got a phone call, how do you know it was a disembodied voice and not some human at the end of the phone?”
“I know it was an EVP, Max, because the voice told me it was an EVP.”
At that point, Max’s will collapsed. There was no way he could counter Debra’s logic to persuade her.
The vampiress then discussed her plan. Put simply, it was to brute force their way into the temple, confront the Voodoo spirit known as the Book Man, possibly feed on his blood and let Max eat his brains, and figure out how to free Frogman Jim.
When they arrived at the site, Max realized it was misrepresented as much as the Alliance for Intelligent Independent Businesses of Savannah’s temple. Instead of some creepy looking decaying mansion or torch-surrounded dwelling, the address was that of the Savannah Magical Tourist Shop & Library. Cartoonish stickers of smiling people danced on the windows next to promotions for crystals and tarot cards. Fred said he had a bad feeling about this while Max tensed up, remembering the previous case. However, Debra’s crimson eyes had a fire in them. With a “let’s do this,” Debra stormed into the store while Max strolled through the door. For his part, Fred entered by passing through a window.
A nerdish twenty-something man stood at the counter, looking at his phone. Upon Debra’s approach, he put the device down, smiled, and said in a Gullah-accented voice, “Hello, how can I help you today?”
“Listen here,” Debra said, pointing her finger at him, “your Voodoo reign of terror is over. Let Frogman Jim go and stop turning people into zombies like my friend here.” Her hand reached behind her, pointing to the wrong friend.
The man’s eyes went wide, and he took a step back. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but this is a Hoodoo shop and resources center for those interested in spiritualist culture. Voodoo is a New Orleans and Haitian thing; we offer goods and knowledge about local culture here.”
Back and forth, Debra presented her demands while the clerk tried talking her down. After two minutes of taking fire, the clerk threw up his hands and said, “You know what, I was going to warn you, but fine, have it your way. The library with every book you could ever want is to the left. Just go!”
A vampire with her blood up was indeed a sight, so much so her barking demand for him to follow was enough for Max to override the overt warning in the clerk’s words.
In the next room, bookshelves were broken down into topics of regions, Hoodoo beliefs, practices, and even Christian spiritualist tomes. However, the books themselves were from various places, leaving one to wonder if this was a research library or bookshop. Most books were marked with multiple libraries’ stickers, while some had prices marked on them, and a few had the remains of rubbed off labels.
The gang milled about. Max passed a cart with classical fiction novels while Debra opened books, called out to Frogman Jim, and then threw them aside. For his part, Fred floated through the shelves. “I don’t think any spirits are here.”
An old, hoarse, New Orleans-accented woman’s voice replied, “Oh, but there is. It is you, ghost man.”
Turning around, Max saw a black-clad Creole woman wearing a pitch-dark mourning dress and a broad, black derby hat. No more than a foot or so higher than the book cart she was standing next to, her slight frame and aura made for a disturbing sight. She cackled, revealing decayed teeth.
Debra rolled her eyes. “Another lackey, great. Look here; either tell us where the Book Man is or release Frogman Jim!”
More cackling came from the small woman. “I am the Book Man.” Her small, beady eyes stare straight at Debra. “Don’t you remember me, you dumb beast?”
“You’re the EVP!” Debra gasped.
“Yes. You fell for such an obvious trap, you fool. But do you remember me from even before? Perhaps you remember the fear I put in you?”
Max watched as Debra’s eyes bounced about. He wondered how much was her searching a hundred-plus years of memories and how much was her not remembering. The scene went on.
“Ugh!” the Book Man woman said while stomping her foot. “It is me, Mary Francis! You ruined my life from childhood! I was exiled from my nunnery because I was the only one dedicated to slaying you monsters! It took me years to find a new home and even more decades to learn the dark arts to slay beasts like you! But you, Debra, have been the one who got away- until now!”
“Wow.” Debra’s mouth was the only moving part on her still body. “Talk about not taking responsibility for one’s decisions.”
A large vein began pounding on top of Mary Francis’ wrinkly face. “Do you know what book I was reading when you came into my childhood home and ended my innocent existence with my family?”
“The Bible?”
“No,” Mary Francis replied with a predatory smile, “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.”
Her bony fingers reached into the book cart and pulled out a mass market paperback of the American classic. She then opened the book, causing a beam of light to shoot out and shine upon Debra. In a flash, the vampire was gone.
The old woman laughed again. “May the kalidahs feast on her bones.” Next, she shifted her gaze to Max and Fred. “And what story should I seal you two into? Les Miserables? Tale of Two Cities? Crime and Punishment?!”
Max gulped. “If it is Tale of Two Cities, can I be sent to the London chapters?”
Fred, though, stared at Mary Francis.
“What’s the matter, ghost?” she asked. “Your tongue decay?” Cruel laughter followed her words.
“You poor thing,” Fred said, “you had your family taken from you, then you leave your order and God to practice the dark arts? I’d do anything to have another chance to get right with God after what He said to me, but you had everything, and you walked away.”
Silence.
Mary Francis blinked at Fred, whose floatation bob seemed to cease. Max shifted his focus back and forth between the two, waiting for one to make the first move.
“You,” the former nun said, “you met God?”
“Yes.”
“What did God say to you?”
“He told me how to complete my purgatory sentence. Beyond that, He has forbidden me to say.”
More silence.
Then Mary Francis gave off a grown, and her face warped as a large frown formed. “I have done horrible things. I- I need to return- before it is too late. Goodbye, ghost, and- I will pray for you.” With that, she walked out of the library.
Before Max or Fred could say anything, a golden light came through the roof and set down upon the ghost. His spectral image became a bright silver. He looked up towards the ceiling and laughed.
“My good deed. It’s done. I helped someone.” He lowered his gaze, allowing it to settle on Max. “Goodbye, Max, thank you for helping me. I will pray for you!”
A sudden flash occurred. Fred was gone, leaving Max alone in the library.
Max’s whole body shook. In the course of a few weeks, he had gone from suburban lawyer to zombie slave to detective and even a bed and breakfast worker. His whole world had turned upside down, and he wanted to escape it. He thought the attempted child eater Frogman Jim could take care of himself, and Debra- well- she could have her redemptive character arc far away from him.
In his last hour in Savannah, he returned to the bed and breakfast, grabbed the money from the till, and took one of the cars from a guest who had never checked out; he shuddered at that thought. Finally, he drove through the night and day to Ohio. His nightmare was over.
But it wasn’t. Work had questions. Why was he absent for weeks without leave? Why didn’t he call or write? Why did the Haitian embassy send a letter accusing him of murder and arson? Why did the Savannah Police Department want to talk to him about over 40 missing people at a restaurant and bed and breakfast? And, worst of all, why did his drug test reveal various toxins? Work put him on administrative leave and told him to go home. Maybe it was the zombification drugs still within his system, but he did so without a fight.
On his bed one night, he lay sleeping. There, he dreamt his dreams when he imagined an eternal, shadowy man floating into his room. The entity called out to him in a Haitian accent, bidding him to return, bidding him to submit.
With a jolt, Max woke up. However, his quick rise was pushed down. That was when he noticed two crimson eyes, red lips, and a fanged smile hovering above him.
“Max! You wouldn’t believe it! So, I managed to kill two witches before these midget munchkins cornered me and brought me to a wizard for trial! And guess what? The wizard said I can have any lawyer I want! So I picked you, Max! Okay, we’re about to go to this land called Oz, so I need to make this quick: Yes, I am claiming self-defense.” She winked at him. “I need you to get me off, Max! After that, we can return to Savannah and restart our detective agency!”
His house began to rattle, spin, and fly up into the air. All Max could do was scream.
Ways to Support
I hope you enjoy The Savannah Paranormal Detective Agency. As I progress with publishing Dormition and The Savannah Paranormal Detective Agency sequel chapter by chapter, I am asking for your support, but not in the priority you may expect.
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My Full Novels
Get the complete Brendan Murphy saga in the Fallen universe (which continues after his character arch with Dormition). Veteran Brendan Murphy is assigned as a liaison to the mysterious alien race Sabia. Can he stop war, balance covert agendas, and save his own sanity? Now, both are also available on Kindle Unlimited!
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Other Independent Book Promotions
Call of the Wind by Heidi Skarie - Book for Sale for 99 cents on Kindle, Available on Kindle Unlimited
Will a young pilot shot down in occupied territory be executed or overcome impossible odds and survive?
Living under the shadow of an interplanetary war, Baymond Kimes’ life is shattered when his father is shot at a spiritual gathering. He turns to his childhood friend, Princess Fawniteen, for comfort. Their innocent love blossoms, but when Fawn’s parents reveal she was betrothed at birth to another, the young couple is devastated. Fawn dutifully accepts her fate, and Baymond escapes at sixteen by joining the Interplanetary air fleet.
Trained as a fighter pilot against the forces of a powerful sorcerer-deity, Baymond grows up fast. Eventually, his aircraft is shot down and he’s captured.
Can Baymond escape to see Fawniteen again and use his special gifts to save the galaxy?
If you like brave heroes, true love, exciting adventures and space battles you’ll love Call of the Wind, about the next generation in Skarie’s exciting sci-fi series
Salvage Title by Kevin Steverson - Book for Sale for $4.99 on Kindle, Available on Kindle Unlimited
They couldn’t afford a ship, much less the cost of registering one. But there is always a loophole…
Harmon Tomeral wanted nothing more than to go to space. Sent to an orphanage when his parents were killed in a sandstorm, the odds were stacked against him. Despite that, he made it to the academy and graduated in the top ten percent of his class…only to find out the fleet did what it wanted, regardless of regulations, and he came from the wrong planet.
He didn’t give up his dream, though, because where there’s a will, there’s a loophole, and Harmon and his friends found their loophole in the Top Fleet Marine competition—the winner would get 100,000 credits, which would just be enough to start their own salvage company. If they could build a mech and win the competition, they would be set.
But the fleet had already shown they didn’t want him in space, so it would be an uphill fight. Good thing his friends and crew were very much against fleet regulations.
Genesis by J.A. Webb - Free Book Sample
It is the year 2158, and Hegemony has fallen. But the Order, the one-world religion, remains . . . securely ensconced as the unseen power behind all human government. Should any desire for truth be rekindled in the hearts of men, the Order stands ready to stamp it out. . . .
Father Curtis, priest of the Order of the Eternal, seeks solace in his secluded parish, sheltered from the oppressive regime.
But then, unjustly branded a heretic, he must flee for his life- all while confronting the stark realization the world he once trusted is a labyrinth of deception, orchestrated by the Order’s tyrannical forces, and that his understanding of the world is built upon a foundation of lies.
Now, his fate and the fate of humanity hang in the balance as he and his former parishioners battle to find the truth about themselves, the Order, and Creation . . . in a world where seeking Truth is a capital offense.
Until Next Time
Next time, Dormition Chapter 1!
As always, please leave a comment with any questions, reviews, thoughts, whatever about Fallen, Risen, Dormition, An Odd Pilgrimage or whatever else I have discussed. I promise to reply!
The premise of Savannah reminds me of an indie comic I read called "The Cast of the Littlest Umbrella," where a father and daughter of eldritch origin solve creepy mysteries trying to stop them from causing chaos throughout the world.