Spirit Chaser

Chapter 1-2

Family has always been important to me, yet the older I get, the more I realize the absence of family in my life. I was an only child, but my dad was one of seven. You could say I was raised by my aunt and uncles. They were a force in my life as strong as my parents.

When I started a family of my own, I tried to keep those bonds going. It helped that I shared a roof with my parents and that my dad was the patriarch of the family. Folks visited us often.

But something funny happens when your elders get older. First, they start dying. Second, when they die, the children get upset over something trivial and some stop speaking to each other. If an elder dies without a will, something far more common in the black community than it should be, then children really start fighting, especially if there’s a house, money, or family jewelry involved. One day, you wake up, and as you’re brushing your teeth, you realize that you haven’t talked to one of your cousins in years. Third, people start moving away. Aunts and uncles switch states to be closer to grandchildren and great-grandchildren because, frankly, there’s nothing for them in the city anymore. Those relatives left behind don’t talk much because the only thing that held us together was the elders that died.

My parents were pretty smart. They didn’t die without a will. I stayed in their good graces and I inherited their hundred-year-old house. Beyond that, all I had was my wife, Amira, and my son and daughter, Marcus and Marlese. When I lost them, well…I guess you could say I think about my family a lot. Especially my elders. You have no idea how much I miss their advice.

So you wouldn’t blame a man who decided to use his rare powers of necromancy to call up his dead parents for an evening of nostalgia, would you?

No, I’m not crazy. Yes, it was a sick thing to do. If any normal person ran around saying they were going to celebrate their dead parents’ wedding anniversary with a quiet little séance, they’d be in a mental institution before sunset.

After my last adventure, I couldn’t concentrate. I was crankier than normal. Maybe it had to do with the demon blood running through my veins, but I wasn’t so sure. The only thing that gave me comfort was thinking of my parents. Call it fate that their wedding anniversary was fast approaching. I took it as a sign.

Now I was acting on that sign, setting my table for an evening with them: my mother and father, and of course, Bo. I’d be the only one eating.

As I finished setting the table, I got the distinct feeling that I was forgetting something.

I smelled faint burning from the kitchen.

My macaroni.

An egg timer buzzed and danced on the countertop as I rushed into my kitchen, slipped on oven mitts, and pulled out glassware with glistening macaroni and cheese. This was my mother’s favorite dish. We used to call it “Black Mac” because around here, only black people ate macaroni out of an oven.

I set the glassware on the stove and took in the cheesy, salty aroma. The edges of the macaroni were burnt like the brown landscape of a strange planet.

My dog Hazel trotted into the kitchen, licked her lips, and sat at my feet, watching me expectantly.

“Not for you, sweet pea,” I said. “But maybe I’ll give you some leftovers.”

Hazel whined, looking at me with her beady black eyes. Unable to resist, I set aside a little bite for her when it cooled down.

“Here you are, making all the food,” Bo said. “You know none of us can eat, right?”

“It’s about the mood,” I said. “It’s about honoring my parents and making them comfortable. They’ve been away a long time and will need reminders from the past.”

Bo started to speak when lightning surged through my skull. I dropped the knife and it clanged on the stove. I staggered backward as a kaleidoscope of black and white forced itself on my mind’s eye.

I put my hands to my temples as the vision from my front porch spider settled into view. This spider was nestled on a web in the corner of one of my transom windows. He was sitting a little higher than usual today—he must have been hiding from a bird—there was a gang of asshole blue jays that had been hanging around my yard lately. My cluster of spiders was terrified of them. For this reason, I couldn’t get a good look at the woman standing on my doorstep. Her hair was obscured by a hood, and I could only see the top of her hood as she slammed my door knocker. The first slam made me jump.

Instantly, Hazel barked and dashed for the front door.

RAWRK! RAWRK!

Definitely a stranger. I steadied myself and Bo gave me a curious look.

“Who is it?” he asked.

I shrugged.

Bo puffed out his chest and followed Hazel to the door. I followed, leaving my oven mitts on.

Bo glanced through the peephole.

“It’s a chick,” he whispered. “You expecting anybody?”

I shook my head.

A hard frown crept across his face.

“Who is it?” he asked, deepening his voice.

A pause.

“Who are you?” the woman asked loudly.

That voice. It hit my heart and pushed me forward. I didn’t know I was walking now. The next thing I knew, I had thrown my oven mitts on the floor, pushed Bo aside, and was turning the lock.

Bo grabbed me. “Let me vet her.”

I pushed him away again and swung the door open.

A black woman stood on my doorstep. She had curly black hair that peeked out in a tuft under her bright red hoodie. She shouldered a duffel bag, and a ring of keys dangled from her hand. She shifted the duffel bag uncomfortably.

I stammered, but nothing intelligible came out as she looked me in the eye, surprised.

“Daddy, I’m home.”

I stared at my daughter, Marlese, unable to believe it. At first, I thought it was a trick—a supernatural coming disguised as my daughter to make me lower my guard. But this was, without a doubt, my Marlese. The daughter who disowned me after my necromancy got my wife and son killed. I hadn’t seen her in seven years.

“I need a place to stay,” she said.

I opened the screen and brought her into a long, strong hug. She didn’t reciprocate until a few seconds in.

I kissed her cheek. I didn’t know what to say to a child who hated me, so I didn’t say anything, closed my eyes, and let the tears fall.

Something rattled. At first, I thought the sound came from Marlese’s duffel bag. But it wasn’t her bag.

Ssst. Ssst. Ssst.

I looked over Marlese’s shoulder. There were no cars on the street.

Ssst. Ssst. Sssssssssst!

I let Marlese go and took her by the shoulders.

“We’ll talk,” I said.

She nodded.

Ssst. Ssst. Sssssst!

Then, an angry wail drifted up from the porch floor and into my ears. Given all that I had been through on my last few adventures, the beginning of it reminded me of a shriek I’d heard a monster make once, putting me on high alert.

Then, a cough followed by a tremendous, shrill cry.

Waaaaaaah….Waaaaaaah…

A foot wrapped in a blue sock kicked and brought my gaze down to the porch floor. An infant in overalls wriggled in a carrier, shaking a mobile on an arch over his head. The mobile rattled. His face was red and he cried at the top of his lungs. A single tooth poked through his bottom gum.

In slow motion, I looked at the baby and then at Marlese.

The door swung open and Bo looked down at the baby.

He knelt down and wiggled his fingers at him. Then he smiled up at me.

“Congratulations, Grandpa,” he said.