Curse of the Moonlight Melody

1. Wilma the Widower

Thursday, June 1, 2006

7:34 PM

Monroe’ House

Asheville, Arkansas

Dear Diary,

He did it again. Stupid Shannon did it again. Gosh, why does he have to be so annoying? He came in, wearing a silly alien mask and a filthy kitchen knife in his hand like Michael What’s-His-Face asking me if I want to help him hunt down that Camp Crystal Lake killer and lay his soul to rest. Seriously? Why do I always have to deal with this stuff? Dad says that it’s healthy, that all teenage boys go through a phase where all they want to do with their lives is just pester their older sisters until we’re ready to volunteer ourselves into an insane asylum. Dear Lord, why couldn’t I be an only child? Why did I have to be born a twin? Anyways, Dad’s not giving me a choice with this one. He says I overthink since I’m always in my room reading a Nancy Drew novel or watching Gilmore Girls (which is an excellent show by the way—not that Dad would understand) and it’s not true!!! Now I’m forced to go outside with my annoying brother and search for a fictional serial killer with his stupid friends. Where’s Mom when I need her? Why do I have to spend the summer here, anyway? Kill me now… uh oh. Shannon is getting impatient again. Goodness, I can’t wait to go off to college. Bye for now, beloved diary.

With a sigh, Sherrie Monroe carefully tucked the diary under her mattress and stood up with an annoyed sigh. She was fed up with him: the witch-hunts held at an ungodly hour through the neighborhood, the séances with the fake candles and prerecorded ‘ghost’ moans, and lately, the attempted excavation of a tomb of a supposed Confederate soldier buried under an abandoned library on the other side of town. Her bare feet dragged themselves towards the closet, hands twitching with simmering anger, and her eyes narrowed into hazel slits.

She flung her closet open and reached for the first articles of clothing she could find: a bright yellow Hollister hoodie and a pair of dark flair jeans with holes at the knees. Gritting her teeth together, she gingerly slid her arms through the sleeves and jerked the zipper upwards, gasping at the sharp pain at her temple as one of her chestnut brown curls caught into the material. She shook her head sharply and tugged the ringlet out of its prison before moving down towards her vanity mirror.

Stupid Shannon, she grumbled inwardly, and she applied a coat of clear lip gloss in quick, angry strokes. And crazy Dad for always entertaining his insane make-believe adventures. She reluctantly slid her feet into her old converse sneakers and headed out, slamming the door with an emphasis in a shallow attempt of rebellion. It didn’t work. She stomped down the steps and nearly collided with a slim body as she made her way to the front door.

A startled gasp escaped her lips and Sherrie backed away, eyes widening in momentary surprise.

“Ready Sher?” Shannon asked, excitement glistening within the swirls of hazel in his wide-set eyes. “Come on. It’s almost nighttime.”

Sherrie glowered at him. “What are we going to do outside at night this time?”

Shannon winked in response and handed her a shovel, goggles, and a bottle of water. “You’ll see soon enough.”

With a groan of frustration, she snatched the items out of his extended hand and elbowed past him towards the front door.

Shannon was unaffected. He bounded after her in his smooth, Underworld Spy walk, sliding his willowy arms through the straps of an overstuffed backpack and squawked away on his black Samsung flip phone as he went. Sherrie regarded his attire with unblinking eyes: baggy white cargo shorts, oversized My Chemical Romance shirt, mismatched socks, and outdated high-tops with the soles clopping in the back like flip-flops. His fashion sense is as crazy as he is! She rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“Well?” Sherrie demanded and yanked the door open. “What are you waiting for? Let’s get this stupid ‘adventure’ over with.”

“Yeah,” Shannon replied and pushed her through the door. “Grab Gavin and Kyle and meet us in the cemetery. I’ll explain it then.”

Sherrie stopped in her tracks, the color draining from her face. A cemetery? They were going to desecrate the resting place of somebody’s ancestor?

She spun around the balls of her heels and fisted her hands on her hips, bubbling ire flashing within the watery depths of her wide-set eyes.

Shannon swallowed audibly and attempted to sidestep around her, quickly sliding his nimble body through the small space between her sister’s elbow and the porch.

But Sherrie was faster. With a grunt, she reached out and ceased her brother’s wrist in a tight, vise-like grip.

A long, shrill whine of terror erupted in Shannon’s throat. “Um…Joel? Yeah…I’ll call you back, bro. I, uh, have something going on. Bye.”

The line went dead. Sherrie tapped her foot in impatience, her eye twitching in an unspoken threat.

“I-I can explain,” Shannon whispered and hung his head in sudden despair. “It’s not what you think—it’s not supernatural this time.”

Now it was Sherrie’s turn to swallow audibly. Her heart gave a lurch of guilt.

Shannon let out a shaky breath and continued. “You remember Ronnie?”

Sherrie blinked in response. “You know…your Ronnie. From Junior High a few lifetimes ago?”

“V-Veronica?” Sherrie squeaked and shook her head incredulously. “Y-Yeah, I do. I haven’t talked to her in almost a year now...why?”

Shannon blinked away a wave of tears bubbling at rims of his eyes.

“She…she’s in high school now. Like us. And she fell into a bad crowd.”

Sherrie gasped. “A bad crowd? What are you talking about?”

Shannon dabbed at the corners of his eyes with the backs of his hands. “She…you understand how Peer Pressure works, Sher. She fell into a bad crowd…like heavy with the bad stuff, you know, so Joel called me at asked me to help him get her back. She’s…their up to no good, Sherrie.”

Sherrie’s heart skipped a beat. Her brother only dropped the pet name when he was earnest about something. Or someone.

“What in the world are her new crowd of thugs doing in a cemetery?” she whispered and clasped a hand down on her brother’s trembling shoulder.

Don’t ask questions, Sherrie scolded herself. Just go with him. You know how he felt about Veronica.

“Dunno,” Shannon replied and looked up at her, his eyes glistening with new tears. “Help me, Sherrie. I…I told Dad that it was an adventure so he wouldn’t freak out, you know? I need your help to bring her back.”

Swallowing the rising lump in her throat, Sherrie nodded her head.

“Let’s go, Shannon. If we stay here, then it will be too late, right? Come on. Kick it into high gear!”

Shannon smiled and gripped the shovel behind him. “Thanks, Sher. I really appreciate it. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

They ran down the steps and disappeared into the draining rays of the setting sun towards their town’s biggest cemetery.

“I can’t believe this!” Sherrie squealed with a protestant stomp of her foot.

She stood at the edge of the graveyard, arms wrapped around herself as she attempted to rub away the layer of rising goosebumps speckling her brown skin with quivering hands. But no such luck. Instead, she watched them mill around like ants, clumsily bumping each other as they pitched their tents and collected twigs for a fire. She twisted her hands and glanced around the graveyard through narrowed eyes and felt a shiver run down her spine. Of all the places to have a sleepover, she moaned and took a tentative step back.

They had been there for what seemed like hours, waiting for the rest of the team to arrive, setting up their ‘equipment’ with great difficulty, and running to the nearest market for food in case the dead decided that they were hungry and preferred something other than their flesh. She shook her head in dismay. These idiots are gonna get us killed! Why in the world did they pick a cemetery for their next stupid escapade? Her nose twitched against the lingering smells of moss and decaying leaves wavering through the silence of the property.

Ignoring the queasiness of her stomach, Sherrie took a step forward and looked around her surroundings again: the overgrown trees surrounded the deadened estate, leaning into each other at askew angels with their roots clawing through the crumpled earth and dead, yellow grass-like rotted fingers, tipping over the endless rows of tombstones around her. With a shaking hand, she brushed off a cluster of collected moss and lichen growing on a monument next to her and read out loud:

ETHEL LILIAN BENNETT

MARCH 14, 1862- NOVEMBER 19, 1912

BELOVED DAUGHTER, SISTER, MOTHER & WIFE

Sherrie shivered and let her hand drop to her side, tears sparkling in her eyes. Poor woman, she thought and moved on to the next gravestone:

CORDELIA MATILDA GRIFFITHS

(FEBRUARY 5, 1878- DECEMBER 23, 1892)

&

OPHELIA JOSEPHINE THOMPSON

(JANUARY 14, 1877- DECEMBER 23, 1892)

ADORED FRIENDS CLAIMED BY DEATH TOO SOON.

Sherrie sniffled and moved along the row of tumbled, broken headstones, squinting against the pale light of the full moon above them to read the faded, weather-worn inscriptions:

WALTER RICHARD ATKINSON

(JUNE 17, 1894- OCTOBER 24, 1917)

A GENTLE SOLDIER, PERFECT IN ALL WAYS. YOU WILL REMAIN IN MY HEART, FRESH AND HAPPY AND BRAVE.

She ducked once more, dropping to her knees, and reached out to rip away a cluster of leafy vines scaling up the sides of a tall, square tombstone like green, leafy fingers:

SIEGFRIED ARTHUR ALLSTON

(AUGUST 24, 1897- AUGUST 15, 1914)

BELOVED BROTHER. INTO THE SUNSHINE YOU WENT.

WE WILL ONE DAY MEET AGAIN.

Having had enough, Sherrie quickly dried her eyes and stomped her way across the slanted slabs towards the presumed leader of this antic—and shoved his shoulder as hard as she could. Joel, a tall and lanky teen with a curtain of shaggy dark hair covering his eyes, stumbled and dropped his video camera into the tall, wild grass where he stood. With a shout, he turned around to look at her, chest heaving with heavy pants.

“What are you doing?” he demanded and quickly righted himself. “You almost broke my camera!”

“Your c-camera?” she sputtered in disbelief. “You idiots are gonna dig up the graves of these poor people, and you only care about your stupid camera, you jerk?”

Though she couldn’t see his eyes, Joel seemed to blink in surprise.

“Do you morons even care about what happened to these people? Or is it only fun and games with you lot?”

“Sherrie—” he started, but her glare shrank him back into silence.

“I mean—look at this place!” she wailed and swept her arms over the vineyard. She ignored the eerie chill of the breeze that swept past and ruffled her fuzzy curls. “They lost their lives protecting us! Why would you freaks do this?”

Joel sighed and bent over to retrieve his camera. “This wasn’t my idea, Sher.” He dusted the dirt off the lens and held it up to the moonlight as if to inspect it for faults. “Shannon wanted to come here and get Wilma on camera. We’re losing business pretty fast.”

Sherrie stared at him blankly. Joel sighed again and rubbed the back of his neck with a gloved hand.

“We have a company…I thought your bro already told you.”

“Shannon…company….” She trailed off, incoherent babbles tumbling off her trembling lips.

Joel shrugged a shoulder and reached into the pockets of his torn, dirt-stained jeans. When his hands came up, he had a crumpled piece of stationery paper. He handed it to her wordlessly and waited. Sherrie snatched the paper and opened it, frowning at the information written down in permanent marker:

MONROE MYSTERIES INC.

(THE SOLUTION TO ALL PARANORMAL ACTIVITY) NOW ACCEPTING WALK-INS AND APPOINTMENTS

PLEASE CALL US AT 479.506.0748 OR EMAIL US AT MONROE.MYSTERIESINC@YAHOO.COM

Sherrie gaped at the paper. Joel smiled sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, …we have a company. Pretty rad, huh?”

“Are you guys insane?” Sherrie demanded and shook an angry fist at the teenager. “What kind of stupidity is this?”

I think Shannon needs a mental evaluation, she groaned and facepalmed herself. She crumpled the paper into a ball and shoved it back into Joel’s waiting hands with a scowl.

“It’s actually pretty sick,” Joel commented and shook his wavy hair out. “Shannon had the idea since he’s the most experienced Paranormal Investigator among us. The business was booming before, but ever since the Boundary Busters started messin’ with us, our clients are skeptical of investing in our services to banish any evil spirits that are haunted them without proof. So…bam! We’re here to get a good look at Wilma the Widower and show those freaks that what we have is totally bomb. We’ll be back in the game in no time.”

Sherrie’s mouth dropped open. “Boundary Busters? What the heck is that?”

Joel sighed heavily. “So your bro didn’t tell you anything? At all?”

Sherrie shook her hear furiously. “Not one word of this.”

“Oakey Dokey.” Joel plucked the camera off the ground again and ushered for her to follow him. “I’ll fill you in.”

With a sigh, Sherrie fell into step beside him as Joel cleared his throat. “So…the Boundary Busters are the nonnies…or non-believers. You know, those who don’t believe that the creatures from the World of Supernaturals even exist. These punks are the ones who always get in the way when we try to investigate and banish the spirits back to the W.O.S. before they can do any crazy stuff, you know?”

“Nonnies,” Sherrie repeated and frowned at herself. “Like me.”

Joel paused slightly before nodding. “Yup. Like you. Those that believe that vampires, werewolves, aliens and other creatures don’t exist. I mean, these people are just buzzkills, Curly Q.”

“Okay…” Sherrie pursed her lips and gestured to him to continue.

“Lately, these guys have been on our turf, comin’ at us with stuff from the web, supposed proof that what we believe in just baloney—nonsense. We use to just ignore them, you know? Just pretend that we don’t know what they’re on about—until they took it too far.”

Sherrie’s heart skipped a beat. “What did they do exactly?”

Joel flexed his jaw in frustration. “They went on Myspace and put out this blog for everyone to see and convinced our followers that we’re a bunch of phonies and that…that we forge our own proof to get ahead. They went on and on with this crap, and the sheep just drank it up, you know? Like they just…went with it. We’re losing followers, Curly. All our hard work, all of our sweat…just proofed up before our eyes. That’s why we have to do this. That’s why…I wanna do this." He gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders. "It beats having to go home and listen to all the noise.”

Sherrie let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “But…where does Wilma come in? Who is she?”

Joel nodded. “Wilma is a Widower that’s been haunting a house over on Shadows Lane. Miles says that she died over fifty years ago under ‘strange circumstances.’ We suspect that she died of grief some years after her husband never came back from World War Two, so it's rumored that she also haunts this cemetery to look for her husband's unmarked grave to bid farewell one last time.”

“That’s horrible!” Sherrie whispered and hugged herself once more. “I can’t imagine what she felt—”

“Stop.” Joel stopped dead in his tracks and held up the camera. He waved it back and forth like a flag of surrender. “They have arrived.”

She craned her neck above the towering tombs to see whom he was referring to.

No. The single word seemed to echo through Sherrie’s mind like a dreaded song burned into her memory. She saw her hair first; long and silky, a curtain of ebony waves fluttering gently in the chilly night’s breeze. Following the luscious hair was a heart-shaped face with perfect deep brown skin, delicately refined features, and a pair of sparkling russet eyes and seemed to stare through her than at her. She sported a single hot pink tank top, low rider jeans sagging on her wide hips, and matching pink studded combat boots that swallowed up the hems of her pants.

The colorful bangles on her arms angled loudly as she raised her hand and waved at them, her pink lips stretching widely over her face to reveal a perfect set of white teeth and dimpled cheeks.

Sherrie snuck a quick glance at her casual yellow hoodie, denim trousers, and converse sneakers and felt a flush of anger color her cheeks. Wouldn’t kill you to dress up more Sherrie! She mentally kicked herself as Veronica came closer. She tucked a tuft of hair back behind her rounded ear, revealing a silver hoop earring twinkling in the silvery light like a polished diamond.

“Olá, meus amigos!” she declared in her native Portuguese. “Como vocês estão esta noite adorável?”

Joel smiled. “Umm…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sherrie internally rolled her eyes. He was smiling like that a few minutes ago.

Veronica laughed, her voice high and bright like a wind chime as it carried through the silent cemetery.

She turned and waved over the rest of the gang, Shannon among them, guffawing to something one of them had said. A fit of familiar anger sizzled at the base of her stomach and made her fingers twitch with the sudden urge to slap her brother. Stupid i***t, she growled and shoved past a gaping Joel, ignoring the muffled sounds of chuckles and whispers behind her.

“Uh oh!” a pudgy kid with a shock of orange hair and golden freckles cried on faux fear. “Scary Sherrie is on us! Someone call the cops!”

Shannon stopped laughing and held his hands up in surrender. “Sherrie—just let me explain!”

“Oh, you’ll explain alright!” she snapped and curled her hands into fists. “First, who do you think you are to disturb the dead?” 

Shannon gulped and backed away from her, eyes widening with rising terror.

“Second, you lied to me to get me to come here and do your stupid bidding! How could you do that, Shannon, when you know I don’t believe in your stupid horror trips?”

“I—” Shannon cried out and ducked as she swung a fist. “Answer me!”

“I needed your help!” he confessed and slid behind a round tombstone of a deceased police officer. “I was short one member of my staff!”

“So how I feel doesn’t matter anymore?” she screeched and swung another fist. “You’re such a jerk!”

“No need to go craz-o, Sherrie,” the redhead replied. “It’s not that big a’ deal, you know? Just chill out.”

Sherrie whipped around, visibly seething as she advanced towards him. “You wanna go, Bacon Breath?”

As if on cue, the gang burst into a sudden jag of laughter, tears streaming down their faces.

“Man, Gavin, she really got you good!” Shannon exclaimed between pants. “Bacon…Breath!”

“Dunno, Gavin,” Joel offered and pretended to rub his chin in thought. “You do look a little chunky around the waist!”

Veronica leaned into her partner, a lean teenager with shaggy blonde hair and squinty gray eyes, for support. “Tão gordo! Parece um tanque de gasolina!”

Gavin’s face darkened to a deep red. “Shuddup, you guys!”

A small giggle escaped Sherrie’s parted lips. Maybe these guys aren’t so bad after all.

“I know what’ll shudhemup!” the last companion, a small, muscular teen with black, thick-framed glasses and buzzed brown hair shouted. The laughter ceased as he rustled through the items in his brown paper bag and held out a single wiener.

He tossed it and watched it land in front of Gavin’s sneakers and burst into laughter. “Eat up, Porky! Don’t worry! We won’t watch!”

The group burst into yet another long guffaw, holding their stomachs and falling to their knees on the collapsing soil.

“Forget you guys, then!” Gavin hissed and stomped away, narrowly missing the naked wiener lying in the dirt where he stood.

“Gavin…!” Shannon shouted through his endless chuckles. “Hey! Hey—come back!” But he didn’t. Joel sighed and threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Leave then, crybaby!”

Veronica frowned at him. “Ele é muito sensível. Não  é. Kyle?”

Kyle nodded and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He planted a kiss on her dewy forehead. “Yeah, he is. But he’ll get over it.”

Shannon cleared his throat and stood up on his feet. He plucked his shovel off the ground and pointed at the decaying old chapel perched at the hill on the north side of the boneyard. 

“Alright, men—and women—we have our assignment! We’ll split up into groups and find Wilma the Widower! The first one to find her gets her on film—clearly this time—so we can go home and put the proof in our inventory. Got it?”

The group nodded in agreement. Veronica sighed and ran a shaky hand through her hair. “Oh, meu Deus. Por favor, ajude-nos.”

Sherrie rolled her eyes. “Just get this stupid hunt over with, Shannon.”

He ignored her. “Teams will go as follows: Joel and Connor, Kyle and Ronnie, and since Josh isn’t here tonight, it’ll be me, Sherrie, and Gavin.”

Connor adjusted his glasses on his narrow nose. “I’m game if you are!”

Shannon nodded eagerly. “Miles says that she’s been spotted here again looking for her husband. Move your butts. GO!”

With that, the teams scattered like cockroaches, Joel grumbling under his breath, as he fell into step with his partner.

Sherrie gave a defeated sigh before she reluctantly followed after Shannon and Gavin.