The air tasted of autumn. It was a September afternoon, and the land was illuminated with gold. Despite the first hint of chill, I was breaking a sweat. I was digging a hole next to a stream bed in the middle of nowhere, hitting rocks, examining them, and tossing them aside. I took a break and leaned against my shovel, and took a swig of water. As I rested, my cell phone rang. I checked it. It was Thomas, the local government liaison to the magical community, so I picked up immediately.

 

“Hi Thomas, what’s up?” I asked, glad for an excuse to keep taking a break.

 

“Kat, I’ve got an urgent case, and I need your help. You’ve got a knack for finding lost objects, yeah?” asked Thomas. He sounded worried. I was worried too, he was normally pretty unflappable.

 

“Yeah, it’s one of the major services I offer. Why, what’s gone missing?”

 

“Not what, who,” he responded darkly.

 

“Missing person?” I asked, my heart sinking.

 

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “Emily Bell, 22. Went missing not quite a  month ago. No leads so far. Her last cell ping was in town, so we think she’s got to be somewhere nearby. I’ve already tried dowsing for her and a couple of other methods and haven’t found squat. Can you lend a hand?”

 

“Yeah, I can. Finding people can be a little difficult, since they move around and getting a fix can be hard, but I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“It’s optimistic of you to think she’s still moving,” said Thomas, gravely. My heart sank even further. He was right, though.

 

 “Like I said, I’ll see what I can do,” I said. “I’m out in the field right now, but I’ll start looking as soon as I get back to my office.”

 

“I was wondering why your office phone didn’t pick up,” said Thomas. “Where you at? Can I give you a ride or something?” he asked. Always thoughtful, Thomas. Good guy.

 

“No, I’m literally in a field, digging up rocks,” I said, somewhat exasperated. 

 

“Why the interest in geology?” Thomas asked lightly. “You finally getting into crystals?.”

 

I simultaneously cringed and laughed. Thomas knew how much I hated lithomancy, the refuge of grifters and incompetents. 

 

“No, for your information,” I responded tersely, “I’m trying to lift a curse. Client’s granddad wrongfully evicted a tenant from his farm, and his family has had nothing but bad luck since. I did some digging–I mean metaphorically–and found out the tenant put a curse on him by charring some rocks and scattering them over the property.” I grunted as I picked up the shovel again. “I’ve had to find them all, but I’m down to the last one.”

 

“Gotcha, I see,” said Thomas. “Well, I’ll let you finish that up, but this case takes priority, got it? I’ll make sure you get paid your expedited rate.”

 

“Yeah, no problem, I’ll get on it ASAP,” I said. 

 

“Thanks, I’ll be in touch,” said Thomas, and hung up. I put my phone back and started digging a foot over to the left of my previous hole. My scrying had shown me this spot by the stream, but it was still a bit like trying to find a needle in a haystack. 

 

After a few shovelfuls of dirt, I struck another rock, buried loosley in the soil. I pulled it up and brushed the dirt off it, before doing a quick rinse in the stream. As the mud  washed away, I could see one side was blackened, and it matched the other stones in my backpack. Smiling in triumph, I chucked it in with the others and trod across the field back to my scooter. 

 

It had taken me the better part of a week to scry, locate, and dig up the stones. Add to that the month it took to track down a descendant of the evicted tenant and weedle out of him what exact curse had been performed, and this had been quite the time sink. But the client was willing to pay for it, and I was glad to do it. While I’m sure the guy’s granddad was a dick, there was no reason he, or his descendents in perpetuity, should suffer for the actions of one man. Generational curses were inherently unethical that way, but depressingly all too common. I was happy to break one more.

 

***

 

I stopped by my friend Meg’s blacksmith shop on the way back to my office. She had a forge powerful enough to reduce the rocks to powder and dust and fully break the curse. With that matter in her capable hands, I headed to work. It was going to be a long day, and maybe a longer night.

 

Once I had taken care of my scheduled clients, I went to work on Thomas’s case. He had emailed me the details of Emily’s disappearance, plus a brief description of her and her photo. The photo was the most important part. It was a professional headshot, no doubt for school or work. She had long black hair and delicate features, and judging by what I could see, she was on the petite side. She was smiling, a big, wide, genuine smile. I looked at her, and felt a twinge of sadness. I really hoped she was alright, even though I knew better.

 

I got out my scrying cauldron. Some practitioners use crystal balls, or obsidian mirrors, but I preferred old school–it was simpler that way. Into the cauldron I poured water from a mason jar that had been steeped with special herbs and flowers, and left in the light of the full moon. I had to be sparing with it, as it was time consuming to produce. Next I lit some candles–more for effect than anything else–and spoke some words of power. 

As the water settled, I looked intensely at the photo of Emily, trying to fix it in my mind. I then gazed deep into the cauldron, unfocusing my eyes. At first only my pale reflections stared back at me. But then, slowly, a vision came into view. A low mound of earth, surrounded by bracken. Oh no, I thought. This didn’t bode well.

 

Widening my gaze, I was able to zoom out from the vision, and more of the surrounding area came into view. There was a woods behind the mound, and not far in front of it, a back country gravel road. I forced my eyes open even more and leaned my head ever so slightly farther away, and suddenly my viewpoint was moving upward, and I was able to get a bird’s eye view of the area. Now came the hard part.

 

 Without looking directly at it, I put a state map just within my line of vision. I had to keep one on the cauldron to maintain the vision; with the other, I scanned the map, looking for anything that looked familiar. As I zoomed out, I saw that the gravel road connected to a paved two lane road, and bordering them both was a field. In the field was a winding stream that led to a large lake. I could actually see the lake sparkle in the late afternoon sunlight. The lake was also studded with islands. Now this, a fairly unique geographic spot, I could use. I focused more of my gaze on the map, looking for that lake. It was like trying to make sense of photos from spy satellites–I only had landmarks and my own judgment to go off of.

 

It was difficult, tedious work, and exhausting. I inevitably developed a major case of eyestrain and headache after each scrying session. Thankfully after about ten minutes of searching, I was able to locate what I thought was my lake. I circled it with a pencil, allowed the image to dissolve, and take a breather.

 

I took a photo of the map and sent it to Thomas, along with rough coordinates. He texted me back with plans for a search party the next day. I had to postpone some appointments, but this was worth it.

 

***

 

By the time we got organized and got going, it was getting later in the day. I prayed we would get on site before dusk–it’d be impossible to find once it got dark. Our party consisted of Thomas and myself, a coroner, and a couple of detectives. I rode with Thomas in his beat up work truck, marked with a faded county seal, while the cops took point in a police SUV. 

 

Thankfully, we were able to get to the site before too long. Or at least, I hoped what was the site. Scrying was a delicate art, and easy to screw up. We pulled off the blacktop onto a gravel road that immediately looked familiar. At least I got the location right. I signaled to Thomas to stop where I figured the mound was. We pulled over and got out, and the cops followed suits, some armed with shovels. We tramped through the brush. After a few minutes of poking around through the brambles, I found a spot that looked right. Wading through the pricker bushes, I almost tripped over it. A low mound of earth, alright, about six feet long, fairly recently dug from the looks of it. There was some leaf litter on it, but it was still pretty clearly defined. I moved aside as the detectives and forensics people got to work. 

 

They carefully pulled aside the dirt, which was still loose and gave fairly easily.  As they dug, I simultaneously hoped that I was right, and we had found Emily, and that I was dead wrong, and she was safe somewhere far away. Soon enough, we’d know one way or another. 

 

After an agonizing few minutes, one of the detectives cried out that he’d hit something. Simultaneously, my nose was assaulted by a dreadful smell, a mix of rotting meat, decay, over ripened cheese, and weirdly, a hint of vanilla. I covered my nose and mouth, for all the good it did. The detectives donned masks and got down into the hole and started gingerly brushing away the clay. I saw  strands of black hair emerge. This is it, I thought grimly, we’ve found her. 

 

Within a few minutes, Emily had been almost entirely uncovered. She appeared undressed–either her clothes had rotted, or her killer had removed them to impede identification. She was partially on her side, and it looked like she had been rather haphazardly tossed into  her grave. Her skin had taken on a ghastly grey-green tone, but her face, though battered and misshapen and lacking eyes, was still the same smiling face that had looked out from the photo I had. 

 

As the coroner examined her, she pointed what appeared to be several stab wounds and a slit throat, but that’s not what caught my attention. A rock had been shoved between her teeth, distending her jaw. And a stake had been driven through her heart. 

 

“Deviant burial,” I said, gesturing at the stone and stake. 

 

“Think she might have been a vampire?” asked Thomas. 

 

“No, not immediately anyway. You don’t do this to someone who’s come back. You do this to someone you’re afraid might come back.” 

 

On a hunch, I sifted through the removed topsoil. Sure enough, I found some rotting, flattened, discolored flowers, but I could identify them instantly.

 

I showed them to Thomas. “Cowslips,” I said. “Used in glamour spells. That’s why you couldn’t find her. She was hidden. Someone didn’t want us to find her.” Gesturing to the body, I continued “and someone didn’t want her getting out of her grave, or speaking to anyone. Whoever did this is versed in necromancy, or at least knows a thing or two.”

 

“You think he didn’t want her coming back as a revenant?” asked Thomas. 

 

“Yeah, or even a spirit. And didn’t want her testifying, either,” I said, pointing at the rock in her mouth.

 

“Ghosts can testify?” asked Thomas.

 

“Oh yeah,” I said. “Rarely, but there’s precedence, going all the way back to the Red Barn Murder. Whoever did this was being extremely careful.”

 

“Well,” said Thomas, “guess we’re lucky we have you.”

 

“Yeah,” I replied, somewhat mournfully, “I don’t know if I’d call this luck.”

 

The detectives took what I had told Thomas in a more official capacity. After that, there wasn’t much else for us to contribute, so Thomas and I packed it in and headed off in his truck. As we drove away, I looked out the back window. Rest in Peace, Emily, I thought. I hoped this was the end of it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. Emily was the first body we’d found like that, but she wasn’t the last, by far.

 

***

 

A few weeks passed, and before I knew it, Michaelmas was upon us. The Cleveland Killer, as he was now being called, had claimed at least two more victims, and police suspected that there were more yet unknown. (Nevermind that we weren’t actually that close to Cleveland, but I suppose East Ohio Killer doesn’t have the same ring to it). 

 

I was at my office, making plans to bring in the last of the blackberries, when a new client came in. He’d made a phone appointment on short notice, and sounded anxious. He was younger than I thought-maybe my age or a little bit older, perhaps early 30s. He was handsome, in a conventional sort of way–dirty blonde hair, nice jawline, piercing blue eyes, big smile, the work. However, he looked haggard. His hair was unkempt, he had dark circles around his eyes, and he was unsteady on his feet. 

 

“Mr. Reynolds, I presume?” I asked, and extended my hand.

 

“Yes,” he said, shaking it. “Thank you for seeing Ms. Fitzgerald. I normally don’t use this sort of stuff, but…”

 

“But you’ve got a problem you can’t solve by normal means,” I said, finishing his sentence. “Please take a seat”, I said, gesturing to the overstuffed chair in front of my work desk. “What can I do for you?”

 

Mr. Reynolds (his first name was Trey, I reminded myself) took a seat gingerly, as if my chair might attack him if provoked. “I’ve been told you’re an expert curse-breaker, the best in town.”

 

“Well, I’d like to think so,” I said with a bashful smile. Gotta stay humble, or at least keep up the appearance of such. “Really, my results speak for themself.”

 

“Of course,” said Trey. “Well, I think I may be under a curse. A family one. My father…he was not a nice man. I don’t think he was a monster, but he was cruel. Towards the end of his life, he started…seeing things. Things only he could see, that followed him, chased him, tormented him. I thought it was just dementia or something. Honestly I was relieved when died, whatever it was would finally leave him alone. That was back at the beginning of the month, and now…something’s haunting me. I’m…I’m scared. I think it might be the same thing.”

 

I leaned back a little, and put one hand thoughtfully on my chin. “Hmmm…so maybe not a classic curse, but a family spirit? Does it move things around, slam doors, that sort of thing?”

 

“No,” he replied. “I just see them floating around. Sometimes I think I feel their touch, too. Usually at night. I’ll wake up suddenly and see one of them floating over me, just staring at me.”

 

“Them? Are there multiple spirits? What do they look like?” I asked, intrigued.

 

“Pretty wispy, translucent, glowing a bit. There’s at least a couple of them, I think. Definitely human-shaped, not particularly monstrous, I guess.” He looked down at his hands, as if just remembering them was exhausting. “I haven’t been sleeping much as a result. It’s starting to get to me. So, can you lift it?”

 

“Possibly, though it would help to know exactly who or what is haunting you, and why. If we’re lucky, we may simply be able to ask them to leave. Do you have any idea why your father might have been haunted? Anything he did that might, you know, incur the wrath of the dead?”

 

Trey looked at me with somber eyes. “No, honestly. Like I said, he wasn’t a nice guy at all. But I can’t imagine him pissing anyone off that much. Though…” he trailed off.

 

“Yes?” I asked, trying to engage with him.

 

“I hadn’t really spoken to him in years, so I don’t really know what he was up to. Maybe he was awful enough to anger someone beyond the grave. But why me? What the hell did I do?” Trey asked despairingly. 

 

“I don’t know,” I responded. “Nothing, probably. Sometimes a spirit gets so wrapped up in vengeance it can’t stop. Or it decides to haunt a family through a certain number of generations. Or it’s just being a dick. But the best way we can figure it out is if we talk to it. Nine times out of ten I can lay a spirit to rest just by figuring out what it wants. A lot of times, it’s something simple, like an apology or a righted wrong, that sort of thing.”

 

Trey looked skeptical. No doubt these spirits had tried his patience enough already. “Well, they haven’t said shit yet. But if they start talking, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, can you please give me something to keep them at bay long enough for me to get some sleep?”

 

I smiled. “Sure, one sec.” I opened a drawer in my desk and riffled through some folders–all of my written charms. “Letseehere….Ah, here we go.” I pulled on a small square of yellowed paper. On it was inscribed a small, but intricate maze.

 

“Spirit trap,” I said, handing it to him. “Ghosts enter the maze, takes them forever to figure it out. If you’re lucky, they stay in there. Put it up somewhere in your house, maybe your bedroom. Give me a call if you need more help.”

Trey nodded dully, and then paid for his session. “Good luck and Godspeed,” I said as he left. Poor guy. Generational curses and haunts really were the worst. Hopefully the apotropaic charm would work for him, at least until we could figure out who was haunting him and why.

 

*** 

 

Trey was back the following week, looking even more worn out. “Damn, persistent little buggers,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting them to figure it out so fast.” 

 

“Neither did I, though it did it buy me a few nights of sleep,” Trey said, with something approaching relief. “They came back night before last.” Thankfully, he didn’t seem to bore me any ill will. “What do you have that’s stronger?”

 

“I’ll have to look through my inventory, but I have a few things that might keep them away, or at least buy you some more time and sanity while we figure out what they want.” I started opening up my desk drawers and cabinets, perusing through my stock. “Any progress on that, by the way?”

 

“No,” said Trey, ruefully. “They’ve gotten more…defined? I get the sense that they’re younger, and maybe female? Hard to say, though, they’re still pretty indistinct. I hear them whisper, though, more and more often. And they’ve started appearing to me in daylight.”

 

“Must be something really driving them,” I said sagely. “Though we’re also getting deeper into Spooky Season. Allhallowtide’s less than a month away, and they’ll probably get more powerful as the nights get longer.”

 

Trey frowned. “Don’t worry, I’ve got something for this,” I said reassuringly. I pulled out from a cupboard a hand-blown blue glass ball. Inside was a tracery of black hair, some grains of salt, and a splash of holy water.

 

“Witch ball,” I said. “Another form of spirit trap. Ghosts and evil spirits enter it and can’t get out again. Hang it in your window or over your door. I’ll even give you a discount.”

 

Trey gratefully bought the ball, and went on his way. I hoped that would be the last I saw of him, but somehow I doubted it.

 

On the plus side, the Cleveland Killer seemed to have taken a break from his murderous rampage. No new victims had been discovered in the last month, just older bodies from earlier in the year (some with my help). They too had received the same treatment the first body had-staked and gagged even in death. There were half a dozen confirmed victims at this point, and a few more probable. I hoped we were closing in on him, but from what Thomas had told me he was a slippery bastard, and meticulous.

 

***

 

October was one of my busy times, in the lead up to Halloween and the dark half of the year. I was working overtime filling orders for protective charms and divinatory spells, as well as consulting on hauntings and fairy incursions. So I almost didn’t notice when Trey came in, or more accurately, staggered in. He sagged into the chair opposite my desk. “So, witch ball no longer working?” I said, trying to hide my concern. 

 

“It blew up,” Trey said sullenly. “Literally exploded.” 

 

“Saints preserve us,” I said, surprised. “I’ll refund you, I’ve never heard of that happening before. My witch balls are cast to the highest specifications, if they burst one, they must be enormously powerful.”

 

“No shit,” said Trey. “They’re back. And they’re not whispering anymore, they’re screaming. Just straight up howling with rage. Your office is one of the few places they can’t seem to follow me. I’m at the end of my rope.”

 

“Any idea what they want? I can still try laying them to rest,” I said. I was nervously fiddling with some stoppered bottles I had been working on. To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure if I could face such fearsome spirits.

 

“Not from them, but I was going through my dad’s belongings, and I found some…things,”  he said gravely. 

 

“What sort of things?” I asked.

 

“Newspaper clippings, locks of hair, that sort of thing.” Trey trembled a bit. “...I think my dad may have murdered those girls.”

 

“Wait, what?” I exclaimed. “Your dad’s not the Cleveland Killer, is he?”

 

Trey almost smiled. “Oh no, the timeline doesn’t add up. But there are tons of unsolved murders in the area. Maybe he was chased by them, and now they’re chasing me.”

 

“Well, that’s easy to fix, we just need to-”

 

Trey cut me off. “They’re beyond reasoning. They’re mad with rage. We need to put them down, NOW!” he shouted. He was starting to crack, I could see it in his eyes. He regained his composure and settled himself a bit. “Before they drive me insane.” 

 

“Ok, ok,” I said, frantically trying to reassure him. “But we still need to figure out who they are, and what they’re after. Tell me about your dad, maybe there’s a clue somewhere or something.”

 

So Trey sat down and related the whole sad story of his upbringing. He seemed like a sensitive boy, stuck with a fearful mother and an imperious father. He was right-his father did seem cruel, but not overly malevolent, the sort of person who might generate quiet whisperings at a PTA conference rather than police reports. Trey struggled under his father’s shadow until he finally broke free in college, and basically estranged himself after that. I could tell that the trauma lingered, though. And now he was quite literally paying for his father’s sins, which seemed cosmically unfair to me. I’d be lying if he didn’t pull at my heartstrings a bit. 

 

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much else to go on, so I told Trey to research missing persons or cold case murders from around the time his dad was alive. I had also mostly exhausted my arsenal of apotropaic charms and spells. With Halloween right around the corner, I didn’t have time to experiment with more potent sigils, and even then I wasn’t sure I could create something to keep these spectres at bay. Drastic action was necessary. 

 

“Look, Trey, I don’t often make this offer, but when All Hallow’s Eve rolls around, I’ve got a safe space set up in my apartment, and you might want to crash there.” I wasn’t super thrilled with the idea even as I suggested, but part of being a Cunning Person was service to the client, no matter what. Sometimes that meant working odd hours or making house calls, and sometimes it meant letting some poor cursed boy sleep on your couch.

 

“R-really?,” said Trey shakely. “That-that would be great! I was really getting anxious about Halloween, and-” 

 

“I know,” I said. “Keep in mind, this is only for that night. After that the powers of the dead recede a bit, and hopefully we’ll have time to come up with a permanent fix.” I didn’t want him getting any ideas. Even my service had limits. 

 

“Right, of course,” said Trey. 

 

“And I’ll be charging by the hour,” I added.

 

 “O-ok,” said Trey. 

 

Well, if he’s willing to pay. 

 

With that I sent him on his way, and girded myself.

 

***

 

Halloween finally rolled around. In spite of my workload, I still found time to enjoy the holiday; it’s been a favorite since I was a kid. I closed my shop early and headed home just before dusk so I could set up my wards and put candy out. An array of jack-o-lanterns, from turnips to pumpkins, stood sentry outside my door. I put new rowan and red thread up on the lintel, refreshed my daisy wheels and sigils, and sprinkled salt and iron on the threshold. The apartment fully protected, I spent an hour or two handing out candy to guisers and soulers, before heading over to the community bonfire. I met up with Trey there, and we partook in the revels–me enthusiastically, him somewhat less so. Before the witching hour the party broke up, and I collected my portion of the embers from the bonfire and walked Trey back to my place. 

 

I lit the jack-o-lanterns with my embers and let Trey in. He handed me a cup of coffee. “Here,” he said. “Least I could do, since you’re going to be staying up all night.”

 

“Thanks,” I said. I took a sip, and then immediately spat it out. “What did you put in this?” I asked, coughing and hacking. Trey looked alarmed. “It’s just a latte, just espresso and milk! Oh, they were out of regular milk so they used oat milk.”

 

“Ooooh,” I said as I handed the cup back to him, still spitting occasionally. “I can’t stand oatmilk. Reminds me of vomit for some reason, something about the aftertaste.”

 

“Oh, uh, sorry,” said Trey apologetically.

 

 “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “No way you would have known. But in the future, I’ll just get my own coffee, I’m really picky about it. I appreciate the thought, though.”

 

With that crisis resolved, I had Trey bed down in my room. I’d be in the living room all night, standing vigil, and making sure nothing tried to enter the house and attack him. And, to be honest, to make sure Trey didn’t try anything either. You could never be too sure. 

 

Before I bid him goodnight, Trey looked at me with those deep blue eyes. “Hey, would you be interested in going out sometime, maybe?” he asked hopefully.

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t get involved with clients,” I responded.

 

“Well, maybe after this is all over, you know-” he continued.

 

I cut him off. “Maybe. We’ll see.” I smiled reassuringly at him. Occupational hazard with this line of work, unfortunately. On the other hand, he was cute. And despite my efforts to the contrary, I did  have a thing for broken birds. Still, now was not the time.

 

I shut the door, went into the kitchen and brewed some tea, then parked myself on the couch and started my watch. Through the front window, the warm glow of the jack-o-lanterns lit up my tiny yard. It was well past the witching hour, and all sorts of ghoulies and ghosties were surely afoot. Even after all these years, and all my schooling, I still got a visceral thrill from staying up on Halloween, knowing that it was only my skill in magic keeping all kinds of horrors away. Through the ceiling I heard a muffled rumble of thunder, and dim shouting. The Wild Hunt was about. A little later, I saw a dark shadowy form slither down the street. On four amorphous feet it crept up to my door. Then one of my jack-o-lanterns flared, and  brilliant flame shot up and out of its carved face. The black dog, or sow, or horse, or whatever it was skittered away. I smiled contentedly. Still got it.

 

***

I woke up Trey at the break of day. “The worst is past,” I told him. “Halloween technically lasts till sundown, but most ghosts and whatnot are nocturnal. The rest of Allhallowtide is much more calm. All Saints is a potent holy day, and All Souls is concerned with the peaceful dead, who don’t cause much trouble and just visit their living beloved. Well, mostly anyway.”

 

Trey nodded. Unlike me, he actually had managed to sleep soundly through the night. Well, he needed it, I figured, and I was getting paid for it. He settled out, and headed home, and I went to take a much needed nap.

 

All Saints passed without incident. I kept my office closed and used the day to catch on sleep. On All Souls I went out to a distant rural cemetery where some aunts and uncles were buried and dutifully lit candles and left flowers for them. In the evening I headed into the city to attend an All Souls Requiem at the Episcopal Cathedral. After the service, I turned on my phone only to have it blow up. Trey had sent me a dozen texts. Apparently he had located the tomb of one of his father’s potential victims. Conveniently, it was in the city cemetery near the cathedral. I told him I would meet him there. I wasn’t exactly sure what he had planned, but I was sure it was no good, and at the very least needed some professional supervision. 

 

I met Trey just as the last light of twilight was fading. He was even jumpier than before. He grabbed me by the elbow and practically pulled me toward the graveyard.

 

 “Whoa, hang on a minute,” I exclaimed. “What are you planning to do?” 

 

Trey looked at me with wide eyes. “I’m going to put an end to this,” he said with determination. He opened up a satchel he was carrying. Inside was a collapsible shovel, various magical herbs, a bottle of water, wooden rods, candles and a bell. 

 

“Wait, I thought you didn’t normally didn’t go for this sort of thing? Where did you even learn about this stuff?” I asked.

 

“Oh,” he said sheepishly, “I took a class in necromancy during my goth phase in college. Still remember a few things. Still, best to let a professional handle it,” he said as he shoved the back in my hands. 

 

“Right, sure,” I said. I mean, I’d also had a goth phase, I think we all did, but mine involved wearing black leather and having a bright purple undercut, not summoning the dead.

 

We quietly entered the cemetery. It was lit up by the glow of thousands of candles placed in by headstones, to light the way home for the dearly departed. It was one of the few times I found graveyards to be a warm, loving place. On any other All Souls night, I wouldn’t mind lingering, but Trey looked like he meant business.

 

He was constantly glancing around, as if he expected someone, or something, to burst out of the shadows. 

 

“Relax,” I told him. 

 

“Fear not that sound like wind in the trees:

It is only their call that comes on the breeze;

Fear not the shudder that seems to pass:

It is only the tread of their feet on the grass”

 

Trey looked at me like I had gone crazy. “All Souls, by Edith Wharton,” I said, my turn to feel sheepish. “One of my favorite poems. I memorized it in middle school. Not sure what that says about me.”

 

That managed to get a slightl chuckle out of Trey. Good. Truthfully, this was about as safe as you’d ever be in a graveyard. Still, I brought my thrice-blessed leather coat, the lining inscribed with sigils and prayers, holy water, salt, and a black handled knife, just to be on the safe side.

 

Trey led the way to a rather nondescript looking vault, one of the more modern ones judging by its somewhat minimalist stylings. It was locked, but the lock was more of a formality than an actual obstacle. 

 

“You sure you want to do this?” I asked hesitantly. “Pretty sure this is some sort of illegal.”

 

Trey looked at me with hollow eyes. “Yes, absolutely. Let’s get this done and over with.”

 

With that, he kicked open the vault door. He then pulled out an electric lantern and set it on the floor. The vault held about a dozen tombs, as far as I could tell. Trey peered at each of them until he found the one he was looking for. “We’ll start with this one,” he said.

 

“This one?” I asked. 

 

“Yeah, there’s a couple of others buried around here as well, but we’ll actually have to dig them up,” he replied.

 

I swallowed. Was he seriously going to desecrate multiple graves? In one night?

 

Before I could say anything, he wrenched the top of the tomb partly open. “Look!” he cried.

 

Inside was a much decayed corpse, female guessing by the tattered remnants of the dress it wore. “See! It’s still intact! It’s not just a ghost, it’s a Goddamned fiend!” Trey yelled.

 

It would be a hell of a stretch to call it intact-it had already started to shrivel up, and the face had mostly fallen in. Even the stench of rot was fading. It certainly didn’t look like it was up to much. 

 

“Trey, uh, I don’t think so. You really sure this is the right body?” 

 

“Yes!” he screamed shrilly. He pulled out the candles and bell and set them up, and then pulled out the rod. He leaned over the body and raised the rod high above his head, aiming it down at the corpse’s chest. 

 

I grabbed his elbow, trying to keep him from carrying out this outrageous act. “Let me go!” he screamed. “Look! Look at the blood!”

 

Sure enough, in spite of all science, bright crimson blood was bubbling up from the corpse’s mouth, and from points all over its body. “It’s a lich! Undead! We need to kill it!” Trey’s eyes were wide, and his mouth was flecked with foam.

 

“No,” I said, firming up my grip on him. “It’s cruentation.”

 

“What?” said Trey.

 

“Cruentation. A corpse bleeding in the presence of its murder.”

 

Trey looked at me in growing alarm. “What…what are you saying?”

 

“You killed her, Trey. You killed all of them. You’re the Cleveland Killer.”

 

Trey’s expression changed from bewilderment to rage. “How would you know that? Did those damned spectres tell you that, huh?” His voice had become deadly calm.

 

“Who do you think sent them after you?” I said.

 

Emily Bell had been the first to appear to me, the night we unearthed her. She floated into my bedroom, a pale figure in the form of a rotting cadaver. “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, what do you want?” I asked her, using the traditional formula.

 

Justice, a voice as faint as a whisper of wind had told me. 

 

“Find who did this to you. Drive him to me. Like hounds to the hunter.” 

 

And so I had told each successive ghost who had appeared to me. And then I watched, and waited.

 

“YOU? YOU DID THIS TO ME? YOU FUCKING BITCH!” Trey screamed. “And what, those fucking spirit traps were junk?”

 

“Defective, yeah. Sorry not sorry,” I replied.

 

Trey stepped toward me, furious. I backed away, toward the open door of the vault. “I can’t fucking believe you, Kat. You fucking betrayed me, you little shit.”

 

“Yeah, and you fucking tried to bewitch me,” I responed with equal venom. “You think I didn’t taste the mandrake in my coffee?”

“If you’d just drunken it, this would be all over, but no, you had to get involved,” said Trey.

 

“It’s over, Trey. Even if you somehow manage go scot free, they’ll follow you wherever you go. They’ll chase you to the ends of the earth. They’ll haunt you for the rest of your days,” I said.

 

“Well, guess I’ll just have to put them down, without your help. Trey reached for his waistband and started to pull something out. “I’ll start with you, you f-AAAH!” He screamed as I stabbed him in the thigh with my black-handled knife, and then bolted out the door. 

 

“Goddamn bitch! You stabbed me, you crazy bitch!” screamed Trey as he staggered after me. I ducked behind a large obelisk. Any other night I could have easily made an escape, but with the cemetery lit up it was almost bright as day. I’d have to be careful. I peaked around the stone, and saw Trey wandering around, a gun in one hand. Shit was getting real. He was currently between me and the main gate of the cemetery. If I could loop around, I could slip past him and make my getaway. I ran between gravestones, crouching low, as Trey stalked after me, alternatively  screaming obscenities and trying to lure me back in. 

 

“C’mon, Kat, be a good girl and cooperate. Good girls stay alive,” he called out.

 

Bullshit. I ran to another monument, but tripped over a large candelabra. It flipped over, and the oil spilled onto the dried flowers and ignited, causing a small fireball. Trey zeroed in on it and half-sprinted toward it, firing off a shot. Shit. He had cut off my avenue of escape. I desperately turned around and ran back to the vault. If I could bar the door, I could hole up there until help arrived. 

 

I manage to make it back to the vault and slammed the door behind me. I looked around in the dim light for something to secure the door with, but there was nothing. I braced myself against it, hoping that would be enough. Trey started pounding on it, still screaming. Finally he kicked it in, once, twice, and on the third try hit it squarely, flinging it open and sending me flying back into the vault. He stood before me, silhouetted against the candlelight. 

 

“Well Kat, I wish we could have gotten better acquainted.” He slammed the door behind him. “But this is it.”

 

He raised the gun and pointed it at me, but before he could pull the trigger, there was a loud bang from the tomb next to him, the one he had partly opened. 

 

“What?” said Trey in amazement.

 

“There’s one thing you’ve forgotten, Trey,” I said, as the banging got louder, and the tomb lid became more ajar. “For it'sthe turn of the year and All Souls' night, when the dead can burn and the dead can smite!”

 

With that, the lid of the tomb fell to the floor with a thud, and out of it climbed the corpse of Emily Bell. The revenant moved stiffly, and the empty eye sockets glowed with an eerie cold blue light. But it was clear what its purpose was. It walked slowly, but surely, toward Trey, arms outstretched in a grotesque hug. 

 

“What? No, no, no!” screamed Trey. He backed toward the door, and went to open it, but there was another bang and it flew open, and in stepped the revenants of his other victims, reunited in vengence. Some of them were still recognizable, others mere skeletons. They were dressed in stained and tattered rags, and covered in the cold clay of the grave. They reeked of earth and decay.  All of them were lit by the same blue ghostfire. 

 

Trey shrieked in terror, and backed toward the rear of the vault. He fired off his gun, the bullets passing cleanly through the corpses, but it takes more than that to kill the already dead. One revenant reached out and grabbed his gun hand, and with a snap effortlessly broke his wrist. Trey screamed in pain and dropped the gun, and flailed against the advancing dead. Another grabbed his other arm, and pulled on it until it was wrenched out of its socket. The revenants closed in on him, sharp teeth and nails exposed in shriveled flesh. They were going to tear him apart.

 

Just then a uniformed figure burst into the vault. “Police!” Don’t move” he screamed.

 

“In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, I command you to stop!” I shouted.

 

The dead froze. Trey gasped and moaned in pain. “I did it! I did it! I killed them! I admit it! Just get me out of here! Don’t let them kill me!” he pleaded. 

 

With his confession of guilt, the spirits’ task was fulfilled. The blue ghostlight went out suddenly, like a snuffed candle, and the corpses suddenly collapsed. The police gingerly stepped around them, and hauled Trey to his feet. He shrieked in pain as they cuffed him. Good riddance, he was getting off lightly. 

 

I got up off the floor of the vault, as police and detectives filled the fault, taking pictures and collecting evidence. As I stepped outside, an EMT came up to me and brought me to an ambulance to check me out. I was wrapping a shock blanket around me, waiting for the adrenaline to drop, when Thomas came up to me.

 

“You took your sweet time,” I said, finally starting to relax a bit. Truthfully, it was far closer than I would have liked, and I was still shaking.

 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” said Thomas. “We had the wrong tomb staked out initially, wasn’t until we heard the gunshots that we closed in.”

 

“Of course,” I said, sighing.

 

“You know how absurdly dangerous that was, right?” said Thomas.

 

“Yeah, I know. This whole sting was dangerous. But I had to make sure. I can’t stand the thought of sending an innocent man to jail.”

 

“Well, I appreciate your commitment to justice, but maybe next time let us handle the leg work?” said Thomas.

 

“Would you have caught this guy without me?” I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.

 

“Eventually. Probably,” said Thomas. “He wasn’t on the radar yet. Your tipoff was useful, I’ll admit it. Just do me a favor and don’t make a habit of it, ok?” 

 

“No promises,” I said, and managed a smile.

 

***

Less than a week later I was back in the city cemetery, this time in clear daylight, for Emily’s reinterment ceremony. Her body had been kept as evidence for a few days, but Trey had realized the jig was up and made a full confession, including a few murders we hadn’t even known about yet. Best case scenario for him was life in prison, but at least now he could sleep at night (well, maybe). In the meantime, the media was all over the case, though they focused much more on the dramatic confrontation in the vault rather than my months of careful investigation, something I complained about endlessly to Thomas.

 

The graveyard was still littered with the burnt stubs of candles, but otherwise peaceful. Halloween had brought winter with it, and the last leaves were fluttering around in chilly gusts. I joined Thomas and some other officials with Emily’s family. Their pastor conducted a short service, praying that Emily would finally find peace. I certainly prayed it was so. The body was placed back in the tomb, and the service ended, the attendants dispersing.

 

 I lingered just a bit longer to leave some flowers at the tomb door. Incredibly, one little candle was still stubbornly burning. I carefully laid my flowers down next to it and turned to leave. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it sputter and go out. I smiled to myself. Emily Bell had come home.