GHOST GAL: The Wild Hunt (2 page)

Hans Holzer let out a breath. He had only been on the scene an hour before things took a turn to the strange. Conrad Barnett’s telegram about his unique problem had piqued his curiosity, but he hadn’t expected to find anything more than a minor disturbance. He hadn’t expected to find much, most likely a displaced spirit long dormant that had been disturbed when its home had been disassembled and reassembled halfway around the world. It was enough to throw off anyone’s equilibrium, even if they had been dead for decades or longer, but as threats go, it was probably minor.

He was wrong.

Once the storm began to strengthen in intensity, he realized that things were worse than he had first believed.

Hans Holzer held a torch in front of him as he moved through the darkness. Flames from the torch cast the only light since the generator succumbed to a lightning strike just a few moments earlier. The torch had once been the leg of an antique chair, or at least an expensive recreation of one. A cloth curtain pulled from one of the windows then doused with lighter fluid and ignited completed the makeshift lantern. It was a quick solution to a minor problem.

It was the problem that lay ahead that concerned him.

“These walls are not pure stone,” he said aloud, running a callused hand across the uneven stone. “Whatever that metal component we discovered turns out to be, it is highly conductive. The lightning striking the weather vanes on the roof is not simply redirecting the electricity of the strikes. The energy is being absorbed through the walls.” He leaned in close enough to smell the earthy musk of the hand-carved stone. “Incredible. It’s almost as if the entire castle is alive. I’ve never seen—”

“Professor?”

Holzer sighed loudly at the interruption. It was not the first one of the evening. “Yes. What is it, Jamie?”

“I need a moment, sir,” Jamie McClenndon said from somewhere
in the dark behind him.

Jamie was the latest in a long line of assistants who came to him because they wanted to learn the “real truth” of the world. Most were college students, like Jamie. They rarely lasted long in the position and Holzer suspected that Jamie would be no different than those who came before. Like the others before him, his desire to experience a supernatural moment came from seeing motion pictures featuring scary monsters. He wanted to see a ghost, to prove that they were real, and that he would be brave enough to interact with it. The reality of the moment was never what any of them expected and was rarely like what they saw in the movies. Ghost hunting, for lack of a better term, was not easy and the professor had little time or patience for handholding. If Jamie wanted to be coddled in the face of the unknown then he had come to the wrong place.

As his family was of Irish descent, Holzer had hoped Jamie would come in handy on this excursion, but sadly his knowledge of the homeland of his ancestors was severely lacking. He blamed modern education for the boy’s lack of knowledge.

“Make it quick,” Holzer said, not bothering to hide his annoyance as he checked his pocket watch. “Our quarry is here. I can feel it.”

“Yes, Professor. I know,” Jamie said softly. There was an unusual quiver to his voice.

“We must find him before…”

The crash of his equipment hitting the hard stone floor behind him interrupted his train of thought and Hans Holzer spun around to face his assistant, ready to give him an earful about responsibility and taking care of the sensitive equipment left in his care. The equipment he had been tasked with carrying was not only delicate, it was also very expensive.

“I’ve told you repeatedly to be careful… with… that…” his voice trailed off when he saw why Jamie had discarded the equipment in so loud a fashion.

“I–– I think I’ve already found him,” Jamie said softly, careful not to move lest the sharp blade at his throat draw blood.

“Easy now, Jamie,” Holzer said, taking a tentative step forward, keeping the torch an arm’s length ahead of him and casting an orange glow on the intruder who held his young assistant hostage. “Don’t move.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Who are you?” Holzer asked the man holding the knife.

“You know my name, laddie,” the intruder said. He was tall, towering a couple of inches above Jamie’s six foot-two lanky frame. His arms were thick, muscled, and looked as though they could snap his assistant like a twig. His face was obscured by the light, his skin dark, but made darker by the soot and ash that clung to his body, giving him a mottled gray pallor. Long black hair hung behind him, matching the color of the thick matted beard he wore.

“I know the man whose body you wear,” Holzer said. “His name is Duncan. He works for Mr. Bartlett.”

“Very clever, you are,” the entity that had taken control of Duncan McGrath’s body said. “I see that you are familiar with my kind. So much the better. Oh, and his name was Duncan. He has no use for a name any longer.”

“Do not hurt that boy.”

“You’re not in any position to be giving orders, Hans Holzer.”

“You know my name?”

“Oh, yes,” the man said. “I know everything my host knew. Young Duncan knew who you were. He seemed to think you might save him somehow, although I think his faith might be a wee bit misplaced myself. You’ve given me a good laugh watching as you run about the castle with your little toys and gadgets. You amuse me, Professor.”

“What do you want?”

“Such a leading question.” Duncan smiled. “What do you think I want?”

“Freedom.”

“I already have freedom, sir. I am free to roam this castle at my whim. Look around you, do you see any chains to hold me hither?”

The professor smiled. “Actually, I do.”

“Oh?”

“It’s so obvious. Curse me for a fool; I should have noticed it sooner. This place…” he motioned toward the castle around them. He rapped a knuckle against the stone wall. “This place is your prison. The lightning, the stone, the mystery metal, those things aren’t meant to empower you, are they? This castle is your prison.”

“Nonsense!”

Oh, sure, this far removed from your ancestral home, the power
that keeps you trapped here has lessened, but not enough for you to escape. Not completely. You can move about within these walls, but you can never venture beyond them. You’re trapped here like an animal in a cage.”

“We’ll see about that, laddie,” Duncan said, his smile widening. “This animal still has teeth.”

“Don’t,” Holzer warned, but it was too late.

With a powerful shove, Duncan threw Jamie McClenndon at the ghost hunter. The student crashed into his teacher and they fell to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, the torch falling from Holzer’s hand and rolling away.

There was just enough light to see Duncan run past them down the hallway.

Holzer was on his feet quickly. Scooping up the torch and his knapsack he gave chase. There had not been time to memorize all of the corridors and rooms of the castle during the short time he had been on site so he had no idea where the route Duncan was taking would lead them. The creature that had stolen the man’s body had the advantage. It knew the castle intimately. He wanted to catch up to the younger man, which wasn’t proving to be as easy as he had hoped. Not only was Duncan younger, he was faster.

The hallways led into a large circular room with a high ceiling. Part of the ceiling was missing, the last of the rebuilding effort, and rain poured through the holes into the room where it had begun to pool in the depressions leading down to the center of the mini amphitheater.

The professor did not know the purpose of the room. It wasn’t clear as to whether the open ceiling was left that way intentionally or if Conrad Bartlett’s builders had simply fallen behind. He had been told that construction was complete, but there were many inconsistencies surrounding this place.

In the center of the room Duncan McGrath stood waist deep in freezing cold rainwater and laughed.

“What do you want with Duncan, creature?”

“He’s a good Scottish lad, this one. What better vessel to extract my vengeance upon those who enslaved me?” Duncan’s smile thinned, his voice lowered. “So tell me Professor, have you deduced my identity yet? Do you know my name?”

“I know what you are!”

“Oh?”

“You’re a Sluagh, aren’t you?” Holzer shouted. “Part of The Wild Hunt!”

“Very good, Professor Holzer. Duncan would be very proud if there were anything left of him.”

“He’s dead?”

“Yes. This body is now completely and utterly my own.” Duncan’s face cracked a smile. “I am not merely part of The Wild Hunt. I am The Wild Hunt.”

“You were their leader?”

“Yes. Even now, my tribe waits for me just beyond the barrier in a purgatory not of their own making, trapped there by little beings like yourself with no appreciation for the function our hunt served.” His voice rose, partly in anger, partly to boast. “You cannot fathom the service which we provided!”

“Service?” Holzer questioned. “You served only your own selfish needs. The Wild Hunt was nothing more than a gang of vicious thugs only concerned with their own needs. You were not needed!”

“You dare question The Hunt? Who do you think you are, little man?”

“You’re a monster! I cannot allow you to leave this place! You will not terrorize this land! Not this time! Not again!”

“And how, pray tell, do you plan to stop me, Professor?”

“With this!”

Holzer pulled a small device roughly the size of a baseball from his knapsack and held it above his head. He had carried it with him for some time, but never had the need to use it. He had resisted carrying something as destructive in his tool kit, but at the moment, he was glad that he had listened to the voice of common sense that had persuaded him to add it to his arsenal. “It is better to have such things and never need them than to need them and not have them,” his friend had told him. When he got back home, he owed someone an apology for doubting him.

“A rock?” the Slaugh asked, confused by the small metal sphere.

Now it was Hans Holzer’s turn to smile. “We call them grenades.”

“What does it do?”

“This!” Holzer tossed the tiny explosive into the water at the feet of the creature wearing Duncan McGrath’s body.

The creature no longer smiled.

Before the grenade touched water, Holzer was already on the move, running back down the corridor the way he came in. There was only the slimmest of chances he and the others could make it out of the blast zone before––

The explosion rocked the castle.

A rumble tore through the ancient stone walls, shaking loose decades of dust and newly applied cement as the place began to collapse all around Professor Holzer. The shock knocked him off his feet, but he sprang back up quickly and ran, not bothering to look behind him as a chasm opened beneath the demon and the ground swallowed him whole, dropping stone, metal, and the pooled water on top of him. The gaping wound in the earth was not content with so small a morsel and it continued to feed even after the thing that possessed Duncan was pulled under a ton of rubble.

When he reached Jamie, Holzer pushed him forward without slowing. “Go, Jamie! Run! Go! Go! Go!” he shouted as he pushed the confused youth onward.

They reached the nearest exit just as Conrad Bartlett and the remainder of his staff made their escape. There was no way to be certain, but Holzer hoped that there was no one left inside.

Anyone still trapped inside was not going to get out.

Ever.

The howling wind grew in intensity as tiny missiles of grass, wood, and stone stung like angry bee stings as the gale force buffeted all those who stood witness to the event.

“What is happening?” Bartlett shouted above the din.

Hans Holzer had no answer for him, at least nothing logical. He only hoped that his hypothesis had been correct and that it would all be over soon.

Lightning struck the chasm again and again, one bolt after another while the creature’s shrill cries of rage, pain, and promises of vengeance split the night, easily cutting through the deafening roar of the winds. The sound was so loud that everyone clapped their hands against their ears in a vain effort to block out the nails on chalkboard screams.

It was no use.

Nothing could block the sound.

Then, suddenly, without warning–– and with chilling finality––everything stopped.

As suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

Silence settled over the land, a dark contrast to the fierceness of the storm that had threatened to sweep them all away only moments earlier. Above them, dark storm clouds roiled, but no longer dumped rain and lightning on the poor Portsmouth inhabitants below. The only sound that remained was the pop and crack of the flames leaping from the destruction of the castle.

“Is it…is it over?” Bartlett asked, his face hopeful despite the small streams of blood that trailed from a dozen or so small cuts.

“I hope so,” Holzer said, his face also bleeding from several small lacerations. He stared out at the devastation. At least half of the castle was gone, buried beneath the very foundations of Bartlett’s family land. It looked very much like the Earth had opened up and swallowed the majority of the castle as though its presence offended it. No longer could this place be called a home. Now, Castle Bartlett stood as a tombstone for the creature that had tried to slay them all.

Hans Holzer stared at the destruction as he wiped the blood and grime from his face with a monogrammed handkerchief, a gift from his wife on the arrival of their baby daughter, Alexandra, four years earlier. He thought of Catherine and young Alexandra at home, safe and secure in their beds and smiled knowing that they were not in danger. As much as he loved his work, Holzer did what he did, took the chances that he did on a regular basis for one reason.

Hans Holzer stood between his family and the monsters at the gate. It was a dangerous task, but one he accepted gladly. He only hoped he was up to the task.

“Is it safe?” a voice called out from somewhere behind him. “What do we do now?”

“All good questions, Mr. Bartlett,” Holzer said without taking his eyes off the flames that marked the burial place of Duncan McGrath and the leader of The Wild Hunt.