“I don’t know what he is talking about!”
Dean Taylor felt trapped… appropriate, since he literally was unable to leave his spot behind the shelf that protected him from the flying carrots.
“Sir,” Mack was about to lose her patience. “IF you know what sort of ghost we are dealing with, then we might be able to help.”
“I told you again and again, I don’t-”
“Deany…” Cat interrupted him. “May I call you Deany? Anyway, you have to tell us what you did to trap HER.”
“But-”
“It wasn’t your fault. You were, like five or something, right?”
“How…” Taylor gulped. “How did you know?”
“I collect old newspapers as a hobby. I know what happened to you 50 years ago. And when I hacked into your tax files, and yeah, I can totally do that… I saw that you had hired a rat exterminator in 1999. Weird, since rats and other pests had left the city after the curse in 1997 and was first officially considered a problem to the public again in 2001. And unlicensed ghost-fighters usually have jobs as pest control, so I-”
“Look, I like playing Cluedo as much as the next guy, but WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!” Mack was grateful she didn’t have any hair, or else she would have pulled it off her own head.
Taylor sighed. “The ghost… It’s my grandmother.”
“Sir, you knew and you didn’t tell us?” The rooky cop asked angrily. “And withholding information about potential paranormal activity is a criminal offe-”
“Not now, Smith.” Mack interrupted her partner. “Go on, Mr Taylor.”
“My grandmother… She owned the store before me. And she resents me for her death. YES, I hired an unlicensed ghost hunter to fix it, but I didn’t know any better, she told me she was legit. She made one of those panograms-“
“Pentagram.” Smith corrected him.
“Yes, that. She told me it would seal her forever.”
“Crackpot ghost hunters don’t know their crab.” Cat giggled. “The pentagram must have been broken since it was of low quality. I can make a new one.”
“Are you nuts?!” Mack asked. “… Alright, dumb question… But you can’t make one while ghost grandma is tearing the place apart!”
“I know.” Cat shrugged, then placed a hand on Mr Taylor’s shoulder. “That’s why I need a distraction.”
“M-mhu-mhu-ME?!” The middle-aged man gulped. “What am I supposed to do!?”
“Just talk to her.” Mack understood Cat’s plan now. “Ghosts have no emotional restrains at all, so if she is pissed at you, she might not notice what is going on around her.”
“I’m not sure if I can face he-”
“Too bad, DO IT!” Cat pushed Mr. Taylor so that he was no longer behind the shelf.
Mr. Taylor gulped as the ghost noticed him.
“DEAN!!!” The possessed teenager stared at him with hate in her blank eyes.
“Um…” Mr. Taylor gulped. Poor Agnes. The possessed teen girl now looked like what the ghost of his grandmother that had been when she died: an old lady. “Ah, um… Hey granny.”
“WHAT?!” The possessed girl held a hand behind her now half-deaf ear. “Speak up, boy!”
“I said it’s, ah…” Taylor saw that Cat and the two cops was about to draw the pentagram around them as the center. “I said it’s… good to see you again, granny!”
“Don’t you granny me, you little brat!” The ghost-possessed girl flew up another foot over the floor. “How DARE you run this store!? AFTER WHAT YOU DID TO ME?!”
“It wasn’t- AAAH!” Taylor dodged, so he didn’t get a can of tuna in the face. “It wasn’t my fault, granny!”
“I told you to stay behind the counter while I re-arranged the vegetables! But as soon as I turned my back on you, YOU JUST RAN OFF!”
“I… I had to pie!” Taylor started to cry. “I couldn’t hold it!”
“DON’T YOU GIVE ME THAT LIP!” As the ghost in Agnes grew more and more angry, the fresh tomatoes that circled around her head began to burn. “And then you PUSHED that damn shelf, CRUSHING ME!”
“It was an accident!” Taylor hoped that the drawing of the pentagram was about to be complete, because he couldn’t take much more of this. “You yelled, and I got scared, and then I stumbled into the shelf and it fell and… I never forgave myself, granny!”
“And you shouldn’t, you darn whippersnapper! You have any idea how much it hurts to be buried in cans!? DO YOU?!”
The ghost-possessed Agnes pointed at a shelf. It lifted itself from the floor. Taylor gulped, as he realized what his grandmother planned to do. “No, granny, NO! PLEASE!”
“You been a naughty, NAUGHTY boy, Dean!”
Taylor was petrified in fear as the shelf came closer and closer.
“You been a naughty, NAUGHTY boy, Dean! A very anOUCH!” The ghost’s host body turned its attention toward the one who had thrown a tuna can that had hit her in the back head. It was Cat. “How DARE you?! I’m talking with my grandson here!”
“Look!” Cat held a glass filled a brown substance in his right hand. “Peanut butter!”
The ghost made the cash register levitate, planning to use it to crush the masked man’s skull. “So what?”
“For only $6. WITHOUT tax!”
“… WHAT?!?!” All the flying objects fell to the floor. “THAT’S INSANE! IT’S ROBERY! Back when I was young…”
The ghost began to ramble and Cat hurried in finishing the pentagram. He took out a little pink bag and emptied it. Green powder came out of it. As the ghost saw it, she realized what was going on.
“DEAN!!!” She pointed an accusing finger at her grandchild. “You are out of my will, you brat!”
“Ffo ssip, ffor ssip, FFO SSIP, FFO SSIP!”
The possessed teen screamed as Cat chanted. Agnes’ wrinkles disappeared and her hair regained its color as the ghost left her body. The white chalk on the floor turned from white to green and shined brightly for five second. And then the chalk disappeared.
Cat took a little glass ball out of his left pocket. Inside it was a very angry spirit.
“Oh my god…” Mr. Taylor breathed heavily as he kneeled on the floor. “I thought I was gonna die.”
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Jill was horrified.
She had expected it to be less than pleasant when you hired a stranger to murder some people… but the way it was executed…
Sure, she didn’t like them one bit, they weren’t good men. Or else she wouldn’t want them dead to begin with. But they had been slaughtered. Gutted like pigs.
She was speechless as she gave the purple haired woman the plastic bag with beer bottles. Hans sat in a corner and cried. The assassin cleaned her knives while whistling a cheerful tune, then went for the door, but before she left the bar, she kneeled down before the dead cops, placed her hand down in the fresh puddle of blood, stood up again and used her bloody hand to write on a wall with big, fat letters:
THE RED FOG IS BACK, BITCIS!
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