Chapter 1

Ed Freemen wondered when the ghost would strike. Would it howl with the disembodied voice of a tormented spirit, rattle chains like the apparition in a Dickens novel, or merely tap on the walls? He sat at a grand dining room table across from the Petersons’ boys, Carter and Phillip. The wooden table had been painted brown, most likely to cover dents and imperfections. Ed thought it would’ve been better to repair the wood, whatever the expense, because painting ruined its value. Judging by the wood’s thickness, it may have been considerable.

            “That’s him,” Jeb Peterson pointed at the wall from which two distinctive thumps could be heard. “I mean, that’s what it sounds like.”

             Ed glanced at Esme as she typed on her tablet.

            “That’s the way it started, and it sometimes goes back to that, but it gets much worse,” Alma said. She reached over and took her husband’s hand. Across the table, Carter and Phillip sat, their chairs pushed together.

            The house was a light-gray, two-story, country-style home with a porch and balcony wrapping three-quarters around the house. The style was typical in northern Kentucky. The furnishings were old but high quality, with fluffy couches and chairs, flower patterns, and dark wood trim. Ed suspected that Jeb or Alma had inherited the property from relatives and may have grown up there.

            “How does it get worse?” Ed asked.

            Jeb looked at his wife before answering. “Mostly jump scares. You pull the shower curtain open, and he’ll be standing there and scream in your face. It’s like he’s trying to make us fall and hurt ourselves. If you’re holding a boiling pot, he’ll sneak up behind you and try to make you drop it. We’ll be having dinner at the table, and he’ll shout out Carter’s name. It seems so loud the walls shake.”

            Esme lifted her hand and waved at the two boys. “What does he do in your room?”

Carter’s cherubic cheeks turned red, and a long frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “He moans all night like he’s sad, but then starts laughing. It’s hard to sleep.”

            “It can’t make objects move or fly through the air?” 

            “No,” the boys said simultaneously.

Jeb added, “It just makes a lot of noise and appears out of nowhere.”

            “What does it look like?” Ed scanned the room as if expecting it to make an appearance.  

            The Petersons looked at one another and hesitated.

“It’s okay,” Esme flashed a reassuring grin. “Ed won’t be offended.”

            Ed knew that she had intuited their discomfort and deduced its origin.

            “He looked like a—” Alma started.

            “A pimp,” Jeb said. “He has a big afro and wears one of those puffy hats.”

            “Applejack,” Ed suggested. “That’s what they were called.”

            “But sometimes he has on a really loud suit, purple and orange, with big collars.”

            “Does he look like a real person?” Esme asked.

            “I’m not sure what you mean. He’s kind of translucent.”

            Esme leaned in. “This is very important. Was he always like that?”

            “Yes.” Jeb turned to his wife as she shook her head.

            “No. I saw him before Jeb. I work from home, and when he first appeared, you could barely see him, but he got more solid over time. Jeb just heard the noises until recently. He originally only appeared to me and the kids. I think he wanted Jeb to think we were crazy.”

            Ed smiled warmly at the couple. “The good news is that you have a minor demon.”

“Demon?” Jeb reached out and touched Alma’s forearm. “I thought it was a ghost.”

            “What people usually think of as ghosts are actually demons.”

            “Isn’t that worse?”

Ed took a can of Nature Boost energy drink from his bag, popped it open, and sipped. “Not really. These demons can’t really do any harm. They can’t touch or possess you.”

Esme gestured toward the couple. “They survive off your fear. The more you’re frightened, the stronger they grow. That’s why you couldn’t see him at first, and the manifestations seemed to get more intense over time. He started in the kids’ room because they’re more easily frightened. When he became strong enough, he expanded to the rest of the house.”

“So, what do we need an exorcism?”

            Ed sipped his drink. “This is the tough part. Now that you know what you’re facing, you can’t allow yourself to be frightened. He feeds off it.”

            “What about the kids?” Alma said. “They can’t just stop being afraid.”

            Ed opened his hand. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, but he noticed a tremor in his right hand. Ed glanced at Esme, whose face clouded with concern. Ed placed his hand on the table, palm down. “I suggest they sleep with you for a while. Do the best you can to explain to them that they shouldn’t be afraid. Make a joke about it. Laugh whenever he does something. You’ll see him gradually get weaker and weaker. He’ll become desperate and try his best to scare you as he sees his power waning, and you’ll have setbacks, but you’ll win in the end.”

            “He’ll start to fade almost immediately,” Esme said. “Just knowing is powerful.”

            “We can’t thank you enough,” Alma said. “You don’t know what a relief this is. Uh, what do we owe you?”

             Ed excused himself and went out the front door. The family appeared to be middle class and could afford to pay something, but Ed hated to ask for money from someone who was suffering at the hands of a demon. Their activities were supplemented by the Catholic Church, the graphic novel Esme published, and whatever donations the families could afford. They existed on planes, trains, rental cars, hotels, Airbnbs, and rideshares. Ed hadn’t had a home or car in years. Still, he never regretted leaving law enforcement to rid the world of demonic forces. Perhaps he would have if Esme hadn’t been at his side.

            Ed walked down the paved walkway and paused at the sidewalk. He heard something behind him and saw the Peterson boys running to catch up to him.

            “Did you really use to be a cop?” Phillip said.

            Ed smiled. “Yes, I was.”

            “I told you.” Phillip pushed his younger brother, and the two ran back to the house.

Kids played in the verdant yards of the quiet suburban street, chasing one another and tumbling down grass slopes. Ed’s childhood had been racked by crippling poverty, and he and his mother spent most of their days struggling to obtain sufficient food or keep the heat on during Ohio’s harsh winters. Still, there were tender moments when they spent hours playing Jeopardy! or watching documentaries late into the night. Despite their circumstances, Ed’s mother always expected him to be knowledgeable about history, religion, philosophy, and politics. Ed started when he heard a voice behind him.

            “My man.”

            Standing on the porch was a thin, light-skinned black man with a neat afro stuffed into a medium-brimmed hat. He wore a lavender suit with a neon-pink shirt and white platform shoes with four-inch lifts. He would’ve fit in with any blaxploitation movie of the 1970s or cop show with a streetwise source. Ed wondered whether the demon had been a cruel pimp who had tormented his “stable” with beatings and sexual violence, or perhaps not a pimp at all, but rather someone merely caught up in the fashion of the era. If it were the former, he fully deserved his current station as a bottom-rung demon, forced to suckle what nourishment he could obtain from frightening children. The demon leaned against the Doric column and gestured for Ed to come over. Ed could see the entrance through him.

            Ed walked over, thinking it would be interesting if nothing else.

            The fading demon shot a quick glance over his shoulder. “Do I come to your job messing up your shit?”

            Ed folded his arms and said nothing.

            The demon pressed on, waving long manicured nails in Ed’s direction as he spoke. “What if I followed you around and told people none of this shit is real, huh?”

            Ed looked at the house. “The problem is that you can’t follow me anywhere. You’re confined to this property, aren’t you?”

The demon’s voice became high-pitched, and the nails worked again. “You see. That’s what I’m talking about. You just disrespected me!”

            Ed smiled. “Why don’t you do something about it?”

            The demon blinked, flipped Ed off, and turned back toward the door. Just as he did, Carter poked his head out. The demon yelled, “boo!” and laughed in triumph as the youngster fled into the home. He turned to Ed, smiled, and winked. The demon’s body flickered, and he gained a little more substance. Ed smirked and started to walk away.

             “You’re gonna ride the train this time, Chief,” a voice said. Unlike the demon’s voice, Ed thought he recognized this one, but he couldn’t place it. Ed whipped around. The demon had stopped mid-stride, his front foot through the door and the back of his body still on the porch.

            “What?” Ed said.

             With his back still turned, the demon said, “Take a ride on the Reading if you pass Go—but you’re not going to pass Go, Chief!”

             The demon spat the word “Chief,” with such venom it sounded like a curse. The demon continued forward as if he had been part of a freeze frame, and someone had pushed play. Ed stared at the door. No one had called him “Chief” in five years.

Esme joined Ed in the driveway and folded her long legs into their rental car, a burnt-orange Pontiac Firebird. It fit neither of their personalities but was the only one available.

           “We’re going to have to go to Ohio,” Ed said. The engine roared when he pressed the start button. Ed had been threatened by demons more times than he could count, but there was something in this demon’s voice that seemed different. It carried a gravitas that Ed couldn’t quite place, or maybe it was just in his head.

            Esme ignored him. “Are we going to talk about it?”

            “Ohio?”

            Esme’s eyebrows pressed together. “Your hand.”

            Ed opened and closed it. “It’s nothing. I don’t get enough sleep.”

            “You’ve had insomnia since I’ve known you. Your hand never shook.”

            Ed reached over and smoothed the worry lines on her forehead. “I’m sure I’m OK.”

            The lines reappeared. “No, you’re not.”

            “Did I ever tell you that your gift can be annoying?”

            “Yes, and I don’t care. You’re going to see a doctor.”

            “Esme.”

             Esme leaned back in her seat, ending the discussion. Ed knew it would do no good to argue further. Esme rarely showed anger or impatience, but when she latched onto something, her obsessive nature wouldn’t allow her to let it go. Ed put the car into gear.

             Esme leaned forward. “It hasn’t been ten years. Why do we need to go to Ohio? Did Andy call?”

            “He will.”

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