Page 65 of The Neighborhood Ghost

His vampire fangs elongated, and he chomped down on Thaddeus’ arm. He drove the fangs deep into the forearm holding him in place. There was no blood, although parts of Hugo craved it. There was, however, pain. Pain for Thaddeus.

Thaddeus let out a yell as he pressed against Hugo’s head. Hugo held firm, his jaw locked in tight on his arm. Thaddeus pushed harder, but Hugo’s head pressed against the wall, trapped between the wall and Thaddeus’ arm. The more pressure Thaddeus exerted on Hugo, the more Hugo locked onto his arm.

Hugo swung his right fist, uppercutting into Thaddeus’ stocky torso, each thunderous blow hitting and striking harder.Thaddeus winced as he cried out in pain. Hugo gave a few more shots to his rib section.

Thaddeus pulled Hugo away from the wall and slammed him back into it. Pain reverberated through Hugo, each blow more painful than the last. Even though he was dead, this realm still invoked pain to his spirit, his soul. His muffled voice winced as he still held firm onto Thaddeus’ arm.

Thaddeus drew Hugo closer to him, and Hugo seized his opportunity. He punched Thaddeus once more, timing it perfectly when he was closest to him. Thaddeus let go of Hugo’s head as he clutched his rib cage. Hugo retracted his fangs and ducked under Thaddeus, bolting for the door.

“A neat trick,” Thaddeus said as he rubbed his arm. “But what did you think it was going to accomplish?”

“I’m getting out of here, and you can’t stop me,” Hugo said as he dove his arm under the bed mattress. He withdrew his black and gray hockey stick like a champion warrior unsheathing a sword. “I’ll fight the banshee’s whole army if I have to. I’m getting the hell out of here.”

Hugo sprinted out of the room and down the stairs. Surefooted, he never missed a step. Determination and fire flickered in his eyes. He barged into the living room to gather any of Alice’s trinkets he could use as weapons.

Hugo stopped in his tracks. He gripped the hockey stick, the end tape knob in his left hand, with his right sliding up the shaft in a loose grip. He stepped forward with his left foot and turned his right foot back to the side. He was ready to strike at the new occupant of the living room.

“Who are you?” Hugo asked.

An armchair, with round cushioned sides, now occupied a space where Alice and the Christmas tree were before. The chair’s back turned to Hugo with a seated figure—a man. His neatly coifed hair was unmistakable. He wore a white, long-sleeve dress shirt. An end table placed next to the chair held a wineglass and a greenish-black bottle.

Hugo scanned the room for other occupants. The room was lit by candlelight and the corners shrouded in darkness. All the Christmas trimmings were gone. The garland and the tree had disappeared. It was as if the room reset itself once more. There was only the lone man with his back to Hugo.

“Who are you?” Hugo asked once more. “Answer me or I’ll strike.”

The man picked up the wineglass and took a sip. Hugo glimpsed the label of the greenish-black bottle, a label he hadn’t drank in over a year, since the night of Elizabeth’s funeral. It was Elizabeth’s favorite brand. The night of her funeral, he sat alone in his living room and drank every bottle they had in the house. He relayed the same mantra over and over, trying to find answers, but he was met with only silence.

Hugo blinked a few times. It was as if he was seeing a ghost. Not those he had seen before; this time, it was different. This was something he had lived and knew all too well. The man sitting in the chair was him.

“Why did you have to leave me?” his ghostly visage asked. The man set the glass down and twisted the black onyx ring on his ring finger.

“What is this?” Hugo asked.

The heavy soles of Thaddeus’ boots echoed off the hardwood steps as he descended. Hugo turned to him as he entered the living room. Thaddeus stood in the doorway, rubbing his forearm where Hugo bit him.

“Welcome to the final trial, Hugo Dodds,” Thaddeus said. “Make it quick.”

Hugo turned and pointed the hockey stick at Thaddeus. “What is this? A trick?”

“Why did you have to leave me?” Hugo’s ghostly visage asked again. “What am I supposed to do?”

“No trick,” Thaddeus said. “The truth.”

“What truth?” Hugo asked.

“Why did you have to leave me?” his image asked yet again.

“The truth you have never wanted to face. The one you hid away. This was all made up,” Thaddeus said.

Hugo lowered the hockey stick, the blade contacting the floor. With a narrowed gaze, he tilted his head, struggling to understand what played out before him. Hugo’s brows furrowed as a puzzled expression took hold. He turned to face the chair. “You mean I’m not dead?”

“Oh no, you are very much dead,” Thaddeus said. “Although, it was not the way you believed. This is the truth.”

The man sitting in the chair rose. He turned to face Hugo. His icy blue eyes, his coifed hair, his clean-shaven face—it was unmistakable. It was his image, only from a lifetime ago. Right after Elizabeth’s funeral.

“Why did you have to leave me?” his image said.

“You never met anyone named Alice. There was no witch. There was no purple house. You never became a vampire. The hole in your chest is not from a wooden stake,” Thaddeus said. He approached Hugo in small steps.

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