Page 67 of The Neighborhood Ghost

“My name is Hugo Dodds. Widower of Elizabeth Dodds. Betrothed of Alice Primrose. I’ve been knocked down on the ice multiple times in my life, but I always get up. I’m a survivor, a fighter, and when faced with oblivion, I never give in. I’m the vampire of Newbury Grove, and you can’t stop me,” he shouted.

With a swoop of his left hand, Hugo snatched up the hockey stick from the ground. He charged at the image of himself, letting out a barbaric yawp. With his hands steadfast and the stick clutched tight, he cleaved through the image. It dissipated along with the chair.

Hugo threw back his shoulders and arms, yelling to the sky. The pain and pressure on his face vanished as the weight of grief lifted. The mask was collapsing. First his face, and then his eyes, until there was nothing holding him back.

“What did you do?” Thaddeus asked as he stumbled backward with a horrified expression on his face. “No one . . . no one has ever reversed the mask.”

Hugo rushed to the window and threw back the curtains to peer at his reflection. The white mask and black rings around his eyes were gone. A triumphant grin grew across his face. He was himself again. He was Hugo Dodds, the neighborhood vampire of Newbury Grove.

The game is tied. Next goal wins.

“You are going to get us both sent to oblivion,” Thaddeus said with a raised voice. “She is going to be furious. We are both going to suffer.”

He glared at Thaddeus, his eyes narrowing. “You’re going to suffer,” Hugo said in a stern voice. “I’m leaving this place. Alice and I will be leaving together.”

Chapter 20

Down The Hole Alice Goes

Green, lush moss covered the rocks and tree roots. Every color was heightened—the verdant greens, the brilliant yellows, the deep, rich blues. All the flowers and plants were alive in brilliant vivid colors, like something out of a painted storybook.

She appreciated the pleasant flowers. A beautiful sunset. The warmth of a spring day. But the brightness clashed with her main aesthetic. She wore black and loved it. Alice reveled in the night. She stuck out like a sore thumb.

Typical.

Everywhere Alice went, she stuck out. Whether it was her clothes or purple hair or her witchy artifacts, Alice was unique. She had her friends and family, but struggled to find a place in society welcoming to who she was or people who didn’t expect something in return.

Until she met Hugo.

Her Hugo. He fully supported her. He defended her. Honored her. Accepted her for who she was, not what she could do.

Their party ventured deep into the woods surrounding the Oaken King’s palace. A landscape filled with all sorts of flora.Odd creatures scuttled about in the undergrowth, careful to not be seen. Alice caught a glimpse of a winged creature mixed with blue, yellow, and red. Wood nymphs and sprites played and giggled to themselves.

Alice waved at a few of them. They giggled and disappeared behind the tree. Max barked, but it only drew them closer, no doubt out of curiosity. The Oaken King glanced over at the curious pair, and they sought refuge behind a tree.

“Will any of them hurt us?” Carol asked.

“You are guests in my forest. No beast or creature shall harm you. They are only curious. It’s not every day we receive such illustrious guests,” the Oaken King replied.

The path was worn, not broken down, but soft and lush like walking on a green carpet laid out before them leading toward their destination. The palace disappeared behind the tree line as they ventured deeper into the woods.

“How much further?” Alice asked.

The Oaken King replied, “Distance and time have no meaning. We are merely enjoying the life-giving nature around us?—”

“Will you shut up with the babbling nonsense?” Ez interrupted. “Where is it?”

The Oaken King emerged into a clearing and turned around. “We have arrived,” he said with welcoming arms.

The clearing was more of a shrine than clearing. Twelve trees, their trunks thick with age and encircled in stones, formed a ring in the center of the clearing. Each one was a different type. Pine. Hickory. Ash. Hawthorne. Buckeye. Oak. Others from all around the world. One was a sickly tree, twisted and gnarled, its branches barren and bark cracked with fissures running up the course of the trunk.

“These are the passages to many fairy rings around the mortal realm. They can take you anywhere you desire. Givethanks to the tree, and a passageway shall open before you,” the Oaken King said.

Alice moved closer to the sickly tree. “I take it this is the one I seek.”

“It is,” the Oaken King answered.

Alice examined the tree, circling it a few times, before addressing the crowd. “I want to ensure my friends will find safe passage home if I don’t return.”

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