Page 45 of A Dark and Stormy Night

"I'm already dead," I said. I was enjoying myself.

She hit him again with the flat of the shovel. Bones crunched in his face and at last he fell over, unconscious.

One more time she hit him on the skull. "To be sure," she muttered.

Of course Areila was Sofia's great-granddaughter. She sparked with temper. She fought with all the resources at hand. She didn't stop until the beast was vanquished.

Sofia's great-granddaughter . . . and my great-granddaughter, too.

She turned to me. "You saved me."

Exultant, I nodded. "I did."

"I was afraid you were gone, and you saved me!"

"You fought like—" I almost said a man, but I realized that wasn't true. "You fought like a woman. You fought like a warrior."

"He tried to kill me. Why did he try to kill me?"

My exaltation faded. "For the same reason he killed the others." I had saved Areila. But I had failed the rest of his victims.

On the ground, Walt moaned. He opened his bruised and blackened eyes.

Areila lifted the shovel edge over his face. "If you move, I'll chop your throat open."

We heard running footsteps.

We turned and Sheriff Jacobsen raced forward shouting, "What are you doing?" He caught the handle of the shovel in his grip.

"She tried to kill me!" Walt screamed. Or tried to. His voice was raspy.

"He tried to kill me," Areila said. She relinquished the shovel and pointed at the pickax. "With that."

"Liar!" Walt whispered. Whimpered.

Across the park, the woman with the walking stick hurried to reach us.

Indignant as only a man who has been duped can be, Sheriff Jacobsen shouted at Areila. "No one sees the ghost unless they're crazy or medicated or mentally impaired. No one! Yet you say you can see him. Who should I believe? Our groundskeeper who's worked for us on and off for years? Or you?"

In a reasonable voice, Areila said, "I can see him because we're related."

"Right." Sheriff Jacobsen spoke into a two-way radio hooked to his holster. "Attempted homicide at Eugene Park. Request back-up and an ambulance." He put the device away and said to Areila, "Walt brought the pickax to help excavate the grave you believe is here."

"All the graves are here," I said.

Sheriff Jacobsen looked around. "Who said that?"

He had heard me. "I did," I said.

He spotted me. Just like that. He could see me. For one moment, he covered his eyes with his hand. Then lowered it.

He could still see me. And he wasn't crazy or medicated or mentally impaired.

Areila realized what was happening and smiled. "Perhaps, Sheriff Jacobsen, in the right circumstances anyone can see my great-grandfather Frank Vincent."

Sheriff Jacobsen didn't want to believe it.

I moved closer to Areila.

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