Page 1 of Sinistram
CHAPTER ONE
“Behind you!”
Travis Dominick shouted a warning. A shotgun boomed seconds later as his partner, Brent Lawson, wheeled and sent a blast through the ghost that appeared from nowhere a few feet away.
Rock salt sent the spirit packing with an angry wail.
“Guess we’ve met the ghost who’s been causing trouble.” Brent kept the shotgun up and his finger on the trigger. “Mark the sigils. I’ll watch your back.”
Eighty years ago, Michael Poole fell to his death from one of the towers at the Durable Cement factory. The facility had once been a booming concern, only to wither and die as markets and manufacturing changed. Now abandoned, the large site had fallen into disrepair, attracting thrill seekers and legend trippers who explored modern ruins and went looking for spectral trouble.
“Third tower,” Travis reminded Brent. “At least, that’s where they found the body.”
“Lead the way.”
Storms and vandals had taken their toll over the years. Taggers had covered the walls with graffiti, garbage collectedin the corners, and most of the windows were broken. Travis picked his way across the debris-littered ground, careful of his footing while he kept watch for Poole’s ghost—or other spirits—to appear.
Cement making had been dangerous work. Aside from the usual hazards of falls and heavy equipment, wet cement burned skin, and the dust caused fatal lung damage. Poole wasn’t the first to die on the job at the old factory, but he had been the last fatality before it closed.
Locals suspected that the actual death counts were doctored by management, and old-timers claimed to know people who had been paid to keep quiet about a family member’s on-the-job death back in the day.
For years, the dead kept their silence. But lately, something had roused ghosts like Poole’s from uneasy sleep. People who lived near the old plant or drove by it daily started reporting seeing jumpsuit-clad gray figures at the edges of the property and its access roads. That caused more than one accident, which is how Travis and Brent ended up on the job.
Travis kept a flask of salted holy water in his left hand and blessed chalk in his right. When he reached the tower, Brent took up his position as guard while Travis chalked sigils to banish ghosts and demons, dispel evil, and remove negative energy.
He could sense the ghosts watching them, but for now the spirits kept their distance.
“Hurry up, the energy’s building,” Brent said.
Travis took a deep breath, and his right hand went to the silver crucifix hanging from a chain around his neck. He left the priesthood years ago, but had never forsaken his vows to heal, guide, and protect.
“Spirits of the dead, hear me.” Travis’s measured tone was both commanding and reassuring. “Your time here is over. Youwere wronged and died too soon, but the people responsible are long dead. It’s time to move on. There is no one for you to take your vengeance on.”
The wind stirred, colder than before. Travis felt the hair on his arm rise and a prickle at the back of his neck.
“You’ve got their attention,” Brent said. “Finish up so we can get the hell out of here.”
“I would ask that you leave by your own accord, but you can’t continue to harm the living. Go now, or I will send you to your final rest,” Travis continued.
The wind picked up, and Travis could hear the sound of distant, angry muttering. Then invisible hands pushed him backward, nearly making him lose his footing.
Brent fired the shotgun into the empty space where the shove had originated, and for a few seconds, the air lightened, until more ghosts rushed in to make their displeasure known.
“They aren’t listening!” Brent shouted, as if Travis hadn’t noticed.
The wind swept toward them again, but this time it carried a fine cloud of white dust, billowing across the debris-strewn factory yard.
“Try not to breathe,” Travis cautioned. “Cement dust is bad news.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Brent replied as they both pulled respirators from their backpacks.
More ghosts appeared like shadows in the dust, far more than the company claimed. Apparently, they were done waiting.
Travis pivoted into the exorcism litany, as useful against hostile ghosts as demons. “Exorcizamos te, omni immundus spiritus…”
Poole’s ghost howled in fury, and the dust swirled around them, making it difficult for Travis and Brent to see. Scowling faces appeared in the cloud reaching out for them with graspingspectral hands. Scratches appeared on their faces and arms, proof that the ghosts could do real harm.
“Plan B. On my mark.” Travis spoke a few words of magic, and the wind pushed the cloud back toward the tower where Poole had fallen on the other side of the yard.
