If you’re reading this, one of two things happened. First, I’m dead, and this book was discovered by the proper authorities and is being checked for any clues with all the surrounding peculiarities I’ve noticed in this small town. Or, by some method of insanity, these book journals have gotten out and are being sold in bookstores everywhere by a madman. Either way, I will start from the beginning.
My name is Drake Thompson. I am what many would call a charlatan. I’m currently two months in the hole rent-wise as the fad I was once gifted in began to die out.
Sadly this story isn’t about a modern-day palm reader becoming a famous tv sensation. Nor is it about debt collectors chasing me cross country, trying to break my legs, and then selling my meaty bits. No, this story starts aI received a letter from a dead man. And how a simple visit changed the course of my life.
Dear Drake
I want you!
There was a picture of an older man with straight dark hair with no hair on his face save a pair of bushy eyebrows. The rest of the body belonged to Uncle Sam, the one from the posters way back when that denoted drafting.
How are you today? I’m great, thanks for asking. If you’re reading this, then I got the right address. If you are not Drake, then you will be cursed with painful indigestion whenever you eat something that isn’t spinach. Boom. Cursed. You’re welcome.
Where was I again? Oh, right, a property just opened up in my neighborhood. A few people died in a house, and the place became haunted. The site was torn down by some people with ambition, and an apartment complex was built over it. Due to circumstances regarding the property, various tenets had to see themselves out. The owners abandoned the property, and it had a going rate of $250,000. Essentially a steal, given the going rate for an entire building, but with all the stuff going on regarding it, they were just trying to get rid of it. Five dead tenants in five months does not make good publicity.
Anyhow, I’ve already done an inspection after purchasing it and have heard about your financial predicament. As your godfather, I’d like to make sure you’re doing well for yourself, and knowing your talents in negotiation, I’m sure you could help me get the place in tip-top shape.
Things you should know, you have two months before the first wave of new tenants is supposed to arrive.
With Hugs,
Your Great Uncle Sam.
Ps. Look for the red Mustang with the license plate VV4 LIF
Great uncle Sam was an odd man. He never spoke about his age to anyone, though for some reason, he’s been to every family gathering for as long as we can recall our history. The man was also absurdly wealthy, owning quite a few casino chains that spanned the US and some real estate. Of course, nobody says no to the rich great uncle who comes bearing gifts from time to time, though he does say some crazy things from time to time. At least most people thought he was a little crazy.
Had I not been inducted into his wide world during the peak of my pubescent phase, I would also think he was crazy. The talent he mentioned in the letter is not related to managing buildings but seeing ghosts. I am what my ancestors would call a shaman, not one of the hacks you see that do the whole ceremony and special herbs. But a true shaman can speak to and interact with ghosts.
Long story short, ninety percent of my friend group was made up of ghosts that you talk to constantly in public. My first girlfriend was a ghost. Something I didn’t discover until she passed on. I would like to say I didn’t cry when that happened, but I did. I brought the girl home to see my parents. I introduced her to all my friends, eighty percent of whom seemed to congratulate me. The still-living portion of that group was included in the group of friends that were happy for me.
Suffice it to say, people talk, and crazy is a popular topic. My parents made me take a weekly drug test and see a psychiatrist. Seemed sane to the psychiatrist until I kept speaking to him two months after he suffered from cardiac arrest. I may have been in a padded room with a special jacket without Sam’s intervention.
He taught me that ghosts and other paranormal creatures were real. He also told me never to steal the gold found at the end of a rainbow, for leprechauns were vindictive… creatures and were not above leaving presents of a vile persuasion in your shoes. But he also seemed to have had his abilities for a long time and offered to teach me how to use them.
Suffice it to say, the only lesson I mastered was turning the power off and on at will. Feeling betrayed by those I trusted, I decided never to trust undead creatures of any kind. Sadly a request was a request, and seeing how this place must be haunted, I had no other place to go. Finding myself on a trip to the small town of Plainvail, Oklahoma, with the necessities, my two consoles, my gaming rig, two shirts, a toothbrush, and a pair of blue jeans.
After the flight, I went to where my uncle said I would be getting picked up and looked for the red Mustang. It wasn’t hard, but with my knowledge of cars being surface level and a few maintenance procedures, the make and model eluded me.
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Next to the car stood a young woman in a black dress and white, almost silver hair that fell straight behind her back. She was pale like a ghost, her complexion bloodless. I looked away to avoid staring too much at her. She was otherworldly and not in a natural way, nor in the artificial way makeup provides.
On the other end of the car was an older man with short gray hair. He was dressed in a tux with a blood-red tie around his neck. His complexion was more alive and vibrant. None of the other cars were mustangs, and none looked as expensive.
I approached the man and handed him the bags. “Drake Thompson, Sam’s nephew.”
“Ah you! Let me get your bags.” The man said, swiftly taking the heavy bags and loading them in the trunk with ease.
I was shocked, concerned, and then over it.
The girl looked at me with a sour expression that transitioned to a monotone. “So you know, we aren’t your servants. He just likes opening and closing the trunk.”
“It’s like magic.”
I looked at her in confusion. “Ok… Well thanks for clearing that up.”
“Don’t do so again and I’m sure we’ll get along great.” The blank expression turned into a fake smile.
“I’ll try.”
“Ok. ok. Drake Thompson. Nice to meet you.”
“Mercy.”
An awkward few seconds later, the older man approached me. “Lorenzo is my name, we are here on behalf of your uncle. He wasn’t able to make it here.”
Blood drained from my face. “He died?”
“No. Yes? It’s complicated, I just know that he doesn’t like airplanes very much, something about them being bad luck.”
“Uncle always was the superstitious sort.” I exaggerated a bit and entered the car. No need to make these new people think I’m crazy.
“Superstitious in what sense?”
“No white after Labor day, if you spill salt, toss it over your left shoulder. When the zombie demon rapture occurs, always remember to double and triple tap just to be safe. The last one was after I introduced him to Doom. He also told be that some demons have two brains and you need to shoot them both.”
“Doom? Is that some sort of movie or something?” Lorenzo seemed lost after the statement.
Mercy looked at her father and squinted.
“Look it up later.” I told him. “Don’t want to keep my uncle waiting.”
“Look it up?” Lorenzo seemed to get more lost as we continued to talk.
“My father isn’t a native, technology is newer to him.” Mercy stared daggers into the other man
“How new exactly. Which one of you is driving?” A cold sweat ran down my forehead.
“I’ll handle the driving.” Mercy told me.
“How new are you to technology? Can you drive?”
“Just strap in and enjoy the ride.” Mercy grinned for the first time since we met.
I got into the car, put on a seatbelt, and plugged in my earbuds, knowing this would be a long drive.
The trip could have been more uneventful. Lorenzo proved an avid theater fan. I was not; he had little knowledge of anything out of that purview. Even the weather proved too much for him as he didn’t seem to care for the news. Mercy seemed a bit too busy driving to answer any of my questions, and it soon turned into a relatively silent trip. The cassette playing an AriaI didn’t know. Suffice it to say I listened to my own music as we rode down.
We eventually arrived in Plainvail, which turned out to be a relatively small town in almost the middle of nowhere. The only thing the area had going for was an on and off-ramp connected to the interstate. There were no franchised businesses, from what I could tell. They didn’t even have the golden arches that had taken over the world.
Most buildings looked like they came out of the wild west. There was even a saloon that was redesigned as a barbecue place. The smell of roasting meat was divine. However, my two riding companions seemed disgusted by the smell.
“What is that place?” I asked Lorenzo.
“Drango’s BBQ, and choice cuts. I haven’t been there, since I don’t eat meat of any kind.”
“I see. Vegetarian?”
“Vegans are what the kids seem to be calling us. Of course, I eat what I eat.” Lorenzo shrugged.
“I respect your strength of will.” I looked away from the place.
“Drake, do you eat meat?” Lorenzo asked.
“Every now and then, though it’s expensive to eat every day. Haven’t had actual meat in a month.” Ramen noodles and PB or J. Uncle Sam’s timing seems odd the more I think about it.
“So you can control your carnivorous urges.”
“Sure, let’s call it that.” I sighed. In this economy, meat was expensive. Between world-ending viruses and growing conflicts, meat going up in price is hardly something to write about.
I twiddled my thumbs as the car continued forward before noticing a large modern building with 6 floors and lots of ground space. A sold sign covered a for sale sign on the property, and various people in jumpsuits were going in and out with furniture, TVs, and other things. Again, I looked down at my phone, noting the full bars of data.
“Is this the apartment complex my Uncle wants me to work in?”
“What are you talking about?” Lorenzo asked in response.
“Nevermind then.” So they weren’t quite aware of why I was coming.
We eventually made it to my uncle’s old home. The outside was beaten up and falling apart in places. Knowing my uncle, this was to scare away robbers that wouldn’t look twice. Upon closer inspection with my phone, I noticed this place had private Wi-Fi. Which was something most other places here didn’t.
“Is this the place?” I asked as Mercy parked the car in front of the house.
“What do you think?” Mercy responded by putting the car in park.
I stepped out of the car and walked to the steps, turning on my sight to make sure my uncle didn’t have any surprises set up.
A young woman was sitting on the balcony, staring off into space. In her hands were a thread and a pair of scissors in her hand. She seemed to be struggling to cut said thread.
“I’d be ready to duck If I were you.” The girl told me as I passed.
“Ok?”
I looked away from her as I went into the house. Various wooden figurines and chams decorated the place. Old furniture and wooden chairs lay there, clean enough to use but not new.
“Uncle Sam! It’s me, Drake! I’m not with the government! So please don’t.” I was walking deeper into the house when I heard a creak behind me.
Uncle Sam was wearing a green suit of armor from his neck down. His black hair had been cut short. His face was decorated with red war paint. His eyes showed that he was a bit sleep deprived.
“Demon!” Uncle Sam yelled in surprise.
As someone who isn’t a martial artist, I froze. The fist then passed straight through my head, and the next thing I knew. Everything had gone black.