The Haunts

The bus ride to where Levy’s father worked felt longer than it should have. Thoughts raced through his head with such intensity that his stomach had ached. Events in his life were speeding along so fast that even if he wanted to get off, he couldn’t. Like the bus he was on, Levy had to ride out the entire trip to reach his destination. As he sat in the back of the bus, he mulled over the loss of his nanna and that crazy old crony that had some pretty weird nightmarish abilities that seemed impossible. Like watching a stage magician performing his best tricks to awe the crowd, this old crony did it instead of terrorizing her audience. How could she just disappear after being stuck in the gut with his jackknife—like an air-filled balloon covered in bugs and soaked clothes?

That’s absurd, Levy mulled over in his head. There is no way I did any damage to her body, but she just…deflated.

With no answers, Levy continued to people-watch from the bus window. He idly observed the busybodies, the movers, and shakers as they headed about like armies of ants hunting for opportunities in the concrete jungle around them. Levy loathed the thought of having to wear a suit and sell out, but considering how close to graduation he was, eventually—he too, like everybody else, would have to sacrifice his childhood for adulthood. He did not know of what he could do, or even having the possibilities of a career or a trade to fall back on for a secure future. No one in his life had ever given him any direction. His mother worked long hours at the grocery store, so she was far too busy to provide him with any helpful advice. Plus, when they got to spend time together, it felt more like a supportive roommate relationship than being a mother and son. As for Levy’s father, the man was far too busy even to visit, let alone give any fatherly advice. Leaving Levy to cope through his adolescence all alone. He didn’t know what was worse, not knowing what was going on around him, or knowing what he did and felt incapable of resolving it.

Levy headed to where his father worked in the downtown region, where the latter was in retail. Since he was always busy at work, this was Levi’s rare occasions of making a surprise visit instead of randomly finding his father at home long enough to say something other than hello. As Levy made his way to the downtown sector, his stomach groaned at the smell of food from the bustling restaurants and food malls. He curiously peeked into the bars that were restocking before the after hour crowds. Levy stopped before a dilapidated strip joint that showed posters of sensually clad women and at a scattering of pink flyers all over the ground to help promote ladies’ night. He smirked at the thought of wearing what the strippers wore to ease men’s wallets to open a little wider. Where a typical male saw the deployment as sexual, Levy however, simply appreciated a woman’s choice of alluring attire. Often wondering what it would be like to wear lace garter legging and soft pink undies lined with fake cheetah fur. Just the thought of it gave him goosebumps.

I could always become a fashion designer. Levy mulled over as he continued his trip to see his father.

He paused at the intersection before his father’s place of business and understand the appeal of living the central city life. No one down there ever made eye contact with him unless they needed something from him, like maybe to bum a smoke from him, or to ask him for spare change, or even to try to sell him something like drugs or a hot stolen item. But overall, in the downtown sector, he could be anyone and not a soul cared.

As Levy approached the building where his father worked, he observed a familiar figure hurrying out, absorbed in a phone call. His father would have passed right by if Levy hadn’t been paying attention. Having accepted this estranged father-son relationship by the age of eight.

“Hey! Dad!” Levy rushed up to his father as he unexpectedly saw him exit the revolving door.

“Levy, what’s going on?” His father stopped, and a slow, awkward smile came across his face as he stiffly embraced his son. “Are you okay?” He looked around uncomfortably, “what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Levy blinked, “I-I’m fine Dad, thanks for asking. I came all this way just to see you.”

“I got the message from the hospice about your grandmother passing on. They said some young man was there, but I had figured they meant her son Nigel.”

“I was visiting her just as she died—other than being a little bummed out about it, but what can you do, right? So, have you talked to mom yet?” Levy tried his best to hide his excitement. This had been the most extended conversation they ever had in years.

“I haven’t yet, but I suspect she already knows. As I remember her saying once that she was very specific about getting the heads up way before me; and that I was the third choice on the list if your mom and uncle were unreachable.”

“Did you ever visit grandmama while she was in the hospice?”

“No… I was rather busy,” his father rubbed the back of his neck and looked past Levy. “Besides, she didn’t exactly make me feel at home when we were under the same roof.” He nodded to someone behind Levy and changed direction. “It’s good to see you son. I was just leaving for a meeting with a client cross town so—”

“I understand,” Levy was well used to being sloughed off by his father. The man was after all the breadwinner though he barely ever saw the results of his father’s prosperity at home. Other kids his age had both the clothes and a car to get around; they had college funds waiting for them after graduation, and they didn’t have to shop at discount stores or get hand-me-downs from cousins or from deceased relatives.

Levy turned and noticed a young and thin brunette that looked as if she was half his father’s age. She looked at him wide-eyed with a hint of apprehension. Levy gave her a single nod, then he turned back to his father. “Quite the little assistant you have their dad,” Levy smirked, “but with a face like that, she doesn’t need so much rouge. She’s what, twenty-ish?”

“Maybe you could give her some tips?”

“Probably wouldn’t hurt,” Levy shrugged.

His father shook his head and sighed, “There’s so much of your grandmother in you, it’s painful.”

“Well, she and me Ma raised me.”

“Sorry I couldn’t always be there, but I had a career to make. Something you’ll realize one day when you step out into the working world.”

“I often wondered how any career that makes you unable to recognize your son when you finally see him worth it?”

“Maybe it’s because it’s the first time I’ve actually seen you without being decked up like a girl doll—that I have a son to show off as my own.”

Levy grew uncomfortably quiet.

Levy’s father glanced at his watch. “I have an idea. Let’s stop bickering and the usual banter, and just skip to the part where you demand something from me.” He muttered with dull enthusiasm.

“Wait—what?” Levy looked offended. “I came all this way from the hospice just to see you.”

“Right, sorry. Where was my head? I just don’t have time for this right now,” Levy’s father sighed as he withdrew his thick wallet and removed a wad of billets for his son to take.

Levy scowled at his father, then to the wad of money held out for him to take.

“Go on, take it,” his father baited, “go get yourself something nice. There are many alternative stores down here for you to peruse. I promise it’ll make you feel better.”

At first, Levy didn’t want his money, but the second he reached for it his father let the bills flutter in the wind.

“Butterfingers,” he heard his father say as he hurried away with his assistant into a curbed cab.

As a light wind moved the billets across the concrete sidewalk, Levy hurried to retrieve as many as he could. A few of them slapped up against a homeless guy resting with his back against the wall. Levy stopped to look at the beggar. His face burned with embarrassment.

The homeless man’s filthy hands quickly snatched at the billets and gathered them up. “So is that man your pa?”

Levy nodded solemnly.

“Mine was an asshole too.” He held up the money out for Levy to take back, “here.”

Levy eyed the man before he turned to walk away, “I think you’ll need it more than me.”

“True enough,” the homeless man nodded his thanks.

Levy stopped and spun around taking a long look at the hobo. “Have you ever come across an old woman pushing an overloaded shopping cart?”

“Many a time my boy,” the homeless guy scratched under his unkempt grey beard, “too many in fact.”

“How about one that can say… control the weather?”

“W-what ya mean controlling the weather? No one controls the weather.” His eyebrows arched, “well maybe the Government and their damn weather machines.”

Was he serious? Levy’s eyebrow perked, “Ah well, never mind then. Just forget about it. Thanks anyways.”

He shoved both of his hands into his pants pockets and turned to leave.

“Now wait a sec… you’re asking about ol’ Cailleach Bhéarach, ain’tcha? Sure enough, you is. Why she’s well-known to be the hag of all storms.”

Levy hurried back and stood close enough to the old man to wish he hadn’t, the man’s smell alone was overwhelming. “So,” he gagged out, “you’ve heard of her?”

The beggar squinted up at him and nodded.

“I’m Levy, by the way.” he greeted formally but refused to extend his hand for the man to shake.

“Mine’s Carl and yes, I’ve heard of her. That’s why I carry this with me,” the old man rummaged in his layers of stained coats and dirty shirts to retrieve from his throat an old weathered necklace with a coin dangling from it like a dog tag.

Levy bent forwards and frowned. “Looks like an old coin to me.”

“Ah look closer, the symbol on it is called an Awen. It’s a potent symbol of the druids.” The man then turned the coin over to show the flip side “and this side has the Celtic shield knot on it—for protection.”

“Much like the one on my wrist here,” Levy turned his wrist upwards and showed the same symbol his nanna had burned onto his flesh.

The old hobo bent close and nodded, “yup, that’s it, exactamundo. Solomon’s Knot is well known to protect its wearer from harm.”

“Sounds like a bunch of hooey to me,” Levy mumbled, as he stood upright.

“I thought you said you’ve met the Cailleach Béirre?”

“I didn’t say I had,” Levy moved his head from side to side, “but I guess you could say I did enough times to be wary of her.”

“Then you know of her power and of her relentless wrath?”

Levy shifted uncomfortably.

“What did you do boy to deserve her spiteful attention?”

“Does being born count?”

“It might,” the old chewed on his bottom lip. “If you think you might be in trouble now, just wait until winter comes. Her power is far worse. I’ve seen many poor souls frozen stiff by her hateful gaze.”

“But why does she do this? What can she possibly gain by tormenting others?”

“You might as well be asking why the sky is blue.”

“I know why the sky is blue,” Levy answered curtly, “but how is this god of all storms even possible?”

“My experience is that when belief is strong enough in one person, they can accomplish almost anything they can put into their mind.” He shrugged, “but then you take a group of followers that believe unconditionally in that one person, just imagine the responsibility, the very power they have over others that don’t follow. History is stock full of believers, or you can call them worshipers that have supported the will of the Leader. Now, imagine a God-like manifestation that feeds from their worshipers throughout history, fueled by their worshipers to simply exist!”

“Whoa,” Levy balked. “I just wish I had a joint to smoke while I listened to all that.”

“Well, do you think it’s possible?”

“I don’t know,” Levy admitted. “All I know is that I have to protect myself from this so-called celestial bully.”

“Then you might need to see this guy,” the old man fumbled through his many pockets and brought out a rather ratty looking business card and held it out.

Levy inspected the stained card. Most of the information on it was rubbed clean and faded, but the name of the place was familiar enough. “My nanna spoke of this place…”

“Ah, did she answer a few of your questions, then?”

“Not really, she died today.” Levy mumbled as he squinted to read the information on the card, “why is it called the Apothecaries Arcadian? It sounds like some kind of a glorified health food shop that sells vitamin pills to hypochondriacs.”

“Witty boy—but no, it’s simply an occult shop dealing in the paranormal.”

“Even better,” Levy mumbled again, “but not by much.”

“Just promise me you’ll look into it before it’s too late.”

“Right,” Levy left. “I should get going, have fun with my father’s money. Spend it well. Maybe on a good bath and a hairbrush, maybe a good shave and a change of clothes too, wouldn’t hurt.”

“You take care of yourself,” the raggedy man smiled as he waved, “and don’t let the Cailleach Bhéarach catch up to you.”