The Edge of the Cemetery

---

Book excerpt

Prologue

My name is George Sinclair, a once ordinary thirty-something guy, who, several months back, discovered he could see ghosts. But seeing ghosts was one thing; realizing they were plaguing people with illness and disease for the sole purpose of inflicting a life of pain, or in some cases, killing them, was another. And realizing that I could kill these demons and alleviate their victims' pain was another altogether. Suddenly I was a ghost killer, and my life as I knew it was over.

Ghosts aren't rare; in fact, they're everywhere. They linger in-between our world and whatever comes after death. Some get lost in transition and can't figure out how to keep going after they die…I call them “lost souls”. They're usually harmless and uninterested in the living, but are attracted to yours truly. They seem to beg with their eyes, asking me to send them on, and with a gentle jab they swirl away into nothingness. However, there are those that won't move on; they know they can do more harm staying connected to this realm than moving on to the next. There's also the possibility that there really is a heaven and hell, and they know damn well they're headed south. So they stay and wreak havoc on those of us with a solid body. Those are the ones I kill…those nasty little bastards that just want to hurt people.

Ghosts and demons are different, yet the same. Let me explain. They all died at least twenty to thirty years ago (although the longer they are dead, the more powerful they become), they all wear the vintage clothing of the time of their deaths, and they all have round-rimmed glasses on. When they re-materialize as ghosts they immediately seek out a victim and plague them with a disease or deformity, haunting slowly, causing a life of pain and suffering. The most powerful ghosts—demons, as I prefer to call them—have been around for a very long time and have had multiple victims. They have the power to accelerate their victim's pain and illness, which in turn will expedite their death.

Perhaps this all seems rather unbelievable. I thought so too…in the beginning, that is. And if discovering ghosts and demons exist, and killing them (after all, how can you kill something that's already dead? Most of you can't, but I can!), isn't enough to make your head hurt, let me tell you about the longaevus…the word is Latin and means “long life”. In our world the term is used to describe a type of person…usually they're good, but not always. They are the result of an accidental confluence of events; it involves a powerful demon, its victim, a powerful ghost killer, and perfect timing. If a ghost killer kills a demon at the same moment it is killing its victim, the victim doesn't die, causing a third reaction, thus the confluence. Instead, the victim sort of absorbs the power of the demon and a little of the ghost killer's power too, which in turn gives them a great deal of physical strength and allows them to live a long, long time with very little aging.

But wait, there's more (my apologies if I'm beginning to sound like a TV infomercial…); we should discuss the Watchers as well. They are a group of people, some ghost killers themselves, others just ordinary folks, that are aware of our unordinary situation. The Watchers have been around for centuries, and their primary purpose is to protect ghost killers from those that want to harness our power. They also guide us when we have no one else to show us the way. In addition, they know everything that goes on in the world of ghosts and demons, and if an infestation arises that can't be handled locally, they will send in reinforcements. Aris Galanos, a high-ranking official in the group, lives right here in the city, and although he calls San Francisco home, his reach and obligations extend to most of the country.

There are a couple more terms I'd like to familiarize you with before we go on. The first is the “convergence,” an event that takes place when a demon merges with a human. It's quite similar to the confluence that creates a longaevus, but instead of the bespectacled vintage-clothed monster's demise and the survival of its human victim, it is the victim's soul and mind that dies, allowing the demon to move into the person's body and live again, usually with the intention of wreaking even more havoc on mankind. Obviously that's a situation we do our best to prevent, but we don't always succeed.

The second term is “electroplasmic juice.” When you stab a ghost or demon, an electric shock is emitted, which is quite painful and after repeated stabbings, can be dangerous as well. (I should note that a powerful enough ghost killer can channel this juice and use it to kill someone, also not good.) Most of us carry something to alleviate this concern…I prefer an unsharpened yellow number two pencil. My ghost-killing partner, Billy Wilkinson, prefers a chopstick. (She used to use her grandmother's antique chopstick, but more often than not, a powerful demon's juice can reduce our preferred tool to ashes, so she's opted for the cheaper version which you can purchase by the dozen in China Town).

Chapter 1

“Uh, George, a little help here,” Pete said. His voice was low, but the strain and fear came through loud and clear.

“Damn it, we need Billy!” I hissed in frustration. The man standing in front of me was thin and pale, with sallow skin that bore the scabs and scars of a longtime drug user. He gave me a wicked grin that showed a mouth full of rotted teeth, giving him a haunted look, which made sense…after all, he was being haunted. A short time ago, his wasted and abused body probably couldn't have hurt anything bigger than a fly, but since he'd been possessed by a demon from the 1880s, he could do all sorts of things, like trying to kill yours truly. He held a piece of rebar he'd picked up at the mouth of the alley when he and his two companions chased us into it. Now he was rushing me, wielding the deadly metal bar like a sword.

His demon was smiling viciously behind him and I threw myself to the left, kicking up the alley wall and somersaulting back toward him, with my trusty number two pencil leading the way. The demon was powerful and my pencil disintegrated when I stabbed him, but so did he. My body fell through the dissipating grey mist as the previously possessed man slumped to the ground, the rebar clanging loudly on the asphalt. I hit the other side of the alley wall with a solid thud that would definitely leave a few bruises to match the ones I'd already received from the other possessed man I'd relieved of his demon just a few short minutes ago.

“Yeah, well, she didn't get her bell rung on purpose. Now get over—” There was a loud thump and Pete's voice was suddenly cut off as all the air audibly rushed out of his body. The last I'd seen of him, he was being cornered at the end of the alley by a third possessed man using a two-by-four like a baseball bat, and from the sound of it, the demon and his victim were winning. I jumped up and ran to his rescue, coming upon the demon from behind. Pete was slumped against the brick wall and the demon was commanding its victim to pulverize Pete's head with the length of wood. Grabbing another pencil from my back pocket, I stabbed the demon, causing it to disintegrate; his victim fell forward onto Pete, the two-by-four banging loudly as it hit the ground.

Pete groaned, shoved the unconscious man off to the side, and looked up at me. His complexion was ashen and there was a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, but otherwise he looked okay. I put my hand out to help him up, and he took it, grabbing his stomach and groaning some more.

“You gonna be okay?” I asked as he staggered to his feet.

“Yeah, just another day at the office,” he said sarcastically. “Did we get 'em all?”

“We got 'em. Let's get out of here.”

I pulled Pete's arm up and over my shoulder and did a walk-stagger towards the mouth of the alley, leaving the three unconscious men where they'd fallen. They were mostly unhurt and would wake up soon, having no idea what had happened to them…probably a regular occurrence considering their drug habits. By the time we reached the opening, Pete was pushing away from me and looking cautiously up and down the sidewalk and street. It didn't look like anyone had paid any attention to the two clean-cut guys that had been chased into the alley by three not-so-clean cut demon-possessed ruffians. We were in San Francisco's Tenderloin District, and the neighborhood watch generally consisted of watching for the cops, not the bad guys doing bad things to good guys.

As Pete and I walked to the public garage in Union Square where we'd left his car, he said, “Man, I hate seeing that.”

“Seeing what?” I asked. I knew he couldn't be talking about ghosts and demons; he'd been fighting them for years, and although it wasn't pleasant by any means, it was what we did.

He nudged his chin toward the other side of the street where a teenage kid stood. “Kids on the street. I mean, look at him…he can't be more than fifteen or sixteen.”

I looked at the teenager. Lightly soiled clothes hung on a gangly five-ten frame, and although his hair wasn't long, it was dirty and unkempt. A lost and confused expression covered his face. He was looking our way, probably because even though we'd just battled three strong demons in a disgustingly dirty alley, we were still the best dressed and most likely the cleanest people in the neighborhood. The Tenderloin is the armpit of San Francisco and unfortunately it's also where many of the city's homeless spend their days and nights, including runaway teens, which he probably was.

It was sad, and all I could muster in response was, “Me too.” When I turned back to look at the kid again, he was gone.

* * *

On a typical day of ghost and demon eradication I worked with Billy Wilkinson. However, she'd been benched for the last few days due to a concussion. Although she had a generally caustic personality, she was also incredibly compassionate when it came to people and their wellbeing. A few days before, she'd been on her daily run and was jogging in place while waiting for a green light. A woman in her twenties approached the corner, texting furiously and oblivious to her surroundings, and walked right into the intersection, never looking up from her phone and almost getting herself killed by an oncoming car. I say almost, because Billy saw it coming and jumped to her rescue, pushing the stupid woman to safety but landing hard on the curb herself, knocking her noggin viciously. Thus the concussion.

Billy was adamant that she didn't need medical attention, but we got her some anyway and the doctor declared her condition severe enough to insist on at least a week of in-home bed rest, or hospitalization. Under protest, Billy agreed to the former. Fortunately for Billy (and anyone who had to deal with her during her recuperation), she's a ghost killer, which means she heals damn fast, making her forced down time a few days instead of a week.

Our little corner of the world had been experiencing some rather nasty ghost/demon possessions recently, and Aris, our fearless leader, didn't think it would be a good idea to send me in alone when the call came in about the current situation in the Tenderloin, so he assigned Pete Cowell to lend me a hand. Pete's ex-military (Special Forces to be exact), tall and strong, with the same high-and-tight haircut he'd been wearing since his service days. He discovered his ghost killing power while stationed overseas. He'd been injured during a training exercise and was taken to the base hospital, where he saw his first ghost. Like most of us, when we see the first one, we're not really sure what it is we're seeing, but some sort of instinct kicks in and we're driven to kill it. Now Pete was one of Aris's right-hand men, and a formable ghost killer to boot, but not nearly as powerful as Billy and me.

Aris and the Watchers employed a variety of people to keep their eyes open for unusual behavior by our fellow citizens, specifically something that might indicate someone was being haunted or possessed. The man who'd called it in was a longtime resident of the Tenderloin, who'd been receiving a stipend for years from the Watchers to…well, watch. When he observed the three men—regulars in the neighborhood, but generally harmless—harassing people and violently acting out, he called Aris. Of course the three longtime drug users could simply have been on a bad “trip”, but Aris decided their behavior warranted a closer look and called Pete and me. As it turned out, drugs were the least of their problems. They were being haunted and possessed by three demons from the late 19th century.

My ghost killing career started off with a bang. I encountered several new people, some good and some bad. One of them wanted to harness my power, and when I refused, he attempted to unleash a torrent of demons on the city. His name was Frederick Vokkel, and he was Billy's estranged grandfather. He's dead now…she killed him. Afterwards, I agreed to work with the Watchers and things got pretty quiet. Occasionally the Watchers would get a report about some badass demons that needed killing by some badass ghost killers, and Aris would send Billy and me off to slay the ghouls. Usually these were exotic locales like Boca or Toledo…for some reason, the really bad demons didn't like to go to mundane places like NYC or Honolulu. For a while there, I was actually getting bored.

That all changed a little over a week ago. Suddenly every demonic monster on the planet seemed to descend on our little corner of terra-firma, and things were elevating at an alarming pace. We were nearing Halloween, and I had to wonder if there was a connection. Several assaults had been perpetrated by powerful demons, and the sheer frequency prevented Billy and I from handling them all, which meant we needed to call in less powerful ghost killers to assist. So far we hadn't had any fatalities, but some of our people had ended up in the hospital. There were a few commonalities as well; first, the demons were not just haunting their victims, but possessing them and forcing them to hurt others, and once we arrived, the demons directed their human weapons on us. In addition to all of that, as if that wasn't enough, there was the sighting of a 17th century musketeer at almost every incident. However, this fiend wasn't doing any damage or possessing anyone, just making himself seen, and we believed he might have been instigating the attacks. The question was, why?