Third Rate

Clinton looked at the name as his phone buzzed. Anonymous. Not blocked, not unknown.

He sighed and tapped the answer button. “Phillip, what can I do for you today?”

“We had a deal,” Phillip’s voice growled through the tiny speaker. “I’ve held up my end. You hold up yours.”

“I assure you,” Clinton said, “I have been.”

“Then explain why Sampson is questioning my family,” Phillip said. “That should be impossible.”

“Really? He found your family?” Clinton shifted in his wingback chair. “He is better than I suspected.”

“It took you the better part of a decade to even figure out I had a stepbrother,” Phillip hissed. “He’s been on my trail for three weeks and has talked to my aged mother, found my father’s grave, and took my sister out for coffee to question her.” He growled. “My actual sister. Theresa.”

“I didn’t know you had a full sister,” Clinton mumbled, filing the information away for later. “I am not a law officer, so what would you like me to do?”

“We had a deal,” Philip barked.

“I know,” Clinton said. “Sampson and I are private detectives. We are not subject to anyone, except those that pay our fees.”

“You mean to tell me,” Phillip said. “The incredible Clinton Marks is unable to hinder a two-bit piss ant start-up private dick?”

Clinton held back his shout. “Phillip, he has his own license and does not work for me. If I interfere, then he could have my license revoked. How would that help you?”

“Fine. Fine.” Phillip lowered his voice. “What can I do?”

“What did you do?” Clinton smirked, knowing it would not transmit over the phone.

“Like I’m telling you.”

“So you did take the ruby,” Clinton said. “I figured. They noticed it yesterday, but I bet it was gone a week prior.”

“Two,” Phillip said with a chuckle. “Sampson told the cops it had been missing a little over a week.”

“How did he know?”

“I don’t know,” Phillip said. “The papers reported a consultant was working the case, I assumed it was you. Then I read the name.”

“Why did they pick him?” Clinton slid his eyes to the paper from yesterday. He had skimmed the article and missed that detail.

“He knows Valarie,” Phillip said. “She owed him a favor.”

Clinton tapped on the tablet computer. “He specializes in divorces and insurance fraud. His reviews are less than mediocre. How exactly is the world’s greatest mastermind getting his backside handed to him by this stumblebum?”

“Look,” Phillip shouted. “He’s found out things you didn’t know and faster than you.”

“You know if he finds you,” Clinton leaned back and picked up his tea. “If he links it to you, that will open many doors to other crimes that haven’t expired yet.”

“I know.” Phillip’s voice carried a hint of worry and sarcasm. “Like that, you and I have crossed paths before. Several times before.”

Clinton choke-swallowed his tea. “What are you saying?”

“If I go down,” Phillip said. “You go down. Accomplice or after the fact.”

“You’re right,” Clinton said. “Where is he headed?”

“I have no idea,” Phillip said. “As you said, he’s less than third rate.”

“He lives in a flea-bag motel,” Clinton said, eyeing his tablet. “And only has a GED. Are you kidding me?”

“How is the world’s greatest detective behind the curve of this hack?”

“Shut it,” Clinton barked. “We’ve got to get ahead of this.”

“How?” Phillip sounded worried. “He’s chaotic.”

“Figures,” Clinton said. “Hold on.” Clinton tapped his tablet and displayed the doorbell camera. “He’s here. Dammit. I better go.” He hung up.

“Now, to see what this cretin wants.” Clinton schooled his face before he opened the door. “Yes, how may I help you?”

“Mr. Marks?” Sampson said. “I’m Sampson Lloyd. I have been hired to find the Delilah Ruby.”

“You have?” Clinton scanned the driveway. “What does that have to do with me?”

Sampson smiled. “Well, you see, sir.” Sampson shifted and pulled a manila folder from under his arm. “I have this photo and a video on a thumb drive where the still was taken.” He displayed the picture. “It shows you talking to Phillip Deveroux.”

“I talk to many people,” Clinton said. “You probably have seen my picture on the news. I am a bit of a celebrity.”

“Yeah,” Sampson said. “And then there is this.” Sampson handed over a collection of paper held by a staple. “This is the transcript from the video. I had to get a lip reader, there was no audio.”

“Genius,” Clinton said.

“You and he were planning on how to steal the Ruby,” Sampson said. He flipped the pages and pointed at some text. “Right here.”

“Uh…”

The Shadows

Childhood trauma is a real thing. I know first hand.

A thief that broke into our house killed my mother. My father had died when I was younger, so I didn’t know him. However, he made sure mom and I was taken care of.

After moving in with my Uncle Harry, I had trouble sleeping without all the lights on. Harry was wise enough to teach me that eventually, the lights would have to go out so that I could experience a healthy life. So, he walked me through sleeping with the lights off.

The problem was, I rarely slept. Most nights, I would only sleep a few hours. How I made it through high school, I’ll never know.

It took two years before the lights could be turned off without me screaming my fool head off. Eventually, I learned to lie there and wait. I accepted that the room was dark.

When I graduated high school and went on to college, I felt something. Every time it was dark, I felt like it was a cozy blanket covering me. Keeping me warm and safe.

Strange, I know, but that is how I learned to sleep.

Having recently graduated, I did what I should do, and I got a job. It isn’t what it should be, an engineer, but it is close. I work as technical support for Quinn & Hartford, a rather large financial consultant firm. I get paid well and have some flexible hours.

When I realized that something was strange was three weeks after I started. I walked toward the subway station. It was later than my usual time, so things weren’t so bright. A stretch of the block was dark, mainly due to the broken lights and the tall buildings blocking the setting sun. We’re not talking midnight black, but dark.

The scrape of shoes on the pavement caught my attention. I wanted to turn my head and look, but a warmth settled over me. Please don’t ask me what it was, but I wasn’t afraid. Another scrape and then a voice.

“Gimme your phone and wallet,” the voice said.

“What?” It was weird to ask a question, but I did.

“I said,” the voice growled at me. “Gimme…”

It stopped talking and glanced over my shoulder. Nothing was there. The weirdest part was the next morning. The cops found a guy sitting on the sidewalk at that exact spot. He was shaking and whiter than glue.

Like I said, weird. It is a big city, so anything happens.

Several months later and I have to run some network cable. Not hard, but not simple either. I’m laying under some desks and reach for the cable end. My fingertips graze it. Stretching, I feel it lay over my palm. Jason was on the other side doing the same thing, so I figure he slid it closer. “Thanks,” I say. No one responds.

More connections and I stand. Jason comes around the corner finishing off a soda.

“You’re up for lunch,” he said.

“When is yours?”

“I just finished it,” he said and tossed the bottle into the recycle bin. “Been gone an hour.”

It was only a minute since I was under the desks, and I was down there fifteen minutes. The floor is empty because of our work. My mind raced.

A year later, I figured it out.

Or was shown.

Some kid was playing on a subway platform. I was headed home, and he tripped over something and fell toward the tracks. A train was coming.

I reached for the kid, but there was no way I could make it—the same for the five other people.

The kid floated and then landed on his feet next to where he fell. The train zoomed by, and he was still there. It was weird. It didn’t make the news or even a blip on the Internet. But I saw it.

The shadows formed under that kid, like hands or a scoop.

When I got home, the network cable thing came to mind. I sat in my apartment and dimmed the lights. “Move the chair.” It was silly talking out loud, but the chair twitched. Then it slid across the room.

I wasn’t afraid. Nothing. Warmth flowed over me, and the feeling of safety followed.

When I looked at what might cause this, I was slammed with different things. Ghosts, aliens, even telekinesis. None of it made sense.

Nearly a decade later and I now patrol the city at night. I don’t sleep much, but my best friends are always with me. We take out bad guys and help those that need it. It’s not glamorous, but it is rewarding. Most don’t know we are there, and when they notice, all they can see is a blur.

My life has improved dramatically since. I’m a senior electrical engineer for a well-developed company. Happiness is all I feel.

Except when the sun comes up. The light freaks me out.

Social Summoning

My name is Cornelius Habershire, the fifth. Yes, I am the fifth person in my family line with the same name. How original. I also work in the family business. Also, original. We don’t make furniture or bespoke clothing. We hunt demons and kill them. Yeah, this is that kind of story.

I said demons, but to be honest, it is more monster than anything. That includes vampires, liches, and occasional ghoul. Like I said, that kind of story.

I have one advantage. I live in the digital age, so I get my information faster and from more sources. My father is fine with it. My grandfather not so much. From what I understand, my great grandfather couldn’t read, so a book was a book, and other documents presented a problem.

My father did a great thing. He converted most of the books we write to digital. Additionally, he learned how to update various sources. This work has made my life as a demon hunter extremely easy.

Let me explain.

I graduated from college with a degree in computer science. I was the first in my family to even go to college, so getting a tech degree is a considerable divergence. With my knowledge and using dad’s work, I have set up an analyzer to find demons and other monsters faster. This means I get involved before people die. This has been a significant step forward, and our backers love it. Yes, we have backers.

Recently, I have expanded my analyzer to search for various social media outlets. This has been good, but not great. Until I added in rituals. I caught people submitting dances to a format that specializes in it.

What is wrong with dancing? Nothin. These dances and I use the term loosely, aren’t dances. They are summoning rituals, including the tossing of various items. If one were to string these dances together, you could, in theory, summon a demon.

I hear your thoughts. Not really, but I think you understand. Who would string them together? They’re random.

Yes and no. They seem random. At least three accounts have the ritual maneuvers. If I string the procedures from a specific account together, I summon a minor demon.

It’s minor, so no big deal. Long term, sure, short term, I’ll get there fast.

As of this morning, I found at least five other accounts that do this, only getting bigger and badder demons.

But it will require them to string them together. What are the odds?

After a four-day weekend, I have to say quite high. One of the accounts has a channel on a video service. They have a video slotted for tomorrow that promises their best dances moves.

Yeah.

They are using social media to summon demons. Once it’s on the internet, it is there forever.

I used to think my life was easy. Now, not so much. Anyone who watches the video will summon a demon. Still, that doesn’t sound so bad, right?

The channel has over forty-thousand subscribers.