The Strange Tales of Killian Barger: The Little Ghost

The streets thrummed around him as Killian walked past droves of laughing children. The street lights buzzed placidly, and the moon was a full and watchful eye overhead. Around him, superheroes and princesses, ninjas and pop stars, soldiers, and sports players ran willy-nilly. It was the barely controlled chaos that Killian had missed on the other side. He had invited Dom to come out too, but Dom was out at an event with his Granddaughter, and Killian wouldn't have taken that away from him for the world.

As he looked down at the young girl holding his hand, Killian realized he had someone to share the night with anyway.

Halloween was special to the spirits in Killian's neck of the woods. Halloween was a time when ghosts could leave the hereafter and walk amongst the living without a day pass. Killian raised his hand to a pair of smiling oldsters following a pair of kids with their parents, and they waved back exuberantly. The living still couldn't see them, but sometimes they would catch a glimpse of them. Kids especially had a habit of seeing spirits as they walked, and Killian made a concerted effort to keep his death mask in place.

No sense ruining a kid's night by having to look at his spooky mug.

"So, Madeline, what do you think of your first Halloween?"

Madeline looked up at him with a smile, but it was the sad smile of a child whose grown too old for magic. She looked at the children around her with jealousy but also with pity. That smile asked if any of them knew how fragile they were, and Killian wondered how many of them might find the same fate she had tonight? Would there be a few new ghosts in the out-of-the-way places they were dumped by morning?

"It's fine. I never really got to walk about like this when I was alive. Mother was always afraid that someone would pick me up off the street if she let me out of her sight. I guess maybe she was right."

Killian snorted, "What's life without risk, I suppose? These little goblins seem to be having fun."

Madeline looked around at them, her eyes taking in the sea of colorful costumes as they swirled around them.

"Did your mother ever take you out trick or treating?" Killian asked.

The pair turned a corner, and Killian saw a woman sitting on the stoop of a lonely tenement. The windows were dark, many broken out, and the kiddos seemed to be giving it a wide berth. There was a bowl on her lap, and her expression looked as sad and speculative as Madeline's.

"A few times. She always insisted on hovering around me when we went out. It got so annoying that I stopped asking to go anywhere."

"And your Dad?"

Madeline looked like something terrible had gotten stuck in her throat, "My father wasn't home much. He was always off on business. I don't think he visited more than once a week. When I got into that private school, I think that was the proudest I had ever seen him. I saw him a few more times before I died. I wonder if he went to my funeral?"

Killian steered her towards the lady with the bowl as he attempted to steer her away from the conversation.

The woman looked up as they approached, and Killian could see the slash across her throat for the briefest moment. She righted herself quickly enough, holding the bowl out as she offered the candy inside to them. They were pale beneath the wrapper and swirled white beneath that cloudy cellophane. Madeline took one, looking up at Killian before unwrapping it.

"It's okay," the detective assured her, popping the sweet into his mouth, "this is one year you won't have to check you," but he staggered as the confection drifted over him.

He was small, early teens maybe, watching people walk by on the street. The leaves were a vibrant, technicolor orange, and the apartments across the street were festooned with pumpkins, bats, and hay. His mother was making caramel apples and wrapping homemade candies like the one they had taken from the bowl. His mother smiled at him as he looked up from the pot he was stirring, and when she looked at him, she made a face that told him how much she loved him without saying a word.

Killian staggered a little, Madeline's fingers sliding out of his as she wobbled.

Ghost food was like that. Spirits didn't usually have access to things like flour, sugar, or an oven, so they made food from memory. Spirits don't need to eat, but it's like having comfort food when you're feeling down. The sweets this woman was handing out had been lovingly crafted from her memories of better times when the neighborhood wasn't a place you could have your throat for the change in your pocket. Killian took hold of Madeline's hand again, the girl's eyes still a little glassy from the shock of the sweet, and he thanked the woman, who nodded mutely in response.

"Not used to spirit food, eh?" Killian asked.

Madeline shook her head, "I've been in the Asylum since you rescued me. I saw the children in the shed make such things for each other, but I never had any. Why bother? We were dead."

Killian nodded, understanding what should have been obvious. This little trip had been authorized by her minders, and they hoped it would do her some good. Madeline had broken one of the Agency's cardinal rules, and a member of the living had died. She had promptly broken another as she fed on his dwindling lifeforce. She was a child in every sense of the word, a new spirit who had no idea what she was doing, but that didn't matter to the Agency. They had sent Killian to destroy her, but Killian had come back with a damaged little girl, pleading with his handler for clemency.

Madeline had found sanctuary within the Asylum, a place the Agency used to rehabilitate wayward spirits, but Madeline was now a sword they hung over Killion's head constantly.

When the minder had asked if Killian would escort Madeline out tonight, Killian had never considered refusing.

Since being allowed to visit her, Killian often found himself at the Asylum, and the two had become fast friends.

"Do you think we could go to the parking structure?" she asked, seeming almost shy about it.

Killian thought about it, "I dunno, kid. Are you sure you really want to go back to that place? Can't be a lot of good memories there."

"I know, but I want to make sure that all the kids moved on. Could we maybe stop by? Please?"

It was the please that did it. That childish trill made it sound like she wanted nothing more than an ice cream cone or a new toy. She looked up at him so nakedly, wanting to see a familiar place she had once known so well. Killian realized he had time, had nothing but time, and when he nodded, her face lit up.

"Maybe it'll do you good to see your old friends again."

Madeline laughed, making her usually serious face look young again, "Seems more like visiting a battered women's shelter you used to stay at often, but I'd still like to see it."

Killian oriented himself, trying to figure out how far the old parking structure was from their current location. They were in one of the less rough neighborhoods in Atlanta, and the car park was about twelve blocks from here if his figuring was right. The two of them could be there before midnight, but only just and only if they hurried. He had told the minder they would be back before dawn, and Killian felt sure they had enough time to get there and back again.

They set out, following the signs that Killian knew, as the trick-or-treaters began to thin out. It was getting late, the lights in the houses going off as nine o'clock grew later and later, and as the kids went in, the regular night traffic began to come out again. None of them looked twice at Killian or Madeline if they could see them at all, and the two walked past abandoned tenements and crumbling storefronts as they made their way towards the industrial park. Madeline was quiet as they went; her mind likely stuck on where they were going. Killian couldn't blame her. It would be like him going back to the place he died. It would be uncomfortable, almost voyeuristic, and then there was the fact that Killian couldn't remember where he had died. He always saw it in dreams, like a half-remembered memory. It wasn't something he liked to dwell on, but Killian suspected it had much to do with his unfinished business.

"Have you ever gone back to the place you died?" Madeline asked as though reading his mind.

Killian jumped a little, pulled out of his own contemplation by her curiosity, "Can't say as I have, kid."

"Why not? Are we not supposed to return to the place we died? Is it against the rules?"

"Quite the opposite, actually. Most spirits haunt the place they died exclusively. No, I can't remember where I died. I woke up in the reception room of the Agency and have only foggy memories of dying at all."

Madeline thought about this as they walked, and it was part of the reason that Killian heard the ghost boy in the first place. He heard sobbing before they even rounded the corner and had just started looking for the source when he saw him. Sitting on the stoop, colorful bucket in hand, was a sobbing ghost. He looked about eight or nine, his costume a classic white sheet with a pair of eye holes cut out to see through. His jeans and sneakers were visible beneath, and Killian could see that one of them had a heel just about ready to fall off.

Madeline let go of Killian's hand and went to him instinctually.

"It's no good, kid. He probably can't even," but the boy looked up in alarm as Killian spoke, dropping his bucket as he tried to backpedal away from Madeline.

"It's okay," Madeline soothed him, using the voice she had likely reserved for the children in the garage, "we won't hurt you. Are you lost? Do you need some help?"

The boy nodded slowly as if hypnotized, reaching for his bucket as he held it up like a shield before him.

"Can you tell us why you're crying?" Madeline asked, Killian keeping his distance so as not to spook the kid.

Kids were receptive; if this one saw through their "costumes," his sobbing could become screaming.

"I….I lost my way home." the little ghost stuttered, "I know it's around here somewhere. Could you help me?"

Madeline looked at Killian, "Do you think we have time?"

Killian checked his watch, the cracked face showing five till Ten, "I think we do, as long as the poor tike likes around here somewhere."

Madeline smiled at him, taking his hands and clutching them in hers, "My name's Madeline, and this is my friend, Killian. We're going to help you get home. Do you know what direction it is?"

The little ghost boy shook his head, Killian seeing that the front of his ghost sheet was wet with tears.

"Well," asked Madeline, "Do you know what street you live on?"

He started to shake his head but then stopped, "Not exactly, but I know it's named after a red flower. Momma used to grow them in the window box of our apartment, and she said the street was named after them."

Killian nodded, "Shouldn't be too hard to figure out. There's a collection of streets nearby named after flowers. Rose, Zinnia, Azalea, Hibiscus," but the ghost boy sat forward then and nodded.

"That's it! Hibiscus! I live in an apartment on Hibiscus."

Killian thought about it and realized Hibiscus was a little out of their way. It wasn't in the opposite direction or anything, but it wasn't exactly on their way. They would need to take some creative shortcuts once they returned the kid to his apartment, but Killian was still pretty confident they could get to the parking garage around one or two. Madeline came down the stairs, leading her new friend by the hand, and Killian marveled at her control. It had taken him a while to learn how to do that, and here she was, leading this boy around like it was nothing. To be fair, though, she had thrown a car at him on their first encounter, so maybe it just came with the territory.

"Off we go," Killian said, and the three of them started walking up the darkened street. The street lamps were hit or miss here, and the boy looked cautiously at the pockets of humanity that had gathered around the dark spots. This was where the sharks waited to ambush their prey, the peddlers and the hawkers waited for another victim, and those who had nothing to trade were congested to sell the only thing they had left. Madeline patted the boy's hand throughout it all, telling him to be brave as they progressed through the crowded streets.

When they took the corner onto Zinnia, the boy's steps got steadier, realizing he was almost home.

They were crossing a section of pavement illuminated by the greasy window of a twenty-four-hour market when Killian felt the scream rocket up his spine.

The alley between the shop and the shuttered pharmacy was lit in ghostly green by a light from inside the dark backroom of the pharmacy. It made the space look ghostly, and it made the pair in the alley look all the more ethereal. The woman was against the far wall of the alley, a pair of garbage cans hemming her in as she set her back against the disgusting bricks. The man standing over her was wearing a hockey mask, his body wide and thick, the long knife held in one meaty paw. He was laughing in the face of her screams, the knife looking small in his huge grip as he stalked in.

"Someone help!" The girl yelled, the cans rattling as she tried to squeeze herself between the crumbling fissures in the wall.

"Look around you, dear. It's just us two. No one's coming to help you."

Killian took a step forward before remembering that he was little better than vapor. He couldn't help this woman. She was of the material world, and Killian was of the spirit world. However, when he looked back at the little ghost and his young ward, the sheeted child's words were unmistakable and galvanized Killian like nothing else could.

He just kept repeating "Big sister" again and again.

When Killian stepped into the alley, he heard his boot grate on the concrete.

"Hey, no neck. Step away from the girl. You won't get a second warning."

The masked man turned, the grip on his knife now looking foolish, "You a cop? Cause unless you've got some backup in that stupid coat, you might want to back off. Unless you can drop me with that first shot, I don't think you stand a chance against," but he stopped talking as Killian let his death mask drop. Whatever he had seen before, Killian's bloated face and bloody visage took away all his confidence. As Killian leveled that .38 at him, he watched the barrel smoke and the chamber glow as he prepared to blast him with a bullet that may or may not do a damned thing.

Killian pulled the trigger, and a fireball the size of a barn door shot out of the end. The masked man stepped back, the knife falling from his numb fingers as the fireball struck him and passed through. Killian stood, ready to fire again, as the hulking brute shuddered and gasped in his tracks. The girl was still prone between the can, the blast having never touched her, and when the big galoot fell sideways in a dead faint, she stared at Killian is disbeleif.

She had just started to rise when the small ghost hit her around the waist, and she shrieked in fright. She looked down at the little ghost as Killian reapplied his death mask, and Madaline stepped up beside him. She slipped her hand into his, and for the briefest of moments, Killian felt something stirring in his stomach like he'd eaten some spirit delicacy. He was standing at the gate to a large campus, which looked exclusive and expensive, and he was feeling nervous. What if they didn't like him? What if he wasn't good enough? What if he couldn't cut it here and embarrassed himself?

Then a warm hand slid into his, and suddenly he felt safe. The man the hand belonged to had never made him feel safe before, but he was aware that this was a feeling he had wanted all his life. His mother had tried her best, but he had always secretly longed for this feeling of security.

The man looked down at him, and then suddenly, it was Killian looking down at himself.

He blinked, and when the sensation had cleared, Madeline was looking up, the look similar to the one she'd worn when her father had taken her hand.

Killian squeezed her hand gently, having never felt anything like that before with just a touch.

"Come on," Killian said, he and Madeline walking over to help the poor girl up, "we'll help you and your brother get home."

The girl looked at the little ghost, too shocked for words, and nodded as she accepted Killian's hand.

She walked numbly up the road to their apartment, the little ghost holding her hand.

The apartment was blazing like the sun as they approached, the front porch light reaching well into the street. The door opened as the young woman mounted the stairs and someone who could only be her mother wrapped the young woman in a hug, telling her she thought the worst when she was late. In the harsh light, Killian could see that the boy's sister was in a uniform of some kind. She'd been coming home from work when that slime had fallen on her for his own sick amusement. Killian was glad that they had been able to help her. He looked down at the ghost, expecting he would run to his mother as well, but he was still standing there, watching the two of them as they embraced.

"I was so scared, especially after what happened to your brother. I can't lose both of you, not tonight, not like this."

The girl looked back at the sidewalk where she had left their little group and looked confused when she couldn't find anyone.

"That's what I wanted to show you, mom. I saw Bradly tonight. He and his new friends saved me. I don't," she pushed away and looked up and down the street, "I don't understand where he went. He was right here, he was right here!" she yelled, looking around frantically.

Killian looked down at the little ghost and realized what he should have seen from the start. The sheet, which had looked so pristine, was actually speckled in red and brown. The sneaker sole wasn't coming off; it was completely missing. One arm was visible through the sheet because of the long cut in it, and the arm was a red ruin. One eye was dark and full of blood, but the other blue eye looked at him knowingly, understanding that Killian could see through his death mask.

The front porch light went out as his mother pulled his sister inside, the girl still calling for her little brother before the door cut them off.

The boy looked up at him, putting himself back to rights, and Killian could see his smiling eyes from the holes in his sheet.

"Thanks, Mr. I wanted to see mom and sis again, even if it was just for a moment. I knew I couldn't go inside, and I knew that she probably wouldn't be able to see me, but I just wanted to see them so badly. When I couldn't find the street, I felt so sad, knowing I'd miss my chance. I'm so glad that you came along when you did, you and your daughter."

Killian thought about correcting him, but when Madeline squeezed his hand, he felt there might be some truth to it.

Had it really taken dying for him to finally find the family he'd always longed for?

"I hate to ask," the little ghost asked, "but could you take me back to my grave? I have to get there before daylight, or the sun will burn me up."

"I don't suppose it's close by, is it?" Killian asked.

It was after midnight, and they would be hard-pressed to make it to the car park by dawn.

"It's Crest Lawn Cemetery," he said, almost apologetically.

Killian looked down at Madeline as he spoke, "That could take hours on foot, and we'll only just make it."

Madeline smiled at the little boy, reaching out to take his hand before looking up at Killian.

"It's okay. The car park will still be there next time."