Polterguys 3rd Dimension: Polterguys, #3

By Sonia Rogers

Ed and Ghost are back in the saddle – okay, fine, they're in Ed's classic Pacer - in the third book of the Polterguys series.

Things are going great ever since the Polterguys broke up the black magic coven terrorizing their town. Business is good, Ed's relationships with his wife and son are better than ever, and even his father-in-law doesn't seem to hate him as much.

But when Harry, the well-dressed demon, reappears, Ed knows nothing good can come from it. True to form, Harry wants something – and the demon is determined Ed will find the mysterious package, even if he has to resort to blackmail to get it.

Things get even more complicated when Ghost's bio-dad, the famous (and rich) actor Vinny Stephens decides it's time to finally meet his son, there's a new business in town stealing their customers, and Ed's father-in-law is harboring a huge secret that could change his relationship with Ghost forever.

Things are always crazy, but it's never dull at Polterguys!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Beagle Publishing
• Release date: Feb 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393297147

Sonia Rogers

Sonia Rogers is the author of a lot of books. Some are good, some are so-so, and a few are pretty terrible. Regardless, she continues to put her work out into the world, hoping to connect with the same sort of twisted minds as her own. She lives in Missouri with her husband and a pack of annoying (yet loveable and funny) beagles.

Book preview

Hey, there! I’m Ed Ward, and I offer a unique service to the city of Springfield. Are you haunted by ghosts? Poltergeists? Sphincters? Or maybe you don’t know—

Cut!

Now what?

Dude! You said sphincters again! It’s supposed to be specters!

Chapter 1

Ididn’t even want to do the stupid commercial, but the kid said we needed something more ‘professional’. Whatever that means.

I personally thought my original ad worked fine. It was simple and to the point - not to mention a lot cheaper: Ed Ward, Paranormal Investigator. I deal in ghosts, ghouls, and goblins. Got a pest the exterminator won’t deal with? Call me, the Poltergeist Guy!

Of course, that was before the kid changed the name of my business behind my back. I asked him to do one simple thing. Get us a business license. He did what I asked, all right, but the little jerk took it upon himself to change the name Poltergeist Guy to Polterguys.

It flows better, he'd whined. It’s more up to date. Or something like that. I'd been too mad to pay much attention to his sniveling, honestly.

Anyway, my stepson Alvin, a.k.a. Ghost, decided we needed to make a better commercial, all because someone else in town got the bright idea to open a second ghost hunting business. And as they used to say in the old west, ‘This town ain’t big enough for both of us.’

It wouldn’t be a big deal, but the new guys had named their business Alpha Ghost Chasers. That meant they’d be listed first in the phone book, which might potentially cut into our business since people would see their name first.

At least the inter-whatchamacallit didn’t work that way. I mean, that’s what Ghost said, and since I’m a little tech challenged, I have to trust that he knows what he’s talking about. Anyway, he said anybody doing a search for ghost hunters would get the listing in order of the most ‘hits.’

I thought hits meant how many ghosts we’d gotten rid of, but apparently, it means the number of people looking at our website. At least, I think that’s what he said.

On the bright side, business was booming. Ever since we’d broken up the illegal witch’s coven practicing black magic, we couldn’t keep up with all the phone calls and whatchamacallits on the internet.

I’d been able to make my secretary Lou a full partner, brought our detective – a vampire named Jeremy – on full-time, and even offered a contracting job to Percy and Zoe, the werewolves who tried to kill me when we first met. I figured their sensitive noses and superior tracking skills might come in handy sometime.

Yeah, ever since I’d come back from the dead, life was sweet. My wife Masha couldn’t keep her hands off me, her father Boris finally admitted he didn’t completely hate me, and my son Ghost – er, Alvin, well, we were getting along better than we ever had.

The only blight on the horizon was the upcoming visit from the kid’s biological father. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. He’s one of those people – the guy every man wants to be, and every woman wants to be with.

Yup, the kid’s bio-dad is Vinny Stephens, the famous actor.

I wasn’t worried about his visit, though. I mean, the kid hadn’t even known his real father's name until recently. Ghost called me Dad now – well, mostly when he wanted something, but still...

I didn’t have anything to worry about. Nothing at all. Nope, no worries.

Dude, seriously! Can we finish up and get back to real work?

With a sigh, I faced the camera again.

Chapter 2

Exhausted from the ten thousand, two hundred and forty-four attempts at filming the stupid commercial, all I could think about was taking a nap, but Lou ruined that notion in a hurry.

Ya got an appointment in a hour, she cheerfully chirped. Ugh. I loved Lou like a mother, but really, did she have to be so happy?

Why are you so cheerful? I grumbled.

Whatta y’mean? It’s not every day a real live famous actor comes to meet us! I’m gonna get his autograph so I c’n rub it in Riley’s face. Vinny Stephens is her favorite actor. She’s gonna be so jealous!

Thanks for reminding me, I muttered under my breath.

Pushing her chair back, the old woman almost skipped to the coffeepot, coming back with a mug she shoved in my general direction, nearly splashing the hot liquid onto some very sensitive parts.

Quit bein’ such a grumpy ass, Ed. You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. Ghost don’t have nothin’ in common with that guy ’cept some looks.

Lou meant well, but her words didn’t ease the ache in my belly every time the actor’s name was mentioned. What if the guy was coming here to take my son away?

I mean, sure, I’d gotten off to a rocky start with the kid when I first married his mother, but what’s a few flat tires and Nair-laden shampoo bottles between a father and son?

And yeah, I’d kind of been forced into making him a partner in my business, and he’d changed the name behind my back to one he liked better, and I can’t swear to it, but I’m almost positive he shoved me into the church on our very first job, and he drove me kind of crazy with the ‘Dude’ thing all the time-

What was I talking about?

Oh, right. Vinny Stephens.

The fact of the matter was that the kid and I had worked out most of our differences when we’d saved each other’s lives from that crazy witch Marzipam. It created a bond between us that was as strong as any biological one. We still argued some, but what father and son didn’t?

And it wasn’t just the kid I worried about. My wife had had feelings for the actor nineteen years ago. Masha’s not the kind of woman to jump into bed with just anyone. Trust me, it took forever before I convinced her I was in it for the long haul. She never would have slept with him unless she thought the relationship was going somewhere.

And with proof of their love sitting beside me, tapping away on his computer while listening to the crap he called music, I couldn’t help but worry a little.

What if she fell in love with him all over again? I didn’t have my trust fund anymore, and yeah, Polterguys had finally started making a little money, but nothing compared to what Vinny Stephens made in a single day.

What if the man swept in and took my family back to Hollywood with him? Not that I would blame them. I mean, the man was rich, famous, and had a full head of hair, where I was an alcoholic, penniless guy with a bad combover.

But if they left me, I would be devastated. Masha was my angel, my soulmate, my-

Dude! Ghost shoved my shoulder, almost spilling the forgotten coffee in my lap.

We gotta roll, dude! Time to meet this new client.

I took one last sip of coffee and asked Lou, You want a ride home on the way?

Clapping her hands together, she bounced on the heels of her feet excitedly. Nah. I’m gonna call Uber again. That reminds me, she said, looking up at the kid. I need my gun.

Ghost rolled his eyes before he stood and walked to the corner of the basement. He reached up and pulled a pistol from the top of a stack of tubs, then handed it to the old woman, who caressed the barrel while she grinned.

She’s purty, ain’t she, boys?

I thought about snatching the thing away from her, but figured I’d shoot myself somehow. Put it away, Lou. And make sure the safety is on! What’s Sam think about you carrying that thing, anyway?

Lou was technically a widow, but her dead husband Sam haunted the little house they’d lived in. Well, I don’t know if haunting is the right term for it. Except for the fact that Sam was dead, they acted like every other couple who’d been married for forty-something years, bickering and sniping at each other like – well, like an old married couple.

But they loved each other. On the few occasions we’d allowed Sam to take possession of one of us, the couple was almost sickening in their displays of affection for one another.

Lou grinned as she put the pistol in her purse. Sam says I gotta do whatever I need to do to stay safe. Since he can’t protect me nomore, this baby’ll have to do when I ain’t at home.

I cringed at the image of Lou holding the pistol on some poor, unsuspecting Uber driver. She’d proven her talent with a shotgun at our very first meeting when she shot Marzipam. I just hoped she was as accurate with the pistol as she was with the shotgun.

Once the weapon was safely stowed away in her purse, I gestured to the kid, Let’s hit the road, Jack.

Ghost gave me a funny look - probably wondering who Jack was - but headed for the door. Once outside, I paused to admire my baby. The 1976 AMC Pacer had been my grandfather’s, the one thing in life he truly loved other than me and my Grandma. On his deathbed, Pops made me swear to take care of the car, an oath I’d reluctantly agreed to, since I wasn’t so great at keeping promises back then.

That lack in character took its toll over the years, even as my guilt over it increased. Pop’s baby – now my baby – had slowly degenerated into a giant mess, complete with a busted-out driver’s side window – thanks to an angry transgender fairy named Tinkerbell – a backseat I hadn’t seen in years, and the word ‘Asshole’ spray-painted in brilliant orange down one side, a gift from one of the officers of the Witch’s Coven Police Department.

I still loved her though, even when she wouldn’t start half the time. Pops had passed his pride of owning the classic car down to me, and for years, I’d sworn I would restore her to her former glory someday. I just hadn’t gotten around to it.

Now, I stared at the car that looked as new as she had when Pops drove her off the showroom floor. Even though she’d been in this shape for a while now, I was still stunned every time I looked at her.

After I started Polterguys, my father-in-law kept trying to give me a new car from his Cadillac dealership, but I’d shunned all his offers.

See, I thought he hated me. Of course, I'd also thought he was Russian mafia, and I worried that if I accepted the offer, I’d be beholden to him for things I wasn’t exactly comfortable with. You know, like breaking the kneecaps of people who owed him money, or worse, torturing them by forcing them to eat my wife’s cooking while keeping a pleasant smile on their faces.

Turned out, there was a whole other reason he wanted me to take the car. Boris has a much more believable job than assassin for the mafia. He works for a secret government agency.

The Agency monitors and records paranormal activity all over the country. Think Men in Black meets Area 51 meets DaVinci Code, and you can sort of figure out what they do.

Anyway, when we accidentally stumbled onto – and saved - a victim of the witchophile killer, Boris wanted us to have a car that would be trackable, for our safety.

Since he couldn’t exactly tell me about his work at the top-secret agency, he couldn’t tell me why he wanted me to have the car. Of course, I denied all his offers, suspecting him of - well, you know - wanting to kill me.

After I captured the witch who had been killing witchophiles - fine, I guess the kid had a hand in it, too - the Agency thanked me by fixing up my baby, even covering the graffiti by repainting her in the original Brilliant Blue color.

Every time I looked at her now in her nearly new state, she reminded me of Pops, and how proud he’d been of his ‘Flying Fishbowl’.

Memories of driving her on the weekends, after Pops lectured me for long minutes about taking care of her, flooded my mind.

Going to parties with Bobby at the lake and meeting the cool kids for the first time, cruising Kearney, the moon and streetlights flooding the back seat while we jammed on bands we called hard rock even though they play that stuff on country channels now-

Dude, you gonna unlock my door, or what?

I jumped, then slid into the car, the newly refurbished seats feeling almost as buttery as the leather ones in Masha’s Mercedes. I unlocked the passenger door and pushed one of my last remaining 8-track tapes into the player while the kid struggled to fit his six-foot-something frame into his seat. The Van Zandt brothers began wailing about how much they loved Alabama as I pulled out of the driveway.

Ghost reached over and turned the music down. Okay, here’s the info on the job.

Since he’d made the appointment over the internet, and I didn’t have a clue how the damn thing worked, I had to rely on the kid to give me the information about any appointments made that way.

Okay, address first. Working my way out of the little suburb we lived in, I almost missed what he said as I avoided parked cars and carts set out for the trash truck.

Wait, what was that again?

Ghost gave a heavy sigh, as though repeating himself took too much effort. It’s in Galloway, dude.

On the edge of Springfield, Galloway had once been a small town in its own right. The owners of the quarry there provided homes for the workers, who lived in a similar fashion to coal mine workers. By the time they handed over the rent for the company-owned homes and repaid the outstanding debts from the grocery store (also owned by the company), the workers were too broke to quit their jobs and move away.

With safety measures being nonexistent back then, it stood to reason there would be plenty of ghosts haunting the homes and hills of the area. In fact, there were so many paranormal sightings in Galloway, when the Witch’s Coven Police Department was formed, they transformed one of the defunct businesses in the area into their station and jail.

I had extreme knowledge of the inside of their jail and had no intention of ever going back. But working in Galloway meant Chief Beatrix Martin would be nearby. Hopefully, we’d be able to stay off her radar.

Okay, I sighed, turning the car toward the highway. What’s the story? Another ghost?

Uh, I’m not sure, Ghost mumbled. This guy seemed- confused.

Pursing my lips, I forced myself to relax before I asked, Didn’t you send Jeremy to check him out?

The kid shifted in his seat and snapped back at me, Of course I did! Dude, I’m not stupid. Whatever it is, Jeremy said we needed to see it for ourselves. I don’t know what he meant by that.

Okay, the conversation was pissing me off a little. The whole reason we’d hired Jeremy in the first place was to vet possible clients. His entire job consisted of going to the homes of people who contacted us to make sure there was an actual supernatural being/creature/whatever needed to be removed. How hard could it be?

I had to remind myself it wasn’t the kid’s fault Jeremy hadn’t done his job. I tried to soften my tone a little when I asked, What else did he say? I mean, there’s a ghost sighting on the north side of town we could be going to, instead.

Ghost shook his head and said, All I know is that Jeremy said we needed to take this case. In fact, he’s meeting us at the house.

A buzzing sound came from the kid’s lap, and he looked at his phone. That’s him right now. He wants to know how long until we get there.

I took a deep breath, irritated, and reminded myself that none of this was the kid’s fault. The questions in my head kept coming, though. What the hell was going on that Jeremy felt like he needed to be there, too?

As I took the offramp nearest the suburb, I answered, Tell him five minutes.

It only took three before we pulled up in front of a two-story house that had seen better days. Ancient brown siding patched with rectangles of white and gray stretched straight up the side of the old place. Faded cloth protruded from a windowpane on the second floor, and plywood covered its mate on the other side of the house.

Jeremy’s dark Cadillac sat at the curb, gently idling.

Dude, do you see that?

Yeah. What the hell is going on here?

On the front porch of the house, an old man with overalls as patched as the house sat in a rocking chair, eyes closed and as still as a dead man.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the guy as we met Jeremy on the brown lawn and followed him up the cracked sidewalk. The breeze blew long gray curls around the man’s head. My nose began to itch at the thought of that hair tickling my face, but the man in the rocking chair never even twitched.

Putting a foot on the bottom step and leaning on the railing, Jeremy shouted, Mr. Evans? It’s me, Jeremy. Ah came back with mah boss like Ah promised.

The vampire turned back to look at us, letting a half-grin slide across his face as he announced, Y'all, meet Mr. Evans. This here’s a walkin’, talkin', dead man.

Well, that made everything clear as mud.

What the hell?

Chapter 3

Ghost, after a rare moment of speechlessness, came back to his senses enough to ask, Dude, what the fuck? If he’s dead, why didn’t you call Beatrix? Or the Springfield police? Why are we here?

I’d given up getting onto the kid for his language, but I still gave him ‘the look’ on occasion. You know, the one that says ‘Watch your step, mister’ without using the words.

Ghost pretended not to notice my carefully practiced face. Instead, he walked around me and up onto the porch, where his face immediately twisted in revulsion upon nearing the old man. Dude, when’s the last time you took a shower?

There was no response from the man in the rocking chair. Ghost stepped closer, breathing through his mouth, and reached out, plucking a limp hand from the rocking chair’s armrest. The old man never moved as the kid placed long fingers over the pressure point on the lifeless wrist.

Ghost turned his head away from the body, taking a few deep breaths of fresh air as he felt for a pulse.

Jeremy cleared his throat. Now, listen, ya’ll know Ah would nevah send ya’ll on a goose chase, but ya need ta talk ta him.

I was more confused than a blind man reading a stucco wall. I’m confused. Is he dead or not? Why are we here, exactly?

He’s- well, Ah ain’t sure what he is. He ain’t undead like me, Jeremy pronounced in his Southern drawl. In fact, he don’t seem to be dead a’tall. He’s—

Like a ventriloquist was hiding in the shadows, I never saw the man’s lips move when he interrupted the vampire. I’m dead. I need you to send me on to my heavenly reward.

The stranger’s breath must have been even worse than his body odor because Ghost clapped an abnormally-large hand over his own mouth and nose. Gently setting the stranger’s hand down on the rocking armchair, the kid backed away, only lifting the hand protecting him from the smell long enough to say, He’s got a pulse.

Okay then, I announced in a loud voice, scowling at Jeremy. Problem solved. You’re not dead, Mr. Evans. Unless you’ve got a ghost in the house somewhere, our services aren’t needed here.

Mr. Evans’ eyes popped open and he glared at me. He yelled, I am dead, I tell you! My body is dead! I don’t need food and water anymore, I don’t sleep, and look!

He held out an arm and shook it vigorously to make sure he had our attention. The skin on this body is rotting away! Would it be rotting if I was alive?

I took a step closer, but not close enough for his aroma to attack my sensitive nose. I looked at the flailing, dirt-encrusted arm. Sir, I started, trying to keep my voice gentle, I don’t see anything on your arm that a shower won’t fix.

The man was certifiable. He needed a psychiatrist, not a ghost hunter, and I needed to have a long talk with our detective about what constituted a job.

A snicker from behind me caught my attention, and I turned to see Jeremy hiding a smile under his hand. The vein in my forehead began pulsing. Is this a joke? Is he a vampire? He wants us to off him like you did when we first met?

The vampire shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest like he was trying to protect his heart. Ah done tol’ ya, he ain’t no vampire. He might be a zombie, Ah guess, although Ah ain’t seen one ’round here since th’ late 1800s.

Seriously? Zombies are a real thing?

Jeremy shrugged. Didja believe in vampires ’fore ya met me?

I shot a glance at Ghost, who tapped away on his phone, his go-to when things got weird. And things got weird a lot with us.

So... what is he? I asked, certain the kid would have the answer.

Ghost glanced up to meet my eyes for a half-second before going