Johnny Graphic and the Ghost of Doom: Johnny Graphic Adventures, #3

By D. R. Martin

When a guy's about to get sacrificed to the volcano god, he might have some second thoughts about the choices he made that landed him in this pickle.

 

But Johnny Graphic knows he couldn't have done it any other way. Because these mountainous, frozen wilds are where his parents went missing. And being here is his only chance to find them.

 

That is, if he can manage to stay alive.

 

It's the final chapter of Johnny Graphic's great ghost adventure. And he and his sidekick Nina Bain have their work cut out for them.

 

Not only must they survive human-sacrificing tribesmen, they have to fight off murderous ghost warriors. Face down giant ice wolves. Stay alive when a massive volcano erupts. Stop a war before it starts. Help ghosts to really, truly, properly die. Defeat the most dangerous ghost of all. And, on top of everything, save the entire planet from doom.

 

It's a heckuva lot for a twelve-year-old news photographer to handle. But Johnny Graphic's up to the job!

 

"[Martin] does for ghosts what Asimov did for robots." —Top 50 Amazon Reviewer

 

"[Book 1 is] a strong pick for young adult readers, highly recommended." —Midwest Book Review

 

"[In Book 2 D. R. Martin] serves up a fast-paced adventure story that younger readers from ten up couldn't help but love, as would older readers who grew up on fun adventure stories." —Amazon UK Reviewer

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. R. Martin
• Release date: Oct 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393266457

Book preview

When a guy’s about to get sacrificed to the volcano god, he might have some second thoughts about the choices he made that landed him in this pickle.

But Johnny Graphic knows he couldn’t have done it any other way. Because these mountainous, frozen wilds are where his parents went missing. And being here is his only chance to find them.

That is, if he can manage to stay alive.

It’s the final chapter of Johnny Graphic’s great ghost adventure. And he and his sidekick Nina Bain have their work cut out for them.

Not only must they survive human-sacrificing tribesmen, they have to fight off murderous ghost warriors. Face down giant ice wolves. Stay alive when a massive volcano erupts. Stop a war before it starts. Help ghosts to really, truly, properly die. Defeat the most dangerous ghost of all. And, on top of everything, save the entire planet from doom.

It’s a heckuva lot for a twelve-year-old news photographer to handle. But Johnny Graphic’s up to the job!

[Martin] does for ghosts what Asimov did for robots. —Top 50 Amazon Reviewer

[Book 1 is] a strong pick for young adult readers, highly recommended. —Midwest Book Review

[In Book 2 D. R. Martin] serves up a fast-paced adventure story that younger readers from ten up couldn't help but love, as would older readers who grew up on fun adventure stories. —Amazon UK Reviewer

Copyright © 2020 D. R. Martin

Published by Conger Road Press

Minneapolis, Minnesota

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part, scanned, photocopied, recorded, distributed in any printed or electronic form, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical or journalistic articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Many of the names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, locales, or places is entirely coincidental.

Cover design © 2020 Steve Thomas

Visit johnnygraphicadventures.com, drmartinbooks.com, and facebook.com/johnnygraphicadventures

Contact the author at [e-mail]

The Two Impossible Things

The First Impossible Thing posits that no ghost may return to life in a physical body.

The Second Impossible Thing posits that no ghost may escape the ether and pass over to the great unknown that claims, upon their deaths, the vast majority of all living creatures.

Prolog

Thursday, February 27, 1936

Cottonwood Creek, Plains Republic

Lizzie Sunderland and Slim Cooper spent the day riding fences, checking for snow and wind damage. The winter had been fairly easy on the northern plains—oddly warmish, not so cold and snowy—but the job still needed doing. It hardly, though, seemed like work to Lizzie. She loved life in the saddle. If it were up to her, she’d live out on the prairie all year long.

They barely spoke a word to each other as they rode along. Slim, the ranch manager, wasn’t the most talkative of cowboys. But when they stopped for lunch—chicken sandwiches, coffee for Slim, cream soda for Lizzie—she unburdened herself. She really, really, really didn’t want to fly home the next day. Capital City, she complained, was a big, noisy pigsty. And lots of people there were awfully mean to her dad.

Slim said he couldn’t blame her for wanting to stay on the ranch. According to the windburned cowhand, if you couldn’t find what you needed in Cottonwood Creek, then you probably didn’t need it. But he tactfully pointed out that, as a twelve-year-old, Lizzie was a little too young to be declaring her independence.

They discovered a few more trouble spots after lunch. Some rotted old fence posts that had fallen over. Barbed wire that required replacing.

By midafternoon, the two found themselves about an hour’s ride from the ranch house. Lizzie gazed up at the slate gray sky, which was showing some odd tinges of green where the sunlight tried to peek through. That’s when she noticed a big flock of ghosts off to the east. It wasn’t uncommon to encounter specters out here. Usually, though, it was a lone Wichota spirit guardian. Or that herd of ghost elk that came through, trying to graze but unable to. Sometimes the dead sodbusters who haunted the abandoned McCabe place would stop by to chew the fat.

But Lizzie had never seen ghosts like these. And so darned many of them. They deserved a closer look.

Ghosts, she said to her companion. Over there toward Graywolf Creek. Let’s take us a gander.

Horse hooves crunching through a crust of icy snow, they turned to their left and headed for the procession of specters. Lizzie led the way, since Slim couldn’t see ghosts. She guessed that a hundred or more of them were strung out over the harsh, barren landscape, floating along about fifteen or twenty feet above the ground. They most definitely weren’t from these parts.

Some rode ghost horses and wore flouncy hats with feathers sticking out. Others, flying under their own power, had horned helmets and carried axes. One of the wraiths, with an old army carbine over his shoulder, looked as though he might have died in the Great War. A big cluster of them, curved swords at their hips and bows on their backs, wore leather tunics and rode stubby little ponies.

They were all dead soldiers, it seemed. Every single one.

Hey there, mister, Lizzie hollered up at one of the ghosts, a squat, square-looking fellow on a pony. Whatcha all doin’? Not much going on out here, you know.

The wraith halted his mount, turned toward the young cowgirl, and gazed down at her. He had narrow eyes and a wispy black beard. The icy stare he gave her might have caused someone else to back away. But Lizzie, who had once given a bully a bloody nose, wasn’t any kind of shrinking violet.

My father owns this land, she said with as much authority as she could muster. If there’s something going on, I want to know about it.

The ghost glared at her for several seconds. Then he made a rustling, papery sort of hmmm sound and rejoined his compatriots.

What’d he have to say for hisself? Slim asked.

Nothing, actually. But Lizzie felt something strange was brewing. She needed to tell her dad about it. Let’s head for home. Stella’s making ham for dinner and she gets darned cranky when we’re late.

* * *

The sprawling Double-S Ranch was Lizzie’s favorite place on earth. Her grandfather had homesteaded it. Her father and uncle had grown up there—they were the two S’s, the two Sunderland brothers. Dad went to college, became a lawyer, a politician, and ultimately a member of parliament. Then, much to everyone’s surprise, he had become the prime minister of the whole Plains Republic when the previous government collapsed a few months ago. It was the most important job in the country and lots harder than just serving as an MP. Most of the time, he seemed preoccupied with stuff Lizzie didn’t understand—or really care about. But when, over their dinner of ham and potatoes, she mentioned the strange ghosts she’d seen that afternoon, he instantly became attentive.

Ghost soldiers? He focused those piercing blue eyes on her. You sure about that, sweetie?

She gave an emphatic nod. Absolutely. They had weapons. They had on uniforms. Soldiers for sure. All different kinds.

Lizzie’s dad shook his head. Well, that can’t be good.

Owen Sunderland was a handsome man in a rugged sort of way—at least Lizzie thought so. He had dark hair salted with gray, and he still had the physique and strength of the old football player he once had been. Nothing seemed to rattle him. Cool as a cucumber, more than one newspaper had said of the new PM.

But the worried look on his face alarmed Lizzie. What’s wrong, Dad? she asked. Have you heard something about ’em?

He shook off his gloomy expression and smiled at her. It’s probably nothing, cowgirl. Don’t worry about it. But just for safety’s sake, I’m going to have Woodrow radio Capital City with your information. The Ministry of Etheristics might want to check into it. And you said they seemed headed toward the Badlands?

Uh-huh, she said. Making a beeline, from the look of it.

Woodrow Dawson—a young attorney and the prime minister’s personal secretary—was sitting right across the table from Lizzie. He put down his knife and fork. Do you want me to get on it pronto, sir?

No, no, that’s okay, Woody, said Lizzie’s dad. Finish your ham and taters, and we’ll get on the radio when we’re done.

After cleaning her plate, Lizzie read for a while—the new Jo Jones girl sleuth mystery. An hour later, her eyes growing heavy, she decided to hit the hay. On the way to her room, she walked by the empty birdcage where her green-and-red parrot Buster used to live. It made her sad every time she thought about him. He had gotten out through a window that Lizzie had carelessly left open at Christmastime a couple of years before. Slim had found him dead in the snow a few weeks later.

Lizzie was still mad at herself for causing poor Buster to freeze to death out on the prairie. One of these days, she wanted to get another parrot, but she wasn’t ready yet. Buster could talk and sing and do tricks. No other bird could possibly be as terrific.

In bed that night, the distant yipping and keening of coyotes serenaded her. She tried to imagine what it might be that they were saying. She would miss that sound, back in the big city. She always did.

Her eyelids finally closed, and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Normally, she slumbered straight through the night. But that night, something tugged insistently at her consciousness: Wake up. Please wake up.

Her eyes blinked open. She squinted at the clock. It was three in the morning. Why in the world am I awake? she wondered.

Then she heard a strange sound through the wall.

Not her father’s usual snoring. But an agitated groaning.

Something wasn’t right. Lizzie hopped out of bed. She darted into the hallway. It was quite dark—except for a quivering, queasy green light seeping out from beneath her father’s bedroom door.

She knocked on the door. Dad, are you all right? Not waiting for an answer, she turned the knob and rushed into the room.

What she saw stopped her in her tracks.

A ghost. Glowing green in the dark. One of the warriors she had seen earlier.

Leaning over her father’s bed.

This one wore a tunic embroidered with a wolf. He had on a leather helmet with a pointed tip. He turned to look at her, and Lizzie gasped in horror. Where his eyes had once been, empty sockets, still dripping with blood, regarded her.

Lizzie had to do something. But what? Before she could decide, the wraith floated over to her, almost nose to nose. Lizzie had never been more petrified in her entire life.

Wh-wh-what do you want? she stammered.

If you say a single word about my visit, the specter hissed, to anyone...

How could he see without eyes?

...I shall kill your father and your mother and leave you a miserable orphan.

Lizzie knew that if some living person had given him the power to interact with the physical world, he could do just that. But much to her surprise, he backed away—still giving her that sinister, eyeless gaze—right through the bed, through her father, and out through the wall.

The instant he vanished, Lizzie rushed over to her father and shook him. Dad! Are you okay? Wake up! Please wake up!

For a few seconds, he didn’t respond. But then his shoulders heaved, and he began to mumble a few incoherent words. Lizzie felt a rush of relief. She went over to the chest of drawers, groped for the matches, and lit the lamp. By the time she turned around, her father was sitting upright, his pale legs hanging over the edge of the bed.

Sweetie, he said groggily, I just had the most awful dream.

For Lizzie, though, the nightmare was real. She wanted desperately to tell him what had happened. But she couldn’t risk it. She had been warned.

Chapter 1

Tuesday, March 3, 1936

Airborne Southeast of Okkatek Island

The Gianelli Z-509 floatplane was being tossed around like a toy in the hands of a nasty child.

Up, down, sideways. Jolting and jouncing and jumping.

Pounding rain battered its sleek aluminum skin, and intermittent waves of hail beat it like a drum. Every few seconds, out there in the tumultuous grays and blacks of the storm, lightning would flash and thunder blast.

Johnny Graphic gripped the ends of his armrests so tightly that his hands ached. He clenched his teeth so hard, he wondered if he might crack a molar.

You would think by now, shouted Nina Bain from the seat across the narrow aisle, we’d be used to scary airplane rides.

You would think so, Sparks. Johnny recalled several close calls they had survived not too long ago. Getting attacked by rampaging wraiths in midair. Nearly flying into the treetops in this very same Gianelli tri-motor. Caught in the shockwave of the etheric bomb. Stuck in a gyrocopter in dense fog, with hostile ghost warriors all around them.

The floatplane dropped ten or fifteen feet, and Johnny’s body tried to fly straight up into the ceiling. But the seatbelt caught him violently, almost squeezing the breath out of him. A whoooof sound shot out of his mouth.

I just want to get down safe on the water, he wheezed to his best friend.

You and me both! Nina replied, her black curls bouncing on her head.

Directly in front of Johnny sat his godmother, Dame Honoria Gorton Rathbone, from whose Gilbeyshire country house they had departed very early that morning. And right behind Nina, his big sister Melanie had her nose buried deep in a stack of papers, seemingly oblivious to the bumpy ride. But then, nothing could distract Mel when she had a problem to tackle.

And if anyone could solve the problem of Percy Rathbone and his foul deeds, it was Johnny’s sister and his godmother. Mel was one of the youngest etherists on the planet, as well as one of the smartest. A practicing ghost whisperer, she was planning to get a degree in etheric physics.

In addition to being a prominent etherist herself, Dame Honoria, poor woman, was Percy’s mother. She desperately wanted to put her son out of action. Having borne and raised him, she somehow felt responsible for the whole huge mess he’d created.

Mel and Dame Honoria suspected it was on Okkatek Island, in the northern Lesser Ocean, that Percy had learned how to reanimate dead bodies. And in the vast spaces of Okkatek—a very big island at 40,000 square miles—the specter who once had been Dame Honoria’s beloved son had somehow also gained mastery of ghostly possession of the living.

It was on Okkatek five years ago that Johnny and Mel’s parents had both been lost in a raging blizzard. Percy Rathbone had almost certainly engineered their disappearance. This trip would allow Johnny and his sister to follow up on the few, precious clues they had about the fate of Lydia and Will Graphic.

The floatplane jumped upward a dozen or more feet, squashing Johnny back down in his seat. He wondered how much more of this he could take. Amazingly, he had managed to keep his lunch from coming up. So far. Even if the passengers on board could take the punishment, Johnny wondered about the Gianelli itself. All the buffeting and battering had to be tough on those thousands of rivets and welds that held it together.

If the plane cracked apart, it wouldn’t be a problem for the little girl ghost Bao, sitting a couple of rows behind Johnny. Being dead already, she couldn’t die again. But Johnny and Nina, Mel and Dame Honoria, Uncle Louie and Danny Kailolu could. Just as Johnny morbidly imagined a fatal plunge from the sky, Uncle Louie, co-piloting the floatplane, turned around from his right-hand seat up front. Hey, everyone! he bellowed. Looks like we’re finally flying out of this miserable soup. And we’re only twenty minutes from Sikkerhavn. We’ll be cozy in our hotel rooms in a couple hours.

Way to go, Uncle Louie! Johnny shouted. He looked back over his shoulder and saw Mel blinking at him, looking a bit baffled. Uncle Louie said the storm’s almost over. Sikkerhavn’s twenty minutes away, he told her. This blasted airplane ride’s almost over.

Oh. Okay, good, she said, returning to her documents.

Johnny just smiled. No one would guess that this drab-looking eighteen-year-old—with her unstyled dark hair, aversion to makeup, and fondness for beige and gray clothing—was the girlfriend of Danny Kailolu, the dashing young guy in the pilot’s seat.

The ride smoothed out and beams of sunlight poured through the windows. Johnny unbuckled his seat belt and made his way forward. Unlike the adults onboard, he didn’t have to stoop in the cramped cabin.

There’s Okkatek up ahead, Uncle Louie announced. Kind of brown and gray, huh? They say not a lot of trees grow there. Too far north.

Johnny peered through the spinning nose prop and saw a smear of land out on the horizon, extending out of sight. Somewhere on the island’s southwest coastline was the capital city of Sikkerhavn, which meant safe harbor in Okkatekian. An ocean port was there, as well as a flying boat base. And at St. Ansgar’s College, a certain professor was waiting to help them with their perturbing Percy problem.

Dusk had almost arrived, and the city lights twinkled in the distance. Uncle Louie talked back and forth with the control tower as they descended from twenty thousand feet, swinging west before they turned one hundred eighty degrees back to align with the aeroboat base’s east-west runway.

Get back in your seat, Johnny, ordered Danny Kailolu. Time to take her down.

Johnny did as he was told. During the descent, he glued his nose to the window, looking out over the starboard wing and engine. It appeared that there was a foot or two of chop as they came skimming in just over the water. All of a sudden, the Gianelli’s big floats touched the waves, juddering the aircraft, which soon settled down and lost speed. Ten minutes later, they taxied up to a Zephyr Lines dock and started disembarking from the floatplane. Mel exited first, followed by Nina. Johnny waited for Dame Honoria as she heaved herself to her feet with a groan.

Come along now, Bao, she said, glancing toward the back of the cabin.

Yes, Grandmother. The little girl ghost, whom Dame Honoria had found in a cave in Rotonesia several months earlier, floated through several seats to catch up with the old lady.

Out on the dock, Mel and Nina were talking to an older woman, who was bundled up in a black wool overcoat. She had gray hair tucked in under a gray felt cloche hat and wore tiny gold-rimmed spectacles. Standing ramrod straight, she might have looked rather severe, if not for the red silk scarf wrapped jauntily around her neck.

Johnny, Dame Honoria. Mel gestured them over. I’d like you to meet Professor Magney Ólafsdóttir, from St. Ansgar’s College.

An honor to finally make your acquaintance, Dame Honoria gushed, shaking the woman’s hand. I’ve been catching up on your monographs and books, and have found them most enlightening.

The feeling is mutual, I can assure you, the professor returned. I consider it an honor to have two of the world’s most distinguished etherists visiting us here on Okkatek.

Well, we’re going to rely heavily on your knowledge of Morbrec and his era, said Dame Honoria. We feel he is key to understanding how my son is perpetrating his mischief.

According to legend, Morbrec was an ancient wizard and shaman who discovered how ghosts could possess newly dead bodies. Mel and Dame Honoria believed that Percy might have learned the skill from Morbrec. But no one, in fact, knew for sure that Morbrec had ever even existed—in the flesh, let alone in the ether. He might well just be a tall Okkatekian tale.

I’m at your service, of course, the professor said. But speed, I’m afraid, may be of the essence, if you mean to research Morbrec in the places where he is thought to have lived and died.

Is there some problem? Dame Honoria asked.

You haven’t heard? Mount Úlfur has come to life in the last week or so. There have been a number of strong earthquakes under the mountain. If Úlfur blows, it could take hundreds of square miles with it, including Morbrec’s Cave. All of it buried under volcanic ash. The seismologists and volcanologists are very, very concerned.

Johnny groaned. What rotten timing.

Mel shot him a sharp look. It’s not the professor’s fault, you know. Just means we have to get to Morbrec’s Cave as soon as possible.

But didn’t we promise Johnny that first thing here on Okkatek, we’d follow up on the clues about Lydia and Will? Uncle Louie had just joined the group. Can’t Morbrec and his cave wait a week or two?

Dame Honoria frowned. I wish they could. But the volcano makes going there rather more urgent.

We’ve gotta leave for Morbrec’s Cave the very minute we get supplies and transport organized, Mel said firmly. Stopping Percy might depend on it. Mom and Dad will have to wait.

Johnny felt as though he’d just gotten socked in the gut. He was only seven when his parents disappeared. Every day since then he had longed to go to Okkatek and see if he could find some trace of them.

The time had finally come to do just that. And now Mel was saying he’d have to wait.

Again.

Chapter 2

Tuesday, March 3, 1936

Sikkerhavn, Okkatek Island

"Johnny, surely you don’t think we really want to postpone the search for your parents, do you? Dame Honoria spread a thick glob of lingonberry jam on her rye bread. Lydia and Will Graphic were... I mean are—let us remain optimistic. They are my dear, dear friends. To reunite them with their children after all these years would be a dream come true."

There were only four tables in the dining room of the old inn, and they looked as if they had been in use for a long, long time—battered, dark, and immovable as boulders. The creaking planks of the flooring were so worn they were wavy, and the wooden beams above, set in whitewashed plaster stained with smoke, sagged with their own weight. People had been eating in this room, the night manager had told them, for over two hundred years.

From her seat across the table, Mel gave Johnny a look equal parts sympathy and sadness. I don’t like it any more than you do. I’d give my right arm to get to the place where the contessa found Mom and Dad.

Johnny closed his eyes and saw that drawing the Contessa di Altamonta had made of his parents. Wearing tattered winter gear, they were huddled in front of a yurt with the ghost of an ice wolf guarding them. It had to be a ghost because the species had gone extinct decades before. The wolf had a diamond-shaped marking on its forehead. Pamela Worthington-Smythe, Percy’s living girlfriend, stood near them, wearing a fancy fur coat. In the background, three mountain