The Festival of Hungry Ghosts

By Stephen Frame

He was a big bad wolf, and he left Fairyland in 1929 to go work as a private detective in Los Angeles.

 

He's got a new case he doesn't want; finding the kidnapped son of a local crime lord.

 

He's got a new partner he doesn't trust; a chaotic female gangster who likes dames, booze, and bullets.

 

Those are just the start of his problems. There are monsters in his way. And not all of them are human.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Feb 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9781959036432

Book preview

Prologue

On Tuesday October 29, 1929, the big bad wolf left Fairyland to become a private detective in Los Angeles. He didn’t realize he was swapping one land of make-believe for another. This is one of his stories.

Part One

The Wolf

There is no red gold. There is no perfect man.

Traditional Chinese saying.

Seek friends who are better than you. Not your own kind.

Traditional Chinese saying.

Chapter One

That first morning, three noteworthy things happened—my sense of smell came back, I nearly bit a guy’s hand off, and I met a ghost. Of these three, the first was unexpected and welcome, the second, unwelcome but not entirely unexpected, and the third… We’ll get back to the third. For now, let’s stick with the first, because it’s the most important.

I should also say these events were connected. I didn’t know it at the time. Maybe I should have, but I had a hangover, and I felt miserable. The way I’ve been most days, this past while. Hungover and miserable. Sometimes, for a change of scenery, I feel miserable and hungover. Sometimes, self-pity comes over to join his two pals. I let him stick around if he does. I wouldn’t begrudge him the company.

The day started with me sitting at my kitchen table, smoking a cigarette, drinking coffee, and shuffling through a stack of unpaid bills. Next to my bills stood the empty space where the stack of money I hadn’t earned from not having any work wasn’t piled up. I picked up a final demand for something or other, and my sense of smell came back. Just like that.

Maybe I should explain. This wasn’t like, Oh, I’ve got my sense of smell back. Now I can get a whiff of all the nice things in the world again. That’s you people. You humans. It’s different for me. Different for a wolf.

The world comes at me as a gestalt of sights, sounds, and smells, overlapping and sustaining each other, telling me who’d been here before, who’s here now, who’s on their way. Or at least, it used to, when I first came here from Fairyland back in ’29, before my senses dwindled to what they are now.

Lemme try and give you a picture of what it was like getting my nose back. Imagine someone had stuck a bag over your head, maybe like sackcloth, so you can just about see through those tiny gaps in the weave but not enough to make out what’s going on beyond arm’s length. You keep this bag on your head for a year or so.

One day, someone else, or maybe the same person, it doesn’t matter who, leads you to a place. You don’t know where you are, only that it’s outdoors. There’s dirt under your feet, a breeze against your skin, the heat of the sun. They tell you to stand real still, don’t move, not an inch.

They pull the bag off your head. And you’re standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon with toes hanging over the precipice. Nothing between you and the air and the drop. That’s how it was, getting my sense of smell back. Only more so.

I shot up, my thighs catching the table, coffee slopping everywhere. Breathing heavy, pulling in air, I could smell everything all at once. The spilt coffee and my cigarette smoldering unheeded. The fresh ink on my copy of the Los Angeles Times. The body scent of the paperboy, left there by his fingers when he threw my paper onto the stoop, and faint, so very faint, underneath the boy’s scent, the smell of blood—menstrual blood, probably from his momma when she hugged him before he left on his rounds.

I could follow him to where he’d gone, find where he lived, pick out his mother in a room crowded with strangers. There’s power in being able to find people who think they are invisible and beyond reach. It’s a rush, and a big one at that. It took me a second to get my act together, but I did.

First, I checked for elves. I glanced left then right. None of the sneaky bastards stood next to me, pointing something sharp at me, nor in me. You have to be careful with elves. Especially if you have history with them, the way I do. They’re vicious and cruel, and they move real fast.

I inhaled gorgeous, scent-laden air. Elves have an odor about them. It’s not what you might think. Most people believe they must smell of apple blossoms and meadows and such. They used to. Before they changed. Now they have a chemical stink, like ammonia. It’s unmistakable. The taint of magic gone sour.

How the change happened and why the elves became such monsters, I don’t know. What I do know was, my senses began to fade as soon as I came here, back in ’29. They would pick up again when I went to drop off a delivery with the elves. Being close to them would give me a boost. Not back to how I used to be, but enough to remind me of the price I’d paid to come here. The bargain I’d struck to stop the elves hauling me home and skinning me alive, boiling me in oil, making me dance wearing red-hot iron boots, or any of the other atrocities they pass off as justice.

Late in 1932, the trickle of people who found my escape route and decided to follow me out of Fairyland dried up. Refugees would be a better word to describe them, if I’m being honest with myself, which lately, I’ve avoided. I haven’t seen anyone from Fairyland since, and here we are, just past halfway through ’34.

This had a downside. I’d managed to work up a fair reputation as a private eye. I became the go-to guy if you wanted something found. Right up until my sense of smell faded like the last light of day, along with my sharp peepers and equally on-the-money ears.

The work faded right along with them. Turning me into a Joe Lunch-Bucket struggling through the Depression with all the other talentless Joe Lunch-Buckets. It’s been tough all over the past year. Now I’d spilt my coffee on my mail. Yup, tough all over.

Satisfied I wasn’t about to be run through by a homicidal representative of the immortal race who’d decided our bargain no longer stood, I rescued my mail from the puddle on the table, wafting the envelopes over the sink to let them drip.

What just happened? My magic was back, from no obvious source and for no obvious reason. That bothered me more than I liked to admit, even though it was a gift. Bringing back memories I’d rather not dwell on. Particularly the memory of the last delivery I’d passed on to the elves. A kicking, screaming, crying, bleeding delivery, who pleaded with me to let her go free.

And people ask why I drink so much.

I sat and twiddled my thumbs, then flexed my fingers a couple of times, and perused my furry mitts. My claws could use a trim. I got my wallet from my jacket pocket. Fifty-four dollars. My entire fortune.

With my sense of smell back, I could start earning again. But since it appeared from nowhere, it might disappear the same way. I had to find out why it’d come back. I could think of only one way to do that. Time to decide.

I decided I needed a drink.

Chapter Two

Needing a drink can serve a man in any number of positive ways, up to and including giving you time to think, helping you to find the courage to do what you need to do, allowing you to put aside the potential consequences of what you need to do, and letting you forget what you needed to do in the first place. Other times, you need a drink because you need a drink.

Walking along Ord Street, heading to Mol Malone’s bar, I spied a cent on the sidewalk. I’d also caught the scent of someone following me. Someone who didn’t want me to know they were behind me.

I bent to pick up the cent. The someone behind me snuck right up and yanked my tail. Not a gentle yank either. It was full on, like Babe Ruth swinging for a home run. I snatched up the coin and spun around fast. A couple of yards away, backing off, was a little Chinese kid.

My voice came out low and mean. Did you grab my tail?

By the time I stood up, it must have seemed like the Chrysler Building was snarling at her. She nodded, quick and emphatic. And due respect, she didn’t run off.

You know what happens to kids who yank my tail?

She shook her head, just as quick, just as emphatic, black bangs of hair flying about her face.

Well… I smiled at her, showing my big sharp teeth. When I catch them, I gobble them all up.

I lunged at her. She squealed at the top of her lungs then broke and ran. People were staring. The amount of noise she made, it’s a wonder the whole neighborhood didn’t turn out. A car slowed down. The driver gave us a quick glance before speeding away.

Her run was a lost cause. I paced behind her long enough to let her think she had escaped, then I scooped her up and threw her into the air. She squealed again, higher pitched, as I caught her.

Here it comes. I peeled my lips back from my fangs in an ugly smile. I pushed my muzzle into her hair and went, Num-num-num-num-num, finishing with a comedy burp. She giggled fit to bust as I held her at arm’s length to study her. Consider yourself eaten up.

In your tummy, Chang-Chang said.

Setting her down, I nodded my agreement. In my tummy. You’re not going to give me gas, are you? I mean, you look like the kind of thing that would give someone gas. You’re not beans, are you?

I’m not beans. I’m noodles.

Noodles? That’s good. Noodles don’t give me gas. Noodles I can live with. Crouching, I showed her the coin. You want this cent back? She made a grab for it. I scooted it out of the way. Why’d you leave it on the sidewalk anyway?

She stared at her fingers as she fiddled with the front of her smock. I had to catch you.

Why’d you have to catch me?

I had to catch you before the bad lady does. Her face went slack, all the little kid charm drained from it. If I don’t catch you before the bad lady does, you can’t help us. The stripy men are coming. You must be on time. Don’t be late.

She reached for me. I stopped myself from shrinking away. We have to make the invisible lady change her mind.

Her finger pressed into the lapel of my suit jacket, just below my shoulder. It sent a bolt of pain through me, making me gasp, forcing me to my knees.

Make the invisible lady change her mind. Chang-Chang touched my hand, her fingers running through the fur on the back of it. You have to be on time to miss the train. Don’t forget.

I barely heard her. Her touch brought all my wolf senses rushing back. If getting my nose back was like standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon, this was like getting thrown over it. Noise and light assaulted me.

I ducked my head, screwing my eyes shut. My hearing dialed back some. Blessed relief. Squinting until the light no longer dazzled, I opened my eyes. I felt different. Charged up. Strong. With some caution, I lifted my head.

Chang-Chang peered at me, a determined set to her lips. My penny, she said.

I rubbed at my watering eyes. Having my old senses back needed some getting used to. Before that. What did you say? Something about missing a train?

I said I was noodles.

No, Chang-Chang, you said you had to catch me before the bad lady does.

Her brow furrowed. You said I was beans and I said I was noodles.

Her chin and bottom lip danced a jig together. I wanted to ask her again, but who wants to make a little girl cry? I laid my hand on her shoulder. Okay, kiddo, here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll ask your momma about the penny. I mean, I could use a penny to buy my lunch. I’m famished. You barely made a good snack for me. Standing up, I got hold of her, swinging her onto my shoulders, where she grabbed my ears like reins. Easy there, I’d like those to stay fixed to my head.

BB has cotton ears. She ran her hands through the downy hairs covering them to their pointy tips. Squidgy ears.

Maybe I do. At least mine stick up like proper ears should. Not glued to the side of your head like yours. You people have weird ears.

Weird ears! Chang-Chang said.

I jiggled her on my shoulders, making her giggle, as we walked down Ord Street.

There’s your momma now. My voice dropped to a stage-whisper. Should I tell her I ate you all up?

She batted me on the head. No!

Hi, Wen, I said.

Hi, Mama, Chang-Chang said. BB ate me all up.

I hissed at her. I told you not to say a word.

Wen reached out her hands. I switched Chang-Chang off my shoulders and into them. She waited until her daughter’s feet tapped on the ground before she asked her question. Have you been bothering Mr. Wolf?

No, Mama. Chang-Chang’s face was study in solemnity. I pulled his tail.

Wen gave the kid the kind of hard stare only moms can do, as she rapped out something in Mandarin. Chang-Chang turned to me with her head down. Sorry, Mr. BB.

I knelt beside her. You tried to catch a wolf. That’s a brave thing to do. I think you earned this. I opened my hand, the cent resting in my palm. She took it with a smile.

Go find your grandfather and help him with the chores, Wen said. Then you’ll have earned a cent.

I watched Chang-Chang skip to the door of the Fengs’ grocery store, but she didn’t go inside. Instead, she swung on the door handle, staring across the street.

She was only fooling around, I said. No harm done. You look pretty today, Wen.

Direct, but I figured it would take the heat off Chang-Chang. And Wen did look pretty. Tired and worried too.

She brushed a lock of black hair behind her ear in a way I liked. I haven’t seen you much, she said.

I’ve been working some cases. You know how it is.

Wen pinned her mom gaze on me. I got a taste of what Chang-Chang went through only a moment ago. These cases, have they all happened in Mol Malone’s bar or just some of them? She caught my look. I talked to Marcie, down at the diner. You used to stop by the store every other day. Chang-Chang misses you. I…

I gave her a moment, but whatever she didn’t want to say stayed that way. How are things? I said.

I followed her gaze, taking in the low-rise buildings of Ord Street, the people hunkered against their walls, some in ones and two, some in larger groups, all with the same air of listlessness. A family with bundles of clothes and bedding stacked beside them. A stall on the corner, cobbled together from broken crates, set out with a meagre spread of wrinkled apples.

We’re getting by, but it’s difficult. People have to eat, so I suppose we’re lucky we’ve got the store. She bit at her lip. You think it’s true what the papers say? That Roosevelt is going to turn things around?

Yeah, I think he might. Maybe take a while though. Can I walk you to the store? There’s a couple of things I need.

I didn’t need anything, but it meant I could keep her company a while longer. I had the scent of her, her hair and her skin. A clean smell, but with a musky note—warm and earthy and female. My tail swished from side to side.

I willed it to be still then gave Wen a nudge with my elbow. Say, why don’t we get hitched? Like Ginger Rodgers and Fred Astaire.

Ginger Rodgers isn’t married to Fred. She married Lew Ayres. Don’t you read the papers?

Only the funny pages. They make more sense than the other stuff. FDR should sign up Krazy Kat as vice president.

She gave me a nudge back. You’re crazy. I’m a poor widow. And you’re… Well, you’re whatever you are. Her smile faded. And I have a young daughter.

What’s wrong with that? I love kids. I couldn’t eat a whole one though. Not at one sitting. Her eyes asked the question her mouth didn’t want to. I’m teasing you. Honest. I haven’t eaten anyone since— I shut my trap so fast my teeth clicked together. I mean, since it would be wrong. Very wrong. And a bit gross.

Truthfully? Wen said.

Truthfully, I lied. Did I ever tell you I’m a millionaire?

I never heard of a millionaire private eye before. You must have a lot of rich clients.

I can barely get in the office door, they’re queued so deep. I came down here to get a break from them. Rockefeller and Henry Ford were in a spat over who took whose parking space.

She laughed, a good sound I enjoyed listening to. You’re too hairy to marry.

I could shave.

You would too, wouldn’t you? Still, you look different today.

Different how? You mean I’m more handsome than before?

More modest too, I think. No, it’s… She gave me the once over. You’re more, I don’t know, wolfish?

I made a show of inspecting my furry mitts, front and back. The lady says I’m more like a wolf. Which is what I already am. The lady clearly needs new eyeglasses.

I’ve never thought of you as a wolf. You’ve always been a perfect gentleman.

If that’s what’s bothering you, I could soon change.

Wen laughed again and gave me a shove. I like you fine the way you are.

So what gives? How am I different?

You’re bigger. Fiercer. She worked at her bottom lip with her teeth. Scarier. Then she shook her head. Ignore me. I’m being silly. What were you to talking to Chang-Chang about?

Kid stuff, you know? How to sweet talk her momma to avoid getting into trouble, that kind of thing.

Did she say anything odd?

I took a breath before I answered. No, nothing odd.

I didn’t want to tell her the kid had spouted some garbled nonsense and spooked me. Who wants to hear that? Besides, I’d drawn a line from my coffee-soaked mail to Chang-Chang. A line I’d need to ponder when I got to Mol’s place and the drink I’d promised myself.

We reached the store, where Chang-Chang was still hanging on the door handle, swinging to and fro while humming to herself. In front of the store stood an upturned crate. On it sat two small bowls, one filled with rice, one with rock salt. Some incense sticks and a scattering of bronze coins flanked the bowl, along with a round mirror.

I stopped to inspect the display. What are these for?

"It’s Father. He thinks it will keep away guai."

Sorry, I don’t follow.

A flush rose in her cheeks. The strange. Spirits, demons. She rubbed at her brow and sighed. He has this notion ghosts are being drawn to the neighborhood and will cause us ill fortune. She shrugged. He’s old.

Ghost! Chang-Chang chirped. She pointed to a hunched figure pressed against the butcher’s shop window across the street.

Ghost! Chang-Chang said.

Hungry more like, I said.

Hungry ghost! She clapped her hands together in delight.

The man at the window hadn’t moved so much as an inch, other than to rub his hand against the glass.

I ran my tongue over my teeth. Gets me the same way when I go past, I said. All three of us were staring. "Guai," I tried to say.

Wen pursed her lips. People are just hungry.

She lifted Chang-Chang, pushing her way into the store. Old Mr. Feng stood behind the counter. The place smelt of tea, cinnamon, garlic, and a confusion of other scents I had no name for. It was wonderful. It smelled like home.

"Ni Hao, Mr. Feng said in his creaky, old man’s voice. Always good to see you, Mr. Wolf."

"Ni Hao, Mr. Feng. And please, call me BB."

He smiled and nodded. Mr. BB, what will I get you?

Uh… I looked around. Wen cradled Chang-Chang on her hip, her free hand drawing her hair away from her face. Uh… eggs?

How many?

I don’t know. Is four a good number? I caught Wen smiling at me.

Mr. Feng hissed out a breath. Four is a very bad number. He shook his head. Not four.

Three then?

He brightened considerably. Three is good. Very good. Five perhaps is better?

Better for who?

He laughed and went to fetch the eggs, his voice drifting from the back of the store. You have ham with your eggs? Ham and eggs?

The shame of old humiliation burned in my gut. No, absolutely not. No.

He frowned at me as he came back through with my eggs in a bag.

Long story. I paid for my eggs. You keep the change, Mr. Feng.

"Xie xie."

I said my goodbyes and promised I’d be back soon. Outside, the window watcher had vanished. Maybe to find someone else’s glass to smear. My office was at the opposite end of Ord Street from the store. I thought I would stop by on my way to Mol’s to check the mail. Since I owed two month’s rent on the place, in short order I might not get to see the inside of it at all.

I’d almost gotten there when I went to light a smoke and found I’d no matches. I doubled back to the store, my head lost in what could possibly have drawn the line between Chang-Chang and me. Because the two events were linked. How, I didn’t know. Not yet anyway. That’s when I nearly bit a guy’s hand off.

Chapter Three

The closed sign hung on the door. Through the glass, I could see two guys in suits talking to Wen and Mr. Feng. It got me curious. Maybe they were two guys stopping to buy something. So why the closed sign? It could be a business meeting. If so, they could ask me to leave and call me out for being impolite. I could live with it. I pushed the door open.

The suits were double-breasted, one pinstriped, one chalk striped, both with lapels wide enough to land an airplane on. The contents of the suits were Chinese. The back and forth between them and the Fengs, I didn’t understand, but the threat was as clear as mountain air.

They all shut up when I walked in. Sorry to interrupt. Maybe these two gentlemen could conclude their business and leave?

Can you come back later? The anguish in Wen’s voice cut at me.

The suits stared me out with cold contempt.

Pinstripe, the younger of the two suits, spoke first. I heard about you. Seen you a couple of times. Why don’t you beat it? This is none of your business.

I didn’t shift from the doorway. Whose business would it be?

Please, BB? Wen begged.

I checked the line of the guys’ jackets. No tell-tale bulges, but I got the tang of cordite and gun oil. Maybe they weren’t packing any heat. Or they were wearing shoulder rigs. They could have knives instead. Or brass knuckles.

I had a packet of smokes, a key, and five eggs in a paper bag. Still, I was taller than the pair of them and some people tell me I can be quite scary. Something to do with the big eyes and the great big teeth. Mainly the teeth, it has to be said.

I started on Pinstripe first. What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?

It’s the boss’s business. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of the boss.

Or?

This seemed to baffle him because he looked to Chalk stripe for help. Chalk stripe, clearly the senior partner in this undertaking, had all the answers. Or maybe we’ll come see you at your office. Or visit Mrs. Feng when she’s here alone. Make it a real friendly visit.

Wen again. BB? Do as they say. We can deal with this ourselves.

Yeah, Pinstripe said. You should go, BB. Before you get hurt.

I shifted my gaze from Wen to the pair of low lives then back again. Okay. I’ll go. Since it seems to be what everybody wants but me.

Chalk stripe flashed me a humorless smile. You can go. Once you apologize for disrupting our business.

Apologize?

Yeah.

I gave it a second before answering. Fine. I’m sorry.

And reimburse us for the trouble you’ve caused. What you got in your wallet should cover it.

You want what’s in my wallet?

Yeah, Pinstripe said. Hand it over.

He actually held his hand out. I wanted to slap it away, then slap the grin off his face. Instead, with some care, I slid my wallet from inside my suit jacket, making a show of pulling out my last fifty-four dollars. All I’ve got.

Pinstripe snapped his fingers at me, three rapid clicks. You’re pretty cheap. Gimme it here, cheapskate.

I let my paper flutter to the floor.

Pick it up, Pinstripe said.

I curled my chops at him in a wide smile. It’s your money. You pick it up.

He stared at the fallen bills, then at me, his jaw twitching the whole time. The color rose in his cheeks. Chalk stripe put a hand on his arm. He brushed it away. It didn’t make Chalk stripe too happy but he kept his mouth shut.

Pick it up, Pinstripe said, forcing out each word.

Or what? I made it sound real easy.

The switchblade came out of Pinstripe’s pocket and snicked open faster than I would have liked. He handled it like he knew what he was doing. Or I make you.

I stooped, crumpling the money into a ball, standing, then offering it to him. When he leaned in to take it, he let his knife hand drop. I snatched hold of his wrist, pulled him off balance and socked him on the nose. He reeled back, dropping his knife, his hands going to his face, blood dripping from his lips and chin, the iron scent of it reaching me. It smelled… quite tasty.

Chalk stripe’s hand slipped inside his