The Kevin Chronicles - Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen – Which llama you gonna call?

Beneath the calm, almost mind numbing exterior of modern society exists a hidden world of crime, violence and melty cheese sauce, and beneath that fermented dairy veneer is yet another world of cupcakes, sparkles and unicorns that fart rainbows, but it’s beneath this innocent, sugar coated candy land that our heroes dare to wander. In that unseen realm of the bizarre and unexplained. In the space between the living and the dead, but if you reach the land of the undead, you’ve gone too far. It’s kind of undead adjacent. Zombies sometimes visit, but we’re talking voodoo zombie not zombie apocalypse zombie. It is here, within the domain of ghosts, ghouls, specters and spooks, the sphere of banshees and boogiemen and the odd tax accountant, that the premiere team of ghost hunters, trackers and part time grocery store clerks, do battle with the great beyond.

When last we saw Kevin and his trusty sidekick Jeremy they were continuing their noble service to society, this time by tracking down and eliminating the terrorizing lost sole of some random guy’s left dress shoe. With this successful job completed, their ghosts toasted total remained at 3 but their shoes desoled tally jumped to 27. But while humanely disposing of the remains, the ever vigilant pair came across a disturbing string of suspiciously conspicuous random words in the Amityville Hourly Obituaries that, if put together in just the right order, a task that took almost 3 days, conveniently spelled out “The demon bride of Ol’ Man Smith sleeps around…albatross.” It was clearly a message that warranted immediate investigation.

Using his expert, if not woefully outdated investigation skills and a Jenga tower of state-wide phone books, Jeremy was able to track down every Mr Smith in the country. From there he narrowed the search down to Smiths whose dead wives enjoyed the company of other men, a task which involved a lot of awkward questions and a whole lot of shouting. Finally the pool of possible contenders was narrowed once again by cross referencing genealogies for demonic family members, and the resulting list of potential leads was shaved down to zero. Kevin meanwhile had ordered a pizza, taken a nap, read “War and Peace”, completed an online course on folding Origami and then finally Googled “Mr Smith’s promiscuously demonic wife”. This immediately directed him to an adult site that specialized in satanic housewives of the night, which he bookmarked for later, but after adding “albatross” to the search, he got the answers he was looking for.  

Their destination, Doggon Pet Cemetery. Once the ancestral burial ground of a family of immigrants from India, it was converted to a day spa before being repurposed as a holding facility for the criminally sane. When all the prisoners mysteriously lost their minds, it was decided that a childcare center was a much more practical use for the space. It wasn’t until all the toddlers expressed a strong desire to run for public office that the community finally decided that the land was probably evil, so work began immediately on converting it back to a thriving necropolis. According to the billboards, Doggon Pet Cemetery was the perfect investment opportunity for people who just don’t like their pets that much.

At the center of the cemetery was a pleasantly Gothic manor, with gaping sparkly windows, grotesquely good natured gargoyles, and a toweringly inviting oak front door. Records indicate that the disturbingly welcoming home had been torn down seven times since its original construction back in 1741 BC, but due to a chilling, ghostly apparition that periodically appeared as a Notice of Construction form at the council planning office, the manor was rebuilt shortly after, each time. What better place than an obviously haunted mansion built within the confines of a cursed graveyard, to find the hellish ghost of Mr Smith’s randy wife? Next door, that’s where, at Willie Pete’s Pay by the Hour Haunted Hotel for Amorous Apparitions. Afterlife Patrons Welcome, No Questions Asked. Vacancies Available.

After tracking down Willie Pete, who actually went by Glen, and discovering that he really didn’t ask any questions or answer them for that matter, the pair systematically began checking every room. The horrors they uncovered were too terrifying to describe but if the haunting scene of a vicar, a dental hygienist and the ghosts of three circus clowns proved to be the tamest display, you get the general idea of just how harrowing the ordeal turned out to be. But at last, in room 667, they found her. But not before Kevin had to rescue Jeremy from the clutches of Satan’s mistress, who had a standing reservation in the room next door.

“Oh, I’m so glad you got my message,” said Mrs Smith, from beneath her frenzied suitor, who incidentally seemed oblivious to the sudden intrusion, and showed no sign of stopping. “Only a truly gifted pair of paranormal investigators could have received it.”

“A simple matter for the Apparition Avengers, TM,” said Kevin, ever the staunch professional. “How can we help?”

Jeremy tried to avoid eye contact and shuffled around uncomfortably.

“It’s terrible, really. I think my house is haunted,” moaned the ghostly Mrs Smith.

“Do not fear Mrs Smith, we’re on the case.”