Had they looked back, however, they would have seen Vari peering out from the second floor, watching them as they left. Next to him stood Skully. Once Allie, Nick, and Lief were out of sight, Vari gave Skully a single cherry jelly bean. His reward for a job well done.

“Do not speak of the Criminal Arts,” writes Mary Hightower in her pamphlet The Evils of Paranorming. “Do not speak of them, do not think of them, and most of all, do not seek to learn them. Attempting to influence the living world can only lead to misery.”

CHAPTER 11
The Haunter

Nick and Allie had not been out in the rain since they crossed into Everlost. “Drenched to the bone” took on a whole new meaning when the rain passed through you on its way to the ground.

“Sleet is worse,” Lief said.

The old pickle factory was just where Skully said it would be. A white brick building on Washington Street, that, at some point in its life, crossed over into Everlost. A heavy steel door was ominously ajar. Nick didn’t like the looks of it.

“Why do I get the feeling this is a really, really bad idea?”

“Because,” said Allie, “you’re a certified wimp.”

And so to prove that he wasn’t, Nick was the first to push the door open. Bad idea or not, no more complaining. He had made his decision, and he was going for it.

The instant he stepped in, the aroma snagged him. There was a rich smell in the air of roast meat and garlic, hitting him with more ferocity than the pelting storm—the aromas were so wonderful they made Nick weak at the knees.

The building had been gutted, leaving nothing but clouded windows, a concrete floor, and black girders holding up the floor above. Hanging from the ceiling was the source of the wonderful smell. Roast chickens, turkeys, and smoked fish hung from meat hooks. Entire salamis hung from strings.

“It’s true then,” said Allie in a charged whisper. “The Haunter can rip whatever he wants right out of the living world!”

“Ill never doubt you again,” said Nick.

“Wow!” was all Lief could say.

They were so awed by the hanging feast, it took them a few moments to notice the small Afterlight sitting cross-legged in the center of the concrete floor. He looked frozen there, as if he hadn’t moved for many years. His glow had a yellow tinge to it, and shimmered faintly against the gray walls.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” said the Haunter.

Nick found his feet not wanting to move forward, until Allie whispered in his ear, “He probably says that to anyone who shows up.”

“He’s just a little kid!” said Lief, but Allie “shushed” him.

The three kids approached the seated figure. The light was dim, but as they got closer, they could see that even though he had died young, the Haunter was a very, very old spirit. Physically, he couldn’t be any older than six, and yet there was such a sense of age in him, he might as well have been a withered old wizard. The clothes he wore barely looked like clothes at all. They were furs, stitched together—perhaps to protect him from an ice age that had passed twenty-thousand years ago.