GHOST GAL: The Wild Hunt Read online

  NEVER SAY NEVERMORE

  Published by Raven's Head Press

  First Edition • May 2014

  Publisher, Editor and Designer: Michael Hudson

  Foreword: © 2014 Ernie Hudson

  Cover painting copyright © 2014 by Jamie Chase

  Alexandra Holzer's GHOST GAL: THE

  WILD HUNT

  Alexandra Holzer's GHOST GAL: THE WILD HUNT © 2014 Alexandra Holzer, Bobby Nash and Michael Hudson. Ghost Gal and the Ghost Gal logo are trademark of Alexandra Holzer, Bobby Nash and Michael Hudson. All rights reserved.

  PUBLISHERS NOTE:

  Except for brief passages used in reviews or critical articles, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of Raven's Head Press.

  Raven's Head Press

  ravensheadpress.com

  ISBN- 13: 978-1497438422 ISBN- 10: 149743842X

  This one is dedicated to all of the believers who seek out the answers, the skeptics who question everything, and the adventurers who leap in head first with a smile. You inspire me.

  Bobby Nash

  The first mystery/ adventure of my Alexandra Holzer's GHOST GAL series is finally a reality. I hope you, the reader, will enjoy The Wild Hunt as much as I have.

  See you on the Other Side––

  Alexandra Holzer

  You’d be amazed at how many times I still get asked to say, “That’s a big Twinkie.” A few years have gone by since Bill, Dan, Harold and I made two wonderful films together. I can honestly say those two films were career highlights for me even though I’ve been blessed by God to have many such moments on stage, television and in film.

  Truth be known, both Ghostbuster films were hard work but I don't regret a single day that I was able to work on those sets. The franchise is still going strong thirty years later. Some call it a cult classic and I tend to agree with that based on all the Ghostbuster merchandise I’m still seeing all over the world. I’m not even sure how many animated television series and video games have come about from it. I’m just glad to have been a part of it. How’s that for longevity?

  I don’t have to tell anyone who’s reading this book how many years there’s been talk of a GHOSTBUSTERS III. Honestly, I let those others guys worry about that kind of stuff. As for me, I’m ready if and when they do call. But as you probably also know our alumnus lost one of its founding members just last month and I don’t think that Harold’s (Ramis) passing is something this franchise or even the best of writers can overcome. Harold was the glue. There wouldn't a Ghostbusters without Harold Ramis. Harold pulled all of us together and he did it with such style. I know I probably wouldn't be in the business had I not had the chance to work with Harold at that time in my career. He taught me a lot, not overtly by trying to teach me, but just by watching him work and how he dealt with things. He will be sorely missed. There can't be another Ghostbusters without Harold. There can be another Ghost-something but it won’t be the four of us. That was always my fear, was that something would happen before we all got together again.

  So it is with a sort of bittersweet sentiment I found myself in when my gal pal, Alexandra Gargiulo (Holzer) asked me to write the foreword for the debut novel of her own ghost buster, GHOST GAL based on the exploits of her own fictional alter-ego.

  Before I had time to read a word of the book, I had no choice but to take a little mind trip back to my own Ghostbuster experiences. It was inevitable that such a book as this would give me cause for reflection. The character interaction, the constant improvisation, the fantastic set pieces, and the sheer delight of being a part of such a delightful comedy spook fest all came alive for me one more time. But that was then. And this is now. This introduction is not about my past accomplishments or Ghostbusters. It’s about GHOST GAL in her first published outing as a paranormal investigator or better yet, “ghost hunter” as our heroine’s father, Hans Holzer, coined the term. And you know what? I like the sound of GHOST GAL.

  The first book is titled THE WILD HUNT and it is very appropriately named. I am not going to give the story away because I want you to read it and enjoy it just as I have. I will say this. If you thought the ghosts I faced were a force to be dealt with, wait until you meet the Slaugh.

  Author Bobby Nash has crafted a tight, fast paced book that still manages to give us enough character development that we care about the cast of characters and what happens to them. And GHOST GAL is populated with a great cast. Alex, her skeptical fiancé, Joshua Demerest, her famed father and mother, Hans Holzer and his sweetheart, Countess Catherine Buxhoeveden along with two wonderfully weird angels, Samuel Esau and Jacob Black, who happen to be opposite sides of the same coin. Wait until you read about these two querulous guides who help departed spirits to the Other Side or Sides as it were. Oh there are plenty of ghosts, there are enough thrills and even a little levity to please most anyone who enjoys a good spook story.

  As much as I’d like to say Nash took a cue from the original Ghostbusters, I need to be honest in my assessment in saying he did it his own way. GHOST GAL: THE WILD HUNT is a spook ride you, the reader, are sure to enjoy.

  I said earlier there can never be another Ghostbusters. But I do have an answer for that question so many of you still ask, “Who you gonna call?” The answer is quite simple.

  GHOST GAL! That’s who.

  ____ Ernie Hudson

  April 2014

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  And in men's minds a fear began

  That hell had over-hurled

  The guardians of the soul of man,

  And come to rule the world

  __ John Masefield

  Energy crackled through the halls of the old castle like a thing alive.

  With each whip-snap discharge, loud, thunderous booms echoed off the thick stone that made up the walls of the castle keep. Those stones, which had been so meticulously removed from their original home and shipped over to the New World piece by piece from an Irish castle the wealthy new owner had recently purchased, were unlike any other. It had taken months for shipping magnate Conrad Bartlett to disassemble the castle, catalog, number, and crate each piece, ship it across the Atlantic, and reassemble it on his families land in Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

  Under normal circumstances, such an undertaking would have been a costly endeavor, but tensions in the Atlantic were high as both Nazi and Allied forces ran their military campaigns in the region almost non-stop. Soon, the entire planet would be gripped by the hells of war. If not for Bartlett’s military contract allowing him to cross the ocean at regular intervals, the yearlong reconstruction of the castle in the United States might never have been completed.

  In hindsight, Conrad Bartlett might have wished that to be the case.

  In addition to the physical attributes of the castle keep, he also brought with it the castle’s dark secret, a long and bloody history dating back to the earliest days of Ireland itself, perhaps even before that, a secret that had been locked away for centuries, hidden from prying eyes.

  And now that secret had been loosed on an unsuspecting world.

  Unless the specialist he call
ed in could put a stop to it.

  Outside, lightning sparked while thunder roared as the storm grew more and more fierce. Gale force rain pelted everything in its path with big wet droplets mixed with hail and flying debris tossed about by violent winds. The turbulent weather outside was like a mirror to the chaos brewing inside the recently rebuilt castle.

  Hans Holzer let out a breath. He had only been on the scene an hour before things took a turn to the strange. Conrad Barnett’s telegram about his unique problem had piqued his curiosity, but he hadn’t expected to find anything more than a minor disturbance. He hadn’t expected to find much, most likely a displaced spirit long dormant that had been disturbed when its home had been disassembled and reassembled halfway around the world. It was enough to throw off anyone’s equilibrium, even if they had been dead for decades or longer, but as threats go, it was probably minor.

  He was wrong.

  Once the storm began to strengthen in intensity, he realized that things were worse than he had first believed.

  Hans Holzer held a torch in front of him as he moved through the darkness. Flames from the torch cast the only light since the generator succumbed to a lightning strike just a few moments earlier. The torch had once been the leg of an antique chair, or at least an expensive recreation of one. A cloth curtain pulled from one of the windows then doused with lighter fluid and ignited completed the makeshift lantern. It was a quick solution to a minor problem.

  It was the problem that lay ahead that concerned him.

  “These walls are not pure stone,” he said aloud, running a callused hand across the uneven stone. “Whatever that metal component we discovered turns out to be, it is highly conductive. The lightning striking the weather vanes on the roof is not simply redirecting the electricity of the strikes. The energy is being absorbed through the walls.” He leaned in close enough to smell the earthy musk of the hand-carved stone. “Incredible. It’s almost as if the entire castle is alive. I’ve never seen—”

  “Professor?”

  Holzer sighed loudly at the interruption. It was not the first one of the evening. “Yes. What is it, Jamie?”

  “I need a moment, sir,” Jamie McClenndon said from somewhere in the dark behind him.

  Jamie was the latest in a long line of assistants who came to him because they wanted to learn the “real truth” of the world. Most were college students, like Jamie. They rarely lasted long in the position and Holzer suspected that Jamie would be no different than those who came before. Like the others before him, his desire to experience a supernatural moment came from seeing motion pictures featuring scary monsters. He wanted to see a ghost, to prove that they were real, and that he would be brave enough to interact with it. The reality of the moment was never what any of them expected and was rarely like what they saw in the movies. Ghost hunting, for lack of a better term, was not easy and the professor had little time or patience for handholding. If Jamie wanted to be coddled in the face of the unknown then he had come to the wrong place.

  As his family was of Irish descent, Holzer had hoped Jamie would come in handy on this excursion, but sadly his knowledge of the homeland of his ancestors was severely lacking. He blamed modern education for the boy’s lack of knowledge.

  “Make it quick,” Holzer said, not bothering to hide his annoyance as he checked his pocket watch. “Our quarry is here. I can feel it.”

  “Yes, Professor. I know,” Jamie said softly. There was an unusual quiver to his voice.

  “We must find him before…”

  The crash of his equipment hitting the hard stone floor behind him interrupted his train of thought and Hans Holzer spun around to face his assistant, ready to give him an earful about responsibility and taking care of the sensitive equipment left in his care. The equipment he had been tasked with carrying was not only delicate, it was also very expensive.

  “I’ve told you repeatedly to be careful… with… that…” his voice trailed off when he saw why Jamie had discarded the equipment in so loud a fashion.

  “I–– I think I’ve already found him,” Jamie said softly, careful not to move lest the sharp blade at his throat draw blood.

  “Easy now, Jamie,” Holzer said, taking a tentative step forward, keeping the torch an arm’s length ahead of him and casting an orange glow on the intruder who held his young assistant hostage. “Don’t move.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “Who are you?” Holzer asked the man holding the knife.

  “You know my name, laddie,” the intruder said. He was tall, towering a couple of inches above Jamie’s six foot-two lanky frame. His arms were thick, muscled, and looked as though they could snap his assistant like a twig. His face was obscured by the light, his skin dark, but made darker by the soot and ash that clung to his body, giving him a mottled gray pallor. Long black hair hung behind him, matching the color of the thick matted beard he wore.

  “I know the man whose body you wear,” Holzer said. “His name is Duncan. He works for Mr. Bartlett.”

  “Very clever, you are,” the entity that had taken control of Duncan McGrath’s body said. “I see that you are familiar with my kind. So much the better. Oh, and his name was Duncan. He has no use for a name any longer.”

  “Do not hurt that boy.”

  “You’re not in any position to be giving orders, Hans Holzer.”

  “You know my name?”

  “Oh, yes,” the man said. “I know everything my host knew. Young Duncan knew who you were. He seemed to think you might save him somehow, although I think his faith might be a wee bit misplaced myself. You’ve given me a good laugh watching as you run about the castle with your little toys and gadgets. You amuse me, Professor.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Such a leading question.” Duncan smiled. “What do you think I want?”

  “Freedom.”

  “I already have freedom, sir. I am free to roam this castle at my whim. Look around you, do you see any chains to hold me hither?”

  The professor smiled. “Actually, I do.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s so obvious. Curse me for a fool; I should have noticed it sooner. This place…” he motioned toward the castle around them. He rapped a knuckle against the stone wall. “This place is your prison. The lightning, the stone, the mystery metal, those things aren’t meant to empower you, are they? This castle is your prison.”

  “Nonsense!”

  Oh, sure, this far removed from your ancestral home, the power that keeps you trapped here has lessened, but not enough for you to escape. Not completely. You can move about within these walls, but you can never venture beyond them. You’re trapped here like an animal in a cage.”

  “We’ll see about that, laddie,” Duncan said, his smile widening. “This animal still has teeth.”

  “Don’t,” Holzer warned, but it was too late.

  With a powerful shove, Duncan threw Jamie McClenndon at the ghost hunter. The student crashed into his teacher and they fell to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, the torch falling from Holzer’s hand and rolling away.

  There was just enough light to see Duncan run past them down the hallway.

  Holzer was on his feet quickly. Scooping up the torch and his knapsack he gave chase. There had not been time to memorize all of the corridors and rooms of the castle during the short time he had been on site so he had no idea where the route Duncan was taking would lead them. The creature that had stolen the man’s body had the advantage. It knew the castle intimately. He wanted to catch up to the younger man, which wasn’t proving to be as easy as he had hoped. Not only was Duncan younger, he was faster.

  The hallways led into a large circular room with a high ceiling. Part of the ceiling was missing, the last of the rebuilding effort, and rain poured through the holes into the room where it had begun to pool in the depressions leading down to the center of the mini amphitheater.

  The professor did not know the purpose of the room. It wasn’t clear as to
whether the open ceiling was left that way intentionally or if Conrad Bartlett’s builders had simply fallen behind. He had been told that construction was complete, but there were many inconsistencies surrounding this place.

  In the center of the room Duncan McGrath stood waist deep in freezing cold rainwater and laughed.

  “What do you want with Duncan, creature?”

  “He’s a good Scottish lad, this one. What better vessel to extract my vengeance upon those who enslaved me?” Duncan’s smile thinned, his voice lowered. “So tell me Professor, have you deduced my identity yet? Do you know my name?”

  “I know what you are!”

  “Oh?”

  “You’re a Sluagh, aren’t you?” Holzer shouted. “Part of The Wild Hunt!”

  “Very good, Professor Holzer. Duncan would be very proud if there were anything left of him.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “Yes. This body is now completely and utterly my own.” Duncan’s face cracked a smile. “I am not merely part of The Wild Hunt. I am The Wild Hunt.”

  “You were their leader?”

  “Yes. Even now, my tribe waits for me just beyond the barrier in a purgatory not of their own making, trapped there by little beings like yourself with no appreciation for the function our hunt served.” His voice rose, partly in anger, partly to boast. “You cannot fathom the service which we provided!”

  “Service?” Holzer questioned. “You served only your own selfish needs. The Wild Hunt was nothing more than a gang of vicious thugs only concerned with their own needs. You were not needed!”

  “You dare question The Hunt? Who do you think you are, little man?”

  “You’re a monster! I cannot allow you to leave this place! You will not terrorize this land! Not this time! Not again!”

  “And how, pray tell, do you plan to stop me, Professor?”

  “With this!”

  Holzer pulled a small device roughly the size of a baseball from his knapsack and held it above his head. He had carried it with him for some time, but never had the need to use it. He had resisted carrying something as destructive in his tool kit, but at the moment, he was glad that he had listened to the voice of common sense that had persuaded him to add it to his arsenal. “It is better to have such things and never need them than to need them and not have them,” his friend had told him. When he got back home, he owed someone an apology for doubting him.