Spirit Caller 01 - Spirits Rising

infant self. If they broke through the defences, I would need something of faith to protect us. I spied the bag beside the necklace on my cluttered desk, next to my laptop. I rushed over, snatched up both, and stepped back to the old neighbour.
    Jeremy cracked the door open and shouted, “Tobias! Get back inside!”
    Dwayne, or maybe it was Cory—it was hard to tell in the darkness with the porch light blinding my night vision—was knocked over by a Viking’s massive punch. The other kid swung his rifle like a club at the Viking’s head. The spirit went down, disappearing before hitting the ground.
    Three native spirits dressed differently than the Beothuk spirits—these looked to be in seal skins—jumped the other kid and he went down with a scream and a curse. Jeremy grabbed the hockey stick from me and vaulted out of the house and across the street, swinging at anything in range.
    “Jeremy!” I shouted after him.
    My heart thudded in my chest. Sandy, my neighbour whose husband worked away in Fort McMurray a month at a time, came out in her housecoat and slippers. She had a baseball bat in her hands and smashed two Vikings on her front step.
    “Sandy!” I screamed over the fighting and the endless crashing of the surf behind our houses. “Get back inside! Call the Mounties!” I glanced at Jeremy, who whacked a spirit in the ribcage. “Tell them Jeremy’s here and we need help.”
    I ducked back inside and asked Mrs. Saunders, “Do you have your crucifix on?” I pulled the rabbit’s-foot necklace over my head, my hands shaking.
    She held up her rosary beads in her hand. I hadn’t noticed them in the excitement.
    “Good,” I said. “If they break through, we will both need to pray.”
    She gave me an odd look. “You don’t believe in the Holy Redeemer, dear.”
    “No, I don’t, but you do.”
    Mrs. Saunders looked back outside. “Who are you going to pray to?”
    “My ancestors, your ancestors.” I left off “and pretty much anyone else that’ll listen.” I didn’t want to shake the old lady’s confidence.
    As I gathered my wits and focus, I collected my thoughts and began to whisper, calling the names of my ancestors. Some I’d already met, while some I’d only learned about. And then the nameless, faceless countless ones, too old and too powerful for me to even comprehend . . . I put all that aside and called on all of them. This was not the time for hesitation.
    Crushing pain pressed against my senses. I shivered, as the spirits around me turned their attention to me. Beings of spirit recognize spirit callers and many feel drawn to those whispers like moths to a flame. In my case, it was more like gawking middle-aged women to a train wreck.
    Focus, dammit .
    I pushed aside my insecurities, my anger, my fear. I pushed aside Mom’s voice over the phone. I ignored the feelings Jeremy stirred up whenever he came near me. I trampled the frustration and empty hurt I had over Jeremy trudging up the details of my birth. I even pushed aside the pain.
    I let it all go.
    I stepped into a quiet, peaceful place.
    Screams and shouts echoed in the background of my senses, but I ignored them. I let them turn into the background noise, like when reading in an airport. The sounds became part of the peace.
    I gathered myself and readied my senses to attract the attention of every single marauding spirit in the entire freaking area, along with every single ancestor who was listening to me.
    As I opened myself to begin the calling, I noticed a change to my surroundings. They were quiet. Silent, in fact. No screams. No curses. No gunshots.
    My soul soared, free from the pressure of the supernatural.
    I opened my eyes, a little dizzy and chilled. I looked out through the door. One moment my yard and the area around my house was a no man’s land of spiritual warfare. Now, it was a littered mess with several of my neighbours, and Jeremy, standing in confusion.
    “What the hell just happened?” I asked, not actually expecting an answer. I hadn’t called the ancestors. I hadn’t even spoken to these spirits to ask them to buzz off. There was no way I’d done this.
    “Oops,” Mrs. Saunders whispered, clutching her rosary. She had dragged the kitchen chair next to me and was seated in it. I didn’t remember her doing that.
    I turned to her, eyes narrowed. “You did that?”
    She gave me a sheepish little grin, the one she usually gave when she passed wind at dinner.
    I exhaled and ran my hand