Spirit Caller 01 - Spirits Rising

postures. Axes, swords, and clubs slipped out from scabbards and belts.
    “Manny,” I said as calmly as possible, keeping my voice low, “is there a room down here with a lock on it?”
    “Yeah, the bathroom.”
    In the same steady, low tone, I instructed, “Lock yourself in there and don’t come out until I call.”
    “Why? What’s a skraeling ?” Manny asked.
    I looked at Jeremy’s confused face which seemed to be asking the same question. “Know what a Beothuk is?”
    “Well, yeah. I’m not stunned or anyt’ing,” he said with teenaged exaggeration.
    Everyone in St. Anthony would. The Beothuk were an extinct group of aboriginal peoples, who died out a couple centuries ago. Their ancestors were the reason that the Vikings didn’t stay a thousand years before.
    I took a deep breath. “I think their ancestors are outside.”
    The man pointed at the window, and pushed a protective arm in front of me. Spirit energy surged through me and I gasped in a breath, nearly collapsing under the pressure. My own soul and mind screamed in agony.
    As he withdrew from me, I heard his whisper, “ Skraeling s.”

    CHAPTER 3: Viking Hordes and Newfie Screech

    When a thundering horde of drunken Vikings rush a person, it’s only natural to flinch. Unfortunately, I flinched so much that I tripped over several cardboard boxes and fell on my ass. Pamphlets fell out of a box and covered my legs with messages of doom, destruction, and hellfire.
    I stared at the pamphlets, stunned. David was a lot of things, but I couldn’t see him going door-to-door taping tracts to everyone’s house, and making sure I got the extra special “burn in hell, you witch” ones. For pity’s sake, the man had a job.But, there was no time to ponder the personal virtues of David O’Toole, when there was a Viking spirit infantry assault happening three feet from my face.
    With the exception of heavy footsteps thumping on the wooden stairs and the creak of the closing aluminum door, I couldn’t hear the spirits. I’d expected their charge to involve drunken singing, shouts, and chants. Wasn’t that the stereotype? They were quiet, though I knew they were still there, even beyond their lingering presence touching my soul.
    I looked up at the basement window and saw the shadows of boots passing by the window as the Viking spirits hugged the house.
    I turned back to Jeremy and Manuel, the former’s mouth hanging open and the latter pasty white.
    “Jeremy, we need to figure out where they’re going.”
    Jeremy stared at me like I was a raving lunatic, his blue eyes wide. “Why?”
    “Because,” I said, in that slow, steady tone reserved for terrified dogs, “a dozen spirits just manifested themselves into solid form in a kid’s basement. They were interacting with their surroundings. That means they can hurt people.”
    Manny had not moved like I’d told him. “I’m serious, Manny. Into the bathroom,” I snapped.
    He looked at me, up the stairs, and back to me. “Dad says you’re a devil worshipper.”
    I rolled my eyes. “No. I just happen to be buddies with the spirit side.” I blew out a breath. The supernatural pressed against my soul but I pushed it to the side. I focused on the steps necessary for everyone’s safety.
    “All right, first, Manny get yourself in the bathroom and lock the door. Don’t open it until you recognize the voice on the other side.”
    He nodded automatically, staring about the room. “Mom’s gonna kill me,” he repeated several times as he surveyed the trashed basement.
    Boxes of crackers littered the floor, their contents crushed and strewn everywhere. A tetra pack of wine lay on its side, most of the contents spilled on the carpet. The amber-coloured Newfie Screech still dribbled from its bottle, splashing on a DVD case. Pizza and what looked to be crushed pieces of ketchup-flavoured potato chips were strewn everywhere. . The beige carpet would need a good steam cleaning to remove the stench and stains of alcohol, let alone the red smears from the food.
    “Good Lord,” I said. Irene really was going to kill him. But there were bigger issues to worry about than Manny’s perma-life grounding.
    “Manny, get lost. I mean it,” Jeremy said, his tone stern. “We don’t know if these things will come back, and they still might hurt you.”
    Manny shot Jeremy a sullen teenaged look, but did as he was told.
    “Jeremy, we should probably call for some help,” I said.
    He looked back up the