Return to the Wells (Part 1)
Wandering through the cosmos Sam Beckett felt life quickly ebb back into his body as he materialized in a new place, a new time and a new leapee. Warmth wrapped around him as he found himself sitting in front of a large mirror mounted on a makeup table. Sam's leaping through time had given him a better appreciation for female habits than your average male M.I.T. doctorate recipient. His hand finished a brush stroke through his now long ebony hair. In the mirror sat a twenty-two year-old woman with a pale ivory complexion, dark brown eyes, just a hint of a mole next to her mouth, and a funny turned-up lip when she smiled. Sam finished the stroke and stood up to look around the room. The entire room glowed pink, pinker than he had ever seen. His host's room included a pink bed covered by a filly bedspread, pink dresser, high school pictures, a multitude of cheerleader trophies and a pile of stuffed animals resting in the corner on a pink beanbag chair. In the opposite corner was a very pink desk with an old manual typewriter on it. Sam walked over and pushed down a few keys noting that it was ancient even compared to his surroundings. On the desk he saw a 1970 calendar flipped to the month of February. Outside it was dark, quiet and peaceful. Over the bed was a faded pennant from a touring ice skating show mounted next to a TroyCommunity College pennant.
As a bright white rectangle appeared near the closet in walked Al Calavicci wearing a dark tuxedo with a light blue shirt and shining electric blue tie clashing with the ultra-feminine room. After two puffs on his cigar, Al turned and waved to Sam. "Don't you look sweet, Sam."
"Al, I'm a girl again!" Sam complained in a whisper.
"That is quite correct there, Sam my boy!" Al said twice looking at his handlink and then pushing a couple of buttons as musical tones filled the room. "Miss Sage Frances Peterson, a twenty-two year old TroyCommunity College dropout who lives here in Otter Hook, New York with her parents. Ms. Peterson currently works at Sherlock Publishing over in Newburgh as a proofreader of romance novels. The date is March 12, 1970 and tomorrow nothing in particular happens to this charming girl. And quite a looker you are, my dear. Hmm. Nothing seems to happen to her friends and family over the next few days."
"Can Ziggy come up with any good suggestions as to what I'm doing here?" asked Sam as he sat down on the bed and picked up a huge stuffed Cindy Bear.
Al chomped down on his cigar. "Nada. Though she is working on it. She gives you a forty-seven percent probability of a forty-seven per cent solution within forty-seven hours," read off Al as he looked more and more confused. "Ziggy? What's with the number double-talk?"
A very calm almost sensual response came back, "I most apologize, Admiral. Professor Lofton is running a level three diagnostic through my calculation unit that won't be finished for forty-seven minutes. It's causing a feedback loop in the internal variances of forty-seven of my systems, which causes the forty-seven million lines of code to be forty-seven percent accurate forty-seven..."
Al shut off the sound and turned to Sam. "Computer problems. I'd say it's the electronic equivalent of a nervous breakdown, or maybe I'LL be the next one at the funny farm. Give us the night. You get some sleep, Ms. Peterson. We'll give you an answer in the morning. I hope!" he prayed up to the great train conductor whom moved Sam along the time express. "Sleep tight. See Yea, Sam!" he waved as he disappeared from Sam's world and reentered his own.
At the quirky little office in an old HudsonValley mansion, Sam sat behind his little desk with too much cute clutter surrounding him including fuzzy topped pencils, a large female ratfink and several Mattel Thingmaker dolls. Sam chitchatted with Sage's other reader friends for an hour until their boss came marching in and threw them a dirty look. Sam sighed, picked up the manuscript on the top of the pile and began to read.
"Satisfaction Guaranteed," read Sam as he looked at the title. The loose pages had already been marked up in the margins with a red pencil. As Sam picked his way through the book he read about lust and tequila in old Tijuana. Though the story would probably hold the interest of a bubbly teenager, Sam doubted much that the author, an AlbanyNew York resident, had ever left the state. Lost in the brothels of another era Sam was jostled back in reality by Sage's friend Lilly.
Lilly tapped her hard fingernails on the desk. "Hey, sleepy head. Your 10 o'clock appointment is here," she said pointing to the front door. Sam glanced down at his appointment calendar and saw the name Eunice Hettinger. Sam looked worried since he didn't see any notes or files that would prepare him for the meeting. In walked a short woman about thirty years old who had long flowing dark hair and dressed in a dark blue pants suit coming straight for him.
"Hey there, Sagebrush!" she said giving her a big sincere smile. "Looking a little down in the mouth? Have a pillow last night?" she asked smiling and cocking her head to one side. "Everything all right, Sage?"
Sam looked at her as she continued to smile and then she raised her forehead looking a bit worried. A mental image from some other time and leap came to Sam through his Swiss cheese memory. He quickly replied, "Cyfer! Oh boy!"
Working my way around the cosmos after more years than I could remember given my leap induced amnesia, I do seem to recall running into some people more than once. A certain mentally challenged adult comes to mind. This time my mind was much clearer than usual as the woman before me was as I recall a paranormal expert I had encountered way down south. And now she has drastically changed professions and is quite friendly with my leapee host. It seemed appropriate that I had leaped into a literary proofreader, because again I was about to become involved in the book of her life. Chapter two.
"Cyfer. It's so good to see you!" Sam said breaking into a wide Beckett grin. "You don't know how wonderful it is to see a familiar face!"
Her smile only slightly disappeared as she looked at him sheepishly and then whispered. "Not in public! Please! Remember I'm writing as Fiona Feinstein! I don't want people to remember me for what I USED to do!"
Sam snapped his fingers. "Right! You were kinda like the Ghostbusters!"
Cyfer shook her head. "Who? That name doesn't mean anything to me though we did kick some celestial tooshes in our time. I don't want rumors going around that I'm reliving my old life. These are MY stories and not some past ghost story that my sisters came across in some old haunted house."
"Sure. What's up?" asked Sam sitting back in his chair.
Cyfer threw her hands up sounding thoroughly pissed. "Sage! You were supposed to have read Ghool in the School and supplied me with your comments! Come on. I know you work for Sherlock Publishing, but I need to get this book out soon. Show some responsibility, Sage!"
"Absolutely," he said riffling through the files on his desk. "I'll get RIGHT onto it!" Sam said finding a folder with that title on it. "And here it is!" announced Sam. "It looks like you spelt the word
'ghoul' wrong!" Cyfer grabbed it. "That's a play on words, but maybe it's a bit too subtle. I'll fix it. Everything else OK?"
"Well. I guess I'll read through it this weekend and have it completed by Monday," said Sam reluctantly. He had to start from scratch if he really wanted to help Cyfer. He never knew whether that was the reason he had leaped into her proofreader.
"OK, Sage. But if you don't, your butt is in a sling and I'm going to play tether ball!" she said sarcastically.
She walked out and then turned around in a friendlier mood. "And don't forget our neighborhood cookout Sunday afternoon. It will be a blast, Sage!"
"Groovy!" replied Sam as he went back to a Nancy Drew type story that wasn't that far from Cyfer's former ghost evicting ways.
Pink light shining through a pink lampshade cascaded across Sam's lap as he sat on Sage's bed working through Cyfer's manuscript in the middle of Sage's pink fantasy world. Sipping a bottle of Tab through a straw Sam kept reading and occasionally made a red mark in the margin. Already halfway through the teenage story Sam found it a bit sophisticated for his own tastes in the early teenaged years. He found that Cyfer did not insult her young readers with simple language and one-dimensional characters. She was one hell of a writer. Sam started enjoying the book except with his high IQ he had figured out who the villain was by chapter eight. Determined to finish his only assigned task he put all of his Nobel Prize wining brain to the beta reading of Ghool in the School.
Somewhere deep in chapter 10, Sam was distracted by a shaft of non-pink light as Al Calavicci walked in on him. Al had shifted to a more mundane black, but still sported a bright orange tie with matching cufflinks.
"Hello, Sam. How's the world of high pressure publishing?" he said glancing up at the general hue of the room and then sighing uncontrollably. He preferred his rooms in more earthy tones. "Doesn't look like she ever goes to work for Simon and Shyster," said Al reading his handlink.
"Shuster. That's Simon and Shuster, Al," replied Sam.
"You're now correcting moi!" said the ruffled Al.
Sam shook his head. "No, they called me up earlier about another author. This story of Cyfer's isn't too bad," he sighed while taking another sip from his cola.
"As yes. Miss Cyfer's eighth young adult story that is published and sells 154,000 copies over the next thirty years. Just like this copy!" exclaimed Al as he held up the final result. Two scared kids stood in front of an old house as some misty apparition floated in front of them. Cyfer had taken Sam's advice and changed the spelling of ghoul.
"And if you'll permit me, I can give you the final written copy that will make Sage look like the Joseph Pulitzer of her office. Every spelling error and punctuation mistake down to the last comma," explained Al writing his own comma in the air in front of him to make a point.
"Al, I'd rather do this myself," said Sam looking up and then down at his papers.
Al held up his hand. "Only trying to help you do the job that you leaped into. You have more important things to do on your leap than crossing the Tee's and dotting the Eye's, little Miss Rowling," he said again waving the book at him. "Believe it or not I got this copy off of my daughter Jackie's bookshelf."
"Fine, then. Maybe later. You say you have a reason for my leaping into Sage Peterson?" asked Sam slamming down the manuscript next to him.
Al checked out his handlink and shook his head. "Well, Ziggy still doesn't have a clue. Sage's life is quite peaceful, her colleagues at work don't have anything worse than a traffic ticket over the next month and all of her family and friends are alive and well even at this late date."
"And our little author friend?" asked Sam pointing to the unfinished manuscript that had slid across the bed in a less than neatly arranged pile.
"Cyfer is as you left her in your last encounter a medium successful author of children and young adult gothic romances and mysteries. She's no Stephen King, whom you have met, but she's no Daryl Morton either," replied Al taking a puff from his nearly completed Sierra Montago. "Who you haven't met."
"And who is that?" asked a confused Sam. "My memory fails me. Again."
Al plunked and tweaked his handlink to get some new tidbits of trivia. "He's a San Francisco stockbroker who just won the 2009 Worst Author of the Year award out in sunny California. Out of over 800 submissions his sank to the bottom of the Marianas Trench," read off Al. "Cyfer and her Wall Street commodities broker husband make a decent living. She's still writing, while he passed away in the 2002."
"That is all well and good, but what am I here to do? Ziggy has got to come up with some scenarios and assigned probabilities so I can fix whatever went wrong here!" Sam said while busily reshuffling his pile of papers.
"Just keep up your correcting. Care for some help?" asked Al waving the book at him again.
Sam shouted back adamantly. "No, Al! I have to be able to do that which I have been leaped into," insisted Sam. "Besides I think I owe my best efforts to Cyfer since she helped me in the past."
Al shrugged and then slipped the book in his jacket pocket. "Suit yourself. Though for your information you saved her pretty little butt from a rouge Confederate colonel. Don't forget Sunday afternoon. She owns an old mansion overlooking the Hudson just north of Poughkeepsie on River Road. House number 2766. Four o'clock sharp!" he said pointing to his flashy watch to remind his absent-minded friend.
Down a tree lined driveway atop a sunny knoll sat the majestic home of Stanley and Eunice Hettinger. Sam found a big square two story Federalist home with a widow's walk on top that gave one a view of the Hudson River envied by every artist and photographer in the county. Several cars had already parked in front as Sam pulled up and knocked on the door. Al stood behind him puffing away hoping for some distraction this fine Sunday afternoon.
Opening the door was a tall thirtyish rugged-looking man with sandy blonde hair and a dimple in his chin. He smiled as he looked down at the pretty girl that wasn't really standing there. Sam looked a bit uncomfortable at the attention his incorrect sex often received from men
"Good afternoon, ma dear," he said with an accent that could curdle grits. He opened the door wider, bowed slightly and ushered Sam inside.
Sam looked at him, "Hi, I'm Sage Peterson. Eunice invited me. I am her copyeditor."
"A pleasure and a privilege, mam. Stony Clements, her brother-in-law," he said taking his hand and escorting him in. "I've heard some very pleasant comments concerning how you have helped her in her work. May I get you some punch?"
"Maybe later," Sam said as a younger version of Cyfer joined them wearing a dark blue party dress.
"Oh, Sam. Mr. Clements here is one of your former leaping hosts. Stony Clements of Vicksburg, Miss-a-sappi, suh," whispered Al. "He was your leapee host who you used to help save two of the Wells sisters."
The other woman had the biggest infectious grin as she took Stony's arm from Sam and then looked first at him and then at Sam. "Hi, there! You MUST be Sage. Filly Clements. I'm this handsome guy's wife and sister to Cyfer, though she doesn't like that name. Still we all grew up that way. Sue, Cyfer and CeCe. That's us. The Wells sisters. She can't stop talking about you!"
Sam smiled as Filly or CeCe nuzzled Stony and then rested her head on his shoulder. "Right. Eunice has mentioned a lot about you too. And Sue?" asked Sam.
"Wonderful woman," injected Stony.
"Yep!" agreed CeCe slightly bobbing her head. "Our globe-trotting big sister. A world-class photographer who's now over in Africa covering the famine in Biafra. All those poor natives. Stony and I never really get out of our little bed-and-breakfast in Vicksburg. We haven't seen my sisters in what?" asked Filly turning to Stony.
"Three years, Filly," he said lovingly.
"And now, well, it had been too long. We figured we better come visit her here to see Stan, Cyfer and my nephews Stan Jr and Chris. And they're growing like weeds," CeCe who couldn't stop gushing over her nephews.
Cyfer literally floated in wearing a beige polyester pantsuit with her hair up on her head. "Ah, Sage. Thanks for coming. You met my littlest sister and her husband."
"Yep. We were catching up. I mean it's like we were old friends," admitted Sam.
"Not too old I hope. Now come on out and meet some of my neighbors. We have a pretty cozy neighborhood around here," she said taking Sam's hand.
After the barbequed soy burgers and bean spout dip, Sam looked around for something edible in this mid-hippie world. Not that Sam was a big redneck meat eater; you just don't grow up a vegetarian on a farm in Indiana.
"Want to help put the kids down?" asked Cyfer with a big smile. "We have got to get these little angels to bed. Come along, Aunties!" she said motioning with a crooked middle finger.
Sam could see that Cyfer had somewhat adopted Sage as a surrogate
sister to replace her far ranging siblings. He nodded and followed her and CeCe.
Up the antique staircase went the three women, which included Sam, followed by the two young boys. The ancient narrow steps went up to a second floor that included four bedrooms, one used as an office by her husband.
"I'll go give Chris his bath while you two get Stanley dressed, ladies. He knows where everything is. Come on, Christopher," she said humming to him. "Time for your bath!"
Sam and CeCe walked into a room with a high ceiling and a big window that overlooked the trees in the large backyard. The Hudson River could be seen through the trees reflecting the light of the almost full moon.
CeCe leaned out the window and sighed. "We grew up overlooking the crappy backyard of the townhouse behind us. My big sister has done herself proud!" said Filly pulling herself in and closing the drapes.
"You said that you grew up in Chicago?" asked Sam.
She nodded as she turned down Stanley's bedspread, "True, but half dozen years down south has sweetened my accent, just a bit ya all," teased Filly. "Just don't pick up a New York accent, Stanley. Now where are your jammies?" she asked her nephew.
Stanley jumped out of his aunt's arms, ran over to the dresser, pulled out a pair of jeans and a white tee shirt, held them up and smiled. "Here!"
"No, no, no. You're pulling a fooly on me.," she said smiling with that same infectious grin that caused Sam to join in. "Now where did you put those old jammies? Preferably something with some feet in it."
Stanley threw the clothes down and went to the bottom drawer. Inside was some red sleepwear with a picture of Yogi Bear and Booboo on them. Again he held them up proudly.
"Now that's more like it. Go run in the bathroom and change," ordered CeCe pointing to the door.
"Uh hum, Aunt TeCe!" Stanley nodded and he ran off.
CeCe put her hand up to her cheek remembering when she was that age. "Just adorable. I hope I have one just like him," CeCe said sighing.
"He is cute," agreed Sam who wondered if he had any of his own. He seemed to remember his sister Katie was as enthusiastic and full of energy at that age.
"Well, you'll have some just like it someday, Sage," said an optimistic CeCe. "You're still so young."
"I wouldn't bet on it," said Sam quietly to himself.
"You're gonna find your Steve McQueen," suggested CeCe as she finished turning down the bed.
Al checked his hand link. "Steve McQueen? Try Warren Beatty for this hot little Sage," suggested Al. "I've got my own grandson just about his age. Smart as a whip!" said the proud grandfather.
"I'll just wait till the right one comes along," Sam said as he heard a noise coming from the bathroom and then a loud scream from little Stanley.
She turned around quickly. "Stanley? What's wrong, sweetie?" asked a worried CeCe as she opened the bedroom door and ran down the hall to the bathroom.
Stanley was standing in one corner screaming as the antique bathtub rocked back and forth on its legs very slowly and very menacingly. A green mist hovered over the drain as the scent of death was in the air. A low shaking noise could be heard as if it were coming from the pipes up though the drain.
"Oh my God!" exclaimed CeCe as Sam ran over to Stanley and picked him up. CeCe leaned against the wall trying to catch her balance. The smell was making her a bit ill.
"It's OK, Stanley. We'll …ah …protect you," said Sam to calm the boy who had buried his face in CeCe's shoulder.
CeCe approached the green cloudy thing, ran her hand through it and jumped back as she got a big shock. "Yuck. Old mold. What are you?" she asked studying it rather than being afraid of it.
Cyfer ran in panting, "Back to the sewers, you green ugly aerosol, you!" she cried as she dug deep into her pocket, pulled out a handful of herbs and hurled it. They added to the unpleasant odor that filled the air.
"Sacem recter manus plexo!" she shouted as a purplish puff appeared around the tub and the green misty thing retreated down the bathtub drain.
"What in the name of Harry Potter was that!" cried out Al as he dropped his handlink and his cigar.
CeCe cocked her head to one side. "Madame Zora's hex as I recall. Right, Cypher?"
Cyfer pushed back her hair and then took Stanley. "Yep. The witchdoctress of Antigua. She never failed us before. It's OK, Stanley. The bad thing is all gone. Mommy won't let anything happen to you!"
Sam pointed at where IT had been. "What WAS that?"
"Damned if I know. Some uninvited spirit," said Cypher almost too casually.
A light went off over CeCe's head. "Spirit? After all of our cleansing work? Cyfer? Did you buy a haunted house?" she asked almost too cutely for words. Then she began to giggle followed by a short fit of laughter.
Cyfer frowned for a moment and then proceeded to chastise CeCe with the most pleasant features as not to scare her son. "I wish you wouldn't call it that. This is MY HOME. And the home of my family. And no green spirited smelly demon from hell is going to run me out!"
CeCe cocked her head to one side and then looked down at her sister. "OK. Is that why you had me here?"
She shook her head. "No! Absolutely not! Officially what you saw doesn't exist. And I don't want anyone to know about it. Anybody else!"
"But your fans!" replied CeCe.
"Don't you think I haven't thought about them? I shook the dirt from my feet with the last of the Wells Investigation cases. No more ghosts! I want a normal life. I don't even use my real name in those books! If some of my readers find out about this intruder I'll have no peace. Fiona Feinstein has her own ghost! The author with her own personal haunter. My life is going to be perfectly NORMAL!" she said as peeved as CeCe had ever seen.
Al interjected, "There doesn't seem to be any record of this problem. She must have never dealt with it. This could be the clue you were looking for Sam."
"It just seems dangerous to have a malicious spirit inhabiting your house," said Sam.
CeCe couldn't agree more. "Sage is right. That ghostly ghoul zapped me. Hey, Cyfer. I understand. I am just as happy with my ghost free life too. We have our little bed and breakfast and we're looking at a hotel downtown to restore. Not a bad life. You have a problem here, sis. And if we can help you out then who can?"
"Ziggy is starting to bump up the odds that this is your mission here. Forty-seven percent. Fifty-eight percent. Fifty-five and rising. Looks like you need to get rid of the Green Goblin," explained Al reading off his handlink.
Sam nodded. "We can help out. You have the experience and the know-how," he reminded her.
Cyfer put Stanley down and let him run into his room. "The answer is no. I don't want the Amazing Kreskin doing on the spot reports from my doorstep!"
"But sweetie. This is not a benign spirit, Cyfer. That was not static electricity that hit me!" CeCe reminded her. "And you have your children to consider."
"Yea, but that old hex pushes him back down into the plumbing. Three years I've been putting the old whammy on him," she said with a hint of pride in her voice. "Works EVERY time!"
"You have a spooky drain?" asked Sam as he looked down at the slightly rusty drain cover.