Dead Jack and the Soul Catcher by James Aquilone

Author:James Aquilone [Aquilone, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781946346063
Publisher: Homunculus House
Published: 2019-01-29T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13: Where Is My Soul?

When we returned to the surface, hunger and despair tore at my insides. I had never felt anything so black―and I’ve been tortured by a psychotic Nazi scientist. All seemed lost and pointless. I had no will to continue. I didn’t give a gremlin’s arse about the souls, no matter what Garry said about them. I hated that skeleton more than I have ever hated anyone before. Well, maybe not as bad as that Nazi bitch and her pet zombie, but pretty close.

Zara kept saying that we’ll get Oswald back, we just needed to find the souls first. We had come so far already. “You understand, right?”

I felt like a gutted and filleted merman. It had been months since Oswald wasn’t beside me. Old habits die hard. I pulled off my satchel and threw it away.

The world spun. I sat on a boulder away from the others, trying to communicate with Oswald, but received only a dreadful silence. A memory of our first meeting flashed in my mind. The bastard had just oozed from a hole in my skull. A puddle of white liquid pooled at my feet, then morphed into a little man. For months, I had been suffering from the worst migraines in my undead life. The pain had gotten so bad I took a chisel to my pate and opened a hole. That’s when Oswald decided to reveal himself. He leaked out of my head like pus out of a pimple.

When he first spoke, I nearly jumped out of my skin. He told me he had been living in my head for six months because he found it warm and cozy in there. He prattled on like he knew me my entire life.

I wanted nothing to do with the creep, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. He followed me everywhere, even on cases, which had been scarce back in those days. Eventually, I let him tag along with me, mostly because he seemed so pathetic. Besides, I needed an assistant and he worked for free. He had no name. So I named him Oswald. He had no eyes either. So I scratched two X’s in his head and called him a homunculus, a little man. Soon, I’d call him a thorn in my fookin side.

Wally dug another hole in the ground, bent over it, and whispered, doing his old snake bit.

“Why the hell would you trust a snake, Wally?” Zara grabbed the wizard by the shoulder.

He brushed her off. “Trust me. She won’t say a thing.”

Zara stepped back. “You better be right.”

I had the yellow powder half out of my pocket when the snake came slithering toward Wally.

“Sorry, Neba,” he said. “We need to find something else.”

The snake hissed.

“I know you just helped us, but we’re looking for souls that are most likely buried here. They’d be in clay jars.”

The snake hissed.

“She wants something,” Wally said.

“Like what?” Zara asked. “Not another tonsil manipulation?”

“She wants something shiny this time.”

“How about my watch?” Garry said.

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