A World of InTemperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 2) Read Free

Dolomite?”
    “Do you have an extra set of those goggles?”
    “Nossir.”
    “That’s all right, I’ll come along anyway. I want to look after Persephone.”
    We stand there, every one of us loath to step foot on the dreadful plot.
    Slowly, on an unspoken command, we take the first tentative steps onto the cursed domicile. The thick, green, miasma clings to our clothing. The cloying fog tries to hold us back. Though it should be dry, the ground feels squishy beneath my boots.
    “You hold that parasol as a weapon, Persephone.”
    “Yes I do, Reverend Dolomite, for it is. I see that you hold your over-large Holy Bible as if you would use it to strike with, as well, eh hem?”
    “Yes, Persephone, my posture speaks true, Hallelujah!”
    This cute little church should be a place of warmth and greeting; instead it is a dwelling of the worst foreboding.
    We pause at the bottom step, straining our ears to listen. Just at the edge of hearing, an unearthly wail is faintly detected.
    Spooky mists, like unhappy spirits, swirl about us.
    Ghosts of ancient, Spanish Californios whirl into coalescence and just as quickly dissipate.
    “Keep the faith, Reverend Dolomite, your blessings keep the evil at bay.”
    “Praise God, keep us safe from these evil spirits!”
    “I say, yes, I appreciate all of you big strong men wanting to protect me from harm, but in fact, an observer might think that you were all leaning toward me for protection, rather than to lend it, eh hem? In further observations, I think it uncanny that we all manage to coordinate our steps to move up the steps in unison.”
    A few short steps through the vestibule and we are looking into the sanctuary.
    “What has happened to my church? All the pews are thrown up against the walls!”
    “Take care, Citizen Dolomite, a space has been cleared in the middle of the floor to paint a large circle. In the center lies a large, crude star, surrounded by carefully drawn terrible symbols.”
    “Yuck, that dark paint is awfully thick and nasty.”
    Miss Plumtartt gasps and falls back a step.
    “I cannot enter this place. We should flee immediately. Yes. Quite so and forthwith.”
    ~SLAM!~
    We all jump and whirl about at the sharp, and ominous, concussion of the doors being slammed closed, directly behind us.
    “Who shut them doors, y’all?”
    “Ha, ha, ha, I did, little mon.”
    Our troupe whirls back around to face our spooky adversary.
    “The suspect is in the pulpit, O’Hagan.”
    A dark figure stands opposite to us, across the sanctuary. The black man is tall and strongly built, wearing a tailed coat; his head is bowed beneath a shiny top hat.
    “Hey! You’re the lying heathen that sold me on building my blessed church on a ghostly grave-site! I’m gonna take it out of your hide now, you treacherous turkey!”
    The Right Reverend Alonzo Dolomite bursts out from our cluster to confront his vesper transgressor.
    The sinister minister raises his head.
    The Right Reverend Alonzo Dolomite lands on his rear end trying to back pedal from that hateful visage.
    The man looking at us wears a skeletal face.
    Miss Plumtartt gives a sharp cry. “Aaah!”
    The frightful apparition throws back his horribly painted head and laughs out loud. “Hahahahahahahaha!”
    “Bonjour, bonnes hommes.” A thick French accent, born of the Caribbean, flows like half cooled lava. “Welcome to my party.”
    “Freeze, punk, er, Citizen, you are coming in for some intensive questioning, you occultist clown.”
    “Hahahahahaha!” laughs the man with the skeletal painted face. Unnaturally white irises make it difficult to maintain eye contact with the strange fellow.
    “I am the one questioning you, mon! Which of you shall be the first to sacrifice their life for me, the mystic from the island of San Monique? I stand ready to seize this land in the name of the ‘Sin-dicate’! I am Sku LeBiz’zare, and you shall be my offerings!”
    “And that’ll be enough out of you, me Too-rah,