Poltergeeks Read Free Page B

her clients swear are better than anything you can buy at a Walmart Super Centre. The downside? That goat farm in our front yard can be seen from outer space and the neighbours are always complaining that our place is bringing down their property values.
      I plugged my nose and waved my backpack in the air to grab her attention. "Mom, whatever you're boiling in that pot is going to melt the paint on the walls," I complained. "When you're done, I need your help with something, okay?"
      She turned her head toward me. The gas mask made her look like a giant insect in an apron. "One minute," she said, her voice muffled. "This is almost done. I'll chat with you on the deck. Hello, Mr Guffman, you've got blood on your shirt."
      "I had a brief battle with a traumatized cat I was trying to rescue," he said, pulling on his shirt collar.
      "I hope you won," she said pointing her wooden spoon at the door. "You both might want to get out of the kitchen before you succumb to the stench, okay?"
      Marcus and I padded down the hall to the enormous French doors leading to our deck, and stepped outside again. The teddy bear inside my backpack was rolling around, giving the bag a life of its own. I hoped the spirit wasn't about to lose patience. The last thing the residents of Lake Sundance needed was a poltergeist wreaking havoc inside the home of a witch, because it's a bit like a magical armoury in our basement. Mom has enough spell-making material stored downstairs to level five city blocks.
      "Spirit… God! Just chill out okay?" I snapped. "We're going to figure this out in a minute so please stop whatever it is that you're doing in there."
      It must have heard me because the flopping about inside my backpack ceased. Marcus took a seat on our vinyl lounger, and the morning sun gave way to a wave of heat that told me it was going to be another scorcher of a Sunday.
      "So, you figure it's a poltergeist, eh?" Marcus said, eyeballing the backpack. "I'd have thought malevolent spirits were more interested in haunting vintage homes."
      "Why, Marcus," said my mother, as she stepped outside and onto the deck. "Whatever gave you the impression that poltergeists are exclusively malevolent?"
      She'd rolled her long red hair into a thick bun that was fixed to the top of her head with bobby pins. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed down at the backpack and I could tell from the slight edge in her voice that my discovery had thrown a wrench into her plans for the day.
      I spun around on my lawn chair and held out my bag for my mother's examination. "Sorry, Mom, we ran into this about forty minutes ago at Mrs Gilbert's house. It chucked the old biddy out the front door and launched Slippers the Siamese cat through the chimney."
      Mom gave me a surprised look. "That doesn't sound like your average poltergeist," she said grimly. "Do you know the spirit's name?"
      "No. Why do we need to know its name?" I asked.
      She grabbed the backpack and placed it on the patio table and stepped back a couple of feet. "Because if you were thinking of conducting an exorcism, aside from being grounded for the rest of your natural born life, your exorcism wouldn't have worked."
      Marcus sat up. "Why's that?" he asked. "It's a spirit. I mean, it's dead, right?"
      The backpack started rolling around on top of the patio table as Mom stretched out her hands to get a feel for the spirit's spiritual signature. Naturally this rubbed me the wrong way because she was clearly laying the dramatic gestures on just a little bit too thick; possibly because Marcus was watching and definitely to remind me that she was the sensei and I was still the lowly apprentice.
      "This is a minor spirit," she said, concentrating. "I don't feel any menace attached to it, so that's a good thing. The reason you need to know its name is because you can't impart your will to the exorcism spell without a name. It just won't work."
      Ugh. I should have known