CHAPTER TWO

Bertie charged Zeek, thundering in a flapping and flopping frightening figure of metaphysical energy.

Zeek swung his crowbar like a baseball bat, and it slammed into the big guy’s guts, sending him flying across the room. Before Zeek could pounce, the poltergeist jumped to his feet, now one seriously pissed-off man-baby, ectoplasm spilling from his fists like globs of snot.

Bertie’s mouth opened wide, wider than humanly possible, until it was a gaping void. Then a hollow roar burst out from the void and green ectoplasm shot out across the room, spattering Zeek in fluorescent green sputum.

Zeek coughed, wiping the goo away from his face and spitting it from his mouth. Then he danced a little jig, crying, “It stinks. It stinks. Get it off!”

Bertie charged again, a raging sumo wrestler.

Zeek steeled his gaze and clenched his jaw. Show time. Crouching, he lunged into the air, crowbar and cleaner at the ready and screamed a battle cry...

Outside in the hallway, Mrs. Kravitz stood with both hands covering her mouth. There was a sudden and violent crash! The entire house shook and she glanced up at the swinging light in the hall, her eyes growing wider.

“Oh my,” she said.

Zeek danced behind him and climbed onto the poltergeist’s shoulders, riding Bertie as if he were a bucking rodeo bull. Bertie’s arms swung wildly up at him, but the sumo wrestler rodeo was in town and Zeek was going the distance.

“Weeee!” he squealed.

Zeek’s legs wrapped around Bertie’s shoulders, and with vacuum in hand, sucked the nozzle onto his head. The vacuum hummed and Bertie’s face warped upward, squeezing into the tiny nozzle.

The vacuum’s engine began to whine like a plummeting plane falling from the sky. 

With only Bertie’s mouth now visible, the rest of his head all but gone into the vacuum, he roared out, ectoplasm splattering the room in a wide arc of green projectile vomit.

Zeek had him right where he wanted, not allowing Bertie to get separation from the nozzle. The giant poltergeist began running in circles like a chicken without a head, arms waving frantically knocking books from a shelf, overturning a lamp and knocking pictures off the walls.

Zeek gripped on tight, a wild maniac smile across his face.

“Gotcha now you stinky man-baby!” He laughed like a lunatic.

Bertie charged across the room and the resonating whir of the vacuum suddenly cut off and died, replaced by a sudden and awful silence.

Zeek peered down the nozzle, frowned, then tracked his gaze across the room to see that the electrical cord had pulled from the socket.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s not ideal.”

Ice cold hands grabbed hold and yanked him down in a violent hulking smash.

Zeek’s body thundered into the train set, miniature trees, cows and sheep flew up into the air. Flat on his back, Zeek winced, lying in a puddle of fart smelling ectoplasm and a broken train set. He didn’t get a chance to get up.

Bertie eclipsed what little light was in the room, and the hulking monster landed on him in a suffocating force of cold, wobbly poltergeist fat.

“No!” Zeek mumbled from beneath it. “Gross!”

Bertie’s hands entered into Zeek’s throat, bypassing the skin and wrapped around his windpipe.

Choking, unable to breath, Zeek reached for his crowbar, but it was too far. Changing tact, he tried for his vacuum, his fingers so close. His eyes all but popped from their sockets as blood gathered in his brain. Zeek’s finger brushed against the battery backup switch. He was passing out, the world darkening around him, blackness bleeding into his vision.

With one last final effort, he reached and flicked the switch. The vacuum whirred to life. Zeek took up the nozzle, stuffed it into Bertie’s face. The man-baby resisted, but it was no use. Bertie’s head was warping into the nozzle.

Mrs. Kravitz was frozen in place, skin pale, eyes wide in fright, listening on as the vacuum whined. She heard another cry echo out from behind the door. “You should’ve gone to the light you stinky train freak!”

The whirring vacuum died and the violent banging and thrashing from within the room fell completely and utterly silent.

Mrs. Kravitz pressed her ear up against the door and listened.

“You can come in now, Mrs. Kravitz,” came Zeek’s voice.

She hesitantly turned the handle and pushed the door open. Her jaw dropped, eyes wide, breath catching in her chest.

The bookcase was on its face, the computer and desk were unrecognizable, the ceiling-fan hung from a single buzzing wire, the train-set was demolished, and absolutely everything was covered in thick blobs of fluorescent green goo.

“The room’s all clean, Mrs. Kravitz,” said Zeek, beaming.

She pinched her nose and in a nasally tone said, “My goodness, what happened?! What’s all that green stuff?”

“Ectoplasm. Emotional discharge.” Zeek had his fists on his hips as he scanned the room. “You’ll need to replace the carpet of course.”

“The carpet?”

“And paint the walls. But you’ll never get rid of the smell. If I was you I’d sell the house.”

“What about Albert? Where’s my Bertie?”

Zeek picked up the vacuum and walked past her as he left the room. “He’s in the vacuum, Mrs. Kravtiz.”

“The vacuum?” she asked, following him down the hallway.

Zeek stopped and held it up. “He’s a whole lot of ghost, but he’s in there all right.”

“But how?”

“A bag of salt, a bucket of tar, a paint brush. The usual stuff for a ghost trap.” Zeek shrugged and continued to walk.

‘Is ... is he okay?”

“Hell no!” he spat. “He’s frying as we speak.”

“What?!” she cried. “Oh-no, my poor, Bertie.”

Zeek stopped and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Mrs. Kravitz. It’s the only way. He’ll give up soon enough and go to the light.”

She looked up at him with teary eyes. “Truly?”

“Zeek’s honor,” he said, holding up two fingers. “At least I figure that’s what happens. Always ends up empty so they have to go somewhere, right?” he laughed awkwardly.

“I-I suppose so,” she said, slightly dazed. “Thank you, Mr. Crabtree, for helping my husband.”

“No problem, Mrs. Kravitz.” Zeek took his fee, and stopped at the door on the way out. “And remember, if you ever need a ghost cleaner, be sure to call Zeek Crabtree.”