Return of the Trickster by Eden Robinson (ebook voice reader TXT) 📗

“Of course it won’t work,” Dead Aiden said.

Jared put the candle in the sink and lit it, passing the whistle through the smoke first. “Huey, this whistle is for you. I send this whistle to Huey so he can play music with us.”

Jared melted the whistle slowly into a pink blob, holding it over the candle by its rope. He watched Huey, hopeful. The whistle, now the size of a baseball, appeared on the floor. Huey bobbed down and nudged it. He flittered around the room faster than Jared had ever seen him fly and then flipped the whistle into the air and caught it in his mouth. The sound he made was as loud as an air horn, grating like a kazoo on steroids. Aiden popped away.

Eliza covered her ears, grinning. Look!

Bob the spirit octopus retreated from the apartment building, chased by Huey, who bounced behind it tooting “Baby Shark” for all he was worth.

Eliza jumped for joy on the couch.

“Shh,” Jared said, afraid they’d wake her mother.

—

He meant to leave after he put the Frozen DVD in the player, but the couch was comfortable and Eliza had a hold on his hand, her head on the pillow he’d put on his lap.

She only lasted through the opening credits. Jared was too tired to get up and lock the door. Bob tried to sneak in through the ceiling, but Huey merrily blasted away like a sugar-high toddler and it retreated. Jared drifted, listening to Huey’s whistle getting louder or fading away as he chased the octopus thing around the building.

“Is this your doing?”

Neeka Donner stood staring out the living room window into the dark. He startled. He hadn’t heard her come in and tried to figure out if he was dreaming. He guessed he couldn’t be, because he could feel the crick in his neck from falling asleep sitting up. He’d forgotten how pretty the human otter was with her long, silky hair and up-tilted eyes. She wore yoga pants and a sports bra, had her windbreaker tied at her slim waist. The octopus thing whipped by, moaning in obvious frustration as Huey bounced along behind it.

“You might want to stay away from me,” Jared said. “I’ve pissed off some coy wolves.”

Neeka shrugged. “We know how to deal with mutts. But this thing brings nightmares until you dread sleep. Gran thinks it’s a bad spirit trying to drive Eliza insane, possibly until she kills herself so it can eat her soul.”

“We found out that Bob doesn’t like ‘Baby Shark.’ ”

“You’ve named it Bob.”

“What? He bobs around.”

Neeka turned back to the living room window, where the octopus thing was making another round of the building, chased by Huey. “You’re the oddest Trickster we’ve ever met.”

“There are much weirder Tricksters around.”

“That thing out there would attack us, but you’ve figured out how to repel it using a disembodied flying head tooting ‘Baby Shark’ on a rape whistle. You take the crown for weirdness.”

“Yeah,” Jared said. “And if Bob gets used to ‘Baby Shark,’ we’re gonna go all Frozen on his ass.”

18

ADVENTURES IN BABYSITTING

The next day, Jared lay in bed, going over his police interview—things he should have said, shouldn’t have said. Mave said she was off to do a shift at The Sartorial Resistance and taking Sarah to meet the staff. Would he be okay alone? Jared gave her the thumbs-up.

“I’ll send Hank over,” Mave said.

The empty apartment was peaceful for about two minutes. Then the deadbolt clicked and heavy footsteps thumped down the hallway.

“Grab a coat,” Hank said.

“I can stay here by myself,” Jared said.

“Aunt Mave would kill me if something happened on my watch,” Hank said. “I’ve got shit to do. Grab your coat.”

“I can spend an hour or two by myself.”

“I’m going to drag you to my car and throw you in the trunk if you don’t move your ass,” Hank said, his expression thunderous.

“Gimme a sec to change.”

“No,” Hank said. “We’re just going to Gran’s.”

“I’m not going outside in these PJs.”

Hank lifted him off the bed by the pyjama collar and marched him down the hallway. He stopped in front of the closet. Jared grabbed his jacket and shoved his feet into his shoes before Hank did it for him. Hank followed him out and then locked the apartment door. As they waited silently by the elevator, Jared felt the crowd of ghosts staring at him.

Hank held the elevator door for him and then the entranceway door. Jared followed his cousin to his grey Honda Civic. They drove south down Commercial, hitting all the stoplights. Hank kept sighing. Jared hated feeling like a burden. They turned off on a side street and parked near a small playground. The sun was already setting, the season shifting from the grey fall to dark, early winter evenings. Usually, Kitimat had snow by Halloween. Mave had said Vancouver winters were just rain, rain and more rain.

Jared followed Hank through a side entrance into a cream apartment building. They took the slowest elevator in the world up to the third floor. Hank unlocked apartment 312 and opened the door and they were hit by a blast of heat.

“It’s just me,” Hank called.

“Junior,” a faint voice responded.

Hank removed his sweater and hung it on a wooden coat rack, then kicked off his shoes. Jared copied him. The apartment was angled strangely and all the lights were on. Hank led him into a bedroom with a twin-sized medical bed slightly raised. A tiny, tiny woman, buried under layers of blankets, watched them, her eyes sunken and dark, blinking slowly. Every bone in the woman’s face poked through her skin. She had a kerchief over her thin white hair. Her lips twitched into a wan smile.

“Hey, Gran,” Hank said. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not late, Junior. Barbie just left,” she said. “My, my. Who’s this handsome fellow?”

“Gran, this is Maggie’s boy, Jared. Jared, this is Gran.”

Her eyes studied his PJs. “How’s your mother, Jared?”

“She’s