Like most monsters that go bump in the night, there are mythologically sound techniques in a monster assassin’s arsenal. These have been well tested but certainly could be improved upon, so take this advice under advisement and with a stiff grain of salt.


    1: Coat your weapons in salt or iron.


    2: stay warm. Ghosts can do more damage the colder it is. You’re toast if it''s supernaturally cold.


    3: Above all, this is not a joke. Do yourself a favor and avoid tangling with ghosts. It’s just that easy.


    As a monster assassin, you don''t just do a job and go home. Seriously, it is rare to have what professionals call a clean getaway. With each encounter, you probably come within an inch of death, and once you’ve made the kill, you must make sure that nothing is coming up behind you. Numerous journals and archives don’t mention it outright, but the oldest entries tend to be composed of shaky handwriting and run-on sentences. Their words are reflective but are supercharged rambles instead of encounter-related facts. Some of the early Fosters were idiots, and I''m pretty sure one of my ancestors coined the phrase “the things that go bump in the night.” Because they had to learn by experience just how vicious monsters can be.


    Dumb luck, plain and simple.


    Mom wasted no time in getting back on the road and out of the neighborhood. There were no signs of the three hooded ghosts, but a few marshmallow clouds lingered, but they vanished, and according to the car’s dashboard, the temperature was equalizing and returning to its seasonal levels. Mom called Dad and reassured him that we were ok, and once we were back in the house, we activated every security measure we had in place, one button short of a Red Alert lockdown, and then we gathered on Dad''s bridge. Pop and Grandma Foster sat together on a dual video call while Dad displayed images and the follow-up news reports of the screaming kids and the bizarre claims about ghosts.


    A local reporter stood on the street near the elementary school, but there was no one with her. While she spoke, there were clips from the side streets where the Halloween decorations had been destroyed or stolen amidst layers of trash.


    “We will keep you up to date on this twisted and rather disgusting turn of events,” The reporter said. “As you can see from the images on your screen. About two dozen houses have been drastically vandalized. Their decorations have been ruined, and it will take several hours to get the streets cleaned up. There were reports that people dressed as garbagemen were responsible, but city officials have declined to comment, but one supervisor says that they’re looking into it.”


    The news report ended, and once Dad ended the feed, Pop and Grandma’s video moved to be front and center.


    “I never thought I''d live to see something like this,” Grandma said, shuffling through several loose pages and multiple thick-volume books. “Based on what I found, history would call today''s fiasco a Phantom Siege.”


    “A real supernatural running with the bulls.” Pop interjected with a bit of amusement at the comparison.


    “And that’s no understatement,” Grandma said, as she settled in on a deep brown couch, wearing a heavy purple robe. I had fun memories of having great movie nights on that couch.


    “Run us through what is a Phantom Siege?” Dad asked, “What is its purpose, and who would most likely be responsible?”


    Grandma pushed her glasses up her nose and scanned a few loose pages. “Its purpose is varied, and it is a high-level task, but over the years, there have been some self-proclaimed dark witches and wizards who have attempted it, but they were fanatics and if they were captured, they died because they lost control of the spell in the first few moments of its casting.”


    Dad shifted in his captain’s chair and took in all this information while Grandma nodded to Pop who fiddled with a computer and then shared an array of digitized videos at various historical moments. The quality varied depending on the decade or moment it was captured.


    After a few moments of static, the first played. There were officers shooting jets of water into rioting crowds. Pop layered some filters to show how the water caused dozens of ghosts to flee into the sky or somewhere off-screen. The video displayed a large department store I pictured from holiday movies that had dozens of panicked people running in every direction. There were people on the floor; some were curled up by shelves, and the rest ransacked the most valuable areas. As the video bar ended, I caught glimpses of multiple ghosts, but they moved in and out of focus. I wasn’t surprised at that. Technology has improved, but just like any old monsters, ghosts know how to mess with people who try to come and find them.”


    “That store looks like a wild Black Friday sale,” Tony said in jest, but his eyes were wide in surprise if not a fair amount of shock.


    Then there was one that looked like a film reel. Grandma pursed her lips as she played it. The screen sat black for a few seconds, and when the footage began to play. I recognized tall hills in the background. There were dark figures, and for a few seconds, they moved quickly, but then they slowed. I couldn’t tell how many people there were, but I could see the ghosts.


    “Was that a battlefield?” Tony asked.


    “Yes,” Pop said; his expression was stern, and it was clear that he wasn’t going to say anymore. The final video was a new report of suited agents surrounding a bus. They had it surrounded on a busy street in New York or maybe Chicago. The camera panned close to the windows, and I saw someone moving around. There was no audio, but then the doors opened, and multiple pages fluttered through the air and were pushed into the sky.


    Pop cleared his throat. “The most recent attempt of a Phantom Siege was done by a blowhard necromancer named Pyron Fowler.”


    “I’ve heard of him,” Dad said. “Didn’t he start a group in the eighties, the Black Hearts or something?”


    “He did and the name changed a few times,” replied Pop, “With him, unlike the other bonified necromancers, Pyron fashioned himself as somewhat of a celebrity. He did his dark work in secret, and while he was bad, others were more publicly bad, so he flew under the radar. By the time there was evidence remotely linking him to specific crimes and events, he was too big in the public eye to make a move against.”


    “A real politician, if you can believe it,” Grandma muttered. “It was foolish to most people how Pyron slipped through the cracks. M.A.G.E made a big deal, cracking down on dark magic and everything. They put so much information on the front page. So, what did Pyron do?”


    Pop cleared his throat. He shared Grandma’s discomfort with this story.


    “What?’ I asked.


    Grandma curled her lips. “He set out to become the best and he believed the Phantom Siege would level him to a supreme being. Through his connections, he secured secret information from the handful of idiots who were dumb enough to attempt it first. No one knew this because M.A.G.E leaders at the time thought they were cleaning up the world when really, they were handing people like him a doomsday itinerary.”


    “Cataloged, color-coded, and footnoted to boot,” Pop added.


    “Didn’t he go into business after a while?” asked Dad, “like a legitimate business?”


    “It was where he garnered most of his support, but it was underhanded,” Pop said, “He was soft-spoken and reserved, but he was smart, financially smart. Sources claimed that he secured millions in loans from supporters, which helped him secure airtime on a radio station, and he bought controlling interest in a publishing house and retail distribution channels.”


    “That would have definitely fumbled any investigation,” Dad said, “and hasn’t M.A.G.E cracked down on publishing materials?”


    “Not to the level of the Third Reich, “Pop said, “but it wasn’t without its merit. There were wild books released before Fowler that caused a lot of problems.”


    “Sounds like a solid plan,” Dad assessed, “he looks at everyone who comes before him, and he uses his skills to judge where they went wrong. If you take all that information and combine that without his own and if he has an unfettered ability to print what he wants. It''s like an underworld revolution.”


    “Pretty much,” Pop muttered, his facial expressions showed that thinking about it made him uncomfortable. “But in a way, Fowler was more of a modern Al Capone. People were shy of anyone who claimed to be a necromancer, but when word began to spread. That worry turned into genuine concern.”


    “So, he hid out in the open,” Dad said.


    “Essentially paying his taxes, and as long as he had solid lawyers. They preserved his reputation.”


    “So, what went wrong?” Tony asked.


    “Like most villains, he let power go to his head and he thought himself untouchable.” Grandma motioned to Pop, who reluctantly put a few pictures on the screen. There was the bus, and Pyron was standing on the steps with disheveled hair, an untucked shirt, and hundreds of crumpled manuscript pages clucked against his chest.


    “Pyron decided to escalate his timetable, but he wasn’t strategic about it. He wanted to ascend, and he was ready to kill anyone who got in his way.” Pop continued cycling through pictures of Pyron desperately trying to keep a hold of his pages before throwing them into the air and attempting to flee on foot. “For three years, he had dedicated base listening to his radio programs, and he proudly proclaimed his plans over the airways.”


    “M.A.G.E was building their case, and they used his radio show as a basis to try and get ahead of him. We were actually involved, secretly of course and we found that Fowler had purchased safehouses, and farmland, and one house had a huge library, a library that no one had ever known about, and it was chuck full of the questionable books I mentioned, along with the writings of genuine dark witches, wizards and necromancers.”


    “I remember a little about those last days,” Dad said, “Fowler had gone off the radar for a while, and then there were some unexplained robberies. Most of the stuff stolen was junk, but a few objects had been under scrutiny.”


    “Those thefts were the first domino that knocked down the tower,” Pop affirmed. “It was later announced that several wannabe necromancers had popped up claiming credit for the crimes. When each one was discovered to have interned or had a low-level job at one of Fowler’s businesses. They were worried he was making a home guide to dark magic and necromancy. No one knew exactly what Fowler might have figured out or stumbled upon, so the authorities decided to pursue him, and we were tasked to kill him if presented with the chance.”


    Both grandma and Grandpa shook and fussed over the unspoken, and probably gritty details. I began to wonder what the popularity of A Home Guide to Evil would have been like. I could undoubtedly picture lines filing out of a bookstore with people laughing manically while others attempted to kill each other out of amusement. I shook the thought away. No matter how my imagination spun the idea, it was not a happy picture.


    Grandpa rubbed his hands together and hesitated but continued. “The wannabes had strange papers in their possession, and the writing was unreadable. M.A.G.E called the symbols and writing the Phantomic language, and there are only a handful of people who can read it so that made people’s blood boil because they couldn’t plan because Fowler was getting the word out.”


    “Less than five nondark beings can read it, to my knowledge,” Grandma added.


    I closed the security sweep on my console as a question came to mind. “I’m assuming Fowler attempted the Siege and it went wrong?”


    “He was captured on the bus along with a lengthy manuscript,” Pop said. “He did call on some ghosts to defend him, and they were vicious, but the M.A.G.E. agents are well equipped to deal with four or five ghosts.”


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    “So, if Fowler is out of the picture,” I said, “and we have evidence to suggest that this hardcore ghost event has taken place. The idea of ascending to some greater form has been debunked. So, I don’t get why a dark witch would call so many ghosts into the public unless she wanted to kill someone or make a statement. It wasn’t like M.A.G.E agents were posing as high schoolers, right?”


    “Makes sense,” Tony said. “Why cause it?”


    “It’s a good question kids,” Pop said, “as we all know, when you compel ghosts, spirits, and the undead, you become tainted with the malicion. A lot of the most dangerous necromancers and dark-titled beings always committed crimes using ghosts and the undead as their henchman, and it doesn’t take much to compel a spirit to obey you. Where you would go beyond some kind of criminal act, I cannot honestly picture.”


    Grandma rose to her feet and placed a hand on Pop’s shoulder. “There is another option.”


    Grandma placed a few pages and a book in front of him. Pop looked it over, and his eyebrows raised at the same moment his jaw dropped.


    Grandma faced the video screen. “Ghosts and spirits are fantastic henchmen, but they are also spies and informants.”


    “Isn’t that the same thing?” Tony asked.


    “Yes and no,” Grandma said. “Ghosts if properly empowered by their master. They can infiltrate public buildings, and with planning a private residence. It takes some doing, but they can search for information, watch your enemies, and then report back.”


    “They can also share your dirty little secrets,” Mom said, “even when you’re dead. If someone thinks you could still be useful, they could compel you to come back.”


    “Exactly,” Grandma said. “Our allotment of family archives and journals have speculated that a high-level necromantic ritual could draw out a high-level witch or wizard who may not respond to a standard phantom''s invitation. It takes practice, strength, and skill to call someone, and they don’t have to reply.”


    Mom sighed, “Are you talking about the dead diary theory?”


    Grandma nodded, “The Phantom Siege is a way to draw everyone out because it’s a show of force that attracts a certain target’s attention, and then they’d hopefully not strike you down when they pop out for a visit.”


    “So that means the dark witch was looking for a friend,” Dad said.


    “It could,” Pop agreed, “and the rest of them were to cover up for a conversation. It''s brutal and cruel, but it is something villains these days would try.”


    “Does the Phantom Siege cause an eclipse?” I interjected. And what do you think of the Jack-o-lantern and the glowing eyes? That I saw in the back of the garbage truck.”


    “I’ve been wondering about that, but so far I’ve got no idea about the eclipse,” Pop replied, “And the Jack-o-Lantern could have been the focus point of some kind of enticement spell. That could explain why they ignored Melanie Black.”


    “Enticements are typically a monster hunter MO,” Tony added. “Could we have had some hunters in the area trying to draw out the critters for sport?”


    Dad cleared his throat and gave a dismissive wave. “Monster Hunters would try enticements, but I doubt they’d use one like this. Most I’ve ever dealt with like to use scents and potions because don’t trust magic.”


    “Hunters could be branching out,” Mom said, “monsters are a part of society and Melanie did say that the goblin theft and vandalism would hurt her movement. Maybe she has enemies who are willing to take risks to shut her down.”


    “It''s a reasonable assumption,” Dad admitted after a moment’s pause, “And I’d buy into it if it wasn''t for this Phantom Siege. The combination of ghosts just days after mass destruction and serious public panic. Then we have an activist trying to stop goblins from breaking character. What were they up to or dealing with that would have their closest ally’s words fall on deaf ears? Then we have our Minotaur mail carrier, who has also broken character and been up to something. There has been sometime between the incidents, but it does make me think that something or someone is causing this for a reason.”


    “Monsters do break character occasionally,” Pop asked, “Where’s the connection? The minotaur didn’t steal anything, and we don’t know why he was even at the farm.”


    “We interrupted him for one thing,” Dad said. “Plus, to my knowledge, we haven’t had any garbage-related incidents before today; it''s odd and something the city council would have been up in arms about. These events simultaneously spell out a complicated and detailed plan.”


    “With an outlier,” Pop acknowledged.


    “Melanie,” Mom finished, “She went looking for the goblins, so she’s got to be worried about them for some reason.”


    “She had the fervor of a dedicated pastor,” I said, “she was desperately trying to stop the goblins.”


    Dad snapped his fingers, “While we were there, she didn’t get a call, and no one came to visit, but we know she has creatures who probably would help her. Melanie must have known something was about to happen, but she didn’t know what.”


    “We should have gotten bugs in her house,” Tony said, “we could try to hijack her internet, rock it old school.”


    “It would have been too risky,” Pop chimed in, “people in the area have seen us and I’m sure you’ve already considered that she’d have some kind of creature lying in wait to attack anyone that comes on the property without an invite.”


    “We have, and while it’s a good idea, it''s not an option,” Dad said, “we’d have to watch at a distance to see where she might go next, and if there are any additional situations.”


    “Hey everyone,” Grandma said with a brief pause. “I know this job has a lot of moving pieces, but have we considered the possibility that Melanie is the dark witch,”


    “It’s unlikely,” Mom said.


    “True but hear me out.” Grandma continued. “Everyone has their passions, and it’s a thin connection, but what’s to stop Melanie from being a new Pyron Fowler and doing horrible things behind the guise of some activist agenda? I don’t think she’s an evil genius, but what if the work she was referring to was the attacks and everything else she might have cooking behind the scenes? wouldn’t she have the background and skills to accomplish the strike?”


    That rationale gave us all pause and put a stiff mood in the conversation. My first instinct thinking about Melanie chasing the garbage truck. I had to admit that doing what she did was dedication, and I was ready to dismiss the idea, but I couldn’t. Her panic was real, but what if the goblin garbagemen were her henchmen instead of the weary victims she had been fighting for? Grandma had a point, and it was worth considering.


    Mom looked at her nails and narrowed her brow. “If she hides behind her activism, she would be written off as a washout and a nobody. It’s a pretty smart place to hide, and she would have plausible deniability if she had creatures working on some big-picture scheme.”


    “Her creatures could help her get the resources,” Tony said. “Her house wasn’t spectacular, but it was a nice neighborhood. I bet she could send little thieves to pick off a few bucks here and there. The occasionally misplaced piece of jewelry. It would set her up pretty well.”


    Mom scratched her chin. “There is one issue with this train of thought. It’s logical and could be possible. However, Melanie would have had better command of the goblins. I’m hard-pressed to believe they would have ignored her like they did. Plus, I didn''t see any taint of malicion on her, nor did she even glance in my direction, which she would have done if she had been practicing phantomism or necromancy. Her panic and concern, I feel, were genuine. She could very well be up to no good, but she has not gone the way of the dark side. At least not yet.”


    Dad glanced toward me and Mom. “Did she try any spells to counter what was being done to the goblins?”


    Mom shook her head at the exact moment I said. “Nope. She was just screaming at them.”


    Dad rose to his feet and started to pace. For a lap, he carried his hands behind his back for a while, and then he folded them across his chest before scratching his chin a few times.


    “We can’t dismiss the idea entirely, but I think we’re back at square one. We have a subject who didn''t try to cancel or counter any kind of magic, so either she couldn’t, or it was something beyond her ability to do so.”


    “So, she resorted to a last-ditch effort to appeal to them to stop,” Mom finished.


    “Then it seems, son,” Pop said with a note of conclusion. “Our best course of action is to question her to figure out what she knows. We’re all in agreement about her passions, so she’s got to have a clue about who would be causing problems that would stir up trouble for the things she cares about.”


    “We’ll need to figure out how to get close,” I said, “she’s a target we’ll need to isolate. She’ll need to trust the space, and hopefully, it will be an environment that will put her at ease so we can avoid the alleged pets and their urge to attack.”


    “Agreed.” Pop’s voice carried as he moved off-screen. He shuffled some papers around and reappeared to motion to a table off-screen.


    “I’ve got some tools we could employ or more concrete surveillance, and we’ll want to lay some traps that could give us a warning just in case she’s worried about us.”


    “We’ll need to figure out something in rotations,” Dad said. “We’ll use disguises. Go on walks in her neighborhood every few hours. We’ll need to blend in with everyone else.”


    I moved to my console, recognizing an opening. “Speaking of blending in or standing out. What are we supposed to do about these guys?”


    I pulled up a crude drawing of the three rogue ghosts. I''ve never been much of an artist, but I figured the picture was clear enough to get my point across.


    “Grandma and Grandpa exchanged glances and then looked rather stern as they turned their attention to me. Emma, are you saying you saw these ghosts during your encounter?”


    “They were off in the distance, and Mom saw them too. She was determined to catch them before we saw Melanie.”


    Mom''s complexion had no color, and after a few seconds, she appeared composed enough to jump into the conversation. “Every Phantomist knows who these three are. They are called the Omens. They’re historically some of the most mysterious individuals known in the Phantomic world.”


    “Like the boogieman, the Grim Reaper, and the Devil himself,” Pop said. “I had an associate who mentioned how they rarely appear in the real world, but when they do, it''s bad news.”


    Mom challenged a shiver. “That’s putting it mildly, but you’re not wrong. They don’t unless they’re invited, and they’re not widely spoken of or written about, so you have to know things and people to cross paths with them. The Omens have links to the concept of fates in mythologies. Some phantomists have reasoned that they each stand for the past, present, and future. If one appears to you and you can decipher its meaning, the odds are your past is coming to haunt you. You’ll have to face a present-day challenge, or your future is uncertain.”


    “Would they have popped out for a visit because of the Phantom Siege?” Dad asked. “An event of such power might have made them curious.”


    “It’s possible, but not likely.” Mom countered. “They don’t just hang around waiting for events to happen, and if they’ve been around long enough, a Phantom Siege is probably just as common as a 4^th of July parade. The Omens watched everything take place, and then they turned to leave. They would have just vanished if they had come on their own accord.”


    “So, the fact that they left meant they were going to meet someone?” Grandma finished.


    “I imagine so,” Mom continued, “It’s one of the reasons I wanted to follow them. It was foolish because if someone had enough power to communicate with the Omens and live to talk about it, they aren’t the kind of person you just want to run into.”


    “But an ID would have gone a long way.” Dad said, “Your logic is sound, dear, and knowing what you know, I probably would have done the same in your position. While it does increase the gravity of our challenge, these events offer us an opportunity to figure out who we are up against and why. I know this isn’t coming off like a regular job, but if we want to stay hidden to keep doing what we’re doing. We must eliminate the mastermind before these events reach a boiling point.”


    “So, if we’re going to throw things all together,” Grandma said, returning to her seat on the couch. “We''ve got a dark witch in the area, and the marginal government had their agents attacked by forces unknown. Now we have a necromantic ritual cast by someone who can call on three heavy-hitting ghosts? And they had enough power to cause a public uprising, which the news stations are calling a criminal-level prank.”


    “I''m seeing the same thing,” Tony said, with his attention on his console, “The area will have a more significant authoritative presence, and some reporters are speculating about curfews, canceling everything but local trick-or-treating. It will be a race against the clock to stop whatever will happen next.”


    “We’re going to have to get creative,” I interjected. “If Mom is right and Melanie harbors deeper worries, rumors, or conspiracy theories because of her background. She’ll be on edge because we won’t want to get entrapped or involved. We won’t be able to use our typical infiltration and intel techniques. As an activist, she’ll know how to spot a ruse or a con.”


    Mom nodded in agreement, “And we come off looking like a government outfit. She’ll spook and be in the wind.”


    “You’re right about that,” Dad said. He hurried back to his chair and typed down his armrest keypad. “We also must consider that Bianca putting her name out there means others might as well, and if any of our potential targets are in the area and see Melanie''s antics as problematic, they might go after her too.”


    “So,” Tony said, “we’ll either need to save her or be present to ID her murderer so we’ll know who to go after?”


    “Pretty much,” Dad admitted. “I’ll admit it seems unlikely, but Melanie is connected to the world of our potential perpetrator and these goblins stealing Halloween decorations for a reason. She has to know or suspect why they’re doing it; otherwise, she wouldn’t have interfered.”


    “So where do we start?” Pop asked.


    Dad folded his arms, “I think I have a plan to answer these questions and hopefully put us at an advantage if we have an encounter.”


    “Before you jump into your plan, honey,” Mom said, standing by the arch console and looking at a screen. “This isn’t just a criminal-level prank, but there are new reports that a drive-in movie theater and a renaissance fair being put on by the local high school choir has been destroyed. The decorations, the seats, and everything else have been trashed. The situation is larger than we thought. It''s now becoming quite a frenzy. One wrong move, and we’ll have the entire county under some form of martial law until they can apprehend some culprits.”


    “Someone had to have seen something,” I said. “Unless these guys are invisible, how are they getting around?”


    “We’ll have to watch the news reports to see if people come forward with information.” Dad approached the view screen. “There are creatures who can compel other creatures to do their dirty work, and our mastermind will probably want things to die down; otherwise, the next steps of their plan will be harder to put into action.”


    Dad turned and faced all of us. “We’re going to go out on solo missions and in pairs. We’ll keep our focus on Melanie until there are new leads or if the news breaks with these recent attacks and the theater and the school.”


    Dad then laid out his plan, with specific details and objectives for each of us. We were all on board, but my mind strayed as Pop moved on-screen, only to come back a second later. He didn''t look nervous. Instead, he looked taken aback, bewildered, confused. Petrified, all mixed up in one blanket expression.


    Pop cleared his throat. “Everyone. We may be up being something a bit larger than any Foster has dealt with or might be able to handle.”


    Dad spun on his heels at the comment. “Like what Pop, what do you mean?”


    We all had practice masking dread or uncertainty in certain situations, but his paper held up, and I found the turquoise coin. I began to think this contract was taking its toll on us, and we were not going to hide things well.


    “Based on the preliminary tests I''ve already run; I''ve concluded that this is a dragon scale son.”


    Grandma dropped her books, Mom gasped, and Tony nearly fell out of his chair. I was the first to repeat the thought as we were all stunned at the mere mention of it.


    “A dragon scale.”