Summoned by Kevin Hopson

Summoned by Kevin Hopson

A vision woke me from my sleep. It only came to me because the woman in the vision, who happened to be in trouble at that exact moment, had mentioned Mr. Ticker’s name. She’d mumbled it under her breath, pleading for Mr. Ticker’s help as her husband lashed out at her.

I sat up in bed, my mind like a computer screen. I saw the woman’s name, Natalie Stewart, along with her address. I grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand and immediately texted my contact at Ruby Valley General Hospital. His name was Daniel, and he worked in the morgue.

Mr. Ticker is needed. Do you have a body?

I waited for Daniel’s response, and three dots suddenly appeared below my text.

No, unfortunately. All of them have been claimed.

My shoulders slumped.

Mr. Ticker was a hero in our town. He always made a point of helping anyone in need. So, when he passed several years ago, the entire community mourned the loss.

There’s a legend that Mr. Ticker’s spirit remains, and he continues to come to the aid of those who need it. However, I know for a fact it’s not a legend. It’s the truth.

And while the majority of the town may not put faith in the legend, there are those that do. In fact, there are enough believers that I’ve managed to make a job out of it.

The problem is that Mr. Ticker needs a body, or vessel, in order to manifest again. It’s the reason I contacted Daniel. Sometimes there would be bodies in the morgue where no next of kin could be found. When these bodies went unclaimed, the county would eventually dispose of them. But Daniel and I had found a use for them.

I let out a frustrated breath, and my wife stirred beside me.

“Everything okay, Charlie?” Laura said.

“Just someone in need of Mr. Ticker again.”

“Did you contact Daniel?”

“Of course, but he doesn’t have any available bodies.”

I got to my feet, turned on the closet light, and grabbed a pair of jeans from a hanger. When I made my way back into the bedroom, Laura stared at me.

“You don’t need to do this,” she said.

I slid my legs into the jeans and zipped up. “You know I do.”

“You can call the police.”

“There isn’t enough time.” I circled the bed and stood next to Laura. “Besides, I’ll have Mr. Ticker to protect me.” I hunched over until my lips met hers.

“Just be careful,” she said.

“Always.”

I grabbed my house keys on the way out, a chill in the air forcing me to raise the zipper on my jacket. In times like this, there was an alternative. I could summon Mr. Ticker myself. He typically inhabited corpses, but he could use living beings as vessels, too.

I’d done it before. Unlike the deceased, in which Mr. Ticker took complete control of the body, I had full influence over my thoughts and actions. It was Mr. Ticker’s strength that I needed. And his ability to go from one location to another in the blink of an eye.

“You’re needed, Mr. Ticker,” I said.

Those four words were all it took.

A shiver escaped me. Then I felt a warmth in my gut, gradually extending to my extremities. Mr. Ticker was one with me now, and he communicated with me via telepathy.

“Where are we headed?” he asked.

I gave him the address. The last thing I remembered was standing in my driveway. Before I knew it, I found myself in the foyer of a house. A stranger’s house.

It was a first for me. When teleporting, we usually ended up on a road or in a yard. I heard noise coming from the back of the house. Weeping. Then arguing.

I slowly made my way down the hall, the kitchen eventually coming into view. A chandelier above the kitchen table illuminated much of the room, and a man in warm-up pants and a sweatshirt turned to me, his eyes going wide.

“Who the hell are you?” he barked. “And how did you get in here?”   

Natalie looked my way, the fear in her eyes turning to confusion.

“Hey,” the man shouted.

He was a beefy guy. Probably six-foot-four and over two hundred pounds. I, on the other hand, was of average height and weight. I wouldn’t stand a chance against him on my own, which is why I was thankful for Mr. Ticker.

“I was walking by the house,” I finally said, “and heard commotion inside. I was worried someone might be in danger.”

The man approached. “That doesn’t explain how you got in here.” He glanced at a console on the wall. “The alarm is set. There’s no way you could have avoided tripping it.” The man pondered for a moment. “Unless you came in through an upstairs window.”

I decided to go along with it. It beat trying to come up with another excuse.

“You’re right,” I said. “I gained entrance through a window on the second floor. I just happen to be a good climber.”

“So, you admit to committing a crime,” he said, as if stating a fact rather than a question.

“Technically, yes. But I did it as a good Samaritan. I heard arguing, and the woman here appears to be a little worse for wear.”

The man huffed. “Well, you walked into the wrong damn house, pal, because I’m a cop.”

It forced me to raise an eyebrow, but it made sense now. The guy could have turned violent when he first saw me. Some abusers would have, especially those who drink and take their frustrations out on anyone and everyone.

But this guy seemed to have a clear head. Either he wasn’t intimidated by my less-than-impressive physique, along with the fact I was unarmed, or he didn’t care to bring unwanted attention to the situation by calling in the cavalry. Or maybe it was all of the above.

“What are our options?” I said to Mr. Ticker in my head.

“I can take control,” he replied.

“Even with your strength, I’m not sure we can take him. Plus, I don’t want the woman in harm’s way.”

“I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about him.”

“What?”

“I can take control of him,” Mr. Ticker elaborated.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t think you could take control of a living being.”

“Of course, I can. I know you and trust you, which is why I usually let you do your thing. But corpses and breathing lowlifes like this one are a different matter.”

I deliberated, and the husband’s brow furrowed due to my silence and hesitation.  

“Okay,” I finally said.

“This is going to hurt.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

I didn’t look forward to Mr. Ticker leaving my body. Going in was fine. But coming out, for whatever reason, brought excruciating pain. That being said, I was still grateful. When Mr. Ticker inhabited a corpse, the body immediately turned to dust when he was done with it. At least, I didn’t have to worry about that.

“Here we go,” Mr. Ticker said.

My head throbbed and my chest felt as if a Mack truck was resting on top of it. Then I fell to my knees, last night’s dinner rising up through my esophagus as it demanded exodus. I vomited onto the kitchen floor, a chuckle escaping the man’s lips.

“You’re pathetic,” he said.

When I finally composed myself and looked up, the man’s grin quickly faded.

He walked over to the kitchen table and slid a chair out from under it. “I’m going to have a seat.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You do that.” I managed to stand. “I’m going to step outside with your wife.”

The man smiled. “Sure.”

Mr. Ticker was definitely having fun with this.

Natalie stared at me with apprehension.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I just want to help. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Go ahead, honey,” the man said, a big toothy smile spreading across his face.

Natalie was reluctant at first but ultimately obliged. After she disarmed the alarm, I let her lead the way. We stepped outside, and I took a seat on one of the front steps. She closed the door behind her and stood next to me, leaning against the railing.

“He’s acting really strange,” Natalie said.

I ignored her comment. “How long has he been abusing you?”

Natalie ran a hand through her long, dark hair, and I spotted bruising along her right cheek. It wasn’t as noticeable in the kitchen given my proximity to her, but the front porch light made it obvious enough. 

“I’m not going to say anything to anyone,” I said. “I’m just curious.”    

She let out a breath. “A few months.”

“And I’m assuming no one knows about it?”

Natalie shook her head. “Not even my parents.”

“That needs to change.”

She shook her head again. “I can’t tell anyone, and I definitely can’t go to the police. I fear for my life.”

“What if I told you there’s a way out of this?”

“I’d have a hard time believing you. If I run, he’ll only follow. Like I said, I don’t know what he’ll do to me if I try to fight him on it.”

“The first thing you’re going to do is call the police.”

Natalie’s face contorted. “Are you crazy? Haven’t you been listening to me?”

“I have. But I told you there’s a way out of this, and the first step is calling the police.”

“Why?” she shouted. “So, I can destroy my life?” Natalie huffed and pursed her lips. “Look,” she said in a softer voice. “No one is going to believe me. You heard him inside. He’s a cop. He’ll have the support of all of his coworkers, and they’ll take his word over mine.”

“Not if he admits to what he’s done.”

Natalie’s brow furrowed. “He wouldn’t do that if his life depended on it.”

“You have to trust me. If you call the police, your husband will be honest with them and admit to his transgressions.”

She shook her head yet again. “Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Charlie. But I did get some help from Mr. Ticker.”

Natalie’s eyes went wide. “Wait. Are you serious?”

I nodded. “I heard your call.”

“And how could you have heard that?”

“Because we work together. Mr. Ticker and me.”

Natalie swallowed and looked away. Then she met my gaze again. “He’s real?”

My lips stretched into a grin. “As real as you and me.” I got to my feet. “Mr. Ticker is waiting inside. You just have to trust me. Call the police, and all of this will be over soon enough.”

I turned toward the driveway. Since Mr. Ticker was no longer inside of me, I’d have a long walk home, but I could always catch an Uber. 

“Charlie,” Natalie said.

I spun around to face her.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome. Just remember one thing. You can only summon Mr. Ticker once in your lifetime, so don’t waste this opportunity.”

Natalie managed a smile. “I won’t.”

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Kevin Hopson 2024