The more I was around, the more I realized how little I knew. Like our names. We were the Misters. The president was Mr. January, and so on. And that mysterious golden spellbook, Mr. January kept it on him and this whole wizardry thing was his idea. Since the old Mr. December went too far, it made sense to the fraternity that access to Mr. January's grimoire was restricted. Not that it was any use until our month. It was the longest December of our lives, waiting for the approaching holidays while avoiding the sinister ghost that followed.
On campus, the Chi Chi Chi gents attracted stares and dark looks everywhere we went. Only us wizes could see the ghost with his eyes rolled back. To those not in the inner circle, our Mustangs were the scariest sight in town. Many had fled home for winter break. The Chi Chi Chi guys had no one, and neither did I. So we stayed at the frat house and made do with what we could. But that confounded, infernal wailing day and night...!! Even worse the wettest flatuence ripped now and then from a corner. We were so certain that any of us would go mad.
Despite the fact that we were officially cleared of all suspicion by the police with anything to do with the diarrhea death, that did not stop the ghost from stalking each of us, one by one. Mr. January was first.
He woke us up screaming one morning. He was pale and panting, like he had spent the night interviewed by the grim reaper. His room stank something nasty. His curtains were strewn across the floor, burnt black. He had stamped the blue fire out himself. Mr. January! We exclaimed, pointing at a single white hair strand among his black wavy hair.
He tugged it taut before the mirror, finally believing himself to be vulnerable.
"What did he say?" the ginger Mr. February asked, holding one hand to his neck as if wondering if he was next. Mr. January locked eyes with me and looked away, refusing to say anymore. I gaped at them. What did that mean? No man knew.
The ghost came for Mr. February next.
It was sudden, at the dinner table, with everyone gathered that evening. The candlelight flashed blue, making us jump in our seats. The ghost descended from the high vaulted ceiling, clutching his stomach with protruded fingernails and wailing his sorrowful song. The old Mr. December's gnawed and flayed lips whispered in Mr. February's perked ear. Then he too got a white hair strand among his brazen red hair. And with that, the blue flames burst scattering on the tablecloth and lighting up the table. The ghost sank through the floor. Mr. February let himself go and wet his chair with relief.
He locked eyes with Mr. January, and both stared at me over the licking flames. I lost my cool. "Well what? You spit it out already!"
"I don't even know," Mr. February stammered, trying to convince us. "Just guttural. Growling. I wish I knew."
Mr. January nodded. "Same."
After that, we remained calm and went on with our routine, hoping for the best. Mr. March and the others in chronological order made the same reports and put out the fires. A bad feeling formed in my stomach.
They all looked to me, and it dawned on me why. I was the new Mr. December, and I was the last wizard to haunt.
What was going to happen to me?
I checked my phone. Two days left until the new year and Mr. January getting his power. Hurry up already, I silently prayed. Next to me, Mr. November checked his luxe wristwatch and plucked lint off his dress shirt. The bald and nose-pierced Mr. October strutted over to us with white eyebrows and said, "Your turn." Then he snickered and showed us his arms which were badly bruised.
Alarms went off in my head. It was getting worse. The ghost was getting enraged. But why? I wanted to scream as my heart sped faster. It was his own damn fault!
"Not fair, not fair..." The halls echoed.
Mr. November slipped in a trail of blood and feces on New Year's Eve. Completely soaked. His expensive clothes stained. We tended to him and helped him up. His face was badly bruised as well, and somehow he was missing a tooth. The rug in the foyer burnt halfway, hiding only half of the chalked pentagram circle. Mr. January turned to me, fed up, and said, "Enough is enough. You need to leave this house until midnight. I'll fix this."
I agreed. Before I left, I saw him thumb through the golden book. He must be searching for a way to exorcise the old Mr. December. I opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch. It was cold out, but bearable enough to walk briskly in. The temperature however dropped even more degrees, making me slow down and downright shiver. The ghost followed me next with outreached hands. Shocked open bleeding eyes, agape open horrified mouth. Wailing!
I couldn't breathe. His lips parted by my ear, exhaling a snap of icy breath. My cheek froze. Instead of unintelligible noise, I heard a word clear as a bell. "Beware! Beware!"
I looked at my arms. No bruises.
Dumbfounded, I felt no pain. It was because I wasn't attacked. Beware what? I glanced back at the Chi Chi Chi house where the eleven men stood huddled together in their white leather jackets at Mr. January's side. His spellbook shone brighter in his hands.
I realized how little I knew.
The old Mr. December was murdered. Anyone of them was his killer. At midnight, for one month Mr. January will be a wizard. And for the rest of the year, the Misters will be wizards. I realized, looking into each Mister's pair of guilty eyes, that the wailing ghost was actually the least of my worries.
"Beware... Not fair...!!" The ghost repeated spitting in my ear. The Misters fixed their eyes on me and the tattletale dead.
This was going to be a long year.
TO BE CONCLUDED
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