“Is it too much ask Carl? All I want is one little Batboy story from you. I don’t want another story about a coven of witches, or werewolves, or some deli putting mayonnaise on your pastrami and rye. The Weekly World News prints money every time they have Batboy on the front page. I need Batboy. Give me Batboy, Carl!”

“I can’t just manufacture news Tony. What do you want me to do? Make a Batboy costume and run up and down Michigan Avenue biting people?”

“That’s the kind of initiative I want to see from you Carl. Just make sure no one runs you over. I don’t want to hire another reporter.”

Carl fanned his face with his battered straw fedora. Chicago was in the middle of a heat wave and the air conditioning in the news wire office wasn’t even making a dent. “You could never replace me, Tony. I’m one of a kind.”

“Yes, you are Carl but not in a good way. Now get out of here and get me a story on Batboy. This isn’t a retirement home for over the hill reporters.”

Kolchak grabbed his Rollei 16 camera and headed for the exit. The neighbourhood deli had better air conditioning anyway. He paused at the doorway. “You’ll miss when I’m gone, Tony.”

“I look forward to finding out.”

There he is in all his glory. The Weekly World News printed over 100 stories on Batboy.

Carl Kolchak was a man of journalistic integrity despite his reputation. It wasn’t his fault that every time he stepped outside he tripped over some supernatural menace. He didn’t make up any of the crazy stories he wrote. If anything, he left out the most unbelievable things he had witnessed. There was no way he was fabricating a story about Batboy to compete with the fiction factory at the Weekly World News. His editor Tony could yell at him all he liked.

The waitress sauntered by with a pot of coffee that had been brewed eight hours ago. “Wanna’ refill Kolchak?”

“No thank you Emma. Drinking battery acid irritates my stomach.”

“Aww, you’re breaking my heart.” She leaned a hip against the wall and glanced around the deli. “I might have a story for you Kolchak.”

Carl sat up straight and pulled out his notepad and pen. “Do tell.”

“A friend of my second cousin’s butcher saw a giant bat flying over the Bachelor’s Grove Cemetery.”

This was such a coincidence that he suspected Tony had phoned Emma and they were playing a joke on him. “A giant bat? Come on.”

“What do you mean ‘come on?’ A giant bat is tame for you. Since when are you Sally the Sceptic?”

“Right, right. I’m sorry. You’ve always been a good source for stories and I appreciate you.”
Emma grunted but was clearly unsatisfied.

“As a matter of fact, let me show my appreciation with a generous tip before I rush off to the cemetery.” He pulled a one dollar bill out of his wallet and laid it on the table with a dramatic flourish.

“Wow, thanks Kolchak. Now I can send my kids to college.”

When it came to investigating paranormal stories, this was far from Carl’s first rodeo. This sighting might be a large bat, or it might be a kid flying a kite, or it could be something else. He was always made sure he was prepared for ‘something else’ and put a crucifix and a bottle of holy water in the pockets of his overcoat.

Carl parked his yellow mustang convertible on the side of the road bordering the cemetery when it was close to dusk. Out of habit, he touched the gently swinging St. Christopher’s medal his mother had given him that was hanging from the rearview mirror. He had never been in an accident thanks to his mom and good old St Chris.

He had put on a light overcoat because he thought it would be a cool night staking out the graveyard but the humidity was still terrible. He watched the sky and kept his Rollei 16 handy. A dramatic black and white shot at dusk would be ideal.

Dusk was quickly turning into dark night and Carl decided he was wasting his time. He pulled off his overcoat and dropped it onto the back seat of his car along with his camera. He wiped the sweat off his forehead as he took a last look at the sky before driving home.

He grabbed for the camera that was no longer hanging around his neck when he saw an large black mass rise into the sky less than half a mile away. He could barely make it out because of the darkness but it rose a little higher and became a black silhouette against a dark grey sky. Those were definitely bat wings but also long crooked legs dangling from beneath the body.

The shape dipped below the horizon and Carl’s mind went into overdrive as he tried to puzzle out what he had seen. Mutant bat? Vampire in bat form? The best damn kite ever?

He retrieved his Rollei 16 from the back seat and opened his glove box to take the flashlight he kept there. Most people would have been frightened by what Carl had seen but he was consumed with a curiosity he had to satisfy. His mother attributed his unique personality to a complete lack of common sense.

Carl entered the cemetery and walked in the direction of his mysterious sighting. He kept his flashlight off and relied on his night vision and the illumination from the half moon overhead. There were a lot of trees in this cemetery that blocked the moonlight but also gave him cover as he moved from tree to tree.

He decided he must be close to the position of his quarry and hid behind a tree while he took a careful look around. There was nothing unusual to be seen but there were some alarming sounds to his right.

Carl stealthily moved closer to the sounds but couldn’t see anything. He was close to a freshly dug grave and realized the sounds were coming from the hole. It was a series of grunts and thumping sounds as if someone was digging, but it sounded bestial.

He crouched lower behind the tree when a misshapen oval head popped out of the hole. It’s pale, bulging eyes looked around the cemetery and Carl hid behind the tree.

‘What the hell is that thing?’ Carl wondered as he fumbled with the camera hung around his neck. He popped his head around the other side of the tree to see the creature staring right back at him. It seemed to be having trouble climbing out of the grave and hissed loudly at Carl as talons on its long wings dug and scraped at the ground.

He took a couple of pictures and the flash had a dramatic effect on the monster. It shut its eyes and turned its head away with a screech of pain and anger. There was a loud thump as its talons lost purchase on the edge and it fell backward into the grave.

Now that he had his pictures, Carl suddenly realized that he would also like to continue to live and he ran like hell for the car. The camera around his neck kept bouncing off his chest and smacking him in the face but he barely noticed. He scrambled futilely for his crucifix and realized it was in the pocket of his overcoat left behind on the backseat of his car.

The monster wasn’t very good at climbing out of holes but it could fly quickly. It swooped over Carl and one of its long legs knocked the fedora off his head and made him fall. It swooped on him with a nightmare face full of needle-like fangs.

Carl rolled away and pointed his flashlight in its face. Again, the creature reacted violently to the sudden light and it crashed awkwardly to the ground.

He wasted no time scrambling to his feet and running for the car. This time he kept to the trees to avoid another overhead attack.

His car was right in front of him as he burst out of the trees and he was thankful for the open top as he dove into the front seat. He twisted around and grabbed for his overcoat holding the crucifix.

He didn’t hear any flapping of wings and hoped the monster had lost track of him, but his pursuer dropped silently to perch on top of the car door.

Carl shouted in terror and kicked ineffectively at the creature. The monster made a guttural sound that almost sounded like language as it raised a taloned wing to slice Carl into ribbons.

The leathery wing brushed his St. Christoper’s medal hanging from the rearview mirror and it ripped open a gaping hole that stank of sulfur. The creature’s scream of pain was so loud it temporarily deafened Carl.

He sat up and watched the creature try to fly away then fall because of its badly damaged wing. It dragged itself painfully away toward the cemetery. Before it disappeared under the trees, if turned around to glare at Carl with hate-filled eyes. It hissed in protest when Carl took another picture with his flash.

Tony examined each picture with interest. They were all out of focus and badly lit but that added to their authenticity. He believed Carl’s story. Despite how much he enjoyed giving Carl a hard time, he knew Carl was not a liar.

It was next morning and a subdued Carl watched his editor look at the pictures. “I’m not sure what that thing is. My best guess is a graveyard monster from down Mexico way. I’ll do some research at the library this afternoon.”

“I’ll tell you what this is Carl.” Tony leaned back in his chair and tapped a thick finger on one of the pictures. “That’s the father of Batboy.”

Carl gaped at Tony in dismay. He had completely forgotten about Tony’s obsession with Batboy. “Come on Tony, don’t tie my monster to those garbage stories from the Weekly World News.”

“Carl, the title for your story is ‘Batboy’s Father.’ Look I’ll let you add a question mark at the end of the title to keep you happy. Besides, can you prove he’s not the father of Batboy?”

“If we use your logic, you might as well claim I’m the father of Batboy.”

“Maybe you are Carl. I never did check out your references.”

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“So, you can drink water?”

“You just sat there watching me drink half a glass of water. What do you think. What kind of reporter are you anyway?”

Kolchak tried to hide his embarrassment by taking off his straw fedora and smoothing his hair down. “I thought you only drank blood.”

“I get a dry mouth like anyone else.” The man looked at Kolchak’s recorder. “Don’t record this and don’t try to take any pictures. This is just you and me having a chat.”

“I was hoping for an interview.”

“Would you rather live in hope or die in despair?”

“All right. All right. No need to get all ‘creature of the night’ with me. We’ll have a little chat then.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have threatened you. That was rude.”

The small man looked chagrined. Carl guessed he was 5’ 4” and medium build with a balding head and bags under his eyes that made him appear to be in his mid fifties. Of course since the man was a vampire he was probably much older than that.

“This whole ‘vampire of New York’ business has put me in a bad mood.”

“Right, that’s what you said over the phone.” Carl removed a notepad and pen from the breast pocket of his seersucker suit. He raised his eyebrows with a questioning expression and the man nodded his assent. “What made you call me anyway?”

“I read your stories about the Night Strangler and I was impressed. I’m glad you helped to get rid of him. He was an embarrassment.”

“How so?”

“The secret to surviving as a vampire is to maintain a low profile. We have certain powers but are relatively easy to kill if you know how. That Night Stalker character might as well have worn a t shirt that said I’m a Vampire, Insert Stake Here.”

“All right, that would make a good t shirt for Halloween by the way. Why are you so steamed up about the Vampire of New York?”
“Because he’s a fake. He’s no more a vampire than you are.”

“I acknowledge your expertise in this field but I need more proof before I can publish something like that.”

The vampire pushed a folded piece of paper across the table toward Carl. “Here is the location of his latest kill and the basement of an abandoned factory where he drains the blood from his victims.” Carl looked at the address as a waitress approached their table.

“Evening gents. Welcome to Charlie’s Truck Stop Café. It just turned two minutes after midnight so you lucky guys can get our midnight special for two bucks off until it’s one in the a.m.”

Kolchak looked up at the waitress with excited anticipation. The notoriously cheap reporter loved a good deal almost more than a good story. “What is the midnight special?”

“Bacon, two eggs, toast, hash browns and bottomless coffee. Extra grease is free. That’s supposed to be a joke but it’s not really.”

“So, breakfast at midnight. Why not? Sign me up young lady. How about you Barnabas?”

The vampire laughed at the name Kolchak had chosen for him. “No thank you. I just ate.” He glanced at the waitress and it seemed to visibly upset him. He turned his head away sharply and pretended to be looking out the window at a semi truck pulling up to the diesel pumps for a refill.

Kolchak waited until the waitress left before he said anything. “Are you all right over there Barnabas?”

“The waitress. She’s almost a doppelganger for my daughter at the age she was when I was turned into a vampire. It brought back memories I try my best to suppress.”

Carl remained silent and pretended not to notice the man surreptitiously wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The vampire’s eyes swiveled toward him and he looked angry until he saw genuine compassion in Carl’s face.

“Thank you. It still hurts even after a hundred years. I suppose there are wounds that even time will never heal. Do you have a family?”

Karl shrugged uneasily. “No, I guess I’m married to my job. I don’t think any sane woman would put up with me anyway.”

“Someday your job will end and then where will you be? Listen to me young man. Clean up your act and find yourself a good woman.”

“You sound like my mother.” The last thing Carl had expected tonight was a lecture about family values from a vampire.

“You should listen to your mother then.”

“Okay, okay how did this conversation turn into a critique about my hopeless love life anyway. Why does the New York vampire drain his victims of blood if he’s not a vampire?”

“I don’t know. Because he’s mentally ill probably or maybe he’s just desperate for attention.”

“And you want him caught and exposed because he’s on your turf? If he’s exposed as a pathetic fraud people will think there was never a vampire in New York in the first place.”

The vampire smiled and took a sip of water. “And they never will because I’ve got both frontal lobes. I’d rather you hadn’t figured all of that out but I’m not surprised. You’re good at your job.”

Barnabas was distracted by the waitress taking an order from two loud, boisterous truckers. As she was walking away one of the truckers leaned out of the booth and slapped her on the ass.

“The coffee might be bottomless but you sure aren’t sweet cheeks!”

Carl was about to ask them to keep their hands to themselves but stopped when his dinner companion materialized at the trucker’s table.

“You will not touch her again and you will apologize for your unacceptable behaviour.”

Kolchak estimated the truckers both tipped the scales around 250 pounds and were all thick forearms and broad chests. They were obviously unimpressed with this small man creeping into his senior years.

“Well, you can just fuck off pencil neck.” The two men looked at each other and started to laugh.

The vampire grabbed a handful of each man’s meaty face and he pulled and twisted. Carl could hear a ripping noise from where he was seated 20 feet away.

“You will do as I say.” He stared into each man’s eyes and they seemed to be more frightened of what they saw in the vampire’s eyes than the horrific damage he was doing to their faces.

The vampire released them and returned to sit across from Kolchak. He was still only a diminutive man in his fifties but his presence seemed to fill the truck stop.

Carl wisely said nothing until Barnabas had calmed down. The vampire glared at the humbled truckers as brown and purple bruises started to spread across their cheeks and eyes. When the waitress reappeared from the kitchen with Carl’s midnight special, they went out of their way to apologize to her.

The waitress smiled as she placed Carl’s meal in front of him and she patted the vampire’s hand. “Thank you.” She whispered. The vampire blushed and ducked his head but he wore a pleased smile as the waitress walked away.

“That must have felt pretty good.” Carl observed.

“Yes, that was uncommonly direct for me but it felt good.”

Carl looked at the bill the waitress had left behind and scowled. Even with two bucks off they still charged a lot for food at Charlie’s Truck Stop Café. “Any chance you’re picking up the bill seeing how I’m doing you a favour?”

“I’m not feeling good enough that I’m picking up the bill Mr. Kolchak. All I had was water.”

“Oh well maybe my editor will cover this since I’m on a story. I think he’ll like this story because we’re screwing over New York.”

“I don’t understand. Why is that?”

“Oh you know, it’s a Chicago vs New York thing. They call us the Second City and we call them the Rotten Apple. This story will make the New York wire service look like a bunch of goofs for being duped by a fake vampire.”

“So, you’re in competition with them.”

Carl grandly waved away the vampire’s assertion. “They’re no competition for me. They are but simple scribes while I’m an artist of the written word.”

The vampire winced when one of Carl’s waving hands came close to him. “I can feel you’re wearing a crucifix around your wrist as well as a crucifix around your neck. I suppose that was prudent of you.”

“Sorry about that but I’ve had some bad experiences with people of your persuasion.” He carefully moved his wrist as far away as he could and pulled back his sleeve to show the vampire. “It’s actually a St. Christopher’s medal my mother gave me.”

“That would work as well. You’re Polish aren’t you? I’m assuming you’re also Roman Catholic.”

“Baptized and confirmed. I was even an altar boy when I was a little nipper.”

“That would help to explain why you’ve survived so many encounters with the undead. Your faith is deep and without question. I can feel it from here. Remember that your faith is your shield.”

Karl fingered the St. Christopher’s medal thoughtfully. “That’s some very useful advice considering the source. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The vampire gave the truckers a final glare before he stood to leave. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you Mr. Kolchak. Good luck sticking it to the New York wire service.”

“Could I ask just one question as if this were an interview?”

“Go ahead.”

Carl decided to ask the most open-ended question he could think of. “What’s it like to be a vampire?”

The vampire paused and looked out the window at the trucks arriving and leaving the parking lot outside. Carl thought he would refuse to answer but heard a quiet response as the vampire turned to leave.

“It’s lonely Mr. Kolchak.”

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Carl and Tony in an argument. Hold the presses.

Emily Cowles stopped at Carl’s desk and tapped lightly on the battered surface to attract his attention. “I enjoyed your article about the monster of Jackson Park, Carl. It was scary but it made me want to visit Jackson Park myself to figure out what’s going on.”

“Don’t do that Emily, the police have found three bodies already and it’s not safe. Leave the dangerous stuff to me.”

“Now Carl, I can read between the lines that you’re skeptical of this so-called ‘Pinhead’ theory. What do you think is really going on?”

Carl smirked and drank the last of the lukewarm coffee in his Styrofoam cup. “Emily, you’d be skeptical too if you met the witness who claims he saw a Pinhead monster in the park. Let’s just say there’s a grain of truth to his story, but it was a grain of LSD.”

Tony Vincenzo opened the door to his office and stood in front of Carl’s desk. “What do we have here? Two of my hardworking reporters but apparently, they are both on sabbatical. I see no pens to paper. I hear no typewriters busily typing away.”

Emily patted Tony on the cheek and walked back to her desk to work on her advice column. “Oh, hush Tony don’t be such a tyrant.”

“As for you Carl, prepare yourself because I’m about to give you a rare compliment.”

“Let me turn on my recorder first Tony.”

“No, I don’t want any evidence that might stain my reputation as a tyrannical editor. Your series of stories on the monster of Jackson Park are being picked up by all the major papers. For once you’re worth all the aggravation you cause me.”

“That’s a mixed compliment Tony.”

“I have mixed feelings about you working in this office Carl. For instance, I’m pleased you’re so relaxed at work that you snooze at your desk but I’m also annoyed that you aren’t interviewing witnesses at Jackson Park for another story.”

Carl stood up indignantly. “I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

“It took you this long to figure that out?”

Carl was enjoying a pleasant fall afternoon on a bench in Jackson Park. He knew monsters, more than he wanted to really, but this Jackson Park monster had him stumped. Three bodies had been found covered with tiny bite marks but they had also been strangled to death with a pair of large human hands. The bite marks were small enough that rats had been suspected but an expert had determined they were not from a rat.

The ridiculous Pinhead theory had gained some traction because it made a certain amount of sense. A monster with hands large enough to strangle someone but with a teeny little head and mouth of explain the small bite marks.

He tossed the crusts of his sandwich to some appreciative squirrels and watched them scamper into the branches of a tree. Maybe he should try to interview squirrels for a story. So far, he hadn’t found out anything interesting from interviewing people in the park.

The bench rocked as a heavyset man in a Grateful Dead t-shirt sat beside him. “Are you that reporter talking to people in the park?”

“Yeesss.”

“I know who the monster is.”

“Please enlighten me.”

“It’s Cthulhu.”

“Cthulhu?”

“Yeah, from H.P. Lovecraft.”

“I know who Cthulhu is. What makes you think it’s Cthulhu?”

“All the tiny bite marks. Cthulhu has tiny little mouths on his tentacles instead of suckers.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Everybody knows that.”

“Thank God I’m not everybody.”

This comment annoyed his tie-dyed informant and he left in a huff. “Skeptic!”

Carl shrugged. He would have to live with Jerry Garcia being annoyed with him because he wasn’t going to write up another goofy theory. Maybe he should combine the two theories and claim the monster was Pinhead with tentacles that had little mouths sprouting out his back.

He stood up from the bench and squinted at his wrist watch. It was going to be dark in another hour and he was determined not to be in this park after dark. Number four was his unlucky number and the idea of being victim #4 did not appeal to him.

There was still time for another circuit of the walking path to try and find a witness statement he could turn into a story. He settled his straw hat firmly on his head and went for another walk.

To his annoyance, he noticed Jerry Garcia was following him. The guy had seemed harmless but maybe he was quick to hold a grudge and furious with Kolchak’s skepticism. His shadow tried to be discreet but wearing a tie-dye shirt in a park full of greenery did not qualify as effective camouflage.

Carl started to get nervous. What was this guy’s problem anyway? There were police all over the park looking for the monster and he decided to walk toward the last place he had seen cops. He left the path and walked directly toward the border of the park and all the police cars.

It didn’t take long for him to realize he’d got his directions wrong and he was now heading into the center of the park and not the boundary. He turned around to retrace his steps but stopped when he saw a flash of tie-dye advancing on him.

“Damn it.” Carl murmured worriedly. He thought the Grateful Dead were all about peace and love. His pursuer had no right to claim he was a Dead Head. He turned around again to keep ahead of his tie-dyed tormentor and grabbed a thick branch he noticed on the ground. Carl operated under a strict conflict avoidance policy but if this hippy reject caught up with him, he would rather brain Jerry Garcia with a club instead of pretending he knew how to fight.

It was hard going in this area of the park and he often tripped on the undergrowth. Most people kept to the paths and he couldn’t see or hear anybody. He noticed the glint of sun on water through the trees and he headed toward it.

Something small and furry ran over his foot and he looked down to see squirrels. A lot of squirrels.

“What the hell!” He shouted as they started to swarm up his legs and chomp on his ankles. His makeshift club was handy for swatting them away but there were too many of them. He did a violent jig to dislodge a bunch of them but some managed to hang on with their tenacious little paws.

He glimpsed a tie-dye shirt in his peripheral vision and he swung his branch to hit Jerry Garcia on the shoulder. Now he understood the secret behind the so-called monster of Jackson Park. This homicidal hippy strangled the victims while his squirrel buddies swarmed them.

The squirrels renewed their assault when Carl was distracted by clubbing the menacing Dead Head. He gave up on trying to dislodge them and ran full speed through the thick brush toward the water he had seen. The dense foliage did a good job of stripping the squirrels off but his club was also torn out of his hand.

There was the water. A small natural pond. He ran straight into the pond and stopped when he reached the middle. The water level was mid-thigh as he turned around to see Jerry Garcia on dryland with his gang of violent, bushy tailed rodents.

“I know who you are Kolchak and you were getting too close to the truth. You have to die! Kill him my pets!”

A tidal wave of squirrels surged into the water and Kolchak took some careful steps backward before stopping. He watched the squirrels struggling in the deeper water and then they started to drown.

Jerry Garcia stared dumbfounded at all the squirrels floating belly up in the pond. “As God is my witness, I thought squirrels could swim.” He wiped tears from his eyes then glared at Carl. “This is your fault!”

“Blame your own stupidity, hippy!”

“I’m going to kill you!”

The man charged awkwardly into the water but stopped when Carl picked up a rock from the bottom of the pond and threw it at his head. Jerry clutched a hand to the bloody gash on his forehead and wailed in pain.

Kolchak watched him run away and belatedly realized he had forgotten to take any pictures. In his defense, he had been a little busy. He belatedly took a few pictures of the floating squirrels that had tried to kill him.

“To think I gave you my bread crusts, you ungrateful little bastards.”

“Get your Polish rear end down to the doctor’s office and get your rabies shot right now!” Tony roared at his obstinate reporter.

“No way. I keep telling you those squirrels were not rabid. It’s a cover story the police are using. That Grateful Dead fan was using mind control or something to make them attack me.”

“Look at yourself Carl.”

Carl stopped what he was doing and looked at himself. He had been disinfecting the multitude of squirrel bites on his legs and forearms before bandaging them. He had already emptied the first aid box in the office of all its supplies.

“If just one of the squirrels that bit you had rabies, then so do you. I can’t have a rabid reporter working here. It’s bad for morale.”

“I hate needles, OK? I’d rather die of rabies than face all those needles.”

“Damn it Kolchak get to the doctor’s or I’m going to bite you myself! Move it!” Tony grabbed Carl by the scruff of his seersucker suit and propelled him out the door.

“Fine, fine stop wrinkling my suit. I’m going but only so you won’t bite me and give me rabies.” He whirled around and thrust an accusatory finger at Tony. “Because I work for the only rabid editor in all of Chicago!”

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“I don’t know Tony, this kind of story doesn’t suit me. The opening of a shopping mall is just kind of Blahhh.”

“I’m so sorry Carl, let me see if I can find a story that fits your unique talents. Oh, here we are! Apparently, there’s a small town in Appalachia that has a problem with werewolves crossbreeding with their dogs. How does that sound?”

“Really? Oh right, you’re making fun of me.” Carl looked at his friend Emily Cowles who was busy writing her gossip column. “He’s making fun of me Emily.”

“Don’t drag me into it Carl, but if you’re going to the shopping mall I could use some more Earl Grey.”

“Am I some kind of beast of burden then? Dispatched to the mall to cover the most boring story in the world and shop for tea?”

“Yes, Carl that’s exactly what you are.” Tony stood up and adjusted the jacket of his well tailored three piece suit, shimmering in his sartorial splendour. “I was only kidding when I hired you as a reporter. Now cover the mall opening and if you come back here with a story about vampires, UFOs, or a possessed tea kettle again I will use Emily’s knitting needles to stab you in the eyes.”

Kolchak glared at his editor and collected his Rollei 16 camera and cassette recorder. “I’ll cover the story because I’m a professional unlike some members of the editorial staff.”

“I’ll be waiting with Emily’s knitting needles in my hands.”

“I’m not scared of you Tony!” Carl shouted as he stormed out of the office.

“Then you’re not very bright Carl!”

Carl parked his yellow Mustang convertible at the shopping mall and grumbled with discontent. This new mall was gong to be the biggest shopping mall in the Chicago area and the grand opening had drawn a large crowd of primarily female teenagers.

He surveyed the crowd with dread. Conducting interviews with these hyperactive kids was less appealing than interviewing a herd of zombies on the Atkins diet. He didn’t understand half the slang this alien species used to communicate.

There was a younger girl at the periphery of the crowd that stood out because of her long grey dress that appeared to date from the Victorian age. She looked like she was only nine years old and was gawking with bewilderment at the older girls swirling around her.

Carl grimaced when some of the older girls walked right into her and he opened the door of his car so he could walk over and help her off the ground. She didn’t need any help and watched him with curiosity as he approached.

“Are you all right young lady? Those girls walked right through you.”

The teenage girls surrounding the nine year old gave him a suspicious look and eased away from him. He could clearly hear one of them call him a ‘creepy old man.’

The young girl seemed pleased that he was talking to her. “Oh! You can see me. Isn’t that wonderful! But my mama told me I should not talk to strangers. Are you a strange man?”

“That depends on who you ask.” Carl glanced at the teenage girls who were looking back at him with a mixture of fear and loathing. He realized from their point of view he was talking to empty air but by their reactions you’d think he was holding open an overcoat and flashing them.

“How about we step clear of this crowd young lady.” She followed him off to the side where they watched the crowd waiting for the mayor of Chicago to cut the ribbon and declare the shopping mall open.

“No one else can see me but you sir. How is that?”

Carl took some pictures of the ribbon cutting ceremony with a complete lack of enthusiasm. “Experience, I guess. I’ve talked to a few ghosts in my line of work. All of them were pretty decent, except for one who was a real piece of work.”

“It takes all kinds I suppose.”

“That it does. Why are you haunting this mall opening? Planning on doing a little shopping?”

“Oh no. I could never afford the prices they charge now. I’m here because I’m buried underneath this parking lot.”

“You don’t say.” Karl let his camera hang around his neck and retrieved a pen and pad of paper from the breast pocket of his suit. His reporter’s nose smelled a story that could rock some very big cradles.

“How many people are buried underneath the parking lot? I’m sorry but my name is Carl Kolchak, to whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

The nine year old girl blushed and curtsied with her dirt-stained dress. “I’m Katherine O’Sullivan sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. As to your question Mr. Kolchak, there are 77 graves under the parking lot and another 54 under the shopping mall.”

“Hmmp! That’s a lot, how could they possibly miss that?”

“Oh, they did not. They have known about it from the start. There is not much to do when you’re a ghost so I’m a bit of a snoop and I watch everything they do. There was some type of survey that found graves but they paid people off to keep it quiet.”

“I’ll bet they did Katherine. I’ll bet they did.” Carl murmured as he wrote furiously. “I would give my left nu… my left arm if I could get my hands on documents that proved they knew about the graveyard.”

“The papers are in a filing cabinet in the construction office over there.”

Carl looked at the trailer Katharine was pointing at and then back at her with a surprised but impressed expression.

She smiled up at him without any remorse. “I told you I’m a bit of a snoop Mr. Kolchak.”

“Kathy, we share the same sins.”

Kolchak noticed the security guard walking around the collection of construction trailers and considered his options. “We need to get past the guard first. Let’s go Katharine. I have to buy something first before we can get at those files.”

“This is so exciting Mr. Kolchak! I feel like we’re a pair of spies!”

“Hey buddy you can’t come in here. This is a restricted area.”

“Sorry about that. I was taking a shortcut to the shopping mall. Did I miss the opening? Whoaa!”

Carl pretended to trip on the ground and dumped the extra large, extra hot coffee he had bought with Katharine onto the security guard.

“Ahh Jesus Christ that’s hot! You idiot! You burned me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I have a bad knee from the war. You need to rinse your arm with cold water or it’s going to keep burning. The faster the better. There’s a public bathroom over there.”

“Next time watch what you’re doing moron!” The guard shouted as he rushed away.

“We’ll see who the moron is you jackbooted flunky.” Carl said softly as he circled around the construction office to find the back door.

“They lock all the doors Mr. Kolchak.” Katharine warned him.

“Locks have no power over Carl Kolchak.” He bragged as he produced a set of picklocks from his jacket pocket.

“You have so many skills Mr. Kolchak.”

“You’re a very perceptive young lady.”

Katharine peeked around the corner of the office to check if the guard was returning. “Does it usually take this long?”

“It’s not easy to pick a lock and this is a tough one. Stop looking over my shoulder Katharine. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“The guard will be back soon.”

“That is not a helpful observation.”

Carl grunted with frustration and rammed his shoulder against the door until he forced the cheap lock open.

“See? Voila!”

“I hope you’re a better reporter than you are a burglar Mr. Kolchak.”

“I get no respect, no respect at all.” Carl complained as he opened the file drawer Katharine was pointing to.

His mood improved dramatically when he found an archaeological survey that clearly stated the discovery of numerous graves on the building site. He used up all the film in his Rollei 16 as he took pictures of the most damning pages in the document.

“C’mon Katharine let’s make tracks. By the way you’re my favourite spy of all time.”

Carl awkwardly climbed a fence to escape in the opposite direction they had arrived while Katharine walked through it. They circled around toward the parking lot and Carl’s Mustang convertible.

“Katharine, why are you the only ghost from all of the people that are buried underneath here?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps because I died of cholera at the age of nine and I felt like I still had some living to do. Or maybe because my mama couldn’t even afford two pennies to put on my eyes for the ferry man. We were very poor. These are all pauper’s graves.”

Carl dug into his pocket for his spare change and removed two pennies. The notoriously cheap reporter felt a stab of pain as he handed the two pennies to Katharine.

“Here Katharine, it’s the least I can do. You’ve been such a big help to me.”

“Look I can hold them in my hand Mr. Kolchak. They must be special if they don’t pass through my hand.”

“Maybe that means you can pass on if you put them on your eyes.”

“I will someday but not today.” She looked at all the people entering the mall. “I have so many things to snoop on now.”

“You know best Katharine.” He opened the door to his Mustang and then clapped a hand to his forehead. “I almost forgot. I have to shop for some tea.”

Katharine clapped her hands together. “What great fun!”

Tony picked up a magnifying glass and examined the close ups Carl had taken of the documents. “Very good Carl. This is very good. I can make out everything. Political pay offs. Corrupt developers. Desecrating a graveyard with a retail temple devoted to crass consumerism. This story has legs, long legs.”

“Are you actually rubbing your hands together Tony?”

Tony looked embarrassed and pulled his hands apart. “Who is the source that helped you get your hands on these documents? A disgruntled employee?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Don’t be coy Carl. I have to know who your source is before I publish.”

“I don’t think you want to know.”

“Of course I want to know. Oh my God.” Tony put his head in his hands. “It’s something out of the Twilight Zone again.”

“I don’t think I ever saw a Twilight Zone episode with a ghost.”

“Damn it, Carl! Don’t tell me that! I don’t want to hear it.”

“But you asked.”

“Next time lie to me like any good reporter!”

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“Is it too much ask Carl? All I want is one little Batboy story from you. I don’t want another story about a coven of witches, or werewolves, or some deli putting mayonnaise on your pastrami and rye. The Weekly World News prints money every time they have Batboy on the front page. I need Batboy. Give me Batboy, Carl!”

“I can’t just manufacture news Tony. What do you want me to do? Make a Batboy costume and run up and down Michigan Avenue biting people?”

“That’s the kind of initiative I want to see from you Carl. Just make sure no one runs you over. I don’t want to hire another reporter.”

Carl fanned his face with his battered straw fedora. Chicago was in the middle of a heat wave and the air conditioning in the news wire office wasn’t even making a dent. “You could never replace me, Tony. I’m one of a kind.”

“Yes, you are Carl but not in a good way. Now get out of here and get me a story on Batboy. This isn’t a retirement home for over the hill reporters.”

Kolchak grabbed his Rollei 16 camera and headed for the exit. The neighbourhood deli had better air conditioning anyway. He paused at the doorway. “You’ll miss when I’m gone, Tony.”

“I look forward to finding out.”

There he is in all his glory. The Weekly World News printed over 100 stories on Batboy.

Carl Kolchak was a man of journalistic integrity despite his reputation. It wasn’t his fault that every time he stepped outside he tripped over some supernatural menace. He didn’t make up any of the crazy stories he wrote. If anything, he left out the most unbelievable things he had witnessed. There was no way he was fabricating a story about Batboy to compete with the fiction factory at the Weekly World News. His editor Tony could yell at him all he liked.

The waitress sauntered by with a pot of coffee that had been brewed eight hours ago. “Wanna’ refill Kolchak?”

“No thank you Emma. Drinking battery acid irritates my stomach.”

“Aww, you’re breaking my heart.” She leaned a hip against the wall and glanced around the deli. “I might have a story for you Kolchak.”

Carl sat up straight and pulled out his notepad and pen. “Do tell.”

“A friend of my second cousin’s butcher saw a giant bat flying over the Bachelor’s Grove Cemetery.”

This was such a coincidence that he suspected Tony had phoned Emma and they were playing a joke on him. “A giant bat? Come on.”

“What do you mean ‘come on?’ A giant bat is tame for you. Since when are you Sally the Sceptic?”

“Right, right. I’m sorry. You’ve always been a good source for stories and I appreciate you.”
Emma grunted but was clearly unsatisfied.

“As a matter of fact, let me show my appreciation with a generous tip before I rush off to the cemetery.” He pulled a one dollar bill out of his wallet and laid it on the table with a dramatic flourish.

“Wow, thanks Kolchak. Now I can send my kids to college.”

When it came to investigating paranormal stories, this was far from Carl’s first rodeo. This sighting might be a large bat, or it might be a kid flying a kite, or it could be something else. He was always made sure he was prepared for ‘something else’ and put a crucifix and a bottle of holy water in the pockets of his overcoat.

Carl parked his yellow mustang convertible on the side of the road bordering the cemetery when it was close to dusk. Out of habit, he touched the gently swinging St. Christopher’s medal his mother had given him that was hanging from the rearview mirror. He had never been in an accident thanks to his mom and good old St Chris.

He had put on a light overcoat because he thought it would be a cool night staking out the graveyard but the humidity was still terrible. He watched the sky and kept his Rollei 16 handy. A dramatic black and white shot at dusk would be ideal.

Dusk was quickly turning into dark night and Carl decided he was wasting his time. He pulled off his overcoat and dropped it onto the back seat of his car along with his camera. He wiped the sweat off his forehead as he took a last look at the sky before driving home.

He grabbed for the camera that was no longer hanging around his neck when he saw an large black mass rise into the sky less than half a mile away. He could barely make it out because of the darkness but it rose a little higher and became a black silhouette against a dark grey sky. Those were definitely bat wings but also long crooked legs dangling from beneath the body.

The shape dipped below the horizon and Carl’s mind went into overdrive as he tried to puzzle out what he had seen. Mutant bat? Vampire in bat form? The best damn kite ever?

He retrieved his Rollei 16 from the back seat and opened his glove box to take the flashlight he kept there. Most people would have been frightened by what Carl had seen but he was consumed with a curiosity he had to satisfy. His mother attributed his unique personality to a complete lack of common sense.

Carl entered the cemetery and walked in the direction of his mysterious sighting. He kept his flashlight off and relied on his night vision and the illumination from the half moon overhead. There were a lot of trees in this cemetery that blocked the moonlight but also gave him cover as he moved from tree to tree.

He decided he must be close to the position of his quarry and hid behind a tree while he took a careful look around. There was nothing unusual to be seen but there were some alarming sounds to his right.

Carl stealthily moved closer to the sounds but couldn’t see anything. He was close to a freshly dug grave and realized the sounds were coming from the hole. It was a series of grunts and thumping sounds as if someone was digging, but it sounded bestial.

He crouched lower behind the tree when a misshapen oval head popped out of the hole. It’s pale, bulging eyes looked around the cemetery and Carl hid behind the tree.

‘What the hell is that thing?’ Carl wondered as he fumbled with the camera hung around his neck. He popped his head around the other side of the tree to see the creature staring right back at him. It seemed to be having trouble climbing out of the grave and hissed loudly at Carl as talons on its long wings dug and scraped at the ground.

He took a couple of pictures and the flash had a dramatic effect on the monster. It shut its eyes and turned its head away with a screech of pain and anger. There was a loud thump as its talons lost purchase on the edge and it fell backward into the grave.

Now that he had his pictures, Carl suddenly realized that he would also like to continue to live and he ran like hell for the car. The camera around his neck kept bouncing off his chest and smacking him in the face but he barely noticed. He scrambled futilely for his crucifix and realized it was in the pocket of his overcoat left behind on the backseat of his car.

The monster wasn’t very good at climbing out of holes but it could fly quickly. It swooped over Carl and one of its long legs knocked the fedora off his head and made him fall. It swooped on him with a nightmare face full of needle-like fangs.

Carl rolled away and pointed his flashlight in its face. Again, the creature reacted violently to the sudden light and it crashed awkwardly to the ground.

He wasted no time scrambling to his feet and running for the car. This time he kept to the trees to avoid another overhead attack.

His car was right in front of him as he burst out of the trees and he was thankful for the open top as he dove into the front seat. He twisted around and grabbed for his overcoat holding the crucifix.

He didn’t hear any flapping of wings and hoped the monster had lost track of him, but his pursuer dropped silently to perch on top of the car door.

Carl shouted in terror and kicked ineffectively at the creature. The monster made a guttural sound that almost sounded like language as it raised a taloned wing to slice Carl into ribbons.

The leathery wing brushed his St. Christoper’s medal hanging from the rearview mirror and it ripped open a gaping hole that stank of sulfur. The creature’s scream of pain was so loud it temporarily deafened Carl.

He sat up and watched the creature try to fly away then fall because of its badly damaged wing. It dragged itself painfully away toward the cemetery. Before it disappeared under the trees, if turned around to glare at Carl with hate-filled eyes. It hissed in protest when Carl took another picture with his flash.

Tony examined each picture with interest. They were all out of focus and badly lit but that added to their authenticity. He believed Carl’s story. Despite how much he enjoyed giving Carl a hard time, he knew Carl was not a liar.

It was next morning and a subdued Carl watched his editor look at the pictures. “I’m not sure what that thing is. My best guess is a graveyard monster from down Mexico way. I’ll do some research at the library this afternoon.”

“I’ll tell you what this is Carl.” Tony leaned back in his chair and tapped a thick finger on one of the pictures. “That’s the father of Batboy.”

Carl gaped at Tony in dismay. He had completely forgotten about Tony’s obsession with Batboy. “Come on Tony, don’t tie my monster to those garbage stories from the Weekly World News.”

“Carl, the title for your story is ‘Batboy’s Father.’ Look I’ll let you add a question mark at the end of the title to keep you happy. Besides, can you prove he’s not the father of Batboy?”

“If we use your logic, you might as well claim I’m the father of Batboy.”

“Maybe you are Carl. I never did check out your references.”

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