by Bobbi Holmes
Danielle opened her eyes and winced. Wherever she was, there was little light, and while the space above her reminded her of that past imprisonment, it was not the same location. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The shafts of sunlight slipping through ill-fitting wallboards helped break up the darkness.
Reaching for the pain, her hand touched her hair. It felt wet and sticky. Still lying flat on her back, she moved her hand to see her fingers. Blood covered her fingertips.
Wincing, Danielle forced herself to sit up. She heard it, a long-ago familiar sound, the rattling of a chain. Confused, Danielle didn’t know where she was. She couldn’t remember what had happened. Her head spun, and she felt as if she might vomit.
Attempting to steady her breathing, she closed her eyes and sat there a moment. Then she heard it, a low moan. Was that her or someone else? she wondered. Opening her eyes, she tried moving her head to take in her surroundings. Forcing herself to turn to the right, wincing in pain, she looked to the sound of another moan.
“Walt!” Danielle cried out, reaching for the man lying next to her on the concrete floor. But there was no response. He remained lifeless next to her; the faint sound of his breathing and an intermittent groan told her he was still alive.
Leaning closer to Walt, she touched his head and discovered that, like her, blood covered his hair. Gently, she turned his face to hers. His eyes remained closed, and the wide gash along the top of his head was visible.
She realized the blood also covered his shirt, and she worried about how much he had already lost. Glancing down at their feet, she saw they were both chained to a pipe sticking out of the floor.
Afraid to cry out for help, for fear whoever chained them would appear, she looked around frantically, trying to get her bearings. Slowly, it all came back to her.
They had come to the old Porter place because they had heard it was haunted, and she had hoped the spirits could help them unravel the mystery. Walt had not wanted to go—this was all her fault. Now chained up in the barn, close to where they had discovered skeletal remains, they could die if Walt didn’t wake up.
Danielle had believed it would be safe. Not only were the Stewarts gone for the weekend, but she had Walt with her. Walt, who could easily pick up a tree from the road to get Lily to the hospital in time to have Connor. Walt, who could snatch a loaded pistol from a killer’s grasp and send it flying across the room. But this Walt was in no shape to do any of those things, and she feared if they didn’t get him to the hospital in time, he might die.
She sat quietly and listened. Whoever had hit them both over the heads, knocked them unconscious, and chained their ankles was obviously not in the barn with them. If Stewart and his family were out of town for the weekend, who were their attackers?
Whoever they were, they had taken their cellphones. While she couldn’t call her friends for help, there was always one of the ghosts. If she could get Wilbur, he could return to Beach Drive and tell one of the mediums what had happened and where they were. Or better yet, get Marie. Marie could save them.
First, she would start with the one spirit she had seen in the barn.
“Charlene! Please, Charlene, I need your help! Walt needs your help!” Danielle called out.
Charlene did not materialize, but a few minutes later the barn door opened. Danielle turned toward the light now streaming into the building. A man’s silhouette blocked a portion of the incoming light. She couldn’t see his face.
“What’s with all the noise?” a familiar voice asked.
He stepped into the barn and walked toward her and Walt. When he got a few feet closer, she realized the information given to the chief had been wrong. Beau Stewart had not left town for the weekend.
“You?” Danielle said in surprise.
“You’ve made this easy for me,” Beau said when he got closer, an unsettling smile on his face.
Danielle looked to Walt and back to Beau. “Walt could die if we don’t get him to the hospital.”
Beau shrugged. “Walt will die anyway. So will you.” He casually grabbed hold of a folding chair and dragged it closer to Danielle. He sat on it and looked down at his prisoners.
“Why?” Danielle asked.
“Obviously I’m not comfortable with how much you know.”
“What do we know that would be worth killing us?” Danielle asked.
“I always assumed you knew about Charlene, after reading Moon Runners. I wasn’t sure how much information old Marlow left behind, and unfortunately there was a minor accident with those letters, so I couldn’t be sure.”
“Letters?”
“The ones from the safe,” he explained.
“You took those letters?” Danielle asked, finally realizing he was the one Wilbur had overheard. Yet why hadn’t Wilbur recognized Beau? she wondered. Surely Wilbur had seen Beau Stewart. Or, in his confused state, did he believe he was the Beau who had murdered him?
“Brad and Kathy did that job for me. They had a minor accident on the way back from your house. It had been a while since Kathy’s ridden a bike. She took a little tumble. The bundle of letters landed in a puddle of water, and by the time they got them to me, the letters were soaked, illegible. All the ink had run.”
“I still don’t understand why you want to kill us. They murdered Charlene before you were even born—so were the rest of them.”
“You don’t have to understand,” he said calmly. “Would you like to know how I plan to kill you?” He smiled.
“I would rather know why,” she said.
“You need not know why, but I’ll tell you how. You’re chained up now because I’m not ready to kill you. First, we need to finish removing a few things…” He glanced briefly to the tarp Walt had lifted earlier and looked back to Danielle. “And we should be done by tomorrow night. I’d rather not wait much longer than that, because someone might come looking for you. But just in case they look earlier, I had my son get rid of your cellphones, dropped them off the pier. They won’t be tracking you. I even turned off the GPS in your car.”
“People know we’re here,” Danielle said. “It’s not too late. You can let us go now. You don’t want to face double homicide charges.”
He laughed. “We overheard you and your husband out at the shed. You didn’t tell anyone where you were going. In fact, according to your husband, the police chief will be annoyed when he finds out you came here.”
“You will not get away with this.”
Again he laughed. “Sweetheart, my family has an extensive history of getting away with this. And tomorrow night, when we’re finished removing everything, there will be a little fire after I move your car from the garage to this barn. Not sure what you and Walt were up to, but I know you have a history of snooping around in places you don’t belong. Didn’t you almost get trapped in a fire a few years back? I read about that. You barely got out in time. That’s what gave me the idea. I think you had been missing a few days that time. You really don’t learn your lesson, do you?”
“Exactly how do you intend to explain the fire?” Danielle asked.
“You foolishly parked your car in the barn. I guess you didn’t want anyone to see it while you were snooping around. You got a little close to some flammable material we had stored in here. Really a shame.”
Speechless, Danielle stared at Beau as he laughed over her and Walt’s imminent death. Before she could respond, Beau’s son walked into the barn, carrying a burlap bag.
Beau glanced over to his son and asked, “Did you do it?”
“Yes. The phones and the other stuff are at the bottom of the ocean.” He tossed his father the burlap bag and looked at Danielle, his expression chillingly calm.
To both of the men’s astonishment, Danielle broke into a smile. “You shouldn’t have dumped our phones off the pier.”
The son frowned at her comment, and the father asked, “Exactly, why is that?”
“Cellphones rarely burn completely in a fire—
and not two of them. Everyone knows both Walt and I each carry a cellphone. They’ll wonder what happened to them. And who do you think will be the first people they look at? You. This is your property. And they also know about Beau Porter.”
“What do they know about Beau Porter?” Brad asked.
“Those skeletal remains found across the street from Marlow House, the DNA results are back. That’s why I thought you were out of town for the weekend. The police chief stopped by the rental to tell you they had a DNA match. You weren’t there. A neighbor said you’d gone out of town for the weekend.”
“What do you mean a DNA match? They don’t have any DNA on the Porters,” Brad snapped.
“They have cousin Earl’s DNA. He willingly gave it to them a few years back,” Danielle said.
“That fool,” Beau grumbled.
“So I imagine they’ll do some serious looking out here—especially after this barn burns down, they discover our bodies, and there’s no sign of our cellphones.”
“You think you’re so smart,” Beau snarled. He turned to his son and said, “Brad, you’re going to have to take a quick trip back to Portland, pick up your scuba equipment at your apartment. There’s some diving you need to do tomorrow before we have our little bonfire.”
Beau reached out and gave his son a shove toward the door for him to start walking. He followed Brad and paused before stepping outside.
Looking back to Danielle, Beau said, “Thanks for the heads-up on the minor glitch in our plan. But it’s an easy fix.”
Danielle watched the pair leave the barn, closing and locking the door behind them.
“It was just to buy some time, you idiots,” Danielle said aloud. “If you kill us, you can bet I’ll stick around and let my friends know exactly what happened. You won’t get away with this.”
Thirty-Six
Cupping his face in her hands, careful not to move his head for fear of inflicting more damage, Danielle whispered, “I’m so sorry, Walt.”
“I warned you it wasn’t safe. You shouldn’t be here,” a male voice said.
Gently releasing hold of Walt, Danielle turned toward the voice. Standing before her was the one she and Walt had called a hippy.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I wondered at first if you were dead, like me,” he said.
“You know you’re dead?” Danielle asked.
“Yes. Didn’t I say there was no hope for me?” He sat down in the chair Beau had been using earlier. “You’re the first one I’ve met. First medium, I mean. That’s what you are, right?”
“Yes. My name is Danielle Marlow.”
“I know, your husband introduced you both when we met.” He nodded to Walt’s lifeless body. “I assume he’s still alive since I haven’t seen his spirit.”
“Yes, but will you please help me?” she begged.
“If I can, but I’m not sure how,” he said.
“There are others like me and Walt, who can see spirits. If you can get them a message, then they can send help,” Danielle urged.
“I’m so sorry. I would if I could, but years ago I made a vow that until the truth came out about the Porter family, I wouldn’t leave this place. I’m ashamed to admit that many years ago, in frustration, I tried to break that vow, but it seems I can’t. Whenever I step off the property, I find myself back here.”
“Oh my,” Danielle muttered. “What about Wilbur?”
“Do you know Wilbur?” he asked.
“We’ve met. And I know he can help me if he’s willing.”
“None of them know they’re dead. But I suspect Wilbur understands now,” he told her.
“Wilbur knows. He understands, and that’s why I’m sure he can help us. Can you get him for me? Please.”
“He’s not here at the moment, but I’ll know when he returns. I’ll see what I can do then,” he promised.
“Do you know the person responsible for putting us here—Beau Stewart?” Danielle asked.
“I know who he is. But I’ve only seen him here once before. He drove off a little while ago with his son. The son has been here about every day for the last week. At least, I think it’s been about a week. I’m not so good with time anymore.”
“What has the son been doing here?” Danielle asked.
“He’s the one doing the excavating. Trying to dig us all up.”
“Um…do you have any…gifts?”
He frowned. “Gifts?”
“Powers. Can you move objects, for example?”
“Oh, not really. I’ve slammed a door or two. It’s Dolly who gets worked up sometimes, gets things moving. She has a temper, but I can’t say I blame her.”
“Who are you? I know who the others are, but who are you?” Danielle asked.
He smiled. “I’m sorry, that’s rude of me. My name is Earl, Earl Barr.”
“Are you the other Earl’s father? The one who used to live here?”
“Yes, that’s my son. He’s not doing very well. I’m glad my granddaughters moved him someplace safe. And I’m grateful they’ve made a life away from this place. That’s one blessing I can count in all this.” Earl let out a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair.
“Why are you here? Why did you vow to stay? How did you die?”
“I’ll start with the last question because it leads to the others. I’m here because my wife murdered me and buried me behind the house. Rumor has it I deserted my family.”
“Why did she murder you?” Danielle asked.
“I refused to keep the family secret. When I married Georgia, I was unaware of the secret, but then I decided to clean up the old hog shed and found Dolly’s remains. I wanted to call the authorities, but she had other ideas.”
“That makes no sense, just like Beau Stewart. Dolly was killed long before your wife was born.”
“Ahh…it wasn’t just about Dolly; it was the family secret. Had I been willing to keep it, then there would’ve been no reason to kill me. She explained everything after I discovered Dolly’s remains. When she realized I wasn’t on board, she did what the descendants of Beau Porter do. In her case, she hit me over the head with a cast-iron skillet while I was tying my shoe.”
“What secret is that?” Danielle asked.
“It’s a family of serial killers. And each generation finds it necessary to educate the next generation on their ancestors’ evil deeds and to, well, keep it all in the family.”
“Serial killers?” Danielle squeaked.
Earl let out a sigh and said, “Yes. When I first set eyes on my Georgia, she was such a pretty little thing. Sweet, innocent—I later learned as sweet as a viper.”
“Who else did she kill?” Danielle asked.
“Aside from me and our son’s hopes and dreams, no one that I’m aware of.”
“You said serial killers?”
“Ahh…well, I meant more in a collective sense. It first started with the patriarch of the family, Beau Porter. He, with the help of his son Ambrose, murdered Wilbur. Ambrose was the overachiever of the group. Before he helped kill Wilbur, he’d strangled poor Dolly after he caught her trying to run away with their son, Baxter. Old man Porter helped him bury the body and backed up his story about the girl running off.”
“Horrible,” Danielle muttered.
“Then there was Charlene. According to family legend, Beau Junior shamed the Porter name by planning to elope with a colored woman. Beau Senior took care of Charlene, and Ambrose got rid of the body. They both convinced Beau she had run off with another man.”
“So who killed Beau junior?” Danielle asked.
“That was Ambrose. According to the story—and they loved passing those gruesome tales down in the family—Walt Marlow, I assume not your husband but someone with the same name…” He paused a moment and chuckled at the absurdity of the Marlow of the family story being the same man lying unconscious a few feet away. “Anyway, Walt Marlow brought Beau home one night, drunk out of his mind, crying over Charlene and how she
had left him. Ambrose got sick of him crying, shot him in the head, and convinced their father Beau had committed suicide. Old man Beau didn’t want the world to know how weak his son had been that he had taken his own life, so they told everyone he took off.”
“Wow.”
“Dolly keeps looking for her baby, but if she found Baxter, it would break her heart. He was a kid when they killed Wilbur, and he helped them bury the body. He also helped his father get rid of Charlene, and he knew his father had murdered his uncle, and he never told his grandfather. He even knew about his old man killing his mother.”
“I was right when I called this a house of horrors.” Danielle looked to Walt and reached out, gently touching him, wanting to assure herself he was still alive.
“Baxter was my father-in-law. I never met him. But he and his wife had twins, my wife, Georgia, and Beau Stewart’s mother, Ida. Ida married later in life, and from what I’ve picked up over the years, he fit into this family. In fact, from what I’ve overheard, Beau’s father parlayed Ida’s inheritance into a fortune.”
“Your son, Earl, knew all of this?” Danielle asked.
“Yes. Baxter told his daughters everything, passing down the family secrets—secrets to keep and only share with their children and maybe a spouse. When he died, he divided up his estate, left half to each daughter. Georgia got this property along with others, and Ida stayed on until she married. Did I mention she helped her sister bury my body?”
“Lovely,” Danielle said with a grimace. “And did Earl pass this all on to your granddaughters?”
“Thankfully, no. The boy had some problems. Gambled away his inheritance. Got rough with his wife once in a while. But you have to understand, when he was fourteen, he learned what his mother had done to me. While he never told the authorities, he refused to pass down the ugliness of his family to his daughters. He wanted to break that cycle. So he did what he could to push them away. He didn’t know how to be a loving father. He believed he was toxic.”