The Cornelius Saga Boxed Set

by Tanya R. Taylor

  He raised his hand and waved. The man appeared to be between eighteen and twenty years of age; his hair was dark and ruffled and his face looked two-toned – some dark, blotchy parts and other areas slightly lighter. His eyes were white and clear.

  Staring back, Theresa was unsure if what she was seeing was real or a figment of her imagination.

  The man blew on the glass which caused it to fog up, then Theresa watched in fear as he wrote something on the window with his finger.

  May I come in? He scribbled.

  Theresa shook her head vehemently.

  This can’t be real, she thought. There’s no way!

  She squeezed her eyelids shut, then before daring to look at the window again, she prayed earnestly that nothing was there. Opening her eyes, she discovered the words were gone, but the man was still gazing at her.

  “Get away from here!” She shouted, climbing further into the bed. She switched on her night-lamp and was startled to see the same man...standing there...inside of her room next to the closet.

  Horrified, she screamed, which jolted her mother out of her sleep. Instinctively, Jane reached for her shotgun she always kept within arm’s reach under the bed, then hurried toward her daughter’s room.

  “What’s the matter?” she exclaimed, in the hallway.

  At Theresa’s bedroom, Jane switched on the main light near the door and saw her daughter trembling in bed with knees drawn to her chin.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” she asked. “You had a bad dream or something?”

  The girl shook her head. “Ma...”

  “What, child?”

  “Behind you...”

  Jane quickly turned around and came face to face with their uninvited guest. He stood at five feet ten inches tall and reeked of something deathly. Jane raised the back of her hand to her nose before quickly returning it to the gun where she figured it was needed more.

  “Who the hell are you? You get out of my house right now or I’ll blow your head off!” She flipped the safety off.

  The young man smiled, exposing his rows of brown, rotten teeth.

  Without a second thought, Jane fired.

  Both she and Theresa observed the bullet pass straight through him as if he wasn’t even there. The man was completely unaffected and seemed to actually find the effort by the older rough-neck woman, rather amusing.

  Theresa screamed. Jane’s eyes widened with shock, and she fired again. Still, no effect.

  “What on God’s green earth are you?” she asked in an eerily calm tone of voice.

  “You thought you could do to me what you did to poor, old Sylvester, your devoted husband?”

  “He deserved it!” she replied. “Devoted, my ass! That loser ran behind every skirt he ever did see.”

  “You know you got away with murder, don’t you?” he pressed.

  Jane was silent.

  “Your reason for killing him had more to do with hatred than any alleged abuse. We both know the truth, Jane. You can fool loving, understanding Theresa over there, but you can’t fool me.”

  “Wait a minute! Who the hell are you and how do you know us?” Jane asked.

  “Never mind any of that. It’s not important.”

  “You’re a liar!” Theresa blurted. “My Ma did shoot my dad in self-defense. You don’t know what you’re talking about!” She’d defend her mother to the bitter end.

  He looked at Jane. “How long are you going to keep your daughter in the dark? She has a right to know the truth.”

  “He’s playing games,” Jane glanced back at her daughter. “He’s trying to cause a rift, but little does he know, that can never happen!” She dashed over to Theresa’s bureau, grabbed the little wooden cross which hung on the wall above it and held it out in front of him. “If the shotgun won’t kill ya, this is bound to!”

  The man staggered back a few inches, then stopped suddenly.

  “Go ahead! Get outta here!” Jane pushed it toward him. He staggered again, then stopped. He appeared somewhat shaken.

  “You can’t keep me out of here. If I leave, someone else will come in my place – night after night!” he warned.

  Jane kept on pushing the cross in front of him and he continued staggering back. Finally, he was out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Midway down, he vanished in front of her eyes and then they heard a voice echoed through the walls: “We’ll be back!”

  Theresa sprung up and hugged her mother tightly. “Ma, who was that?”

  “Only God knows, child. All I know is he ain’t of this world.”

  “Do you believe what he said about others coming?” The very thought of it terrified her.

  “Don’t you worry. We’ll be prepared either way.”

  * * *

  Matt sat straight up in bed when he heard the gunshots. He got up, ran into the living room and peered outside of the window. It sounded like it was coming from the southern side of the cottage. Scanning the area, he did not notice anything unusual, then went to have a look through the kitchen window.

  “Looking for something?” He heard a female’s voice, on turning.

  Anxiety exploded through his veins. “Who… who’s there?”

  A small, dim light appeared in the kitchen’s doorway, which grew into a much larger beam and exposed the woman standing there in a beige, ankle-length Victorian-styled dress. She was tall and thin and her hair was twisted into an elegant knot.

  “What… what do you want?” Matt demanded. He shuddered at the thought of having to go through anything even remotely similar to what he endured the night before.

  “I’m expecting company for tea. Would you like to join us?” She said before turning and slowly making her way into the living room. That’s when Matt saw them all — three people were sitting on the couch – a man and two women, and old Hitchcock look-alike was seated comfortably at the dining table, along with three other men. Space was limited, but they all appeared quite relaxed.

  “Tea, anyone?” the woman asked, as a teapot suddenly appeared in her hand.

  “Why, certainly,” Matt’s very first guest replied. He was his usual, effervescent self and seemed to spark life into the gathering.

  The chatter among them became louder and louder and Matt was drowned out by the noise. He could hardly believe his eyes: ghosts had taken over his home. Wanting to chase them right out of there, but afraid to utter a single syllable, he covered both ears with his hands and stepped backwards toward the front door. Moreover, the temperature in the room had dropped dramatically as it had the night before.

  “Matthew...” a familiar voice started, “where are you going?”

  The heavyset man stood up and approached him. “Remember my warning last time? Do you really want to go out there, my friend?”

  Matt was trying to quickly weigh out his options: remain inside with a group of dead people or take his chances outside with, perhaps, a graveyard full of them.

  “Oh, please mind my manners! I don’t think I ever properly introduced myself. My name’s Clyde Hayworth. I’m totally harmless; just a really fun-loving, jolly old guy. The tea’s really good!” He held up his cup. “Would you like a taste of mine?”

  “No! No, I don’t!” Matt shook his head.

  “Oh, now, you’re not being a nice guest.”

  “Guest?” Matt pointed to himself. “I’m not the guest here. You all are!”

  “Ah! That’s where you’re wrong!” An older man appeared on his left. “You are the guest here. This is our home; don’t you see? Don’t you see, Matt?” He raised his shaky hand, pointed two shriveled fingers and gently rested them above Matt’s eyes. Matt was frozen and confused by the man’s actions. Without the slightest warning, the old guy suddenly retracted, then swung that hand forward with brutal force this time, planting both fingers directly into Matt’s eyes. Instantly, Matt felt an intense, burning pain and the drainage of warm blood down his cheeks. He emitted a blood-curdling scream.

  Staggering back, he
felt his way to the door and wished he had taken his chances outside in the first place. He couldn’t see, but could hear the laughter in the room closing in from all directions. Clyde Hayworth’s laughter was the loudest and for some strange reason Matt felt betrayed, albeit by a ghost.

  “Help me!” He hollered, as he fumbled through the graveyard. “Somebody help me!”

  Tears, now mixed with blood, rolled eagerly down his cheeks.

  “For the grace of God, help me! Somebody, please!”

  He tripped over a headstone and landed on the grave of another. He heard laughter again, although he was sure it wasn’t coming from the house as he’d managed to get at least a hundred feet away from it. It wasn’t the same type of laughter anyway. This sounded similar to what he’d heard outside the night before — children’s giggles.

  He crawled to his feet and carried on, bending over slightly to feel for headstones that might be along his path. The giggles followed him, then growls. Growls? He hadn’t heard them before and wondered what they could possibly be. Shadows darted in his path from all directions. He couldn’t see them, but somehow, he felt them. The growling became louder and more intense in nature. Matt was sure it was a pit bull, a lion, or something even more vicious. Suddenly, he felt a tightness in his chest, and anxiety of what that familiar feeling might implicate was through the roof. In moments, he stumbled and rolled… this time into a partially open grave.

  10

  _________________

  Saunders walked into the office and plunked himself down in his chair.

  “Morning,” Hughes said from the other side of the desk.

  “Morning.” Saunders only glanced his way.

  “What’s the matter? You look like you haven’t slept a wink.”

  “That’s because I haven’t,” Saunders replied.

  “It’s this case; isn’t it?”

  “What else? Schroeder’s up my ass about it twenty-four seven, not to mention the relatives of those people that went missing.” He sighed. “I’ve never had a case like this before.”

  Hughes could sense the hopelessness the star detective suddenly felt. “None of us have, buddy. Nothing as crazy as this ever happened before in this town.”

  “It’s just that by now, I thought I… we would’ve had this case wrapped up. I hate to admit that I’m at a complete loss here. For the first time in my career, I’m not sure I’m the right one to handle this. It’s all I think about.” He glanced down at the file on his desk. “We’ve checked all possible angles, David, yet we have nothing. NOTHING!”

  A few moments of silence ensued, then Hughes thought of something.

  “Hey! I know this is gonna sound really weird, but there’s this lady around these parts. Her name’s… Coakley… I mean… Cullen. She apparently has some psychic ability. Maybe we can check her out and see if she’d be able or willing to help us in the case.”

  Saunders glared at Hughes in disbelief. “Are you out of your mind, Detective? What would we look like consulting a psychic, of all people?”

  “I realize this isn’t the norm for this police station, but psychics have been helping Law Enforcement agencies all over the country to solve hard-to-crack cases for practically decades. Considering the low to moderate crime rate around here, I doubt this city felt compelled to consult such people before, but in my opinion, it shouldn’t be out of the question, especially if this lady is the real deal and might be able to assist.”

  As absurd as the whole thing sounded, Saunders was feeling that his partner had made a pretty good argument. Moreover, he was desperate to solve the case and could use any help he could possibly get. “I’d have to run it by Schroeder first,” he said.

  Saunders knocked at the door of the Chief of Police who was on the phone at the time, but gestured that he sit down.

  The Detective took a seat at the desk and crossed his legs.

  “Yes, sir. We’re making progress, although it’s taking a while,” Schroeder said to the person on the other line.

  He shook his head slowly, almost despondently, and the prominent veins on his forehead seemed to bulge even more. Saunders had a good idea who he was speaking with.

  After the conversation, Schroeder held the handset for a few moments before resting it on the base. Saunders sensed he preferred to slam it down instead, but practiced restraint for the sake of his job. Schroeder placed his elbows on the desk and interlaced his fingers.

  “That was the Governor,” he calmly uttered. “I’m sure you can imagine what his priority is at the moment.”

  “I know, sir, and that’s what I came to talk to you about.”

  “Really? You’ve located the remains and brought the culprits into custody?” he questioned, rather sarcastically.

  “Not yet, sir, but I have an idea.”

  Saunders hesitated for a moment.

  “Come on. Spit it out!”

  “Have you heard of local… psychic by the name of Cullen? I believe that’s her surname.”

  Schroeder lit up. “Sure! Mira Cullen.”

  “You know her?” Saunders was surprised by Schroeder’s reaction to the mention of her name.

  “Not personally, but she’s pretty well known around here. A lot of stories made their way through the grapevine over the years. She’s more than just a psychic, but a respected doctor too. She was involved in that highway tragedy a couple of years ago and pulled through, miraculously, in my estimation. What did you have in mind?”

  “I was thinking of contacting her about possibly assisting us with this case.”

  “Go right ahead! I doubt it could hurt. If she’s willing to assist us in any way, you have my full permission to call her in. Anything to help solve this case.”

  Saunders was relieved and walked confidently back to his desk where Hughes was awaiting the news. He went over and gave Hughes a high-five. “We’re good to go, Partner! Let’s find this Cullen lady.”

  11

  _________________

  Roughly one hundred seats were occupied in the little church during the early Sunday morning service. The sanctuary could hold three hundred in total.

  Jane and Theresa Sawyer sat near the back and followed along from a hymn book with others in the congregation as the choir well in front sang to their hearts’ content. It had been practically years since the two of them had set foot inside a church and they both felt a bit out of place. Yet, Jane was convinced it was where they needed to be after what they had experienced the night before in the privacy of their home.

  Pastor McPhee delivered a powerful sermon about seedtime and harvest and about having faith in God to see you through all difficult circumstances. It was what the Sawyers needed to hear at that point in time.

  When the service was over, they filed out of the church where Pastor McPhee and Mrs. McPhee were waiting at the door to greet everyone.

  As Jane and Theresa approached, they immediately noticed the woman next to the pastor — the same one they saw one of the ushers pushing down the aisle in her wheelchair.

  “See you tomorrow, Pastor, and take good care Mrs. McPhee,” Mary-Lou, wearing a dazzling blue dress and an elegant tilted hat said before heading off to her car.

  Moments later, McPhee extended his hand to Jane. “God bless you and thanks for coming,” he said. “May I ask your name?”

  “I’m Jane Sawyer and this is my daughter, Theresa. This is our first time here.”

  “Very nice to have you visit our church.” He shook Theresa’s hand as well. “Please come again. Our doors are always open to you.”

  Jane smiled.

  “This is my wife, Evelyn.” He referred to the lady in the wheelchair.

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” Evelyn said.

  “It’s nice meeting you too, ma’am,” Jane replied.

  “Uh, Pastor…” Jane felt rather nervous, but pushed past it. “I was wondering if I can have a word with you. It’s very important.”

  “Certainly. Just give me a few mom
ents and I’ll be right with you.”

  Jane and Theresa went out a little further and stood to the side as the pastor and his wife continued to greet the parishioners. When everyone had left, they heard McPhee instruct the same usher to take his wife home. After seeing her off with a kiss, he invited Jane and Theresa back inside the sanctuary and they all sat together in a pew.

  “How can I be of assistance today?” he asked, politely.

  Jane glanced at her daughter, then set her focus back on the pastor. “I know we’re not members of your church and you don’t have to take the time out to hear our plight...”

  “Don’t think that way!” McPhee interjected. “My duty as a Minister doesn’t solely involve church membership. We’re all God’s children. I’m here for anyone I can possibly assist.”

  “Thank you, Pastor.”

  Theresa quietly listened as her mother explained the events of the night before. McPhee’s expression, from her viewpoint, barely revealed his thoughts.

  “I was wondering if you could come by and pray for our house. We live just down the road, actually adjacent to the church property,” Jane said.

  “Wow.” McPhee looked away momentarily. “Are you sure about all of this?”

  “We both saw him.” Theresa felt the need to chime in. “Everything my Ma said actually happened.”

  He resorted to a few moments of quiet contemplation, then asked, “Has anything like this ever happened before?”

  “I’ve lived in that house for thirty long years and this is the first time any of us has ever encountered anything like this,” Jane responded.

  McPhee sighed. “Let’s go to your house then. If what you both said is true, we have to deal with it. Just give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”

  Jane and Theresa sat silently as McPhee walked along the aisle of the church and exited through a side door. He appeared five minutes later with keys dangling in one hand and a huge, black, leather Bible in the other.