The Coldwater Haunting

by Michael Richan

  By Michael Richan

  The School of Revenge

  Slaughter, Idaho

  The Coldwater Haunting

  The Haunting of Pitmon House

  The Haunting of Waverly Hall

  A Haunting in Wisconsin

  The following series are part of The River Universe. Some characters and plots cross over between series. You can read each series in order, or use the Suggested Reading Order at the back of this book.

  The River series:

  The Bank of the River

  Residual

  A Haunting in Oregon

  Ghosts of Our Fathers

  Eximere

  The Suicide Forest

  Devil’s Throat

  The Diablo Horror

  The Haunting at Grays Harbor

  It Walks at Night

  The Cycle of the Shen

  A Christmas Haunting at Point No Point

  The Port of Missing Souls

  The Haunting of Johansen House

  Evocation

  The Downwinders series:

  Blood Oath, Blood River

  The Impossible Coin

  The Graves of Plague Canyon

  The Blackham Mansion Haunting

  The Massacre Mechanism

  The Nightmares of Quiet Grove

  Descent Into Hell Street

  The Remains (coming 2019)

  The Dark River series:

  A

  The Blood Gardener

  Capricorn

  Copyright 2019 by Michael Richan

  All rights reserved.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A print version of this book is available at most online retailers.

  Cover design by Kym Miller.

  ASIN: B07PH3WFN7

  Published by Dantull (150919105B)

  www.michaelrichan.com

  Michael Richan on Facebook

  @MichaelRichan on Twitter

  Michael Richan on Instagram

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  Receive ebooks before release and signed paperbacks!

  - - -

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  From The Author

  Suggested Reading Order for The River Universe

  Dedicated to Kristina,

  who was convinced it was haunted.

  Chapter One

  “Ohhh…that’s not good,” said the man wearing overalls.

  Ron stepped back from the round opening in the ground, its plastic green cover removed and pulled to the side. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but this wasn’t it: rising from the hole was a domed pillow, streaked brown and white. It was speckled with bubbles.

  “It’s marshmallowing,” another man in overalls diagnosed. He stood up straight as he said it, stretching his back, compensating for the time he’d spent removing screws from the cover.

  Ron looked up, waiting for more. “Yup,” the man finally offered. “Not supposed to look like that.”

  Ron was frustrated. He was a city dweller most of his life; septic systems were completely foreign to him. He understood how they worked in theory, but not in real life. Nothing he read on the internet mentioned anything about marshmallowing.

  The other man from McLean Septic Pumping slid the green cover back into place.

  “Look, I’ve never had a septic system before,” Ron said to the first, “so I need you to educate me a little. Exactly how bad is it?”

  “No poopy,” the man replied, as his co-worker inserted long silver screws into the cover.

  “No poopy?” Ron repeated. “I’ve been living here a week.”

  “And you’ve been using it?”

  Ron shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “I’m surprised it’s not backed up.”

  “Nope. Every toilet flushes fine.”

  “Huh,” the man grunted. “Well, I’d be careful about that until we can get it pumped.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Not today.”

  Ron felt anxious again. He wasn’t going to drive into town every time he needed to shit. He looked up at the woods surrounding the house, and knew exploring the thick blackberry bushes for a spot to dig a hole wasn’t an option, either.

  “Why not today?” Ron asked.

  “Booked,” the man replied. He picked up a long metal rod and began sticking it into the bramble, poking the ground beyond the thorny bushes. “You’ve got a 2630; that means there’s two more covers, just like that one. They gotta be in here somewhere.”

  The rod struck something other than ground, making a scraping noise. “There’s one of ’em,” the man said. “Other one’s probably behind it, deeper in.” He turned to face Ron. “I’ll have to bring a chainsaw and clear a path to them. And of course we got to bring up the truck. It’s busy today. I’ll get you on the schedule.”

  The two men left the side of the house, returning to the pickup truck they arrived in. Ron wondered how he might convince them to bring the pumping truck earlier rather than later. “I’ve got a chainsaw,” he offered. “I’ll make sure it’s clear within the hour.”

  “You’ve got some issues with the electronics, too,” the man said as he slipped into the truck. “You’ve got an alarm going. We don’t do electronics, but I know someone who does. I could give them a call if you want.”

  “What do the electronics do?” Ron asked. “I thought the…stuff…just moved on out to the leach field.”

  “You’ve got at least two pumps,” the man replied. “And probably a sand pit, somewhere out that way.” He extended a piece of paper to Ron through the truck’s window. Ron took it and oriented it; it was a hand-drawn map of his yard.

  “That’s your entire system,” the man replied. “We just opened the tanks by the house. See them?”

  Ron studied the crudely drawn map. “Yeah.”

  “We’ll come back and pump out those tanks,” he replied, starting up the vehicle. “I’ll get you on the schedule.”

  “Do I need to be here when you do it?”

  “Nah. Usually no one’s here. Usually we pump them while the house is on the market. But this was a foreclosure, you said?”

  “Yeah,” Ron replied.

  “Banks don’t do shit.”

  Ron smiled at the pun; he felt his frustration ease a little as he decided he liked the guy. Although Ron had bought several houses in his lifetime, he’d never purchased a foreclosure, so he was unprepared for the take-it-or-leave-it approach that a bank employed. Every vendor he’d spoken with in the past few days, however, seemed well versed in how banks behaved. “They sure don’t,” he agreed.

  “I’ll get you on the schedule,” the man repeated, placing the truck in gear. “And I’ll have the electronics guy give you a call.”

  “Any way you could pump it this week?”

  “It’ll be this week. Not sure what day yet.”

  “Thanks,” Ron replied, and watched as the man back
ed the truck out into the turnaround and disappeared up the tiny dirt road of his driveway, quickly becoming blocked from sight by the trees.

  Ron loved that tiny dirt road, and for a moment he stopped to appreciate it. It was one of the main reasons he bought the property. He remembered the first time he drove down it, trying to find the house; it seemed to go on forever, with overgrown weeds jutting out into the path, scraping against the side of his car. The road finally came to an end, and a small clearing appeared with the majestic house smack in the middle. It seemed like a jewel hidden in a carved-out alcove, surrounded by a small yard, ringed by thick blackberry bushes and trees, hiding in the woods – waiting for him.

  Perfect, he thought. Just what I want. Quiet. Seclusion. That road is a dead end; no one will come up it. I’ll put up a sign to that effect, back where it splits off from the small lane at the next closest house.

  Twenty-eight acres between me and them, he thought, feeling lucky. Turning around, he saw nothing but green, and now that the septic guy’s truck was far enough away, not a single sound, either.

  Heaven.

  He looked at the house. Its tall, two-story facade rose grandly, dark grey paint peeling from its siding, its white trim weathered and darker than it should be. The bay windows on the second floor looked dim; in fact, as he scanned its surface, he liked that he couldn’t see into the house through any of them. The realtor mentioned that there had been a break-in during the time the house sat vacant, so he wasn’t interested in advertising anything. Wherever he had lived he always tried to make his home look respectable and inhabited, but not enticing.

  I should come out here at night and see how things look when it’s dark, with the lights on inside, he thought.

  Then he reconsidered. The sounds he heard the past few nights made him wonder exactly what was in the forest that surrounded his home.

  Gun first, he thought, remembering his resolution to buy a weapon, made the night before at 3 AM.

  - - -

  “No, Ron, I can’t,” came Elenore’s voice through the phone. “This Europe thing isn’t an option. Ira was very clear about who was going and who wasn’t.”

  Ron sighed. “It’s just…” He stopped himself, knowing that pleading with her was a bad move.

  It had been hard enough to convince Elenore to buy the house; things between them had been rough the past year, and pressuring her about her work wasn’t going to make her any happier about it.

  After months of fighting, the new house had become an awkward focal point for their differences. The way each of them responded to the property couldn’t have been more opposite. Ron remembered being excited when they found it, on a hunting expedition without their realtor. Elenore asked him to turn the car around as they navigated the long, tiny road Ron found, but Ron protested that there was nowhere to perform the turn, and he was right; they were a quarter mile in, and only the two skinny ruts ahead of them were an option, given he had no intention of backing out that far. He kept going, and she kept suggesting they stop.

  “It’s got to be up ahead,” Ron said. “I’ll turn around once we find it.”

  “We don’t know what’s ahead,” she replied. “This road might go on for miles.”

  “The blue dot is right there,” he nodded at the phone she held.

  “It took us to the wrong place ten minutes ago! It might not be here at all!”

  “It has to be. Look at the pictures on the listing. It’s somewhere. Just gotta…”

  And with that, the road descended slightly and made a left turn…and the clearing appeared.

  “Oh!” Elenore exclaimed. “It’s…huge.”

  Ron smiled. He knew he liked it even before he brought the car to a standstill on the cement driveway in front of the garage. He was out of the car well before her, walking up to its large front door.

  “We shouldn’t poke around without the realtor,” Elenore called, stepping out of the car.

  “No one’s here,” Ron said, peering through the engraved glass in the door.

  “Does it have a lockbox?”

  Ron checked the handle, but it had been removed, leaving a large round hole. Above it was a combination lock that had been roughly attached where the deadbolt belonged. “No, some other kind of lock,” he called back.

  He stepped away from the door until he was out from under the porch. Bay windows to his left offered a view inside. He placed his hands against the side of his head to shield the sunlight and glanced in.

  It was a small square room. Windowed double doors led out of it to the right, and a hexagonal window was perched high on the left. The floor looked like old hardwood, but was difficult to make out.

  The next bay window to his left offered the same view, but when he reached the third, he could see through the room’s windowed doors to a grand staircase beyond. It was immediately intriguing.

  He continued walking, reaching the north side of the house. Before he turned the corner, he glanced back at the car; Elenore was still there, standing by the door.

  “Aren’t you going to check it out?” he called.

  “I’m fine,” she replied.

  “I’m going around back.” He turned, irritated. She was either done with house hunting for the day, or not impressed enough with the mansion in front of her to even give it a walk-around. It wasn’t the first house where their expectations and reactions didn’t sync, but it chapped him nonetheless.

  Things with Elenore had reached a peak recently. He suspected she was resentful of their move, even though she insisted she wasn’t. He knew she liked living in Portland more than he did. When he first presented the idea of taking advantage of the equity in their suburban home to move out into the country, she wasn’t receptive, but he wore her down over time. Wearing her down had come with costs.

  He’d been raised in the country, and felt a yearning to return to it the older he became. He explored properties online after they adopted Robbie, and a local shooting turned his yearning into a sharply focused goal. He hated the school Robbie attended in Portland, and was determined to find one more like the one he experienced when he was young; small and able to spend time on learning and fun and innocent pastimes instead of active shooter drills.

  And while Robbie had been the galvanizing force that made him start hunting, it wasn’t as though he didn’t have a list of things he wanted changed about his living situation. Neighbors were his biggest complaint. He didn’t want any. He wanted to be as far away from a next-door house as he could get. No more dogs left to bark all day, music and screams from drunken pool parties, or acrid smoke from a neighbor who invested in every loud outdoor gadget, running their goddamn new fire pit on every hot night that required open windows.

  What I want is fifty acres, he remembered thinking, with a house right in the middle of it. Maximum buffer. Keep all the people away.

  Elenore didn’t share his passion. Whereas he was happy with the idea of a long drive into town for groceries, she wanted to be in a neighborhood where they would deliver. He had spent almost three decades in the city and was ready for a change; she said she’d be happy living the rest of her life where they were. When they first started discussing options, he showed her properties in the middle of nowhere; she’d suggest condos on the waterfront, even closer to the heart of downtown than they already were.

  To keep her happy, he agreed to tour some of the condos if she’d look at country homes. The house they were living in sold as their search continued. Now they were cash-rich, living in a short term apartment still in the city. He was anxious to find a place, but every time they scheduled an excursion, she seemed to lose enthusiasm just before they left, and he felt like he had to drag her along.

  He rounded the corner and looked out over the back yard. It was a large oval of dried grass, ringed by the blackberry bushes they had seen while driving in.

  To his surprise, a solitary deer stood in the middle of the grass. It was frozen in place, and for a moment he thought it was ma
de of plastic, an odd, leftover statue from the previous owners. Looks very lifelike, he thought, slightly disturbed by how real its glassy eyes appeared in the sunlight, and how close he was to it – not more than ten feet away.

  Then its ear twitched slightly, and he realized it was alive.

  This is what I’m talking about, he thought, wishing Elenore had come with him so she could see it.

  Movement in the bramble caught his eye, and he saw a fawn, half the size of the deer in the center of his yard. It was paused at the entrance to a bear run, looking ready to bolt, awaiting a sign.

  He stood still, not wanting to spook them, hoping the moment would last.

  The deer slowly lowered its head to a long, thin wildflower, its eyes still on him. It snatched it off and began to chew.

  Wow, he thought. In his three decades of city living, he’d never been this close to wildlife.

  He continued his walk around the outside of the house. His movement spooked the fawn; it disappeared into the blackberries. The mother moved away, but didn’t run; she positioned herself at the back of the yard, continuing to snack on weeds, watching him as he moved.

  A giant chimney rose ten or fifteen feet above the steeply angled roofline. The paint on the chimney seemed patchy in spots, as though it hadn’t been properly painted in the first place. He knew chimneys had to be built in a certain way to produce draw, but this one seemed strangely tall, beyond what was needed.

  Windows lined the back of the house, and he peered into them. A kitchen was there; it looked huge. He was too low to be able to make out the exact layout and the appliances, but the size of it immediately appealed to him; he did most of the cooking, and the kitchen they had in Portland was less than half the size of the one he was looking at now.

  Those fixtures gotta go, he thought, observing dated wrought iron pendant lights over a counter.

  Around the south side of the house was a door, securely locked, with a small pet door at the bottom. He pushed on the plastic; it swung inward, unhindered. “Not good,” he muttered to himself, wondering what animals might have used it.

  Looking up, he could see weeds growing out of the rain gutters that surrounded the roofline. Easy to fix, he thought. Ahead was a huge, white, twenty-five hundred gallon water tank, sitting next to a six-inch thick metal pipe jutting up from the ground.