The Proctor Hall Horror

by Bill Thompson

  “We see you,” the medium said. “Who are you, spirit?”

  A word emanated from every part of the room. It was an uncanny, long and drawn-out moan that was also a name.

  Maaaaarrrrrrryyyyy

  Landry said, “Ask if she’s Mary Girard.”

  The wraith nodded and raised its arm toward the door. The planchette jumped to life again, spelling the same words.

  DIE HERE EVERYONE

  “Take your fingers off the pointer,” the medium said. When Landry and Henri did that, the malevolent ghost in the corner vanished.

  Madame Blue closed her eyes again. “Who are you, spirit?”

  A new voice answered in a light, tinkling sound. ME.

  “May Ellen Proctor,” Landry whispered.

  The medium asked, “May Ellen, do you have something to tell us?”

  GO UPSTAIRS AND SEE

  A light, airy thing coalesced next to Madame Blue. White gauze covered its torso and arms, and it had no head. May Ellen raised her arm and beckoned, and the group followed, leaving one of the pseudo-cameramen downstairs, pretending to shoot video as he watched for intruders.

  The wispy figure floated up the stairs and into a bedroom. The moment they were all inside, the room was plunged into darkness. At first Landry thought the power was off, but lights in the hall behind them shone brightly. In the blackness of the room, a surreal scene unfolded. They were guests at a movie presented by the ghosts of Proctor Hall.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  The spirit of May Ellen Proctor pointed to the bed, where a person lay sleeping. Loud, eerie snores echoed throughout the room as the wraith turned and pointed to the door behind them.

  A dark figure entered the room and crept across the floor to the bed. From under its black robe it drew out a hatchet and decapitated the sleeping person. Blood poured onto the white sheets as the figure in black turned and floated past Landry and the others. It disappeared into the hall.

  A surprised cameraman shouted, but Landry shushed him. Now May Ellen moved too, beckoning them to follow her into the hall. When the last person left the bedroom, the lights came back on.

  May Ellen took them to the bedroom just across the hall, where the same scene played out before the stunned guests. The lights went out; the black figure entered and decapitated the person sleeping in the bed.

  “We are witnesses at the Proctor Hall Massacre,” Landry said for the camera. “Julien Girard told me the killer wasn’t Noah Proctor, so who is the murderer we’re seeing at work?” His rhetorical question went unanswered for the moment.

  They realized the two already dead were Hiram and Susan Proctor, the parents of May Ellen and Noah. And that meant only one remained — the child whose ghost was taking them from room to room.

  The spirit skipped the third bedroom, moving instead to the haunted one across the hall. “That one’s Noah’s room. There’s no one to kill there,” Henri whispered.

  So many awful things happened in the last bedroom — May Ellen’s room. Michael died and Andy went insane there. April called it the most haunted of all.

  As the white spirit led them into her own bedroom, Landry spotted another figure he’d missed earlier. Perhaps it wasn’t there before. This one hung back from the executioner. This person watched the murderer at work.

  Noah, Landry thought. Noah, whose mind was forever warped and twisted by what he saw — and what everyone blamed him for. A wraith went room to room murdering his family, and perhaps he had witnessed every brutal detail.

  “Put a camera on that one,” Landry whispered to Phil as he pointed.

  The black thing entered the room and crept to the bed, but this time things went awry. The child awoke and sat up, screaming in horror as the person raised the hatchet.

  “Mommy! Daddy! Noah, help me! Anyone!” Landry looked around and saw the observer standing motionless in the doorway. Could Noah have watched the slaying without rushing to aid his sister? Sadly, that appeared to be what had happened. The unfortunate child was doomed. Even her parents couldn’t help because they were already dead.

  The killer planned it perfectly. Eliminate the adults and save the easiest for last. Did the perpetrator plan to murder Noah next? He had survived, but Landry wondered if they’d find out why.

  Just as the black wraith raised its hatchet in the air, May Ellen uttered three words that roared through the room and the house. It was the last frantic plea from a doomed twelve-year-old.

  “Agnes! Please don’t!”

  Landry learned the identity of the killer from the lips of a ghost.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Everyone was moved by the tragic scene, but the movie wasn’t over yet. Two other figures entered May Ellen’s bedroom and joined the killer. They seemed unsure what to do at first, but then they went to work, moving from room to room as a team. Bodies were wrapped in bedclothes, sheets and covers were replaced, and floors scrubbed down. The three worked as one while Noah watched.

  BLAME HIM. BLAME HIM.

  Those words echoed in the hallway, a succinct explanation as to how a boy who couldn’t use words would become the scapegoat. When the trio finished their evil work, Noah walked down the stairs, surveyed the sitting room, and walked to the staircase. He sat on the fourth riser — his place — and Landry knew that was where he would stay until the police arrived and blamed him for the bloody massacre.

  For a moment after the awful movie ended, no one spoke. They had witnessed a movie that was beyond belief. Even Henri, who had spent decades investigating the paranormal, had experienced nothing like this.

  The medium asked them to return to the sitting room, adding, “The dead require our respect. That room symbolizes their sacrifices.”

  She was right. That room was where Agnes Girard and two others positioned the headless bodies on the couch, placing their heads on the mantel just a few feet away.

  They took their places as before, and Madame Blue said, “Thank you, May Ellen. Thank you for showing us what happened. That was a very brave thing you did. Now we will help the police bring the killer to justice.”

  Landry said, “May I ask her something?”

  The medium nodded.

  “May Ellen, two others helped Agnes after you were dead. Who were those people?”

  B-E-N

  “Ben Trimble?”

  B-E-N-A-N-D

  The pointer stopped. Madame Blue looked up, saw something across the room, and screamed, “Leave us now, evil spirit!”

  A dark phantom hovered in a far corner. Had this spirit come to stop the child from uttering its name?

  “Mary Girard,” Madame Blue whispered. “I feel your presence, Mary. You helped your sister and her husband in this awful crime, and it was your idea to blame poor Noah for everything. Reveal yourself! I command you!”

  The ghost moaned and wailed with drawn-out words.

  Nnnnnnoooooooooooo

  Landry shouted, “Say you helped them! Admit it, Mary. You’re as evil as your sister!”

  The specter morphed into human form and raised her arm toward Landry.

  Weeeeeee wwwwiiillllll kkkiiilllllll yyyyoooouuuuu

  WE WILL KILL YOU

  Landry said, “Julien told us insanity ran in your family. You’re insane, Mary, but you can’t hurt us because Julien murdered you. We’re the living. No spirit can touch us.”

  The medium put her hand on his arm. “You must let me communicate with her. You are not safe here. None of us is.”

  At that moment from somewhere downstairs arose a horrific wail followed by the sound of a scuffle. The fake cameraman dropped his gear, pulled a pistol from his shirt, and flew down the stairs, with the others close behind. He ordered them to stand back and knelt beside a body in the hallway. They learned what had happened when he pulled a two-way radio from his pants pocket and said, “Ten-double-zero! Repeat, ten-double-zero. Officer down at Proctor Hall!”

  The old house had claimed its latest victim. The policeman who’d stayed down
stairs lay on the floor, with his head missing and his blood splattered everywhere. A trail of droplets ran down the hallway into the sitting room. When Landry saw them, he knew what they’d find there.

  The harried young cop reacted well to a situation he never expected to face. After that horrific scene upstairs, he discovered his partner’s decapitated body. He’d received plenty of training at the academy, but nothing prepared him for killers from beyond the grave. He ordered everyone to wait in the music room while he cleared the house.

  His shriek from the sitting room brought everyone running. His eyes wide with astonishment and fear, the cop gagged and pointed to the mantel.

  His partner’s head stared at them through lifeless eyes.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  “You angered the spirits!” Madame Blue shouted at Landry. “Look what they did because you made them mad!”

  Everyone — even Cate and Henri — was upset and speaking at once. Through the cacophony, Landry screamed, “Silence! Spirits didn’t kill this man. Agnes and Julien are alive, and they are in this house. They’re the murderers; let’s stay calm and find them.”

  Sheriff’s deputies from Thibodaux heard the radio call reporting an officer down. Four cars with sirens screaming descended upon the house a few minutes before a helicopter dropped into the yard. Lieutenant Kanter and three state cops ran from it to join the others.

  After Landry’s quick briefing, Kanter barked orders to his men and the deputies, who searched inside and out of the house, looking for the presumptive killers.

  From the supervisor’s house, Agnes could see the intensive search. If they came near, she would run out the back and disappear into the swamp. For a moment she allowed herself to savor the exhilaration of taking another’s life. There was no sensation like it. Even miles away by now, she was certain Julien felt it too.

  She hadn’t wanted him to leave. As usual, he defied her, and when he called her crazy, she spat at him and said, “Takes one to know one.” On that note, he tromped off through the field to find his little scooter. Instead of helping, he left her to take care of the people — and the ghosts.

  Julien rode toward New Orleans, weaving between trucks that accounted for most of the interstate traffic at night. His goal was to capture Landry Drake, finish the fascinating discussion that his mother interrupted, and tell the ghost hunter everything about the old house. Afterwards, he’d kill him. He had nothing against Landry, and in fact he enjoyed his company, but it wouldn’t be prudent to let him live once he had the answers.

  He parked on Decatur again and walked to Landry’s building. Landry and Cate were still at Proctor Hall, but not April. Was she up there, just a few feet away? What a tantalizing moment lay in store if he captured her again too. No light came through the tall third-floor windows. She could be asleep, but more likely they’d sent her somewhere safe. From me, he chuckled.

  Julien took a chance. He went to the building’s door, examined the lock, and thanked the historical commission for making owners preserve the past. The ancient lock took less than a minute to pick. Landry’s apartment had a modern lock, but it too yielded to the instrument Julien used.

  Once inside, he searched the rooms. No one was here. He resisted the temptation to go through their personal things and learn more about the things they liked and read and wore. Instead he sat on the living room couch in the dark, his .38 pistol in his lap and a switchblade in his pocket. They would return sometime, and when they did, he would be ready.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  His head bobbed now and then as he struggled to stay awake. Sitting in the dark with nothing to do but wait wasn’t conducive to keeping one’s mind on things, but this could be the most important night of Julien’s life.

  Much time passed before he heard something. He crept to the door, put his ear to it, and heard footsteps. Voices too — Landry and Cate had returned, and at last things could begin! He flipped off the pistol’s safety and waited behind the door.

  A key went into the lock, the tumbler turned, and the door opened a bit. “I’ll be fine from here. Thanks for making sure I got back safely. If Landry and Cate aren’t already home, they’ll be here soon.”

  He listened as April said goodbye to whoever walked her home. He smiled. As much as they tried to keep her safe, it hadn’t worked.

  _____

  Landry, Cate, Doc and Henri didn’t leave Proctor Hall until well after midnight. After Channel Nine’s crew left and the cops finished their fruitless search, they stayed another hour with Lieutenant Kanter and the sheriff. The cops had interviewed everyone, but Kanter wanted the opinions of Landry and Henri, the paranormal experts.

  The sheriff knew Kanter and Landry had worked together, but the veteran state cop didn’t bat an eye when Landry mentioned spirits and Ouija boards, wailing ghosts and headless corpses. The sheriff didn’t believe in such things, but watching Kanter listen to the hair-raising tales gave him reason to doubt his beliefs. He was born and raised in this parish and thought he knew every story about Proctor Hall. Today he learned how much he didn’t know.

  “I’ve sent men to the sugar mill and the cabin outside Lockport,” Kanter said. “Any other ideas where the killers might have gone?”

  Henri said, “We shouldn’t ignore the possibility they’re still here in the house. They moved about undetected, murdered a police officer, and disappeared in seconds. It appears they watched our movements, which means there may be more hidden passages.” He showed the cops the ones they’d found earlier, and the sheriff ordered his men to keep looking for hidden rooms. When Landry left, they were knocking and banging on floors, walls and corners.

  Kanter told Doc he’d lock up when they left, and Landry and the others headed back to New Orleans. He dropped Doc at his hotel and Henri at his office, parked the car, and they walked home.

  When he opened the door to his apartment and flipped on the light, Cate screamed. April sat on the couch across the room. Plastic ties bound her wrists and ankles, and there was duct tape over her mouth. With eyes wide, she glanced hard to the left as they ran to help her.

  “She’s trying to tell you someone is hiding behind the door,” Julien said, closing it. “We’ve been waiting for you. I’m so glad you’re all here. It’s time to tell you everything about Proctor Hall.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  With his weapon pointed at Landry and Cate, Julien told her to remove the duct tape from April’s mouth. He ordered them to sit on the couch with April, tossed plastic ties to Cate, and said, “Hook Landry’s wrists together. Not too tight, but don’t try to fool me. I’ll check your work when you’re done.” Next came his ankles, and then he told Cate to stand facing away from him and put her hands behind her back.

  He had to use two hands, and when Landry saw him put the gun on a table, he nodded at Cate. She whirled, caught Julien off guard, and brought her knee up hard between his legs. He cupped his groin and fell to the floor in agony.

  She grabbed the pistol, keeping it trained on Julien as she backed to a drawer, took out scissors, and cut the ties from Landry’s wrists. He freed his legs and took the gun while Cate released April, who shivered from fright after hours in the dark with him.

  “Call Harry,” Landry said, and Cate got him on the line. He promised to send NOPD to the apartment and join them as soon as he could get to New Orleans.

  Landry tossed the plastic strips to Julien and told him to bind his ankles. Julien took the ties and looked at his feet, but in one swift move he pulled his switchblade from an ankle holster, flipped it open and seized April. He put the knife to her throat and threatened to kill her if Landry didn’t drop his weapon.

  “You know I have nothing to lose. I’ll get the death penalty for what I’ve done. One more murder won’t make my sentence any harsher. Put the gun down now or shoot me. But I’ll kill her before I die.”

  There were sirens and the sound of screeching tires from the street below. “We’re out of time,” Julien snapped, running
the razor-sharp knife over her neck and drawing blood. “Do you want her death on your hands?”

  “You won’t kill her,” Landry said as they heard the cops breach the street door to the building two stories below. “And you don’t want to die either. You have a story to tell. Ever the academic, Dr. Julien Girard, professor of history. Put down the knife, take your medicine, and I promise you we’ll all go back to Proctor Hall so you can tell us the rest.”

  Cate held her breath at this dangerous tactic. Julien paused, but as heavy footsteps banged up the stairway and someone yelled, “Police! Open the door!” he dropped the knife on the floor, and Landry scooped it up.

  She unlocked the door, and three uniformed officers stormed inside, assessed the situation, and in seconds Julien Girard was in custody at last.