The next morning they met at Henri’s office. He was aghast at what had happened after he left them, and he said Landry had no obligation to keep his promise to Julien. It was a desperate move to keep a girl from dying. Julien was safely in jail, and in jail he should stay.
Cate’s father played devil’s advocate. “First off, nobody’s certain if Landry can make good on his promise. It’ll be a miracle if you convince the state police to allow Julien back there. But you’ve pulled a rabbit or two out of a hat before. So let’s say we do go. Let’s think about what we still don’t know. There’s the truth about Noah, Agnes and the rest of them. Where the bodies are buried. How many more secrets there are and what happened to Marguey Slattery. We need answers, and Julien will tell us. I say we should give it a shot. Let’s try to get him back to Proctor Hall.”
“How about you?” Landry asked Cate.
She smiled. “How long have I known you? Years, right? And how many times have I been right when I warned you about something? Always, right? And how many times have you gone off anyway and done things your way? Always, right? I rest my case.”
Everyone chuckled, and Landry agreed there was an element of risk involved, but with Julien shackled and with sufficient firepower, what could go wrong?
Cate shook her head. “See what I mean? Put enough sugar on a turd and it looks like a chocolate eclair. The only thing that could go wrong is that Proctor Hall is a hotbed of supernatural activity. There are ghosts in there — not Casper, but the bad kind. Shackles, cops, guns — those things are useless against the paranormal.”
She exhaled a long sigh and said, “So how soon are you thinking we should go?”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Moving a prisoner charged with multiple capital crimes and held without bail proved to be less difficult than Landry expected. Julien Girard was allowed to leave prison under heavy guard for one reason only — a high-level career officer also wanted him back there — Lieutenant Harry Kanter.
Landry and Harry had opposite motives but similar goals. Both wanted answers. For Landry it would wrap a story that would be his next Bayou Hauntings episode. Harry wanted to learn how many more people Julien and his relatives had disposed of. With Julien’s information, they might find bodies and solve decades-old cold cases.
The sheriff knew Kanter was no novice about supernatural phenomena. While working with Landry, he’d become a believer in the powerful entities that existed beyond the realm of understanding. He was also a pragmatist — a cop whose stock in trade were pistols and handcuffs and interrogations. He believed with enough officers and firepower, he could take his prisoner to Proctor Hall and bring him back without incident, paranormal activity be damned.
Today they would test that theory. Two marked state police cars traveled from Baton Rouge to Lafourche Parish. Kanter, Julien and two officers rode in one. Four cops rode in the other — in all, six of the finest and best-trained men on the Louisiana State Police force. They carried semiautomatic weapons, stun grenades and tear gas.
From the other direction came the WCCY-TV van with Landry, Cate, Henri, Doc and Landry’s crew — Phil Vandegriff and three camera guys. As before, Marisol and April would follow the camera feed from the station. Landry had asked for that — it was the least they could do after the harrowing experiences April had endured.
Rain came down hard as the vehicles turned off Highway 308 down the narrow lane to Proctor Hall. The day held threats of thunderstorms, but Harry’s permission to remove prisoner L-308475 was for twelve hours only, and the clock had begun ticking ninety minutes ago when Julien left the state lockup in Baton Rouge.
In less than an hour, the cameras had been placed and things were ready. They planned to shoot four hours of footage or less. Landry had five more hours for contingencies such as unexpected issues or a trip to Lockport.
Julien remained in the police car until it was time. Two cops took him by the arms and helped him shuffle along in the rain to the front porch. He wore bulky leg irons and hands cuffed in front, and the officers helped him maintain his balance.
Landry gave a brief statement for the camera and said, “Julien, are you ready to show us the secrets?”
The former professor nodded and smiled. As it turned out, he had prepared an opening statement of his own.
“I won’t be going back to Baton Rouge today. Landry and Henri, you both know that Proctor Hall is where I belong. These policemen think restraints are a deterrent to the entities who inhabit this house, but you two know what I’m saying.”
Lieutenant Kanter said, “Julien, you’re full of shit. I promise you you’re going back to jail. There’s nothing you can do to avoid it.”
“Tell him, Landry. Tell him how foolish that thinking is.”
“Let’s get this started,” Kanter muttered. “We’re on the clock, and I’m tired of your rhetoric.”
Landry had confidence that the officers could handle crises, but Julien’s words concerned him. His statement was correct — ordinary boundaries didn’t apply to the supernatural. He wondered if he’d made a serious mistake by bringing the man here.
Flanked by officers, Julien led them into the music room. He showed them where to pull back the carpet and see an almost-invisible seam in the flooring that marked the way Agnes had gotten into the house unobserved. “There’s a latch on the bottom,” he explained. “From outdoors she goes beneath the house, opens the door, and sneaks inside.”
Landry had examined that very section of floor himself and had missed the tiny seam. He wondered what else they’d overlooked.
In the hall, Julien opened a door to a broom closet and pointed. “Behind that back panel is an air shaft that runs up into the left bedroom on the bayou side. There’s a ladder on the wall.”
Landry said, “That’s May Ellen Proctor’s room, the one where Michael died. Since you mentioned it, I have some questions. Why don’t we go to the kitchen and talk?”
An enormous clap of thunder shook the walls of Proctor Hall. The lights flickered as the cops helped Julien into a chair at the kitchen table.
Landry said, “Tell me about Michael. In just minutes, you ended up in the bed with his corpse. I want to know how and why you killed him and where the murder weapon is.”
“I regret that incident. It’s something for which I am truly sorry. Agnes killed him — she hid in the air shaft, hoping to catch one of us in the bedroom alone. Michael entered, she crept up behind him, sliced off his head, and he fell onto the bed. His head — as Landry’s aware — landed on the floor.”
He brushed away a tear, leaving Landry to wonder why this one of his atrocities seemed to affect him while others didn’t.
Julien continued, “I pulled back the curtain and saw what she had done. She didn’t have to kill an innocent boy — my student — but that was why she did it. She was reminding me I wasn’t really a professor. Deep inside my psyche lives a demon, just like the one inside hers. I saw poor Michael, lost consciousness, fell on his bloody corpse, and awoke when you called my name. She keeps the hatchet somewhere in the house, close at hand for when she needs it, but I’m not aware where. Someday you may find it.”
Although Landry didn’t trust him, the answer made sense. Surprised at Julien’s willingness to bare his soul, Landry began to think they might get the answers they sought at last.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Before they left the kitchen, Henri opened the pantry and said, “Were you going to tell us about the hidden stairway in there?”
“Ah, so you already found that one. I don’t consider it a secret, and I forgot about it. It was a functional part of the house. The servants could go to the master bedroom without taking the front stairs. You find this often in these old homes.”
Landry pressed on. “Where are the members of the Proctor family buried?”
“Here. Here in the house. Agnes said Ben took care of that.”
Lieutenant Kanter interjected, “Exactly where in the house?”
/> “They’re entombed in the walls, a constant reminder of what my mother did at Proctor Hall. I don’t know exactly where, but Agnes said they were here, and I believe her.”
“I don’t believe you,” Kanter said. “That makes no sense. If you put a body in a wall in this humidity, it won’t be long before you have an awful stench.”
“My mother said Ben built crude wooden coffins, put them in, and packed them with lime. He had plenty of that; there were bags of it stored at the mill. He nailed the lids on, stood the boxes upright in the walls, and paneled over them. Same thing with Joseph Girard. When he died here at Proctor Hall, Ben took care of him the same way.”
Landry said, “Tell me how Ben died.”
“Another sad ending,” Julien answered, although his face displayed no emotion. “Six years ago, Agnes escaped the cage one last time. She caught Ben by surprise, bludgeoned him to death with a hammer, and dragged his body underneath the house.” He looked at Kanter. “I’m expecting your next question, Lieutenant. She didn’t use lime or a box. She just left him there. I guess she knew the animals would take care of him before the smell gave away his whereabouts. And not long after that, everyone left Proctor Hall anyway.”
The more Julien described the heinous crimes in such casual terms, the more repulsed Cate became. As everyone walked upstairs to the bedrooms, Cate stayed back. She wandered down the hall, trying to distance herself from the insanity. Her eye caught movement as she passed the sitting room, and she took a step back.
In front of the fireplace floated the white, wispy phantasm that was May Ellen Proctor. Cate walked toward her, experiencing warmth and goodness after the awful revelations just in the next room.
“I’m glad to see you,” she said, and the figure shifted. There was a sound — just the slightest hint of a melodic tinkle and a drawn-out whisper of a word.
DANGER.
There came another rumble of thunder as the dim light from a single ceiling fixture cast eerie shadows throughout the room where the bodies once sat.
“Are we in danger, May Ellen?”
COMING FOR YOUUUUUUUU.
At that instant a bolt of lightning struck the top of the house, plunging Proctor Hall into darkness. Suddenly in this room the gloom was palpable. Here was a medley of evil, memories of unspeakable deeds, spirits longing to break free, phantoms seeking revenge, and insane horrors yet to come.
Cate couldn’t breathe. As she gasped, her chest constricted and the air wouldn’t come. She stumbled into the hall and fell to the floor. She looked up to see a woman standing over her. There was an aura of hatred around her. Cate wondered if it was real or just an illusion. She felt dizzy and fell unconscious to the floor.
“Cate, can you hear me? Cate! Where are you?”
She opened her eyes and took a moment to orient herself. She was lying on a hard floor in the dark.
Proctor Hall. I fainted. Danger. We’re in danger.
I hear my name.
“I’m here, downstairs in the hall!”
She heard footsteps on the stairs, and then Landry knelt by her side. “I lost you for a moment,” he said, holding her hand. “I thought you were with us. Are you all right?”
She sat up, letting the blood flow to her brain and clear her thoughts. “I saw May Ellen. She told me we’re in danger. They’re coming for us.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know. Why is it so dark in here?”
“It’s the storm. The guys have lights upstairs. Come on, let me help you stand.”
Henri shouted for Landry. “Hurry. Things are happening!”
Everyone was in what they called the haunted bedroom, although Landry thought that applied to every room in the house. The camera lights provided narrow beams of illumination; most of the space lay in darkness, punctuated by the occasional jagged streak of lightning through the windows.
Grim specters tore and dove like blackbirds through the air above May Ellen’s bed. Groans and sighs filled the room, and it was impossible to miss the overpowering sense of doom. Things were building to a climax. Landry grew anxious but resisted ordering everyone to leave. He wanted a little more footage — a few more shots of supernatural activity.
As Cate watched from the back of the room, the familiar white figure materialized beside her. With every sighting, May Ellen’s ghost assumed more form and substance. Now Cate could see details of the lace on her white dress and her bare feet. She avoided looking at the top, where her head should have been.
“Should we use the Ouija board?” Cate whispered to her.
The spirit moved as if wafting in a summer breeze.
NO, the specter said in its melodious voice. As before, she drew out the word until it became a whisper.
THEY WANT HER.
“Who?”
THE BAD ONES WANT HER.
Julien stood rigidly as the phantoms swirled about him. Lieutenant Kanter held his arm in a viselike grip, determined not to let go no matter what happened. Despite his intention, the wild activity that came at him from everywhere distracted the cop. He swatted as an ominous shadow swept across his face, lost his balance, and crashed to the floor.
“Leave Julien alone!” came a shout from somewhere. Landry recognized the voice.
Obeying the command, the black masses disappeared in seconds. “That’s Agnes, Julien’s mother!” Landry shouted. “Quick! We have to find her.” He, Cate, Henri and Doc ran out into the hall.
Kanter yelled that Julien was missing. The cameramen directed their lights around the room until the lieutenant found his prisoner hiding under May Ellen’s bed. The other cops pulled him out and slammed him into a chair.
There was no luck finding Agnes in this house so familiar to her. Landry presumed she used another hidden space Julien had neglected to mention.
“Why did the spirits obey her command?” he asked Julien.
“It’s not me they’re after. They’re using me to get to her. They want her, and they’re determined to keep you and the police from getting to her before they do.”
“Are you talking about the Proctors?”
“No. Ben Trimble, for one. There’s something I haven’t told you that will better explain things. Ben and Agnes Trimble were husband and wife, and they are my parents. But they’re also first cousins. Agnes’s maiden name was Trimble, and so was Mary Girard’s. When I say insanity is in my genes, I’m not exaggerating. All three of them were lunatics, and the Trimbles’ only child got a double dose.
“The ghosts of Hiram and Sarah Proctor want Agnes to die a horrible death. They’re not evil spirits, but they harbor a deadly animosity toward her. She murdered them and blamed everything on their helpless son, Noah.”
Landry asked if there were others.
“My stepmother, Mary. She’s as evil as Agnes, and she wants me because I murdered her. So far Agnes has kept her in check, but Agnes is getting old, and her power to control the spirits is fading. Given the chance, Mary will kill me.”
“Yet you still agreed to come back to Proctor Hall?”
Julien nodded. “I have nothing to lose. All this has to end — for me, my mother, Noah, all of us, living or dead. Proctor Hall had to give up its secrets someday, and if Mary Girard kills Agnes and me, then so be it. Maybe that’s how it’s meant to turn out. For me, I don’t plan to walk out of this house alive.”
Kanter said, “You’ll be leaving upright if I have anything to do with it.”
“But that’s the rub, Lieutenant. You have nothing to do with it. You’re powerless against the forces in this house.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Just then Doc Adams said, “Landry, do you smell something?”
He took a deep breath. “Smells like rotten eggs.”
“I think so too. Everybody stop what you’re doing! Don’t touch anything. It’s a gas leak. Get out of here fast. If the electricity comes back on, it can blow the house up.”
From the sitting room, Agnes listened to the shouts
as they raced down the stairway and out the front door. They started the car engines; they wouldn’t go far, but turning on the kitchen stove burners had bought her a little time. She heard footsteps on the stairway and ran to hide, but stopped at the sound of Julien’s voice.
“Mother, they forgot about me! Help me get to the blacksmith shop. I can use the tools to break my chains.”
The old shop lay across the front yard alongside Bayou Lafourche. She said, “Everyone is on the other side of the house. I can’t risk going with you, but you can make it if you try. I know you can do it, son.” She helped him to the porch and returned to the house.
The Proctor Hall Horror Page 18