BANG! BANG! BANG!
Phil rolled his eyes. “Oh for Heaven’s sake! Fine! Let’s get your stupid prank over with, okay?” He brushed past Barry and lumbered up the stairs. The banging from the bedroom increased in ferocity as he drew closer. At the top of the stairs, her turned and looked down his nose at Barry. “This is such bullshit. You’re making light of my faith you asshole,” he fumed.
“Wait up, Phil!” Barry called. He ran up the stairs to see Phil go down the hallway to the room where Evelyn and whatever foul spirit within had squared off as their battleground. From the racket, it was obvious that Evelyn was outgunned on this one. How had that happened?
Phil got to the door and the banging was now replaced by the doorknob rattling on its own. He stood in front of it, his lips curling in scorn. As Barry stepped down the hall, he said, “Cheap trick, man,” and reached out.
“Phil! Stop!”
Too late. As soon as Phil’s hand touched the doorknob, his head thrust back and he let out a screaming high pitched yowl. His mouth wrenched open, and the cords of his neck standing out as his eyes bugged out. The scream went on and on as the man stood completely still, frozen in place.
Barry stared down at Phil’s hand his eyes wide in shock. Crystals of ice were moving through his fingers, up past his knuckles and to the wrist. Phil was being electrocuted with cold! Barry raised a fist and slashed his arm down with all his might on Phil’s wrist, smashing his hand off the knob.
Phil tottered and fell back onto the floor unconscious.
Two of his fingers were still attached to the doorknob.
“Jesus H. Christ!” Barry gasped. He ran to the bathroom and grabbed all the bath towels. He hustled back to Phil and swaddled the man’s now thawing and bleeding hand in them. The fingers that had been frozen to the knob had also thawed and were now on the floor. He gathered them up and wrapped them in a towel as well.
Grabbing Phil by the shoulders, he pulled him downstairs and to the backseat of his cab. Slamming his door, he gunned the car and peeled out of the driveway to Kingston General’s Emergency Room. Glancing in the rear view mirror, her saw that although Phil was breathing, he was out cold.
The house had been still as he dragged Phil out. Where the hell was Stella? How did Evelyn let this happen?
He and Myra were on their own.
Chapter 20
Myra fished the cell phone from her bag and her eyes flashed wider seeing that it was Barry.
“Hi. How’d it go today?” She turned slightly in her seat, facing the window rather than the teenage boy who had taken the empty spot next to her on the bus.
“Not good. I’m at the hospital.”
Her heart leapt to her mouth, “What? Are you okay?” Oh God. She could picture him broken up in a hospital bed with tubes coming out of him everywhere.
“I’m fine. It’s Phil. Are you still at work, Myra?”
The fast clip of his words put her senses on high alert. “No. I’m heading home on the bus. What’s wrong? What happened to Phil?”
“He hurt his hand. Actually he’s probably going to lose it. I don’t want you to go in the house alone, Myra. Whatever was in there is back again. It was stronger today than I’ve ever seen it.”
“What?” The image of Leia’s carcass at the house and the upside down tree flashed through her mind. It was supposed to be gone! All the books and websites had said that the cleansing and the priest would do the trick. And Philip? Losing his hand? It couldn’t be true.
“Barry what happened?”
He sighed over the phone. “I’m not sure, but my anger at Phil and his grisly escapades in Haiti gave power to whatever’s at the house.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He sighed again. “When he got here, he was pretty skeptical and really sanctimonious… I sorta felt myself rooting for the entity to teach him a lesson…”
“What!”
“Myra, it was just a thought in the back of my mind! And afterwards, when I grabbed him to pull him outta there, I laid the touch on him. Jesus! You have no idea the kind of shit he got into down there in Haiti! He came back home so he couldn’t get arrested!”
They were both silent on the phone until Myra said, “So each of you approached the thing with a sullied heart?”
Barry’s voice was a whisper. “Yes.”
“Barry… come home. We’ll get this right.”
“I can’t. I got a lot of questions to answer. The cops are here. I was going to just dump him at the entrance to the Emergency Room, but a nurse saw me. I came up with a story that I found him at the house like this when I got there.”
“What the hell is Phil going to say about that?”
“Nothing. He doesn’t remember a thing about today.”
“Oh.” She paused. “I’ll meet you at home.”
“Are you crazy? Stay on the bus! Go out to the Rose and Crown and I’ll meet you there!”
She sat up straighter and her knuckles were ivory gripping the phone. “No Barry. I’m almost there and I’m going home. I’ll do the smudge again, light the candles, the holy water, the whole nine yards. It worked last night and by hell it will work again.” She jerked down on the bus cord above the window, signaling that she was getting off at the next stop.
“No Myra! Listen to me!”
She clicked the phone off. She got to her feet and waited next to the door, holding the overhead bar until the bus came to a stop. Her knees began to shake, but she ignored the fear.
The entrance to the driveway was across the street. She descended the stairs and stood watching it for a few seconds. She’d had enough of this bullshit. It was bad enough the crap from customers she had to take at work but in her own home? Bullied and scared shitless by a ghost! A ghost! No freakin’ way!
Her chin rose high and she squared her shoulders marching across the street to the driveway. The limestone house was deceptively charming, rising from the pristine banks of snow to the gingerbread trim under the gabled roof. From the outside, it could grace the cover of a Currier and Ives Christmas card, a perfect symbol of home and happiness. Yet inside, a malignant cancer had seeped through the very earth it sat on, feeding on fear, growing stronger every day.
Stella had managed it for over sixty years, and together with Evelyn had held the evil forces at bay. Stella had seen that potential in Barry. She’d chosen him over a blood relative—her nephew—to carry on the responsibility. If it was just a matter of a haunting, then she and Barry would probably leave. They could get by without the house or the money. But there was more at stake here than just the two of them, if what Stella had written was true.
The headlines in the newspapers were scary enough without the threat of another Hitler or Mussolini being unleashed. The most powerful country in the world, the USA was on the brink of a presidential election. In Europe, the threat of the EU breaking up loomed large. Russia was flexing its muscle in a way reminiscent of the cold war, something it hadn’t done in years and years. The world was in a state of flux and this thing, this evil entity was doing its best to escape the confines where Stella had kept it.
She shook her head but kept walking up the lane. It seemed crazy that she and Barry, a cab driver and a waitress, could be involved with this, could be instrumental in maintaining order and peace in the world.
But hadn’t that been true throughout history? Rosa Parks refusing to go to the back of the bus in the fifties? Her one stand of courage set the wheels in motion for an African American president to be elected! She remembered watching CNN that night and how so many correspondents of color had been thrilled. And Candy Lightener...she'd changed drunk driving laws!
Nope. Individuals can and do make a difference. She didn’t ask for this, but she wasn’t going to back down. Absently, her hand rubbed her womb as she thought of Isabella.
Well it looked like it was up to them now, doing whatever it took to keep this evil cancer from growing. For a moment her resolve faltered walking
by the black car which had to be the priest’s. He’d tried and failed. What could she do that would be any better than a priest’s blessing?
She climbed the steps and rooted in her purse for the house key, all the while steeling herself once again, for the battle inside. She wasn’t going to turn tail and run. Not Myra Sullivan Ryan, thank you very much! Her heart beat hard in her chest and she breathed faster trying not to notice the slight tremor in her fingers fitting the key into the lock.
Too late, she heard the crunch of a heavy boot in the frozen snow behind her. She started to turn but a meaty paw closed over her mouth. Another arm and hand circled her body and gripped her like a vise, lifting her from her feet, thrusting the door wide to totter forward.
“Got you now, bitch!”
Chapter 21
It was what woke him that morning—the voice. It had been right.
‘Today we take back the house.’
Gordon had sat straight up in bed, ignoring the rush of bile in the back of his throat from the night of drinking. His head was splitting but that didn’t matter. The only thing that was important was the voice and the certainty in his gut that the words were true.
The only other time he’d felt so connected was that time Stella had made him sit in the living room and had grilled him with question after question. He’d just been getting comfortable sitting in the chair by the fire, looking around and feeling good, confident that it would all be his when out of the blue, she’d thrown him out without warning. The voices had been whispering to him that day as well, telling him he belonged there, it was his home.
Whatever ability his aunt Stella had...well, he had it too. It was how he’d kept the job at the prison for so many years. He’d known which of the loser inmates he could trust and also the right time to bring dope into work to score some cash. When they did a search, he would help toss the joint, giving such a performance of disgusted outrage that he deserved an Academy Award. They’d never suspected him at all.
The old bitch had known he had the gift too but more than that, her gift was more powerful. She was able to read him, and was repulsed by him.
Everything in his life would change after this night. The house would be his to sell to a developer and the money would be enough that he could retire. Move out of this god forsaken country to someplace warm; some third world country where he’d live like a king. Flash a wad of cash down there and lots of chiquitas would fall all over him. Hot, Latinas who would see him as a rich gringo, not some broken down guy going to pot. Yeah, things were gonna change big time!
After grabbing some rope and the hammer from his tool box, he’d left the townhouse to begin the game of cat and mouse. He’d parked the car just down the street from the driveway and sat waiting and watching. When the black sedan drove into the driveway, he knew in his gut that it was a priest driving it. And the cabbie’s taxi wasn’t far behind, the stupid cabbie too intent to even notice old Gordo hunched over the steering wheel, watching it all. And what he didn’t see, the voice whispered in his head, filling in the details.
Even from a hundred yards away he’d felt the violence and rage in the upstairs bedroom when the priest had entered the house. It was all he could do to stay in the car and not race over to the house to kill them both. But the voice commanded him to stay where he was. When the taxi came hurtling out onto the street, the cabbie’s face white as a sheet behind the wheel, he knew he’d been right to listen.
No sooner had the cab disappeared from sight, when he got his next directive. He had gotten out of the car and walked over to the house, hiding in the low laying branches of the evergreen at the side of the house, just the way he’d done that night...How long ago had that been? His mind strained trying to remember it. No matter.
It was like a mirage when the cabbie’s wife had come storming down the laneway, her breath pluming in front of her face like some kind of she-dragon, a fire breathing monster. It was comical seeing all five foot nothing of her stomping along the hard packed snow. She was nothing...nothing compared to him in size and smarts. He was going to enjoy crushing her.
He moved quickly and silently, the voice in his head prodding him on. When he grabbed her, raw power surged and pulsed through his body! Even to the point that he got hard! That hadn’t happened in a long, long time. He’d almost forgotten the thrill of it.
“Got you now, bitch!” He gripped her tight, pressing into her body with his own as they lurched as one into the front hallway.
He looked around, at the archways, the staircase, the high ceilings. It was exactly as he remembered. The trip down memory lane was short lived with the bitch’s legs kicking at him, her talons raking the flesh of his hand.
“Fuck!” He threw her to the floor.
She looked up at him with wild blue eyes, her lips pulled back in snarl. The bottom few buttons of the coat had popped open, the dark skirt tangled high on her thighs and her legs scrambled trying to get away from him. For a moment the urge to kick the living shit out of her competed with arousal...to tear her dress higher and—
‘NOT HERE! NOT YET!’
His fingers splayed, blood dripping from the rips her nails made in his hand and he jerked back. The roar of the voice filled his head and the whole house. Even the bitch flinched at the sound.
She was almost on her feet, screaming, “Get out of my house! Leave me alone or I swear...I swear—”
“Shut up! This is my house, not yours! You and your looser husband tricked the old bag!” He stepped closer, batting her back down with his forearm.
The bitch skittered backwards from the blow and she began to fumble for the newel post of the stair. Her eyes narrowed and spittle flew from her mouth when she yelled. “You’re the nephew?”
His fingers balled into a fist and he struck the side of her face, knocking her head against the carved wooden post. A stream of blood began to flow from her nose and he raised his fist once more.
‘STOP!‘
His arm froze mid air, unable to move up or down. A jagged pain shot through his head like a buzz saw. He couldn’t move a muscle. He could barely breathe! He watched in rage as the woman clutched a spindle of the staircase and hauled herself upright.
‘Take her to the cellar.’
The low whisper was a chill that shuddered through his body, breaking the paralyzing spell. He grabbed her foot and yanked her once more to the floor. With his other hand he reefed on her arm, dragging her away from the stairs.
“Let me go!” The woman continued to swat her arm at him and kick her feet.
Her screams would never be heard outside, not with the thickness of the walls and the distance from the street. He needed to hurry though in case the cabbie came home. He wanted her tied up and at his mercy when her husband arrived.
He hauled her down the hallway to the cellar entrance, keeping his arm extended to avoid her thrashing. With his free hand he yanked the door open and tugged her inside. The air was dank and rancid. The bitch retched at the odor, but he inhaled deeply. It was powerful! He swelled with the increase of energy that flowed into him. It was the same as the last time when he snuck into the cellar. It was awesome!
The bare light bulb flashed bright when he flipped the switch, lighting the way down the narrow wooden steps. He dragged and clattered down with the woman in tow. Getting to the bottom and feeling the packed earth under his feet elevated the majestic sensation.
There was a metal support post off to the right, which would do for what he had planned.
His head bobbed to the side when the bitch landed a punch above his ear. She was totally wild with strings of hair that escaped her pony tail now framing a heart shaped face twisted with fear, but now, he was able to control her with one hand as his power grew. Her eyes were wide and darting everywhere looking for anything to help her.
His fingers closed on the flesh of her cheek, squeezing and twisting until she screamed, her hands tearing at his. Quick as a flash his fingers curled around her pony tail of hair,
yanking hard, pulling her forward to the pole. He banged her head against it, smiling at the clanging thud and the flutter of her eyes as she crumpled like a rag doll to the floor.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was out cold. Tying her hands and feet to the pole would be easy as pie. He took the rope from his overcoat pocket and began with her feet, yanking off her boots and looping the nylon around her ankles.
When he was done that, he hoisted her body up and draped her head and shoulders over his own, repeating the looping around the wrists and then securing the line to the pole. The last was the lines around her waist to keep at least half of her upright.
He stepped back and wiped the sweat that had beaded on his forehead with the back of his hand.
The thud upstairs followed by the cabbie calling ‘Myra!’ was the icing on the cake. Perfect timing.
Chapter 22
Barry raced out of the emergency room to his cab. He burned rubber, fishtailing down the ramp of the ER parking area onto King Street West.
Why couldn’t she have just listened to him? She could be so stubborn sometimes! And this was definitely not the time to be bull headed. God! If she’d seen Philip’s hand she wouldn’t go near the house on her own!
He hit the button on the steering wheel and spoke, “call Myra.” After the connection was made, the ringing just went on and on before voice mail kicked in, setting his nerves even more on edge. Why wasn’t she picking up?
He banged the steering wheel with his fist seeing the traffic light turn from amber to red and the car ahead of him slow down to a stop.
Suddenly the scene out the windshield became black and the muscles in his neck became steel cords. Myra was being dragged along the wooden floor by some hulking brute. She kicked and screamed and when the guy’s head turned and he snarled at her, Barry’s blood turned to ice. It was Gordon! He had Myra! Oh my God, he was taking her down to the cellar!
The Ghosts of Centre Street: A Haunting of Kingston (The Hauntings of Kingston Book 3) Page 11