by Ron Ripley
“I was going home,” Herman answered. “I haven’t heard from my parents.”
A flicker of confusion flashed across Mr. Weiss’ face, and then it was gone. “I’m sorry to hear that. I was wondering, though, if you could do me a favor?”
“Sure,” Herman said. “What do you need?”
“Do you know where the trophy case is?”
“The one in Adrienne Hall?” Herman asked. “All the sports trophies?”
“For athletics, yes,” Mr. Weiss said, nodding. “Do you think you could bring me a particular one?”
Herman hesitated, saw the confident way the old man smiled at him, and he said, “Yes. I mean, if it’s unlocked. I don’t want to break it.”
“Of course, you don’t,” Mr. Weiss said soothingly. “And I would be averse to you committing such an act. The case will be open for you in the morning, most likely after six.”
“Tomorrow morning?” Herman asked.
“Yes,” the old man said.
“Sure,” Herman said. “I’ll be there. I have to be at school at seven anyway.”
“Oh,” Mr. Weiss said, smiling, “there won’t be any school tomorrow.”
“No?”
“No,” Mr. Weiss said, looking past Herman momentarily and then back to him. “You needn’t worry about classes.”
“Okay,” Herman said. He paused before asking, “So, Mr. Weiss, what trophy do you want?”
“I’ll tell you, Herman,” the old man said with a grin, and he stepped closer.
Chapter 24: Patrolling the Grounds
Aaron Dubois cleared his throat, paused in his walk, and spat on the granite bench. A masterful collection of yellowish mucus clung to the stone, and Aaron smiled.
Hope some little jerk sits on it, he thought, chuckling.
Aaron, at thirty-three, had spent most of his life bouncing from job to job. Working for A-Plus Security had been the best job ever. He got to work third shift, so he didn’t have to deal with anyone other than Simon at the 7-Eleven where he grabbed most of his food. The majority of the jobs were in town, in the technology park up behind the stadium, so he had gotten rid of his car. Aaron either walked or caught a cab to wherever he was assigned and was able to ride the city bus home.
This life is pretty great, Aaron thought, looking around the darkened grounds of the Academy. No car payments, no mortgage. No debt. Nope. Life is pretty damned good.
He hiked his pants up, tightened his garrison belt, spat on the bench again, and laughed. Satisfied with the perfection of his world, Aaron continued on his rounds. He passed by the giant dumpster the school had needed to bring in for the broken toilets. Aaron was impressed with the level of destruction the kids had wrought, and he was disgusted with the stupidity of the staff.
You need boots on the ground, Aaron thought. If I’d been here, the kids never would have been able to pull it off. Not. At. All.
He adjusted his pants again, cleared his throat and was forced to swallow a mouthful of mucus as a far off noise caught his attention.
Aaron froze, standing perfectly still. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the darkness, listening.
Footsteps, he realized. He put a hand down to keep the keys on his belt silent, and started to walk towards the sound.
For a slightly overweight man, Aaron could move quietly when he put his mind to it. And especially when he knew he was going to give someone a hard time. It was why he enjoyed his job so much. He loved it when some hapless sap begged him to let them go.
Aaron never did, although he let the people beg while he nodded sympathetically and dialed nine-one-one.
Nothing better, Aaron thought, grinning. He wasn’t afraid because he had never run into someone who was armed. The professionals always take off. They don’t stick around to get busted by a ‘rent-a-cop.’
I always get the dummies, he thought happily, picking up his pace. And that suits me just fine.
The footsteps grew louder, and Aaron headed towards a building. The sign above the door read, “Adrienne Hall.” The intruder, it seemed, was walking towards the front from the right side of the building.
Aaron stepped into a shadow, slipped his giant Maglite flashlight from its holster, and put his thumb on the ‘on’ button.
Time to put the fear of God into this punk, Aaron thought happily.
The footsteps continued to come closer, and soon a man came around the corner of the building. From what Aaron could see, the man wore an old-fashioned hat and a suit, the kind you’d see in a movie about gangsters from the 1930s.
Aaron was taken aback; usually, he had to deal with kids, or a junkie trying to steal enough in order to score a fix.
Never regular people, Aaron thought, confused. The grounds of the Academy weren’t closed off, and technically, the man wasn’t doing anything illegal by walking through.
Suddenly, the man stopped, barely fifteen feet away from where Aaron hid. The stranger turned and looked directly at Aaron in the shadow.
“What are you doing here?” the man demanded.
Surprised, Aaron almost answered him. He caught himself quickly, though, and he turned on the flashlight, saying, “I was about to ask you the same question.”
Aaron was going to add the typical ‘punk’ at the end of the sentence, like in the ‘cop’ movies, but something was off. The flashlight’s powerful beam passed through the man. Aaron could see a tree behind him, and the stranger didn’t cast any shadow.
The man snarled, and the maglite’s bulb exploded.
Aaron yelled in surprise, dropped the flashlight and took a nervous step back. He felt sweat burst out under his arms, and for a moment, he lost control of his bladder. With his underwear embarrassingly wet, Aaron shivered, reached back and found the security and safety of the bricks of Adrienne Hall.
“You better answer my question,” the see-through man spat, taking a large step forward.
“What?” Aaron asked.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m the security guard,” Aaron managed to stutter out.
“Security guard?” the man said. “What, you’re a cop?”
“No,” Aaron said, shaking his head. He could hear the anger in the stranger’s voice. The disdain when he had said ‘cop.’ “Not a cop.”
“Naw,” the man said derisively. “You’re too much of a skirt. You packing?”
“What? Oh, no,” Aaron said hurriedly, “they don’t let us carry a gun.”
“Smart,” the stranger said. “You’d only get yourself hurt.”
The man became silent, and Aaron grew aware of the rapid beating of his heart.
“Well,” the stranger said finally. “Let’s get this over with.”
“What?” Aaron asked, “Get what over with?”
“You,” the man said, coming closer.
“What about me?” Aaron said, his voice rising in pitch. “Listen, I won’t say anything. I won’t tell anybody I saw a ghost.”
“But I want you to talk,” the stranger said, grinning. “Just not with your mouth.”
“What?” Aaron started to ask, but cold fists pounded against his flesh, cutting him off.
Aaron’s horrified, pain-filled shrieks filled the night air, and the stranger laughed.
The blows came faster and harder, and soon Aaron was silent.
Chapter 25: Bad News, Again
The phone let out its sharp, sleep-destroying ring.
Mitchell grumbled, sat up, and left the warmth and comfort of his bed. The phone continued its assault on his ears, as he clumsily walked down the hall. He let his right-hand trail along the wall, steadying himself until he came to his home office. He didn’t bother turning on the light. Mitchell crossed the rug to his desk, picked up the phone and said, “Mitchell Roy.”
“Mr. Roy,” a woman said, “this is Janice DeWolf of A-Plus Security.”
“Hello Janice,” Mitchell said. “What time is it?”
“Three-thirty, Mr. Roy,” she replied. Her voice, Mit
chell finally noticed, was tight. “We have an issue at the Academy, and you’re listed as the first person to call.”
“I’m listening,” Mitchell said, his stomach tightening uncomfortably.
“One of our guards was found beaten to death a short time ago,” she said, and Mitchell could hear the sadness and shock in the woman’s voice. “He didn’t check in, so we sent the foreman out. Standard operating procedure.”
Mitchell nodded, forgetting he was on the phone and went and sat down in his chair.
“We have the police and other emergency personnel there now, but we wanted to inform you of the situation.”
“Of course,” Mitchell said. “Thank you.”
“Also,” Janice continued, “a detective, Skillings, will be stopping by your home soon. I believe the police department is going to need to close the school to complete their processing of the crime scene. Could I tell the detective you’ll be ready for her soon?”
“Please do,” Mitchell said, sighing. “I need to tell my wife what’s going on, but you can certainly send him right over.”
“Her,” Janice corrected. “Detective Bethany Skillings.”
“Very well,” Mitchell said. “I’ll be ready for her.”
He hung up the phone, looked at his desk and then picked up the phone again. With a shaking hand, he dialed Brian’s number.
Chapter 26: A Conversation
“How did it go?” Brian asked, handing Mitchell a cup of coffee.
His cousin looked exhausted, his eyes sunken and bloodshot. Mitchell accepted the drink, his hands trembling slightly.
“About as well as one could expect,” Mitchell said. He leaned back in the hotel chair and shook his head. “I’m happy I didn’t have to see the man’s body, but it’s terrible knowing what happened.”
“He was beaten to death?” Brian asked.
Mitchell nodded.
“Was someone trying to break in?” Brian said. “Do they have any idea?”
“They asked me the same thing,” Mitchell answered. “They wanted to know if there was anything worth stealing. I told them there wasn’t. We tried to review the security footage, but for some reason, the cameras on Adrienne Hall and others pointing at it weren’t working. We couldn’t see anything.”
Brian sighed, made a cup of coffee for himself and then sat down in the chair opposite Mitchell’s. “The school’s closed for today?”
“Of course,” Mitchell said, his tone was one of defeat. “The entire campus is essentially one giant crime scene to process.”
“I won’t be able to get into the library?” Brian asked.
“No,” Mitchell said. “Not until tonight, or tomorrow morning the earliest. You have the book, though? The one about the Academy?”
“Yes,” Brian said, gesturing to the bed. He had been reading the book when Mitchell had shown up. “I learned a little more about Nathaniel Weiss, but not nearly as much as I need to. I’ll have to go down to the graveyard, see what I can find out.”
Mitchell lowered his cup. “What?”
“The graveyard,” Brian repeated.
“Why the graveyard?” Mitchell asked.
“I want to see if anyone there knows about Nathaniel.”
Mitchell looked at him for a long minute, and then he said, “Are you’re serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“I don’t know why I’m questioning you,” Mitchell said after a moment. “Not after what’s been going on.”
“It’s okay, Mitchell,” Brian said. “Sometimes it’s a little tough to wrap your head around it.”
Mitchell gave him a small smile. “Thanks. So, you’re going to the cemetery?”
“Yes, he’s buried in the Barrister Graveyard,” Brian said. “Obviously, he won’t be there. It’s a long shot, but I hope to find someone who knows something.”
“Anything you want me to do?” Mitchell asked.
“Keep an eye out for anything else strange at the Academy,” Brian said. “I don’t think Gregory Weston is going to be the last.”
“Alright,” Mitchell said. “I’ll keep my eyes open.”
Brian nodded. He drank his coffee, and the two of them sat in silence. Soon, Mitchell stood up, said goodbye, and left Brian alone in the hotel room. After several minutes, Brian made himself another cup and stood at the window, looking out over Northfield. From his view, he could see most of the small city, and off to the right, braced by a pair of tall oaks, the graveyard. Brian saw several people amongst the headstones, but he couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead.
Shouldn’t waste any more time, Brian thought. He finished his drink, got dressed, and left the room. He walked the quarter mile to the graveyard. When he reached it, he stopped and stood outside the stone wall which wrapped around it.
Most of the headstones were ancient, tall, thin pieces of slate weathered by decades and centuries of harsh New England seasons. Brian could see five people, three men, and two women.
They were all ghosts.
Two of the men were in deep conversation, their voices low and the words indiscernible. One of the women stared into the bushes beyond the far wall of the graveyard. The other looked at Brian and turned away. The last spirit, a tall man, dressed in an elegant suit watched Brian with interest.
Let’s talk to him, Brian thought. He walked into the cemetery straight to the man.
“Hello,” Brian said.
The man smiled. “What a pleasant surprise! It’s been far too long since someone who could see us was here. I’m Ernest.”
Brian introduced himself.
“A pleasure, Brian. If I could, I would shake your hand as it is,” the man said, shrugging, “But, unfortunately, I cannot.”
“The thought is appreciated, Ernest,” Brian said.
“Tell me,” Ernest said, folding his arms across his chest, “why have you come to this fine necropolis?”
“I’m looking for information,” Brian said. “I’m trying to find out about a man.”
“A dead man?”
Brian nodded.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance, then,” Ernest said. “Who is it?”
“Nathaniel Weiss,” Brian said.
The smile on Ernest’s face faltered, then fell away completely. “Ah.”
“Do you know him?” Brian asked.
“I do,” Ernest answered. “Well, I knew him. Quite well. What do you need to know about him?”
“How he died,” Brian said. “And, if you know, what his interest was in the supernatural.”
Ernest smiled. “He died of old age. Nothing more, and nothing less. It was neither a tragic death nor was it an exciting one. He passed in his sleep. And his interest in the supernatural was to see if he could maintain a presence here on earth after death. Which, of course, he did.”
“How do you know?” Brian asked eagerly. “Did you see him after he died, and how well did you know him?”
“I did indeed see him after his death,” Ernest said. “Several times, actually. And I knew him extremely well.”
“Do you mind if I ask how?” Brian said.
“Not at all,” Ernest said. “He was my father.”
Brian blinked, shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, did you say he was your father?”
Ernest nodded, all humor was gone from his face. “Yes. He was a difficult man in life, and nearly impossible in death.”
“How often did you see him?” Brian said, then clarified, “I mean, after he died.”
“Three times.”
“Was there a reason behind the infrequency of contact between you two?” Brian asked.
“Yes,” Ernest said. “I locked him away in a lead-lined safe. Why are you asking?”
“Your father was released. Accidently, but still, he’s out and about.”
Ernest frowned. “Do you still have the photograph?”
Brian shook his head. “No. It’s gone missing.”
“Then I suggest you find it,” Ernest said seri
ously. “I trapped him in it, until his name was spoken. And it seems some fool has let him out. Mind you, Mr. Roy, my father is a cunning man, and extremely manipulative. He speaks exceptionally well, and he has a disturbing ability to convince people to commit actions they normally might not willingly do.”
“I have to ask, did you have the safe built into the wall, or moved it there?” Brian asked.
“My father actually had all of that done,” Ernest said. “Which brings me to another question. What did you do with the other items in the safe?”
“What other items?” Brian asked, confused. “The photograph was all there was.”
“You need to look around the study then,” Ernest said. “And the house. In addition to my father’s photograph, there were, I believe, five other possessed objects. You should check the cellar as well, who knows where they could have gotten to.”
“Wait,” Brian said, shaking his head. “Are we both talking about Deer Stag House?”
“Deer Stag House?” Ernest said. “Dieter Stag’s house? No. Not at all. I’m talking about my own house. I had left it in the will to be used by the Academy for a library after my passing. The safe was in my father’s study.”
“The safe I’m talking about,” Brian said, “is in the cellar of the Deer Stag House. Someone buried it there and then walled it up.”
“You’ve more problems than you can imagine then, my friend,” Ernest said sympathetically. “If the safe was moved, and only my father was confined there, then you must be wary. I know for certain that one of them was exceptionally brutal to deal with.”
“Do you know how many altogether?” Brian asked.
“Five. I’m nearly certain it was five. Six, if you are including my father in the equation.”
“Six,” Brian repeated.
“Yes, six. My father will seek to free them as quickly as possible, he was,” Ernest paused and then said, “well, he was an egomaniac. He liked nothing more than to bend others to his will. Unleashing those only he can control will feed his mania.”
“Great,” Brian muttered.
“Be careful, Brian,” Ernest said. “My father is not a man to take lightly.”