Medicine For The Dead: An Occult Thriller (The Ulrich Files Book 2)

by Ambrose Ibsen

  Ulrich shook his head. He wasn't feeling welcome in the building any longer and would seek out a meal elsewhere. “That's all right. Not that hungry.” He shoved the bowl of peanuts away and drained his glass of water. Catching sight of a handprint on the polished bar, he remembered the hideous visitor he'd encountered the night before and wondered if she wasn't the one responsible for opening the door to the closet. “Last night,” began Ulrich, wiping off his lips with his sleeve, “I thought I caught someone messing around in the building. Upstairs.” He grit his teeth, looking for the best phrasing moving forward. The last thing he wanted was to look like a loony. “It was, uh... a woman. A woman with long, black hair. Might've been a squatter, I don't know, but she looked awfully wet, like she'd just come in out of the rain. Could've been her, I guess.”

  Looking up at Callum, Ulrich found the barkeep's expression frozen in wide-eyed incredulity. Nothing Ulrich had said in his sanitized version of events was so hard to believe, but the narrative had evidently effected the Scotsman profoundly. Twitching to life, Callum licked his lips repeatedly and glanced around the bar for things to busy himself with. He threw the empty produce box to the floor and kicked it towards the kitchen, shaking his head. Then, picking up a couple of towels, he dried his hands again and again, before working over the bar afresh and getting rid of any remaining fingerprints on its surface. “Could've been,” he uttered quietly, sounding almost out of breath. “Before the renovation, this building certainly had its fair share.”

  “Oh?” Ulrich stretched a little, leaning against a barstool. “Lots of break-ins?”

  Callum, looking white as a ghost, meandered over to the door of the kitchen and waved Ulrich away weakly. “Don't much care to talk about it, mister. Have a fine day, you hear?” With that, he disappeared behind the door and didn't reemerge.

  Chapter 14

  After a long shower, Ulrich found he felt more like himself. The water heater here didn't give out the way the one in his old apartment did, and a hot, half-hour shower was just what the doctor ordered. Jamieson had left some shampoos and soaps in the room as decorations, nice ones, and Ulrich helped himself to each, so that when he was done scrubbing and soaking he smelled like a million bucks. Toweling himself off with a plush towel that still had the sale tags on it, he decided to head to Grounds for Thought, his favorite coffee shop. It would be a few minutes' drive from the Exeter House, but none of the establishments within walking distance much appealed. It was still fairly early in the day; perhaps he'd be able to convince one of the baristas to set him up with a breakfast sandwich or two, along with a strong coffee.

  Upon his arrival at the cafe, he found the place relatively quiet. The long wooden table near the front of the establishment was almost completely empty, except for the familiar figures of Dean and Harrison. The two of them were chatting over a newspaper, sipping at cups of tea.

  “Well, well,” said Ulrich, arching a brow. “How did I know I might find the two of you here?” He grinned. Dean was a fixture in the cafe from the early morning hours till the late afternoon. Not having a day job to report to, he'd often station himself at one of the tables, read the paper, guzzle tea and make conversation with anyone who wandered too close. Today was no exception, and Harrison had apparently gotten the same idea.

  Dean smiled back, giving a waggle of the eyebrows and pointing at the investigator with a chuckle. “Now it looks to me like ol' Harlan here didn't get himself a lick of sleep. That about right? Looking almost as rough as Harrison over here.”

  Harrison indeed looked rough. His thinning hair was slightly tousled and his eyes were red, with dark circles prominently featured beneath. He'd traded in his usual tea for a black coffee and was sipping it with a frown. He'd probably stayed out too late, gotten too drunk with Dean, and was now in need of a pick-me-up. “Howdy, Harlan. Made the mistake of hanging out with Dean again last night and got messed up. Feel like crap, but I guess that's what I get for acting like a twenty-something.”

  Ulrich pulled up a chair, laughing. “Wonder that the wife let you out of her sight again!”

  Harrison grumbled into his mug. “She doesn't own me, you know...”

  Ordering himself a coffee and two sandwiches, Ulrich returned to the table just in time to watch Dean berate a young man with an armful of notebooks and a laptop bag. He looked college-aged, studious, and wore a red sweater.

  “I just need that spot because that's where the outlet is,” said the young man, straightening his glasses and nearly dropping the stack of notebooks all over the floor. He pointed weakly at the electrical outlet behind Dean's chair. “I like that spot best-- I always get the best writing done there, and--”

  Dean put up a hand and then pointed at the exit. “Hell nah, kid. Go write the next great American novel someplace else.” He motioned to Harrison and Ulrich. “Can't you see we're engaged in a serious chat here? Shame on you for interrupting.”

  The kid, looking like he might explode at any minute, began cursing under his breath and marched out of the cafe.

  Ulrich dropped down into the chair next to Dean and smirked. “Acting like you own the place, Dean. Could've just let the kid sit here. I mean, all we're doing is sitting around, bullshitting.”

  Dean slurped at his tea obnoxiously, then took to drying his grey mustache with his fingers. “Well, anyhow, what brings you out here this day, Harlan? How's life treating you?”

  Working over a mouthful of his first breakfast sandwich, Ulrich paused in his chewing to grimace. Well, where to begin? First he'd been evicted. That was a hell of a plot-twist. Then he'd taken up residence at the Exeter House on Jamieson's invitation, and was discovering that it wasn't as rosy a place as it had initially seemed.

  No, that was putting it too lightly.

  He was being actively hounded by the terrible things that dwelt there.

  Spirits.

  Then, just that morning, he'd been accused of being a lush and had very nearly gotten into a fistfight with a raging Scotsman.

  “Hasn't been the greatest,” admitted Ulrich, washing down his food with some coffee. “Got kicked out of my place, for starters.”

  Harrison laughed, but then stiffened when he realized Ulrich wasn't kidding. “W-wait, you got kicked out? What do you mean?”

  “Evicted,” replied Ulrich simply.

  The other two sat stupefied for a time.

  “What the hell happened, man?” asked Dean.

  “Not good with money,” said Ulrich sheepishly, before stuffing more food into his mouth. It was the honest truth, though it wasn't exactly something he wanted to spend time discussing. “Don't worry about it, got a new place to stay, for now,” he said as he worked over his next bite.

  “Good, good,” replied Dean. He and Harrison settled back into their chairs a bit. “Sorry to hear that, anyhow,” he continued. “Where you at now?”

  “Exeter House.” Ulrich set down his sandwich and looked out the window, feeling as though he was being watched from out on the street. The day was bright, the weather fair, but even in the company of friends there was a curious feeling he couldn't kick. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a woman wearing sunglasses across the street. She idled in front of a storefront, a shopping bag in hand, and combed a few fingers through her long, black hair.

  Ulrich shuddered. It was involuntary, unavoidable. His memories of the thing in the hallway the night before were still too fresh. He almost choked on his food as the sight of its putrid yellow eye flashed into his mind.

  Harrison chuckled. “Exeter House, yeah. Good one. Where you really staying?”

  Ulrich turned to him. “No, really. Jamieson Reed, from high school, owns the place. He's letting me stay there a little while, to keep an eye on the premises. I met him the other night while we were at Oliver's Bar. You two were too busy getting hammered, but he told me he'd recently bought the building and renovated the rooms on the top floor. I'm staying in one of them.” He pursed his lips for a time. “It's nice, I guess.�
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  “What's the matter with it?” inquired Dean.

  How best to put it? If he started by telling them that he'd been seeing things in the hallway, that some frightful specter had scratched at his door and put a scare in him, then they'd think him crazy. Even though he'd told them about some strange happenings during the case of the Sick House, he hadn't told all. To do so wouldn't do him any favors.

  “Things are weird there,” he finally said. “It's just... you know, it's a large building. And, at night, sometimes I... catch people walking the halls.” He laughed, trying to play it off as normal. “I've been told that the homeless sometimes break in. Bad squatter problem. I've seen some gang-bangers hanging around there, too. But at least I've got a roof over my head.”

  Harrison nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, man, I've heard some things about Exeter House. Had a friend some years back. Haven't spoken to him in a long time, name was Mick. Friend of my dad's, actually. Anyhow, Mick worked there as a janitor in those days when the Exeter House was being used as a tire warehouse. Must've been the 70's or something. When I was younger, he'd tell me stories about the stuff he saw; they say it's haunted, you know. There was one ghost he saw most, guess they call him “The Captain”. Always saw him in the same place, too-- the hallway between the stairs and the bar, right where we came in the other night, in fact. Except, sometimes, I guess Mick would see the figure of The Captain, but headless. Like frigging Sleepy Hollow, right?” His gaze darted between Ulrich and Dean.

  Only Dean seemed to be amused by this anecdote, however.

  “Fascinating,” replied Ulrich, tonguing at his molars. “Notice, I never said I thought the place was full of spooks.”

  “Relax there, Mr. Skeptic,” said Dean, standing up and pulling a ten dollar bill from his billfold. He slid it under Ulrich's plate and gave a little wink. “You be sure to let me know if you need anything, you hear? I gotta mosey. Got a card game lined up this afternoon. Bunch of suckers from out of town. Wish me luck.”

  “What's this for?” asked Ulrich, picking up the money and thrusting it back towards Dean. “I appreciate it, but I didn't come here looking for charity.”

  Dean guffawed, backing away towards the door and refusing to take it back. “Don't worry about it, just consider it a down payment or something. If this game goes south and the rubes I'm playing with find out they've been swindled, I may have to bring you on board to help me beat 'em down.”

  Chapter 15

  Harrison had stayed only a while longer, chatting with Ulrich before returning home. By the time Ulrich had finished his food and taken his share of coffee, the day was fading into evening. Starting from Grounds for Thought, he drove back to Exeter House, ambling about the outside of the building for some time and wondering what might be in store for him as he headed into his third night. Maybe-- hopefully-- it would be a quiet night, free of frights or disturbances.

  He wasn't going to count on it, however.

  From a nearby gutter Ulrich fished out a piece of discarded steel pipe. Finding it light and stable, he carried it with him into the building, hoping he might use it as a weapon should a threat present itself in the night. As he started back towards the entrance, he noticed a handful of young men standing near one of the side doors. They were taking turns peering in, speaking to one another in hushed tones and laughing. They looked rough, some of them wearing bandanas around their necks, others in beat-up leather jackets. One of them, if Ulrich wasn't mistaken, was even wearing a pair of tungsten knuckles in broad daylight. His heart seized a little at noticing them. These were the thugs the woman at the bookstore had warned him about, the gang members who might have been breaking into the building and pestering him in the night. The door they were crowded around was locked; only the main entrance was open. Though they made no obvious effort to enter the building, things would probably change after nightfall.

  Taking notice of Ulrich, the small group disbanded, wandering from the building and casting narrow glances at the investigator as he headed into the main entrance.

  They were leaving now, but something told Ulrich that they wouldn't be gone for long. He clutched at the length of steel in his hand and hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

  Ulrich walked up the five flights, looking at the mural absentmindedly and counting out the steps under his breath. There was a large ship, its brown hull awash in brilliantly-rendered sea foam. Rounding another corner, Ulrich sighted the figure of Major Oliver, standing proudly with one hand tucked into his waistcoat.

  Stopping in his tracks, Ulrich studied the painting more closely. A little laugh dribbled from his lips on the back of a nervous tremor. Something, he fancied, had changed about the painting. For the life of him he couldn't remember seeing the Major standing in this manner before. It wasn't possible, of course, but something told him that the figure had changed. As though it were a living thing, the painting of Major Oliver had assumed a new stance, had moved since last he'd seen it. Ulrich ran his fingers against the wall, feeling the dry brush strokes. No, the Major had always been portrayed that way. His tired mind was simply playing tricks on him. Shaking his head as though he wished to knock a newly-accumulated dread out of his ears, he continued up the stairs and intentionally averted his gaze from the mural, lest he discover some other change he wasn't prepared for.

  The stairwell was alight in the last fumes of day, the sun coming in from behind a haze of grey clouds. When further filtered through the stained glass, the dying light proved even dimmer. It would probably rain again in the night, if the gathering clouds were any indicator.

  Starting across the hallway, he rummaged around in his pocket for his keys before stopping at the door to his room.

  The door was open.

  Ulrich's heart violently protested at the sight, and his mind was clouded with visions of both the lingering gang members outside, and of the thing he'd glimpsed the night before. It was possible someone had broken in. It was possible, too, that the intruder was still inside.

  But, who was it? Who could have broken into his room during his absence?

  Holding the length of pipe close, Ulrich inspected the door frame, the lock. There was no sign of its being forced, however.

  He knew he'd locked the thing before leaving. It was possible the lock had been picked, though with every passing moment that seemed less likely to him. Using the tip of the pipe to ease open his door from afar, he peered into the living room from the hall.

  Just ahead, on the floor between the kitchen and living room, Ulrich found the cat. Sparkles was sitting, watching something intently. Ulrich had to take only a single step to see what it was.

  Spinning on the wood floor like a top was the red inhaler.

  It spun and spun, hypnotically, never showing any sign of slowing down.

  Ulrich's heart quivered as he lowered the pipe and stepped into the room. The cat peered back at him as he entered. Rushing forth, Ulrich picked up the inhaler and looked at it incredulously before glancing affrightedly about the room and throwing it down on the kitchen counter. The thing wasn't moving now, was completely still. He tried to think up an explanation for the spinning-- perhaps the cat had been batting at it with his paw, causing it to spin-- but was getting mighty tired of having to furnish rational explanations for unnatural occurrences in the place.

  As he watched the object on the counter, he noticed it gave a half-turn to the right, the mouthpiece pointing in his direction.

  From behind him, the cat bolted out the door and into the hallway, as though following something.

  Chapter 16

  Ulrich's third night was underway, and he wasn't especially thrilled at the prospect. Drinking a glass of water and pacing through the living room, he watched through the windows as a light rain began to fall over the dark cityscape. Small drops like a misty blanket began to form on the panes, scarcely making a sound. Only the wind cut through the din of appliances.

  If he closed his eyes, Ulrich could hear the electricity coursing
through the wires in the walls. He could hear, too, the scampering of the cat as he rough-housed in the hall, or on the stairs.

  At least, he hoped it was the cat.

  The steel pipe was never far, and more than once, he found himself gravitating towards it, lifting it out before him as though it were a baseball bat. It gave him little comfort, however. Ulrich didn't want to have to defend himself, to risk his safety in a fight with some intruder.

  And if the intruders weren't living beings, like the thing that'd accosted him the night before, then a weapon likely wouldn't be of much use anyway.

  While swinging around the pipe, Ulrich accidentally knocked a vase off of a side table. It fell to the floor, erupting into pieces and showering the floorboards in a fine film of clay dust. “Oh, shit. Now you've done it, you oaf.” Setting aside the pipe, he bent down onto one knee and began to clear up the mess, carrying the wreckage by the handful to the garbage can in the kitchen. “I hope Jamieson doesn't notice,” he thought aloud, looking at the side table and finding it incongruously bare. Perhaps he'd put something else on the table to try and hide the fact that the vase was missing. Gathering up what he could of the smaller bits, Ulrich brushed away the remainder of the clay dust beneath the nearby accent rug and washed his hands.

  Checking the time, Ulrich saw it was past midnight. As good a time as any for his first round of the night. The bar was closed now, making Ulrich the building's only tenant. At least, I hope I'm the only one in this joint...

  With his phone in one hand, the flashlight app engaged, and the length of pipe in the other, Ulrich left his room quietly and had a look around the hall. Nothing was out of place; the lights were all working and the doors were all shut. Everything was as it should have been.