by Ron Ripley
“Joseph and the dogs?” William asked. “Oh, wait. You mean the guy who was swept out to sea? The guy Andrew killed?”
“Yes,” Sarah said. The chill moved from the left side of his face to the right, the voice closer to his ear. “Yes. You see, Andrew died the same way. Walking along with his little dog, too close to the waves. Far too close. Kathleen found him wandering in the Dunes and brought him in from the dark, away from the Abenaki. He is terribly angry, though. Horribly so."
“Andrew likes to think he made the choice to kill the man and the dogs. But Kathleen knows,” Sarah said confidentially. “Kathleen always knows."
“What does Kathleen know?” William asked.
“Never mind what Kathleen knows,” Kathleen said from the darkness. “Leave, Sarah.”
William heard the girl grumble and then the chill was gone.
“You are safe here, William,” Kathleen said.
William closed his eyes. “Thank you. But what about Brian?”
“He needs to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because he is not supposed to be here,” Kathleen answered in a stern voice. “There is an order and a rhythm to all of this. He is not part of it. He must leave.”
“Then I’ll leave too,” William said.
“You cannot leave,” Kathleen said. “You have to stay.”
Suddenly the house shook, and William opened his eyes.
All of the lights came on, and the flames in the hearth shot up with a roar.
Brian snapped up with a speed William didn’t think the older man possessed.
A shriek tore through the air, and a powerful light burst into the house as William got to his feet.
The sudden flare forced William’s eyes closed, and he let out a moan from the sharp pain. Strange, twisting patterns moved along the back of his eyelids.
Oh my God! What’s going on?
Before he could answer his own question, or even allow his eyes to become focused again, something slammed into his stomach. William gasped for breath as he stumbled backward and fell into his chair.
“Damn it!” Brian shouted, and William heard the sounds of a fight.
William’s head pounded, and he rubbed at his eyes. Finally, he opened them and looked around.
Brian was on the floor, and something was on top of the man. A large, dark shape. William heard a horrific snarl and his eyes widened as a gash opened up on the side of Brian’s face.
“Jesus!” William yelled as he leaped to his feet.
Brian glanced over at him. “Iron!!”
William didn’t see any iron beside Brian, but he knew where some iron was.
William ran to the kitchenette, took up the small cast iron frying pan from the stovetop and raced to Brian.
“Hit it! Hit it!” Brian screamed as another cut opened across his forehead.
And William swung for all he was worth.
The pan passed through the shadow and a howl of rage, fierce and desperate, pounded against William’s ears.
With the shape gone, William dropped the utensil and knelt down. He helped Brian to sit up. Blood seemed to pour out of the two wounds on the man’s face.
Looks worse than they are, William told himself. “Hold on, Brian.”
William got up and hurried to the bathroom. He dug out the first-aid kit, wet a face cloth and then he went back to Brian, who had his eyes closed against the blood as it dripped into his eyes and traced the contours of his face.
William started to clean the wounds and said, “What the hell was that?”
Brian gave a nervous chuckle. “I’m assuming a ghost. I didn’t catch the name, though.”
“Damn,” William said. He bandaged first the cut on the forehead, then the one on the cheek.
“Yeah,” Brian said with a deep sigh. “Damn, is right. Guess they really don’t want me here.”
William could only nod his agreement.
Chapter 20: Leo, October 20th, 1998
Leo waited.
He was alone in his house. His mother was out. His father would be home soon. Leo was waiting for his father.
Leo’s grandmother was waiting for his father, too.
Leo sat in his favorite chair, an ancient and battered Queen Anne whose better days were long ago. The chair had been a gift to his grandparents from his great-grandparents on their wedding.
Leo had his grandmother’s alarm clock on his lap. The mechanism ticked away happily and soothed his concerns.
This will be difficult. But I can do this. I know I can do this.
Mrs. Marseille had told him so, and Leo believed her.
Thinking about Mrs. Marseille he started to think about Sylvia, but Leo quickly pushed those pleasant and distracting thoughts away.
Focus.
Leo took a deep breath and watched the front door.
Something flickered to his right, and Leo looked out the corner of his eyes. Too much movement, he knew, would frighten his grandmother away and distract her from her goal.
The murder of his father.
Leo hoped he would be able to stop her, although he wasn’t sure.
Because she was waiting.
His grandmother stood with the proverbial patience of Job. Leo bided his time as well. He repeated the incantation he had memorized silently.
Vous ne pouvez pas passer. Je te lie ici pour cela.
You cannot pass. I bind you here to this.
Vous ne pouvez pas passer. Je te lie ici pour cela.
In his left hand, Leo held a small pouch of dried flowers and ground-up seeds. He had scoured fields and garden stores. Mrs. Marseille had helped him, yet this part, the capture of his grandmother was no one’s business but his own. The binding of his grandmother to the alarm clock, Leo alone would take up the task.
He would not allow another to take the risk.
Leo let out a slow sigh, which ended quickly.
He heard the familiar rumble of his father’s car as it pulled into the driveway. A moment later the engine was turned off, and that was quickly followed by the sound of the Ford’s door being closed.
Leo’s grandmother tensed, and he watched her hands open and close.
Wait, Leo told himself. You must wait. She must be completely distracted by the presence of my father. If she is not, I will lose the opportunity. If I lose the opportunity, she will come after me.
I will not escape her. None will be able to save me. To save myself I must save my father. To save myself and my father, I must bind my grandmother. Grandmother must be bound to the clock.
The key turned in the deadbolt.
Leo’s grandmother stood motionless.
The doorknob started to move.
Her attention was focused solely on the imminent arrival of Leo’s father.
And so Leo leaped forward.
Chapter 21: Whodoo Voodoo
Jenny was still passed out in the guest room when Sylvia glanced at the time.
Seven o’clock. Well, it’s not a social call.
She picked up her phone and dialed the number for the Marseille household.
The phone rang three times on the other end before a woman answered.
“Good morning,” Mrs. Marseille said.
“Good morning, Mrs. Marseille, this is Sylvia Purvis from the class of ninety-eight. I’m in need of some help,” Sylvia said anxiously. “I have a problem, and you’re the only one who can help me.”
There was a pause and then Mrs. Marseille said, “Is it about Leonidas Moreland?”
“No,” Sylvia said, surprised. “But he would have been able to help me if he was here.”
“He is here,” Mrs. Marseille said.
“No,” Sylvia said. “Leo passed away last month, Mrs. Marseille.”
“Yes,” she said, “I know, but he’s still here.”
Chapter 22: Morning Tea
Mrs. Marseille’s old Crown Victoria was parked at the curb, and the woman sat at Sylvia’s dining table with Sylvia and Jenny. Th
e retired teacher had a mass of beautiful silver hair pinned up artfully. She was much smaller than Sylvia remembered, and much more relaxed.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Sylvia,” Mrs. Marseille said, looking around the kitchen with an appreciative smile. “I’m always glad to see a student who’s done well. Did you ever do anything with your writing?”
Sylvia shook her head. “I submitted a few stories and poems. But I couldn’t deal with the rejection letters.”
“Ah,” Mrs. Marseille said knowingly. “Those are always difficult.”
Sylvia took a deep breath and prepared to ask the question when Jenny asked it for her.
“Mrs. Marseille,” Jenny said.
“Please, ladies, you’re both quite old enough to call me Jeannette. It is my name, after all.”
Jenny smiled nervously. “Well, Jeannette, I was wondering if maybe you could clarify what you said to Sylvia on the phone? About Leo?”
“About Leo still being here?” Jeannette asked.
Sylvia and Jenny nodded.
“Leo is extremely powerful,” Jeannette said slowly, weighing each word. “He died, but he did not move on. He chose to stay.”
“Do you know where he is?” Sylvia asked. She was surprised at the level of concern in her own voice.
Jeannette smiled at her. “I only know he is around. Back and forth. From here to there. He does check on you, but he prefers to do so when you are out and about.”
“Does he come into the house?” Jenny asked.
Jeannette shook her head. “He believes it would be too intrusive. But you have a question beyond Leo, do you not?”
“Yes,” Sylvia said, clearing her throat. “Yes. We thought a ghost had been destroyed, but it turns out he was only driven from his home. He was haunting in Mont Vernon, but he just popped up, literally, in another state.”
“Well, a ghost cannot be destroyed,” Jeannette said. “Chased away, encouraged to choose the light or the dark, but not destroyed. This ghost is angry, I take it?”
Sylvia nodded.
“Oh yes,” Jenny said, her face pale. “Extremely.”
“We wanted to know if there was something we could do about him before he hurts someone again,” Sylvia said.
“Do what Leo did,” Jeannette said. “Bind the ghost.”
“I don’t know how,” Sylvia said. “I haven’t been able to figure out how he bound them. I’ve been able to convince a few ghosts to leave, but I haven’t been able to use the book Leo left.”
Jeannette shook her head. “The book has nothing to do with it. It was only something for Leo to focus on. And besides, a simple tool like that wouldn’t work with this ghost, not if it doesn’t want to leave. What you need is something personal, like what Leo did with his grandmother. He told me you had his journal. Have you read about the binding of his grandmother?”
Sylvia shook her head. “I fell asleep last night at the part when he was waiting for his grandmother.”
Jeannette smiled. “Why don’t you go and get it, and I’ll help explain.”
Chapter 23: Leo and His Grandmother, October 20th, 1998
Leo slammed into the door and kept his father from opening it.
“Vous ne pouvez pas passer. Je te lie ici pour cela,” Leo said in a strong, calm voice.
His grandmother howled in rage. The sidelights on either side of the front door exploded from her fury.
“Vous ne pouvez pas passer. Je te lie ici pour cela,” Leo said again, casting the contents of the bag upon her form.
As each particle touched her, the smell of burning ozone filled his nose, and her eyes widened.
“Leonidas!” she yelled as she turned on him. “Leonidas, how dare you!”
Leo stood his ground.
“Vous ne pouvez pas passer. Je te lie ici pour cela,” he repeated.
And he held up the alarm clock.
“Vous ne pouvez pas passer. Je te lie ici pour cela.”
His grandmother screamed, and Leo felt blood explode out of his nose. He dropped to his knees.
Yet he still held onto the clock, and Leo scattered the last remnants of the bag onto her as he whispered, “I love you, Grandmother, mais vous ne pouvez pas passer. Je te lie ici pour cela. Je t’aime, grandmere. Je t’aime.”
And darkness swept over him.
Chapter 24: The Morning
Surprisingly the remnant of Brian’s unsmoked cigar was still neatly tucked between the side-view mirror and the car. Equally surprising was the steadiness of his hands as he reached out and picked up the cold tobacco and put the clipped end of the neatly wrapped leaves between his lips.
Brian dug his lighter out of his pocket. Within a few minutes, he was blowing clouds of smoke into the air and looking at the glowing tip. He thought about what William had told him.
Kathleen didn’t want William to leave.
And she doesn’t want me to stay, Brian thought. He reached his free hand up to his head and touched the bandages. First the one on the cheek, nothing more than a long scratch, and then the one on his head.
I should probably get stitches for that.
Whoever had beat Brian up was not pleased with him.
A dog growled behind Brian, and he tensed up.
“Quiet, Thor,” a man said.
Brian turned around slowly and saw a man standing a good ten feet away from him. It doesn’t matter. Those dogs are huge.
And they were huge. Great Danes, one black and the other white. An older man stood between them, the leashes connected to a walking belt. The man’s arms were folded across his chest as he looked at Brian. Beyond and through the man, Brian could see the dunes.
After a moment of silence, the old man asked, “What’s your name?”
Brian cleared his throat and moved the cigar away from his mouth. “Brian.”
“Brian,” the man said with a nod. “Brian. Well, Brian, my name is Joseph, and these are my dogs, Odin, and Thor.”
“A pleasure,” Brian said.
“Likewise,” Joseph said. He smiled. “I wanted to thank you and your friend for trying to rescue me and the dogs. I know the water was far too cold for you come in. But I digress. You need to leave here, Brian.”
“Because of this,” Brian asked. He pointed to his head injury.
“Yes. Jack wants you out more than Andrew does. Jack’s a hard man.”
“Thanks,” Brian started.
Joseph held up a hand. “I’m sorry, Brian. I’m not finished just yet.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I was in the bathroom when Paul came in,” Joseph continued.
“Oh.”
Joseph nodded. “Kathleen is strong. She casted him away from here, but he’s coming back. And I heard the others talking about how strong he was. I think it took him a while to find you, Brian, so you may want to get back to wherever you were.”
“At his old house,” Brian murmured.
“Oh. I wish you the best of luck then, Brian,” Joseph said, and then he and his dogs vanished.
Brian knocked the head off of the cigar, relit it, and leaned against his car.
A moment later William came out. He had on running gear, but the young man didn’t look particularly enthused about the idea of morning exercise.
“You want to take a walk on the beach with me?” William asked. “I usually go for a run, but I’m not really feeling it today, you know?”
“Yeah,” Brian nodded. “I know. I had a morning visitor.”
William looked at him sharply. “Who?”
“The guy with the dogs from yesterday.”
“I thought I heard you talking. What did he say?”
“Let’s start the walk,” Brian said. “I’ll tell you on the beach.”
William gave a nod, and together they made their way along the narrow path through the dune to a short distance from the water’s edge. The tide was in, the water high and the waves angry as Brian repeated what Joseph had said. They turned to the right, keeping the Atla
ntic on their left.
“How did Paul find you, though?” William asked when Brian had finished.
“Wish I knew,” Brian said. He glanced at his watch. Seven thirty-three in the morning. “Hey, when we get back could I use your cell to call my wife?”
“Sure thing,” William said.
The clouds above them grew darker and seemed to sink lower until the edges were far too close to the earth.
A cold wind raged in suddenly off of the ocean to bite deeply into Brian’s exposed face and hands.
“Jesus Christ,” Brian grumbled. He tried to pull his neck farther into his jacket as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“Yeah,” William agreed. “This is pretty nasty.”
Brian went to reply but a quick movement up ahead caught his eye.
The motion had come from the tall grass on the dunes. Something wasn’t right. An off color.
Then men appeared.
They simply appeared in the middle of the beach not fifty yards from them. They were hauling a longboat in through the surf. The men wore the clothes of the early English settlers, and all of them were armed with muskets.
Brian and William came to a stop, and they waited.
Neither of the two said anything as they watched the scene unfold before them.
The strangers paid no attention to Brian or William. Instead, they focused upon the dunes and the grass. Occasionally they glanced left to right, but the intensity of their gaze was reserved solely for their immediate front.
“Jeduthan and Obadiah,” a man said. “Quickly to the fore.”
Two men broke away. They moved cautiously to the edge of the grass.
The roar of muskets and hideous screams exploded in the air. Jeduthan and Obadiah fell. One of them writhed in the sand as their colleagues fired at the Indians who raced out of the grass.
The Indians were the stuff of nightmares.
The paint the warriors wore on their faces, the howls they let loose into the morning sky, and the tomahawks and long knives they carried all twisted Brian’s stomach into a knot of pure fear. He watched, horrified as the Indians made short work of the men from the boat. One man, Brian saw, wasn’t even a man yet.