by Ron Ripley
“Yes,” Leo said.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Leonidas Moreland,” Leo answered. “Who are you?”
“Donovan. Donovan Elkhound.”
“Donovan,” Leo said. “Can you come through the door and into this part of the hall?”
The ghost stepped through and looked both surprised and wary.
“You’re alive,” Donovan said.
“Yes,” Leo said, straightening up. “You are dead.”
“I am,” Donovan said sadly. “I am.”
“Why are you here?” Leo asked.
Donovan looked at him with a confused expression. “Why wouldn’t I be here? Where else would I be?”
“Do you know you can leave this place?” Leo said. “Do you know you can go beyond this world?”
Donovan looked frightened, and he took a cautious step back. “I can’t.”
Leo frowned. “Why?”
“How would I get there? I don’t know how to get anywhere. My father brought me here when I wouldn’t stop crying. He told me to wait for him. He told me he would be back.”
“Did he come back?” Leo asked although he was sure he knew the answer.
“No.”
“What did you do?” Leo said.
“I snuck into the dispensary,” Donovan sniffled. “Ethan, the night nurse, he wasn’t looking. He was arguing with his wife. They had just finished their honeymoon, and he was telling her she was a spoiled brat. I grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills they used to help Marianne, and I went back to my room. I took all of them.”
Leo nodded.
“After I died,” Donovan continued, “I woke up here. I don’t know how long. Ethan looked older. Some things looked different. The television was color.”
“You don’t have to stay here,” Leo said as Donovan stopped talking. “You can leave.”
“I don’t know how,” Donovan whispered. Fresh tears filled his eyes. “I can’t get off of this floor. None of the doors will open. I’m locked in.”
Leo reached into the breast pocket of the flannel pajamas his mother had brought him a few days earlier. He took out a small, red book. It was no more than an inch square. A perfect miniature reprint of William Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Leo had found it in the hospital library, tucked behind a book on the cardiovascular system.
Leo would use it. He wouldn’t bind Donovan to it. But he felt certain he could invite the young ghost into the book.
I can bring him to my room and help him leave.
Leo held the book up for Donovan to see.
Donovan blinked away his tears and looked at the book. “What is it?”
“Just a book,” Leo said. “But you can go into the book, Donovan. And if you do I can bring you to my room. From my room, I can help you leave.”
Donovan’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
Leo smiled. “I am.”
“What do I do?” Donovan whispered.
“Close your eyes and move into the book.”
Leo watched the ghost do so, and then Donovan faded from sight.
Macbeth grew cold in his hand. Leo held onto it tightly and made his way back to his room. He slipped past a pair of security guards complaining about football. He hid in the shadows of the stairwell and waited for a nurse to finish a cigarette. On his own floor, he waited for the night doctor to enter the room at the other end of the hall. Then Leo snuck past the nurse’s station, eased through his open door and climbed into his own bed.
He kept the book in his hand and feigned sleep when the doctor came in shortly after. A few minutes later the man left, and Leo sat up. He looked at the book in his hand.
Something rattled to his left and Leo looked to see his grandmother’s alarm clock on the window sill.
The timepiece was shaking ever so slightly.
It lasted only a moment.
She is getting stronger already.
Chapter 29: The Drive
The ride back from Maine had been nerve-racking.
Each noise on the highway, every sudden shadow, the random bumps, all of them made Brian believe Paul was back.
Brian spent more time looking fearfully in the rearview mirror at his backseat than he did checking for traffic.
Paul was back, and Paul was unhappy.
I’m not in the best of moods either, Brian thought as he guided the car along Route Three towards Nashua.
No, Brian wasn’t happy. He was afraid. And he was in pain. The cuts on his forehead and face hurt like hell, as did his neck from when Paul had attempted to literally choke the life out of him.
Overall, the night had been a miserable experience. Soon he would be with Jenny, though, and her presence would go a long way towards soothing the hurt.
But we still need to deal with Paul, Brian thought. Hell. I told William I’d be back this weekend to help with all of his ghosts.
He glanced again into the rearview mirror, saw the empty back seat and sighed in relief. He didn’t know if a ghost could hitchhike, but Brian didn’t exactly want to find out either. He was fairly certain Paul would gain a disgustingly sick amount of pleasure by causing an accident.
One resulting in a painful death for Brian.
Brian stifled a yawn, cracked open the driver’s side window and shuddered at the initial blast of cold air. For the entire drive, fear and lack of sleep had eaten at his thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to get home and curl up with Jenny in bed.
But he couldn’t do that.
He needed to get to Sylvia’s and meet Jenny there. Something had to be figured out about Paul. He had to be dealt with.
Brian’s stomach cramped painfully, and he grimaced.
Twenty minutes to go, he thought. Brian glanced at his phone and the ghost phone, both of them on the front passenger seat. His cell was plugged into the car charger, but it was only slowly building back up to full power. The other was still dead.
Brian felt uneasy as he drove, as though someone was in the car with him.
Nerves, he told himself. And you’re overtired. You’ll be fine once you get to Sylvia’s.
He thought about calling Jenny, or even shooting her a text. New Hampshire had instituted a hands-free policy for cells, though, and Brian had no desire to deal with any police. His temper was short, and he didn’t need to make life worse by snapping at some guy trying to enforce the laws.
Just make it to Jenny, he told himself. You don’t need to do anything else.
The car’s radio turned on.
The digital readout jumped around for a moment before settling on 99.5, the Boston, Massachusetts classical radio station.
Brian tried not to look at the radio.
He tried to keep the car moving at a steady sixty miles an hour.
He couldn’t hear the radio host’s words, but when the music started, the volume seemed to grow louder.
“Für Elise” started to play.
The piece was beautiful, one Brian had always enjoyed listening to.
Yet now it scared him to death, and he started to speed down the highway towards exit 4 and Sylvia’s house.
Chapter 30: Jenny, Sylvia, and Jeannette
The three women sat at the table in silence.
Jenny was certain the look on Sylvia’s face mirrored her own.
Jeannette, for her part, filled her cup with tea and calmly sipped from it.
“Leo’s grandmother was your instructor?” Sylvia finally said.
“Yes,” Jeannette said with a nod. She smiled. “I had lost touch with her decades before I met Leo, mind you. And Leo’s last name was his father’s. Thus, I did not know Leo from his father when Leo introduced himself.”
“Was she strong when you knew her?”
“Florence?” Jeannette asked. “Incredibly so. Frightfully so. You see, when I was injured attempting to bind the ghost, Florence stepped forward. She didn’t cajole or attempt to stop the dead with the spell. She grasped the spirit as easily as if it were nothing more than
an old shirt. Then Leo’s grandmother stuffed it into the book I used to focus my thoughts upon while trying to help those who had passed.”
“What book?” Jenny asked, her stomach quivering uneasily.
“A Lilliput edition of Shakespeare’s Macbeth,” she smiled. “My husband had purchased the entire set for me when we were dating.”
“Small and red?” Sylvia asked in a low voice.
“Why yes,” Jeannette said, nodding. “I lost it years ago. Oh, good Lord, the last time I remember seeing it was before I became a teacher at the high school.”
“Leo had it,” Sylvia said.
Jenny nodded. “I saw it when he came to our house.”
“Where did he get it?” Jeannette asked, confused.
“The hospital,” Sylvia said. She gestured towards Leo’s journal on the table. “I read about it earlier.”
“How strange,” Jeannette said in low voice. She shook her head. “I really don’t remember losing it. Or getting rid of it. I know I never brought it to the hospital. The last place I remember using it was in a house in Maine.”
Jenny cleared her throat and asked, “Where in Maine?”
Jeannette frowned for a moment as she tried to remember. “Ah. A little town called Wells. Right near Ogunquit. Do you know where it is?”
Jenny could only nod.
“What did you do there?” Sylvia asked, and Jenny could hear the tension in her friend’s voice.
“I helped a woman who lived on the beach. Her husband had been one of my husband’s doctoral professors, and they reached out to us. She, Mrs. Oso, felt there was a ghost in her house,” Jeannette said.
“And there was?” Sylvia asked.
Jeannette nodded. “There was. The ghost didn’t want to leave, though.”
“Why?” Jenny asked.
“He, the ghost had been a young man when he died,” Jeannette said, “told me he was waiting for someone. A woman. He had gotten lost and couldn’t find his way back. When I asked him if he wanted to move on, to leave the house, he told me he only wanted to get back to the woman.”
Before Jenny or Sylvia could ask another question, Jenny heard a car door close. Sylvia got up, looked out the front window and a moment later she was letting Brian in.
Jenny stood up and hurried to him.
Brian looked ragged.
Stubble had grown in on his head and face. His face was pale, his eyes dark. On both his forehead and his left cheek were bandages. His broad shoulders seemed to sag, and if someone could have lost weight overnight, Jenny was sure Brian had. His large frame seemed smaller. Dull red marks stood out glaringly on his throat.
“Jesus, Babe,” Jenny said, unable to keep the worry out of her voice. “Are you okay?”
Brian nodded. He let Jenny guide him to the table, and she sat him down next to her chair.
Jeannette looked at Brian with concern.
“Oh, Jeannette,” Jenny said, sitting down and taking hold of Brian’s hand, “this is my husband, Brian.”
“A pleasure, Brian,” Jeannette said. “Are you quite sure you’re alright?”
“Yes,” Brian said with a tired smile. “I had a difficult night.”
“Who hit you?” Jenny asked, taking his chin and turning his head slightly.
“A ghost,” Brian said. “Evidently he didn’t want me in the house. Maine ghosts are evidently as bad tempered as New Hampshire ghosts when they want to be.”
Before Jenny could say anything else Jeannette asked, “What part of Maine?”
“Wells,” Brian answered.
“Brian,” Sylvia said, “do you want coffee or tea or anything?”
“Coffee would be great, Sylvia, thank you,” he said.
“What part of Wells?” Jeannette asked.
The intensity in the older woman’s voice snatched Jenny’s attention away from Brian and brought Sylvia to a stop.
Brian looked at her for a moment and then he answered, “A little house. White and green, I think, down at the end of Coast Road.”
“Was there a woman named Kathleen there?”
Brian squeezed Jenny’s hand.
“Yes,” he answered.
“And did you meet a ghost named Andrew?”
A bitter laugh escaped Brian’s mouth, and he nodded. “Yes. Yes, I certainly did. Why do you ask?”
“I spoke with him decades ago,” Jeannette said in a low voice. “He was waiting for Kathleen. I was wondering if she had ever found him.”
“She did,” Brian said angrily. “And I wish to God she hadn’t.”
Chapter 31: Leo, November 5th, 1998
Anger woke Leo up.
Not his own, but someone else’s.
A terrible anger.
Leo looked around the room and realized it was darker than usual. The air stank of death, an old, sour smell which caused his tongue to curl and his eyes to water.
Something shuffled in a shadow beneath the wall-mounted television.
Leo could feel it looking at him.
He sat up and adjusted the blankets around his waist. This was to be his last night in the hospital, only one of the tests was left and his mother had insisted on it. Leo would be subjected to it in the morning.
The thing moved again. A harsh, scratching sound slipped into the room.
Leo felt nervous. A small knot of fear formed in his stomach, and he forced himself to ignore it.
“Who are you?” Leo asked.
Silence answered him.
Leo frowned.
“What is your name?” Leo asked. He concentrated on each word. Leo filled them with as much force as he could muster.
The thing let out an angry hiss and shuffled forward.
Leo had difficulty seeing it in the heavy darkness.
What he saw was enough.
What had once been a man stood a few feet away. Most of the flesh was shredded and hung in ragged strips. The man’s genitals were plainly evident and disturbingly aroused.
“Tell me your name,” Leo commanded.
The red wrecks which had once been lips and now framed shattered teeth twitched. A vicious black bile spilled out at the corners of its mouth, and the thing said, “Caleb.”
“Why are you here?” Leo asked.
Caleb laughed, and a muscle twitched horrifically in his neck.
“Tell me why you are here,” Leo demanded.
“I want you gone!” Caleb spat.
“I will be tomorrow.”
“Now,” Caleb growled. “Now. Now!”
A wave of energy pulsed out and pushed against Leo.
Leo held himself steady.
“You will leave now,” Leo said in a low voice.
Caleb let out a harsh laugh. “Child, you cannot force me out.”
“You will not speak again.”
Caleb croaked out a sound yet no words were formed.
Fear intermingled with the anger Leo felt emanating from the ghost.
“You will leave. You will leave this place. You will move on.”
The room shuddered, and someone yelled out in the hallway. The windows shattered outwards with a crash painful to Leo’s ears.
As the blinds snapped in with a cold breeze, the room started to brighten.
Caleb tried to step back into the shadow.
“Hold!” Leo said loudly.
Caleb shuddered to a stop. His foul erection collapsed.
“Leave and move on,” Leo commanded.
Caleb shook his head, and black ichor splashed across the walls and floor.
“Leave and move on!”
Caleb’s mouth opened wide, and pure fear exploded through the room.
And then Caleb was gone.
The bile from the ghost’s wounds remained as did the stench.
The room brightened and in the hallway, people spoke loudly, confused.
Leo looked at the shards of glass which had been knocked in by the blinds. He was suddenly tired and stifled a yawn. He reached down to his feet, took h
old of the extra blanket and pulled it up over his shoulders and laid back down.
Leo closed his eyes. One more test in the morning. Then I will be home.
Chapter 32: At Sylvia’s
Sylvia looked at Brian and Jenny, and then to Jeannette.
Brian had gotten some of his color back, and he was working on his second cup of coffee. He had told them of the night. The death of a man and his dogs. The attack upon Brian as he slept. The return of Paul Kenyon.
“So,” Sylvia said after a lull in the conversation, “if Paul has returned, it presents a larger question.”
“What?” Jenny asked.
“Will Leo’s grandmother return as well?” Sylvia asked.
Brian closed his eyes and let out a bitter laugh. “Fantastic. Fantastic.”
“We’ll have to ask Leo,” Jeannette said.
“Will he speak to you again?” Sylvia asked.
“Hold on,” Brian interrupted, opening his eyes. “Did I just hear you say you’ll have to ask Leo?”
“Yes,” Jeannette answered. “I’ve spoken to him several times.”
“You can speak to the dead?” Brian asked.
“Yeah, she can, Babe,” Jenny said, giving him a quick kiss on his uninjured cheek. “Sorry about leaving crucial info out.”
“Hey, it’s all good,” Brian said with a sigh. “So, I’m sorry, Jeannette, do you know where he is?”
She shook her head. “He visits me occasionally, but nothing predictable. We would need to find a place he was comfortable with in life. Which would be his home, I would think.”
“His books,” Sylvia said, smiling. “He loved his books. Jeannette, would you be willing to come with us to his library?”
“I could later today,” Jeannette said. “I have a doctor’s appointment in an hour.”
“Well,” Jenny said, “it works out. Brian and I could get back home, clean up and find something of Paul’s, I hope.”
Brian nodded. “We’ll go into the barn. I know he had things in there. I didn’t touch them. Even after I thought the little psychopath was gone.”
“Excellent,” Sylvia said. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and smiled at them all. “Shall we all meet at Leo’s place at, say one o’clock?”