She thinks back to when everything changed. At first, when she moved here, she was the typical new girl, but quickly became the most popular girl in school. She became lead cheerleader of the Pom Squad. Her grades were always the best in the class and everyone was voting for her to be prom queen. Even the most popular girls in the school took a strong liking to her. There was some aura about her that endeared her to everyone. These kindred feelings amongst her peers couldn’t last forever though. Daddy’s perfect little girl was about to become the town’s worst nightmare.
After she met Emily, everything changed. Emily was known as the town goth girl. It seems that every small town has that one person who sticks out. She was always in detention at school. She indulged in drinking and getting high. They ran into each other one night after a particularly long day at school. To add to the desolation that surrounded the events of the day, she was stuck waiting for the bus in the middle of a torrential rain. Emily offered her a ride, much to her surprise. Even though she felt like Emily had some ulterior motive, which would eventually come to fruition, she still accepted this unusual display of altruism. It seemed Emily possessed this same magnetic aura that she seemed to have with others. This one, supposedly chance, meeting started her on a downward spiral.
She felt like she never had before, though. She realized her life had been a bore up until now. Doing things by the book was no way to experience life. Her grades started to slip. She would steal her father’s liquor and raid his weed stash. She and Emily would hide out in the cemetery down the street. It was peaceful, and everyone was too scared to look for them there. As she spent more and more of her time hanging out with Emily, she started coming home past curfew. It became so severe that her parents resorted to locking her out, so she would head down the street and sleep in one of the mausoleums in the cemetery. It was the perfect shield against the rain, and if the night was cool, she would grab some nearby twigs and leaves and burn them until she fell asleep.
It was with Emily that she learned how to cut. She used the blades Emily stole from her father. At first, they would make little nicks on their skin just to see themselves bleed. It wasn’t enough though. The sight of blood became such an intensity for her, so she cut a little deeper hoping to heighten the experience. She would watch the blood stream down her arm and then drip to the floor. Sometimes they would taste their own blood and other times they would taste each other’s. There was something enlightening and endearing about it that seemed to seal their friendship. This new hobby of theirs is what caused Emily’s accident.
It brought tears to her eyes as she lay there alone, wrapped in her memories, enveloped by her fears of her empty future without her best friend. She went into her closet and grabbed her Cradle of Filth long-sleeve. It didn’t matter how warm it was outside. It was her look and people just had to accept it. She didn’t want to return to her family downstairs. They acted like she wasn’t even there, so she ran downstairs and headed out the front door to the only place that gave her some sort of sanity. Down the street, she followed the hums of the dead. She knew she could hide out there for a while and then head home to face her parents again. As she walked through the cemetery, reading the beautiful poetry on the headstones, she knew exactly which words should go on Emily’s. As she whispered them to herself, the tears returned. It was the poem that Emily read to her the first night they kissed. She ran to the headstone to see if there enough space for the epitaph. A bolt of lightning found its way to the earth, burning the leaves surrounding her grave, and sending her body flying back. As she fell to the ground, her head landed on a stone. Memories came crashing back. She remembered seeing the blood pouring down her arm. The taste at first filled her with lust and sensuality, but she remembered feeling nauseous after drinking too much. She looked back at the headstone and let out a scream so loud the ground seemed to shake under her.
Emily Morris
b. March 24, 1996
d. March 24, 2013
As she sat there in a state of shock, she heard people approaching the cemetery. She saw the crowd all dressed in black making their way inside. In front were her parents, holding a picture of her with tears in their eyes as they came to say their last goodbye to their daughter.
END.
“Obviously, this girl is dead. We aren’t recruiting ghosts,” the voice said.
“Who programmed you with a sense of humor?” Mason asked.
“Kiev,” she said matter-of-factly. “The recruit is a girl that saw all of this. She is very open and able to see many beings that others don’t see. She would be a great addition to our team.”
“I’m on it,” Mason said. His car popped up and he was off to talk to the girl, Natasha Nikola. The car took him to the cemetery parking lot. The girl was sitting by the grave of Brandy Cornell. “Did you know her?”
“Yes, but we weren’t really friends,” Natasha said.
“You seem to be doing a lot of intense thinking about someone you weren’t really friends with,” Mason said.
“Let’s just say I’ve come to know her better,” Natasha replied.
“Because you can see her,” Mason said, “or because you can see and feel what she does?”
Natasha’s eyes got really big, “Who…what are you?”
“I am human; my name is Mason Shandy. I work for the government,” he said.
“What does the government want with me?” she asked.
“I’m here to offer you a job,” Mason said. “I’m a recruiter for a very special branch of the government, ultra-top secret.”
“Wow! Really?” she asked.
“Really,” he said. “We know you have special gifts and we’d like you to help us.”
“No offence,” she said, “but do you have identification or something?”
Mason smiled and laughed a little, “Good, skepticism is a good thing. Question everything, and yes, I do.” He pulled out his badge from under his shirt. “This is my real work badge, but it won’t help you.” He pulled out his wallet and showed her a NSA badge. “This is my usual identification.”
“Wow! This is for real!” she exclaimed.
“Are you interested?” Mason asked.
“Definitely!” Natasha replied. “Maybe they can help me turn it off; I’m sick of seeing things. When I can see things, they can sometimes see me. Most of the ghosts, like Brandy, are too self-involved to notice me. Other things notice me and attack.”
“Yes, exactly, and they can help you with that,” Mason said. “I think you need us as much as we need you.”
“If not more,” Natasha said quietly.
“Well,” Mason said, “if you’re that sure you’re interested, come with me.”
Natasha hesitated for a moment, realizing she was about to get into a car with a stranger. His badge could be faked, she supposed. If she didn’t go, she would wonder for the rest of her life. She started making plans in her head for what she would do to protect herself if he was lying. She was able to call things that could kill him if she needed to. “Okay, let’s go.” She got up and followed him to the car.
After they were both in the car and situated, Mason pushed a button and they were suddenly in the garage.
“Whoa!” Natasha said. “Now I know you’re the real deal.”
Mason took her to a special mentor to help her learn to defend herself and control her abilities.
CHAPTER 7: MORK’S DISAPPOINTMENT
There wasn’t really a weekend; people got days off, but there was always work to do. Since their work was so important, they had to rotate weekends. Weekends were often even more busy than weekdays. This weekend was a busy one.
Bertha was running as fast as her heels could take her. There were UFO sightings all over the place, some portals to other dimensions had been opened, and numerous cryptid sightings. When she got in the elevator to give the next case number to someone, “Under Pressure” by Queen and David Bowie played on the ride down. “Oh accurate, elevator!” she said.
/> When the doors opened, she yelled, “Josh Green!” a little too harshly. She took a deep breath and said, “Sorry, Josh.”
“No problem, I can see you’re stressed,” Josh said. “Weekends are always crazy.”
“Whew, you said it,” she said. “Here you go, gotta run. Good luck!” She ran back into the elevator.
Josh went to the garage, swiped his finger, and entered his case number. “Good morning, Agent Green.”
“Good morning,” Josh said.
“Your assignment today starts with some letters about…:”
“THE SLIVER OF WOOD”
Nov. 8th, 2015
Dear Janice,
I am writing to tell you about the gruesome discovery that was made from the unearthing of the vacant lot behind our old house at 9016 North Holloway street. The article was in yesterday’s newspaper. Wisconsin public service workmen were trenching that vacant lot to put in new steam pipes leading to the old funeral home, which was renovated years ago and turned into an apartment building. They tore up that old parking lot and trenched into the vacant lot. They made a grisly discovery in that old lot. The newspaper article said bones of men, women, and children were found buried therein. The police department has announced a full investigation. They will be excavating the entire area of that old lot to search for any more remains. Police say the bodies were more than likely supposed to be cremated, but were buried by crooked morticians. I thought you would find this news shocking, but something has been disturbing me since I read that article yesterday. When I was four years old, living in the Holloway street house with my mother, I saw her through the window overlooking the lot one summer morning, burying something right next to the driveway. Right to the side of the vacant lot next to our home. I didn’t think much of and eventually forgot about it. This article made me think of it. There is probably no connection between the two, but I did see her with a garden shovel in the yard. It looked like she was burying some kind of metal box. In any event, I think I will inquire with the police to find out if they recovered some kind of box.
I feel like I’ve been delaying writing you this letter. This is as hard for me as it will be for you, Janice. Kris was cremated at Crematorium. If these bones discovered really are the skeletons of people who were meant to be cremated but were buried instead, could Kris’ remains be among the skeletons? This is an issue that needs to be looked into, Janice, as terrible as it may seem. I think you need to get down here to investigate, or at least make a few telephone calls to the police department. Tomorrow I will go to the site and inquire about the box. I ‘m sorry if this is upsetting you, Janice. But I thought you need to know. That’s all for now but I will write again soon. Feel free to write to me if you like.
Sincerely,
Martin
Nov. 13, 2015
Janice,
I went down to the old house. The whole lot is all torn up. More skeletons were found. Inquired about the box. The police found no box, but I pointed out the general area where my mother buried it. I estimated the place as best I could, considering how long ago it was.
After digging a while they found the box. I must say, I was quite horrified indeed. It was a green metal lock box. The police man broke the lock. Inside, wrapped in cloth, was an old book. I did not get a close look at it before they whisked it away. It looked like a leather-bound book. Its contents proved little revelation and the detective present made the comment “mumbo jumbo.” The pages were covered with different types of diagrams. The policeman said the writing was in some kind of different languages. The police think there is no connection. But Janice, why would she bury some bizarre book in a metal box? I can’t stop thinking about it.
The police told me that the owners of the old funeral home are in custody, but one of the Jones brothers is still out there. There were three of them that owned the place and there were only two arrested. No one seems to know his whereabouts. Janice, I really think you need to come down here and talk to these detectives. They have found several children’s skeletons and as unbearable as all this is, it may be that one of those skeletons could be Kris’ remains. Janice, I’m sorry, that’s all I can say. Please write to me, or drop in if you come to town.
Sincerely,
Martin
Dec. 3, 2015
Janice,
Received your letter post marked Nov. 18th. I can understand your dismay at all I’ve written to you. With your permission, and the letter you wrote to the detectives in charge, I did ask for the results of the dental records comparison on the nine children’s skeletons. Janice, I’m sorry that I have to tell you this, but one of them is Kris. I can understand if you don’t want to come down to this nightmare. I will make arrangements for a cremation with Cornfeld funeral home if you like, or you can make arrangements on your own. Attached is the address and phone number for the funeral home. I’m sorry. The one Jones brother is still at large, and the other two brothers’ hearing is scheduled for February 2nd. There is no bail set for those two. I have a feeling they’ll be going away for a long time. The town is in an uproar. These are the most unspeakable atrocities one can imagine, and here, right next to our old house. I haven’t been able to sleep, and after reading this I suspect you’ll be much worse. For now, stay in touch and tell me what we should do from here.
Martin
Dec. 29, 2015
Janice,
Kris’ remains were cremated at Cornfeld crematorium. I spread her ashes at Norton path, as you requested. I can understand how unbearable it must be to experience this madness, but you can ease your mind, it has been done. The third Jones brother still has not been found yet. If you need someone to talk to, Janice, I will always be here for you. Out of curiosity, I asked one of the detectives on the case about that book my mother buried. He said they suspect no connection between the crime itself and the book, but they are keeping it in evidence nonetheless. I inquired about the title of the book. The detective informed me that they were having a hard time translating it. However, they did conclude that the title was some form of broken Aramaic or Babylonian; it reads “Hastifuge’s Entrance.” I can’t help but wonder what that means, what my mother was doing with it, and why she buried it. On another note, I am relieved all this is over for us, and I want you to know I will no longer be reading newspaper articles on the topic nor will I inquire to the police about the case. My deepest regards to you, and as always, I’m here for you.
Sincerely,
Martin
Jan. 15, 2016
Janice,
I have more news. The third Jones was found. His brothers broke down and told the detectives where he was. The whole ordeal was rather disturbing, not that they found him, but what they found inside his house. According to newspapers, the man had an entire macabre museum in his home. He had a collection of human skulls, most with crude paintings on them, preserved human hands and organs inside glass jars, and mummified human bodies, among other morbidly demonic artifacts. He had an extensive library of occult books dealing in cannibalism, black magic, and demonology. I thought you should know this. This is shining a whole new light on the entire case; the Jones are now suspected in some kind of cult activity. I fear that the book my mother buried in that lot now has some kind of connection to it all. I can’t stop thinking of the name Hastifuge for some reason; since this last revelation it’s been on my mind all day. How deep does this go? What does it mean? I feel as though some distant memories from my childhood involving my mother and that house have some significance in what’s happening, but I don’t know. I suspect it is possible my mother has some involvement in this. I may do some checking around about that old book. If I find anything out, I will write you and tell you what I uncover.
Martin
Feb. 10, 2016
Janice,
I have more news on the Joneses. They were tried together and found guilty of desecration of the dead, conspiracy to conceal dead bodies, and negligent use of a funerary practice. The newspapers said th
ey were solemn as the verdicts were read, and said nothing throughout the hearings. They were all sentenced to 55 years in the state penitentiary with no possibility of parole. The third brother is also facing separate charges for possession of the skulls, and atrocities found in his home. Dental records proved the skulls in his home were from folks that were supposedly cremated. Finally, this has come to an end. The culprits have been brought to justice, but how agonizing this must be for the families involved to find out such a wicked and perverse crime has taken place. As this ends, I will write to you no more on this topic.
I continue to search for more information on my mother’s book. Recently, I have employed the services of a type of book detective who also specializes in the findings and translations of rare and obscure ancient books. He is a rather strange fellow; I have only met him twice now. His name is Dentner, and he seems rather secretive about his business, but he assures me that he will provide at least some kind of explanation regarding that book, Hastifuge’s Entrance. I fear something sinister is at hand involving my mother! There are some things about my childhood at the Holloway street house that I have never told you about before. I have always known of your skepticism on anything paranormal, or supernatural. There was something in or around that house, something ungodly. I always felt as if there had always been some force or presence there. I feel as though time has diluted my memories of the strange occurrences from my childhood. Dentner is a skilled hypnotist, by his reputation. I may undergo some type of hypnotic regression to retrieve those missing memories. I fell down the cement steps leading to the cellar when I was six, suffering a severe concussion. That may have had an impact on my memories.
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