Demons Are a Ghoul's Best Friend

by Victoria Laurie

  “Ironic that the employee is bailing out the employer,” I said.

  “No one knows where Skolaris came up with so much cash. That house is a gorgeous old thing, and Habbernathy probably sold it for a lot less than it was worth just to get out from underneath it.”

  “So that’s when Winston moved back onto the campus of the school?”

  Muckleroy nodded. “Yeah. His school limped along financially for a few years, until the Olympics came to town and he gave tours of the school to all the rich parents who came here with their kids to watch the games. His school was saved that year; otherwise, I think he’d have gone under.”

  For the second time that morning there was a knock on our door. Gil and I exchanged a curious look, and he got up to see who it was. “Expecting company?” Muckleroy asked.

  “No,” I replied. “But it’s just my luck to have company come over when I’m looking so pretty.”

  Muckleroy smiled sympathetically at me. “It’s not too bad,” he said. “Maybe if you got a hat it wouldn’t be so noticeable.”

  Again a male voice I thought I recognized echoed along with Gilley’s through the front hallway, and that was when Gilley appeared, leading none other than Dean Habbernathy, looking a bit disheveled and deeply concerned. “Oh, my,” the dean said when he saw me. “Nicholas said that you had been injured last evening, and I wanted to come by and see how you are.”

  “I’m fine, sir,” I said, forcing a smile. “Please have a seat.”

  It was then that he seemed to notice Detective Muckleroy, and as I watched the mixture of emotions flash across his face the dean said, “Good morning, Bob. I’m surprised to see you’re getting involved in this.”

  “Owen, good to see you,” said Muckleroy. “And I usually get involved in cases that involve murder.”

  The dean seemed to fall heavily into the chair at the table, his face draining of color. “Mur-murder?” he stammered. “Who’s been murdered?”

  “As far as we can tell, three young boys so far. One of them we dug up just off school property, at Hole Pond.”

  If it was possible for Habbernathy’s face to lose any more color, it did at that moment, and I couldn’t help noticing that the dean thought about his response very carefully before speaking. “That’s tragic,” he said finally. “The boy’s parents must be beside themselves.”

  Detective Muckleroy was also studying the dean closely, and I’d have bet the farm that he felt like I did that the dean knew something about the skeleton that we’d just dug up. “Talk to me about this Hatchet Jack character,” said the detective.

  The dean scrunched his face and cocked his head. “Who?” he said.

  I wanted to laugh, it was so obvious that the dean knew exactly what we were talking about. “The ghost we’ve been investigating,” I said flatly. “You know, the crazy spirit chasing your students around the abandoned hallways of Northelm?”

  The dean made a sound like laughter, but it fell very short of the real thing. “That again,” he said dismissively. “As I told you earlier, Miss Holliday, I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Then how do you explain this?” I asked, pointing to the cut on my head.

  The dean blinked at me several times, apparently confused. “Nicholas told me you had fallen last night in one of the classrooms,” he said. “Is that not how you hurt your head?”

  Gilley was standing off to one side, leaning against the counter. He gave an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, Dean Habbernathy. Give us a break, would you?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” said the dean, working his way into a good huff. “The older students at Northelm have been telling the younger students ghost stories for decades now. I’m afraid that even after all our efforts to discourage such talk, it is a tradition that has continued. There is no such thing as Hatchet Jack. He is a figment of the imagination.”

  “Nicholas told us you believe otherwise,” I said, baiting the dean.

  Color returned in a flash to the dean’s cheeks, and he flushed red. “My brother is mentally handicapped. He could no more relate my true thoughts than he could comprehend long division.” With that the dean stood up, and I could tell he was trying to get a handle on his emotions. “Now, I just wanted to come by and see that you were all right,” said the dean. “But I really do believe that your injury has clarified for me that it would be unwise to allow you to continue your investigation at the school. I cannot subject Northelm to any further liability.”

  “Would you like me to relate that to Mr. Dodge?” I asked, getting up myself to challenge the dean. “I mean, it seems to me that it was part of the deal you arranged with him when you discussed the new wing. Me and my team were to have a week to investigate without restriction.”

  The look he gave me was murderous. He knew I had him by the short hairs. “I’m sure Mr. Dodge will understand that I am risking a lawsuit by allowing you to continue on as you have,” he said.

  “She could sign a waiver,” said the detective helpfully.

  “Right, M.J.? Just sign a waiver releasing Northelm of any physical liability during your investigation. Your insurance company would be okay with that, wouldn’t they, Owen?”

  “I’ll draft one up immediately,” said Gilley. I smiled at him, because we actually had a boilerplate waiver on hand for people who were nervous about us tramping around in the dark on their property.

  The dean huffed and he stammered and finally he said, “Very well. But you have only one more day, Miss Holliday, before your agreement is at an end. As I said before, your so-called investigation is limited to the elementary wing of the school. Not to the school grounds or other buildings. And you are to stay away from Nicholas. I do not want him frightened by your ghost tales and nonsense. He’s got a fragile mind, and he’s quite impressionable.”

  “Leave me your fax number, Dean, and I’ll send over the waiver,” I said evenly.

  The dean scribbled his number down and handed it to Gilley. “I shall expect the waiver before you make your way back to school property.”

  Gilley gave him a level stare. “No problem,” he said. “Allow me to show you out.”

  With that the dean was gone. “Interesting reaction,” I said, after we heard the door close.

  “It was, wasn’t it?” said Muckleroy.

  Gilley came back into the kitchen. “I don’t like that man,” he said distastefully.

  “He knows something,” I said.

  “Or he’s just trying to protect the school’s reputation,” said Muckleroy. “If word got out that Northelm housed the ghost of a child serial killer, well, let’s just say that more than a few parents might consider sending their kids to a different boarding school.”

  “That’s a good point,” I conceded. “But I still think he knows more than he’s letting on.” With that I got up from the table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a much-needed shower, and after that Gil and I are going to chase down a few of the leads on our end.”

  The detective got up too. “Roger that,” he said. “I’ll call you two later and we can catch one another up.”

  Gil and I were in the van forty minutes later and heading toward town. I was just finishing up my phone call with Teeko, filling her in on our progress and begging for a little more time. “I really wish there was something I could do,” she was saying. “But John’s construction crew is on a really tight time line. It was just luck that they had a few weeks off before their next project, M.J. I don’t think I can win you any extra time.”

  I sighed. “Okay, Teeko, I get it. I’ll do my very best, I promise you, but this Jack guy is one nasty poltergeist. If I can’t lock him down before we run out of time, then I’m recommending you talk Leanne out of sending Evie back to Northelm.”

  “You think it’s really that dangerous for her?” I hadn’t mentioned the attack from the night before to Karen because I knew she wouldn’t just worry; she’d likely come
back from her European romance and try to lend a hand, and I didn’t want anyone untrained near this psycho ghost.

  “Trust me,” I said. “Hatchet Jack is not for the timid.”

  “Okay, just keep me posted, and please be careful.”

  “On it,” I said, and we clicked off.

  “How’s the head?” Gilley asked as I put the phone away.

  “It’s tolerable,” I said honestly. “Still, it might be better to be a little more prepared next time. Do me a favor before we hit Skolaris’s. See if you can find a hardware store.”

  We were lucky enough to find a Home Depot not far away, and I went immediately to the plumbing section. There I gathered three one-foot sections of lead pipe and some caps to put on the ends. Gilley looked at me curiously until I explained in the checkout line: “I can put the magnetic spikes in here, and not pull them out until I get close to Jack.”

  Gil’s face lit up. “It would be like setting off a grenade in his energy field,” he said. “Clever thinking, M.J.”

  “It would only be as a last resort,” I said. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  After leaving the store we got back in the van, and Gilley followed the crude map he’d drawn that led the way to Skolaris’s. We found the old Habbernathy house at the end of a cul-de-sac just off Frog Lane near Upper Saranac Lake. Gilley whistled as the house came into view. “Nice digs,” he said.

  The house was a three-story Victorian painted a blueberry blue with black shutters and a black slate roof. An iron gate surrounded the grounds, which were well manicured and lovingly tended.

  Hydrangeas lined the paved winding walkway up to the oak door with its stained-glass window. A bird feeder and birdbath were to the right of the lawn, just feet from one of the large windows that overlooked the front lawn.

  Gil parked on the street and cut the engine. “How do you want to play this?” he asked me.

  I was looking out my window at the huge house that was so well cared for. I could guess that Skolaris was all about appearances, and perhaps flattery could get us places direct lines of questioning couldn’t. “Follow my lead,” I said.

  We hopped out of the van and strolled up the walkway. “I hope he’s home, at least,” Gil said.

  “I have a feeling he is,” I said as we stepped onto the front porch. After ringing the doorbell and waiting several seconds, we could hear footsteps coming across wood flooring from inside. There was a pause behind the door, and I guessed that Skolaris might be peeking at us through the peephole just under the stained-glass window. “Who is it?” he asked from the other side of the door.

  “Hello, Mr. Skolaris,” I said, putting some enthusiasm into my voice. “I’m M. J. Holliday, and this is my partner, Gilley Gillespie. If you have just a moment, we’d like to talk with you.”

  “No solicitation!” Skolaris yelled from the other side of the door.

  I gave a big toothy grin to the peephole. “We’re not here to sell you anything, Mr. Skolaris. We’re here to ask you about your lovely house.”

  There was a click on the other side of the door just before it opened a crack. A smoky gray eye looked out at me. “What do you want to know?”

  I glanced behind me at the lawn. “It’s the most beautiful house on this block, and we were wondering about its history.”

  The door opened wider, and a lean man in his mid- to late sixties with a scruffy chin and silver hair stood there, assessing us. “I’ve lived here for nearly thirty years,” he said. “Done a lot of improvements along the way.”

  “How old is the house?” I asked.

  Skolaris scratched his chin. “I believe it was built in the eighteen sixties.”

  “I see,” I said. “Was it handed down to you by family?”

  Skolaris smiled crookedly. “In a way,” he said. “But more like friends of the family.”

  “Well, it sure is beautiful,” I said again. “It must have cost a fortune, even thirty years ago.”

  I might have pushed it a little too far, because Skolaris’s face immediately turned suspicious again. “Who did you two say you were, again?”

  “I’m M. J. Holliday,” I said, extending my hand. Skolaris let it hang there without taking it, so I finally lowered it.

  “And this is my partner, Gilley Gillespie.”

  Skolaris gave a curt nod, then asked, “You two Realtors?”

  I let go a light laugh. “Oh, no, nothing like that,” I said. “Actually, we’re here on behalf of John Dodge.”

  “John Dodge?” he said, and I could tell the name sounded familiar to him.

  “Yes,” I said. “John Dodge is a new patron of Northelm. He will be funding the renovation of the elementary wing.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Skolaris. “But I still don’t understand what that has to do with my house.”

  “Nothing directly, sir. Gilley and I were merely scouting out the location and we came across some troubling rumors about the elementary wing. Of course, you can imagine that someone of Mr. Dodge’s reputation would not be pleased if such rumors were linked back to a project that he had direct control over.”

  Skolaris’s brows had knotted together tightly. He seemed to be having a great deal of trouble following my train of thought, and, truth be told, by the expression Gilley was wearing, he wasn’t the only one. I decided it was time to give up the ruse about being interested in Skolaris’s house and get to the real reason why we’d come. “You see, Mr. Skolaris, there is this talk about the elementary wing being haunted.”

  Light seemed to dawn on Skolaris’s face. “Oh, that’s just nonsense,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Juvenile nonsense.”

  “Is it?” I asked carefully. “It seems to be an incredibly persistent rumor, even making the Northelm newspaper, after all.”

  “That story was pulled as soon as I caught wind of it,” Skolaris said. “Again, this business of ghosts and men with hatchets is just urban myth. Mr. Dodge can rest assured that no such thing exists.”

  “Lance Myers would disagree,” I said.

  Skolaris narrowed his eyes at me. “Lance Myers owns a liquor store, miss. He’s probably been sampling too much of his own inventory.”

  “And yet he recalls a time back when he was a teenager attending Northelm when he had a very real encounter with this supposed ghost.”

  Skolaris was losing patience with me. He crossed his arms and kept those gray eyes narrowed. “Now, you listen here. I’ve been a teacher at that school for close to thirty-five years, with many a late night grading papers and such, and I have never seen this Hatchet Jack character on or around the school grounds. It’s a campfire story made up long ago that has continued to scare the students unnecessarily.”

  Something in the man’s eyes told me he was a big fat liar. “I see,” I said.

  “No, you don’t see,” he snapped. “Every year it’s the same thing. New students complaining about every little thing that goes bump in the night, and the older students convinced of a cover-up. It’s ludicrous, ridiculous, and not worth the breath expended to dispel the story!”

  “But why do you think the story is so lasting, Mr. Skolaris?” I asked. “I mean, I’m a firm believer that where there’s smoke, there’s fire. And this story seems to be a red hot inferno. It’s lingered for thirty years, after all. That seems an awfully long time for something with little merit behind it to stay so topical.”

  “Who knows why these things continue to be talked about?” Skolaris said. “It certainly isn’t because the teaching staff hasn’t tried everything to squelch it.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more prudent to show the students that you take them seriously?” I asked. “I mean, if the school conducted a thorough investigation, allowed, say, the student body to report on the rumor and follow the story to a resolution, wouldn’t that help dispel a lot of this supposed myth?”

  “On the contrary,” said Skolaris. “We at Northelm want to promote ethical reporting. Having the children follow
such nonsense would be like suggesting that tabloid journalism is credible.”

  “What the heck are you teachers afraid of?” I asked, feeling myself becoming defensive in spite of my efforts to remain calm. “Seriously, are you more afraid that there’s actual truth to the story, or that the truth will lead back to something that happened at the school, say, oh, thirty years ago that maybe you people didn’t investigate when you had the chance?”

  Skolaris balled his hands into fists, and his face turned ugly. “Get off my property,” he said evenly.

  “But we just wanted to—”

  “I said, get off my property!” Skolaris yelled, slamming the door in our faces, before adding, “Or I will call the police and have you removed!”

  Gilley elbowed me and said, “Maybe we’d better go now.”

  I gritted my teeth and turned with him back down the walkway. When we were in the van again Gil started the engine and glanced sideways at me. “Smooth,” he said. “Way to play it.”

  “Oh, come on, Gilley!” I roared. “That old geezer has no business teaching journalism to anyone, much less some impressionable, bright-minded students!”

  “Probably not, M.J.,” Gil said reasonably. “But did you really have to throw that fact in his face? After all, weren’t you the one who suggested that the way to work Skolaris was through flattery?”

  I pouted in my seat for a while, knowing full well that Gilley was right. I knew I’d started out okay with him, but my finish left a lot to be desired, and it had done the opposite of what I’d intended, which was to make someone with a long history at Northelm completely shut us out. “I blew it,” I admitted after a bit.

  “Yes, but at least it was entertaining,” Gilley said with a grin. “I was definitely entertained.”

  “Glad to be of service,” I said flatly.

  “Pray tell, brave leader,” Gil said with a snicker. “Who can we go intimidate next?”

  I sighed heavily, thinking about it before I answered. “I think we should try another teacher,” I said.