The House on West 10th Street

by Helen Phifer

  Mae grinned. ‘If you don’t mind.’ She walked down towards the library. James came running down the stairs, took one look at his sister and decided he should probably be nice for once. ‘Are you ill?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Do you need anything?’

  Emilia frowned at him, but he did his best to smile and look concerned.

  ‘No. Thank you.’

  He walked past her, down to the stairs and caught sight of the gorgeous creature, Mae from behind as she walked into the library. He turned to see Missy helping his sister up to her room where she would no doubt fuss over her for the next half an hour. He had no idea where his father was, but he knew he wasn’t in. Maybe he could entertain Mae for a short time, get to know her better and see why she had most of his family under her spell. He strode down the long hallway towards the huge, oak, double doors of the library. A smile spread across his lips that would have terrified his sister had she seen it.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Maria passed Miss Green’s apartment and paused, wondering if she should knock to see if she was okay. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, she pulled it out and smiled at Frankie’s one word text message: Outside. She’d definitely give her a knock when she got back, maybe offer to make her something to eat. She drained the last of her coffee and walked to the lift, feeling a lot better and wondering if she’d had some kind of anxiety attack in the library. When she reached the car, Frankie had his head slumped forward and a loud snore erupted from his mouth.

  ‘You’re such a smart ass, I wasn’t that long.’

  He opened one eye. ‘Long enough, so what did you find out?’

  She climbed into the car, slamming the door. ‘Max was right, those articles were pretty accurate. There was a brutal murder there, July 52. A woman’s body was found in the attic, her limbs removed. Her head was nowhere to be found, I don’t even know if it ever got recovered.’

  ‘So that would make our killer how old now?’

  ‘At least in his nineties. I’m not so good with math, maybe older.’

  ‘Do we know any ninety-year-old killers?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s not impossible, you do get those few older people who are still running marathons in their nineties.’

  ‘Why would they leave it so long though? I mean seriously, if that is the case, sixty five years between murders is…’

  ‘A lifetime.’

  He nodded.

  ‘What was the motive?’

  ‘Don’t laugh at me. Devil worship.’

  Frankie turned to stare at her. ‘You’re shitting me?’

  ‘Nope. Apparently the apartment wasn’t classed as an apartment at the time, it was just a bedroom. Well, it had the full works: Ouija board, satanic symbols and a grand grimoire.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A book of black magic, used for spells, witchcraft and summoning the devil.’

  Maria could feel her cheeks burn; she didn’t really believe in any of this stuff. An image of the woman from the library staring at her filled her mind. Are you sure about that?

  ‘I’m not saying I believe it, I’m just telling you what I read. So what are we going to do now?’

  ‘Go and get all the files out of the basement on the murder three years ago. See if they ever found an ID for her and her next of kin. Maybe see if they have the original records from the fifties? Who knows… there might be a mouldy box with your devil bible inside it lurking in the depths of the basement.’

  Frankie drove off in the direction of the station and Maria wondered if her day could get any stranger. She decided not to tell him about Harrison, he’d only tease her and she wasn’t in the mood for it. She didn’t know how to describe how she felt, but it was tense and foreboding. Like something was wrong only she didn’t know what and couldn’t put her finger on it.

  They parked up round the back and went through the rear gate where the steps to the basement were. It was dark, around here. When they reached the bottom Frankie swiped his card, but the door didn’t open. He tried it again, Maria stepped forward and knocked loudly. A few moments later the door opened and Layla grinned at them.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t my two favorite, pain-in-the-ass detectives. What can I do for you?’

  Maria grinned. ‘We’re looking for some case files from three years ago and some from way back in the day.’

  Layla stepped aside. ‘In that case I’ll let you in. Welcome to my humble abode.’

  The huge basement had a metal cage blocking the entrance so nobody could get in and help themselves. Layla let herself through the door and sat behind the wire mesh at the counter.

  ‘I’m going to need to see your ID, then you can sign yourselves in.’

  Frankie rolled his eyes. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  She shook her head. ‘Sorry, doll, it’s new rules. No-one enters the cage unless they’ve been officially identified. Then I’ll escort you to where you need to be, and if no-one else wants me I’ll wait with you until you’re finished.’

  Maria signed them both in, tugged Frankie’s badge from his pocket and passed them both over. Layla passed them back.

  ‘Guess you two are the real deal.’

  She opened the door and let them in. There were rows that went on forever stacked with boxes full of old case files and evidence. The basement was vast and Maria didn’t envy Layla’s job of keeping everything in order. As they walked through she shut the door behind them.

  ‘You can’t trust half of those motherfuckers upstairs who come in and fuck with the evidence when your back is turned. Well, not on my watch. I’ve seen Making a Murderer and that shit aint going down when I’m in charge.’

  Maria laughed. ‘No-one would dare, Layla, they’re all scared of you.’

  Layla dead eyed her. ‘Uh huh, good. So what year are you after?’

  ‘1952.’

  ‘For real?’

  Maria nodded. ‘For real. Do the records go back that far?’

  ‘Yes, they do. I think we have records that go back to 1950. Anything from before then is stored at City Hall.’

  Layla walked along the rows of shelving. Frankie let Maria go first and she knew why. He was terrified of the woman in front of them. She wasn’t as scary as she made out, but Maria wasn’t about to tell Frankie that. The woman had a heart of gold, helping out at the homeless shelter in her spare time. After what seemed like forever she came to a block of shelving, with old, cardboard file boxes on them. The case file, name and number was written in faded, black marker pen. There was a faint hammering on the door. Layla turned to them.

  ‘I’m gonna trust you two to find what you need then come and get it signed out. Don’t touch anything else apart from the boxes on this unit.

  Frankie nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Layla turned, striding off towards the front entrance.

  ‘Jesus wept, what a place to work.’

  ‘I don’t know, the only people she has to deal with are cops. She doesn’t have to chase killers and look for bibles written for the devil.’

  They began to look at the boxes which were stacked in numerical order making their search straightforward. Maria found the section full of 1952 boxes and felt her heart begin to race. What if the grand grimoire was inside it? The thought of it made her feel sick to her stomach. She’d seen enough horror films to know they were made from human skin and written in blood. Her eyes fell on a box pushed behind another; she moved the first one out of the way and saw the name written on it.

  ‘EVANS / WEST 10TH ST. – 28-06-52’

  ‘Holy shit, it’s here. I mean, I didn’t actually expect it to be here.’ She turned to Frankie. ‘Did you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Suppose not, makes our life a whole lot easier though.’

  She grabbed the box and dragged it forward. ‘So where we going to take this? I don’t want to have to explain to the clowns upstairs what we’re doing.’

  ‘I’d say my place, but Christy is still mad at m
e.’

  ‘We’ll take it to mine then. My dinner table can be our temporary office, it’s easier anyway. We can get on with it and not have to worry about being called out.’

  ‘Well, if that ain’t the first good idea you’ve had all week.’

  She smiled and stepped to the side, ‘Big, strong man like you can carry it, you have to come in useful for something.’ She left him to grab the box. ‘I’ll sign it out and deal with Layla.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Miss Green lay on the bed not quite asleep, but too tired to get up. Every bone in her body ached and she felt every bit her age this morning. For the last sixty five years her life had been pleasant, having been more fortunate than some and she was thankful for that. What she wasn’t thankful for was that note that had been pushed under her door whilst she was out shopping yesterday. It had taken a long time for her to block the memories of that horrific night as far from her mind as possible. Then just like that it was back – boom – the images playing on a loop, over and over again. No matter how many times she told herself it wasn’t her problem she knew that it was, that she was a part of it and it was her duty to help. Damn your stupid sense of duty, Missy, you did what you had to and sent it back. This is not your problem. You’re an old woman now and it will probably kill you. If that damn demon doesn’t then the fear will kill you, your heart won’t stand it a second time. Is this how you want to die? Fighting against something that is an aberration of all things good?

  ‘Shut the fuck up, just shut up.’

  She pressed her hands to her ears trying her best to block out the noise from her goddamn, interfering, busybody, internal mind. She turned onto her side, the sun was shining through the crack in the drapes. She could feel it’s warmth on her face and it felt so good. She liked the light, the heat, the feeling of safety that the sun brought with it every morning when it rose in the sky. She hated the dark and never went out in it if it could be avoided. The dark was full of shadows that you couldn’t see, things that came to life once the sun had set. She knew this from experience, which was why every corner in her apartment had lamps. There were no dark corners in here, she wouldn’t let anything hide in her home. Unlike the house on West 10th Street, what lived in the dark there was the thing that most people have nightmares about but forget once they’re awake. She had sensed something wrong in the days leading up to that night. Not able to describe it or tell anyone, it was more of a feeling. A sense of terrible foreboding that something wasn’t right with the dynamics inside the house, and how do you go about telling someone that? If she’d have voiced her fears, her feelings, to Clarke he could have gone and investigated the attic where James was stopping. If only one of them had gone up there they would have seen the Ouija board, the candles, the book of black magic, the huge pentagram on the wall drawn in blood; whose blood it was she had no idea. He had ripped all the paper off the walls, written all over them. They would have realized there and then they were dealing with a madman, and he could have been taken to the hospital before it got that far; before that beautiful girl was so horribly killed. She shivered, throwing the covers back, and got out of bed. They’d let it get that far without intervening, it was time to go back.

  It was an hour since Missy had made the decision to visit the house, she was now sat in the back of a yellow cab which was about to turn into West 10th Street. Her heart was racing and her mouth was dry when the driver stopped at the curb, and she lifted a trembling hand, passing him a ten dollar bill. She thanked him and got out to stand on the sidewalk opposite the house. It’s once grand exterior looked tired, in fact it looked as old and decrepit as she felt today. It didn’t look anything like it had the last time she’d been here. She knew it had been turned into apartments and wondered how many people had died mysterious deaths or committed suicide in there. Despite it being a warm day the house was dark, there being no sunshine on that side of the street. The window boxes had shrivelled up plants hanging from them. At first she’d read the papers, clipping out any articles about suspicious deaths and putting them in a shoe box. Then she’d stopped buying papers, for her own sanity. She couldn’t take the worry, the dread, the guilt. Pulling the gold chain from under her jumper she kissed the crucifix on it and asked God to protect her soul. Taking a deep breath she stepped onto the street and heard the squeal of a car tyres on the tarmac and a loud honk of the horn. She realized that she’d stepped into the street without even looking. Her heart racing, she jumped back, waving at the driver and muttering sorry. In all her years she’d never once stepped into the traffic without looking; the city streets were mean and unforgiving. It was the quickest way to end up dead or racking up a huge hospital bill. Shuddering she crossed herself; it knew she was here and had tried to stop her. It had tried to kill her. That was the moment the stubbornness and strength that Missy had worn proudly on her sleeve in her younger days returned. She stared at the house and whispered.

  ‘You’re scared of me. Well, I’ll be damned. You tried to stop me, but it was only a half-hearted attempt. That means you’re not strong enough otherwise I’d be lying crushed under that car’s wheels. Well fuck you! How dare you. I sent you back once, I’ll do it again so whichever dark corner you’re hiding in, you better be worrying. I might be much older, but I’ve still got the stubborn mind of the girl I was last time I was here and you can sense that, you know that I have the power to send you back.’

  This time she held her head up, looked both ways along the street and crossed to the other side. For a fleeting moment she wondered if some huge chunk of masonry was going to fall from the roof and kill her anyway. Then she was down the steps and looking for the buzzer she needed, but before she could press it the huge, glass door opened and she was greeted by a smiling, much older version of the girl she used to dote on.

  ‘You came.’

  ‘I had to, my conscience wouldn’t let me turn a blind eye.’

  The two women hugged, wrapping their arms around each other and squeezing tight. Emilia whispered.

  ‘It’s been far too long, I’ve missed you.’

  ‘I’ve missed you too. Who would have thought we’d both still live to tell the tale? We should never have lost touch. You should have sold this godforsaken house and moved away.’

  They pulled apart, Emilia lifting her sleeve to wipe the tears that were glistening on her cheeks.

  ‘I know, but I couldn’t. I felt as if it was my fault; that I had to stay here and make sure it didn’t happen again.’

  Missy nodded. She got that. A sense of duty was a powerful thing, especially when you carried it alongside the guilt that came with it. Then she whispered, ‘But it did happen again.’

  Emilia nodded. ‘I had no idea. It’s been lingering ever since. I can hear it, I can sense it. Although it’s not strong enough yet or we would all know about it.’

  Missy grabbed her friend’s hand. ‘Then this time we’ll send it back, for good.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mikey sat on his sofa, watching an old black and white movie. He had no idea what it was called or what it was about because for the last ten minutes he’d muted the volume. He could hear the whispering, which wasn’t loud and he couldn’t make out what the voices were saying. Straining he closed his eyes and concentrated. It didn’t sound American. He knew he should really try and find out where it was coming from because it wasn’t him. He had no-one else around to be whispering in his ears, he didn’t have friends. He kept to himself, went to work, came home, smoked a little pot and watched TV. He stood up and crossed to his kitchen to check the window there was shut, as sometimes noise from the apartment above floated down. Drawing the blind he shook his head, the window was not only shut, it was locked. A loud thud came from the direction of his bedroom. He picked up a carving knife from the block. If some motherfucker has broken in they’re paying with blood.

  Clutching the knife he crept towards his bedroom door, pausing outside to listen. He couldn’t hear anything so h
e threw the door back; a blast of cold air hit him in the face along with the most gut-wrenching, God-awful smell. He gagged, lifting his arm to cover his nose. He couldn’t see anything. The room was empty, but he felt it. He felt something, huge, full of anger and blackness charging towards him. For the first time in his life Mikey screamed, a sound so high pitched anyone outside would have sworn it was a woman. He lifted his hands to cover his face as he fell to his knees. He had never felt such unbearable coldness that was now enveloping him. He felt as if he was being slowly, crushed to death. The smell that filled his nostrils was one of decay. Although he’d never smelt rotting flesh before, he felt pretty sure this was what it would smell like. From somewhere inside the building he heard a door slam and women’s voices, chattering. He wanted to call out for help, but he couldn’t. Whatever it was had squeezed every last bit of air from his lungs, and his eyeballs felt as if they were going to explode from their sockets. ‘God, if you’re there, forgive me.’ At the mention of forgiveness the pressure was released and he fell to the floor taking in huge, gulps of lovely air. Not sure whether he needed an ambulance, a shot of whiskey or a joint the size of the Empire State Building, he lay there, curled up in a ball on the rough, wooden floorboards, big, wet tears rolling down his cheeks. His heart was hammering so fast he could feel the blood being pumped through his brain as his temple pulsated. Mikey didn’t actually know if he was dead or alive. Too afraid to move, he lay there like a freshly caught fish on the deck of a fishing boat, struggling to breathe out of water.

  Emilia paused at the bottom of the stairs, turning towards the ground floor apartment that always had the faint smell of cannabis lingering around the front door. Missy followed her friend’s eyes, both of them sensing something was wrong. The door opened and out staggered the man who lived there – Mikey. He had a dishcloth wrapped around his hand which was turning deep red, she rushed to him.

  ‘Oh no, are you okay? What’s happened?’