Four Ghosts

by James Ward Fiction

  “According to neighbors and friends of the boy, he had been the victim of severe bullying at school for the last few years, following his father's conviction and subsequent sentencing.

  Before that, Nick, as everyone called him, had been a fairly popular student at Grove School, receiving several awards for academic as well as personal excellence. He had been described as kind, thoughtful and intensely intelligent. Once the verdict was handed down, his behavior and interactions with his peers changed drastically. He became withdrawn and depressed, his grades plummeting. It is noted by his teachers that he had seemingly become preoccupied with death in recent weeks “Nicholas Looney was seventeen years old."

  "Well, isn't that lucky?" Aaron chuckled.

  "Lucky?" Mark asked, feeling sick to his stomach.

  "After I get rid of you, the mom should be easy," he pantomimed an expression of sadness. "The tragic suicide of her young son and the shame of being the wife of a notorious serial killer were just too much for the poor thing to handle. I think she'll take pills."

  Aaron put his hand to his chin in a contemplative gesture. He looked like a complete madman. So much so, that Mark was afraid to even attempt moving again for fear that Aaron would completely lose it.

  As Mark was trying to figure out how to get himself away from this obvious psychopath, a thought occurred to him.

  "Why Looney? What did he ever do to deserve this?"

  "That is the really funny part," Aaron chuckled. "Nothing. The worst thing that Looney ever did was to clean the carpets in the Congressman's building."

  "Why would he do this? I know what you said, but what's the real reason, Aaron? Why would Fielding risk everything just to kill a few useless whores?"

  "You really don't get it do you? It's all about the power. Cleaning that kind of filth off the street is a good enough reason, but just imagine it. Just imagine what it feels like to hold a life in your hands. Watching him choke the life out of those women was such a rush. All of that power. It really is like being God."

  "Seems like you are nothing but an errand boy. You think you are God's right hand, but you're nothing but his janitor. Running around and cleaning up his messes like a good little houseboy. Do you wipe his ass, too?" Mark laughed out loud.

  Aaron's eyes flared as he was overcome with rage.

  "I am not an errand boy!" he bellowed. "I killed one of those bitches myself!"

  "Wow. Fielding let you off your leash long enough to have a little fun, huh? You're nothing but a pathetic piece of shit, riding his coattails to make yourself feel good about what you're doing. How do you like being his bitch?"

  "Shut your fucking mouth!" Aaron stepped toward Mark, causing him to flinch as the blade of the butcher knife came only inches from his chest. "You sit there, acting like you are so much better than me. You are nothing! Nothing! You watched him kill that filthy bitch and you did nothing! Don't you dare act self-righteous with me, you fucking wino. All it took was the promise of a warm bed and a little bit of cash to buy your performance."

  "Her name was Kate. That girl I watched him kill had a family, and her name was Kate."

  "Who gives a shit what a whore's name is?"

  "And now, Looney is going to die for nothing."

  "That is where you are wrong," Aaron said as he aimlessly twirled the blade, slicing the air in front of Mark's chest. "He is dying for an extremely important cause. Fielding is bound for great things, you know. We are planning a run for the Senate seat next year, which he will win. After that, with my help, he is headed straight to the White House, with me at his side."

  "I know that my part in all of this was wrong. I should have told you to go fuck yourself when you offered me money to testify that I saw Looney kill that woman. I know now that my place is in Hell. I will get what I deserve, and I'll take my punishment, whatever it may be."

  "I have a pretty good feeling I know exactly what it is going to be."

  Without a pause, Aaron lunged forward and sunk the blade into Mark's chest.

  Mark felt a rush of warmth fill his body as he looked down at the knife protruding from his chest, directly above his heart. It became difficult for him to breathe and he felt like he might pass out at any moment, but there was no pain. He felt what he could only describe as a sense of peace.

  As he looked at the smiling murderer standing in front of him, Mark saw the shadowy figure appear in the hallway. Aaron looked pleased with himself as he watched the man in the chair bleeding to death, but not struggling.

  "You are so pathetic. You won't even try to save your own life. I told Fielding that we should have killed you that night instead of setting up this whole charade with Looney. I knew that you didn't have the balls to see it through to the end. Who is the bitch now?"

  Mark said nothing as he watched the black, almost formless shape crawling hand over hand across the carpet. As it got closer to the two men, moving soundlessly, Mark was able to make out a few details. The form held the rough shape of a man, but he could see that half of the thing's head was missing, replaced with a red, angry hole. Brains and gore oozed out of the ruined skull and dropped onto the floor, leaving a trail behind it. Its stilted movements became more and more fluid as the shape rose to its feet.

  Aaron continued to watch Mark's slow demise, clueless to the rapidly approaching monster. As it got closer and closer, Mark could see the maggots crawling in the desiccated cheek muscles. The single eye that remained focused on Mark.

  He could swear that the monster was smiling. It was hard to tell, since half of its face was nothing but a torn mass of fat and muscle with worms slithering in and out of what used to be a mouth.

  Mark was overcome by a wave of nausea. It quickly ended when the form of what was now obviously a young man raised a single bloody finger to its destroyed lips in an apparent request for Mark's silence.

  Mark obeyed, looking back at the Congressman's advisor standing there, looking totally satisfied with himself, and more than a little bit excited by the dying man in front of him. Aaron's pants had begun to bulge and his eyes were almost glazed with happiness. Mark thought he might have actually been crying.

  Aaron moved as though he may have been attempting to speak, but he was cut short when the thing placed a clawed hand on his shoulder. He jumped in surprise that quickly turned to terror as he turned to face the thing that had laid hands on him.

  "Oh God," he exclaimed in fear.

  "Not hardly," the monster said in a raspy, baritone chuckle that sent chills up Mark's spine. "That is something that you will never see."

  "What the fuck is happening?" Aaron said, crying for real this time.

  The ghostly apparition reached out an almost corporeal hand and took hold of Aaron's throat, lifting him off the ground as effortlessly as if he was lifting a rag doll. Without warning, the ghost tossed Aaron across the apartment with as little effort as before.

  The aide struck the wall with a thud and crumpled into a pile amongst the other trash and debris. He looked up weakly as the ghost hovered above him. Aaron held up his hands in a feeble attempt to protect himself, but it was no use.

  The ghost that Mark now reasoned had to be the spirit of Nicholas Looney, had completely solidified and now stood in front of the man whimpering on the floor.

  It made no sense, because Nick had always seemed in the news reports to be a shy kid. Mark had always thought the boy to have an air of kindness about him. This thing seemed nothing like the boy that wept at his father's trial.

  The Nick thing reached down and gripped Aaron's jacket, yanking him to his feet.

  "You want to know what is happening? My father, an innocent man who never harmed a soul in his life is sitting in a cold cell. He is sitting there on a dirty cot, waiting to die for something that he did not do. He is going to pay the price for your sins." The boy spat the words out.

  "I can stop it," Aaron stammered frantically, trying to find any way he could to save himself. "I can put in a call and stop the whole thing.
Just please don't hurt me."

  "Don't hurt you?" The boy asked as he threw his mutilated head back, laughing and sending drops of blood and tissue flying across the room. He stopped laughing and focused his attention on Aaron once again, moving in close enough to the man's face to brush his bloody lips against Aaron's cheek. "I'm going to hurt you, bad. I'm going to take you to Hell with me. You should see what they do to liars and murderers in Hell, Aaron. You are going to die a thousand painful deaths every day. You'll feel all the fear and pain that those women felt. You'll feel all the fear that my father is feeling. You'll feel what it feels like to have poison course through your veins, burning you from the inside out. Hell is bad, but for you, it will be torture . . . all day, every day . . . for eternity, and I get to be your tormentor."

  For the second time that night, someone pissed their pants. This only caused the boy's glee to escalate.

  "So, this is the big tough man that thinks he is God? You're nothing but a scared little boy that pisses himself when it's time to face the music. I'm going to enjoy torturing you."

  With that, the boy trailed a finger down Aaron's chest until it rested on the man's abdomen. Mark watched as his fingers penetrated Aaron's flesh, burrowing into his gut. Aaron screamed in pain as Nicholas's hand writhed into the soft folds of his insides. Mark heard a wet tearing sound as the boy yanked something free and pulled his hand out of the screaming man.

  Mark's consciousness was fading, but he could see that the boy held what appeared to be Aaron's kidney. He watched in horror as Nicholas brought the organ to Aaron's open mouth, shoving it between his lips. Aaron tried to expel his kidney, but Nicholas forced his mouth closed, giving him no choice but to chew and swallow. Nicholas reached down and reinserted his hand, ripping the man's gut completely open.

  Aaron watched his own innards spill out onto the floor, mixing with the dirt and trash. Nicholas released him and Aaron once again fell in a heap. This time though, he began struggling to gather his intestines that had unraveled in front of him. He was rapidly losing consciousness, all the while, his screams devolving into grunts and incoherent pleadings.

  Nicholas stood and watched the man on the floor die. His death was an unceremonious event. The bloody, eviscerated man simply stopped moving.

  Mark was beginning to fade, as well. The pounding on the door brought him back to reality. He looked over at the bloody mess in his kitchen and still saw Nicholas standing there smiling.

  Shouts from the hall became louder and more urgent in tone.

  "Mark? Mark? What the hell is going on? Are you okay in there? Please answer me!" Marta screamed.

  Nicholas turned to him and smiled. His face had been restored to its original, flawless condition. He looked like the nice young man that had sat in the courtroom, holding his mother's hand as she wept.

  "God judges the outcome, Mark, not the path." With that, the young man faded from existence, leaving behind only a nightmarish scene.

  Mark sat still in his chair, unable to move. He had lost enough blood that he knew the end was near. He could hear the jingle of keys as the super used his master set to unlock the door and let Marta inside.

  Yet another scream snapped Mark back to consciousness. Marta stood in the doorway, looking at the mass of gore that sat against the kitchen wall.

  "Marta?" He croaked.

  "Oh my god! Mark, what happened here? Don't worry. We’re going to get you some help. You'll be all right." She turned back to the super, who stood frozen in the doorway. "Call 9-1-1!"

  The super broke from his daze and pulled his cell phone from his pocket, dialing emergency services. He began stammering at the operator, not making much sense as he described the scene in front of him. He finally gave up and yelled into the phone.

  "Just send a fucking ambulance!"

  With that, he ran back out into the hall and proceeded to lose the entire contents of his stomach.

  "Mark, stay with me, okay?" Marta spoke sweetly as she held his hand gently, tears streaming down her face. "Please, Mark."

  He summoned his last bits of strength and brought his closed hand up to her face, gently caressing her cheek. He let his hand dropped into his lap. He opened his palm. Marta looked down and saw her Nana's Ipod resting in the center of his hand. He looked into her eyes and spoke.

  "I've done terrible things," he licked his lips, his mouth feeling like a desert. "Get this to the police, Marta, right away. Looney is innocent," he choked, rapidly losing his ability to speak at all.

  "What is going on?" She asked him, looking confused and afraid.

  "God judges the outcome, not the path. You have to swear to me that you'll give this to the police, tonight. There might still be time to make it right." Mark coughed, sending a tidal wave of pain through his body.

  He could hear the sirens approaching, but he knew they would not make it in time.

  "Promise me."

  "I promise, but what is it?"

  There was no answer to her question. No answer would ever come from him. Mark's head fell lifeless onto his blood soaked chest.

  As the police and paramedics rushed into the apartment, they evaluated the scene and began their futile attempts to save Mark. Marta placed the discarded headphones into her ears and listened to the recorded confession of the Congressman's assistant.

  Hours later, as she sat in the police interview room, she waited for the police to review the recording as she tried to wipe the last of Mark's blood from her hands.

  A young detective entered the room holding a yellow legal pad. He sat across from her and said nothing at first. He sighed as he tried to figure out a way to begin the conversation. Marta spoke before he had a chance.

  "Did they stop the execution?"

  "We're working on it. My commanding officer is on the phone with the Chief who is going to call the Governor. I promise we'll do our best to fix this."

  "What is going to happen next? What happens to Fielding?"

  "I just sent a car to pick him up and bring him in for questioning. We are revisiting the files, trying to find some evidence to tie him to the murders. If what his aide said on the recording is true, there has to be something." The detective paused for a moment. "Do you know who the third voice belonged to? It couldn't be Nick Looney. He was found dead earlier today. It couldn't be him."

  It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than he was asking her. She shrugged her shoulders.

  "There was no one else when we came in. That's all I can tell you."

  He looked exasperated and defeated.

  "If you think of anything, please give me a call right away."

  "Can I go now? I need to take care of my Nana."

  "Yes, you're free to go."

  She left the police station and made her way home. There was a small sea of reporters and news vans parked outside the entry to the Sullivan. Marta trudged through as they thrust their microphones in her face and asked all sorts of ridiculous questions.

  "Did you know the victim?"

  "Were you romantically involved with Mr. Sampson?"

  She kept her head down and said nothing. Arriving on her floor, she walked past the apartment that was sealed off with crime scene tape. There were bloody prints smudged on the door frame and the hall smelled of vomit. She opened her door and went straight to the television, flipping it on.

  "Initial reports indicate that Congressman Fielding may have committed suicide, but police sources say that there are aspects of the crime scene that may also indicate foul play. Our cameraman told me that he overheard an officer emerging from the Congressman's home saying, 'Oh my God. His eyes. They were gone.' We'll have more on this story as it develops."

  Marta smiled as she walked over to the table that she had used to perform the summoning spell. She blew out the candles and placed the crystals back into their boxes. She scooped the used herbs and other paraphernalia into a bowl to be properly disposed of when the reporters finally cleared out. It would all have to be burie
d in order to seal the spell and bind the spirit.

  "Is it done?" Nana asked as she shuffled into the room.

  "Yes, Nana. Everything is done. We finally got justice for Kate. The men that really killed her are dead. Her spirit can rest now."

  Marta ran her finger over the face in the photo that sat on the end table. Her beautiful sister Kate was the final victim of Congressman Fielding. She was finally getting her life together and that bastard had come along and cut her down. Well, he was the one burning in Hell now. Marta had seen to that.

  "I love you, Katie," She said to the image as she kissed her finger and placed it on the paper lips of her dead sibling. She knew that Kate would be so proud of her.

  "Are you okay?" Nana asked as she sat down to drink her tea.

  She was having one of her few lucid moments, and Marta wanted to enjoy it. She sat down next to her Nana and took her delicate hand in her own.

  "Yeah. I'm just sorry that Mark didn't survive. He really was a good guy," she said, sadly. "I liked him, a lot. I feel bad about that. He did something terrible, but he knew it was wrong and he did his best to make it right."

  "It will all be fine, dear," Nana said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Remember, God judges the outcome, not the path."

  Paula D. Ashe

  Two years ago, I nervously submitted a short story titled “The Ladies’ Room” to Indiana Science Fiction 2011. It was my first time submitting a piece of fiction since college in the early 2000s. Almost immediately (seriously, within hours) I received an acceptance letter from James Ward Kirk. I was thrilled to see my story in print of course, but what really impressed me was the caliber of work featured in that collection. The anthology also featured work from James S. Dorr, Joanna Parypinksi, and Marianne Halbert, writers whose work I admired before sharing space with them in James’ collection. A few months passed and James encouraged me to submit to another anthology he was publishing, Indiana Crime 2012 (now Indiana Crime Review) co-edited with Murphy Edwards. I sent “The Mother of All Monsters”, a vicious and sadistic story that explores the boundaries of parental responsibility. I was also invited to contribute a flash piece, so I scrambled and came up with my first flash-fiction story “The Skin of Men”, an action-packed tale of pursuit between a villain and a detective who is more than she seems. “The Mother of All Monsters” was awarded the Editor’s Choice distinction and because of it, I granted membership in the Horror Writers Association. Gaining membership into such an exclusive writing collective has been a dream of mine since I discovered such an organization existed.