Borgin Keep

by Ron Ripley

  As it was, the building hadn’t died. Instead, it had thrived, demanding lives. The granite walls seemed to exude death to all who came into contact with them. Some in a quick flash. Others were tortured to death. The mad ghosts of Borgin Keep keeping them alive to siphon off their energy.

  Many of the organization’s enemies had been sent to Borgin. Abigail had been deposited there, and Harlan wondered if she was still alive.

  He chuckled at the thought and placed the book on the desk.

  If he thought he could capture Shane, Harlan would have sent him to the Keep as well.

  Still chuckling, Harlan rested his hands on his lap and looked at the phone, wondering if it would ring.

  Chapter 12: Frank Contemplates a Drink

  The house had shaken with her screams, and when she finally stopped, Frank found his nerves were frayed.

  Shane seemed unfazed. He had a cigarette going and a book in his hand. The man hadn’t moved from his seat since it had begun.

  Frank cleared his throat.

  Shane put the book down, looked at him and asked, “You okay?”

  Frank was surprised by the question. “How the hell can you ask that? How are you, okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Shane said, tapping the cigarette ashes into a tray.

  “She was tortured,” Frank said.

  “She’s dead,” Shane retorted.

  Frank shook his head. “We shouldn’t have tortured her.”

  “We didn’t,” Shane corrected.

  Frank frowned. “Shane, we let Eloise torture her.”

  “No,” Shane said, gently, “I asked Eloise to do it. You had nothing to do with it. Not only that, Frank, but you wouldn’t be able to stop her.”

  Frank shook his head and looked away, his foot tapping on the floor. After a moment he continued. “I don’t like it.”

  “Then you should put some music on if it starts up again,” Shane offered.

  Frank could tell the man was serious, and the concern was genuine.

  It was also disturbing.

  “How can you be okay with it?” Frank asked.

  “Two reasons,” Shane said. “First, she was going to kill us. Second, she was going to kill us.”

  When Frank didn’t respond, Shane continued.

  “Frank, you were okay with this when she was alive, why not now?” Shane asked.

  Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. This feels worse, somehow. She should be let loose. Sent on her way to judgment. We shouldn’t be keeping her spirit imprisoned.”

  “Once I have the information I need,” Shane said, “I’ll have Eloise and Thaddeus let her go. Until then, she gets questioned.”

  A scream tore through the walls, and the mirror over the study’s hearth shook.

  Carl appeared in the room, his face a twisted mask of anger. In German, he snapped a question at Shane.

  “English, please,” Shane said putting out his cigarette. “Frank doesn’t speak German, remember?”

  Carl gave a curt nod as an apology to Frank, and Frank waved it away.

  “When is this going to stop?” Carl demanded. “This is absurd, my friend. Can we really trust anything she says after such abuse? Would you not make up any lie you could think of to make your tormentor happy?”

  “Of course, I would,” Shane said. “Torture hardly ever works. That’s why Eloise isn’t asking any questions.”

  Frank looked at him, horrified. “If you don’t believe in it, then why are you condoning it?”

  “Because I still have questions I want to ask,” Shane answered. He got a fresh cigarette, lit it, and picked up his book. Before he opened it, he looked from Carl to Frank and then said, “And because she tried to kill us.”

  Frank couldn’t respond to the statement, so both he and Carl remained where they were, listening to Lisbeth’s tortured screams.

  Chapter 13: No Time

  Rich lived in a world that didn’t exist.

  There was no light. Only darkness.

  He had no sense of time. He slipped between consciousness and sleep in such an uncontrollable fashion that he didn’t know what was real, or what was a dream.

  When he was rational enough to think about his situation, Rich realized it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

  The Keep was killing him, a little at a time. He was thirsty and had nothing to drink. Hungry, with nothing to eat. The cold chewed at him, to the point where he could no longer feel his arms or legs. He was exhausted, unable to move more than a few feet at a time, and that was only through a jerking, rolling motion.

  In his dreams and his waking, Rich heard a woman. One who made no sense, and who railed at the dark in a hoarse, broken voice.

  He tried to stay away from the madwoman.

  Rich only wanted to escape.

  He begged to be released.

  His supplications weren’t to God, but to the Keep. Because it was the Keep which kept him trapped. And it was the Keep alone.

  Rich lay on his back, thinking of all of these things when he heard a curious squelching sound. It was as though a piece of raw meat was being rolled across a granite counter.

  Then he quivered as something bumped into him.

  It was cold, only slightly warmer than himself, and it pressed against him. He wept as it wriggled and wormed its way up his body, long, silken strands dragging across his flesh.

  A mouth latched onto his shoulder, teeth and tongue probing. Within a heartbeat, the mouth was removed.

  “You’re real,” a broken voice said.

  It took Rich a moment to realize it was the woman he had heard.

  “Yes,” he replied, his voice nothing more than a croak.

  “Have they taken them all?” she hissed.

  “All what?” he asked in return.

  “Arms, legs. Hands, feet. Little fingers and little toes,” she asked, laughing. “Have they left you your eyes?”

  She pressed herself against him, licking his flesh again.

  “Ah,” she sighed. “You taste of salt and sweat. But have they taken them? They’ve taken mine. They took everyone else’s too. Long before me. Long before you.”

  Rich shuddered, revolted by her touch and the vile images her words produced in his starved mind.

  “No,” he declared. “I still have everything. I’m just cold. Too cold. And hungry.”

  “Hungry,” she murmured. “Hunger.”

  Her mouth found his shoulder again, worked its way down and then he lost track of it in the cold.

  She chortled.

  “Oh no,” she said, the words followed by a slurp that made his skin crawl. “No, your arm is not here. It’s gone. Like mine. Like everyone’s.”

  “You’re insane,” Rich snapped, and he tried to move.

  He was too weak to do so.

  Then he felt a tug on his arm. A rip filled his ears as if someone had torn a wet sheet in half. The woman sighed and pressed against him, the sensation grotesque and revolting.

  “Get away!” he howled.

  When the woman didn’t reply, he tried to move, but a bolt of pain exploded in his arm.

  “What are you doing?” he moaned.

  “I’m eating,” she murmured.

  Rich stiffened. “Eating what?”

  The woman laughed.

  “You,” she said. “I’m eating you.”

  Rich bucked and squirmed, but the woman had clamped down on him again.

  In the oppressive darkness, he heard rather than felt her teeth upon him.

  Chapter 14: Gathering Information

  Shane sat in the small, circular room. Lisbeth’s mirrored prison was before him, the dead woman nowhere to be seen.

  “Where is she?” Shane asked, looking at Eloise.

  The little dead girl put down the doll she had been playing with and stood up. She peered into the mirror and said, “On the floor.”

  Eloise skipped over to Shane and sat beside him. In a serious voice, the girl said, “She is not very happy.”


  “Oh, no?” Shane asked.

  Eloise shook her head. “Not one bit. When she wasn’t screaming she was saying terrible things.”

  “About you?”

  “No,” Eloise said. “About you. She said they would lock you up some place bad.”

  “Really?” Shane asked, looking at the mirror. “Did the place have a name?”

  “Yes,” Eloise said, nodding. “She called it the Keep.”

  “Hm,” Shane murmured. “Alright. Thank you, Eloise. I’m sorry if it was hard for you.”

  The dead girl gave him a wide grin.

  “It wasn’t hard, silly,” she said. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper and added, “I kind of liked it.”

  Shane could only nod. There were times he had enjoyed it as well.

  Eloise shrugged and stood up. “Will you be out soon?”

  “Yes,” Shane said.

  Eloise smiled, waved, and left the room.

  Shane looked at the mirror and addressed Lisbeth. “Come where I can see you.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “I’ll call her back,” he said.

  Lisbeth appeared in the glass. She looked cowed, fear behind her eyes.

  “Are the Watchers based in Boston?” he asked.

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  “Were they really watching this place since before my family bought it?” he asked.

  Lisbeth nodded again.

  “Is there a way to stop them?”

  A sneer crept onto her face and disappeared a moment later. She shook her head.

  Shane didn’t believe her, but he didn’t want to argue about that point.

  “What’s the Keep?” Shane asked.

  Lisbeth looked surprised for a second, but she didn’t answer.

  “What’s the Keep?” Shane asked again.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, and while Shane hadn’t doubted Eloise, he could hear the lie in the dead woman’s words.

  “Okay,” Shane said. “I’ll have Eloise come back in.”

  “No!” Lisbeth yelled.

  He looked at her.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “What’s the Keep?” Shane asked.

  “It’s called Borgin Keep, and it’s a place to get rid of people,” Lisbeth said. “A warehouse to store those the organization no longer wants.”

  “Is it important?” he demanded.

  She nodded.

  “Good,” Shane said.

  “What are you going to do, Shane?” she asked, a mocking, sing-song quality in her question.

  “Why do you care?” he asked in return. “What do you owe the Watchers?”

  “I owe them nothing,” Lisbeth said. “They were a paycheck and nothing more.”

  “So I’ll ask again, why do you care?” he said.

  “Because it bothers you,” she sneered. “And I have taken a sudden liking to things that upset you.”

  “That can’t be all of it,” Shane said. “Not with you. You’re too smart.”

  Lisbeth didn’t respond, but her eyes flicked away from him for a moment, and then Shane knew.

  “They promised you something, didn’t they,” he said in a soft voice. “Was it power? Life eternal alongside of whatever it is they’re really doing with all of those ghosts?”

  “You don’t know anything!” she hissed. “Nothing! When everything is set on its proper path, the faithful will be rewarded!”

  “And what about the ones who are already dead?” Shane asked.

  “Our bones will bring us back,” she said, lifting her chin up.

  “That’s going to be a little difficult for you then,” Shane said. “How so?” she asked with a sneer.

  Shane turned and began to walk away.

  “How so?!” she screamed

  He called his answer back to her as he left. “Because no one will find your bones here.”

  Her curses followed him into the darkness between the walls.

  Chapter 15: Another Abandoned Car

  Sergeant Jill Murray pulled in behind a Wrangler jeep, the lights of her cruiser illuminating the metallic blue paint of the vehicle. She turned on her work lights, called the jeep in, and waited for the confirmation call-back. After she received it, Jill got out, put on her hat, and took her flashlight out. She flipped it on with a flick of her thumb and advanced on the jeep. The beam reflected off the windows, and as she stepped closer, Jill saw the vehicle was empty.

  She shook her head and glanced up at Borgin Keep.

  Jill was certain that whomever the owner of the jeep was, had gone up to the Keep.

  Another thrill seeker, she thought, frowning.

  The Keep squatted on the hilltop. Over the years, she had found her share of cars on the side of the road. Most of the owners were never found. A few people popped up, later on, discovered on side roads and no longer sane.

  The abandoned vehicle would mean a search for the missing person’s system. It also meant a physical search of the Keep, something Jill despised.

  The place never felt right. There was always something off. Either a smell or a feeling.

  And nothing was ever found.

  Not a trace of anyone. No clothes, no belongings. Nothing.

  Jill reported the jeep in as abandoned, gave the vehicle identification number, the plate number, and then walked back towards her cruiser. When she reached the door, she looked over the roof at the Keep.

  For the first time in her career, Jill saw lights on in the building.

  In a pair of windows on the third floor, a dull, yellow light glowed.

  A figure passed before them, and then darkness returned.

  Jill felt her heart thumping, the familiar sensation of adrenaline coursing through her. Her basic instincts were screaming for her to either fight or run.

  Something deeper told her to run, and Jill listened.

  She hurried into her cruiser, slammed the vehicle into drive, and tore away from the jeep. A fantail of dirt sprayed up from behind her tires, and Jill didn’t care.

  She needed to get away from Borgin Keep, and whatever lived in it.

  Chapter 16: A Different Tact

  “Borgin Keep.”

  The name caused Frank to sit up and rub the sleep out of his eyes. He had drifted off at some point, and Shane’s statement had woken him up.

  The scarred, angry man dropped heavily into the chair across from Frank and lit a cigarette. Shane’s face was haggard as if he hadn’t slept well in weeks. The vivid scar on the side of his neck, as well as the battered remnants of his left ear, didn’t make him look any healthier.

  Frank watched as Shane poured a glass of whiskey, the man’s hand shaking and slopping the liquor onto the table. Shane muttered under his breath, grabbed a napkin, and wiped it up before he lifted the glass to his lips. With one movement, Shane drained the glass as if it had held nothing stronger than water.

  Shane lit a cigarette and repeated to himself. “Borgin Keep.”

  “What’s Borgin Keep?” Frank asked. He was still upset with Shane over Lisbeth’s continued imprisonment.

  “Some place important to the Watchers,” Shane answered.

  “How’d you find that out?” Frank said, and Shane told him. When he had finished, Frank shook his head. “And what do you want to do about it?”

  “Exactly what I told her,” Shane said. “I want to burn the place to the ground. I want them to understand exactly what they did when they killed Mason.”

  The memory of Mason’s head caused Frank to wince. “Shane, what about Mason’s wife?”

  “What about her?” Shane asked.

  “Aren’t we doing this for both of them?” Frank asked.

  “Yes,” Shane answered. He looked down and sighed. “For both of them, and for everyone else the Watchers have killed and allowed to be killed. It’s easier for me to focus on Mason. He is the face of all the dead.”

  Frank nodded. “Well, what’s your plan?”

  “Simple. Get l
oaded up, bring a hell of a lot of accelerant, and light it up,” Shane said.

  “And if there are any dead there?” Frank asked.

  “All the better,” Shane said. “I’m going to reach out to a friend of mine. He specializes in securing haunted items. If there are any dead up there I can take, I want them.”

  Frank leaned back, surprised. “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to turn them loose on Harlan,” Shane said through his teeth. “I’m going to hurt him before I rip their little group to the ground.”

  “And what about Lisbeth?” Frank asked. “When will you let her go?”

  “When I have all of the information I need,” Shane replied.

  Frank shook his head. “You should let her go now. She’s waiting on God’s judgment.”

  “God has a lot of time,” Shane quipped. “I don’t. She’s got plenty of time too. When I’ve had my vengeance, then I’ll let her go. Not before that, though.”

  Frank wanted to argue a little more, but Carl entered the room. The ghost looked flustered and upset.

  “What is it?” Shane asked, surprise in his voice.

  “There is a man and a woman,” Carl said. “They are in the house across the street, but they do not belong there. And, my young friend, they are watching our house.”

  Frank was out of his chair before Shane, and he hurried to the window. He opened the shade enough to see out of, but nothing more. Frank’s eyes scanned the street, then the houses.

  A silver Mercedes, with New York license plates, was parked in the driveway of the deep blue Victorian that was home to the Mitchells.

  But it wasn’t the car the family usually had. Frank watched as a man passed by the front window, and he caught sight of a woman on the second floor. Both were doing an exceptional job at looking like they weren’t watching.

  Frank had been a professional, though. He knew how to look for someone who wasn’t right. What to see when there shouldn’t have been anything to see.

  And the couple across the street weren’t right.

  Frank turned to Shane. “Carl’s right. We’re under surveillance.”