Borgin Keep

by Ron Ripley

  “There’s a door of some sort under here,” Shane said, tapping the floor with a foot.

  “Let’s pull it up then,” David said. “Before he sends anything else after us.”

  “No,” Shane replied.

  “No?” Marie snapped. “What the hell do you mean, Shane?”

  “I mean no,” he said again. “We go up.”

  And as he spoke, he turned his attention to the ceiling, in the middle of which was a small, circular trap door.

  “How are we going to get up there?” Marie asked.

  Shane grinned at her. “You get to go first.”

  “And what if there’s someone up there?” she asked.

  “Jump,” Shane said.

  David nodded. “We’ll catch you.”

  “Maybe you will,” she said to David. “He won’t.”

  Shane’s response to her statement was to interlock his fingers as he said, “Step on in.”

  Marie looked at him with an expression of mixed disgust and anger before she put her foot into the stirrup he had made. David did the same, and in a moment, she had a hand on each of their heads, balancing herself.

  “Okay,” Marie said.

  Together Shane and David lifted, the muscles straining in the older man's neck as they lifted her towards the ceiling. She kept her hands outstretched, and when they reached the small trap door, she pushed up. The wood creaked, resisted for a second, and then popped. She slid it aside as a cloud of dust drifted down towards them.

  Shane and David both watched her, waiting until she got her hands up and into the darkness before they lifted her the rest of the way up. As her feet left their hands, the two men straightened and she climbed into the unlit room above.

  A heartbeat later, her scream pierced the air and shook the house to its foundations.

  Chapter 55: Mutual Terror

  A terrified scream pierced the pain which smothered him and Frank jerked up. His broken forearm was still grasped by an unseen, cold hand. Frank struck out, and the iron rings on his fingers broke the hold.

  It was only then that Frank realized he could see.

  Enough light came up from a hole in the floor to show him Marie Lafontaine as she struggled against a dark shape. While Frank couldn’t make out the details of the creature, he saw that it held her wrists up and away with one hand. It slowly pushed its free hand into her mouth, stifling her scream and choking her at the same time.

  Without looking for his shotgun, Frank scrambled to her, the creature twisting to howl at him. A blast of cold air slammed him in the face, the sensation one of excruciating pain as he inhaled. The beast let go of Marie, jerked its hand out of her mouth and launched itself at him.

  Frank swung at it, and the creature ducked beneath the blow. It struck him in the chest, sending him sprawling backward and letting out a joyous cry.

  Then the room was plunged into darkness as a figure plugged the hole in the floor.

  A cold hand latched onto Frank’s ankle, and he twisted around and slammed his fist into it, the iron on his finger causing the creature to vanish.

  “Marie,” Shane called from where the hole had been.

  “I’m here too,” Frank said.

  "Oh, hell," Shane said. There was a rustling sound, and then a match was lit.

  “You look like hell,” Frank said, sitting up.

  “Like looking in a mirror then,” Shane said. He tossed a box of matches and Frank caught them one-handed. “I’ve got to help David up. Hold on.”

  “Who’s David?” Frank asked.

  “My naked friend,” Shane replied.

  Frank lit another match off the first before it could sputter out and he watched as Shane passed Marie, went back to the hole, and stretched himself out on the floor. He lowered his arms and grunted.

  A moment later an older, naked man climbed into the room. Frank nodded, as Shane introduced them.

  Frank lit another match, and David found a candelabrum with the nubs of old candles in it. The wicks soon flickered with flame. The light offered by the tarnished piece of silver was one of comfort as shadows flickered on the wall.

  Shane bent over Marie, checked her pulse and shook his head.

  “She’s in bad shape,” Shane said, sitting back. “And your arm looks like garbage.”

  Frank nodded. “Pretty much junk.”

  David, Frank noticed, was covered in a multitude of scratches. Bruises seemed to blossom on the older man’s pale skin. He shivered as well, and Frank knew it was from shock more than the cold of the room, although that wasn’t helping matters.

  Shane was the only one of them who looked as though he was fine. He had a few cuts on his face and head, other than those, he seemed unperturbed by the world around him.

  Frank took a deep breath and said, “I think we need to find that room, Shane. We need to get out of here.”

  “We did find it,” Shane said. “Look behind you.”

  Frank did so, and he saw an open door. It was tall and narrow, and the light of the candelabra illuminated a room lined with a dull metal.

  They had found the way out, but not Emmanuel’s bones.

  Chapter 56: Forcing Them to Leave

  Shane lit a cigarette and said, “I don’t care. The three of you are going.”

  Marie remained unconscious, and David had helped to splint Frank's broken arm. The older man had also finally agreed to wrap Shane's sweatshirt around his waist and to wear Frank's.

  “You can’t stay here,” Frank argued.

  Shane looked at his friend and smiled. "You have a bad break. It needs to be set, and soon before you go into shock. We also don't know what's wrong with Marie. The two of you need a hospital. I'll be fine."

  Frank opened his mouth to disagree, but it was David who spoke.

  “You’ll die here,” the older man said.

  Shane nodded. "Always a possibility. But I could die anywhere and at any time. Death here, at least, would be worthwhile.”

  Frank looked at him, and Shane shook his head.

  “I’m not doing a suicide by ghost,” Shane assured his friend. “I don’t think we’ll have another opportunity, and, to be perfectly blunt, you three are dead weight at this point.”

  Neither of the men responded.

  “David,” Shane said, “can you get the window open in there while I bring Marie into the room?”

  The older man nodded and went into the lead-lined room.

  With Frank watching, Shane picked up Marie and carried her limp body into Mr. Johnson’s safe room.

  David managed to pop the window open and murmured, “Damn.”

  Frank stepped past Shane, looked outside and then back to Shane.

  “This is on the first floor,” Frank said. “I never saw a window like this.”

  “The house moves,” David said. “Each room, every day, multiple times a day. Only the kitchen and the hall remain in the same place.”

  The older man grasped the edges of the window frame, pulled himself up and out of the Keep. Shane passed Marie through the window to David.

  “Shane,” Frank said, “you shouldn’t do this.”

  “I have a shotgun, salt, and enough lighter fluid to turn this place into a bonfire,” Shane replied.

  Frank frowned and hesitated before he said, “We’ll wait for you then. At the car.”

  “No,” Shane replied. “You can come back after you get yourselves squared away. But you can’t wait. The three of you need to get seen by a doctor.”

  David peered in. “Come on.”

  Frank nodded and said, “Good luck.”

  "Thanks," Shane responded. He helped Frank out through the window, and then pulled it closed. Lead clamps were around the frame, and he tightened them down before he looked out the warped glass. The two men supported Marie between them, and the trio made for a pitiful sight.

  Shane turned away from the image, walked to the exit, closed the door, and pulled the lead shield into place. Then he turned around and looked
at the room he was in.

  Mr. Johnson had described it well in the letter. Various sized sheets of lead were tacked into place around the room. The only light available was that which the window let in. At the far end of the room was a low, narrow cot with an olive drab woolen blanket on it. Beneath the cot were several boxes, and to the left of the bed was an equally tall and narrow door.

  Shane walked to the bed, squatted down and pulled out the boxes. Each was made of lead and kept closed by a latch. In the first box, Shane found a length of rope and a pair of leather gloves with iron studs. When he opened the second container, Shane discovered a large and well-thumbed Bible. The gold leaf had been rubbed off the pages in most places, and the leather cover was soft and supple beneath his fingers.

  Beneath the Bible was a small, moleskin journal. Shane picked it up and slipped it into his pack.

  The last box was wider and longer than the other two, and the latch gave him some difficulty as he opened it. When he did, he let out a sigh and shook his head.

  The interior of the box was divided into small squares. Seventy in all.

  Each space was occupied by a single piece of bone, yellowed and cut into a neat, almost perfect circle. A letter and a date were carved into every bone. The earliest, in the far left, read, E. 1892. In the last box, the information inscribed was H. 1917.

  Shane rubbed at his jaw as he looked at the bones, wondering to whom they had once belonged.

  Don’t go down that hole, he told himself as he got to his feet. Start thinking about them, and you may never get out of here.

  As safe as the room was, Shane knew he had to leave soon. He doubted Mr. Johnson’s safe-room would last long against a concerted effort by Emmanuel. And if the Watchers should arrive and Emmanuel assisted them, then Shane knew he would be trapped there forever.

  Shane stepped to the door, found it unlocked and opened it.

  “Hello,” Emmanuel Borgin said, and he grinned as he punched Shane in the face.

  Chapter 57: Less than a Gentlemen’s Duel

  The blow was powerful and caught Shane off-guard, sending him staggering back into the room. His shotgun fell from his hands and bounced, then slid under the bed. Beyond Emmanuel, Shane saw a cot, similar to the first, but spread out on the woolen blanket were mummified remains of a man in a black suit.

  “I look good, do I not?” Emmanuel asked, doing a little dance as he came out of the room. “Mr. Johnson, my dear, sweet Mr. Johnson, suffered under the delusion that I didn’t know about this room.”

  The dead man chuckled and shook his head. "There's nothing I don't know about in my own home. When he was done with his little modification, a delightful man by the name of Harlan carried my corpse upstairs and placed it here for me. Eventually, someone might have stumbled on my remains, but not here. Not in this special room, oh no."

  Emmanuel stepped over to place himself between Shane and the window, and Shane smiled.

  “Why are you smiling?” Emmanuel asked with a frown.

  “You think I want to leave,” Shane said.

  "I know you do now," the dead man snorted. "You've seen what is in my house. You know what we are capable of. Of course, you want to leave."

  Shane glanced into the room where Emmanuel’s bones lay. Lead lined the walls, floor, and ceiling of that room as well.

  “No,” Shane said. “I don’t want to leave.”

  “Of course, you do,” Emmanuel snapped.

  “Tell me,” Shane said, gesturing towards the box of bones. “Who did those belong to?”

  “Ah,” Emmanuel said, a leer spreading across his face. “Those are from the breasts of children. They always had the softest flesh, you know. So many ways to prepare them, unlike adults. Too few options with older, stringy meat. My chef always struggled with men, try as he might.”

  “Children,” Shane murmured. His shoulders sank, sadness pressing down on him. “You ate children.”

  “Of course I ate them,” Emmanuel said. “All of my guests did. Good God, man, we weren’t pedophiles.”

  Shane glared at him, hate building up.

  “Now I see it,” the dead man said, laughing. “The fear is coming out. Oh, you will be fun.”

  Shane shook his head. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Yes, yes you are,” Emmanuel said, wagging a finger at Shane. “Admit your fear, you’re terrified to be trapped in this room with me.”

  “Is that what you think?” Shane asked.

  “It’s what I know,” Emmanuel crowed. “Oh yes.”

  “You have it backward,” Shane whispered.

  “What do I have backward?” the dead man asked, leaning in, his smile broadening.

  “I’m not trapped in here with you,” Shane said. “You’re trapped in here with me.”

  Shane lashed out with his left hand and caught Emmanuel off-guard. The ghost vanished, and Shane shook off his backpack. By the time it hit the floor, Emmanuel had reappeared in the doorway, his smile not as broad as it had been a few seconds before.

  Before the dead man could speak, Shane struck again.

  With Emmanuel gone a second time Shane opened the pack, found his lighter fluid, and was knocked to one side.

  The dead man had rematerialized behind Shane and hit him on his left ear.

  Shane twisted and rolled as he hit the floor, his left knee going numb as it struck the steel frame of the cot. For a moment, he lay there, a wave of exhaustion smashing into him. He felt as though he couldn’t stand up. That even the effort to lift his head would be too much.

  With his head pressed to the floor Shane considered, for the first time, doing nothing more than dying.

  “What?” Emmanuel asked, a look of surprise on his face as he stared at his own hands. “How did I strike you? Why didn’t it pass through you?”

  Then, as the dead man questioned himself, it was as if a door opened deep within Shane. He felt strength flow back into him. Determination filled his chest.

  The sense of exhaustion and desire to quit fled from him.

  As the energy pulsed through him, Shane knew it for what it was.

  The power he felt was that which ghosts like Borgin fed off, the strength they stole from their victims.

  And it was an energy, it seemed, that some of the dead gave freely to Shane.

  Robert and Marta had done it, he realized. They had passed the word along to the rest of the dead, and they were there to help.

  “They’re here,” Shane said. “Aren’t they? The children. Some of them are ghosts.”

  Emmanuel nodded. “Of course they are. They feed my spirit as their flesh fed my own.”

  “They don’t feed you anymore,” Shane said, his body vibrating with the power of the friendly dead. He stood up, slipped his knuckle-dusters off, and tucked them into a back pocket. His iron rings followed.

  “What are you doing?” Emmanuel demanded. “Why are you stripping your iron off?”

  “Because I don’t need it,” Shane answered. “Not with you.”

  Shane’s bones thrummed within his flesh, the power of the children surging through him. Indecipherable whispers filled his ears, and he knew he was hearing their voices. They poured their strength into him and Shane felt his body pulse with it.

  The dead man sneered at him. “You think you can fight me without iron? You’re mad, or you’re playing at it. I will not take any pity on the insane.”

  “Don’t,” Shane replied. “Now come here, will you, I want to show you something.”

  With a derisive hiss, Emmanuel leaped at him, and Shane sidestepped, driving a fist into the dead man's suddenly firm stomach.

  Emmanuel squealed as he folded over, falling onto the floor. The dead man tried to push himself up, but Shane delivered a kick into the base of Emmanuel's spine, driving him down again.

  “You can’t do this,” Emmanuel moaned. “No one can.”

  “I can,” Shane assured him. “And I will.”

  He squatted down beside the ghost, reached
out, and wrapped a hand around the dead man’s cold neck. Shane increased the pressure until he saw fear burst into the man’s eyes.

  “You know it now,” Shane whispered. “I have a question, Emmanuel Borgin.”

  “What?” The dead man shook in Shane’s grasp.

  “Did you eat them all here? All seventy?” Shane asked.

  Emmanuel nodded.

  With sudden force, Shane squeezed the dead man's throat, forcing his mouth open. When it did so, he took hold of Emmanuel’s tongue and smiled.

  “Now,” Shane whispered, “let’s see how long it takes me to tear this out at the root.”

  The dead man’s screams filled Mr. Johnson’s room.

  Chapter 58: From the Tree Line

  Shane sat beneath the boughs of a fir tree with his back against its trunk. His stomach grumbled, and his hands shook, not only for want of food but also for want of a cigarette. He had smoked his last cigarette before the fire trucks of several nearby towns had arrived.

  From where he sat, Shane watched as the firefighters wet down the grass around Borgin Keep as the massive structure burned. The flames were a strange green at their base, and fire licked at the stone walls from the windows. Some of the old granite blocks even seemed to burn.

  The firefighters, Shane realized, were focused on containment. They didn’t seem too concerned with saving the structure. He couldn’t blame them. The foul aura of the building could be felt all the way down the hill, across the road and into the forest on the other side.

  Shane shifted his pack in his lap, an odd clacking sound emanating from it. With a gentle reverence he reached in and removed one of the carved bones. He put it on the ground beside him, and repeated the process until all of the remains were in the open. In silence, he dug a small hole with his hands, and then placed the bones within it. As dirt fell from his fingers he reached into his pack, removed the salt and the matches and the lighter fluid.

  In a moment, the remains of the children were burning, the small, greenish blue flames hidden by the sagging limbs of the tree.

  When the flames had gone out and nothing remained of the bones saved charred ash, Shane pushed the dirt back into the hole. He tapped it down and then he wrapped his arms around the pack and pulled it to him, resting his chin on the rough fabric. He wondered if the others had made it to a hospital as the wind shifted and carried to him the smell of Borgin Keep.