by Ron Ripley
Nicholas did so a moment later.
“While you were out, hunting down that tepid little ghost in a book,” Nicholas spat, “your friend, Jeremy, succeeded in imprisoning me.”
“What?” Victor asked, confused. “No. We left you there, in the house. You weren’t trapped. I wouldn’t have let him.”
“I know that,” Nicholas said, his voice taking on a gentler note. “Tell me, grandson, what is it that Jeremy does?”
“He secures possessed items,” Victor said, and suddenly he realized Nicholas was right. “Oh, hell.”
The ghost nodded. “Yes. Hell indeed. The more powerful the spirit, the greater the precautions our Mr. Rhinehart takes. It was no less with me. He put me in a box, sealed it shut, and tucked it away.”
“How did you get out then?” Victor asked.
"Your young friend, Tom," Nicholas answered. "He is an intrepid and intelligent young man. Dangerous too, I might add. You would do well to stay on his good side, Victor, and that is something I do not say lightly. But, back to my release. It was solely the work of the boy. He remembered when I was imprisoned. And, here's the impressive aspect of it, Tom remembered where my private cell had been squirreled away. He opened it, and we struck sort of a devil's bargain."
“What was it?” Victor asked, fearing the answer.
“If I assisted him in the discovery of where Stefan Korzh is, then he would let me drive, as it were,” Nicholas said. “And drive I did. Both literally and figuratively. I performed some, shall we say, bad acts to get us here. But I did my best to keep the boy free of it.”
“Oh God, Nicholas,” Victor whispered.
The ghost shrugged. “Needs must when the devil drives, Victor. And there was a need. The boy’s is to kill Korzh. Mine is to educate your friend, Mr. Rhinehart.”
“He won’t survive it,” Victor argued.
“Then he shouldn’t have imprisoned me!” Nicholas snarled, shaking the windows in their frames. "I could have come into this house and butchered him. Remember that, Victor. I could have stripped the flesh off his bones and fed it to a group of children. I, however, did not.”
Nicholas calmed down, and when he spoke again, his voice was even and smooth. "No, I did not. He will have a chance to redeem himself."
“How?” Victor asked.
“Easily,” Nicholas replied. “I want him to tell Tom where Korzh is. Or where he thinks the man might be. Now we won’t kill him, not without you. But the boy will help to find him. He will not be relegated to side-lines, as it were.”
“And is this the best course for him?” Victor asked. “Hell, he’s only sixteen. If that. He’s suffered a trauma.”
“I believe that violence will go a long way towards healing that trauma,” Nicholas said, chuckling. “When his hands are wet with Korzh’s blood, Tom will be much better off.”
Nicholas stood up and glanced at the ceiling. “Now, if you will forgive me, I must go and keep an eye on my young ward. He does not sleep well, although I don’t think that would surprise you.”
“No,” Victor agreed, as his grandfather vanished. “It doesn’t at all.”
Chapter 48: A Second Attempt
Stefan hated the sensation of cotton against his skin, but he knew it was a necessity.
He extracted the item from the salt and laid it on the counter of the small apartment he had rented in downtown Fox Cat Hollow. Stefan had spent the better part of the morning building a trap. It was simplistic, but he hoped it would be effective. He placed the mirror inside of a lead-lined box, the lid of which was propped open with a toothpick. A line of fishing wire was looped around his left hand, and he quickly retreated to a square framed out by thick rows of salt.
Should his father prove to be more difficult than usual, Stefan would tug on the fishing line, which would pull the toothpick, and drop the lid on the box. Hopefully sealing in his father.
“Come out, come out,” Stefan whispered, bracing himself for the arrival of Ivan Denisovich.
“Hello, Father,” Stefan said, raising his voice and focusing on the doll’s mirror, “come out now.”
The glass shimmered, and Stefan’s breath twisted itself into fog.
But it wasn’t his father who appeared.
Instead, it was a short, fat ghost. His hair was clipped close to the scalp, and he wore a dark blue workman's frock over matching pants. The man's hands were surprisingly delicate, the fingers long and dexterous. He wore a pair of thin glasses perched on the end of a round nose, and he looked at Stefan with a disdainful curiosity.
“Who are you?” the ghost asked, his voice high and pushed through his nose.
For a heartbeat, Stefan was almost too surprised to answer.
“Don’t worry about that,” Stefan snapped, “who are you?”
The dead man looked around. “Are there any children here? Any little girls?”
Stefan felt his skin crawl, and his voice became hard. "Never mind that. Tell me, who put you in that house, and why were you there?"
The dead man sniffed dismissively and said, “I need incentive if I am to speak. Girls. Where are they?”
“You want girls?” Stefan asked, biting back his disgust.
The ghost nodded eagerly, his hands trembling. “Oh, I do. Will you give them to me?”
“One or two at a time,” Stefan said. “But I need some information first.”
The dead man hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Fine. What were your questions?”
“Who put you in the house, and why?” Stefan asked.
“Why?” the dead man asked, and he shuddered. “To serve as a portal for that beast, Korzh. And as for who put me there, it was her.”
“Her who?” Stefan growled.
“Ariana,” the dead man. “I couldn’t touch her.”
“Why not?” Stefan asked.
“She is his daughter,” the ghost said, sniffing derisively. “He would have destroyed me if I had touched her.”
“Whose daughter?” Stefan felt a chill settle in his stomach.
“Korzh’s of course,” the dead man said, making a disgusted face. “Who else’s would she be?”
Stefan’s mouth went dry, then he managed to say, “He only had one child. A son.”
The dead man laughed and shook his head. “Oh, that’s what his wife and son thought. No, we knew better. Some of his dead were there when his other children were conceived. She was but one of several. But, of them all, he did care for her most, it would seem. Where is she?”
The ghost looked around as if suddenly realizing he had said perhaps too much.
“Ariana,” the dead man said, “where is she? Is she dead? Is she hurt? Korzh will be displeased.”
When Stefan didn’t respond, the man’s voice took on a higher pitch. “You need to tell me, is she hurt? Have you any idea of his fury? He would unleash Hell itself upon those of us who failed him. Oh dear God!”
A frantic note filled the ghost’s voice. “You must put me back! If he discovers that I’ve been moved he will be most displeased!”
Enraged, Stefan stepped out of the protection of the salt, strode over to the mirror and smashed his fist into it, shattering the glass.
A wave of air threw him against the wall as the dead man let out a long, high-pitched scream that ended as quickly as it began.
Stefan pushed himself into a sitting position, his mind too numb with the information he had received to notice the aches and pains clamoring in the background.
His daughter, Stefan thought, closing his eyes. His favorite.
He shuddered and thought bitterly, No, there’s no facing him now.
With a grunt and a wince, Stefan pushed himself to his feet and went to find a place to think.
How many other siblings do I have?
The question hounded him as he left the room.
Chapter 49: Information
The phone woke Jeremy up as the first light of dawn could be seen from the edge of the curtain.
“Hello?
” Jeremy asked, keeping his voice low.
“Good morning,” Shane said, and Jeremy could hear the other man take a deep breath. “How are you?”
“Tired,” Jeremy answered. “I trust you have some information for me, my friend?”
“Yup,” Shane said. “It’s not good, that’s for sure.”
Jeremy closed his eyes and laid his head back on his pillow. “Alright.”
“First, I think your little friend there, Jean Luc, he's definitely behind the killings. I did some poking around online, and it seems like there's been a death every couple of days since you got there with him,” Shane said. “That's not counting the killing of livestock and the disappearance of family pets. And, from what I could gather, he's just ramping up.”
“Alright,” Jeremy said, “is there any good news?”
Shane let out a bitter laugh and said, “That was the good news, Jeremy. The bad news is that the damned thing’s about nigh on unkillable. Out of all of the research, I found exactly one mention about how you might be able to put a creature like him down. One. They boiled the damned thing to death. I don’t think you have a pot big enough for him, do you?”
“No,” Jeremy said, sighing. “We certainly do not.”
“Well,” Shane said, “you’re going to need to find a way to lock him up or something. Like I said, he’s just starting. Give him another week or so, and he’ll be killing people for miles around.”
“Could you assist us?” Jeremy asked.
“Against ghosts?” Shane said. “Sure. I could do that. Against that damned thing, you dragged up from New Orleans? No, that’s out of my league. And out of yours, frankly. Your best bet is to find someone who specializes in this stuff and have them come and give you a hand. If you don’t, you’re probably going to end up dead a lot sooner than you’re planning.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Jeremy replied bitterly.
“Listen, Jeremy, if I hear of any other way to kill it,” Shane added, “or of people who know how to kill something like it, I will let you know. And I promise you that I will keep looking. I just wanted to let you know what I had found out so far.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy said. “It is appreciated, Shane.”
“I know.”
The call ended, and Jeremy put the phone down, the glow of the screen lighting up the side of the bed, revealing the grinning face of Jean Luc.
***
A horrified shriek filled Victor's dreams, and it took him several moments to realize they weren't a creation of his own.
When that occurred, he woke up, sweat on his brow and his mouth dry.
The thunder of feet on the hall floor told Victor he hadn’t imagined the scream and he scrambled out of bed. He threw open his bedroom door and narrowly missed Tom. The teen’s eyes were wide and wild as he said hurriedly, “Jeremy!”
Concern and fear swept over Victor, and he followed Tom down the hall to Jeremy's room, but the door was closed. Tom grasped the doorknob and tried to force his way in, but it was immovable. Jeremy continued to scream, and beneath the man’s piteous cries, Victor heard another sound.
The voice of Jean Luc.
Fury swept over Victor, and he threw his shoulder into the door, the wood and the frame cracking. Twice more he repeated the assault, and with the fourth, he knocked the barrier down.
The scene before him was horrific and ghoulish.
Jean Luc had a long hand wrapped around Jeremy’s neck, the nails drawing blood while those of his free hand cut into the old man’s bare chest. Bright red blood spilled down his flesh, his stomach jumping and quivering with each brutal touch.
A hand on Victor’s shoulder caused him to turn his head.
Tom smiled up at him, but he knew it wasn’t the teen looking out through the green eyes.
“Move aside, grandson,” Nicholas said through the teenager, the boy’s breath foul with alcohol. “I’ll speak with our erstwhile, supernatural friend.”
Stunned, Victor did as he was told. He watched as Tom approached the bed, Jean Luc digging his claws in deeper and scowling.
Tom spoke in a gentle, but firm tone. The words were, to Victor, unintelligible as he conversed with the goblin in patois. As the conversation progressed, and as it grew more surreal with every breath, Victor could hear the ire enter his grandfather’s tone.
Finally, the goblin and the dead man were howling at each other, rage filling their faces. Jeremy went limp in Jean Luc's hands, and the goblin cast him aside, leaping towards Tom.
The teen caught him deftly, pinning Jean Luc’s arms behind his back.
Victor was surprised at the strength in the teen, and then he remembered that it wasn’t Tom.
It was Nicholas.
“Victor,” Nicholas said sharply, as Jean Luc writhed and kicked in the teen’s grasp, “have you any knowledge as to how we might dispose of this beast?”
“Boil,” Jeremy said, pulling himself into a sitting position. The word came out slurred, but recognizable. “Boil him.”
“Excellent,” Nicholas said over the howls of Jean Luc. “Let us go down to the kitchen.”
“In a minute,” Victor said, turning towards Jeremy.
“Now!” Nicholas barked. “We can help your traitorous friend soon enough. This one will not give us much more time.”
Victor glanced at Jeremy, and the older man nodded, shooing him away.
Reluctantly, Victor did so. He led the way out of the room, hurrying down the stairs to the kitchen. Victor ripped pots and pans out of the cabinets until he found an old, stoneware lobster pot.
And it still wouldn’t be big enough for Jean Luc.
Nicholas seemed to sense his thought, and he said, "Fill it and set it to boil. You must trust in me, and we must trust that I will not let him go.”
It took several minutes to fill the pot and to get it onto the stovetop. Water splashed out over the sides as Victor struggled to get a cover on it. Soon he had the flame going below the pot, and he shot a nervous glance over at Nicholas.
He could see how the teenager's body struggled, the goblin's motions becoming more frantic as if he sensed that Tom's flesh was weakening.
Victor tore open the drawers and the cabinets until he found what he had thought he had seen.
A package of black Zip-ties.
He ran with them over to Tom, and without explanation, Victor began to bind Jean Luc. First the feet and then the hands. Then the legs together, and the arms to the legs.
During the entire procedure, Jean Luc screamed at him, throwing himself wildly from left to right while trying to break free of the dead man’s superhuman grasp through Tom’s young body. When Victor finished, Nicholas set the goblin on the floor, face down, and planted one foot firmly on the creature’s back.
Victor cleared his throat several times before he managed to ask, “Now what?”
“We boil him, grandson,” Nicholas said, nodding towards the pot.
“He won’t fit in there,” Victor said, confused.
“No, he will not,” Nicholas agreed. "His head, however, will fit in.”
It took a moment for Victor to understand what the dead man meant. Too horrified to speak, he sat down on an empty chair and stared at the beast on the floor.
Jean Luc glared at him, a hideous expression on his face.
Minutes passed. Finally, after what felt like an obscene amount of time, the water in the pot came to a boil.
“I’ll need your help,” Nicholas said.
“How?” Victor managed to ask.
“Pick him up, and mind the teeth,” Nicholas advised. “He’ll be wanting a bite. At least one last time, before we send him on his way.”
Victor wasn’t surprised to see how badly his hands shook as he took hold of Jean Luc’s right side.
Nicholas took hold of the other side, and together they lifted the goblin off the floor, the creature lighter than Victor had imagined. But Jean Luc bucked in their grip, trying to free himself. He wasn’t wastin
g any energy on screaming.
Instead, the goblin was focused solely on escape.
Neither Victor nor Nicholas would oblige him.
“Careful now,” Nicholas said as they reached the stove, the water boiling over the top of the pan. With a grunt, he added, “This won't be as easy as you think.”
Before he could tell Nicholas that he didn’t believe the task was going to be easy at all, he found himself helping to lift Jean Luc up. They inverted the goblin, the creature’s mouth facing away from them as they thrust his head into the boiling water.
The liquid splashed out onto Victor’s hands, blisters rising up on the backs instantly. Yet in spite of the pain, he continued to hold on. He kept his grip firm, and his back straight.
It took a few minutes for the creature to stop moving.
They held the beast's head under water until their arms were shaking, then, with a tremendous effort, they lifted him up and backed away. There wasn't enough clearance, and Jean Luc's forehead clipped the boiling water, launching the debilitating liquid across the room.
Together, Victor and Nicholas dropped the dead goblin on the floor. Victor took several staggered steps away and sank down to the floor, resting his back against the door of the refrigerator.
Nicholas stood by the body, a grin playing across the possessed teen’s face.
“What,” Victor asked, “could you possibly be grinning about?”
Nicholas moved to the counter, withdrew a long carving knife from the butcher’s block and said, “Let’s not leave anything to chance, grandson.”
Victor passed out from exhaustion and repulsion as Nicholas squatted down beside Jean Luc and sought a soft place in the goblin’s flesh to start his vivisection.
Chapter 50: Antipathy
It was shortly after noon before Stefan left his rented room and wandered down Fox Cat Hollow’s Main Street. He was exhausted, frustrated, and nervous.
Key elements of his life had been turned upside down.
He was no longer an only child. He had, in fact, nearly killed a sister he didn’t know he had. Not that it would have been terribly distressing; the woman had been helping Ivan Denisovich to kill him. However, Stefan’s identity was wrapped up in the secure knowledge that he had been the only child Ivan Denisovich ever spawned.