The Town of Griswold (Berkley Street Series Book 3)

by Ron Ripley

Courtney was exhausted and barely able to keep her eyes open. An empty chip bag lay on the table in front of her, as did half a cup of water. She was in a small, narrow room, and she hadn’t seen Shane in almost seven hours. The police hadn’t allowed her to call anyone, and they hadn’t asked her if she wanted a lawyer.

  They had found new and interesting ways to ask the same question. She had stayed true to the bare-bones story Shane had told her to recite. The police didn’t seem to believe she had anything to do with Jackson’s disappearance.

  But they think Shane did. Courtney wanted to tell them the truth, about the ghost boy and dog, about being trapped in the church by the dead.

  I can’t, she thought morosely. Who’s going to believe me?

  The room’s solitary door opened and a middle-aged state trooper entered alone. He closed the door behind him, nodded to her, and sat down across from Courtney at the table.

  His name tag read, H. Martini.

  “Hello, Courtney,” he said. “My name is Trooper Martini. We met briefly in Griswold when we were taking you into custody.”

  “I remember,” she said.

  He settled back into the hard plastic chair, looked at her, and said, “I’ve met Shane before.”

  “You have?” Courtney asked, surprised.

  “Yes,” Martini said. “There was an incident at a home earlier this year. One which resulted in a shooting, unfortunately.”

  “The Roy house,” Courtney said softly.

  Martini raised an eyebrow. “He told you about it?”

  She nodded. “Did he tell you what happened?”

  “He wasn’t in much of a state to talk when I first met him,” Martini said. “And, from what I’ve been reading, the two of you were in a rather difficult situation a few weeks ago? The Squirrel Island Lighthouse?”

  “Yes,” Courtney said.

  “It seems like a whole lot of death and destruction follows Shane around,” Martini said offhandedly.

  Courtney stiffened and said angrily, “We didn’t have anything to do with the deaths on Squirrel Island!”

  “I know,” Martini said soothingly. “I know. I was making an observation. How much do you know about Shane Ryan?”

  “Enough,” she answered, sounding far younger than she had meant to.

  The trooper smiled kindly at her. “I’m just concerned, Courtney. That’s all. You seem like an extremely intelligent young woman, and I’m worried you’re getting mixed up with a man who, well, seems to have trouble follow him around.”

  Courtney bristled. Goosebumps raced along her arms and rage chased away the exhaustion. She leaned over the small table and said, “There are things you don’t know about, Trooper Martini. Parts of this world that aren’t what they seem.”

  He nodded, a patronizing look of concern on his face. “I’ve seen and heard all sorts of strange events in my life, Miss DeSantis, I doubt you’ve anything to tell me which would cause my hair to go white.”

  “What do you know about Squirrel Island?” she demanded.

  He shrugged. “Only what I read in the report. Some rumors of it being haunted. Same sort of situation with Griswold. Urban legends and scary stories to tell around the campfire or during Halloween.”

  “It’s true,” Courtney spat, unable to stop herself. She wanted to see the man’s face change, a look of surprise replace the expression of fatherly concern.

  Martini merely raised an eyebrow. “Is it now? Are you telling me a ghost caused Glenn Jackson to disappear?”

  Courtney nodded, her face feeling flush. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at the table.

  “And Shane didn’t have anything to do with it?”

  She shook her head.

  “What about the Quill brothers?” Martini asked. “Did they have anything to do with it?”

  Courtney looked up. “The guys who owned the trucks?”

  “Yes.”

  “No,” she said. “They were gone long before Trooper Jackson showed up. We never even saw them.”

  “So, you’re saying we shouldn’t be looking for this guy Shane described to us?” Martini asked. “We should be searching for a ghost, maybe?”

  “You should,” Courtney said coldly. “Because the man Shane saw is a ghost.”

  Chapter 27: A Chance Meeting, August 2nd, 1975

  “There’s someone ahead of us,” Eugenia whispered, stopping him with an icy touch.

  “Abel?” Gordon asked softly.

  She shook her head. “This one is alive. We must be careful.”

  Gordon nodded. Most people didn’t camp in the woods around Griswold. It never felt right.

  Moving as quietly as he could, Gordon advanced up the stream. He caught sight of a tent in the moonlight, and then Eugenia stopped him again.

  “Get in the water!” she hissed, pulling him down. “He’s coming!”

  Gordon allowed her to move him, and in a moment he was as low as he could be. The cold liquid passed over him, slapping occasionally at his face and his mouth. He breathed slowly through his nose, Eugenia gone. Gordon’s eyes fixated on the tent, and he wondered why she had told him to hide.

  The answer came seconds later. A tall man, taller than any Gordon had seen before, eased out of the shadows near the tent. The man was terribly pale, as though he had spent decades in a cell, locked away from the world. He was shirtless, clad only in pants and boots. Gordon watched as he passed around the front of the tent, and it was then he realized he could see through the man.

  Oh, Christ, Gordon thought, understanding why Eugenia had made him hide. It’s Abel.

  The ghost continued around the tent, and when he turned, Gordon saw the man’s back was a single mass of scar tissue. Abel made a complete circuit around the tent, finally coming to a stop in front of it. The man squatted down, leaned close to the closed flap, and whispered, “Hello.”

  After a moment of silence, he repeated the word, his voice a little louder. Again there was no reply, and Gordon heard Abel chuckle.

  “My,” Abel said, his voice cheerful, “whoever you are, you sleep exceedingly well.”

  To one side, out of her father’s view, Gordon saw Eugenia. She watched Abel carefully.

  Gordon returned his attention to Abel and saw the man reach out and unzip the tent. Still, the person inside made no sound. Even when Abel laughed, crawled in, and came back out, dragging a sleeping bag behind him.

  Whoever it is has to be drunk, Gordon thought, hopefully. What’s going to happen? What can I do? Jesus, how do you stop a ghost?

  All coherent thought was driven out of his head a moment later as the sleeper awoke. The scream torn out of the man’s mouth ricocheted off of the trees, punctured the peace of the night, and shattered the moonlight. Dark clouds swarmed the sky and plunged Gordon into a darkness his eyes couldn’t pierce.

  But his ears continued to work. Even as a hard rain began to fall, Gordon could hear perfectly well. Every scream, every cut, every laugh from the dead man’s mouth.

  Gordon would remember them forever.

  Chapter 28: Martini Leaves the Room

  Henry wasn’t sure what to make of the young woman. She had seemed truthful, adamant, and enraged. All at the same time.

  He left the interview room and shrugged when Detective Larson caught his eye. Larson walked over, looked at him, and said, “So, what did the little princess have to say?”

  “Not much,” Henry said. “The only thing she added was that we should be looking for the guy Shane described. Except the guy is a ghost.”

  “What?” Larson asked, incredulous.

  “Yup,” Henry said, sighing. “I kid you not.”

  Larson shook his head. “Insane. Listen, head over to the break room. Grab a cup of coffee. We’ve got a briefing in ten. We’re sending out more teams into the woods before it gets dark. We need to see if we can find any trace of Glenn.”

  Henry nodded and turned to leave when he saw Donnie Matterhorn. Donnie was looking at him with wide eyes a
nd a face which was far too pale.

  “Donnie?” Henry said, stepping towards the older man. Donnie was turning an AA coin over repeatedly in his hand.

  “Henry,” Donnie said, his voice raw. “Got a minute?”

  “Sure,” Henry said. “Couple, actually. What’s going on?”

  Donnie leaned in and asked, “What did the girl say?”

  Henry frowned, but he gave Donnie a quick rundown of what Courtney had said. When he finished, Donnie said, “Do you have a description of the man?”

  “Who?” Henry asked, confused. “This ghost man that she said exists?”

  Donnie nodded quickly.

  “Sure, I guess. The male, Shane, he described the person as tall. Extremely tall,” Henry started.

  Donnie cut him off. “Were there scars all over the man’s back? Was he wearing only pants and boots?”

  “Yeah,” Henry said softly. “Yeah, that’s exactly what he was said to be wearing.”

  Donnie reached out, grabbed hold of Henry’s bicep, and said, “Follow me.”

  Henry was half dragged down the hallway, to a side door, and a thin set of stairs which led them down into the basement and the old storage cabinets. Hundreds of files waited to be sent up to Concord, and Donnie went right to the back. Henry watched as the man moved aside boxes and reams of unused paper.

  Finally, Donnie sighed with what sounded like relief and revealed a tall, narrow filing cabinet. The man pulled a key out of his pocket, fit it into the lock, and opened the top drawer.

  “It’s here,” Donnie said, pulling a file out. “Right here, Henry. Look at this.”

  He handed the old manila folder to Henry, who took it cautiously. The file was thin, but when he opened it Henry found several pages of onion paper. They were stapled together, and the date on the top page read 2 August 1975.

  Henry looked at Donnie, and the older man nodded, gesturing towards the file.

  Conscious of the oil on his fingers, Henry moved the first page carefully, making sure he could read it in the pale light of the old bulbs hanging from the ceiling.

  Witness Statement (08/02/1975)

  Bay, Gordon M. (11/14/1953)

  Laton Hotel

  Railroad Square

  Nashua, NH

  Statement taken by Trooper Daniel Waters.

  My name is Gordon, Gordon Bay. I was in the town of Griswold on the night of August 1st to August 2nd. I came in to report a murder. I was walking through Griswold, following the stream, well, the brook, that leads into Lake Charles. There were two men. One had crucified the other between a pair of trees and he was, oh Jesus, he was torturing him.

  The killer, he was huge. I don’t think I’ve seen a taller guy. I mean, easily over six and a half feet. And he was shirtless. His back was just all scars, terrible like someone had worked on him for years. All he had on was a pair of work boots and old jeans.

  And, I didn’t do anything. I couldn’t do anything. It was too much. I just couldn’t do anything. The screams were terrible. I mean, I heard and saw some stuff in ‘Nam, but nothing like this.

  Nothing.

  When I saw him, he was working on the guy’s feet. He had a knife, real small. Maybe a pen knife. But he was cutting away, whistling to himself. It was terrible.

  Absolutely terrible.

  Findings of Trooper Daniel Waters. (08/02/1975)

  Shortly after the conversation with Gordon Bay, Trooper Eli Collins and myself went to the town of Griswold. We located the brook which runs to Lake Charles and followed it. Eventually, we did come to a single person tent, belonging to one Leonard Waye of Manchester, NH.

  A hiking pack, along with several days’ worth of canned goods were discovered. A pair of Chippewa boots were found a few feet away from the tent. They were placed next to a birch tree (see photograph attached).

  There was a large amount of blood evidence. The ground between the birch tree and an elm was saturated with blood (see photograph attached). In addition to the blood and boots, we found what looked to be holes large enough for railroad spikes in the trees. At the time of the initial investigation, we were unable to reach the holes as they were at least seven feet off of the ground (see photograph attached).

  Neither Trooper Collins nor myself saw any sign of a ladder or any other tool which may have been used to reach the height mentioned.

  We have since established that Mr. Waye is twenty-two years of age, a nature enthusiast, and employed by the Manchester High School as a janitor. He owns a 1968 Dodge Dart and lives in a boarding house operated by Lynn Raleigh. He has no debt, outstanding warrants, or known associates of questionable morals. Conversations with his supervisor and landlady have given a picture of a man who is punctual and respectful.

  At this time, we have not recovered a body, although the blood evidence would suggest Mr. Waye is dead. There is an APB out for both Mr. Waye and the man the witness described. The witness is not a suspect at this time.

  Conversations with the witness, his employer, and members of the V.F.W. have established him as a quiet man who avoids confrontation. He is a returned veteran from Vietnam where his role was as an infantryman.

  We are awaiting the arrival of his military records to ensure Mr. Bay was not discharged dishonorably, or investigated for any crimes while in the Army.

  At this point in time, Mr. Waye is considered a missing person, and will be until he either reappears or his body is discovered.

  Henry shook his head, read through the witness’ description of the assailant again, and then he looked at Donnie.

  “Donnie,” Henry said, “what the hell is this?”

  “The man,” Donnie said, licking his lips nervously. “The man your witness claims she saw. The man Gordon Bay saw. The man I saw.”

  “What?”

  Donnie nodded. “Back when Speidel went missing, when the boots were found, I went there, and I saw him, Henry. Tall. Too tall. Pants and boots, a scarred back. I thought I was going crazy. I could see right through him. Like he was a double image on an old photo. He was there, but he wasn’t. It was, it was terrible.”

  “How did you find this?” Henry asked.

  “I thought I was going crazy,” Donnie said. “And before I got sober, I was in the V.F.W., having a couple of drinks. This old guy walks in and the bartender asks him how he is, you know, the usual small talk.”

  Henry nodded.

  “So, they get to talking, and the bartender tells this old guy about what happened with Speidel. The old guy shakes his head, starts talking about how Griswold is haunted. I figured it’s just a regular bull session, you know?”

  “I know,” Henry said.

  “Well, another guy rolls up, drops down onto a stool, picks up on what they’re saying and chimes in. I hear him telling them about how he’d actually seen the killer ghost back in the seventies. Tells me how a guy went missing, and aside from his camping gear, the only thing left were his boots.”

  “Damn,” Henry said softly, looking down at the file in his hands.

  “Yeah. Damn. So, the bartender asks the other guy if he ever reported it to the police. The new guy, he says it was the first thing he did when he got out of Griswold. Went right to the barracks in Manchester and told them all about it,” Donnie said. “When I heard that, I went home, got cleaned up, and managed to sober up pretty quick. By the time my seven a.m. shift rolled around, I was good to go. It was that day I found the file, and I decided to get sober.”

  “Is he still alive?” Henry asked, tapping the file. “Gordon Bay?”

  Donnie nodded. “Heard from him last night. He’s the one who found James Quill’s body.”

  “What?” Henry said in surprise. “I didn’t even know about Jimmy Quill being found.”

  “Yeah,” Donnie said. “Last night. Looks like he drowned in Lake Charles. Body washed up on Gordon’s property.”

  Henry thought for a moment, looked down at the paper, and said, “Do you think we could stop in and see him?”

&nbs
p; “I know we can,” Donnie said. He pulled his cellphone out of a back pocket and started to dial.

  Chapter 29: Free to Go

  When Shane was let out of the interrogation room, he was sore and tired, and his head still hurt. The ache had become a steady, unending throb which stretched from his sinuses down to the back of his head.

  All I want is a cigarette, he thought, and a fifth of whiskey.

  Courtney was already out, and she hurried into his arms when she saw him. She looked as worn out as he did. He kissed the top of her head and tried to ignore the looks of disapproval from the gathered police. When Courtney let go of him, Shane took her hand, and they went and gathered their belongings from the clerk.

  Outside, the air was warm, light clouds partially hiding the sun. They walked down the stairs, reached the sidewalk, and came to a stop.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  Courtney nodded.

  “Want to walk up the road a bit? There’s a restaurant where we can grab something to eat, then figure out how to get to your car.”

  “Sounds good to me,” she said, sighing. She looked up at him and asked, “What’s going to happen?”

  “I don’t know,” Shane replied. “They may eventually charge us with obstruction if they think there’s evidence of it. Mostly I think they’ll bring us back a few times to question us.”

  “Great,” she said sarcastically.

  “I know,” Shane said. He gave her hand a squeeze, and they began to walk. After several minutes of silence, he spoke again, hesitantly. “I’m going to go back.”

  “Where?” she asked. “The police station?”

  He shook his head. “Griswold.”

  “What? Why?” she said, stopping.

  Shane looked at her. “He has to be stopped.”

  “Abel?”

  Shane nodded.

  “It’s done, Shane,” she said, anger creeping into her voice. “We’re both alive.”

  “I know,” he said. “But he killed the trooper. And I think he killed the two brothers, too. He has to be stopped. I can do something about it.”