The Town of Griswold (Berkley Street Series Book 3)

by Ron Ripley

  “What?” Courtney asked. “You can’t make her leave me alone?”

  “Of course, I could,” Carl said. “Aber warum sollte ich?”

  She shook her head confused.

  “‘But why would I?’” Carl asked softly. “You have hurt my friend, a man who did much for me, even as a child. I am not inclined to help you, even if you have made an apology to him. You will risk the ire of Eloise, and of the things in the yard if they are awake. I will neither hinder nor help you. Make your own way.”

  The dead German vanished, leaving Courtney alone in the room. She glanced at the tall window which looked out towards the road. From where she stood, Courtney could see her car parked in the driveway.

  The doorknob rattled, and the high, sweet laughter of a child came through the keyhole.

  “You’re all alone, Courtney,” Eloise said in a sing-song. “All alone. Come into the hallway, Courtney. I want to play. I’m lonely.”

  The little girl shook the door in its frame and Courtney ran for the window.

  Chapter 43: An Unexpected Situation

  Donnie had an AA meeting, leaving Henry to drive to Gordon’s house alone. The lights on his pickup cut through the dark country road the old man lived on. Henry cruised along slowly, tired and sore from the long day in Griswold. They had to process the scene at the makeshift crematorium, and he and Donnie had lied. The two of them had reported the discovery as being done solely by themselves.

  No one would have wanted to hear that Shane Ryan had been involved. The man had left a bad taste in the mouths of more than a few cops. And there were others who believed Gordon had been involved with the disappearance he had reported back in 1975.

  What a mess, Henry thought with a sigh.

  Reflector-laden posts, the markers for Gordon’s driveway, appeared suddenly on the left and Henry signaled before he turned. Gravel spit out from under the pickup’s tires, striking nearby trees loudly. When his headlights hit the end of the driveway, the motion-sensor lights around Gordon’s home flickered into life.

  Henry came to a stop and saw Shane’s vehicle parked next to Gordon’s.

  Where the hell are they? Henry asked, looking at the dark house. None of the interior lights were on. Christ, are you kidding me? Are they fishing or something?

  Angrily, he put the truck into ‘park,’ shut off the engine and got out.

  Henry heard the slap of waves against the beach and the cry of night birds. A hot spike of rage punched through him.

  They left, Henry realized. I bet they went back into Griswold. But why? And where?

  He dug his phone out of his pocket and sent Donnie a text message.

  Both of the idiots are gone, it read. I’m at Gordon’s. Meet me as soon as you can.

  Henry put the phone away and got back into his truck. He wanted to go into Griswold, to try and find the men, but he knew better than to wander around in the woods at night, alone.

  Especially since the damned place is haunted.

  Death waited in the woods, of that, Henry was certain. He’d seen what had happened to Jackson, and John Quill. Somehow James Quill had drowned, and Henry suspected Abel Latham had something to do with it. He glanced at his watch.

  Another hour until Donnie’s done, Henry thought with a sigh. He closed his eyes, made himself comfortable in his seat, and waited for something to happen.

  Chapter 44: A Little White Lie

  Donnie didn’t particularly enjoy lying. And he didn’t like to admit to people he was good at it. It was one of the issues his first wife had brought up at marriage counseling. She could never tell when he wasn’t telling the truth.

  Never, Donnie thought. Never told the truth to her. Surprised she didn’t figure it out.

  He popped the truck into neutral and let it glide the last thirty feet into Griswold. The headlights lit up the front of the general store. Glenn Jackson had died in the store. John Quill too. Their boots had been found inside, on the counter, reminding Donnie of his own, terrible mistake.

  It had been more important for me to get to a glass of scotch than to do my job, Donnie thought angrily. Not now. Not tonight.

  The truck slowed down, and Donnie brought it to a stop. He turned off the lights and the engine. For a moment, he sat there, staring at the building. Then Donnie turned and took his shotgun down from the rack in the back window. He had spent an hour getting the shells ready, and his pockets were weighed down with them.

  Donnie had lied to Henry about the AA meeting, and he had lied to Karen, his third wife, about why he was loading shells.

  Lies, lies, lies, he thought dejectedly. Donnie loaded both barrels of the shotgun, locked it down, and got out of the truck.

  Time to finish him, Donnie thought. He had done a little research on ghosts. Iron and salt were supposed to take care of them, he had confirmed that much. Most of what he had read said the ghost couldn’t come back once they had a blast of salt.

  Shane’s full of it, Donnie told himself. He’s too drunk to even realize it.

  Donnie had considered a priest, but he was a lapsed Catholic, and he doubted a priest would have gone with him to exorcise an old, abandoned town.

  Taking a deep breath, Donnie walked to the country store.

  You’re ready, Donnie thought. You’re ready. You’re going to do what needs to be done.

  He crossed the threshold, looked around the interior, and wondered how he would talk to Abel Latham.

  Like any other perp.

  “Abel Latham!” Donnie shouted. “Abel Latham, come out with your hands up!”

  The building rumbled, as though a hand grabbed it and shook it.

  Donnie planted his feet and waited.

  The darkness at the far wall pulsed, throbbed, and a soft groan filled the air. A chill swept over him and Donnie shivered.

  Keep it together, Donnie thought. This isn’t anything. Not a damned thing.

  He adjusted his grip on the shotgun, and Abel Latham stepped forward.

  The ghost was tall. Taller than most men. He was bare-chested, wearing only an old pair of jeans and an even older pair of boots. Abel grinned at Donnie, his flesh disturbingly bright in the darkness of the building.

  Above them, thunder ripped through the night sky, and lightning burst in the air.

  “And what is your name, little one?” Abel asked, sitting down on the counter.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Donnie said briskly. “Listen to me. You’re all done here. You’re going to leave and never come back.”

  “I must confess,” Abel said, his voice thick with sincerity, “it is something I long to do. Alas, I cannot. I am bound to Griswold, by what means and for what reason I do not know. But here I am, and here I’ll stay. Not to be moved by the likes of you.”

  Donnie brought the shotgun up to his shoulder and took careful aim at Abel.

  “I will make you hurt,” Donnie said coldly. A second roar of thunder nearly drowned out his words, and another lightning strike caused him to blink. Rain began to hammer the roof and Abel laughed.

  “You can do nothing, little one,” Abel said pleasantly, “but I am amused. And pleased, too. It is so nice of you to present yourself to me. The last man here was far less entertaining than I thought. I would like you to run. Would you like that?”

  Donnie pulled the trigger, yet as he did so Abel suddenly twisted away to the right. And Donnie’s shot missed.

  Before he could bring the weapon to bear, it was ripped out of his hands and Donnie screamed as the index finger on his right hand was bent back and broken by the trigger guard. An excruciating pain sent him to the floor. He heard the weapon tossed aside and felt a cold, freezing arm wrap around his neck. Donnie tried to fight back, but there was nothing he could grab, no one he could strike. Desperately he tried to breathe, and he felt himself being dragged backward.

  Suddenly the rain was striking him in the face, and he was thrown to the ground. Abel Latham stood over him, grinning.

  Abel’s happ
y laughter was muffled by the rain and he said, “You’re an extremely interesting man. I do want to know your name.”

  “That’s too bad,” Donnie replied through clenched teeth.

  “Apparently,” Abel said, chuckling. “But let us play, shall we? I am a hunter. You, my little friend, are my prey. Do you know what that means?” Donnie shook his head.

  “It means it is time for you to run, my little friend,” Abel said happily. “Time to run.”

  Donnie scrambled to his feet, and he ran as Abel Latham prepared to hunt him.

  Chapter 45: The Rain Arrives

  The rain slammed into them. There was no warning, each drop hammering down through the trees and striking the men roughly.

  “Jesus help me,” Gordon grumbled.

  Shane hunched his shoulders against the drops, looked at the graveyard, and said, “Let’s get this done. I don’t like the way this storm feels.”

  Thunder ripped through the air, followed quickly by a flash of lightning.

  “Agreed,” Gordon said. The older man led the way into the small cemetery. Shane went to the left and Gordon to the right. The beams of the flashlights shined upon headstones slick with the rain. Shane read name after name, dates for both births and deaths. He saw mothers and fathers. Husbands and wives. And children. Too many children.

  Shane made his way through row after row, as did Gordon.

  “Shane!” the older man called out.

  Shane hurried over to where Gordon stood.

  “What’s up?” Shane asked.

  Gordon pointed with his shotgun into the woods behind the cemetery, the flashlight showing a tall, narrow stone. “Might be it.”

  Shane nodded. “Outside of sanctified ground, but still close enough to the dead.”

  Together they passed through the last portion of the graveyard, walking cautiously to the marker in the woods. When they reached it, Shane saw three words carved into the rough, pale gray stone.

  Abel Latham, Murderer.

  “Here he is,” Shane said softly.

  Gordon nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but the thunder interrupted him. The rain increased and for split second, as the lightning lit up the storm, Shane thought he heard the sound of a scream. He glanced at Gordon and saw concern on the man’s face.

  “Did you hear a scream?” Shane asked.

  “Yeah,” Gordon said, turning away from Abel’s grave. He reached out and turned off his flashlight. Shane turned off his as well. Quietly, the two men stepped into the woods, got down, and kept watch.

  Shane’s eyesight slowly adjusted to the darkness. Thunder roared, and he closed one eye to preserve his night vision. The temperature in the air dropped. Not slowly, but violently. Shane shivered; his and Gordon’s breath coming out in clouds. Neither of them spoke. They only waited.

  Faintly, beneath the thunder and the lightning, muffled by the heavy rain, the sound of someone running could be heard. It was a frantic, frightened sound, the sound of the hunted.

  A heartbeat later, the prey came into view.

  Donnie, Shane realized.

  “Donnie!” Gordon hissed.

  The man stopped with a terrified expression on his face. Water streamed down his skin, dripping from his chin as he looked around frantically.

  “Here,” Gordon said, standing up and waving.

  Donnie saw him and sprinted towards them.

  Behind him, in the black woods, the hunter called out happily, “Where are you, little one? Why will you not play with me?”

  Abel Latham’s laughter echoed off of the trees and the headstones.

  Donnie fell into them and dropped to his knees, panting.

  Gordon remained upright, weapon facing out. Shane slapped a hand over Donnie’s mouth, keeping the man’s ragged breathing silent. The moisture of the trooper’s breath was hot and wet against the palm of Shane’s hand.

  After a moment, Donnie reached up and patted Shane’s hand. Shane took it away, wiped it on his wet shirt, and brought his shotgun to the ready position.

  “Little nameless one,” Abel sang out, “where are you? I’ve so many wonderful things for us to do together. Oh, I do indeed!”

  And then the killer was there. He was crouched over, unaffected by the rain. A slim wraith moving through the night, through the storm on which he fed.

  “I know you came this way,” Abel said, walking slowly. “I will find you. We will play. Are you ticklish, little one? I’ve a sharp toy to find out. Will you enjoy it?”

  Abel chuckled. “I think not. But I shall, little one. I shall enjoy it, tremendously.”

  Chapter 46: Trying to Escape

  Courtney knew the door out of the study wasn’t an option. Carl had made it known that remaining in the room was not a possibility either. Standing at the window, she tried to get her heart in control. It thumped madly in her chest, frantically trying to beat its way out.

  Fearfully, she looked out at the yard. Night had come, and she didn’t know how. Time had passed strangely in the house. She looked at her phone, but not surprisingly it was dead.

  Let’s go, she told herself, putting the cellphone back in her pocket. Her hands shook as she reached up, took the cold metal of the latches in her hands and unlocked them. Courtney took hold of the sash and pushed the window up.

  A terrible, painful wind struck her, forcing her to close her eyes. Unintelligible whispers assaulted her ears. Fear settled in her stomach and made her shake from head to toe.

  You need to leave, Courtney thought. You need to go before they come in here. Before they do something bad. You shouldn’t have come. You should have waited for Shane to get in touch. Why did you come?

  She pushed the terrified, frightened voice away, opened her eyes, and climbed out the window. Courtney dropped several feet to an unkempt flower bed and looked at her car. She dug her keys out of her pocket, hit the ‘unlock’ button, and nothing happened. Again she tried to unlock the car.

  Courtney took a deep breath as she put her keys away.

  Alright, she told herself. All you have to do is cross the yard, get to the driveway, and make it to the street. You can do this.

  She stepped away from the house and jumped as the window slammed shut, locking loudly. Courtney looked over her shoulder and screamed.

  A little girl stood against the house. Beside her was a boy, who looked to be only a few years older. Both of them smiled at her, and neither expression was pleasant.

  Courtney twisted around to face them, walking backward nervously.

  “I’m leaving,” Courtney whispered.

  “I don’t want you to leave,” the little girl said, and Courtney recognized the voice.

  “Eloise,” Courtney said, clearing her throat nervously. “Eloise, I have to go. I’ll be back later when Shane is home.”

  “Maybe you’ll be here when he gets home,” Eloise responded.

  “Perhaps you could stay for a longer time altogether?” the boy asked.

  “Thaddeus has a wonderful idea, don’t you agree, Courtney?” Eloise asked.

  Courtney shook her head. “No, I don’t think it’s a good idea at all.”

  Eloise and Thaddeus separated, Eloise on the left and Thaddeus on the right. With each step, the distance between them grew. Courtney had a difficult time keeping an eye on them both. She continued to walk backward, reaching out with a hand to make sure she didn’t bump into her car.

  “Shane and I had a tea party,” Eloise said.

  “Did you?” Courtney asked politely, her mouth uncomfortably dry.

  “We did,” Eloise said, nodding. “Except he didn’t drink tea. Oh no. He drank whiskey.”

  The dead child’s pronunciation of the word was harsh and cruel. In that one word Courtney heard a promise of pain and misery.

  Fear, which she had managed to control on Squirrel Island, overwhelmed her. Courtney turned her back on the children, sprinting for the driveway. But she was already there.

  Her knee slammed into the wheel
well of her car, and she shrieked in agony. Blood instantly soaked her capris and it felt as though her kneecap had been sheared off.

  Damn it! She thought. Instead of trying to get around to the driver’s side Courtney grabbed hold of the passenger side handle and ripped the door open.

  A cold weight slammed into the small of her back and slammed her into the car. She hit her injured knee and let out a howl as the pain exploded in her leg again. Courtney climbed across the interior, trailing a smear of blood behind her. Grunting with the exertion, Courtney got into the driver’s seat as the passenger side door was slammed closed with enough force to shake the car.

  She jammed the key into the ignition and started the ignition. In a heartbeat she had the car in gear, and the tires squealed as she raced out of the driveway.

  Chapter 47: Escaping Griswold

  Gordon literally sat on Donnie to keep the man still.

  Abel had lingered nearby for some time. Shane could tell the murderer suspected Donnie was near, but the storm which fueled the ghost also hid his prey from him.

  Finally, after a disturbingly long time, Abel had moved on, still calling out to Donnie.

  “Next time,” Gordon hissed, getting off of Donnie, “I swear I will cut your throat.”

  Horrified, Donnie looked from Gordon to Shane.

  Shane shook his head. “First rule of hiding, don’t make any noise.”

  “You don’t understand,” Donnie began.

  The matching expressions on Shane and Gordon’s faces silenced Donnie. The trooper looked around nervously before asking, “Can we get out of here?”

  “Yes,” Gordon answered. “It’ll be a little harder now with him looking for you.”

  “We won’t be able to use our lights,” Shane added. “Best bet will be for all of us to move, hand on shoulder, front to back. Gordon?”

  The older man nodded. “I’ll take point. Do you have the back?”