The Town of Griswold (Berkley Street Series Book 3)

by Ron Ripley

  Burn, Shane thought, grinding his teeth. Go on and burn.

  Chapter 61: A Bad Shot

  Marie had hit one of the dogs with a load of salt. Unfortunately, she had been aiming at the ghost of Abel Latham. She had also caught Shane with part of the shot. The second round had also been for Abel. The ghost had moved at the last second, and she had missed.

  Abel had not been happy. Not in the least.

  “She’s mine!” Abel screamed, and the dead dogs remained where they were.

  The rage in his voice had literally caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand up, and she dropped a pair of shells as the ghost came towards her.

  Then she had smelled smoke.

  How can there be fire in the rain? she thought numbly, trying to reload the weapon again.

  “You’re mine!” Abel shouted. “Oh, the pain you’ll feel, woman.”

  Marie got one shell in, snapped the weapon closed, and brought it up. She took careful aim at the ghost and didn’t have time to pull the trigger.

  The ghost was there. His face twisted with rage and he backhanded her, the force of the blow terrifying in its strength. Marie stumbled backward, lost her grip on the shotgun, and dropped it as she fell.

  In an instant, he was beside her, kicking her with heavy boots. Each strike sent a bolt of pain through her as he worked on her thighs. She tried to twist away, but the kicks landed on her arms and her stomach.

  A look of calm replaced the rage and each blow was precise, designed to inflict as much pain as possible. Marie gasped for breath, and everywhere she turned he was there. Beating her ruthlessly.

  Then the blows stopped and Marie looked to see why.

  Abel Latham was grinning. His attention no longer focused on her, but on a young woman limping towards him.

  It was Courtney DeSantis and she held something in her right hand, a piece of metal. Rain poured down her face, her hair clinging to her scalp. Her expression alternated between fear and rage.

  “Where is he?!” Courtney demanded.

  “Who, little one?” Abel asked, chuckling and advancing towards her. “Hm? Of whom do you speak?”

  “Shane,” Courtney snapped.

  “Oh, my new friend,” Abel said, nodding in understanding. He gestured behind him. “Yes, he is in my grave.”

  One of Abel’s great dogs launched out of a shadow, teeth barred and a snarl deep in its throat. Courtney swung at the animal, striking it with the iron and dispatching it.

  As the dog vanished, Abel lunged at the young woman, caught her arm and bent it back snapping it easily. Courtney’s eyes widened in terror, a bit of iron falling from her hand.

  Then the fear fled from her face, and with a grimace, she tore her broken arm free from the murderous ghost’s hold.

  Abel laughed in genuine surprise.

  “Never,” he said, shaking his head as he reached out and grabbed her by the other arm, “Never in all of my years has someone slipped from my grasp. Well done, little girl. Well done.”

  Courtney let out a shriek as he took her broken arm in his other hand.

  “However,” Abel said as he scooped her up, “I’ve no time for wounded prey. No pleasure in hunting the injured. This, little one, is a mercy.”

  With a twist of his wrist, Abel broke Courtney’s neck, the pop of its snapping was loud and disturbing.

  Dear God, Marie thought, she’s dead. Oh Shane, she’s dead.

  He dropped Courtney’s limp body to the floor, turned back to Marie and said, “Now, my dear, where were we?”

  Abel lifted a foot to prepare a kick, smiling broadly.

  I’m going to die, she thought, but before she could gather her wits about her, Abel came to a sudden stop.

  He stood still, a look of shock on his face and Marie could see why.

  Abel Latham was burning.

  Small holes appeared on his chest and neck, the edges lined with bright green embers as ghostly blue flames ate at his flesh. The holes became gaping wounds, blackness revealed.

  Abel opened his mouth, and Marie could see blue tongues of fire. The curious flames licked at his teeth and burned his lips.

  The ghost screamed a deep, powerful cry which shook Marie to her bones.

  Abel stepped forward, collapsed onto one knee and threw his hands up to his face as his eyes exploded. Marie watched as the flames ate his fingers, inch by inch. A hole in his stomach expanded from the size of a baseball to a basketball, and finally, it burned through his entire mid-section.

  Marie got her wits about her and shuddered with revulsion as Abel’s screams were cut off as his lower jaw vanished. Flames roared and erupted from the top of his head with the power of a geyser. A crackling sound filled the air and sparks flew from the ghost’s flesh.

  With Abel silenced, Marie heard someone coughing.

  Shane, she thought. Then, shaking her head, she called out, “Shane!”

  Marie climbed to her feet, muscles throbbing with pain. For the first time, she saw the dark, oily smoke as it rose up from the open grave. Shane had been able to light a fire in spite of the heavy rain.

  Marie pushed her fear and revulsion away and forced herself to run past Abel Latham as he vanished.

  Chapter 62: Returned from the Grave

  Shane kept his face close to the side of the grave, his breath coming in great, painful gasps. The smoke which came off of Abel’s burning remains scorched Shane’s lungs.

  He had tried to climb out, but the fresh wound in his shoulder had stopped him. As did the crumbling sides of the hole. With each cough, a scream attempted to fight past his lips. His pants were on fire, his flesh heating up beneath the fabric. Shane reached down, slapped out the flames and was rewarded with more burns on his hand and fresh fire on the pants.

  I’m going to die, Shane thought, coughing and squeezing his eyes shut. I am going to die in this grave.

  Fantastic.

  A hand grabbed him by the back of the shirt and a woman screamed, “Climb!”

  With the unknown woman’s help, Shane scrambled up and out of the grave. He half crawled as she dragged him away from the smoke and flames. Tears ran from his eyes, mucous from his nose, and saliva from his mouth. His stomach churned and expelled the water he had drunk earlier.

  Through the smoke and tears, he saw the remains of Abel Latham. The ghost’s boots, nothing more.

  Finally, the woman stopped, and Shane collapsed onto his side.

  “Oh, no,” he muttered, his voice raw and barely audible. Wincing, Shane rolled onto his back and looked up at the sky.

  Already the rain had stopped, the clouds splitting open for the sunlight to pierce Griswold’s darkness.

  “Shane.”

  Shane recognized the voice, turned his head and saw Marie Lafontaine. She knelt beside him, a look of concern on her face. Her hair was soaked and clung to her head.

  He smiled at her and asked, “How does my hair look?”

  She blinked laughed in surprise and said, “You don’t have any.”

  “Christ,” he said, sighing, “I must look like a mess then.”

  Marie opened her mouth as if to speak, and closed it instead.

  “What is it?” Shane asked.

  She shook her head, gave him a tight smile and said, “Nothing that can’t wait. Too much excitement and I’m afraid you’ll send yourself into shock.”

  He wanted to ask her what she meant, but the cold, calculating part of him knew Marie was right. Whatever news she has, Shane thought, can wait.

  “Shane,” she said, bringing his attention back to her, “you’ve got some severe burns here, not to mention smoke inhalation. Nothing you can’t survive, but I’m going to need to get help. My phone’s back in the car.”

  “Sure,” Shane said, opening his eyes. He smiled at her. Shane didn’t feel any pain, which was a bad sign. His body wanted to go into shock regardless of the control he was trying to exert. He reached out, and she took his hand. “I’ve never had a better friend, Marie.”<
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  She gave him a small, tight smile as she nodded.

  “Marie,” Shane said, grimacing, “there’s something that needs to be done, if you can.”

  “Sure,” Marie said, “what is it?”

  “Nearby, there’s an old blacksmith shop. The hearth is built into the side of a hill. If you go around it,” Shane said, “you’ll find a small path. At the end of the path, there’ll be a cave. It should be easy to spot. The bodies of Jackson and Quill were found there.”

  “What do I have to do in there?” Marie asked.

  “There should be bones in there,” Shane answered. “A box. Probably a small box. Burn it. Whatever bones, whatever looks human, burn it. There’s more salt and lighter fluid in my bag. Light it all up, Marie.”

  “Okay,” she said softly. She shifted her weight and Shane suddenly saw a body behind her. It was crumpled, the neck twisted and somehow wrong.

  Dead, Shane thought. Someone new is dead.

  “Oh, Shane,” Marie whispered.

  “Who is that?” he asked, his voice sounding like metal dragged across gravel.

  “It’s … Courtney,” Marie answered.

  He closed his eyes.

  “Courtney.”

  “Yes,” Marie said.

  “And she’s dead,” Shane said.

  “Yes.”

  Shane fought against the shock welling up within him. He pictured Courtney, her delicate body and the steel within her.

  And she’s dead, he thought. His chest ached as he clamped down on his sorrow, as he refused to give voice to it.

  “Shane,” Marie said.

  He opened his eyes.

  “Shane,” Marie repeated.

  “Yes?” he asked, and his mind threatened to turn each word into a shriek of rage and grief.

  “Do you need anything before I leave?” Marie asked

  “Yeah,” Shane said, nodding.

  “What?”

  “I really need a cigarette,” he whispered.

  Chapter 63: Burning Down the Dead

  Marie made the call to 911 and looked around for the hill Shane had spoken of. She could see little through the forest, but she caught sight of a trail. Branches were broken back, widened by the passage of dozens of people. She had worked enough crime scenes to recognize the signs of a police investigation.

  Marie, with Shane’s backpack in hand, jogged to the opening. She moved quickly along it and within a few minutes arrived at the hill and the remains of a blacksmith’s shop. Shreds of yellow caution tape clung to a few trees alongside a trampled game trail. It curved around the base of the hill and went up to what was probably once a hidden entrance.

  Marie entered it, darkness surrounding her. She pulled her keys out of her pocket and clicked on the small LED flashlight attached to the ring. The illumination was sickly, as was the smell which filled the moist air of the corridor. Soon she reached an open door and what she saw sickened her.

  A teenage boy and girl, each stripped bare, lay on the floor, one atop the other. The smell in the room informed Marie that they were undeniably dead. Beside them stood a small boy and a dog. She could see through both of them.

  “They were killed by the others,” the boy said sadly, glancing at the bodies. “My father brought them here, to save some bones, and to add to his flock, if you will.”

  “Why?” Marie asked in a low voice.

  The boy shrugged. “Who knows why Abel Latham did anything? Are you here to burn them?”

  “Yes,” Marie answered.

  “To burn the bones?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  The little boy turned and pointed at the back wall, saying, “There.”

  His small finger directed her to the fireplace. She realized it was the back of the one in the blacksmith’s shop. To the right of it was a brick with the letters ‘AL’ carved into it.

  “The brick hides his trophies, those that weren’t destroyed by another hunter,” the boy said sagely.

  Marie walked forward, put the bag down between her feet, and worked her fingers in around the edges of the bit of masonry. Within a minute, she had pried it out. The brick was hollow, and in it were five small finger bones and the jawbone of a small dog. She reached in, took them out, and dropped the empty container to the floor. When she picked up the backpack, Marie saw the boy and the dog stood by the bodies.

  In silence, she carried the bones over to the bodies and placed them on the girl’s breast. Quickly, before she changed her mind, Marie retrieved the bottle of lighter fluid. She opened it, emptied the entire contents onto the bones and the bodies, and found the matches.

  Marie hesitated, then struck the match and set fire to the dead.

  The boy and the dog vanished, and Marie was alone with the makeshift funeral pyre. As the bodies burned she thought of the Quill brothers who had been killed when it all began.

  The medical examiner owes me a favor, Marie thought tiredly. He can say the brothers were infected. Cremation is necessary, unfortunately.

  Yes, she sighed. Cremation is necessary.

  Chapter 64: Going Home Again

  “Are you alright?” Marie asked.

  “Yeah,” Shane said, nodding. She had stopped the car in his driveway, and the two of them looked at the house.

  “Shane,” Marie said.

  He looked at her and smiled. “Really, Marie, I’m good. Thank you.”

  She nodded and went to put the car in ‘park.’ Shane reached out and gently touched her hand, stopping her.

  He shook his head. “You don’t need to come in.”

  A look of relief flashed across her face as she asked, “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding, “I’m sure. You’ve done enough.”

  “Want me to call and check on you?” she said.

  “That’d be great, my friend.” He opened the door, grabbed his bag, and said, “Thank you, again, Marie. I appreciate it more than I can say.”

  “Shane,” she said.

  “Yeah?” he asked, pausing.

  “I almost forgot to give you these.” Marie reached into her breast pocket and removed a set of dog tags.

  He took them from her and looked at them. They were his. The ones he had given to Courtney.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Marie smiled and nodded. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “That you will,” he said. He got out of the car, closed the door, and went up to his house. He stood and watched her leave, waving once. After she had left, Shane let himself in and stepped into the hall.

  Carl drifted out of the study and looked at him. His eyes widened at the sight of Shane’s arm in a sling. In German, he asked, “Shane, are you alright?”

  Shane held up a finger, and Carl closed his mouth.

  “I want to know, Carl,” Shane said softly in German, “who chased her from the house?”

  “They were angry with her for hurting you,” Carl said.

  Shane closed his eyes, sadness welling up within him. He swallowed roughly, blinked back tears, and whispered, “She is dead.”

  “Oh my God, Shane,” Carl said, horrified. “They were worried about you, that is all!”

  Shane nodded. “Tell me who, please, my friend.”

  Carl hesitated and then said, “Eloise and Thaddeus.”

  Shane forced himself to open his eyes. In a loud, firm voice he called out, “Eloise! Thaddeus!”

  At the far end of the hall, they appeared from a shadow. They had been listening. Their heads were lowered. Neither of them said a word.

  “You chased her,” Shane said.

  They nodded.

  “Made her run,” he added.

  “Yes,” Eloise whispered.

  “She hurt you,” Thaddeus said. “We wanted to hurt her.”

  Tears fell from Shane’s eyes. It pained him to speak. “She did. Please go, and hide from me. Carl will let you know when you can come out.”

  The two children fled the hall.

&nb
sp; “I’ll be upstairs, Carl,” Shane said in German. “I need to get drunk.”

  Carl bowed, and returned to the study.

  Shane carried his bag up to his room. He dropped it on his bed, dug out his fresh bottle of whiskey, and opened it. The liquor was familiar and comforting as he drank it straight from the bottle. When he finished, Shane set it down on the bed table and got out a fresh pack of Lucky Strikes. He lit a cigarette, exhaled through his nose, and walked to the windows.

  Silently, he drew the curtains, the room becoming dim, lit solely by the sunlight drifting in around the old fabric.

  The room was cold, comfortingly so.

  He went and sat on his bed. He finished the cigarette, stubbed it out in the ashtray by the whiskey, and took another drink. Cautiously, he stretched out on the bed. Most of the burns didn’t hurt, but a few did.

  He took his dog tags out of his pocket and looked at them for a moment. They felt charged, almost as if they had a small current of electricity running through them. Shane sighed, and then he set them on the pillow by his head. They smelled faintly of Courtney’s shampoo.

  As he adjusted himself on his bed, he heard a noise and caught a hint of movement in the corner by his armoire.

  Shane nearly sobbed as he closed his eyes. In a voice raw and thick with emotion, he said, “Come to bed, Courtney.”

  “I miss you,” she whispered.

  “I miss you, too,” he replied softly.

  A heartbeat later, a cold but familiar form pressed up against him. Courtney sighed, and Shane waited for sleep to come.

  * * *

  Bonus Scene Chapter 1: Vanished, October 20, 1919

  Frederick Hoeffler sat in his one-bedroom house. Beyond the thin glass of the windows, the night was black. Clouds hid the stars and the full moon. The coal in the stove burned brightly, light thrown out of the grill and onto the rough hewn floor.