by Ron Ripley
Don’t distract yourself, he told himself bitterly, and in the seclusion of the forest, he nodded in agreement. Frederick walked at a quick pace, keeping an eye on both the trail and the daylight. He would lose the day soon enough. The sun was close to setting, the autumn days short.
A chill had crept into the air, a promise of another frost.
Nearby, something breathed heavily, and Frederick came to a stop. He drew the revolver, cocked the hammer back and listened. A small twig snapped off to the right, then a second on the left.
Frederick looked around, spied a large boulder protruding roughly from the earth and hurried to it. More sounds could be heard and in the growing darkness, little could be seen. Calmly, he sat down, putting his back against the cold stone. He took his hat off, set it on the ground beside him, and waited.
From the gloom, a dark gray dog appeared. The hair was long, as was the snout. It moved stealthily, eyes locked on Frederick as it moved towards him. Two more appeared one on either side of the first. A shape in the shadows told Frederick there was at least one other as well.
Oh hell, Frederick thought, and fury built up in him. I could die here.
The first dog charged and Frederick fired. He didn’t aim, nor did he think. Frederick pulled the trigger, and the dog died.
His skills hadn’t left him. He still knew how to kill. And how to kill well.
A second dog attacked, the thunder of the pistol’s heavy rounds ripped through the air, and soon Frederick’s pistol was empty.
Two of the hounds lay dead near him and the others scattered into the darkened forest.
“They will return,” a voice said from above him, and Frederick looked up. He saw a man, or what had once been a man, standing on the boulder.
“Follow me,” the strange ghost said, “if you wish to escape them.”
Frederick scrambled to his feet and went around the stone as the unknown man reached the forest floor.
“Napoleon Les Enfants,” the stranger said, and Frederick saw Napoleon was an old Indian. His face was lined from decades of a hard life. Napoleon wore an aged, but well-kept suit. From beneath the bowler hat, he wore long white hair that fell past his shoulders.
“Frederick Hoeffler.”
“Quickly, Frederick,” Napoleon said. “There are more who do his bidding.”
With Napoleon in the lead, they hurried through the forest. Frederick reloaded on the move, eyes scanning around him while listening for any more dogs.
In a short time, they came to a small, dark house. It had been empty for years, leaf litter and other debris on the floor and abandoned furniture.
Napoleon gestured for Frederick to sit down in one of a pair of chairs at an old table, and Frederick did so.
“I’ve never seen the hunter send all of his dogs after someone,” Napoleon said, sitting down across from Frederick.
“Abel Latham?” Frederick asked.
Napoleon nodded. “Why would he?”
“Don’t know,” Frederick answered shortly. “Unless he knows I’m after him. Then he might be a bit nervous. Don’t know how he would have figured it out.”
“Some of the dead do his bidding,” Napoleon replied.
Frederick opened his mouth to dispute the statement, then realized he had no reason to.
Adam and Louisa came to me, Frederick thought. Why not others to him?
“You’ve seen other dead,” Napoleon said.
Frederick nodded.
“Do you see them all of the time?” the old Indian asked.
“No,” Frederick said. “Why can I see you?”
“Because I wish it,” Napoleon replied. “I was curious as to why the killer sent his dogs.”
“Does Latham know about you?” Frederick asked.
“Of course,” Napoleon answered. “He does not worry about me, for I am nothing more than an old Indian. I do not have the strength to stop him.”
“He killed my son,” Frederick whispered, “and my granddaughter.”
With a sigh, Napoleon nodded. “I had heard of their addition. You know it is Latham?”
“She told me.”
Napoleon looked at him for a moment. “I am sorry.”
“Will they always be ghosts?” Frederick asked, the words rushing out of his mouth. “I mean, won’t they ever get to heaven?”
“Their spirits must be set free,” Napoleon replied hesitantly. “Their bodies must be salted and burned.”
“I don’t know where her body is,” Frederick said, fighting back tears. “I was looking for her today.”
For several minutes there was silence between them, broken finally by Napoleon.
“Do not worry, Frederick Hoeffler,” the old Indian said. “We will find her together. I believe I know where she is.”
Bonus Scene Chapter 6: Finding Louisa Hoeffler
The night sky was unusually bright, the light of the stars and the moon piercing the canopy to light the narrow game trail they followed.
Napoleon led the way, Frederick following, his pockets bulging with salt from a lick the old ghost had brought him to. Frederick could only hope that there would be a way to start a fire when he found Louisa’s body, and not for the first time, he found himself wondering if he should trust the strange ghost.
You have to, Frederick told himself. You have no choice.
The trail led deeper into the woods, moving farther from the center of Griswold, and closer to the logging roads.
After nearly an hour of walking, Napoleon came to a stop.
“Latham’s place is a short ways up,” Napoleon whispered.
Frederick stiffened and nodded. “Lead the way.”
The old Indian turned, and started along the trail again. Soon the forest opened onto a glade, and within it was a small wooden structure. A tiny building tucked far from any prying eyes, farther still from Latham’s smithy, where the man would normally be. The miniscule abode was barren of windows, although there was a single door in the center of the rough-hewn wood of the front wall. A chimney, built of large fieldstones, protruded from the thatch roof.
As they approached it, the smell of death assaulted Frederick. It was the unmistakable scent of a human body rotting.
Frederick’s steps faltered, but he continued on.
When they came within a few steps of the building, Napoleon slipped through the wall, then returned a heartbeat later.
“Latham is absent,” Napoleon said, his voice saddened, “but there is the body of a little girl.”
“Is her spirit here?” Frederick asked.
Napoleon shook his head.
“Alright,” Frederick said. He walked forward, took hold of the latch, and tried to open the door. It was then he saw the lock. He shook the door in its frame, but it was solidly built.
Too old to kick it in, Frederick thought. He drew his pistol, took a step back and shot the lock twice. The weapon’s reports sounded like a ship’s horn in the forest’s stillness, but the lock was broken. Frederick holstered the gun, picked the remains of the lock off the latch, and opened the door.
The stench of decay shook him, and when he remembered it was Louisa’s body, he leaned against the doorframe and vomited. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Frederick looked around the room, his eyes slowly adjusting the dim light. Shelves lined the wall, shoes, and boots placed neatly upon them. Across from the door was a large hearth, a hatchet hanging from a hook beside it.
In front of the hearth was Louisa, her body naked and slightly swollen. Flies swarmed around her, and Frederick choked back a sob. He forced his eyes to look elsewhere, and he saw kerosene lantern beside a small box.
Frederick walked into the room and looked into the wooden box and saw bones. Only six of them, all small.
Finger bones, he realized. He looked at the shoes and saw his son’s boots. Louisa’s petite shoes beside them. He collects them, and some of their bones. No one can rest. No one can go to heaven.
Frederick bent down, picked up the
box and carried it to Louisa. He tried not to look at her body as he put the box next to her. When he walked to the lantern and lifted it, Napoleon spoke.
“I hear dogs, Frederick Hoeffler,” Napoleon said. “They are coming for you. Someone has heard your gunshots, and Latham has sent his hounds for you.”
“So be it,” Frederick whispered. He brought the lantern to Louisa and sat down beside her. With methodical movements, he unscrewed the cap on the lamp’s reservoir. He carefully sprinkled the kerosene over the box of bones, then, with a sigh, he did the same to Louisa. Frederick sobbed as the liquid struck her face, dampened the hair which would no longer need to be combed or braided.
He heard the dogs then, their paws striking the earth loudly, snarls filling the air.
Frederick drew his pistol, aiming it towards the open doorway. With his free hand, he still held the lantern. A small bit of kerosene sloshed within the reservoir.
The first dog appeared at the edge of the glade, and Frederick fired.
A scream filled the night as the dog rolled to the side. The shot had not been clean and the wolfhound writhed on the ground as a second dog raced past it.
Frederick’s hand was no longer steady as he fired.
All three rounds missed, and the next time he pulled the trigger nothing happened.
You didn’t reload, he told himself. Frederick dropped the gun, grabbed hold of the lantern with both hands and doused himself with the remnants. He saw Napoleon charge the dog, but the old ghost was unable to do more than cause the wolfhound to stumble.
As the dog entered the house, Frederick threw the lantern, the glass shattering and the wolfhound howling with fury. With the dog shaking off the blow, Frederick pulled a box of matches out of his breast pocket. He managed to strike the head on the side before the wolfhound latched onto his leg.
The teeth pierced his corduroy’s and plunged into the knee. Frederick stifled a scream as he felt the kneecap separate from the rest of the joint. He threw the match onto the bones and smiled with a savage pleasure as the entire box burst into strange, bright blue flames.
With a deep growl in its throat, the dog tried to drag Frederick out of the house. Frederick spat at the dog, kicking it with his free leg. The wolfhound shook the kneecap viciously, and Frederick leaned forward. He grabbed the dog’s head, driving his thumbs deep into the eye-sockets.
The reaction was instantaneous. The wolfhound let out an almost girlish scream, released Frederick’s knee and fell down. In a heartbeat it was back on its feet, still screaming while racing around the small room.
Panting from the pain in his leg, Frederick wiped the jellied remains of the dog’s eyes off of his thumbs and onto his pants. Wordlessly, he took hold of Louisa’s body and lifted her onto his lap. He cradled her with one arm and thrust his hand into the flames. The blue fire enveloped his hand, the pain excruciating. As the kerosene burned on his flesh, Frederick brought his torch-like hand to Louisa, and he touched her face.
The flames leaped from his hand to her skin. Within seconds, she was burning brightly, and so was he.
The fire spread to the floor and the walls, chasing the blind dog about the room.
Napoleon Les Enfants stood in the doorway, watching.
Frederick brought his granddaughter closer, clung to her, and wondered what death would be like as the flames consumed him.
* * *
Shane Ryan will be back in a new adventure in Sanford Asylum!
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Looking for a Place to ‘Shine
Chapter 2: At Berkley Street
Chapter 3: Waiting on Jimmy
Chapter 4: Jimmy’s Late Again
Chapter 5: In the Diner
Chapter 6: Trying to Hide
Chapter 7: The Ghost Town
Chapter 8: Jimmy and the Girl
Chapter 9: With the Boy and the Dog
Chapter 10: College Kids
Chapter 11: Trooper Glenn
Chapter 12: In the House of Latham
Chapter 13: Waiting for the Rain’s End
Chapter 14: Awoken in Church
Chapter 15: Jimmy Leaves
Chapter 16: In the Darkness of the Church
Chapter 17: The Storm
Chapter 18: Gordon Bay, Griswold, August 1st, 1975
Chapter 19: Waiting for Andrew
Chapter 20: Gordon and the Church, August 1st, 1975
Chapter 21: Trooper Martini
Chapter 22: Meeting Andrew’s Sister, August 1st, 1975
Chapter 23: Meeting Again
Chapter 24: The Interrogation
Chapter 25: Running, August 2nd, 1975
Chapter 26: Courtney and Trooper Martini
Chapter 27: A Chance Meeting, August 2nd, 1975
Chapter 28: Martini Leaves the Room
Chapter 29: Free to Go
Chapter 30: Gordon Entertains
Chapter 31: Home on Berkley Street
Chapter 32: Investigating the Unexplained
Chapter 33: Talking about Griswold
Chapter 34: Uninvited Guests
Chapter 35: Looking for Help
Chapter 36: In Bad Company
Chapter 37: At the Crematorium
Chapter 38: Brainstorming
Chapter 39: Looking for a Thrill
Chapter 40: Desperately Seeking Safety
Chapter 41: Moving through Darkness
Chapter 42: The Decision Made
Chapter 43: An Unexpected Situation
Chapter 44: A Little White Lie
Chapter 45: The Rain Arrives
Chapter 46: Trying to Escape
Chapter 47: Escaping Griswold
Chapter 48: On the Beach
Chapter 49: Out for a Walk
Chapter 50: In the Early Hours
Chapter 51: Back into Griswold
Chapter 52: Courtney Returns
Chapter 53: Looking for Shane
Chapter 54: Things Best Left Covered
Chapter 55: Going into Griswold
Chapter 56: Pay Dirt
Chapter 57: A Storm Arrives
Chapter 58: Abel Latham’s Friend
Chapter 59: In a Nightmare Once More
Chapter 60: Desperation
Chapter 61: A Bad Shot
Chapter 62: Returned from the Grave
Chapter 63: Burning Down the Dead
Chapter 64: Going Home Again
Bonus Scene Chapter 1: Vanished, October 20, 1919
Bonus Scene Chapter 2: Adam Comes to Visit
Bonus Scene Chapter 3: Bearing Bad News
Bonus Scene Chapter 4: Looking for Louisa
Bonus Scene Chapter 5: Help from Napoleon
Bonus Scene Chapter 6: Finding Louisa Hoeffler