by Ron Ripley
“Where do you want to start?” Victor asked, looking over at Tom.
The boy was silent for a moment, then he said, “Let’s try the first house.”
“The one where the people were trapped inside?” Victor asked, shifting the car back into gear.
Tom shook his head. “No, the one where you said the guys were burned to death, from the inside out.”
“Really?” Victor asked, surprised.
Nodding, Tom said, “Yeah. I mean, I think that would probably be best. It’s the first place where any pyrotechnics were mentioned, right?”
“Yes,” Victor said, letting out a chuckle. “Yes. You’re right. Thank you for coming along, Tom.”
The boy blushed and nodded, turning something around in his hand.
“What is that?” Victor asked, heading towards Elliot Road.
“It’s a tooth,” Tom answered, holding it up for Victor to see.
“Damn,” he said, taken aback. “Why in God’s name do you have that, Tom?”
“Shane sent it to me,” Tom replied. “Along with the hammer. He thinks it might come in handy.”
“How?” Victor asked.
“There’s a ghost dog attached to it,” the boy said.
Victor almost snickered, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the serious expression on Tom's face.
Clearing his throat, Victor asked, “And do you believe him?”
“Yeah,” Tom said. “I already met the dog.”
Victor was silent for a moment. “You already met the dog?”
“Yeah,” Tom said, wrapping his hand around the tooth. “His name is Chaos. He’s a good dog. Likes kids.”
Victor shook his head.
“You know,” he said finally, “I don’t even know what to say to that.”
Tom shrugged. “I don’t know either. He’s here. He’s good. I guess that’s it.”
Victor didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the boy keeping the dog’s existence secret from him. And he didn’t quite know how to react to Shane sending a dead canine to Tom.
Those concerns were forgotten when he turned onto Elliot, and within a short time, they were parked in front of the house where the first two murder victims were burned from the inside out. Victor turned off the engine, looked at Tom and asked, “Are you ready?”
“I was born ready,” Tom said, and he grinned.
Victor laughed and shook his head. Then he remembered what they were about to do, and he said, “Tom, this girl, her name is Molly Lindow, and she’s a killer, like the others we’ve met. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t,” Tom replied.
“Okay,” Victor said with a sigh, “let’s go see what you can see.”
Victor made certain to bring his satchel with him as he stepped out of the car. Crossing the narrow street, they stepped into the tall grass, and Tom stopped.
“Come on out, Chaos,” the boy said.
The temperature around them dropped, and a small dog, some sort of terrier, appeared beside Tom. Dropping to one knee, Tom smiled at Chaos and said, “Listen, keep an eye out.”
Whether or not the dead dog understood the boy, Victor didn't know, but the dog's tail wagged, and the ghost took off at a run, vanishing in the tall grass. Tom stood up, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the house. His face paled, and the muscles of his jaw tightened.
“How old is this ghost?” he asked in a soft voice.
“Sixteen,” Victor answered, glancing at the house. “Maybe a little older. What do you see?”
“I see a teenage girl,” Tom replied. “And she doesn’t look too happy about us being here.”
Victor searched the exterior of the house for some sign of Molly, but he didn’t see her, or any sign of her. He was about to say as much when he felt an uncomfortable heat start in his stomach.
Tom let out an agonized groan and fell to his knees.
The barking of a dog caught Victor’s attention as he stumbled back and fell to the asphalt. From the corner of his eye, he saw Chaos come barreling across the house and slam into the wall, vanishing.
Within the house, a high-pitched scream arose, and Victor struggled to his feet and over to Tom.
Chapter 47: Jonathan’s Day
The furious barking of a dog woke Jonathan from his nap beneath the dining table. He heard the snarling of a dog and the unmistakable scream of a human. It took him only a heartbeat to realize the sounds were coming from within his home, and only a second more to understand that the person screaming was none other than Molly.
His conclusion was confirmed when the dead girl suddenly appeared beneath the table with him. A dog rushed forward a second later. A dog as dead as she was.
Petrified with fear, Jonathan couldn’t move as she fought the beast. Waves of cold pulsed through the room, causing him to shiver uncontrollably. Finally, after what seemed like ages, the dead girl beat off the dog, which vanished from the room.
“My book!” Molly screamed at Jonathan. “Where’s my book?!”
Her demand shook him out of his fear, and he retorted, “It is my book. Mine!”
“They’re here for me!” she howled, getting close to him, madness in her dead eyes. “They know what I’ve done. They’ve come for me. Don’t you understand?! They will take the book!”
“No,” Jonathan said, shaking his head. “They will take you. Not my book.”
“Get the book, get out of the house,” Molly said, her demanding voice taking on a pleading tone. “Please. You have to leave.”
Jonathan shuddered at the thought. “No. No. No. I don’t leave. I don’t have to. They bring me my books. I have my food. My mother is here. I don’t leave. I don’t have to.”
The dead girl’s hand wrapped around his wrist, the effect instant and exceptionally painful.
“We will both die in here, you old fool,” she hissed. “Don’t you understand that?”
“I can’t die,” Jonathan whispered. “I have too much left to read.”
“Too much to read?!” she demanded. Then the dead girl screamed, a wordless shriek that punched through his head like an awl. Horrified, Jonathan watched as she reached her other hand toward him.
“How will you read now, fool?” she hissed and drove her fingers into his eyes.
***
The screams that burst out of the house caused both Victor and Tom to come to a stop.
“Is that her?” Tom asked, glancing at Victor.
“I think so,” Victor answered.
“God,” Tom whispered.
Then additional screams, undeniably male in timbre, joined the dead girl’s.
“There’s someone inside,” Victor said, and he broke into a run. He heard Tom follow after him, and then the boy caught up as they reached the front door. Victor slammed his shoulder into it, and the old wood cracked. The stench of rot and filth seeped out and became a fetid cloud around them.
Tom stumbled back, gagging, but Victor held his breath and struck the door again. The lock popped, and the door swung in, but less than a foot. Debris blocked any further progress, and from what little Victor could see into the house, it was a hoarding nightmare. Stacks of magazines and papers were bound together with twine, and that twine, in turn, was secured to the wall.
He turned to speak with Tom, and a cold, hard force smashed into him.
Victor fell back and was caught by Tom, who somehow managed to hold him up. Together they backed away from the house, and from Molly, who stood in front of them.
“Who do you think you are?” she demanded, snarling. “You can’t come in here. This is my place now. Get out!”
“Who’s in there, Molly?” Victor asked, nodding his thanks to Tom.
“No one,” she said with a sneer. “Well, there was someone, but he’s not there anymore. He’s dead.”
“You killed him,” Tom said.
“I did,” the dead girl said. She grinned at the boy and said, “You’re kind of cute. You remind me of my boyfriend.
We had a lot of fun. I bet you and I could, too.”
“Where’s your book?” Victor asked, trying to keep the girl’s attention focused on him.
“Inside,” she replied. She kept her eyes on Tom, her hands twitching. “He tried to keep it.”
“Where inside?” Victor asked, stepping between the girl and Tom.
Her eyes flickered to his face, and she snapped, “It doesn't matter. You won't find it. Not in there. At least not before I kill you. I won't kill your friend though. He's too cute. Well, I won’t kill him yet. Not until we’ve played for a while.”
“Is there anyone else in the house?” Tom asked, stepping away from Victor.
“No,” Molly said with a wink. “We could have the place to ourselves. Does that sound good?”
Tom smiled. “I don’t know. Place looks like a fire hazard, doesn’t it, Victor?”
Molly answered for him.
“It is,” she said, giggling. “There’s so much to burn. When I’m done with your friend, I’ll convince you to get my book. Then we can set the whole place on fire. It’ll be beautiful.”
“A fire hazard,” Tom said, nodding. “So much to burn, Victor.”
And there’s no one alive in the house, Victor thought, nodding. He reached into the satchel, took out the lighter fluid.
“What’s that?” Molly asked.
“A toy,” Victor answered.
Tom took a step towards the dead girl, and she grinned.
“Yes,” she whispered, “come a little closer, sweetheart.”
“Here I am,” Tom said, and he lashed out a small iron bar clenched in his fist. Molly let out a shriek and vanished as the sound echoed.
Victor sprinted towards the open door, popping open the lighter fluid as he went. Reaching the house, Victor sprayed the accelerant through the open doorway, soaking the closest magazines and newspapers. He stuffed the dripping container back into the satchel, and as he reached for the matches, he heard Molly race towards him.
“You’ll both die now!” she screamed, and Victor was knocked backward as she burst through the door.
***
Tom watched the dead girl slam into Victor, and he watched as his friend and father crashed to the earth. The older man's head bounced off the ground, and he went limp, a box of matches tumbling out of his hands.
A cold wave of fear rushed over Tom, and he had a sudden fear that Victor was dead. That he was alone in the world again.
Tom pummeled the fear down, and focused on the destruction of Molly.
“What did you do?” Molly demanded, stomping towards him. “How did you do it?”
“Come and find out,” Tom said.
Sneering at him, Molly said, “I’ll kill you, cripple.”
Her eyes glinted, and a burning sensation crept up Tom’s spine.
Gritting his teeth, Tom closed in on her.
Surprise flashed across her face, and Tom drove his hand through her, the iron casting her away and ending the pain. He hurried to Victor’s side, and while still holding the metal, managed to find the man’s pulse.
A shudder of relief rippled through Tom, and he had only a moment to put the iron in his prosthetic hand and close the fingers around it before Molly showed up again.
She eyed him warily as he picked up the matches.
“What to do with you,” she whispered. “You’re a lot stronger than I thought. That makes you different from my boyfriend. He was a little coward. One of the reasons why I needed to kill him. Tell me how you sent me away, and I’ll kill you quickly.”
Tom scoffed and stood up. “No.”
“No one,” Molly said with a low growl, “tells me no.”
She clenched her fists, and Tom smelled burning plastic a moment later. A glance at his left arm showed him that his prosthetic was on fire. He lifted it up and looked at it. At first, he was shocked, then he let out a laugh.
“Why are you laughing?” she demanded. “You shouldn’t be laughing!”
Tom, holding his blazing arm aloft, strode up to the house. He felt his shirt begin to burn, but he ignored it as he reached the door.
“Don’t!” she screamed, rushing at him.
He swiped at her with the prosthetic, trying to strike her with the iron. But the ghost had learned, and she avoided the blow.
Her dodge gave Tom the half-second he needed to lunge at the door. He felt a cold, brutal force strike him in the side. The breath rushed out of his lungs, and it felt as though a rib was cracked.
Yet he landed with his false arm outstretched, and the flames leaped from the plastic to the lighter fluid.
And as Molly landed upon him, shoving him back into the front yard, his laughter joined the crackle of the newly birthed fire.
Chapter 48: Incorporeal Immolation
Victor’s entire body ached as he came out of unconsciousness.
Groggy, he pushed himself into a sitting position, and through a haze, he saw flames devouring the front of the house while smoke came billowing out.
And on the ground, with his prosthetic and shirt on fire, Tom attempted to fight off Molly.
No! Victor thought, horrified. He tried to get to his feet, fell to his hands and knees and scrambled forward, dragging the hammer out of the satchel. When he reached Tom and Molly, he swung the iron tool through the dead girl, sending her screaming into nothingness.
Dropping the hammer to the ground, Victor shrugged off the satchel, and then stripped off his shirt. He used the garment to put out first Tom’s shirt, then the boy’s false arm.
Before Victor could ask if the boy was alright, Molly appeared again.
She kicked Victor in the chest, the blow brutally cold and powerful enough to lift him up off the ground.
Out of nothingness, Tom’s ghost dog appeared, hurling himself at Molly. As Victor struggled to rise, the dead girl and canine battled one another, the dog tearing at her legs and nipping at her hands as he might have when still alive. Finally, the girl let out a shriek and slammed a foot into the dog’s ribs, sending the dead beast spinning backward.
The dead dog howled, lunged forward, and caught hold of her left calf. For a split second, the two ghosts blurred into a single, malformed shape, and then they were separated as Molly grabbed hold of the dog and flung him away from her.
As the creature vanished, Molly turned towards Victor.
“I hate you,” she hissed. “I hate you both so much. One of you is going to go in there and get my book. You’re going to save me.”
“No.” Tom got to his feet, laughing. Smoke curled up from the prosthetic. “We’re not doing anything like that.”
“You will,” Molly demanded, “or you’ll watch your friend die.”
Tom's face paled, and Victor managed to croak out, “Don't believe her, Tom. Neither of us is going to do it. Not for any reason.”
Tom nodded, and Molly swung her head around to glare at Victor.
“No?” she asked. “And what if I torture your little friend here? What then?”
“We’re going to die here,” Victor replied, coughing. “And you’re going to vanish, forever.”
“No!” she screamed, and she rushed at Tom.
Behind her, the house exploded, the roof leaping up and smashing back down, shingles arching over the grass as feral cats raced for the relative safety of the street.
Victor’s last image was that of Tom, being thrown by the explosion, and Molly reaching out for the boy.
***
Ariana felt her eyes widen as the house exploded.
Well, gentlemen, she thought, that’s one way to take care of a problem.
Ariana watched as the dead girl caught hold of Tom, but even as it happened, the ghost began to erode. Bits and pieces of the dead girl seemed to catch on fire, parts of her glowing a pale blue, the ghost’s hands vanishing and dropping the boy.
Both Tom and Victor lay still, the unearthly flames casually devouring the dead girl.
In less than a minute, the ghost was gon
e, leaving only the burning house, and Tom and Victor, both of whom were in danger of becoming fatalities.
Ariana left the safety of the tree line, crossed the street, and winced at the uncomfortable heat of the fire as it rolled over her. Tom was closest to the flames, so she went to him first. The boy was smaller and lighter than she had expected, and moving him proved to be easier than anticipated.
Once she had placed him across the street, she went back for Victor. With a grimace, Ariana managed to get him into a fireman’s carry, and she brought him to Tom, stretching the man out beside the boy.
Then she made a third and final trip to the house. The book, she knew, was destroyed. That alone could account for the destruction of the ghost.
But the matches, the cause of the fire, they were still there.
Ariana scooped up the hammer and the matches, dropped both of them into the satchel, slung it over her shoulder, and took the case with her as she hurried back across the street as the sound of fire engines filled the air. She passed Victor and Tom, slipped into the trees and eased as far back as she could in the forest while still being able to see the fire.
Ariana waited until the first of the engines had arrived, the firefighters racing out. A pair of men went to Victor and Tom, and when they reached them, Ariana left the scene. She slid the strap of the satchel over her shoulder. Only once did she glance inside of it, confirming that the lighter fluid Victor had used was still in there.
I hope, she thought, adjusting the strap of the satchel on her shoulder and following the slim trail that led to the side street where she had parked her rental car, that they’re both smart enough not to say anything about burning the damned place to the ground.
Chapter 49: An Unintended Workout
The fifty-gallon drum, Stefan decided, was a bad idea.
But he had already covered half the distance to the canyon, and he wasn’t going to leave the drum in the woods. Not out of any sense of preserving the sanctity of nature. He wasn’t going to let nature beat him.
Or his own physical exhaustion either.