Slater Mill

by Ron Ripley

  He knew it wasn’t though. A solid feeling of certainty in his gut, a piercing, cold understanding in his mind. They both told him that he was looking at a dead man, one who was murdering the living.

  Shane stared at the picture, smoking his cigarette. He contemplated doing nothing. It would be easy. He could pick up the front page, turn it, and forget he had ever seen the image. Shane could pretend it hadn’t been anything at all.

  But he knew he couldn’t.

  The ghost had killed twice in as many weeks, and he felt certain the dead man would kill again.

  Shane finished his cigarette, stubbing the butt out in the ashtray. He tapped his foot on the floor and considered what to do.

  Mills, he knew, had seen plenty of accidents. The buildings were no strangers to death or violence. Some said the foundations of the structures were soaked in blood. Whether that statement had any truth to it, Shane didn’t know.

  But he would find out about the Slater Mill. He would learn about deaths which had occurred there before it had ceased to be useful.

  And he would find out why it had been abandoned for so many years.

  Shane stood up, walked to the phone, and called Brian Roy.

  Chapter 4: Santeria

  Jose De Los Angeles had been a Santeria priest for seven years. He had even returned to the Dominican Republic for a year to learn at the feet of some of the finest members of his faith. Jose had learned how to summon the dead, read omens, and help care for the living. He was not afraid of ghosts, and he had cast more than a few out of the old and run-down buildings along the Tree Streets of Nashua.

  When the teenager from Lawrence had been found dead in the Mill, there had been some mutterings about the place being haunted. Those mutters became grumbles when an old Ecuadorian had been found dead against the fence. The man’s eyes had been gouged out, and while the police suspected a crazed man, Jose and the others knew better.

  There was an angry ghost at work; one who needed to be checked.

  A knock on the door brought Jose back to the present. After a moment, he heard his wife’s voice, her words too soft for him to hear. She entered the room shortly, followed by a young woman carrying a large Calvin Klein bag. The girl was pretty, and Jose felt his interest pique, but he forced himself to focus on what she had brought, instead.

  “I bring news from Oloricha Dominica,” the young woman said. “And greetings. She sends you this gift, and hopes you will be able to accomplish your goal.”

  “Thank you,” Jose said, standing up. He crossed the room and accepted the bag from her. When he opened it, the dark, hollow eyes of a human skull peered back up at him. Jose felt a wave of relief. It was difficult to get any Santeria priest or priestess, an Oloricha of merit, to part with such a prized possession, but Dominica knew his need was great.

  Jose suspected that the deaths were not natural. That there was a spirit, perhaps an angry one, or simply misguided, who had committed the crimes. As a priest, Jose could not allow the dead to prey upon the living.

  Jose turned away as the young woman gave a short bow and then was led out of the room. He carried the bag to his altar, a long, weathered piece of wood covered with the amulets and icons necessary to execute his tasks as a priest. Jose removed the skull reverently, placing it down in the center. He set the bag on the floor and stared at the remnants of some unknown man.

  Jose closed his eyes and whispered a short prayer of thanks, and then he waited for his mind to clear. He would soon have to enter the Mill, but before he could, he needed to be prepared. Turning away from the altar, Jose walked to the closet, opened it, and turned on the light. Several bookcases lined the walls, each of the shelves filled with jars and bottles with various ingredients.

  Jose stepped in with nervous hands and selected what he would need to ward off death.

  Chapter 5: Visiting with Brian and Jenny

  “You look terrible,” Jenny said after she had let Shane into the house.

  Shane grinned. “What, you don’t think the one-eared look is in this year?”

  She slapped him on the shoulder, shaking her head. “You better not be here to try and convince my man to go on a little ghost adventure.”

  “No,” Shane said. “I’d like him to stay alive. Nope, I just came for some research help. Nobody’s better than you two.”

  “See,” Jenny said, grinning, “flattery will get you everywhere.”

  From the den, Brian called, “Don’t sweet talk her, it just makes it worse for me.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes and said, “Come on. Let’s go see Mr. Congeniality.”

  Chuckling, Shane followed her into the den where she went and sat down beside Brian on the couch.

  “Damn,” Brian said, his eyes widening. “You look like you’ve been worked over.”

  “A few times,” Shane admitted, dropping into the chair across from them. “How have you two been?”

  “Evidently better than you,” Brian said, his tone serious. “What happened?”

  “A lot,” Shane said. “Too much. I don’t know. It’s been pretty rough.”

  “Looks like it,” Brian said. “Anyway, tell us what you need. All you said over the phone was you wanted information.”

  “That’s pretty much it,” Shane agreed. “I didn’t know if either of you knew anything about the Slater Mill in Nashua?”

  Brian shook his head, but Jenny’s eyes narrowed. A heartbeat later she said, “Yeah, yeah, I think I do.”

  She got back up and left the room.

  Shane looked to Brian, but his friend shrugged, saying, “Man, I don’t even know what she has for information anymore.”

  Jenny’s footsteps rang out on the stairs and then moved across the hallway of the second floor.

  “We have a few minutes,” Brian said, chuckling. “She went into her library. Place is chock full of books, and articles. I swear she’s got way too much on ghosts up there.”

  “More power to her,” Shane said. “I definitely need some help on this before I poke my nose in there.”

  “Yeah,” Brian said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Have you read the Telegraph?” Shane asked.

  “No,” Brian said. “Thing’s a rag. I stopped reading it a year or so ago after I found spelling errors in their headlines.”

  “Understood,” Shane said. He settled back in the chair and told Brian about the two murders, and what he had seen in the photograph.

  “Seriously?” Brian asked.

  Shane nodded.

  “Damn,” Brian muttered. “Well, you definitely came to the right place. Jenny’s got a ton of stuff on both Nashua and Manchester. Not so much on the little towns around the cities.”

  “Fine by me,” Shane said. “All I need is info on the Mill right now.”

  Above them, a door closed and a moment later, Jenny was on her way back down the stairs. She appeared carrying in her hand a slim, dark blue book. With a smile, she handed the volume to Shane, and then returned to her seat beside Brian.

  There was nothing written on either the book’s spine or cover. When Shane opened it, he found he had it upside down and had to turn it around before he could read it. The title page stated the book’s name was “Mishaps at the Slater Mill.” It had been published in 1911.

  “That’s a list of all of the deaths that occurred in the Mill,” Jenny said. “Both when it was being built, and when it was in operation.”

  Shane flipped through the pages. The book was arranged by year, starting in 1841, and continuing until the year of publication. In each section, the deaths were arranged alphabetically by surname, with information on the individuals and their manner of death concisely described.

  The book was a litany of horrors.

  On one page alone, Shane saw three men who had died after having an arm torn off by “Machine Number 5” on the third floor. Blinding was common, as were the loss of fingers and toes. More than one child was listed as a fatality as well.

  “Thi
s is miserable,” Shane murmured. He looked up at Brian and Jenny.

  “Yeah,” Jenny agreed. “I found the book last year at the Nashua Public Library’s annual book sale. I thought it was interesting at first, but then it just got to be too much, even for me.”

  “That bad, babe?” Brian asked in a soft voice.

  “Yeah,” she said, sighing.

  “May I borrow this?” Shane asked, closing the book.

  “Sure,” Jenny said. “Do you have to go into the Mill?”

  “I think I do,” Shane said.

  Jenny didn’t ask why. Instead, she said, “You’re not taking Brian.”

  “No,” Shane agreed. “I am most definitely not taking Brian. He’s not exactly the picture of health.”

  Brian snorted. “Look who’s talking. You could star in horror movies now.”

  “Ha,” Shane said. “You’re a funny guy.”

  “I am,” Brian said, grinning. The grin dropped away, and Brian became serious. “I hope you’re wrong, though, about the photo.”

  “Me too,” Shane said.

  “What photo?” Jenny asked, looking from Shane to Brian.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Brian said.

  Shane stood up, holding the book in his left hand, still painfully aware of the absence of his two fingers.

  “Are you going into the Mill alone?” Jenny asked.

  “More than likely,” Shane answered.

  “What about Frank?” Brian said. “Won’t he go in with you?”

  “He’s at a wedding,” Shane said. “And I don’t think I can wait on going. I’ve got a feeling this is going to get worse.”

  “Okay,” Brian said. He and Jenny got up and walked with Shane to the front door.

  “I know I can’t do anything to help,” Brian said, “but I still know some people. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “I won’t,” Shane said. He shook their hands and left the house. He had a long ride back to Nashua, and he needed to figure out the best way to get into the Slater Mill.

  Without being arrested or getting murdered by a ghost.

  Chapter 6: Standing on the Corner

  Chad Everett had a pocket full of ‘H’.

  If he sold all of the heroin before the night was through, he could clear a couple of hundred, and that was after what he owed Simone for the buy in.

  Grinning, Chad relaxed, adjusted his headphones, and waited to see what the night would bring.

  He watched a few cars roll by, but most people were interested in the old Slater Mill. The double homicides had piqued everyone’s interest, and Chad had even taken a stroll over there earlier in the night. He hadn’t gotten too close, though. The police were still hanging around, asking questions, and Chad had already done a four-year bid in the state prison for dealing.

  He took out his cigarettes, shook out a Newport, and lit it. Exhaling the smoke up into the night sky, Chad felt a smile creep across his face. The air felt good, and there was nothing better than a cigarette to help the time slide by.

  The hours eased along, and soon he had emptied his pocket. He split the cash from the sales into various places in his jeans and sweatshirt, and then got himself another smoke. Whistling, Chad walked away from the corner. In the clear night air, the wind carried the sound of the old Mill clock down to him as it struck midnight.

  The witching hour, he thought, chuckling. Maybe I’ll take a closer peek at the Mill.

  And with that, Chad adjusted his path, crossing Central Street to cut down Ash. The old building loomed up at the end of the street, the old windows sucking in the light of the stars and the moon.

  He had never liked the place. It had always made him feel strange, as if someone was behind the glass, waiting for him to come too close.

  Chad snorted. He had real problems to worry about. The police finding out he was dealing again. Simone thinking he might be skimming off the top. Somebody learning Chad was shooting up every night.

  Nope, he thought. I’ve got real issues. Not any boogie man garbage to deal with.

  When Chad reached the end of Ash Street, he looked around, stared past the chain-linked fence, and wondered what had happened.

  A can rattled to his right, and Chad turned. Half in the shadows he saw a middle-aged white man staring at him.

  Chad reached up, slipped the headphone out of his right ear and said, “Hey man, no more chemicals tonight. I’m sold out. Catch me tomorrow. I’ll be all set and stocked up. You can get your nod on then.”

  The man didn’t respond, and Chad felt uncomfortable.

  Chad hadn’t seen him around before, but that wasn’t anything too strange. He knew all of the cops by sight, and this one wasn’t anything close to a cop.

  Just another junkie looking for a fix, Chad told himself. He waited another few seconds for the man to say something, and when he didn’t, Chad shrugged and turned his attention back to the Mill. Out of the corner of his eye, he made sure he could see the stranger. Chad hadn’t lived in the projects his entire life to forget that little lesson.

  When the man took a step towards him, Chad bristled and turned.

  “What’s your problem?” Chad snapped, and then all of his thoughts vanished.

  The man faded in front of Chad’s eyes, disappearing.

  Chad backed up until he bumped into a wall. His eyes darted all around, and finally, they found the man.

  He was standing on the other side of the chain-linked fence, staring at Chad.

  Without a word, the man turned around and walked through the brick wall.

  The cigarette fell from Chad’s lips, the ashes burning small holes in his sweatshirt as they tumbled down.

  “No,” Chad whispered. His eyes searched the Mill, and in a window, on the second floor, he saw the half-moon shape of the man’s face.

  Chad screamed, his voice rising to a high shriek before he went racing from the scene.

  Chapter 7: Looking for Something

  Jamie Fernandez opened the door to his apartment in time to see the skin-popper Everett running down Ash Street.

  “What the hell was that?” his brother Tony called from the kitchen.

  “Everett,” Jamie answered, going out to sit on the front step.

  Tony stepped into the doorway behind him, looking out and watching Everett run.

  “Damn,” Tony said. “He get a bad dose or something?”

  “Who knows,” Jamie said. “Get me a beer, will you?”

  “Yeah.” Tony left and returned with a beer for each of them.

  Jamie twisted off the cap, dropped it into the half-filled coffee can of the same by the step, and looked at the Mill building. He had never paid much attention to it before the murders. It had always been there. Like the sun, or the sky. Nothing to think about, let alone worry.

  “Think he went into the Mill?” Tony asked.

  Jamie shrugged. “Maybe, but no junkies go in there to boot up. Even they’re not that stupid.”

  “Think somebody’s in there?” Tony asked.

  “Naw,” Jamie answered. “Cops would have found him. Building’s big, but you can’t hide from a cop when they're after you for murder.”

  “True,” Tony said while leaving, his footsteps trailing away.

  Their father was doing a life sentence down in Massachusetts for killing a clerk in a robbery. The Nashua police had been relentless. Jamie could still remember when they had raided the apartment and dragged his father out in handcuffs.

  No, Jamie thought, finishing his beer. Cops don’t mess around. Not with murder.

  He put the empty bottle down by the coffee can and looked at the Mill.

  “Yeah,” he muttered to himself, standing up. “I’ll do it.”

  “What’s going on?” Tony called to him.

  “Going into the Mill,” Jamie said.

  “What?” Tony asked, disbelief in his voice.

  “I want to see what the big deal is,” Jamie said, rolling his shoulders. He had enjoy
ed a good day at the gym. Big Mike had brought in two guys from Billerica to spar with him, and Jamie had beaten both of them. If there was anyone in the Mill, Jamie wasn’t worried about him.

  Jamie was a hell of a lot better at bare-knuckle brawling than he was in the ring with the gloves on.

  No rules outside the ring.

  “Don’t go now,” Tony said. “Ella’s asleep. I can’t leave her alone.”

  Jamie almost said something nasty about Tony not being a man, then he remembered how much his niece depended on Tony. Jamie’s brother was a better father than theirs had ever been.

  “No, man,” Jamie said. “Stay home with Ella. It’s probably nothing. I just want to stretch my legs. See what’s going on.”

  “Don’t start anything,” Tony said. “Least not without me. Okay?”

  “Yeah,” Jamie lied. “Of course. See you soon.”

  “Yeah,” Tony said. “Door’ll be unlocked.”

  Jamie nodded and walked down to the end of the street where the gate to the fence was. For the first time in his life, he reached out and touched the cold metal, flipping the latch up. Jamie realized he had never seen it locked before.

  And even after the murders, it still wasn’t locked.

  Jamie shook his head, pushed the gate open, and entered the enclosure. He walked towards the nearest door, tall and wide. There was no caution tape on it, no sign to stay out.

  Jamie reached out, grasped the doorknob, and turned.

  It wasn’t locked and slid easily, as did the door itself. The old hinges complained, their noises swallowed by the darkness revealed. Jamie stepped into the building, pushing the door out further. He could smell a rank mustiness, but nothing else. A few paces in and his eyes adjusted to what little light there was from the outside.

  He was in a wide hallway, and there was a younger man sitting against the left wall. A few feet past him was an older man, and both of them, like Jamie, were Hispanic.

  “You two okay?” Jamie asked.

  As one, the men turned to look at him, and it was then that Jamie noticed they didn’t seem quite right. They were opaque. On their faces, he saw sorrow and desperation.