by Ron Ripley
The work floor, he knew, was empty.
At least it’s supposed to be, he thought. Still furious over his interrupted sleep. Benjamin grabbed hold of the bent metal handle of the door and yanked it open.
The noise ceased, and a dull, sick light filled the long room.
Half-formed images of ancient textile looms dominated the cavernous floor. Shapes, roughly similar to people, pulled back into the shadows.
A single man walked down the center of the floor, and as he moved, his old work boots were silent.
Benjamin felt the wrongness of the situation, and he moved back to the door.
The man sprang forward, covering an impossible distance. Before Benjamin could turn to run, he felt a cold, hard weight slam into the small of his back. The blow sent him sprawling to the floor, the rough wood gouging his cheek. Benjamin was too surprised to cry out, even as he felt the rush of warm blood race down his face.
He tried to scramble to his feet, but a boot pressed down into the small of his back, thrusting him again to the floor. The weight remained there, a terrible, debilitating cold settling into his flesh.
Benjamin groaned, tried to crawl away, but the pressure was too much.
With a whimper, he ceased to resist. A cold finger stabbed him in the back of his neck where his skull met his spine. The stranger pushed, and Benjamin gasped in a mixture of horror and pain as the digit pierced his flesh.
Thunderous waves of agony crashed over him, and Benjamin went blind. He heard his limbs hitting the floor rather than seeing them. It was a curious, staccato sound that reminded him of children banging on school desks.
The noise of his own death chased Benjamin into darkness.
Chapter 24: Heightened Concern
Frank had finished his morning prayers and sat in the parlor. He didn't often visit the room, and so each time he went in, there was something new to see.
This morning Frank had discovered a series of small photographs, each one in a small, brass frame. They were of a young boy, starting from a picture of the child as a newborn until what looked like a high school photograph.
The child was undoubtedly Shane.
Shane’s eyes had held a mixture of joy and genuine pleasure in the early photographs, those that showed him as an infant and a toddler. Even the few representing the beginning of his school years.
Others, taken when Shane was slightly older, reflected something else. There was sadness and fear in the eyes. Dark shadows revealing a lack of sleep. Fear and grim acceptance in the line of his chin.
For the first time, Frank understood how difficult Shane's childhood must have been, and he wondered exactly how much his friend hadn't told him.
“He was an intense child,” a voice said from behind Frank, the words causing him to jump in his chair.
Frank twisted around and saw the little dead girl, Eloise. She stood inside of the door.
“Was he?” Frank asked, watching her as she went and stood by the hearth.
“Oh yes,” Eloise said, nodding. “It was ever so difficult to get him to play with me at first. I am afraid I frightened him the first night.”
“Did he ever forgive you for it?” Frank inquired.
“Of course, silly,” she said, grinning. “Wouldn’t you forgive me, Frank?”
Frank smiled and nodded. “Of course, I would.”
She sat down on the floor and looked at him.
“Tell me,” Frank said. “Did he have many difficult days here?”
“Nearly all of them,” she admitted. “It was fear, at first, of me and Thaddeus. The dark ones and the old man. He befriended Carl early, but there was one, the bad one. The one who wanted to hurt him and his parents. And everyone who came into the house.”
Frank frowned. “Who was this person?”
Eloise shook her head. “I have said enough and I will say no more.”
“Alright,” Frank said. He stood up, adjusted the chair so he could face her, and sat back down. “Tell me, what do you think should be done with Courtney?”
Eloise frowned. “I don’t want to speak of her either.”
Frank looked at the dead girl for a moment and then said, “We have to.”
Eloise folded her arms over her chest and glared at him, the temperature in the room plummeting. “We do not.”
“Eloise,” Frank said in a firm voice. “She’s in the library. He won’t let anyone go in when she’s there.”
“So?” she said, raising her head in the air. “I don’t care a thing what Courtney does.”
Frank raised an eyebrow, and Eloise turned her face away from him.
“I don’t,” she repeated.
“I do,” Frank said. “I need to know what to do about her. I don’t want her killing Shane.”
“He wouldn’t let her,” Eloise proclaimed.
“He would,” Frank argued. “He’s depressed. He holds himself responsible for her death. I think that most days, he would allow her to kill him. Perhaps some shred of him would try to stop her, but I’m not sure. I definitely don’t want to gamble on it.”
“Then you need to take her from the house,” Eloise said. “Find where Shane keeps his necklace and seal it in lead.”
“Shane wears his dog tags all the time,” Frank reminded her. “I can’t exactly sneak in and lift them off of him.”
Eloise glowered. “Then we have no way to remove her!”
Frank started to debate the issue with her, but Eloise shook her head and sank down into the floor. Suddenly alone in the room, Frank stared at the section of flooring the dead girl had sat upon.
“No,” he murmured. “There has to be a way.”
Frank pushed himself up and out of the chair and left the room. He made his way towards his bedroom and grabbed his phone.
It was time to call the Abbott.
Chapter 25: Preparing for the Confrontation
Jose had gone to the emergency room three days after the attack. It had been difficult, the doctors questioning him as to how he managed to obtain frostbite around his neck in warm weather. The police had even been called in, and he had lied to them all.
He had awoken with it, he had told them, and nothing more.
They had not believed him. And he wasn’t surprised.
Jose looked at what he had gathered thus far. It was arranged on his desk, with the skull watching over all he did. Salt and iron lay beside charms and pendants. He had read of how some people loaded shotgun shells with rock salt, but it was not something he wanted to attempt.
A Hispanic man carrying a shotgun was sure to attract the eyes of the police. And it would be unwanted attention.
Jose picked up the piece of iron, an old length of chain. He would be able to wrap a portion of it around his wrist and then beat back the dead. With the ghosts away from him, he would cast spells of dispersal. He would cast them into the afterlife where the saints would deal with them.
Yet one point remained unanswered, and he had yet to find a solution in his books.
How was he to keep the dead from returning?
Some spoke of using only the spells. Others advocated the use of spells and prayers. A few mentioned the burning of the dead’s bones.
Jose knew there was power in bones, and that great magic could be performed with the same. The ghost who had attacked him had been strong. Frightfully so.
If I could find his bones, Jose thought, and bind him. Ah, there would be a coup.
A smile played across his face and Jose opened a book, searching for the best way to bind an unruly ghost.
Chapter 26: An Unexpected Conflict
Kurt was driven from the hospital to the police station so he could change out of his uniform and take his car home. A few of his colleagues offered words of sympathy. More still gave him rough embraces. All Kurt could do was nod his thanks.
He didn’t bother to shower before putting on his street clothes. Kurt was going straight home. He stuffed his uniform into his bag, slung it over his shoulder
, and left the locker room with his head down.
Without looking where he was going, Kurt walked into Detective Marie Lafontaine. The force of the impact knocked the bag off his shoulder, and the unsecured top allowed his uniform shirt to fall onto the floor.
Marie stooped down to pick up the article of clothing, and when she did so, the business card with Shane’s information on it fell out.
"Hold on," Marie said, and she bent down to grab the paper. She hesitated when she straightened up. After a pause, she asked, "Do you know Shane Ryan?"
“I met him yesterday,” Kurt said, accepting both the shirt and the card from her. He returned them to his bag.
“Why did he give you his information?” she questioned.
Kurt had never been a good liar.
He felt his face go hot with embarrassment and he cleared his throat. “I have to talk to him about some stuff.”
A hard look settled on the detective’s face. “Why?”
“Some stuff, that’s all,” he mumbled.
Marie took a step closer, lowered her voice to a whisper, and asked, “Does this have to do with Bill’s death?”
Kurt didn’t answer, but he couldn’t keep the surprise off his face.
“Bill was my friend,” Marie said, her voice barely audible. “I trained him when he was a rookie. And I know Shane Ryan.”
“You do?” Kurt asked in a whisper.
Marie nodded. “When are you going to Shane’s house?”
“Now,” Kurt confessed.
“Head out in about five minutes,” Marie said, “and I’ll meet you there.”
“You know him?” Kurt asked, still surprised.
“Yeah,” Marie answered. “I know him. Don’t go inside his house until I get there, understand?”
"Sure," Kurt said. He watched Marie walk away and then he continued out to the parking lot. Tossing his bag onto the passenger seat, he drove to the address Shane had given him and parked several houses down from 125 Berkley Street. He watched the house until he caught sight of Marie's car as she pulled in behind him.
Kurt got out and met her on the sidewalk.
“How do you know him?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you later,” Marie said. “I want you to listen. Shane’s house is different. You need to stay with me, or with him. Do not wander inside. Do you understand, Kurt?”
Confused, Kurt could only nod.
“Alright,” Marie said. “Let’s see what Shane wants to talk to you about.”
They crossed the street together, and Kurt felt uncomfortable. Shane hadn't told him to come alone, but part of him worried that Shane wouldn't speak freely with the detective around. Few people did.
But clearly, she had also had interactions with Shane before, and Kurt thought her familiarity with the man might be helpful.
Before he could reflect on it much more, Kurt found himself standing at the front door.
Marie reached out and rang the bell.
A minute passed by before the door opened, answered by the man who had been with Shane. For the first time, Kurt got a good look at the stranger. A jagged scar dominated one side of his face, passing through a milky-white eye.
“Officer, Detective,” the man said, giving them a genuine smile. “Please, come in.”
Kurt and Marie did so. The interior was huge and cold. An unpleasant draft moved past them, and Marie frowned. The man closed the door and said, "Please follow me to the study."
Kurt and Marie did. The room they entered was large, and a fire burned in the hearth.
“My name is Frank,” the man said, smiling. “I don’t believe we were properly introduced the last time you were here, Detective.”
“No,” she agreed. “We weren’t. It’s a pleasure.”
"Likewise," Frank said. Turning to Kurt, he said, "Again, my apologies about last night, Officer. We hated to have to leave as quickly as we did, but my friend believed it was best for all involved."
Kurt nodded.
“I don’t care,” a voice came from the hallway. “You have to put it back.”
“Why?” a little girl asked.
“Because it’s not yours,” was the response.
“But you never play with it.”
“Eloise!” the man snapped.
“Fine!”
Kurt focused his attention on the door and saw Shane Ryan walk in. Like Frank, Shane was even more battered in the light of day. Most of his left ear was gone, and parts of his neck and head were a mass of pink scar tissue.
“Kurt,” Shane said. “Marie. A pleasure. I didn’t know you two were acquainted.”
“Shane,” Marie said, her voice tight. “What do you know about the officer’s death?”
“Ah,” Shane murmured. “You didn’t tell her. How did you find out, Marie?”
“Kurt dropped a piece of paper with your name on it,” Marie answered. “Now answer my question, Shane.”
“There is no quid pro quo here, Marie,” Shane said.
“Shane,” Frank intervened.
“Nope,” Shane said, shaking his head. “No. Nothing. She gets nothing on this. She gets nothing on anything. How about that?”
Marie remained silent, but Frank did not.
“Hey,” Frank said, his voice becoming sharp. “Get it together. We’re not enemies here. And we’re sure as hell not fighting with the cops.”
“Fine,” Shane snapped. “We, Frank and I, that is, were on our way to the Slater Mill. We saw Kurt's partner get attacked. We tried to help, and unfortunately, we were not successful."
“Who killed him?” she asked.
“A ghost named Pierre Gustav,” Frank answered. “We were going to do a recon of the building. Were you doing the same thing, Kurt?”
Kurt nodded. “But I didn’t think of a ghost. I didn’t really consider anything supernatural. I just thought it was odd.”
Kurt stopped, cleared his throat, and then continued. “We knew something was up, we just couldn’t figure out what. I had seen something or someone in the window on the second floor, so Bill and I were trying to see what was going on. I didn’t think it would kill him. I didn’t think a ghost could kill someone.”
“They can,” Shane said, his voice hard. “Some of them even enjoy it. And quite a bit, too. Yours seems a little different, though. As if he’s spreading out.”
Kurt nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly what I was worried about. I told Bill, too. It’s why we were checking on the Mill. I needed to know what was going on. Too many people were dead or missing.”
“Like the two boys,” Frank said.
“They’re not missing anymore,” Marie interrupted.
Kurt looked at her.
“They were found in the attic of the Estates,” she continued. “Behind a locked door. Heart attacks, at least according to the preliminary examination.”
“A pair of teenagers with heart attacks?” Frank asked.
Marie nodded.
“That’s not suspicious,” Shane grumbled. He walked to the fireplace, took a small log from a stand, and added it to the flames. For a moment, the study was filled with the sound of the bark as it popped and snapped in the fire. Then Shane said, “Our plan is to get permission to go in from the current owner of the Mill.”
“You can’t,” Marie said, a curious note of concern in her voice. “Shane, look at you.”
Shane gave her a small, sad smile. "Thank you, Marie. I have to, though. There's something going on, and Frank and I can stop it."
Kurt looked to Frank, and the man nodded.
“It’ll be difficult,” Frank admitted. “But we should be able to. And if we can’t, well at least we know how to get the hell out of a situation like that.”
“What?” Kurt asked, confused. “You’ve done this before?”
“He has,” Marie said, gesturing to Shane. “I can’t speak for Frank.”
A grim smile spread across Frank’s face, twisting the scar. “I’ve done it a few times as well.”
> “Can you show me how?” Kurt asked.
“Kurt,” Marie snapped.
“What?” Kurt demanded. “My partner is dead. Killed by a ghost for God’s sake. If there's a way to stop them, then I want to know how. I need to know, Marie."
“It could kill you,” she said.
“Kurt,” Shane said. “You need to understand that some ghosts can gain power from the souls of others. Some ghosts just don’t want to leave the earthly plane. And a few, well, more than a few, seem to enjoy killing for the sake of killing. Pierre might be one, two, or all three of the above.”
Kurt shook his head, rage building within him. “Bill was my friend. He was my partner. I can’t say he took a bullet for me, or anything like that, but I know he would have. And he didn’t die of a heart attack. He was killed. And his death, it has to be answered in kind.”
“Okay,” Shane said.
“So,” Frank said, sitting down. “Tell me, Kurt. What do you know about iron and salt?”
Chapter 27: A Sickness Spreads
The two of them had eaten breakfast at a diner just off Main Street. Shane could see the top of Slater Mill from where he sat on a brick wall. Frank was by the car in the parking lot, trying to get a hold of the Mill’s owner. Shane lit another cigarette.
Frank put his phone away and walked towards Shane, a satisfied grin on his face.
“You made it through?” Shane asked around his cigarette.
Frank nodded and sat down on the wall beside Shane.
“Yeah,” Frank answered. “Mr. Dell’s a nice enough guy. He told us to, and I quote here, ‘knock yourselves out,’ and not to worry about any damage. Seems like he's fighting with the city to have it removed from the historic register."
“Damn,” Shane said, “I didn’t even think it was on it.”
“Guess so,” Frank said. “And since it is, Mr. Dell can’t develop it, or even unload it on anyone.”
“That’s tough,” Shane said, leaning over and stubbing the cigarette out on the sidewalk.
“Yup.”
“So,” Shane asked, “is there a place where we can pick up a key?”