by Ron Ripley
“You’re quiet,” Paul said.
“Yes.”
Paul laughed, walking on towards a large barn.
The snow continued to fall.
A pair of dead men stood outside of the barn, watching them as Leo followed Paul into the barn.
The interior was dark, nearly black except for the rapidly shrinking rectangle of pale light coming in through the open barn door. Immediately beyond the edge of the light, Paul stopped, and Leo came to a stop, waiting patiently.
“Won’t you come in a little farther?” Paul asked.
“Said the spider to the fly,” Leo recited.
Paul laughed happily. “Yes. Yes. And I’m the spider.”
“We’re both flies.” Leo said, looking around at the darkness. “Do you know that, Paul?”
Paul paused before answering. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“No,” Leo said. “I don’t suppose that you do. But you will soon enough, Paul. You will soon enough.”
“I don’t like you,” Paul said after a minute, and Leo could hear the anger and rage simmering in the dead boy’s voice.
“Good.”
Paul laughed. “I’m not going to let you go when I kill you. You’re going to stay here with me for a very, very long time.”
Leo hesitated for a moment before answering. “You’re not going to kill me. That’s up to the spider. We’re just waiting in the web.”
“My web!”
“Yes.”
“I’m the spider!”
“No,” Leo smiled. “You’re a fly, Paul. Just a fly.”
“I’m going to kill you soon,” Paul said, spitting out the words.
Leo sighed. “No. No, you’re not. Let’s wait together for the spider, shall we?”
Paul laughed. “Alright, Leo. Alright. How long should we wait?”
“One minute past midnight should be enough,” Leo said softly.
“Alright, Leo,” Paul said cheerfully. “One minute past midnight.”
Leo sat down on the dirt floor of the barn and waited for the alarm clock in his head to go off.
Chapter 32: Back in the Pantry
Brian managed to get himself into a sitting position. Leaning against the shelves, the erratic beating of his heart attempting to unleash panic in his mind, Brian took his heart pills out of his pocket and dry swallowed another one. How the plastic bottle had managed to survive the beating was nothing short of a miracle as far as Brian was concerned.
In the darkness, sitting and waiting for the pill to take effect, Brian wondered suddenly whether or not the sudden attack had been focused solely on him.
Was Leo under attack? Did something try and get in the parlor and attack Jenny or Sam?
Brian needed to know, but he also needed his heart to function normally before he tried to get out of the pantry. Getting out should be simple -- turn the knob on the door.
But Brian had a feeling that it wasn’t going to be simple. More than likely it wasn’t going to be easy at all.
Brian took long slow breaths, ignoring the shooting pain that came from his ribs with each and every one. His head throbbed, and he knew that as soon as he got out of the pantry he was going to have to get to the bathroom and clean his cuts.
Brian wanted to get out of the house, and he wanted to get out as soon as possible. But he wasn’t sure if anyone was going to let him do that either. He also wasn’t going leave without Leo.
They were all going to be leaving together.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Brian got to his feet. He took a small step towards the door, his hand outstretched, fingers seeking the wood.
They met something cold, and Brian stopped.
It wasn’t wood.
Flesh.
He could feel flesh beneath his fingers.
Suddenly he could hear breathing, and faintly, right beneath the breathing, Brian could hear the clock in the parlor striking midnight.
“Where is he?” a woman asked.
Brian started to shake. Fear ripped through him at the sound of the woman’s voice. She was dead. Brian knew she was dead.
“I...I... who, which he?” Brian said, the words stumbling out of his quivering mouth.
“Leo.”
“He went with the boy,” Brian whispered. “He went with Paul.”
And the flesh disappeared from beneath Brian’s outstretched fingers.
With a moan, Brian dropped to his knees again and rested his head against the door. Fear pulled at his guts and magnified the sound of his weak heart beating in his ears.
Chapter 33: Finding Brian
Sam followed Jenny into the hallway, each of them moving carefully. Noise filled the house. Too much noise.
Someone walked from room to room on the second floor. Someone else was screaming in the basement. Terrible screams, curses, and vulgarities that burned even Sam’s old Marine Corps ears. The dead sounded enraged, as if something had angered them.
Was it Leo? Sam wondered. Has he done this to them?
Far above them, in the attic, it sounded as though someone was in the process of destroying an entire, ten service set of china.
Perhaps they are, Sam thought. Perhaps they are.
Jenny paused by the basement door, closed it and looked back at Sam. “Are you okay?”
Sam smiled at her.
Yes, he liked this young woman. She had more spirit than most people he had ever met.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Sam answered. “The kitchen?”
Jenny nodded and led the way once more.
Sam continued to follow her, shifting the poker from one hand to the other. As they advanced down the hall towards the kitchen, the sounds in the house decreased until absolute silence reigned when Jenny paused at the entryway to the kitchen.
“Babe?” she asked softly.
Silence.
“Brian.”
Nothing still.
“Brian,” Jenny said a little louder into the curious darkness of the room.
“The pantry,” Brian answered, his voice muffled.
“I can’t see a damned thing,” Jenny said.
“Hold on,” Sam said. He dug his hand into his jacket pocket, pulled out his flashlight and said, “Watch your eyes. I’m turning on the flashlight.”
“Okay,” Jenny said, and Sam closed his own eyes as he thumbed the flashlight on. A moment later he opened his eyes as Jenny gasped.
“Damn,” Sam murmured.
Before them the kitchen was in shambles. Crockery and dining ware lay scattered about the counters and the floor. The table had been shattered, as were the chairs. The doors of the cabinets had been ripped from their hinges and all of the wood, every stick of it, was neatly set against the pantry door. It looked as though each piece had been nailed in place to keep the door closed, and Sam feared that it had been.
“How,” Jenny whispered, stepping into the room, “how is this even possible?”
“How is anything possible?” Sam asked tiredly. “How are the dead here among us? I think that our questions are valid, young lady, and perhaps we can examine them at a later date, but right now I’m fairly certain your husband would enjoy being free of the pantry.”
“Very, very true,” Jenny said.
She walked into the kitchen and made her way directly to the pantry. Sam watched as she reached up, grabbed hold of one of the cabinet doors and pulled on it. For a moment, the door clung to the rest of the wood before coming away with a tearing sound, as though Jenny had ripped a giant sheet of paper free. She dropped the wood to the floor, where it landed with a harsh, clattering sound in the awkward stillness of the house, and she reached up for the next piece.
Sam shined the flashlight on her work. Nothing, he noticed, was holding the wood in place. No nails, no screws. Something’s will alone kept the wood in place, and Sam could only wonder why.
Paul was clever, but never this clever.
This was something else entirely.
Chapter 3
4: Said the Spider to the Fly
“Do you want to play?” Paul asked.
Leo looked into the darkness at where he supposed Paul stood.
“What do you want to play?” Leo asked.
My voice is surprisingly steady, Leo thought, considering what’s about to happen.
The seconds were counting down now. The alarm clock’s hands moving to their curious and fatal union at the Roman numeral twelve.
“Soldiers,” Paul answered.
“What battle?”
The alarm clock chimed cheerfully in Leo’s head. It was the same, familiar chime that had greeted him at six o’clock every morning his grandmother had lived with them. Leo smiled. He loved the sound of it, even as he knew what the sound meant.
“Why are you smiling?” Paul asked suddenly. “I don’t like the way you’re smiling. I want you to stop.”
Leo felt strangely relieved. He had feared the alarm clock for so many years. Feared what it meant. And now there was nothing to do about it.
Absolutely nothing.
“Why are you smiling?!” Paul screamed, stepping into the dim rectangle of light cast by the open barn door.
“Why am I smiling?”
“Yes!” Paul howled. The barn around them shook, and Leo’s smile widened.
Paul was powerful, extremely so. But not nearly as powerful as he thought.
“Stop smiling!” Paul yelled, taking another step forward. “You stop smiling right now, Leo. You're not nice.”
“He has to smile,” a soft, female voice said from behind Leo.
Paul’s attention snapped onto the voice, and Leo watched him. The boy glared at the speaker.
“Who are you?” Paul demanded. “I don’t know you. I didn’t kill you. I didn’t bind you to me.”
“No,” the voice said. “But Leo bound me to him, didn’t you, Leo?”
Leo could only nod.
“So?” Paul said. “So? What does that have to do with me?”
“Leo’s mine, little one,” the woman said. “All mine. You go about your business, and all will be well.”
“What?” Paul said, angry and surprised. “What?”
“Go away.”
Leo watched as rage filled Paul’s face.
“Go away?” Paul asked, shaking his head. “This is my land. These are my houses. My dead are around us, and Leo is going to be joining them.”
“Go away,” the woman said again, her voice lower and the tone softer.
Leo shuddered at the tone.
“You go away,” Paul said. “You go away and let me kill him and bind him.”
The woman didn’t answer, as Leo knew she wouldn’t.
A heartbeat later she passed by him on the right, a stunningly beautiful woman wearing an evening gown of dark blue. She moved gracefully, a soft, knowing smile playing across her face. Paul took a cautious step back as she neared him.
“You’re nothing,” the woman said. “Not even a dream anymore.”
Paul looked confused but before he could ask her anything, light exploded out of the young woman and enveloped Paul.
Screams tore through the night and Leo knew that they were from Paul. The ground shook, the wood of the barn creaked. A brutal cold rippled out from the struggle taking place in the barn. Leo’s teeth started to chatter and he shook uncontrollably. As the cold passed through him and the barn and reached the trees, Leo heard trees explode.
More screams, torn from the throats of the dead outside of the barn, reached Leo’s ears and he winced. He could feel his grandmother’s power pulsing, a vicious, malignant heart destroying the ghosts around her.
“Leave!” Paul screamed, his young voice suddenly growing faint. “Leave! This is my place! Mine!”
Leo’s grandmother chuckled and the cold spiked out once more.
Paul let out one more abbreviated, outraged howl, and went silent.
The light vanished and Leo’s grandmother stood alone. Paul was no more.
Soon enough no one would even remember a boy named Paul had ever existed or lived there on the farm.
The woman turned, smiling at Leo.
“Hello Leo,” she said, taking a few steps towards him. “You missed our appointment.”
“Yes, grandmother,” Leo said softly. “I did.”
Chapter 35: Helpless in the Pantry
Brian found that he could do nothing to help himself out of the pantry. Which was a good thing considering the way his heart continued to keep a completely unnatural rhythm in his chest.
While Jenny worked on the door from the other side, Brian listened to a soft sound; almost a hum. It wasn’t electrical, rather it was as though someone was hiding in the farthest reach of the pantry, tucked beneath a shelf, directly above where the bodies were buried in the basement.
Brian closed his eyes and attempted to focus on the sound of Jenny moving things.
Instead, he found himself concentrating on the humming, discovering that he recognized the tune.
It was a hymn. An old hymn that his grandfather had used to sing to him. Brian didn’t know the name, but he could hear part of the refrain.
Give me that old time religion, give me that old time religion, give me that old-time religion, it’s good enough for me.
Jesus, Brian thought. Please, can’t this all just be over now? I just want it to be done. I just want it all to be done.
“Hello, Brian,” a young voice said.
Brian didn’t answer.
The young voice, belonging to a young woman, let out a giggle.
“You don’t want to answer. You’re afraid.”
Brian forced himself to breathe deeply through his nose. He brought up a memory of Jenny sitting in bed and reading and concentrated on it. He pictured the curve of her shoulder beneath her shirt, the smell of her hair --
“Brian,” the voice whispered in his ear. “You can answer me, Brian. I’m not going to hurt you. Some of my friends want to, but not me.”
Brian let out a shuddering breath.
“So afraid,” the voice said, speaking in his left ear. Something moved gently down his cheek. “So afraid. You don’t need to be, Brian. There’s nothing really to fear about death. Especially not here. You never leave so there’s nothing worry about that. Isn’t that nice? You can stay with us. You can stay with me. I think you’re handsome. Lots of us think you’re handsome. Don’t you want to stay with us?”
“I don’t want to be dead yet,” Brian whispered.
The voice let out a gentle laugh. “We all become dead at some point, Brian. I can wait.”
Brian kept his eyes closed, listening to Jenny work.
“Yes,” the voice said, tracing the line of his chin. “I can wait. But not everyone can. Oh no, Brian. There are others who don’t want to wait at all.”
From beyond the barred pantry door, someone yelled. Brian realized it was Sam.
Chapter 36: Sam and Jenny are not Alone
Sam stood close to Jenny as she worked.
The iron poker remained firmly in his hand, and Sam stood in the darkness with the flashlight on the pantry door. From beyond the door, Sam could hear the murmuring of voices and Sam knew from the frenzied way Jenny worked that whatever was being said didn’t bode well for Brian.
Suddenly the temperature in the kitchen plummeted.
Sam’s breath billowed out, as did Jenny’s and the young woman paused.
“This isn’t good.”
“No,” Sam said, nodding in agreement. “This isn’t good at all.”
The back door blew in violently, bouncing off the wall as the top and middle hinge were torn free of the door frame. A cold, terrible wind raced into the kitchen, ripping the curtains off of the window above the sink and scattering shards of glass and china. Sam’s teeth started to chatter, and he took a cautious step to the left, placing himself between the door and Jenny.
“Keep working,” Sam said in a low voice.
Jenny’s answer was the sound of another piece of
wood being torn free.
Sam focused on the open door and brutally cold wind coming in. Snowflakes carried along with the wind, melted as they struck the kitchen floor and the counter top.
Something came in with the snow and the wind.
Something not quite right. Something terrible.
“Stay where you are,” Sam said, and his voice was strong, young. A voice called up from his own past.
Whatever it was came to a stop in just inside of the kitchen.
“Get out,” Sam said. “You are not welcome here.”
“Who are you?” a deep, harsh voice demanded. “How dare you attempt to cast me out of my home?”
“This isn’t your home,” Sam said.
The voice laughed. “Nor is it yours, you foul thing. Come, young one, come and enjoy what little time you have left while we battle one another.”
Sam chuckled. All of the fear which had been nestled deep within slipped away.
What did he have to fear? Sam was an old man, and he loved his life. Life was beautiful, powerful, each breath sweet.
Sam had known life’s power since he’d come home from Korea.
And he had survived Korea.
To die on the Kenyon farm, well, that would be no hardship, especially while trying to help someone else. Jenny and her husband were fine people, from what he could tell. Maybe, just maybe, Paul and his grandfather might be freed by Leo, too.
“Here,” Sam said, handing the flashlight over to Jenny. “Take this. You’ll need it.”
Without a word Jenny took the flashlight from him and Sam gave the poker a swing.
“Iron,” the ghost said.
“Ayuh,” Sam replied. “Iron.”
“Good,” the ghost said, chuckling, and something hurtled through the air, striking Sam in the left thigh.
Sam grunted, stumbled, and caught himself on the back wall.
“Unlike many of my brethren,” the ghost said, “I can throw things. Lots of things.”
Sam jerked his head to the left, something cut his right cheek, the blood racing down to drip onto his shirt.