A Haunting of Horrors, Volume 2: A Twenty-Book eBook Bundle of Horror and the Occult

by Brian Hodge

“So you do know.”

  “Look, Miss Maas, it’s private stuff. The people who go there are from downstate.”

  “You make it sound very mysterious.”

  He nodded, ringing up the Salems.

  “But if the people are from downstate, then why do they all have local license plates?”

  Color spread up his neck. He coughed. “Masons,” he said. “That’s what I think.”

  “But you’re not certain.”

  He shook his head. “They wouldn’t let me in, you know. All my life I’ve been here, and not really a part of Oscola. Forty years in the town, and they don’t trust me even yet. You want to know why?”

  “Weren’t born here?”

  Again he nodded. “In my opinion, it’s the Masons. He’s the grand master here, you know.”

  “They always meet late at night?”

  “There’s no way to know what they do. It’s a secret society.”

  “Except that everybody belongs except you. Does Brian Kelly belong?”

  “Not him. He’s a Catholic. The Church won’t allow it, and Father Palmer’s really stuck on the subject.”

  She watched him nervously rubbing a finger along the top of his glass counter.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Handy.” He handed her the accursed cigarettes. Maybe this was her last carton, ha ha.

  She looked up and down the street. Now the silence had a different tone. Cults, secret societies, the mean, autocratic old judge…and the insects.

  They had been so vile, so aggressive. They’d wanted to eat her, drag her away—she couldn’t imagine what they’d wanted to do.

  She ought to go after that miserable old judge with a gun. But that would be a mistake, given that a gun wasn’t her weapon of choice. Instead, she returned to her office and looked him up in the tiny morgue. There wasn’t much, not from files that only went back five years. Prior to that, the morgue consisted of scrapbooks. They weren’t much help, although she did find out that he’d been born, educated locally, then graduated Columbia Law back in the forties. Missed World War II by a hair.

  In a controversial 1956 trial he’d sent a local man to the electric chair.

  He wasn’t a mobster, a sexual pervert or a violent man. In fact, he was a pretty good judge, if a bit conservative for her taste.

  He was a nasty little man; arrogant and cold as stone.

  It was time to confront him. The hell with this pussyfooting around town. This bunch of clams had been closed up tight even before she started. They were always closed.

  She got in her car and drove down Main to the intersection where it became Mound. When she crossed it, she was in the judge’s territory.

  He answered his door after the third ring. Up close, it was obvious that he was very old.

  “Judge terBroeck, can you tell me what goes on out here at night?”

  He just stared at her.

  “The cars. Dozens of ’em. I’ve seen them. What’s it all about?”

  “Get out.”

  “Goddamn you.” Oops, that was a mistake.

  His eyes widened. “I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head.”

  “What about the bugs that live in your backyard?”

  For a moment, his face was totally without expression. Then he blinked. “Ah.”

  “Come on, you know what I’m talking about. The ones that come out at night. Glow in the dark.”

  “Lightning bugs?” His voice was small. He’d backed a good distance into the foyer.

  She advanced on him. She wasn’t going to let him pretend he thought her crazy. “Don’t give me any crap, Judge. I know they’re there because they tried to kill me. And you know they’re there too. You’re a poor liar, Judge.”

  “I have no idea—”

  “You sure as hell do have an idea. What are they, Judge? Something you imported from Brazil or somewhere to scare people off your property? Well, they’re pretty scary, all right.” She took another step toward him. “Let me tell you something. If I find one of those things—and I will find one, sooner or later—I’m going to take it to a lawyer. Not a bug collector, but a lawyer. And I am going to get him to sue you until you’re left on a street corner with a cup of pencils, and they’re my damn pencils!”

  “They have nothing to do with me!”

  “You’re a liar!” Her heart was pounding, she could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. All her pent-up fear and rage surfaced. She wanted to bash his face in, the arrogant old bastard.

  “Listen—please—don’t come around here at night. Don’t do it!”

  “Why the hell not—have you got Satan and his demons after you or what?”

  His face had gone as gray as death. His hands shook, making a dry paper sound against his old suit pants. “It’s worse, my dear. Worse than that.” He raised his old claws, seemed to be seeking some sort of comfort. “Keep to your house at night. Do it for your own sake.”

  “What about all the cars? Other people come here at night.”

  He nodded. “Stay away, if you value your life.”

  “Melodrama won’t scare me off either.”

  “Then you’re a fool!” Now it was his turn to advance on her. “This is my property. Get off my property!”

  She didn’t want to stay. There were other ways to skin this particular cat, better, quieter ways. “OK, I’m going. But I want you to know that I’m a real curious person. And I’m gonna find out everything.”

  “Yes,” he said, “you do that. You find out everything. And see where it gets you, young woman.” His eyes were sunken, his lips were trembling. “See where it gets you.”

  He shut his door.

  4

  Two days after her admission, Loi returned home.

  The doctor had warned her to be extremely careful, and she became a fragile, gliding shadow of herself. She had been told to think of her womb as made of glass, and so got Brian to put pillows on all the hard chairs and generally arrange things in the trailer to minimize her chances of taking a stumble. She wanted to be wrapped in blankets, to be cherished. Above all, she wanted to be held close and often.

  Sadly, they couldn’t make love. Obviously it was a danger, especially with him being so big and heavy and getting so excited.

  He consoled himself that this was safest. She was high fruit now, untouchable by a groundling like him.

  Loi had been home a day when Ellen called. “It’s the Gazette,” Loi said, handing him the phone.

  “I figured you’d be in for lunch.” Her voice was taut.

  “Yes.”

  “Look, I want to come talk to you about Judge terBroeck. I’ve interviewed him and it was strange.”

  “I’m not surprised.” He glanced at Loi. She must not hear this. “I’ll come to you.”

  “Fine. I’m at the office.”

  He hung up. Loi gave him a questioning look. “She’s still investigating what happened on the mound. She wants to ask me a few questions.”

  “Oh, Brian, I want to forget it.”

  “I told her I’d meet her at her office. That way you won’t have to be involved.”

  Loi smiled slightly. “This afternoon I am reading The Winter’s Tale. We will discuss it tonight?”

  “Sure. Gladly.”

  He went across the driveway and got into the truck. Even running the air conditioner full blast didn’t cool it off before he turned onto Main Street, parked in front of the Excelsior Tower, and gratefully got out.

  He’d never been in the offices of the Gazette before, at least not since he could remember. She was sitting at a steel desk like the kind of thing one might encounter in a welfare office. There were hard fluorescent lights burning overhead, and an ancient window unit ineffectually circulating the smoke-hazed air. Papers were strewn over every available surface. There were five or six insect books opened on tables and chairs, dozens of pictures of the judge and of his estate, some old, others obviously taken in the past couple of days.

  He was shocked by these.
She’d obviously been spying on the town’s leading citizen.

  She thrust a photograph into his hand. He found himself staring at tire tracks. “Taken this morning in the judge’s front yard,” she said. She gave him another picture. There were many fewer of the tracks. “Yesterday morning, same spot.”

  “Isn’t Bob going out there to work on the mound?”

  “The judge put a stop to it. No more equipment on his property without a court order. But I’ve been on his property.”

  “Obviously.”

  The whole office was devoted to his property, right down to a house plan that must have been obtained from county records.

  “He’s scared, Brian. I hated him until I realized that. The man is terrified.”

  “Have you got any more information?” He gestured toward the insect books.

  “I went down to your old alma mater and described the things to a Dr. Soames.”

  Brian nodded. Soames was a biologist. “I wasn’t aware that he has an interest in insects.”

  “Well, he seemed to know what he was talking about. But as far as my bugs are concerned, he drew a blank.”

  “We’ve got to get more information of some kind.”

  She took a long drag on her cigarette. “I’ve been working on that.” She held up some sheets of paper. “Your friend Lieutenant West gave me these. The cops use them to identify what kind of tires make a given mark.” She picked up one of the pictures. “Like this one. It’s from a Michelin of the type they use on the Volvo 240. And this, a Goodyear Aquatred—an aftermarket tire. The size suggests something large, a Crown Vic or maybe a big Olds or Buick.”

  “Typical local cars, except for the Volvo.”

  “I’ve found out that there are seventeen Volvo 240s registered in Ludlum County.”

  “That many, in Ford and Chevy country like this?”

  “Sixteen of them are Ludlum cars. Popular with your fellow professors. But one of them lives up in Towayda. And you know what? They’re not at home. As of yesterday, they’ve been gone. Just packed up and left night before last. People are real curious. Evans is their name.”

  “Sure. Ritchie and Charlene. I know them a little. Charlene was on the debate team with me in high school.”

  “They went over to the judge’s night before last. They haven’t been seen since.”

  “And the judge says—”

  She shook her head. “If I want to talk to him again, I’m gonna have to take a gun. He won’t open his door to me, he won’t stay on the phone.”

  “Scottish Rite’s a big deal around here. Maybe you’ve stumbled onto some sort of Masonic group.”

  “I know all about that.”

  “If the Rite’s involved, everybody would be very secretive, especially with an outsider.”

  “You’re not an outsider, so you ask him for me.”

  “I’m Catholic. Catholics don’t join the Rite, at least not in the Three Counties.”

  “I found the hole where the bugs come out. The judge calls it a root cellar, but he’s lying. It’s deep, Brian.”

  Maybe a sinkhole had indeed opened up. It would be like the judge to conceal such a thing, for fear that the county would make him pay to have it filled in.

  He dropped into a chair across from Ellen. “This work is brilliant. Why you’re not still on the Times I can’t imagine.”

  “Too many soft news assignments. I wanted the hard stuff.”

  “I think you got handed a little, I have to tell you.”

  “Unless I’m connecting dots that shouldn’t be connected.”

  “Physical evidence of the bugs—that’s what we need.”

  “So let’s get a net and go back to the judge’s.”

  “A strong net, given what happened to your jar lid.”

  “Do you believe me?”

  He nodded. “Let’s say that I’ve accepted your story because I respect you. You’re not a nut and you’re not a liar. But as a scientist, I sure would like to see that evidence.”

  She sighed. “I was hoping we’d make some progress bouncing ideas around.”

  He rubbed his face. “Jesus. I’ve thought and thought about it. My problem is, the connection issue. I drove past my old lab yesterday morning. Just sat there thinking about it.” He watched her light another cigarette.

  “I still don’t really know what you did at Ludlum. Not the details.”

  “The details are classified. Let’s just say it was a way of connecting with the past, using a stream of particles.”

  “So it’s unrelated.”

  “Well, probably. But these particles—if they exist—would break all the laws of continuity. The math says that they might also break holes, in a manner of speaking, between parallel universes. That’s a fairly silly way of saying that they would cause profound chaos.”

  “Goddamnit, Brian, I want to know what happened to me.”

  “So do I.”

  “It eats at you. Jesus!”

  “Just don’t be foolish.”

  “In what way?”

  “By going to the judge’s at night.”

  “It’s the only alternative.”

  “We have to be methodical and careful. Given time, we’ll make some headway. Scientific investigation always works like that.”

  “I’m a reporter!”

  “Do it my way. We’ll get better results.” The clock on the wall behind her head told him that twenty minutes had passed. “I have to get back to Loi.”

  “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  “No, it was no bother, believe me. And who knows, we might be about to solve the secret of the ages.”

  “Is that what this is?”

  “I think it could be.” There was silence between them. Then he got up.

  Ellen followed him to the door. “How is she?”

  “Improving, the doctor says.”

  He was aware of Ellen’s hand coming into his as they paused at the door. “You take care, Brian. Me personally, I bought a shotgun which I have no idea how to use. I keep all my lights on at night and my windows closed.”

  He drove home slowly, considering what their most logical next step would be. It seemed clear that insect bodies were needed. And they should follow up with the Evanses, be certain that they came back.

  She was going to go charging off to the judge’s, he knew it, and put herself in great jeopardy. Care was needed. To convince the outside world that this was really happening, an array of carefully gathered evidence had to be presented.

  When he got home he folded Loi in his arms and kissed her deep and long.

  She took him to their bed. In the way of some familiar married couples, they undressed without speaking. He lay with her, listening to the baby, kissing her breasts, her belly, tasting the sweetness of her skin. Very gently, she caressed his penis, and kissed him there in her modest way. She kept on until he rose to his full passion. Familiar waves of pleasure enveloped him, and he watched in amazement as the author of his pleasure moved her head in the gentle, rising rhythm that led to only one thing.

  After he spent himself, she stroked his hair and gazed into his eyes. To his own intense annoyance, he found himself thinking about the problem.

  “You frown.”

  “No, I’m happy. Loi, I’m so happy.” He embraced her and kissed her long, tasting a hint of himself in her mouth, and loving her the more for her willingness. “Thank you,” he whispered after the kiss.

  They made a chicken stir-fry for supper. He chopped and she cooked. They had it with tart lemonade.

  Afterward he sat in his chair reading the latest Astronomy. But he couldn’t concentrate. He stared off into space, ruminating. He thought of the tire tracks, the missing people…and of fighting the steering wheel in that truck. If Ellen went anywhere near that house after dark, she was in danger.

  Half an hour passed. An hour. He got up and phoned her. There was no answer.

  “Honey, I’m gonna ride into town. Get a magazine.”


  “You were just in town.”

  “I’m restless. I’ll just go down to Handy’s and be right back.”

  He drove out into a dark, starry night. At the intersection where Mound became Main, he turned down toward the judge’s house.

  Mound Road was empty of cars—almost. Parked well off the road about thirty yards from the house, Brian was not very surprised to see a familiar Plymouth Duster, dark and empty.

  He got out of his truck. The night was silent, very dark before moonrise.

  Five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty.

  He got back in and called Loi. He said that he had a flat. She sounded a little strange, but said she was fine.

  He’d been there forty-five minutes when he saw the glimmer of a flashlight coming up the road. Relief poured through him as she came up to the truck. “You’ve been spying on him.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “I expected lots of cars. But I think I have to come back later.”

  At all costs, he had to deflect her from that course of action. “We should try to catch one of the insects.”

  “I think it’s more practical to take pictures of the cars, get license numbers.”

  He took her hand, then almost as quickly released it. “Go home, Ellen.”

  “Let’s compromise. You come with me tonight. If we fail, then we’ll do it your way. We could meet at your place at about two. Go back through the woods, see what we can find.”

  This was a bad mistake, he knew it. But he couldn’t let her do it alone. “We’ll need a container.”

  “I have some jars with glass lids.”

  They parted then. He followed the Duster until she turned into her driveway, then accelerated toward Kelly Farm. Five minutes later he was home and wishing very much that he could explain things to Loi.

  “You got the tire fixed OK?”

  For a moment, he drew a blank. “Oh! Yeah, fine.” He glanced at his watch. “Look, it’s pushing ten-thirty. What say we turn in?” He wanted to get some rest before it was time to go out. Above all, he wanted to make certain that Loi was deeply asleep when Ellen came.

  “Sure, Brian.”

  He threw on the boxer shorts he used as pajamas in the summer and got into bed. Loi soon followed. They lay together, she reading a dictionary, he an old Newsweek he’d grabbed. “I thought you went for a new magazine.”