by Paul Seiple
“Thanks, but we just had coffee,” Terrence said.
“Fair enough. Have a seat,” Wesley said.
“If it’s OK, we would like to ask you about your relationship with Elvin Hayes,” Kim said.
“Looking back, I wouldn’t really call it a relationship. We were more like pen pals. I never met him.”
“Forgive me again, but I have to get this out of the way. Did you ever practice black magic?” Kim asked.
Wesley shifted in the chair. Kim and Terrence recognized the question made Wesley uncomfortable.
“It shames me to say, but yes. Nothing major, but I’ve summoned things.”
“That’s why we are here. We think someone has cursed people associated with the Hayes case,” Kim said.
“How so?” Wesley asked.
“You tell us,” Kim said.
“Wait. You think I had something to do with it? I’ve been a born-again Christian for twenty years. I denounced Satan. I understand evil’s power. I fear it now,” Wesley said.
“Have you ever heard of a spell called The Mayhem?” Kim asked.
“Anyone who’s ever practiced the Dark Arts has heard of The Mayhem. No one has ever successfully conjured it,” Wesley said.
“Have you ever tried?’ Terrence asked.
“I was never that powerful. The consequences were too great,” Wesley said.
“You weren’t confident enough?” Kim asked.
Wesley let a nervous chuckle escape. “It was never about confidence. It was about respect. I respected the Dark Arts enough not to attempt it. Besides, at that time, the only being I held that kind of hate for was God. It wouldn’t have worked on God.”
“Someone has successfully conjured The Mayhem,” Kim said, “and directed it at certain people associated with the conviction of Elvin Hayes.”
“That’s impossible, “ Wesley said.
“I’ve seen it,” Kim said.
“How are you connected to Hayes?” Wesley asked.
“My father is Sam Strode. There are six demons…”
Wesley interrupted Kim. “For the Silent Six.”
“Yes. We cannot find anyone with a connection to Hayes,” Kim said.
“Other than you,” Terrence said.
“Have you talked to Eileen?” Wesley asked.
“Who’s Eileen?” Kim asked.
“Eileen Phryne. She was an acquaintance of Hayes. He mentioned her several times in his letters. Hayes was an evil S.O.B., but Eileen was the one person he would never harm, even though she refused to speak to him after he was arrested,” Wesley said.
“There is no mention of her anywhere,” Kim said.
“Hayes told me she was a secret he would take to the grave. I guess he wasn’t lying about that. He didn’t want the cops harassing her.”
“Did Eileen know about the murders?” Kim asked.
“No. His arrest completely caught her off guard.”
“How do you know Hayes told you truth?” Kim asked.
“I’m not foolish, Miss Strode. I know Hayes was a liar, but he never lied when it came to Eileen. Much of the Dark Arts talk he mentioned wasn’t factual. I knew more about Satanism, but I never corrected him,” Wesley said. “Most of what he blabbered on about was stuff he picked up listening to Eileen. She was a practicing witch.”
“Do you have the letters he wrote you?” Kim asked.
“No. I purged everything when I accepted God as my savior,” Wesley said.
“Did Eileen live in Mooresville?” Kim asked.
“Until Hayes went to jail. She moved upstate, maybe Winston or Greensboro,” Wesley said. “Hayes only mentioned her a few times in our later conversations. She was a prostitute, but he wrote so eloquently of her. Hayes played dumb. He was far from it. He was one of the most intelligent people I ever conversed with. It’s what made him so dangerous.”
“How so?” Terrence asked.
“Feigning a low I.Q. was a mask he wore. Hayes studied everyone. Once he found a weakness, the mask came off, and it was a game to him. It was a challenge to get people to follow him. I played right into it. Eventually, I saw the real Elvin Hayes. He was more terrifying than anyone will ever know. He could make you kill for him. I’m sure he’s made people murder for him.”
“Are you sure Eileen didn’t have any contact with Hayes after the arrest?” Kim asked.
“It’s possible he didn’t tell me. I doubt it, though. Hayes was lonely, especially near the end. He would have shared it with me,” Wesley said.
“Maybe he was playing you. From everything I read, I cannot imagine Elvin Hayes having feelings,” Kim said.
“You’re viewing him in the darkness he wanted the world to see him in,” Wesley said.
“There are no redeeming qualities about a child murderer,” Kim said.
“No, there aren’t, but it doesn’t mean he couldn’t be lonely,” Wesley said. “He was lonely without Eileen.”
“Do you think Eileen is why he murdered those kids?” Kim asked.
“Hayes was evil. If anything, Eileen is the reason he didn’t murder more,” Wesley said.
“My father is the reason he didn’t murder more,” Kim said.
Wesley nodded. “Eileen didn’t love Hayes. He was a john to her. He loved her and the hope that one day she would feel the same is the only thing that kept the bodies from piling up. Hayes had to kill. I remember him writing to me about the desire that burned in him. Of course, he had to do it in cyphers because he knew the guards would read the letters. And before you asked, he never told me where he buried the bodies.”
“I’m not sure I believe you,” Kim said.
“Believe me or not, I am telling the truth. I’ve done many things I’m not proud of over my life. God forgives and gives second chances. He’s given me another shot at doing something good with my life. I’m not going to protect the reputation of an executed child killer,” Wesley said.
“What changed?” Terrence asked. “You went from hardcore devil worshiper to a born-again Christian.”
“I met someone more intelligent that Hayes,” Wesley said. “Most may not admit it, but at some point in our lives, we all face a battle of good versus evil. Both dwell inside everyone. Some are strong enough to resist evil. For those of us who aren’t, I’m thankful people like Lanky Preston exist.”
“Are you telling us everything you know about Eileen?” Kim asked.
“You know everything I do,” Wesley said. “But from what Hayes told me, Eileen was indifferent to him. Even if she were capable of it, Eileen wouldn’t have conjured this spell.”
“We’re running out of options,” Kim said.
“Have you ever stopped to think that evil doesn’t need to be conjured. It just exists,” Wesley said.
“That doesn’t explain why it’s only affecting people with some association with Hayes,” Kim said.
“You only see it affecting those people because it’s intruded on your everyday life. Take this neighborhood; it’s quiet, the lawns are well cared for, but someone, probably more than one person, is dealing with an evil presence. It may not be the same situation as yours, but evil is parasitic. It needs a host to feed,” Wesley said. “The antidote is God.”
“We didn’t come here for a sermon. I know what I’ve seen. It’s not an everyday occurrence. And I don’t believe in God, so…”
Wesley cut Kim off. “You’ve seen the devil, but you don’t believe in God. Think about that for a minute, Miss Strode.”
“How old was Eileen Phryne when Hayes knew her?” Terrence asked, changing the subject.
“Young. Early twenties maybe. I’d say if she’s still alive, she’s about my age,” Wesley said.
“We have to go,” Kim said, standing up. She extended her hand to Wesley. “Thank you.”
Wesley declined the shake. He stood up. “Miss Strode, I know you don’t like me. You have your reasons. I pray you find the answers you seek but know the only true protection from evil is under the hand
of God.”
Kim turned her back to Wesley. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Well?” Terrence asked, waving at Wesley as he pulled away from the curb.
“Well, what?” Kim asked.
“Do you believe him?”
“I believe he told us everything he knew about Hayes, but I don’t believe Hayes told him everything,” Kim said.
“What do you mean?”
“He said Eileen didn’t know about the murders. I believe Eileen may have been the anonymous caller who helped capture Hayes,” Kim said.
“So there’s no way she’s behind this, then,” Terrence said.
“Only one way to know for sure.”
Twenty-Five
“Forgive me for sounding like a kid with 21 questions, but what is it you do with this magic?” Sam said, pointing to a rocking chair. “Hey, Don, is this one safe to sit on or will I get pricked by the boogeyman?”
Don waved at Sam, giving him the OK to sit in the rocker. “That one is safe. I bought it. Cracker Barrel.”
Sam sighed. “Oh, that meatloaf.”
Sam eased onto the chair. He turned back to Debbie. “Like I said, forgive me, but my mind has been fuzzy for a while.”
Debbie pried her eyes from a book on dark magic and smiled at Sam. “I do my best to keep balance in the world between this…” She held up the book. “…and good.”
“So you’re telling me you’re like the scales of justice, but between good and evil?” Sam asked.
“I never thought of it that way, but I guess so,” Debbie said.
“And you can stop that little prick Joey Carpenter from harassing me?” Sam asked.
“Have you seen him since you’ve been here?” Debbie asked.
“No, but I’m not sure that has anything to do with you.”
“It’s good to be a skeptic, Sam Strode,” Debbie said.
Mason returned from Don’s office. “Got the DNA results.” He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and swiped the screen of his phone to open an email. “All of the panties belonged to the same woman. Eileen Martha Rollins.”
“So she’s the one who started this mess?” Sam said.
“We don’t know that yet, but it’s obvious Hayes had some connection to her,” Mason said.
“Is she alive?” Don asked, without looking up from cataloging a Conklin’s Crescent-Filler pen from 1905 that was said to provide a death knell for anyone’s name written with it.
“Rosalind called in a favor with an FBI friend to see what she could get on Rollins. Hopefully, we will hear something soon.”
Mason’s phone rang. ROSALIND MATTHEWS lit up the screen. “Sooner than I thought.”
“Maybe your iPhone is haunted too,” Sam said.
Mason excused himself to take the call. He stepped out to the empty parking lot for fresh air.
“What do you have for me?”
“A hello would be nice,” Rosalind said.
“Hello, Rosalind, dear. What do you have for me?” Mason said.
“Not much better, Mason. I’m sending over a fax I received from Barry. It’s a thorough history of Rollins.”
“I can’t believe people still use fax machines,” Mason said. “Email is so much easier.”
“Well, Barry is old school. I don’t have time to scan it and email. So you’ll just have to suffer through it this time, Mr. Technology.”
“Thank you, Rosalind.”
“Anytime. Good luck.”
The fax was waiting for Mason when he returned to the museum. It was pages long and contained the life history of Eileen Martha Rollins, who went by Eileen Phryne. Born in Charlotte, North Carolina in 1952, Eileen dropped out of high school in the tenth grade and left home. There was not much, if any contact with her parents from that point forward. She was arrested in 1968 for shoplifting from a Woolworth’s in Roanoke, Virginia. It was the first in a lengthy arrest record that consisted mostly of prostitution and shoplifting. Eileen’s last arrest was in 1974 in Charlotte for solicitation.
“Looks like she went clean after that one,” Mason said. “I’m going to assume she’s well-read, even though she dropped out of school. In ancient Greece, phyrne was a nickname given to prostitutes. She moved to Greensboro in the fall of ‘75.”
“That’s about the time I caught Hayes,” Sam said.
“She’s still alive,” Mason said.
After moving to Greensboro, Eileen spent a few years waitressing at a few dive diners before getting her GED and attending community college. She went on to graduate from UNC-G with a degree in sociology. Eileen worked for the local social services before leaving the profession in 2004. For the last twelve years, she had been a tarot reader from her home.
“This is interesting. Looks like Eileen was, maybe still is, a practicing witch,” Mason said.
“What art?” Debbie asked.
“According to this arrest from ‘72, she claimed to be a Satanist,” Mason said.
“Sounds like she’s the prime suspect,” Sam said.
“Satanism doesn’t necessarily mean devil worship,” Debbie said. “True Satanists do not believe in the devil. They wouldn’t waste time trying to conjure something they do not believe in. And The Mayhem wouldn’t work. It requires total devotion.”
“But she’s a witch. She knew Hayes,” Sam said.
“It’s definitely something to look into,” Mason said.
The familiar squeak of the front door opening drew everyone’s attention. Kim walked through with Terrence just behind.
“This place hasn’t been this active since the poltergeist showed up with that guitar you brought, Mason,” Don said.
“Good news. We have a name,” Kim said, kissing Sam on top of his head.
“Eileen Phryne,” Sam said.
Kim took a step back. “How did you know?”
“DNA on the evidence,” Mason said. “Besides Hayes, the only other DNA belongs to Eileen Martha Rollins or Eileen Phryne.”
“Palmer said she was an acquaintance of Hayes, but apparently, he wanted it to be more,” Kim said.
“There’s no mention of Hayes in here.” Mason handed Kim the fax. “Everything else about her is in there, though.”
“Yeah, Palmer said Hayes never mentioned Eileen to anyone but him. He didn’t want her drawn into the Silent Six case,” Kim said as she ran her finger over every line of the fax in a form of speed reading.
“I taught her that,” Sam said. “Reports are long. No one has time for that. Look for keywords.”
“Palmer mentioned she was a prostitute,” Kim said.
“See? Keywords,” Sam said.
“And a witch,” Kim said.
Sam nodded.
“Did Palmer have any details about how she practiced?” Debbie asked.
“Not really. He just said she was a practicing witch and that everything Hayes knew about Satanism, he learned from listening to her,” Kim said.
“It still doesn’t mean she was into devil worship,” Debbie said.
“Palmer did say there was no way Eileen would have conjured The Mayhem. She didn’t like Hayes. She didn’t know about the murders until he was arrested,” Kim said. “But I believe Eileen may be the anonymous caller.” She handed the fax back to Mason.
“Well, son-of-a-bitch,” Sam said.
“We still need to go to Greensboro and see Eileen. She’s connected to this whether she knows it or not,” Kim said.
“Mason and I will go with you. Anne and Carol will stay here with Don and Sam,” Debbie said.
Sam turned in his chair to the two witches who were playing cards. “Anne and Carol. That’s your names?”
The witches smiled.
“They don’t really talk much,” Sam said.
“In situations like this, they reserve their energy for the fight if it should arise,” Debbie said.
“Like that fighting monk show I saw on Netflix,” Sam said.
“Dad,” Kim said. “It’s re
ally good to have you back.” She kissed him again on the top of his head. “We need to get going. The sooner we can get this thing over, the better.”
The front door closed behind Mason, who was the last to leave. Don caught the sound of feet pattering up the stairs to his apartment.
“Did you hear that?” Don asked.
“Yeah, you really need to get that door looked at,” Sam said, picking up the Dark Arts book Debbie left.
“No. The footsteps,” Don said.
A faint sound of a flute bounced around the ceiling.
“I hear that,” Sam said.
Don raced to the case that held the haunted flute. It was missing. The witches dropped the cards, held hands, and began chanting. The Conklin’s pen that Don was cataloging lifted from the counter and wrote CAROL INGRAM on Don’s notepad.
A child’s laughter pierced the room. The witch on the right side of the table gripped the other’s hand and gasped before her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell to the floor.
“Carol,” Anne said, reaching for her friend.
“What the hell is going on?” Sam asked.
“The demons are here,” Don said, smacking the pen to the floor. He dug the heel of his shoe into it, grinding pieces against the wooden floor.
The notes from the flute became louder. The air turned frigid. The music from the flute turned into a piercing wail. Sam lowered his head and covered his ears. Don winced as the sound threatened to burst his eardrums. The back of Anne’s dress separated from her skin as though someone jerked the fabric. She lifted from the floor and something flung her body against the wall, sending frame pictures crashing.
Anne’s body levitated, followed by a sickening snap as her body bent awkwardly as the waist. She floated across the room about three feet from the floor. Drops of water splashed against Don’s face. A bluish-green figure with long blond hair matted with seaweed appeared beneath Anne. Its mouth opened and sucked the light from the room, leaving it pitch black. It wailed, shaking the foundation of the museum and spit the light out, temporarily blinding Don and Sam. They regained vision in time to see Anne’s body slam into the ceiling and fall, landing with a dull thud. Children’s laughter radiated through the room again.