The Haunting at Grays Harbor (The River Book 8)

by Michael Richan

  If we don’t take care of this vortex, he thought, there might be no Eximere. He imagined the underground space as nothing but a giant dark cavern, with graves. I couldn’t leave Jason there, if that happens. I’d have to move him. Dig him up. That made him even more depressed than the images of Grays Harbor passing in front of his eyes.

  Chapter Eleven

  Barbara’s house looked hauntingly silent and still as Maynard pulled his truck up to it.

  “I thought we were going to the abandoned house,” Steven said.

  “This broken rod has me a little worried,” Maynard said, hopping out of the cab and walking to the back of his trailer. “If I can’t get the coil off it, better to find out now than after we’ve already done the others.”

  “You’re afraid you won’t be able to remove the coil?” Roy asked.

  “It looked pretty banged up,” Maynard said, unlocking the chain and opening the doors to the trailer. He stepped into it, and pulled open a metal drawer from one of the cabinets attached to the walls, removing items and setting them on the workbench. “If I can’t get it off the normal way, we’ll have to shut down the power source first, kinda like turning off the circuit breaker before you work on the electrical in your house.” He sorted through the items he’d pulled out, placing a couple into a backpack.

  “Why not just do that, first?” Steven asked.

  “I like to avoid it if I can,” Maynard said, lifting the backpack. “With the rods, I know what needs to be done, and it’s simple and low-risk. Predictable. Get them all, the vortex is done. But with the power source, you don’t know what you’re getting into. Usually involves dead bodies. So I try to avoid it if I can. Might not be able to this time. We’ll see.”

  They followed Maynard to the front door, and Steven used the key Barbara had given him to open it and let the others inside. Maynard trekked up to the top floor. The ladder to the attic was still descended from their previous visit.

  After they climbed, Steven moved a few boxes away from the knee wall so they’d have better access for the three of them to view the rod. Maynard set down his backpack and removed an old alarm clock.

  Maynard moved the clock into position near the end of the rod, and Steven was surprised to see it hang suspended mid-air, as though a magnetic force was keeping it in place. He dropped into the River and saw the clock become a round object with a long arm, as though its minute hand had overgrown the edge of the clock. Maynard reached toward the arm, holding a small metallic hook. A piece of the arm disconnected from itself, and trailed from the hook like a section of string. Maynard drew the hook toward the rod, wrapping its tip around the end of the coil. The thread from the arm twisted around the coil, attaching to it like the tongue of a lizard.

  The arm began to slowly turn, pulling the thread attached to the coil. Steven watched as the coil rotated, spiraling around the rod, moving off the core.

  I’m guessing you can’t just pull the coil off by hand? Steven asked.

  Well, you could, but you’d hallucinate so badly you’d…

  Maynard paused, a concerned look washing over his face. Steven turned back to the rod and saw that the coil was stuck, with a broken end scraping down into the rod, leaving a bright red mark.

  Steven felt knocked back by a bright light, and he fell onto his side. He saw Roy leaning on the ground next to him, similarly knocked over.

  Then the floor disappeared.

  He instinctually placed his hands down, clutching for something to grasp, but there was nothing there to touch. He was in open air. Falling! he thought, panicked.

  He turned his head to look down, and saw the ground far below him. Everything was colored dark blue. He screamed, reaching for something, anything — and saw Roy next to him, reacting the same way.

  But he wasn’t falling. He was hanging in the air. He turned to look back at Maynard, and there he was, on his knees, working on the coil and the rod.

  This might not… Maynard said, reaching for the coil with his metal hook, trying to lift it from the core so it could continue spiraling off.

  Then the ground was back, but it was cold cement, and he knew where he was — the basement at Mason Manor. He stood up, looking around. Roy was gone, but he thought he heard Maynard, behind a wall, around a dark doorway…

  I’ve seen this before, he thought. But I don’t remember it.

  He felt himself walking to the opening in the wall, darkness on the other side, the sound of Maynard puttering with the rod beyond his vision.

  It’s a trick, he thought. A trap. Maynard’s not there. Someone else is in in the darkness; a man. A man who isn’t what he appears to be. Stop walking! Turn! Run!

  He couldn’t control his legs. He stepped toward the doorway like an idiot in a horror movie, his brain knowing the danger but his body unable or unwilling to cease movement.

  The eyes appeared in the darkness first, then the open mouth, and then the fangs. Huge. Large enough to swallow him whole.

  Just like that poor man, he thought. I’m going to be eaten, just like that poor man I tricked…but this never happened…it’s like déjà vu…

  And he was lying on the attic floor, facing Roy. His father was watching him, concerned.

  “Maynard,” Roy said. “We need to stop.”

  Maynard turned from the rod and saw them both lying on the floor. Steven looked up at him, pleading. “Stop!” he said, but behind Maynard he could see the arm on the clock, turning, pulling the coil.

  Then he saw the figure rise from the shadows in the corner of the bedroom, the dark ghost with its wild, ranting fervor, the Agimat dangling from its neck, and he felt the wooden handle in his hands, and he knew exactly what he would see if he turned around: a bed, with a young man lying on the mattress, asleep, unaware that the one person in his life who should protect him, who should look out for him — that one person was about to do the opposite. I’m in that room, he thought, and he felt himself vomiting. The dark ghost moved past him as he heaved, positioning himself for the unspeakable act that was about to occur on the bed behind him. They must all die, he felt himself thinking, and he whimpered, trying to drive the thought from his mind, but unable to get control of it. He felt a wave of righteous indignation enter him and he resisted it by vomiting again.

  Steven sobbed as he felt the floor on his shoulder, his hands empty, and saw Maynard disconnecting the thread from the coil.

  “Stop!” Steven said, crying. “No more.” Roy slid next to him and wrapped his arm around him.

  “I was afraid of that,” Maynard said as he watched the thread reattach to the arm and he lifted the clock away from the rod. “Usually it just spins right off, no muss, no fuss,” he said, putting the clock into his backpack. “Not this time. I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

  That was the hard way, Steven thought. Nothing could be worse than reliving that.

  Maynard walked past them and toward the ladder.

  “Come on,” he said. “It’s not going to get any easier.”

  ◊

  After replacing some of the items in his trailer, Maynard drove them around the block to the abandoned house. It was still mid-day, but the layer of clouds above them made the sky dark and dreary.

  Maynard returned to his trailer, bringing different supplies. He handed a covered gallon bucket to Steven to carry, and handed a shovel and a flashlight to Roy.

  “Let’s go,” he said, leading them to the porch.

  “Do you have another flashlight?” Steven asked.

  “Just the two,” Maynard replied as he opened the front door and walked in. Steven wished they’d picked one up at a store the previous night.

  The ground floor looked the same as the last time Steven had seen it. He glanced down the hallway toward the staircase that led to the second story, dreading having to go up it.

  “There can be several kinds of power sources, but the most common is a buried body, so we’ll start in the cellar,” Maynard said, walking to the stairc
ase. “Usually the stairs down are behind the stairs up,” he said, but in this case no opening below the stairs appeared. He walked into the next room beyond, which looked like it had once been a kitchen, with old battered cupboards and shelves. There was a door in the corner.

  “That’ll be it,” Maynard said, pointing his flashlight on the door. “The way down.”

  Roy walked to it and twisted the handle, giving the door a pull. It squeaked open. He shined his light down into the stairwell.

  “Wooden steps,” Roy said. “Who knows if they’ll hold. Watch where you walk.” He started down. “There’s footprints here. Fresh.” They stopped and observed the small, muddy print on the step.

  “That’s a child’s foot,” Maynard said, observing the print.

  “Barbara said neighbor kids dare each other to come in here,” Steven said.

  “Bad idea,” Maynard replied.

  Roy resumed walking downstairs and the others followed him, landing on a cement slab at the bottom. Cobwebs hung everywhere, and Steven found himself swatting them away from his face continually as they walked around the room.

  “Scan the ground,” Maynard said. “Look for anything unusual.”

  Steven followed Roy, since he had no source of light on his own. Roy worked his way through the left side of the open space while Maynard took the right. “Look,” Roy said, pointing down. “More muddy footprints from kids,” he said.

  “They lead over there,” Steven replied, pointing to a door in the corner. They walked to the door, and Roy opened it, revealing a small room about ten feet square. A musty smell greeted them, and Steven could see that the floor inside was packed dirt. There was an old, warped four by eight piece of plywood lying in the middle of the room, looking as if it had been tossed haphazardly onto the soil.

  It moved.

  Steven, startled, grabbed Roy’s arm and Roy dropped the flashlight. It rolled into the room, coming to rest against the plywood.

  “Maynard!” Steven called. “We’ve found something!”

  They waited while Maynard arrived. The plywood moved again, rising off the ground a little. Steven could see that it didn’t sit completely flush on the ground, and wasn’t sure if that was because of the warping, or because of whatever was under it.

  “You pick that up,” Roy said, pointing at the flashlight on the ground next to the plywood.

  “No way!” Steven said.

  “You knocked it out of my hands, you get it!” Roy said. “It’s probably just a rat.”

  “I didn’t knock it out of your hands, you dropped it,” Steven said.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Roy said, walking into the room and reaching for the flashlight. As he made contact with it, the plywood raised again. Roy jumped a little, grabbed the flashlight, and returned to the doorway.

  “A rat?” Steven asked.

  “I don’t know,” Roy replied. “Hard to say.”

  Maynard walked up behind them, and they parted ways so he could look inside the room.

  “It moves,” Steven said.

  “What, the plywood?” Maynard asked.

  Once again the four by eight shifted, sliding a half inch to the right.

  “Help me with it,” Maynard said to Steven, walking into the room and up to the plywood. He reached under one end of it, waiting for Steven to take the other end.

  “Come on!” Maynard said.

  Steven bent down and grabbed the opposite end of the board, feeling uncomfortable as his fingers slid under the wood. They lifted and placed the board on its side against a wall.

  Roy looked ready to walk in and kick the rat, but instead he stopped, shining his light down onto the ground.

  A small hand rose out of the dirt, the wrist and palm still buried but the five fingers exposed. It was white and small — a child’s hand.

  The fingers moved.

  “They’re buried alive!” Steven said. “We’ve got to get them out!”

  “Not so fast,” Maynard said. He walked next to the hand, observing it. He pressed into the dirt surrounding it, feeling it give. “This substance, it’s not dirt. This is usually what they’re buried under. Never seen a hand coming out of it before, however.”

  Steven knelt next to the dirt and pressed into it, mimicking Maynard. He knew instantly where he’d seen this before: Eximere. He looked up at Roy as he pushed into the spongy material. He could tell Roy knew the same thing — it was the goop that encased the bodies buried under the banyan tree.

  “Hand me that bucket,” Maynard said, and Steven passed the gallon bucket to him, finally aware of what he’d been carrying — the soil used to lighten the goop. Steven had watched Roy use it many times to converse with Thomas at Eximere.

  “This stuff’ll clear up the suspension encasement, so we can see what we’re dealing with,” Maynard said, removing the lid from the bucket and pulling out a trowel from inside. He scooped out some of the dirt and spread it over the top of the grave next to the exposed hand, stopping to use the trowel to press it into the spongy surface.

  The goop began to lighten, turning from a dark brown to clear. Steven was horrified to see the face of a girl slowly appear in the substance, not more than a foot from the surface. Her eyes were wide and her mouth open. Her other arm was raised, and had almost broken through.

  Her fingers moved again, and Steven slid back from the grave’s edge, terrified.

  Maynard sat down on the ground. “Give me a few moments to get the trance going,” he said. “Then I’ll open it to you. Let me do the talking, I’ve dealt with this before.”

  Maynard closed his eyes and his chin lowered to his chest. Roy joined Steven next to the grave and the two of them slowly lowered themselves until they were sitting on the cold dirt.

  “Please tell me we don’t have to dig her up,” Steven whispered to Roy.

  “Quiet please,” Maynard said.

  They dropped into the River and waited while Maynard entered his trance. After ten minutes they saw the trance form like a bubble around Maynard’s body. Once it had solidified, Maynard invited them in.

  The girl was seated on her grave, waving her fingers over her physical hand that extended out of the goop, playing with it.

  You’re all like my father, the girl said, not looking up.

  How is that? Maynard asked.

  You can all see me, she replied. Most people can’t. Usually only my mother can see me.

  Is your mother here? Maynard asked. Is she upstairs, in the attic?

  Yes, that’s her.

  Maynard paused, trying to get a sense of the girl. What’s your name? he asked.

  Christina, the girl replied.

  Well, Christina, my name is Maynard, and these two gentlemen with me are Roy, and his son, Steven.

  Christina looked up and smiled, then back down at her physical hand. It wiggled again.

  How long have you been buried down here? Maynard asked.

  Years, I think. Many years. I’ve lost count. It’s hard to keep track of time.

  Is that your hand sticking out of the grave? Maynard asked.

  Yes, she said, and it wiggled again.

  I see you can make it move.

  I can’t move the rest of me, Christina said, but I managed to get my hand out before it hardened up. The fingers waved again in the air.

  Someone buried you here? Trapped you in this stuff, while you were still alive?

  My mother, Christina said.

  Steven tried to stifle a reaction. I’d give anything to have my son back, he thought, and this woman buried her child — alive?

  Christina seemed to pick up on his thoughts. She wanted him back, she said. He promised her if she would start up the vortex, he’d take her back, and become my daddy again. But he didn’t. He abandoned her.

  You know that your mother is a vorghost, upstairs in the attic, right? Maynard asked.

  Of course, Christina replied. I see her all the time. I’ve been trying to convince her to stop, but she’s crazy. I t
old her my father never loved her, it was all a trick, because he’s never come back, and I don’t think he ever will. But she wouldn’t believe me. My brother warned me about her, and he was right. She won’t listen to anything I say, she’s too addled. She gets real scared and depressed and she doesn’t make any sense. Now she’s trying to kill herself, all because of him.

  Because of your father? Maynard asked.

  I hate him! she said, looking up at them, her face contorted into something far more menacing than a nine-year-old girl. She wouldn’t have buried me here if it weren’t for him! It was all his idea. He made her do it.

  I’m confused, Christina, Maynard said. Your father forced your mother to make this vortex? And to use you as a power source for it?

  Yes, she said angrily. He told her he’d take her back if she did it. But he didn’t. He just disappeared.

  And now your mother is stuck as a vorghost, with you trapped down here?

  She thought he would come back, Christina said. She waited years and years for him. I kept telling her he wouldn’t. I didn’t want him to, either. I hated him. I still do. He was a terrible father. I told her that, thousands of times, but she wouldn’t believe me. Then, a little while ago, she felt the energy change, and she thought for sure he was coming back for her. But he didn’t. That’s when I convinced her to damage the rod.

  She broke the rod, herself? Maynard asked.

  She was crying and throwing herself around like a crazy person, screaming! She kept asking me why he didn’t come back. I told her he tricked her, that her vortex was just a big joke that he’d pulled on her, and that she should be insulted by it. I was hoping she’d do something drastic, and she did - she started pounding on one of the rods, and she busted it all up. But she stopped before she destroyed it, unfortunately.

  That rod is in another house, now, Maynard said. It’s in your neighbor’s attic.

  Yes, I know! Christina said, giggling. I made Georgina take it home with her!

  How did you do that?