by Ron Ripley
Shane smiled. “Yes, you are.”
He looked back down the ladder, ignored the nervous rumble of his stomach, and descended into the root cellar. When he reached the bottom, he pointed the flashlight at each of the walls. They were made of large, rough cut stones with small niches carved in them. In the far left corner, a stone had been removed, and blackness awaited.
Marie reached the floor and a moment later, her flashlight’s beam joined his.
“There?” She asked him.
“Yes,” Shane said with a nod. He walked forward, and Marie was barely a step behind him. Finally, just a few steps away from the darkness, the light cut through it. A small, oval doorway was revealed, absent of any door, though. The floor beyond was made of smooth stone, and it gently sloped down.
The walls and ceiling were of the same type of stone and the passage turned slightly to the right. Within a few feet, the remainder of it was hidden. The foul smell and cold air of the room emanated from the tunnel.
“This wasn’t here,” Marie said.
“No,” Shane said in agreement. “It wasn’t. I’ve never seen it before, and I thought I had seen just about everything this house had hidden.”
Something splashed in the distance, and Shane stiffened.
“What is it?” Marie asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Did you hear the splash?”
“Yes,” she said. “Is it bad?”
“More than likely,” Shane said softly.
“Well,” Marie said, taking a deep breath, “only one way to find out.”
Shane nodded and stepped into the tunnel.
Instantly it felt as though the walls would close in on him and he had to crouch slightly or else he would hit his head on the ceiling. He reached a hand out to steady himself and pulled it back quickly.
“What’s wrong?” Marie asked.
“The wall,” Shane answered. “It felt wrong.”
“Oh Jesus,” she said after a moment. “Feels like mucus.”
“Yeah,” he said. He continued forward. He followed the path of his own flashlight as the passage curved. And it continued to curve and descend in a tight circle.
“I hope we don’t have to come back up this way,” Marie said after a minute.
“Why not?” Shane asked.
“I’m having a hard time not slipping right now,” she answered. “Can you imagine what it’ll be like going up this path?”
“No,” Shane said. “I can’t.”
After a long time, the floor leveled out and the passage straightened. Slowly, it widened as well. The walls disappeared, and only the floor remained. No matter where they pointed the flashlights, they only found darkness and the stones upon which they walked.
“Shane,” Marie said after a few minutes of walking.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Is there something up ahead?” she asked.
Shane moved the beam of his flashlight towards hers, and he saw a small shape on the floor. He hurried forward and came to a sharp stop.
“It’s a belt,” Marie said. She stepped past Shane and squatted down.
A long, dark brown, leather belt lay curled on the stones. The silver buckle was face down. She reached out to turn it over with her flashlight.
But Shane already knew what the buckle had engraved on it.
“‘H R,'” Marie said, looking up at him.
“Henry Ryan,” Shane said. “Well, he preferred Hank.”
“Your dad’s?” Marie asked.
Shane nodded. “Yes. I gave him the belt on his birthday when I was fourteen.”
“Why is it here?” she asked, looking at him.
“He loved to wear it,” Shane said sadly. “He wore it all the time. He said a man always needed to wear a belt or suspenders. And he hated suspenders. He always had it on.”
Reverently, Marie picked up the belt and handed it to Shane.
“Thank you,” Shane said softly. He took the belt, wrapped it into a tight loop and slipped it into his back pocket.
Marie stood up and looked around the darkness. “Well, which way from here?”
Her flashlight flickered and went out.
“Take my hand,” Shane said quickly, extending his free hand to her.
Marie clasped it just as his own flashlight was extinguished.
Over the sound of his own heartbeat, Shane heard the slap of something wet against stone.
It was repeated, rhythmically.
“Something’s walking,” Marie said.
He tightened his grip on her and fought down a wave of fear.
“Do not let go,” he whispered. “No matter what you do. Do not let go.”
The walker drew closer.
“What is it?” Marie asked in a low voice.
“I think it’s the girl in the pond,” he said softly, unable to keep a quiver of terror out of his voice. “We need to leave.”
The darkness pressed down upon them, and Marie asked, “How?”
Before Shane could answer he caught a bit of music.
A violin playing part of Schubert’s Death and the Maiden.
Shane turned towards the sound. It grew louder, if only slightly. “Do you hear it?”
“Hear… wait, is someone playing a violin?” Marie asked.
“Yes,” Shane said excitedly. “We need to get to it.”
“Let’s go, then,” Marie said, as she led the way towards the instrument.
They moved at a steady pace. The music became louder, and so did the sound of the walker. The force’s pace quickened as they drew closer to the musician.
Suddenly, a thin, horizontal line of light appeared in the darkness ahead of them.
“Run!” Shane hissed.
The two of them ran for the light, which grew faintly larger and revealed the bottom of a wooden door.
The walker ran.
Shane slammed into the door, found the cut crystal knob and twisted it violently. The lock clicked, as they stumbled in. Light blinded him, and he rolled across a carpeted floor. The music stopped, and Shane shouted, “The door!”
The door slammed shut, and he panted as he lay on the floor.
Chapter 28: With the Musician
Marie rested her head against the cool wood of the door and her hands on plush carpets. She slowly got herself under control, opened her eyes and looked down.
Water seeped beneath the door and into the fabric of the carpets.
Marie stared at it for a moment, confused, until something heavy hit the door. She pushed herself backward and bumped into Shane. They both stared at the door.
She could worry about the room they were in later.
The real threat was on the other side of the wooden door.
The walker, for who else could it be, knocked.
A voice from behind Marie, and it wasn’t Shane’s, said something in what sounded like Italian.
Another knock was the only response.
The tone of the speaker changed from courteous to angry. The Italian was spoken quickly.
The door shuddered in its frame. Once. Twice. Three times.
And then Marie could hear the presence leave. The slap of the feet grew fainter.
Shane stood up and said, “Marie, I’d like to introduce you to our host. Roberto Guidoboni.”
She turned and froze, horrified.
Roberto Guidoboni was dead. A skeleton clad in rags as he held a violin. He bestowed upon her a death’s head grin and spoke to her in soft, delicate Italian.
Marie stood shocked, not quite sure what to say.
Stunned, she let Shane guide her to an ancient armchair. He murmured for her to sit down, and she did, unable to take her eyes off of the skeleton, though. Shane sat down on the floor beside her and spoke in Italian to Roberto.
The skeleton bowed his head and placed his violin between his shoulder and his chin. His fleshless fingers danced across the neck and the bow flew along the strings.
A deep, beautiful rhythm filled the room, an
d Marie shook as her adrenaline high crashed.
Chapter 29: Shane, January 20, 1989
Shane hurried through the snow, but he wasn’t going to make it.
Keith and Matthew were too close. He could hear Christopher, larger and slower, laugh as Shane tried to get home.
Shane passed his wall and made it to his driveway.
He needed his front door, though. The steps at least.
Halfway to safety, Keith’s hand landed on Shane’s shoulder. The older boy grabbed Shane’s parka and jerked him backward. Shane grunted as he landed hard on his backside. He scrambled to his feet and found the other three boys in front of him. Keith stood in the middle, the tallest of the three and the leanest. Matthew was slightly thicker and a little shorter. Christopher, red-faced from the race through the snow, was the shortest and the widest.
And Shane stood alone in the driveway against them.
His mother was gone, at least until four.
She had a dentist appointment.
His father was still at work.
Shane was alone.
“Why’d you run, freak?” Keith asked, sneering.
“Leave me alone, Keith,” Shane said. He hated the sound of fear in his own voice, but he knew the three boys wanted to beat him up. There was no one to stop them.
Shane would fight, and he would lose.
“Leave me alone, Keith,” Matthew said, pitching his voice high and mimicking Shane. Keith and Christopher laughed.
Keith took off his gloves and dropped them into the snow.
“I like the way it feels on my knuckles,” Keith explained. “You know, when the blood hits them.”
Shane shrugged off his backpack and held a strap tightly in his right hand. His heart beat quickly. All three of the other boys were bigger and older than Shane. They had picked on him ever since he started middle school.
They always seemed to know when neither of his parents were home.
Keith cracked his knuckles and grinned.
“Hit him!” Christopher said excitedly. “Hit him, Keith!”
“I will,” Keith said happily, raising his fist as he stepped forward.
A loud groan spilled out from the house and washed over them.
They all froze.
“What the hell just happened?” Matthew asked, looking around.
Shane looked around nervously. The house seemed to have darkened. A shadow had slipped over it. Some of the trees bent in different directions.
“You need to leave,” Shane whispered. “Something bad is going to happen.”
Christopher laughed. “Yeah, Keith’s going to beat you up.”
“Knock it off,” Keith said sharply, lowering his hand. “Something’s wrong.”
“You need to go,” Shane said, desperately. All of the trees were moving now. “Please, you need to leave.”
A whisper, indistinct, raced across the snow. A shadow slipped into the driveway and stopped in the center. It blocked the way to the street. The way to safety.
“We need to get inside,” Shane said in a low voice.
“What?” Matthew asked, surprised.
“All of us need to get inside now,” Shane said. “We have to go in.”
“Why would we go in with you?” Christopher said, grinning. “You want a beating inside your own house?”
Keith saw the shadow in the driveway. The shadow over the house. The way the trees moved. The bully looked at Shane.
“Can we?” Keith asked in a low voice.
Shane nodded. “Just run. The door’s open.”
Keith turned and ran for the door, and Shane followed him. Matthew followed and with a snort of disgust, Christopher did too.
Keith reached the door, opened it and led the way into the house. A moment later, Shane and the others piled in.
Shane closed the door, and something outside screamed.
“Holy Jesus!” Christopher said, stumbling backward and crossing himself.
“Lock the door,” Matthew said nervously.
“It won’t matter,” Shane said, feeling better as he took off his backpack. “Not if it really wants to come in. It usually doesn’t though, and if it does, it doesn’t like what happens.”
“What happens?” Keith asked.
“Carl happens,” Shane answered. He removed his jacket, opened the hall closet and hung it up. He took off his boots and put them on the boot tray by the door. When he was done, he looked at the three boys. They had wanted to hurt him a few minutes earlier, but it had come. The thing in the yard. The thing he hated.
These were just boys. Stupid boys.
And Shane wasn’t mad at them.
“Do you guys want something to eat?” He asked.
The three of them looked at him in surprise. After a moment, Keith nodded.
“Okay,” Shane said. “Just take your boots and jackets off. You can call your moms in the kitchen.”
He waited as they shed their backpacks and winter gear. Soon all of them stood in their school uniforms and stockings.
“Come on,” Shane said. He passed through them and led the way to the kitchen. Upstairs, a door slammed, opened, and then it slammed again.
“Is your mom home?” Matthew asked.
“No,” Shane said. “No one’s home but me.”
“What?” Christopher asked. “Who made that noise then? Who banged the door?”
“Probably the old man,” Shane said, gesturing to the kitchen table. “Sit down.”
“What old man? Your dad?” Keith asked.
Shane shook his head. “No. The old man. The old ghost. He spends a lot of time upstairs. He’s a real pain. All he does is complain.”
Keith and Matthew looked nervously up at the ceiling towards the second floor, but Christopher laughed.
“You’re full of it, Shane,” the boy sneered.
“Shut up, Chris,” Keith snapped.
Christopher looked at him in surprise.
“So,” Keith said, looking at Shane, “this place is really haunted?”
Shane nodded.
“Bad?” Matthew asked.
“Yeah,” Shane said, taking down four short glasses. “Bad. I have to sleep with the lights on and the door off of the hinges.”
“You’re a liar,” Christopher said angrily. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
The back door rattled.
Shane looked at him and for the first time realized he didn’t have to be afraid of the older boy. Of any of them.
“Do you want milk or water?” He asked.
“Milk,” Keith and Matthew said.
“You need to tell me how you’re doing this,” Christopher said, his face going red. “You need to tell me.”
“Knock it off!” Keith yelled.
“No,” Christopher said, his voice getting higher. “No! There’s no such thing as ghosts!”
All of the windows darkened, as though someone had painted each pane black.
“There are,” Shane said softly. “And there are a lot here.”
“How many?” Matthew whispered.
“At least six, maybe more,” Shane answered. “And yes, they can hurt you.”
Christopher opened his mouth to speak and then he stopped. His eyes widened in surprise, and his blonde hair stood straight up. He got up from his chair, and Shane realized someone had the boy by the hair.
Christopher started to cry, and he wet his pants.
“Carl,” Shane said, and he hoped it was the dead German. “Please let him go.”
“Fine,” Carl said, and Christopher sat down hard in his chair, the wood creaking beneath his weight.
Keith and Matthew looked in horror at their friend.
“Carl doesn’t like bullies,” Shane explained. “And he doesn’t like people who make too much noise.”
When none of the three boys responded to the statement, Shane walked to the pantry, opened it and asked, “Do you guys want Oreos?”
Chapter 30: A Glass of Wine
> Shane poured the red wine into a glass and handed it to Marie, who accepted it gratefully. Her hands shook slightly and for a minute, he was worried he might have to help her hold the glass steady enough to drink from.
But, she managed.
“She will be fine,” Roberto said, playing a small piece on his violin. “I can tell.”
“Yes, I think so,” Shane agreed.
Marie looked from Shane to the skeleton and back to Shane.
Well, Shane thought. I hope she’ll be alright.
“How are you holding up, Marie?” he asked her.
“Okay,” she said. She took a long drink from the wine glass and looked at him. “This is all real.”
“Yes,” Shane said.
“And your parents disappeared down here twenty odd years ago?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She frowned and after a moment she said, “Can I see the belt?”
“The belt?” he asked, and then he remembered. “Oh, yes.”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled it out.
She took it from him and examined it. “Shane, this hasn’t been down here for twenty years. Hell, I don’t think it’s been down here for more than a few weeks.”
“What?” he asked, squatting down beside her.
“Look,” she said, “the leather should be rotted, and the belt buckle should be covered in muck.”
“That is your father’s belt, is it not?” Roberto asked.
Shane looked over at him and nodded. “How do you know?”
“He was wearing it when I saw him,” the dead man answered.
Shane straightened up. “What? When did you see him?”
“I am not sure,” Roberto said apologetically. “Time is...it is not as I remember it. Nothing is.”
“When do you think you saw him last?” Shane asked, trying to fight down his hope, knowing it to be futile.
“A week ago. Perhaps two,” he answered.
“What did he say?” Marie asked. “Does he know something?”
Shane nodded. “He says he thinks he saw my father a week or two ago. Roberto, was my mother with him?”
“No, Shane, I am sorry to say. I have not seen her in quite some time. He is searching for her. But the girl, she keeps them apart.”