The Ultimate Mystery Thriller Horror Box Set (7 Mystery Thriller Horror Bestsellers)

by Perkins, Cathy

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The moon was on display in all its fullness on a comfortable night in the Arizona desert and my three man project team was out and away from the city lights behind the Superstition Mountains some fifty miles east of Phoenix, Arizona. Our purpose that night was to get some mood pictures of the moon in the contrasting darkness that could only be seen in certain parts of the world. This was one of them.

  My teammates were photographer, Kevin Maroso, who was one of the best there was. He had won so many awards for his work that he was able to name his price and choose whatever subjects or projects he wanted to shoot. I, on the other hand, was one of his favorite story tellers. He had listened intently to my tale of the near death and all that happened after. This was intensely interesting to him because he had once been on a haunting research project and had actually photographed an apparition that had manifested in broad daylight. This had occurred on a ship anchored at Long Beach, California. I remember him saying that one time the apparition actually initiated a conversation with him and before he realized it, Kevin, thinking he was addressing an on-board waiter, had ordered a rum and Coke from the ghost.

  Kevin had been working on his camera equipment sitting on a chair near the desk in his room while his room was being cleaned by maid service. He said that he barely noticed who part of the cleaning crew was because he was so focused on his cleaning a camera lens and didn’t notice the man who spoke to him from behind. When he turned to see who was speaking he saw a young man about six feet tall, slender with light hair and a slight beard dressed in a waiters uniform.

  “Can I get you a drink from the bar, sir?” he asked Kevin politely.

  “Is this part of the cleaning service? This is a first for me, but go ahead… what do you suggest I have?” Kevin responded.

  “That depends on whether you are a wine drinker, or do you enjoy liquors or whiskeys, sir?”

  “I like rum… especially when it is mixed with cola. Yes, I like rum,” Kevin said as he turned from his camera to where the waiter was standing; but he had disappeared into thin air. There was no way that he could have gotten out of that room because the door was across the room and it never opened. Kevin knew then that he had been talking with a ghost.

  The next time he saw the ghost waiter was out on deck, in broad daylight, as he was standing near the door to the restaurant on the main deck. This time Kevin snapped his picture and there he was, right where he was photographed, smiling. He was a happy ghost it seemed. After posing for the picture he turned and went into the restaurant through an open door. Kevin followed him and, true to form, when inside Kevin did not catch sight of him… but he had a picture of him.

  He asked a bartender if he knew the man in the picture he had just snapped, showing him the image, but got a “no” as an answer. He then asked another waiter who asked him when he’d taken that picture. He seemed very interested in the photo and asked him if he had taken it on a previous cruise.

  “No, I just took it a few minutes ago,” said Kevin.

  “Just a few minutes ago? Sir?” The waiter said disbelieving. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why do you say that?” Kevin asked him.

  “Because that man fell overboard last month, after celebrating his birthday. Drowned. He got a bit daring, and tipsy, and was standing on a rail portside when he lost his balance. We circled back but no dice.”

  “I just saw him and had a conversation with him earlier in my stateroom.”

  “If you say so. I’ve got to go,” the waiter said, rolling his eyes at the bartender who was listening to the conversation.

  * * *

  Kevin held very unique views on life and the patterns it holds and the strange things that happen almost daily all around us, yet go unnoticed unless pointed out by the media or the so called “enlightened.” He was a visionary in the purest sense because he lived with no agenda and avoided the politics of organizations and relationships. He had an audacious approach to all things that demanded he be part of the norm but he couldn’t even spell the word. So his photos were expressions of the way he saw the world and that was exactly what I needed to express — my words in pictures. In his early forties, he was a slender wiry man who stood about five foot ten inches tall, with salt and pepper hair.

  What I had learned from my near death experience was that the things going on all around but going unnoticed, were signs, sometimes in the form of symbols, messages from the beyond, the hidden, that I realized was co-existing with us, like the fish in water co-exist with humans on land, seemingly oblivious, as are fish in relationship to humans. The humans on land could be equated to that level of existence which immediately follows death. The signal to the fish that we exist is when we swim in the oceans, lakes and ponds and then leave the water, the world in which they live. They have a momentary experience of us and react the same way we do to ghosts, for the most part, startled or in the case of smaller fish, frightened.

  Kevin Maroso was very aware of symbols and signs and like me, captured them in his work. His photos abounded with symbols as he went about framing that which he captured in his camera as I framed them in the words of my written work. He viewed his experience with the ghost waiter as a sign of the direction he should take in life… and because of that, who he would interact with as he went. He didn’t seem freaked out by it but more so he appeared to relish the occasion as an opportunity and an opening to a new level of existence. He had seen the swimming human through the eyes of the fish. Now he wanted to know more and I had come into his life telling the most bizarre of tales and he was devouring them like a starving man at a banquet. Kevin knew something, I was certain of that.

  Kevin’s camera was rolling, taking picture after picture of the moon framed by rock formations, canyons and mountains. The stars were glorious and incredibly clear on this desert night and I felt a strange energy in these haunted mountains. We were staying in a motor home that was steered into our campsite in a very agile way by the team driver, Anthony Simms, who got his desert driving experience in a tank support unit in Iraq during the thickest of the fighting. He got us into the foothills of the Superstitions with the greatest of ease.

  Anthony Simms was a guide, driver and a security expert, in his mid-thirties. He had extensive training as a member of the armed forces and was a very self-confident individual. His attitude seemed to come from life experience, not merely his muscular build. He was someone who paid close attention to what was going on around him.

  As we sat outside our mobile home, around a blazing campfire, sucking down a few beers and exchanging stories about our experiences, it was Anthony’s that held us mesmerized as he recounted what had occurred during his one year tour in Iraq. He had faced death many times, and been knocked unconscious for two days by a roadside bomb. He said that when he regained consciousness there were people all around him who didn’t look like ‘they belonged.’

  “I remember waking up in a darkened room and the first thing I felt was a severe pain in my head and the second was a pair of hands that gently pushed me back down on the bed.” He said looking up at the sky and after hesitating somewhat, saying, “This sounds a little crazy, I know, but I couldn’t see the person who the hands were attached to.” He looked at me intently as his eyes returned from the sky.

  “Was the room that dark?” asked Kevin.

  “That’s the point; it wasn’t that dark. I just could not see anyone attached to those arms. Do you think I was hallucinating from the drugs they were giving me?”

  I couldn’t resist asking, “What do you think, Anthony?”

  “I shouldn’t say… naw… I really think that I was just out of it and strange things kept happening for the first few days right after that.” He said obviously feeling like he had spoken out of turn, sort of like when, people catch themselves saying something stupid but before they can stop, it just falls out of their mouths.

  “What kind of strange things?” Kevin and I both said at the same time.
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  “You don’t have a corner on that one.” I continued with a chuckle.

  Anthony looked at Kevin and me with a quizzical expression. “Hey I know that we are all into spooky stuff and all, but I really do believe that what happened to me in Iraq was drug induced. That’s it… let’s just leave it there.” He said as he got up, stretched, yawned and said goodnight, heading into the rig.

  Kevin looked at me and shrugged his shoulders saying, “I think I’m going to take a few more pics. See ya’ in the morning, Wordsmith.”

  I raised my bottle in a mock salute as he walked into the darkness.

  I pulled out my phone and started to dial home when I realized how late it was and that my sweet Kate was more than likely sound asleep. I was a little surprised that she hadn’t called me by now but I guessed that she thought I might still be working, since this was a research trip, after all.

  I fell right off to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow and sometime thereafter the strange dreams returned. I was standing outside of a large cathedral in an old city that looked Slavic, and I was waiting for someone to come get me because I didn’t know where I was, or how I had gotten there. An old man dressed in an overcoat approached me and whispered, “There is only one Name under heaven.”

  I asked him what that name was and he said nothing in response. He walked on and then he stopped, about thirty feet from me; looking back, he said “only one Name under heaven.”

  “What is that name?!” I shouted, and then I awoke to see Kevin and Anthony standing near my bed looking at me anxiously.

  “I was shouting, right?” I said, embarrassed.

  Kevin said, “Tell. It wasn’t that you were shouting… it was what you were shouting.” He looked strange.

  Anthony said anxiously, “I didn’t know you spoke Farsi.”

  “Farsi… The hell is Farsi?” I asked.

  “The language they speak in Iraq. Have you been there?” he asked, studying my face.

  “You know I haven’t. What was it you heard me say?”

  “I only know a few words… I think you asked where the entrance was?” Anthony said slowly.

  “The entrance? Entrance to what?” I asked.

  “The entrance is what is commonly mentioned by the Iraqi people when they witness something they can’t explain. Like a man levitating in his sleep. They believe in hell and the entrance they talk about is that. Hell’s entrance.” Anthony went on to say, “There’s something else, Tell.” He took a deep breath. “We both saw you levitating about a foot above your bed.” He pointed towards a nodding Kevin who was obviously in agreement with him.

  Anthony said, “The Iraqi people believe in demonic possession and think that something like levitation is demonic.”

  “That’s very ‘Dark Ages,’ Anthony. Last time I looked I didn’t have a relationship with the devil… You know something, in my tradition, one of our Saints, Teresa of Avila, would levitate, at times, and fly around her church,” I responded defensively. Still, to myself I thought, ‘Could that be what’s happening? The devil playing with my head? Wanting to know the name of God, so he could he could have access to His glorious presence, to maybe look into His face and plead for a pardon? Really?’ My thoughts were broken by the continuing conversation.

  “This is very weird,” came Anthony’s opinion.

  “I think it’s cool,” said Kevin scrunching his face like he was having a great thought. “I think this project could spawn another project. You get my drift… guys… you know?

  “I’m sleepy — let’s talk about it tomorrow.” Anthony waved goodnight as he walked toward the rear of the bus and his bed.

  Kevin went back outside after I apologized for startling him in the first place. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” he said with a sarcastic grin as he exited the rig.

  No more dreams that night and when the sun rose so did I.

  With a cup of coffee sitting in front of me I dove into my work which by midday would have a good portion of the underpinnings of the research piece complete. Now I would be writing about the influence of the moon and energy fields upon all living things on Earth who could dream.

  “Mornin’, Tell,” said a yawning Anthony as he poured himself a coffee. “Did you do anymore flying last night?” He chuckled as he sat in a seat opposite mine. He had a mischievous grin on his face. He had developed his nickname for me, which was one half of my last name. Thus ‘Teller’

  “No, I got held on the runway due to a bullshit storm that made taking off again impossible,” I said without looking up from my laptop.

  “I haven’t seen shit like that since I saw the Exorcist… and there it was right in front of me. I’d have been one scared observer if you started spitting pea soup,” he said in an obvious attempt to make light of what he’d seen. He was caustic but maintained a respectful posture. I could have had him reassigned and he knew that but I couldn’t help believing he was really halfway saying what he really meant.

  Kevin came in from outside and grabbed a cup of coffee, too. He mumbled something and sat down in the remaining chair opposite me. “You know, last night I believe we witnessed a manifestation of what the moon and energy can do to a dreamer while asleep.”

  I looked up from my writing and said, “And… you want to keep a camera on me tonight just in case I go airborne again. Is that right?”

  “I thought I might keep the camera handy… you never know.”

  “That was the first time I have ever levitated, that I know of, and I hope it’s also the last. Kevin? I don’t know that I want that stuff recorded for public knowledge,” I said.

  “I understand… sorry,” Kevin said.

  “That’s okay. I just want to keep this objective and drawing me in would change the whole way I write it, if pictures of me levitating had a possibility of showing up in some pictorial award you win someday. Just think… I can just hear you saying ‘I want to thank everybody I have ever met in my whole life, as I accept this award, but I want to especially thank the one who made this all possible, the one and only’ and then you produce a picture of me with a dumb look on my face,” I said with a laugh as I put my hands behind my head and sat back in my chair.

  His response was to raise his camera and snap a picture of me as he said, “I need this for my ‘Asshole of the Year Award’.” He checked the camera screen for the picture and started to put it down — then quickly rechecked it, with a puzzled look on his face.

  He brought the camera over to where I was sitting and showed me something that made me jump in amazement… for in the picture standing right behind me was Teresa, the Slavic mystic.

  “Where the hell did she come from?” I blurted.

  “Where the hell did she go?” Kevin asked in amazement. “And there’s no way she wasn’t there when I took the picture… what the damn?”

  Anthony was sitting drinking his coffee, oblivious to what had just occurred. “What’s going on?” he said, looking back and forth between Kevin, his camera and me. He got up and took the camera from my trembling hands, looked at the screen and let out a low whistle as he looked around the space trying to figure out where the woman who appeared in the picture had gone. Not to mention, where in the world she’d come from in the first place.

  “Don’t even ask,” I cautioned Anthony, raising my palm with a halt signal, “I have no idea —”

  “You know this woman?” Anthony asked.

  “She’s someone I went to for help with my near death dreams and experiences a few months ago. I have no idea how she shows up in this picture… no idea at all.”

  Then it hit me. Kevin had actually photographed a ghost on board the ship and now it seems that he had done it again. Well maybe he had, because I wasn’t going to assume, at least yet, that Teresa, Like Doctor Keough, was among the dead, after all, she was into mysticism, and I had seen her in action.

  I said, “I’m going to call her and see what’s what.” I was very shaken and started fumbling throug
h my wallet for her number but realized that I had left it in my car, which was back home in New York.

  I dialed up my wife who greeted me with, “Hey, I was just going to call you!”

  “I was wondering if you were ever going to do that,” I said in response. “I miss you and I need you to do me a favor.” I asked her to go into my car and find Teresa’s number.

  “Teresa who?” she asked.

  “The medium I went to a few months ago… remember?”

  “Oh… I just thought I’d ask. I’m already outside; I’ll be at the car in a sec.”

  “You are so jealous,” I quipped.

  “You bet, big boy,” she said. “Where would it be, exactly?”

  “I think in the console with a bunch of other note papers,” I said.

  “I don’t see it. Let me look for it and I’ll call you back.”

  “Thanks, Honey,” I said, putting the phone back in my pocket.

  Kevin and Anthony sat, both staring at the picture and Teresa. “This is really something,” Anthony said shaking his head in disbelief.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” I replied with a sigh.

  “I think this amazing. I want more of this; it’s a pinge,” said Kevin.

  “And what is a pinge?” Anthony asked.

  “It’s a piece of a hinge,” said Kevin with knowing confidence.

  “And what qualifies this to be… a… what did you call it, a ‘pinge’, Kevin?” I asked.

  “Something a mere mortal would not quite understand my friend,” he said in jest. “Just go with it.”