by Ron Ripley
He felt bad for whoever would have to clean up the kid and the mess that had been made, but Tom had deserved it. Deserved worse, and Danny would have done more if he could have gotten away with it.
He chuckled and shook his head.
Maybe in a couple nights, I’ll do it again, he thought. The idea of the boy not sleeping well, of being afraid of what might happen in the middle of the night made Danny grin.
A cool wind caused him to shiver, and he looked up at the cloudless sky. The weather hadn’t forecasted anything out of the ordinary, and none of the trees moved with any detectable breeze.
But the air was cold.
Undeniably so.
Goosebumps had risen along his arms, and his hands shook from the cold.
Better go back in, he thought, flicking the cigarette butt in the direction of the dumpsters.
Danny turned around and came to a stop.
A man, hardly visible in the shadows, stood in front of the door, blocking Danny’s entrance to the building.
“Hey,” Danny said, “could you move? I need to get back in.”
“No,” the man growled, “I can’t. What’s your name?”
Anger spiked in Danny, and he snapped, “Okay, get out of the way now.”
The other man let out a laugh. “Oh, I don’t think that will work with me, little one.”
“Little one?” Danny asked in surprise. He easily had six inches on the other man, and while the stranger was stocky, Danny was as well. “Buddy, you need to get out of the way. No one’s going to say a word to me if I decide I need to hurt you.”
“Is that so?” the stranger asked politely.
“Yeah,” Danny snapped. “Now get out of the damned way!”
“I’m not a small boy to strike in the middle of the night,” the stranger said, his words catching Danny off guard.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Danny demanded, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice.
“You know what I’m talking about,” the stranger said, taking a step forward.
Danny took a step back, the man’s appearance odd. The stranger seemed superimposed on the world. As if he was a bad piece of computer graphics in an otherwise good movie.
“Where are you going?” the stranger asked, and Danny noticed that man didn’t walk but rather glided across the cracked concrete.
Danny stuttered, unable to form any coherent words. Fear crawled up from the bottom of his gut, bringing with it the bitter taste of bile into the back of his throat. His heart began to rattle against his chest, and he wondered if something hadn’t happened to his brain.
The stranger’s face slowly took definition, and it was a harsh, brutal visage that Danny’s eyes locked on. Joy danced in the stranger’s eyes; a joy Danny was sure would equal pain for him.
With a strangled gasp, Danny turned around to run. Yet he stumbled over his own feet, crashed down to the concrete, and smashed his knees into the unyielding substance.
A heartbeat later, the same bitter cold he had felt a short time before enveloped him. It squeezed and pulsated, pressed him down until his face was mashed against the concrete. Danny could hardly breathe as he heard the stranger’s voice in his ear.
“Is this uncomfortable?” the man inquired.
Danny had no breath to spare for an answer.
The stranger chuckled. “I’m certain it is. You know, there was a man, by the name of Giles Corey. An impressive man, by all accounts. A headstrong New Englander. One who refused to say anything other than ‘More weight!’ Ah, there was a man to emulate.”
Danny gasped for breath, and suddenly the pressure lessened, and he could breathe. Some unseen force still kept him pinned to the ground, but he could at least inhale without pain.
“I doubt,” the stranger said once more into Danny’s ear, “that you’ll have the courage of Master Corey. However, I do plan on giving you an opportunity to emulate his stoicism.”
“What?” Danny asked, confused.
“I’m going to squeeze you to death,” the stranger said with a disappointed sigh.
“But why?” Danny whimpered.
“Because you hurt the boy,” the stranger said, his voice cold and hard. “I’m starting to like him. He’s a dangerous little thing and bound to get worse. And, as an aside, he is my sure and definite way back into the world.”
Danny wanted to ask the stranger what he meant and beg to be let up.
But there was no chance, for as soon as the man finished speaking, Danny was pushed once more against the concrete. The last sounds he heard was the man’s voice rising in song, the words lost beneath the cracking of Danny’s ribs.
Chapter 34: Brown’s Bad Information
Walter sat alone in his bathroom, wishing Brown would leave him alone. The Humane Society had called, asking when he was going to be in next, but he hadn’t even been able to answer the phone.
Brown wouldn’t be quiet.
He talked incessantly, and about nothing at all.
Walter had listened to the dead man recite the stats for major league baseball teams that didn’t exist anymore. At three o’clock in the morning.
“Hey there, kid,” Brown said, drifting through the closed door and causing Walter to jump.
“Can’t I have some alone time?!” Walter demanded.
“No such thing,” Brown said, chuckling. “You would have hated the military, what with having a shy bladder and all.”
“Leave me alone,” Walter moaned. “I want to go out later. I need to sleep.”
“What, shoot some more people?” Brown asked, grinning. “I like that. But sleep? No, I won’t let you have any of that. I want to see how well you shoot without it.”
Fear spilled out of Walter as he whispered, “I might get caught.”
“You’re going to get caught sooner rather than later,” Brown said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Either that or I’m going to convince you to put the barrel in your mouth and blow the back of your head out.”
“No,” Walter snarled. “Stop.”
“Trust me,” Brown said soothingly, “straight through the mouth is the best. Under the chin and you might just blow out your eyes and nose. You know, not the best. You can actually live for a while like that.”
“Why?” Walter sobbed. “Why would you do that to me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Brown asked, confused. “Hell, you’re fun, kid. I like how you like to gun ‘em down. But you’re not special. Nobody is. In the end, you’re just one more I want to watch die. I’m just not sure when yet.”
“I’ll get rid of the rifle,” Walter said through tears.
“How?” Brown whispered. “From now on, if you try to leave this house without it, you won’t get past your porch.”
Walter let out a wail and Brown’s laughter joined it.
“Alright, get a little sleep, kid,” Brown said, chuckling. “I’ll check on you soon. I don’t need to sleep.”
Walter put his head in his hands and wept, knowing there was no way he was going to escape alive.
Chapter 35: Voices in the Darkness
A small, delicate voice awakened Victor, and as he struggled to straighten up, the speaker went silent. The room was dark, with only a faint light slipping in through the half-drawn blinds of a window.
He heard Jeremy speak in a rough, halting tongue, and the delicate voice answered him.
Yet the words came close to Victor.
“Jeremy,” he said.
“Calm, Victor,” Jeremy said in a soothing voice. “Be calm. I hoped you would sleep through this affair, but seeing as you are awake I must ask you to be as calm as possible. For both of our sakes.”
Victor swallowed back an angry, tired retort, and managed to remain still and peaceful in his chair.
“I’m going to turn on a light,” Jeremy continued, “and I want you to keep your mouth closed unless I ask you a question. Close your eyes, please, Victor.”
Victor rankled at the patronizing ton
e of Jeremy’s voice, but he closed his eyes anyway. A heartbeat later there was a click, and light shined against his eyelids. Taking a deep breath, Victor opened his eyes and choked back a surprised shout.
He and Jeremy were not alone in the room.
A small, childlike creature stood near the fireplace. It wore a pair of dirty, plaid shorts, black fur boots, and a new, Star Wars t-shirt. The creature’s skin was dark brown, almost red, and its head was almost oblong. Angry, red eyes stared at Victor while an obscenely vibrant tongue of the same color darted out over rotten teeth to lick frayed and chapped lips. On its head, the creature wore a New Orleans Saints baseball cap, and its ears were decorated with gaudy earrings.
It tilted its head to the left then looked at Jeremy and asked a question in a language that sounded close to French, but not quite.
Jeremy answered although it took him a moment to do so. When he finished, the creature chuckled and made an obscene gesture.
Jeremy sighed, looked at Victor and said, “Jean Luc would like to know your name.”
“Jean Luc?” Victor asked.
The creature bowed formally at the waist.
Jeremy nodded towards Jean Luc, and Victor forced himself to smile. “My name is Victor.”
Jean Luc rattled off a few sentences, and the only word Victor understood was his own name, and even that was only after a moment of strenuously paying attention.
“He is pleased to meet you,” Jeremy said with obvious relief, “and he is even happier that you have come to help me find the one who has harmed his friend.”
Victor shook his head, thoroughly confused.
“Leanne Le Monde,” Jeremy explained, “is his friend. Roommate perhaps is a better word. But they are friends nonetheless.”
Victor wanted to ask what was going on, but the expression on Jeremy’s face told him it would be better to learn the answers later.
“Now,” Jeremy continued, “Jean Luc and I were having a conversation while you rested, and it seems that Leanne was not able to tell me everything that occurred.”
Jean Luc spoke quickly, and Jeremy shook his head. The creature rolled his eyes and repeated himself, speaking slowly so the older man could understand.
Victor watched both Jean Luc and Jeremy, eyes darting from the man to the beast. As he observed them, he saw the creature become more animated, and Jeremy’s face became pale.
When Jean Luc had finished, he gave a short bow to Jeremy, and then one to Victor before he slipped away into darkness.
“What did he say?” Victor asked. “And what the hell is he?”
Jeremy cleared his throat, wiped his brow with a trembling hand and said, “Jean Luc is what is known as a Lutin. More precisely, a Nain Rouge.”
“He’s not a ghost?” Victor asked, shocked.
Jeremy looked at him in surprise and shook his head. “No. Not at all. He is, for lack of a better English word, a goblin. And not an especially pleasant one either. We are fortunate that Leanne befriended him a great many years ago.”
Victor felt too stunned to respond.
Jeremy continued to speak. “Now, what he told me, and what poor Leanne was unable to communicate in her brief moment of clarity, was that the unknown Mr. Korzh removed something from this house.”
A chill swept over Victor, and he asked in a low voice, “What?”
“A glass coffin,” Jeremy said, a pained smile following the statement. “Anne Le Morte is once more in the world.”
Victor shuddered, tried not to remember the battle fought against her and failed. The idea of facing the possessed doll again was nearly too much to bear.
Chapter 36: Anger and Poor Decisions
Tom’s muscles ached from the blows he had received, and he still tasted bile in his mouth. He didn’t know which one of the orderlies had struck him, but he knew he wanted to kill the man.
A deep, horrific rage boiled in his heart and his breath came out in a slow, even rhythm. Tom would find out who it was, and he would hurt him.
In the darkness of the room, the temperature plunged, and Tom knew Dillon was with him.
“What do you want?” Tom snarled.
Dillon laughed and answered, “To bring you glad tidings.”
“Shut up,” Tom snapped.
The bed creaked as the ghost seemed to settle on the mattress beside him. “It is good news. Grand news. Information you will find to be a balm to your troubled soul and salve to your injured flesh.”
“Spit it out,” Tom said, his anger at the ghost diminishing as he focused on the orderly.
“The man who struck you,” Dillon said. “You hate him, yes?”
“Of course I do,” Tom said. “He’ll get his.”
“He has already gotten it,” Dillon whispered.
Tom turned toward the direction of the dead man’s voice. “What do you mean?”
“I killed him,” Dillon replied, and he went into detail as to how he pressed the man to death.
Tom grinned, a hard expression that hurt his face and sent a fierce joy through his heart.
“Will you listen to me, for a moment?” Dillon asked.
The joy became subdued, and Tom asked in a cautious voice, “What?”
“You should leave,” Dillon said. “And soon. They will find his body, and while they will no doubt exonerate you of the crime, they may keep you here longer.”
Tom’s heart skipped a beat at the idea of having to remain in the hospital any longer than absolutely necessary. His shoulders slumped, and he asked, “How am I supposed to stop them from doing that? How can I even get out of here?”
“You’re a smart boy,” Dillon whispered, “and you hate me. But you know I was only a tool. I will be your tool, merely say the word, and it shall be so. Take up the book, carry me with you, and I will lead you to your Canaan.”
Tom hesitated, then he reached out and picked the book up off the floor where the orderly had knocked it down. With the tome clutched in his hands, he asked in a low voice, “Now what? The door’s locked.”
The bed creaked, and a moment later, there was a high-pitched, electronic squeal. Tom could see the door shudder in its frame, and then the lock popped. The door swung open, light from the hall partially blinding him for a moment as he got to his feet. An alarm sounded as his vision cleared and Tom hurried to the doorway. He peered up and down the hallway, saw the exit through which he had tried to flee on his first attempt, and headed toward it.
From a side corridor, a nurse appeared. She was a slightly older woman, dirty blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her eyes widened as she saw him and she reached for a small two-way radio clipped to her shirt.
By the time she had grasped the electronic device, Tom reached her and ripped it out of her hand.
“Tom,” she began, but he responded with a fierce backhand across the face, knocking her into a wall.
“No!” he howled, hurling the radio down the corridor. He sprinted for the door.
Dillon appeared in front of it, a gleeful expression on his face.
“Come, Tom, come!” the dead man shouted. “Yes!”
As Tom neared the door, Dillon turned and ran through it. The door popped open, and a high-pitched alarm sounded. Strobe lights flashed in the corners of the hall and sparks flew from the electronic lock Dillon had destroyed.
Tom raced into a stairwell and followed the iron steps down. His feet, clad only in socks, protested the abuse they suffered, but Tom ignored it.
He needed to get out.
At the bottom of the stairs was another door, and this one, too, Dillon forced open. The two of them stepped out into the night air. A body lay on the concrete a short distance ahead of him, and Tom understood it was the orderly who had struck him. He crept close to the corpse and noticed how small the man’s feet were.
Tom hesitated for a moment, then he stripped off the orderly’s sneakers and found, much to his pleasure, that they fit.
With the book tucked under one arm, Tom ran for
the woods at the far end of the parking lot, and the safety the night provided.
Chapter 37: A Painful Decision
Victor hadn’t slept well after the visit of Jean Luc and the new knowledge that goblins existed in the world. Part of him had wanted to ask Jeremy about what else was out there, but then he had realized the older man would tell him.
And Victor didn’t want to know. Not yet.
When the first rays of sunlight pierced the gloom of Leanne’s home, Victor had gotten up and gone into the kitchen. He prowled about, finding nothing of interest in regards to food. With a sigh, he made himself some oatmeal, added some honey to it, and put water on for coffee. A short time later he heard Jeremy’s phone ring from another room, and then the groggy voice of the man.
The sleep vanished from Jeremy’s voice a moment later, and Victor heard him say, “Yes, yes, thank you.”
Victor was silent as Jeremy listened to the caller on the other end.
“Yes,” Jeremy said, “yes, we’ll check right now. Thank you, Detective.”
“What is it?” Victor asked.
“We need to check the newspaper,” Jeremy answered, “there seems to have been an incident that the good detective feels might be something we would be familiar with. He said it was a ‘gut reaction’ when he saw the article.”
Victor wasn’t sure what to look for, but Jeremy found it first.
“Here,” the older man said, and Victor waited as the man read the piece.
“Oh,” Jeremy said finally, “yes. Yes, I can see that indeed.”
“What?” Victor asked, trying not to get frustrated.
“A young man’s mother was killed by his father,” Jeremy said, looking at him. “The young man escaped the mental hospital he was placed in after the incident.”
“How is that of any importance to us?” Victor asked angrily.
“He only took one item with him when he left,” Jeremy said. “A book.”
“What about it?” Victor asked, still unsure as to how it related to them.
“According to the article,” Jeremy said, “the boy had received the book on the same day as the murder-suicide of his parents. Evidently, the book was supposed to be haunted.”