by C W Hawes
Jones, at the wheel of the big SUV, guided it expertly along the winding road. When a straight stretch of highway appeared, he said, “You know, Mostyn, that haunted house people keep bringing up is about halfway between Heirloom and Shiloh.”
“Okay, go on.”
“Well, remember Gillies’s statement that the beast went south after he shot it?”
“Yes.”
“And at Shiloh the things came out of the woods which are south of the village. But what if they did that to avoid crossing the open area north of the village?”
Mostyn nodded. “I see where you’re going. Good thinking, Jones.”
“Maybe we ought to talk to the sheriff and see if the house is the central point for all of the attacks.”
“You just earned your paycheck, Jones. Let’s go pay Elswick a visit.”
10
Incredulity was all over Sheriff Elswick’s face. “You’re serious?”
“I am,” Mostyn answered plainly.
The sheriff raised his eyebrows. “I heard the stories. Checked out the place myself. Nothing there. Just talk. Some of these people are so superstitious they’re afraid of their own shadow.”
Mostyn favored Elswick with his best poker face. “That may be, Sheriff. Nevertheless, what you’ve shown me is that the haunted house is in the center of most of the recent attacks. I and my people would like to take a look at the place.”
The sheriff leaned back in his chair, pushed out his lips, and studied Mostyn. Finally, he leaned forward. “Okay. I’ll send Deputy Ohse with you. The place is difficult to get to and I don’t want y’all getting lost.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
“A wild goose chase, if you ask me. But then you weren’t really asking, were you?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
Mostyn and his team walked back out to where their SUV was parked in the front of the building. In a moment a Tyler County squad car pulled up, and the man behind the wheel introduced himself as Derek Ohse, and indicated they were to follow him. Mostyn and the others piled into the SUV and Jones started the vehicle. Ohse gunned the big old Ford Police Cruiser, and Jones, a smile on his face, pulled his sunglasses down from the top of his head, and accepted the challenge of keeping up with the deputy.
At speeds that were more at home on the Daytona Speedway than the highway, the Police Cruiser and the big SUV wound their way around the West Virginia hill country. At one point, the SUV slid over onto the gravel shoulder.
Cashel screamed. Kemper cursed loudly. Baker and Mansfield were white knuckled, holding on to whatever they could to avoid being thrown about.
Mostyn looked over at Jones, his tone was matter of fact. “You think you can at least try to keep us on the road?”
Back on the pavement, Jones grinned. “Your wish is my command, sir.”
When the Police Cruiser finally pulled over along a desolate stretch of county road, Kemper breathed a sigh of relief. “Finally,” she muttered.
“Really,” Cashel said, in agreement.
Jones chuckled and turned around. “Got us here in one piece. Top in my class on the driving course.”
Kemper gave him the finger and said, “Shit.”
There was a knock on Jones’s window. He pressed the button and the window slid down.
A big smile appeared on the deputy’s face, and he extended his hand to Jones. “Mighty fine driving there. Didn’t think this tank could do it.”
“DC Jones.” And Jones shook hands with the deputy.
“Everybody out,” Mostyn said.
Once everyone was out of the SUV, and introductions performed, Mostyn told his people to grab whatever equipment they might need. Especially firearms and flashlights. He then invited the deputy to lead on.
“We have quite a hike,” Ohse informed them. “There once was a road that led up to the place and you can find remnants of it in spots. For the most part, though, it’s gone.”
“How far?” Kemper asked.
“The place is up on the peak. And that’s something over a thousand foot elevation. Plus we have dense forest, gullies, and you name it to get through to get there. Take us at least an hour.”
Kemper didn’t thank him for the information; she just muttered, “Shit,” put her hands on her hips, and shook her head in disbelief.
The forest was indeed dense. The tree canopy was so thick it effectively eliminated the sun and cast the forest floor in a Stygian gloom. Which made it very easy to trip over fallen tree branches, rocks, and any other snag nature thought to put in the way.
Mansfield said, “It’s so quiet. No birds. No animals. Nothing.”
“Noticed that when I was out here before,” Ohse replied. “No wonder folks get the heebie-jeebies. The old-timers say the Vander Vrooman family is still here.”
“You mean like ghosts?” Baker asked.
Ohse smiled. “No. As in still actually here.”
“How can that be?” Kemper asked.
“Abhumans,” Mansfield blurted out.
“Ab what?” Ohse asked.
“Abhumans, Deputy. Human beings who have regressed back to an animal state on a genetic level.”
“Well, if you mean the Vander Vroomans became monsters, beasts, then that’s what some of the old timers believe.”
Mansfield was overjoyed. “Yes! I knew it.”
“What do the others believe?” Kemper asked.
Ohse laughed. “The others think the family was cursed and that’s why they left New York and came here. And…,” he paused for effect before continuing, “they never die. Instead, they turn into ghouls.”
Kemper shook her head. “Inbred morons,” she muttered.
“That’s not very PC, Doctor Kemper,” Cashel said.
“Ask me if I give a flying fuck,” Kemper shot back.
Mostyn interrupted. “Mission, people.” To Ohse, he said, “Do you have any unsolved cases similar to what you’re encountering now?”
“Don’t have anything in detail, really, prior to the Second World War. And then mostly missing persons.”
“Did the people go missing mostly in this area?” Mostyn pressed.
“Don’t rightly know. We can take a look when we get back.”
“And from the World War until now?” Mostyn asked.
“That’s when we start seeing what was put down to random animal attacks.”
“In this area?”
“Yeah. From the river south just passed Shiloh. And from Arvilla to southeast of Sistersville.”
“Anything in Middlebourne?”
“No. Seem to mostly have occurred in the forest or the unincorporateds,” Ohse answered.
“When we get back, I’d like to see where these disappearances and animal killings took place on a map.”
“Sure, Agent Mostyn. We can do that.”
The going was not easy through the forest. And the deathly silence got on everyone’s nerves. Although Mansfield seemed the most buoyant and upbeat. Perhaps spurred on by his hope to find specimens of true abhumans.
Climbing out of a ravine, Kemper declared, “If I have to drag myself out of one more muddy, messy, godforsaken ravine, I’m going to shoot somebody.”
Ohse called back, “Thank the Lord I’m not going to have to arrest you.” He helped her up the last few feet and got her on level ground. Pointing, he said, “There it is. The Vander Vrooman place.”
In an overgrown clearing stood a sprawling three-story house. Paint long gone, the wood was weathered a dark gray.
Cashel said, “Rather unheard of to see a Dutch Colonial home in three stories.”
“And with so many additions and wings,” Mansfield added.
“Apparently a work in progress,” Cashel replied. “Adding on as the family grew.”
“Makes sense,” Mansfield said.
Surrounding the place was a four foot high wall made of stone.
“That wall isn’t high enough to keep out much other than small animals,” Jones observed.<
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“Maybe it was more for decoration,” Kemper said. “You know, this is our land and here is a pretty wall to make you aware of it.”
“As good an explanation as any,” Mostyn said.
They walked across the overgrown field, Ohse in the lead, through what once may have been garden plots for the family. As they came upon an opening in the wall, where a gate had once been, they spied a one-story barn falling in on itself on the other side of the house.
The drive, once gravel, no longer crunched underfoot; so overgrown it was. They followed the circle of the driveway around to the door, which was partway open.
“Looks like we can make ourselves at home,” Jones said.
“Not much home to make,” Ohse replied. “Pretty much all of the stuffed furniture has rotted away. No carpet. Otherwise that would have been gone too. There are remnants of some rugs.”
The group made its way into the Vander Vrooman mansion, flashlights on to illuminate the darkness.
“God, is that animal shit I’m walking on?” Cashel blurted out.
“That and bones and nesting material and who knows what else,” Ohse explained. “The upper floors aren’t as bad.”
“Maybe we can open the shutters?” Kemper suggested.
“Good idea,” Baker said.
The front door opened directly into a large room, which appeared to take up the front half of the main floor of the original house. On either side of the door were two windows and on each end there was one window and a large stone fireplace. When the interior shutters were opened, light poured in through the windows. What everyone saw was a ruin of what was once a beautiful room. The rotting and moldering remains of the sofas and chairs dotted the room. None were usable. The floor was indeed littered with all manner of refuse. Animal droppings, bones, leaves, twigs, and other remains no longer identifiable.
Jones kicked aside some of the litter. “Huh. Look at that. Hardwood floors.”
“Probably too expensive to bring carpeting from out east,” Baker said.
“Okay, people, listen up,” Mostyn said. “Kemper, Cashel, take the third floor. Jones, Mansfield, the second. Baker, you’re with me. We’ll see what’s here on the main floor.”
“I’ll go with the ladies,” Ohse volunteered. “There is a cellar too. Two levels, actually.”
“Thanks,” Mostyn said.
Everyone moved out to their search areas. Mostyn and Baker walked from the front room into the hallway that led to the rooms at the back of the house, and which contained the stairway to the upper levels.
The dining room was off the hallway, between the kitchen and the front room. Baker went to work with his camera. The dining room table was littered with dishes and the remains of some long past meal. Into the kitchen they went. The story was the same.
“No meals have been prepared here for some time,” Baker said, as he took a picture.
From the main hall, a side hall took the OUP agents into the other rooms of the house. None showed any signs of recent occupancy, save perhaps by common woodland animals. But even traces of them were few.
When all the rooms had been searched, Mostyn and Baker returned to the front room. Having preceded them were the others, for the upper floors were smaller.
“Find anything of interest?” Mostyn asked.
“Not on our floor,” Mansfield said.
Jones added, “Just bedrooms and they haven’t been used in ages.”
“Same on our floor,” Kemper said. “The roof is leaking in quite a few spots. I’m surprised the place is still standing.”
“Nothing on the main floor either,” Mostyn informed the rest of his people. He looked at Ohse. “Where’s the cellar entrance?”
“Outside.”
“Let’s take a look.”
Ohse was out the front door and said over his shoulder, “It’s over here.”
Mostyn and his people filed out of the front door, following the deputy, who took them around to the side of the house.
“As you can see, there used to be doors covering the entrance. They rotted away some time ago,” Ohse said.
For a moment they all stood looking at the opening, with stairs that descended into the dark. Then Mostyn started down the stairs, flashlight in hand. The others followed. When he reached the bottom, he played the beam of light around the room. The rest of his team followed suit.
Here, the floor was hard-packed earth. There was evidence of animal activity, however no animals were around. Wooden bins and shelves in various stages of decay, held the remains of foodstuffs laid up for some long ago winter.
Mostyn turned to Ohse. “You said there’s a second level?”
“Right. Over here.”
The deputy led them through another room that was similar to the first and had at one time probably been where hams and game were hung. On the far side of the room was a doorway and stone steps that descended into a room that formed a sub-basement. The group entered the lower room.
“Wonder why they’d have something like this?” Cashel asked.
The room was littered with tables, chairs, broken lamps, and other discarded items.
“This is the dump,” Jones said.
“Certainly looks like it,” Kemper added.
Ohse corrected them. “The real dump is in the woods. This stuff is here because they probably thought they might be able to fix it or repurpose it.”
At the far end was a short door and Mostyn asked Ohse where it went.
“Don’t know if it goes anywhere. Won’t open. And hasn’t been opened for a very long time. We didn’t pursue trying to open it because of its obvious lack of use. Besides, there’s no evidence anyone’s been out here in a hundred or more years. No sign of squatters and not even the local pranksters come out here.”
Mostyn said nothing. His thoughts, however, drifted off to indictments of sloppy investigative work.
“Any tools around here?” he asked.
“Tool shed by the barn,” Ohse replied.
“Jones, go with the deputy, here, and find something to take this door down.”
“Yes, sir,” Jones said, and started walking back to the cellar entrance.
“You think something’s behind it?” Ohse asked.
“Won’t know until we look,” Mostyn answered.
The deputy shrugged his shoulders and went in pursuit of Jones.
When he was gone, Kemper said, “Talk about a bunch of laid back hillbillies. There’s a door and they can’t be bothered to find out what’s on the other side. Could be the skeletons of all those missing people.”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Mostyn said.
“Damn right I would. It’d make my little forensic anthropologist heart go pitter-patter.”
Mostyn and the rest of his team looked over the pile of junk, Cashel finding a brass and porcelain oil lamp.
“Wow!” she began. “This is nice. Clean up the brass and get a chimney for it. Look really nice on my end table.”
“Take it,” Mostyn said.
“Really?”
“Sure. I don’t think the owners will come after you.”
“Gee, thanks, Mostyn.”
He smiled in response.
Jones and Ohse returned, bringing with them an axe, adze, and a crowbar. “This ought to get us through the door,” Jones said, with a look on his face indicating he was very proud of himself.
“Have at it, then, Paul Bunyan,” Mostyn told him.
Jones shed his suit coat, made a big show of spitting on his hands and rubbing them together. With a big smile on his face, he grabbed the axe and gave it a mighty swing. There was a loud thunk as the axe head sank into the wood. He wiggled it free and swung again.
“Concentrate on the hinges,” Mostyn said.
“Good idea, Boss.” Jones took another swing, redirecting it towards the door’s hinges.
After half an hour, the four hinges holding the door to its substantial frame were demolished. Nevertheless it rema
ined in place.
“Must be barred on the other side,” Ohse said.
“That’s an odd place to bar a door, isn’t it?” Baker asked.
Ohse shrugged. “I guess so.”
Mostyn directed Jones to use the adze to remove the wood bars holding the planks together and then the crowbar to pry the planks apart.
Jones wiped his brow. “Gotcha, Boss.” He went to work on the door and in another hour it lay demolished on the floor. A large beam on the other side of the lintel lay across the top three stone steps.
Mostyn turned on his flashlight and shined the beam of light into the opening. The steps descended into the darkness.
“Well, Ohse, what do you make of that?” Mostyn asked.
The deputy peered into the gloom the flashlight created. “They seem to go down a long way.”
Mostyn addressed the group. “Jones and Ohse will come with me to see where the stairs end up. The rest of you stay here.”
With flashlight in one hand and pistol in the other, Mostyn went down the steps, followed by Jones and Ohse. When they at last reached the bottom, Jones quipped, “Thought they’d never end. Was beginning to think I’d bypassed the Grim Reaper and gone straight to hell.”
“Might still prove true,” Mostyn said.
“Counted one hundred and ninety-eight steps,” Ohse informed them.
“At least there aren’t any pics of frogs fucking chicks with big tits,” Jones said.
Mostyn smiled. “Miss that, do you?”
Jones let out a derisive laugh. “Hell no. Well, the chicks yeah. The frogs, no.”
Ohse asked, “Frogs fucking chicks? What’s that all about?”
Jones said, “I’ll tell you about it later. Got captured underground by a bunch of subterranean degenerates. A whole city of them. Only good thing was that they sure were into fucking—”
“Jones.” Mostyn’s tone was sharp. “Classified. And mind on business at hand.”
“Yes, sir.” To Ohse, Jones said. “I didn’t tell you anything. That was just a bad dream caused by drinking too many tequila shots.”
“What are you guys into?” Ohse asked. “I thought you people were with Human Services.”
“We are,” Mostyn lied. “Our work is mostly classified. We’ll follow this tunnel for a little bit to see if it takes us anywhere.”