Berkley Street Series Books 1 - 9: Haunted House and Ghost Stories Collection

by Ron Ripley

  It’s like she wants them to, Erick thought, glancing at her. Her pink-streaked blonde hair was piled up in a ponytail, and she wore a shirt too small for her chubby frame.

  He smiled and felt a fresh line of sweat break out on the back of his neck.

  Well, maybe we could make out for a little while, he thought.

  Bonnie saw his smile, pulled on his arm again, and winked at him. Erick nodded, and the two of them got to their feet. He kept an eye on the police, barely noticing the white medical examiner’s van which pulled in.

  They sneaked across the short distance, clambered down into the cellar hole and lay on the ground, panting.

  “That was so hot,” Bonnie whispered, rolling over onto him. “So damn hot.”

  Erick forgot all about the police, the stories of how Griswold was haunted, even why they had gone down to look in the town, to begin with. All he could think about was Bonnie.

  Before he knew it, the sun had set, and the lights of the cruisers had vanished. Crickets sang out loudly, barn owls ripped the night with their cries, and bats winged their way through the air. Erick and Bonnie lay on their backs, staring up at the night’s sky. The stars had come out in force and the moon shined down brightly.

  Life is good, Erick thought happily, Bonnie nestling into the crook of his arm.

  For the first time in hours, Bonnie pulled her phone out. She held it up above them for a selfie and then said, “What the hell?”

  “What’s wrong?” Erick asked, yawning.

  “My phone’s dead,” she said angrily.

  “How?” he asked, looking at her. “I thought you had charged it before we left.”

  “I did,” Bonnie said. She shook the phone, tried to turn it on, and nothing happened.

  “Let me see what time it is,” Erick said. He took his phone from his pocket and found it was as dead as hers. “Damn.”

  “What?” she said, glancing at him.

  “Mine’s dead too.”

  “Hey,” Bonnie said, sitting up. “I think the cops left.”

  Erick joined her and looked at the trees. There were no flashing lights illuminating the leaves, or work lights set up. He had watched cop shows like Law and Order for years, and he didn’t see any of the lights he expected.

  “Did we make out through all of it?” he asked Bonnie.

  “I guess so,” she said, standing. “Yeah. No one’s here.”

  Erick got up as well and saw they were alone. “Wow.”

  “Do you have your flashlight?” she asked.

  Erick almost responded with, What, the one you always make fun of me for carrying?

  But he knew that wouldn’t be the best way to answer her. Bonnie got angry easily. Instead, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the small SOG flashlight he carried. Erick grinned at her. “Want to check out the church first?”

  She shook her head. “I heard they were killed in the store. I want to see the blood.”

  A thrill of excitement raced through him, and Erick laughed. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

  The flashlight’s beam danced in front of them as they crossed the distance between the cellar hole and the old country store. Night sounds filled the air, and Erick thought he could smell the heavy, iron tang of blood. It reminded him of his first hunt with his father, a large doe shot cleanly through the heart.

  The scent of its blood had been thick in the fall air, the body steaming. Erick vividly remembered the sight of the offal tossed aside, the quick, efficient way his father had field dressed the deer. A smile crossed Erick’s lips, and the light soon illuminated the front of the store.

  Bonnie stopped, and Erick did as well.

  “Did you see it?” she asked in a low voice.

  “What?” Erick said, glancing around. “Did I see what?”

  She shook her head. “I thought I saw a woman, looking out of the left window.”

  Erick pointed the flashlight at it, but he didn’t see anything. “Might have been shadows.”

  Bonnie didn’t say anything. Finally, she spoke. “Yeah. Probably.”

  She led him toward the store, but she moved cautiously. Erick didn’t push it. She had been in a good mood, which was a lot better than when she wasn’t.

  A whole lot better, Erick thought.

  They stepped into the building and stopped several paces in. The smell of the blood was heavier, and the dark stains on the floor told a grim story that churned Erick’s stomach. Bonnie squeezed his hand tighter as she looked around.

  “What the hell happened in here?” she whispered.

  “Something bad,” Erick answered. “Something really bad.”

  She nodded, tugged on his hand, and together they advanced a little further into the room.

  “Who are you?”

  The words were spoken harshly, and Bonnie screamed while Erick choked with surprise. They slowly turned around, Bonnie letting go of his hand.

  A middle-aged woman stood in the doorway. She was barefoot, dressed simply in a sweater and a dress which came down to just above her bare ankles. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, her face hard. Around her neck was a vivid, red scar.

  And Erick could see the world through her.

  Bonnie didn’t scream again. She shrieked.

  A sound so loud that Erick clapped his hands over his ears as he winced with pain. Still screaming, Bonnie ran out of the store through the dead woman. The ghost didn’t seem to care. Her eyes were fixed on Erick.

  “Answer my question, young man,” the woman repeated.

  He dropped his hands down to his sides, the flashlight falling to the floor and shining brightly through her. His fingers trembled, and his palms began to sweat. Erick rubbed at the side of his nose nervously, stuttered and managed to whisper, “We were looking for ghosts.”

  “There aren’t any ghosts here,” the woman said. “What absolute nonsense.”

  Erick blinked, confused. “But you’re a ghost.”

  Her eyes widened. “I am not. I am Emily Ross, forty-seven years old and the school teacher for the town of Griswold!”

  He nodded. “Yeah. You’re dead. Nobody’s lived in Griswold for, I don’t know, eighty years or something.”

  “You’re a liar,” the woman hissed, clenching her fists.

  “No,” Erick said, shaking his head. “Really. You’re dead.”

  Her face became a mask of rage, and she let out a furious howl. An invisible force threw Erick backward, smashing him into an old counter. Pain exploded in his lower back, and an agonized gasp pushed past his lips as he dropped to his knees. The joints cracked loudly against the ancient floor, and the woman was upon him. Bitterly cold hands wrapped around his throat and squeezed.

  Erick fought for every breath, managed to get a hand on the counter and pulled himself up.

  She tightened her grip and twisted to the right.

  Erick tried to free himself, but there was nothing he could do.

  His head was pushed up and to the right, his neck extending farther and farther. He saw the plain, open framework ceiling.

  My neck is going to … and he never finished the thought.

  His vertebrae cracked, the noise loud in the curious stillness of the night.

  Chapter 40: Desperately Seeking Safety

  Bonnie ran.

  She had never moved so quickly, or so blindly in her life. Erick was forgotten, and only fear remained. It propelled her forward, across the cracked asphalt of Griswold and into the woods. Some primal part of her mind was focused on escape, adrenaline thrusting her into the darkness of the forest.

  Bonnie ran until her foot caught on some unseen branch, and went tumbling across the forest floor. She cried out as she struck a tree, coming to a hard stop. For a long time, she lay on her back, panting. Slowly, she realized she could hardly see. The trees hid the night sky, and the forest was quiet. Terribly, horribly quiet.

  Where’s Erick? she asked herself, sitting up. Didn’t he follow me?

 
; “Erick?” she whispered.

  He didn’t answer her.

  “Erick?” she repeated, a little louder.

  Silence was the only reply she received.

  I’m lost, she realized, standing up slowly. I’m lost!

  She began to hyperventilate, and she reached out, finding the tree she had struck. Bonnie grabbed hold of the cool bark and pulled herself closer to it. Once her back was firmly pressed against it, Bonnie closed her eyes. Her entire body shook, fear running rampant through her.

  Bonnie opened her eyes, hoping she would be able to see something, but all that greeted her were dark shapes.

  Chills burst through her as a cold hand touched her hand, traced the line of her neck and lingered on her shoulder. She screamed, and someone slapped her in the mouth. Instantly, she tasted blood, and she went silent.

  “Keep quiet,” a voice said. It was a man’s voice, and he was directly in front of her. She couldn’t see him.

  “I’m lost,” she whined.

  She was slapped again, the blow leaving her head ringing.

  “I said be quiet!” the man spat.

  The cold hand played with her hair.

  “You’re not a very pretty girl,” he said shortly.

  Bonnie whimpered and whispered, “Erick.”

  “Erick?” the stranger said, chuckling. “Your young man, I suppose?”

  She nodded.

  “Don’t worry about him,” the man said, and she could hear the pleasure in his voice. “He’s run into someone, and I do believe she’s killed him.”

  A sob exploded out of Bonnie’s mouth, and again the man slapped her.

  “Shut up,” he said, exasperated. “You mewl more than a newborn kitten.”

  The hand took a handful of hair and pulled back slowly, taking Bonnie away from the tree. She fell, and he jerked her back to her feet. A scream started and he slapped it away.

  Bonnie began crying, stumbling along, the stranger dragging her through the darkness.

  “Good God,” the man said angrily, “you never shut up.”

  He stopped her and struck her violently, smashing her down to her knees. Sharp sticks dug into her, and she screamed.

  The blows continued.

  The stranger paused, sighed, and said sadly, “You know, you’re not worth the effort.”

  Before Bonnie could wonder what he meant, the man hit her again. And again. He struck her hard and fast, driving her to the forest floor. Bonnie felt bones breaking, blood leaking from her ears. What felt like booted feet hammered into her ribs and back and skull. She couldn’t move and could hardly breathe. Bonnie gagged on blood, vomited, and heard the man’s laughter over the sound of her own heartbeat.

  His laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by a song.

  “‘Give me that old-time religion, give me that old-time religion, it’s good enough for me,’” the man sang.

  Faintly, beneath the terror and pain, Bonnie had an absurd thought.

  He has a beautiful singing voice.

  The thought echoed in her mind as he slowly beat her to death.

  Chapter 41: Moving through Darkness

  Shane and Gordon were armed with shotguns and flashlights duct-taped to them, the beams aimed down the length of the barrels. Each man carried twenty rounds for the shotguns and backup batteries for the flashlights. They walked along the slim beach, side by side, toward the brook which Gordon had used to escape from Griswold decades earlier.

  Gordon’s steps slowed the closer they got to the unmarked border of Griswold.

  Shane looked at the older man and asked, “You okay?”

  Gordon nodded. “Just afraid.”

  “No shame in that,” Shane said. “I’m scared, too. I don’t want to go back, but Abel needs to be gotten rid of. He’s done too much damage.”

  “Yes,” Gordon said softly. “I hope our boots don’t end up in his collection.”

  Shane snorted. “Same here.”

  They reached the point where the brook met with the lake and the two men paused to look into the forest. A narrow path ran along the left-hand side of the brook.

  “This leads back into Griswold,” Shane said. He glanced at Gordon. “When will we know to turn toward the town?”

  “There’s a house we’ll pass,” Gordon said, shining his own light along the brook. The water twisted and turned the light into various shapes and sizes. “Once we see the house, we turn to the left. There should be an old trail. Might be hard to see with only the flashlights, but it should still be there.”

  “Will that take us into town?” Shane asked.

  Gordon shook his head. “No. Right to the burial ground.”

  “Good,” Shane said. “I really don’t want to see Abel anytime soon.”

  “Same here,” Gordon said. They looked at the brook. “Well, I’m ready. You?”

  Shane nodded and led the way into the woods.

  They kept the brook on their right, the water a soft chuckle of sound as it moved along its bed. Every thirty or forty feet, they paused, making certain they were still traveling the right way, and to let their arms rest; the heavy shotguns were kept at shoulder height so the flashlights could illuminate the way.

  “We should be close now,” Gordon said.

  “Okay.” Shane felt uncomfortable, as though someone was watching them.

  Someone probably is, he reminded himself. The thought was not comforting.

  They moved further along the trail and soon the remains of a house could be seen at the edge of the flashlight’s circle. Wordlessly, Gordon turned towards it, and they left the safety of the brook behind them. The building was little more than two crumbled walls and the remnants of a fieldstone chimney. A path followed the footprint of the house and led them deeper into the forest. Around them the darkness was complete, the silence disturbing and heavy.

  “Hello?” a voice asked from the darkness.

  Shane and Gordon stopped.

  “Hello?”

  To the left, Shane thought, swinging the barrel of the shotgun towards the speaker. The flashlight’s powerful beam fell upon a teenage boy. The teen wore a t-shirt which said he was the world’s best Patriots fan, and a pair of jeans that were far too tight. His neck was also bent crookedly.

  “Oh no,” Gordon said, sighing.

  “Hello,” Shane said, keeping the shotgun leveled at the teenager’s chest.

  The teen looked at him, confusion in his dead eyes, his chubby face desperate.

  “Where am I?” the boy asked.

  “Griswold,” Shane answered.

  “Why?” the teenager said, shaking his head. “I’m not supposed to be down here. They said there are ghosts down here. I need to go home.”

  “Then go,” Shane said gently. “Go home.”

  “I can’t!” the boy sobbed, choking. “I tried and I can’t! I get close to the road, and there’s a wall, I can’t go by it. Oh, Jesus, I can’t go through it. I can’t even see it! I thought I’d walk to Lake Charles, but she told me I can’t.”

  “Who?” Gordon asked gently.

  “The woman,” the boy said, sniffling. “Even Bonnie doesn’t know what’s going on.”

  “Who’s Bonnie?” Shane asked, shifting his weight but keeping the shotgun level.

  “She’s my girlfriend,” the teen replied. “She sits by a tree crying. Someone beat her up. I just want to go home, okay? Can you help me? Can you help us?”

  “We’ll do what we can,” Shane said.

  The teenager nodded and passed by them, a cold wake following him.

  In silence, Shane and Gordon continued on. Soon Shane heard someone crying, soft, hiccupping sounds.

  Bonnie, he thought grimly.

  The sound was oddly frightening, it slipped around the trees and assaulted his ears from all sides.

  “Look,” Gordon said, gesturing with his shotgun.

  Shane looked, and he saw a cemetery. It was small, perhaps not even a full acre. A short, wrought-iron fence ran acros
s the front of the burial ground. Shane could see thirty or forty stones standing upright.

  They stopped a short distance from the gate, which hung only by a single hinge, the other broken and ruined.

  “We’re thinking in there?” Shane said, nodding towards the headstones.

  “Yes,” Gordon replied.

  “Well,” Shane said, “no time like the present.”

  Gordon nodded, opened his mouth to reply, then closed it suddenly, his eyes widening with surprise.

  Shane was about to ask him what had happened when he saw for himself. Another ghost had appeared. A young woman, wearing a simple dress and shirt, the open collar revealing a hideous garroting scar. She stood barefoot before them, an angry expression on her face.

  “Eugenia?” Gordon whispered.

  The anger on her face fled, replaced by a look of confusion. Warily she asked, “How do you know my name?”

  “It’s me, Gordon,” he said. “You helped me.”

  For a heartbeat longer, the confusion remained on her face, and then she smiled. “Gordon. I did not expect you ever to return to Griswold. Never. Have you returned to die?”

  Maybe, Shane thought, shaking his head. Maybe we both have.

  Chapter 42: The Decision Made

  Courtney remembered how to get to Shane’s house. And if she hadn’t, she still had it programmed into her GPS. She had tried calling him several times, but it kept going to voicemail.

  He’s probably working, she thought, putting the car in park and getting out. She had a nice bottle of wine and hoped he would take a break long enough to entertain her.

  And let me apologize, Courtney sighed. She felt terrible about having broken up with him.

  Holding onto the wine tightly, she walked up to the front door and knocked once. As she raised her hand to knock a second time, there was a click and someone let her in. She stepped inside but didn’t see anyone.