by Ron Ripley
"I talked to Frank and Shane," Pete said. "They went in there, too."
"Okay," Ollie said. "Frank and his friend went in there. Great. Where are you now?"
"Pulled over on route eighty-nine, just over the Gaiman town line," Pete said.
"Did you talk with Frank?" Ollie asked.
"No."
"Did you call them to see if they went in there or not?" Ollie asked.
"I watched them go in," Pete said. "I was across the street."
"Did they get the Granite State people out?" Ollie said.
"I don't know," Pete whispered.
"How could you not know?" Ollie asked, and then he answered his own question. "You ran, didn't you?"
Pete was silent.
"Of course you did," Ollie said, disgust rising in his voice. "Of course you ran. What happened?"
"I saw some ghosts," Pete said. "I had to leave before they did something."
Ollie snorted. "Sure."
"You don't understand, Ollie!" Pete said, his voice rising an octave. "I've been listening to the scanner. Bad things are happening in Gaiman. People are dying!"
"You know who might be dead?" Ollie snapped. "Those investigators from the Paranormal Society. Or they might be hurt. Either way, Pete, it means we can get sued. It means we're on the hook for all sorts of financial obligations. Not only that, you sent two other people in there to get the first four out! And then you ran! Now that's six, count 'em, Pete, six people who could sue us!"
"I'm sorry," Pete said.
"You're always sorry," Ollie spat. "Good God in Heaven, get back to the prison!"
"I can't," Pete said.
"You have to!" Ollie ordered.
"No," Pete whispered, and he ended the call.
Ollie looked at his phone in surprise. Pete had never hung up on him before.
Beth appeared in the doorway to their bedroom, yawning. "What's going on?"
"It's Peter," Ollie said, putting the phone down hard on the bed table. "It's just Peter being Peter."
Beth climbed back into bed.
"Oliver okay?" Ollie asked.
"Yes," Beth said, yawning, "just a bad dream about ghosts."
“Ghosts,” Ollie said, shaking his head. He wrapped an arm around his wife and said, "Funny, Pete was complaining about the same thing."
Chapter 21: Leaving the Nest
A scream woke George up from a fitful, uncomfortable sleep. He sat up in the bathroom, the night-light spilling over him. George wrapped his hand around the handle of the poker and listened.
Someone screamed again, closer.
George stood up, stepped over his line of salt on the tiled floor and into the hallway. Quick steps brought him to the front door, and he peered out into the night. Mrs. Geisel was running in the street.
Her hair was in disarray, her nightgown in tatters, and her feet bare.
Behind her was a large, fat ghost, and it was the ghost who let out a scream. The look on its face was one of malicious delight. He was, as far as George could tell, pleased with the game he had created.
For the first time since he had arrived home the day before, George opened the front door and left his house.
The brutal cold in the winter air struck him like a fist, knocking the air out of his lungs and causing his eyes to water. His hand cramped up around the handle of the fireplace poker, but George focused on Mrs. Geisel.
Mrs. Geisel twisted away from the prisoner, stutter stepped and then jerked herself to the right as the fat prisoner tried to catch her.
The dead man came to a stop and stared at George.
"Mrs. Geisel," George said, his voice loud and abrasive in the night air. "Please come over here to me."
Mrs. Geisel backed away from the prisoner, glancing at George and then returning her attention to the fat man.
"I'm just trying to have fun," the prisoner said, his voice high for a man so large. "I just want to play with her. I won't hurt her much, I promise."
The prisoner's fingers twitched, and he took a cautious step forward.
George was amazed to see the ghost's feet didn't disturb the snow. The fat man licked his lips and took a larger, bolder step towards her.
"Come on," the ghost whined. "Let me play. It's been so long."
"My house, please, Mrs. Geisel," George said. She nodded and passed by him, stinking of urine and fear.
George understood and wondered if his own pants were still dry.
He took a cautious step back, and the ghost lunged at him.
Gripping the poker like a baseball bat, George swung the tool upwards. The iron passed through the ghost on an arc, and in a heartbeat, the fat man was gone. Flickering movements around the edges of his vision told George more of the dead were coming.
Without waiting to see how many there were, George turned around and ran after Mrs. Geisel.
Chapter 22: Finding the Woman
Shane moved up the stairs with gentle steps, the shotgun ready, and the red light of his headlamp illuminating the way. Frank was close behind him, the two of them moving in rhythm.
When they reached the next floor, Shane almost came to a stop, his stomach churning.
He had stepped into a slaughterhouse.
To the left of the stairs was a pile of clothes. Shredded and in tatters, stained with blood and flesh. Hanging from an empty light fixture were a trio of heads. All women. Their long hair had been knotted together, their tongues pulled out, and their eyes were gone. The flesh of each neck was shredded as if someone had torn the heads free of the bodies.
And they did, Shane thought. He moved forward while Frank stepped to the right. The floor around them glistened, blood congealing on the steel. Massive amounts of the liquid which told Shane that the women had taken a long time to die.
There was little left of the women themselves. Bits and pieces scattered along the walkway as far as he could see.
He clenched his teeth and focused on the cell in front of him, the one where Courtney said the last woman was.
The sole survivor of the little trip into the depths of Kurkow.
Shane moved closer and saw a young woman on the floor of the cell. She was naked, covered in blood and a thousand small cuts.
And she was alone.
Shane slipped into the cell, dropped to a knee and checked her pulse. It was there if ever so faint beneath his fingertips. She was slight, her dark hair a massive tangle of knots and blood. Shane set his shotgun on the steel frame of the bunk and stripped off his jacket. He wrapped her in it then picked her up and put her over his shoulder.
Adrenaline pumped through his system as he picked up his shotgun, the woman's weight negligible. He stepped out of the cell and looked at Frank.
Frank nodded and then snapped, "Down!"
Shane crashed to the floor, pain ripping up from his knees while Frank's shotgun roared. Twice more the weapon sounded out and then Frank yelled, "Move!"
Shane got to his feet, wincing at the agonized protesting of his joints. His ears rang, and lights flashed in his vision. He turned toward the stairs, caught himself before he slipped in a small pile of gore he had missed before, and went down to the first level. Behind the pain and the partial deafness from the shotgun blasts, Shane heard Frank reload.
Shane exited the stairwell, focused on the door at the far end and moved towards it. A shape stepped out into the hall, and for a heartbeat, Shane thought it might be Pete. When he realized he could see through it, Shane pulled the trigger. The shot wasn't perfect, but enough of the rock salt from the load hit the ghost.
Behind him, Frank fired again, all five rounds.
"Weapon!" Frank yelled.
Shane paused, handed off his shotgun and took Frank’s. Frank fired twice more and then they were at the door and into the foyer.
"Reloading," Frank said, "keep moving."
Shane nodded, shifted the girl from one shoulder to the next, and exited the prison.
"Damn!" Shane spat.
"What?
" Frank asked behind him.
"Pete's gone!"
"What?! Oh, come on!" Frank said disgust thick in his voice. The shotgun roared again.
Shane seethed with anger as he broke into a jog. He reached his car, ripped the door open and threw the shotgun onto the car floor. Shane put the young woman in the back seat and climbed in after her. Frank closed the door as he passed, and then got into the driver's seat.
"Keys?" he asked.
"Ignition," Shane answered. He pulled the girl in close to him, wrapping himself around her, trying to keep her warm with his own body heat. The engine started, Frank turned the heat up to its maximum, and backed up.
The young woman shivered, and Shane nodded.
"Can you hear me?" he asked.
Her head moved a fraction of an inch.
"Okay, listen," Shane said, "I'm going to start rubbing you, I'm not getting fresh. I need to keep you warm and get the blood circulating in your hands and feet, or you're going to lose them to frostbite. It's going to hurt."
"It’s okay," she murmured.
"Okay," Shane whispered.
Chapter 23: Pete's Surprise
For the first time since Peter Dawson had purchased a cell phone, he had turned it off.
The iPhone lay on the dashboard of the Escalade, and it looked as lonely and forlorn as Pete felt. He had never hung up on Ollie before. Not once in their entire history together. But Pete knew he couldn't go back to the prison. There was no way he could go into Kurkow and see if everyone was okay.
The ghosts wouldn't let him.
He knew that. Pete also knew they would hurt him.
They'd probably kill me, he thought, sighing. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Or they'd do something terrible to me first. Torture me. Who knows what.
The glint of headlights caught his attention and Pete looked in his rearview mirror. A car was approaching, racing along route eighty-nine in spite of the black ice and the snow drifts forming along the edges. In less than a minute, the car sped by him, and Pete saw it was Shane's car.
And as he registered whose vehicle it was, the car's brake lights flashed red. Then the white reverse lights flared, and the wheels were cut hard, the car racing backward towards him.
Before he could do anything to stop it, Shane's vehicle smashed into the front of the Escalade. Pete howled as his head snapped forward, striking the leather wrapped steering wheel. He could taste blood in his mouth, and one of his back molars throbbed.
Then the driver's side door was ripped open, and Pete was dragged out of the SUV and into the snow. He fell down, tried to get up and a blow knocked him back to the pavement.
Instead of trying to get up, Pete rolled onto his back and looked up.
It wasn't Shane standing over him, but Frank.
His brother's old friend had his fists clenched, his face a mask of fury, the scars dancing in the starlight.
"Why did you leave?" Frank hissed.
Pete didn't answer him. He watched as the tension drained from Frank's shoulders, the rage on his face replaced by an expression of calm. Even his hands relaxed.
"Tell me, Peter," Frank said, his voice low. "Tell me why you left."
"I was afraid," Pete whispered.
Frank closed his eyes and Pete saw the man's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. "Where are the blankets Shane told you to pick up?"
"Passenger side," Pete said.
Frank turned away from him and went around to the other side of the SUV. Pete could hear Frank get the bags out. Soon he passed by the Escalade and went to the back of Shane's car. He opened the door, and Pete sat up.
Frank tore the blankets out of their packaging, snapping them open and then leaning into the car with them. He was wrapping someone up.
Pete grabbed hold of the Cadillac's door and pulled himself to his feet. He cleared his throat, and when Frank didn't look at him, Pete asked, "Where's Shane?"
Frank remained focused on the person in the backseat. "Here."
"Is he okay?" Pete asked.
Frank shot him a withering look. "He's fine."
"What about the Paranormal Society?" Pete asked, trying to see inside the back of Shane's car without leaving the protection of the Cadillac.
"There's one here," Frank said. He closed the door, bent down and picked the trash up from the road. He stuffed it all into one plastic bag and walked back to Pete.
"One?" Pete asked, confused. "There were four of them. Are they okay?"
"No," Frank said, throwing the bag of trash at him. "They're dead."
Pete blinked. "What?"
"Dead," Frank repeated. "Dead. Their heads are hanging from a light fixture inside the Prison. I'm not exactly sure if all of their body parts are there as well, but they might be. You can tell Oliver if you want. In fact, you should. And tell him that I'll be coming soon to speak with him."
Pete's heart skipped a beat.
Memories flashed before him. Frank had been a terror in middle school and high school. A kid who would fight for any reason, at any time. Someone who didn't mind a little bit of pain to get in close and hurt someone.
"Tell him I'm coming," Frank said, nodding. "And it'll be soon."
Pete watched Frank walk to Shane's car. The man paused, looked down at the fender which hung half off, and then reached down to tear it away. Frank threw the molded fiberglass onto the road’s shoulder and got back into the car.
Pete shivered and got back into his vehicle. He found his phone on the floor and picked it up. Pete held it for a moment, then put it down.
Ollie can find out for himself, he thought, and he closed the door.
Chapter 24: By the Fire
George’s world had shrunk down to what he could see of Mulberry Street from his windows, and the relative safety of his home. For almost two days, he had existed alone in his new environment, a desolate life where he had witnessed one death and nearly suffered his own.
But now he had a companion in misery.
Mrs. Geisel.
She was wearing some of Jess’ sweats and wrapped up in an old comforter. Mrs. Geisel sat in front of the fireplace, her cheeks and nose still red from her time in the cold.
George had tried to speak with her several times, all to no avail. She hadn’t responded to any of his questions or offered up any information. Eventually, George had stopped with the inquiries.
He placed a cup of warm milk on the floor beside her, set another log on the fire and retreated to the couch. The shades were pulled, and salt lined the window sills and the thresholds. He had found another container of the blessed spice in the pantry when looking for hot chocolate.
“Charles is dead,” Mrs. Geisel murmured.
George looked at her in surprise. He was about to ask her a question when she spoke again.
“The fat man killed him,” she continued. She picked up the cup of milk, took a drink and then looked at it for a minute.
George waited for her.
She turned to face him, her eyes swollen and red. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
“Not really,” George said. His voice sounded strange in his ears, like metal being dragged across metal.
“What did you do to stop them?” she asked. “Nothing we tried worked.”
George picked up the fireplace poker. “This is made of iron. It can send ghosts away, just like salt can keep them out.”
She glanced around the room, nodding. “How did you find out about the iron?”
“I was just lucky. I picked it up and swung at it,” he hesitated, then added, “It was a ghost. There were two in the room with me. I think the other one was just as surprised as I was. When they were gone, I looked up ghosts online.”
Mrs. Geisel finished her drink and set the cup on the floor. She held her hands out towards the fire, and George saw they trembled.
George had always thought Mrs. Geisel was in her fifties. Perhaps a little older. As he looked at her in the dim light thrown by the fire
, he realized she was older than he thought. Wrinkles were gathered under her neck and crow’s feet spread out from her eyes. There was a good deal of white hair interspersed in her black locks. Fear and exhaustion added to her aged appearance.
“I don’t believe I know your first name,” George said.
She gave him a wan smile, revealing capped, bright white teeth. “Merle.”
“A pleasure, Merle,” George said. “Do you need another blanket, perhaps something more to drink or to eat?”
Merle shook her head. “No. Thank you, though. My feet hurt, as do my hands, but I take it as a good sign. The question now is what shall we do.”
“Do?” George asked.
“Oh yes,” Merle said. “We’re not the only ones alive on Mulberry Street, George. Not by a long shot.”
“You want to rescue them?” George said, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.
She smiled. “I do indeed.”
George looked from her to the fire and stared into it for a moment. Blinking his eyes, he shook his head. He opened his mouth, the word ‘no’ forming on his lips, but instead his voice said, “Yes. Let’s do it. Soon as the sun’s up.”
Merle nodded her approval and George was left alone with his thoughts, wondering why he had agreed to leave the house again.
Chapter 25: Lost in the Storm
“Damn it!” Frank snapped.
Shane turned his head and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m lost,” Frank barked. “Sorry. It’s snowing again. I got turned around somehow.”
“Great,” Shane muttered. His entire body ached, not only from holding onto the young woman but from the minor accident with Pete’s SUV.
The girl was asleep, her breathing slow and normal. She wasn’t resting easy in his arms. Now and again she kicked, struggled, and bit down. None of which were pleasant to experience.
Shane consoled himself with the knowledge that she was unaware of her actions. With a grunt, he shifted his body and tried to get comfortable. Beneath the blankets Frank had beaten out of Pete, Shane was sweating.