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

by Ron Ripley

  Shane took the cigar out of his mouth and said, "You scared the hell out of me."

  "Sorry about that," Frank said, grinning. "Bad habit from special forces. I tend to creep up on people."

  "Creep is the right word," Shane said. "How are things going?"

  "Rough," Frank said. "Sore as hell. Courtney beat the hell out of me."

  "So I heard," Shane said. "Sorry about that."

  "Not your fault," Frank said. He rubbed at the scar on his face. "Surprising is all, I guess. Didn't expect her to turn violent. At least not against us."

  The statement hung in the air for a moment, and then Shane asked, "Any word from Asa?"

  Frank shook his head. "I haven’t heard yet. I'll give him a call, though."

  "Good." Shane forced himself up and off the bed, Frank reaching out a hand and helping to steady him.

  "Thanks," Shane said.

  They left the room and found Mason sitting in the hallway. He was reading a newspaper, and when he saw them, he folded it up and dropped it to his lap.

  "You two look terrible," Mason said.

  "Thanks," Shane said, "you're still a real sweetheart, huh?"

  Mason chuckled. "Why would I change that much, Gunny?"

  "Good question," Shane said. "Tell me, where's Courtney?"

  "Right here," Mason said, gesturing towards the floor.

  Shane looked down and saw a rectangular box of Morton's Salt. The top had been ripped off, and the thick sea salt chunks could be plainly seen in the hall's light.

  "Damn, it really worked," Shane murmured. "Who needs a lead box?"

  "So," Mason said, standing up and stretching. "What's the plan now?"

  "We wait on Asa," Shane said. "When that happens, we go into Kurkow. Not much more to it."

  "Good," Mason said. "Less for us to screw up."

  Shane nodded his agreement but kept his eyes fixed on the box of salt. His heart ached to look at it and to know that Courtney was trapped within.

  Chapter 50: Cold and Hot

  Laura shivered, her collar turned up, and her hands pulled into the palms of her gloves to keep her fingers warm. Her legs ached from her passage through the deep snow, and it had taken her nearly half an hour to get from George's house back to the Interceptor. She had to hide, the occasional ghost appearing to make its way down to the house at the end of Mulberry.

  Her thoughts had grown fuzzy from the cold, and she found it difficult to keep herself focused and on track. She stood on the driver's side of the Interceptor, looking in through the window. Laura struggled with the desire to unlock the door and get in, to see if the vehicle would even start.

  Don't waste time, she told herself. It's already too cold. You're too cold. You're going to die. You'll fall asleep.

  Laura let out a low groan. She wanted to be in the Interceptor. She wanted to be warm.

  Maybe it'll start, she argued with herself.

  "It won't start," Laura murmured, turning away from the vehicle. "It won't start. It won't start. It won't start."

  She walked another half a dozen steps, stumbled and fell. Laura landed on her side, the snow cushioning the fall. She lay there, staring. Then she blinked and realized she was hot.

  She took her gloves off and felt a little bit better, flexing her fingers. Laura smiled. She slipped her hand into her coat, undid the Velcro and accessed the zipper. For a moment, she fumbled with it, then her fingers locked on the metal tab and pulled. As she did so, the heat trapped within her slipped out into the night air. Tendrils of steam rose up, and through them, she saw a ghost approach her.

  He was an old man, smiling at her. His face was bloody and retained a somewhat natural color, unlike the others she had seen. He was clad as a prisoner, and he looked as though he might be in his late seventies.

  The man squatted down beside her as she sat up.

  "Hello," he said.

  Laura nodded and pulled off her coat, dropping it into the snow.

  "Too warm?" he asked, his voice pleasant, concerned.

  "Too warm," she echoed.

  "Yes," he said, "I suspect you are. You may want to remove your shirt, too."

  In her cold-numbed mind, his suggestion was completely rational. Perfectly reasonable. Laura was still hot, even with her coat and gloves off. A small part of her screamed, shouted out a reminder about the signs of hypothermia.

  No, she thought, shaking her head. Not hypothermia. Just too hot.

  "Your shirt?" the ghost said, smiling.

  Laura returned the smile and began to unbutton her blouse. It was a difficult job, her fingers not responding the way they should. Soon, she had the shirt off, though, her Kevlar vest exposed to the world.

  "No wonder you're too warm," the man said. "Look at that vest you're wearing."

  "You're right," Laura said, but the words were slurred, and while she knew what she was saying, she had a difficult time recognizing them.

  The old man hummed a song, tapping the rhythm out on his thighs.

  Laura swayed from left to right, undoing the straps of the Kevlar and letting it fall to the snow. She yawned and stretched.

  "Going to lie down?" he asked her, pausing his humming.

  "Should I?" she asked.

  "Oh," he said, his voice a whisper, "yes, I think you should."

  Laura smiled, laid down in the snow and closed her eyes. Beneath her warm flesh, the snow melted, and sleep drew her into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 51: Marital Bliss Interrupted

  Shane heard doors slam and the questions of children go unanswered.

  He and Mason, Pete and Frank, were in the kitchen. Pete had crammed himself into the breakfast nook as far from Shane as humanly possible, without leaving the kitchen. Shane had a bag of frozen peas pressed against the back of his head, Mason was texting his wife, and Frank stood at the sink.

  The former monk was lost in thought, and Shane wondered what it was that occupied the man's mind.

  Ollie stormed into the kitchen.

  "What's up?" Frank asked.

  Ollie spun around, jabbed a finger at him and snarled, "She's going to her mother's, with the kids, and she doesn't buy a single line of the story I told her. She thinks I'm trying to get out to a strip club, for God's sake!"

  "Calm down," Shane said.

  Ollie glared at him. "Who the hell do you think you are? I've had enough, right now, absolutely enough!"

  "I will take an eye out in a minute," Shane said. "First one, and then the other. So you better lower your tone and remember what we need to do."

  Ollie's face paled, the blood rushing out of his cheeks. Without another word he stalked over to the breakfast nook and sat down.

  "So your wife and kids have left," Shane said.

  Ollie nodded.

  "Good. Pete, did you call your ex again?" Shane asked.

  "Yes," Pete said, his voice soft as he pulled apart a paper napkin, piling the bits up on the table.

  "What's going on with that?" Shane said.

  "We have twenty rooms at our disposal, with the ability to get more, if we need them," Pete said, not looking up at him.

  "Good," Shane said. He looked to Frank.

  "I sent a text to Asa," Frank said. "He'll be coming along soon. Wants to get Emma settled in."

  "When do we go into Gaiman?" Mason asked.

  "As soon as we get word that Asa's at the hotel," Shane answered. "That way you can begin shuffling people out if needed and he'll be there to treat them."

  "Can't we just pass this on to the State Police?" Pete asked, his voice anxious. "They can deal with all of this, we won't even have to worry about Kurkow."

  Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He kept them shut as he spoke.

  "Listen to me, Peter," Shane said, keeping his voice flat. "We are all going to go to Kurkow Prison. We are going to secure the inner doors. Then, we are going to secure the outer doors. Afterward, we will go to Mulberry Street and take care of whoever r
emains."

  "I'd really rather not," Pete whispered.

  "Let's not get into a whole discussion about rather nots, okay?" Mason said, stepping in. "From what I understand, we're in this situation because of you. So shut your mouth, get a hold of yourself, and get ready to go in and do whatever damage needs to be done."

  Pete kept quiet and looked down at the table.

  "You still want to do this?" Ollie asked, his voice thrumming with anger. "You still want to go in there with only what, you three and us keeping watch?"

  Shane grinned. "I have gone into worse places, with a whole lot less."

  He kept his gaze fixed on Ollie until he, like Pete, looked away and at the table.

  When neither of the brothers said anything, Shane walked over to the cabinets and began to open them. After a moment Ollie asked, "What are you looking for?"

  "Whiskey," Shane answered. "I'm thirsty."

  "We're going to go into a prison full of the dead," Ollie said.

  "All the more reason to not be sober," Shane replied, and continued his search of Ollie's cabinets.

  Chapter 52: Dazed, Confused, and Angry

  When Emma woke up, it was to excruciating agony. She had no way to equivocate the pain, no marker. Emma had literally never hurt so much in her life.

  A piercing beep, repeated at short intervals, caused her head to ache. As she looked around the room, the memories of Kurkow Prison and the nightmare she had suffered returned to her. Panic welled up inside her, and she fought it down, forcing herself to sit up in spite of the pain.

  The door to the room opened, a low light spilling in from the hall beyond. She saw the man named Asa, a concerned look on his face as he stepped in.

  "You should lie back down," he said, his voice low and soothing. "You suffered quite a bit of physical trauma. I'd rather not have to treat you for anything else."

  Emma groaned and let herself flop back onto the bed. She inhaled sharply as the pain spiked for a heartbeat. Asa came and stood by her side.

  "I'm sorry the pain medication wore off," Asa said, "but I am leery of giving too much. I can offer you a little more, however, to make the ride to the hospital bearable."

  "That'd be good," she said between clenched teeth.

  Asa turned away, went to a small sink and poured a glass of water for her before he took down a bottle of pills from a shelf. He brought a single, small pill and the glass to her.

  "Slowly," he said. "Don't rush it."

  She nodded and kept herself under control. Her mouth was dry, her throat burning. The water was cool, and the pill was washed down with ease.

  "Thank you," she managed to say after a moment.

  He smiled at her. "You're quite welcome. I'm sorry, but all I have are hospital scrubs to put you in."

  "What hospital are you bringing me to?" she asked.

  "Dartmouth-Hitchcock in Lebanon," Asa answered. "It is the closest, and they are quite excellent. I will also be able to continue on to Gaiman from there."

  "Gaiman?" Emma asked. "Why are you going into Gaiman?"

  "To help whoever Frank and Shane manage to rescue," Asa answered.

  "Wait," she said, shaking her head, trying to fight off the effects of the medication as they took hold. "Who else is hurt?"

  "I'm not sure," Asa said.

  "I want to help," Emma said, struggling to sit up. "I need to help. My friends."

  "Shh," Asa said, putting a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. "You need to rest. You are in no place to help anyone, not physically. Who knows what you will be able to do in a few days, but you need more extensive treatment than I can offer from my humble home."

  "I need to help," Emma whispered, closing her eyes. "I have to help."

  "And you will, in your own way," Asa said. "Now rest. I will have you in the hospital soon. I have friends at Dartmouth. They will take care of you."

  His words drifted away, as did Emma's worries, and through the haze of narcotics, the removal of her IV was nothing more than a pleasant tug.

  Chapter 53: No Good News

  Fear had blossomed in Edmund's stomach, spread to his spine and crawled up his back to nestle in his skull. He had begun to ignore the steady, insistent destruction of his home. But he found himself focusing on the pistol in his lap.

  They will be through the walls soon, Edmund told himself. He opened the cylinder on the pistol, looked at the way the dull brass of the shells glowed in the firelight, and then closed the cylinder.

  He repeated the action several times, unable to stop himself.

  Edmund knew it for what it was, an attempt to feel safe.

  Something he had done as a child and as a teenager. Never as an adult, not even after all of the accidental deaths.

  He put the pistol down on his lap and then picked it up. He returned it to his lap and sat on his hands to keep them still.

  The front door creaked under an unseen weight, one of the hinges popping loudly as it broke. A cheer went up from the dead and Edmund risked a glance towards the door. It had been pushed partially out of the upper portion of the frame, cold air hissing in.

  He wasn't worried about the door, though. The threshold had been salted. Now, the fear he had was focused on the walls.

  The dead had ripped down the old siding earlier, and they had begun to work on the old wood clapboard beneath. Soon they would make their way through that, then it would only be a matter of time before they tore into the insulation.

  How long do you believe the wallboard will last? Edmund asked himself. Five minutes? Perhaps as long as ten? You did not salt the walls, Edmund. They are coming for you.

  He looked down at the pistol, the weight of it comforting. Each chamber held a round, but he would need only one. In the end, it would come down to a matter of speed. Can I pull the trigger faster than they could reach me once they break through?

  Should I even wait? he wondered.

  Edmund hesitated before he nodded.

  Yes. Who knows, he thought. Perhaps those children might yet buy me some time until help comes.

  Edmund smiled at the thought, took his hands out from under his legs and picked up the pistol.

  He whistled and checked the cylinder again.

  Chapter 54: Going into Kurkow

  Asa was on his way to the hospital with Emma, with the information about the hotel.

  The Dawson brothers were in Pete's Jeep, the engine running and the headlights illuminating the front of Kurkow Prison.

  Shane, Mason, and Frank stood off to one side, two of them ignoring the cold while the third didn't feel it at all.

  "Are you ready?" Shane asked.

  Mason nodded.

  "You up to this?" Shane asked, directing the question towards Frank.

  The former monk grinned. "Sure I am."

  "Pretty straightforward," Shane said, and he repeated the plan. "In order to clear the dead out of Mulberry Street, we need to secure the prison with iron, the way it was before. With that done, any ghosts we get rid of outside of Kurkow’s walls will be forced back inside and won’t be able to get out again. So, we go into the foyer together. You two keep the dead off of me. I loop the chain back through, we fall back to the outer doors, and I take care of those. With the chains back in place, and the iron still on the window frames, we should be good to go. And we have to do all of this, theoretically, without being killed."

  "What about locks?" Frank asked. "Did we ever figure out what to do about them?"

  "Someone will have to come back and take care of the locks," Shane said. "No place is open. Not with all of the snow we got."

  "Send Pete back here," Mason said. "He needs to grow some backbone. Maybe it'll help."

  "Doubt it," Frank said. "Kid never had one."

  "Alright," Shane said. "Let's just worry about this and not how much of a coward Pete is or isn't."

  Mason checked the shotgun he had taken with him from Shane's car and Frank looked hard at the prison.

  "See anything?" Shane a
sked, a nervous flutter in his stomach.

  "No," Frank said after a moment. "Kind of worries me. I know most of them are supposed to be on Mulberry Street from the radio chatter, but I still expected at least one or two to be here, you know?"

  "Yeah," he nodded. Reaching up, Shane flicked on his headlamp. "Okay, lights on."

  "You sure you're okay without a weapon?" Mason asked, turning on his own light while Frank did the same.

  "Yeah," Shane said. "I've got an iron knuckle-duster if push comes to shove."

  "Okay," Mason said. "Let's hope it's enough."

  "You and me both," Shane said.

  Frank led the way, shotgun on the ready, and Shane felt uncomfortable as they walked along the caged in path again. The last time they had come through it, they had been searching for the women. And they had found them, of course.

  Remembering the scene brought a bitter taste to his mouth and he shoved the memory away.

  You'll die if you don't pay attention, he snapped.

  Frank approached the open door well ahead of Shane and Mason, the two men pushing their way through the thick snow. A moment after he had slipped into the prison, Frank reappeared.

  "We're good," he said in a low voice.

  Shane and Mason entered Kurkow, Mason hissing.

  "Christ," he muttered. "This place is terrible."

  Shane nodded his agreement. "Just be happy we're not going inside."

  "Who says you're not?" a voice asked.

  Shane drew his knuckle-dusters out while the shotgun roared, the flash momentarily blinding him.

  But a moment was all it took for the unseen speaker to attack.

  Chapter 55: Free Advice

  A soft knocking at the door woke George.

  He sat up and looked around. Merle and the girls were asleep on the floor. The fire had burned low, and there was a distinct chill in the room, one that reminded George of the twin ghosts who had attacked him.

  He listened, straining his ears for another knock, and when he didn't hear it, George shook his head. With a sigh, he stood up, went to the stacked wood beneath the window and carried a few logs over to the fireplace. He made sure each step was soft, not wishing to disturb the delicate sleep of either Alison or Rachel. It was a miracle that they were asleep as far as he and Merle were concerned.