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

by Ron Ripley

  Jose stepped in with nervous hands and selected what he would need to ward off death.

  Chapter 5: Visiting with Brian and Jenny

  “You look terrible,” Jenny said after she had let Shane into the house.

  Shane grinned. “What, you don’t think the one-eared look is in this year?”

  She slapped him on the shoulder, shaking her head. “You better not be here to try and convince my man to go on a little ghost adventure.”

  “No,” Shane said. “I’d like him to stay alive. Nope, I just came for some research help. Nobody’s better than you two.”

  “See,” Jenny said, grinning, “flattery will get you everywhere.”

  From the den, Brian called, “Don’t sweet talk her, it just makes it worse for me.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes and said, “Come on. Let’s go see Mr. Congeniality.”

  Chuckling, Shane followed her into the den where she went and sat down beside Brian on the couch.

  “Damn,” Brian said, his eyes widening. “You look like you’ve been worked over.”

  “A few times,” Shane admitted, dropping into the chair across from them. “How have you two been?”

  “Evidently better than you,” Brian said, his tone serious. “What happened?”

  “A lot,” Shane said. “Too much. I don’t know. It’s been pretty rough.”

  “Looks like it,” Brian said. “Anyway, tell us what you need. All you said over the phone was you wanted information.”

  “That’s pretty much it,” Shane agreed. “I didn’t know if either of you knew anything about the Slater Mill in Nashua?”

  Brian shook his head, but Jenny’s eyes narrowed. A heartbeat later she said, “Yeah, yeah, I think I do.”

  She got back up and left the room.

  Shane looked to Brian, but his friend shrugged, saying, “Man, I don’t even know what she has for information anymore.”

  Jenny’s footsteps rang out on the stairs and then moved across the hallway of the second floor.

  “We have a few minutes,” Brian said, chuckling. “She went into her library. Place is chock full of books, and articles. I swear she’s got way too much on ghosts up there.”

  “More power to her,” Shane said. “I definitely need some help on this before I poke my nose in there.”

  “Yeah,” Brian said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Have you read the Telegraph?” Shane asked.

  “No,” Brian said. “Thing’s a rag. I stopped reading it a year or so ago after I found spelling errors in their headlines.”

  “Understood,” Shane said. He settled back in the chair and told Brian about the two murders, and what he had seen in the photograph.

  “Seriously?” Brian asked.

  Shane nodded.

  “Damn,” Brian muttered. “Well, you definitely came to the right place. Jenny’s got a ton of stuff on both Nashua and Manchester. Not so much on the little towns around the cities.”

  “Fine by me,” Shane said. “All I need is info on the Mill right now.”

  Above them, a door closed and a moment later, Jenny was on her way back down the stairs. She appeared carrying in her hand a slim, dark blue book. With a smile, she handed the volume to Shane, and then returned to her seat beside Brian.

  There was nothing written on either the book’s spine or cover. When Shane opened it, he found he had it upside down and had to turn it around before he could read it. The title page stated the book’s name was “Mishaps at the Slater Mill.” It had been published in 1911.

  “That’s a list of all of the deaths that occurred in the Mill,” Jenny said. “Both when it was being built, and when it was in operation.”

  Shane flipped through the pages. The book was arranged by year, starting in 1841, and continuing until the year of publication. In each section, the deaths were arranged alphabetically by surname, with information on the individuals and their manner of death concisely described.

  The book was a litany of horrors.

  On one page alone, Shane saw three men who had died after having an arm torn off by “Machine Number 5” on the third floor. Blinding was common, as were the loss of fingers and toes. More than one child was listed as a fatality as well.

  “This is miserable,” Shane murmured. He looked up at Brian and Jenny.

  “Yeah,” Jenny agreed. “I found the book last year at the Nashua Public Library’s annual book sale. I thought it was interesting at first, but then it just got to be too much, even for me.”

  “That bad, babe?” Brian asked in a soft voice.

  “Yeah,” she said, sighing.

  “May I borrow this?” Shane asked, closing the book.

  “Sure,” Jenny said. “Do you have to go into the Mill?”

  “I think I do,” Shane said.

  Jenny didn’t ask why. Instead, she said, “You’re not taking Brian.”

  “No,” Shane agreed. “I am most definitely not taking Brian. He’s not exactly the picture of health.”

  Brian snorted. “Look who’s talking. You could star in horror movies now.”

  “Ha,” Shane said. “You’re a funny guy.”

  “I am,” Brian said, grinning. The grin dropped away, and Brian became serious. “I hope you’re wrong, though, about the photo.”

  “Me too,” Shane said.

  “What photo?” Jenny asked, looking from Shane to Brian.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Brian said.

  Shane stood up, holding the book in his left hand, still painfully aware of the absence of his two fingers.

  “Are you going into the Mill alone?” Jenny asked.

  “More than likely,” Shane answered.

  “What about Frank?” Brian said. “Won’t he go in with you?”

  “He’s at a wedding,” Shane said. “And I don’t think I can wait on going. I’ve got a feeling this is going to get worse.”

  “Okay,” Brian said. He and Jenny got up and walked with Shane to the front door.

  “I know I can’t do anything to help,” Brian said, “but I still know some people. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “I won’t,” Shane said. He shook their hands and left the house. He had a long ride back to Nashua, and he needed to figure out the best way to get into the Slater Mill.

  Without being arrested or getting murdered by a ghost.

  Chapter 6: Standing on the Corner

  Chad Everett had a pocket full of ‘H’.

  If he sold all of the heroin before the night was through, he could clear a couple of hundred, and that was after what he owed Simone for the buy in.

  Grinning, Chad relaxed, adjusted his headphones, and waited to see what the night would bring.

  He watched a few cars roll by, but most people were interested in the old Slater Mill. The double homicides had piqued everyone’s interest, and Chad had even taken a stroll over there earlier in the night. He hadn’t gotten too close, though. The police were still hanging around, asking questions, and Chad had already done a four-year bid in the state prison for dealing.

  He took out his cigarettes, shook out a Newport, and lit it. Exhaling the smoke up into the night sky, Chad felt a smile creep across his face. The air felt good, and there was nothing better than a cigarette to help the time slide by.

  The hours eased along, and soon he had emptied his pocket. He split the cash from the sales into various places in his jeans and sweatshirt, and then got himself another smoke. Whistling, Chad walked away from the corner. In the clear night air, the wind carried the sound of the old Mill clock down to him as it struck midnight.

  The witching hour, he thought, chuckling. Maybe I’ll take a closer peek at the Mill.

  And with that, Chad adjusted his path, crossing Central Street to cut down Ash. The old building loomed up at the end of the street, the old windows sucking in the light of the stars and the moon.

  He had never liked the place. It had always made him feel strange, as if someone was be
hind the glass, waiting for him to come too close.

  Chad snorted. He had real problems to worry about. The police finding out he was dealing again. Simone thinking he might be skimming off the top. Somebody learning Chad was shooting up every night.

  Nope, he thought. I’ve got real issues. Not any boogie man garbage to deal with.

  When Chad reached the end of Ash Street, he looked around, stared past the chain-linked fence, and wondered what had happened.

  A can rattled to his right, and Chad turned. Half in the shadows he saw a middle-aged white man staring at him.

  Chad reached up, slipped the headphone out of his right ear and said, “Hey man, no more chemicals tonight. I’m sold out. Catch me tomorrow. I’ll be all set and stocked up. You can get your nod on then.”

  The man didn’t respond, and Chad felt uncomfortable.

  Chad hadn’t seen him around before, but that wasn’t anything too strange. He knew all of the cops by sight, and this one wasn’t anything close to a cop.

  Just another junkie looking for a fix, Chad told himself. He waited another few seconds for the man to say something, and when he didn’t, Chad shrugged and turned his attention back to the Mill. Out of the corner of his eye, he made sure he could see the stranger. Chad hadn’t lived in the projects his entire life to forget that little lesson.

  When the man took a step towards him, Chad bristled and turned.

  “What’s your problem?” Chad snapped, and then all of his thoughts vanished.

  The man faded in front of Chad’s eyes, disappearing.

  Chad backed up until he bumped into a wall. His eyes darted all around, and finally, they found the man.

  He was standing on the other side of the chain-linked fence, staring at Chad.

  Without a word, the man turned around and walked through the brick wall.

  The cigarette fell from Chad’s lips, the ashes burning small holes in his sweatshirt as they tumbled down.

  “No,” Chad whispered. His eyes searched the Mill, and in a window, on the second floor, he saw the half-moon shape of the man’s face.

  Chad screamed, his voice rising to a high shriek before he went racing from the scene.

  Chapter 7: Looking for Something

  Jamie Fernandez opened the door to his apartment in time to see the skin-popper Everett running down Ash Street.

  “What the hell was that?” his brother Tony called from the kitchen.

  “Everett,” Jamie answered, going out to sit on the front step.

  Tony stepped into the doorway behind him, looking out and watching Everett run.

  “Damn,” Tony said. “He get a bad dose or something?”

  “Who knows,” Jamie said. “Get me a beer, will you?”

  “Yeah.” Tony left and returned with a beer for each of them.

  Jamie twisted off the cap, dropped it into the half-filled coffee can of the same by the step, and looked at the Mill building. He had never paid much attention to it before the murders. It had always been there. Like the sun, or the sky. Nothing to think about, let alone worry.

  “Think he went into the Mill?” Tony asked.

  Jamie shrugged. “Maybe, but no junkies go in there to boot up. Even they’re not that stupid.”

  “Think somebody’s in there?” Tony asked.

  “Naw,” Jamie answered. “Cops would have found him. Building’s big, but you can’t hide from a cop when they're after you for murder.”

  “True,” Tony said while leaving, his footsteps trailing away.

  Their father was doing a life sentence down in Massachusetts for killing a clerk in a robbery. The Nashua police had been relentless. Jamie could still remember when they had raided the apartment and dragged his father out in handcuffs.

  No, Jamie thought, finishing his beer. Cops don’t mess around. Not with murder.

  He put the empty bottle down by the coffee can and looked at the Mill.

  “Yeah,” he muttered to himself, standing up. “I’ll do it.”

  “What’s going on?” Tony called to him.

  “Going into the Mill,” Jamie said.

  “What?” Tony asked, disbelief in his voice.

  “I want to see what the big deal is,” Jamie said, rolling his shoulders. He had enjoyed a good day at the gym. Big Mike had brought in two guys from Billerica to spar with him, and Jamie had beaten both of them. If there was anyone in the Mill, Jamie wasn’t worried about him.

  Jamie was a hell of a lot better at bare-knuckle brawling than he was in the ring with the gloves on.

  No rules outside the ring.

  “Don’t go now,” Tony said. “Ella’s asleep. I can’t leave her alone.”

  Jamie almost said something nasty about Tony not being a man, then he remembered how much his niece depended on Tony. Jamie’s brother was a better father than theirs had ever been.

  “No, man,” Jamie said. “Stay home with Ella. It’s probably nothing. I just want to stretch my legs. See what’s going on.”

  “Don’t start anything,” Tony said. “Least not without me. Okay?”

  “Yeah,” Jamie lied. “Of course. See you soon.”

  “Yeah,” Tony said. “Door’ll be unlocked.”

  Jamie nodded and walked down to the end of the street where the gate to the fence was. For the first time in his life, he reached out and touched the cold metal, flipping the latch up. Jamie realized he had never seen it locked before.

  And even after the murders, it still wasn’t locked.

  Jamie shook his head, pushed the gate open, and entered the enclosure. He walked towards the nearest door, tall and wide. There was no caution tape on it, no sign to stay out.

  Jamie reached out, grasped the doorknob, and turned.

  It wasn’t locked and slid easily, as did the door itself. The old hinges complained, their noises swallowed by the darkness revealed. Jamie stepped into the building, pushing the door out further. He could smell a rank mustiness, but nothing else. A few paces in and his eyes adjusted to what little light there was from the outside.

  He was in a wide hallway, and there was a younger man sitting against the left wall. A few feet past him was an older man, and both of them, like Jamie, were Hispanic.

  “You two okay?” Jamie asked.

  As one, the men turned to look at him, and it was then that Jamie noticed they didn’t seem quite right. They were opaque. On their faces, he saw sorrow and desperation.

  The younger one opened his mouth and spoke a single word in Spanish.

  “Run.”

  Jamie had never run from anyone. He had built a reputation for standing his ground, no matter what the odds were.

  But that word, uttered in a hollow voice, forced him to turn around.

  Jamie focused on the door, the rectangle which led to freedom, and gasped as the portal swung closed.

  He stood still, too surprised to move.

  A pale face loomed in front of him. There was a five o’clock shadow on the man’s flesh, highlighting the darkness of his eyes.

  The stranger spat a word at Jamie, and before Jamie could reply, the man’s hand lashed out and plunged into Jamie’s chest.

  Gasping for air, Jamie couldn’t scream. He couldn’t move backward and pull himself away from the terrible, cold fist wrapped around his heart.

  The stranger grinned and tightened his hold.

  Jamie couldn’t think, let alone move.

  He was asked a question, but he didn’t understand it.

  And even if he had known it, he wouldn’t have been able to speak it. The pain in his chest was too great.

  The stranger waited a moment longer, shrugged, and squeezed.

  Jamie felt his eyes roll up in his head, his knees gave out, and a pain he never imagined possible, devoured him.

  Chapter 8: Researching the Mill

  Shane was in his library, the lights on and the book Jenny had loaned him on the desk. Beside it, Shane had a notebook and a pen, thirty-nine names were written down. Thirty-nine pe
ople who might still be haunting the Mill.

  Two men were dead, and Shane couldn’t understand why.

  He had gone to the library and examined reels of microfilm, searching through the old newspapers in an effort to find evidence of more murders. But there hadn’t been any. The only reference he had found was an article from the early seventies where the author talked about the haunting of Slater Mill, and of how everyone knew not to go in there.

  But how? Shane thought. How did they know?

  He sighed, leaned back, and rubbed at his eyes. Shane had spent hours at the library, and not waiting for his brain to rest, he had launched himself into an examination of the book.

  “Shane?” Carl asked.

  Shane dropped his hands and looked at the ghost. Carl stood by the door.

  “How are you feeling, my friend?” Carl asked in German.

  “I’m as well as can be expected,” Shane said, answering in the same language. “Is everything alright in the house?”

  Carl hesitated before he nodded.

  Shane frowned. “Carl, what’s going on?”

  “Well,” Carl said, looking uncomfortable. “It seems as though a minor situation may have presented itself.”

  Shane closed the book and straightened up in his chair. In all of the years he had known the ghost, Shane couldn’t remember a single occasion where Carl had referred to anything other than a ‘bother’ at best.

  “What,” Shane said, choosing his words carefully, “do you consider to be a minor situation?”

  “It concerns Courtney,” Carl said.

  Shane stared at Carl and waited for the dead man to continue.

  He did a moment later. “She is no longer a captive.”

  Anger flared in Shane, and he asked through clenched teeth, “Which one of you sent her on her way?”

  Carl looked surprised. With a shake of his head he said, “No, you misunderstood me, my young friend. She has, well, she has escaped her cell.”

  Shane slumped back into his chair, all of the blood rushing out of his head. The room swam before his eyes, and he took a moment to regain his composure. His hand trembled as he reached out and closed the book.