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

by Ron Ripley

  The house had two entrances, one at the front and one at the back. One pair had positioned themselves at the back, the other at the front. A solo shooter took the left side, the tech with the scrambler covered the right.

  There was no signal given. They had the timing of their work finely tuned, and each knew their jobs.

  The breaching teams entered through their respective doors. They wore night-vision goggles, and their feet were silent. And while they noticed everything, nothing distracted them.

  They were, above all else, professional.

  There was no animosity in their acts. All of it was done with a minimal amount of pain to the target. Other teams specialized in torture and terror.

  Within less than thirty seconds, they had reached the bedroom, where the target and his wife lay in their bed. The couple slept peacefully, and they died the same way. Two shots each to the head.

  The leader of the team stepped forward, handed her pistol to one of her colleagues, and received a surgical saw. With long practiced motions, she removed the man’s head. When she finished, both the instrument and the severed head went into a bag brought specifically for that purpose. She exchanged the bag for her weapon, and they left the house in the same silence they had entered it in.

  The team had been inside for less than three minutes, and in the same amount of time, they slipped onto the next street. A pair of nondescript sedans were parked in front of an apartment building. The team got into their appointed vehicles, and in a moment, the stillness of the night was broken by the sound of the engines starting.

  With the head tucked away from prying eyes, the team drove towards Boston.

  They had a delivery to make.

  Chapter 7: Making Decisions

  “I don’t know if it’s worth it,” Shane said. He lit a cigarette and looked at Frank. “From what I could find out, and I’d only dug around for a little while, is that they’re focused on purchasing places where the dead are active. Or have been active. There’s no real explanation why.”

  “It has to be something serious,” Frank said. “Come on, they were willing to kill us.”

  “And I want to hurt them for that,” Shane said. “Don’t doubt that. But I don’t know if we should go after them right away. I need a breather. At least a little bit of time.”

  “Sure,” Frank said. “I get that. But I wonder, if we know about this, Shane, shouldn’t we do something about it? And sooner rather than later?”

  “No. Because all we know,” Shane said, “is that someone’s been protecting the dead on ley lines. We don’t know why. I don’t think we need to look into that right away. Not right now. Like I said, I need a breather, Frank. I’m not going to lie. The Watchers are extremely well organized and they are, without any doubt, extremely dangerous as well. If we’re going to take them down, then we need to make sure that we do it right. No mistakes, nothing done halfway.”

  Then Shane let out a sigh, shook his head, and added in a low voice, “And Lisbeth, she was hard to deal with.”

  “What made it difficult?” Frank asked. There was nothing malicious in the question, only an honest curiosity.

  Shane hesitated, then sighed. “I’m not sure. I did a lot when I was in the Corps. She reminded me of them. What I had to do.”

  “Yeah,” Frank said, nodding. “I get that. I wonder, though, do you think she was watching you for these people, whoever they are?”

  Shane shook his head. “Hell, I don’t want to think about that.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Frank said. “You need to. I mean, if they’ve been watching you, do they know about your house?”

  Shane nodded in affirmation.

  The doorbell rang, and before Shane could stand up, Frank had risen from his seat. “I got it. Need to stretch my legs.”

  Shane shrugged as Frank left the study. When the door opened, Shane could hear Frank speak with someone, thank them, and then a thump as the world was locked out once more.

  “So,” Frank said, entering the room carrying a small box. “What’d you get me?”

  “A carton of cigarettes so you could start the habit,” Shane replied, straightening himself in the chair. “Seriously, though, I have no idea.”

  “Well, it’s got your name on it,” Frank said, handing the package over before sitting back down.

  “Damn,” Shane said in surprise. “It’s heavy.”

  The box was big enough to hold a basketball and had a shipping label from a firm in Boston. Webb and Fenster. Shane read his name on the package, and saw his address. Even the email he used for his translation work was there. DHL had delivered it, same day.

  “You’re not expecting anything?” Frank asked.

  “No,” Shane said. “But it’s got my work email on it. I might have ordered something. Back before everything went absolutely crazy in my life.”

  “Come on, no more suspense,” Frank said, grinning. “Tell me, what exciting material did you order for your enthralling translating work?”

  Shane snorted, stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and picked at the edge of the tape. In a moment, he stripped it away, pulled the cardboard flaps open, and looked inside. Greenish white packing peanuts greeted his eye, and Shane shook his head. He picked them out, a handful at a time, and then his fingers hit something hard, almost rubbery.

  “The hell?” he murmured. Shane reached both hands in and stopped.

  “What is it?” Frank asked. “Shane? Hey, you just lost all of the color in your face.”

  “Yeah,” Shane whispered. He withdrew his hands and looked at them. They were covered in blood. Drying, congealing blood.

  “Oh, man,” Frank said, standing up. “That’s not your blood.”

  “No,” Shane agreed. “It’s not.”

  “Whose is it then?”

  “It feels like a head in here,” Shane said. He took a deep breath and said, “I’m going to reach my hands back in and get a hold of it. Do me a favor, will you?”

  “Sure,” Frank said, nodding.

  “Grab the box for me, this might be a tight squeeze,” Shane said.

  “Yeah,” Frank said.

  Shane pushed his hands in again, grasped the unknown head, and nodded to Frank.

  Frank took hold of the box and held it as Shane pulled.

  The head came out, packing peanuts dropping lazily to the floor.

  Shane turned the head around in his hand and looked into the face of his friend, Mason.

  Chapter 8: A Day Disrupted

  Frank sat alone in the kitchen.

  On the table was an unopened letter. It had come with Mason’s head, and Shane had left it in the study. Frank had carried it into the kitchen, following Shane. Shane, who had carried Mason’s head into the pantry, then closed the door behind him.

  “Is it true?” Carl asked, appearing from the wall beside the refrigerator.

  Frank nodded.

  “Thaddeus said he descended into the root cellar,” Carl said, glancing at the pantry door.

  “Maybe,” Frank said. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you know of the root cellar?” Carl asked.

  Frank shook his head. “No. Didn’t even know there was one.”

  “There is,” Carl said. “It is where the dark ones are. The root cellar is where Shane’s parents went when he was away for his military training. They never returned.”

  Frank looked at Carl in surprise. “Why is he down there?”

  “I do not know why,” Carl answered. “He is safe, though. No one could be safer. Not in this house.”

  The pantry door opened and Shane stepped into the room, blinking at the light. His hands were empty but still bloody, his face an image of controlled rage. He crossed the room in silence and went to the sink. After he had turned on the water, he tore off a paper towel, used it to open the cabinet and took out a container of sugar. Frank watched in silence as Shane used dish-soap and the sugar granules to scrub the blood from his skin.

  When Shane fin
ished, he took several more paper towels and dried his hands as he walked to the table. Frank didn’t say anything as Shane sat down.

  Carl, too, remained silent, and Frank and the dead man watched Shane pick up the letter. Shane opened it, the muscles in his jaw twitched as he set the envelope down and looked at the document within. When he was done with it, Shane handed the letter to Frank.

  Dear Mr. Ryan,

  I trust that this letter finds you well and that you have received our message. In case you are unable to understand it, I shall translate for you.

  I am going to kill everyone you know, if you continue to disrupt the plans and goals of this organization. I have started with your friend, Mason, and his wife, because they were the nearest targets. I will work my way outward, throughout the country if I have to. And quite frankly, Mr. Ryan, I will kill Mr. Benedict’s family and friends as well, should I run out of yours.

  Now, since I have established my position, I will explain exactly what I want from you. Cease and desist all activities relating to the neutralization or the destruction of any spirits in which you might come in contact with. In simple language, Mr. Ryan, stay home. While I take no pleasure in the death of your friend, I will not hesitate to do what is necessary to ensure the success of this organization’s goals.

  I have included a card with a phone number on it. Should you feel the need to verify the truth of my statement, please, call it. You will find a comprehensive list of men with whom you served, and women with whom you were once on intimate terms.

  Sincerely,

  Harlan Canus

  The Watchers

  P.S. I am sorry that my predecessor activated Lisbeth. She was an exceptionally talented asset and I regret her loss. I hope you have disposed of her body properly. Perhaps Mason’s head will join her?

  The letter shook in Frank’s hands as he folded it and set it down on the table.

  “Why Mason?” Frank asked after a moment of silence. “Why not us?”

  “They couldn’t get to us after Lisbeth,” Shane said, his voice hoarse with rage. “Not with all of the dead around. They want us to dig in here, stay safe, and try to figure out what they’re going to do next. Or maybe even believe them and not do anything in order to save our people.”

  “You don’t think they will?” Frank asked.

  “They might kill a couple more of mine if I try to do anything,” Shane said. His eyes were hard, filled with hatred. “They may even kill a few of yours. If we don’t stop, they’ll panic. Maybe they’ll try to come directly at us again, instead of through someone like Mason.”

  Frank wanted to disagree, but he couldn’t.

  Shane was right.

  “They will try,” Shane said, as he spat out each word. “We’ll have to warn them. All of them.”

  “I don’t have much in the way of family,” Frank said, “but I do have the Abbot. I’ll reach out to those I can. The Abbot should be alright.”

  Shane nodded. “I’ll get in touch with the Roys. They’re the closest. I don’t think this Harlan will reach out too far. Not yet.”

  Frank sat and read the letter again while Shane took out his phone and sent a text.

  Frank thought about the Watchers, and what the threat meant. If they were willing to kill in order to keep Shane and himself away from their plans, then it meant something terrible was on the horizon.

  And it would more than likely kill more than a few people.

  Shane’s phone chimed and a moment later the man let out a sigh of relief.

  “Everything’s good?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah,” Shane replied, putting his phone down. “Brian says he has more than enough protection. His own ghosts won’t let anyone near the property. I’ll have to dig around to find out the numbers for my older friends.”

  “Same here,” Frank said.

  Silence filled the kitchen and then Frank asked, “What now?”

  “We find out who they are,” Shane said. “We find out what they want to do. And we find out where to hit them next.”

  Frank nodded, looked at the letter and then to Carl. “Think you could find out about who the Watchers are?”

  Carl hesitated and said, “There is a possibility.”

  “You have someone you can ask?” Shane said, surprised.

  “Yes,” Carl said, clearing his throat. “Yes. There is.”

  “Really?” Frank asked.

  “Yes,” Carl said, and he looked uncomfortable as if the questions bothered him.

  “Carl,” Shane said. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

  Carl answered in German, and Shane shook his head.

  “You’re kidding me,” Shane said, dropping his chin to his chest. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “What?” Frank asked, confused. “What the hell did he say, Shane?”

  “Tell him,” Shane said, without looking up.

  “Shane,” Carl pleaded.

  “Jetzt!” Shane snapped in German.

  Carl stiffened, turned to face Frank, and said, “We will be able to question Lisbeth.”

  It took a moment for the statement to register, and when it did, Frank asked, “How?”

  Carl looked at Shane, who continued to stare down at the table, and then his shoulders slumped.

  “Eloise and Thaddeus,” Carl said, his accent thickening with his stress. “They didn’t let her spirit leave after Jack killed her. She is trapped here as well. We could question her.”

  Frank was too shocked to answer.

  Shane lifted his head, his eyes red, his muscles standing out along his chin.

  “Let’s get it over with,” Shane hissed, and he got out of his chair.

  “Eloise!” Shane yelled as he stormed out of the kitchen. “Thaddeus! Get down here now!”

  Carl sighed and shook his head.

  “Hasn’t he learned yet?” Carl asked, glancing at Frank. “They only hide when he yells.”

  Chapter 9: In Darkness and Despair

  Rich was naked on a cold, stone floor, and he begged God to wake him up.

  But God didn’t listen.

  Curled in a ball, Rich whimpered and tried to remember what had happened. Nothing came to him. All he had was a vague recollection of a voice, a woman’s voice, begging someone to spare her.

  God hadn’t answered her either.

  Something cold crawled over his right ankle, and it burned, causing him to jerk his foot away. But whatever gripped him refused to let go. Then a second hand pressed upon his hip, followed by a third and a fourth. Rich screamed at the pain, a sharp cold that drove through his flesh and settled into his bones. As he screamed, the hand on his ankle pulled, extending his leg.

  Laughter rang out, and voices spoke in a language he didn’t understand, the words painful to his ears. Then something pierced the side of his knee and Rich shrieked. He felt the joint tremble and then give way. Something sawed at his flesh, and a moment later, he heard a horrific pop.

  The pressure on his hips vanished, and the grip on his ankle did as well. Within seconds, a rope of some sort was tied around his thigh, cinched down so tight that stars exploded in front of his eyes.

  Rich twisted away and into a puddle of warm liquid. The stench of iron filled his nose, and he had a difficult time as he tried to crawl away. His right foot was numb, and he couldn’t find any purchase with it. Rich held back a sob as his fingers found gaps in the stone floor and he pulled himself forward. Soon he struck a wall, then he followed it until he found a corner, and he huddled there, curled once more in a fetal position.

  A woman babbled nearby, her words unintelligible aside from a few here and there that he understood. She was asking someone for forgiveness. Asking to be let out. Asking to be given a second chance to prove herself.

  No one answered her, although laughter occasionally rang out in the room.

  Rich was dizzy, his right thigh throbbed, and he wondered what he had done to deserve the pain he was suffering.

  The
n he remembered the door. And he saw again the figure at the door.

  And Rich knew what it was he had done.

  He had gone into Borgin Keep, and the dead had been displeased.

  Chapter 10: Questions and Answers

  Shane was in his bedroom with the dresser moved away from the wall and pushed towards the door. He had torn down the wallpaper his father had put up decades earlier, revealing the secret door. His mouth had gone dry looking at it, remembering the fear he had felt as a child.

  Frank sat on his bed, and Carl stood beside it. Eloise and Thaddeus hid in the pantry.

  “They said she is in there?” Carl asked.

  Shane nodded.

  “Behind the door?” Frank asked.

  “Beyond it,” Shane answered. “Further in. Somewhere in the walls.”

  “Is it safe for you to go in there?” Frank questioned.

  Shane glanced at his friend. “Who knows.”

  “I shall go with you,” Carl said.

  “No,” Shane said, his tone sharper than he had intended. In a gentler voice, he said, “No. I need you here, with Frank. I will speak with Lisbeth. If she doesn’t listen to me, or won’t answer any questions, then I will have you go in.”

  Shane stepped forward and squatted down. He found the hidden trigger at the top of the door, and he pressed it. The house seemed to sigh as the door swung out. Darkness waited for him, absorbing the light of the room.

  Carl murmured, “Do you need a flashlight?”

  “No,” Shane said, getting down on his hands and knees. “I know my way around.”

  Without another word, he crawled forward and entered the space between the walls. The door remained open behind him as he turned to the right, his hands guiding him. In a few seconds, he was in complete darkness, a solid, impenetrable black. Cobwebs gathered and broke against his face like waves on a sea wall. The passage smelled of stale air with an underlying scent of mustiness.