by Ron Ripley
“Damn,” Frank murmured.
Shane nodded. “It went on. Seven deaths in all, plus eight people in psychiatric facilities.”
“Why don’t they just raze the building?” Frank asked.
“When it goes up for sale,” Shane explained, “I think the Watchers buy it. They sit on it for a couple of years, and then they put it on the market. There’s no state law saying that the seller has to disclose if a crime was ever committed in the house, so a lot of people pick it up at a cheap price and move right in.”
Frank let out a long breath and said, “Any idea where his body’s buried, if there are no bones here?”
“He was cremated, but there’s got to be a bone here somewhere. It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Shane replied. “There was an article from the local paper about his body being mutilated prior to cremation. A toe was missing. Some of the people interviewed thought it was his wife that did it. She was crazy about him. I think if we find that hidden room, we’ll find a piece of him tucked away in there.”
Frank nodded. “Alright, let’s go see who’s in there.”
Shane got out of the car, took his bag out of the back seat, and slung it over his shoulder. He looked at the cape and wondered how such a small building could have housed someone so terrible.
“Ready?” Frank asked.
Shane took one last drag off his cigarette, stubbed it out, and nodded as he let the smoke curl out of his nose.
“Yeah,” Shane said. “I’m ready.”
In silence the two men left the car and headed up the driveway, shotguns in hand and hatred in their hearts.
Chapter 16: Necessary Information
David was surprised to notice a tremble in his hand after Shirley turned off the laptop.
He was still in shock over the tremendous number of properties the Watchers owned. Through a fog, he realized that the organization was larger than he had thought, that its pockets were deeper than imagined. He understood his insignificance in comparison to them, and how Harlan’s attempt at removing him was nothing more than the mistake of an old and foolish man.
“Does this ‘One’ truly exist?” Marie asked, looking from Shirley to David.
“The Watchers think it does,” Shirley said.
“And that’s all that matters, unfortunately,” David said. “They will move heaven and earth to see if the One’s powers to extend life are true or not. There is a mythos around it. Everyone, from the lowest soldier to the highest district member has been spoken to about the reward of serving the One. Some never lose faith. I didn’t, not until Borgin Keep.”
“What would you gain?” Marie asked. “A few years of extra life? And how?”
“The Watchers were founded a hundred and fifty years ago,” Shirley explained. “Some of the original members noticed how some ghosts fed off the energy of other spirits. A few of the members started to sacrifice people they considered undesirable, trying to see how strong the dead could become. As the years progressed more, well, research was put into the study of the dead.”
Shirley cleared her throat, and then continued. “Then they discovered the ley lines, and that the strongest of the dead were on there. Someone then theorized that a ghost at the junction of the northeastern lines would be the strongest, and that it would be possible for a spirit to become powerful enough to extend the life of those still living.”
“So there’s no proof,” Marie said.
“None,” Shirley agreed. “It’s literally a matter of faith. A cult has been built up around this theory, and we’ve all been part of it.”
“But the file,” David said, gesturing toward the laptop, “it holds a good deal of information. It should also tell us where the One is. The only question now is, do we dig through the file ourselves, or wait until we’re with Frank and Shane?”
“I’d wait,” Shirley said, “I’m not certain about the extra security the Watchers have. They may have embedded a deletion program in the file that would erase it after a single use.”
“Alright then,” David said, “we’ll wait until we’re with them.”
“What’s the Watcher’s next step then?” Marie asked. “How do we stop them?”
David looked at her and grinned.
“What?” she asked.
“I’m impressed,” David said. “That’s all. I’m just impressed.”
“Their next step,” Shirley said, grinning at them both, “is to find out if the ghost at the intersection of the ley lines is really as powerful as they think. If it is, then they’ll try to reach out to it. If it isn’t, the Watchers will attempt to make it strong enough to test out their theory.”
“More deaths?” Marie asked. Her voice was hard, unforgiving. David could sense the anger in her.
It was difficult for him to feel the same. He had brought the Watchers’ own disavowed members to Borgin Keep and fed them to the dead. While he had never considered that others like himself might have been engaged in similar actions at different locations, it wouldn’t have bothered him.
So long as those beings offered up had been adults. David had refused to sacrifice children.
He doubted those in charge of the organization suffered from similar qualms.
“When will they start the investigation?” Marie asked. Her questions, David realized, were those of a detective. She needed all of the information to process the situation and to move forward.
“They’ve already started it,” Shirley said. “The director has sent an investigator out there. He should report back by the end of the week. I’ll pass along whatever information I can glean. I don’t think I should risk accessing the computer again directly. The director almost caught me this morning.”
David heard the slight shudder in her voice and he understood. There would have been no excuse for Shirley to have been in the office so early, even if she was Clair’s secretary. She would have been questioned, and not gently. David had been witness to more than a few interrogations.
Shirley would, in the end, have ended up dead. Either after a short ‘interview’ as they called the interrogations, or after a lengthy torture, if they didn’t believe her answers.
One more body amongst a thousand others. Another spirit to feed the dead.
“How will you get the information to us then?” Marie asked.
“I’ll send an email,” Shirley said, and before either David or Marie could protest, she held up a hand. “Not from my own account. Not even from the one I used to send the map. I’ll make a new one. You’ll know it’s mine. I’ll put something about a baptism in the subject line.”
David nodded. “I don’t like you doing this.”
His god-daughter looked at him with a maturity he didn’t realize she possessed.
“Someone has to,” she said. “Or a lot more people are going to die.”
David remained silent, for what Shirley said was a hard and bitter truth.
Chapter 17: In Cody’s House
The interior of Cody Gray’s house had a fresh coat of paint on the walls. A bright white that magnified what little light came through the bare windows. The carpets were new, as were the wooden risers on the stairs.
Shane and Frank had entered the house through the front door. They stood in the main room. The stairs led up to the second floor and an entryway opened onto the kitchen, where new appliances gleamed in the starlight coming in through the bay window behind the sink.
And like so many other homes and buildings Shane had been in, Cody’s house was cold.
“Hello,” a voice whispered in Shane’s ear.
It was a man’s voice. Confident and friendly, the voice of a man in whom a young man could confide. A father figure for the lost and the lonely.
Shane turned his head towards the speaker.
“What is it?” Frank asked in a low voice.
Shane held up a finger.
“Ah,” the man said. “You can hear me. That’s wonderful. It’s been a long time since someone came to vis
it me. It’s difficult, and lonely if I’m being perfectly honest. I find that I just feel better when I can talk to someone. Don’t you?”
Shane nodded.
“I knew you would,” the man said cheerfully. “What’s your name?”
Shane told him and Frank stepped to one side, giving a short nod towards the kitchen. A slight movement of Shane’s hand sent his friend away, leaving Shane alone with the ghost.
“I’m Cody, Shane,” the man said. “That’s a great name, you know. One of my favorite characters had your name. He was in a book by Jack Schaeffer. Do you know it?”
“No,” Shane answered.
“Ah well,” Cody said. “You’ll get to read it someday, I’m sure. Is that your friend who came in with you?”
“Yes,” Shane answered.
“He doesn’t look very trustworthy,” Cody confided. “Have you noticed that?”
Cody’s words pushed their way into Shane’s mind. Each syllable seemed to latch onto him and it was a struggle to keep his mind focused on why they were there.
“Terribly untrustworthy,” Cody continued, not noticing that Shane hadn’t agreed with him. “I’d be cautious. That’s all I’m saying, mind you. Be careful. You seem like a nice young man and I would hate for you to be hurt.”
With the last word, Shane shivered. A deep, powerful urge to harm Frank surged through him and he gasped at the strength it took to fight the desire off.
Cody let out an exclamation of surprise.
“Who are you?” Cody demanded. “Who?!”
Shane turned towards the sound of Cody’s voice, and for the first time he saw the ghost.
Cody was tall with stooped shoulders. Light blonde hair fell to the shoulders of his blue cardigan and his head seemed unnaturally large. The man’s eyes were wide-set and his face was broad and flat. There was a look of shock on his face.
“Tell me who you are,” Cody ordered.
Shane resisted, managing a grin. “No.”
“Got it!” Frank yelled from the kitchen.
Cody twisted toward the sound of Frank’s voice and when he did so, Shane leaped at the ghost. He slammed his hand through the dead man’s body, the iron ring on Shane’s finger dispersing the ghost.
An enraged howl filled the house and a heartbeat later Cody was back. He shimmered with energy as he glared at Shane but kept his distance.
“How did you do that?” Cody asked.
“It’s a secret,” Shane whispered. “I can’t tell you.”
“I’ll make you tell me,” Cody hissed. “You don’t know what I can do.”
“Wrong,” Shane snapped. “I don’t care what you can do.”
“When I’m through with you, you will care,” Cody corrected.
With a scream that penetrated Shane’s skull, Cody charged forward again. Shane twisted away, throwing a punch at the dead man. Cody twisted away from the blow, snarled and kicked out, the strike catching Shane in the thigh and sending him spinning back.
Shane caught himself against the wall, spun around to face the ghost.
Cody crouched down and grinned.
Then the ghost straightened up, a look of surprise on his face. He shook his head, unsure what to do.
Light flickered in the doorway to the kitchen and the curious odor of burning bone filled the house.
A small spot of blue, tinged with orange, appeared on Cody’s left cheek. It spread like wildfire, and then Cody seemed to understand what was about to happen.
The ghost let out a shriek, clawed at his own face and then his voice reached a pitch Shane didn’t think was possible. Cody’s fingers were devoured by flames that burst forth from the dead man’s cheeks.
Shane watched, the shotgun held in his hands. He kept the barrel pointed towards Cody and part of him wondered if the ghost would make an effort to attack Frank.
But the dead man didn’t seem to realize that it was Frank who had lit his remains on fire.
Shane winced as Cody’s voice rose to a crescendo, and then ended as the dead man vanished.
A moment later, the sound of water running came from the kitchen.
Frowning, Shane walked into the room to see Frank at the sink. A cloud of noxious smoke hung about the ceiling above him.
“Where’d you find the bone?” Shane asked.
“Looks like Cody’s secret room was in the pantry, behind a false wall,” Frank answered as he turned on the water and splashed it about the stainless steel of the sink.
“What are you doing?” Shane asked.
“Washing the ash out,” Frank replied.
“Why?” Shane asked, feeling confused.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Frank asked in return. “Who wants to see bone ash in a sink?”
Shane shook his head and laughed at the absurdity of the statement.
A whisper filled the kitchen and he looked over to Frank, all mirth gone.
“Oh, hell,” Shane muttered.
A shape barreled past him, the blurred image of a woman. She screamed as she slammed into Frank, throwing him into the countertop. When she attacked Frank again, the former monk smashed a fist through her, the iron disrupting her and casting her away.
Frank sank to the floor and gasped, “Pantry.”
Shane nodded, ran towards the open pantry door, and narrowly missed the ghost as she raced out into the kitchen. He pushed himself into the small closet, felt a loose panel in front of him, and shoved it open. From a small skylight came the dim glow of the moon, casting enough of light for Shane to see by. The sounds of the fight in the kitchen increased and it seemed as though Frank wasn’t doing well.
Shane’s eyes stopped on a small plate on top of a shelf that stood at eye-level. Pinned to the wall above the dish was an old and worn wedding invitation.
He reached out, tore the invitation away, and found a small, dark hole behind it. Shane plunged his hand into it, grasped something cold and metallic, and pulled it out.
In his hands, he found the remains of a severed finger with a wedding band on it.
Mrs. Gray, Shane thought. He ran with the grotesque item back into the kitchen and had to duck as Frank was thrown against the far wall.
Mrs. Gray ignored Shane until he dropped her remains into the sink and set them on fire.
Unlike her husband, Mrs. Gray didn’t stand still.
She abandoned Frank and charged at Shane. Her punch caught him squarely on the chin and dropped him to his knees, his head screaming in agony.
No other attack followed, for the flames devoured her.
Frank stumbled over to the sink, waited until the fire had extinguished itself and then washed her remains away the same as he had her husband’s.
Shane pulled himself to his feet and looked at his friend. The left side of the man’s face was swollen, blood trickling from the left corner of his mouth.
“You good?” Shane asked.
Frank nodded, turned the water off, and dried his hands on his pants as he asked, “Now what?”
“We go on to the next house,” Shane replied. “We should be able to do another two tonight, since we know where they are.”
“What about after that?” Frank inquired.
“Then we go home,” Shane answered.
“And will you free Lisbeth’s soul?” Frank asked in a soft voice.
The question caught Shane off-guard.
“No,” Shane said. “I’m not done with her yet. And we’ve got more ghosts to burn.”
With that, he shouldered his shotgun and left the house, Frank silent behind him.
Chapter 18: More Bad News
Jenna and Gabby sat in Clair’s office. Their eyes were sunken, their faces drawn. They looked as if they hadn’t slept well in days and Clair didn’t care.
Clair took pills each night to sleep. And it had gotten bad enough that she washed them down with a glass of wine. Only she and the twins knew what was going on, what it was that Shane and Frank were doing to the organization.
It has
to be them, she thought, stifling a curse.
“How many?” Clair asked, hating the stiffness in her voice.
“Three on Monday night. Two more on Tuesday,” Jenna answered.
“They took a breather on Wednesday and Thursday,” Gabby continued, “and then hit us again yesterday.”
Clair glared at Gabby until the woman added, “Another three.”
“Damn it!” Clair snarled, slapping the top of her desk.
“At least they’re small,” Jenna said.
“The size doesn’t matter here,” Clair spat. “Every single one of them is necessary now. Rousseau didn’t return. We have the One. We’re not losing one ghost in each house. Oh no, we’re losing all of the dead it siphons energy from. It is a horrific ripple in our little pond.”
“Do you want us to go to Shane’s house?” Jenna asked.
“Are you serious?” Clair asked after a stunned moment of silence.
“Sure,” Gabby said, nodding and glancing at her twin. “It’s just him and his buddy, right?”
Clair took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and said, “Were either of you ever informed as to why these two gentlemen are an issue for us?”
“No,” Jenna said. “We only know that they were causing some trouble.”
The phone on the desk rang before Clair could enlighten the sisters. A look at the base showed a button labeled “Emilio and Sadie” flashed. Something about the pair tugged at her memory but it wouldn’t reveal itself. Frowning, Clair reached out and answered the call.
“Hello?” she asked, her voice sharp.
“Why hello,” a man said. His tone was harsh and unforgiving. “Who’s this?”
“Evidently the wrong number,” Clair retorted and slammed the phone back into its cradle.
Before her hand had left the receiver, the phone rang again.