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

by Ron Ripley

  Frank didn’t know how to respond.

  Shane smiled at the silence. “Yeah, I know. It’ll be rough, for both of us. She doesn’t like it when I drink or smoke. I like to drink and smoke. I don’t think either of us are looking for a love connection here. Not this time. But I think we’ll be happy helping each other out.”

  “How is she going to help you?” Frank asked.

  “The same way you do,” Shane said, standing up. He bent over and picked up the glass.

  “How’s that?” Frank said as Shane walked back towards the house.

  “You help me remember that there are good people in the world,” Shane answered over his shoulder, “and that I might be able to become one of them.”

  * * *

  Samson Bonus Scene Chapter 1: Sarah Coffin, June 1733

  The weather was cold for June, and Sarah was thankful her work kept her near the fireplace. She had water on for tea and Isiah would be in soon from the forest. He and their oldest boy, Joseph, were clearing the southern end of their land. They had corn planted in the western end, and the few cows and sheep grazed in the east.

  There had been some rumblings from the few Indians nearby, but only rumblings. Most of the remaining natives were retreating further north, towards places such as the settlement near Lake Nutaq.

  Sarah was pleased to see them go. They worried her. While she had not suffered through Dummer’s War against the Acadians as her husband had, the threat of attack from either the French or their Indian allies was constant. Upon Isiah’s insistence, she had learned to fire a musket, and how to wield a hatchet, if necessary.

  She shuddered at the thought, turned away from the fire and walked back to several shirts on the bench. Sarah sat down beside them, picked one up and examined it. She searched the seams and the edges, any place where their youngest, Samson, might have torn it. A sigh of relief slipped out when she had finished, the garment undamaged. Her mood continued to brighten as she made her way through each shirt. By the time she had finished, she had discovered only one shirt, one of Isiah’s, that needed to be mended.

  She set the piece aside and got up, the water boiling in the kettle. Humming to herself, Sarah used a bit of cloth to pull the iron swing-arm out of the fire. As she removed the kettle, the sound of her husband’s voice reached her ears.

  “Damn your eyes, Samson,” the man snapped. “Have you no common sense? Has the good Lord given me a witless child?”

  Samson made no reply.

  “Bah,” Isiah scoffed. “Go and fetch your brother and tell him to make haste. Your mother will have the water ready for tea, and I will not wait more than a minute for him.”

  Samson remained silent, but Sarah heard his feet on the path as he passed by the front of the house.

  The thick front door opened and her husband entered. He was a tall, thin man. His face was scarred, and he carried his sixty-five years heavily. Isiah was nearly twenty-six years her senior, but the marriage had been arranged between him and her father, and it was considered a good match. Sarah’s prospects had been thin, and his children from his first and second wives had been in need of a mother as much as Isiah was in need of a wife.

  While his tongue was harsh, his treatment of her was gentle. He had a firm hand with the children, both Joseph and Samson, and he provided well for them.

  As Isiah went and sat down at the small table, Sarah made him a pot of tea, setting it down in front of him. She gathered the tea cups and arranged them for everyone. Only when this was done did she sit down.

  “How goes the work?” she asked.

  He gave her a tired grin, several of his teeth missing on the right-hand side, matching the placement of his scars. When he spoke the words carried a slight lisp.

  “Well enough,” he replied. “The oxen have not had much difficulty thus far, and I pray it shall continue so.”

  Isiah glanced at the front door and frowned. “The boys take too long.”

  “Shall I fetch them?” Sarah asked, getting to her feet.

  He shook his head. “Serve the tea, Wife. They can drink theirs cold as well as hot.”

  Sarah nodded and poured the tea. When she had finished, Isiah picked his up and drank half of it in a single swallow, seemingly ignorant of the heat of the steaming liquid.

  “I am hopeful of clearing the field by the end of June,” Isiah said. “The wood will be stocked fully. I’ve spoken with a few of the Abenaki who remain. They say the winter will be difficult this year. Heathens they may be, but they are quite correct when it comes to portents and the weather.”

  Sarah remained silent. She was fearful of the Abenaki. As a child she had seen a man brought in from his field, his body pierced with arrows and his skull split with a war ax. The Abenaki raiding party had scalped him and left him for dead. He had not died. Not right away.

  She had listened to him scream for days before his voice broke and his heart gave out.

  “Sarah?” Isiah asked, a frown on his face. “Are you well?”

  “Yes,” she replied, smiling quickly. “I was remembering a bit of my childhood. A raid.”

  He nodded. “Terrible things.”

  The sound of a scream filled the air and Isiah leaped up from his seat. His hip slammed into the table, spilling the tea as he ran from the house. Sarah followed him, pausing only to grab the musket before exiting their home.

  Another scream sounded, and Sarah hastened her steps. Soon she saw Isiah and the two boys. Isiah stood behind Joseph and Samson, his back stiff.

  Sarah stumbled, gasping in horror at the sight before her.

  An old Indian woman sat on the ground, in the middle of the path that led to their home. Blood ran down her face from her empty eye sockets, and she chewed thoughtfully. Her hands were covered in blood, and she held one eye in her right hand.

  “Where’s her other eye, boys?” Isiah asked in a low whisper.

  “She’s eating it,” the thirteen-year-old Joseph replied.

  Samson let out a bored sigh and turned away from the bloody scene. He paused by Sarah, and when she looked down at him, Samson smiled.

  Sarah bent down to look at her son, the only offspring of her union with Isiah.

  “Are you alright, Samson?” she asked him, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

  “Yes,” he answered. “Is it time for tea?”

  She nodded. “What happened here?”

  Samson glanced over his shoulder and then said, “With the Indian?”

  “Yes,” Sarah answered.

  “She shouldn’t have looked at me,” her son answered, and walked away.

  The old Indian woman laughed and placed the other eye into her mouth. In the morning silence, Sarah heard the organ pop.

  Samson Bonus Scene Chapter 2: A Growing Fear, July 1733

  Sarah sat in the pew and heard the words the reverend spoke, but she did not listen to them.

  Her eyes were on the other children around them, whose eyes stole furtive glances at Samson. Her son sat beside her, still and polite, a half smile on his beautiful face. He seemed oblivious to the rumors the children whispered, the half-told tales and nightmarish stories.

  Even the few, Christian Indians in the area avoided Samson. He walked and played alone unless he chose otherwise. Then there was no shortage of playmates. Children howled to be in his company and mothers sought him out.

  It was strange, and had he not been so attentive to his lessons during service Sarah feared some men might harbor ill-will towards him.

  When service ended, and they greeted Reverend Klain, the man smiled down at them. To Isiah, he said, “Captain, I have heard that your son Roland has finished his apprenticeship in Boston.”

  Isiah nodded, and Sarah saw how difficult it was for him to remain humble. Of all of Isiah’s children, Roland was the one he was the most proud of. Joseph and Roland were the children of his second wife, while his daughters had been the product of his first. Little was heard from them, as they had married well and returned with
their husbands to England.

  Roland, however, was only a week away in Boston, and he had become a bookbinder and paper merchant. The young man would do well for himself, which in turn meant that both Isiah and Sarah could hope for some respite as they aged. She doubted if they would ever leave their home, but she would be surprised if Roland did not occasionally send funds to assist his father.

  “And how are your two youngest?” the reverend asked, looking down at the boys.

  “Well, sir,” Joseph replied.

  Samson smiled a broad expression that seemed to fill the meeting house with light and joy.

  “I am well, Reverend Klain,” Samson answered. “Your wife said you wished for me to dine with you.”

  A confused look flashed across the reverend’s face before it was replaced with a sheepish grin. “Ah, yes. I had forgotten.”

  Reverend Klain turned to Isiah and said, “Captain, would it be alright for Samson to dine with us this evening? We are occasionally reminded of the passing of our dear Luther but a year ago, and it would do us both well to be in the company of a child. Especially one as bright and cheering as Samson.”

  “Of course,” Isiah replied, inclining his head slightly. “What time would you like for him to arrive?”

  “Sooner rather than later,” Reverend Klain stated. “I am sure it would be beneficial to us if he were to remain here until after dinner.”

  “Excellent,” Isiah said. “We shall send for him after seven then if you find the time agreeable.”

  “Exceptionally so,” the reverend agreed.

  Sarah looked from Isiah to Reverend Klain. Neither of the men seemed quite right. She knew that neither the reverend nor his wife had made any desire to dine with Samson known before. Sarah knew as well that Isiah would not have condoned such an event had it been Joseph or herself the Klains had wanted. More often than not he disapproved of such social graces, especially with Samson.

  The boy could be both wild and unpredictable.

  Letting him out of sight, without so much as a harsh look or stiff reminder was out of place.

  Yet there her husband stood, smiling at the boy. As was everyone else who had heard the conversation. Reverend Klain, Joseph, the miller and his wife, and even one of the Christian Indians.

  And Samson stood in the center of them all, grinning.

  Sarah realized she was the only one who found the situation odd.

  Samson turned and faced her, his smile widening as he saw her lack of acceptance.

  “Mother,” he said, “will you come for me this evening?”

  She cleared her throat, forced a smile and nodded. “I will.”

  “Good,” Samson said in his sweet voice. “I will need to see you, of that I am sure.”

  Sarah watched as he turned away, reached his small hand up to the reverend and said, “Come, Reverend Klain, shall we go and see your home.”

  The reverend nodded and took Samson’s hand into his own.

  Sarah shuddered as she watched them leave, knowing it was not the reverend who led the boy, but the boy who led the reverend.

  Samson Bonus Scene Chapter 3: Dinner, August 1733

  It became a strange ritual.

  After each service, Reverend Klain and his wife would take Samson with them into their home, and Sarah’s child would dine with them. Everyone, except for Sarah, was pleased with the arrangement.

  Isiah spoke with pride about the boy’s theological leaning. On more than one occasion, he mentioned to Sarah that it would be no small coup should their child desire to become a minister.

  Sarah kept her thoughts to herself.

  She doubted Samson’s sincerity.

  In her mind, she replayed the events of the July day, where the Indian woman had eaten her own eyes on the path. Sarah heard, with disturbing clarity, the sweet sound of her son’s voice as he told her that he had disapproved of the way the old woman had looked at him.

  These memories came to Sarah unbidden as she walked along the narrow path that led away from her home. Isiah and Joseph remained in the house while she went to gather Samson from the Klains. The sun sank as she walked, the sounds of the forest vibrant around her. A small part of her was fearful of Indians, but in truth, she found herself more concerned with her son.

  And what damage he might be able to cause.

  There was a growing strangeness in him. An uncanny ability to speak in such a way that caused others to not only listen but to obey. When he pitched his voice in a certain manner or caused a curious inflection to arise, people did his bidding.

  They did it willingly. Cheerfully, and as if the idea was their own and not placed there by a young child.

  Occasionally Samson would try and speak to her in the same fashion, yet she never felt more than a twinge. She had no compulsion to do as he asked, or to cater to his whims.

  Her immunity to his charms seemed to please him.

  Eventually, the path opened up, and she found herself on the village green, passing by the blacksmith’s shop and traveling to the well-built home of Reverend Klain. His home, should trouble arise with the French or the Indians, would serve as a place of refuge. The walls were thick, and the house was the only one in the small community with a second floor.

  Sarah walked along the short path to the front door, knocked on it and waited. She heard laughter from within, and when no one came to the door for her, Sarah knocked again.

  The voices inside grew louder, the sounds of mirth almost shaking the wooden portal in front of her.

  Sarah’s heart beat faster with fear, and she knocked for a third time.

  A moment later the door swung open, and Samson looked up at her, smiling.

  “Hello, mother,” he said, turning away from her. “We’re almost done with our dinner.”

  Before she could stop him, the boy slipped away into the dim light of the main room.

  Sarah followed with tentative steps, her nose wrinkling at the stench of burnt meat. She felt badly for the serving girl, for Sarah knew that both the reverend and his wife were harsh task masters. There would be a severe punishment for the girl if she had ruined their meal.

  The room brightened as Sarah followed Samson around the center chimney and she stumbled to a halt.

  Before her was a long table, and upon it was the good Reverend Klain. He was as naked as God had made him, his arms and legs tied down. The man’s legs had been opened from hip to knee, the flesh removed and cooked potatoes placed within them.

  His stomach too had been opened, and a soup tureen placed there. The Reverend’s wife sat on one side and the serving girl across from her. They were dressed, but their hair was down. A guttural voice spoke, and the women laughed, sounds full of madness and delight.

  As the serving girl took up a ladle and served soup into a bowl for her mistress and then for herself, Sarah realized who had spoken.

  Reverend Klain was still alive.

  With every clang of the ladle against the side of the tureen, the man laughed, a sound muffled by the onions someone had stuffed into his mouth.

  “Would you care for some soup, mother?” Samson asked politely.

  Sarah could only shake her head.

  “A pity,” he said, walking to the head of the table and picking up a bowl. He held it up to the serving girl and smiled his thanks as she filled it for him. Samson smiled at Sarah.

  “Mrs. Klain is quite the cook,” Samson explained, walking back to stand in front of Sarah. He took a spoonful of the soup, sipped it and grinned. “This is a bone broth, with fresh vegetables. It calls for beef bones, or a hog’s, whichever one can get. She has, in the past she told me, substituted deer bones. Usually, she uses leg bones. Today, she confessed, was the first occasion in which she used ribs.”

  Samson turned to Mrs. Klain and said, “This soup is quite delicious, little mother.”

  Sarah watched the woman’s face go a deep crimson as she blushed with pleasure.

  The Reverend Klain mumbled through his onion
s, and the serving girl let out a high-pitched laugh.

  “Lillian,” Samson said, frowning. “What have I said about that particular laugh?”

  The girl dropped her chin to her chest, put her soup down on the table and stood up. Sarah looked on, horrified as the servant went to the fire and thrust her already burnt hand into it.

  A foul, nauseating stench reminiscent of burnt pork filled the air.

  “Thank you,” Samson said, a moment later.

  Lillian nodded, withdrew her hand and returned to the table.

  “If she keeps that up,” Samson confided, “then I don’t believe she will have much of a hand left soon.”

  “Samson,” Sarah whispered, unable to keep the horror from her voice. “What is going on here?”

  “Hm?” Samson asked, taking a bit of soup. “Well, let me see, mother. The good reverend and I were discussing the Book of Genesis. He said the world was worse off for the eating of the apple. I said there were worse things for Eve to have eaten. Reverend Klain disagreed.”

  Samson fished around in the bowl for a moment, found a slice of carrot and ate it before he continued. “I had both Lillian and Mrs. Klain prepare a meal of him to prove my point. Do you think it has been proven, mother?”

  Sarah nodded.

  Samson smiled. “You are such an excellent parent. I am pleased you are unaffected by me. Now, are you certain you would not care for some soup?”

  Sarah turned, grasped the back of a chair and vomited onto the floor in answer to his question.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Samson shrug.

  “Oh well, mother,” he said, taking another spoonful. “The more there is for me.”

  Samson Bonus Scene Chapter 4: After the Hanging, September 1733

  A somber air had fallen over the town after the death of Reverend Klain.

  His wife and their servant had been brought to Boston to be tried for his murder, for the reverend had died before the meal had been finished.