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

by Ron Ripley

  “Jonathan, it’s Bart!” a man said. “For the love of God, open the door!”

  Jonathan eased the pistol’s hammer back into place, threw back the deadbolt and the chain, and tugged the front door open.

  Bart Sheffield, Denise’s father, stood on his porch, a frantic look on his face. His long brown hair was a mess, hanging in front of his eyes. The man wore only a white shirt, which was untucked around a pair of battered jeans that were splashed with gray paint.

  In a detached way, Jonathan remembered the summer before when he had helped Bart to put a fresh coat of gray paint on the man’s house.

  “Have you seen her?” Bart demanded, his eyes wild.

  “Seen who, Bart?” Jonathan asked, stepping aside to let the man in.

  Bart, who had a tendency to drink a little more than was good for him, smelled only of sweat and desperation as he passed by.

  “Denise,” Bart said, his daughter’s name rushing out of his mouth. “Have you seen her?”

  The last vestiges of sleep were driven from Jonathan’s mind. He glanced over to the mantle clock, saw it was only a few minutes past six and said, “Bart, why would she be here?”

  “Grace and I had a fight last night,” Bart said. “Bad one. She told me she was going to leave, I told her to go. It went on like that for a while. We ended up getting drunk. Fought a little more. Made up. I went to check on Denise this morning, she’d been pretty upset. Closed the door on us and everything.”

  Bart shuddered and dropped into Jonathan’s Lazy-Boy. “She wasn’t in her room.”

  “She’s missing?” Jonathan snapped. “Denise is missing?”

  Bart nodded.

  “Oh, hell,” Jonathan spat. “Did you call the police?”

  “Grace did. They’re on their way,” Bart answered. “but I thought I’d come here. She usually comes here when she’s upset. Least that’s what she told her grandma.”

  Juliet came down the stairs, one arm around Kathryn’s thin shoulders. While Kathryn still looked half-asleep, Juliet’s brown eyes were wide with apprehension.

  “Kathryn,” Jonathan said. “Did you happen to talk with Denise yesterday?”

  Kathryn yawned and nodded.

  “What did she say?” Bart pleaded.

  “She was going to see the boy,” Kathryn said, leaning against Juliet. “He told us he would wait, but Denise wouldn’t wait for me.”

  “What boy?” Jonathan asked.

  “The one in the forest,” Kathryn replied, “the one we saw on the fourth of July.”

  Jonathan’s flesh crawled at the unpleasant memory of the woods.

  “What is she talking about?” Bart asked, looking at Jonathan.

  “I’m not sure,” Jonathan answered. “Juliet, could you put some coffee on for us please.”

  “Sure,” his wife said, nodding. She led Kathryn to the couch and then went into the kitchen. Jonathan sat beside his daughter.

  “I didn’t see anyone there,” Jonathan said in a gentle tone. “Not a single person.”

  “I know,” Kathryn said, yawning. “He doesn’t want to be seen. Not yet.”

  The last statement was made with a smile and a cheerful air, and Jonathan hated it.

  “Have you seen him around here before?” Bart demanded, trying to get up from the chair and failing. He dropped back into it, exhausted. “Have you seen him in town?”

  Kathryn shook her head. “No. But he was just a regular boy. He said he didn’t have anyone to play with and that made us sad.”

  “Coffee’s on,” Juliet said, coming into the room and sitting on the opposite side of Kathryn.

  “Okay,” Jonathan said. “I’m going to take Bart out back. I want to see if we can tell where, or if Denise went into the woods.”

  Juliet nodded, pulling Kathryn close to her.

  Jonathan put his pistol down on the table and said, “Come on, Bart. Let’s take a look.”

  Bart nodded and allowed Jonathan to pull him to his feet. The man leaned against Jonathan as they made their way through the kitchen, out the back door, and down the steps into the yard. In the pale morning light, Jonathan saw tracks. Small, bare feet had left a trail through the grass. The dew was disturbed, the blades of grass bent down and broken in some spots.

  From the side yard to the tree line the trail ran. The narrowness, in addition to the unerringly straight path it cut, was unsettling.

  With Bart still requiring him for support, Jonathan led the man parallel to the trail until they came to the tree line. An odd, curious aura of malignant strength pulsated outwards in rough, brutal waves.

  The slim trail left behind by Denise ended at the brambles. There, thin threads of light blue and white fabric hung from some of the thorns.

  “Oh, dear Lord, no,” Bart whispered, sagging in Jonathan’s arms.

  Jonathan sank down, easing his neighbor to the damp grass. Bart sat, immobile, staring ahead. In silence, Jonathan turned away from him and tried to find what Bart had seen.

  A moment later, he did so.

  Half-hidden among the morning shadows Jonathan saw a small doll. She was dressed in a red and white checkered dress. Her painted, porcelain face was cracked. The left eye missing and revealing the dark emptiness within the skull.

  Jonathan recognized the doll just as Bart had, for the doll belonged to Denise. Every time she and Kathryn had successfully petitioned for a sleepover, Denise had brought the doll with her.

  And it had never left the girl’s hand before.

  Not once.

  Jonathan looked into the forest and felt a twist in his gut.

  Denise would never be seen again.

  Jonathan Bonus Scene Chapter 10: Speaking with the Police, July 7th, 1976

  Jonathan wasn’t ashamed to add a shot of bourbon to his morning coffee. He had done it before when the nightmares of his time in Vietnam had become more than he could manage on his own.

  At eleven in the morning, sitting with a New Hampshire State Police officer, Jonathan put another dose of bourbon into his mug. The officer, a man who looked to be in his thirties, didn’t make any mention of the alcohol.

  For the third time that morning, Jonathan had retold his story. It was simple enough, and by no means removed him from a list of suspects the police were no doubt in the middle of preparing. Jonathan could understand why. There was a little girl missing, and there was every reason to believe she was dead already.

  Or at least hope that she was.

  Jonathan’s uncle had been a police officer in Boston, and the man had told Jonathan about what happened to kids who disappeared.

  “Mr. Engberg,” the officer said, bringing Jonathan’s attention back to the current situation.

  “I’m sorry,” Jonathan apologized. “I’m worried.”

  The officer nodded. “Understandable. Now, you said your daughter and Denise mentioned a boy in the woods?”

  “Not Denise,” Jonathan said. “Not to me, anyway. Kathryn did this morning after we all learned about Denise’s disappearance.”

  “And you inspected the spot yourself, on the fourth?” the man asked.

  Jonathan nodded. “I didn’t see anyone, and I really didn’t think it was anything more than the girls having fun. They’ve got pretty active imaginations.”

  The officer gave a nod, wrote something down on a pad and then gave Jonathan a tight smile.

  “Well,” the man said. “Thank you for your time. One of our investigators will probably speak with you again before we go.”

  “Sure,” Jonathan agreed. “Anything. My daughter’s in rough shape right now.”

  “I understand,” the officer said. He stood up, tipped his hat and then left the kitchen.

  A few minutes later Juliet came into the room, her eyes red and puffy.

  “She’s finally asleep,” Juliet said, sitting down in the chair across from him.

  “Good,” Jonathan replied.

  Juliet’s nose wrinkled, and she asked, “You put bourbon in there?�
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  “Yeah,” Jonathan answered. “I did.”

  A sharp rap on the back door interrupted them, and Jonathan said, “Come in.”

  A tall, thin man stepped into the room. He had an angular face and salt and pepper hair clipped short. The suit he wore was black, his shirt white, and the tie black as well. He moved with an air of self-assuredness as he showed them a silver police badge. His eyes, Jonathan noticed, never stopped.

  Jonathan had seen that look before. Two and three tour adrenaline junkies in Vietnam. Older noncommissioned officers who were the same way, men who clung to the service in hopes of finding another war.

  And there always was.

  Jonathan only wondered what war the black suited stranger was in the middle of.

  “My name’s David,” the man said, giving them a smile that did nothing to calm Jonathan’s growing fears. “I’m a detective with the Manchester police department. I’ve been called in to help. May I sit down?”

  “Please do,” Jonathan said.

  David smiled, pulled out a chair and joined them.

  “Now,” he said, looking from Jonathan to Juliet, “I know you’ve told this seven ways to Sunday already, but could you tell me what happened today and on the fourth of July one more time?”

  Jonathan suppressed a groan, took a drink, and retold the story one more time.

  Jonathan Bonus Scene Chapter 11: Looking at the Scene, July 7th, 1976

  The Engbergs had offered David precious little information. His face ached from the effort his false smiles had demanded, and David wondered if there would be any sort of benefit.

  The Watchers had lost several houses over the past few winters due to heavy snowfalls and spring flooding throughout New England.

  Information on another ghost to watch would be beneficial.

  But David needed to determine what had happened to the girl. There were three possibilities. First, she could have been snatched. Either for some deviant’s pleasure or for ransom. Neither seemed likely, but the scenarios couldn’t be ruled out.

  Second, the girl could be lost. Someone might pick up her trail and find her, or her body, at some point.

  And third, which is what David hoped for, a ghost could have lead her away. If that happened to be the situation, then he would need to intervene. An attempt to make contact with the ghost would be necessary, as would ensuring a prompt offering.

  David lit a cigarette and walked to the edge of the property. The police had finished their examination of the girl’s obvious entrance point into the woods. His own falsified credentials, forwarded by messenger to the New Hampshire State Police from the Watchers’ headquarters in Boston, gave him a free hand.

  He would be able to examine the clues and information without the interference of the police. They, David knew, were looking for a living culprit.

  David was open to the possibility of a dead one.

  He looked at the path cut through the brambles, and he finished his cigarette before he entered the woods. His skin crawled, and he knew he was being watched. A smile spread across his face.

  This place, David thought, should be acquired. It feels right. The disappearance of the girl was a positive sign, one that could be used to convince the organization to make the purchase.

  They’ll want more than a single missing child, he reminded himself.

  David traveled farther into the forest and listened to the absence of bird songs. His smile turned into a grin.

  Once he had gone fifty feet into the woods, David stopped and cleared his throat.

  “Hello,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. He found his iron rings and put them on. “Are you there?”

  Silence was the only response he received.

  “My name is David,” he continued. “I am with a group that would like to help you. Tell me what you need, and I will find it.”

  For several minutes he stood still and listened.

  When no one replied, David, shrugged, lit a fresh cigarette and left the forest.

  Sometimes, he knew, the dead needed a little more.

  Jonathan Bonus Scene Chapter 12: An Unexpected Terror, July 9th, 1976

  Exhausted, Jonathan stood in his shower. The hot water beat down on his back, made its way through his hair, and traced the lines of his face. His skin was marked by mosquito bites and minor cuts. Juliet had pulled three ticks out of his hair and two from the nape of his neck.

  He and the rest of the men on the street had spent the entire day in the woods. From sunrise to sunset, they had sought for any sign of Denise.

  Nothing.

  Not a single belonging had been discovered.

  It was as if the forest had swallowed the child whole and hidden her away.

  Who’s to say it hasn’t? Jonathan asked himself.

  He lifted his face up, let the water beat some of the tension out of his brow and then turned the shower off. His arm ached as he pulled his towel down from the curtain rod. Jonathan’s legs and arms complained as he dried off, and he could only imagine how badly he’d feel in the morning.

  Jonathan pushed the shower curtain back, wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out onto the mat. He sighed and sat down on the edge of the tub.

  A light knock sounded on the bathroom door and a heartbeat later, it opened. Juliet came in with a tall glass of water and four aspirin.

  “Thanks,” he said, his throat raw. Jonathan had done his share of calling for Denise.

  Juliet crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him, worry and fear wrestling for control of her eyes.

  “Nothing?” she asked after he had taken the aspirin and emptied the glass.

  He shook his head.

  “What the hell happened to her, Jonathan?” Her voice was a whisper.

  “I wish I knew,” he said after a moment.

  “Why here? Why our yard?”

  Jonathan shook his head again. He didn’t have any answers. Didn’t even have the energy to tell her anything. He felt powerless, and he wasn’t even Denise’s father.

  Jonathan couldn’t imagine the way Bart felt.

  “I was talking with Grace,” Juliet said after a short silence.

  Jonathan looked at his wife and waited.

  “She hasn’t been sleeping,” Juliet continued. “She told me she keeps hearing Denise, that the girl is calling to her.”

  “My God,” Jonathan murmured, dropping his chin to his chest.

  “I told her to see a therapist,” Juliet added. “I told her to reach out to one of the priests in Nashua. She was raised Catholic.”

  “Is she bad off?” Jonathan asked, lifting his head up to look at Juliet.

  His wife nodded. “Terrible. She’s either going to drink herself to death or end up in the asylum.”

  “Bart’s in bad shape, too,” Jonathan added. “He doesn’t forgive himself for fighting with Grace that night.”

  A high, sharp scream, full of fear and desperation, tore through the bathroom’s open window. Jonathan was on his feet by the time Juliet had turned around to look out the window.

  “Something’s going on at Grace and Bart’s,” Juliet said, and Jonathan ran out of the bathroom. He held his towel in place with one hand while he thundered down the stairs. At the front door, he paused only long enough to throw it open, hurtle across the porch and slam the screen door wide.

  The yellow glow of the street lights illuminated the street, and other neighbors opened their doors.

  When Jonathan reached the walkway, he saw Bart stumble out of his house across the street. The man missed the stairs and fell to the concrete.

  Grace followed him, weaving from left to right. From where he stood, Jonathan could see the bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and a large knife in the other. She threw the liquor at Bart, the heavy container striking him on the head.

  Then she was on him, her arm rising and falling mechanically.

  Bart’s screams were high and sharp for a split second before the knife was slam
med down into his throat, severing his windpipe and larynx. The man thrashed beneath his wife.

  Jonathan ran at her, his eyes focused on the knife.

  Before he reached her, Grace turned the blade around and thrust it up and into her chest, directly beneath the sternum. She grinned at Jonathan, her teeth bloody, crimson smears across her cheeks.

  For a moment, she remained upright, and then the grin faltered, faded, and Grace fell to the right.

  Jonathan sat down hard at the edge of the road and stared at the two bodies.

  The world was falling apart.

  Jonathan Bonus Scene Chapter 13: The World Continues to Change, July 11th, 1976

  Everyone was asleep.

  The whole street.

  Maybe even the whole world.

  But not Kathryn.

  She was awake.

  They had all gone to the funerals of Denise’s parents, and Kathryn had been sad. Later, after the service and the burial, Kathryn had gotten angry.

  People had been talking about Denise. They had said she was dead, and Kathryn knew that wasn’t true.

  She could hear Denise’s voice, just like she could hear the voice of the boy.

  Both voices weren’t any louder than whispers, like when she and Denise used to talk in the library, or at church. But even if they were hard to hear, Kathryn could still hear them.

  And she was going to meet them.

  Kathryn slipped out of bed and put on her tennis shoes. She stayed in her pajamas, but she had packed a backpack. Denise had told her that.

  Kathryn had even packed some food. A couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a few apples. She wanted to get her toothbrush, but she didn’t want to wake up her mom and dad.

  They were tired, and Kathryn wouldn’t be gone long. At least she didn’t think she would be gone long. She picked up her Wonder Woman lunchbox, got out her flashlight, and tiptoed out of the room. When she reached her parents’ door, she hesitated, listened to the sound of her father as he snored, and then made her way downstairs.

  When she reached the kitchen, she paused to grab a couple of cookies out of the jar, and then she left. Kathryn eased the door open and closed it the same way.