The Hauntings of Cold Creek Hollow (Haunted Series)

by Alexie Aaron

  “So you’d be willing to tell me all about it but not here.”

  “No recorders, daylight preferred.”

  “Fine, we will arrange something.”

  “No we, just you,” Mia said, still studying the screen.

  “Are you flirting with me?” he joked.

  “Could be,” her voice distracted. “Should that camera be moving?” Mia asked, pointing at the camera positioned in the dining room.

  Burt watched as the camera’s auto focus fought to clarify the image in front of it. He clicked his walkie, “Mike, movement in dining room.”

  “Copy that,” Ted answered for Mike who had moved out of frame, heading for the next room.

  Mia and Burt watched as the camera focused yet again. “Do you see anything?” Burt asked Mia.

  “I see a distortion. I see maybe what you see.”

  “But you don’t see anything else.”

  “Not on the screen.” Mia smiled as Murphy joined them in the truck. She nodded towards the screen and wondered if he could see what was on it. She jumped as Murph touched her shoulder.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I just got a shock, static electricity,” Mia explained.

  Burt looked at her and shook his head. He concentrated on the screen.

  Ted hand-focused the camera as the distortion thickened to a glaze in the room dimly lit by the light from the monitor. Mike handed Amber the recorder and pulled a temperature gauge out.

  “Hello, this is Amber, and my name’s Mike. Can you make a noise?”

  The glaze wavered.

  “We are not here to hurt you. Can you...” his voice trailed off.

  The glaze was now taking form as it moved to the casement window. An apparition of a woman appeared. Her pale translucent hand parted the drapes before fading away.

  “Did you see that, over?” Ted asked over the walkie.

  “Copy, that. It’s recorded and saved,” Burt said as he manipulated the computer and backed up the tapes. He entered the time in the log. “Three AM.”

  “Really, it’s that late?” Mia asked.

  “Yes, don’t you wear a watch?”

  “Not after I got the cell phone.” She flipped the phone open and confirmed the time. She also saw she had a text message from Whit. Sherry died en route. Mia closed the phone, sat back and started crying. Murphy didn’t know what to do. He tried to hug her but only managed to short out the monitor.

  “What, the hell,” Burt cursed. “Good thing I backed everything up,” he said, turning to look at Mia. “Oh no, what’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I just got some very bad news.” Mia sat with her head hanging back. “I think I better leave.” She sat up.

  Burt put a restraining hand on her chair. “I have some things to take care of first, but please stay and let me take you home.”

  “You are a kind man, but I have a friend who just lost his wife. I better pull my shit together so I can be there for him.” Mia leaned over and put her hand under Burt’s chin and looked into his eyes. “A long horrible story awaits you. If you want to hear it, call me later.” She walked over and pushed the door open. “Come on, Murphy, and leave the man alone.”

  “What, who’s Murphy?” Burt said as he whirled around.

  Mia closed the van’s doors, “Wait till he finds out you fried his equipment. You’re going to be in trouble.”

  Murphy put his hand to his chest and acted innocent.

  “Yes, you. I have to go. Sherry, Whit’s wife, died.”

  Murphy took off his hat and put it over his heart.

  “I’ll give him your sympathy.” Mia opened up the truck’s door, stopped and turned back to Murphy. “I do hope she doesn’t linger. I don’t think she liked me much.”

  He put his hand over his eyes and turned this way and that.

  “If you see her, let me know. Thanks.” Mia got in the truck. “What do you think of Burt?”

  Murphy thought for a minute before touching his forehead.

  “Yes, I think he’s smart too. Maybe he can actually figure out a way for you and me to have an actual conversation.”

  Murphy snapped both hands over his mouth aghast.

  “What’s the matter, you have a lisp?” Mia teased and started the truck.

  Murphy watched her drive away before laying down a couple of axe chops outside the van. He loved messing with the PEEPs.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Mia drove straight to Whit’s house and arrived just after Tom and a few others were leaving. It looked like they had brought back Whit’s car. She pulled the truck over a few houses down and waited until the deputies departed.

  She approached his house with some trepidation. Would he want to be consoled by the town freak? Mia stood a moment in his yard.

  “Are you going to just stand there?” Whit’s tired voice wafted over to her.

  “I don’t want to intrude...” she started.

  “I don’t give a flying fuck for what you want. Come in, you have to see this.” Whit walked over and grabbed her arm. His hold on her arm hurt, but she wouldn’t let him know that. He pushed her into the house and shut the door after them.

  “In the studio, I found it while I was waiting for her to get home,” he explained. “Now I want to know what the fuck it is.”

  Mia wished he’d let go of her arm. He was unaware of the bruising he was causing. He directed her down the hall into what would have been a master suite. Instead of a bed, there were easels, tarps and paint. Mia assumed, correctly, the couple slept in one of the smaller rooms she had passed.

  Whit now had both hands on her and was moving her in front of a large canvas covered with a paint-stained piece of muslin. He let go of her and walked over and ripped the cloth off.

  Mia looked at the painting and took in the color and shape. It didn’t make any sense to her. She squared her shoulders and looked back at Whit.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “I would have to touch it. I don’t know why, but sometimes when I touch things, I sense or even see things. Usually it’s old stuff. It could all be in my mind and mean nothing.”

  “Try it.”

  She reached out, closed her eyes and touched the canvas with her hand. She felt sick. Mia forced her eyes open and studied the painting.

  There was a swirling blackness in the center that seemed to be digesting the prisms of color. It was coiled like a rope. “I wonder if Sherry sensed the same thing I saw in the attic.”

  “The hanging corpse?”

  “Yes and no,” Mia said as she walked over and began picking up canvases. “Are there any more?”

  “What? I don’t know. She keeps her stuff over here.” Whit opened the large walk-in closet and turned on the light.

  Inside, Mia saw stacks and stacks of finished works. She began pulling them out and looking at them. The ones she didn’t reject she brought out of the closet and leaned them against the walls of the studio. “How long since the first time she went to the hollow?”

  “Two weeks. She went there every day, I think.”

  “If she painted one a day... that means thirteen other paintings. I have eight here. Pull out anything with this prism color technique,” she ordered.

  She and Whit worked together, and soon the room was filled with the story, the vibe Sherry wanted so much.

  “I think this is the first one.” Mia pointed out the crystal-like shapes full of happy vivid color. “See the hint of gray at the edges of the center blocks of color? See how in each progressive painting it grows, taking color? Eventually you have this...” Mia paused and pointed to the last picture Sherry Martin would ever paint. “This is the vibe. I think it called to her. I think it may have killed her.”

  Whit sunk to his knees, tears streaming down his face. “I did this to her. I took her there.”

  “I don’t think you had any idea...”

  “You told me when we were kids that the hollow was bad. I thought, ‘just freaking crazy Mia spreading lies
for attention.’”

  The admission hurt her, but she pushed away the anger. “I can only give you words, empty words of sympathy. They won’t mean anything to you yet, but I assure you that neither you nor Sherry is responsible for the evil in the hollow. Hell, I’d love to burn it all down, but I am only one woman, and the law in this area is too damn smart.”

  Whit looked up at her. “She accused me of having an affair with you. Rose egged her on. I found her drunk two nights ago when I came home. She was so angry, she tried to hit me. Hell, she spat at me. I never thought she was depressed. She was too vibrant, too up, too manic.”

  “I don’t understand. We’re just friends. Okay, I can see Rose’s hand in this, but you’re not the cheating kind.”

  “She asked me if I loved you. I told her I loved her.”

  Mia didn’t understand what he was trying to say. Was he just piling guilt on himself? Was he determined to sink his ship before it could be brought to shore?

  “I like you, Mia. My heart always goes out to you but...”

  “Please don’t confuse pity with love, Whit,” Mia snapped. She turned away and started to stack the paintings. “You have always pitied me. It’s better than nothing... I guess.” She covered the horror on the easel until Whit could deal with it. “Come on. Let’s get you out of this place. I have a guestroom.”

  Mia followed Whit out of the house, grabbing his cell phone and charger. She left a note on the door for people to contact him on his cell before she locked the door.

  Whit sat slumped against the window of the truck as she drove to the lake. “I’ve never been to your home, not past the gate. Why?”

  “I don’t let perverts on my property.”

  “Well, okay, you have me there.” Whit sat up as they turned off the main road onto her drive. The sun was just cresting the trees, giving the lake a magical quality.

  Mia opened the gates and stopped outside of the garage. She wouldn’t bring the truck into the garage to perform the usual rituals while Whit was near. There were the rumors of being crazy, and then there was the actual proof.

  “Welcome to my home, Whitney Martin,” Mia said as they walked up to the welcoming porch. The forsythias were blooming, and it looked like her magnolia tree had made it through the winter, as its fat buds looked ready to pop.

  She opened the door and winced as the rising sun blinded her from the large plate-glass windows in the living room opposite. “Whoa, I’m not ready for that,” Mia complained and went to close the blinds.

  “No, don’t,” Whit said, walking to the big picture window, appreciating how the light danced along the water. “I want to be in the light. Can I just bed down here?” he asked, pointing to the large couch sitting in the sunbeam.

  “Sure, no problem. I’ll just get some linen,” Mia answered as she walked out of the room.

  Whit sat down and put his head in his hands and started crying again. He had so much to do. He had to call Sherry’s folks, his folks, the station - No, Tom took care of that.

  Mia came back into the room carrying sheets, pillows and a comforter that dragged on the ground. She must have whipped it off her own bed. She put a pillow beside him that smelled like her.

  “Where’s my phone? I need to make some calls.”

  “Maybe you should get some rest first,” she suggested as she pulled the cell from her pocket. “I think it needs to be charged.” She dug in the other pocket and came up with the charger. Mia plugged it into an outlet close to the couch and handed the business end to Whit.

  “I think you’re right. Just a little while maybe.” Whit put his feet on the couch and noticed that Mia didn’t even flinch when he left his shoes on. She just bent over him and tucked in the comforter. He lifted his head up to let her place a pillow under it. He shut his eyes and turned into the couch.

  Mia reached over and turned his phone off, walked into her room and shut the door.

  Miserably, Whit turned once again onto his back and wondered why his beautiful wife would hang herself. Is crazy Mia right? Did something or someone have a hand in her taking her life? Everyone would start looking at him. Rose’s slanders didn’t help. Here he was in Mia’s house. Wasn’t that just proving the gossips right?

  He just needed some sleep. He turned again into the back of the couch, closed his eyes and pushed away the feeling that sleep wasn’t going to make all of this go away.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Burt tried once more to get ahold of Mia before he left her a message to call him. The proprietress came in and left another carafe of coffee in front of him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s nice to have all of you strong men around the house, considering what happened to Sherry Martin yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What happened?” Burt asked interested.

  “Oh, now it’s my turn to apologize. You were working all night and didn’t hear the news. Evidently, Sherry Martin may have hung herself in the hollow last night.”

  Burt pushed back his chair. “In the hollow? Sorry for being nosey. I only ask because we’re working out there at April Johnston’s house.”

  “Well, about a couple of miles from April’s there are three renovated homes. Seems that Sherry went to see one without the realtors knowing about it yesterday afternoon. She never left. No one knew she was there until that strange Cooper girl found her. She was still alive but died before they got her to the hospital.”

  “I’m speechless,” Burt said, getting up. “I better make sure my team knows what’s up. Thank you again, Miss...”

  “Maryanne, just call me Maryanne.”

  If a voice had calories that one had a Big Mac’s worth. Burt smiled back and reminded himself, it didn’t do to get too friendly with the natives.

  His phone rang, saving him from Maryanne. “I’ll just step outside,” he said as he threw his jacket on. He answered on the next ring. “Hold on, I need to put on my coat,” he said, not glancing at the caller ID. He put the phone to his ear once he was situated. “Go ahead.”

  “Did you say you had to put your pants on?” Mia asked sleepily.

  “My jacket, you have selective hearing.”

  “You called?”

  “First things first, why the blazes didn’t you tell me about Deputy Whitney’s wife last night... I mean, this morning.”

  “Didn’t think it was my place. Didn’t want it recorded.”

  “Fair enough, but remember I’m not a news anchor.”

  “I know. I really don’t have a good reason. I’d like to explain in person, but I have a couple of things to take care of first. Do you mind if I call you later, set up a time and place?”

  “No, take your time.”

  “Oh, before I go, I wanted you to know that I provided an alibi for your whole group last night. You may get a visit from the locals, but I wanted to give you a heads up.”

  “I appreciate it, Mia, really I do. I don’t know why we would need an alibi. As I heard it, she committed suicide.”

  “No, she didn’t hang herself. I’m convinced she didn’t. They’re treating it as a suspicious death until the coroner’s report. There wasn’t a note, no explanation.” He could hear her sigh. “Burt, she was talking when... I really can’t talk about it over the phone. Don’t go into the hollow until I talk to you,” she added.

  “I hear you, loud and clear.”

  “Bye.” He listened to her hang up before turning off his phone.

  ~

  Mia put the phone down and stared at it. It took her a while to generate enough brain power to put on her robe and head for the kitchen and the coffee pot. “I should stop with the late nights,” she said aloud.

  “Did you say something?” a groggy Whit asked from the lump under the comforter.

  “Sorry, talking to myself. Bad habit of being single,” she admitted. “Coffee?”

  “Please, and direct me to the bathroom.”

  “You want the company b
athroom which may not have any toilet paper or my bath where you can snoop in my medicine cabinet?”

  “Yours.”

  “To the right and down through the hall. Follow the sound of a dripping faucet.”

  “Thanks,” he said as he waited for her to leave the room. He pushed off the cover and dashed to the bathroom.

  Mia looked into the abyss that was her refrigerator and wondered how long ago her eggs expired. She pulled open the freezer and grabbed a couple of rib eyes and put them in the microwave to defrost. The coffee pot was taking too long to brew, and she found that staring at it didn’t help.

  Mercifully, she had done the dishes in the last week and found two clean mugs and several clean plates. The silverware she had to hand wash. The water pressure changed briefly so she knew Whit had decided to take a shower. “Go ahead, big guy.”

  Whit was toweling off when the scent of food and coffee hit him. He found Mia’s razor and lathered his face with pink foam.

  The fog eased on the mirror, and he was confronted with himself, the man whose wife may or may have not killed herself.

  “Ah damn,” he said as everything that happened hit him. He quickly finished, leaving the bathroom with a pink towel wrapped around his waist.

  “Mia, did I bring any clothes with me?” he called from the living room.

  “You didn’t, but I did. Let me run out to the truck. I think I left them on the seat. Watch the steaks, I just turned them,” she said as she breezed by him in a robe.

  “Steaks for breakfast, my aren’t we special,” Whit said as he sauntered into the kitchen and took up watch at the stove.

  Mia ran through the chill of the day to the truck. She reached inside and grabbed the bundle of clothes. “What am I doing?” she asked herself. “What are my motivations? That man inside needs a clear-thinking friend not a lover.” Mia slowed her pace back in order to give herself a cold shower of air to quench the heat that was building. “Man, I gotta get laid. Down girl.”