by Ron Ripley
A young Japanese man smiled at him and gave Luke a short bow.
“Bow back, Luke,” Mr. Boyd said gently. “Ichiru is being polite.”
Too surprised not to, Luke bowed.
“Now, on to the kitchen,” Mr. Boyd said. “Fix up the water in the pan and get yourself gone. Ichiru and I have some saké to drink.”
Numb with confusion, Luke turned away and went to the kitchen to do as he was told.
Chapter 16: A Conversation at Mrs. Staples’ House
Mrs. Staples answered the door just a few seconds after Brian rang the doorbell.
“Good evening, Mrs. Staples,” Brian said, smiling tightly.
“Good evening, Mr. Roy,” she replied, stepping aside. “Please, come in.”
Brian did so, and he waited patiently for her to close and lock the door. A faint smell of cat urine permeated the air and a small, orange tabby streaked by. Mrs. Staples led him into her kitchen where he found the Reverend, a teenager and an old man whom he didn’t know, at the table.
But Brian was more concerned with the Rev.
The man looked like he’d gone a few rounds with a heavyweight boxer and come out the worse for wear.
“What happened?” Brian asked.
“Sit down,” the Reverend said, wincing in pain. “I’ll tell you in a moment. First, though, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Luke Allen and his grandson, Jim Bogue.”
Brian turned, shook the teenager’s hand and then he turned to the grandfather. The man had his hand out, and Brian realized he was blind.
“A pleasure,” Brian said, shaking the man’s hand.
“Would you care for coffee, Mr. Roy?” Mrs. Staples asked.
“Yes, please,” Brian said, sitting down at the table.
“Well,” the Reverend Joseph said, clearing his throat nervously. “I had an encounter with the ghosts in the Church.”
Mrs. Staples set a mug of coffee in front of Brian. “Cream and sugar?”
“No thank you,” Brian said.
She nodded and exited the room.
“There should be six of them,” Luke Allen said. The older man’s voice was strong and deep.
“Six?” Brian asked, looking at him. “How do you know?”
“I know because I’ve seen them before,” Luke said. He smiled. “I wasn’t always blind, Mr. Roy. And because my grandson, here, encountered them right after the Reverend did. He described them to me.”
“Do you know why they’re in the Church?” Brian asked.
“No,” Luke said. “They must be looking for their heads.”
“So I figured,” Brian said. “Why would their heads be in the Church?”
Luke shrugged. “An excellent question. I don’t know why they would be. Or how they would have gotten there. They originally were in the possession of a man who had brought them home from the Pacific. He and his wife died in a car accident when I was in Vietnam. I had asked around about his militaria, but no one had seemed to know anything about it.”
“And the two ghosts beat you up?” Brian asked, looking at the Reverend.
Reverend Joe shook his head and blushed. “I’m afraid I did this to myself. I panicked and ran, fell down the stairs and landed on my face, unfortunately. I was never particularly graceful.”
“I saw it,” Jim said, speaking for the first time. His voice cracked slightly and reminded Brian of his own horrible passage through puberty.
“You saw me?” the Reverend asked in surprise.
Jim nodded. “I was hiding in the burial ground. I wanted to see the ghosts.”
“Did you?” Brian asked.
“Yes,” Jim replied. “And they saw me or noticed me. Whichever it is. One of them shot me.”
Brian looked at the boy in surprise. “Shot you? How?”
The boy shrugged, winced and then he said, “I’m not sure. He pointed a pistol at me, pulled the trigger, and it went off. I felt something hit my shoulder. It feels better now, but it was really bad at first.”
“The place where there should have been a wound was cold,” Luke added.
“Great,” Brian murmured. He played with the iron ring on his right hand nervously. “Okay. Let me see if I’ve got all of this straight. First, we had one headless ghost who came along and blinded a couple of teenagers. Second, another headless ghost showed up. So now, we have two. Third, Luke here, knows about them, and he’s pretty sure they’re looking for their heads. Fourth, they can shoot phantom bullets.”
Brian sighed and looked around at the others. “Anything I forgot?”
“Yes,” Luke said. “The heads are somewhere in the Church, and there are four more we have to worry about.”
“Great,” Brian said, shaking his head. He picked up his coffee, drank a little of it and looked at Luke. “Well, Luke, evidently these ghosts have been around for a while. Have they killed before?”
“No,” Luke answered.
“Do you know why?”
Luke shook his head. “No. The only man who did know was Jonathan Boyd, and he’s been dead for over forty years.”
Brian frowned, rubbed the back of his head and said, “Where’s he buried, Luke?”
“What?” Luke asked, confused.
“Do you know where he’s buried?” Brian asked again.
“No,” Luke said. “I’m sure we can find out, though.”
“Good. Let’s make locating Mr. Boyd’s final resting place our top priority,” Brian said.
“Why?” Jim asked.
“I want to see if he’s still hanging around,” Brian answered. He drank his coffee, and then he smiled. “If he is, I’ll ask him what it was he did to keep them happy.”
“What?” The Reverend asked. “What do you mean, ‘ask him’?”
“I can see the dead, Reverend,” Brian said, his smile fading. “And I can talk with them, too.”
Chapter 17: A Talk
Jim sat in his grandfather’s sparse apartment and sipped his tea. It was after ten thirty and his mother hadn’t been happy about him being out so late.
His grandfather didn’t tell her about Jim’s little trip to the burial ground. Or their walk over to Mrs. Staples’ house.
Jim thought about the man, Brian Roy. He seemed to be focused, and determined. Not too tall, not too thin, but bald, bearded and he looked like he had killed more than a few people. The man’s matter-of-fact desire to speak with the dead, as well as his supposed ability to do so, was unnerving.
Jim’s sole run-in with the headless ghosts had been enough. He didn’t want to meet any more.
“James,” his grandfather said.
“Yes?” he answered.
“Worrying about the dead?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t,” his grandfather said. “Worry about problems you can control. The dead aren’t one of those.”
“Do we have to go with Mr. Roy?” Jim asked.
His grandfather nodded and then he carefully brought his tea up to his mouth.
“Why?”
“Because I knew Mr. Boyd, James. I knew him well,” his grandfather said. “He helped instill in me a desire to serve our country, just like he had. We all have to sacrifice, although service isn’t a popular theme in today’s society.”
Jim knew his grandfather needed him, especially in an unfamiliar place.
Still, after the whole incident in the burial ground, Jim wasn’t thrilled with the idea of going near any more cemeteries.
“I know,” Jim said finally. “I just don’t want to see any more ghosts.”
His grandfather nodded. “Yes. I understand. I didn’t want to see any ghosts either, but I did.”
“You really saw them?” Jim asked. He didn’t exactly doubt his grandfather, but he still found it hard to believe. Even after what he had experienced.
“Yes,” his grandfather said. He finished his tea, set the cup down on the table effortlessly, and turned his closed eyes towards Jim. “Yes, I saw them. I have few visual memories anymore, James. The ghosts,
though, the ghosts I remember. I remember them well.”
“How many times did you see them?” Jim asked in a low voice, as though the headless men could hear him.
“Three times,” his grandfather answered. “Three times more than necessary, as far as I’m concerned. But you really can’t take back what you’ve experienced.”
“Yeah,” Jim agreed. He drank the last of his tea and put the cup beside his grandfather’s. “Do you know when we’ll go?”
“As soon as we find out where Mr. Boyd is buried.”
“Even if it’s dark?” Jim asked.
His grandfather smiled. “A little courage, James. It’s always dark for me.”
Chapter 18: The Phone Call
The phone rang and woke Brian up.
He blinked, looked around and realized he had fallen asleep in the chair. It took him a moment to recognize the unfamiliar hotel room and pick his phone up off the table.
“Hello?”
“Brian, it’s Charles Gottesman.”
Sleep fled Brian’s brain, and he straightened up. “Charles, thanks so much for getting back to me.”
“No worries,” Charles said. “Sorry, it took me so long to call you. Ellen and I were out in Pennsylvania the past couple of days. Native American war club.”
“Damn,” Brian said, impressed. “Difficult?”
“Extremely,” Charles said, chuckling. “Had a hard time finding someone we could bribe to get into the museum where it was being kept. Anyway, what’s going on?”
“I’m working a job up in Rye,” Brian said. “I’ve got a headless ghost. Japanese soldier. I was wondering if you or Ellen spoke Japanese.”
Charles laughed. “No, Brian, I’m sorry.”
Brian groaned. “Damn. I don’t want to bring anyone outside of the ghost hunting community in on this.”
“Understood,” Charles said. There was a slight pause and then he said, “I may know someone. He’s got a knack for languages.”
“Is he okay with the dead?” Brian asked seriously.
“Yes,” Charles answered. “More than okay. If you like, I can pass on your info to him. Let him decide if he’s interested. He’s a private guy.”
“Fine with me, Charles,” Brian said. “I can pay him if he needs it.”
“I’ll let him know. I’ll give him your phone and email address,” Charles said.
“Great,” Brian said, sighing with relief. “Can you ask him to call, rather than email? I think this case is going to be a tough one, and I may be a little too distracted to check my account.”
“Got it. Say hi to Jenny for us,” Charles said.
“And to Ellen for us, Charles. Talk to you soon.”
Brian ended the call and returned the phone to the table. With a grunt, he stood up, his knees popped, and his back ached. He splashed a little whiskey into the tumbler, knocked it back and then made his way to the bathroom.
He needed some comfortable sleep.
Tomorrow, he would have to speak with the dead.
Chapter 19: Officer Raelynn French Investigates
Raelynn had gotten a call from Dan the day before, and she hadn’t believed it.
The two blind teenagers had told him it was a ghost who had hurt them.
A ghost, she thought, disgusted.
She parked her cruiser on the street in front of the First Congregationalist Church.
It was seven in the morning.
She called in her position and turned the engine off. After she got out, she adjusted her vest and made her way towards the back of the building. Dan had told her both the boys recorded the incident. The problem she and Dan had, however, was the presence of only one phone.
One wiped phone because an overeager tech had accidentally triggered a safety feature.
More than likely both boys had been recording. Which meant there should have been two phones, but one was missing.
Logic, therefore, dictated the other was somewhere in the office.
Reverend Joseph Malleus was a man who got to work early. Or at least, people had said he did.
His car wasn’t there, however.
Raelynn continued around the back and stopped sharply.
The back door was open, and the window to the right of it was shattered, broken inwards.
She reached up to her shoulder and keyed the mic which hung from her epaulet.
“Base, this is Three-Three,” Raelynn said. “I have a possible break-in at the First Church.”
The sound of breaking dishes cut her off.
“Three-Three going in!” she said, dropping her hand from her shoulder to her sidearm. With an easy, long practiced motion she drew the semi-automatic and hurried up the steps.
“Rye Police!” she yelled, and entered the building.
The door from the office to the rest of the Church was open, and Raelynn stepped up to it. She paused, looked quickly out into the hall and saw nothing. She waited and was rewarded with the sound of something being smashed a few doors up to the right.
With her weapon ready, Raelynn moved forward. Another crash sounded, and she saw that the third door was slightly open.
She kicked the door open, braced herself for a confrontation and called out, “Rye police, hands up!”
Raelynn froze.
Two headless men stood in front of her in a small kitchen.
Glasses were broken on the floor and silver plated serving trays were scattered across a long, stainless steel counter. Water ran steadily from the faucet. A large, industrial refrigerator stood open and its bright light shined partially through the two ghosts.
Raelynn blinked, unsure of what to do.
The dead men didn’t hesitate. They drew curious pistols from holsters at their sides, and they fired.
The simultaneous shots deafened her even as the bullets punched through her flesh. Somehow, the rounds passed through her vest, and she felt them slam into her heart. As she fell backward from the force of the blows, her trigger finger squeezed reflexively. She fired off a single shot, which buried itself in the far wall.
Raelynn landed on the floor with a thud and her breath exploded out of her as she felt her heart stop.
It was a strange, worrisome sensation.
I’m dying, she thought. Her eyes closed and she couldn’t catch her breath. The sounds of the world became muffled, and she shuddered.
Why won’t my heart start up? she asked herself, darkness sweeping over her. Why?
Why won’t it start?
Raelynn gasped for air, and couldn’t think of anything other than her mutinous heart.
Chapter 20: Looking for Mr. Boyd
The morning was cold.
The sun hid behind a bank of dark clouds, and Brian felt certain there’d be rain, regardless of the forecast.
He leaned against his car, smoked the last of his cigar, and saw Reverend Joe. The Rev was in the lead with Luke and Jim a few steps behind. Luke used a white, red-tipped cane with ease while he kept his free hand on Jim’s shoulder. The teen looked completely comfortable with his grandfather, and for a moment, Brian wondered if his own grandfather lurked around his grave.
Brian had loved the man dearly.
He pushed the thought away and looked, instead, at the Central Cemetery in Rye. Inside, among all the other graves, they would find Mr. Jonathan Boyd’s. At first glance, it seemed as though the job would be an easy one.
But in the corners of his eyes, Brian caught movement. The shadowy and hazy movement of the dead.
There were plenty of people buried in Central who either didn’t know they were dead or just didn’t care. Brian wasn’t looking forward to it.
Not at all.
“Good morning,” he said around the stump of his cigar.
The Reverend smiled and then winced.
Brian wasn’t surprised. The Rev’s face looked worse than it had, the night before.
“Good morning indeed,” Luke said.
They stopped beside Brian.
&nbs
p; “Do we know where he is exactly?” Brian asked.
“Yes,” the Reverend said. “Lot Q, row seven, grave four.”
“Okay,” Brian said, looking through the gates. “Got an idea as to where Q is?”
“Up and to the left,” Reverend Joe said.
Brian looked and repressed a shudder.
He saw, at least three dead men, and one very old dead woman on the way there.
And they looked at him.
Brian sighed.
“Something wrong, Mr. Roy?” Luke asked.
“Wrong? No. Discouraging? Yes,” Brian replied.
“What’s going on?” Jim asked, looking out into the cemetery, but obviously not seeing what Brian did.
“The dead, Jim,” Brian said, and he had to fight the urge to imitate Dr. McCoy. “There are a few I can see. They know I can see them. I’m just hoping they won’t do anything.”
Jim nodded his agreement.
“So, Luke,” Brian said. “You knew Mr. Boyd?”
“I did,” Luke answered.
“Good man?” Brian asked.
“The best,” Luke said soberly.
“Good,” Brian said. “Should make it a little easier to talk to him, then, if he’s still there.”
With a deep breath, Brian tucked the cigar in between the side mirror and the door frame, squared his shoulders and led the way into the cemetery.
He kept a steady pace and glanced back only once to make sure Luke was able to keep up.
The man did so, easily. The cane tapped on the cracked asphalt of the cemetery road and Jim lent his support. Reverend Joe walked behind them.
With each ghost they passed, Brian could feel their undead eyes upon him. He could sense the unasked questions, the desire to know who he was and why he was there.
Soon, they were near the back of the cemetery, and the Rev said, “Turn left here. This is lot Q.”
Brian did so.
He found the right row, and then the proper grave.
“Jonathan Daniel Boyd,” Brian read aloud. “Born September 4, 1917. Died January 4, 1968. Gunnery Sergeant, United States Marine Corps. Purple Heart, Bronze Star, Silver Star, Navy Cross.”