by Ron Ripley
“What was?” Brian asked.
“Talking with Leo. He knew all about the ghosts. How do you figure he knew?” Jim asked.
“Well,” Brian said, shaking his head. “Leo just knows, kid. He just knows.”
Jim shrugged. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then, Brian.”
“See you tomorrow, kid.”
Brian watched Jim leave and then, as the door clicked shut, he poured himself an extremely large shot of whiskey. After he had knocked it back, he set the glass on the table and got up. He went to the bed, picked up his phone and sent a quick text to Jenny.
Leo just got in touch through a kid up here.
As he waited for her response, Brian walked to the door, locked it, and wondered what it was Leo wanted to talk to him about.
I guess I’ll know soon enough, Brian thought. He stripped off his clothes and laid back down in bed with the phone beside him.
Chapter 35: Life Gets Difficult
For thirty-six years, the Board of Trustees for the First Congregationalist Church of Rye, New Hampshire had put forth a sincere effort to buy the property adjacent to the Church. The First Church’s Trust owned the land between the Church and Mrs. Colleen Staples. She had willed her home and property to the Church, and upon her untimely death, the half an acre and the structure became part of the First Church’s estate.
The Church also owned the Old Burial Ground, as well as the three acres of woods directly behind the burial ground, Mrs. Staples’ home, and the Hurlington House. The Board of Trustees had long striven to obtain the Hurlington House, the ownership of which would have given the Church an entire block. A massive piece of property on which the trustees could build.
And the trustees succeeded.
The lawyer for the Church, Attorney Richard Slater, met with the representatives for the Hurlington House.
At three o’clock in the afternoon, Mr. Slater sat across a mahogany table from Attorney Rachel Madden and Mr. Eugene Hurlington. Mr. Hurlington was ninety years old and was tired of owning the Hurlington House, which offered sanctuary to men of dubious character. Eugene had inherited the home from his father thirty-seven years before, and he had enjoyed the constant offers from the trustees to purchase the property.
The week before, however, Eugene had been told he had pancreatic cancer, and it was time to get his affairs in order.
The Church, Eugene had thought, had been good sports over nearly four decades. He decided to give the Church his house, and the land around it. His only stipulation was that they name a building after him should they decide to tear down the structure and replace it with something else.
The trustees had readily agreed.
While Attorney Madden and Attorney Slater chatted about the intricacies of estate law, Eugene carefully and patiently signed the various papers which had been laid out before him.
When he signed the last one and lifted the pen from the page, he felt a cold shiver race through him and the earth shake slightly.
He looked up sharply to the two middle-aged attorneys. Neither of them showed any reaction, however, and so Eugene assumed he had imagined the sensations.
As he set the pen down, the world around the Church changed.
And while the attorneys felt nothing, others did.
Three dead Japanese soldiers who stood in the furnace room, felt their world expand.
The soldiers felt the change.
They made their way up the stairs, invisible to the world.
They went to, what had been, the edge of the Church’s property, and they realized the invisible wall was no longer there.
Together, they stepped out onto the grass, crossed over it and stood before a large house. They looked at each other and smiled.
They could enter the new house.
They could hunt the living.
The men laughed happily and slipped into the building. They sought shadows in which to sit and wait for night.
For the darkness always amplified fear.
Chapter 36: The Rev Returns
Reverend Joe Malleus passed a beige Toyota Camry parked in front of the Church and drove his own car around back. He pulled it into the spot marked “Reverend Malleus” and shifted into ‘park.’ He left the engine running as he sat looking at the building.
Joe hadn’t been able to sleep, and he decided, on a spur of the moment, to do some work. Inside of his office was a USB drive stored in his desk. He could use his fear-induced insomnia to finish the necessary tasks, because even though there was a pair of murderous ghosts, it didn’t mean the life of the faithful stopped.
He still had to send the weekly newsletter to the printer, as well as forward the list of nominations for the next term of the Church’s Board to all of the members on the mailing list.
Joe hesitated, a cold, uncomfortable feeling spreading through him. He walked away from the Church and went to stand in the long parking lot of Hurlington House. Joe felt a little better the farther he stood from the Church, which was a terrible sensation.
The Church was his spiritual home, the place where he had found sanctuary his entire life.
A shimmer of movement at the side of the Church caught his eye, and he saw three men step out from the shadows.
Three ghosts.
They were headless.
Joe stood frozen with fear, unable to look away as the dead walked towards him. His heart raced and the blood pounded in his ears. When they were a few feet from him, Joe was able to shake his fear and he turned to run back to his car. Joe took a single step towards it and screamed out.
A heavy, cold fist punched into the small of his back and knocked him down as a shot rang out. He couldn’t move his legs, and he sobbed at the intense pain which pulsed through him. Joe tried to crawl forward, but all he could manage was a motion reminiscent of a fish cast onto land.
Footsteps approached, and Joe turned his head.
A small man, a real, live man squatted down beside him and looked at Joe sadly. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”
Joe opened his mouth to speak, but only a long, drawn out moan was voiced.
“I asked them to make it quick,” the stranger said. “And they said they would. They already had a lot of fun with a lady earlier. I asked them to give you a minute, too, just to make sure you’re right with God and everything. I hate like hell to think you weren’t going to heaven, what with you being a Reverend and all.”
Tears slipped out of Joe’s eyes.
The man gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “It’s alright, Reverend, it’ll be painless from here on out.”
With a nod, the stranger stood and stepped out of Joe’s line of sight.
Something cold and round pressed into the base of his skull.
Our Father, who art in Heaven, Joe began.
A single shot ended his silent prayer.
Chapter 37: Awakened in the Morning
Jim had forgotten to turn off his alarm.
He groaned and rolled over, reached out and slapped at his clock until he hit the ‘snooze’ button.
“Are you awake?”
Jim sat up and looked around.
Leo sat in the chair by Jim’s dresser and Jim thought he could see the pattern of the upholstery through the man.
“How did you get in my room?” Jim asked, suddenly afraid.
Leo looked confused for a minute, and then he smiled. “Oh. I forgot to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” Jim asked, wondering if his mom was still home or if she had already left for work.
“I am dead,” Leo said.
Jim blinked, shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I am a ghost. I am dead. My grandmother killed me.”
Jim closed his eyes, rubbed them, and opened them again.
Nope, he’s still here, Jim sighed.
“So,” he said, “you’re dead?”
“Yes,” Leo said.
And he disappeared. A moment later, he was back in the chair.
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“Oh,” Jim said, shocked. “Oh. Wow. Um, yeah. You’re dead.”
“Yes,” Leo said, nodding cheerfully. “Yes, I am.”
Then Leo looked at Jim with some concern. “You are awake, are you not?”
“Yes,” Jim said, not quite sure as to what to say or do. “Yeah. I’m awake.”
“Very good. You were able to speak with Brian Roy last night,” Leo said.
It wasn’t a question.
“I was,” Jim agreed. “And he said he would be happy to talk to you. I guess I know why he was surprised when I said your name.”
“Oh,” Leo said, concerned. “He did not tell you I was dead.”
“Nope,” Jim said. “He left that part out.”
“Perhaps he was concerned for you,” Leo suggested. “Perhaps he did not wish to alarm you.”
“He probably didn’t think you would just show up in my room,” Jim said.
“Probably not,” Leo agreed. “I did introduce myself to you upon your porch. He must have believed I would do the same again.”
Jim grinned. He liked Leo.
“More than likely, Leo,” Jim said. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Did you not just ask me one?” Leo asked.
Jim thought he was joking, and then he realized Leo was being serious. “I did. How about, can I ask you some questions?”
“Of course,” Leo said. He politely clasped his hands together on his lap and looked at Jim earnestly. “What questions do you have for me?”
“Well,” Jim said, not quite sure how to phrase it. “Well, what’s it like to be dead?”
Leo thought about it for a moment, and then he answered, “Much like being alive. Except I never get hungry. Or need to go to the bathroom. Or sleep. Sometimes I blink, though, and days go by.”
“Oh,” Jim said. “Were you afraid of dying?”
Leo shook his head. “Everyone must die. I did not want to die. But it was inevitable. I merely had to accept it.”
“Did it hurt?” Jim asked.
“Extremely,” Leo said. “I had never experienced pain similar to it.”
“Oh,” Jim said.
“Do not worry, though,” Leo said, flashing him a tight smile. “Everyone has a different death. You may well experience a painless death. Or, on the other hand, you may die in excruciating agony.”
Jim looked at Leo, and then he laughed and shook his head. “Thank you, Leo.”
Leo smiled. “You are quite welcome. You know, I never asked your name. I am sorry.”
“I’m Jim. Jim Bogue,” Jim said.
Leo’s smile grew bigger. “I am very pleased to meet you, Jim Bogue.”
“Same here, Leo,” Jim said. He stretched and yawned. “Do you want to go to see Brian together?”
“Would you go with me?” Leo asked, surprised. “I would greatly appreciate it, Jim.”
“I’d be happy to,” Jim said. “I just need to get dressed.”
“Excellent,” Leo said, smiling happily.
Jim waited a moment.
“Ah, Leo,” Jim said, “do you think you could maybe leave the room for a moment?”
“Why?” Leo asked, confused.
Jim smiled. “I need to get dressed.”
“What? Oh! Yes,” Leo said. “I will be in the hall.”
Jim watched as Leo stood up, turned and walked straight through the door and vanished.
Well, Jim thought. He certainly is a little different.
Jim got out of bed, dug some clothes out of the dresser, and wondered whether or not they would go to the Riverwalk again.
I hope Lisa’s working, he thought. And he whistled as he dressed and thought of the young waitress.
Chapter 38: Detective Brown Does Some Digging
Files on home invasions from the early nineteen sixties weren’t the easiest things to find. Especially when they were from a place like Rye.
Dan found them, of course, but they had been misfiled under the town of Sandown, which made sense if you were lazy. Dan’s first job as a teenager had been in a library, and he knew how people shoved books back wherever they felt like it.
The same principle worked with cops and files.
Especially old files.
And the files hadn’t been in the Rye police department’s repository either.
Nope. The city of Concord.
Dan had lucked out early in the search. An old and long since retired detective was looking at the updates in the Rye police station when he had overheard Dan asking about the files.
The man had remembered when everything had been transferred to the State capital right before a renovation.
More importantly, the retired cop had recalled how the files had never been brought back.
Dan’s luck in regards to the Rye documents had continued to hold. When he made it to the repository in Concord, he had bumped into Mike Anderson, Dan’s original ride-along partner and his daughter’s Godfather.
Mike was working as the security guard in the repository.
A large coffee from Dunkin Donuts had served as an all access, no questions asked pass into every file Dan could ever dream of.
At twenty-three minutes past one in the afternoon, Dan had not only located the files in their curious location, but he had found the original police report.
Which, thankfully, included the name of the fifteen-year-old male perpetrator whom the homeowner had beaten the absolute hell out of.
George Montgomery of Ten Indian Rock Road.
Dan jotted the information down in his notebook, returned the file and made his way out to say goodbye to Mike.
“So,” Mike said, putting down the magazine he had been reading. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I did,” Dan said, grinning.
“What was it?” Mike asked. “You never told me.”
“A name,” Dan said. He tapped his notebook through his breast pocket. “George Montgomery.”
Mike frowned.
“What?” Dan asked, some of his joy slipping away.
“George Montgomery,” Mike said. “Not the George Montgomery, who lived in Rye, is it? Ten Indian Rock Road?”
“Yeah,” Dan said. “Him exactly. Why?”
“You were a kid,” Mike said, “but in sixty-eight, George Montgomery pulled a nutty.”
“How so?” Dan asked.
“One night, after he pulled a double up in Dartmouth at the hospital, he came home and decided to do a little surgery on his mom.” Mike shook his head. “It was the first case I worked on. The guy had turned his kitchen into a slaughter house. He literally cut her to pieces, Dan. I was so sick from what I saw, I couldn’t eat any sort of beef for a few months. It was terrible.”
“What happened to him?” Dan asked. “Is he in prison or the State mental ward?”
“Neither one,” Mike said, shaking his head. “The knives he used on his mother he ended up using on himself. Committed suicide. Ritual suicide is what they said it was. Copied the way the Japanese do it. Slit open his belly, lots of other stuff, too. I still have nightmares about the house.”
“Whatever happened to the house?” Dan asked. “It get sold off?”
“Nope. The place was paid for by the old man, who had passed away from cancer. Evidently George’s father was worried about his wife and boy, so he set up a trust fund to pay the taxes. Last I knew, the place was still empty.” He sighed, finished off the last of his coffee and looked at Dan. “Anyway, what were you looking into him for?”
“An old burglary, back in sixty-one,” Dan said.
Mike nodded. “I remember hearing about it. George was some sort of super peacenik. Had a habit of breaking into veterans’ homes and stealing any military stuff they had. Evidently, George decided to break into Mr. Jonathan Boyd’s house. He picked the wrong house, though. From what I was told, Boyd caught George in the act.”
“Boyd grabbed a hold of him, called the police, and then he beat the hell out of George until the polic
e showed up. He knocked out some of the kid’s teeth and broke an orbital socket. I think he may even have fractured a couple of George’s ribs.” Mike shook his head. “Wasn’t even mad when he was doing it, so I was told. When my old sergeant asked Boyd why he had beat the kid so badly, Boyd had said the kid needed a lesson.”
“Damn,” Dan said, letting out a low whistle. “One hell of a lesson to be taught.”
“Yup. So, did you want to talk to George about the Boyd case?” Mike asked.
“One similar to it,” Dan lied.
“What, you upset someone and get stuck on the oldest of pointless cold cases?” Mike said, grinning.
“No,” Dan said, forcing a chuckle. “Just something on my own time, for a friend. He’s trying to track down a couple of German war trophies his father brought home, but went missing around the same time period. I was hoping to figure out what the hell happened to them.”
“Too bad,” Mike said sympathetically. “Let me know if you think of anything else you might want to look at. And hey, tell Sarah to drop her Godfather a line once in a while.”
“I will, Mike,” Dan said. He extended his hand over the counter, his friend sat behind, and they shook warmly.
“Be good, Danny,” Mike said. “And you stop by soon, too. I get bored as hell here.”
“Will do, Mike,” Dan said.
With a nod to his old friend, Dan left the building, paused on the steps outside the front door and stretched.
Ten Indian Rock Road, he thought. I wonder if there’s anything still there.
Dan let out a sigh and walked down to the sidewalk and towards the parking garage.
He needed to get in touch with the Reverend. They needed to figure out their next move.
Chapter 39: Bad News
The morning sun was warm and fought back the chill of the wind.
Brian sat at a picnic table and smoked a cigar. Shane stood a few feet away with a cigarette and a cup of coffee.
“Seems like it’s going to be a good day,” Brian said, glancing at the clear sky.
“I hope so,” Shane replied. “I’m not exactly thrilled at the idea of going to the Church. We need to make sure we have a definite exit strategy here, Chief.”