by Ron Ripley
Brian nodded his agreement.
He checked his phone to see if he possibly missed a response to the text he had sent to Reverend Joe, but he hadn’t.
The side door to the hotel opened up, and a large man stepped out.
Luke Allen and Jim Bogue followed him.
Jim led his grandfather and the other man over to Brian. Shane turned, looked at them and remained silent.
Introductions were made all around. When it was done, the three new arrivals sat down at the table, and Brian asked, “Have any of you heard from the Reverend? I’ve been trying to reach him all morning.”
“No,” Luke said. “Jim has called twice, and so has Detective Brown.”
“You must not worry about Reverend Joseph Malleus.”
All of them turned toward the voice and there, under the tree beside a surprised Shane, stood Leo.
The curious little man, a strange little ghost, ever since his death at the hands of Florence at the Kenyon Farm, smiled warmly at Brian.
Brian smiled back, and with some trepidation asked, “Why don’t we need to worry about the Reverend Joe?”
“He is with his God now,” Leo said, nodding.
Oh, Jesus, Brian thought, sighing.
“Who are you?” Dan asked. “And what do you mean?”
“I am Leo,” Leo said, slightly confused, as though Dan should have known his name. “And I mean the Reverend Joseph Malleus is dead.”
Jim looked down at the ground, and Luke asked, “How did he die?”
“The dead killed him,” Leo said. “Him and a woman.”
“Hold on,” Dan said, raising a hand and interrupting Leo. “What woman?”
Leo frowned. “I do not know her name. She was older. She liked cats.”
“Mrs. Staples,” Jim murmured.
“I think you are correct, Jim Bogue,” Leo said, nodding. “Yes, I believe her name was Mrs. Staples.”
“Was?” Shane asked.
“Yes,” Leo said. “Was. She is dead, and she has moved on. Therefore, she must be referred to in the past tense, and not the present.”
“They’re both dead?” Dan asked sharply.
“Indeed, they are,” Leo said. “She was butchered. Vivisected, really. They took an incredible amount of time with her, and I am really quite surprised they were able to spread her remains about as much as they were.”
“Leo,” Brian said.
“Yes, Brian Roy?” Leo asked, looking helpful.
“Please, not all of the details,” Brian said. “Just the basics. How were they killed? Who killed them? When were they killed?”
“Ah, yes, of course,” Leo said, nodding in understanding. “Mrs. Staples was tortured to death. The Reverend Joseph Malleus was shot in the back of the head at the base of the skull. It was not a real, physical pistol, I must add. It is merely a construct of the ghosts. It is the same construct with which they killed the policewoman in the church, and with which they shot Jim Bogue.”
“Thank you, Leo,” Brian said. “Now please, when were they killed?”
“Mrs. Staples was killed shortly after Detective Dan Brown left the church,” Leo said, giving the detective a small smile. “For some reason, the Reverend Joseph Malleus went to the church in the very early morning. He nearly stumbled upon the carrier and then he ran afoul of the dead.”
“The ‘carrier’?” Dan asked. “Who, and what, is the carrier?”
“I do not know who he is,” Leo said. “But he is the one who has brought the dead into the church, and who has hidden the body of the Reverend in the basement with the remains of the woman.”
“Do you know why?” Luke asked. “Do you have any idea why he might have brought them to a church?”
“A church is sacred ground. It is sanctified,” Leo replied. “I assume he is under the belief that once all of them are there, well, the church will somehow bind them.”
“All of them,” Luke said softly. “So he has another three skulls to bring, and they’ll be bound?”
“They will not be bound,” Leo said.
“Why not?” Shane asked, finishing his cigarette and putting out the butt before he stripped the filter down and tucked it into the front pocket of his sweatshirt.
“The Japanese practice Shinto,” Leo said.
“What does that mean, Leo?” Brian asked, trying to remain patient.
“Shintoism is far different from Christianity,” Leo said. “The rules which bind one do not apply to the other. The church will simply be a place for them to hunt. And they do enjoy hunting, by the way.”
“Great,” Dan said, tapping his fingers angrily on the worn wooden top of the picnic table. “So we have to get those six skulls and figure out what to do with them.”
“Once we get them,” Shane said, “it won’t be a problem. You don’t know him, Detective, but there’s a man down in Nashua who specializes in problem ghosts. He and his wife will keep them sealed and away from the world.”
“Really?” Dan asked, and then he shook his head. “Why am I even questioning this? I didn’t even believe in ghosts until I saw the damned video footage.”
Leo looked at Dan with a confused expression. “I do not understand why you would not believe. You are speaking to me, and I am a ghost.”
Dan opened his mouth to respond, closed it, and shook his head.
“Let us remain focused,” Luke said. “We have the six skulls to deal with from Mr. Boyd. Three of them are in the church, and three of them are with the carrier. Am I correct, Leo?”
“Yes,” Leo answered.
“Very good. Am I also correct in assuming you know where the skulls are in the church?” Luke asked.
“Yes,” Leo repeated.
“And if we bring saké, we should be able to secure the skulls?” Luke said.
Leo nodded. “You are correct.”
“Do you know where the carrier lives?” Luke asked.
“No,” Leo answered.
“I might,” Dan said. “I did a little digging on the young man who broke into Mr. Boyd’s house originally. He lived here in Rye, and in sixty-eight he murdered his mother and killed himself.”
Luke turned toward Dan. “George Montgomery?”
Dan looked surprised. “Yes. George Montgomery. How did you know?”
Luke smiled. “It’s a small town, Detective. Everyone knows everything about everyone. A murder suicide is big news, it sticks in a town’s memory.”
“It was George Montgomery,” Luke said softly, shaking his head. “He was always a strange boy. His family’s house is still empty, isn’t it?”
“I’m not sure,” Dan said. “I haven’t had a chance to check it out yet.”
“Do you think the skulls would be there?” Brian asked.
Dan nodded. “I read the detective’s report on the Montgomery murder and suicide last night. Nothing was mentioned about skulls or war memorabilia in the list of items.”
“His father was a bit of a paranoid when it came to atomic warfare,” Luke said. “I am sure he would have built a bunker for the family and more than likely one which would have been hidden.”
“So,” Brian said, relighting his cigar, “we grab the skulls out of the church. We go to this Montgomery’s house and find the other three, and we’re all set. All of the dead are dealt with.”
“No,” Leo said. “Not all of the dead.”
All of them turned to Leo.
The dead man looked serious. “All of those attached to the skull, yes. Those you will have taken care of.”
“Wait,” Jim said. “Leo, are you telling us there are more?”
“More ghosts, of course,” Leo said, looking puzzled.
“Yes, more ghosts,” Shane said, his tone filled with patience. “There are lots of ghosts out there, Leo. But are you saying, specifically, there are more ghosts from Montgomery’s house?”
“Oh yes,” Leo said, nodding. “A great many more. From what I have heard, the carrier has been hiding ghosts around R
ye for years.”
Chapter 40: Strategy
“I’m sorry,” Shane said. “Did you just say he’s been hiding the dead all over New Hampshire?”
Leo nodded. “I did.”
“Wow,” Jim said, shaking his head. “It’s like the worst Easter egg hunt ever.”
“Hold on,” Brian said. “Right now, the only dead we need to worry about are the two who are killing and maiming people. Anything else is a task for another time. Deal?”
The others nodded.
Brian looked at Leo. “Okay, Leo. Does anyone know about the Reverend and Colleen, yet?”
“Yes,” Leo said. “Due to the recent trouble at the church, two police officers went by to check on the building. The bodies were discovered.”
“Well,” Dan said, “at least the Church will be officially sealed off. In theory, we won’t have to worry about anyone else getting in and getting hurt.”
“It still leaves us with the need to find the skulls, however,” Luke said.
“My suggestion,” Dan said, looking around at everyone, “is to focus on where the rest of the skulls may be. We know there are three in the Church. I think I may know where the other three are.
Dan looked around. “More than likely, the other three are at Ten Indian Rock Road. I’d love to go there, but if the place is occupied now, then I’d have no legitimate reason to go in. I can’t really take someone in for questioning about a murder committed by ghosts.”
“What’s your suggestion then?” Brian asked.
“Well,” Dan said, “I can’t really tell you to go and watch the place. Or to see if the place is empty. Or to see if you can get in there. Telling you to do those things would be wrong. Criminal even.”
“Ah,” Luke smiled. “Since our friends here would obviously never do such a thing, Detective, what might your plans be?”
“Mine?” Dan said. “Mine will be to find out whether the house in question was ever sold, or rented, or whatever. I believe I have your number, Luke, and we can figure out the communication logistics after.”
“Fair enough,” Brian said.
“I have to go,” Leo said suddenly.
And then he was gone.
“Jesus Christ,” Dan muttered.
Shane lit a fresh cigarette and looked at the detective. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
Dan shook his head. “I don’t want to.”
Chapter 41: Panic Sets In
Miles Cunningham threw up in his bathroom and gripped the sides of the toilet tightly.
He wasn’t drunk anymore, and he remembered vividly what the dead had done to the old woman.
The image of the woman’s blood, caused Miles to vomit again.
He spit out a few mouthfuls of bile, sat back and wiped his mouth with some toilet paper.
Three more skulls, he told himself. Just three more of them to move, and then I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.
A dry heave ripped through him, and he felt as though his throat would burst from the effort.
With a grimace, Miles got to his feet, flushed the toilet and rinsed his mouth out with cold water. A glance in the mirror showed he looked as haggard as he felt. He splashed some water on his face, wet his hair and took a cautious sip from the tap.
When his stomach didn’t forcefully reject it, Miles drank a little more.
The morning sun filtered in through the lace of the old curtains and he glanced out at the back yard. A squirrel ran past, and Miles smiled.
It’s going to be okay, he told himself.
He dried his face, folded the towel neatly and hung it back up on its bar. He left the bathroom carefully. He didn’t particularly want to run into any of the Japanese soldiers. They had gotten a good drunk on, but they were volatile. They could sleep for days. Or they could be in the front room, ready to harass him. Threaten him.
Miles went into the kitchen and got a few saltines out of the cupboard. He nibbled on them as he went into the front room.
No ghosts.
He sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall. He looked at the television and wondered if he should put a movie on.
Finally, he shook his head and focused on the crackers. He needed to wait for his stomach to settle before anything else.
Miles closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall.
How am I going to get the skulls in there? He thought. The place is going to be crawling with cops now. They’re going to rip through the place looking for evidence.
Miles’ head snapped up, and his eyes opened.
Evidence, he thought. Oh, sweet Mary Mother of God, evidence.
He hadn’t been careful. Not the last time. Sato had made him upset, nervous.
Miles had been sloppy.
Oh God, Miles thought, his heart hammering away in his chest, what did I leave behind? Fingerprints? Hair?
It doesn’t matter, a small voice said. It doesn’t matter if you did. You can explain it. You were there. Even your boss can say you were. You did the duct work.
But I did the job months ago, Miles told himself.
Doesn’t matter, the voice said. Not at all. Trace evidence survives.
I don’t have an alibi! There’s blood all over everything!
Start cleaning, the voice said in a matter of fact tone. Start scrubbing. You have plenty of time, just don’t waste it.
Miles nodded.
He got to his feet, ignored the ominous rumble in his stomach, and stripped naked in the family room.
He needed to destroy everything he wore. Scrub everything else. He needed to be clean.
Chapter 42: Lou’s Luck
Lou Hanson had lived in the Half-Way House ever since he had finished his time in State. He had spent thirteen years at the correctional facility for an armed robbery he vaguely remembered.
Hell, Lou couldn’t remember most of the years between nineteen eighty-seven and nineteen ninety-seven. The only reason he remembered the end of the century was because it was through forced sobriety.
Solitary confinement was a tough place to kick a heroin habit, but he had.
Lou picked the habit up again within three weeks of being out. He still liked to get high, although not as high has he used to.
The past six years at Half-Way House had been a little rough. It was tough to get high with the staff always on the lookout. They even checked for needle marks, which meant Lou couldn’t shoot up.
He snorted the heroin, but it just wasn’t the same.
Then Winnie had moved into the House.
Winfred Beauregard. Fifty-five years old with a strong old habit. He even shot up.
In the ear.
Winnie had shared the secret, too.
Lou patted the pocket with his needle and kit and heroin, to reassure himself everything was still there.
It was.
Now Lou just needed a place where he could shoot up.
The burial ground, he thought, a smile appearing on his face. The burial ground behind the Congregationalist Church.
He had walked by the Church earlier in the day. The place had been crawling with cops. Word got to the House about how the Reverend and the caretaker had been killed.
Lou felt bad about it. Both of the dead people had been nice to him and the other guys he lived with. Lou had seen the Reverend down at the soup kitchen a few times, and the caretaker always let him go into the Church and warm up when it was cold out.
Lou, since he was still sober, managed to avoid the police. They didn’t see him as he slipped into the back of the burial ground, and found a good spot behind a huge marble marked with the name ‘Grenier’.
The moon edged out from behind a bank of clouds and cast an eerie, silvery light onto the old graves.
Lou didn’t worry about any ghosts.
He didn’t believe in them.
When you were dead, you were dead as far as Lou was concerned, so there was nothing to worry about.
With a happy sigh, Lou got co
mfortable against Grenier’s stone, ignored the chill in the air and pulled his kit out of his pocket. He hunched over the spoon and went about the grotesque ritual of cooking up his heroin. Lou made sure to hide the flame of the lighter as much as possible, and soon he had the hypodermic loaded.
His hand shook with excitement.
The idea of a mainline high brought tears of joy to his eyes, and he paused to wipe them clear.
Metal scraped against stone.
Lou froze, and his heart thundered.
Oh Jesus, not now, please not now, he thought. He waited a moment and when he didn’t hear anything else he found the sweet spot and gave himself a boost. As he depressed the plunger he felt the heroin slide into his bloodstream and he let out a long, happy sigh.
He gave it a few seconds before he took the needle out.
Lou closed his eyes, put the needle on the ground beside him and waited.
Someone whispered, and Lou opened his eyes.
A man squatted in front of him.
An Asian man.
In a uniform of some kind.
Lou’s mouth worked to form words, but his throat didn’t supply any air.
The man looked at Lou inquisitively and then after a minute he reached out, picked up the needle and examined it.
Lou couldn’t stop him. Not only was he unable to speak, he couldn’t even move.
Did I get a bad dose? Lou thought. Am I dying?
The man leaned closer and Lou felt a painful chill brush his skin. Lou wanted to pull away, to leave, but he couldn’t.
None of his muscles were listening. Nothing was obeying him.
The Asian man smiled, reached out and touched the side of Lou’s face gently.
The cold was intense, as though someone had sliced open his cheek and packed the raw wound full of dry ice. Lou tried to scream and twist away.
Yet he was frozen in place.
The man’s smile widened into a grin full of bright white teeth. He held up the syringe in one hand, peeled back Lou’s right eyelid and slid the sharp medical steel into Lou’s exposed eye.
Lou’s throat almost burst with the shriek trapped within, and the stranger chuckled and pressed the needle deeper into Lou’s eye.