by Ron Ripley
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Did you see me?” she asked.
George nodded.
“Now tell me honestly, George, after seeing all that, do you think they’re happy?”
He shook his head. “What should I do, Mom?”
“I think you should get those skulls, and get them out of here,” his mother answered. “I’m not sure what you’re going to do about me, though.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning.
“George,” she said gently, “I’m spread out all over the kitchen like a struck deer on the highway. What do you think the police are going to say when they see me?”
He straightened up.
“Oh no,” he whispered.
She nodded. “Now, either get those skulls out of here then figure out what to do next, or just get out and run.”
The television went dead, and the light in the kitchen went out.
George was alone in the darkness with the ghost of his mother.
She sighed.
“What?” he asked.
“I think it’s too late now, George,” she said.
“Too late for what?” he said, feeling his pulse begin to race.
“Too late for you to get out.”
Bonus Scene Chapter 5: Nowhere to Run
George heard footsteps on the basement stairs.
“Mom?” he whispered.
She didn’t answer. She was gone.
George was alone in the house with his mother’s dismembered corpse and the ghosts who had killed her.
The house, which would have been utterly familiar even in the darkness he now found himself in, became both menacing and terrifying.
The dead were coming for him.
George knew it.
He trembled as he got to his feet. His tongue ran along his lips nervously, and he swallowed convulsively.
I need to get out, he thought. I need to get away from them.
For a moment, he considered the side door. He would be closer to the car. Might even be able to get away with it.
Yet, to get there, he would have to pass through the kitchen, and the basement was too close.
The front door. Yes, he thought.
George hurried to the exit. The sensation of the cold steel of the knob against the palm of his hand sent a surge of joy through him. With a twist and a pull, he stepped over the threshold.
Instead of the cold January air, he felt the warmth of the house.
Horrified, George turned around, and walked into the closed front door.
Once more he grabbed the knob, twisted, pulled and left the house.
Only to find himself in the house again.
He couldn’t get out.
The door only opened onto itself.
George started to hyperventilate.
He heard footsteps in the kitchen and the crash of what sounded like a chair against a wall.
Nothing was right.
Nothing.
George bumped into the wall, groped his way to the stairs and fell forward. He caught himself in time and scrambled up the worn, carpeted risers to the second floor.
He smelled the furnace and the oil tank.
He felt the chill of the basement around him as he realized he had gone down instead of up.
George turned around and found the smooth, round banister of the basement stairs.
No, no, no, he thought, moaning softly. George raced up the stairs and bumped into the granite walls of the basement.
I’m still downstairs! he screamed silently. Oh, Jesus help me, I’m still down here!
He groped along the walls, the stone piercingly cold beneath his flesh. George stumbled against boxes of long-forgotten clothes, old toys, and the detritus of his father’s life.
George needed a place to hide.
Footsteps rang out on the wooden basement stairs.
His breath came in great, ragged bursts as he reached a corner, tried to push to his left and fell.
He fell for far longer than it should have taken for him to reach the floor.
When he finally landed, it wasn’t on stone, but on blankets.
Light blinded him, and he rolled away.
After a moment, he opened his eyes and found himself in the fallout shelter behind the furnace.
The light was on.
Everything was as it should be, the duffel bag still on the bed.
George was on the bed.
He sat up slowly and listened.
Nothing.
George got off the bed.
He looked around.
Was it a nightmare? he asked himself. Did I come down here and fall asleep after work?
George looked down at himself and saw he was still in his work clothes.
A wave of relief washed over him.
“A nightmare,” he whispered to himself. “Just a nightmare. Oh, thank God.”
He walked to the pocket door. His mother would probably be passed out in the chair again, and he needed to check on her. She would have to eat. And he would have to draw a bath for her.
With a relieved sigh, he took hold of the pocket door and slid it back.
But it didn’t budge.
It wouldn’t move at all.
George tugged harder.
The door remained firmly closed.
Frowning, George began pulling on it fiercely.
Still it stayed in place.
What the hell? He thought.
Laughter burst out from the other side of the door.
The laughter of men.
Of several men.
George took a nervous step back. His heart rattled in his chest and with painful, jerky movements he sat down on the bed.
Fists pounded on the door. The laughter grew louder.
And the light in the room went out.
George was alone in the darkness.
Bonus Scene Chapter 6: Time Passes
He had no way to measure the time.
George didn’t know if he had been in the fallout shelter for hours or for days, or simply, for minutes.
His stomach growled, yet each time it did, he thought of his mother, butchered and cast about the floor. The hunger passed.
George lay on his side on the bed. The duffel bag had been kicked onto the floor, and George was curled up under the old woolen Army surplus blanket. He was exhausted.
Whenever he dozed off, the dead knew it, and they pounded on the door.
He felt as though madness would consume him.
George was so terribly tired.
He just wanted to sleep.
Laughter penetrated the darkness and jarred him out of a doze.
They always know, he thought drunkenly. How?
George forced himself up from the bed.
A question came through the door, but he couldn’t understand it.
“I don’t speak Japanese!” he yelled. “Leave me alone!”
Fists hammered against the wood, and he jumped backward, slammed into a shelf and cried out.
A cold breath danced along the back of his neck, and George screamed.
The dead let out gleeful laughs.
Are they in here with me? he thought frantically.
Someone pulled on his ear, and George twisted around. “Stop it!”
The laughter stopped.
The light came on.
George closed his eyes and rubbed at them for a moment, but only a moment. He was too excited about the light.
He looked around the room.
Did they leave me alone? he wondered.
Silently he crept up to the door, took hold of the handle and cautiously pulled back on it.
It slid into the wall on silent runners.
And George found himself looking at, well, himself.
Another George stood in front of him. Behind the second George, was an identical fallout shelter. The new George wore the same stupefied expression, and George assumed he did as well.
It terrified him.
Ge
orge and his curious twin both reached out and closed the pocket door.
He waited for his heart to stop its mad race within his chest, and then he slid the door open again.
Grey, cold granite greeted him.
George reached out and touched it.
The stone was real.
He pushed, and it resisted. He closed the door again, opened it, and found only stone.
George stared at it for a long minute, examined the time-worn marks from the quarry in the granite, and then he shut it out. He returned to the bed and collapsed onto it.
Slowly, he pulled himself into a fetal position, and he waited for something, anything to happen.
He didn’t wait long.
The lights flickered, and then went out.
They’re coming, George realized. They weren’t going to wait any longer. They didn’t want to return to the war-lover’s house. No. He was sure of it.
They wanted him.
They wanted to hurt him.
The same way they had harmed his mother.
He would be butchered.
The door to the fallout shelter slid open, and they came in.
Their footsteps were loud on the floor, and he shivered at the sound of each one. His ears ached as he listened to them speak to one another softly in Japanese.
George heard knives drawn from sheaths.
He squeezed his eyes shut and chanted in a low whisper, “This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.”
The light came on, and George risked a glance.
Six headless men stood around the bed. They all wore uniforms. Each was khaki, yet some were filthy, others clean. Hatred and rage pulsed from the dead.
Two of them, George saw, had knives drawn. Terribly long knives. Short swords used for ritual suicide. Blades used to remove the head of an enemy.
The other four unarmed men pounced upon George, and as he screamed, they seized his arms and legs. Their grip was painful. Cold, needle-like pain punched through his wrists and ankles. George struggled, and the dead tightened their grasp on him.
With fury and fear, George fought to remain in a fetal position.
The dead would have none of it.
They stretched out his arms and legs and soon had him spread-eagle on the bed.
One of the knife-wielding ghosts leaned in and ever so neatly and cautiously, cut away George’s clothing. Each piece went, the ghost’s hands steady. No matter how much George writhed, he was not cut a single time.
It took only a few minutes, but soon George was naked on the bed, and he screamed furiously.
One of the dead spoke in Japanese, and the other five laughed cheerfully.
A hand reached out, grasped some of George’s chest hair and pulled slowly.
George shrieked, more in outrage than from the pain. But he was terrified as he watched the skin slowly stretch as the hair was pulled farther up.
The dead man let go of his hair, made a remark and again they all laughed.
Then the laughter died down, and the ghosts who held his limbs tightened their grips.
George pictured his mother’s remains, and he shook uncontrollably.
A moment later, he lost control of his bladder, and he wet himself.
Someone snorted in disgust.
George felt his hands and feet go numb, and the skin burned where the dead held him.
The two ghosts with knives stepped closer, and George closed his eyes.
At the first sharp bites of the steel, he screamed and bucked. He felt blood trickle out of the wounds they had made, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears as he listened to them speak.
“A fine mess you’ve made for yourself, isn’t it?” a voice asked.
George opened his eyes, and he saw the war-lover.
The dead man, who wore a Marine Corps uniform, stood at the foot of the bed. All of the Japanese ghosts had their heads and looked respectfully at the war-lover.
“I’m not staying long,” the war-lover said. “I was merely passing through. I heard the boys, though. Kind of hard to miss the Japanese, even in all the chatter out here. Not too many dead talking in anything other than English or French. Anyway, they’re not happy. Just in case, you hadn’t figured it out on your own.”
“I’m sorry,” George whispered. “Oh Jesus Christ, I’m sorry!”
“Don’t doubt you are,” the war-lover said unsympathetically. “Fact of the matter is, boy, I just don’t care. This is your bed, literally as well as figuratively, so you may as well lie and die in it. They cut on your mother because they thought she was the one who had brought them here. Ichiru, here, is feeling mighty bad about doing it to the wrong person. I expect he’s going to work just a little harder on you, now.”
“But, I’m sorry,” George whispered.
“I know,” the war-lover said. “And they care about as much as I do.”
Something flickered, and George looked in time to catch sight of the first knife plunging into his stomach.
The pain was excruciating.
* * *
Brian Roy is back in another adventure The Paupers' Crypt!
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Listen To Me Speak (Novella sized preview of Trilogy)
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The First Church (Moving In Series Book 4)
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The Academy (Moving In Series Book 6)
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Uninvited Guests Trilogy
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Children To The Slaughter (Slaughter Series Book 1)
Shadow’s Embrace (Slaughter Series Book 2)
Copper’s Keeper (Slaughter Series Book 3)
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Sentinels (The Sentinels Series Book 1)
The Haunter (The Sentinels Series Book 2)
The Smog (The Sentinels Series Book 3)
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Doubting Thomases
Chapter 2: A Meeting with the Reverend
Chapter 3: Jim Gets Ready for Dinner
Chapter 4: The First Congregationalist Church
Chapter 5: Reviewing the Footage
Chapter 6: An Interview
Chapter 7: In the Basement
Chapter 8: Luke Allen, August 15, 1955
Chapter 9: At the Hotel Room
&nb
sp; Chapter 10: The Rev and his Office
Chapter 11: Detective Dan Brown Times it Right
Chapter 12: Jim at the Burial Ground
Chapter 13: Unpleasant News
Chapter 14: Brian Does some Research
Chapter 15: Luke, Mr. Boyd and Saké, August 15, 1962
Chapter 16: A Conversation at Mrs. Staples’ House
Chapter 17: A Talk
Chapter 18: The Phone Call
Chapter 19: Officer Raelynn French Investigates
Chapter 20: Looking for Mr. Boyd
Chapter 21: Forced to Wait
Chapter 22: In The Riverwalk Café
Chapter 23: In the Church
Chapter 24: Waiting
Chapter 25: A Phone Call
Chapter 26: Searching for Answers
Chapter 27: Resisting
Chapter 28: In the Riverwalk
Chapter 29: A Curious Surprise
Chapter 30: Meeting Shane Ryan
Chapter 31: In the Basement
Chapter 32: A Ridiculous Discussion
Chapter 33: Jim Makes a Friend
Chapter 34: Interrupted
Chapter 35: Life Gets Difficult
Chapter 36: The Rev Returns
Chapter 37: Awakened in the Morning
Chapter 38: Detective Brown Does Some Digging
Chapter 39: Bad News
Chapter 40: Strategy
Chapter 41: Panic Sets In
Chapter 42: Lou’s Luck
Chapter 43: Dan Goes to City Hall
Chapter 44: Sato Sees and Knows
Chapter 45: Going for a Walk
Chapter 46: Luke Drinks Tea
Chapter 47: Alex Charles Goes for a Drive
Chapter 48: Dan Brown has a Revelation
Chapter 49: Brian and Shane try to Plan
Chapter 50: The Meeting
Chapter 51: Brian has a Chat
Chapter 52: The Hurlington House gets Loud
Chapter 53: Miles Cunningham thinks about the Future
Chapter 54: Meeting with the Gottesmans
Chapter 55: Luke, Mr. Boyd, August 15, 1967
Chapter 56: Traveling
Chapter 57: Ten Indian Rock Road
Chapter 58: The Contest Begins
Chapter 59: Jim Sees Too Much