by Glenn Porzig
Inside the master bedroom, the scene was similar to the older brother's room... but worse. Nailed to the walls were the bodies of the mother, father, and their teenage daughter. All of them inverted, throats slit.
Blood spatter decorated the walls in wild dripping arcs. Pentagrams and inverted crosses were finger painted around the victims in the brackish fluid that once gave them life. The blood from three people was considerable, especially when hung upside down to bleed out. Over a gallon from each of them had pooled on the floor.
"We need to go."
Drake's voice startled her. She was so caught up in the grisly scene before her, she had forgotten he was behind her.
"The early morning news crews will be arriving before long, we don't have much time."
She knew he was right. They couldn't let the press see them leaving the crime scene together. She stared at the teenage girl nailed to the wall. The girl's fate left her numb, full of regret and with even more questions.
She slowly turned and followed the detective down the stairs in silence.
***
Later that morning, Sister Marian woke from a short, restless sleep. She was relieved that no new visions had plagued her over night. She turned on her radio and began her daily exercises.
The radio didn't mention anything about more killings. This was the best she could hope for at the moment. She finished up, and took a quick shower.
The shower was normally a place where she could clear her head, but now she needed a distraction... anything to keep her mind off the murders. Anything to blot out the sight of dead eyes staring back at her, accusingly.
After some coffee, she went to speak with the Priest at her church. He spoke with her about forgiveness, told her that she needed to forgive herself, and said she was only feeling survivor's guilt. But she knew it was more than that. Much more.
Her past was coming back to haunt her, and she was powerless to stop it. She called Jamie again, but there was no answer this time. She didn't feel safe leaving the convent, but she couldn't just sit there and do nothing.
She mustered her courage and drove to the cemetery. It was an old Catholic cemetery filled with ancient family crypts and fancy mausoleums. Once there she wandered for some time before finding the grave site she had been looking for. It was her first time there, she couldn't risk being seen at the funeral.
It had been nearly a year since he passed, and she felt bad for not having come in all that time. She suspected that she had been subconsciously avoiding the finality of seeing his grave. If she didn't see him laid to rest, it was easier to think of him still being around if she needed him. She felt that she needed him now more than ever.
The tombstone was simple. He had been a simple man and would have wanted nothing more. This was the final resting place of Father Martin, the man who had been a mentor to her. She knelt down and asked him for his help one more time.
"Father, please give me your strength, wisdom and the faith to face the challenges ahead of me," she paused, searching for the right words.
"I owe you more than my life. I only wish you could be here to save me again. Please help guide me to make the right choices and to have the same faith and conviction that you showed when you helped me in my darkest hour." She stayed kneeling with her head bowed silently.
It was time to see Jamie again. He was going to have to face his past. With a renewed conviction, she stood up and walked to her car with purpose.
***
Detective Drake was at his desk when Officer Williams came to tell him he had a visitor. The officer's breath smelled of whiskey that he was trying to mask with a strong spearmint mouthwash. It wasn't unusual for him.
"Sir, there's a reporter waiting in the hall for you. I believe it's that Vicki something or other. She said you knew her."
"You tell her I'm busy, or better yet, tell her I'm not here," he told the officer, knowing that wouldn't be enough to dissuade her. He didn't want to be bothered, especially by her. He tried to keep himself busy at his desk, knowing she would ambush him if he tried to leave.
Eventually he ran out of busy work and decided to make a break for it. He was hoping she would have given up on cornering him. His plan didn't pay off. As soon as he entered the hall she was there, her photographer's camera in his face.
"Officer Drake..."
"It's Detective. Detective Drake," he replied. He enjoyed the act of correcting her, even though he knew it would be harder to break off the impromptu interview now that he had made the mistake of acknowledging her presence.
"I'm sorry, Detective Drake... I'd like your insight on the Reids, the latest family to be murdered in their sleep. After all, you were the first officer on the scene of the Carver family massacre."
"First of all, I don't appreciate you using sensational terms like 'massacre' to hype up the drama of a tragic situation... and secondly, I'm not at liberty to talk on record about an ongoing investigation. I'm afraid you'll have to wait for an official statement from the PIO at the next press conference like everyone else."
"Are you telling me you don't think the two cases are related? They sure seem similar to me. From the details that have leaked out—a family drained of blood in the middle of the night—I'd say we may be looking at a copycat killer. Or, is it possible that the original killer has returned after all these years?" She shifted the microphone towards him awaiting his response.
"No comment," he responded gruffly.
"And whatever happened to Mary Carver, the lone survivor of the massacre? Have you seen her since she was released from the mental hospital, and seemingly dropped off the face of the earth?"
"I'm sorry but you're going to have to get out of my way, you're impeding official police business." He brushed the microphone aside with his forearm and squeezed past her, and her photographer, as he made his way to the elevator.
"Did you get all of that?" she beamed at Andrew.
Andrew gave her a thumbs up and added "I think you got to him."
"Damn right I did. I'm on to something, I know it." She spun the microphone absentmindedly between her fingers as her eyes drifted up in contemplation, a self-satisfied smile on her face.
***
Sister Marian approached the mansion. It wasn't big as far as mansions go, but it was still a mansion. The drive over hadn't weakened her resolve to speak with Jamie, but the reality of the most likely outcome had set in.
She parked her car and then marched down the long walkway that cut a path across the well manicured lawn. The entrance was oversized, with an impressive wrought iron storm door.
She rang the bell. After a brief wait she rang it again. Eventually, she heard the multiple locks on the door as they slid open. The inner door cautiously opened, but the storm door remained secured.
"Jamie, it's Marian..."
"What are you doing here?" the man asked with surprise.
"I need to speak with you."
"I told you, I want nothing to do with this..."
"It's important."
"How do I know it's really you?" he asked cautiously as he inched the door just a little closer to being closed. He peered out of the crack in the door with one eye open wide. "Let me see your eyes!"
Sister Marian leaned in closer to the door to humor the man, but the action spooked him. He slammed the door in her face. She could hear his muffled yelling through the closed door.
"Never mind! I'm not seeing anyone today. Please, just go away!"
***
Vicki Taylor was sitting in the WYKN newsroom typing her latest story when Caroline Phipps strode over and slammed her hand down on Vicki's desk.
"I hear you've been trying to steal my story! You've been here long enough... you should know the way things work. The Reid murder is my story, you go back to the local fluff you normally write and leave the hard-hitting stuff to me!"
"Excuse me? You think you have some 'exclusive' because 'You had it first?' I beg to differ. This story was mine before you wer
e out of your training bra... if you ever did get out of it!" Vicki said, as she stood from her chair and leaned into Caroline's face.
"I'm following up this story, if you don't like it, you can take it up with Mike. Don't you ever come in here giving me attitude again! I'm a name in this community, and I demand respect. You may be a fresh face, but my audience is loyal and the station knows it. So you go dig up whatever trash you can, and leave this story to me!"
Caroline huffed away as she headed straight to Mike Newell's office. She slammed the door behind her, making everyone in the newsroom look up to see what was going on. A minute later the door opened and Mike was standing in the doorway with his arms folded.
"Taylor, my office. Now!"
Vicki held her head up as she made her way across the newsroom; she wasn't about to be humiliated in front of her peers. Mike stared her down as she entered his office, he remained where he was standing, but turned to face Caroline.
"You get back to work, I'm going to have a little chat with Vicki."
Caroline gave a smug look as she walked out, assuming that she had scored a victory. Mike firmly pulled the door closed behind her.
"Now, do you want to tell me what this is all about?" he asked.
"Mike, I'm on to something here. Give me a chance to run with it."
"I thought I made myself clear that this murder was Caroline's story—you do understand English, don't you? I would assume so; I could have sworn I've heard you speak it," he glared at her, awaiting a reply.
"You remember Officer Drake, don't you? He was the first policeman on the scene of the Carver murders. Well, I spoke with him today, he's now Homicide Detective Drake and he's working the Reid family murder investigation!" she paused to gauge his reaction.
"And? Is that all you've got? He's a policeman, working a murder investigation. That's not a story."
"I know he's hiding something. I could tell," she said, struggling to convince him.
"I'm not denying that you have good instincts as a reporter, but I don't put hunches on the air. Facts! Get out there and bring me some facts if you want a shot at this story. Until then, keep a lid on it. I'll not put up with any more drama between you and Phipps."
"Thanks, Mike. You won't regret it!" she flashed him her well practiced smile and made for the door.
"Not so fast..." he said, stopping her in her tracks. "What's next? Where do you plan to go with this?"
"I want to speak with Nichols. I think he's the next logical step."
"James Nichols, writer of 'Bloody Sunday'? You know I don't want any of that tabloid trash on my newscast. You might as well do a special on UFOs!" he fumed.
She knew she had to act fast to turn this around, she was losing him. She quickly answered, barely pausing for a breath as she spoke, hoping to keep him from thinking too hard about what she was saying.
"James Nichols is the best selling author whose name is synonymous with the Carver incident in the minds of our viewers. Besides, he had inside information nobody should have known. His insight could be valuable to figuring this out, and the viewers will want to hear what he has to say. Imagine the ratings!"
"Isn't he some sort of recluse? What makes you think he will even meet with you?"
"Oh, I have my ways Mike, you should know that by now," she smiled.
"Just get out of here, before I change my mind," he muttered, shaking his head.
"That was my plan!" she winked as she slipped the rest of the way out of his office.
***
Sister Marian answered the phone, excited to be hearing from Alex, but also worried what news he may have.
"Marian, you need to be keeping a low profile. That reporter, Vicki Taylor, was at the police station yesterday sniffing around for information about you."
"She's the least of my worries at the moment," she responded.
"I know you feel that way, but it would certainly complicate things if you were being hounded by the press. And I don't think either of us want people looking into the case again."
"I understand. I'll try... I'm sorry to have dragged you into all of this."
"Look, none of this is your fault. We're in this together. Just sit tight, and I'll call when I find anything," he said.
"Alex, please stay safe. I'll be waiting to hear from you."
Marian glanced up at the TV and stared in a daze, still holding the now dead phone to her head. On the screen was reporter Caroline Phipps, superimposed over her shoulder was a graphic that read: Carver House Horror. She hung up the phone and quickly grabbed the remote to unmute the TV.
"...the Wright family, current owners of the site of the notorious Carver family murders, claim that their home is haunted. I did a little digging, and the house has been in many hands the last thirteen years, with no owner living there for more than three years."
Marian shook her head, astonished at the depths they would go to, but she continued watching. It was like a seeing a car wreck, it was horrible but you just can't stop yourself from looking, she thought to herself.
"Join us tonight for exclusive interviews with families that claim to have had supernatural encounters in this local house of horrors. I'm Caroline Phipps, and I'll see you tonight at five on Your Keystone News!"
Marian turned off the TV and tossed down the remote.
"If they only knew the truth..."
***
Vicki Taylor walked toward the big porch followed by Andrew, who was carrying his camera bag as well as a heavy lighting kit.
"I can't believe Newell let that bitch go on the air with a story about the Carver home being haunted! I mean, seriously? After giving me his little speech about UFOs?"
Andrew gave her a quizzical look. "Uh, UFOs?"
"Never mind, we're here. Try not to upset him, I hear he's rather... excitable."
She rang the bell. Eventually, James Nichols opened the inner door. The storm door remained closed and locked.
"Miss Taylor, so good to see you. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to remove your sunglasses before I can let you in."
Vicki looked at Andrew and smirked. This guy really was eccentric, she thought.
"You too," he gestured toward Andrew. "Your eyes, let me see your eyes!"
Andrew grumpily set all the bags down so he could pull off his sunglasses. He hung them from the neck of his shirt, and gave a wide-eyed glare at the author before picking up his gear again. Nichols unlocked the storm door and then stepped aside, allowing them to squeeze through.
Vicki looked around the richly decorated mansion. Bookshelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling lined the room. The books on the shelves ranged from arcane tomes about the occult and demonology, to first editions by the masters of modern horror writing; King and Rieman.
Wherever there was a blank space on the wall, there was a crucifix. There were so many that it was hard to get a handle on just how many there actually were.
"I want to thank you for contacting me. Of course I'm familiar with your coverage of the Carver murders, and assumed I'd be hearing from you eventually," he gestured toward some fancy plush chairs that had been set up in advance. "I thought we'd conduct the interview here in the study... if that's suitable. The bookshelves should make a nice back drop, don't you think?"
Vicki nodded in agreement.
Andrew set down his gear, and began digging through his camera bag. He approached Nichols with a clip-on microphone, reaching to help him put it on, but the man recoiled from him.
"I'll do that myself, if you don't mind. This isn't my first interview you know," he half smiled and his shaky hand reached out and snatched the microphone from the cameraman. He began to feed the wire up under his shirt and then clipped the small condenser microphone near his collar.
While Andrew set up the tripod for his camera, Vicki took a moment to chat with the nervous author.
"Before we get started, I just wanted to ask you about that eye thing at the door."
"Oh, that... well, I wa
s just checking to see if you were possessed."
"And what exactly were you looking for?" she asked.
"If a person is totally in the thrall of a demon, being forced to do things against their will, their eyes will be glossed over. Blank. As if they were rolled back in their head."
"And you've seen this happen?"
"Certainly. It is well documented, and I have witnessed it personally," Nichols replied.
"If you'll forgive me saying so, I'm actually a little surprised that you accepted this interview. You do have a reputation as somewhat of a recluse."
"A recluse? I suppose it may appear that way to some. But please don't get the impression that I'm pissing in jars and lining the walls with them," he gave her a big fake smile. He was ready to start and get past the small talk. "Are we ready to begin?" he asked, giving a look of disapproval towards Andrew.
"Just need to set up the camera on the sticks..."
Andrew slid the camera on the tripod, and there was a loud click as they locked together. He checked his framing in the viewfinder, the red light blinked on and he gave Vicki a thumbs up.
"How do I look?" asked Vicki.
"Looking good, as usual Vick!"
"If our mics are good let's get this started," said Vicki.
"I'm rolling," Andrew said.
"I'm Vicki Taylor, and I'm speaking with James Nichols, author of 'Bloody Sunday: The Carver Family Murders', a novel inspired by true events that made it all the way to number three on the best sellers list," she said smiling.
"And don't forget my latest book 'Confession of the Damned' a series of interviews with death row inmates that claim to have been possessed. It's available online, and in fine bookstores everywhere," he added.
"I'm sure you've seen the headlines about the Reid family murder, and heard the rumors about the similarities with the Carver massacre. What do you have to say about it?"
"We can only pray that the killer of the Carver family hasn't returned," he replied.