Horror-Ween (Krewe of Hunters)

by Heather Graham

  “And the victims were murdered how?”

  “Stabbed through the heart and left on a merry-go-round. The police didn’t find the note sent to them until a month after. The cleaning crew accidentally pushed it beneath a desk pad on the sergeant’s desk. Then, Arizona. That one read, ‘The itsy-bitsy spider went up the waterspout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out. Up came the sun and dried out all the rain, but the itsy-bitsy spider couldn’t get up again.’”

  “They were drowned?”

  Jackson nodded gravely. “They were found in the dunking pool. Props for the actors working there, such as wigs and clown noses, were found floating on top along with the victims.”

  Joe was thoughtful.

  “The killer can travel,” he noted. “It’s possible he knows what attractions are searching for help. And when it’s close to Halloween, there are tons of attractions that open. I think every major city and dozens of smaller ones open their own version of Halloween attractions. I can see no connection the first few times, with the killer going from state to state. But before now, with all our communications, the FBI is just being brought—"

  “FBI offices were brought in—after the second.”

  “And—nothing?”

  “They questioned dozens of people. But remember—this is seasonal work. Transients come and go. People are paid under the tables. And we’re in the digital age. I.D.s are easy to come by, easy to steal, easy to make. There have been extensive searches, and forensic teams around the country have been on it.”

  “If the FBI is on it already—”

  “Yes, and we have good agents across the country, and we’ve had massive teams on many crimes—that still takes time. We have nine divisions, you know, fifty-six field offices, over two-hundred satellite offices, over ten-thousand agents, and double that in assistance fields. So, yes, the FBI is in on it, but our illustrious Assistant Director Adam Harrison was specifically asked by someone on high that we be point on the situation coming up. We need undercover—with someone able to be undercover in the area. I’ll be able to send you assistance, but I thought you and Keri might get a running start.”

  Adam Harrison wasn’t just their Assistant Director; he was their creator. He didn’t work the field; he found those who could.

  Work it in a very special way.

  His philanthropical endeavors and frequent tactical assistance with law enforcement issues had long ago set in a position to suggest the utility of him having his own unit answerable to him—akin to but separate from the main offices.

  “You know I love my job, Jackson, and I’m grateful to be with the Krewe. But I’m confused, though. Me—and Keri,” Joe said, feeling his frown deepen, because he was now referring to the love of his life, Keri Wolf, with whom he’d recently become involved on a case in Philadelphia. He had still been in the academy, about to be brand new Krewe at the time—and that wasn’t more than a few months ago.

  And Keri . . .

  “Me—but Keri should go with me? Keri is a writer and historian. She’s not even out of the academy—”

  “Neither were you in Pennsylvania. And yes, she’s a writer and historian with really fine special powers,” Jackson acknowledged. “She’s the one who came to me asking for my help—not to get into the academy, but to go through the paperwork with her when she decided she wanted to apply.” He hesitated a minute, aware Keri hadn’t discussed her decision with Joe. She’d come to Jackson, afraid Joe would be worried and try to talk her out of it.

  He would have; she’d come way too close to death in Pennsylvania.

  But he also respected her abilities and resilience. She had survived a fight when many a seasoned cop or agent might not have done so.

  “She’s a crack shot,” Jackson said.

  “I know.”

  “Competent, smart—she’s beating the hell out of the rest of her class when it comes to anything physical. She’s in great shape and mastering self-defense and other classes dealing with anything that has to do with any manner of talent in the field.”

  “Okay,” Joe said slowly. “This is a briefing on a situation. Shouldn’t Keri be in here with us?”

  “She should, but she’s working on the situation through a third party.”

  “A third party?”

  Jackson waved a hand in the air. “We’ll get to that. I’m sending all the information we have on the previous cases to you and arranging for hard copy as well. I thought setting you two up as park employees might be our easiest way in. Oh, and Keri is going to be Keri Johnston.”

  “Because—”

  “Because we don’t want her recognized by someone who has read her work.”

  “I see,” Joe said. He thought about the case outside of Philadelphia. Because of what had happened, the planned video had never been shown. Her book cover jackets had never carried a picture despite publicity requests that it do so. Keri counted on having many years in her career, and she didn’t want to have to change a picture every few years, nor did she want a book reader wondering how she might look so young in a picture and be years older.

  Joe was sure Jackson knew her feelings on the matter. He nodded and said, “You think the killer is working at the attractions? Easy access?”

  “Either that, or as you said, someone with the wherewithal to travel easily. With the finances to get from state to state. But also someone who knows how each park is working. Yes, I believe this killer is taking on a job of some kind, either under the table or under an assumed or stolen name, and working it that way. Then again, you have people dressed up, and it’s easy to sneak into a Halloween theme park in a concealing costume. Planting people . . . it seems the best way. This time, we must get a jump on what’s happening. Remember, the first note was ignored as a prank. Then police refrained from putting it out there in hopes of finding the killer. Then because the first had been kept secret, the notes weren’t found right away, and without info going state to state, they were easily ignored as a Halloween hoax. This killer has given us fair warning, but he’s made a point of going from state to state, either because he likes to travel,” he said, pausing dryly, “or because he knows multiple jurisdictions may cause some confusion in communication. This might stand in our favor; the notes were never released to the public.”

  “I think I remember something being in the news—about the first set of murders, anyway,” Joe said. “This year?”

  “Louisiana. Look at this.”

  Jackson pushed a picture across the desk to Joe.

  Joe recognized the Styrofoam medieval arches and the lettering “Mostly Ghostly World.”

  He knew the place. Years before anything about a theme-park killer had been in the news, he’d been there. His folks had taken him and some friends when he’d been in high school. It had been an eleven-hour drive from his hometown of Savannah, but his folks had made it fun, breaking it up with an overnight stay in Biloxi.

  The arches pictured gave way to a Halloween-themed park, one that opened from September 1st each year and closed after Halloween. He had friends who had grown up in Cajun country, and they’d told him it was of one of the attractions kids in parishes from all around lived for each year. It also brought out those who lived in the big Southern Louisiana cities—Baton Rouge and New Orleans—and like him visitors from other states as well.

  It had been fun. Rides, mirror-houses, farming and cooking demonstrations—and the obligatory haunted houses and actors running around with plastic knives and buzz-saws.

  He looked at Jackson, already feeling a knot in his stomach.

  Halloween. Fun holiday, great holiday.

  Yep. Great holiday—and wretchedly horrible holiday. A day for devious tricksters to do their worst—and often get away with it.

  Massachusetts had been no exception.

  “Joe?”

  He must have been silent too long. Jackson was frowning as he studied him from across the desk.

  “Yeah, sorry. Halloween. Can’t help thinking
about some of the other really bad things that have happened. I was thinking of the woman who was strung up on a light pole in Ohio. People went by her for two days—without realizing she was real. A dog’s frantic barking finally alerted someone to call the police. Once the dog caught the smell . . .”

  “Yes. For most people, it’s a fun holiday. For some, it’s a religious holiday. For most of the world, it has nothing to do with murder. But that’s the world; deranged individuals are out there, and sadly such a holiday can open a world of horror. Yes, it can draw out every lethal psycho from sea to shining sea,” Jackson agreed. “Next up, Louisiana.”

  “Ascension Parish next at Mostly Ghostly World.” Joe nodded gravely. “You do have agents who are from the area. Keri and I have been to Louisiana—separately so far. I’ve even been to that particular theme park. But you have those who know the terrain so well.”

  “Yes. And they might be recognized as themselves—or as agents.”

  “I see,” Joe murmured. “I’m fairly new with the Krewe—”

  “You’ve been with us long enough—baptism by fire, too,” Jackson said. “And you were a cop in Savannah for years, a damned good cop. A cop willing to go a strong route and listen and work with others. You’ve got the right stuff, Joe.” He hesitated. “You were right about the horror in Pennsylvania; you brought down a ring of killers.”

  Joe waved a hand in the air. “You and other Krewe members did make a timely arrival.”

  “And you solved the case. You—and Keri.”

  “But Keri was there because her public relations agent wanted her to go in because she thought the investigation would be great publicity. She didn’t plan on corpses and nearly getting killed.”

  “Right. And she handled herself excellently.” He paused, a dry smile on his lips. “Don’t you read your girlfriend’s books, Joe?”

  “I . . . oh,” Joe said.

  That was it, of course, and he should have known—he just . . .

  No, he should have read all her books. By now at least, yes.

  “She wrote a book on the events in Massachusetts,” Joe said glumly. “I’ve seen it in the bookcase, of course. ‘A Case of True Horror.’ And I’ve been meaning to read it; free time has been . . . setting up living together,” he finished lamely.

  “Hey, Joe, I don’t make decisions for any of you. Keri was asked about this, especially because she knows the story about the first event. She wrote about it, Joe. She’s making her choices.”

  Joe was silent. Keri did make her own choices. He loved her and respected her for her strength and resolve.

  “I just thought . . . I thought she was going to write more books. I didn’t know she was going to want to be an agent, out there . . .”

  “Like you’re out there,” Jackson reminded him.

  “Right, and yes, she’s going to be a good agent. So, we’re to go and find employment? But the park opened in September; we’re almost on Halloween right now. But I’m assuming you’ve taken that into consideration.”

  “Of course.”

  Jackson passed a pair of I.D. badges across the table to Joe.

  “You’re both working an attraction known as the ‘Murder House,’” Jackson said. “Keri is going to be a cursed and evil doll.”

  “And I’m to be?”

  “Count Rapier—the esteemed vampire who lures in the unwary,” Jackson told him. “Mel Jenkins, the owner of ‘Mostly Ghostly World,’ will be ready to meet you once you arrive at the site. He’s the only one aware of your identity as far as the park and park employees go. The local police and bureau will be aware of what you and Keri are doing. I’m arranging for back up assistance from this office, too, and I’ll alert you when someone else is on the way. The Krewe has other agents familiar with the area, but for now, I don’t want anyone there who might be recognized.”

  “Right,” Joe murmured. He stood. “I guess I’ve got it.”

  “Joe, you’ll get this guy,” Jackson said.

  “We’ll sure as hell plan on it. I’ve got it. I’m an evil blood-sucking count working with a cursed and evil doll—surrounded by ghouls, monsters, and the walking dead—who aren’t dead. It will be easy finding a murdering freak in all that.”

  Jackson shrugged, leaning back in his chair.

  “I have absolute faith.”

  “And Keri? You’ve cleared her way to leave for the assignment?”

  “I have.”

  “And right now?”

  “Keri is already working the case.”

  Joe groaned. “Jackson—"

  “Sorry. I’m not trying to be mysterious. I just think she’ll explain it all better. You really do need to read Keri’s books. She already knows some of the people involved back then. She’s refreshing right now with a young lady who was there right before the killings in Massachusetts—and escaped because a Revolutionary soldier told her to get her friends and leave the park.”

  “A man dressed up as a soldier, or—”

  “No. A Revolutionary soldier. Talk to Keri,” Jackson added softly. “She wound up working with Jillian after the Massachusetts event. We received word from Adam—and then this young lady, Jillian Murphy, called in as well. And you know—”

  “That the two happening almost simultaneously is not a coincidence,” Joe said.

  Jackson said, “The two of you are perfect for this case, and it’s Halloween. The crazies are out everywhere. I’ve agents out in the field in other places, too, because it’s Halloween. But I’m not sending you out there blindly; cops and our field agents in the area are aware and on it. And in a few days, once you’re established, I’ll get someone out to you—probably myself on this.”

  Joe nodded. “Great. Right. Of course. Well, hell. Happy Halloween.”

  This is what he did, what they did—and at last, he felt a growing anger.

  They were after a killer who taunted authorities. Who viciously and brutally stole people’s lives.

  They couldn’t let it go on. And he couldn’t let himself forget who he was, what he did, because he was afraid for Keri.

  She deserved better. She deserved the same passion to work for . . .

  The forces of good over evil.

  But Keri and Joe had met on a case—when she’d been invited on a “paranormal investigation” at an historic hotel, recently purchased by an actor Joe had met when he’d still been on a case in Savannah.

  She was a writer—one who dealt in nonfiction regarding strange events.

  Horrific events.

  Of course, yes. She’d written about the Halloween murders. And yes, she’d know a great deal about what they were getting themselves into.

  “Joe,” Jackson said, “you ready for this?”

  Joe leaned forward. “You bet. We’re going to nail the bastard.”

  “Good. Let’s go see Keri, and find out about her phone conversation with Jillian Murphy.”

  Chapter 2

  Angela had set up the call for Keri in one of the conference rooms. Keri had protested at first, reminding Angela she’d been called in to see Jackson about a case she and Joe would set out on together.

  “Trust me; Jackson knows you’re in here. And he thinks you need to take this call now—before the young lady gets cold feet or changes her mind or forgets what she wants to say,” Angela said.

  “She asked for me—specifically?”

  “Insisted on you,” Angela said. “Joe is being briefed. It’s the same case if we have any type of educated theory going here at all. Keri, she knows you.”

  Keri still wasn’t sure; she’d been given leave from the academy to sign on for this case with the Krewe as a consultant. It wasn’t uncommon with the Krewe for people to come in on such a context when they were needed.

  But there was nothing like working with the Krewe. And Joe, not to mention Adam, one of the most wonderful human beings she’d ever met. Jackson could juggle overseeing a dozen cases at the same time; and Angela, who with Jackson and a few others, had
been among the first members of the Krewe, and of course, everyone else she’d met so far.

  She sat at the conference table to accept the video call when it came; a large screen quickly brought up the image of a young woman, very early twenties, with large, crystal-hazel eyes and a headful of burnished copper hair.

  Her heart sank. She knew the young woman.

  Her name was Jillian Murphy and she was about to graduate from Loyola.

  “Hello, hello? I, um, I can see you . . . Keri?” she asked nervously. “It’s you—right?”

  “Yes, it’s me, Jillian, I’m here. And I’m happy to help you in any way I can.”

  Jillian offered her a weak smile. “You’re still writing?”

  “I—yes.”

  “I heard you had some awful things happen in Pennsylvania. They were going to have a great show about an historic house, but people wound up killing people and getting arrested . . . it was in the news, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I saw you on the news with the FBI, and they were talking about a special unit, and so forgive me if I did something wrong, but I figured out how to get ahold of these people you’re with . . . and they’re FBI, but you’re still writing books?”

  “Learning more about what I write,” Keri said lightly. “Jillian, this is a crack group of people.”

  “Yes, yes, but I was great writing about the problem, but when I tried to talk to someone there, I . . . I wound up tongue-tied and afraid; I couldn’t explain what it was like, and why I know something awful is going to happen again. And I know you’ll care. I know the Krewe unit is flooded with requests, because I did do research. I know the FBI should be working on the cases, but . . . there’s no time. There’s no time. It’s Halloween. It’s a big country . . . and there are tons and tons of places that open as haunted attractions, but . . . people will die again. I almost died. I know I told you that when . . . when you were doing the book. I would have died, if it weren’t for the soldier. I also know who you are . . . you believed in me, you helped me get through it with what you did!”