Haunted Collection Box Set

by Ron Ripley

  Grant tossed the plastic bottle toward the wastebasket by the desk and missed it by a foot. He shrugged, rubbed his eyes, glanced at the time, and saw it was four in the morning.

  Grant forced himself to think, to remember how he had found the seller to begin with. The unknown individual had misspelled bisque and had specialized, it seemed, in haunted items.

  Grant straightened up, navigated away from the legal page on Etsy and went into its search engine. He typed in ‘bisgue,’ and received nothing in return for his troubles.

  Deleting the word, Grant searched for ‘haunted doll.’ Over a hundred items came up, and he read through them all, looking for some sort of similarity to the original posting.

  He found nothing.

  Grant closed his eyes and forced himself to remember the exact wording of the listing.

  Extremely Active!

  His eyes snapped open, and he typed the words into the search bar.

  Eight items appeared.

  All from the same seller, someone named Nan East.

  Grant thought the name was odd. It didn’t feel right to him, then, with his mind slogging through the haze of vodka, he rearranged the letters.

  NA Sante.

  Grant had no idea what the letters meant to the seller, but he was certain he had found the person. A happy, relieved feeling surged through him.

  I’ll order another item, Grant thought, examining the pieces for sale. Get a return address since I threw everything else out. Yes, all I need is a return address, and I can send it back to them. I don’t need the money. No. Not at all.

  The seventh item for sale was a small, Wedgwood teapot. It was scaled for a doll such as Anne, and as he read the description, he smiled.

  This delightful piece belonged to an elderly woman. She was adamant that the Wedgwood harbored the spirit of a younger woman, and boy was she right! I’ve seen this little number jump right off the shelf and land on the floor without breaking. Considering its provenance, its status as a piece of Wedgwood, the fact that it was made for a doll and it’s haunted, you’re getting a deal at $300!

  Grant drunkenly agreed with the seller and purchased the item. He filled in all his information and didn’t make any reference to the previous sale under the seller’s other pseudonym.

  With everything sent in, Grant shut down the computer and had another drink to celebrate the future return of Anne to her previous owner.

  The second bottle of vodka ended up on the floor near the first, and Grant managed to get up and fall into bed instead of next to it.

  Pleasant, drunken dreams of a home free of ghosts occupied his mind as dawn crept over the horizon.

  Chapter 20: Looking for a Score

  Sue Jeffries scratched at her arm, that golden spot in the crook between her forearm and her bicep. Beneath the sleeve of her hooded sweatshirt, the particular part of her own skin she was concerned with itched. It did so because the needle marks were healing and there were scabs. More than a few.

  And Sue needed to score.

  She had gone far too long without her fix, and she was starting to get sick. Her stomach threatened to revolt and pitch her into the bushes, dry heaving and praying to die, but at the same time, she knew she needed to eat. If she didn’t, Sue wouldn’t have the strength to make enough money to get her heroin. There was also the risk that when she did eat, whatever she managed to force down her throat would be so rotten as to make her vomit or knock her down with cramps.

  But she needed a fix.

  Sue made her way along the back of a strip mall, spotted a diner, and headed for it. She considered a trip into the diner, sometimes she could convince a manager to give her a meal for free. Her decision was made for her when she saw a police SUV parked out front.

  No cop would let her scam a meal. She would be lucky if they didn’t pick her up for vagrancy and bring her in. Or, worse, drop her off at the shelter.

  Frowning, she changed direction and went to the back of the diner. A smile replaced the frown when she saw the restaurant’s dumpster wasn’t locked. Amid the smells of rank trash and rotting food, came the smell of potatoes. Those would be good for days.

  She made her way around some parked cars and then stopped. Glancing around, she took several furtive steps back, looking down into the interior of an off-white sedan. On the front passenger seat, half-hidden by a navy blue jacket, was a safe.

  It wasn’t even a real safe, such as someone might have in their house. No, Sue saw it was a child’s toy, something for them to think their money was protected in.

  When she had been little, her grandfather had given her one. It had belonged to her aunt. He thought Sue could have fun with it since she was always trying to break into locked rooms and drawers. Her aunt had forgotten the combination, and her grandfather had never known it.

  It had taken Sue three days to figure out the combination, but she had done it.

  And looking into the car, she knew she could do it again.

  She didn’t know if it was worth breaking the window for.

  Then she saw the doors were unlocked.

  Her heartbeat raced, and she couldn’t believe her luck.

  Pulling the sleeve of her sweatshirt down over her hand to make sure she didn’t leave any fingerprints, Sue opened the door. She didn’t do it slowly, or glance around, knowing that both acts would only draw attention to her. The hinges were well oiled, and she reached in and picked up the safe, closing the door with her hip.

  She ignored the weight of the safe and walked to the dumpster, ducking behind it. Her hunger was forgotten as she set the safe down and she got on her belly. Sue put her ear to the cold metal beside the lock, and she spun the dial three times to clear it. Sue then carefully began to turn it, listening for the tell-tale click of the first tumbler.

  Chapter 21: Foolishness Repaid

  Victor and Jeremy left the diner together, the older man walking slower and leaning on his cane. In silence, Victor adjusted his stride to match Jeremy’s. They walked around the side of the building to the rear parking lot. Jeremy’s car was older, a sedan, and it had seen better days. Victor harbored a suspicion that the man could afford a better vehicle, but he kept the belief to himself.

  Once at the car, Victor stopped by the passenger’s side door and waited.

  “You can climb in,” Jeremy said, getting into the vehicle. “I never lock it. There’s never anything to steal.”

  Victor shook his head at the absurdity of such a thought, but he opened the door. When he did so, he noticed that his jacket, which he had left over the safe, was on the floor.

  The safe was gone.

  Victor’s head snapped up, and he saw an expression of fury on Jeremy’s face.

  “Who,” the older man hissed, “would be so stupid as to steal that safe? It was a child’s plaything! Nothing more!”

  Victor didn’t have an answer. All he could do was shake his head. There were no words for the disappointment and anger he felt. He turned away from Jeremy’s car and squeezed his hands into fists, holding back the growing rage.

  “We have to find it,” Jeremy said, a hard note entering his voice. “If the thief opens it then they will undoubtedly come to harm.”

  “I don’t care about that!” Victor snapped. “That damned ghost killed Erin! I wanted it destroyed!”

  “They can’t be destroyed,” Jeremy said, fixing a firm gaze on Victor, “you need to know that. The best I am able to do is to keep them imprisoned. I haven’t met anyone I trust enough to attempt to cast them out of their homes and send them on to the next life. There is the real risk of the ghost being cast adrift, exorcized from something like a bear to find a second item to fester within.”

  “Well, what are we supposed to do?” Victor demanded.

  “Hunt him down,” Jeremy said, shaking his head. “We have to wait until something happens.”

  “Like what?” Victor asked, afraid of the other man’s response.

  Jeremy looked at him, his mouth se
t in a grim line as he answered, “Another death.”

  Chapter 22: Sue and Her Friend

  Sue heard yelling in the parking lot, but it was in the back of her mind. Even her body’s warring desires for food and heroin had faded. All she focused on was the safe. In the protection offered by the dumpster and the tall grass, she had managed to find and trip two of the tumblers. Her eyes were half closed, ear pressed to the still cold metal as she listened to the gentle clicks.

  Then a louder sound filled her ear, that of the final tumbler falling into place and a smile spread across her face. She pulled her ear away, turned the small handle, and opened the door.

  Sue was simultaneously disappointed and curious.

  The safe was occupied by a toy bear, its brown fur stiff, and its black eyes bright. The arms hung at straight angles away from the body, the legs too.

  She reached in, wrapped her hand around the cold toy, and took it out into the day light. A soft voice seemed to whisper in her ear.

  “Hello,” the voice said, the tone gentle and soothing.

  “Hey,” she whispered, sitting back and resting a shoulder against the dumpster. She couldn’t tell if she was hearing the voice because she was jonesing for a fix, hungry, or just exhausted. Or if it was a combination of all three.

  But it was interesting as hell.

  “What’s your name?” the voice asked.

  “Sue,” she answered. “What’s yours?”

  “A special name, would you like to hear?” the voice asked in response.

  Sue frowned, slightly confused at the question, but she answered it nonetheless. “Yes, what is it?”

  “My name is Rolf,” the voice said.

  “Are you the bear?” she asked.

  “No,” Rolf said, chuckling, “the bear is me.”

  Sue grinned. “Cool.”

  “What would you like to do, Sue?” Rolf asked.

  “I’m hungry,” she replied, “and I need my medicine.”

  “Ah,” Rolf said in a knowing tone, “which shall we get first?”

  “Food,” she said, “or I won’t be able to get the medicine.”

  “Were you going to eat from the trash?” Rolf inquired.

  Sue nodded, tears stung her eyes, and she looked away from the bear in shame.

  “Shh,” Rolf said, “you have no need to be ashamed. I ate a great deal worse than trash. But there is another way. The cook, in the diner. He is at the back door, yes?”

  Sue twisted and peered around the edge of the dumpster. She saw a pair of men by the car the safe had been in, and at the diner’s kitchen door, she saw the chef. He was a middle-aged man with a beer belly, smoking a cigarette and drinking from a travel mug.

  “He’s a drunk,” Rolf said in a soft voice, “and he is drunk right now. You should talk to him when there is no one there. He will give you food.”

  “How do you know?” Sue asked, ducking back behind the dumpster.

  “He will be sympathetic to your plight,” Rolf purred, “trust me, my new friend.”

  Sue nodded. Her stomach twisted and cramped, and the sound of a car engine filled the back lot. A moment later, the crunch of tires on the asphalt reached her ears, and she peeked out again. The off-white car exited the parking lot, the men were gone and no one was left except the chef in the back of the diner. Without hesitation, Sue got to her feet and hurried across to him.

  He was a tired looking man with pale skin and cheeks that sagged. Dark circles from sleepless nights hung beneath his eyes, and his nose was large and swollen, the burst capillaries making it look more like a map than a part of his face.

  The chef turned his face towards her and when he did, Sue saw a shift in his eyes. She watched as the irises changed from dull brown to brilliant green and a smile creased the man’s unshaven cheeks.

  “You’re hungry,” the man said in a deep voice.

  Sue nodded, shocked by the shift in color she had witnessed.

  “Stay here,” the chef said. He took a final drag off the cigarette and then flicked it out into the parking lot.

  She watched him step back into the kitchen. Voices were raised for a moment, one person yelling and another responding at the same volume.

  He reappeared a minute later with a large Styrofoam container. The enticing smell of bacon and eggs and home fries wafted out, and Sue found herself salivating.

  The man handed her the food and Sue accepted it. As she started to turn away, he asked, “Do you need money?”

  Sue was too stunned to do anything other than nod.

  He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. It was battered and worn, the black leather faded to almost gray. His hands opened it deftly, and he removed all of the cash from it. These he folded and gave to her.

  Sue held onto the money with one hand, and the food with the other.

  “Go now,” the chef said, an unpleasant grin spreading across his face, “and do no right.”

  Before he could change his mind about the food and money, Sue left the back of the diner.

  In her hands, the food was warm, and the bear was cold. Her arm started to itch, but Sue wasn’t worried. After she ate, she would score a fix, and as she made her way down the back of the strip mall, she heard a song. It took her only a moment to realize it was Rolf, and the thought of the bear singing made her happy.

  Chapter 23: Paranoia Sets In

  Stefan sat at the table in his house. In the rooms around him, the dead muttered and complained. His father’s ghosts were silent, a status Stefan had learned to fear as a young child, and to be wary of as an adult.

  He had taken the precaution of locking the door and checking the seals, but there was always the possibility one or more of them might get out. They were exceptionally able to adapt, which was why his father had collected them in the first place.

  Stefan shook the thoughts of those ghosts away.

  He was allowing himself to be distracted from the real reason he was concerned.

  The man, Grant, in Louisiana had purchased another item from Etsy. Most times it would not have been an issue, except Stefan had taken the precaution of changing his name, the size of the items being sold, and their theoretical places of origin.

  It was a process he had used for years with items of lesser power, and not once had he sold two pieces to one person under separate aliases.

  Which meant Stefan had slipped up.

  An error on his part could result in a slew of repercussions, none of which would be enjoyable, and any one of them could send him to prison.

  Stefan scratched the bridge of his nose and looked at his laptop.

  He had a suspicion that Grant might attempt to find him.

  For several minutes, Stefan sat in silence before he came to a decision.

  He would honor the sale of the Wedgwood teapot, and he would make sure to include a true return address. For the home in Commack, Long Island off the New York coast, a place where he could prepare a trap for the buyer.

  It would require a trip, of course, and he might be tracked down by some of the other collectors, but it was a risk he would have to take.

  Stefan nodded to himself, took up a notepad, and jotted down a list of items he would need for the ambush of the buyer. With that finished, he confirmed the sale of the teapot and then searched for news in New England.

  The murders of Aldo Collier and a woman named Rebecca Furlong in the small town of Northfield, Vermont dominated the news. He scrolled through the obituaries of several northern Massachusetts towns and found one for Erin Daniels, who died suddenly in her home.

  Stefan smirked, a sense of satisfaction settling over him. One by one, he would punish those who sought to collect the dead as his parents had.

  The smugness he felt had faded away as he thought of the buyer in Louisiana. That man was still alive, and Anne was not known for her subtle nature.

  He scratched at the bridge of his nose for a moment, then stood up and left the dining room. Angry growls an
d hisses filled the air, and he cursed them into silence, threatening them with lead coffins as he stomped up the stairs. At the end of the hall stood the door to the room that held all of his father’s ghosts.

  And his father’s as well.

  As he thought of his father, the man’s voice tore through the house.

  “Stefanushka!” the man called and Stefan winced.

  He wanted to retreat to his bedroom but he knew if he didn’t answer his father’s summons there would be no peace in the house. Without quiet he wouldn’t be able to sleep, and without sleep there would be no vengeance against his parents.

  Frowning, Stefan walked to the door and examined the seals with a cautious eye. It was never wise to let down his guard around them.

  “Yes,” Stefan grumbled.

  The sound of his own voice seemed to cause a disturbance among his father’s ghosts as a rolling rumble made itself known, and Stefan shivered. Voices speaking Vietnamese and Pashto, Chinese and English, mingled together and Stefan took a nervous step back.

  “Stay here, Stefanushka,” his father said, the sound of his voice coming from close to the top of the door, mimicking the height of Ivan Korzh in life.

  “Why?” Stefan asked, then flinched as the door rattled in its frame, and his father yelled in Pashto. A freezing blast of air sent Stefan staggering back. The walls of the house shook to its foundation. Glasses crashed in the kitchen, and a piece of furniture fell over in the sitting room.

  The battle behind the door lasted for several minutes, allowing Stefan time to regain his balance. He prepared to flee to the first floor, but he hesitated. It would not do well to ask his father a question and then leave. The man had as little patience dead as he had when alive.

  “Are you still there, Stefanushka?” his father asked, a chuckle rippling through the question.

  “Yes,” Stefan answered, keeping his irritation in check.

  “Excellent,” Ivan said, “now, I have a question for you.”