Haunted Collection Box Set

by Ron Ripley

  “Would I hurt you?” he asked, his voice soothing. “Would I do anything to you, my dear, little friend?”

  Sue didn’t answer, fear freezing her in place.

  His lips curled into a smile, and he whispered, “Of course I would.”

  And before Sue could move, Rolf leaped forward, the bat crashing down upon her head. As she collapsed to the grass, the world suddenly black, Sue heard the sound of the bat racing through the air, and then there was nothing more for her to be afraid of.

  Chapter 34: A Phone Call from NOLA

  The sound of sirens had interrupted the conversation between Jeremy and Victor. Loud and piercing, the noise of the emergency vehicles told Victor that the incident was close and a sudden worry overtook him.

  He stood up from the couch and Jeremy looked at him, asking, “What’s wrong?”

  “I want to make sure Sue’s still here,” Victor answered, and he hurried up the stairs.

  Even without turning on the light he knew she was gone. The overhead lamp merely confirmed the fact, showing him the details. On the rumpled sheets of the bed lay the screen of the window. The window was open, the cool night air flowing in without impediment.

  His shoulders sagged as he switched off the light and returned to the couch. Jeremy looked at him and said, “She’s gone.”

  Victor nodded. “Probably right after we left the room.”

  Jeremy frowned and said, “Those sirens are for her.”

  “That would be my guess,” Victor said, shaking his head. He felt uncomfortable as he asked, “Do you think it was Rolf?”

  “It is what I would assume,” Jeremy said, rubbing at his hip. “I can only hope that it was quick.”

  Victor shuddered at the idea of the young woman’s murder, yet another life taken by the beast bound to the bear.

  Jeremy’s cellphone rang, and the man drew it out of his pocket. Victor watched as the man frowned at the number on the screen and then answered the call anyway. Not wanting to intrude on the conversation, Victor stood up and left the room for the kitchen. In spite of it being well past midnight, he started a pot of coffee, knowing that he wouldn’t sleep, at least not without the aid of some sort of drug.

  And he had no desire to take anything.

  At least not yet.

  The coffee was ready before Jeremy finished his call, the man’s voice rising and falling. Several times there were long lulls in the conversation, but they always ended.

  Finally, after twenty minutes, Jeremy came into the kitchen. He raised an eyebrow at the coffee, hesitated, then got himself a cup. When he sat down at the table across from Victor, he said, “We may have gotten a little break concerning who sold Rolf to your wife.”

  Victor’s hands shook, and he put the cup down on the table before he spilled any of the coffee. “What do you mean?”

  “I was just on the phone with a man named Grant, from New Orleans,” Jeremy explained. “He told me that an old friend and colleague of mine referred me to him. Evidently, he recently purchased a haunted doll from an unknown seller. The doll tried to kill him.”

  “Good God,” Victor whispered.

  Jeremy nodded. “What he wanted from me was the removal of the doll from his apartment. It turns out he is unable to go home. I persuaded him to tell me more about the purchase, and when he told me about it, and the fact that he bought another item from the same seller in hopes that he might return both, I thought we might be fortunate.”

  “How so?” Victor asked.

  “Grant explained that he managed to get a return address for the seller,” Jeremy said. “It is an address in Commack, Long Island. He is hopeful of returning both items to the seller. I told him I would be happy to go to New Orleans to assist him with his haunted doll, but only if he allowed me to accompany him to Long Island. He was more than happy to agree.”

  “May I come along?” Victor asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

  Jeremy smiled. “I was hoping you would. Not only for the company but for the fact that I dislike the idea of you being here whilst Rolf is on the loose. I can only surmise that he will make a concerted effort to kill you, especially now that Sue is probably dead.”

  Victor nodded. “When would we leave?”

  “It would be a matter of me canceling appointments for the next week or so, and booking the flights,” Jeremy said, “and whatever you might need to do in regards to work.”

  “I can work on the way, when we’re there, and on the way to Long Island,” Victor stated. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

  “Well then, my new traveling companion,” Jeremy said, raising his cup in salute, “let us prepare for our adventure.”

  Victor nodded and finished his coffee.

  His hands, he noticed, were no longer shaking.

  Chapter 35: The Arrival of Assistance

  Grant stood in the terminal of the Louis Armstrong Airport, waiting for the arrival of a man he hoped would help rid him of the scourge of Anne. He held a sign in his hands with the names Jeremy Rhinehart and Victor Daniels on it, and felt ridiculous. Grant thought it could have been worse if he looked as foolish as half the people he saw; phones pressed to their ears while they scanned the crowd for friends and family.

  He reminded himself that he shouldn’t complain. Jeremy had agreed to come down to Louisiana immediately, and his only request was to meet the seller.

  “Grant?”

  Called back to reality by the sound of his name, Grant looked up and saw a man in his sixties or seventies walking toward him with the assistance of a cane. A much younger man, who looked as though he hadn’t slept for weeks, kept pace with him.

  “That’s me,” Grant said, lowering the sign with silent thanks. He dropped it into a nearby trashcan and then extended his hand. Both Jeremy and Victor shook it in turn. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I’ve always enjoyed New Orleans,” Jeremy said, his words spoken with the precise, nasal intonation of a native New Englander. “Are we far from your home?”

  Grant shook his head as he said, “No. Not at all. But don’t you need to rest, or do some research?”

  “Not at all,” Jeremy said with a tight smile. “All we need is a trip to the French Quarter. There are certain shops in the Quarter where I will be able to procure what I need for your doll.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Victor said, speaking for the first time. “I need the restroom.”

  After the man had left, Grant turned to Jeremy and asked, “Is he alright?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “The same individual who sold you Anne sold Victor’s wife a possessed toy. It convinced her to kill herself.”

  “God in Heaven,” Grant said, glancing back at the way Victor had gone. “When was this?”

  “Only a short time ago,” Jeremy said. “He is a remarkably resilient man. I believe he will be of great assistance to me. Especially with the taking of Anne.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Grant said. “She is quite brutal.”

  “The fact that she let you live for so long without an attempt on your life is impressive,” Jeremy stated, “and it is not a fact which should be overlooked. She found you appealing, Grant. Ah, here is my young friend now.”

  Victor had returned, his face damp and his hair slicked back.

  “I get over a flight quicker if I wash my face as soon as I land,” Victor explained, his face reddening a shade.

  “I find a good glass of bourbon does that for me,” Grant said. The three of them chuckled together at the statement and Grant led them along the hallway towards the exit. Victor flagged down a cab, and they got into the back.

  “Where to?” the cabbie asked.

  “630 Royal Street, please,” Jeremy said.

  The cabbie pulled away from the curb, and Grant looked at Jeremy.

  “That’s M.S. Rau Antiques,” he said after a moment.

  “It is indeed,” Jeremy said, nodding.

  “What are you going to find there tha
t will help you with what you need?” Grant asked, confused. “I shop from them when I’m designing. They don’t strike me as the type to carry ghost hunting items.”

  Jeremy glanced at him, a small smile playing on his face. “Grant, when you want something of quality, you go to the best. Simply because the piece wasn’t made for ghost hunting does not mean that it cannot be. John Ruskin stated that you get what you pay for. I intend to buy the best, so therefore it makes sense to shop at only the best. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes,” Grant said, scratching the back of his head with his good hand, “I’m just confused.”

  “You need to relax,” Jeremy said. “So long as I am not confused, everything is going to be fine.”

  “And if you get confused?” Victor asked.

  “Then we all need to run,” Jeremy said.

  A man wearing shorts and painted to look like a skeleton danced by the cab, shaking a long staff topped with a skull on it at the vehicle.

  Jeremy clapped his hands and let out a chuckle. “My God, I’ve missed New Orleans.”

  “Do you like it here?” Grant asked.

  Jeremy nodded.

  “Do you visit the city often?” Grant asked, settling back into the sprung seat of the cab.

  “No,” Jeremy admitted, “not for almost twenty years.”

  “How come?” Victor asked, turning his head away from the window.

  “Hm?” Jeremy said.

  “Why don’t you visit more often?” Grant said, picking up the thread of the question.

  “Ah, a silly reason,” Jeremy said, turning his attention back to the world outside of the cab.

  Grant smiled. “And what sort of silly reason might that be?”

  “I spoke with a voodoo priest in the French Quarter back in 1975,” Jeremy said.

  Grant rolled his eyes. He hated people who dragged out an answer to what should have been an obvious line of questioning.

  “Did the priest say something?” Grant asked. “Prophesize some sort of event?”

  “He did indeed,” Jeremy replied.

  “Good God, Jeremy,” Victor said, sighing, “can’t you just tell him what he wants to know?”

  Jeremy turned in his seat and gave Grant a wry smile. “Is there something you wish to know, Grant?”

  Trying not to let his frustration be heard, he answered, “Yes. What was it that the voodoo priest told you in 1975 that has kept you from visiting here?”

  “Ah,” Jeremy said. “There we have it. A nice, pointed, direct question. To which I shall give a nice, pointed, direct answer.”

  Grant waited for Jeremy to continue, and when he realized that Jeremy was teasing him, he bit his tongue to keep from saying something sharp.

  After a moment, Jeremy chuckled, looked back out the window, and said, “The priest told me that I would die in New Orleans, Grant. And he said that it wouldn’t be pleasant. Not in the least.”

  The cabbie turned on a sports radio station, and the men rode the rest of the way to the French Quarter in silence.

  Chapter 36: On Royal Street

  Victor stood outside of the antique store and waited while Jeremy and the new man, Grant, shopped. Jeremy had said nothing else about the warning passed on by the voodoo priest, years earlier, and he had remained tight-lipped about what exactly he had hoped to find in the store. Grant, who was familiar with the current management, had accompanied him.

  Victor struggled with a growing sense of irritation.

  Rolf was still in Massachusetts, and they were on the Mississippi looking for an object to help Jeremy with a haunted doll.

  And Victor wanted to help the man, but more than that, he wanted to stop Rolf and find a way to destroy the ghost, or at least imprison him forever.

  “You are thinking of Rolf,” Jeremy said, speaking slightly behind Victor and causing him to jump in surprise.

  “Damn,” Victor said, his heart thundering against his chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  Jeremy smiled an apology and Victor looked past him at Grant. The other man carried a large package in his arms, the item wrapped in heavy brown paper. There was a curious expression of confusion, admiration, and trepidation on the man’s face.

  “You got what you came for?” Victor asked.

  Jeremy nodded. “I did indeed. You neither confirmed nor denied my suspicion as to what your thoughts are concerned with.”

  “Yes,” Victor admitted, trying to keep his ire out of his voice. “I’m thinking about Rolf.”

  “And you are smart to do so,” Jeremy said, his voice becoming harder, “he is not one to take lightly. I am sure you would rather be in Massachusetts, hunting him down. I assure you, Victor, that he is not forgotten. We will find him again, and we will stop him. But for right now it is too dangerous for me to leave you with him, and young Grant here is in jeopardy.”

  “The doll’s in his apartment,” Victor snapped, “how is that him being in jeopardy? Sounds more like he’s put out for a bit. This couldn’t have waited?”

  “I don’t think I can explain it well enough for you,” Jeremy said, sighing, “but I wanted to visit my old friend anyway. She will explain the situation for you, and for Grant. Leanne Le Monde has a much better way with words than I do.”

  Victor shook his head, reluctant to let the subject go, but he did anyway.

  “Do we need a cab?” he asked.

  Both Grant and Jeremy nodded, with Jeremy saying, “Yes. Normally even I would attempt the walk, but not with my recent purchase.”

  Victor flagged down a cab, and as the vehicle pulled up to the curb, he glanced over his shoulder and asked, “What did you buy?”

  “A coffin,” Grant said as Victor opened the door for him. “He bought a child’s coffin.”

  Surprised, Victor stared at Jeremy as the older man climbed into the back seat.

  Jeremy gave him a small, tired smile and said, “You use the tool necessary for the job, Victor. Whatever that tool might be.”

  Victor said nothing as he got into the cab and reflected on what horrific tools Jeremy might have used in his life.

  Chapter 37: Reprimanded

  The house shook, and Stefan was thrown from his bed, landing on the floor hard enough to rattle his teeth and knock the wind out of him. Gasping for air with his head spinning from the pain, Stefan pushed himself into a sitting position.

  Another violent tremor rippled through the house. Items fell and crashed, and the dead raised their voices in a cacophony of protest.

  Stefan’s father bellowed in Russian, and the spirits fell silent.

  Ivan Korzh was still to be respected, regardless of his imprisonment.

  Pressing his hands against his temples, Stefan attempted to get the pain in his jaw under control.

  “Stefan Ivanovich Korzh!” his father yelled.

  All of Stefan’s pain was forgotten as he scrambled to his feet.

  He too feared his father. The seals on the door might hold his father’s dead back, but they were nothing to Ivan Korzh if the man chose to shatter them.

  Stumbling and staggering in the darkness, fear forced Stefan to make his way to the door, calling out, “I am coming, Father!”

  The house was silent around him as the dead listened and waited, longing to know why Ivan had destroyed the peace.

  Stefan reached the door and came to a stop a few feet away, the pain creeping back into his thoughts as he stared at the portal, waiting.

  “I am here, Father,” Stefan said.

  “You are a fool!” his father snarled.

  Stefan recoiled, the words harsh and unforgiving, the old, untamable fear of childhood rearing its head. “Why?”

  “You,” Ivan hissed through the door, “did not retrieve your mother’s prizes. And I have learned that you sent out more. More! How many of them did you scatter to the winds? You are supposed to be protecting them! They are your birthright!”

  Stefan’s thoughts spun, whirling through his mind. He tried to make se
nse of what his father meant, but he could not. The sound of his father’s enraged voice robbed him of his adulthood and made a cringing child of him once more.

  “I don’t understand,” Stefan replied, reluctance thick in his voice.

  “Of course you don’t,” grumbled his father. “You never paid attention to what your mother and I attempted to teach you. No, you joined the army and sought to battle the world, and not to gather the dead to you, as was our task.”

  Stefan bristled at the reprimand, at the slight against his military service. It was the one aspect of his life that he was proud of. The only portion of it that had provided him with skills he felt was useful, as the death of Aldo Collier had proven.

  When his father spoke again, there was less anger in the man’s voice.

  “Oh, Stefanushka,” his father said. “How many items have you sent out?”

  Stefan almost replied that he didn’t know, but his father would sense the lie. “Thirty-seven so far.”

  For several seconds his father didn’t reply, and Stefan could picture the man when he had still been alive, how the color would drain from his face as the rage built.

  “Thirty-seven,” Ivan Korzh whispered, and then the entire house shook. It felt as though a giant reached down from the heavens and grabbed hold of the building and attempted to wrestle it free of its foundation.

  The motion was violent enough to knock Stefan down. Screams erupted from the ghosts, and his father’s dead howled with glee from their prison.

  “If he has not yet identified the German in the bear as having been your mother’s,” his father hissed, “then he will make the connection soon enough. And if he should learn of Anne, then he will know without a doubt where they are coming from. You need to get them back. All of them. Each and every one you have sent out.”

  Stefan ignored the command. Those thirty-seven were only the first wave. The others would go out eventually, regardless of what his father wished.

  Stefan tried to speak and gasped, the pain in his jaw excruciating. Finally, he managed to ask, “Who? Who are you talking about?”