Haunted Collection Box Set

by Ron Ripley

  “I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out,” Victor said, the pain spreading from his hand up to his forearm, tendrils of the same burning along his nerves towards his elbow.

  “Well, before you do that, I wanted to make one statement,” Jeremy said.

  “Go for it,” Victor said, wincing against the growing pain.

  “Well done, my friend,” Jeremy said. “Well done.”

  “Thanks,” Victor managed, and then he closed his eyes against the pain and consciousness.

  Chapter 44: An Unfortunate Phone Call

  Grant had been admitted to the hospital and Jeremy had gone to see Leanne Le Monde. Victor was still in a suite in the ER, his hand being treated for severe frostbite.

  A pale blue curtain separated him from the hub of the emergency room, and a pair of white running shoes appeared beneath the hem of it. The curtain was pushed aside by a middle-aged woman, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She wore a pair of rimless glasses, and her face was angular, sharp and barren of any makeup. Her nametag read, Dr. Elizabeth Stowe.

  “Mr. Daniels,” she said, her words spoken with a curious lilt that hinted at a childhood in a country other than America. “Tell me, how does one manage to sustain a frostbite injury in New Orleans?”

  “That’s an excellent question,” he replied, “and it deserves an equally fantastic answer.”

  She waited, tapping her fingers on a clipboard.

  “Mr. Daniels,” Dr. Stowe said after a moment, “do you have an answer for me?”

  “None that you would believe or accept,” he stated, “that would not result in me being placed into protective custody for an undetermined amount of time.”

  “Does that mean I should commit you?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” he responded. “Now, if you would kindly discharge me, Doctor, I would appreciate it.”

  “And what of your friend?” Dr. Stowe asked, glancing down at her notes, “What of Grant Ross?”

  Victor shrugged as he answered, “I believe Mr. Ross is an adult, Doctor, and he will be fine. I will, of course, check in on him later on. But, as they say, he’s a big boy.”

  “Mr. Daniels,” she said in a voice brimming with anger, “your friend has suffered a debilitating injury to his reproductive organs. Someone tore out an eye. He is currently unconscious and unable to answer any of our questions, so I am asking you, before I bring in the police, to tell me what happened to both of you.”

  Victor examined her, saw there was no bluff in her eyes, and said, “We entered his apartment. On his floor, we stepped out of the elevator, and I don’t remember anything else.”

  Her lips formed a thin line as she shook her head, spun around on her heel and left the room.

  In less than a minute, a young male nurse entered the room. He had a confused expression on his face, and he carried a portable phone.

  “Mr. Daniels,” the young man said, “you have a phone call.”

  Frowning, Victor accepted the phone with his uninjured hand.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “Mr. Daniels,” a woman said, “this is Officer Lee of the Pepperell police department.”

  It took a moment for the name to register, and when it did, his brain accessed the memory of the night Sue Jeffries was murdered.

  “Yes, Officer Lee,” Victor said, remembering the police woman he had lied to, “this is a rather strange time for you to be calling me. And how did you know to call me here, in the hospital?”

  “The New Orleans police department called about you,” she replied and said no more on the subject.

  He cleared his throat and asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “It is nothing good, I’m afraid,” she said, sounding genuinely sympathetic. “Your house burned down last night.”

  Victor blinked, looked down at his lap and said, “I’m sorry. It sounds as if you said my house burned down.”

  “It did,” Officer Lee continued, “and we were wondering when you might be returning to Pepperell from your New Orleans trip.”

  “I, well, I think tomorrow, perhaps the day after at the latest,” Victor said, his thoughts spinning. “Why?”

  “We need you to stop by the station when you get in,” she answered, her voice pleasant. “We have some paperwork to go over with you. Nothing too drastic.”

  “Alright then,” Victor said, still trying to come to grips with what the woman had told him. “I’ll stop by as soon as I’m back.”

  “Great,” she said, a happy tone in her voice, “we’ll see you then.”

  The call ended and Victor was left with the phone pressed to his ear, the dial tone loud and penetrating.

  Confused, Victor placed the phone on the bed, ignorant of the nurse, the room, his injured hand, and everything except the fact that his house had burned down.

  Chapter 45: A Visit with Leanne

  She had fixed him a cup of black tea laced with nutmeg.

  Jeremy cradled the worn china cup in his hands, staring at the faint outline of the china’s pattern on the interior of the vessel.

  “Was she difficult?” Leanne asked.

  Jeremy nodded, took a sip and said, “Very, I am afraid. She injured Grant.”

  “So I gathered,” Leanne replied. “I called the hospital and made inquiries about his condition, and young Victor’s as well.”

  “Victor did well,” Jeremy said, focusing on her. “He was far better than I thought he would be. The man was unflappable, and for that, I am grateful. Anne would have had me otherwise.”

  Leanne walked to the coffin, which lay on the floor beneath a painting of a rose filled burial ground. Jeremy watched her as she stared down at the doll through the glass.

  “Do you know her story, Jeremy?” Leanne asked before she turned around and went back to her chair.

  He shook his head. “I know her name. I know what she has done since occupying the doll, but other than that, I know nothing.”

  “She was the daughter of a poor farmer,” Leanne said. “A local businessman felt a fatherly affection for her since she reminded him of his own daughter, who had passed away years earlier. She thought that if the businessman became her father, then she would have more dolls.”

  Leanne paused before she continued.

  “Soon, there was tragedy at her home. People believed that her mother killed her father, then herself, leaving Anne an orphan at the age of seven. Later, much later in life, after Anne died, it came to light that she had slain her parents, all in an effort to own more possessions.”

  “She was a murderer, even from a young age,” Jeremy mused.

  Leanne nodded.

  “It should be no surprise that she managed to establish herself in the businessman’s home. First, it was as a guest, but as she grew older, the man became enamored of her. His first wife passed away when she was thrown from a horse and died. A second wife followed, but she killed herself within a year of their marriage. These too, it would turn out, had been the work of Anne. She grew more cunning and deadly as she grew older.”

  “I surmise there was little that Anne balked at,” Jeremy said, looking to Leanne.

  She nodded, finished her own tea, hesitated, and then continued her tale.

  “Within six months, she and the businessman were married. Five months after that, the first of three children were born,” Leanne said, “and three were all God graced her with. While he made her fertile, he did not make her patient, nor did he make her pleasant. There is an article, from New Orleans, about how she murdered her husband and their sons. She had planned the death of the governess as well, but the girl got away and told the authorities. When the police arrived, she held onto her doll, and she had finished stitching the mouths of her kin shut. When the police tried to take her, she fought them until they were forced to kill her.”

  “She sounds,” Jeremy said, “as if she were an absolute delight to know.”

  Leanne graced him with a crooked smile and said, “Evidently. Even w
ith her crimes laid before the public, many of them still could not believe a woman of her beauty – and she was exceptionally beautiful – could be guilty of such crimes. She was a terrible fiend, Jeremy, and I am impressed with how you captured her.”

  “Well, as I said, my friend,” Jeremy sighed, adjusting his position in the chair, “it was Victor who saved the day.”

  “Jeremy,” Leanne said, frowning, “are you saying you did not place her in the coffin?”

  “That is exactly what I am saying,” Jeremy said, nodding. “Not only did he confine her, but he did so without the benefit of protection. He is at the hospital now, being treated for his injuries.”

  “He should not have survived,” Leanne murmured, more to herself than to Jeremy. “Not with someone as powerful as she. Tell me, what do you know of him?”

  “Nothing, when it comes down to it,” Jeremy admitted. “I know his wife was slain by Rolf. I know the man seeks vengeance. Other than that, I do not even know what he does for work, his hobbies, or any single aspect of his past.”

  “You told me he is from Massachusetts,” she said, tapping her fingers on her teacup. “And truly, I can hear his accent, but perhaps he was not born there.”

  “What are you thinking of, Leanne?” Jeremy asked, leaning forward. “Will you tell me?”

  She shook her head and smiled. “The wandering thoughts of an old woman, Jeremy. Nothing more. But should you ask after his lineage, please, you will let me know the answer?”

  Jeremy nodded, any words he might have spoken were cut off by the sudden ringing of his cellphone. He excused himself and answered the phone.

  “Grant’s awake,” Victor said without preamble.

  “Are you with him?” Jeremy asked.

  “Yes,” Victor sighed, “I am.”

  “Excellent,” Jeremy said, “I’ll be there shortly. We have to get the address from him in Commack.”

  “I know,” Victor said, his voice cold. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “I didn’t think you had,” Jeremy said gently. “I will see you soon, Victor.”

  He ended the call and put the phone away as Leanne said, “Mr. Ross has awakened?”

  “He has,” Jeremy confirmed. “I will gain the address for the home in New York, and then Victor and I will attend to whoever is the possessor of the Korzh Collection.”

  “Be cautious,” Leanne warned. “If it is indeed their child, then you will be approaching someone with all the wiles and skill of the parents.”

  “I will,” Jeremy said, getting to his feet. “And I will be certain to have Victor be careful as well. Thank you for the tea, Leanne, and for the company.”

  She gave him a pleased smile and stood up to show him to the door.

  When he stood on the street with the night sounds of New Orleans moving around him, Jeremy took a deep breath, hailed a taxi, and tried not to think of what might be waiting for them in New York.

  Chapter 46: Unwelcome Company

  Grant lay on the hospital bed, his thoughts blurred by the pain medication fed into his system by the IV bag which hung above him.

  Victor and Jeremy stood at the end of his bed, backlit by the light of the corridor revealed by the room’s open door. They had come for the address in New York, and he had given it to them. But as he lay on the bed, Grant had a difficult time focusing on them, not only from the medication but also because of his sudden lack of depth perception.

  He tried to move in the bed, but the pain was instant and explosive, reminding him of the events in his apartment building.

  His face must have shown his agony for Jeremy asked, “Is there anything I can do for you before we go?”

  Grant had several angry retorts pass through his mind, but he swallowed back each of them. It hadn’t been Jeremy or Victor who had purchased the doll, or the teapot. Nor had they forced him to go along with them to recover either of the items.

  Grant was embarrassed, he realized, for the way he had acted. His desire to run away in spite of his efforts to stay and help shamed him.

  He had proven himself to be nothing more than a base coward, and the presence of the two men at the foot of his hospital bed was a painful reminder of that.

  As a young man, Grant had always fancied himself as brave and courageous, and as he aged, he had never come across someone who had challenged that belief. Anne Le Morte and the corpse of Mrs. Ducharme had not only challenged it, but shredded it and revealed it for the fallacy that it was.

  “Where is the coffin?” Grant managed to ask. Not out of a desire to know its exact location, but rather to know he didn’t have anything to fear from a vengeful ghost.

  “With Miss Le Monde,” Jeremy said. “She will keep it for me until I can have it brought to my own home in Norwich, Connecticut. Once there, I will be able to keep both Anne and the ghost in the teapot contained.”

  “Are you going now?” Grant asked. “To Long Island?”

  “Yes,” Jeremy answered, “we cannot put it off any longer. The collection needs to be secured, and the sooner, the better. I am fearful of the harm that may have been wrought. I doubt only three were released into the wild as it were.”

  “Do you want us to tell you when it’s over?” Victor asked.

  “No,” Grant snapped. Then he regained control and let out a strained sigh. “Yes. Please. I’ll sleep better.”

  Jeremy and Victor were silent for a moment before the older man said, “Grant, you have my number. And you know how to contact Miss Le Monde. Do not hesitate to reach out to either one of us if you find you cannot sleep without the aid of narcotics or alcohol. There are people who can help you if you wish it.”

  Grant held back an angry retort, felt the first pangs that warned of the weakening of the painkiller’s effectiveness, and muttered, “I will. But leave. Please. I can’t see you. You remind me of her.”

  “Anne?” Victor asked.

  Grant shook his head.

  “Mrs. Ducharme,” he whispered. “Mrs. Ducharme.”

  The two men left the room, abandoning Grant to his memories.

  With a whimper, he found the call button for the nurse and pressed it.

  He needed something, anything, to erase the image of Mrs. Ducharme’s corpse. By the time the nurse came hurrying into the room, Grant was weeping, and there was nothing anyone could do.

  Chapter 47: Waiting for the Trap to Spring

  Stefan knew it was a stereotype, but he didn’t care. He enjoyed the taste of vodka, and he never drank to excess.

  His father had warned him of the dangers of that, and Stefan had witnessed it himself on more than one occasion. Neither of his parents had approved of his experiments, where he would bring a possessed item to a bar and allow it to run wild for a while.

  Often the police became involved, an incident having occurred, and his father invariably found out about his extracurricular activities.

  Stefan chuckled at the memories, poured himself a little more of the vodka, a brand named Tovaritch, and well worth the money he paid for it.

  He put the bottle away and returned his attention to the monitor set up beside his laptop.

  The new monitor was dedicated to the house in Commack in Long Island. He had gone back over the weekend and installed several cameras in the house, as well as four more around it. Stefan was able to view each and every aspect of the building, as well as the approaches to it. The system was also designed to alert him via text should he be away from the monitor.

  But he had no intention of traveling any farther than down the hall to his bedroom. Soon, he suspected, someone would make an effort to enter the trap, and Stefan eagerly awaited the results.

  Part of him was concerned that he hadn’t done enough. There was a gnawing suspicion residing in his mind about whether or not his father had blown the situation out of proportion. Granted, Stefan had never seen his father even remotely concerned with regards to another collector before, but perhaps being dead had given him that which he lacked in life –
fear of anything or anyone.

  Yet his father had said the man in question had killed him and then gone silent on the subject. He had refused to utter the man’s name or where he lived.

  Stefan suspected the great Ivan Denisovich Korzh was still afraid of the man who had robbed him of life.

  Curiously, Stefan felt no animosity towards the unnamed man. Stefan had never been exceptionally close with his father, or with his mother. Both of his parents had existed as peripherals in his life. They were there to provide sustenance and protection. He had learned early in his youth that they were far more concerned with the dead than they were with the living, and that included their son.

  Stefan pushed the thoughts of self-reflection away and focused on the monitor. Vodka, as much as he enjoyed it, often caused his eye to turn inward and to examine his past.

  He put the glass on the desktop, the alcohol splashing against the container.

  Something had shown on one of the screens.

  It was the camera that showed the street in front of the Commack house.

  A dark blue sedan had pulled up and come to a stop. In the vehicle were two men. The driver appeared to be in his early forties. His passenger was much older.

  Stefan watched them, gripping his knees with his hands and waiting to see what they would do. The two men spoke to one another, their words unheard. After several minutes, they exited the vehicle, the older man leaning on a cane. The driver came around the front of the car to stand with the passenger, and they stepped up onto the sidewalk.

  For another minute, they stared at the house.

  Then together they went up the short walkway and climbed the stairs to the front door.

  Stefan breathed quickly through his nose, eager to see what the two would do next.

  Chapter 48: At the House in Long Island

  “I do believe this is a trap,” Jeremy said.

  Victor nodded his agreement. He had read the note tacked to the front door and had come to the same conclusion. The entire building had an uncomfortable air about it, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His mouth was dry, and he felt as though he was about to walk blindly down a dark alley in which he had seen several unsavory individuals go before him.