Haunted Collection Box Set

by Ron Ripley

  “Why do you speak of him in the past tense?” Nicholas asked.

  “He’s dead,” Victor replied, fighting back the sadness that always accompanied thoughts of his father.

  “No,” Nicholas said, his voice rising. “You lie.”

  As Victor watched the ghost straighten up to his full height, easily six and a half feet.

  “You lie!” the dead man bellowed. “My son is not dead!”

  Victor couldn’t move, his thoughts a mad whirlwind in the confines of his skull.

  “He is not dead!” Nicholas screamed and the windows in the house shattered. From the kitchen, Jeremy howled, and Victor was driven to his knees. In his peripheral vision, he saw the grains of salt scattered.

  The toddlers appeared instantly, converging on him.

  “Did I say you could touch him?” Nicholas howled, striding forward. “Did I say you could touch my grandson?”

  The dead children froze, their small eyes fixed on the tall, thin ghost.

  “I did not,” Nicholas hissed, swinging a large hand like a scythe. It cut through the three small ghosts as if they were nothing, and they vanished.

  Victor sat down hard, staring at the ghost who towered over him. As he watched, the dead man’s features solidified and took on definition. He saw a face he recognized from family pictures. Before him stood a familial figure of legend, a man of horrific temper and unquenchable rage.

  Someone who had killed for the sheer pleasure of it.

  Nicholas Daniels squatted down in front of Victor, waves of cold emanating from him. Soft gray eyes looked at him from deep sockets, and a genuine smile of joy cracked the man’s hard features.

  “A little grandson,” Nicholas murmured, “And what bad company you have learned to keep.”

  Victor had no response. He could not see Jeremy, nor did he hear anything from the man. Nicholas occupied the whole of Victor’s attention.

  “Tell me, Victor,” Nicholas said, shifting his weight from one foot to the next, “why are you here.”

  In short, stuttering sentences, Victor told his grandfather about the murder of Erin and the toys set loose in the world.

  Chapter 52: Words of Wisdom from Ivan Denisovich Korzh

  After the cameras had gone black, Stefan turned off the monitor and stood up. He was disappointed that the equipment had died, but he had expected it as well, especially with Nicholas. The ghost was strong. Exceptionally so. It had come as no surprise then when he had drained the entire structure of the Long Island home of its electricity. Stefan chuckled as he thought of the electrical repairman that would more than likely discover the bodies of the two intruders.

  With a yawn, Stefan stood up, stretched, and made his way out of the office. He wandered around the house for a few minutes, listening to the dead complain about their lot, and then made his way to the second floor. When he reached the top of the stairs, his father called to him, and Stefan rolled his eyes.

  But he dutifully went to the barred and sealed door and announced his presence.

  “You set a trap for them, didn’t you?” his father asked in a low, dangerous voice.

  “I did,” Stefan said, fighting back the unease he felt at the tone in his father’s voice.

  “Did they arrive, Stefanushka?” his father whispered. “Did they fall into your little trap?”

  “Arrived and were taken care of,” Stefan said proudly, ignoring the sting of his father’s tone.

  “How do you have confirmation of this?” his father demanded. “Did you observe it in person?”

  Stefan quickly explained what had occurred and his father asked, “Which of your mother’s dead finished them off?”

  “I don’t know his name,” Stefan confessed.

  “What is he bound to?” Ivan asked, his voice revealing his impatience.

  “A coffee mug,” Stefan answered. “It has a large letter ‘E’ on it.”

  Silence greeted the statement.

  Stefan waited for another few breaths, shrugged, and turned to walk away when his father spoke again.

  “A letter ‘E,’” Ivan Denisovich said, a curious note to his voice. “Tell me, Stefan Ivanovich, what did this ghost look like when he came out?”

  Stefan frowned and answered, “Tall and thin. Almost like a scarecrow. I couldn’t make out his face though. The cameras went out.”

  “Tall and thin,” his father murmured, “and you let him out.”

  “I did,” Stefan said. “I’ll keep an eye on the news over the next few days.”

  The rest of his words were cut off as a blow passed through the door and launched Stefan back ten feet, tearing the breath out of his lungs.

  “Fool!” his father screamed. “Stupid fool! You should have been stillborn! Do you know whom you have set free? Nicholas Daniels. He hunted men like us, Stefan. His collection was like nothing you have dreamt of. He slew us where we slept. Murdered our families and stole that which we had gathered. When he died, it was with that mug in his hands, so the story went, and he had bound himself to it so he could continue the hunt. Where was this mug you so casually employed for such a trifling matter?”

  “Mom had it in her safe,” Stefan said, his head spinning.

  “And you didn’t think that perhaps it was there for a good reason?” his father demanded. “You did not think to ask me about it?”

  Stefan didn’t know how to answer because his father would know the lie.

  “Does he know where he was kept?” His father’s voice was bitter when he asked the question.

  “No,” Stefan answered. “Not at all. We never spoke.”

  “Thank God for that, you imbecile,” his father spat. “Is this house protected still?”

  “Yes,” Stefan confirmed.

  “Good,” his father grumbled, “you may not be able to leave for some time if Nicholas manages to escape the house.”

  “Would he come here?” Stefan asked uncomfortably.

  “When he learns of it,” Ivan answered, “you may rest assured that he will be here, and it is your head he will take. And do not forget, my son, that I still expect you to retrieve your birthright.”

  Stefan remained silent, not only in regards to his father’s expectations but about his feelings on his birthright, too.

  Chapter 53: Unsure and Confused

  Victor entered the Pepperell Police Station by himself, feeling a combination of guilt and paranoia. He knew that he had lied to the police about Sue, and he was worried that they did as well.

  After the brutal fight in New York, he was still mentally drained. He expected an attack at any time, part of him certain that the entire phone call from the police had been nothing more than an elaborate ruse to bring him to the station. As the door clicked shut behind him, Victor expected a pair of burly officers to step out and place handcuffs around his wrists.

  Yet nothing of the sort happened.

  Instead, a young female receptionist looked up from her desk, smiled and asked, “May I help you?”

  Victor nodded, swallowed, and said in a hoarse voice, “I received a phone call that I should stop by the police station when I got in.”

  The woman frowned, put a lock of brown hair back behind her ear and said, “May I have your name?”

  Victor gave it to her and a look of pity flashed over the receptionist’s face.

  “Mr. Daniels,” she said, “if you would wait here for a moment, Detective Eklund would like to speak to you about your home.”

  Victor nodded and stood in front of her desk, unsure as to what to do as she paged the detective. Less than a minute later, a dull gray steel door on the left opened and Detective Eklund stepped out.

  He was a large man with a barrel chest and hands that looked as though they belonged to a professional boxer. The knuckles were cracked, red, and calloused. His beard was a dirty blonde and fell nearly to his chest while his head was shaved. He had a pair of thin reading glasses perched on the end of a nose that had been broken more than a few times and
he extended a broad hand when he reached Victor.

  Victor was surprised to find the detective’s grasp firm but not crushing.

  “I’m sorry to have to meet like this,” Detective Eklund said, letting go of Victor’s hand. “You’ve had a hell of a couple of weeks.”

  Victor thought that was a little too much of an understatement but he nodded in agreement.

  “Now,” the detective continued, “I’d like to ask you some questions if that’s alright.”

  “Do we need to go into a room anywhere?” Victor asked, memories of television police dramas flickering through.

  Detective Eklund shook his head. “No. Not at all. Do you know a Franklin Dipolito?”

  “Um, no, I don’t think so,” Victor answered, confused. “Why?”

  “Well, he may have had something to do with the fire,” Detective Eklund said, “and while normally we wouldn’t tell you that, I feel pretty confident in letting you know.”

  “Why’s that?” Victor asked, his confusion deepening.

  “Hm? Oh, well, he’s dead,” the detective said, sighing and shaking his head. “We found him inside of your house.”

  “Oh,” Victor said softly, and he couldn’t think of anything else to add.

  “We were hoping that there was some sort of connection between the two of you,” Detective Eklund continued. “Unfortunately, it seems like we won’t be that lucky. Anyway, there are a few pieces of paperwork and such we need to go over with you, more for your benefit than ours. Insurance stuff. Could you follow me?”

  “Um, sure,” Victor replied and he followed the detective, his mind racing as he tried to think of where Rolf might be, and who he might possess next.

  Chapter 54: Search and Destroy

  Victor carried the lead-lined box in his hands, stepping over deadfall as he followed Jeremy, who was remarkably agile in spite of his cane.

  “Are you sure about this?” Victor asked after several minutes of silence. Evening was settling over the landscape, and soon they wouldn’t be able to travel any further without the assistance of flashlights.

  “Of course I’m sure,” Jeremy called over his shoulder. “From what the newspapers said, it was this family that was killed by Sue who was, as we know, possessed by Rolf. Franklin Dipolito lived across the street and, from what I’ve gathered, was arrested on multiple occasions for driving while intoxicated, making him a prime vessel for Rolf. I highly doubt that Rolf has gone anywhere without further assistance.”

  “But aren’t we running the risk of being caught by someone?” Victor asked, shifting the box in his hands. “Someone has to be there, right? And why would he still be there?”

  “Victor,” Jeremy admonished, “Rolf needs a vessel first and foremost. Second, the man’s ego is tremendous. Why should he fear either of us? Yes, he knows that we captured him once, but in the same breath he was out within a day. He will bide his time, as he has done so in the past.”

  Victor frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t like it. I still think he’s not going to be there, and that we’ll end up being arrested for trespassing.”

  “No,” Jeremy replied, “we won’t be. I made some inquiries into the situation. It seems that the nearest family members live out in the mid-west and they won’t be able to get here until sometime next week.”

  “How in God’s name did you learn that?” Victor asked, surprised.

  Jeremy chuckled. “I pretended to be a rather unsavory real estate agent and called up town hall. Now, rest assured, I am positive that Rolf is still within, and let us not forget, even your esteemed, dead grandfather confirmed my suspicions.”

  The sarcasm in Jeremy’s voice with regards to Nicholas was unmistakable. Still, Victor asked, “Why didn’t we ask him for help with capturing Rolf?”

  The question caused Jeremy to stop and turn around. He had an incredulous expression on his face and he shook his head. “Victor, you are too smart to ask such a foolish question. Your grandfather was a brutal man. I knew of him, and of what he did. I would feel far more comfortable if you would allow me to lock him in a box and put him away. He is not to be trusted.”

  Victor didn’t respond and his silence caused Jeremy to shake his head.

  “Regardless,” Jeremy continued, beginning to walk again, “he is right about where Rolf should be. I must warn you, though, it is more than likely going to be unpleasant.”

  Try burying your wife, Victor thought, but he didn’t speak.

  In a few minutes, the trees fell back and revealed a large backyard. An impressive house stood in front of them. All of the home’s details were lost as Victor focused on the basement door.

  “This is the house?” Victor asked.

  Jeremy nodded.

  An uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of Victor’s stomach as they crossed the yard, Jeremy’s steps leading them unerringly to the basement door.

  “What are you doing?” Victor asked, surprised.

  “We have to go in,” Jeremy stated, “he’s in there, Victor. Waiting for us. Are you ready for him?”

  Victor could only nod.

  The door was unlocked, and it swung open on quiet hinges. From his pocket, Jeremy removed a small flashlight, turned it on, and stepped into the house. They moved in a few paces when the flashlight’s beam illuminated Rolf, the bear sitting on the floor beside what Victor first thought was spilled paint, and then realized was dried blood.

  “Get the box ready,” Jeremy said, and the bear blinked.

  The flashlight went dead and there was the rattle of metal. In the dim light of the evening seeping in through the open door, Victor caught sight of wrenches and sockets, nails and screws all flying towards them.

  The effect was instant and painful, forcing him to clutch the lead box to his chest while wading through a storm of steel.

  Jeremy went crashing down, yelling out in pain. Yet even as he did so, Victor saw the man’s cane swing out, catch the bear and knock him toward Victor.

  “Die!” Rolf screamed. A torrent of German followed and heavier items were ripped off the walls and torn from shelves. Something hard struck Victor in the side of the head and drove him to his knees. He lost his grip on the box and it fell to the floor. A hammer struck him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to fall upon the box.

  As items continued to smash against him, Victor managed to get his breath back as he pulled the box out from under him. With one hand, he opened it and with the other, he reached out, his fingers grazing the old, bitterly cold fur of the possessed toy.

  A machine started up and it took him a moment to place the sound.

  It was a generator.

  As the machine began to thrum, the stench of exhaust crept into the air. The door to the basement slammed closed and Victor understood what the dead man wanted to do.

  He was going to kill them with carbon monoxide.

  Victor slapped his hand around, looking for something, anything heavy. His fingers grabbed hold of the hammer that had struck him and he twisted around with it, hurling it with all of his strength toward a window above a dry sink.

  The tool smashed through the glass but even as the shards fell to the concrete floor, the exhaust thickened. A groan filled the air and Victor had only a fraction of a second to jerk out of the way of metal shelf that was torn from the wall.

  Above the sound of the generator, Rolf’s maniacal screaming could still be heard. In the dim light that filtered in through the broken window, Victor couldn’t see the man. It was as though the old man had vanished.

  Or that Rolf had ripped him out of the fabric of the universe and thrown him into some dark place.

  A large wrench hurtled from the depths of a shadow and struck a brutally hard blow against the side of Victor’s head.

  Stars exploded as Victor fell down again, his head bouncing off the floor and causing him to howl in agony.

  “Victor!” Jeremy yelled. “The box, Victor, the box!”

 
Pushing the pain aside, Victor twisted around, spotted the lead box and Jeremy.

  The older man was close to the bear but the box was not.

  Grinding his teeth against the pain, Victor scrambled forward on his stomach and grabbed hold of the lead box. He slid it across the floor to Jeremy.

  The older man let out a fierce, triumphant shout and reached out a gloved hand, snatching up the bear.

  Rolf’s scream of rage and hatred punched through Victor’s head and he collapsed to one side, vomiting.

  Jeremy did not fare much better, and Victor saw the older man get sick as well. Yet in spite of his physical reaction to the dead man’s scream, Jeremy pressed on. As if fighting against a gale force wind, Jeremy dragged the bear towards the open box.

  Rolf’s scream became a high-pitched shriek, and in the fading light, Victor watched as Jeremy thrust the bear into the box and slammed the lid down.

  Items in flight plummeted to the floor, some of them landing on the two men.

  In the sudden silence, Victor closed his eyes, not caring that he lay in a puddle of his own vomit. He pushed himself to his hands and knees and looked over at Jeremy.

  “Come on, Victor,” Jeremy said, coughing and picking up the box. “We need to get out of the house. The fumes.”

  Victor glanced at the generator, nodded and got to his feet. For a moment, he paused, coughing.

  I’m alive, he thought, stumbling towards the door.

  Alive.

  And the creature that had killed Erin was captured.

  Chapter 55: An Uncomfortable Bargain

  Jeremy sat in the hotel room with Victor.

  The battle in the house on Long Island had been four days prior, the battle to seize Rolf had occurred the night before, and he felt miserable. There was no permanent damage from what he could see, but once he was back in Norwich, Connecticut, he would see his doctor and make certain his amateur assessment was correct.

  The two men were in a small hotel in Nashua, New Hampshire, several miles from the burnt remains of Victor’s house. Slightly beyond his former residence was the Pepperell Police Station.