Haunted Collection Box Set

by Ron Ripley

  Nicholas stood up, a vicious smile playing on his face.

  “Stay away from the windows, Tom,” the dead man said, and he vanished from the room.

  ***

  Officer Conrad Whyte put his cruiser into park and got out of the vehicle. He adjusted his gun belt, which always managed to become cockeyed when he drove and pulled down on the neck of his body armor. Conrad had been in a foul mood since he had started the shift. His truck had blown a head-gasket, his girlfriend had left town for a girls’ trip up to Montreal, and the Captain had denied his request for vacation.

  The day had not gone in Conrad’s favor.

  And let’s not forget that the refrigerator died, he grumbled to himself.

  So, chasing down random leads to find a missing teenager with psychiatric problems wasn’t high on his to-do list. Especially since the Captain had made it a priority.

  There were guys with less seniority on the third shift who could have checked out the Rhinehart property.

  Conrad slipped his flashlight out of its loop, flicked it on, and called in his location to dispatch. He turned on the light, shined it on the front door, went up to it and rapped sharply on the thick wood. After a minute he knocked again, harder the second time. It seemed as though no one was home, but he had to make sure the teenager hadn’t gotten in somehow. Muttering to himself, Conrad half-heartedly looked for obvious signs of a break-in around the front of the building. Nothing leaped out at him, and the windows on either side of the entrance similarly were free of any evidence of tampering.

  Sighing, Conrad went around the right of the building, flashlight panning across the wall, reflecting back to him in the glass of the windows.

  “Hello,” a voice said from behind, and Conrad’s flashlight died. As did his cruiser, the engine lapsing into silence. The headlights and the spotlight all went dark, and he was left alone in the moonlight, trying to see who had spoken to him.

  Goosebumps erupted on his arms, and he dropped his hand to his side-arm as he demanded, “Where are you?”

  “Close,” a man said, the word coming from the left.

  Conrad twisted toward it while he reached up with his free hand and tried to activate his radio.

  Nothing happened.

  He clicked it twice more and then dropped his hand.

  His radio was dead.

  “I need you to come out where I can see you,” Conrad said, forcing his voice to remain calm in spite of the terror he felt crawling up his throat.

  “Officer,” the stranger chuckled, this time from the right, “I don’t think that would be a particularly pleasant option. At least not for you.”

  Conrad drew his weapon.

  “I’m not asking,” Conrad snapped. “You need to come into the light, hands in the air.”

  “But I like the dark,” the man whispered behind Conrad. “It’s so much nicer when no one can see you.”

  Conrad managed to keep his balance as he spun around, finger tightening on the trigger.

  But there was no one there. Nothing except the house he had come to inspect.

  “Isn’t it terrible?” the stranger asked, the voice originating from all directions at once. “How frightening it is when the world doesn’t work the right way. Am I right, officer?”

  Conrad jerked around, perspiring with fear when a cold fist wrapped around his heart and began to squeeze. Like a fish caught on the end of a hook, Conrad twitched and twisted, the Glock falling from his hand and thudding onto the stones of the driveway.

  “How long?” the man asked, whispering in his ear. “How long do you think you could live like this? With my dead hand squeezing this little muscle of yours? Your heart is only the size of your fist, officer, and you’re a small man. Even if I were still alive, I could wrap my fingers around this piece of flesh that keeps you alive and squeeze.”

  Conrad could only moan as the hand clenched. The world went silent, and he felt his head fall back. He stared up at the sky, the half-moon shining brightly, the stars filling the dark around it.

  It was, Conrad realized, a fine sight to see before death.

  ***

  When Nicholas appeared in the house, Tom sat up, his heart beating nervously.

  “Is everything okay?” Tom asked, glancing at the door.

  Nicholas chuckled and nodded. “Quite. I seem to have frightened the police officer that someone sent here. I assume the officer was looking for you, Tom, and if that is the case, well we should probably find any information we can in regards to my wayward grandson’s location.”

  “Yeah,” Tom said, scrambling to his feet. “Let me see what’s around.”

  Hurrying over to Jeremy’s kitchen, Tom hesitated and tried to think of all of the different ways detectives dug up information on suspects. There was no computer to look at, but there was a notepad and a trash bin with a few crumpled pieces of paper in it. Bending down, Tom dug out the pages, smoothed them out on the counter and hastily read them. All of them had to do with Pennsylvania. Directions from MapQuest, possible houses for rent, phone numbers. And all of them were in the area of a place called Fox Cat Hollow.

  An address was jotted down on the notepad, and the phone number and email address for a realtor as well. Tom picked up the pad, carried it to his makeshift bag, and then turned his attention to the entire house, looking over it.

  “What are you searching for, Tom?” Nicholas asked.

  “I’m trying to figure out where Jeremy might hide money,” Tom answered, feeling guilty as he said it. He didn’t want to rob the old man, but if that was the only way to get out to Pennsylvania and to kill Stefan Korzh, then that’s what he would do.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Nicholas apologized. “I was many things, but never a thief.”

  “I’m learning,” Tom said. His eyes settled on a tall bureau. He started rummaging through the top drawer, and to the right, rolled up in a sock, he found cash. When he removed it and counted out the bills, he discovered that there was a little over a thousand dollars tucked away.

  Tom didn’t hesitate, dividing the money into four separate groups and putting one in each pocket of his pants. He grabbed a roll of crackers and picked up Nicholas’s mug. Tom placed them both in his pack, picked it up and faced the ghost.

  “I’m ready,” he declared, and Nicholas smiled.

  “Of course you are,” the dead man said, chuckling. “Now, we’ll leave out the front. Mind you, I scared the officer half to death, and I do believe he is still passed out. He may awaken as we slip away, but I doubt it. I am more concerned with whoever might come and check up on him.”

  “If someone does,” Tom said, “will you take over?”

  All humor left Nicholas’s voice and face. “I will. Take the scotch with you and let us leave.”

  Tom nodded, grabbed the bottle, and exited the house. The police officer was a little off to the right, face down by the cruiser. Tom glanced at the man and realized the officer wasn’t lying the right way. There was something wrong, he didn’t look unconscious so much as dead.

  Nicholas killed him, Tom thought.

  Then he shook his head and pushed the thought aside. He couldn’t worry about whether or not the officer was dead. Korzh needed to be killed, no matter what. Squaring his shoulders, Tom walked briskly down the road, keeping to the dark edge and hoping he wouldn’t be caught.

  Chapter 33: Surprised in the Evening

  The day had been uneventful and unproductive, leaving Victor angry and frustrated. Jeremy had gone into town to pick up some groceries, and Victor was alone in the house. Jean Luc had slipped away again, and neither of the men had any idea as to where the goblin went.

  The sirens from the previous night, according to the local news, was in response to a missing man who lived half a mile away from their rented home.

  No details other than the man’s name and physical description were given. Police were concerned, stating that they believed the man was in danger.

  Victor cou
ld only imagine.

  There was a sinister aura around Jean Luc, one that made being near the creature uncomfortable, and borderline terrifying.

  With a sigh, Victor closed the book he had been trying to read. It was an older work on the Bataan Death March, and he hoped to write a proposal for a paper on the subject, but he lacked the ambition. Too much of his focus was on vengeance, and not enough on what he did for work.

  I’ll have to do some writing soon, he thought, closing his eyes and resting his head on the back of the chair. Victor wanted to contribute more, financially, to the house. Jeremy had told him not to be concerned about it, that he had sufficient funds, but Victor was concerned. He had paid his way his entire life, and he wanted that to continue.

  And he would still have to find employment after he killed Stefan Korzh.

  I couldn’t be like Jeremy, going around the country and gathering up possessed items and keeping them locked away. But then, maybe I could, Victor thought. He makes enough to survive, and I could still write and speak.

  He sighed and shook his head. And sure, I could get Erin back too.

  Before he could become too morose, his cellphone text notification chimed. Surprised, Victor opened his eyes and picked his phone up from the side table.

  The message was from Janel Flanagan.

  Hey, how are you?

  Victor hesitated, wrestled with guilt, and then answered her. Still breathing. And you?

  Same, came the response. You took care of that rifle?

  Yeah. It’s all set now, he replied.

  You anywhere near Vermont? she asked.

  Down in PA right now. Why? What’s up? His heart quickened a little, worry gnawing at him.

  Nothing. Thought it would be good to get a drink, see how you’re holding up, was the response he received.

  Victor smiled, recalling how mercurial the woman was when she drank. Sure. Next time I’m in VT and as long as you’re not drinking vodka.

  She sent back a smiley face emoticon and a single line. No promises. J.

  Victor shook his head, put the phone back on the table and rubbed his right eye. The last time they had been out together she had enjoyed too much vodka, and when he had told her he wanted to leave she punched him in the face. And the woman knew how to punch. Her workout routine involved kickboxing and strengthening yoga.

  His black eye had lasted for more than a week, and she had given him a hairline fracture in the orbital socket.

  Victor didn’t know if she had calmed down at all, but he didn’t want to tempt fate by mixing Janel Flanagan and vodka again.

  He closed his eyes again, interlocked his fingers over his stomach, and tried to rest before Jeremy came home.

  Chapter 34: By Omission

  They sat in the Chicago booth of the Around the US restaurant. Shane Ryan had an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear and a cup of black coffee in his hands.

  Jeremy looked at the man and asked the question that had prompted him to request Shane’s presence in Pennsylvania.

  “What do you know about goblins?” Jeremy asked.

  Shane looked at him for a moment, a calculating stare. Finally, he said, “I don’t know much beyond what I’ve read, Jeremy.”

  Jeremy sighed. “That is essentially my own situation. But you seem to have a deeper understanding of the darker forces. I was hoping you would be able to enlighten me.”

  “And this was the question you wanted to ask me?” Shane asked. “The one so important that you paid for my flight out here and back.”

  “Partially,” Jeremy answered. He paused as the waitress returned with a pair of small, deep dish, Chicago style pizzas. When she walked away, Jeremy continued. “The rest is not a question, so much a favor, and to be honest, Shane, I don’t want there to be any written or recorded history of this.”

  “Well,” Shane said, “sounds ominous. What’s going on?”

  Lowering his voice, Jeremy told him about the deaths of the two teenagers and the sudden disappearance of a nearby resident. And then he told Shane about his fear that it was the goblin, and that the killings wouldn’t stop.

  When he had finished Jeremy watched for Shane’s reaction, but all the bald man did was cut himself a slice of pizza and take several bites. As he was about to ask Shane what he thought of the situation, Shane spoke.

  “Do you want me to try and kill it? This goblin, Jean Luc?” he asked.

  “I would appreciate that, yes,” Jeremy said. “But I don’t know if it can be killed.”

  “Everything can be killed, Jeremy,” Shane said in a low, cold voice. “It’s just a matter of using the right weapon. I know a little about them. Not much. Obviously, I didn’t come into any real contact with creatures like it. What I do know is this, some of them are okay. They do stupid stuff, like in the fairy tales from Ireland. Stealing things, rearranging a house, spoiling milk. But then there are others. The ones that the people who write kids’ books don’t like to mention, and those are the ones like Jean Luc.”

  Shane took a sip of his coffee before he continued. “The old stories, the ones I remember, these goblins and ogres and trolls, they’re killers. They like to kill. That’s it. No rhyme, no reason. I’m thinking your little buddy, Jean Luc, that he’s one who just likes to see the bodies stack up.”

  Shane shook his head, finished his drink and said, “Listen, I’ll do some more research online. Reach out to a couple of people I know who might have a clue about how to kill the damned thing. When I do, I’ll text you. All it will say is, ‘I want to talk about Jean Luc’, then we can meet back here. Sound good?”

  Relief swept through Jeremy as he nodded. “Yes. Yes, that sounds quite excellent, Shane. Thank you very much. In the meantime, I will contact Leanne to see if she will speak to me about Jean Luc, his history, and what in God’s name it is.”

  “Sounds good, and you’re welcome,” Shane said, cutting himself another piece of pizza. “And damn if this doesn’t taste like a real, Chicago deep dish.”

  Chapter 35: A Gut Instinct

  He had fled the safety of the house after he fired several rounds out the doorway.

  Sitting by his car, Stefan’s hands no longer shook.

  Someone was helping his father. Someone nearby.

  And he would find out who it was.

  Stefan opened the driver’s side door, pressed the trunk release button, and eased the door back into place. He had a suspicion that the unknown conspirator could see him, but he suspected his father wanted to be the one responsible for doling out whatever punishment the dead man decided upon.

  Stefan crawled around to the back of the car, got to his feet and crouched low over the trunk. He flipped up the carpeting, snarled as he dragged the spare tire out of the well, and removed the hard-case squirreled away beneath it. His fingers deftly keyed the lock open, and he removed the disassembled Ruger .22 rifle. In silence, he reassembled the weapon, adding a suppressor and slipping the magazine into place. He chambered a round, slipped several extra magazines into his pockets, glanced at his house, and smiled.

  “Don’t worry, father,” Stefan said aloud to himself. “I’m only going to injure your little friend. I want to know how he’s helping you.”

  As Stefan turned away from the house, he slammed the trunk closed, and slipped away into the darkness of the woods.

  ***

  Ariana heard the slam of a car door and glanced back, wondering where it had come from. She hesitated on the sidewalk, entertaining the idea that perhaps it had come from her brother’s house.

  She shook the thought away.

  If there was an issue, then her father would tell her when she checked on the building in the morning. Her main goal was to get into a hot shower, eat a decent meal, and sleep in a bed rather than tied to a tree.

  She kept a quick pace, trying to look and act like a frazzled mother seeking some sort of relief with a short walk. Ariana glanced at the windows of the houses and cars she passed, seeking any clue that Stefan m
ay be following her. He was a skilled and dangerous man, and she didn’t want to be taken by him.

  Getting out of that situation would be difficult, if not impossible.

  Ariana had left her rental car several streets over in the parking lot of a defunct McDonald’s.

  She kept her harried demeanor as she neared the place where she would cross the street. Ariana yawned, the adrenaline high of the past few hours replaced by the familiar crash. She felt relief at having accomplished the mission, and her stomach churned with a mixture of hunger and eager anticipation for the results of the new mirror’s placement. She wished she could have set a camera in the house to catch a few images of Stefan’s horrified face before their father delivered his vengeance.

  Maybe he’ll tell me all about it, she thought and turned again. Ahead of her, she caught sight of the dull, golden arches and quickened her pace. She paused at the edge of the road, glanced to either side to make sure she wouldn’t be killed by some idiot racing their tricked-out pickup, and crossed the asphalt.

  Less than twenty feet from the car, she let out a gasp of agonized surprise as pain exploded in her right knee. She stumbled and shouted as her left knee added its voice to the cacophony of pain.

  Ariana fell flat, unable to catch herself, her face smashing into the pavement. Fear blossomed in her chest as she tried to get on her hands and knees, but her right hand shot out as something struck her in the wrist, and she fell to the pavement again.

  She didn’t try to get up. Instead, she slipped her left hand into the pocket of her pants, found the home button of her iPhone and pressed it, shouting, “Send it!”

  Ariana inhaled to shout again, but the world went black.

  ***

  Stefan crouched down beside the woman he had tracked from his street. There had been something off about her, the way she had hurried along. When she headed towards the abandoned restaurant, Stefan was sure she was the one.