by Ron Ripley
“Yes,” he answered.
“Whatever happened to them?” Ivan asked.
“I burned them,” Bontoc stated without emotion.
“And did you kill your father?” the dead man asked.
“I did.”
“And his head,” Ivan asked in a soft, conspiratorial tone, “did you collect it?”
“He was my first,” Bontoc said, his voice tight.
“He was a disappointment, was he not?” Ivan said.
Bontoc cleared his throat, nodded and said, “Yes.”
“Then you understand my predicament in regards to my son, Stefan,” the dead man said.
“I do.”
“Before I speak much more about the failings of my boy,” Ivan said bitterly, “I must assume that my daughter is dead. Or at least injured. She is the one who would have sent you the message regarding this house and the collection of the lost items.”
“You have my sympathy,” Bontoc said. “I did not know her, but she must have been loyal.”
“She was,” Ivan said, “and she was worth more than her brother ever was. However, my living friend, we must return to the subject at hand. Did you mail Anne?”
“I did. I sent her to the address I was given,” Bontoc said.
“Good,” Ivan said in a low voice. “As soon as the children start turning up dead then Jeremy Rhinehart should be significantly distracted. I am hopeful that he will forget this pressure upon Stefan.”
Bontoc waited patiently for the dead man to continue.
“I require essentially two services from you,” Ivan said. “First, to recover all of those items which Stefan dispersed. Second, to find my son and bring me proof of his death. His head will do, and you may keep his skull after, if you are so inclined. I had hoped to punish him myself, but with disappearance of my daughter I must settle for someone else meting out the physical discipline. It seems I must settle for torturing his specter.”
“You have already paid for my services, Mr. Korzh,” Bontoc explained.
“Excellent, Bontoc,” Ivan said, laughing. “Ah, I have great hopes for us. I look forward to the successful completion of your task.”
Bontoc bowed toward the door and took his leave of the unseen dead man. When he reached the driveway and was freed from the house, he climbed into the car and contemplated the task ahead.
Chapter 46: Cleaning House
The glass crunched underfoot, and there was nothing Stefan could do about it. Part of him suffered from the irrational idea that his father would be able to hear him coming to the house.
Focus, he chided himself, and Stefan went quickly around the back of the house. He stepped lightly into the kitchen, easily picking his way through the shards of glass and debris that remained after his father had shaken the entire structure.
Stefan’s hands opened and closed over the small iron bars he held. He was not unprepared, but he knew they would give him the slimmest of chances to get out of the house before his father found a way to gut and bone him like a fish.
The temperature in the room was mild. Neither cold nor hot, and Stefan relaxed. Ivan Denisovich could be in the kitchen, but the mildness of the air indicated it was safe, at least for the time being. Stefan put the bars into his back pockets, removed an iron pry bar from the waist of his pants, and stared at the wreckage of the room.
Somewhere, Ariana Leckie had hidden the object his father had bound himself to in the kitchen, and Stefan needed to find it.
His eyes wandered, noticing and cataloging the hundreds of places the unknown item might be. A wave of depression swept over him, a sense of futility at the task before him, but Stefan snarled.
He wouldn’t let his dead father interrupt him any further.
Clutching the pry bar in his hands, Stefan advanced on the broken door of the pantry, and began to search for something, anything that shouldn’t be there.
***
Stefan’s shoulders ached, his back throbbed, and he had blisters on his hands from the rough surface of the iron pry bar. For the first three hours he had worked at a frenzied pace, constantly worried that his father would arrive and interrupt him.
Six hours in, and Stefan would have relished the chance to smash the dead man with the pry bar.
By hour eight, when he ripped the sink out and hurled it through the broken window, he found it.
Under the cabinet, up against the back wall where he wouldn’t have seen it even if he had crawled under the sink, was a small, doll sized hand mirror duct-taped into place.
Panting, Stefan reached down and took hold of the mirror through the tape. The metal was cold and painful in his hand.
Grinning, Stefan ripped the tape off the wall and carefully peeled the mirror off it. He dropped the tape to the floor and held up the toy.
Why this? he wondered. Why the hell would he bind himself to this?
Then Stefan shrugged.
Who knows why he did anything, he reminded himself.
Around his waist, Stefan wore a fanny-pack, and he didn’t care how ridiculous he might look.
The pack served a purpose, and that purpose was to hold salt.
In fact, he had filled it three quarters of the way. More than enough to contain the mirror, and to hinder his father’s escape.
Stefan opened the pack, the sharp smell of salt wafting out as he thrust the mirror into the confines. He zipped it closed and relaxed slightly. Now he only needed to get the item to a safe place. Somewhere he could question his father, without fear of the dead man killing him.
Stefan wanted to know who the woman was, and why she was helping Ivan Denisovich.
Chapter 47: Company
At 9:37 pm, there was a light knock on the door.
Victor lifted his head up, rubbed his eyes and looked around. Jeremy had gone to bed, and Victor wasn’t sure if he had truly heard something or not.
A second knock, louder and more forceful than the first removed any doubt.
“Hold on,” Victor called. Anxiety welled up within him and he looked around for a weapon. When he didn’t see anything that he might use to defend himself with, he gritted his teeth and approached the door cautiously. Standing off to the right he asked, “Who is it?”
“It’s me,” a familiar voice said. “It’s Tom.”
A heartbeat later, Victor had the door open and he found the teenager on the step.
“My God, Tom,” Victor said, stepping aside and beckoning the boy in, “how the hell did you get here?”
The boy slung a backpack off his shoulder and set it down on the floor, motioning towards it. “Nicholas helped me.”
Victor frowned, trying to understand what the boy meant.
“Nicholas?” Victor asked. “Nicholas who?”
“Your grandfather,” Tom said. Victor could smell alcohol on the boy as Tom walked to a nearby chair, dropping into it while stifling a yawn.
“You’re the person who went to Jeremy’s house,” Victor said as he closed and locked the door. He crossed the room and sat down near Tom. “How? I mean, why?”
“Korzh,” Tom said, and there was a venomous hatred in the boy’s enunciation of the name. “I’m tired of waiting. I want him dead.”
Silence fell over them, and when Tom spoke again, it was with less rage. He looked down at the floor as he said, “I know you feel the same way, Victor. I can’t wait. Not anymore. I have to be there when he dies.”
Victor nodded in understanding, then he let out a bitter laugh.
Tom looked at him, confused.
“Not you, Tom,” Victor explained. “There are three of us now, who want him dead.”
“Who’s the third?” Tom asked.
Victor shook his head. “Not yet. I think it would be better for Jeremy to tell you. He’s asleep right now.”
“Okay,” Tom said, yawning again. “I’m pretty tired too. Is there a couch I can sleep on?”
“You can sleep in my room,” Victor answered. “Up the stairs, second door to the r
ight. First door is the bathroom.”
“What about you?” Tom asked. “Where are you going to sleep?”
“In a chair, more than likely,” Victor said with a tight smile. “It’s hard for me to sleep in a bed. I usually just fall asleep wherever I’m sitting.”
“Okay,” Tom said. He got to his feet, retrieved his bag from the hallway and said, “See you in the morning.”
Victor waved, and Tom climbed the stairs to the second floor. He heard the telltale squeak of his bedroom door’s hinges a minute later, and Victor stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. Tiredly, he tried to think why Nicholas would have accompanied the boy out to Pennsylvania.
“I imagine I know what you are thinking,” Nicholas said suddenly, his sudden appearance causing Victor’s heart to race.
Clearing his throat, Victor nodded and said, “I’m sure you do.”
“You are,” Nicholas said, sitting down across from him in the chair recently vacated by Tom, “unsure as to why I am here.”
“Yes.”
“It is a simple enough reason,” Nicholas said, his voice becoming hard and cold. “I owe your friend Jeremy. He is a traitor.”
Victor raised an eyebrow and waited for the dead man to continue.
Nicholas did so a moment later.
“While you were out, hunting down that tepid little ghost in a book,” Nicholas spat, “your friend, Jeremy, succeeded in imprisoning me.”
“What?” Victor asked, confused. “No. We left you there, in the house. You weren’t trapped. I wouldn’t have let him.”
“I know that,” Nicholas said, his voice taking on a gentler note. “Tell me, grandson, what is it that Jeremy does?”
“He secures possessed items,” Victor said, and suddenly he realized Nicholas was right. “Oh, hell.”
The ghost nodded. “Yes. Hell indeed. The more powerful the spirit, the greater the precautions our Mr. Rhinehart takes. It was no less with me. He put me in a box, sealed it shut, and tucked it away.”
“How did you get out then?” Victor asked.
“Your young friend, Tom,” Nicholas answered. “He is an intrepid and intelligent young man. Dangerous too, I might add. You would do well to stay on his good side, Victor, and that is something I do not say lightly. But, back to my release. It was solely the work of the boy. He remembered when I was imprisoned. And, here’s the impressive aspect of it, Tom remembered where my private cell had been squirreled away. He opened it, and we struck sort of a devil’s bargain.”
“What was it?” Victor asked, fearing the answer.
“If I assisted him in the discovery of where Stefan Korzh is, then he would let me drive, as it were,” Nicholas said. “And drive I did. Both literally and figuratively. I performed some, shall we say, bad acts to get us here. But I did my best to keep the boy free of it.”
“Oh God, Nicholas,” Victor whispered.
The ghost shrugged. “Needs must when the devil drives, Victor. And there was a need. The boy’s is to kill Korzh. Mine is to educate your friend, Mr. Rhinehart.”
“He won’t survive it,” Victor argued.
“Then he shouldn’t have imprisoned me!” Nicholas snarled, shaking the windows in their frames. “I could have come into this house and butchered him. Remember that, Victor. I could have stripped the flesh off his bones and fed it to a group of children. I, however, did not.”
Nicholas calmed down, and when he spoke again, his voice was even and smooth. “No, I did not. He will have a chance to redeem himself.”
“How?” Victor asked.
“Easily,” Nicholas replied. “I want him to tell Tom where Korzh is. Or where he thinks the man might be. Now we won’t kill him, not without you. But the boy will help to find him. He will not be relegated to side-lines, as it were.”
“And is this the best course for him?” Victor asked. “Hell, he’s only sixteen. If that. He’s suffered a trauma.”
“I believe that violence will go a long way towards healing that trauma,” Nicholas said, chuckling. “When his hands are wet with Korzh’s blood, Tom will be much better off.”
Nicholas stood up and glanced at the ceiling. “Now, if you will forgive me, I must go and keep an eye on my young ward. He does not sleep well, although I don’t think that would surprise you.”
“No,” Victor agreed, as his grandfather vanished. “It doesn’t at all.”
Chapter 48: A Second Attempt
Stefan hated the sensation of cotton against his skin, but he knew it was a necessity.
He extracted the item from the salt and laid it on the counter of the small apartment he had rented in downtown Fox Cat Hollow. Stefan had spent the better part of the morning building a trap. It was simplistic, but he hoped it would be effective. He placed the mirror inside of a lead-lined box, the lid of which was propped open with a toothpick. A line of fishing wire was looped around his left hand, and he quickly retreated to a square framed out by thick rows of salt.
Should his father prove to be more difficult than usual, Stefan would tug on the fishing line, which would pull the toothpick, and drop the lid on the box. Hopefully sealing in his father.
“Come out, come out,” Stefan whispered, bracing himself for the arrival of Ivan Denisovich.
“Hello, Father,” Stefan said, raising his voice and focusing on the doll’s mirror, “come out now.”
The glass shimmered, and Stefan’s breath twisted itself into fog.
But it wasn’t his father who appeared.
Instead, it was a short, fat ghost. His hair was clipped close to the scalp, and he wore a dark blue workman’s frock over matching pants. The man’s hands were surprisingly delicate, the fingers long and dexterous. He wore a pair of thin glasses perched on the end of a round nose, and he looked at Stefan with a disdainful curiosity.
“Who are you?” the ghost asked, his voice high and pushed through his nose.
For a heartbeat, Stefan was almost too surprised to answer.
“Don’t worry about that,” Stefan snapped, “who are you?”
The dead man looked around. “Are there any children here? Any little girls?”
Stefan felt his skin crawl, and his voice became hard. “Never mind that. Tell me, who put you in that house, and why were you there?”
The dead man sniffed dismissively and said, “I need incentive if I am to speak. Girls. Where are they?”
“You want girls?” Stefan asked, biting back his disgust.
The ghost nodded eagerly, his hands trembling. “Oh, I do. Will you give them to me?”
“One or two at a time,” Stefan said. “But I need some information first.”
The dead man hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Fine. What were your questions?”
“Who put you in the house, and why?” Stefan asked.
“Why?” the dead man asked, and he shuddered. “To serve as a portal for that beast, Korzh. And as for who put me there, it was her.”
“Her who?” Stefan growled.
“Ariana,” the dead man. “I couldn’t touch her.”
“Why not?” Stefan asked.
“She is his daughter,” the ghost said, sniffing derisively. “He would have destroyed me if I had touched her.”
“Whose daughter?” Stefan felt a chill settle in his stomach.
“Korzh’s of course,” the dead man said, making a disgusted face. “Who else’s would she be?”
Stefan’s mouth went dry, then he managed to say, “He only had one child. A son.”
The dead man laughed and shook his head. “Oh, that’s what his wife and son thought. No, we knew better. Some of his dead were there when his other children were conceived. She was but one of several. But, of them all, he did care for her most, it would seem. Where is she?”
The ghost looked around as if suddenly realizing he had said perhaps too much.
“Ariana,” the dead man said, “where is she? Is she dead? Is she hurt? Korzh will be displeased.”
When Stefan d
idn’t respond, the man’s voice took on a higher pitch. “You need to tell me, is she hurt? Have you any idea of his fury? He would unleash Hell itself upon those of us who failed him. Oh dear God!”
A frantic note filled the ghost’s voice. “You must put me back! If he discovers that I’ve been moved he will be most displeased!”
Enraged, Stefan stepped out of the protection of the salt, strode over to the mirror and smashed his fist into it, shattering the glass.
A wave of air threw him against the wall as the dead man let out a long, high-pitched scream that ended as quickly as it began.
Stefan pushed himself into a sitting position, his mind too numb with the information he had received to notice the aches and pains clamoring in the background.
His daughter, Stefan thought, closing his eyes. His favorite.
He shuddered and thought bitterly, No, there’s no facing him now.
With a grunt and a wince, Stefan pushed himself to his feet and went to find a place to think.
How many other siblings do I have?
The question hounded him as he left the room.
Chapter 49: Information
The phone woke Jeremy up as the first light of dawn could be seen from the edge of the curtain.
“Hello?” Jeremy asked, keeping his voice low.
“Good morning,” Shane said, and Jeremy could hear the other man take a deep breath. “How are you?”
“Tired,” Jeremy answered. “I trust you have some information for me, my friend?”
“Yup,” Shane said. “It’s not good, that’s for sure.”
Jeremy closed his eyes and laid his head back on his pillow. “Alright.”
“First, I think your little friend there, Jean Luc, he’s definitely behind the killings. I did some poking around online, and it seems like there’s been a death every couple of days since you got there with him,” Shane said. “That’s not counting the killing of livestock and the disappearance of family pets. And, from what I could gather, he’s just ramping up.”