Restless Spirits Boxset: A Collection of Riveting Haunted House Mysteries

by Skylar Finn

  Emily ran in a straight line from their hiding place, so Richard would pursue her directly in sight of Jesse. He might be a masterful hunter and an excellent shot, but there were two of them and only one of Richard. It seemed possible that their gambit to distract him could work. At least, that’s what Emily told herself as she purposely ran into Richard’s crosshairs.

  He raised his gun to fire at her. “I see you’ve decided to take my advice,” he called.

  Emily turned and ran back towards Jesse’s hiding spot so that when Richard followed, Jesse could get behind him. She heard his footsteps behind her. She was winded and frightened, and it required only the slightest effort on Richard’s part in order to keep up with her. She had only run a few yards when the footsteps stopped. Emily glanced over her shoulder. He was taking aim.

  In a particularly lean time, she and Jesse had moved to a neighborhood where the cost of living was low and the level of safety was questionable at best. One night, gunshots went off in the apartment below them. They hid in the bathtub. Jesse told Emily that if anyone ever fired a gun at her, to run in a zigzag and make it harder for anyone to aim at her. It’s very difficult, he said in the bathtub, to hit a moving target.

  Emily ran back and forth and hoped that Jesse had time to sneak up behind Richard. The gun went off. Emily screamed as the dirt next to her exploded. There was a shout in the near distance. Jesse? Or Richard?

  Emily heard the sounds of a scuffle and turned. She could just barely make out two figures grappling, just out of range of the floodlight that illuminated the yard. Jesse. Without thinking, Emily ran toward the pair.

  The gun was lying on the ground a few feet away. Jesse had disarmed him, but hadn’t succeeded in knocking him out. Richard, taking advantage of Jesse’s weakened state, had pinned him on the ground and was now strangling him. In her brief glimpse of the expression on Richard’s face, Emily thought with revulsion that he looked like he was enjoying himself.

  That doesn’t mean we can’t use it. Emily reached into the waist of her jeans for the seemingly useless gun Richard gave her in the truck, right before she went inside the cabin. Just as Richard was about to take his next swing, Emily was on him. She pistol whipped him across the face, driving the barrel into the side of his skull. Richard grunted and looked up, startled, as a thin trickle of blood slid down the side of his face. Beneath him, Jesse kneed him in the groin and Richard toppled over sideways.

  Jesse raised the nearby rock he’d used to hit Richard and disarm him. He brought it down hard against the back of Richard’s skull. Richard was still.

  Emily stood over him, shaking, more from adrenaline than fear. “Is he dead?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Jesse grimly, struggling to his feet. “But I’m not taking any chances.” Jesse picked up the hunting rifle and aimed it at Richard. “Get the duct tape from inside and we’ll tie him up. I’ll stay here in case he comes to.”

  As Emily ran to the cabin, she had the strange thought that this was why Richard and his sisters had chosen to work together. It was much easier than trying to be in two places at once.

  Emily returned with the duct tape and securely bound Richard’s hands and feet. She taped his mouth so he couldn’t issue a warning to Cynthia or Theresa if they returned before Jesse and Emily could flee. She sat back on her heels and surveyed him.

  “What should we do?” Emily said. “If we leave him out here, he’ll freeze.”

  “I can think of worse things,” said Jesse.

  “We’re not killers,” she said. “I want him to go to jail for a long, long time.”

  “That’s a good point,” he said with a sigh of resignation. “Grab his feet. I’ll get his arms. We’ll drag him back to the cabin.” Jesse slung the strap of the rifle over his chest and grabbed Richard’s bound hands, pulling them over his head. They dragged him as far as the front porch steps when Emily saw the old wooden door set in the ground and stopped.

  “Is that a cellar?” she said.

  Jesse dropped Richard with a careless thud and went over to the door. He slid back the black metal latch. A steep flight of cement steps led down into the darkness below.

  “Let’s throw him down here,” he said. “He’ll be out of the cold, anyway.”

  They dragged Richard’s limp form over to the cellar and rolled him through the open door. His body slid down the steps and out of sight, the heels of his boots the only thing visible in the porch’s floodlight. Jesse slammed the door shut and was about to slide the latch in place when Emily remembered.

  “Wait, Jesse!” Emily exclaimed. “The keys!”

  “That’s right, I forgot.” Jesse pulled the door open and Emily scurried down the stairs. She made a horrible face as she scrabbled through the pockets of Richard’s coat. It revolted her to touch him. Her hand closed around cold metal. Richard’s body gave a lurch and thrashed toward her. He swung his bound hands wildly. Emily screamed and scrambled up the stairs. Jesse slammed the door again and latched it firmly shut.

  Emily reached out for Jesse’s hand and together they ran for the truck. Emily looked over at Jesse. He looked terrible.

  “I’ll drive,” she said, opening the passenger side door for him. “There’s some water in the glove compartment, I think. Here it is.” Emily uncapped the bottle and handed it to Jesse after he struggled into the truck and collapsed against the seat.

  “Thanks,” he said gratefully, taking a long swallow.

  Emily climbed in the driver’s side and started the truck. She executed a quick tight turn in the small yard and drove down the narrow, steep trail back to the main road.

  “We have to tell the police,” she said.

  “Sheriff Oglethorpe? We can call him from Florida,” said Jesse. “When we’re safely two time zones and two thousand miles from here.”

  Emily took a hard right at the fork in the road.

  “Are you going back to the house?” Jesse said incredulously. “We still don’t know where Cynthia and Theresa are. They could be waiting for us, Em.”

  “We can’t let them get away with this, Jesse.” Emily shook her head, grim determination etched on her profile. She thought of the letter in the basement and the hundreds of photographs of children whose lives had been changed by Matilda and the house.

  “They seem pretty close to getting away with it, Em,” said Jesse. “We’re in over our heads here. I got kidnapped by a dead woman and held hostage by her sister. Richard, the dear old handyman next door, just tried to murder us. I’d suggest calling the police, but knowing Oglethorpe, it will take him three days to do anything about it. We need to get out of here. Once we’re safe, we can leave it to the authorities. Maybe they’ll actually do something about it this time.”

  “And what if they don’t?” asked Emily. “These people will never leave us alone. If we try to run, they’ll find us. You heard Richard. He has no intention of letting us live. He’s going to kill us. They’re going to take the house and they have no right—no right whatsoever—to what Matilda built there. We can’t just let them win.”

  “But what can we do?” asked Jesse. “We don’t even have a gun.”

  “That’s true,” said Emily. “But we do have the element of surprise. As far as Cynthia and Theresa know, Richard is with us at the cabin. He’s not going to let us escape, at least not in their minds. They’re heading back to the house now to steal whatever they can get their hands on. They have no idea where we are or what we’re doing. If we use the passageway, we can sneak up on them. We can catch them in the act and stop them. There will be no denying what they were up to. If we just run and hide and disappear, all we’re doing is buying them time—not the other way around.”

  One of the things that Emily loved best about Jesse was that he never tried to undermine her ideas or belittle her. He listened to her, and however opposite his opinion might be, he took what she had to say into consideration and valued it—sometimes, Emily thought, even more than he valued his own perspectiv
e.

  Jesse’s priorities tended to lie with whatever kept them safe. But he was also strong, brave, and bold. Like Emily, he was a fighter. They were the most important traits they shared, and these traits had kept them together from the day they met through this, their darkest day yet.

  “Okay,” he said simply, but Emily could sense that the fighting spirit had awakened in him and knew that he wouldn’t go down without a fight. “Let’s make sure they never mess with us again.”

  Emily reached for his hand and he took it. Then she laid on the gas. The truck sped down the mountain toward whatever awaited them below.

  Jesse rolled down the window of the pick-up truck. The truck was extremely old, and neither the windows nor the locks were automatic. The air was cold, but he felt like he needed a little bit of wind in his face to keep him conscious. His entire body ached and he felt like he needed to sleep for about a thousand years.

  Emily glanced over at him. He could tell she was worried, but there was no time to slow down and rest.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m okay,” he said. “I mean, I’ve seen better days. But I’m alive and kicking.” He gave what he hoped was a convincing smile, but it came out more like a sickly grin. Emily looked alarmed.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m just dehydrated.” He drank the water from the glove compartment, as if to prove his point.

  “I was so afraid,” said Emily, and her voice broke. “I thought I might never see you again.”

  Jesse looked over, moved at the sight of the tears that slid down her cheeks. She wiped them hastily away. He knew she felt guilty that he was the one who was hurt.

  “What happened to you? After you dropped me off to meet with Darla and Roger?”

  “I met with Watkins,” he said. “That’s when everything went wrong...”

  8

  Jesse had left Watkins’s office in a hurry. Something about that guy gave him the creeps. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Emily had always described him as pretty trustworthy, but Jesse thought it was the complete opposite. Almost like he tried to seem trustworthy for the exact reason that he wasn’t.

  Jesse took out his phone to call Emily. She answered on the first ring.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m okay, sorry I didn’t text you,” she said. “I got caught up eavesdropping on Roger and Darla.”

  “What did the dynamic duo have to say this time?” He glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting them to appear at any moment, break his kneecaps, and roll him into the gutter.

  “They didn’t do it,” said Emily. “They threw the rock through our window and painted the wall, but they didn’t do anything to Matilda, Cynthia, or the kids. They didn’t know I was listening, they had no reason to lie.”

  “The lawyer finally gave me the will,” said Jesse. “I have it with me now.”

  “What does it say?”

  “Haven’t looked yet. On my way back to the truck.”

  “Can you meet me at the coffee shop on the corner from where you dropped me off?” asked Emily. “I don’t want to hang around Three Star. I snuck out the window.”

  “Way to go, Nancy Drew.” He smiled. “Yeah, I’ll meet you there.”

  “Okay, see you soon.”

  “See you soon.”

  Jesse ended the call as he got to the truck. He unlocked the door and got in. He opened the folder Watkins had given him and sifted through the pages in his lap. Buried within the legalese, he saw where Matilda had named Emily the inheritor of the property. It was the next line that made Jesse drop the folder, sending papers sliding across his lap and onto the floor of the truck. In the event that Emily declined or that Watkins was unable to locate her, the property would revert to Richard Danforth.

  Jesse stared at the document in shock. This changed everything. If Richard was the next in line for the house and had known it all along, then he was the most likely suspect behind all of this. In flashes, Jesse remembered how the intruder the night of the blizzard had sabotaged his truck by taking the distributor cap, and how Richard had conveniently shown up with one the next day. He remembered Richard helping him paint the living room after the latest round of vandalism, pouring poison in his ear about the property managers. And they were rats, it was true, but it turned out there had been something even worse in the walls all along.

  Jesse shook his head and reached for his phone. He had to get to Emily, immediately. They were supposed to meet at that coffee shop, but he couldn’t take a chance that she might go home first and run into Richard.

  Jesse was about to call Emily when the driver’s side door was yanked violently open. Someone in a ski mask pulled him to the pavement. The last thing Jesse saw was the crowbar sailing toward his face. The last thing he heard was the whistling sound it made as it cut through the air.

  Jesse woke up with an ache in his head and what felt like a welt the size of Montana covering half his face. He was certain he had a black eye and wouldn’t be surprised to discover his nose was broken, or possibly his entire face in general. He moved his head tentatively and flinched. Even this minor motion sent waves of pain washing through his head. He bit his lip and tried moving his eyes instead. This, too, was painful, although slightly less bad.

  He was on his back in the backseat of a car. Through the window, he could see the sky rushing by at an accelerated pace. He tried to move his arms and legs, but found that he was securely bound at both the wrists and ankles. He thought about sitting up, but didn’t think his head could take it. Plus, he assumed that whoever was at the wheel would probably turn around and shoot him.

  After what seemed like hours but was probably only twenty to thirty minutes, the car slowed. It turned sharply and began what felt like a steep climb up a large hill. Jesse winced as he was thrown against the seat. The car leveled out and came to a stop.

  Jesse was filled with dread as the driver got out, closing the door. What would happen now? He imagined being dragged from the car and shot. He’d once heard that during a kidnapping attempt, it was imperative to prevent the kidnapper from taking you to a second location. Well, here he was. The second location. They could do whatever they wanted now and no one would ever know.

  The door to the backseat opened. Jesse looked up, helpless, as the assailant who hit him in the face with the crowbar pulled him roughly from the car. Jesse assumed it was a man by how easily he dragged him from the car towards the old log cabin a few yards away. Richard. The figure was still shrouded in the ski mask, the same as it had been when Jesse saw him at the house during the storm, but Jesse thought he could make out Richard’s build beneath the black clothing, boots, and parka. It was hard to say. In any event, Jesse didn’t express any recognition, just in case there was any chance Richard—or whoever it was—might let him go. The less he knew, the better.

  Jesse bit back a yell as the masked figure, having dragged him up the porch steps, through the front door, and into the cabin, tossed him roughly on the couch like a rag doll. Everything hurt again.

  The figure stomped back out of the room. Jesse could hear muffled voices arguing on the front porch and strained to make out who they belonged to and what they said. He could just barely hear the sound of what he thought might be Richard and a second, female voice.

  “…get them out here, because…”

  “We’re so close…can’t afford any mistakes…”

  Jesse slumped against the chair, defeated. He was no closer to understanding what was going on than he’d been in the car. Who were they? What were they doing? What were they planning to do? All he wanted to do was call Emily to warn her, but he couldn’t reach his phone and even if he could have, he was sure they had taken it.

  Jesse heard footsteps approach the couch. He looked up with dread. Was this it? Was this the end?

  It was a second, smaller, slighter figure in a ski mask. This one sat on the hearth across from the couch and studied him briefly before reaching up t
o pull off the mask. Jesse immediately closed his eyes.

  He heard the sound of a harsh laugh. A woman’s laugh, but cold and cruel. “That’s not necessary, really. Although if you’d like me to blindfold you, I’d be more than happy to do so. But we’re really not planning to kill you. Assuming, of course, you cooperate.”

  Warily, Jesse cracked open one eye. He was finding it harder and harder to open the other one. He opened his good eye the rest of the way as best he could to stare at her, utterly confused.

  “Who are you?” he asked. He’d never seen this person in his life.

  “That’s a good question,” she said. “An existential one. Who are any of us, really?” The woman reached into the pocket of her black jacket and removed a pack of cigarettes. She pretended to offer Jesse one, then glanced down at his bound hands, as if remembering. She laughed again. She reminded Jesse of a schoolyard bully who punches you in the face, laughs, then punches you again. She pulled a cigarette out and lit it.

  “I’m surprised you don’t recognize me,” she said, blowing a long stream of smoke into the air, like a dragon. “Wifey’s been all over town, trying to track me down.”

  Jesse narrowed his good eye. “Cynthia Harkness?”

  “I don’t go by that name anymore,” said Cynthia. “Except on paper, of course. I’ll probably change it back to Cynthia Danforth, not that I liked my father any more than my husband. I’m thinking of trying something new: what do you think about Coco Channing?”

  “I think that’s the dumbest name I’ve ever heard,” mumbled Jesse.

  “I admire your candor, Jesse. I always did like that about you. I’ve admired you for a while now, from afar. There’s something kind of charming about having you up close.” She leered at him.

  Jesse eyed her warily. “Are you going to do something weird?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m a little more professional than that.” Cynthia ashed on the hearth. “Aren’t you wondering what you’re doing here?”