Worthe's Village

by Ron Ripley

  “Do you see the great big chimney there?” Nathaniel asked.

  Marcus nodded. It was difficult to miss, rising from the center of the roof and large, dirty-white flakes of paint peeling off the bricks.

  “Have you ever heard the saying, the madwoman in the attic?” Nathaniel asked.

  “I’ve heard of it,” Marcus admitted. “But I don’t know exactly what it’s in reference to.”

  “When women wouldn’t behave,” Nathaniel said, seeming to choose his words with care, “when they would refuse to perform their wifely duties, or perhaps showed a bit of unsteadiness of mind after an accident, the husband would lock them away. It was considered a kindness, rather than sending them off to a poor farm or some sanitarium. The lady in question would be locked in the attic, and should they be far too wild for the family, chains would be set into the brick of the chimney, and the woman would be bound there.”

  “Damn,” Marcus murmured, looking back to the chimney.

  Nathaniel nodded.

  “It seems as though the Reverend’s wife never ran off with the traveling salesman,” the old man said after a moment of silence. “What those people from the church found was a truly horrible scene. The salesman was there, 23 years dead, a mummified and naked corpse hanging by the neck from the rafter. Chained to the chimney was the corpse of the Reverend’s wife. She was dressed in rags, though, and her body was in the same state. Except she hadn’t died when the salesman had. There were hash marks on the floor all around her. Hundreds of them. The police figured she had lived at least another year and a half after her disappearance.”

  “Why didn’t she cry out?” Marcus asked. “Was she gagged?”

  “No,” Nathaniel said, staring at the house. “But she was silenced.”

  “How do you know?” Marcus asked.

  “They found her tongue,” Nathaniel said, and he took his bandana out, wiped his brow and added, “He had pickled it and set the jar beneath the feet of the traveling salesman.”

  They were silent for several minutes, but Marcus ended the silence with another question. “Does anyone live there?”

  “No,” Nathaniel answered softly. “Why do you ask?”

  “I thought I saw someone in the second-floor window the other morning,” Marcus admitted. “It must have been a trick of the light.”

  “No,” Nathaniel said, shaking his head. “Your eyes were telling the truth. You can see the Reverend every so often. He’s never left. I’d like to think he’s alone in there, barred from heaven and afraid of hell.”

  Marcus looked at the man. “You don’t think he is alone in the house though.”

  “I don’t,” the old man whispered, blinking tears out of his rheumy eyes. “I can hear her, sometimes. I can hear her sobbing, and it makes me wonder, what didn’t I hear when I was a boy?”

  The two men remained still and quiet in the garden, watching the Reverend’s house, waiting to see if the dead man would appear in the window again.

  Chapter 15: Understanding

  A whimper dragged Marcus out of his memories and forcibly reminded him of his predicament.

  I need to get out of this house, he told himself. If the building was taken because it’s haunted, because they’re all haunted, then I need to get to a place where I can think.

  The harsh memory of the Reverend, of having seen the shape of the dead man for years in the second-floor window, set Marcus’ heart to thundering.

  But the whimper reached his ears again.

  The Reverend wouldn’t whimper, Marcus thought, but he knew who might.

  He licked his lips nervously, then he left the room. His footsteps were loud on the old floorboards and he winced with every step he took. The fear he felt drove the underlying pain out of his thoughts and allowed him to focus on his goal.

  Stupid, Marcus told himself. This is stupid. I’m stupid. This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done a lot of stupid stuff. Remember that time outside of Hue in ‘Nam? Trying to see if I could do the Charleston without getting shot by Charlie? That was stupid. This is worse. It has to be.

  He finally managed to push those thoughts aside as he reached a narrow set of stairs that led to the attic.

  Resting a hand on the balustrade, Marcus took several deep breaths.

  I need to hold on, Marcus thought. I might have heard an animal. Or the wind. And even if I didn’t. Even if I did hear a ghost, how can I help her?

  Another whimper reached his ears and Marcus didn’t hesitate.

  He climbed the stairs quickly, reached a slim door and tried the handle.

  The old doorknob was bitterly cold to the touch and he jerked his hand back, swearing under his breath.

  Gritting his teeth together, Marcus forced himself to take hold of the doorknob again and give it a sharp twist before he put his shoulder against the old wood and forced the door open.

  It swung into the attic and banged off a wall as he stumbled in, rubbing his hands together briskly in order to chase the cold away.

  As he came to a stop, Marcus stiffened.

  The chimney stretched from floor to ceiling, and bright moonlight streamed in through a dormer window set in the wall opposite the entrance. In the crisp, almost silver light, Marcus could make out the shape of a woman. She was naked, her head hanging low and long, dark brown hair hiding all of her face and the majority of her torso.

  Across from her hung the body of a man, his head bent to one side, tongue protruding almost two inches from his lips.

  Is this real? Marcus wondered with a shiver. Is this truly happening?

  He looked from the hanging man to the woman and wondered if the room was a snapshot of the past, a bit of history so brutal that it had stamped itself onto the weft and weave of the house itself.

  Or is it worse? Marcus thought. Is her ghost still here and is she projecting the image of the man upon it?

  Marcus took a deep breath, prepared to make his presence known, and then kept quiet as a door slammed somewhere below them.

  Instantly the hanged man vanished, and the woman’s head snapped up. Her eyes were wide with fear, and when she opened her mouth to whimper in horror, Marcus saw the severed root of her tongue.

  Heavy footsteps rang out on the stairs and Marcus knew that the Reverend was coming to see his wife.

  Chapter 16: The Right and Honorable Reverend

  A deep, blood-freezing fear settled over Marcus and rooted him to the floor. In front of him, the dead woman groaned and whimpered, knowing what manner of devil climbed the stairs towards the attic.

  Marcus shook his head, physically making his thoughts clear.

  This is a haunted house, he thought. Think! Folklore! What does the lore say?!

  His mind raced through the possibilities, the endless information he had stored away in his life.

  Salt, he thought. But where to find it? In a kitchen of course. And would there be salt here?

  Marcus doubted it and realized just how foolish the thought was.

  He would still have to pass by the Reverend to even get to the kitchen.

  Nothing religious, he thought. I’m not dealing with a vampire. No crosses or holy water will work. Not a stake either.

  Marcus blinked, an idea clicking into place.

  He looked at the chimney and saw the chains that the dead woman had been bound with.

  Long lengths of forged, iron links.

  Stepping forward and ignoring the cold air that enveloped him as he neared the ghost, Marcus squatted down. The dead woman’s chains ran through iron rings set deep within the chimney’s bricks, but the mortar around the base of each ring was loose.

  A spark of hope flew up into his heart, and Marcus grasped the nearest chain with both hands. He wrenched it back and forth, bits of mortar falling to the floor with a soft clatter that threatened to drive him mad.

  Behind him, he heard the Reverend move closer.

  Panic threatened to overwhelm Marcus, his hands aching as he twisted an
d pulled.

  “Who?!” a deep voice demanded from the doorway.

  Marcus let out a cry of despair and with a final jerk, freed a length of chain from the wall. He fell backward with it, whipping the chain around, and had a brief glimpse of the Reverend.

  The dead man was tall, filling the doorframe. He wore a severe black suit, and his hair was clipped close to his head. Huge hands were clenched into fists, and the look on the ghost’s face was pure malevolence. Deep blue eyes peered from beneath his brows, and his lips curled into a snarl as he stepped forward.

  Marcus landed hard on the floor, but he didn’t lose his grip upon the chain, reversing the motion of it so that it went flying back towards the dead man.

  A sneer settled on the Reverend’s face, but only for a moment.

  Within seconds the dead man vanished as the chain passed through him.

  Marcus flinched as a scream tore through the air. He quickly reeled in the chain, clambered to his feet, and fled the attic. From somewhere in the house he heard a furious howl followed by the clatter of pots and pans, and Marcus knew that for some reason the dead man was in the kitchen.

  I can’t forget that, Marcus told himself. I can’t forget the kitchen!

  He bolted down the length of the hallway and saw the Reverend halfway up the stairs from the first to second floor. Again, Marcus lashed out with the chain, and while the Reverend attempted to avoid it, the dead man failed, vanishing again.

  Marcus nearly tripped down the stairs as he gathered the chain back to him, and once more, he heard the Reverend in the kitchen.

  At the bottom of the stairs stood the front door to the home, and without hesitation, Marcus tore it open and fled the madness of the Reverend’s home.

  ***

  David was inspecting the guards at the gate when he heard the scream.

  It was a sharp and brutal sound, even through the ear protection offered by the helmet. One of the gate guards, a man named Odom, paused in the middle of his report, and all three of them turned their attention to the new house.

  While the building was located at the end of the cobblestone street of the Village, the light of the gas lamps and the moon gave them enough illumination to see the home clearly. After several seconds, another scream ripped through the air.

  “What the hell is going on?” Odom asked.

  “Don’t worry about it,” David said firmly. None of them were paid to worry about what went on inside the perimeter. All they were concerned about was anyone trying to get out.

  And that old guy isn’t going to be getting out, David thought. Doesn’t matter that he got the drop on the acquisitions team. You can’t really do that to a ghost.

  But the thought had no sooner crossed his mind than the front door to 114 Broad Street banged open, ricocheting off the exterior wall.

  Subject B barreled out of the home and into the street. Something in his right hand was swinging as the man stumbled, righted himself, and then backed away from the house.

  Seconds later, the building’s ghost appeared.

  From his position at the gate, David couldn’t make out any distinguishing features. Only that the dead man was huge. Incredibly so.

  As he watched, David saw the dead man lunge toward Subject B, and the old man lashed out with something.

  “What the hell?” both of gate guards declared in unison.

  The dead man had vanished.

  Subject B continued to move backward down the street, glancing over his shoulder occasionally, as if making sure the cobblestones were still behind him.

  “How did he do that?” Odom asked.

  “I have no idea,” David responded. “There shouldn’t have been anything in that house for him to use as a defensive weapon. Or even an offensive one.”

  Suddenly, the ghost from 114 Broad Street appeared behind Subject B, and the old man seemed to know.

  Shocked, David watched as Subject B stopped and dropped low, swinging his weapon out with a speed and dexterity that younger men would have envied. It was as the dead man vanished for a second time that David heard the clink of a chain.

  “Iron,” David said, impressed. “He found an iron chain in the house.”

  Chapter 17: Surprised and Fascinated

  Abel Worthe drummed his fingers on the top of his desk, a disbelieving smile appearing and disappearing on his face. He had a drone hovering above the Village’s single street, and the powerful lens was focused on Subject B.

  “What are you going to do?” Abel murmured, his fingers picking up speed. “Hm?”

  He leaned forward.

  Subject B still had a length of chain in his hand, the old iron which had succeeded in first stopping, then chasing away the ghost of the Reverend.

  While the subject’s reaction did not fit into the rubric Abel had designed for the testing, he freely admitted to himself that it was exciting.

  Abel found himself holding his breath as he waited for the ghost to reappear.

  The Reverend did not.

  What now? Abel wondered, letting his breath out in a rush. Will you stay there, too afraid to move, or will you come toward the gate?

  A heartbeat later, Subject B began to move.

  ***

  Marcus heard the hiss of equipment, glanced around and then up. He caught sight of a small drone peeling off and vanishing into the darkness.

  Watching me? he thought sourly.

  Still gripping his chain, Marcus took several more steps away from 114 Broad Street, and when he felt certain the dead man would not chase him, he focused his attention on the tall, wrought iron fence that wrapped around the Village.

  Iron, Marcus thought, following the road as it approached the gate. Iron alone won’t stop them. Salt will help. Salt would bind them to one place. Or trap them?

  As his body freed itself of the adrenaline that had been pumping through his system only a few minutes earlier, Marcus began to shake. The chain rattled in his hand, and his stomach churned.

  If there’s iron to keep them in, then there has to be salt around, Marcus thought, bringing his attention back to the situation at hand. And if there is salt, I need to get my hands on it. Especially if all of these houses are haunted.

  When Marcus was about 50 feet from the gate, he was able to discern the shapes of three individuals. They were all heavily armed and armored. They carried riot shotguns and side arms, and their features were completely hidden behind the face shields of their helmets.

  One of the three stepped closer to the gate, raising the barrel of his shotgun.

  Marcus stopped immediately.

  “Subject B,” the individual who had stepped forward stated, “you may not proceed any farther.”

  “And why is that?” Marcus asked, but he didn’t move.

  “Once you step off the road, you are no longer in the experiment. You must remain in the experiment,” the individual stated.

  “The gentleman running this experiment stated that I am allowed to leave,” Marcus said, understanding creeping over him.

  “Of that, I have no knowledge, Subject B,” the individual said. “My orders are to keep you contained within the experiment.”

  Marcus looked at the guard and said, “So this entire compound is the experiment?”

  There was no response to his question.

  “Is there food here?” Marcus asked, hating the tightness in his voice, the fear attempting to overwhelm his control.

  Do they want me to starve to death? Marcus suddenly wondered.

  “In each kitchen, there is food,” the guard responded. “You will find that each home has an electric stove, although they are made to look like the stoves of the time period. The same with the food. You will find only items that could have been present in a pantry of that time.”

  “I’m not to leave then,” Marcus said. It wasn’t a question, and the guard did not respond. Marcus kept his shoulders from slumping as he turned his back to the gate. He fixed his eyes on 114 Broad Street and walked bac
k toward it.

  ***

  David, wearing an old running suit and battered sneakers instead of his uniform, stood at-ease in the presence of Professor Worthe. His employer had a glass of mineral water, and the older man sipped at it with a far-away look in his eyes.

  “What did you think of Subject B?” Professor Worthe asked after a moment of silence.

  “He is a resilient gentleman,” David replied. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he discovers a means of disposing of the Reverend.”

  Professor Worthe raised an eyebrow, and David nodded his confirmation.

  “We’ve seen the footage, sir,” David continued. “The man freed a length of chain and battered his way out of the home. The last I knew, he was walking back toward the house.”

  “Hm,” the professor murmured. “Yes. Well. He is in the house. Cooking, as it were. Several eggs. He keeps the chain with him, and a small, cast-iron frying skillet as well. I’m curious to see what the Reverend does with him.”

  “I will find out soon enough what Subject B does with the Reverend,” David countered.

  Professor Worthe chuckled. “The point is taken, David. I would like you to pass the word along to acquisitions for me. I want a plan put in place for Subject C.”

  “You’re planning on taking the third already?” David felt his face show the same surprise his question conveyed.

  “Don’t think I am discounting your belief in Subject B, David. Hardly,” Professor Worthe said, smiling. “I’m thinking of introducing a new stressor. We can see that Subject B is capable of adaptation. I would like to see if that extends to assisting a new subject. Also, while I was planning on examining this aspect at a later date, I think it would be excellent to see how one’s own fear can feed off that of another in such a situation.”

  “I will inform acquisitions when I leave here, sir,” David said.

  “Excellent, David, thank you,” Professor Worthe said. He turned and glanced at the screen that showed Subject B sitting at a small table and eating the last few bites of egg. “Yes, this will be an enlightening observation.”