Calling Back the Dead: A Northern Michigan Asylum Novel

by Erickson, J. R.

  “PLEASE TELL me this isn’t our entrance,” Sarah muttered, pausing at the overgrowth that mostly blocked a smashed-out basement window in one of the decayed buildings.

  “Unless you know how to jimmy a deadbolt.” Will squatted down and kicked the remaining glass from the frame. It rained onto the cement floor and shattered.

  Sarah leaned down and peeked inside. A mass of dirty blankets lay in a corner. Graffiti covered one entire wall. Will moved her aside and climbed in, laying his jacket over the frame to shield against glass shards. His feet hit the floor, crunching into the broken glass. Sarah stood and glanced behind her.

  What if Maurice had set them up? Inside they’d find a few of his friends carrying steel pipes, looking to score cash, sex, whatever they could get high on.

  “You coming?” Will asked, peering up at her.

  She marveled at his young face, unblemished, clear sparkling eyes - and yet he stood comfortably in the basement of an abandoned asylum, anxious to meet a man they knew only as Dr. Evil.

  Reluctantly, she dropped in.

  “Katie sucks cumquats,” Sarah read aloud, studying the graffitied walls.

  “This one’s original,” Will said, pointing to scrawled red writing. “Sumwun was heer.”

  “That kid better quit skipping school,” Sarah said, following Will into a dark hall.

  As they walked, Sarah felt equal parts dread and a morbid curiosity that had her imagining life in such a place. They shuffled down dark corridors littered with debris and leftovers from the building’s asylum years. A steel table, missing one leg, lay crippled in the hall. Dredges of sunlight filtered through smashed windows that had been partially covered with boards or plastic.

  They found Doctor Evil sitting in a battered wooden chair, gazing at a peeling wall.

  “You’re Dr. K?” Sarah asked, glancing at Will. How could they possibly know if he’d once been a doctor? Today, he looked like he lived under the bridge with Maurice.

  “Out of practice, but yes,” he hissed, casting dark eyes on Sarah and Will.

  “We need help,” Sarah said. “We heard about the brotherhood and your interest in supernatural things. Do you think we can trap an evil spirit in the asylum woods?” Sarah pushed the words out in a rush, and Will gave her a peeved look.

  The man regarded her coolly.

  “There’s only one place where you can rid yourself of a dark spirit. The Chamber of The Brotherhood.”

  “Can you get us in?” Sarah asked.

  “You think I have a key to the chamber?” The old man cackled, and his sour breath filled the room.

  Sarah pretended to itch her nose with her arm to block out the stench.

  “We assumed it would have been entrusted to someone who knew it best,” Will said.

  Sarah gaped at him. His prickly nature could transform in a moment.

  The man’s eyes sparkled as he gazed at the grimy window, one pane smashed and plastic flapping noisily in the wind.

  “Dr. Coleman,” the man murmured, touching his fingers to his lips. “Yes, I do believe the key lies with Markus Coleman.”

  “He was in the Brotherhood?”

  “Is,” the man hissed. “The brotherhood never dies. It is an oath for life, more sacred than blood, more valuable than gold. The knowledge - you can’t begin to imagine…”

  “Where is Dr. Coleman now?” Sarah asked.

  The old man pulled his lips away from his teeth, as if he’d eaten something rotten.

  “Nearby, I’m sure, in some uppity hellhole that God’s forgot. He always put on airs, Markus.” The man spit on the ground, leaving a drip of saliva clinging to his stubbly chin.

  “How do you shave?” Sarah asked.

  Will looked at her, surprised, but the man seemed unfazed by the question.

  He grinned and lifted an eyebrow, digging into a pack around his waist. It had come from Crystal Mountain ski resort, likely a souvenir discarded by tourists and now this man’s prized possession. He pulled a swatch of fabric clearly dotted with blood from the pack and opened it to reveal the lid of a can.

  “You shave with that?” Will asked, grimacing.

  “Used to be weak, had a sleek leather bag with a straight razor and whipped froth I put on my face. The conveniences of the modern world make you weak, boy.” The man spat again, and Will took a quick step back as it landed where his feet had been.

  “I don’t understand the cloak-and-dagger around this chamber. It’s decades old. What’s there to protect?” Sarah asked.

  The man shook his head, as if disgusted.

  “And you are why women were not allowed in the brotherhood,” he hissed. “No loyalty. Fair-weathered, self-serving lot that you are.”

  Sarah ignored the bubble of rage that surged in her chest. She considered giving him a lecture on feminism but bit her tongue.

  “And the brotherhood never dies. Do you believe such a powerful entity could cease to exist?” The man scrubbed at a spot on his arm and smiled, his eyes gleaming. “It is eternal. We no longer reside in the asylum walls. Now we are in the world. The magic, the evil, the power is all around us.”

  “Did this brotherhood experiment on Ethel Kerry?” Sarah asked, suddenly wondering if the brotherhood had been alive and well a century before.

  The man pulled his lips away from his teeth, surprisingly straight. He looked at her, disgusted.

  “Experiment,” he grumbled. “A fool’s word, the fodder of small minds. Ethel was chosen. Her sacrifice brought vast knowledge.”

  “Can I ask how you know about Ethel?” Will interrupted. “I mean, she was dead before you were a doctor.”

  The man planted his good eye on Will, as if he’d forgotten him.

  “The Enchiridion of Umbra,” the man said proudly.

  “I’m sorry, the enchirio-what?” Sarah asked.

  The man spit at her feet and she jumped back.

  “Enchiridion,” Will said. “A text, then? Or a book of writings?”

  The man nodded, appraising Will with renewed interest.

  “More, so much more. Case studies, hypotheses, conclusions. The implications. It is a book of magic, a true glimpse into this world.”

  “How many were there?” Sarah asked.

  He glared at her.

  “One. There could only be one.”

  “Does it still exist?” Will asked, leaning forward. Sarah knew from his tone that he desperately wanted to get his hands on that book.

  “Can you destroy fire? Air? It exists. It will always exist.”

  “Do you know who has it?” Sarah asked. She, too, wanted to see the book. Although she feared the horrors contained therein.

  “There’s no who,” the man said. “It lives in the chamber. It belongs to the chamber, as does the brotherhood.”

  “The chamber?” Sarah shuddered, not sure she wanted to know more.

  “How do we get to the chamber?” Will asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  The man watched him.

  “Only a brother is allowed entrance to the chamber.”

  “So, you could get us in?” Sarah said.

  “I would sooner cut off my own leg,” he told them, staring hard at each of them.

  “What if we paid you?” Sarah asked. “What if-?” but Will shushed her before she could go on.

  “We need the chamber,” Will said, stepping close to the man. “We have a woman filled with dark magic. How long has it been since the chamber received its due?”

  Sarah glared at Will, ready to interrupt him, but he shot her a glance and she stayed quiet.

  The man rubbed his hands together and blew a puff of pungent breath between them. Sarah wanted to turn her head, but knew better than to insult the man.

  “Dark magic,” the man murmured. “It is real, you know? More real than flesh and blood and bone. We perish, but it lives on.”

  “I know,” Will said, and Sarah knew he meant those words.

  “We need the brotherhood,” Will c
ontinued. “Your knowledge is our only hope.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Halloween Night 2001

  Then

  Corrie

  “O h, no you don’t,” Sammy murmured, surprising me in our room. I had laid the Bride of Frankenstein dress out on the bed. I stood in black fishnet nylons connected to a black lace garter I’d bought the week before.

  “Sammy, this was supposed to be a surprise,” I laughed, putting my hands on my hips.

  He stood in the doorway, walnut eyes devouring me.

  “We don’t have time,” I whispered.

  “Bullshit,” he murmured. “I’ll cancel this damn party.”

  He hadn’t put on his alien-baby shirt yet and wore a green shirt opened to reveal his smooth stomach, his chest a tangle of fine black hair.

  He took three long strides across the room and picked me up.

  I laughed as he threw me onto the bed.

  “My God, you are beautiful,” he told me, nuzzling his face into my neck, clutching one of the plastic bones sticking from my hair in his teeth and dragging it out.

  I wrapped my legs around him and leaned back.

  “Maybe I should switch to a Frankenstein costume, and we can ask a vampire to renew our vows tonight.”

  “Oh my, a second dream wedding,” I murmured as he sat up and unclipped the garters at my thighs.

  “I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he told me, leaning down to kiss me hard on the mouth.

  I opened my mouth with a sudden urge to demand he admit to renting us another house. Instead, when his lips found mine, I resisted the temptation and allowed the desires of my body to carry us away.

  Sarah

  * * *

  SARAH HEARD Corrie’s squeal of laughter and shook her head, grinning. She envied her brother’s marriage. It was rare to see two people so in love after ten years of marriage, a daughter, and all the other life stuff that seemed to chip away at so many people’s love.

  Arranging the last tray of food on the buffet in the foyer, she slipped into the bathroom to throw on her costume.

  The guests would arrive within the hour.

  THE WEATHER WANTED to play too, offering an eerie mist that drifted on a cool breeze from Lake Michigan.

  “Seriously, how cool is that?” Sammy nudged Sarah as they surveyed the courtyard where people had parked their cars. Sammy had turned the side yard into a cemetery, complete with plastic headstones and dangling skeletons. The fog drifted low, leaving the headstones peeking from the eerie mist.

  “Isn’t that a tad macabre?” she asked, gesturing at one of the headstones clearly reading ‘Sammy Flynn’ with that day as his day of death.

  “’Tis All Hallow’s Eve, Sarah-my-dear. The ghosts will run amok. I’m of an ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’ state of mind.”

  Sarah shook her head, waving at Gloria, who piled from a van with a sign on the side that read TC Party Bus. Gloria had paid for a driver and bus rental for her group of ladies. They climbed out in a variety of costumes, from killer clown to mermaid. The last woman who stepped from the van, Sarah had not seen before. Her hair was long and black with bits of color woven through it. She wore a tall, pointed black hat, purple and black stockings, and a witch’s dress complete with a purple lace corset.

  Sarah couldn’t take her eyes off her and watched the other women to see if one of them claimed her. No one seemed to.

  Gloria marched up to Sarah and grabbed her in a rib-crushing hug, grabbing Sammy next.

  “You’ve outdone yourself this year, Sam,” Gloria declared.

  “Thanks, Gloria. That’s quite a compliment from a party planner such as yourself.”

  “Who’s that?” Sarah asked Gloria, nodding toward the witch who had bent low to pull the laces on her black combat boots.

  Gloria smiled, her mischievous eyes twinkling.

  “That’s Brook. Go say hi.” Gloria gave Sarah a little shove and walked into the house, heading straight for the table of liquor.

  CORRIE

  * * *

  “CORRIE, this is Gunner. The guy who does coffee shop illustrations,” Sammy announced, dragging me away from the group I’d been chatting with.

  A tall slender man in ragged clothes with black beneath his eyes and bits of fake flesh hanging from his face thrust out his hand.

  “Corrie, you are dashing, my dear lady. Corpse bride?”

  I smiled.

  “The Bride of Frankenstein.”

  Gunner pointed to a tiny woman wearing a fairy costume. Her small, pointed face so perfect in her pixie-wear that Corrie could have believed she was the real deal.

  “That’s my wife, Micah. We have a two-year-old. His name’s Jared.”

  “I said you and Micah should do a play date with Jared and Isis,” Sammy told me, taking my cup and draining it. “Here, let me refill you.”

  I smiled, thinking I’d need another drink or two before I agreed to play dates.

  Gunner winked.

  “Micah’s the same way, dear. Play dates are on her list next to leg waxing and drinking sour milk. But,” he held up a finger. “A play date where we adults sip coffee tinged with Baileys while the kids run on the beach? I could get behind that.”

  Sammy returned with my drink, and I clinked it against Gunner’s plastic cup.

  “That’s a play date I’ll attend,” I agreed.

  “Oh look, it’s Marcy,” Sammy announced, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the front door, where our neighbor from Traverse City stood wearing a Super Woman costume. Blue sparkling leggings covered her thick thighs, and her husband, half her size and a tenth of her personality, lingered behind her in a rendition of Freddie Krueger that wouldn’t scare an infant.

  Sarah

  * * *

  SARAH SAT with Brook in a dim enclave off the kitchen, what had likely once been a butler’s pantry. Two smoky lanterns hung from hooks on the wall, and the pale wisps of paper ghosts floated overhead.

  Brook sipped rum and pineapple and told Sarah how she first met Gloria at a gay club in Grand Rapids three years before.

  “I’ve only hung out with her a few times,” Brook admitted. “She’s great, but a little too… jovial for me.”

  “Jovial,” Sarah repeated. “That is the perfect word to describe Gloria. Oh, and tenacious.”

  “In the van on the way here, she held up an itinerary. Say hello to Sammy and Corrie, get a tour of Kerry Manor, sample all the Halloween-themed cocktails, convince one straight woman to question her sexual preferences, and end the night in bed with mystery lady not yet determined.“

  Sarah laughed.

  Brook leaned forward and gazed into Sarah’s eyes.

  “Tell me, Sarah, what’s your passion?”

  “I’m an architect.”

  Brook studied her.

  “I didn’t say your job. I said your passion. Are you passionate about architecture?”

  Sarah laughed, feeling buzzed not just by the alcohol, but an even deeper electricity from Brook.

  “I am, actually. That probably sounds boring, but I’ve loved designing houses my whole life. As a kid, I used to fill notebooks with house drawings. Then Sammy would add creepy monsters climbing on the roofs and shimmying down the drain pipes.”

  “Sammy’s your brother? The guy throwing the party?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “More than my brother, my twin.”

  “A twin. I have two sisters, but we’re all three oil and water. My dad likes to call us salt, mangoes and patio furniture.”

  “That sucks. Sammy and I are so alike, even I confuse us sometimes. I can’t imagine having a sibling that didn’t get me.”

  “There’s a lot to be learned from people who view the world differently than you.”

  Sarah nodded, still pretty sure she had the better deal.

  “Tell me about you, Brook. What’s your passion?”

  “Music.”

  “Music?”

  Brook nodded, thru
mming her slender fingers up Sarah’s arm.

  “Piano, guitar, a little harmonica. I work at Voodoo Queen.”

  “The instrument place?”

  “That’s the one. I play in a band, teach lessons, still cling to dreams of one day making a record and hitting it big.”

  “Really?”

  Brook shrugged.

  “Maybe si, maybe non. Childhood dreams die hard, but I get to make a living doing what I love and sharing it with others. I have friends that live the real musician’s life. It’s a lot of travel, a lot of cheap motels and diner food. I’m rather fond of my studio apartment, my bird, Baba Yaga, and my little balcony covered in flowers. Though the flowers have been moved to my living room, where they’ll live until spring.”

  “You’re in a band?” Sarah asked, embarrassed that she found it as sexy as she did. “Is it totally cliché if I’m automatically turned on by that?”

  Brook laughed.

  “How can an emotion be cliché? It either exists, or it doesn’t. My band is called North State of Mind.”

  “I like it. What kind of music do you play?”

  “I call it folk meets the blues.”

  “Intriguing.”

  “You should come hear us play sometime.”

  “I’d like that,” Sarah said. “Though I fear we’re already doomed for failure.”

  “Why is that?” Brook asked.

  “I’m a dog person.”

  Brook leaned forward, admiring Sarah’s backside.

  “I don’t see a tail.”

  Sarah grinned.

  “I seriously dig you, Brook with the bird named Baba Yaga.”

  CORRIE

  * * *

  I LOOKED AT THE CHAOTIC, drunken scene. Costumed bodies writhing to the haunting music blasting from the speakers. A trash can near the door overflowing with plastic cups and paper plates. My head swam, and when I looked at the grandfather clock standing astutely in the hallway, I saw it was after midnight. People had been leaving for an hour, the group slowly thinning, cars disappearing from the crowded courtyard.

  I slipped up the stairs and rested on the edge of the bathtub, staring at my dress and willing the floor to stop tilting.