Blood Red Star

by Mark Walker

A single large candle was placed on a small central barrel, the group ranged around it on crates, barrels, and a couple of benches. “Now,” said Flora, “perhaps some music would be just right. Oh, Miss Danes, my dear, would you be so good as to play a little something?” Kendra acquiesced and took up her case. As she pulled out her instrument she exclaimed, “I’m missing my extra strings and rosin!” Riggs pulled out his torch, but after a quick search for them they gave up, and she placed the violin under her chin. She tuned it, plucking the strings.

  “I think this should be appropriate,” she mused, and began the first strains of “Danse Macabre.”

  Kendra played the mysterious melody against the backdrop of the violent storm, whose sounds reached deep into the cellar in the heart of Black Rock Island. In the candlelight, the Phipps sisters became enthralled, swooning and cooing with delight. Then she began to move about the cellar, and played an abbreviated but striking version of “A Night on Bald Mountain.” When she had finished, there was a brief smattering of applause that was quickly shushed by the Phipps sisters, and Kendra bowed deeply and retook her seat.

  “Now, we must have silence so as to focus our minds!” cried Flora Phipps, in a strange faraway voice. She placed her hands to her temples swaying quietly, then opened her eyes and spoke in a monotone, “All of us must join hands, and remember not to break the circle, or the spell could be broken.” Riggs took Kendra Danes’ hand and that of Sergeant Bellows on his other side. Delia was pleased to be next to her beau, who was not pleased to be there at all, as he took Doris Potter’s hand, the proprietress taking her husband’s hand, and he that of Michael. Next came Jen and Mandy. Tom Melville completed the circle by linking up with the Phipps sisters. The children were completely enraptured, falling under the spell of the old ladies.

  “Now, we must have absolute silence for the spirits to be able to speak.”

  Even the pirates took a momentary break from their quarrelling and the cellar grew still. Yet outside, it sounded as though a throng were beating and battering the shutters with sticks and bats sending a thundering cacophony down the stairs into the cellar. And behind it all, the Lowling Howl howled its continuous lonely moan. Little Jen began to shiver, but was immediately comforted by Mandy with a hot squeeze of her hand. Then, with a low wailing moan that mirrored the Lowling Howl itself, sending shivers all round, Flora Phipps began to speak, slowly and strangely:

  “I call upon ye of the spirits! All ye who hear me! There is one of you, one of you who hears me clearly, more clearly than the rest! It is ye to whom I speak. Make yourself known; make your presence felt. Your faithful servant am I, here to receive you. Speak through me, take me, and possess me, even now, oh—!”

  She stopped suddenly, her eyes tight shut behind her spectacles, all other eyes upon her. Now Fauna Phipps was mouthing something unintelligible, murmuring and nodding, burbling and blubbering and cooing, as her sister began to sway and undulate in her place.

  Flora continued in her strange voice, “There’s another spirit about—it’s a muddle—no, no, no, it can’t be! It’s a competing spirit! Oh! It’s slipped away … but now…” And she began to shake and tremble, the hands clasped in hers seeming to be the only things holding her up. A sudden charge like electricity ran through everyone’s linked hands. Then as suddenly as she had ceased, she began to speak again, but this time in very different voice from her own.

  The voice was deep, guttural, and throaty, the syllables long and drawn out.

  “Arrrrr,” she growled completely out of character, “Arrrrr, me mateys! I’m back. I’m back, don’t ye know. I’m back, and I see! I see what you’re about here in me place, see an’ hear all that yer doin’. I see what ye’ve been about! I sees who takes, an’ who takes what! I see what yer takin’!” Then somewhat mournfully: “Ohhhhhhh… All those bones, those bones…” The children looked anxiously at each other, the two detectives and Miss Danes. “Those sleeping bones are not to be stirred! The sleeping bones won’t stir! I’ll not have it, ye see. I’ll not, I’ll not, I’ll not…” And now the body of Flora Phipps began to tremble violently, almost as if with ague, and the next words were almost shrieked, causing everyone, none more so than the pirates, to squirm with discomfort: “Those that stir the bones shall not leave this place alive!” Her voice reached a crescendo that matched the roaring storm above them, “By Davy Jones! Not alive! Not alive! None left alive! None left alive!”

  Acknowledgments

  TO KELLY BRIGGS, a true gent, amazing singer and character actor, and to the memory of his royal relative whose surname he bears. Brendalyn Lavergnolle, for her grace, elegance, and for having one of the most beautiful names I’ve ever heard. Lyndy Eggleton, for many delightful times in old London town, and for the inspiration that was the basis for Tex. Ceci Miller, dear friend, editor, advisor and ever-enthusiastic supporter, forever thanks for making Kelly Riggs possible. Shannon McCafferty, my original designer and cohort on Runt Farm, for helping make KR look so classy. Valerie Sensabaugh, my copy editor, for making sense of my sometimes-mangled English. Jack Elias for his expert “mineral insights.” Jan Holly, my seatmate and fellow mystery fan from Flight Five-O, for solving the mystery of the missing glove. Annie Cleveland, for her costumer’s eye and helpful comments on the script. Major Ronnie Proctor, of the Black Watch Museum, for providing helpful insights that will add much in highlighting Kelly Riggs’s service through this and coming tomes. Thanks to early and present readers of a couple of incarnations of Kelly Riggs: Monica Casady; Grover and Libby; June Ford; Ronnie, Tricia, Matthew, and Sydney Franks; Ed and Amy Girard; Mikie Stanfield; Ellen and Stephanie Kellum; Alan Klem; Suzanne Laporte; Bart, Crysti, Savannah, Victoria, Nicholas, and Anthony LaRocca; Art Lippa; James Maynard; Mary Martha Midkiff; John Murphy; Ken Nguyen; Jim, Mary, Christina, Meredith, and Daniel Wall. Inspirational thanks: Sonya Burrows; Barbara Feldon; Jennifer Murray-Finch; David McCallum; Justyna Rapita; Joanna Young. Special thanks: Michael H. Price.

  Spiritual Advisors: Lauren Bacall; Humphrey Bogart; Scott Boyd; Jack Bunch; Leslie Charteris; Agatha Christie; Tom Conway; Ian Fleming; Errol Flynn; Clark Gable; Cary Grant; Jane Greer; Brett Halliday; Rita Hayworth; Alfred Hitchcock; Jim Holdaway; John Howard; Elliot Kastner; Carol Lombard; Mryna Loy; Lynn Massingill; Jessie Matthews: Moebius; David Niven; Peter O’Donnell; Robert Peak; Michael Powell; William Powell; Royce Renfro; Lizabeth Scott; Barbara Stanwyck; Richard Stark; Joseph Stecko; Rex Stout; Gene Tierney; Edgar Wallace; Warren William; Googie Withers, et al.

  About the Author and Illustrator

  MARK EVAN WALKER spent much of his early life in the theatre, creating masks, props, and painting scenery as a scenic artist. He has even been accused of acting, his name having been discovered on a vintage playbill for a production of Sherlock Holmes: The Game of Chess, listed amongst the cast as Professor Moriarty. He has designed and painted almost five hundred theatrical productions including many works of Shakespeare, musicals, operas, dramas, and children’s theatre.

  Walker has illustrated for ad agencies, retailers, packaging, newspapers, periodicals, and private schools. He was illustrator of the award-winning Runt Farm children’s books by Amanda Lorenzo. He illustrated the graphic novel Fishhead, written by Michael H. Price and Lawrence Adam Shell. He is co-author and illustrator of Dark Borderlands, strange tales of the South, with Michael H. Price, published in 2011 and republished in 2019 by Pulp Hero Press. For over two decades he has been a regular illustrator for Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, the world’s oldest mystery magazine, and has written for their blog at themysteryplace.com.

  When not poring over his vast collection of vintage mystery novels and pulp fiction, Walker may be found viewing Turner Classic Movies, or traveling frequently with his camera and sketchbook researching material for future Kelly Riggs Mysteries.

 

 

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