The Ghosts of Centre Street: A Haunting of Kingston (The Hauntings of Kingston Book 3)

by Michelle Dorey

  His vision cleared and the street was once more in front of him. He yanked the steering wheel, whipped past the car in front and ran the light, narrowly missing a pedestrian. He punched the gas.

  He was about to hit the button to call her again when the phone rang, startling him.

  “Myra?” Another amber light was just ahead and he floored it.

  The sound from the phone was a high pitched squeal, like when you dial a fax number by mistake. It stopped and the voice that followed was tinny and far away. “Hurry! He intends to kill her!”

  “Who is this?” The palms of his hands were sweaty gripping the steering wheel.

  “Hurry Barry!” The phone went silent.

  It had been a woman’s voice, faint as it was. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it had been Evelyn, not Stella.

  “Oh God!” He whipped and yanked the car through the streets.

  He’d known Gordon was bad news that day he’d caught him in the driveway when they were moving in. Fuck! He’d screwed up, again! He could have beaten the thug up...anything to keep him away. Myra accused him of being too much of a pacifist, too easy going and now she was going to pay the price for him not having the balls to take care of his family!

  Up ahead was his driveway and the tail of his car skidded to the side when he wheeled it in. He skidded to a stop, jumped out of the car and froze in shock.

  Every branch of every tree was black with crows. Oh God. There were so many, twitching, hunched together, their black eyes peering down at him.

  They were absolutely silent and totally malevolent. He reached out to them with the touch and felt them quivering inside like an arrow on a string. All of them were aching to attack him and tear him to pieces before he could take another step. But something—someone— was keeping them at bay.

  The evil in this house was growing. He knew why—Gordon was here, his treacherous greed feeding it, along with Myra’s terror.

  Barry sprinted over to the front of the house. Gordon wanted the house, the money...he could have it! He’d do anything to save Myra and the baby!

  He stepped inside and froze at the sight before him.

  Chapter 23

  It was the woman from the bedroom, the one he would swear on a stack of bibles had called him on his cell phone. She stood at the top of the stairs staring down at him, her wide eyes black as coal set in a pale, gaunt face.

  Her hand rose and she pointed down the hallway, at the door to the cellar. “Hurry.” Her voice sounded like it was coming from a hundred miles away.

  He gasped when he noticed the blood spots by the newel post as he ran past. Oh God, please don’t let him be too late! “Myra!”

  The air was thick and cold on his face when he opened the cellar door. He ignored it and flew down, stopping short at the bottom. Gordon, the small teeth flashing in a sly grin, his eyes narrow with victory sent an icy spike of fear through Barry’s gut.

  Myra was bent at the waist, her hands behind her back tied to a post. He couldn’t see her face, hidden in the hair that hung loose from her pony tail. But the sense that she was still alive was strong. And not just her, but the baby as well.

  “Let her go. I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt her.” Barry took a few steps down the stairs, holding his hands up, palms out.

  “That’s close enough.” Gordon reached into his coat and pulled out a carpenter’s framing hammer. The nail pulling claw stuck out almost straight, like a chisel. He tapped the end of the claw against the side of Myra’s head.

  Barry threw up his hands in surrender. “Please! Don’t!”

  Gordon chuckled and lowered the hammer to his side. “I don’t want to hurt her. All I want is what’s rightfully mine—the house and Stella’s estate. Sign it over and I’ll let her go.” His lips were a snarl when he added, “I don’t know how you tricked the old bat, but this was all supposed to go to me.”

  A trickle of cold sweat dripped down between Barry’s shoulder blades. Rather than reassure him, Gordon’s words made things worse. The guy was delusional! There was no way he could let either of them live, not after getting the house this way. It wasn’t remotely close to being legal and with Barry and Myra alive they could testify to that.

  If they had a chance at all, he’d have to play along, buy time until he could overpower him. “Sure. It’s yours, Gordon. We’ll gladly walk away, just don’t hurt her.” Barry inched forward another step, still keeping his hands high where Gordon could see them.

  Gordon flashed a quick smile and fast as a cat twisted and swung the hammer. The head of the hammer swatted into Myra’s tied hands with a sickening thwack.

  Barry jerked back and Myra’s lurched awake with a scream.

  “I told you to stay put!” Gordon once more raised the hammer over Myra’s head. “Next time I’ll use the claw side!”

  Oh shit! This guy was dangerous and fast! Barry’s breath was a quick pant, his heart racing hard. “Sorry! What do you want me to do? Do you have the paper? I’ll sign!”

  Tears streamed from Myra’s eyes and her shoulders racked up and down with her keening sobs. Barry’s gut knotted with fear.

  A sickening grin flared on Gordon’s face. “Go upstairs and get a pen and paper. I’ll dictate what you need to write.” He swung the hammer lightly and struck Myra’s shoulder, making her jerk upright and cry out again. “No funny business, okay? If you try to trick me, the next blow will be in her eye. Got it?”

  “No. No, I promise. No tricks. Please, just let us go. I’ll be right back.” Barry spun around and raced up the steps and into the hallway. Once that so-called will was written, Gordon would kill them. There had to be something he could use to distract the man long enough to jump him and get the hammer away.

  His gaze flickered over the kitchen table, the counter, washer and dryer as he strode through the room on his way to the library and desk. There was nothing! Nothing that the thug wouldn’t spot right away. He had to get Myra away from him!

  If Gordon killed them before the will was signed then he’d never get the house. It would go to their estate. He probably knew that.

  Barry’s eyes narrowed and he grabbed a pen and paper. The will was the only bargaining chip he had and he had to make it count. The chances were slim but better than none at all. As he walked back through the kitchen he noticed the bag of coarse sea salt that Myra had left there when she cleansed the house the day before. Had it just been yesterday?

  He slipped the salt into his jacket pocket and was about to step through the doorway to the cellar when movement at the end of the hall caught his eye. It was the woman again. She was floating above the floor slowly coming closer and closer. Her hand rose and she pressed a translucent finger across her lips, signaling for him to stay silent. For just a moment he felt a glimmer of hope that he had an ally that she’d help him beat the monster downstairs holding his wife hostage.

  “What are you doing up there?” Gordon’s voice was a roar that brought Barry back to the present, but it also served another purpose.

  There had been just a hint of anxiety in Gordon’s voice. Barry reached out with the touch. Oh no. The gift that Stella had, was present in Gordon as well. It wasn’t as strong, but it was still there. He had sensed the ghost that was above him, sensed an enemy. Gordon might have serious allies in the paranormal entities in the house, but he didn’t have them all. Whoever this woman was, she was on his and Myra’s side.

  “Hold on! I’m coming.” He spun on his heel and stepped down the few steps to face Gordon. “Before I write anything, I need you to untie my wife.”

  Gordon raised the hammer again—

  Barry had been about to yell for him to stop but Gordon’s head jerked back and he slowly lowered the hammer all on his own. His eyes narrowed and head tilted to the side and without another word he stepped to the back of the pole and began untying Myra’s hands and then her feet.

  A whiff of rotten meat flitted by Barry’s face and he recoiled for a moment. The hair
on the back of his neck and arms rose and tingled as if an electrical current had passed through his body.

  He turned his head and gasped. A pair of red glowing eyes stared over at him from near the furnace. The feeling of rage and malevolence that peered at him made his knees weak.

  “There!” Gordon gave Myra a shove. Barry reached for her hand and pulled her close, as much to get her away from Gordon as the thing over by the furnace.

  “Start writing! Put your full name and your wife’s at the top of the page and write the date.” Gordon stepped closer, and Barry knew that with one swing, he could kill Myra. The man was insane!

  He took the pen in his hand and started writing on the pad of paper. When he had written what Gordon had ordered he looked up.

  “Next line. We relinquish any claim we have on 23 Center Street, and want to adhere to Stella Braithwaite’s original wish which was for her nephew Gordon to assume ownership.” Gordon stepped closer and his eyes were narrow. “Write it, cabbie!”

  A blood curdling scream from Myra filled the room. She had collapsed down onto the floor, rocking back and forth with her arms folded over her belly. Low moans of pain rumbled from her throat.

  Oh my God! She was losing the baby! All this pain and horror of Gordon and this...this house. For a second Gordon looked puzzled staring at her. It was now or never!

  Barry gripped the pen like a dagger in his hand and lunged at Gordon, passing over Myra and landing on top of the hulking guy. They crashed to the floor, with Barry’s fall broken by Gordon’s bulk.

  He shoved the pen into Gordon’s neck, feeling it pierce muscle and tendons. At the same time, he head-butted the man. He was snarling in rage as he pulled at the pen to shove it into Gordon’s eye when a force drove down on top of him like a load of bricks.

  Every cell in his body exploded in a starburst of agony. The force grasped him in an invisible talon and he was lifted into the air. He couldn’t speak nor move! A pain ripped through him, cell by cell.

  At the grunt below, he looked down. With horror he saw, Gordon shake his head and grab at the wound in his neck. Damn it, Barry had missed the artery! Gordon rolled to his side and began to struggle to his feet, staring at Myra and licking his lips.

  Barry squeezed his eyes tight. FOCUS! He pictured the entity losing power, shrinking back to the floor as it weakened. He felt a shift and his body lowered a little closer to the ground.

  In his mind, the energy seeped back into a long fissure in the floor, becoming less and less. He was almost there!

  “I command you to release me!” The words rushed out and he felt a jolt when his foot touched the floor.

  Gordon spun on his heel, turning to face Barry once more, the hammer raised over his head. With a snarl he rushed at Barry, gibbering with rage.

  Barry ducked the blow and pushed forward, his shoulder connecting with Gordon’s thigh, flipping the heavy thug over his body. There was a meaty thud, followed by a sharp cry.

  Barry pivoted and there was Gordon splayed on the floor, blood pouring from a gash on his head. He took a cautious step forward, his eyes never leaving the hulking inert mass. Gordon wasn’t moving. He was either unconscious or dead.

  He stepped by Gordon and bent to pick up the hammer but just as his fingers grazed the wooden handle, it whipped away, spinning across the floor and pinging against the stone wall. The stench of rotten meat filled the air and a set of red eyes glared at him.

  “Barry, look out!” Myra’s voice pierced the air.

  Just in time, Barry ducked. The hammer flew through the air, missing his head by a whisker. The evil in the cellar was fighting back. Gordon was down but the danger was far from over.

  “Go Myra! Get out of here!” He looked over and saw her gripping the hand rail, trying to get up.

  The entity also noticed her. The dark mist began to swirl in her direction.

  Salt! Barry’s hand thrust into his pocket and closed over the plastic bag of sea salt. He tore it open and filling his fist he threw a handful at the thing. “Leave!”

  The thing stopped and shrank back, turning to face him. But there was no way that he was going to stop now, especially seeing Myra scramble up the next step, getting away from the danger. He kept advancing until his fingers invaded the revolting mass, becoming numb as soon as he grasped the gelatinous mass.

  Eyes formed and flared and for a moment Barry saw more detail of the thing’s face, the gaunt hollow under the cheekbones, its ears and bare head. Oh God! There were fucking ram’s horns sprouting from its forehead...a split tongue shot out from a gaping mouth. What the hell was he dealing with?

  “LEGION!” The voice roared in a chorus of hundreds!

  The roar sent new shock waves through Barry’s chest. The beast in his hands gave a lurch and flew off, crashing into the furnace. The ley line was ripping apart!

  Dirt and objects began to fly through the air, blinding him. The furnace door burst open and a flash of fire shot out, singing his leg. He lurched to the side, his hand pounding at the smoldering fabric covering his thigh.

  “Barry!” Myra’s voice sounded a million miles away in the turmoil of flying objects, the voices and whispers filling the air around him.

  “Go! Get out Myra! Run!” He couldn’t see her because the beast was coming at him, now a cloud of black mist again, roiling over him, making him numb. And, oh so cold as it crept up his legs to his chest. He couldn’t move. The salt in his fist slipped out over his chest as the feeling left his fingers. The numbing cold crept higher up his body. Soon he wouldn’t be able to speak or breathe.

  He felt helpless as a child in the face of this evil. He’d done all that he could and it hadn’t been enough. The most he could pray was that Myra would get away, that she and the baby would be safe. A knot of ice crept into his chest and he lurched back, trying to escape searing, jagged cold.

  He hadn’t been prepared for this. Hadn’t known how bad, bad could be. “Oh God, please help me.”

  An inhuman laugh filled the room. “He won’t help you, you fool!”

  The air became thick and hard to breathe...

  “Barry!” Myra’s voice was the last thing he heard as he drifted into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 24

  Tears burned Myra’s eyes when she stood at the top step looking down into the cellar. She could hardly make out Barry on the floor with the smoke and whirling debris. The pain in her smashed hand was nothing to the horror in her chest watching her husband, overcome by the evil below.

  “Barry!” She took a step lower. She had to try! She couldn’t just leave him there!

  Behind her the door to the cellar burst open with a thundering crash. She spun around. A woman stood there, dark hair framing a face that was filled with anger. Her eyes were round and black as coal when she came through the doorway. Her clothes were from another time period, a long dress and lace falling from her sleeves.

  Myra could only stare in shock at the wispy apparition before her. This was no woman—she was floating above the floor!

  “Go. Protect the baby.” The words drifted in the air but the woman’s mouth hadn’t moved.

  As if. She turned to look down the stairs at Barry’s writhing body. “That’s my husband!”

  The apparition lifted a finger. “What happens here will end here, Myra. Your child is our hope.”

  Another moaning cry from Barry came up the stairs. Looking down she could barely discern his form under the rippling purple mist covering him.

  A jab of pain pierced her hand when she put it against the wall to support her. An idea sparked in her mind and she reached out to the figure before her.

  “Please help him!” she gasped, but her hand passed through the specter. How in the world could something so ephemeral be any help?

  The woman and the ghost passed through one another and Myra ran to the foyer where Reverend Phil had left his valise. She had tripped over it when Gordon dragged her into the house. She hunkered down to the floor and rummaged in i
t with her good hand. She pulled out a small gold bottle, not much bigger than a salt shaker. Engraved on the side was ‘Sacred Chrism’. Whatever blessing the priest had tried hadn’t worked. Neither Father Phil nor Barry had pure hearts when they tried. But when she performed her ritual the other night things had quieted down.

  “Shit!” It was capped and there was no way she’d ever get the bottle open. But there was no time to lose. Barry needed her. She raced back to the cellar.

  The spectral woman was at the bottom of the stairs. She was floating above Barry’s prostrate figure and had her arms outstretched like she was trying to hold something back.

  Wrapped in swirling billows of red, purple and black, the entity that crawled out from the bowels of the earth was poised like a hyena about to strike. Myra could see its red eyes glitter brightly, and as she came down the steps, the swirls would part for a second revealing an oozing maw.

  It grinned as it drew closer to the woman and Barry.

  The air was filled with a cacophony of wind and clanging metallic bangs as the two apparitions confronted each other.

  Evelyn, despite her efforts, was being overwhelmed. She was being pushed away from Barry and her image was becoming foggier and foggier.

  Halfway down the stairs, Myra held the bottle high and called out in a quivering voice “In the name of God, I command you to leave!”

  She held her breath. Her hand holding the bottle of Chrism was shaking as much as her legs when the being looked away from Evelyn to her. Its eyes sparked even brighter and its maw yawned open like a hyena about to strike and she recoiled, arching her back.

  In that instant Stella’s words echoed in her head. The thing feeds on fear. Fear not. Be not afraid!

  She closed her eyes and spoke aloud. “Yea, though I walk in the valley of death…” opening her eyes, she continued, “I SHALL FEAR NO EVIL!” Holding onto the thinnest reed of faith in the goodness of the universe, she took a deep breath. “In the name of God and all that is love, in the name of God and all that is life, in the name of God and all that is joy get thee hence from here!”