The Spirits of Six Minstrel Run

by Matthew S. Cox

  “Like the police turning a blind eye until she’d shot him?”

  “Exactly. You see, I had targeted the spell on Vic. It would not have affected someone else’s mind or fate. I believe she resolved to kill him. Perhaps what I did helped her on that path, but I still don’t think I had the power at the time to make a difference.”

  Mia nodded. “So do you think your magic can help here?”

  “We’re still not entirely sure what ‘help’ really is.”

  “Robin,” asked Mia. “Is your daddy still in the house? Do you want us to try and make him go away?”

  “I’m not allowed to talk about him… or bad stuff will happen,” whispered Robin.

  Mia reached past the checker board, trying to grasp a hand she couldn’t touch, overcome with the need to hold the girl and tell her everything would be okay.

  “What did she say?” asked Wilhelmina.

  “Only that she can’t talk about him. I think he is still here, maybe even listening to us.” She looked back at the chair. “Robin, if there’s a way for Wilhelmina to make him go away, would you want her to try?”

  The girl faded into view, kneeling in the chair while staring at Mia with a pleading, frightened expression. Her grungy nightgown sorely needed a wash, a handprint in maple syrup on the chest that hadn’t been there before. “I’m scared. If he goes away, I’ll go away, too… and I don’t wanna.”

  Wilhelmina didn’t react at all to the child fading into view.

  “Why would you have to go away? I don’t want you to go away either.” Mia did her best to hold the tiny, immaterial hand beside the checkers board. The longer she stared into the girl’s sorrowful eyes, the more she wanted only to protect her from all that pain.

  Robin looked past Mia. “The bad man is here.”

  The doorbell rang.

  Mia glanced over her shoulder at a trace of khaki pants in the narrow strip of window beside the front door. “Ugh. That man again? This is getting out of hand.”

  “He’s going to stand there ringing the bell for at least a half hour,” said Wilhelmina. “You’ve got three choices: we deal with incessant doorbell, you send him on his way, or call Nate.”

  “Nate?” asked Mia.

  “Nate Ross. He’s Spring Falls’ only cop. I think he’s technically a sheriff, but he’s all we got after the old man retired. Oh, wait, I think there’s a new deputy now. A woman.”

  Mia slid from her chair and stood. She considered running upstairs for pants, but maybe having only a long T-shirt on would make Weston uncomfortable enough to leave—assuming she could avoid blushing. I’ve worn shorter dresses in public. “How did they handle the murder if the town only had one cop?”

  “Nate wasn’t even born then. Syracuse PD took it over. The former sheriff… Kline I think his name was, helped out but spent more time complaining that the ‘city cops’ ignored him.”

  Mia padded across the living room. A burst of late summer wind hit her as she opened the door, fluttering her hair back. Weston Parker waited on the porch, clutching a small book.

  “Mrs. Gartner, sorry for disturbing you on a Saturday morning. I would be remiss if I didn’t warn you that your soul is in peril the more you associate with evil. You know, tomorrow is Sunday, and we have services at nine.”

  She peered back at Robin watching her across the checkers board. That he called an innocent child ‘evil’ infuriated her. Mia scowled at him. “How can you call a little kid evil?”

  “I was referring to your decision to allow a devil-worshipper into your house.”

  Wilhelmina laughed.

  Weston leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I’m highly concerned for the sanctity of your soul considering what happened in this house. Nothing good will come of trafficking with those who have given their souls to the Devil.”

  “Don’t waste your breath,” said Wilhelmina, not bothering to get up. “I’ve been trying to convince him for years that I think his devil is a deliberate perversion of the pagan figures, Pan and Cernunnos, and don’t worship it.”

  Mia paused before biting his head off. He isn’t my father. “It’s a little unnerving to think that you’re either following her around or watching my house.”

  “I can’t let this house take ano—” An old set of wind chimes leapt off their hook overhead and flew at Weston. “Gah!” He ducked, raising his arms to guard his face.

  The chimes sailed through the spot where his head had been a second earlier, striking the ground at least thirty feet away in the grass with a disharmonic crash, breaking mostly apart from the force of impact. Mia gawked at the mess of corroded brass tubes.

  Weston lowered his arms, his cheeks pale, mouth open. Lost for words, he kept glancing back and forth between her, the house, and where the chimes landed.

  “I get that you mean well, but you’re not helping.” Mia took a step back into the house. “All that shouting you did with the Vaughans didn’t change anything. If, for whatever reason, we decide we need your assistance, we will ask for it.”

  He closed his mouth, eyed the empty hook in the porch roof, and scurried off to his Jeep.

  “I don’t think he expected that.” Mia eased the door closed. “I wonder if that’s the first time he witnessed something he couldn’t explain.”

  “I’m sure he’s witnessed quite a bit.” Wilhelmina set her mug down.

  Mia walked back to the dining room. “Of course, but that look on his face. Everything before, he’d probably been able to rationalize away. Mr. Vaughan falling down the stairs for example. Anyone watching that couldn’t say with perfect certainty that something unusual happened. Those wind chimes flew sideways, hard… like a tornado got them.”

  Robin jumped off the chair. Sniffling, she ran up to stand beside Mia, hiding behind her as if afraid of someone at the front door. The girl attempted to grab Mia’s hand, but her fingers caught no purchase. Childish fright darkened to frustration.

  “Shh. He’s gone, now.” Mia tried to pat her on the head.

  “I don’t like that man,” said Robin in an ominous tone while glaring at the front of the house “He’s mean.”

  “We won’t let him hurt you.” Mia smiled at her.

  Robin again attempted to grab her in a hug, but her arms whiffed right through without contact. The child grew terrifyingly angry for a few seconds, blood seeping from her nose and mouth as she futilely attempted to cling—but she burst into tears and raced off up the stairs, sobbing. Seconds later, a door slammed overhead.

  Wilhelmina jumped and looked at the ceiling. “What just happened?”

  “She’s upset… but not with us.”

  20

  Dolls

  Saturday, September 1, 2012

  Old brass tubes clattered from Mia’s effort to detangle the wind chimes.

  Robin hadn’t shown herself or responded to any attempt to console her. Not wanting to antagonize the child, Mia decided to enjoy the weather outside. She sat in a white wicker chair on the porch, a leftover from the previous owners. Wilhelmina occupied the chair to her right, still smiling from watching Weston nearly soil himself.

  They discussed the pastor apparently either stalking them or spying on the house, and whether or not he might become more of a problem than a simple nuisance. According to Wilhelmina, he’d grown up in Spring Falls and had been around twenty at the time of the child’s murder. From the sound of it, ever since he’d become pastor in 1974, he’d gotten into the habit of personally welcoming anyone new to the area and trying to bring them into his flock. She didn’t think he had any truly sinister motivation beyond the simple belief that three types of people existed: God-fearing Christians, those who needed to become God-fearing Christians, and devil worshippers.

  Wilhelmina shared a few stories about his reaction to the others in her ‘coven’ deciding against going to his church. He’d nearly come unglued when Lisa Donovan stopped attending and began associating with the ‘witches.’ At the time, she’d been seventeen or so,
and Weston had managed to turn the girl’s parents against her to the point they took her to a psychologist.

  “Clearly, only someone with mental problems could possibly choose a path other than his,” said Mia.

  “Yes, basically, that’s how he felt.”

  “Poor kid.”

  “She’s not so much a kid anymore. Linda’s about your age now.”

  Mia held up the wind chimes. Alas, her skills at restoring old and damaged paintings didn’t translate well to this project. At least, not without tools and supplies she lacked. She did, however, manage to get them into a state where they’d work again, despite looking battered.

  Adam pulled into the driveway and parked beside the Tahoe. He hurried up the walkpath to the porch, shaking his head.

  “You look frustrated,” said Mia.

  “Just spent the past hour and a half working with a student. I’m half tempted to think he was messing with me since I can’t imagine anyone being that dense. He couldn’t have failed to understand the most basic of concepts if he tried to misinterpret everything on purpose.”

  “Ahh, then our mornings were similar,” said Wilhelmina.

  Adam quirked an eyebrow at her.

  “Weston was here again.” Mia sighed, then filled him in on the flying wind chimes while handing them over.

  “Wow…” Adam examined the chimes. “Do you think Robin threw them?”

  “Hard to say. It might have been Vic.” Mia smoothed her hands down her jeans. “I definitely got the sense she is not fond of him, though. The man’s fairly spry for being in his sixties. If he hadn’t ducked, they would’ve smacked him straight in the face and probably knocked him out.”

  “That’s impressive…” He stood on tiptoe to hang them again.

  “She’s upset I can’t hold her.”

  “Aww.” He put an arm around Mia. “I wish there was something we could do to make her feel better.”

  “Just being here should help with that.” Wilhelmina tapped her foot.

  “Have you had lunch yet?” Adam opened the front door. “Why don’t we continue talking over sandwiches?”

  They relocated to the kitchen, the women sitting at the table while Adam ferried an assortment of cold cuts, cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes from the fridge to the table. Everyone assembled sandwiches for themselves.

  “Now that I think about it…” Adam slathered mustard on a slice of rye. “I remember reading something a while ago about a civilization—I want to say somewhere in Mexico or Central America—that maintained a practice of crafting special dolls to act as repositories for the souls of their departed ancestors. They believed the dolls allowed them to remain present.”

  “That does sound somewhat familiar.” Wilhelmina dusted her turkey with an astonishing amount of black pepper. “You’re thinking the girl might wish to inhabit such a doll as a means for physical contact? If I remember correctly, those vessels would’ve likely trapped the spirit.”

  “No, that would be cruel.” Mia shook her head.

  “Have you considered channeling her spirit?” Wilhelmina capped her sandwich with a second piece of bread and sliced it in half. “That might be worth looking into.”

  Mia smiled. “I think I already did that this morning…” She explained her pancake breakfast.

  “Hmm. For that to address her apparent desire to be picked up, you’d either need to channel her while Adam held you, or she’d have to inhabit someone else that you embrace.”

  Maybe she wouldn’t be jealous of a baby after all… Mia squirmed at the idea any future child she had might grow up having to deal with frequent possession by a spirit. Would Robin ask or just leap in as she had done for breakfast? Or might she dote over a baby like an older sibling? If she became jealous and the wind chimes hadn’t been Vic’s doing… enough force to hurl them so far away from the house could do serious harm to an infant.

  Mia hated herself for worrying Robin could harm a baby. What’s wrong with me? She’s still a child herself. A child who had a violent death… she wouldn’t hurt another innocent.

  The words ‘wind chimes’ in Adam’s voice pulled Mia back from her mental wanderings.

  “… at Weston, who knows what might happen if she became really upset. You told me that several people who previously lived here suffered injuries.”

  “That’s true.” Wilhelmina dabbed mayo from her chin. “Though, we don’t know for sure if the aggression came from her. It could be Vic.”

  “It can’t be her,” said Mia. “She’s a frightened, lonely child. Robin doesn’t want to hurt anyone.”

  Adam made thinking faces while chewing, then took a sip of water. “The people who lived here before us were probably normal.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Mia with a hint of a smile.

  “That means they quite likely weren’t psychic and didn’t expect a ghost or ghosts to be here and, consequently, didn’t react well when Robin tried to get their attention.” Adam set his sandwich down. “Picture this: a lonely child finally has people around after years of rattling around an empty house. So, what’s she going to do? Try to get their attention, play, make contact. The average person is going to freak out.”

  “Quite.” Wilhelmina nodded. “George O’Ryan left the house in the middle of the night after only a month. The Vaughans… well, they went to war with her.”

  “And lost,” said Mia, grinning.

  Adam glanced at her, one eyebrow up.

  “Did something happen with Mr. Vaughan and a lawn mower?” Mia took a bite of her sandwich.

  Mouth full, Wilhelmina made a mmm noise along with a nod.

  “What?” Adam glanced at her, then peered at Mia. “And why do you seem so happy at them being hurt?”

  “They were cruel to her.” Mia plucked a stray bit of tomato from her plate and tossed it in her mouth.

  “Mr. Vaughan had an accident with his tractor mower. He somehow managed to put it in the creek behind the house. Rolled the thing over and got stuck there for a few hours until his wife found him.”

  “Ouch,” said Adam. “Was he hurt?”

  “Sprained or broken ankle I think… nothing too serious.” Wilhelmina waved around in a blasé manner. “I didn’t much speak with them. Weston had them convinced I worked for the devil, you know.”

  “All we’ve seen so far of Vic is a repeating latent image.” Adam glanced at the small foyer by the back door with shelves and a coat rack. “Drops a giant toolbox in there, then bee-lines to the stairs. We think it’s an imprint from the night of the murder. If Vic is merely a repeating image, then that could mean Robin is strong enough to harm the living.”

  “You saw the shadow figure.” Mia gestured over her shoulder, not wanting to look at the basement door.

  “Which we don’t know is definitely Vic. It had no features. It could be anyone—or anything.”

  “Hon, she’s a kid. She wouldn’t try to hurt people.” Mia scowled at nothing in particular. The vindictive glee she’d felt in that dream while watching the man fall down the stairs and again while he approached the mower needled at her doubts. She refused to accept that. What choice did Robin have? The man had invited Weston over and they spent hours screaming horrible things at her. The girl couldn’t leave, or even tell them to stop. Her only want had been not to be alone, and they treated her like something evil. All her brother Timothy wanted was to be treated like a human being, and her father had vilified him as a devil spawn. Good for that old bastard he fell down the stairs.

  Adam picked up on her defensiveness, his expression shifting to concern. “Hon, are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m just upset at the idea of a kid being murdered in her bedroom by her father. It’s not fair. She didn’t hurt those people… on purpose. She’s only a child.”

  “Yes, a child who suffered a cruel, brutal death. Just saying, you should be careful. Even a month ago, you had no interest in children. Now, it almost feels like you consider her your kid.” He looked a
t Wilhelmina. “Could Evelyn still be here? Is she affecting Mia?”

  “I’m not sure. Your wife is the psychic. I merely cast spells, talk to old gods, and according to Weston, dance around fires at night while having carnal relations with Satan.” Wilhelmina appeared to be fighting the urge to laugh.

  Adam chuckled.

  “I don’t think it’s Evelyn. I’ve picked up scraps of her, but they feel like more imprints. Basically like I’m getting small peeks into the past for seconds at a time.”

  “Hmm. I should probably look around the basement or the attic tonight for EVPs.” Adam took a big bite of his sandwich.

  “Not yet… we shouldn’t mess with the basement.” Mia bit her lip. “It could be bad.”

  “How so?” mumbled Adam around a mouthful.

  “I don’t know exactly.”

  Wilhelmina gestured at her. “The girl said you shouldn’t go to the basement. It might not mean he can’t.”

  “Is there something horrible down there? He didn’t like keep her remains here or something?” Mia shuddered.

  “No. He left her on the floor where he killed her for Evelyn to find. The authorities collected the poor girl’s remains. No one ever suspected he had killed anyone else,” said Wilhelmina.

  “Based on what I know of the events of September 1970, I think it would be unlikely for Vic Kurtis to have killed anyone else. His motivation wasn’t seeking pleasure from the act of murder, but to specifically hurt his wife by destroying the person she loved the most. It may have even been jealousy.”

  “Vic was jealous of Robin?” asked Mia.

  “It’s possible.” Adam nodded. “Men like him can lash out at anyone or anything they think competes with them for their woman’s affection or time. That might have been what ultimately gave him the ability to kill his own daughter as an attack on the wife. He believed Evelyn chose Robin instead of him and that enraged him.”