Horror Thriller Box Set 1

by Amy Cross

  "Yes," he says. "A young lady. My niece, in fact. She lost her parents in a fire when she was younger, and I have been looking after her ever since. She's a lovely girl, very obedient. Very God-fearing, and very intelligent. She's currently up in my room, unpacking my belongings, but she'll be down shortly and I'm sure you'll be charmed by her. I'm afraid she's the type of girl who always manages to attract the attention of gentlemen. Through no fault of her own, it can be quite a struggle ensuring that she remains chaste until I can find her a suitable husband."

  "I'm sure," I reply. "Might I ask what business has brought you to our fair town?"

  "A matter of some delicacy," he says, sipping from his tea. "In fact, I was hoping to get a moment with you this afternoon in order to discuss a matter of great importance."

  "I should be only too happy to listen to anything you have to say," I reply, as Henry brings over a pot of tea and sets it in front of me, along with a cup. I wait until he has left the room before I continue speaking. "I run a very informal office, Mr. Paternoster. Some men prefer formality, but I find it stiffens the soul. I prefer to speak freely, and I like others to tell me what's on their mind. I trust you'll find I'm a most amenable -"

  "Devil's Briar is dying," Mr. Paternoster says suddenly.

  I stare at him. "I beg your pardon?" I say after a moment.

  "It was evident from the moment I arrived," he continues. "The whole town is in a terminal decline. You have no industry, you have no trade routes, no reason to exist at all. Forgive me for being frank, Mayor Caster, but how much longer do you foresee Devil's Briar remaining a viable community? Ten, perhaps fifteen years?" He sips from his tea. "As I walked from the edge of town to this hotel, I passed twenty-seven people in the street, and not one of them had any vitality. It was like seeing dead-eyed corpses wandering from door to door. Few of the people I saw were young, and few had any passion in their eyes. Devil's Briar has the unstirred atmosphere of a ghost town. It's as if the people here have given up on life."

  Taking a deep breath, I attempt to compose myself. "I'm always glad to hear the opinions of -"

  "I'm not finished," he says, interrupting me. There's a steely, determined look in his eyes. "Something needs to be done if Devil's Briar is to be saved. Some new strength needs to be introduced, or else the town will die out and end up being forgotten. I'm sure you don't want to be remembered as the man who presided over the death of an entire community, but that is precisely what will happen unless something changes." He sighs. "This is in no way intended as a criticism of your own work, Mayor Caster. I'm quite certain that you execute your duties with aplomb. Nevertheless, the problem is as plain as day. I have a little medical training, and I can assure you that if I saw a patient with the same kind of malaise that I see in this town, I would immediately recommend some form of tonic."

  "You have a slightly skewed picture of our little community," I say, bristling at this man's importunity. "Perhaps, having only been here a scant hour already, you have mistaken rigor for sterility, and confidence for listlessness. We are not the kind of people who show our emotions on our sleeves, Mr. Paternoster. We are a reserved community. We are a God-fearing people."

  "And yet you have but one small church that looks, if I may be so bold, as if it might fall down in a stiff breeze. How can a God-fearing people have any faith in themselves when their community shows no desire to glorify our creator? If the people of Devil's Briar fail to demonstrate their devotion to God, how can they expect that God in turn will share his magnificence with them? No wonder the town is in such a state of disrepair."

  I pause for a moment, trying to understand this Paternoster fellow. "Might I ask why you came to our town in the first place?" I ask eventually. "It seems most unusual for a man to present himself in an unfamiliar community and immediately begin to criticize what he finds. I always feel it is incumbent upon the new arrival to observe the ways of his new environs and seek to fit in accordingly."

  "Which is why I wish to speak to you," he replies. "I hope to remain in Devil's Briar for some time. Victoria requires stability, and I am tired of traveling. But if I am to stay, I wish to contribute something meaningful and valuable to the town." He smiles. "I have money, Mayor Caster, and I wish to use some of it to put right what I believe is wrong. I hope, with your blessing of course, to contribute both materially and spiritually to the regeneration of Devil's Briar."

  "And how do you propose to do that?" I ask.

  "With metal," he says firmly, "and steel."

  "Well," I start to say, "If you -" At that moment, a terrible scream is heard from outside. Getting to my feet and grabbing my walking cane, I hurry as fast as I can through to the lobby, where I find the front door hanging wide open. There's a commotion outside, with people huddling around what appears to be a body on the ground. Seeing me in the doorway, Henry hurries over.

  "What's wrong?" I ask. "What's causing all this excitement?"

  "It's Lawrence Evans," Henry says, with a look of horror in his eyes. "He's struck Adelaide down. It's happening again, Albert. I told you nothing had changed! Why didn't you listen to me?"

  Chapter Three

  Today.

  "Look at this place," Bill says as we walk along the main street of Devil's Briar. "It's like a time capsule. A perfectly preserved town from the 1920s, abandoned by man and left to sit and rot. A whole community of shops and houses. There must have been hundreds of people living here, but..." He turns to me. "Where did they all go? And why didn't one person ever mention this place after they left?"

  I shrug. Devil's Briar is certainly a striking discovery. It's a small town, made up of maybe a dozen roads interlinked in a grid formation. The buildings are primitive but were probably, back in the early twentieth century, considered to be fairly modern. There are quite a few shops, suggesting that the place supported a small but thriving community. So far, walking along what seems to have been the main thoroughfare, I've seen a bank, two saloons, a library and various small stores. This wasn't a bunch of hicks living in the sticks; Devil's Briar was clearly a proper, fully-functioning town, in which case... What went wrong?

  Stepping over to one of the buildings, I peer through the large window and see nothing but darkness inside. I squint, in an attempt to get a better view, but it's hopeless: the window is covered in thick grime, accumulated no doubt over many, many years of abandonment. I try the door and find that it's locked, with a hand-written sign indicating that this particular store - which seems to have sold fabric - is only open on weekdays from 9am until 5pm. It's strange to think that at one time, this place must have been fairly busy and normal. This is a far, far more substantial conurbation than the satellite images suggested, and I've got to hand it to Bill: he was right when he said it would be worth coming out here.

  "Seriously," he says, standing in the middle of the street. "What happened here? Why did everyone abandon the town? Why was the whole place scrubbed from all the history books? You'd think someone would have at least mentioned that Devil's Briar exists."

  "Unless they just wanted to forget about it," I point out. "Maybe they left because they thought there was nothing to keep them here. No jobs, no industry. Nothing. I mean, if you moved to New York from a place like this, you wouldn't spend all your time writing about the past, would you?"

  "That's assuming they did leave," Bill replies.

  "Then where are they?" I ask.

  He shrugs. "Maybe they just died off. I know you're not keen on dead bodies, Paula, but you've got to accept that there might be some unburied remains here. Maybe something happened that prevented anyone from leaving. Maybe everyone died."

  "Like a plague?"

  "Who knows? It's not impossible that the population dwindled and was then struck down by some kind of catastrophe that finished the last citizens off."

  "Aren't you being a little melodramatic?" I ask, walking along to the next shopfront and peering inside. This time I can just about make out what appears to be a counter
, with some kind of shelving behind it. After a moment, I realize that I'm looking at a pharmacy, and one that seems to be fully stocked and ready to open. This place wasn't emptied out when its owner left; it's as if they just shut the door and vanished. "If anything interesting had happened here," I continue, trying the door and finding that it's locked, "we'd know about it. The only reason a whole town would fade from the history books is if it's so dull, no-one can even be bothered to remember it existed in the first place. Ergo, they all left."

  "Or they were too scared," he replies. "Or no-one ever got away from the place."

  "Sure," I reply. "A great big, dusty, empty mystery."

  "I think something really strange happened here," he continues. "Something really unusual."

  "You can't be serious," I say. "You're starting to sound like a conspiracy nut. This place is weird enough, without us having to come up with complex theories about why it ended up being abandoned. There are plenty of examples of ghost towns in the Old West that were abandoned because the community became economically and socially nonviable. Just because this place looks to have been more advanced, you can't ignore the most likely explanation."

  "Are you trying to spoil my fun?" he asks, pulling a camera from his pocket and hitting the 'record' button. "There's no way an entire town gets abandoned like this, without there being some kind of story behind what happened. The fact that there's absolutely no mention of the place on record only proves that the story must be worth uncovering." He pans the camera around in a full circle. "Then again," he adds, lowering the camera, "there's something else that's odd about this Devil's Briar."

  "Like what?" I ask.

  "It's not just humans who left," he replies. "It's everything. Listen. There's nothing here. No sign of any kind of animal life. No birds. No bugs, as far as I can tell. It's as if every living thing headed for the exit and then stayed out. There's no life here at all."

  "Well maybe there is," I point out. "Maybe we should take a look in one of these buildings before we head home."

  "Head home?" he says, looking surprised. "Who said anything about heading home? No way. We've got supplies for a week, and that's how long we're gonna spend here."

  "You've got to be kidding," I reply.

  He doesn't say anything.

  "Bill," I continue, "what are we going to do here for a week? We need to go and get a team together, and come back here properly."

  "We'll do all that," he says, "but first we'll poke around a little ourselves." He stares at me. "Come on, look at this place. We've stumbled into something truly amazing. Is your first instinct really to turn around and go home? Do you think Howard Carter, when he found Tutankhamun's tomb, turned around and said he wanted to go home and think about what to do next? Hell, no. He broke down the damn door and went inside."

  "And look how that turned out," I reply.

  He frowns.

  "So now you're comparing Devil's Briar to the tomb of Tutankhamun?" I ask with a sigh. I look along the dusty street. "Where, exactly, do you think we could sleep?"

  "There must be beds somewhere," he replies.

  "No way!" I reply, hurrying after him as he starts walking. "You can't seriously expect us to sleep in a ghost town, Bill. It's..."

  "It's what?" He turns to me, grinning. "Spooky? Creepy? Scary? I never knew you were so superstitious."

  "I'm not superstitious," I say. "It's just... There's a limit. This place? At night? Do you really want to give that a try?"

  "There's nothing here that can hurt us," he replies. "What are you scared of? Ghosts? Bumps in the night? Look around, Paula. There's literally nothing in this whole place."

  "You don't know that for sure," I tell him. "There could be people here. Maybe they're hiding. Maybe there are bears."

  "There's no sign of any kind of life," he replies. "You saw the road. No tire tracks. No-one has been in or out of this place for ages, and it's quite clear that no-one walks these streets." He pauses. "I tell you what. I'll cut you a deal. If you find one sign of life here before sunset - just one sign - I'll agree to turn around and get out of here. How's that for a promise?"

  "I don't want to stay here overnight," I insist. "It just doesn't feel like a good idea."

  "Hey!" he calls out, stopping as he reaches the point where the street intersects with another thoroughfare. "Come and take a look at this!"

  "What is it?" I ask as I walk over to join him. "Is there -" Suddenly I stop speaking as I see what he's looking at. It takes a moment for me to register quite what I'm seeing, as if somehow my brain can't compute such a bizarre object. "No way," I say.

  "Way," he replies, stepping forward. "How could something like this be here, and still no-one thought to ever mention this town after it got abandoned?" He turns to me. "Explain that to me, Paula. Explain how this place got forgotten, and I'll turn around right now and leave with you. Explain what we're looking at right now."

  I take a deep breath. Ahead of us, about fifty meters away down at the other end of the street, at the center of what appears to be a small town square, there's a cross embedded in the ground. A huge black cross, defiantly rising up maybe thirty or forty feet into the air.

  Chapter Four

  1925.

  "She'll be dead by sunset," Dr. Collings says as he checks Adelaide's pulse. We're in one of the bedrooms at the hotel, where the poor wretched woman has been laid out for treatment. "There's nothing I can do to help her," the doctor continues. "There's nothing anyone could do. She's suffered such a fright; her heart simply can't go on beating for much longer. It's a matter of hours at best."

  "Just like Sarah," Henry says, standing in the doorway. "And just like -"

  "I'm sure we all remember," I say firmly, interrupting him. "Thank you, Henry. Perhaps you should attend to your guests downstairs. I'm sure they're somewhat troubled by recent events, and I would think a good host might set about calming them with a tonic, rather than standing around gossiping."

  "I'll want compensating for the sheets," he replies sourly.

  "There's barely any blood!" I protest.

  "I'll still want compensating."

  "Fine!" I say, keen to get rid of him. "Go away! I'll compensate you for your damn sheets out of my own pocket!"

  Raising an eyebrow, Henry turns and walks away. As I hear him trudging downstairs, I step closer to the bed. There is indeed a small patch of blood on the bed, close to Adelaide's ear. The knife wound in the back of her head is no longer bleeding so heavily, but the damage is already done.

  "I can give her something for the pain," Collings says, turning to me. "If that's something you'd like me to do."

  "No," I say, shaking my head. "One must not meet one's fate in a cowardly manner. Adelaide must face her pain. We all must face our pain on the day we meet the Lord God. He would have it no other way."

  "Did they catch Lawrence this time?" he asks.

  "There are men out looking for him," I reply. "I'm sure they'll track him down imminently."

  "And then what?" Collings says. "What exactly do you plan to do with the poor bastard when you have him?"

  "There's only one thing that can be done," I say. "We shall have to kill him. In the eyes of God, we have no choice. There can be no more murders." I wander over to the window, pausing to look at a small painting that hangs on the wall; the painting shows a woman, bending low to pick up a pile of washing while a horned devil lurks nearby. The image is a fine representation of the perils that face women in this world. "I'm sure none of us wish to end up dragging yet another poor dying woman up to this room, just to watch her die," I continue. "Whatever trouble afflicts Lawrence's soul, I am quite sure now that it is beyond our ability to grant him peace from his suffering. We must destroy his body so that God might be able to restore him."

  "Or send him straight to Hell," Collings suggests.

  "Let us not judge our fellow man," I reply. "Such things are for God alone to decide."

  "At least she has no family," Collings
says, looking down at Adelaide's pale, sleeping face. "No-one to mourn her. No-one to miss her. The funeral will be a bare affair, I'm sure."

  "I shall miss her, in a way," I reply. "She was a weak woman, of course, but she kept herself busy and she was of use from time to time. Just an hour ago, she came and told me of the arrival of Mr. Paternoster and his companion. I have no time for gossip, of course, but Adelaide was always keen to keep me abreast of the latest news."

  "Well, I'll come back in a few hours to certify death," Collings says as he heads over to the door. "I shouldn't think the poor old dear will last more than two hours, so I'll drop by before dinner. She wasn't exactly the picture of health to begin with, and I'm afraid Lawrence has quite finished her off."

  Once I'm alone with Adelaide, I take a seat next to her bed and reach out to hold her hand. Closing my eyes, I bow my head and, in a lowered voice, I start speaking to God. "Dear Lord, please accept this dear child of yours back into your bosom. She has led a virtuous life, free of sin, yet she has been struck down in a most unkind manner. Please recognize the sanctity and purity of her soul, and admit her to be with you in Heaven, oh Almighty God. Amen." Holding her hand for a moment longer, I take a deep breath and finally I feel as if the world is at peace once again.

  "Do you think I'll be admitted?" Adelaide whispers suddenly.

  "My dear woman," I say, shocked that she has regained consciousness, "I have no doubt that the Lord will take you as one of his own. You have lived a good and virtuous life. If one such as you cannot pass through the gates of Heaven, there is no hope for the rest of us."

  "Thank you," she whispers. "Have they... found Lawrence?"

  "No," I reply, "but he can't have got far. We shall have him by sunset, of that I'm certain."