Rancor: Sinister Attachments, Book 1

by Connie Myres

  “Do you still have séances in the basement?”

  “No, absolutely not.” Ethel’s pleasant thoughts must have turned to bad memories because she stopped rocking, and the hand holding the wood tip quivered. “We innocently contacted something evil, something from Hell and have not held a séance since then . . . not anywhere.”

  “What happened?” Even though Maggie did not necessarily believe in the paranormal, her interest was piqued.

  Ethel stared off into the distant blue horizon, where the lake blended with the sky. She took a deep breath and said, “We used a crystal ball back then. I still have it, but I don’t touch it now. There would be anywhere from three to six people who would sit around a table in, what we called the scrying room, in the basement. This place was a psychiatric hospital back then. Claudia and I were good friends with the manager, mostly because we got into contact with his deceased wife, making him happy so he let us do the séances here . . . As long as we would contact spirits for him whenever he asked. So time went on, and all was well until . . . January of 1969. That was when something other than the dead relatives of clients came to us.”

  Ethel paused and then continued. “A couple came to us, wanting to speak with their deceased daughter who had died of influenza. They were heartbroken and full of emotion because of their grief. Anyway, it was my turn to use the crystal ball. Claudia lit candles and dimmed the lights because it helped me go into a trance. I was having difficulty contacting the little girl, probably because she was in heaven—it is only when souls are in purgatory or are earthbound that I can communicate with them. Anyway, the couple was sobbing, almost out of control, so I went into a deeper level of trance, and that was when the crystal ball turned black, and I mean the blackest of black. An inky black that seemed to draw goodness toward it, absorb it, and then release evil in exchange.”

  Ethel’s hand trembled so bad she dropped the cigar onto the deck’s peeling paint. She picked it up, drew in a deep breath of cancer, and continued. “My hands were pushed away from it as I came out of the trance. The evil had taken over the crystal ball, and there was nothing I could do about it. The couple stopped sobbing, began cursing at me, calling me a witch, and ran out of the room and the building. Claudia then put her hands on the crystal and began chanting positive, white spells, but the sinister spirit inside the ball shot out and into Claudia.”

  Maggie could tell the conversation was affecting Ethel because her tremors increased and she inhaled the cigar like a cigarette. “I’m sorry, but you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  Ethel looked at Maggie. “I want to talk about it. Not for me, but for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes, because you live here, now, and I want you to be aware of its dark side . . . I think you were drawn here for some reason. A reason that I have not figured out, yet. I would need to use the crystal ball again to find out.”

  Maybe Ethel was not imagining things; this place was strange and felt strange. “If you don’t mind talking about it, what happened to Claudia when the evil spirit went inside her?”

  “Her eyes turned black, like coal stones pushed into the face of a snowman. When it left her, shortly after entering, her eyesight was never the same. Neither was this place. Anyone who worked here or was a patient here became strange and sinister. The manager began drinking heavily, the staff treated the patients like dogs, and the symptoms of the psych patients became worse. I remember one little girl who came here around that time. She had a mental illness that caused her to be calm one moment and suddenly grow angry and vicious the next. But the girl’s violent nature became worse, so much so that she supposedly got hold of something sharp and killed an orderly. Then, because the staff was all messed up, she accidentally died while in restraints. They closed this place later that year because of accusations of abuse by the staff toward the patients.”

  “That happened here?”

  “It happened on the second floor. That’s where they kept violent patients that needed to be locked up.”

  Maggie liked Sandpiper Bluff less and less. “Were you affected by that evil spirit?”

  “Claudia and I have always used spells of protection, I still do.”

  “Why are you still living here? I would’ve moved out a long time ago after seeing all that.”

  “Look around,” Ethel said, moving her hand in front of her like a skinny model showing off a new car. “The place is beautiful, no place like it around.” She looked at Maggie and winked. “And the rent is cheap.”

  “Is that spirit still around?”

  Ethel shrugged. “Like I said, I haven’t used the crystal ball since, but I get feelings that it’s still here. After they stopped using this place as a psych hospital, only Mr. Zimmerman and I have lived here. He was the maintenance man back then, pretty much still is. I taught him how to protect himself, spiritually. Then in 2010, it was bought and turned into apartments, but that ended a couple years later when no one would live here because of ghosts . . . Now you’re here.”

  Maggie sighed as she thought about the positive and negative list she had tallied in her mind earlier that day. Evil spirit to the negative list. After they had talked for a while longer, she stood up and stretched. “Well, thank you, Ethel, for the additional knowledge about this place.” Not really. “But I’m going for a walk.”

  “I hope I didn’t upset you,” Ethel said, acting as though she wanted to continue talking about the séances and the building.

  “No, not at all. It’s good to know what’s going on.” But sometimes ignorance was bliss, she thought.

  She stepped off the porch and walked along the bluff toward the rickety stairway leading to the beach. When she reached the topmost landing, she leaned against the wobbly rail and soaked in the warm sunshine from above, the sounds of waves, and the long mew calls of the gulls below.

  Maggie turned and looked back at the old building. When she first arrived at the place the remodeling seemed recent, but the longer she stayed there, the more run-down it looked. Either Mr. Zimmerman was majorly slacking on his duties or the place had a mind of its own.

  She looked up at the third-floor windows, hoping to see Mr. Zimmerman moving around inside so that she could go up and ask about getting another lock for her apartment, but the windows were dark. Then she looked at her windows, hoping no one was inside her apartment. There was no movement. Good.

  She smiled as her mind wandered back to the fun—if that was what a person would call it—her and Jess had last night. No, not fun, she thought. Tolerance or maybe a numbing of memories. Then she thought about the desk calendar and the initials JP. Maybe she should call Jim and ask about his meetings with Cory, but then, maybe not. Whoever JP was always seemed to show up when Maggie was not around.

  Then the words of Ethel and Claudia flashed in her mind and the words warning about Jess. Jess Pinter. Maggie shook her head; no way did JP refer to Jess. What reason would Jess have for going to see Cory? Either they were planning a surprise party for her or . . . Or Jess was sleeping with Cory.

  FOURTEEN

  Maggie had just finished getting ready for bed when there was a knock on her door. She walked to the door and looked out the peephole; it was Debbie and Susie. Oh my god, she wants me to babysit, Maggie thought as she pinched her eyes tight in disbelief. For a moment, she thought about not answering the door, but Debbie probably heard her walk up to it and knows she is looking out the peephole at them that very moment.

  She opened the door, with a yawn and a tired look. “Hi, Debbie.”

  Debbie was dressed in a white nursing dress and was looking a little down. “I’m sorry to bother you, Maggie. It looks like you’re ready for bed, but I have to be to work in half an hour, and there is no one to watch Susie. Do you mind watching her tonight? I’ve been trying to find another babysitter, but I’m not having any luck.”

  Maggie was stuck; how could she say no. She looked at Susie in he
r nightgown and the ragged teddy bear. It was not so bad last time she babysat; maybe it will be the same tonight. All she had to do was ignore what Bruce told her yesterday about Susie needing to be institutionalized. If Susie could become violent, wouldn’t she be better with a man like Bruce watching her? She let out a slow breath. “Sure.”

  “Thank you so much, Maggie. I owe you one.” Debbie bent over, kissed Susie, and was off down the stairs before Maggie knew what had happened.

  “Come inside, Susie.” Maggie opened the door, and Susie walked in.

  Maggie thought about pushing the couch up against the door so that no one would be able to enter during the night—since she still did not have the lock fixed—but what if she needed to escape the apartment fast. With Susie’s supposed history, a person never knows when they may need to run for their life. But then, who said Bruce was right? Maybe he did not know what he was talking about. She locked the door with the skeleton key and pushed the couch in front of it.

  When she had finished, she turned around and saw the bathroom door closed. Susie must be inside, Maggie thought, so she walked into the guest room and turned down the blankets. When she had finished, Susie came out of the bathroom and walked into the bedroom.

  “Are you ready for bed?”

  Susie held her teddy and crawled into bed. Maggie could not help but feel sorry for the child. There were no other kids to play with in the apartment building, but then, giving Debbie the benefit of the doubt, maybe she goes to a playgroup with other kids during the week. Maggie covered Susie and tucked her in. “Good night, Susie.”

  Susie did not say anything.

  Maggie left Susie’s door open a crack and walked into her bedroom. Now she had to decide whether to leave her door open as she did last time, close it or close and lock it. She wanted to lock it, but what if Susie needed something. Dependable Maggie opted to close the door and leave it unlocked.

  She placed her cell phone on the nightstand beside the bed; it would be easy to get to if she needed to call 911. When she got into bed, she turned facing the door. Having her back to the door was the same as having an arm or leg hang off the bed where a monster might grab it and pull her underneath. In this case, a small child with a knife would come in and hack her to death.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Maggie,” she whispered to herself as she closed her eyes.

  FIFTEEN

  “Margaret, are you sleeping?”

  Maggie opened her eyes. She was staring at the paperwork in a notebook. She looked closer, it was a patient’s chart. “What?”

  “You need to get off the night shift, you’re just not cut out for it,” a bubbly voice said.

  Maggie looked up and saw Debbie, or someone who looked like Debbie, standing next to her in a hospital nurses’ station. A rolling rack of blue charts with patient’s names was before her, a desk with papers, a phone, and an intercom system was on top of the desk. She noticed a watch with a white band on her wrist. When she looked down, she saw she had a nursing dress on, complete with white nylons and white nursing shoes. When she looked at Debbie, she looked a little younger but just as spunky. “Debbie, what’s going on?”

  “Debbie?” She sat down at the desk in the chair beside Maggie. “Are you blitzed? Since when do you call me Debbie?”

  Maggie was confused. Was she dreaming? A dream with Debbie in it? It is a nightmare about this place and the crazy psych nurses that Ethel was telling her about. But it seemed so real, like she was really a nurse in a hospital. Because of the reality of the moment, Maggie decided to play along. She looked at Debbie’s name badge; it said, Deborah F., Registered Nurse. “Deborah, I’m sorry.”

  A ringing sound blared from the hallway. “I’ll get that call light, you finish charting.” Deborah stood and was off down the hallway in seconds.

  “Hi, Margaret.” A male voice said from behind her.

  Maggie turned and saw Bruce. But was it really Bruce? He stood there in a white lab coat with the name Bruce Hancock, M.D. monogrammed on the left chest, and he was looking rather handsome. His dark hair was slicked back and he was smiling at her, just as he was smiling at her in his apartment the other day.

  “Cat got your tongue?” He sat down in the chair Deborah had just left. He reached over and took Maggie’s hand into his. “Do you want to do it now? I have time.”

  Was he talking about what Maggie thought he was talking about? His hand felt warm and soothing.

  Bruce moved in closer until they touched knees. With one leg between hers, he leaned in and whispered. “Come on, baby. I’ve been waiting for this. The room is empty.”

  Margaret was startled away from the thrill of the moment when a clipboard smacked against the counter. Debbie was on the other side. “What’s going on, here?”

  Bruce stood and leaned toward Deborah. He whispered softly. “The room’s ready, babe. Are you ready?”

  Deborah’s mood mellowed as she moved her face close to his. “I have a couple things to do first, and then I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

  “Make it quick.” Bruce walked out of the nurses’ station and toward the exit stairway.

  “Not too quick,” Deborah said, licking her upper lip. Then she turned and went back down the hall.

  Maggie stood up and ran her hands down the front of the prim uniform. It felt real enough. She walked out of the nurses’ station and into the hallway. It looked almost like the second floor of Sandpiper Bluff. Then she gasped when she saw a plaque on the wall that read LAKE SHORE SANATORIUM AND PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL.

  Deborah came up beside Maggie. “I’ll be off the floor for a while so I’ll need you to watch my patients. Here’s the charge nurse’s ward passkey.”

  Maggie lost her breath when Deborah handed her a skeleton key. It looked just like her apartment key.

  “I know you haven’t worked here long, but I need you to be the charge nurse for a little while. That key opens all the doors on this floor, but you probably won’t need to use it.”

  Maggie tried to hand the key back, but Debbie would not take it. “I can’t do this.”

  “Yes, you can, Margaret.” Debbie sounded angry. “You can and you will.” She poked her index finger into Maggie's chest. “And stay away from Bruce, he’s mine. Got it?”

  Maggie got it, but she did not know exactly what she had.

  SIXTEEN

  Maggie opened her eyes. Her bedroom door was open. Had she gotten up during the night to use the bathroom and forgotten to close it? She could not remember. After adjusting her pillow she looked at the nightstand clock, it was seven-thirty. Oh, great, I cannot believe I slept this late, she thought. Debbie will be here soon to pick up Susie.

  Then she rolled on her back to give herself a few more minutes of snooze time before she got up. That is when her elbow touched something. She froze. Something was in bed with her. Too terrified to turn her head toward it, she could tell there was a figure under the blanket next to her, a human figure. Susie, it had to be Susie.

  Maggie did not breathe for a moment, not wanting to awaken whatever it was beside her. It was not moving. It was lying there like a dead body. It had to be Susie sleeping; she probably came into her room during the night because she was afraid. But it was so still and so quiet. She could feel coldness radiate from it and hear no breathing.

  As Maggie saw it, in the slow-motion seconds of the moment, she had two choices, either turn her head to see who it was or jump out of bed. If she jumped out of bed, she would awaken it, but then she would no longer be next to it. If she turned her head to look at its face, she would know who it was; Susie, of course.

  She convinced herself it was Susie, who else could it be? And she would know that it was a child and not an it or a thing. So with her eyes taking the lead, she turned her head slowly, very slowly to see it. First, she saw Susie’s snarled hair lying over the shoulders, then she saw the face. It was Susie’s face, and she was staring at Maggie with black, cloudy eye
s that did not blink or even seem to focus. Was Susie sleeping with her eyes open?

  Maggie jumped out of bed without thinking as adrenaline surged through her body like an accelerator pump spraying gasoline. Then, performing her nursing duty, she reached over and shook Susie’s shoulder to see if she was alive. God forbid if she had to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Maggie felt for a pulse on the side of Susie’s icy neck. She was not feeling the heart pumping blood through the artery.

  Then suddenly Susie pulled her teddy bear up to her chest and sat up. Maggie was so startled she thought she would collapse from shock and Susie would be reviving her.

  “Susie, are you okay?” Maggie said, relieved Susie was alive but baffled as to why she was.

  Susie shrugged.

  Bang, bang, bang sounded from the apartment door. Maggie was startled as her heart fluttered in her chest. Why was Debbie knocking like someone pissed off?

  “Stay right there, Susie. That must be your mom.” Maggie went to the door, pushed the couch to the side, and looked out the peephole. It was Debbie, so she unlocked and opened the door. “Debbie, I think Susie needs to go to the hospital.”

  Debbie was not her usual bubbly self, but rather a tired shift worker. “What’s going on?”

  “Follow me.” Maggie turned to walk toward the bedroom, almost running into Susie, who was standing directly behind her. “Oh, are you feeling better?”

  Susie nodded.

  “She’s fine,” Debbie said, holding out her hand for Susie to take. “Like I said before, she sometimes has spells.”

  “I don’t know, I think this was more than a spell.” Maggie watched as Susie took Debbie’s hand, and they walked into the hall. “I’d feel better if she got checked out by a doctor.”