The Sick House: An Occult Thriller (The Ulrich Files Book 1)

by Ambrose Ibsen

  When he was done with his story, he let out a deep sigh, as if relieved to have gotten it off of his chest.

  Leaning back in his seat, Ulrich pursed his lips. After hearing all of that, he was less interested than ever before in reentering the Sick House. The pair was paralyzed by the sight of the place for several moments, until Ulrich broke the spell and mechanically threw open the driver's side door. He lowered his gaze, stepping out onto the road, and let his shoulders roll back to alleviate the tightness that was quickly developing there. Though his knees wanted to butt heads, he turned back to the car, where Officer Mark was shakily climbing out, and summoned up the widest grin he could. “Let's see if anyone's home today, eh?”

  Chapter 15

  “So, we're looking for Dr. Siegfried Klein.” Ulrich crossed his arms and looked up at the infirmary building, still many yards away, and frowned. “And there may be another who's gone missing. I can't say whether it's related, and I haven't been hired to look into it, however I understand that the doctor's housekeeper, Ramona Willis, hasn't been seen in about two days.”

  This brought the first smile to Officer Mark's lips in some time. “Oh, I wouldn't worry about her.”

  “Why not?”

  “Old Ramona's a good woman, real devout, but she's got something of a drinking problem. It isn't rare for her to take off on days-long benders. Probably hungover somewhere, crashed at a friend's house. It's happened before. As long as I've known her, in fact.”

  Ulrich chuckled. “Well, damn.” Here he'd been concerned over the woman, worried that she'd ended up like Dr. Klein, when in reality she was widely known as a wandering drunk. A lot of good that'd done him. Paling around with a local was paying off; he'd learned more about the woods and the Sick House from this rookie cop than he'd gained from the learned Professor Tillinghast. Straightening himself and starting slowly towards the infirmary, Ulrich continued. “The missing doctor. Did you know him?”

  “Sort of,” replied Mark, his visage drawn into a weary squint. He looked up at the building like it might reach out and smack him, and his shoulders were hung low. “I knew of him, mostly. He's a popular guy around here. Caused a minor sensation when he disappeared.”

  “Any idea why he decided to venture out here all by his lonesome? Mighty suspicious to me.”

  Mark shook his head. “Not a clue.”

  The Sick House sat silently ahead, its dark brown bulk fending off the sun. It was a fine day out, sunny and calm, though one never would have known it from this spot in the Moonville woods. The swaying of the canopy in the breeze made for a moving, living barrier through which the sunlight was kept at a distance. What little made it through onto the property and the infirmary building itself was scarce, and the wooden panels on the exterior were lit up in little tongues of shimmering light like lit wicks. The dark windows at the building's rear looked on mournfully, the dust-clotted depths of the place teeming with still more phantoms for the stories Mark had just told. Ulrich had encountered something in there, and Mark had, too, from the sounds of it. Suddenly, he was thankful to have only been accosted by a single inhabitant of the house, rather than by a score of them.

  Then again, he was feeling mighty stupid for returning to the Sick House at all.

  Shame on you if you fool me once... shame on me if you fool me twice. Didn't learn your lesson, did you? Just have to see this through. Made it out OK the first time round, but this time you're just determined to push the envelope further, aren't you? Ulrich felt bolder with Mark at his side, but couldn't shake the feeling that this little trip of theirs was a profoundly idiotic errand. A suicide attempt, maybe.

  Were the spirits-- or whatever it was that they both knew to dwell in the house-- truly dangerous? Mark didn't seem to doubt it, even though they hadn't done anything to him and his childhood friends. Ulrich, though, had been touched by one. Something at the top of the stairwell had reached out and grabbed him with an icy grasp. His arm still tingled despite the lack of a visible mark, and he rubbed at it absentmindedly as he walked on.

  “Let's have a look around the grounds, first,” said Ulrich, leading the way to the front of the building, where the faded wooden sign could be seen. When they rounded the corner and came within view of the open door, Ulrich feigned surprise. “Wait a minute, what's up with that?” he asked, pointing at the entrance. “Last time I was here the door was blocked off, yellow caution tape and all that. Where has it gone? Did someone break in?” This was a lie, of course. The tape had been gone during his last visit, and he himself had entered the building without a second thought.

  Mark gulped, his hand levitating over his gun. He composed himself, giving a little shake of his head. “Let's not jump to conclusions. We'll take a look around outside and see what we find. Then we'll worry about the inside.”

  The ground about the Sick House was still mighty damp. Their footprints left deep impressions in the mud. Here and there, sticking out of the ground in heaps, Ulrich noticed the stiff edges of bird wings. He recalled the way the birds had been drawn to the building, the way he'd heard their fragile bodies slamming against the exterior during his last visit. The trees were silent, however, and nothing seemed intent on crashing into the infirmary at the moment. The silence that Mark had spoken of during his story was certainly in place today. Their surroundings were pestilentially quiet. It didn't help that, as they putzed around the grounds, looking for any evidence of the missing man, the house looked down upon them with its dark, glassy eyes. The door could be heard to squeak slightly with the passage of the breeze, and its dark mouth seemed to beckon them. Each time it did so, the pair would look up at it, and then to each other, without bothering to veil the fear in their eyes.

  Just what they were looking for Ulrich wasn't sure. Scraps of clothing, new footprints, discarded weapons-- anything would do. As of that moment, his best guess was that Dr. Klein had been swallowed up by the Sick House like some tasty morsel, or else was rotting in some ditch not too far off from their present position. It occurred to him, too, that the subterranean tunnels Mark had spoken of might extend to the infirmary. His previous search of the Sick House hadn't been thorough enough to know whether such tunnels existed beneath the building, though it seemed a possibility. Had the Dr. disappeared into the tunnels? And, if he had, had he gone into them of his own volition, or been forcibly taken into the deep by something else? He wasn't in any rush to figure it out either way. To search for such tunnels would require him to visit the darkest, most sun-forsaken corners of the infirmary.

  Mark mentioned those tunnels... said that a local kid claimed to be dragged deeper down by something he couldn't see. Ulrich rolled up his sleeves, the chill wind mingling with his cold sweat and inciting a peculiar nausea. What the hell is this town all about? Why was it abandoned to begin with? I have a hard time believing there's a bunch of mole-people hanging out underground, but if there's something down there, in those tunnels that supposedly link everything together, then I'm sure it isn't cuddly. Perhaps he'd pay Tillinghast another visit and ask him about the existence of these tunnels. The professor hadn't mentioned them during their meeting, but if they were real, then he'd almost certainly know of them.

  Ulrich nearly bumped into Mark, who was staring up at the infirmary windows, slack-jawed. His face had gone white, his legs weak. “What is it?” asked Ulrich, glancing up at the building. There was nothing in the windows to be seen, save for the same pervasive darkness that always dwelt there, but that the place had a tremendous, paralyzing effect on the youth there could be no doubt.

  Mark merely shook his head, lowering his gaze and starting once more into his half-hearted search.

  “I don't think we're going to find a whole lot out here. I know that your department already had a look, but I think we're going to have to go in there and poke around.” Ulrich pointed to the open door, gritting his teeth. “It's possible they missed something, or that the doctor left some trace behind of his visit. If he even made it this far, of cour
se. If we don't find anything here, it's safe to say he didn't make it to the infirmary at all and either bought the farm while hiking or his body's been dumped elsewhere.” He turned to canvass the surrounding woods, dim with smoke-like shadow.

  That was when he saw it.

  A woman.

  Well, not quite. It was the suggestion of a woman. She was thin, young, if the subtle curve of her body was any indication, and completely naked. Her body looked as though it'd been drawn in the air with a piece of thick, white chalk. It was a mist, sustained in shape and size by some mechanism he couldn't comprehend, and it moved in flickering, jumpy motions as though it were being shoddily projected. The faintness of its form made it hard to make out much in the way of concrete details, but the face was clear enough. It was a long face, with a slender, elegant nose. Long hair, at least shoulder length, and intense eyes framed by well-shaped brows were the characteristics that most struck him before the thing began to gradually evaporate.

  Ulrich reached out and tugged Mark's sleeve without even thinking, and pointed out at the rapidly-fleeting specter. He couldn't put a name to it, wasn't sure what it might be called, and simply stammered, “L-look, it's a g-ghost, right there, n-near the trees!”

  Mark was about to turn around when something caught his eye nearby. It was in a patch of overgrown grass near the border of the property. The recent rain had drudged it up into view where it had presumably been buried. At glancing it, his eyes went wide and he scrambled for his phone-- which was thankfully equipped with a satellite connection. Dropping to one knee, he dug around in the soft ground for a time, loosing a string of curses under his breath all the while. “Holy shit, holy shit,” he muttered, clearing away dirt and debris from his find.

  “What is it?” asked Ulrich, racing to his side. He was still shaking for the mysterious sighting, but all trace of the ghostly woman had vanished into the air. There was no sense in his pressing it, and he knew it.

  Looking into the small hole the officer was digging, it was clear to see what'd caught his attention. A large bone, possibly a femur, was sticking out awkwardly. The head of the thing had been visible just over the grass-line, revealed by some shifting of the ground during the recent storm. Beneath and around it, Mark was finding other bones; the top of a skull, smaller bits that looked like fingers or toes. There was a good deal of what appeared to be ash mixed in along with the bone matter; a grey, pasty kind of mess that stood out from the dark soil.

  It was a skeleton, the visible portions charred as though the meat had been burnt off of the bones.

  Ulrich's heart sank, his stomach roiled. “Oh, God.”

  It seemed he'd found his man.

  Chapter 16

  The blaring of sirens broke the silence, ricocheting off of the trees and hills like the sordid cries of so many suffering animals.

  Ulrich and Mark had waited in the SUV for backup, saying little and doing their best to avert their gazes from the field where just minutes prior they'd stumbled upon a body. At the end of a case, Ulrich usually felt happiness, or at least relief. This time, though, both were noticeably absent. The case had come to a close, the target of his search found resting in a shallow grave. That was where his involvement ended. This wasn't a missing person's case any longer, but a homicide. He could have speculated till he turned blue about the reasons why someone might have lured the old doctor to that sinister property and why they'd seen it fit to murder him. The assailant had done a poor job in hiding the remains; the tremendous rain caused a shift in the landscape and dredged them up. The pair had been at the right place at the right time and should've been pleased with their work. After all, finding Dr. Siegfried Klein alive was never a guarantee.

  But the two of them, who'd set out for that miserable infirmary and perhaps harbored hopes that they would find nothing, thus cutting their visit short, had hit the mother lode. And they were both tremendously unsettled by their find. For his part, Mark was quick to follow procedure and put a call out to the station dispatcher for backup, but his professionalism was shaken. This was probably among the first bodies he'd ever seen. It wasn't Ulrich's first, but it wasn't exactly the kind of thing he could ever get used to.

  The young officer traded numbers with Ulrich and promised to keep in touch with him if there were any developments in the case, as a courtesy.

  Ulrich had to wonder if he really cared to hear about any future developments, though.

  Wasn't this technically “case closed” for him?

  He could call Jerome in the morning and head home. He could return the keys to the SUV, collect the rest of his payment and walk away from this case that'd so perplexed him for the past few days. It's over, he kept thinking, as if attempting to convince himself.

  Increasingly, another voice chimed in from the back of his mind.

  It isn't over. Not yet. Don't forget about the shit you saw in that old building. The doctor might've been found, but this isn't over, not by a long shot. For you, it's just started.

  Nine times out of ten, Ulrich would've been too happy for a simple resolution. He could've thrown his hands up, like he always did, and surrendered his responsibility for the client to the authorities. It was in their capable hands now, after all. But there were so many unanswered questions in this case, not the least of which pertained to him personally. Perhaps if he hadn't been touched by the case himself it would've been easier for him to punch the clock and leave McArthur in the rearview mirror.

  But until he had some answers of his own, he wasn't going anywhere. Until he knew what he'd encountered in the Sick House, till he'd learned what really went on in there that had successfully scared off generations of locals, he couldn't just quit. It was a matter of pride. And idiotic curiosity.

  When the pack of cop cars arrived, Officer Mark hopped out to meet them. Ulrich gave a little statement, but the bulk of the paperwork was handled by the young officer, who managed to put aside the fear he'd carried and bask in the limelight. The other officers from his department, his seniors on the force, seemed genuinely proud of the work he'd done and congratulated him roundly.

  Ulrich laughed to himself as he returned to the SUV. And the cops take the credit all over again, I see. Never mind that I was the one who suggested we look out here in the first place. That didn't really matter to him, though. Not this time. He was thankful for Mark's help on the case, and hoped the find would bring him more respect from those on the force. Perhaps the lieutenant wouldn't be so hard on him now, and would let him do more than mere desk duty.

  Looking up at the Sick House in the waning light of day, Ulrich shared a word with the officer in charge and, when he was no longer needed, took his leave. Coasting along the dirt road towards McArthur, Ulrich was relieved of one mental load and simultaneously burdened with another, however.

  Siegfried Klein was dead.

  His whereabouts were known, now.

  That part of the equation was filled in, crystal clear. Poor sap, or whatever the cops could dig up of him, was in an evidence bag.

  But why?

  Just asking himself the question gave him a headache. He shouldn't have really cared, after all; he'd never so much as met the doctor, had no investment in the man or his well being. Ulrich was just a hired gun and the old doctor had been a prize in a high stakes scavenger hunt. It'd be uncomfortable breaking the news to Jerome, it was true, but that was part and parcel with the job. Someone had to do it. He smirked, thinking that perhaps he'd ask Officer Mark to make the call to him instead, and spare himself the client's sadness and tears. But even so, that would not have been enough to erode the profound curiosity and mounting dread that now ailed him. He wouldn't be able to put this one out of his mind until he did some more digging.

  I'm not altogether fond of Jerome, but I can't face him this way. It isn't right. He paid for a job well-done, and I owe him a little more than this. As of now, I don't even have a motive for the killer, much less a good suspect. The doctor was murdered, buried outside the Sic
k House. And that's all I've got. It's too sloppy to just collect my pay and shrug my shoulders. The guy won't get any closure that way. It'd be like cheating... real sloppy... too Harlan Ulrich, I guess. Ulrich wanted to break the mold, go the extra mile without being told to. He'd accepted this case and now his pride wouldn't permit him to half-ass it.

  The day was fading, and for the moment, Ulrich felt like he'd done enough. He'd return to the Hotel Acardi, crash in that unkempt room and resume his investigation in the morning. Perhaps he'd share a word with the hotel clerk, ask him more about the woman who'd dropped off the note. In the morning, too, he'd speak to Sister Ruth, who still lived near the local church. A second visit, or at least a call to Tillinghast was also in order.

  Entering sleepy McArthur, Ulrich almost found the scenery a comfort. It was still a boring splotch on the map, full of hostile townies, but it beat the hell out of the woods and the hideous buildings that populated it. Here, at least, he felt safe. There was a bit of distance between himself and all of that horror he'd courted in Moonville.