The Land of the Dead: Book Four of the Oz Chronicles

by R. W. Ridley

  I whistled for Kimball, and he came running over. “Stay here. Watch the door.”

  He tilted his head and then panted, revealing a soothing canine smile. I patted him on the head and stepped into the closet. I opened the top drawer of the first filing cabinet and found nothing but files, mostly maintenance records. I opened the second drawer and found files filled with photos. I started looking through them. I’m not exactly sure why, but I felt the need. If I had been paying attention, I would have noticed the light slowly getting dimmer in the closet, but for some reason I was fixated on the pictures. Most of the pictures were just photos of the grounds at the mansion.

  I turned to the door. “Kimball…” I heard a bark just before the door slammed shut.

  I felt the breath of a disembodied child on my earlobe as it said, “The boogeyman got him.”

  A brilliant flash of light momentarily blinded me. It took several seconds for my eyes to adjust and refocus. As things cleared, it became apparent to me that I was no longer in the closet. I was in a poorly lit hallway.

  The short red and brown carpet was marked by the impressions of little footprints. I heard the sound of children laughing close by. I followed the prints down the hallway with my eyes until they rounded the corner. I had no interest in following them because I was back in the Land of the Dead, and that could mean only one thing. I was here to witness something I had no power to stop.

  The dead boy stepped out of a darkened doorway just beyond the entrance of the adjoining hallway. He looked at me and then turned his attention in the direction of the laughter. My own voice sounded off in my head, Eight Days.

  I slowly began to walk towards him. Just as I was about to reach the corner, I heard rushed footsteps behind me. Before I could turn to investigate, a boy of about twelve passed through me. I gasped. My stomach dropped as if I was on a rollercoaster plunging down the first big hill on the track.

  “What‘cha kiddies up to you?” the boy asked.

  I rounded the corner and saw that he was talking to two much younger boys, only three or four years of old. They shrugged and seemed a little frightened of the older boy.

  “Cat got your tongues, eh?”

  Again they just shrugged.

  “My baby sister’s asleep, so I got some time to play while she’s out. What‘cha wanna do?”

  “We was playing rock, paper, scissors,” the skinnier of the two boys said.

  “That’s kid’s stuff,” the older boy said.

  “We’re kids,” the chubbier boy said.

  The older boy hesitated and then smiled. “We should look for the ghost.”

  The two younger boys stiffened and stared at each other with terror in their eyes.

  “What ghost, Johnny?” the skinnier boy said.

  The older boy sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall. “You ain’t heard about the ghost in this hallway?”

  The two younger boys shook their heads.

  “Goodness, I just figured your folks would tell you about it to keep you from gettin’ et up.”

  “Et up?” the chubbier boy asked.

  “Yeah, some people ‘round here think it could even be the boogeyman. How old are you Billy B?”

  The chubby boy held up three fingers.

  “What about you Billy G?”

  “Four,” the skinny boy answered.

  “That explains why you ain’t never heard about it.” He patted the floor and invited the boys to sit down, which they did. “About five years ago…” He looked up and down the hallway. “I think it was on this very floor. There was this boy… I think he was three or four just like you guys. Anyway, he was playing and having a grand old time on a day a lot like this when these lights started to flicker on and off.” He pointed to the half dozen lights lining both walls.” He didn’t think nothing of it at first, and then he heard footsteps… thud, thud, thud… coming down the hall, ‘cept there weren’t nobody there.” The two Billys sat with their mouths open, soaking up every word. “He kept on about his playing and then another thud came. And another. Well, this little boy wasn’t scared of nothin’.”

  “He wasn’t?” Billy B said.

  “Not hardly anyway.” The bigger boy shifted and leaned forward. “He decided he would go looking for whoever was coming down the hall. He got about five steps into his search when the lights went completely off. Boom! It was completely dark.” The two Billys jumped.

  A baby cried in the distance and the older boy sat up. “Shoot. That’s my baby sister.” He stood up.

  “Where you going?” Billy G asked.

  “My ma ain’t home. I’m supposed to be watching after my baby sister. She went down for her nap. I thought she’d be out until ma got home.”

  “What about the boogeyman?” Billy B asked.

  “Did he et the boy?” Billy G asked.

  The older boy smiled. “Cooked him up like a roast. Put his guts in a pie and sold it at the church bizarre. Who do you think bought that pie?”

  The two smaller boys shrugged.

  “The boy’s daddy. Said it was the best pie he ever et. Jumped out the window when the police told him he et his own son in a pie.” The sound of the baby crying interrupted his story again, and he started to jog down the hall. He stopped to give them one last detail. “Police found a note on the window sill wrote by the man. It said he was jumping because all he could think about was having another slice of that pie.” The older boy darted down the hallway and burst through the door to the stairwell. I saw him take his first two steps up before the door closed. I turned to the dead boy. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do. I’m running out of time. My friends are in danger. Just tell me.”

  The dead boy turned in my direction but looked past me. I followed his gaze and was horrified to see the gray man step out of the shadows at the other end of the hall. He was coming straight towards me, his eyes fixed on me. The terrible thought went through my head that he could see me. His heavily wrinkled brow hung low as he approached. His gait was quick and deliberate. I spotted the package under his arm. In a matter of seconds he reached me and didn’t slow as he passed right through me. I felt an ice cold chill zip through my body. He turned down the adjoining hallway and didn’t break his stride as he approached the two Billys.

  The two small boys saw him and seemed startled. They gasped and stepped back as the old man approached. I couldn’t see his face, but I could feel him smile. His face changed. The gray man hid underneath a kindly grandfather mask.

  “Hello, boys,” he said.

  The boys didn’t reply.

  “I’m Mr. Howard. Got a sister that lives in this building. She’s got a little girl about your age in fact.”

  The boys looked as if they were starting to relax.

  “You wouldn’t know her, would you?”

  The boys looked at each and then Billy G said, “No.”

  “They’re having a party up on the roof,” the Flish said.

  My heart sank, and I started to shake. I don’t know why. I knew where I was. This wasn’t happening. This was the Land of the Dead. This was just some sick and twisted recording of how people died. I was going to watch these two boys die. The thought of it brought tears to my eyes. I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t real, but it didn’t matter.

  “They’re having cake and ice cream, and all the boys are going to get baseballs just for coming,” the old man said laying it on thick.

  The two boys’ faces lit up. I could just see the thoughts soaring through their little heads. Ice cream! Baseballs!

  The old man scratched his head. “Trouble is I can’t find how to get up to the roof. I’d hate to miss the party.”

  “There’s a ladder that goes up,” Billy G said. “My daddy showed me once.”

  “Really?” the Flish asked excitedly.

  Billy B pointed to the package under the old man’s arm. “That a present for the party?”

  The old man chuckled. “No. These are my tools.”


  “The devil’s tools,” I said.

  “You boys wouldn’t want to show me where this ladder is, would you? I’m pretty sure I can get you into the party.”

  The boys didn’t answer.

  “There’s a baseball in it for each of you.”

  Billy B looked amazed. “Really?”

  The old man nodded. “Yep, and cake and ice cream, too.”

  That was all it took. Billy B grabbed Billy G’s hand and they led the old man down the hallway. They passed two feet from me. I wanted to scoop them up and run far away, but I couldn’t. I just had to watch. The Flish passed by me, and I nearly passed out when he winked at me. He knew I was there. He knew I was watching. He liked it.

  The dead boy followed them, but I refused to do the same. He turned to me and waited. I shook my head. He opened his mouth and spoke in my voice, repeating the words I had spoken earlier, “I’m running out of time. My friends are in danger.”

  I followed the dead boy through the door and up the stairs. The old man and the two Billys were a floor ahead of us. Johnny opened the door from his floor as we passed. He didn’t even hesitate. He bounded down the steps to the floor below and went back to rejoin his two little friends, but they would be nowhere to be found.

  The dead boy picked up the pace, and I struggled to keep up. He wasn’t just moving faster. He was frantic. It was as if he didn’t want to miss a thing, or maybe he didn’t want me to miss a thing.

  We reached the top floor just in time to see the old man climbing a ladder to the roof with some difficulty. His tools were getting in the way. He stopped every rung to adjust and reposition the package under his arm. Just as he reached the top rung, he dropped the package and it hit the floor with a metallic clank. The fabric cover twisted on one of the rungs on the way down and was pulled free from the metal box. The lid popped open as it bounced on the tile floor, and his tools scattered. This is what I was supposed to see. The old man climbed down the ladder like he was a world class athlete. It was as if we were in the basement of the Biltmore again. He moved with purpose. He knelt down and picked up a small knife. His eyes shifted from the knife to me. He gave me a dreadful smile.

  “Trimming knife,” he said carefully placing the knife in the metal box.

  I backed away. Was he talking to me? Could he see me?

  He picked up a bigger knife and placed it in the box. “Utility knife.”

  “What…” I started but stopped when he interrupted me with a blood chilling snicker.

  “My favorite,” he said picking up a knife that looked like a small machete. “Cimeter knife. Great for cutting up meat. Young meat is tender. Gives way to this blade with beautiful ease. It’s poetry.”

  Billy G peaked over the portal leading to the roof. “Mister, where’s the party?”

  “Be right up, boys.” He hurriedly gathered up the rest of the tools: a small bone saw, a sharpening steel, another knife, and a pair of scissors.

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked.

  He acted as if he didn’t hear me. Every tool back in the metal box, he closed it and wrapped it in its fabric cover. He climbed up the ladder, and just before he stepped through the portal to the roof, he looked down and said, “I’m hungry.”

  I looked at the dead boy. He cast his eyes down. “Why aren’t we following?”

  He didn’t answer of course.

  I wanted to slap him, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. He was ashamed. He slowly started to walk down the stairs.

  “No,” I barked. “We can’t just let him do this. Help me stop him!”

  The boy didn’t acknowledge my plea. He continued down the stairs.

  I growled. I wasn’t going to let this happen. I zipped up the ladder quicker than I had ever climbed anything in my life. Standing on the rough sheets of roofing, absorbing the brisk breeze, I spotted the Flish and the two boys near the edge of the building. I hurried towards them. The old man was in perfect position. I could rush him and send him tumbling off the roof. I had lost count of the floors as we followed them up the stairs, but I guessed we were six or seven stories up.

  He must have read my mind because he looked at me and said, “You can try if you like, but it won’t do you any good.”

  “Says you,” I said. I reached him with my hands balled up in fists ready to take him out any way I could.

  He looked down at my hands. “Fine. Hit me.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Take a swing. Go ahead.”

  I thought over the request for a split second and then threw a punch before he had time to change his mind. My fist went right through him. I threw another punch and then another and another. Each time it felt like I was striking cold air. I took a step back on the verge of tears. There was nothing I could do. I turned to the two Billys. I could plead with them to run, but it was obvious they had no idea I was there. The gray man was the only one who could see me.

  “We gonna get baseballs, mister?” Billy B asked.

  “You bet boys. I got a lot of great surprises in store for you two.”

  I scrambled to think of what to do. I couldn’t stop him, but maybe I could get inside his head. “The older boy saw you.”

  The old man smiled. “Then I’ll have to find him and introduce myself.”

  “No,” I said. “He didn’t see anything. Leave him alone.”

  “You’re looking at this all wrong.”

  It was such a crazy thing to say I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so angry and panicked.

  “They’re just meat.”

  “They’re kids. They’ve got parents. They’re part of a family.”

  “A calf has a mother. Children on farms think of cattle as their pets. No one would arrest me if I butchered and ate a calf.”

  “These are people,” I said.

  “People are animals, Oz.”

  My blood boiled. “Never use my name.”

  He frowned. “We’re going to be friends, you know. We’re the same. We’re bad people.”

  I couldn’t argue. I was bad. I had destroyed the world. I started to back away.

  “Don’t go,” he said. “I’m going to make a delicious stew.”

  I turned to sprint back to the ladder.

  “Stop,” he cried. “I’ll let you pick one.”

  I swallowed and said, “Pick one?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You can pick one. Do whatever you want with him.”

  “I don’t want to do anything,” I said.

  “Not even save one?”

  My mind nearly split apart just processing what he had just said. Save one. I turned it over and over again in my head, and finally said, “I want to save both of them.”

  “One or none,” he giggled.

  “But I can’t choose…”

  “Fine,” he shrugged. “More meat for me.”

  “Okay,” I yelped. “I’ll choose… I’ll choose.”

  He smiled. “You have until the count of three.”

  I looked at the two boys.

  “One.”

  They were so young. They had no idea that they were with a monster.

  “Two.”

  Billy B was three and Billy G was four.

  “I say the last number and the deal’s off.”

  “Billy B,” I yelled. “Billy B. Billy B.”

  The old man frowned. “Darn. He’s the chubby one. Lot of good fatty meat on that one.”

  I felt numb. It didn’t matter that I had saved Billy B. I had ensured that Billy G was about to die a terrible, tortuous death. “I’m going to find you,” I said calmly. “I’m going to find you and torture you. I’m going to make you pay for all this. I’m going to make you feel their pain.”

  “You see,” he said smiling, “we really are alike.” With that he knelt down. “Boys, do you know why I brought you up on the roof?”

  “A party?” Billy B asked.

  “No,” the old man said pulling the cover off his tool box. “I brought you up here…”
He opened the box and pulled out his favorite knife. “Because I’m the boogeyman!”

  DAY 3

  FOURTEEN

  I woke up leaning against the wall in the back of the closet. Believe it or not, I felt rested, more so than I had since my world ended when I was thirteen. I stretched and yawned and felt something shift on my lap. Instinctively, I reached down to readjust whatever it was. My hand landed on a manila folder labeled “General Estate Maintenance Records: December, 1934.” I hadn’t remembered pulling it from the filing cabinet. I flipped through the thick folder. None of the contents struck me as particularly important. I was about to close it and never give it another thought when a signature on a form caught my attention. I brought the form closer to my face. It was a bill of sale for paint and, according to the signature, the supervising maintenance director was Nathan Bashir.

  Bashir. I processed the information. The name of the doctor in Buffalo who treated Stevie and other patients with Down syndrome was Dr. Bashir… I was almost certain. My mind was a little muddled, but I remembered the name. One of the Destroyers was even named Bashir in honor of Dr. Bashir. Dr. Bashir created the Storytellers. He taught his patients Hyper Mental Imaging, how to create the world around them through intense visualization practices. He taught them… forced them even… to get back at those of us who taunted and tortured them. His patients created monsters that crawled out of their imaginations and destroyed the world.

  This couldn’t be the same Bashir, could it? It was a coincidence. If it was the same guy, he would have been in his nineties when he treated Stevie and the others. Not impossible, but not likely either.

  Curiosity got the best of me. I examined the rest of the contents of the folder more closely. It seems there was a significant amount of painting that occurred in the latter part of 1934. More than 100 painters were employed. Lists of hirings and firings filled up a small notebook. I scanned through the names. I came to a sudden stop on the fifth page. Hire number forty-three, Albert Howard Fish.

  I unknowingly gripped the edges of the folder more tightly as I soaked in the information. He was here… when he was alive… in this mansion. I hurriedly shuffled through more papers in the folder. Eventually I uncovered something called a “Notice of Termination” with Fish’s name on it. The date was December 24, 1934. The name of the person who filled out the form was Nathan Bashir. The reason for termination was scribbled on the page. It was almost impossible to make out. I peered closer and concentrated on each letter. Finally I deciphered it. “Inappropriate behavior around the staff‘s children.”