Phantoms

by Terence West

  Dawn looked amazed. "Why are you carrying candy?"

  Montoya smiled mischievously as she adjusted her black rimmed glasses. "It's All Hallow's Eve. You've got to have candy for the kids."

  A large nurse charged around the corner to find the group of kids. "I told you not to wander off." She began corralling the kids like a cowboy bringing in the herd. She looked up at Dawn and Montoya, both sitting with a look of amusement on their faces. "I'm sorry if they were bothering you."

  Montoya shook her head. "It's no problem at all."

  "Who are these kids?" Dawn asked.

  The nurse adjusted her light blue sweater, "These kids are residents here at the hospital. They're part of the children's ward."

  "So these kids are," Dawn paused, "terminal cases?"

  The nurse smiled sweetly. "We don't really like to talk about that in front of the children."

  Dawn put her hand over her mouth, "Sorry."

  "Don't worry about it," the nurse assured. She looked down at her group of trick-or-treaters. "Let's go, kids. I've heard Dr. Banner is passing out caramel apples."

  The group cheered together and began to walk away from the waiting room.

  "Bye, kids," Montoya called around the corner.

  "Happy Halloween," the nurse said as she turned to leave.

  "Happy Halloween," Dawn repeated cheerfully.

  Bishop charged around the corner, almost knocking the nurse to the ground. He wrapped his hands around her shoulders to stabilize her. "I'm sorry, are you all right?"

  The nurse nodded. "Try to be more careful, okay?"

  Bishop nodded quickly and walked around her. He spotted Dawn and Montoya and rushed toward them. His hand was tightly wrapped in white gauze and fastened with three silver pins. "Dawn, Detective," he said out of breath.

  "What's the matter, Bish?" Dawn asked.

  "Where's Cane?"

  "He went to check us in."

  Bishop spun around to see if he could spot Cane anywhere. "We need him right now."

  "Why?" Montoya asked.

  "There's someone we all need to talk to," Bishop said urgently.

  ****

  Morgan sat up in her bed, although it wasn't right. She wasn't sleeping in her hotel room, but rather the large four-poster bed she had when she was a child. She looked down to see she was garbed in a long white silk and lace robe that seemed to be floating around her. She strained her eyes. The room was filled with light, but it seemed to be emanating from nowhere, yet at the same time, from everywhere. She clearly recognized the mural of a unicorn on her wall and the ever growing mountain of stuffed animals that lived beneath it. She turned and ran her hand along the white wallpaper behind her. She remembered the blue and white floral print. How many times had she stared at the flowers on the wall and let her imagination create new and unique shapes from them? she wondered. She ran her hand over the thick comforter on her bed. The feeling of the stitches and fabric were almost luxurious to her, a reminder of simpler times in her life.

  It was home. She could taste the sweet smell of ginger snap cookies baking in the oven downstairs, and the familiar lingering scent of her father's aftershave. Everything was perfect, just as she remembered it, but this wasn't right. They had sold this home when she was fifteen and she hadn't been back since. She shouldn't be here. She should still be asleep in her hotel room in Stone Brook. Was this a dream? She instinctively reached over and took a drink from a tall glass of water sitting next to her bed. She always had one there. Just in case, as she liked to say.

  Moving effortlessly through the hallway, she looked down at her feet. She was floating. She knew that wasn't right, but at the same time, she didn't care. It felt wonderful. She glanced into her parent's bedroom to the left. The room was in immaculate condition as always. Her mother, a full-time housewife, prided herself on her home. It was always clean. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, her mother often reminded her. Her mother was kind and beautiful as well. Morgan often wished she had been born with blonde hair like her mother, instead of dark like her father. The bouncy curls on her head made her feel at home, no matter where they were.

  Once in the kitchen, she moved toward their tall white refrigerator and pulled open the door. A lone piece of apple pie and a glass of milk were sitting on the top shelf. Snatching the two items, she moved to the small wooden table that sat on the edge of the kitchen and sat down.

  Where are the cookies?

  Looking up, she could see her two brothers building a snowman outside the kitchen door. They couldn't have been more than eight and nine, respectively. They were busily rolling two large snowballs to place on top of the larger one they had already built. She likened the moment to a Normal Rockwell painting; her two brothers swathed in their winter clothes with bright red scarves wrapped around their necks that matched their rosy cheeks. Looking away, she took a bite of the pie with her fork. The pie was like heaven in her mouth. The warm flaky crust, even though it had been sitting in the refrigerator, and the gooey apple filling was everything she remembered. Looking back up at the door, she saw one of her brothers, now fully grown, standing in his green army fatigues with Mother and Father.

  "No," Morgan said sternly, "I don't want to see this."

  The image vanished and was quickly replaced by her two brothers putting the finishing touches on the snowman. They tapped the top hat firmly on his head and carefully inserted the old cob pipe into his coal mouth. He's perfect, Morgan thought as she took another bite of the ginger snap cookie.

  "Are you going to sit there and eat cookies all day? We have work to do."

  Morgan polished off the remainder of the cookie. "Nope, sorry, I'm going to go help my brothers build a snowman," she said with a smile.

  Standing up, Morgan rushed past the woman standing in her kitchen and ran toward the door. She paid no attention to who she was, only that the snow was waiting and her brothers would grow up so soon. She didn't want to miss a moment like she had before. She could see her brothers waving at her from the snow.

  She stepped out the kitchen door and onto the soft summer grass. She took a deep breath and let the odors take her away. It smelled like fresh cut grass. She felt the individual blades poking up around her bare feet. Lifting up her silk robe, she ran across the lawn, almost giddy with pleasure. Across the street, she could see the Miller's house. Mrs. Miller always had a cookie for her, she wondered if she did now.

  "We need to get to work, Morgan. People's lives are at stake."

  Morgan looked up from her bed at the woman standing before her. "Who are you?"

  "My name is Veranda," the woman replied. She was tall and slender wearing men's period clothing. A pair of baggy black pinstriped slacks hung around her waist, while a matching vest covered the white shirt she was wearing. She had the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her long black hair was neatly tied behind her head with a red ribbon. Her eyes were haunting. They were sea foam green and seemed to go on forever. She was lovely, and somehow, very familiar.

  Morgan wasn't quite sure where she knew this woman from, but she was just as sure she did. "Have we met before, Veranda?"

  Veranda shook her head. "No, but we have work to do."

  "Why should I listen to you?" Morgan turned and looked at the clock next to her bed. "Oh, God, I'm late for school. If I get a tardy slip one more time, I'll be in detention for a week."

  Veranda sat down on the bed next to Morgan. She placed her hand on Morgan's shoulder and softly caressed it. "Don't worry. That clock is completely wrong. What's important now is that we get to work."

  "Doing what?" Morgan asked.

  "Saving lives."

  "From what?"

  Veranda slowly lifted her hand and pointed toward the open door.

  There, Morgan could see a dark form hovering silently. Its mass slowly changing into something vaguely human. It blinked its glowing red eyes once and let loose a horrible cackle from deep within the bowels of hell. Morgan recoiled slightly, but she wasn't scar
ed, rather, more curious about the creature standing in her doorway. "What is it? Can I keep it?"

  Veranda let out a soft laugh. "No, I'm afraid it's not housebroken." She turned back to Morgan. "This is what we need to save people from. I need your help."

  "I don't understand," Morgan admitted.

  "I am a seeker, like you," Veranda said from across the room.

  "A seeker of what?"

  "The truth about a great many things," Veranda said with a crooked smile. "Together, we can stop the ‘Ritual of Sevens'."

  Morgan pounded her fists on her bed childishly. "I don't understand!"

  Veranda lifted her arms wide. She was now dressed in a flowing red silk robe like Morgan's. Her feet lifted off the floor and she began to slowly spin in place. "Just say that you will help me," her voice echoed as she vanished.

  Morgan stood from the kitchen chair and glanced nervously around. Everything had changed. The house was now a broken shell of its former glory. The walls were charred black, all the windows were broken and remnants of furniture and appliances littered the scorched floor. The air had become still and cold, so much so that Morgan could see her breath in front of her. Wrapping her arms around her chest for warmth, she could feel the hard leather of her black jacket. She looked down to see she was now wearing a tattered black shirt, a pair of smooth leather pants and a high heeled pair of boots. Everything was hard and jagged now. Gone were the wonderful scents of her home and gone were her brothers playing in the snow outside. Only darkness remained. Snapping her head to the right, she could see a pair of red eyes slinking toward her from the hallway, and another pair just outside the kitchen window. Fear propelled her away from the burning pairs of eyes, but they drew ever closer. Closing her eyes tightly, she tried to think of a way out. Then it dawned on her. Lifting her face skyward, she shouted to no one and everyone at the same time, "I'll help you!"

  Morgan sat straight up in her bed. Looking down, she breathed a long sigh of relief. She was back in her hotel room and safe. She fell back into her pillows and let her eyes close. That was the strangest dream I've ever had, she remarked. Although a ginger snap cookie does sound good…

  Chapter 11

  "I don't understand," Bishop admitted while walking into the darkened room, "the nurse told me that she was in here." He took another step into the room and stopped. The curtains on the far side were drawn tightly, and the two beds were completely empty. Both showed signs of recent use, the sheets on the bed nearest the window had been pushed haphazardly to the bottom, and they were completely missing on the second bed. Turning to his left, Bishop caught a glint of light off the saline inside an IV bottle. His eyes slowly followed the tubing down to the floor.

  "Who?" Dawn asked quietly.

  Ignoring her for the moment, Bishop walked further into the room, then suddenly stopped. He raised a hand to the group behind him to stop them from entering.

  Dawn watched as he knelt down quietly near the foot of the bed. She could see he was trained intently on… something. "Bish?" she asked with a little more urgency spiking her tone.

  "Hi," Bishop said sweetly. "My name's Nick."

  He looked at the frightened girl cowering between the bed and the wooden nightstand. She had completely wrapped herself in the sheets while the IV chord dangled loosely next to her. Her eyes were wide.

  "Is your name Kelley?" Bishop asked softly. "The nurse told me that your name is Kelley."

  Dawn and Montoya began to enter the room. Kelley snapped her head around when she heard the soles of their shoes clicking against the hard floors of the hospital room. She frantically tried to skitter under the bed.

  Bishop spun around and held up both hands this time. "Stop," he said quickly, "you're frightening her." Bishop turned back to the young woman in front of him. "No one's going to hurt you," he assured her. "We're here to help."

  "What's going on, Bishop?" Dawn asked in a firmer tone.

  Trying to keep one eye on the girl, Bishop slowly turned his head toward Dawn. "This girl's roommate was killed earlier this evening. The EMTs who brought her in told the nurses she kept mumbling something about glowing red eyes." A crooked smile crossed his face, "Sound familiar?"

  "She wasn't my roommate," a weak voice corrected him.

  Bishop returned his attention to Kelley. "I'm sorry?"

  "She wasn't my roommate, she was my girlfriend," Kelley reiterated, almost angrily. She began to slowly uncoccoon herself from the blankets. She looked down at the trickle of blood that had dried on the top of her left hand. Two pieces of clear tape still clung to where she had ripped out the needle.

  "We need you to help us, Kelley." Bishop lowered himself to the cold floor into a sitting position. "Can you tell us what happened?"

  Dawn and Montoya, sensing Kelley's ease, slowly moved into the room. They stood silently behind Bishop looking down at the girl.

  Kelley moved a shaky hand to her head and swiped aside her blonde bangs. Bishop could see two long scratches amidst a sea of bruises just below her hairline. There were at least six or seven stitches in each cut. "We were attacked."

  "By what?" Bishop was pushing. He knew that, but this woman might have the closest thing to an answer he'd gotten since he arrived.

  Kelley began to tremble as she relived those horrible final minutes of Joanne's life in her mind. "Those eyes," she said as she began to weep softly, "all we could see were those eyes."

  "What about the eyes?" Bishop wondered.

  Kelley looked up at Bishop with a tear running down her cheek. She was biting her lower lip. "They're evil," she whispered with a hoarse voice. "Glowing, evil, red eyes." She let her gaze wander down to the floor.

  "I don't understand," said Dawn for the first time.

  Kelley looked up at Dawn while trying to fight back the tears. "They played with us," she said after a moment. "Have you ever seen a cat play with a wounded mouse? The mouse has no chance of escape. It knows it's going to die, but it can't get away. The cat is too powerful. Then the cat proceeds to play with it, batting it back and forth, biting it, then finally, after it gets bored with that game, it kills the mouse." Kelley could no longer contain the pain. She began to cry. "That's what we were. We were two wounded mice." Leaning over, she wrapped her hands around her sides. Her head felt like it was going to explode from her headache and the stitches in her forehead. She slipped her hands up to her temples and pressed firmly to try and stop the pain. "It played with us before it killed Joanne!"

  Bishop lifted himself off the floor and moved toward Kelley. He opened his arms and she slid in next to him, burying her head in his chest. Bishop laid his hands softly on her back trying to comfort her, but he knew there was none to be had.

  "Everything's going to be all right." He knew the words were hollow, but they were all he could think to say. She had watched a loved one die and could do nothing to help. He understood the feelings of helplessness she must be feeling. It must be excruciating.

  He placed his hand on the back of her head, being careful not to hurt her. The soft blue fabric of her hospital gown was open in the rear, revealing her naked back. Bishop could see several long white patches of gauze held securely by strips of medical tape. He instantly winced at the sight. This girl had been to hell and back, and she had paid dearly on the return trip.

  He slowly lifted her up from his chest and looked her in the eye. "Kelley, can you tell me what did this to you?"

  Kelley sucked in a tear as she tried to clear her congested sinuses. Wiping the tears from her eyes and cheeks, she started to compose herself. "I don't know what they were."

  "They?" Bishop repeated. "You mean there was more than one that attacked you?"

  "Two," she answered between gasps.

  Bishop processed the information for a second. "What did they look like?"

  "They didn't look like anything, just…" Kelley searched for a word that would best describe what she saw, "shadows."

  Bishop pressed her head back to his chest. He l
ooked up at Dawn and Montoya, "Will you go retrieve the nurse?"

  The two women nodded.

  "Kelley," Bishop said as he helped her off the ground, "I'm not going to let anything happen to you." He set her weak body on the edge of the bed. He lifted her legs and slid them up and carefully laid her head back. Grabbing the covers, he draped them over her, then slowly sat down on the edge of the bed. "We're going to find out what happened, and stop this."

  "Who are you?" she wondered.

  "I'm with the Office of Paranormal Investigation. We research phenomenon like this."

  "You can't stop them," Kelley said grimly.

  Bishop lifted himself off the bed and started to walk toward the door. "Get some rest," he said, leaning his hand against the doorframe, "the nurse will be in to check on you in a minute."

  "Where are you going?"

  "I need to talk to my colleagues, then I'll come back to check on you."

  A slight smile crossed Kelley's face. She didn't know why, but she trusted this man. He had a good aura, she guessed. "Thank you, Nick."

  Bishop nodded. "Anytime."

  ****

  Cane paced the waiting room in front of the team. He slowly brought his hands around behind his back and clasped them together. His leather jacket was producing a satisfying swish with every step he took. Stopping, he turned to look at Bishop. "That's incredible."

  "I realize that, Cane," Bishop said, referring to the story he had just told him. "I don't think Kelley is making it up either."

  Cane lifted a hand and rubbed the edge of his graying goatee. "Didn't you say the night nurse told you this woman was in shock when she was brought in?"

  Bishop leaned forward in the curved green plastic chair and rested his elbows on his knees. He laced his fingers together. "Yes, but–"

  "Don't you think that could account for her story?" Cane interjected.

  "Maybe," Bishop said with a sigh. He knew there were more plausible answers than killer shadows. Shock was one of them. "That doesn't explain the Enbaugh connection," he said after a moment. "The descriptions of what they saw are almost identical, Cane. You can't discount that."