A Haunting In Wisconsin

by Michael Richan

  “You’d not part with it?” Julian asked. “For any price?”

  “No,” Derick replied. “The proposal is to let you study it, but it remains mine and stays in my control at all times. That’s the deal.”

  “I suppose,” Julian said, “if we were to pay you the sum you’re asking, we’d be expecting to learn enough from the study to be able to figure out how it works, perhaps duplicate it in a way that would allow other non-gifted people to enter The River.”

  “That’s the idea,” Derick replied.

  “A half million dollars is a lot of money,” Julian said. “We’re not some demon who can just whip up cash from a centuries-old bank account. None of us are paid for what we do, you know. Our work is all gratis. In some ways it’s like a hobby, something we all personally invest in because of our interest in the subject. We come to the Group wanting to know more, like ancient explorers charting the globe or travelling to the moon. It’s a passion, not a business.”

  “I’ve heard that recruiting line before,” Derick said coldly, trying to keep his rising emotion out of his tone. “It’s what you tell all the people who work for you for free. I’ve been around your organization long enough to know that in the end it’s always money with you people. So, it’s half a million if you want to study it, take it or leave it.”

  “Half a million would set you up nicely, wouldn’t it?” Julian replied. “Get you out of debt and make you comfortable.”

  Derick glared at Julian. How’d he know about my debts? he wondered.

  Julian saw his reaction. “You didn’t think we’d invest half a million dollars in someone without checking them out, do you?” he asked. “Would you give half a million to someone without looking into their financial situation? I’ll bet you wouldn’t. I’ll bet you’d have a peek into every aspect of their lives before you said yes.”

  Derick took a deep breath. They’re drawing this out for some reason, he thought. Make them get to the point.

  “I guess we’re done then,” he said, rising from his chair. “I think this will end my relationship with The Achernar Group, Braithwaite. I’ve had enough. Early on you were useful to me, but I’ve reached a point where I don’t need you anymore. I can come and go from The River whenever I need to. I already know more about it than you two ever will. I’ve gone far beyond your personal experiences with it. These little games of poking around the edges don’t interest me anymore.”

  “Don’t be hasty,” Julian said, still sitting. “Sit back down. We’re not done yet.”

  “I think we are,” Derick said. “I don’t need your money, I don’t need the Group, and I especially don’t need some fuck like you telling me to sit down.”

  “You’ll just keep doing extractions from the Dark River, is that it?” Julian said. “Maybe twenty or thirty more and you’ll get where you need to be, is that it? Sliding into that cesspool, flirting with the worms, pushing the envelope each time?”

  “Better than listening to this bullshit,” Derick said, turning to walk to the door and reaching it quickly.

  “Wait,” Julian said, just as Derick reached for the door handle. “We’ll pay you a quarter million, but our studies have to involve the object with other people.”

  Derick turned back to face Julian. “I said only me. I was very clear about that.”

  “But what you’ve proven to me today,” Julian said, finally standing, “and why I came down here to observe you, is that you’re not emotionally balanced enough to be a bankable testing subject. A benign five minute conversation and you’re already racing for the door; not the kind of stability I’d expect for a half-million dollar investment.”

  Derick felt anger bubbling in his throat. It reminded him of how he felt when a DA refused to prosecute some low-life he’d arrested over a fear of losing the case. I’m a lab rat to these bastards already, he thought. What was I thinking, involving them? I just wanted the money. And even now he’s cut it in half. This was a bad idea.

  “Benign conversation my ass,” Derick said. “You can take your quarter million and go fuck yourself.”

  “Derick!” Braithwaite called, but he’d already opened the door and was out, pulling it closed with a bang.

  He stomped away from the office, down a hallway and past a receptionist who looked up briefly before returning to her work.

  Assholes want to make ME the problem, make it seem like I’M the problem, he thought. Well, fuck them. I was their fucking golden ticket. I was the closest they were ever going to get.

  All the old irritations he’d felt with lieutenants and the brass came rushing back to him. Mindless machinery at the top calling the shots, oblivious to what’s really going on. These people were no better. Braithwaite had seemed fine, early on. And the others he’d met over the years were useful, even friendly. But the higher you go in any organization, the more you find the assholes, the little Peter Principle pricks that like to swing their tiny dicks around. Fuck him, fuck the horse he rode in on, fuck his stupid name, and fuck The Achernar Group. He was done.

  The elevator doors closed in front of him. He stood alone as it slid downward, the dreams of lying on a warm sandy beach somewhere for the rest of his life slowly seeping away as it descended. He took a deep breath and snorted the air through his nose, feeling like an angry bull.

  What did they expect me to do, negotiate? he wondered. Probably. That’s what corporate fucks always do, negotiate. They get off on it; they think everything is negotiable. He took a deep breath. I suppose I could have bargained with them. I could have listened to what they were proposing. Instead I just got mad and ran out.

  There were many areas of his life where he felt that having been a cop had put him at a distinct disadvantage for success. Being impatient with assholes was one of them, and this time it might have cost him a half million dollars.

  Maybe I should just give it to them, he thought. Be done with The River myself and let them have the object. They’d probably pay me more than a half million for it if I just handed it over, no strings attached. I could move to Belize and never go into The River again.

  He immediately knew that wouldn’t happen. What others had gone through for that object, what he’d gone through — it was too much to sell away. And he knew that after a few months of drinking Coronas on the beach he’d get bored. He’d want to go back, to jump in. Now that he’d found a way into it, he knew the River wasn’t something you could just give up. The gifted didn’t ever have this choice — they always had the ability, the option. They would never have to consider selling it, it wasn’t something they could sell or give away, even if they wanted to. For him, obtaining a way in had been hard-fought, and just giving it up — forever — was difficult to contemplate.

  Belize will have to come some other way, he thought as the elevator ground to a halt and the doors slowly opened.

  - - -

  “You brought something of hers?” Derick asked Angela in the parking lot of the motel. Light rain was falling again, making everything feel sticky.

  “Yes, I have this,” she said, producing a brush. Derick could see strands of hair still wrapped around the bristles.

  “Good,” he replied. “Why is your mother sending you in with me?”

  “She don’t trust you,” Angela replied, tilting her head as she looked at him. “I guess.”

  “What does having you along guarantee?” he asked. “You’ll be more trouble than you’re worth, and what are you gonna do if things don’t go the way your mother is expecting? Leave and report to her? Seems stupid.”

  “She just said to watch you, and make sure you bring her back, that’s all.”

  “Still seems dumb,” he mumbled. “Come on.”

  He led her to the lobby. The night breeze smelled fresh and helped lower the effects of the humidity in the air, and felt good on his face. He inhaled it deeply as they walked, knowing it would be the last fresh air he’d enjoy for a while.

  The Riverview Motel stretched along the bank
of the Little River, a three-story affair with doors that opened to the street and windows that overlooked the water in the back. Tourists kept the motel busy during the summer, but the rest of the year it struggled financially, due in no small part to the place’s reputation in the community. Over the years, many people had been found comatose or dead within its rooms. Locals assumed it was a suicide motel, a place where people could overlook the peaceful waters of the river while they passed on. What they didn’t know was that it was a few hundred feet from an access point to the Dark River, and the people found dead or in comas were all individuals with the gift who had decided to take a trip there. For most it was a temporary exploration, intending to return to their bodies, just as Derick and Angela were about to do. For others it was a one-way affair, never intending to return, knowing their bodies would ultimately be found and dealt with. Local EMTs were used to calls from the motel when a housekeeper opened a door and found someone who couldn’t be roused from the bed.

  Once Derick received the keys he led her out the glass doors of the lobby and walked to the staircase, heading to room 219. Frogs from the river were chirping loudly as they walked through the evening air. He pulled out his phone.

  “Aren’t you going to give me one of those keys?” Angela asked.

  “Nope,” he replied, holding the phone to his ear, waiting for the person he called to pick up. When they did, he told them the room number and hung up.

  “Who’d you call?” she asked.

  “More insurance,” he said.

  They reached the room and he used one of the keys to open it. Inside were two beds and the other typical elements of a motel room: phone, TV, plastic cups wrapped in more plastic, lack of easily accessible outlets. A small refrigerator hummed in the corner.

  “Give me that brush, will you?” he asked. She handed him the brush and he took it, walking to the bathroom. He shut the door and placed the brush near the sink, then removed from his pocket a small metal tin, shaped like an hourglass but flat on both sides. He always thought of it as a three-dimensional figure-eight ever since he acquired it years ago. He slid a metal cover from one end of the tin, grabbed hair from the bristles of the brush and wadded it together, then stuffed it into the small opening. Once it was fully tucked inside, he slid the lid closed and inverted the tin, raising the end with the hair inside higher, so it would fall through the narrow middle and into the opposite end. The hair was so light, he couldn’t feel it shifting inside, and wasn’t sure if gravity had pulled it through the middle of the tin and into the second chamber or not. He wouldn’t be able to open the lid on the other end of the tin until he was in the River, but he did open the end he’d put the hair in, just to check it. Thankfully, it was empty, which meant the hair had successfully processed; it had joined the other objects he’d placed inside, in preparation for their trip.

  Good, he thought. We’re set. He flushed the toilet and left the bathroom.

  “I presume you know where the well is,” he said as he emerged.

  “Every gifted around here knows about the well,” she replied. “It’s the only way into the Dark River on the entire continent.”

  “Not true,” Derick replied. “There’s an access point in Utah, and one in Mexico.”

  “You’d better not ditch me,” Angela said, lying down on one of the beds. “If you do, I’ll tell my momma and you won’t see the double payment she promised.”

  “Threats are such a nice way to start a relationship,” Derick replied. “All I asked is if you knew where the well is.”

  “Yes, I know where the well is,” she spat back at him. “Other side of the river, by the abandoned house near the rocks.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now, one last time, let me make sure we’re on the same page. You’re going to follow me, presumably to keep an eye on me. Help me out if I ask for it. Otherwise, you’re going to stay out of my way, right?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Fine.”

  “Good,” he replied. “You ever dealt with the turned?”

  “I don’t know that is,” she said matter-of-factly. “I went there just to get off, me and a couple of gifted girlfriends. We stayed until we were exhausted, then we came back.”

  “Let me guess, Portsmouth?” he said.

  “I don’t know what it was called,” she replied. “We just knew to take the tunnel on the far right.”

  “Portsmouth,” he repeated. “Was it a dare? Some sorority thing?”

  “Look, it was just some innocent fun,” she replied. “Lots of gifteds around here try it.”

  “No, they don’t,” he said, pacing. “Most are smart enough not to.”

  “Nothing came of it,” she said. “All the talk about becoming addicted was just lies. Tales your parents tell you to scare you away from the rush. They can’t stand the idea of their kids having anything pleasurable happen to their bodies.”

  “You were infected in the first five minutes you were there,” Derick replied. “A fly landed on the back of your neck and deposited eggs under your skin. You didn’t feel it because you were distracted by the rush. There are more flies in Portsmouth than anywhere else, because so much fresh meat shows up to do what you did.”

  She stared at him, her face revealing doubts in her original premise. “Eggs?”

  “Yes, eggs,” he answered. “Eggs that hatch into maggots. Worms. Your momma didn’t tell you about all this?”

  “No, she didn’t,” Angela replied. “Maybe she don’t know about any eggs.”

  “She knew Anna had to be extracted quickly to survive,” he answered.

  There was a knock at the door, startling Angela. “Who’s that?”

  Derick walked to the door and opened it. A short, stocky man with a chubby face, a goatee, and a trucker hat that said “Happiness is a rod in your hand!” was carrying a small ice chest and a duffel bag.

  “Franklin!” Derick said, opening the door for the man to step through.

  “What the hell is this?” Angela said.

  “Franklin, this is Angela,” Derick said. “Angela, Franklin. He goes by Frank, but I call him Franklin to piss him off.”

  “Angela,” Franklin said, nodding to the woman.

  “Why’s he here?” she asked.

  “Your mother was keen on insurance,” Derick replied. “So am I.”

  “He’s going with us?” she asked.

  “No, he’s staying here,” Derick replied. “Guarding our bodies.”

  Derick handed Franklin both of the keys to the room. “I appreciate this buddy,” he said. “You brought plenty of beer, I see.”

  “Not just beer,” Franklin replied. “A few Red Bulls. Orange juice for the morning. Got all the time periods covered.”

  “Good,” Derick said. He turned to Angela. “You ready?”

  “I don’t like him being here,” she said.

  “Tough. Lie down and let’s get started.”

  Angela eyed Franklin up and down, then positioned herself on the bed, her head on the pillow. “If he touches me while we’re gone, I’ll kill him when we come back.”

  “Happily married twenty years,” Franklin said, showing her the ring on his finger.

  “That makes me even more nervous,” Angela replied.

  “Re-key one of those cards for Room 127 while we’re out,” Derick said to Franklin, taking his position on the other bed. “Can’t tell you for sure how long we’ll be. Shouldn’t be more than 24 hours though. We’ll come out and go back in if we have to.”

  “To reset yourself?” Franklin asked.

  “Exactly,” Derick replied.

  “Reset?” Angela asked.

  “For someone who’s been in the Dark River before, you sure don’t seem to know much about it,” Derick said. “Coming out kills the eggs. Ten minutes in the real world wipes them out.”

  “Will it kill the worms?” she asked. “If they hatch before we come out?”

  “Nothing can get rid of the worms entirely, if they hatch,” Derick replie
d. “So it’s best to limit your time there. You good to go, Franklin?”

  “Cocked, locked, and ready to rock,” he replied. “I’ll keep an eye on things, and I’ll have that key card ready to go.”

  “Oh, here, let me give you this,” Derick said, slipping his hand into his jacket and removing a Taser. He passed it to Franklin, then leaned back onto the pillow and closed his eyes.

  He knew Angela would be in the River within seconds, but it was going to take him longer. He slipped his right hand into his pockets, performing a last inventory check: figure-eight in his right, the figurine in his left. He removed his right hand and let his left hand slip around the carved figurine, pressing it into his palm. After a few moments he felt the shape of it change. He felt strands emerge from it, sliding out from between his fingers, tickling his skin as they searched for the entry point on his flesh. Then, in one quick, sudden move, they pierced into him, and he winced from the pain. He felt the threads snake into his hand, moving between the tendons, muscles, and bones on its back, sliding up past his wrist and into his arm, where their presence became less distinct. It felt like his arm was going to sleep, but then his whole body went numb and he suddenly felt light, as though he was floating. He rolled to one side, the only way he knew how to leave his body, and felt himself gently falling away through the bed and down through the floor, until he gained control and could force his way through the back wall of the room. Angela was ahead of him, already floating over the river, headed to the boarded-over well on the other side.

  He increased his speed and followed her, overtaking her and passing over the bank on the far side, rapidly crossing the ground toward the rocky outcrop where an old, abandoned home stood, nestled between a half dozen trees. The boards of the house were falling off, and even at night you could see through it to the large rocks of the hillside behind. He went through the house and to the round portal on the ground, the ring of raised white bricks that held a wooden plank, strapped to the ground with long metal clamps, severely rusted from years of exposure.