The Town of Griswold (Berkley Street Series Book 3)

by Ron Ripley

  Shane’s here, he needs my help, I know he does, Courtney thought. This is how I can show him how much I care. This will show his ghosts that I care.

  She nodded to herself, forced her hands to let go of the steering wheel, and she turned the engine off. On the seat beside her was a small piece of iron. Courtney picked the cold metal up, clutched it and got out of her car. She winced at the force of the rain, stumbled, and dropped to her bad knee, the one injured in her flight from the dead children.

  “Damn it!” she muttered. Courtney held onto the door and pulled herself up. Her knee ached with a dull throb. A glance down showed fresh blood on her pants, the cloth torn and stained.

  Come on, Courtney, she scolded herself, you can do this.

  She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, tried to shield it with her body, and typed in Shane’s number. As she got ready to hit ‘send’ the phone blinked.

  Low battery, it read.

  Courtney frowned, and before she could make the call the phone died. The screen became black. What the hell?

  A cold, terrible realization stole over her.

  Oh no. Oh no, no, no, she thought, her inner voice filled with panic. All of her resolve left her and she dropped her phone as she turned back to the car.

  But the sound of gunfire ripped through the storm and Courtney turned towards it.

  Shane, she thought, and began to search for the man.

  Chapter 53: Looking for Shane

  After seeing Courtney DeSantis leave Shane’s house, Marie had become concerned about the man. When she left Uncle Gerry’s place Marie returned to Shane’s and knocked on the door. No one had answered. The house was silent.

  It was then that she did a search for him, to see if his name popped up anywhere in the State’s law enforcement system.

  Marie wasn’t terribly surprised when it had. He was with the State Police. Marie had called the State Police barrack in Manchester and told them she wanted to speak with Shane. A trooper named Henry Martini had requested a delay. Marie was told Martini was investigating several murders, and evidently, Shane was assisting them.

  They didn’t tell her how. The staties had been pretty tight-lipped on the phone about it.

  But, she thought, sighing, They usually are. Always need to do it in person with them.

  Marie had thought the polite refusal to send Shane along was odd. Usually, they would send the individual along.

  After their flat out refusal to assist, Marie had tried to think of a reason why. It was then she had remembered the murdered State Trooper, Glenn Jackson. He had been killed and found in an abandoned town.

  One of New Hampshire’s ghost towns.

  Marie Lafontaine thought of all of this as she pulled into the driveway of Gordon Bay. After she had made the decision to find Shane and check on him, Marie had gone to the State Police Barracks in Manchester. The troopers on duty had told her what had happened the night before and how Gordon Bay had been friendly with the trooper who had committed suicide on the beach.

  Marie parked her car next to Shane’s and got out. She went up to the front door, knocked on it, and waited for a reply. When no one answered, she knocked harder.

  Frowning, Marie went around the side of the house to the building’s rear. She climbed the porch and banged on the back door. After a minute, she leaned closer, peered through the glass, and tried to see inside. On the kitchen table, she saw an empty bottle of bourbon and a pair of tumblers. A box of shotgun shells stood open on the counter.

  What are they hunting? Marie wondered, stepping back. She turned and looked out over the lake and saw multiple sets of shoe prints in the sand.

  Marie looked at them for a moment, then returned to her car. She sat down, pulled out her phone, and did a quick search for Griswold. In a minute, she was on a website which talked about various ghost towns of New Hampshire. Griswold was one of them.

  It spoke about a ghost named Abel Latham, and how he had killed his own children before he was lynched. The last reported sighting had been by a man named Gordon Bay.

  Griswold, Marie thought. But how do you fight a ghost with a shotgun?

  She turned her attention back to her phone and typed her question in.

  Chapter 54: Things Best Left Covered

  Shane had dug graves before. More than a few. Some he had been afraid would eventually be his own. But he had never dug up a corpse before.

  First time for everything, he thought.

  Shane stood a few feet from Abel Latham’s marker, holding the shotgun. Gordon was on the other side, keeping watch. Henry was in the grave, shoveling away. They were only a few feet down.

  Shane straightened up. The forest had gone quiet.

  “Gordon,” Shane said softly.

  “I know,” Gordon whispered. Henry didn’t seem to notice their exchange, as he kept moving earth.

  “What are you doing?” a voice asked.

  Shane jerked his head around and saw Andrew. The boy stood in the cemetery with his dog, Rex.

  “Oh Jesus,” Henry said in surprise.

  “We’re digging up your father’s bones,” Shane answered.

  Andrew walked closer, bringing the dog and a chill with him. He peered down into the grave and said, “You shouldn’t.”

  “Why not?” Shane asked.

  “He’s not alone,” Andrew replied, looking at Shane. “They buried them with him.”

  “What?” Henry asked. “Buried who with him?”

  “His best friends,” Andrew said. He reached down and stroked the top of his dog’s head.

  Suddenly, Andrew looked around, “This isn’t right. Something is wrong here.”

  Before Shane could ask Andrew what he meant, the boy and Rex vanished.

  Shane felt uncomfortable, and he turned back to look at Gordon and Henry. The older man shook his head. Henry shrugged and began to dig again.

  Shane adjusted his grip on the shotgun, scanned the tree line and thought, Who the hell could Latham have had as best friends?

  Chapter 55: Going into Griswold

  Marie sat in her car, the engine idling. She looked down the road which led into Griswold, the trees on either side of the broken asphalt battered from the passage of vehicles over the past few days.

  What are you going to do down there, Marie? the voice of reason asked. You don’t have salt. You don’t have iron. You didn’t bring a priest. How in the hell are you going to help Shane if he’s hunting a ghost?

  Marie sighed. I’ll figure it out.

  She took her foot off of the brake and drove down into Griswold. Soon, she was parked beside an abandoned car and a truck. The car looked familiar, but Marie couldn’t recall where she had seen it. The pickup had a small ‘Troopers are your best Protection’ sticker in the rear window. The rifle rack in the pick-up was also empty.

  Ignoring the car, Marie went to the truck and looked in the driver’s side-window, saw the door was unlocked, and there were shotgun shells on the passenger seat.

  I bet they’re loaded with salt, she thought. Marie opened the door, reached in and picked up the five shells. She tucked them into a pocket and glanced at the two buildings which still stood. A church and a country store.

  Word was the blood evidence showed that both Jackson and Quill had been killed in the store, Marie told herself. Whoever had the shotgun would have gone inside, if they were hunting a ghost.

  Marie crossed the short distance to the store and went in. On the floor, she found the shotgun, a double-barreled weapon. Marie broke it open, found the right shell had been fired and extracted it, dropping the empty casing on the floor. She reloaded it with a fresh shell from the truck, secured the weapon, and examined the place quickly. Across the room from the front door, there were fresh marks on the wall.

  Walking over, Marie squinted and saw several large pieces of rock salt embedded in the old wood. Now, where are you, Shane? Marie wondered, leaving the store. Marie stood out in the sunshine, adjusted her grip on the shotgun,
and listened.

  Chapter 56: Pay Dirt

  Shane was back in the grave, his turn with the shovel when he struck the old coffin.

  A dull thud sounded.

  Oh thank God they didn’t bury him too deep, Shane thought. His shoulders hurt, and his back ached. Sweat dripped steadily and unpleasantly down his spine. He reached up, grabbed his water off the edge of the grave, and had a drink before he said, “I’ve found it.”

  Henry came over and looked in while Gordon remained where he was.

  “What do you need?” Henry asked.

  “For this to be over,” Shane said. “Get me the hatchet in the pack, please.”

  Henry nodded, set the shotgun down, and opened up the pack. A moment later, he handed the hatchet down to Shane.

  “Thanks,” Shane said, passing the shovel up to Henry. With the hatchet in hand, Shane slipped the leather hood off it, spread his feet wide, and began to hack at the old wood of the coffin’s top. Several hard blows and Shane was through to the interior. Patiently, and carefully he widened it, making certain the light of day would shine upon the casket’s dubious treasure.

  Soon, Shane pulled pieces of wood away, throwing them out of the hole. Finally, he could see clearly.

  The remains of Abel Latham lay in the confines of the casket. Little remained of his flesh, the clothes rotted on his large frame. Tucked between the corpse and the coffin’s sides were other shapes.

  Unable to see it clearly, Shane squatted down, pried up another length of wood, and the sun fell fully upon the unknown item.

  “What the hell is that?” Henry asked.

  “It’s his best friends,” Shane said softly. “There are dogs buried in here with him.”

  Nearby, a dog let out a long and angry howl.

  Chapter 57: A Storm Arrives

  Marie walked along the broken asphalt of Griswold’s main street. She looked from left to right and back again in an effort to find Shane. Her footsteps were loud, but the forest was quiet around the town, broken only by the sound of a howl from off to the left.

  The shadows vanished as thick clouds rolled in suddenly from the east, and she looked at them. They were dark, speeding across the sky.

  That looks like rain, she thought, frowning. There wasn’t anything in the forecast about rain.

  Another howl rang out, quickly joined by a second and a third.

  Coyotes? Marie wondered. She knew it couldn’t be wolves. New Hampshire hadn’t seen any wolves in decades.

  A man yelled, the cry coming from the same direction of the howls, and Marie turned sharply to the sound.

  The howls rang out again, and the unknown man shouted in an angry voice.

  I bet that’s Shane, she thought. What the hell has he gotten himself into this time?

  Tightening her grip on the shotgun, Marie ran towards Shane’s position. Above her, the sky continued to grow darker, and a few drops of rain fell. Quickly more arrived, and soon the storm struck the land. The roar of thunder caused the ground to shake, and lightning lit up the underbellies of the clouds.

  Marie’s hair was plastered to her head, her clothes clung to her, and several times she slipped, nearly losing her balance.

  Again the howling commenced, and someone screamed.

  Marie caught sight of a slim path leading into the woods, and without hesitating, she ran towards it.

  Chapter 58: Abel Latham’s Friend

  “Get me out!” Shane snapped at Henry.

  The dogs were howling, each cry nearer than the last.

  Henry reached down, grabbed Shane’s hand, and helped him to climb out of the grave.

  The rain was cold, the drops painful and hard as they struck bare skin. Gordon had stepped closer to them. Henry looked around, and Shane said, “Henry, keep an eye on Gordon. He knows what he’s doing.”

  The trooper hesitated and looked as if he might argue, but then Henry shook his head and dropped to a knee. Shane grabbed his backpack and pulled out his knuckledusters. He slipped them on before he found the bag of steel wool from Gordon’s house.

  “What the hell?” Henry asked.

  Shane looked and wished he hadn’t.

  Abel Latham’s best friend was only a few feet away. It was the ghost of a large, black Irish wolfhound, and it wasn’t alone. Shane counted four of them, and they were spread out.

  Four, Shane thought. And two shotguns. Four rounds altogether. Plus my knuckledusters.

  The dogs charged.

  Shane dropped the bag as a great hound charged at him. He brought his right hand up and waited.

  It only took one of the animals mere seconds to reach him. Amid the thunder and the lightning, Shane heard and saw the shotguns. Two of the dogs vanished, and then Shane felt a tremendous pain as the dog who had charged him latched onto his leg. Teeth, excruciatingly cold, punctured the flesh of his thigh.

  The dog growled and tried to rip the muscle from Shane’s bone, and Shane screamed with fury. He brought the knuckledusters down onto the hound’s head, and the beast vanished. Shane stumbled to the side, nearly tumbling down into the grave. Henry shouted, and a one of the dogs was on him, knocking the man down.

  The trooper clung to his weapon and tried to beat the dog back, but the barrel passed through them.

  More howls raced through the night, and the dogs were once more rushing out of the forest.

  Oh no! Shane thought angrily. The bones! I’ve got to burn their damned bones. We’re too close to the grave!

  “I remember you!”

  Shane turned and saw Abel Latham, the ghost striding out of the forest. The dead man grinned wickedly, but not at Shane.

  Abel’s attention was focused solely on Gordon Bay.

  Chapter 59: In a Nightmare Once More

  Gordon’s hands refused to listen to his brain. His feet and legs mutinied as well. Immobile, Gordon stood and watched as Abel came towards him, the man’s long legs devouring the distance between them.

  Gordon could hear Henry Martini screaming. Below the high pitched shrieks of pain issued from the trooper, Gordon could hear the deeper voice of Shane Ryan. The curiously bald man was yelling one word over and over again.

  Reload, Gordon thought. He’s telling me to reload.

  Then Abel was next to him. A massive hand, shimmering with a curious light, reached out and wrapped itself around Gordon’s throat.

  The shotgun fell from his hands, and only after Abel began to squeeze did Gordon regain some control over his limbs. He reached for the deathly cold hands squeezing at his flesh, but they found nothing to grab. Only cold air as Abel slowly choked him.

  Abel smiled up at him. “You have run for a long time,” Abel chided. “Quite a long time. I had to punish my children for their betrayal. It is a father’s duty, as distasteful as it is.”

  The ghost’s grip tightened, and Gordon felt excruciating pain with the crushing of his larynx. His body shivered, his legs kicking out at nothing. Blackness swarmed over him as his eyes rolled up into his head.

  Will he add my boots to his collection? Gordon wondered.

  But there was no answer.

  Chapter 60: Desperation

  When Gordon’s legs began a mad, frantic tap dance in empty air, Shane knew the man was as good as dead. Shane turned his attention to Henry, the dead dog still mauling the trooper.

  Henry was no longer fighting back. He wasn’t doing anything at all.

  The man was curled in a fetal position, but his body was limp as the dog jerked at it.

  Stay strong, Shane thought, keeping his own fear at bay. He dropped to his knees, picked up the bag of steel wool with one hand, and grabbed the pack with the other.

  “What are you doing, little one?” Abel asked.

  Shane looked up and saw Gordon’s lifeless body dropped to the ground. The old man flopped limply with all of the grace of a gutted fish.

  “I saw you last night, did I not?” Abel said, grinning. The grin faded. “You shot me. It was not a pleasant thing fo
r you to do.”

  The dogs growled from behind Shane, and he stiffened.

  “Hold, my little friends,” Abel said, chuckling.

  Shane spat nervously on the ground. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Abel said, “We would like to play with you. It is a game, rather like hide and seek. Would you like to play?”

  “No,” Shane said, glancing at the open grave. “Not particularly. Pretty sure I wouldn’t come out on top.”

  Abel smiled, nodding. “I am afraid that your chances would not be good. What is your name?”

  Oh, what the hell, Shane thought. “Shane. Shane Ryan.”

  “And why are you here, Shane?” Abel asked politely.

  “I was really hoping I’d be able to send you straight to Hell,” Shane said honestly.

  Abel laughed approvingly. “Oh, Shane, I do like you. I will make a deal with you. I will kill you quickly when I catch you. No torture. I believe we could have quite the hunt together. You seem to me an admirable prey.”

  Shane laughed in spite of his fear. “Damn, seems okay to me, Abel.”

  The ghost’s reply was lost in the roar of a shotgun.

  Something tore into the back of Shane’s shoulder and he grunted. He held onto the backpack and the steel wool as he rolled to the right, and down into the grave. A jagged piece of rotted wood thrust up into his left bicep, and Shane bit back a scream as he sat back.

  He hunched over Abel Latham’s bones and bit back the pain as he shook out the bag of steel wool onto the corpse’s belly. Shane hurriedly dug out a box of salt from his backpack. He ripped the tab open and dumped the contents onto Abel’s remains. Throwing the box aside, Shane found the matches. With the heavy rain falling on him, Shane hunched over and put the flame to the steel wool. The shredded fibers caught fire instantly, the flames leaping to his hands and burning his fingers where the steel wool dust coated them.