Hallowed Horror

by Mark Tufo

  “T-t-t-t-thhh…” Casper stuttered, stabbing his finger toward Roger.

  “Spit it out, fucker!”

  “Shaddup down there!” the inmate yelled again. “Don’t make me plant a size thirteen in yer ass!”

  “Yo, fuck you!” Roger yelled back down the block.

  “Eyes!” Casper yelled.

  Roger cocked his head again and looked at Casper as if he had lost his ever-loving mind. “What are you—”

  “Behind you!”

  Roger froze, suddenly afraid to turn around. A soft breeze suddenly picked up and blew past his head, whispering past his ear and his eyes went wide. Casper could see across the hall as Roger’s face suddenly registered true fear. He watched as his friend began to tremble and then Roger nodded. Slowly at first, and then more rapidly.

  Casper blinked and Roger was gone, only his screams indicated that he was still in his cell. Casper grabbed at his bars once more and yelled for the guards, he screamed as loud as his voice would allow. The fellow inmates all yelled as well. They knew the difference between screams of terror and yelling for attention and the screams they were hearing scared the bejeezus out of them.

  It took a few moments for the jailor on duty to unlock the door and step onto the block. The cacophony of noise overtook his senses as did the abundance of dirt and sand that was scattered across the cell block.

  He quickly took the three steps down into the cell block and to the cells. He didn’t get far before he saw Casper pointing to Roger Culley’s cell and screaming something unintelligible. The jailor turned and looked into the cell. It took a moment for his brain to make sense of what his eyes were seeing then he turned and quickly threw up on the floor opposite the cell.

  *****

  Constable Gregory drove to the sheriff’s office with Calvin Whynot and Quinn Bishop in his car. Calvin filled Ben in on a few of the minor details of their findings while they made their way across town and compared them to the numerous other investigations the team had performed across the country. Jon and Ginger rode together in Jon’s SUV and the conversation was steered more toward how they could compel the other deputies to believe what Jon now believed to be fact.

  “The sheriff said that if I found hard proof that indicated a ghost was involved, he would look at it,” Jon said cautiously. “I just don’t know that he’d actually believe this or not.”

  Ginger nodded. “I understand. We’ve run into more than our fair share of skeptics over the years.”

  “How do you deal with them?”

  “Each one is different, but basically, we just continue to carry on. Of course, in those cases, we weren’t dealing with a murdering, vengeful ghost.”

  Jon slowed the car and took the turn into the sheriff’s office parking lot. “Is this case the most violent you’ve seen?”

  Ginger nodded again, “Oh yeah. By far. We’ve seen some pretty active spirits, but nothing like this before.” She turned to Jon and met his gaze as he put the truck into park. “This one is more than just a bit scary.”

  He nodded and reached for her hand across the radio console. His thumb caressed the back of her hand and he squeezed it gently. “If there is any way at all to stop this…guy? This thing?” He smiled at her and she felt this warmth go through her that seemed familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time, “We’ll find it and we’ll put an end to his killing spree.”

  “I know you will,” she said, believing it.

  A knock at the window pulled them both from their shared moment and Jon turned to see Ben waving him toward the station. Jon nodded and motioned for Ginger to join him. They both stepped from the truck and followed Ben and the others into the sheriff’s office.

  Brenda Tatum nodded to Ben as he walked in and turned a questioning gaze toward the civilians entering through the police entrance. “They’re with us,” Ben said as they crossed to the bullpen.

  Jon crossed over to Eckerson’s desk where Jeff was finishing up the arrest reports for both Culley and Wineguard. He sat back in his chair and stretched his back as Jon approached and sat on the edge of his desk. “We may have something.”

  Eckerson rubbed at his eyes and finished his coffee with one long swallow. “My brain needs a jumpstart.”

  “Want a fresh cup of mud?” Jon stood up.

  “Sanders put a pot on before she split,” Jeff said as he stood and stretched his neck. He looked behind him at the small group milling about with Gregory. “What’s the deal?”

  “That’s the something we may have.” Jon shrugged, a sly smile crossing his features. “I’ve been talking with Ginger.”

  Jeff gave him a light punch in the arm. “Congrats, little buddy.”

  “No, not like that. About the case.”

  Eckerson paused and studied him a moment, then shook his head. “You don’t discuss ongoing investigations with non LE personnel, you know that.” His voice suddenly grew stern.

  “You need to see the evidence they’ve gathered. It’s solid.”

  “Evidence?” Jeff turned to face Foo. “Jon, we went over those scenes with a fine-toothed comb. There was no evidence.”

  Jon shot him a sideways smile. “Not that kind of evidence, Jeff. You need to see what they have.” He patted his shoulder and turned him toward the group who had settled in at a conference table and began plugging their laptop chargers into the outlets. “Trust me. You won’t regret it.”

  “I’ll look at what they have, but whatever it is had better be convincing to Scott, not just me.”

  “Then let’s call in Justin, too. It will help if he’s on the same page.”

  “I would, but there was some kind of disturbance at the jail and he went to check it out. Sanders went to check on him just a minute ago when he called her.” Jeff paused and looked thoughtful a moment. “Come to think of it, she left in a hurry…” He turned and looked back at the rear door that she had all but run through.

  He picked up his phone and began dialing. He listened to Justin’s phone go to voicemail before he clicked it off and hung it back on his duty belt. He debated going across the alley and through the back way to the jail, then looked back at the group of people waiting for him.

  “If he needs me, he’ll call.” He took his seat at the table.

  *****

  Zimmer kept rewinding the surveillance video and watched as the interference caused static on the digital recording. He cursed under his breath and wished that there was some way to clean it all up, but he knew, the recording was all but useless. All he had to go on was the eye witness accounts of the two inmates who claim they saw a mist or dust monster exit the cell of Roger Culley. As soon as it hit the iron bars of the cell, it ‘exploded’ and the dust settled back to the floor of the hallway. The jailor didn’t see or hear anyone enter or exit the block and couldn’t explain how any of the dirt got in the block, nor could he explain how Roger Culley got turned inside out inside his own cell, then hung by his own blanket from the ceiling.

  Sheryn stood on the sand-covered concrete floor and stared up at the carcass of Roger Culley and shook her head. “You’d think there’d be more blood,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice lowered so the other inmates couldn’t hear her.

  The bus to take them to Fannin County wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes and Justin needed to keep them as calm as possible until then. Sheryn knew that there were other county lockups that were closer, but Fannin County was the only one with available space for the number of prisoners that Wood had in this block. They played musical cells, moving prisoners around according to arraignment dates, and Justin’s head was ready to pop from the logistics, but the Fannin County Undersheriff was a friend of his and made the transition easy.

  “I don’t give two shits about the blood,” Justin pointed to the remains of Roger Culley. “I want to know how the hell someone got in here to do this to him.” He pointed to the steel door, “The electronic log shows that only the jailor has been in and out of that door and nobody has been th
rough it since he did his last head count.”

  Sheryn raised a brow and put her hands on her hips. “So are you going with the mist monster theory again?”

  “I’m not going with anything yet. I just have a shitload of questions and damn few answers. And now, this son of a bitch is dead on my watch and while in our custody. Somebody’s head is going to have to roll for this. I don’t want it to be mine.”

  “Totally understandable.” Sanders stepped carefully out of the cell and avoided any body parts as she made her way to the hallway. She could hear Casper in his cell moaning and crying on his bunk, thumping something against the cinderblock wall. She stepped toward the cell and saw him repeatedly smacking his head against the wall as he wailed. She motioned for Justin and he stepped forward. “I think we need to get him medical help.”

  “Mental help is more like it,” Zimmer said. He turned to the jailor. “Was he given anything after the attack?”

  “Negative. We can’t give any of the prisoners any medications unless it’s checked in with them and prescribed by a physician,” the jailor stated.

  “I understand that, but, I’m asking if…never mind.” He pushed past the man and met the M.E. as he came down the steps. “Doc, one of the other prisoners is unstable. I think he needs to be sedated.”

  Dr. Guffey gave Justin a look of shock and shook his head. “Zimmer, that’s outside my purview. I don’t have the power to…”

  “Fine. Then can you have him put on a seventy-two hour hold? Have them toss him in a rubber room in an I-Love-Me jacket? Something?”

  Doc looked into the cell and saw Casper curled into the fetal position and crying, but he was no longer beating his head against the wall. “I don’t see any reason to,” Guffey said.

  Justin looked back in there and shrugged. “A minute ago he was smashing his head against the wall.”

  “Maybe he gave himself a headache and decided to quit.” Guffey suggested. “Look, Justin, I have work to do, and from the looks of it, quite a bit.”

  “Yeah, sorry, Doc.” Justin stepped out of the way so that Guffey and Colonel Murphey’s men could scrape up the remains and load them. “I just…well, I was worried. They were really close.”

  “I understand.” Guffey turned and looked into the cell a low whistle escaping his lips. “How in the hell did anybody get in here?”

  “We’re working on that.” Sanders pulled Justin back out of the block. As soon as she got him out of the way of the Medical Examiner, she asked, “Is there any way one of the other prisoners could have gotten out of their cell?”

  “They were all spot checked during head count. The cell doors were locked and you can’t open them from out there. They’re electronically controlled from up there. There’s a keypad that keeps a log of every time a cell door is opened or closed. And before you ask, none were opened during the time of the attack.”

  Sheryn sighed heavily and looked back through the glass of the steel door. “Okay. So mist monster it is.”

  “Yeah, right. Very funny.”

  “You got something better, I’m all ears.”

  “Well we have a little time to kill. Let’s go back across the street and fill in Eckerson before he calls it a night and pour some coffee down our throats.”

  Sheryn nodded and motioned for him to lead the way. “One thing I don’t envy. Telling Scott about this.”

  *****

  Stan stood in front of Jerrod’s display case taking in the beauty of the wood and glass structure that housed the endless line of Old West memorabilia. With the lights shining down upon key items, it was apparent that he had used a great deal of thought and care in the layout and design of each display; choosing a key piece to make central and then other pieces to display around it to enhance the array. Stan stared for what seemed like forever and let out a low whistle.

  “Impressed?”

  “More than impressed,” Ingram answered as he stepped forward and studied the pieces more closely. “I didn’t know you had all of these.”

  “I told you I had over twelve hundred,” Miller stated proudly.

  “Yeah, but, Jerrod, come on.” Stan breathed against the glass and watched it fog. “These pieces are museum quality.”

  “And they’re all functional.” Jerrod added. “Right down to the matched set of .45’s you’re drooling over.”

  “They’re beauties.” Stan studied the sheriff’s star centered next to them with the coiled leather gun belt that both pistols sat upon.

  “Unfortunately, those pieces are some of the ones in question.” Jerrod quietly turned away from Stan.

  “Are you serious?” He looked closer at the pristine condition of the pistols. “There is no way these pistols were buried for any length of time in a grave. They’d be in far worse condition,” Ingram stated with certainty. “Those two buffoons are jerking your chain.”

  “Perhaps. But I received them from those two buffoons and whether they dug them up from the graveyard or they stole them from another collector doesn’t matter at this point. It’s still receiving stolen property. As much as I hate to do it, I’m going to have to dispose of them for a while.”

  “Not ‘dispose’, just…relocate.”

  “Whatever,” Jerrod moaned. “They won’t be here, where I can keep them safe. And it makes me sick.”

  Stan sighed. “You can always just deny that you got them from those two guys. Claim you bought them from someone else.”

  “Really? Who? You?”

  Stan thought for a moment. “I have two .45’s in my collection. They’re not in this good of condition, but…”

  “The serial numbers won’t match.”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean that my records indicate a serial number either, now does it?” Stan crossed his arms and smiled at him. “These are antiques, are they not?”

  Jerrod cocked his head and studied him. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Why not? We’ve been friends for how long?”

  Miller sat up and smiled. For the briefest moment he felt hope beginning to blossom in his stomach. Then reality set in. “What do you want in return?”

  Stan feigned shock. “What?” he asked, his arms flying out animatedly. “You would ask something like that of me after I offer to pull your fat from the fire?”

  Jerrod sat back in his chair, a grim realization settling into the pit of his stomach. “You want the Candy Apple, don’t you?”

  Stan did his best to fake surprise. “That old pump station? Now why would you say something like that?”

  The tone of his voice had already told Jerrod everything he needed to know though. Not that he could blame the man, really. Stan needed the pump station to pump both his crude and natural gas to the refiners and Jerrod had been charging him more than standard rates for years, just to screw with him. Of course, on paper it looked like he was paying the normal rate, but his men at the station knew how to adjust things to make it look good all the while gouging Stan…and Stan knew it.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Stan. That’s the only reason you came to help me tonight, wasn’t it?”

  This time Stan sobered, all pretense was gone. “Now that was a low blow, Jerrod. Yeah, sure. I’d love to get my hands on Candy Apple, you know I would, but I wouldn’t hold you over a barrel for it.” He threw his finger in Jerrod’s face. “You’ve been sticking it to me for years with your compressor station and your pump stations and that one little pump station would pay for itself inside a year, so yeah, I’d love to have it, but I’d never stoop to…” he trailed off. “You know what? Do whatever the hell you want with your toys, Jerrod. I don’t care. I just came here to bail your ass out of jail and try to help a friend out.”

  Stan turned to leave. He snatched his leather coat off the back of the chair and threw it on. “I can’t believe some of the shit you accuse others of sometimes.” As Stan marched for the door of Jerrod’s study, he turned and pointed a finger at him again, “Not everybody treats others the way you do, Jerrod.
”

  “The station is yours, Stan.”

  Stan Ingram stood silent a moment and stared at Jerrod. He debated on whether to hug the man or punch him in the nose. “What?”

  “You heard me.” Jerrod stood from his chair. “I just needed to see your true intentions. Now I have.”

  “Well fuck you very much. I wouldn’t buy your goddam pump station now if you gave it to me.” Stan thrust his jaw out in defiance.

  “I’m not selling it to you, dumbass.” Jerrod clasped the man on the shoulder. “I’m giving it to you.”

  Stan almost staggered as he did a double-take and stared at Jerrod Miller. “You’re what?”

  “Yeah, you heard me.” He steered Stan back into the study and sat him down. Jerrod pulled the single malt scotch out and poured two glasses. “It’s yours. Hell, truth be told, you probably already paid for the damned thing.”

  “I knew you were overcharging me,” Stan muttered.

  “It was just to fuck with you.”

  Stan took the scotch and threw it back. “How do I know you aren’t fucking with me now?”

  Jerrod sipped the scotch and nodded. “You don’t.” He stepped over to a file cabinet and pulled out a folder. Sifting through the papers, he pulled out a stapled pile and flipped through it. He went to the back and signed it, opened his drawer and pulled out a stamp and rubber stamped the bottom. He put the papers into a new manila folder and tossed it to Stan. “Congratulations. You own the Candy Apple.”

  Stan stared wide eyed at the documents and flipped through them. “Why?”

  “Why not?” Jerrod tossed back his scotch then poured another for them both. “You said you could fix my problem, I fixed yours. We both win.”

  Stan smiled at him. “Yeah, I guess we do.” He slapped the folder against his thigh. “Okay. First things first. I’m going to run back to my house and go through my things. I have receipts for a bunch of my collection. You need to tell me everything in your collection that is of question. I’ll bring the receipts that I have that might even be close to cover them.”