The Haunting at Grays Harbor
By Michael Richan
By the author:
The River series:
The Bank of the River
Residual
A Haunting in Oregon
Ghosts of Our Fathers
Eximere
The Suicide Forest
Devil’s Throat
The Diablo Horror
The Haunting at Grays Harbor
It Walks At Night
The Downwinders series:
Blood Oath, Blood River
The Impossible Coin
The Graves of Plague Canyon
The Dark River series:
A
All three series are part of The River Universe, and there is crossover of some characters and plots. For a suggested reading order, see the Author’s Website.
Copyright 2015 by Michael Richan
All Rights Reserved.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.
Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.michaelrichan.com
A print version of this book is available at most online retailers.
ASIN: B00R3EAQWI
Published by Dantull (148815127)
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter One
Steven awoke and threw the covers from his bed. He thought he heard violins playing in the distance, but as he strained his ears, he realized it was just a trick of his mind. In the quiet of Eximere – a quiet not often found in the city – he discovered that sometimes his brain liked to fill in the silence with some kind of noise.
Three months after Jason’s death, things were starting to get easier. Not better, just easier. It was easier to get up and face the morning than it had been those first few weeks after they’d completed their deal with Vohuman. Battling the demon had its own momentum that carried Steven forward in spite of the loss of his son. As soon as it was resolved and Steven had time to think, things became much worse. Many mornings he hadn’t made it out of bed at all.
It seemed easier for Roy to manage the routines of life during that time. Steven knew Roy was as devastated by Jason’s departure as he was, but Roy kept saying things like: “You gotta keep going, Jason would be pissed at you for spending all day in bed,” and “time will heal this, it heals all things,” but Steven just found the words hollow and ignored him.
Now, months later, it was easier to get out of bed. They’d spent a tremendous amount of time at Eximere, and it helped being so close to Jason’s grave. Steven had not tried to contact Jason yet, and wasn’t sure he ever would. Roy urged him to do it, but Steven still hadn’t figured out the right thing to say.
I swung the axe, he thought as he wrapped a robe around himself and walked out to the hallway, already brightly lit with the strange light that passed for sun at Eximere. It was still the first thought he had every morning, and it was the thing that kept him from trying to reach Jason. How do you explain to your dead son that you’re the one who killed him? How do you say ‘sorry’ for that? He walked downstairs barefoot, marveling how the warm, bright light was never so intense as to hurt his eyes, even first thing in the morning. Everything at Eximere always seemed so perfectly managed – something, somewhere, keeping James Unser’s vision going with unwaveringly consistent results.
Roy was seated on a stool in the kitchen. He had a large book opened in front of him and a steaming cup of coffee next to it.
“Morning,” Steven said as he groggily walked past his father, looking for an empty mug.
“Hilarious!” Roy said, not looking up.
“Morning is hilarious?” Steven asked sarcastically.
“I meant this book,” Roy replied, not looking up. “It’s incredible. It’s entertaining as hell!”
“That’s saying something, considering how many books you’ve gone through in that library,” Steven said, pouring himself a cup of coffee and trying to gauge the number of volumes he’d seen his father peruse since they’d discovered Eximere. The library was full of them, presumably stolen from other gifteds and locked away down here where Unser thought they’d never benefit other people with “the gift,” the ability to jump into the River and see things others could not. Most of the books had been family volumes, just like Roy’s book that went back four generations.
“This guy, he just cracks me up!” Roy said, laughing. “You know how our book is pretty straightforward? I mean, there’s a personality to each of the men who wrote in it, you can tell the differences, but for the most part they just recorded things they thought we should know, without a lot of embellishment. This guy, I think he thought he was writing for a magazine and wanted to be remembered as a heroic figure. Like this part: ‘As the creature approached, my mind raced with the many options I might employ.’ Who writes like that?”
“Any idea who it might belong to?” Steven asked. They were trying to return books to their rightful owners, usually the relatives of the person the book had been stolen from.
“Haven’t figured that out yet,” Roy said. “Been laughing my ass off reading it.”
Steven sat in a chair next to a small table. He looked at the surface, marveling at how clean it looked. I ate a bagel at this table yesterday, and I know I didn’t clean it, yet it looks as though no one has ever sat here. Maybe Dad wiped up after me? Or maybe it’s just the way things work here at Eximere…
Roy laughed again. “Oh, this guy! He’s too much!” he said, pointing to the pages of the book.
Steven wasn’t really in the mood for levity, but he wasn’t about to quash his father’s good humor. There hadn’t been much laughter in either of their lives over the past few months, and the more he listened to Roy chuckling over his book, the more Steven softened, feeling himself let go of melancholy and allowing himself a smile at Roy’s cheerfulness. It’s OK to smile, he thought. It’s not disrespectful to Jason to smile.
“Listen to this!” Roy said. “‘I mixed the elusive and delicate ingredients with my prodigious talent…’” he read, then stopped to laugh and slap the table next to him. “I mean, really! ‘Prodigious!’ Incredible!”
“Who wrote it?” Steven asked.
Roy flipped back to the beginning of the book. “Someone named Murray Herveaux VanDernberg. Even his name is preposterous. Does that sound like a real name to you?”
“Could be.”
“Sounds completely made up to me. We’ll never find this guy’s descendants. None of them would have kept such a silly name.”
“You just want to keep the book for its entertainment value,” Steven said.
“I was trying to read it in bed last night, but it kept making me laugh, keeping me up. It’s not just his style of writing. He’s got some ridiculous stories in here. Some real whoppers!”
“Can I borrow it after you’re done with it?” Steven asked, intrigued.
“As long as you return it,” Roy said, leaning forward a little and unconsciously wrapping an arm around the book to protect it from Steven. “You’re horrible about returning things. I want this back.”
“You know, you don’t personally ow
n all of the books in that library,” Steven said, standing up and walking to the coffee maker for a warm up. “Eliza and I are as entitled to look at them as you.”
“I feel a personal responsibility for these books,” Roy said. “After what happened with June, you can see how each book might literally be a bomb, waiting to go off. Tremendous care and precaution is required.”
“Be careful, or you’ll turn into Mr. VanDernberg,” Steven said.
“Bah!” Roy exclaimed, returning to his book.
“Are we going back to Seattle today?” Steven asked, sitting down at the table once again.
“Have to,” Roy said. “The utility bill is due. I have to pay it.”
“You know, you can set things up so that those bills get paid automatically,” Steven said. “You don’t have to drive a check into their office anymore.”
“I’ve driven the check to their office for forty years,” Roy said, an irritation entering his voice. “It always works. You don’t mess with what works.”
“Unless it’s better to change,” Steven replied.
“Rarely is,” Roy grumbled.
“What time do you want to head back?”
“Couple of hours?” Roy said. “There’s a few more books I still need to check.”
“Sounds fine,” Steven said. He got up and carried his mug with him as he walked out of the kitchen, through the central hallway and into the large open breezeway in the middle of the house. From there he walked to the back, choosing a padded chair on the porch. It offered a view of the yard, the large banyan tree in the distance, and the rows of graves that surrounded it. He knew exactly which one held Jason, and it drew his attention immediately, as it always did.
He sipped coffee while seated in the chair, watching the leaves of the tree rustle. Incredible, he thought. There can’t be real wind down here. Whatever keeps this place going is nothing short of marvelous.
He thought of the many objects on tables downstairs in the basement, some of them static, others active. Three projects in a side room seemed to be the most important, including the one he, Roy, and Eliza shut down many months ago, the one that made the Unser House above them such a dangerous place to be. Another of the objects seemed to be related to the first, but the third object was a complete mystery. He presumed it was keeping Eximere running, but none of them had the faintest idea how.
The many books Unser stole from gifteds seemed innocuous, quietly resting in the library inside. The objects he’d stolen from them were another matter. By reading the books, Roy had been able to determine many of the rightful heirs, but there was no way to figure out who the objects belonged to, or how the objects worked. Many of them were dangerous. Roy had been insistent that they not experiment with them unless they knew exactly what the object was and how it functioned. He’d been especially worried about a wooden matchbox that he said contained dangerous creatures, and he’d solicited promises from both Steven and Eliza that if they found such a box, they’d not touch it. As a result, Steven avoided the objects in general. He hoped they might find a guide, some kind of ledger Unser might have created when he confiscated the items that could help them determine what each object was, and whom it belonged to. So far they’d not been able to find anything helpful.
Steven closed his eyes and let himself slip into the River for a moment. It gave him the sensation of entering something that was moving – a flowing “river” of things people with the gift could see, but most people could not – and he found the sensation pleasant and distracting. In the River some things became more clear, like ghosts. Some things invisible in the tangible world became visible. Some things transformed. Some things and places didn’t change at all.
Staring into the backyard, he could see the graves of the gifteds that Unser had buried here – covered over with some kind of substance that encased them in the ground in a thick, rubbery goo, like insects trapped in amber. It was their books and objects that filled Eximere. One of those graves belonged to Steven’s great-great-great-grandfather, Thomas. Roy occasionally talked to Thomas, trancing next to the grave and using a material that lightened the goo temporarily, just long enough for a conversation. Finding Thomas had been the highlight of discovering Eximere many months ago, when they were trapped in the Unser mansion above. Now it had become their home away from home – a kind of personal resort, filled with countless mysteries and the graves of people important to them.
Steven sipped his coffee and tried to soak in as much of the peace and calm as he could. Soon they’d be back in rainy Seattle, with a different view, and in houses that required cleaning when you dirtied them. The tranquility of Eximere was a rarity in his life, and he relished it. Unser planned the perfect retirement, he thought.
◊
Steven sped his Acura as fast as he dared westbound along Highway 8. He and Roy were trying to make Cosmopolis before sundown. Huge abandoned cooling towers from never completed nuclear power plants loomed above the trees in the distance.
“You’d think a fancy car like this could go a little faster,” Roy said.
“There’s cops all over this road,” Steven replied. “I’m not going to get a ticket.”
“We need to get there before dark,” Roy said. “Dixon said the priest wouldn’t be there after dark. Or had some issue with the dark. I forget exactly.”
“A priest?” Steven said. “You didn’t tell me we’re helping a priest!”
“We’re not helping a priest,” Roy replied, “he’s helping them. We’re helping them.”
“Alright, now I’m confused,” Steven said, keeping an eye on his speed. “Start from the top.”
“When I got home, there was a message from Dixon,” Roy said. “There’s a family with house trouble out toward Westport. They’ve gone through a couple of priests. The one they’re using now phoned Dixon.”
“Gone through?” Steven asked. “Gone through priests?”
“You know, they call them in, the priests try their mumbo jumbo, and when it doesn’t work, the priest bails. Then they call in another one, because the church is the only place they know to turn to. Apparently this latest priest was aware of Dixon’s abilities.”
“Then why isn’t Dixon on his way out there, instead of us?”
“Dixon’s in Hawaii,” Roy said. “Referred the guy to me.”
“Hawaii? He sailed his boat to Hawaii?”
“I don’t know if he sailed or flew.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Steven asked, a little irritated. “Take care of Dixon’s work?”
“He asked if we’d meet with the priest,” Roy replied, “as a favor. I told him I would. Dixon’s helped us out in many a pinch, don’t forget.”
Steven sighed and watched the tall pines whiz by on either side of the road. They were so dense he felt like a slot car driver — that he could let go of the wheel, and the trees would keep him in line. He passed other cars slowly, not wanting to draw attention to his new vehicle by blowing their doors off. A brand new Acura would make a nice trophy for the speed traps up and down Highway 8.
He was sad when he parted with his Accord since he’d had it for so long. One test drive in the Acura, though, and he was ready to upgrade. He offered to buy Roy a new truck as well, but Roy declined. Roy had warned him not to get too spendy now that his bank account was flush, but the Accord was almost two decades old and Steven felt the new car was a wise investment.
He blew past the turnoff to Eximere. The road to Westport would be just a few minutes ahead.
◊
“It’s almost dark now,” Father Wynan said, standing, looking out the windows of his small rectory home in Cosmopolis. “You can go see them if you want. But I won’t go.”
Steven and Roy sat on a couch in Father Wynan’s small quarters. Steven thought the priest was nice enough, but he was obviously scared.
“Why won’t you go?” Steven asked. “I assume they’re your parishioners. And I understand they’re in need.”
&nb
sp; “Technically,” Father Wynan said, “they go to the Westport church. The priest there, Father Cannon, abandoned their case. They went to Father Thompson in Aberdeen after that. He went to the house once, and refused to do any more. When they came to me, I felt sorry for them, so I offered to do what I could. But I tell you, I’m this close,” he raised his hand and showed them a fraction of an inch between his fingers, “to giving up as well. I called Dixon because he and I have a bit of a history, and I know he has, shall we say, an ‘interest’ in these types of things.” Father Wynan released the drape on the window and returned to a chair. He was clearly nervous.
“Me? I don’t like this at all,” Wynan said, sitting. “It’s not of God and it makes me very uncomfortable.”
“Is that why you won’t go at night?” Roy asked.
“I’ve been out there four or five times,” Father Wynan replied, “every time during the day, except for the last time. I’ll never do that again. I don’t know if I’ll ever go back out there, day or night.”
“What happened?” Steven asked.
“I got sick,” he said. “First I felt an overwhelming presence in the house, something that made my hair stand up on the back of my neck. That’s a warning, you know. It means something dangerous is nearby. And then I felt it, in my stomach. I had to throw up. As soon as I was a mile away from the house, I felt a hundred percent better.”
“What about the family that lives there?” Roy asked. “They don’t get sick?”
“No, but…” he paused. “I think that perhaps they’re… used to it, in a manner of speaking. I’m not sure the things that happen there impact them the same way they impact a visitor. And I think, in the case of the little girl, she’s so far gone, nothing would impact her.”
“Gone? What do you mean?” Steven asked.
“Father,” Roy said, “it would be helpful if you’d back up and tell us everything. From the start.”
“Alright,” the priest said, taking a deep breath and leaning back in his chair. “One night I got a phone call from a woman who was very calm and polite, explaining that she wanted her home blessed. When I took her address, I saw that she was in Cannon’s parish, and I mentioned that to her, but she seemed insistent that I do it. I thought maybe she didn’t like Father Cannon. Anyway, I went to her house, and met with her family. Nice husband, two pretty girls, about nine and five years old. The husband was a little dismissive – I don’t believe he was Catholic. But she was kind and welcoming. Barbara is her name, and she asked if I would bless the house for her, as we had discussed on the phone. She said they’d just moved in a few months ago, and had neglected to have it blessed when they first arrived.
The Haunting at Grays Harbor (The River Book 8) Page 1
