The Haunting at Grays Harbor (The River Book 8)

by Michael Richan

  “We’re going to try!” Steven said. “We want you to be able to go back to your house.”

  “I don’t want to go back,” May said. “He sticks me with needles!” She looked like she was about to cry.

  “We won’t go back unless he’s gone,” Barbara said, reaching down to console the child. “Steven and Roy are going to see if they can make him go away for good.”

  This seemed to satisfy the little girl, and a smile returned to her face as Georgina began to play with her. Barbara stood back and walked with Steven and Roy to the door.

  “I can’t take her back there,” Barbara said. “If you could have seen how terrified she was, you’d understand. A parent can’t do that to their child. It would be like torturing her. We’re going to be in this motel until it’s solved, one way or the other.”

  “Have you all had breakfast?” Steven said. “We were just on our way out to find some. You could come along.”

  “Thanks, we ate already,” Barbara said. “The girls were up the moment their father left for work. I do wish I could join you for coffee, though. The stuff they have here tastes like dirty socks.”

  “We’ll bring some back for you,” Roy said. “How do you take it?”

  “Oh, that’s nice of you,” she said. “Black is fine.”

  “We’ll be back in a bit,” Steven said, and they left her with the girls.

  ◊

  They took Barbara and her daughters out for lunch that afternoon, but most of the day was spent killing time. They agreed not to return to Barbara’s house, having no constructive agenda until Maynard arrived, and not wanting to accidentally make anything worse. They thought about going out to Eximere, but ruled that out also, considering it more dangerous than a casual visit was worth.

  The day went slowly, with Steven imagining a broken-down Maynard at the side of the interstate somewhere between Utah and Washington, unable to get any roadside help, and unable to communicate. Each time he thought of it, he reminded himself that they’d just have to hope Maynard made it OK. It was an exercise in patience that was driving Steven crazy. There wasn’t much to do in Aberdeen, either. Looking around the place, he assumed that was why so many of Cobain’s songs were so dreary.

  The next day, Steven and Roy left the motel a little early to secure decent coffee before they met Maynard. They brought back two extra cups, one for Barbara, which they delivered, and the second for Maynard. They considered inviting Barbara to join them for the meeting, but decided instead to meet him first and find out what kind of fellow he was before introducing him to her.

  They walked into the lobby with five minutes to spare. Maynard was already there, waiting for them. As Maynard stood to greet them, Steven was surprised to see that he was small, almost six inches smaller than Roy. He was wearing an old trucker’s hat that added a few inches to his height. The cap had a logo for “Stout Motor Supply” on it, with the logo of an arm reaching through a tire, holding a wrench. He was perfectly shaven and his skin was baked to a leathery dark brown. He was wearing a short sleeve shirt that was worn so thin, Steven could see through to his undergarments. When he extended his arm to shake hands, Steven noticed mounds of curly white hair covering his forearms.

  “Hi, I’m Maynard Stout,” he said without a smile.

  Steven shook his hand. “I’m Steven, and this is my father, Roy.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Roy said, sticking out his hand.

  Maynard shook it. “Likewise.”

  “Thanks for coming all the way up here,” Steven said. “We brought you some coffee from a shop down the road.”

  Roy held out the cup to Maynard. “The stuff they have here at the motel is pretty bad,” Roy said.

  Maynard looked at the cup but didn’t take it. “Don’t drink coffee, but thanks.”

  Roy retracted the cup.

  “Let’s go out to my truck, so we can talk,” Maynard said, glancing over at the front desk clerk. He turned and left the lobby, Steven and Roy following.

  Maynard walked them to his old, white Chevy truck that was badly in need of a paint job. Steven guessed it was a 1970s model. Behind the truck, in tow, was a small storage trailer, also in need of a paint job. It looked as though it had been patched a few times. There was a thick chain wrapped through the handles of the doors on the back, and Steven saw three large padlocks at different places on the door.

  “Hope your drive up was OK,” Steven said.

  “Now that they let you go 80 through Idaho, it’s not too bad,” Maynard said. “It’s much worse if you have to go slow through Idaho. I was thinking about what you told me, as I was driving up. Dang, that coffee smells good.”

  Roy extended the cup once again.

  “Nah, thanks anyway,” Maynard said. “What worries me is why the vorghost would let it become so unstable without fixing it. We’re going to have to figure that out.”

  “Can you back up just a second?” Steven asked. “I’ve never heard of a vorghost before, and neither has my father. Can you start from the ground floor? Educate us?”

  “A vorghost is basically a ghost of a person who was gifted before they died, like you or me,” Maynard said. “They prepared to become one while they’re alive, getting things in place to create a vortex once they passed on. The vortex is like their home. It’s where they live, and it shelters them – protects them. They put a lot of time and energy into maintaining it, which is why I’m concerned about what you described. Can we go see it?”

  “The rod? In the attic?” Steven said.

  “Yes, the one you said had a broken coil?”

  “Sure,” Steven said, checking his pocket to see if he still had Barbara’s keys on him. “I’ve got the keys to her house.”

  “Hop in my truck and we’ll go,” Maynard said. “How far is it?”

  “About twenty minutes,” Roy said.

  “I’m not a coffee drinker, but maybe I’ll take that off your hands,” Maynard said to Roy, nodding at the second cup Roy was still holding. “Not fair to make you hold it all the way out there.”

  Roy extended his arm once again, and this time Maynard took the cup. He held it up under his nose.

  “Oh what the heck, I’m not in Utah,” he said, and sipped from the cup. “I trust you fellas won’t tell my Bishop.”

  “That’d be against my religion,” Roy said, grinning. Steven noticed that Maynard didn’t smile back.

  So he’s not much of a smiler, Steven thought as he climbed into the truck.

  Chapter Nine

  “What’s in the trailer?” Steven asked as they bounced on the road out to Barbara’s house. The shocks on Maynard’s truck seemed nonexistent, and every little bump in the road resulted in a jostling.

  “My supplies,” Maynard answered. “I’ve collected stuff over the years, and since every vorghost is a little different, I never know what I might need. So I cart it all. That way I’ll be sure to have it.”

  “How long have you been exterminating vorghosts?” Steven asked.

  “Oh, I don’t exterminate them,” Maynard replied. “They’re entitled to their existence. These things used to be gifteds, like you or me. It’s none of my business if they want to set up shop like this in the afterlife. Might just be the next step in our evolution, who knows. When my father died, back in 1961, he became one. I found that interesting, so I took up studying them. Kept it up, and it’s been fifty years now. I’ve developed a few techniques for dealing with them.”

  “Do you know why?” Steven asked. “Why your father became one?”

  “I think he’d had a life-long fascination with them, just like I have. And I think there’s an element of control, of wanting to have some say over what’s going to happen when you die. For most people, they don’t have a clue what’s going to happen. They cross their fingers and hope they make it to the celestial kingdom. For a gifted who’s planning on becoming a vorghost, it’s all laid out. No heaven – just a nice little vortex they can call home.”

  �
�What’s happening out at this house is anything but nice,” Roy said. “They’re terrified.” As Roy said this, Steven thought of being in Eximere, seeing Anita in the yard. The horror he felt when seeing her dark shape sent a chill down his spine, even as his spine was bouncing up and down on the road.

  “It’s part of the defense mechanism,” Maynard said. He took another sip of the coffee; Steven marveled at how he could position it at his lips and drink through the lid as the cab jolted up and down, but Maynard seemed to have some kind of simpatico with his vehicle, and he downed a gulp without spilling. “Oh my gosh, that is good, and I am sorry dear Heavenly Father, I repent!”

  “Are you Mormon?” Roy blurted out.

  “Sixth generation,” Maynard replied. “My ancestors crossed the plains in a handcart in 1847 with Brigham Young.”

  “That explains it,” Roy grumbled.

  “The vortex that a vorghost sets up normally has some built-in defenses,” Maynard continued. “Using your fears against you is one of the most common ones.”

  Steven thought about this. That might explain why my dad never saw Anita, he thought. It was my fear, not his.

  “Barbara was always seeing spiders,” Roy said. “I’ll bet she’s afraid of them.”

  “And May, their daughter, was chased by the needle man,” Steven said.

  “Little kids hate the doctor,” Roy said. “Nothing scares them more than the idea of getting a shot.”

  “Their father, seeing someone in his daughter’s room,” Steven said. “The fear that his child might be kidnapped. The guy works around convicted felons all day. Not much of a leap that he’d see someone invading his home.”

  “And the priest,” Roy said. “Fear of sacrilege.”

  “Very common,” Maynard said. “I had a fear of the dark. Not a dark room, mind you, but total darkness. A blackout. That’s what it used to do to me. Made it gosh darn hard to move around. Used to scare the piss out of me.”

  “So what is this rod, exactly?” Roy asked as they pulled up to the house.

  Maynard got out of the truck and looked at the structure. “It’s one of several anchor points, used to define the physical location of the vortex,” he said as he walked toward the front door. Steven used the keys to open it and they stepped inside.

  “Rods are very rare and expensive,” Maynard continued as they walked into the ground floor hallway. “It’s one of the most prized possessions of a vorghost, because without it, their vortex can’t exist. They’re very protective of it, because they know it’s one of their biggest vulnerabilities – something physical that can be fiddled with by humans who don’t know what they’re doing. That’s why all the defense mechanisms – to keep people away from them.”

  “Did we mention that the little girl touched it?” Roy said. “Yesterday, before we talked to you. It’s what drove them out of the house.”

  Maynard paused, listening. He looked down the hallway and back up it. Then he looked at the ceiling. He motioned for Steven and Roy to wait, while he walked further down the hall and into the kitchen. After a few minutes he came back.

  “You know that she touched it?” Maynard asked. “For sure?”

  “She said she did,” Steven replied. “And Barbara said things got worse.”

  “If things were worse, we’d be seeing things right now,” Maynard said. “You two see anything unusual?”

  “No,” Steven said, “I don’t. But the rod is upstairs, in the attic.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Maynard replied. “If she touched it, it would have set off an alarm, and the vorghost would be defending it by amplifying the fear. I’m not sensing anything. Doesn’t make sense. Lead the way to the rod, please. If its defenses are down, let’s take advantage of that.”

  Steven led the others to the third floor, and used the hook to pull down the ladder to the attic. They all ascended, and once inside, Steven led Maynard to the knee wall where the sliding panel was still retracted. Maynard approached the small space and looked at the rod, examining it closely.

  “Surprised it’s working at all,” Maynard said. “Must have a strong power source.”

  “Can you shut it down?” Steven asked.

  “Let’s back up a minute,” Maynard said. “This rod is part of the construction of the vortex. There are at least two more, somewhere. They define the vortex, and are part of the structure that maintains it. You can’t just shut down one of these things. You have to shut them all down at once, if that’s even the right thing to do. I don’t know yet.”

  “If this rod defines the physical location of the vortex,” Roy said, “then what is it doing here? In Barbara’s attic?”

  “That’s a good point,” Maynard said. “It certainly doesn’t belong here. My guess is it got damaged somehow, and it moved. These rods can go through anything. Has it moved while you’ve been working on this?”

  “Yes, it used to be over there,” Steven said pointing. “It shifted when a ghostbuster outfit sent some kind of electrical pulse through the house a couple of days ago.”

  “That wouldn’t affect a normal rod,” Maynard said. “But a damaged rod like this, I can see it pushing it around a bit.”

  “Let me see if I have this straight,” Roy said. “This rod belonged with a group of others, presumably somewhere nearby. It became damaged, and the damage caused it to move. It wound up here in Barbara’s attic, further pushed along when the ghostbusters used their equipment. Do I have this right?”

  “It’s a good working theory,” Maynard said. “I like it.”

  “If this is a prized possession of a vorghost,” Steven said, “why hasn’t it come and taken it back?”

  “That’s what I don’t know,” Maynard said. “We’ll have to figure that out. Every vortex I’ve ever seen has a powerful vorghost behind it, inside it, running it. They build it, then they maintain it. It’s what keeps them alive. When something goes wrong, they fix it, or they get people to fix it for them. If someone touches one of their rods, they defend it. This one here seems completely abandoned. If that little girl touched it yesterday, we should all be swimming in hallucinations right now. We’ll need to find the vorghost behind this rod, and see why it isn’t on the job.”

  “How will we do that?” Roy asked. “Search nearby?”

  “Yup,” Maynard said, heading for the ladder. “Come on, let’s do some scouting around.”

  They followed Maynard down the ladder and back through the house, loading back into his truck. He started it up.

  “We want to look for a house that’s abandoned,” Maynard said as they drove to a road deeper in the housing area. “It’ll look boarded up. I expect it won’t be too far from the rod, but who knows. Maybe behind their house. Somewhere close.”

  “The houses here are a good ways apart,” Steven commented. “Not stacked on top of each other.”

  “A vorghost would like this type of setup,” Maynard said. “Plenty of space, no close neighbors.”

  Maynard traveled the long block and turned down the next road that ran parallel to the street Barbara’s house was on. He slowed as they approached the first house, which looked occupied – cars out front, an RV parked by the side of the house.

  “Not that one,” Roy said. Maynard accelerated a little until they came to a house further down the road, on the other side of the street.

  “Now, look at that!” Steven said as they approached it. The windows were all covered with old plywood that had turned dark grey.

  “Bingo,” Maynard said, pulling his truck and trailer right into the house’s driveway, which was covered in weeds. He turned off his truck and jumped out, walking up to the front porch of the house.

  “You think this is it?” Steven asked.

  “It’s in there,” Maynard said. “We’re inside the vortex right now. Can’t you feel it?”

  Steven looked up at the house. It loomed over him, silent and ominous. Even though it was a bright, crisp morning, things seemed shadowy and concealed, as th
ough the house was hiding something.

  “I feel nervous,” Steven said. “Like something bad will happen if we go in.”

  “That’s the vortex,” Maynard said. “That’s what it does when it’s working right. I would expect it to feel stronger, but the weakness is probably due to the errant rod.” Maynard walked off the front porch and around to the side of the house. “Come on, we’re going in.”

  Steven and Roy followed Maynard as he circled the house, looking for a way inside. He tugged at the plywood on several of the windows, but they held firm. Several large pieces had been secured over a back door, attached with dozens of large wood screws. Someone had scratched the words “Murder Marie” into the plywood with something sharp.

  “Wonder what that means,” Steven said.

  “No way we’re getting through that,” Maynard said. He finished circling the house, back at the front porch. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Usually there’s a way in through the back. Something hidden. I can’t see any way in, unless it’s through one of those upper windows, in which case we’d need a ladder.”

  Roy walked to the front door and tried the handle. It turned, and the door swung in.

  “Didn’t think of that!” Maynard said, running up onto the porch. “Good thinking!”

  “I’m guessing the front door to a house haunted by a vorghost isn’t usually left open like this?” Roy asked.

  “Highly unusual,” Maynard said, peeking inside. “We’re not dealing with a normal vorghost. Come on, let’s get some flashlights.”

  Maynard led them back to his storage trailer. He retrieved a set of keys from his pocket, and began the process of removing the several locks on the back of it, carefully unwinding the large chain.

  When the doors finally opened, Steven saw a wooden workbench at the back and rows of metal cabinets lining the sides, secured to the trailer’s walls so they wouldn’t tip over as it traveled. Maynard stepped up into the trailer and opened one of the cabinets. He pulled out two old metal flashlights that looked as if they were made in the ’60s. He turned each of them on, checking that they worked, and handed one to Roy. Then he grabbed a couple of items from another drawer and stuffed them into his pockets. Steven couldn’t make out what the objects were, but he wasn’t as concerned about the objects as he was about not having his own flashlight. Maynard closed up the trailer doors, and reattached one of the locks.