Servants of Darkness (Thirteen Creepy Tales)

by Mark Edward Hall

  “What kind of a ghost story is it?” little David asked his grandmother.

  The old woman’s eyes sparkled. “It’s special,” she told the boy. “It’s about a special bond between two people . . . a bond and a friendship that will never, ever be lost.”

  The boy pouted. “I want it to be scary,” he said.”

  “Oh, it’s scary,” the woman solemnly replied. “Like all ghost stories should be. Anything beyond our understanding is sort of scary, in a way. Don’t you think?”

  David nodded. Frannie sighed in resignation.

  The old woman sat back in her creaking chair and a long contemplative sigh escaped her. “Let me see,” she said. “Where to begin.” Her eyes became a little unfocused and a small smile softly kissed her rouged lips, a sure sign that she had been transported back in time to the world of her younger years. Her mouth finally opened and the story began to unfold.

  “It was 1918, and the Great War was raging in Europe. I remember it like it was just yesterday. Spring set in that year wetter and colder than any spring in recent memory. We were living on Elm Street then, in the town of Topsham—in the old Coombs place—keeping the woodstoves stoked up and trying as best we could to stay warm.

  “On April 12th the biggest Nor’easter of the new century buried most of New England under eighteen inches of heavy, wet snow. The roof on the old Franklin Mill collapsed under the weight of it, killing half a dozen workers outright, and sending another three-dozen to the hospital. Terrible tragedy it was. And for the next three weeks following the Franklin Mill collapse the spring melt set up by that freak storm went about the task of transforming the whole countryside into the biggest pit of mud anyone had ever seen. The river rose above its banks that year, taking out the railroad bridge between James Village and Topsham and drowning out half the cellars on Elm Street. Henry Ives got swept up in it trying to get his smelt camp off and was carried downstream. Poor dear was never seen again. He never should have waited that late in the season to take his shack off the ice. Henry was a good man but he had a lazy streak and it ended up being his demise.

  “So all-in-all it was a terrible spring. The old-timers said it was the worst flooding since the spring of 1888, the year I was born. I should have taken all those terrible happenings as an omen of things to come, I suppose. But I didn’t. I was terribly naïve back then. I believed that nothing could penetrate the insulated life I had so successfully constructed around myself. You see, it was only a week later that I saw the vision of Jimmy above my bed and the very next day the letter arrived from the war department. I’ll never forget the way I felt when I saw that postmark. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself here. I should go back and explain the events leading up to that day in April of 1918, the day of the coming home party.

  Like I said, the Great War was raging over in Europe, and Jimmy Coombs, your grandfather’s son by his first wife Elizabeth had joined up for the cause. We were all mightily sad about it but knew in our hearts that it was a duty that could not be denied. Patriotism was in everybody’s hearts then, and it was such a good feeling to put God and country first.

  “I’d married Jimmy’s father in the summer of 1907, and at that time your own father was twenty whole years away from being born. Can you imagine it? Earl, your grandfather, was my schoolmaster and I’d fallen head over heels in love with him in the summer of my seventeenth year. It was the same year I graduated from high school. He was such a handsome, gentle man, so kind, and so romantic. We courted for two whole years before I finally allowed him to take my hand. We were married in the spring of that year. He was forty-nine and I was nineteen. It was the most scandalous thing that had ever happened in the little town of Topsham, and the tongues were wagging something fierce. It was all such good fun. There was a wonderful kind of magic in the air back then.

  “Earl already had a whole passel of kids from his first wife Elizabeth who’d died in 1905 from consumption. Most of those kids were older than me. Jimmy was the next to the youngest and my age. We’d been to school together and had become close friends years before I ever fell in love with his father.

  “Jimmy never married. I’m not sure why. He could have if he’d wanted to. He was very popular with all the ladies. There were at least half a dozen as far as I know vying for his attention. Perhaps he just hadn’t settled on the right one yet. Lord knows he was just as handsome as his father. As handsome as your father is today.

  “There could have been other reasons, too, I suppose. Jimmy was a complex man. There was this restlessness inside him that drove him beyond the realm of ordinary men. He was an adventurer, and he had style. He kept a room at his father’s house but he stayed there infrequently. Usually he was off somewhere in the world climbing a mountain, trekking through a jungle or rafting down some great wilderness river. I remember once reading an article in the Boston Globe that told about Jimmy Coombs and his courageous climb to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro. And you know, he never bragged about his conquests. That was one of his charms. We were all so proud of him. Jimmy Coombs was, indeed, the hero of Elm Street.

  “And true to Jimmy’s style, when America joined The Great War he was among the first to volunteer.

  “What you have to understand is, the world was different back then. I believe it was a better place to live in at that time in history. Even with all the heartache and tragedy of war it was better. You’ll never convince me otherwise. It’s one of those things I suppose I’ll never be able to explain properly. You would have to have lived in those times to understand the magic. There was more mystery then, more adventure. Great discoveries were being made every day. The ancient world was being uncovered in Egypt. Aviators were attempting trans-continental flight. Men were climbing great mountains and there was a race on to conquer the South Pole. The world was shrinking by degrees, and still, there weren’t any paved roads, no television sets. People around here were more innocent, and more neighborly. If someone got sick—like that time Elmer Hall broke his back pulling stumps out in Job Fosters wood lot with Betsey, that cantankerous old draft horse of his—people came from miles around to the Grange Hall with their covered dishes to help. Everybody pitched in all summer long to pay for Elmer’s operation down in the big city of Boston. Folks just did what they had to do then, and were proud of it. We took care of our own. Today the world is too impersonal. Neighbors don’t help neighbors like they did then. The world did, indeed, grow smaller, but through it all, people somehow seemed to grow apart. I don’t understand how that happened. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. It makes me sad to have lived to see those changes.

  “But in 1918 I hadn’t yet reached the ripe old age of thirty, and most of life’s triumphs and tragedies were still to come. I remember my life stretched out ahead of me like the blank pages of an unwritten book.

  “So, a full year before the incident at the coming home party and only a couple days before he left for the war, Jimmy and I were upstairs in his room talking, and he was telling me about the new motorcycle he’d bought. As I’ve already stated, Jimmy didn’t stay at home much but when he did we always managed to get together for some good conversation. He was such a wonderful, generous man, so rich with life and possibilities. He always made time to be my friend, and I’ll love him forever for that.

  “Our psychic bond began as a game, back in our school days, before we realized there was a serious side to it. We both soon discovered, however, that our psychic link—our ability to communicate beyond the physical—was no game. It was a unique gift, something we couldn’t even begin to understand, so we treated it with a quiet kind of reverence. Meaning that we didn’t broadcast it around. Folks back then would have called us romantic, or even crazy. So it remained a private thing, and we guarded our wonderful secret vehemently.

  “And during those long periods when Jimmy was away our thoughts and emotions would sometimes cross. I can’t explain what magic caused it to happen. Only God knows the answers to such questions. I believe it was
a way for Jimmy and me to keep the doors of communication between us open. Writing wasn’t always possible, you see, considering the lack of post offices in the exotic places he usually traveled.

  “When he came home, the first thing he would say was, ‘Lulu, tell me where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing?’

  “I think he would do it just to confirm in his own awe struck mind the fact of our special bond. And more times than not I would get it right.

  “‘Lulu, you’re a miracle,’ Jimmy would say and then he would embrace me fondly. We spent an awful lot of time together during those stays at home. I don’t suppose I can explain it properly without making it sound like more than it actually was. We loved each other, yes, and I’m proud of it, but I want to stress here that it was different from the romantic love your grandfather and I shared. That’s really all I have to say on the subject. Love is a complex thing and in the end only God can sort out the details. Your grandfather was a kind and patient man. He knew Jimmy and I had been close since childhood and I don’t believe he ever suspected any hanky-panky. It wasn’t in his nature. He needn’t have worried anyway because Jimmy’s and my relationship was so special we never would have let anything like a little hanky-panky spoil it.

  “Now, as I was saying, Jimmy and I were up in his room. I was sitting cross-legged on his bed and Jimmy was sitting on the edge with his feet resting on the floor. He was telling me that he’d gone over to Lewiston to that new motorcycle dealership and he’d bought himself a brand spanking new Harley Davidson motorcycle.

  “‘It’s a shiny black one,’ he said, ‘with these big sweeping handlebars that look like the horns of a mountain goat. Wait till you see it Lulu. It’s got wire-spoke wheels and leather saddlebags. It’s a real beauty.’

  “I swear, Jimmy’s eyes were sparkling like a kid in a candy store.

  “‘I’m going to leave it at the dealership while I’m away, and pick it up on the day I return from the war,’ he said. ‘That’s how you’ll see me first, Lulu. I’ll be riding that big black motorcycle machine.’

  “I felt a little bit sad then. I’m not sure why. Jimmy was a brave man, but if you want the truth I think he was a little bit scared at the prospect of going off to war. What man wouldn’t be? The papers were full of the atrocities of The Great War. What a terrible thing it was. Some of the world’s finest young men were falling in the name of freedom. And Jimmy knew that, and he also knew that he might not be coming home, and I believe that motorcycle was like a lucky charm or a talisman to him. A bright and shining thing for him to focus on in those months he would be gone. The unspoken reality of the great war was that a lot of men didn’t come home, and I suppose buying that machine and leaving it here to savor, to dream about on those cold and endless nights was Jimmy’s own way of mortgaging a little piece of his own future. I leaned forward and hugged him then and cried and I did not want to let him go.

  “But it mattered not. He left two days later. It was May 7, 1917, and within a month the letters began to arrive. We would all sit around the table after supper, Earl, me and the children, and Earl would read Jimmy’s letters to us. Jimmy was a diplomat and he rarely put anything bad in them, not wanting to frighten the children, I suppose. But I could sense an underlying tone of despair in those letters.

  “And at night I began having these dreams. It was Jimmy’s and my psychic bond at work. I began picking up images from him. And none were very pretty. Most were images of trench warfare at its most gruesome. I could sense his emotions, his fear, his courage, his hunger and cold, and the worst emotion of all; loneliness. And I felt so helpless. And eventually, over the course of several months, those images began to overtake my life. Night after night they would haunt my dreams. I never told Earl. Through it all I did my best to be a good wife and mother. But it was oh, so hard. The images were so draining. I was so afraid for Jimmy’s life. I began to secretly curse the power that caused them. Why did I have to be blessed with such a terrible burden?

  “Well, this went on throughout that long year of 1917 and into 1918, without letup. Somehow I managed to keep my wits about me. I wrote Jimmy once a week and filled him in on all the neighborhood gossip, updated him on his father’s activities and told him what was happening with the children. But I never told him about the visions I was picking up. I didn’t want him to lose focus and get careless. I desperately wanted Jimmy to come home.

  “And then, on March 15, 1918 we received the letter from the War Dept. We all stood in silent agony while Earl took the letter opener and slowly began slicing his way up the side of that envelope.”

  “The storm’s getting worse outside, ma,” Frannie interrupted. “I sure wish Dan would call. I’d feel a whole lot better.”

  “Phone lines are probably all down, Fran. Why don’t you go check?”

  “I’d better put some wood in the stove anyway,” Frannie said dropping her knitting beside her and getting up. “Anybody for hot chocolate?”

  A strong chorus of excited yes’s erupted from the children.

  Frannie went over to the cubby beside the kitchen counter, picked up the phone and listened.

  “Finish the rest of the story, Gram,” Eddie said.

  “When your mother comes back with the hot chocolate I will. Why don’t you children go see if she needs a hand?”

  Maggie and Eddie got up and scrambled for the kitchen.

  Frannie put the phone down again. “Ma, you were right,” she called from across the room in a small defeated voice. “Lines are down. Damn,” she cursed under her breath.

  “It don’t sound like no ghost story to me,” David said dourly. He was still sitting cross legged on the floor at his grandmother’s feet frowning severely.

  “You’re such a serious little boy, David,” Gram Coombs said fondly. “You keep that up and I swear you’ll have crow’s feet around those eyes of yours before you’re ten years old.”

  David giggled. Gram tousled his hair.

  Frannie filled the teakettle with water and put it on the back burner. She picked up a length of stove-wood and lifted the front plate with the hand iron. In the next instant, she let out a strangled little scream, jumped back and dropped the plate. It landed on the stovetop with a loud metallic clatter.

  “Lord of Jerusalem, Frannie,” Gram said jumping from her chair and hurrying over to the younger woman. “Did you burn yourself?”

  Frannie had backed away from the stove a couple of steps and was looking at it as if it contained a demon. “No,” she said, her eyes huge and staring.

  “Well, what is it then?”

  The children had gathered around their mother. They were looking up at her with fear and uncertainty glistening in their eyes. Outside a strong gust of wind rocked the two hundred year old colonial house.

  “Oh, it was nothing,” Frannie said finally. “Just my own silliness. I think this storm’s got me spooked. You know, for a moment I . . . I thought I saw a face in the flames. It startled me, that’s all. I guess I’m just being silly.”

  “Yeah,” Eddie said with a nervous little laugh. “Silly. Mom’s silly.”

  The phone dinged. Everybody jumped. Frannie picked it off the cradle and listened. “Just the wind on the lines,” she said softly. Outside a gust moaned along the eves of the house and fluted low discordant notes into the rain gutters.

  The teakettle began to sing loudly. “Okay,” Frannie said. “I think we ought to get back to the hot chocolate and Gram’s story. What does everybody say?”

  Another chorus of excited yes’s erupted from the children.

  A nervous little look passed between Frannie and Gram.

  “Now, where was I?” Gram asked after everybody had settled back into their respective places, mugs of steaming hot chocolate in hands.

  “Grandpa Coombs was opening the letter from the war department, Gram,” Maggie reminded her. “And you were all so scared.”

  “Oh of course,” Gram said.

  “We just knew what it was g
oing to say and there was apprehension in our hearts and tears in our eyes even before the letter opener was halfway up the seam. Well, Earl finally fumbled it open and began to read aloud. It said that Jimmy had been wounded at Somme, that his injuries were serious but not life-threatening. The cold weather and wet, muddy conditions had, however, complicated things and he’d contracted pneumonia. He was resting in a field hospital somewhere near the front and was expected to make a full recovery. Earl, the kids and I grabbed hold of one another then and did a circle dance around the kitchen, tears of joy now spilling from our eyes.

  “After the shock of happiness had warn off Earl went back to the letter. It thus stated that Jimmy had been wounded while saving the lives of fellow soldiers and that he had been decorated for valor. We were all so proud. Jimmy Coombs truly was the hero of Elm Street.

  “Almost two weeks passed without a word, and finally, on April first we got a letter from Jimmy stating that he was being discharged from the Army and that he would be arriving home on April the twenty-first. There was no explanation beyond that. I don’t have to tell you how happy we were.

  “Well, I wrote him back—not having any idea whether the letter would arrive in time or not—and told him we were planning a coming home party for him and that if the weather permitted we would take the party out into the back yard and we would see him there on the twenty-first. And that was the last word we got until we all saw him the day he came home.

  “Well, the very next night and exactly two weeks before the coming home party, I had a vision. It was the strongest vision I’d had the whole winter. I awoke in the night and Jimmy was standing at the foot of our bed, and he said, “‘Lulu, on the day of the party I want you to go out back, open the barn door and fashion a ramp up into the barn. I’d like to surprise everyone at the party with a grand entrance.’