Berkley Street Series Books 1 - 9: Haunted House and Ghost Stories Collection

by Ron Ripley

  “Perfect,” Shane said softly.

  “How so?” Courtney asked.

  “The raft,” Shane said, looking at her. “We’re going to inflate it, get you a life vest from the boat, and send you out a little off shore.”

  “What?” Courtney said in disbelief. “You can’t be serious?”

  “I am,” Shane said. “If you’re in the raft, you can’t be grabbed by the dead. They won’t even care. You’ll be able to use the flare gun, and someone will come and pick you up.”

  “What about you?” Courtney asked. “You can’t stay here by yourself.”

  “I have to,” Shane said. “I have to take care of Dorothy, and you need to tell whoever picks you up that it’s Amy’s fault. All of it.”

  “Do I try to tell them about the ghosts?” Courtney asked, and winced at how ridiculous it sounded even to her.

  “No,” Shane said, shaking his head. “Don’t tell them about the ghosts. Tell them how you became trapped here, and how she kept you a prisoner.”

  “Not much of a stretch there,” Courtney said bitterly.

  “No,” Shane agreed, “not much at all.”

  “And if they ask me if she killed my friends,” Courtney said, “I’ll tell them yes.”

  Shane nodded.

  “Are you going to be safe?” Courtney asked him, worry spiking through her as she looked at him.

  His face was harsh, the light of the stars and the moon etching shadows on his pale skin. “Probably not,” Shane said. “But we’ll make it work.”

  She wanted to say more, but she didn’t.

  “Alright,” Shane said softly, “let’s get this started.”

  He picked up the raft, pulled the cord, and a sharp hiss sounded as the rubber inflated rapidly. With an easy motion, he dropped it onto the opposite side of the pier, holding onto a long, nylon tether.

  Silently Courtney picked up the emergency rations and the flare gun.

  “Here,” Shane said, passing the tether to her. “Hold this for a second.”

  When she took it, Shane scrambled back onto George’s boat and came back quickly with a life vest. He helped her put it on, tightened the straps across her chest, and smiled at her.

  “As soon as you’re in the raft, I’ll pass the paddle to you. I want you to make your way about a hundred yards out. More if you can. Once you’re there, fire off the flare gun, and move out a little more, okay?” he asked.

  Courtney nodded.

  “Good,” Shane said, smiling. He took her face in his hands, looked into her eyes, and said, “Be safe. Don’t worry about me.”

  She went to nod, but he held her still, bent forward, and kissed her full and long on the lips.

  “No fear, Courtney,” he whispered. “Fear kills.”

  Shane let go, and Courtney went to get into the raft, heart beating fiercely.

  Chapter 57: Amongst the Enemy

  Only when Shane turned to walk back up the pier did he realize Courtney had left her cudgel.

  Too late, he thought grimly, picking the weapon up. He looked back at her in the bright orange circular raft. The strobe light, attached to the top by a cord, pulsed brightly in the night sky. Too dangerous to call her back.

  He shook his head at his own forgetfulness and pushed aside thoughts of her being dead because of it. With the cudgel on his shoulder, he reached the end of the pier and paused.

  I need to go back into the cellar again, Shane thought. I need to tell the children what their mother’s plan is.

  He turned to walk up and around the side of the house and saw them.

  Four men.

  One was George Fallon, whose eyes were gone. The others were the man’s friends. Both of them looked as well as could be expected, but Shane knew they had been drowned. The fourth was the man who brought Amy back to the island, and the majority of his forehead and orbital sockets were missing.

  “And where are you going?” George asked, blindly staring at him.

  “Wherever I want,” Shane replied pleasantly. “And yourselves?”

  “She wants you dead,” George answered. “It’s not fair that you’re alive, and we’re dead.”

  “You know,” Shane said, moving the cudgel off of his shoulder, “I have to say, life, in general, isn’t fair. So, I’m not particularly surprised that death isn’t fair either.”

  “You’re going to kill yourself,” one of the other men said, “whether you want to or not.”

  “Interesting statement,” Shane said. “Do you have any intention of backing that up?”

  The man who had spoken grinned maliciously and walked forward.

  Are they stupid enough to attack one at a time? Shane wondered. When the other three remained where they were, Shane grinned and said, “Thank you.”

  The approaching man paused, confused. “Why?”

  Shane swung the cudgel, full force at him, and the ghost screamed as it tore through.

  As their friend vanished, the other three men attacked.

  It came fast and hard, and though they lacked the brutality and effectiveness of the Mujahedeen he had faced in Afghanistan, the men were no less determined.

  A searing pain ripped through his left arm, and it felt as though someone was trying to tear the muscle off of his bone. Another blow struck his leg and dropped him to a knee while a third blow struck his shoulder, his fingers springing open, the cudgel falling to the ground.

  Grimacing, Shane swung his numb right hand, the iron knuckledusters causing the faceless man to vanish. An explosion of pain erupted behind his eyes, and Shane screamed angrily, lashing out with his left hand. The gauntlet made from the hinge shattered George, leaving Shane with the last ghost.

  Shane spat on the ground and looked at the man, who glared at Shane.

  “How did you do that?” the man hissed.

  “Do what?” Shane asked. “Send your little buddies away?”

  The man nodded, looking around as if he was expecting help.

  “Iron,” Shane said, grinning, the pain in his head receding. “It does a body good.”

  Before the man could respond, Shane threw himself forward, the knuckleduster passing through the man.

  Shane was left alone on the path, his body aching.

  Cellar, he told himself. Get to the cellar, and then deal with Dorothy.

  Chapter 58: Shock and Horror

  Amy was half in and out of sleep when a cold, hard slap woke her up.

  Her eyes snapped open, and she found Dorothy above her. The woman’s face was a mask of rage.

  “Who is he?” her great-grandmother roared.

  Amy scrambled backward. “Who?”

  “Shane, Shane Ryan!” Dorothy hissed, slapping Amy again.

  Amy winced, tears springing to her eyes. “I don’t know! My cousin said he had grown up in a haunted house, I had to bring him in because she offered. I couldn’t say no! Why what’s wrong?”

  “He did more than grow up in a haunted house,” Dorothy said angrily, turning away. “He knows about iron. He knows how to use it.”

  “What about iron?” Amy asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “Iron stops us,” Dorothy said. She looked back at Amy. “For the weak ones, they are wounded. Too weak to move forward and attack. The stronger we are, the quicker we recuperate.”

  “And if you were hit with iron?” Amy asked fearfully.

  Dorothy smiled grimly. “A few minutes, perhaps more. Still, it is not a pleasant experience.”

  “What are you going to do?” Amy asked.

  “About the intrepid Mr. Ryan?” Dorothy said.

  Amy nodded.

  “I’m going to kill him,” Dorothy replied. “And not quickly, either. I will drag him down to the water’s edge and drown him by inches.”

  Amy smiled and whispered, “I would like that.”

  Dorothy looked at her approvingly and left the lighthouse.

  Amy watched her great-grandmother go and wished she could watch Shane die.


  Chapter 59: A Change in Plans

  Since there was no bad weather on deck and no heavy fog for the dawn, Al didn’t feel any particular pressure in getting the patrol boat out to Squirrel Island faster than he needed to.

  Zucci was at the helm, and the rest of the boat’s crew went about their work. Harper and Kaplan sat below deck, more than likely arguing about who the Patriots were going to have start the season for defense Al scratched his right forearm compulsively, irritated he had forgotten his nicotine patches at home.

  I need to keep some in my locker, he thought.

  A sharp flare, bright red, launched up into the sky. It reached its peak and slowly arched.

  “Chief, did you see that?” Zucci called back to him.

  “Aye, Zucci,” Al said, getting to his feet. “Adjust your course, get the men on their lights.”

  The call went out over the communication system, and men and women scrambled to their lights. Sharp, powerful lights exploded from the helm, the beams crisscrossing the waves and the dark water.

  “Strobe to starboard!” someone yelled.

  All of the lights swiveled on their mounts, picked through the water and across the white-caps. A yellow life-raft could be spotted, with what looked to be a single person in it. The lights settled on the raft, and the occupant waved their arms.

  After several minutes, the boat was as close as it dared to get to the raft. The rescue team was over the side in a matter of moments, and shortly after that, they were back aboard, along with the raft’s sole occupant. A young woman, barren of makeup and looking exhausted.

  She smiled wearily, tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  Gwen Ouellette, the boat’s paramedic, came forward and did a quick, cursory exam as a rescue blanket was wrapped around the young woman.

  “She’s good, Chief,” Gwen said. “We’ll have to bring her to the hospital for a full checkup when we get in, though.”

  Al nodded and stepped forward, dropping down into a squat next to the seated woman. “Hello, miss, I’m Chief Petty Officer Al Arsenault. Can you tell me how you got out here?”

  In straightforward, clear sentences the young woman, Courtney DeSantis, told him about what happened to the people who had been aboard the yacht, A Father’s Dream. She told him about a man trapped on Squirrel Island and the woman named Amy who was there to kill him.

  Al stood up, a cold feeling in his stomach. Those who had been around Courtney looked at him.

  “Zucci,” Al said.

  “Chief?” the man asked.

  “All ahead, full speed to Squirrel Island,” Al said. “Get someone on the horn to base, have them call this in to the city’s police. We’ll do what we can when we get there.”

  “Aye aye, Chief,” Zucci said.

  Al walked over to the stairs and called down, “Kaplan!”

  “Aye, Chief!”

  “Open the weapons locker.”

  Al could feel the eyes of the crew on him, but he ignored them and turned his attention back to Squirrel Island.

  Chapter 60: On the Road

  Marie drove a little over the speed limit, not wanting to have to stop and explain to a State Trooper why she was in a rush.

  Or why I think I’m in a rush, she corrected herself. She didn’t know for a fact if either Amy or Shane were in trouble. The coincidence was a little too much for her, though.

  A missing yacht. A missing gatekeeper at a marina. No word from Amy. Silence from Shane, Marie thought. She checked her mirrors, signaled left, and went around a minivan.

  Are you overreacting? she asked herself. Are you worried something has happened to them? Are you worried they’ve made a love connection?

  Marie shook her head, chuckling. No, that’s definitely not it. More power to them. I doubt either of them is looking for more than a good time.

  With the travel lane free of the troublesome minivan, Marie got back into it.

  It’s likely nothing more than Amy having a night on the town, she thought. How many times has she forgotten her phone at home? Or even forgot to charge it? Or just plain turned it off when she’s been having a little too much fun?

  Amy was wilder than Marie would ever be, and she still couldn’t understand how the woman did it.

  Like all good cops, Marie had a scanner in her car. It was a necessity to her as much as an iPod was to the younger generation. She had the scanner turned down, but loud enough for her to hear. Occasional calls went out. Mostly the mundane, everyday chores of any police force. Moving violations. A rare report of a fight. A domestic assault call and the fear that goes with it.

  The scanner squawked as she neared the coast. Some unknown dispatcher at a Maine State Police barracks called out, “We have the Coast Guard reporting a possible 207 at Squirrel Island. I say again, the Coast Guard is reporting a possible 207 at Squirrel Island.”

  Marie stiffened as she drove. Her foot suddenly grew heavier, and the accelerator went down accordingly.

  207A, she thought numbly. Possible kidnapping.

  Marie no longer worried about the speed limit.

  Chapter 61: Changing Tides

  Amy, from her position in the lighthouse looking out the doorway, had seen the flare go up. And she had seen the lights from, what was more than likely, a Coast Guard patrol boat searching the ocean.

  She hadn’t worried about the rest. All of her great-grandmother’s plans were unraveling.

  He has to be stopped, she told herself, her thoughts ricocheting madly about her head. She won’t be able to do it alone. Not with the Coast Guard coming. Something has to be done. I have to help.

  After a great deal of struggling and wrenching of her muscles, Amy managed to get her knees up to her chest and her hands under her feet. With her hands in front of her, she was able to find a shard of the broken lantern and cut her bonds.

  Amy looked around the scattered tools left by the deceased Mike Puller, and she found a heavy pry bar. The dull blue metal was scratched and pitted, the hooked end of it sharpened to a fair edge.

  Good enough, she thought, to remove Shane’s head!

  Clutching the tool tightly in her sore and throbbing hands, Amy made her way out of the lighthouse. She looked around and listened.

  From the keeper’s house came the sound of something breaking. As though boxes were being broken into.

  The children! she thought frantically. He’s in the cellar! He’s trying to find the children. If he gets the bodies, she won’t be able to bind them here. If she can’t bind them, then all of it will have been for nothing!

  Everything will be done.

  Shaking with rage, Amy crept along to the keeper’s house and made her way to the cellar. In spite of her trembling arms, the pry bar was steady in her hands.

  Chapter 62: With the Children

  Shane wanted to weep.

  The remains of Dorothy’s children were pitifully small. He had found a folded tarp near the stairs, and he had spread it out. The last bones, those of the baby, were put with its siblings.

  “Why are you sad?” Jillian asked softly.

  “I am sad you’re dead,” Shane answered, keeping a tight rein on his tears. He brought the ends of the tarp together, picked it up, and found the load to be terribly light.

  “You don’t have to be,” Jillian said.

  Shane didn’t reply as he carried the children up the narrow stairs and into the starlight. He brought them out several feet into the yard and set them down. The wind shifted and carried with it the stink of the bodies in the shed.

  Christ, he thought, I’d forgotten about that smell.

  “I’ve had enough of you, Shane Ryan!” a woman said.

  Shane turned and saw Dorothy. She stood off to the right, far more solid than she had been before.

  “Fair enough,” Shane replied. “I’m sick of you as well.”

  “Alas,” she said, smiling wickedly, “there is nothing you can do about it.”

  “Says you,” Shane said. He cleared his throat
, spat to one side. “You look strong tonight.”

  “Stronger than I have ever been,” Dorothy sneered. “See who I have around me.”

  She gestured, and the dead appeared around her in all of their horrific glory.

  Scott and Dane, Eileen and George. Clark and the boy, Ewan. Jillian, holding a baby, and her grandfather standing beside her. And more. Perhaps another twenty or twenty-five.

  Shane didn’t bother to count them all.

  They’ll either side with me, or they won’t, he thought.

  Shane was armed only with the knuckledusters, having left the makeshift gauntlet and cudgel in the cellar. He took a single step forward and looked to Clark.

  “Why are you looking to my husband, Shane Ryan?” Dorothy asked, laughing. “He is my creature. They are all my creatures, bound to me for eternity.”

  Jillian looked at her mother and walked over to stand behind Shane.

  And her grandfather.

  And Clark.

  Ewan and others followed. The more who left her side, the fainter she became.

  Dorothy’s face grew cold and harsh.

  “This means nothing,” she snarled, left only with the newest of the dead, the naked Mike Puller and others beside her. Those too weak to break her hold on them. “I’m still here. And so are they. They’ll regret this night, mind you, and I will kill you slowly, Shane Ryan. As slow as I can.”

  “In the darkness, Dorothy?” Shane whispered.

  Her eyes widened, and her face paled.

  “No,” he said, his voice growing louder. “You’ll do nothing in the darkness. But those you murdered will.”

  “And what will they do?” she asked, a tremor in her voice. One she tried to hide beneath bravado.

  “They will give me the strength they deny you,” Shane answered.

  He crossed the short distance between them quickly.