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

by Ron Ripley

  A little girl stood against the house. Beside her was a boy, who looked to be only a few years older. Both of them smiled at her, and neither expression was pleasant.

  Courtney twisted around to face them, walking backward nervously.

  “I’m leaving,” Courtney whispered.

  “I don’t want you to leave,” the little girl said, and Courtney recognized the voice.

  “Eloise,” Courtney said, clearing her throat nervously. “Eloise, I have to go. I’ll be back later when Shane is home.”

  “Maybe you’ll be here when he gets home,” Eloise responded.

  “Perhaps you could stay for a longer time altogether?” the boy asked.

  “Thaddeus has a wonderful idea, don’t you agree, Courtney?” Eloise asked.

  Courtney shook her head. “No, I don’t think it’s a good idea at all.”

  Eloise and Thaddeus separated, Eloise on the left and Thaddeus on the right. With each step, the distance between them grew. Courtney had a difficult time keeping an eye on them both. She continued to walk backward, reaching out with a hand to make sure she didn’t bump into her car.

  “Shane and I had a tea party,” Eloise said.

  “Did you?” Courtney asked politely, her mouth uncomfortably dry.

  “We did,” Eloise said, nodding. “Except he didn’t drink tea. Oh no. He drank whiskey.”

  The dead child’s pronunciation of the word was harsh and cruel. In that one word Courtney heard a promise of pain and misery.

  Fear, which she had managed to control on Squirrel Island, overwhelmed her. Courtney turned her back on the children, sprinting for the driveway. But she was already there.

  Her knee slammed into the wheel well of her car, and she shrieked in agony. Blood instantly soaked her capris and it felt as though her kneecap had been sheared off.

  Damn it! She thought. Instead of trying to get around to the driver’s side Courtney grabbed hold of the passenger side handle and ripped the door open.

  A cold weight slammed into the small of her back and slammed her into the car. She hit her injured knee and let out a howl as the pain exploded in her leg again. Courtney climbed across the interior, trailing a smear of blood behind her. Grunting with the exertion, Courtney got into the driver’s seat as the passenger side door was slammed closed with enough force to shake the car.

  She jammed the key into the ignition and started the ignition. In a heartbeat she had the car in gear, and the tires squealed as she raced out of the driveway.

  Chapter 47: Escaping Griswold

  Gordon literally sat on Donnie to keep the man still.

  Abel had lingered nearby for some time. Shane could tell the murderer suspected Donnie was near, but the storm which fueled the ghost also hid his prey from him.

  Finally, after a disturbingly long time, Abel had moved on, still calling out to Donnie.

  “Next time,” Gordon hissed, getting off of Donnie, “I swear I will cut your throat.”

  Horrified, Donnie looked from Gordon to Shane.

  Shane shook his head. “First rule of hiding, don’t make any noise.”

  “You don’t understand,” Donnie began.

  The matching expressions on Shane and Gordon’s faces silenced Donnie. The trooper looked around nervously before asking, “Can we get out of here?”

  “Yes,” Gordon answered. “It’ll be a little harder now with him looking for you.”

  “We won’t be able to use our lights,” Shane added. “Best bet will be for all of us to move, hand on shoulder, front to back. Gordon?”

  The older man nodded. “I’ll take point. Do you have the back?”

  “Yes,” Shane said. “You’re the monkey in the middle, officer. You keep your right hand on Gordon’s right shoulder. I’ll keep my left hand on your left shoulder. Fair enough?”

  Donnie nodded.

  “Well,” Gordon said, “no time like the present.”

  They quickly got in line, and Gordon led off. He kept a steady pace, and their footsteps made Shane wince.

  We're too loud, Shane thought. He felt Donnie tremble beneath his hand. And he’s too afraid.

  It took longer than Shane remembered to get to the brook. When they reached it, there was a collective sigh of relief.

  “This is the easy part,” Gordon said softly. “We follow the water to Lake Charles. Once we’re on the beach, Donnie, my house is off to the left.”

  “Okay,” Donnie whispered. “Follow the water.”

  Whatever steel was in the man before, Shane thought, it’s been broken. He’s done in.

  Gordon went into the water first. Donnie and Shane followed. The rain and noise of the brook hid the sound of their passage, and Shane relaxed. He listened to the forest as best he could. Someone yelled in the distance, and the sound sent a bolt of fear through him.

  Abel, Shane thought. The man had realized his prey had slipped away.

  The memory of the shelves of shoes flashed through his mind, and Shane pushed the image away. He knew what would happen if they were caught.

  Shane focused on his steps. Left, right, left, he thought. He ignored the water as it sloshed in his shoes. Keep your ears open. Eyes wide, boy. Don’t relax. You’re not safe. Not until you’re out of Griswold.

  Donnie slowed down, and Shane prodded him with the shotgun. The shriek Donnie let out caused Shane’s eyes to widen.

  In the distance, Abel Latham let out a howl of pure joy.

  Shane heard Gordon break into a run, and Shane unceremoniously slapped Donnie in the head.

  “Run, moron!” Shane screamed.

  Donnie ran.

  Abel’s laughter echoed off the trees, ringing out proudly in the night air. The rain increased while thunder and lightning bracketed the ghost’s ecstatic cries.

  Shane’s feet slammed into stones and branches, yet somehow he kept his balance. Donnie stumbled repeatedly in front of him, and each time he slowed down Shane hit him.

  “Have you found friends, little one?” Abel called out, his voice far too close.

  Angrily, Shane adjusted his grip on the shotgun, found the switch for the flashlight and turned it on. He skidded to a stop, swung the weapon up and to the right in time to catch sight of Abel Latham cresting a bank.

  “And who are you?” Abel asked happily.

  “Shane,” Shane answered, and he fired both barrels. And Abel Latham vanished as the salt struck him.

  Chapter 48: On the Beach

  The roar of a shotgun woke Henry up. Instantly, he flung the door to his pickup open, and he tumbled out. He had his pistol drawn, the safety off. The lights had flicked on, and his shadow followed him as he ran around the side of Gordon’s house.

  Beach, Henry thought. He sprinted down a narrow path, reached the sand and looked around. Far to the left, he saw a trio emerge from the woods. They staggered out onto the beach and moved towards him.

  Henry jogged forward and recognized Donnie, Shane, and Gordon. He flicked the safety back on and came to a stop.

  “What the hell happened?” Henry asked, looking at Donnie and unable to keep the shock out of his voice.

  Donnie looked old. Far older than he had been only a few hours earlier. There were lines around the man’s mouth, and his eyes darted about fearfully.

  Gordon spat on the ground and walked by him. Shane broke open the shotgun, pulled a pair of spent casings out, and dropped them in his pocket.

  “This idiot,” Shane snarled, his voice filled with hatred, “almost got us all killed.”

  Donnie winced and whispered, “I was afraid.”

  “No shame in being afraid,” Gordon said angrily. “None at all. Been afraid a whole lot. But you don’t scream like a little girl. I’m going inside for a drink. Maybe two. Hell, maybe a whole damned six pack.”

  “What happened?” Henry said.

  Shane’s voice quivered with rage as he told Henry everything that had happened since he left, including how Donnie’s scream had led Abel Latham back to the
three of them.

  “The shotgun stopped him?” Henry asked, surprised.

  “Yeah,” Shane said. “He’s probably madder than hell right now. And when we go back in, he’ll recognize me for sure. If I die, I can guarantee I’ll be coming back to find Donnie here, and the rest of his short life will be absolutely miserable. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get drunk with Gordon. Hopefully drunker.”

  Shane walked past them, leaving Henry with Donnie.

  They stood in silence for a short time. Finally, Henry said, “You lied to me, Donnie.”

  Donnie didn’t reply.

  “You could have been killed.”

  Donnie looked at him, his expression one of sheer exhaustion. In a hoarse voice, Donnie said, “I thought I could take him. I mean all this crap about ghosts. I thought I could handle it. I’m a cop. I should have been able to handle him.”

  Henry shook his head. “There’s a reason why I wanted to bring Shane in. He knows a little more than us.”

  “He’s a punk,” Donnie muttered.

  “Doesn’t matter what we think of him,” Henry said sharply. “The thing is he knew what he was talking about. He had a plan. I don’t like that he went off with Gordon. But they went in together. You went in alone.”

  Donnie looked down at the beach.

  “And he’s right,” Henry continued. “Abel’s going to recognize him. What’s worse, Donnie, is that Abel’s going to be expecting something now.”

  “What?” Donnie asked, surprised.

  Henry nodded. “Think about it. You went in there and you challenged him. Then, when he finds you again, you’re with a guy who’s got a shotgun loaded with rock-salt. He knows someone is after him. He knows to be looking for us.”

  “Do you really think so?” Donnie asked.

  “Yeah,” Henry said. He shook his head. “Come on. Rain’s letting up, and we’re both soaked now. Let’s get in and warm up a bit. Figure out what’s next.”

  Henry turned away and behind him, Donnie said, “I know what’s next.”

  “Oh yeah?” Henry asked, walking towards the house.

  “Bye, Henry,” Donnie said.

  Henry turned around in time to see Donnie put the barrel of a snub-nosed .38 into his own mouth.

  “Donnie!” Henry yelled, but the sound of the pistol drowned him out.

  Chapter 49: Out for a Walk

  Gerald maneuvered along the sidewalk with the help of a cane and Turk’s patience. Occasionally, the German Shepherd looked back at him as if to say, Hey Gerry, technically, I’m older than you are. If you do the math.

  “I’m moving as fast as I can,” Gerald said to the dog. Turk’s ears twitched, as if in disbelief, but he made sure his pace matched that of Gerald’s.

  “What was that?” Marie asked.

  Gerald smiled at his niece. “Sorry, Marie. I was replying to Turk’s disdainful glance.”

  Marie chuckled and shook her head. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were losing your mind, my dear uncle.”

  Gerald chuckled and the three of them continued on their walk. He looked around as they moved along the sidewalk.

  The sun had set, and the lights on Berkley Street were lit. Porches were absent of people, although the curious glow of television sets flickered behind the windows. Gerald sighed and shook his head.

  Such beautiful weather and no one is outside enjoying it, he thought.

  They neared Shane’s house and looked at it sadly. Gerald had hoped Shane and Marie would have been more than friends. Shane’s home was still an oddity, a structure avoided by most people in the neighborhood.

  “Do you think they know why?” Gerald said suddenly.

  Marie glanced over at him. “Do I think who knows what?”

  “The people around here,” Gerald said, pausing. He gestured at the other houses with his cane. “Do you think they know why they avoid the house? Even those who don’t know anything about the building, or its history, they don’t walk by it. I’ve seen people cross the street to avoid it. I’m curious if they know why.”

  “Probably not,” Marie said. “In fact, most people don’t notice anything outside their immediate circle.”

  Someone shrieked and both Gerald and Marie looked to the opening of Shane’s driveway. Turk’s ears perked up and a low growl emanated from his throat. Within a few seconds a car door slammed shut, an engine started, and a small, black car tore out of Shane’s driveway.

  It raced by them, and Gerald was able to catch sight of a young woman, her face a portrait of panic and fear.

  “Who was that?” Gerald asked, more to himself than looking for an answer.

  “Her name’s Courtney DeSantis,” Marie said.

  “Do you think something’s wrong with Shane?” Gerald said, glancing at his niece.

  “No,” Marie answered. “I think she may have gotten an introduction to Shane’s ghosts.”

  “Yes,” Gerald said, nodding. “I think you’re right.”

  He began to walk again, Turk’s tail wagging cheerfully. Marie kept her pace slow. They looked at Shane’s home and saw lights on in the first floor.

  “So,” Gerald said, smiling at Marie, “how have you been getting along with Shane?”

  Marie shook her head, laughing. “Oh leave it be, Uncle Gerry.”

  “I can’t,” he said, grinning. “I like you both. Therefore I think you would be good for each other.”

  “We’re about as good as oil and water,” Marie said with a sigh.

  “I am sorry to hear it,” Gerald said.

  Marie glanced back at Shane’s house and said softly, “So am I, Uncle Gerry.”

  Chapter 50: In the Early Hours

  “I’ve seen too many cops in the past few days,” Shane said, holding his glass out to Gordon. The older man uncapped the bottle of bourbon and poured a healthy dose of the amber liquid.

  “At least they’re not looking at you for Donnie’s suicide,” Gordon replied, adding liquor to his own glass. He left the cap off as he put the bottle down on the table.

  “True.” Shane took a drink, his eyes widening. “Damn, that’s good.”

  Gordon nodded. “I don’t buy the cheap stuff.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  The back door opened, and Henry walked in. With a sigh, he dropped down heavily into an empty seat at the table. Henry looked at both of them before he said, “They’re gone now.”

  “All of them?” Gordon asked.

  “Yeah,” Henry replied tiredly. He frowned at the glasses in their hands. “It’s four in the morning.”

  “So?” Shane asked politely.

  “Shouldn’t you stop drinking?” Henry said, anger creeping over his face.

  “I don’t see any reason to,” Gordon said. “We’ve got a few hours yet before we can slip back to Griswold and try to do what we should have done last night.”

  “Will we be getting more help?” Henry asked, looking at Shane.

  “Not that I know of,” Shane answered.

  “Why not?” Henry demanded.

  “Listen,” Shane said, pausing to take a drink, “this isn’t a movie, right? So there’s no cavalry. No one’s going to come and help us. There are no secret organizations to call. Sure, there are some folks out there who deal with this sort of thing, but not on this scale. It’s dangerous, and, as we’ve all seen, it can cost you your life. Whoever we called would want all of the information up front, and once they had it, they’d say ‘thanks, but no thanks.’”

  “We’re doing this alone,” Gordon said. Then he looked at Shane, “Unless you actually know someone who will help?”

  Shane shook his head. “No one I’m willing to ask.”

  “What about the girl who was with you?” Henry asked. “Courtney DeSantis?”

  Shane gave the trooper a cold look. “I’m not bringing her back into Griswold. She and I barely made it out last time, if you remember, trooper. I won’t be responsible for her death.”

  He
nry shook his head angrily. “Fine. Whatever. So it’s the three of us?”

  “Against the world,” Gordon said.

  “Well, what do we need to have so we can finish this?” Henry asked.

  “Shovels,” Gordon said. “Salt. An accelerant, and some matches.”

  “Plus the shotguns, the loaded shells,” Shane added, “and steel wool, if you’ve got it.”

  “I do,” Gordon said, a quizzical look on his face. “Why?”

  “Let’s say for luck, alright?” Shane replied.

  “This is insane,” Henry muttered. In a louder voice, he said, “Do you have another shotgun, Gordon?”

  The older man shook his head.

  “You can use mine,” Shane said. “I’ll carry most of the gear. We’ll bring one shovel and rotate out using it. I’d rather have two on guard than two digging.”

  The other men nodded in agreement.

  “What happens when we get the grave dug, and the coffin opened?” Henry asked.

  “Pray like hell Abel’s bones are actually in there,” Shane said. He took his cigarettes out and looked at Gordon. The older man nodded and Shane tapped out a pair. He held one out to Gordon, but the man shook his head.

  “No, I don’t smoke,” Gordon said. “But I don’t have a problem if you want to smoke in here.”

  “Appreciate it,” Shane said. He left one cigarette on the table, put the other in his mouth, and lit it.

  “You didn’t ask me,” Henry said coldly.

  “It’s not your house,” Shane replied, blowing smoke towards the ceiling, “and I don’t care.”

  His face tight with anger, Henry asked, “What do we do if he’s not in the grave?”

  “We get the hell out of there,” Shane said around the cigarette.

  “And if he is?” Gordon asked, playing devil’s advocate.

  “We dump an entire box of salt on his bones, douse them with lighter fluid, and burn him,” Shane answered.

  “How is that going to do anything?” Henry said, confused.

  “It’s going to shut him down, completely,” Shane said. “From the lore I’ve read, Abel will be cast from the earth, so long as everything is burned.”