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

by Ron Ripley

  He lifted the shovel and smashed the lock. The old metal sheared away, and a wave of dizziness caused Shane to stagger forward, slamming against the door. It swung open, and he fell into the crypt, landing heavily on the tiled floor.

  He felt the knife wound keenly, more blood spilling out and soaking his hoodie He pushed himself back up, reached out and grabbed his gear bag. From it, he pulled out a lighter and for a heartbeat he stared at it. A glance outside showed the battle between Courtney and the Nurse had shifted. Courtney was moving backward with the Nurse advancing toward her.

  Leave, Courtney, Shane thought. Leave.

  He shook his head, needing to focus. This was going to hurt.

  He opened his hoodie, clenched his teeth and ripped the bandage off. Blood pulsed out of the wound in time with his heartbeat, and he let out a shaky, tired laugh.

  “Okay,” he whispered. “Do it.”

  Shane flicked the lighter, and he brought the bright flame to the wound. He let himself yell as he cauterized the wound, the smell of burning flesh hard in his nose. His hand shook as he dropped the lighter to the floor and a cold sweat broke out across his brow.

  “Shane!” Courtney screamed.

  He looked out the doorway, and he saw Courtney. She backed towards him, Ruth grimly pressing towards her.

  “Run, Courtney,” he said.

  She glanced at him, and he nodded.

  A look of sadness flickered across her face, and she vanished.

  Ruth paused, looked around, and then continued on toward the crypt. When she reached the doorway, she stopped, and she was clearly irritated.

  “Shane Ryan,” she said in a firm, maternal tone, “you have been an extremely difficult patient.”

  Shane chuckled, the absurdity of the statement too much to handle. His chuckle turned into a laugh, and his belly hurt from it. Tears spilled from his eyes, and he had to catch his breath. Finally, he stopped and looked at the Nurse. Her look of irritation had been replaced with one of concern.

  “You’re going mad, aren’t you,” she said sadly.

  “Probably,” Shane said. “But I’m still going to cook you up.”

  “No,” the Nurse said, gently, “you’re going to your well-deserved rest, warrior.”

  A shotgun blast ripped through the night air, and she vanished.

  Dom Francis stood a few feet away, leaning against a headstone.

  “She’ll be back,” Shane said, getting up.

  The monk nodded. “Light her up. I’ll cover you.”

  “You got it,” Shane said, and he turned to find her bones.

  Chapter 63: Ruth Williamson Returns

  Francis didn’t know how many rounds he had left. Getting thrown into a granite headstone hadn’t helped his short term memory retention.

  He wanted to move closer to the crypt, but he couldn’t. Not only because he had a better field of fire from where he stood, but if he tried to move from his position, he would probably fall down.

  It had been a tremendous effort to stand, and only his strength of will had allowed him to shuffle a few feet to the front of the crypt. Once there, he had been able to enjoy a clear, sure shot.

  The air shimmered to the left of the crypt and the Nurse appeared.

  Oh no, he thought, looking at her face. She is decidedly unhappy with me.

  The Nurse took a step forward, and Francis shot her.

  And once more, she vanished.

  This is going to get old fast, Francis thought, his head starting to pound. She’s going to figure it out, and I’m going to die.

  “How’s it going?” Francis called out.

  “Found it!” Shane yelled back.

  “Little good it will do you both,” the Nurse hissed from behind Francis.

  He tried to spin around, but instead he fell to the ground, which saved him. As she stepped closer, glaring at him, Francis managed to bring the shotgun up and fire again.

  “Hurry!” Francis shouted, struggling back into a sitting position.

  “Really?” Shane yelled. “Because, you know, I thought this might be a good time to start writing my memoirs.”

  A crash sounded, and Shane let out a harsh laugh.

  Francis looked into the crypt and saw Shane. The man stood triumphantly by a sarcophagus, and the Nurse appeared behind him.

  Francis shot her, and some of the rock salt caught Shane high in the back.

  Oh no! Francis thought as Shane leaned against the sarcophagus. Horrified, Francis watched as Shane slid down to the floor.

  Ruth Williamson snatched the shotgun out of Francis’s hands and snarled, “I’ve had enough of you meddling with my patient, Father.”

  She cast the weapon aside and grabbed hold of him by the front of his robes.

  “You’ve left me no choice,” she said, a hint of sadness in her anger. “I have to euthanize you.”

  “Sure,” Francis agreed, and he punched her. He fell against a headstone as the iron sent her back to her bones.

  Better hurry up, Shane, Francis thought as darkness closed in around the edges of his vision. I’ve got nothing left.

  Chapter 64: The Homestretch

  Shane pulled himself up, dragging his gear bag along as well. Holding onto it tightly, he looked into the open sarcophagus. The physical remains of Nurse Ruth lay in front of him. She was dressed in what had been a beautiful gown, her hands neatly folded over her stomach. On her head was perched a nurse’s cap. Her skin, ancient and parchment-like, clung to her bones, accentuating all of them. Dried flowers were scattered about her.

  Too bad you’re crazy, Shane thought. He removed the lighter fluid from the bag, popped the cap and sprayed the body down. When it was empty, he dropped the can onto her body and took out the steel wool.

  Not taking any chances here, he told himself, and he sprinkled it over the corpse.

  “Why are you desecrating my body?”

  Shane turned around and saw the Nurse. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, and she looked displeased.

  Shane shrugged.

  A look of sympathy came onto her face. “You really are a mad man, aren’t you?”

  “Some people say I have a few mental issues,” Shane replied. “I disagree, personally. You know? Everyone’s a little crazy. Once in a while.”

  She nodded her head. “It is why I want to grant you your peace, Shane.”

  “You know,” he said, “I really do appreciate the gesture. But I’m not too thrilled with the idea of dying right now.”

  “Dying is easy,” she said comfortingly.

  “I’m not ready,” Shane said.

  “It’s because you’re afraid. We’re all afraid of the unknown,” she said, her voice filling with compassion. “I’m here to help you be unafraid. To know that there is a better place for you.”

  “Well,” Shane said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, “I guess the question I have right now is, do I have a choice?”

  She shook her head. “I am afraid not. It is your time, Shane. None of us can argue with that.”

  Shane nodded.

  He took out a cigarette, his hands shaking as he put it in his mouth. Fumbling around he found his lighter, snapped out a flame and lit the cigarette. As he exhaled, the Nurse frowned.

  “Perhaps,” she said, giving him a cold smile, “I should let you live and suffer with the cancer growing in your chest.”

  Shane inhaled deeply, the smoke calming.

  “But,” she added, “I will enjoy killing you.”

  “Fair enough,” Shane said. He took one last drag on it, then flicked the cigarette onto her remains.

  The result was instantaneous.

  Some of the steel wool burst into flames, which lit the lighter fluid and sent a blue flame ripping through the sarcophagus.

  The Nurse screamed and lunged at Shane, slamming him hard against the stone. His breath rushed out, and he gasped for air. She pressed him there, even as she started to burn bright blue. He could feel fla
mes against the back of his head, and he fought against her, trying to move away from the fire.

  Only when her own interior flames destroyed her arms, did she fall back, and release him from the threat of immolation.

  Shane fell to the floor and rolled away from the ghost as she burned.

  She twisted her face towards him, her eyes turning into smoldering orbs.

  “Why?!” she howled. “Why?! I was doing God’s work!”

  “Why?” Shane repeated. “Because you’re not God! You’re not anyone! I hope you burn in Hell!”

  Her response was lost as the flames devoured her, and he was left alone in the crypt as smoke filled the enclosure. Coughing, Shane rolled over and crawled to the door. Tears streamed down his face as he reached the open air.

  He lay pressed against the cold grass, struggling for a breath free of the acrid smoke. Shane twisted his head to one side, and fear rippled through him.

  Ghosts stared down at him.

  Hatred filled their dead eyes, but none of them advanced.

  Spitting the foul taste of the Nurse’s burning corpse out of his mouth, Shane sat up and saw why the dead remained where they were.

  The ghosts of Matias and Brett stood between him and Dom Francis’s unconscious body.

  No, Shane realized, they’re not standing, they’re hovering.

  Matias and Brett were several inches off the ground, and their expressions were cold and hard.

  Without looking at Shane, Matias said, “Rest now. They will not touch you. Not when we are here.”

  “Are you strong enough?” Shane asked, his voice little more than a croak.

  Brett nodded, and Matias smiled.

  “They ask themselves the same question,” Matias said. “I will say yes, and I am eager for them to try to find a definitive answer.”

  “Okay,” Shane said, letting his head drop back to the grass. “Whatever you say, Matias.”

  Shane tried to crawl, but exhaustion swept him into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 65: Awake and Alert

  Francis woke up to the night sounds of the woods around the cemetery. He was on his back and looked at the night sky.

  An owl cried out, and a dark shape soared by.

  Get up, Francis thought. And he did. Muscles screamed and protested, dried blood cracked and wounds which had scabbed broke open. Find Shane.

  Francis got to his feet, using a headstone to steady himself. He wobbled as he walked, staggering towards the open crypt. A foul, burnt stench filled his nose and he pushed the unpleasant sensory input to the back of his mind.

  Shane was stretched out in the grass, in front of the open door. The man was unconscious, and had fresh burns along the back of his neck. Blood and dirt caked the soles of his feet.

  Francis bent down and picked Shane up. He put him in a fireman’s carry, slinging the man across his shoulders. Shane grunted, but didn’t wake up.

  Standing up, Francis took a deep breath. He adjusted his own body weight, turned and headed towards the road. The old ability to separate his mind from his body’s actions returned, and Francis found himself able to remain above the physical pain. His pace increased and he was soon at his own car. He set Shane down on the trunk, unlocked the backdoor and then put Shane in.

  He let the unconscious man lie across the seat, tucking Shane’s bare feet up before closing the door. Francis paused, caught his breath and fought back a spike of pain from his various injuries. He took in a long, slow breath through his nose and exhaled the same way. With one hand on the roof of the car Francis thought, I need to get us to a hospital. Then I need to go back to the Order.

  I have a decision to make.

  He focused his mind again, and then Francis got into his car. The engine started when he turned the key, and the car moved when he shifted into ‘drive’.

  Francis smiled.

  Everything’s going to be fine, he thought, and he left Sanford Hospital.

  Chapter 66: Francis Makes a Move

  “Are you quite certain, Francis?” Abbot Gregory asked.

  Francis nodded, not quite trusting his own voice to contain the raw emotion flowing through him. His small travel bag was packed and on the cot beside him. The linens had been stripped and sent to the laundry. Abbot Gregory stood in the doorway, his hands clasped together.

  “Where will you go?” Abbot Gregory said, concern in his voice.

  “I’ll be asking a friend if I can stay with him for a bit,” Francis replied.

  “And if he says no?” the abbot asked.

  Francis smiled wryly. “Well, then, Abbot, I’ll figure it out.”

  Abbot Gregory nodded, then he stepped into the room. “Hold out your hand, Francis.”

  He did so.

  The abbot dropped the two iron rings Francis had used at Sanford into his open palm. He looked at the older man, confused.

  “I have spoken with the older members of the Order,” Abbot Gregory explained. “We feel you are not done with the unquiet dead, and so you will need these.”

  “What if someone else does?” Francis asked, looking down at the rings.

  “Then we will have more forged,” the abbot said.

  “Thank you,” he said as he slipped the rings onto his fingers. “Thank you very much, Abbot.”

  “You are quite welcome,” Abbot Gregory replied. “Will you send us your address as soon as you have it? I have forwarded your request to withdraw from the Order, and while I am certain it is forthcoming, we will need to know where to send the permission.”

  “As soon as I know,” Francis said, “I will let you know.”

  “Excellent,” the old man said. “Now come, I will give you a ride to where you need to go.”

  Francis nodded, stood up and took his bag off the bed.

  “St. Joseph’s hospital in Nashua, Abbot,” he said. “My friend, Shane, is there. I must speak to him.”

  Abbot Gregory nodded. “Let us be on our way, then, Francis.”

  Holding onto his bag tightly, Francis followed Abbot Gregory out of the room, and out of the Order.

  Chapter 67: At St. Joseph’s Hospital

  I am going to be paying these bills forever, Shane thought, staring up at the ceiling.

  Well, a cold voice in his head replied, you could be dead.

  Shut up, Shane told himself.

  “Hello,” a voice said.

  Shane turned to look at the doorway and saw a young nurse. She was pretty, a tall, thin woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties.

  “Hello,” Shane replied, returning his attention to the ceiling. His body ached in spite of the morphine that dripped through the intravenous line. He knew he could tell them, but part of him was afraid to have the dosage increased. Alcohol is enough of a problem, he thought. With a sigh, he scratched at his left shoulder, where they had put the nicotine patch to help with his cigarette cravings.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, coming into the room to stand beside his bed.

  “Peachy,” Shane answered. “Think I can go home now?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Not yet. The police were here again while you were sleeping.”

  “That’s nice of them,” Shane said.

  The smile on the woman’s face became a frown. “They’re concerned about who stabbed you.”

  “Stabbed me?” Shane said, feigning surprise.

  “Yes. Are you going to tell them who stabbed you?” she asked.

  “Why would someone stab me?” Shane said, stifling a yawn. The young nurse sighed in exasperation.

  “The police would like to see you later on if it's convenient,” she said.

  Shane looked at her. “It’s not. Tell them I said ‘No, thank you.’”

  “Shane,” she started, and he frowned.

  She blushed slightly. “Mr. Ryan, they have to investigate the crime.”

  “There was no crime,” Shane said. “Nothing happened.”

  “You were burned, given a concussion, and stabbed, and
nothing happened?” she asked.

  “Exactly,” Shane said.

  The nurse shook her head and left the room without saying another word. A few minutes later, the dog tags shifted on his chest, and Courtney was there. She looked at the room’s door and said, “She’s pretty.”

  “She’s not you,” Shane said.

  Courtney smiled down at him. “Shane Ryan, you know exactly what to say.”

  “Glad you think so,” Shane said. He looked at Courtney and blinked away tears.

  She smiled at him. “All will be well.” Shane shook his head. His heart hurt too much to speak. Courtney reached out, her touch cold against his cheek. Goosebumps raced along his flesh. He cleared his throat.

  “Thank you, for everything,” he whispered.

  “You’re welcome,” she replied. Her finger traced the line of his jaw.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Courtney vanished.

  “Come in,” Shane said.

  Dom Francis entered a moment later, carrying a travel bag and wearing street clothes.

  “Dom Francis, what’s going on?” Shane asked in surprise.

  “I’ve left the Order,” Dom Francis said, smiling apologetically. “And call me Frank, please.”

  “Sure, Frank. Do you need help or something?” Shane said.

  Frank nodded. “I, well, I need a place to stay.”

  “And you want to stay with me?” Shane asked, surprised.

  “Yes,” Frank said, then added hurriedly, “if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No,” Shane said. “It’s not any trouble at all. It’s just, well, I’ll need to talk to you about the other residents in the house.”

  “Are they difficult?” Frank asked.

  “No. No, Frank,” Shane said, “They’re dead.”

  The expression of surprise on Frank’s face made Shane laugh, and Frank soon joined him. Their laughter filled the small room, and Shane wondered what it would be like to have a living person in the house again.

  * * *

  Bonus Scene Chapter 1: The End of the War, 1918

  Clay Getchell wasn’t mad, but he was close to it, and he knew it.