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

by Ron Ripley

  Frank stopped the car and mumbled to himself. Shane turned his attention back to the girl. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out more than a silhouette of her face, which was almost cherubic in form.

  “Oh no,” Frank whispered.

  “What’s wrong?” Shane asked.

  “We’re back in Gaiman,” Frank said.

  “What?!” Shane said. “How the hell did that happen?”

  “I must have turned off the wrong way,” his voice faded. “Wait. No, no I didn’t. Oh, crap.”

  “What?” Shane said, his anger rising.

  “The route cuts back,” Frank said. “Doubles right back on itself to follow whatever river this is to the bridge. It led us right into a small pocket of land belonging to Gaiman.”

  Shane closed his eyes. “How fast until we can get out of here?”

  “I’ll let you know,” Frank said, and Shane felt the car lunge into motion.

  The young woman whimpered, her eyelids flickered and her eyes locked onto Shane. For a moment, they were cloudy, unable to focus.

  When they did, she let out a loud, sharp gasp.

  She struggled against him, and Shane let go immediately. He thought she was going to sit up, but after she tried, the young woman collapsed back onto the seat.

  “Are you okay?” Shane asked.

  She nodded, her eyes closed. “Where are my friends? Are they in here with me?”

  “You’re in the backseat of a small sedan,” Shane said. “And I’m the only one back here with you. Can you tell me who you are?”

  “Emma,” she said.

  “Emma, my name’s Shane. My friend, Frank, is going to drive us to the closest hospital,” Shane said. “You were in the cold for a long while.”

  “I know what happened,” she said, her voice low. “We were caught by the dead. I was dragged into the cell because they were bored.”

  “Who was bored?” Shane asked.

  “The ghosts,” Emma answered. “They’ve been bored for decades. We were ‘entertaining’ them.”

  “Shane!” Frank yelled.

  Shane shoved himself up, twisting at the same time to look out the windshield.

  A line of ghosts stretched across route eighty-nine, all of them prisoners. The car’s headlights shined through and illuminated them at the same time. The engine revved and the car raced forward.

  “What’s happening?” Emma asked, trying to sit up.

  “Stay down,” Shane ordered. He reached into his back pocket and took out his knuckle-dusters. The shotgun, even loaded with rock salt, would be far too dangerous in the close confines of the car.

  And then the decision was out of his hands.

  Frank drove the car through the line of the dead, some of the prisoners reaching in. As Frank lashed out with an iron ringed hand, Shane did the same with his knuckle-dusters. Ghosts screamed with fury, and one managed to get into the front passenger seat.

  “Give her back!” the dead man screamed. “She’s ours!”

  “Out,” Shane snarled, driving his fist into the ghost’s face, the iron causing the ghost to vanish.

  Emma managed to sit up as Frank guided the car around a curve. For a second, the headlights shined upon a small, green sign on the side of the road. It read, Welcome to Cornish, New Hampshire.

  Frank slowed the car down and Shane sagged back into the seat.

  “What happened?” Emma asked again, the words mumbled through her swollen lips.

  “Roadblock,” Shane answered.

  Wincing, Emma turned and looked out the back window. “I don’t see anything.”

  “They were dead,” Frank said over his shoulder.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Where are my friends? How were the ghosts out?”

  Shane reached out, helped to pull a blanket closer around her and said, “Rest, Emma. You’ll know it all soon enough.”

  Emma blinked, nodded, and leaned against Shane.

  He could smell her blood and feel the tiredness of her body. A sudden, painful ache filled him, and Shane closed his eyes against the tears.

  He missed Courtney.

  Chapter 26: An Old Friend

  “Shane.”

  Shane sat up, his eyes bleary. He looked around and saw they were pulled over on the side of the road. A glance at the radio’s clock showed it was 3:33 in the morning.

  “Yeah?” Shane asked.

  “I have an idea,” Frank said.

  “What’s that?” Shane rubbed at his eyes and yawned.

  “I have an old friend up here, right outside of Cornish. Former Special Forces medic. He could treat the girl if he’s home,” Frank said.

  “Why him?” Shane asked, stifling another yawn.

  “You want to bring in a female, in obviously bad condition, to a hospital and then try to walk out?” Frank asked.

  Shane’s shoulders dropped. “Damn. Yeah, you’re right.”

  “You want to ask her what she wants?” Frank said.

  “Sure,” Shane said. He turned to the girl, tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Hey, Emma.”

  When she didn’t respond, he raised his voice and shook her a little harder.

  Still nothing.

  She was asleep, or unconscious.

  “He’s nearby?” Shane asked.

  “Half a mile up on the left, we turn onto a dirt road, then a quarter mile further in and we’re there,” Frank said, nodding.

  “Alright, let’s do it.” Shane lifted Emma up, pulled her close and made sure the blankets were wrapped around her. He held onto her as Frank moved back onto the road and found his way to his friend’s house.

  It took less than five minutes before they pulled into a driveway. Powerful lights eliminated all shadows, and cameras were mounted on each corner of the house and the barn which stood on the left.

  Frank turned off the car’s headlights, picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.

  “Asa,” Frank said. “It’s Francis. I’ve got a male friend and an injured female.”

  Frank listened, nodded and said, “Thanks.”

  “We good?” Shane asked.

  “Yeah,” Frank said, putting the phone away. “He won’t shoot us now. Let’s move.”

  In less than a minute, Shane had Emma in his arms, and he was close behind Frank. By the time they reached the front door, the unseen Asa had started to open it. When Shane stepped into the house, the smell of antiseptics and cleansers stung his nose. The walls were painted white and absent of any decorations. The door clicked shut behind them, and Shane turned to see an older man standing beside it.

  Asa held a large hunting rifle, a powerful scope attached to it. He held the weapon with easy familiarity, and he wore a long, white bathrobe. His feet were bare, his white hair long and falling well past his shoulders. The man’s face was thin, his blue eyes bright. His nose looked like a hawk’s bill, his lips thin.

  “Hello, Francis,” Asa said, and Shane was surprised at the musicality of the man’s voice.

  “Hello, Asa,” Frank responded. “This is my friend, Shane, and the young woman he’s carrying is Emma.”

  Asa nodded. “Follow me.”

  The man’s footsteps were silent, Asa moved with the grace of a dancer.

  He’s dangerous, Shane realized. Terribly so. Someone would never hear him sneak up on them.

  Asa paused at a gun rack, cleared the chambered round from the rifle and hung the weapon up. He dropped the unspent bullet into a box of the same and opened the door to a room beside the weapons.

  When Asa flicked on the lights, Shane winced, blinked several times and then gasped when he could see again.

  He was in an operating room. Everything gleamed beneath the strong lights.

  “Wow,” Shane whispered.

  One corner of Asa’s mouth curled up in a small smile. “Thank you. It has taken me quite some time to accumulate the materials. You would be surprised at what the government regulates and tracks. Now, please set the young lad
y on the table and step out of the room. I will let you know if I need any assistance.”

  Shane put Emma down and paused. Frank took him by the arm, saying, “Come on. She’s in the best hands now.”

  With a reluctant nod, Shane followed Frank out of the room. Asa closed the door behind them.

  “This way,” Frank said, gesturing towards a small room nearby. It contained a pair of chairs and a wall of monitors. Each monitor had a different view of the area around the house. There were also some monitors whose cameras were tracking game trails and nearby roads.

  “Paranoid much?” Shane asked. He sat down, exhaustion creeping in on him.

  Frank chuckled as he took a seat. “Little bit. He wasn’t like this before Afghanistan. Traumatic brain injury from a roadside bomb. Made him paranoid. Fortunately, he’s still a brilliant medic.”

  “He’s good?” Shane asked.

  “The best,” Frank said. “He’s the one who stitched my face back together. Plastic surgeons worked on the rest, but they said if he hadn’t done the initial work, well, it would have been a lot less pretty.”

  “Fair enough,” Shane said. He looked around the room and found a single book on the small table between the chairs. Leaning forward, Shane picked it up and read the title. Meditations, by Marcus Aurelius. “And he’s a stoic.”

  “Yeah,” Frank said. He rubbed at his eyes and then closed them. “He’ll get us when he’s done.”

  “Okay,” Shane said. He shut his eyes, let out a sigh and tried to relax. As sleep climbed up to claim him, a sudden, painful thought grabbed him.

  If the ghosts were on the road, he told himself, then the town is overrun.

  The thought kept him awake for a long time.

  Chapter 27: Early Morning in Gaiman

  Jess’ sneakers were a little big on Mrs. Geisel, but she could move around in them. She held onto the fireplace shovel while George remained master of the poker. Both he and Mrs. Geisel were bundled up against the cold and stood by the back door.

  “I spoke with Evie Marchinko before everything happened at my house,” Merle said, her voice hard. “I’m not sure how she’s managed since then, but I know she was still alive as of yesterday morning.”

  “And she’s the house to the right of yours?” George asked, glancing out the window at the building in question.

  “Yes,” Merle said, “that’s right.”

  George looked at the house. It couldn’t have been more than a hundred feet away, but there was a fresh layer of snow covering everything, and he didn’t know if there was ice beneath it. He also wasn’t sure how many ghosts were watching his house, if any.

  It would be foolish to think they’re not, he told himself. I don’t know if sending them back to wherever they came from hurts, but they certainly don’t like it.

  Gripping the poker, George looked at Merle, gave the woman a tight smile and asked, “Are you ready?”

  Her face paled at the question, but she nodded and forced a smile.

  George felt his resolve weakening, so he grabbed the doorknob, twisted it and jerked the door open. He entered into the chill air and kept his eyes focused on Evie’s house.

  One step in front of the other, he told himself. One step in front of the other.

  George didn’t focus on anything more than that. Lifting the right foot and putting it down, lifting the left foot and putting it down, and repeat. Soon they were on the street, then across it, and finally, they were walking up to the side porch.

  Merle went first since she knew Evie better than George did.

  The older woman knocked on the glass. When no one answered, she knocked a little louder.

  “Who is it?!” Evie yelled from inside. George could hear the panic in the woman’s voice.

  “Evie, it’s Merle,” Merle said. “I’m with George from across the street. We’ve come to get you and the children.”

  “How?” Evie demanded. Her volume had lowered, but the fear was still there.

  “George has set up a safe place in the house,” Merle said, and George was impressed with the calmness which emanated from her. “We can all be safe there together until someone figures out what’s going on.”

  “The door’s opened,” Evie said.

  Merle went into the house, and George followed. They entered the wrecked remains of a kitchen. The table and chairs were smashed, cups and plates and silverware littered the floor.

  Evie was crouched in the corner between the refrigerator and the wall, her children pressed in behind her. George remembered a woman with bright red hair, a round face and dour clothes, someone whose body had gone to pot long ago.

  The woman George saw in the kitchen only had the ginger hair he remembered. Her pale skin was splotched with red, a trio of identical scratches down her left cheek. It looked like she had lost ten pounds in the last three days, and also found a strength George doubted she had known about prior to the current situation. In her chubby hands, she held onto a cast iron frying pan, and George smiled.

  “You’ve kept them away with that,” he said.

  A little girl peered over her mother’s shoulder and said, “She’s made dozens disappear.”

  “Not dozens,” Evie whispered. “But a lot. They wanted my girls. They wanted to do things to them.”

  “I'm glad you did. It was good,” George said. “Really good. I never thought of a cast iron frying pan as a weapon.”

  “I saw what you did with the poker,” Evie said. “We were watching out the window.”

  George nodded. “Listen, do you have any food and extra salt?”

  Evie frowned at the second part of the question. “Sure. Why?”

  “We need it, dear,” Merle said, smiling. “Let’s gather up what we need quick as we can, alright?”

  Evie paused and then straightened up. “Okay. Salt and food are in the pantry. I’ll grab the kids’ coats and stuff.”

  “Alright,” George said, “but let’s hurry. I don’t know when the ghosts will be back.”

  Fear spurred them all to greater efforts.

  Chapter 28: Answering Some Questions

  The sun was up when Asa stepped into the small observation room and said, “She wants to speak with Shane.”

  Shane nodded his thanks, stood up, stretched and went to the small operating theater. He found Emma on the bed, the back of it raised slightly, and the safety bars on either sides of her in the upright position. She had several white hospital blankets on her and an IV drip as well. Asa had also hooked her up to a monitor, which beeped at a slow and steady rhythm.

  Emma’s face was puffy, but all the cuts had been cleaned and bandaged, giving her the appearance of a boxer who had come out on the losing end of a bout. Her eyes followed him as he entered, and since there was no chair for him, Shane stood.

  He smiled and said, “Hello, Emma.”

  She offered a weak, tired smile in return and when she spoke her voice was small and difficult to hear. Shane heard the painkillers working their magic, fighting off shock and keeping her from sinking under its weight.

  “Where are my friends?” she asked.

  “They were killed,” Shane answered.

  Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

  “Did they suffer?” Emma asked.

  “I hope not,” he said.

  “Me too,” she said, sighing. “I suffered. You know, I had heard, once, that people who have a traumatic incident usually don’t remember it. Some sort of safety mechanism for the brain.”

  “That’s a lie,” Shane said.

  “Figures,” Emma said. “Thank you.”

  “For pulling you out of there?” Shane asked.

  “And for bringing me to this hospital,” she added.

  “You’re welcome,” Shane said. “But you’re not in a hospital. This is a friend’s house.”

  Emma shrugged. “Whatever works. He’s got some awesome drugs. I don’t feel good, but I don’t care that I don’t feel good.”


  “I’m glad to hear it,” Shane said.

  Emma closed her eyes and was quiet. Shane turned to leave and stopped when she asked, “How did you know to use salt?”

  Shane faced her again and said, “Those weren’t the first ghosts I’ve had to deal with.”

  “Ah,” she said, a small smile playing on her face, her eyes still closed. “I wish I had known there were a lot of them.”

  “We did know,” Shane said, anger creeping into his voice. “We were supposed to go in there. We were just waiting on the call.”

  Emma opened her eyes. “You were supposed to?”

  Shane nodded, not trusting himself to speak calmly.

  “Then why did he send us?” she asked, confused. “If you knew what you were doing, and how many were there?”

  “I don’t know,” Shane answered. “But we’re going to talk to him. He’s got at least three deaths on his hands, maybe more.”

  “How could he have more?” she asked. “Did others go into the prison?”

  Shane shook his head. “No. The town of Gaiman owned the prison. And the ghosts are loose within its borders.”

  “Oh my God,” she said, and Shane had to strain to hear her. “How many people?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered. The bitterness and rage he felt towards Ollie Dawson tasted like steel in his mouth. “But we’re going to find out.”

  Emma closed her eyes again. “Hit him for me.”

  “I will,” Shane said. He stood by the bed for several minutes, making sure she had fallen asleep before he went back to the monitoring room. Frank and Asa were there, Frank raising an eyebrow.

  Shane sighed as he dropped into his seat. He yawned, rubbed at his eyes and said, “I want to knock your friend Ollie’s teeth out.”

  “Is he the one responsible for this girl’s condition?” Asa asked, and Shane heard an angry tightness in the man’s voice.

  “Indirectly,” Frank said. “He sent them into a place he had been warned about.”

  “Them?” Asa asked, and Shane could see the man struggled with his temper.

  Frank nodded.

  “Can you tell us the extent of her injuries?” Shane asked.