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

by Ron Ripley

  The other two stopped, staring at him.

  "That's a neat trick," the taller of the two said.

  "Sure it is," George said, turning, so his back faced his own door. A prison guard was advancing from the right. George stepped back, his eyes darting from ghost to ghost.

  "You could play out here," the taller man said. "We won't mind."

  "George!" Merle yelled. "Come on!"

  Without looking around, George twisted and plunged back into the house. Something cold had grabbed at his foot, trying to pull him out, but the state trooper grasped his arms and dragged him in.

  Merle slammed the door closed and made certain the salt line was still intact.

  "What the hell is going on?" the trooper asked, looking around, her eyes wide.

  Alison peered out from behind her mother, wagged a finger at the officer and said, "Hell is a bad word. You shouldn't say it."

  Chapter 36: Pete Feels Wanted

  Pete was twice divorced, paid too much alimony as far as he was concerned, and liked to drink high-end bourbon.

  He was enjoying a fresh bottle and ignoring several angry text messages from his first ex-wife when his phone rang. It rang with the distinctive, antique jingle he had picked out to identify Oliver.

  Pete looked at the phone, thought about not answering the call, and then answered it anyway.

  "Hello?" he asked, wincing.

  "Hey Pete," Ollie said, his voice sounding pleasant.

  Pete straightened up and set his drink on the table. "Hi, Ollie. What's going on?"

  He was cautious. Pete knew how crafty Oliver could be.

  "Not much," Ollie said. "Listen, I've got Frank and his friend over here right now. We're all putting our heads together trying to figure out the best way to resolve this little issue we've got with Kurkow."

  "Oh yeah?" Pete asked.

  "Yes, indeed," Ollie said. "Since you've got some first-hand experience with what happened when you opened the doors, I was wondering if you could come and help us decide what to do next."

  Pete perked up. "Really?"

  "Of course," Ollie said. "I know I don't give you a lot of credit, Pete, but there are definitely times when you're needed, and this is one of them."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah," Ollie said, chuckling. "How soon do you think you can be over?"

  "Um, I've got Melinda harassing me about her alimony check," Pete said. "Let me call her and get it settled, then I'll be right over."

  "Sounds fantastic, little brother," Ollie said, his voice filled with happiness. "See you in half an hour then?"

  "Yeah, if not sooner," Pete said. He ended the call, finished his drink and wrote back to Melinda.

  Will have your money for you in an hour or two, Pete wrote. And he resisted the urge to swear at her.

  Whistling, Pete got up, put his phone in his back pocket and went to pull his boots on. His brother needed him, and the day couldn't get much better than that.

  Chapter 37: Edmund Has Another Conversation

  Soon after he had heard the gunshots, Edmund's front door was knocked upon again. It was a continuous sound as if someone had set up a metronome to pound against the wood. Edmund wanted to wait until "The Little House on the Prairie" ended before he answered the door, but the power went out.

  The television flickered and went blank. On the table to the left of the couch, the brass lamp went dark.

  For the first time in years, Edmund felt something close to anxiety.

  He disliked any interruption to his routine.

  The person at the door continued to knock.

  Sighing, Edmund got up from his chair and went into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it, ignoring the dead prisoner who stared at him through the kitchen window. Edmund rinsed the glass, put it on the drying rack and returned to the room. He paused, straightened his shirt, and then went on to the front door.

  With a flick of his wrist, he undid the deadbolt, and he stepped back as he opened the door.

  Jean Claude stood on the step with a semi-circle of prisoners and guards behind him.

  "Hello, Edmund," Jean Claude said.

  "Hello, Sergeant," Edmund replied.

  "Everyone knows you're here now," Jean Claude said.

  Edmund shrugged. "Is that all?"

  "No," his sergeant snapped. "We cut the power to Mulberry Street."

  "I noticed," Edmund said. He scratched his jaw. "Anything else, Sergeant?"

  "Did you hear the gunshots?" Jean Claude asked.

  "I did."

  Jean Claude waited, and when Edmund didn't ask anything else he said in exasperation, "Don't you want to know why you heard the gunshots?"

  "It does not matter to me one way or the other, Sergeant," Edmund said.

  "It was the cavalry," someone from the semi-circle said. "The State Police had come to save you!"

  Edmund looked at the gathered ghosts, then at Jean Claude.

  "Well," Edmund said, "it would seem like they did not do the job quite right."

  "I'm going to kill you, Edmund," Jean Claude hissed. "I'm going to peel your skin off and hang it in strips from the trees. We're going to tear you to shreds and keep you alive while we do it. Do you understand?"

  Edmund scratched his chin, then yawned. "Do you know what I will do?"

  "What?" Jean Claude sneered.

  "Have some lunch," Edmund said. "And if help does not arrive before my food supply is done, I will blow out my own brains."

  "You cannot!" Jean Claude howled.

  "No," Edmund said. "I can."

  He closed the door on Jean Claude and turned to go back to the kitchen. The entire house began to shake, the dead slamming into it. Pictures fell from the walls and dishes rattled in the cabinets. Edmund felt the tremors rise up from the floor, through the soles of his shoes and into his feet.

  Dead faces were pressed against the window over the sink, and Edmund walked over to the drawer to the left of the stove. He opened it, took out a .38 caliber, snub-nosed pistol and a box of ammunition. Without rushing, Edmund opened the cylinder, loaded the weapon, and then placed it within view of the dead men at his window.

  From the corner of his eye, Edmund saw them back up. The pounding on his house stopped, and a comfortable silence filled the kitchen. Edmund walked to the stove, took a match and lit the gas burner. He put some water on for tea and wondered how long the dead might linger around his home.

  Chapter 38: Shane Reaches Out to a Friend

  "Brian can't help us?" Frank asked.

  Shane shook his head. "Guy's one bad phone call away from another heart attack. No way I could ask him to come in on this."

  Frank nodded. After a moment he said, "Anyone else?"

  Shane hesitated, then he said, "Yes. There might be. I haven't talked to him in a long time, but if he's around, he'll help."

  "Does he live nearby?" Frank asked.

  "Right over the New Hampshire, Massachusetts border," Shane answered. "I'll give him a call."

  He stood up, took his phone out and walked into the hallway. In silence, he brought up his contacts, found the name and dialed the number.

  It rang three times before it was answered by a woman.

  "Hello?" she asked.

  "Hi, my name's Shane Ryan, I was trying to reach a friend of mine, this is the last number I had for him."

  "Hold on," the woman said.

  Shane heard her repeat his name in the background, and then there was a bellowing laugh.

  "You're damned right I know a Shane Ryan!" Mason Phillips yelled. A moment later, Mason was on the phone. "Holy hell, Batman! What have you been up to, Gunnery Sergeant Ryan?"

  "Slaying bodies," Shane said, chuckling. "You know how it is, Marine."

  "I do, I do. Tell me what this phone call out of the blue is for," Mason said. "It's not like you to break radio silence for no reason."

  "Yeah," Shane apologized, "there's a reason. I need a hand up in New Hampshire. I'm not sure if you'd
be okay doing it, though."

  The humor went out of Mason's voice. "Gunny, do you remember that hillbilly punk down in North Carolina who pulled a gun on me?"

  "Yeah," Shane said, sighing. "That I do."

  "Then I'll do whatever needs to be done," Mason said. "Tell me where you need me to be, Shane."

  He nodded and gave Mason the address for Oliver Dawson's place.

  Chapter 39: Speaking with the Trapped

  Laura holstered her sidearm and fought the urge to reload it. The bullets had not had any sort of effect on the ghosts.

  She shook her head at the thought of the prisoners.

  Ghosts, she repeated to herself, still in disbelief. Ghosts.

  George, the man who had rushed out of the house to combat the dead, handed her a cup of hot tea. She could smell a dash of brandy in it, and she nodded her thanks. Laura looked around the small room and saw that the lights which had been on when she had arrived were out.

  The room was lit only by the surprisingly cheerful light of the fire burning in the hearth. On the gray suede couch which rested against the right wall, the two little girls played paddy-cake. George sat down on the floor beside Laura and the woman, Merle, occupied an old, cane-backed rocking chair.

  Evie had gone into the kitchen to fetch her daughters some goldfish crackers.

  "How are you doing?" George asked.

  He was a middle-aged man, balding with strawberry blonde hair. Freckles formed a rough swath from his left cheek to his right, bridging his wide nose. Beneath his pale green eyes were dark circles, signs of several sleepless nights and Laura wondered how long he had been trapped in the house.

  "Alright," Laura answered. She took a sip of the tea and felt the nip of the brandy. A rush of warmth trickled through her. "Confused, really."

  "I'm not surprised," Merle said. The woman was dressed in mismatched clothes, an iron fireplace shovel on her lap. "This is a rather odd situation for any of us to be in."

  Evie re-entered the room, handed a bowl to each of her daughters and sat down to the left of the fireplace. She looked at Laura and asked, "How is it out there?"

  "Where?" Laura asked. "The rest of Gaiman?"

  Evie nodded.

  "I don't know," Laura said. "There are accidents, but until just now, there weren't any lines down. People have been concerned about Mulberry Street. I was sent to do health and welfare checks on everyone here. Unfortunately, it didn't go exactly as I thought it would."

  "No," George agreed, "I don't imagine it did."

  Laura finished her drink and set the cup aside. "When did all of this start?"

  "A few days ago," Merle said. "There was a blast of some sort at the prison. I heard the windows break. After that, well, the ghosts showed up."

  Laura looked around the room and said, "Whose house is this?"

  "Mine," George said. "They're my neighbors."

  Laura frowned. "How did you all end up in here?"

  They told her.

  She learned of the murder of Merle's husband. George's accidental discovery of the power of the iron fireplace poker. Evie's similar salvation with the frying pan. Merle told her of the chase by the fat ghost, and of George rushing to her rescue. Of Merle and George both going to help Evie and her daughters.

  "What's the salt for?" Laura asked when they had finished their stories.

  "It keeps the ghosts out," George explained.

  "How?" she said. "How does salt do that?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know."

  "I mean, how did you even find out salt could serve as a barrier?" Laura asked.

  "The internet," George said. "Before we lost power a little while ago, we had everything. After I got rid of the twin prisoners, I looked up online as to why it happened."

  "Excuse me," Evie said.

  Laura looked at her.

  "Yes?" Laura asked.

  "When are the rest of the police going to come and get us out of here?"

  Laura could hear the panic in the woman's voice. Evie may have held off the dead with a frying pan, but she wouldn't hold onto her composure much longer.

  Laura smiled and lied. "Soon. They'll be here soon."

  One of the girls laughed. They were throwing goldfish crackers at each other and trying to catch them in their mouths.

  God, Laura prayed, please let it be soon.

  Outside, the wind howled and railed against the house.

  Chapter 40: Getting to Ollie's House

  Pete had been forced to switch cars. The front end of the Cadillac had been knocked out of alignment when Frank had smashed Shane's car into it. Pete didn't mind too much, it meant he could take his new toy, his Jeep Wrangler, out in the snow and try it out.

  The vehicle had handled the snow like a dream.

  With Kenney Chesney blasting out of the radio, Pete had sung along, racing past people stuck in snow drifts or too afraid to put the pedal down.

  Pete was not intimidated by the weather.

  He chuckled to himself as he took the exit and cut the wheel hard so he could slide down the off-ramp.

  Yeah, he thought, nodding, this is why I bought the damned thing. Serious driving for the serious driver!

  Rock salt and sand popped beneath his tires as he raced along, following the recently scraped and treated pavement towards Ollie's street. Pete wondered what sort of team-up he and his brother would have.

  Sure, Kurkow's kind of messed up, he thought, but we can still save it. I mean, hey, one of those girls is alive, and that's got to count for something. And there's got to be a good way to spin this. Ollie will know what to do. He always does. I shouldn't have freaked out last night, but it's okay.

  Pete rubbed at his face, remembering Frank's punch. Part of him wanted to hit Frank back, but he knew it wouldn't be the best idea.

  Frank was a little disturbed at times.

  Then Ollie's house appeared on the right, and all thoughts of vengeance slipped away. Pete slowed down, eased the Jeep into the driveway since Beth wouldn't like it if he raced in, and parked beside Shane's car.

  Bet old Ollie reeled those two in, Pete thought, smirking. My brother's always in charge.

  Pete whistled again as he got out of his Jeep, swung the key around on his index finger and hurried out of the cold and into Ollie's garage.

  "Hey, Ollie!" Pete called, climbing the stairs to the interior door. He rapped on it twice then opened it, saying, "Hey, Bro, I'm here!"

  "Come on into the kitchen," Ollie yelled back.

  Humming, Pete made his way down the long hallway, passed the main stairs and entered the kitchen. Ollie was alone in the room, his back to Pete as he looked out the window. Pete wandered over to the breakfast nook and sat down in it.

  "How's it going?" Pete asked.

  "I've been better, to be completely honest, Pete," Ollie said, turning around.

  Pete winced as he saw Ollie's lips. The bottom one was a wreck, split open on the left and a red lump on the lower part of his chin. "Damn, what happened?"

  "Shane happened," Ollie answered.

  "Why?"

  "Because of Kurkow," Ollie said, walking over and sitting down across from him.

  Pete noticed how his brother limped. "Did you hurt your legs?"

  "No," Ollie said. "Shane did."

  "And he's still here?" Pete asked, lowering his voice. "I saw the car, so he and Frank are here? Do you need me to call the police?"

  Ollie shook his head. "No. What I need is for us to figure out how we're going to make this right."

  "Him hitting you?" Pete said.

  "Kurkow," Ollie said, looking hard at Pete. "We need to fix what went wrong with Kurkow. The ghosts got out. We need to put them back in. And then we need to keep them in there."

  "How the hell are we supposed to do all of that?" Pete asked, sitting back. "Is there some group we can call?"

  "No," a voice said from the doorway.

  Startled, Pete twisted in the seat as Shane and Frank entered the room. Their bro
ws were furrowed and the lines around their mouths tight. Frank went to the sink and got himself a drink of water while Shane took out a cigarette and lit it.

  Pete glanced at Ollie, but his brother didn't seem to care about Shane smoking.

  Tapping his feet on the floor, Pete asked, "Um, then who do we get in touch with?"

  "I've already reached out to one friend," Shane said, exhaling the smoke towards the ceiling. "I'll be talking to another soon."

  "And I've left a message with the Abbott of my former Order," Frank added. "We'll be gathering our forces. We're hopeful to have everyone in the next few hours."

  "Okay," Pete said, shifting himself in the nook. "You don't need me for anything then, right?"

  "On the contrary," Ollie said. "We need you to speak with the hotel in Ennis."

  "Um, hey," Pete said, clearing his throat. "You know, Melanie works there."

  "Exactly," Ollie said.

  "Yeah, she's the manager," Pete continued.

  Ollie nodded. "I figured it would be best for you to speak with her."

  "She doesn't exactly like me, Ollie," Pete said, upset at the whine he heard in his own voice.

  "Who is she?" Frank asked.

  "Pete's second ex-wife," Ollie explained. "It was a surprisingly peaceful divorce considering the way they used to fight."

  "Ah," Frank said. "So you're thinking maybe Pete here could get a deal on some hotel rooms?"

  Ollie nodded.

  "Why do you even need hotel rooms?" Pete demanded.

  "No," Shane said, his voice cold and hard. "The question is why do 'we' need hotel rooms, Peter."

  Pete shook his head. "No. You know what, that doesn't sound like the right question at all."

  "Why doesn't it?" Ollie asked. "We're both to blame for this situation. We bought the place. You opened the doors. I sent that team in. Something's going on in Gaiman. People are getting hurt. You know this."

  "I don't care," Pete said, sliding out of the seat and standing up. "I really don't. I did my part. I called Frank and told him what was going on. They got one of those girls out. So, yeah, way I see it, my part's done."