by Ron Ripley
His heartbeat quickened at the sight of them, so he went around the rooms and closed all of the blinds. With each window sealed off, the dead began to pound on the walls again.
And they didn't let up.
The doors to the kitchen cabinets popped open, and dishes fell onto the floor, shattering on the worn linoleum. Canned goods fell out of the pantry, the windows rattled in their frames. From beyond the walls, he heard the siding crack and splinter. A crash shook the rear of the house and Edmund realized the ghosts had ripped the porch down.
If they keep this up, Edmund thought, they might rip the house down around my ears.
He shook his head, picked up his pistol and walked with it into the television room. Edmund sat down in his chair and looked at the blank television set. The clock on the wall above the couch read eleven thirty.
I should be watching a rerun of Antiques Roadshow, he thought. Anger flared up. He hated the disruption of his schedule.
Someone pounded on his front door.
For seventeen minutes, they hit the door until Edmund finally stood up and stalked over to it. He threw back the deadbolt and ripped the door open.
Jean Claude stood there.
The dead ceased their assault upon his house.
"Edmund!" Jean Claude said in mock surprise. "Why I didn't realize you were home!"
"What do you want now, Sergeant?" Edmund asked his voice sharper than he wanted it to be.
"Do you know you only have a few neighbors left alive?" Jean Claude asked.
"I did not know any of them were still alive," Edmund replied.
"There are. Five of them now. Two of them," Jean Claude said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone, "are children."
"Are they?" Edmund asked, wondering what the point of the discussion was.
"They are," Jean Claude said, nodding. "We should be in the house soon."
"Mine or theirs?" Edmund asked.
"Theirs."
"Ah," Edmund said, and he went to close the door.
"Edmund," Jean Claude said. "Do you remember that some of the prisoners enjoyed children?"
"Yes."
"And what do you think they will do when we breach the walls of that house?" Jean Claude asked.
"Why do you think I care?" Edmund asked.
Jean Claude didn't reply.
Edmund shook his head and said, "You confuse me, Sergeant."
"You don't care?" Jean Claude asked in a shocked voice.
"I do not care," Edmund affirmed.
"Then why were you a guard?" Jean Claude snapped.
"I needed a job," Edmund answered, and he closed the door.
The dead assaulted his house again as Edmund sat back down in his chair. He looked at the clock, then at the television and sighed.
I'm missing reruns of Hill Street Blues.
Chapter 45: Madness Reigns
Ollie wasn't quite sure what happened, but he knew it wasn't good.
For a moment he and his brother stood in the kitchen, confused as to what to do next. Mason, Shane's friend, was off to one side, and Frank was close to Shane.
Shane had been laid out on the hall floor with the female ghost standing over him.
All of that, Ollie felt certain he could handle.
When she turned and attacked Frank, he felt immobilized.
"Why is she so important, Shane?!" she shrieked, striking at him.
"Calm down, Courtney," Frank said, ducking.
But she didn't calm down, and it was only when Frank had backed down the hall towards the game room that Ollie felt able to move again.
Ollie rushed out into the hall towards Shane and Mason. Mason, in turn, had gotten down on his knees and was pulling Shane into a sitting position.
"Shane!" Mason snapped. "Gunny!"
At the second word Shane's eyes flickered open, and as Ollie reached them, he could see Shane's eyes. They rolled madly in opposite directions.
"Gunnery Sergeant Ryan!" Mason said, his tone powerful. "Who's the female, Gunny?"
"Courtney," Shane whispered.
"How did she get here?" Mason asked.
"Tags," Shane mumbled, and then his eyelids closed, head lolling to one side.
As Ollie watched, Mason reached into Shane's shirt, pulled out a chain and removed a pair of dog tags. He slid them over Shane's bald head, lowered the man gently to the floor and shot a look to Ollie, asking, "Do you have salt?"
"Yeah," Ollie said, confused. "How much do you need?"
"All of it. And hurry up," Mason ordered. There was no give in the man's tone, a promise of violence in his words.
Ollie turned, saw Pete still skulked in the kitchen and yelled to his brother, "Hey, get the salt out of the pantry!"
Pete hesitated and Ollie shouted, "Now!"
Ollie had no idea why Mason wanted it, but from what he had witnessed in his own house, Ollie wanted to make certain the man had it.
Frank reappeared a moment later, disheveled, breathing hard.
"Where is she?" Mason snapped.
"She should be back in the tags," Frank replied. "I had to hit her."
The former monk held up his hands and showed the dark rings on his fingers.
"What?" Ollie asked, confused.
"Iron," Frank began, but he was cut off as Courtney materialized and launched herself at him.
Frank staggered back, caught himself and thrust his hand through her mid-section. Courtney disappeared, and Mason shouted, "Where is that God damned salt?!"
Pete came jogging down the hall a moment later, a large container of Morton's Salt in his hands. Mason reached out, snatched it from him and tore the container open. He threw the top off to one side and stuffed the dog tags into the salt until nothing could be seen of them.
Only then did Mason seem to relax. He sat down on the floor, set the container on the tile beside him and sighed.
"What the hell just happened?" Ollie asked after several seconds of silence.
Frank plodded towards them and sank to the floor. "Courtney went a little crazy."
"I hope to God it doesn't happen again," Pete whispered.
"It won't," Mason said, nodding at the salt pile. "Not as long as she's in there."
Chapter 46: Unfortunate News
When Shane woke up with a headache worse than any hangover he had inflicted upon himself, it was not to any smiling faces.
Instead, he found himself back in the bedroom he had slept in earlier. Mason was sitting in a chair, reading a newspaper. When he saw Shane was awake, Mason put the paper down and gave him a tight, small smile.
"You could have told me you had a pet ghost," Mason said.
Shane frowned, then he remembered Courtney's attack.
"Damn," Shane grumbled. "Yeah. Well, I would have if I'd had any idea she was going to freak out."
"Who is she?" Mason asked.
Shane gave him an extremely abbreviated version of his time with Courtney. Finally, he said, "I should have seen it, though. She's been a little stranger than usual. I mean, I've heard of ghosts losing their minds. Hell, she even told me I was the only living person in my house."
"You're not?" Mason asked.
"No," Shane said. "My friend, Frank, he lives with me. Ever since he left the brotherhood he had been a monk in."
"Ah," Mason said.
Shane tried to lift his head, winced and closed his eyes. "Has Frank gotten in touch with his friend Asa?"
"Don't know," Mason answered. "He had a hell of a time with your ghost there."
Shane frowned. "What do you mean?"
"After she knocked you out," Mason said, "she turned on Frank. Screaming something about him trying to have her replaced with a living girl."
With a groan, Shane shook his head. "Damn. How did he calm her down?"
"He didn't," Mason sighed. "He tried to talk to her, but when she kept attacking, he hit her with one of those iron rings."
Shane cringed at the thought. He had no idea how it felt for a ghos
t to come in contact with iron, but he could only imagine that it wasn't pleasant.
"That wasn't the worst part, though," Mason continued.
"No?" Shane asked, surprised.
"No," Mason said. "She kept coming back. Until we stuffed your dog tags into a box of salt."
"Great," Shane said bitterly.
"Hey," Mason said, "let's not lose sight of what's going on here."
"No," Shane said, "you're right. We can't do that. Any luck with anymore help?"
Mason shook his head. "I made some calls, Frank made some calls. We've got nothing. Can your plan work without one?"
"It better," Shane said. "Because there's a whole town that depends on it."
Chapter 47: Choices
George looked at his phone. It was dead. Completely, undeniably dead. There was no power in the house to charge it. Or his laptop. They couldn't charge Laura's cell phone either. And her police issue radio was dead as well.
Food was running out, and there was a corpse in the basement. There were two little girls who had witnessed the possession of their mother and heard her death.
Soon they would begin to starve in the house, and George remembered stories of cannibalism at sea and of the survivors of some Russian city eating the dead during World War Two.
"George?" Laura asked.
He turned and looked at her. It was nearing nightfall again, only the light of the fire illuminating the room. Merle was asleep on the couch, both of the girls wrapped up in a blanket with her. The girls had cried themselves to sleep, Merle battling her own grief through the comforting of the children.
"What's up?" George asked.
"We won't be able to stay here much longer," Laura said.
He nodded. "I was thinking the same thing."
"We can't try to get out of the house with the girls, either," Laura continued.
A cold knot formed in his stomach. Does she want us to abandon them?
"I'm going to try to leave soon," Laura said. "Someone should have been here before this. Before Evie died. I don't know why they haven't, it's not right."
"How are you going to get away from the dead?" George asked. "They're everywhere. The snow doesn't slow them down."
"I'm not sure," Laura answered. "But I know there hasn't been any sort of activity around the house since Evie died. I'm wondering if maybe they're gone. Or at least focused on someone else. If either one is the case, well, I should be able to get away. Bring some help back."
George rubbed the back of his head. "You know, I'm not a fan of this idea."
"No?" Laura asked, surprised.
"Yeah, I kind of like having you here. You give a lot of strength to us, Laura," he said, the words sounding awkward as they left his mouth.
She smiled. "I appreciate that, George. I do. But this is going to be our best chance. And let's be honest here, without me, the food will last a little longer. Maybe enough until someone realizes what's going on."
George sighed and nodded. "Yeah. You're right."
Laura offered her hand, and George shook it. She glanced at the front door and sighed. "Will you lock the door behind me?"
"What if you need to come back in?" he asked.
She shook her head. "If I know I can come back easily, then I might not be able to do it at all."
"Okay," George said, his throat tight. He felt his heartbeat quicken, and an uncomfortable feeling washed over him. "Feels like I'm condemning you to death."
"You're not," she said. When she stood up, so did George. They walked together to the front door. "I want to think that everything's going to work out. Maybe come back with my husband and meet your wife. Might even have a little barbecue."
"I'd like that," George said.
Laura gave a terse nod, pulled on her gloves, and without another word, she unlocked and opened the door. A blast of cold air hammered into the house, and then she was gone, jumping out of the door and into the snow. George didn't look after her, closing the door as quickly as he could and sliding the deadlock home.
He stood there for a moment, straining his ears to hear something. Anything.
When only silence greeted him, George turned away from the door and walked to the hearth. The flames had burned low, and it was time to put another log on the fire. As he did so, he wondered what would have been worse to hear.
Nothing, or Laura screaming.
Chapter 48: Cat and Mouse
Laura had never been a fan of hide and seek as a child. She had lacked the patience for it on both ends. It bothered her to have to hide, and she despised the search for a hidden player.
Now she didn't have a choice.
Once she was outside of the safety of George's house, she sprinted to a large evergreen bush on the edge of his property. She squatted down behind it and looked out at Mulberry Street. The clouds had passed, and the sky above was clear, the stars and half-moon bright in the cold air.
She looked for any sign of the ghosts, and when she found them she stifled a gasp.
At the far end of the street, the dead had gathered around a house, and it looked as if they were intent upon the destruction of the home. The siding had been stripped off of it, and several ghosts were hammering away at the base of the chimney. Others worked on the foundation while still more slammed against the bare wood like a storm's waves against a seawall.
She found herself caught up in the chaotic scene, finally forcing herself to look away.
Focus, Laura scolded herself. Pay attention.
After her admonishment, Laura looked around at the rest of Mulberry Street. To the far left she saw her Interceptor. She suspected that the vehicle's battery had suffered the same fate as the radio's, and as all of the other battery-run items.
Somehow the dead seemed to sap the charges from the various pieces of equipment. There was no need, as far as she could see, for her to run to the Interceptor only to have herself surrounded by ghosts and ripped to shreds.
Or possessed, she thought, shuddering.
The memory of Evie and the mother's painful death was fresh in her mind, and Laura found herself wondering how the children would recuperate from the incident.
How do you tell a grief counselor about watching your mother kill herself by slamming her head into a wall? Laura thought.
She shivered and realized she was cold.
The temperature was lower than she had suspected, and she wasn't dressed for long exposure to it. She needed to move and keep moving. Surviving repeated ghost attacks only to die of exposure would be extremely unfair.
Laura peered around, and when she was satisfied she was alone, began to move. Her steps were careful and well chosen. She set a reasonable goal, the garage of the next house over.
Thirty-three small, cautious steps brought her to the building. Two more and she was in front of the garage door. Another four and she was at a small breezeway.
And then she saw him.
A ghost.
A man who must have been a guard. His back was to her as he stared into the house through the side window.
Laura tried to move past him, but the sound of her footsteps jerked him around.
He looked at her, hands twitching.
"You're a state trooper," he said in the disconcerting way the dead had, his bulbous lips not moving.
Laura nodded.
"And a woman," he stated.
"Yes," she said.
He looked back into the house for a second, and then fixed his attention on her again.
"This was my home once," he said, staying by the building. "Did you know that?"
Laura shook her head. She had no recourse. She could either listen to him speak, or try to outrun him.
"I bought it when it was new," the ghost continued. "I brought my wife up from Hudson. She liked it here. She had family over the border, in Canada. We were happy. We were trying for children."
The man hesitated, and Laura waited for him to continue.
He did after a moment. "She never con
ceived. And I died. Died because of Edmund and his stupid mistake!"
The anger in his words was accompanied by him smashing his fist against the house, the glass in the window shattering.
"Where is he?" Laura asked.
"Edmund?" the ghost said.
"Yes," Laura said.
"In his house," the man said, letting out a bitter laugh. "In the same damned house he lived in when everything happened."
"He's alive?" Laura asked, surprised.
The ghost nodded. "Of course he is. He made it through. No ill effects or anything. We're going to kill him tonight. Once we get through the walls."
"What about the rest of us?" Laura asked.
"We are trying to get control of them," the ghost explained. "But if I were you, I'd get out now. They'll get bored with Edmund soon, and when they do, they'll start with you."
Laura took the former prison guard at his word and hurried away. The sound of the dead as they tore at Edmund's house followed her down Mulberry Street, as did the sound of the guard breaking the windows of his old home.
Chapter 49: A Mystery
Shane was smoking one of Ollie's cigars. It was a foul, nasty, expensive piece of tobacco, and he hated it.
But Shane was out of cigarettes, and his body was screaming for a fix.
He sat in the spare room, the pounding in his head muffled by five crushed aspirins mixed with water. The door to the room was locked, and somewhere in the house Ollie and his wife were deep in conversation.
Shane tried to imagine the discussion between the husband and wife.
Oh hey, honey, I'm sorry. See, Pete and I screwed up and bought this prison. Then the ghosts in it, yes, ghosts, well, they were let out. And then I messed up and sent some people in and they died. Plus, yeah, yeah, they died. Honestly, how much simpler can I say it?
Shane groaned and pushed the thought away. He'd go crazy if he concentrated on the dynamics of someone's marital relationship.
"Hey."
Shane leaped off the bed and twisted around.
Frank stood by the closet, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped.
