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

by Ron Ripley

  Edmund didn’t want that, and most of Gaiman knew how he was. There were always a few, like Ronnie, who wouldn’t accept it, and seemed to find Edmund’s reluctance to speak, a challenge.

  So, instead of leaving, Edmund had ordered another Molson, finished it, and then left the club. He had parked his Volkswagen in the back parking lot. When he stepped into the alley which led to his car, Edmund had become aware of two important facts.

  The first was Ronnie hadn’t left.

  The Second, Ronnie was being choked to death by Fats Webb.

  Fats Webb, Edmund knew, was dead. Edmund had not only watched Fats die years earlier, but he had been responsible for the man’s death.

  Edmund closed the door to the Club behind him, making sure it latched without a sound. He leaned against the wall and watched Ronnie die, wondering how Fats could be present.

  The man had died in Kurkow Prison, like so many others.

  Ronnie thudded onto the pavement as Fats let him go.

  The prisoner vanished and Edmund was left with an unrestricted view of Kurkow. From where he stood, he could see that the double doors of the prison were open. Someone, for some reason, had gone into the facility, and left the door open.

  Frowning, Edmund walked down the small alley, stepped over the fresh corpse, and went to his car. The Volkswagen started up without any difficulty, and Edmund left the parking lot.

  Bonus Scene Chapter 3: At Home

  With the closing of the prison after the accident, Gaiman had started a long, slow decline. Years passed and people moved away. They went to where the jobs were, down in Concord and Manchester, Nashua and over the border into Massachusetts.

  And as the people left, so did some of the stores, old Bertram’s gas station folded. There were empty houses on each and every street.

  Edmund thought about the events which had occurred since February 11th, 1974 as he drove home. He turned onto Mulberry Street, passed the dark houses of his neighbors, and pulled into his own driveway. After he turned off the engine, he stepped out of the car, locked the door, and tried the handle three times before he went up to the kitchen door.

  He let himself in, secured the deadbolt, then wiggled the doorknob three times.

  With his ritual satisfied, Edmund turned around and double checked the list that was taped on the cabinet door above the stove.

  Locks locked, he read, nodding to himself. Gas off.

  He twisted the dials for each burner five times to the left, and when he had finished, he looked at the list again.

  Get ready for bed.

  Edmund hung his car keys up on the hook to the right of the door, left the kitchen and went to his bedroom. He changed into his pajamas, neatly folded his dirty clothes and put them in the hamper which he would bring down to the basement in the morning. Before he got into bed, Edmund knelt down and said the Lord’s Prayer twenty-five times, exactly as his mother had taught him to do.

  When he finished, Edmund got into bed, pulled the blankets and sheet up under his chin, and stared at the ceiling.

  He wasn’t one for introspection. Edmund remembered what was important, and tended to forget what wasn’t.

  Some things, though, he could recall whether he wanted to or not.

  And the death of Fats Webb was one of them.

  Edmund remembered everything about the day Fats had died.

  Everything.

  Bonus Scene Chapter 4: February 11th, 1974

  Edmund was tired and irate.

  He had picked up an extra shift, covering Mike Folos’ second shift in addition to his own third. Gaiman had raised property taxes and Edmund had to get some more hours to make sure he wouldn’t be short in June for the mid-year payment.

  To make matters worse, Captain Ehrman had assigned Edmund the laundry room.

  Edmund didn’t like the laundry room.

  And it took a lot for Edmund to not like something.

  There was no order in the laundry room. No way to make sure the convicts were doing what they were supposed to. Impossible to keep track of them, which meant it was impossible for him to make sure the job was done properly.

  Edmund needed jobs to be done right. There were steps to follow. Ways to make certain the world moved in a smooth and proper fashion.

  ‘Everything in its place, and a place for everything’ was a saying Edmund appreciated and lived by. Prisoners under his watch had to live by the same, or suffer the consequences.

  Edmund moved down the center corridor and paused. He could hear someone talking. A little farther off, down to the right where there shouldn’t be anyone. Prisoners worked at the huge washing tubs, their eyes turned away from Edmund. The men, dressed in denim pants and shirts of various shades depending on the age of the clothing, knew how Edmund liked things.

  Eye contact was not on the list of appropriate actions.

  And neither was talking.

  Edmund began to walk again, the sound of his boots on the concrete floor was lost beneath the noises of the machines. The voices of the men in the corner grew louder.

  None of the convicts at the washing machines made any attempt to warn the men. That would have earned a blow from Edmund’s nightstick, and in spite of his small size, Edmund knew exactly where to hit a man. Each strike inflicted maximum pain with minimum effort, a source of pride for Edmund.

  He slowed his steps as he reached the corner, his grip on his nightstick loose, but sure. Edmund walked past Dicky Marion, the old con bent over the controls of the washer, and came to a stop.

  Fats Webb and Nolan Derth argued, their hands moving rapidly, as if the violent gestures lent more weight to their words.

  Edmund watched them as he counted to thirty. When he reached thirty-one and the men still hadn’t noticed him, he moved. His steps were quick, his grip on the nightstick tightening.

  Nolan looked over at him, surprise on his face as Edmund swung the weapon. It was a black blur, smashing into Nolan’s exposed ribs and dropping the prisoner to the floor. As the man writhed and howled, Edmund stepped over him. Fats backed away, raising his hands up and shaking his head.

  Edmund brought the nightstick under Fats’ upraised hands, sinking the wood deep into the man’s large stomach. Fats vomited, hot, stinking bile splashing on Edmund’s hands and staining his work pants.

  Edmund struck Fats four more times, twice on each bicep, the man squealing like a stuck pig, arms hanging loosely at his side.

  For a moment, Edmund considered a prolonged beating, but decided against it. He turned and walked back to the main aisle. None of the men at the washers looked at him, and Edmund made his way towards the dryers.

  He passed by the tool and chemical room. Wrenches and hammers, screwdrivers and spare parts hung in their proper places. Large cylinders of various cleansers were stacked along the opposite side, the chemicals hazardous and necessary for the laundry to clean the convicts’ clothing and bedding.

  When Edmund reached the dryers he found all in order. The men ignored him, and he felt a small, pleased smile settle on his face. He went to the locked door, made certain it was still secure, then continued on his patrol. In a minute, he was back in the washing room, where he found both Fats and Nolan at their machines. The men were pale and shaking, but they knew better than to ask for the infirmary after Edmund had punished them.

  Edmund went back to his position between the two rooms, standing with his back against a concrete wall. No one could approach him without being seen. Other guards had been attacked in the laundry room in the past, and for a time, they had to work in pairs. Then the warden had come up with the idea of shifting laundry room work to third shift. Only trusted cons would be allowed on the detail. While the temperatures in the summer were unpleasant, in the winter the warmth offered was worth the hassle.

  Edmund couldn’t understand how the other guards enjoyed the laundry room.

  The noise, the overall chaotic atmosphere was all too much. It set his teeth on edge and made him far more likely to
lash out. The cons, for the most part, had learned that lesson quickly.

  Occasionally, there were relapses, such as Fats and Nolan.

  Edmund’s coworkers would have wondered what the men had argued about, but Edmund didn’t care. If he said they couldn’t talk, then they couldn’t talk. Rules were meant to be followed. Which was why he never sought to switch details with other guards. When Edmund was assigned a task, he did it, no matter how much it bothered him.

  It was the way the world worked, and everyone had to toe the line.

  Movement caught Edmund’s eye and he looked to the left.

  Chance Lemay had come to a stop five feet away from Edmund. The con had his hands behind his back and looked straight ahead.

  Edmund had made Chance the official time keeper for the shift.

  “Yes?” Edmund asked.

  “Sir,” Chance said, avoiding eye contact. “It is now sixty thirty in the morning, sir.”

  Edmund glanced at the clock on the wall, saw the man was correct, and nodded. “Thank you.”

  Chance nodded, turned around and walked back to his dryer. Edmund walked to the door, and turned the lights on and off three times. The machines shut down, and men left them. Some of them carried tools, putting them away. When all of the machines were off and the cons had joined the others in the washing machine area, Edmund began his final sweep through the dryers.

  Bonus Scene Chapter 5: The Wrench

  Edmund’s mood hadn’t improved with the corporal punishment of Fats and Nolan. Some guards found beating the cons a way to relieve stress. Others enjoyed the infliction of pain.

  For Edmund, it was a disruption in the routine.

  So, too, was the wrench he found out of place.

  The pipe-wrench, nearly two feet in length, was lying on Telly Enos’ dryer. Edmund couldn’t recall why Telly had needed a wrench.

  What he did know was that Telly hadn’t replaced the tool. It lay like a pile of trash in the middle of a pristine lawn.

  And it was too much for Edmund.

  Far too much.

  Grinding his teeth, Edmund snatched the wrench up and stalked down the aisle between the dryers to the main corridor. When he turned the corner, he caught sight of the cons. They stood at the far end, waiting in silence. One of them saw the wrench in Edmund’s hands and fear flickered across the man’s face.

  “Telly!” Edmund snarled. “Telly Enos!”

  The other prisoners stepped back, pressing themselves up against the washers to get away from the offender.

  Telly, twenty-one years old and doing five years for assault with intent to kill, shivered, wide-eyed. He was a gangly young con, and how he had survived the brutality of prison for the first six months was anyone’s guess.

  Edmund glared at Telly, and the prisoner stared at the floor.

  “Why,” Edmund hissed, “was this wrench at your station?”

  “I forgot it, sir,” Telly whispered. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  Telly’s apology did nothing to appease Edmund’s anger.

  “You’re sorry?” Edmund snapped, spittle flying out of his mouth. “Not yet. You’re not nearly sorry yet.”

  Edmund half pivoted and threw the wrench into the tool room.

  The intention was to strike the wall of tools, to knock them down and scatter them. Edmund had planned on a mess, a terrible, horrible mess, one which Telly would have to clean.

  And Edmund planned to beat the con the entire time.

  The pipe wrench was heavier than Edmund thought. Its weight threw off his aim, and not by a little.

  Instead of the wrench slamming into the other tools and creating chaos, it struck the chemical tanks. Edmund watched as some curious law of physics allowed the pipe wrench to shear away the nozzle of one tank, at first, and then smash into the handle of another.

  The sound of gas escaping from the first tank was hideous.

  When gas began to spurt from the second tank, Edmund knew he was in danger.

  I have no desire to die, Edmund realized, and all of his anger towards Telly evaporated.

  Edmund turned and ran for the exit.

  Behind him, there was silence, and then Telly let out a high pitched scream.

  Shouts and confusion erupted, Edmund could hear men coughing and vomiting. By the time he reached the exit, the cons had started to run.

  Edmund slammed into the door, threw back the bolt and ripped it open. As he turned and jerked it closed, Edmund saw pale gray gas through the door’s checkered safety glass. It drifted out of the tool area and through it, he could make out the shapes of some of the cons. Some lay on the floor, writhing. Others were still.

  A few had run through the expanding cloud of gas and were nearly at the door.

  Edmund locked it, yanking the key out as the first of them, Chance Lemay, reached the door. Chance’s pale blue eyes were wide as he hammered on the door.

  “Please!” Chance begged. “Let me out!”

  Others joined him as Edmund backed up. The cons banged on the door, their screams muffled by the thick steel and glass.

  The screams turned to shrieks as the gas reached them. Edmund watched as their faces swelled, lips took on the semblance of slugs and their tongues protruded, blackened.

  As the cons collapsed, a wave of relief washed over Edmund.

  I’m safe, he thought. The gas is contained.

  Even as the idea of safety filled him, the first tendrils of gas crept under the door.

  Edmund turned and ran again. He didn’t stop running until he had reached a second set of doors, where he knew the next station guard would be.

  Edmund came to a stop a few feet away, took several deep breaths and exited.

  “Hey,” Carl Addison said, putting his hat back on. “Mind watching this for the last five of the shift? I’ve got to hit the bathroom.”

  “Sure,” Edmund said. “I have Chance Lemay bringing the others up. They should be here soon.”

  Carl nodded. “Lemay’s a good kid. Thanks, Edmund.”

  Edmund watched as Carl hurried away and he couldn’t believe his good luck. The shift change was nearly on them, and the first shift crew would come in.

  They can handle the gas leak, Edmund thought. He watched the clock for sixty seconds, and then left Carl’s station. In silence, he passed by the secure bathroom, and made his way through the warren of back halls. When he reached the main level, an old air-raid siren sounded.

  Edmund winced at the sound and came to a stop.

  The warden’s voice blared over the intercom system.

  “All staff, all staff, this is a priority message,” the warden said, a hard note in his amplified voice. “We have an unknown chemical agent moving up through the sub-basement and basement. This is a mass evacuation event. We have buses coming in for the convicts, but we need to escort them all into the yard immediately. I say again, this is a mass evacuation event. All guards are required to assist in the removal of the prisoners.”

  Edmund’s shoulders sagged.

  He turned around, looked for the duty sergeant, Warren Ellis, and found him coming out of the briefing room.

  “Where to, Sergeant?” Edmund asked.

  “Go to A Block,” Ellis said. “Start with the odd numbers. I’ll send someone up as soon as I can.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Edmund replied. He fought back his fear as he hurried for the center stairwell. Edmund wanted to run. To run all the way to his house on Mulberry Street.

  But the Warden had said everyone had to help, and Edmund always did what he was told.

  Bonus Scene Chapter 6: Making a Decision

  At some point, Edmund had fallen asleep. The memories of 1974 fading back into the recesses of his mind. When he awoke, Edmund knew he had to take steps to ensure his safety. If the dead were to continue exiting Kurkow, then they would eventually find him.

  Edmund knew it would not be a pleasant experience, and since he had no desire to move from Gaiman, something else had to be done.

&
nbsp; The morning ritual occupied much of his time, and it wasn’t until he had dried and put away his few dishes that he had time to think about the task at hand.

  His mother had been a fountain of information regarding folklore and old wives’ tales. Edmund realized he needed to remember what it was she had told him about ghosts.

  He retreated to the safety of his television room and sat down in his chair. There were twenty minutes until his first game show, ‘The Price is Right,’ began. He had twenty minutes to come up with a solution, or it would have to wait until after ‘Days of Our Lives.’

  Edmund couldn’t break his routine.

  He closed his eyes and pushed his mind into the memories of his childhood. Talks with his father and school days he ignored. Neither had ever been pleasant.

  His mother had understood him. She had allowed him to keep his routines. She knew how he worked, and what he needed to do.

  Edmund focused on their breakfasts together. He pictured her holding up the salt shaker.

  Salt, she had told him, will keep the dead out of the house. Burning sage will cast them out if they’ve gotten in. At least the weaker ones.

  Edmund had nodded as a boy when he heard the information, and he nodded again as a man with the information replayed in his head.

  I have heard, his mother had continued, of ghosts being bound to things. Objects. This takes a powerful ghost, or a powerful man, and you shouldn’t trust either one of them, Edmund.

  Again he nodded.

  If you have to contain a ghost, she said, getting up to wash the dishes, you would do best to use iron. An iron lock on a chest. Iron chains on a door. Iron, Edmund, iron keeps the dead honest.

  Edmund opened his eyes.

  Iron, he thought. I am going to have to get some iron. There are iron bars on the windows of Kurkow. So the dead did not come through the windows. The door, the door was open.

  They came out the door.

  He nodded. I will need chains. Chains to secure the doors, if I am to live. Chains to keep the dead bound within the prison.