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

by Ron Ripley

  David, Shane, and Frank had done some damage to the Watchers, but if they don't keep the pressure up then it would be pointless. The organization hadn’t survived and thrived for decades because of a refusal to act when necessary.

  David sighed, pushed the thoughts out of his mind, and tried to think of a way to distract himself.

  Finally, he shook his head and picked up the remote control of the television. He turned it on and lowered the volume, not wishing to disturb Marie. While her medication had a tendency to make her sleep, it was by no means guaranteed that she would remain in that state. And he had made the mistake of waking her up once, and his jaw had hurt for the rest of that weekend.

  For a few minutes, he flipped through the channels until he found a news network. David closed his eyes and listened to the weather report and then the sports recap. After that, a man, with far too much enjoyment, spoke about several other crimes.

  “And there’s still no information on who may have killed Shirley Coleman, the young woman discovered in Jamaica Plains yesterday morning,” the newscaster stated.

  David's eyes snapped open, and he sat up, staring at the screen.

  A picture of Shirley smiling, taken at her parents’ house the Christmas before last, was shown on the screen.

  “As we reported yesterday,” the newscaster continued. “Ms. Coleman was found yesterday with a single gunshot wound to the back of the head, killed execution style. Police are asking for any help with her murder. Her employer, an internet security company, has offered a reward of ten thousand dollars for information leading to the arrest and conviction of her killer.”

  David shut the television off, the sight of his goddaughter unbearable.

  His shoulders shook, and tears stung his eyes.

  For the first time in decades, David cried.

  Chapter 43: On the Village Green

  Shane sat on a park bench in Amherst’s Village Green. He had a cup of coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other. The clock on the Congregationalist Church struck four in the afternoon, and a warm breeze curled around him, whisking the cigarette smoke away.

  His back ached, and his eyes felt like a pair of pitted steel orbs as they moved in their sockets.

  He had spent hours researching Samson. First in the thinly lit archives of Amherst Town Hall, and then far longer in the Amherst library. He had turned up nothing in regards to the family. Or even that particular parcel of land.

  It was as though all history concerning the family had been stripped out of Amherst’s history.

  And Shane could understand that too.

  He only wanted a way to find the cemetery. Shane didn’t care about the delicate sensibilities of an old New England town. They could keep their skeletons hidden from the rest of the world so long as they gave him a peek at them.

  But they weren’t going to.

  Shane doubted a dozen people in the town even knew anything about what happened with Samson.

  He had one more avenue of research, and that was through the land deeds given out to men like Samson’s father. Whether the man’s name would be found in the papers wasn’t a concern. The absence of a name, as much as the presence of one, would help Shane locate the plot buried in the thousands of woodland acres.

  And with a location, Shane could begin to hunt the dead boy down and finish him.

  That research meant another two hours in the Amherst library, which in turn would require Shane to finish his cigarette and walk quickly back. The library closed at 8:30 and he still needed to convince a stubborn reference librarian to allow him to even see the copies of the original deeds.

  A flash of motion caught his eye and Shane looked up.

  The Amherst Police had driven by him four times in the past forty-five minutes. Part of him wanted to get up and go find where the One was. Another childish aspect thoroughly enjoyed the concern he had caused the small town police force.

  Give them a few more minutes, he thought. If they haven't approached by then, I'll head out and see what I can find.

  Shane didn’t have to wait a few more minutes.

  Before he could take another drag off his cigarette, a cruiser pulled up and parked across the green from him.

  He heard another car park behind him, and he knew it had to be a second officer.

  The police officer in the car he could see stepped out, adjusted his hat and belt and started toward him.

  “Shane Ryan?” a voice asked from behind him.

  Shane glanced over his shoulder and saw a tall, solid, older man in a State Police uniform. The man had sergeant’s stripes on his sleeves and a hand on a holstered pistol.

  The safety loop, Shane noticed, was off the weapon and would allow a free, unencumbered draw.

  Shane looked back at the Amherst police officer who had almost reached him.

  “No,” Shane said.

  “No?” the State Police officer asked. “That’s not your car parked here?”

  “Nope,” Shane answered. He finished his cigarette and field stripped it, stuffing the remnants into his pants pocket.

  “So you won’t care if this vehicle gets towed?” the sergeant asked.

  “Not a bit,” Shane said. “Knock yourself out.”

  “Could we see some ID?” the Amherst officer asked as he came to a stop a few feet in front of Shane.

  “No,” Shane said.

  “That’s not really a request,” the Amherst officer said.

  “Sure it is,” Shane replied. “See, you’re wearing a body camera, which means that this is all being recorded. Also, did you look outside of the gas station over there?”

  The Amherst officer glanced over, and a frown flickered across his face. A group of teenagers sat on a stone wall, drinking soda, eating snacks, and filming the police and Shane.

  “Great,” the Amherst officer muttered.

  “Yeah,” Shane said. “Exactly. Those kids are watching everything you’re doing. And you know they’re recording too. Hell, I bet a couple of them are even live streaming it. You may even become a viral hit, officer. So, since I haven’t done anything wrong, and since all of this is being recorded for posterity, no, I don’t want to show you my ID. Or any ID.”

  Silence settled on them for a minute, and then the sergeant broke it.

  “What’s in your coffee cup, sir?” the man asked.

  “Nothing,” Shane answered.

  “Then why are you still holding onto it?” the Amherst officer asked.

  “Didn’t see the trash,” Shane said truthfully. “Figured I’d hold onto it until I found a place to throw it out.”

  “Not because you had alcohol in it?” the sergeant asked, baiting him.

  Shane almost rose to it, but he shook his head. “No. Just a black coffee.”

  “You need to show me some ID,” the Amherst officer said, a frustrated tone in his voice.

  “I need to take a walk,” Shane responded. He stood up. “You officers have a nice day.”

  He started to leave when the sergeant said, “Sir, is that a weapon?”

  “Yes,” Shane said. “Yes, it is.”

  “Then I definitely need you to show me some identification,” the sergeant said.

  Shane turned around. Anger filled his voice as he answered.

  “No,” Shane said. “You don’t. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going now.”

  The Amherst officer stepped over to the right, and Shane knew what they were about to do. One of them would draw a Taser, hit him with it, then bring him in. He didn’t know why they were so intent on speaking with him at the police station, and he didn’t care.

  Shane knew he hadn’t done anything wrong, and he was going to make them work for everything they had to get.

  “Gentlemen,” Shane said, pouring all of the steel and hate he had learned in the Marines into his voice, “you are both going to stand down and take a long, deep breath before you do something you’re going to regret.”

  “Sir,” the sergeant said. “
You need to put your hands behind your head and interlock your fingers so we can disarm you, do you understand?”

  “That,” Shane said between clenched teeth, “is not going to happen.”

  A small group of people had gathered on the other side of the park, a mix of men and women. Some of them had cellphones up as well.

  “Sir,” the sergeant barked. “This is not a request. Put your hands behind your head and interlock your fingers. Do you understand me?!”

  Shane opened his mouth to reply even while the Amherst officer’s hand dropped down to the yellow Taser he carried.

  And then the world went cold as Courtney burst out of the dog-tags.

  Chapter 44: An Unpleasant Surprise

  The force of Courtney’s exit from the dog-tags sent Shane tumbling. He rolled, got to his feet, and saw he hadn’t been the only one impacted by her movement.

  Both of the officers were down, but they were getting up again. Branches were knocked off of several of the town trees, and there were exclamations of dismay from the bystanders.

  Shane found out why a moment later when the Amherst officer drew his Taser and fired it.

  As the darts pierced his sweatshirt, Shane braced himself for the shock to follow, but it never did. The Amherst officer squeezed the trigger several times even as Shane ripped the darts out.

  Without hesitating, Shane turned and ran, leaping over the sergeant as he got to his knees.

  Both officers called for him to stop, but Shane didn’t. It would be better to deal with the ramifications later than wind up in jail for the night.

  And there was the real worry about whether or not the officers were working for the Watchers. Shane didn’t want to have to try and survive another assassination attempt. He might not be as lucky as he was before.

  Twenty steps into his run and Shane was coughing, decades of cigarettes wreaking havoc on his lungs. He ran through the pain, the officers’ footsteps loud behind him.

  He reached a small, dark green house and ducked behind the back of it.

  Courtney appeared in front of him, a grim expression on her elfin features.

  "Stay here," she said and raced past him.

  Shane came to a stop, sucking in huge breaths while trying not to throw up. The coffee swirled and turned in his stomach, his throat tightened, and a moment later, he lost his battle with it. Beneath the sound of his vomiting, he heard a crash and two dull thuds.

  Courtney returned, waited for him to straighten up and said, “They won’t bother us now.”

  “What did you do?” Shane asked, more out of curiosity than concern for the officers.

  “I knocked them out,” she replied. “Do you know where to go?”

  Shane shook his head. “I was hoping to look at some maps, but that’s not going to work now.”

  “No,” she said, agreeing with him. Courtney looked down at the ground. “But I can help. I can find him for us.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked her. “There’s a lot of territory to cover.”

  Courtney nodded. “I’ll find him, Shane. Follow me.”

  The faint sound of sirens in the distance reminded Shane that he needed to move quickly.

  “Alright,” he said softly, “lead the way.”

  Courtney glided into the forest behind the house and Shane followed her. He watched her as they made their way; something was different about her. An attitude that he couldn’t identify. Part of him was fearful that she might slip away from him, lose all that she had gained in the past few months. While he didn’t want her to leave him, Shane also didn’t want her to stay.

  She needed to be healed, and to leave for whatever was next.

  Shane pushed the thoughts away and forced himself to focus on the path they followed.

  He noticed, suddenly, that the deeper he moved into the woods, the stronger he felt. Energy pulsed up through the ground, penetrated his shoes, and worked its way up through his legs and into his chest. His heart thumped, and a curious, cheerful smile made its way onto his face.

  Shane couldn’t understand why since he knew that eventually, he would have to meet Samson.

  And meeting Samson, Shane knew, wasn’t something to smile about.

  Chapter 45: Hope Springs Forth

  Clair sat at her desk with her eyes closed and in darkness. It was her preferred way to contemplate a situation. Especially one as difficult as her current predicament.

  Shane Ryan had not been killed.

  Frank Benedict had not been killed.

  Clair had lost an entire section of seasoned professionals, haunted items, and been forced to execute one of her most effective assassins. Gabby had been unstable following the death of Jenna, but the knowledge of who had killed her sister had made her useless. Clair would have gotten nothing from the woman until vengeance had been enacted. Gabby would have been a risk, in regards to not only the security of the organization but to the limited resources that remained. With the execution of Gabby, Clair had been left with only thirty-four effective members.

  Which brought Clair back to the situation concerning the One.

  She had to review his terms and to review them with care. The devil, as people said, was in the details. A mistake on her part would undo too much work. Too much sacrifice. She had spent almost her entire adult life in the service of the Watchers. Clair had waited for her opportunity to shine, and she had seized it when the moment had come. One of her greatest memories was the murder of Harlan.

  A smile graced her lips as she remembered the man’s death.

  She shooed the pleasant recollection away and focused on the One.

  While she had not revealed to other members of the organization any doubts or questions in regards to the boy in Amherst, she had suffered from them. The Watchers had been seeking the One for decades and there had been several false starts. The schoolteacher who Shane and Frank had recently dispatched had been one of them.

  According to the calculations made by the early Watchers, the One would be found at the intersection of multiple ley lines. The spirit would be powerful, feed easily from both the living and the dead, and when strong enough, the One would be able to share its strength. Each of the faithful would gain nourishment from the One, energy and sustenance that would hold the ravages of age and time at bay.

  Clair had never delved into the reasons behind these statements. She, like all of the Watchers, took the words of the organization’s founders on faith. And she had never experienced anything to shake her convictions.

  The child in Amherst fit everything the early Watchers had said to seek. He was on the ley lines and powerful. With words only, he could convince the living to do his bidding. And his power expanded exponentially with each individual fed to him.

  Anger spiked in Clair for a moment as she thought about the current situation. She was upset with her predecessors as well as herself. Someone should have sought out the intersections of the ley lines decades ago. Such examinations would have revealed buildings, if there were any, and one definitely would have shown them the presence of the Amherst burial ground.

  Where the boy, the One, resided.

  The boy wanted a new person each day. It would build up his strength, which was weak after so many years without any real sustenance. She estimated thirty to forty days before he would be powerful enough to even begin to try and extend one person’s life. And neither the Watchers nor the One knew how much energy it might require of him.

  It could drain him to the extent that they would never be able to work with him again, in which case the quest would continue.

  Clair didn’t believe it would come to that.

  The boy was on the intersection of the ley lines. His property was the one Emmanuel Borgin had tried to purchase nearly a century earlier. And Borgin had been far from stupid.

  No, Clair thought. I have to find out how much the One really needs. When I do that, then we can start to extend ourselves.

  The memory of Shane Ryan’s voice filled her m
ind suddenly, and forced her to straighten up, her eyes opening.

  Before the extensions could begin, Shane Ryan would have to be killed.

  The only question for Clair was how.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Clair snapped, "Hold on."

  She straightened her blouse, switched on the desk lamp, and said, “Come in.”

  The door opened, and her secretary stepped in on silent feet. His face was pale as he said, "I think you need to turn the news on."

  She kept her comments to herself, silently promising him a miserable day if he had disturbed her for some foolish reason.

  He hadn’t.

  Clair watched the news for several minutes, then when the story changed, she moved on to a new channel. There she received the same information as the other.

  An unidentified man had been confronted by police in Amherst, New Hampshire, and then somehow managed to knock two officers unconscious, escaping afterwards. Clair did an internet search and discovered some uploaded video footage that showed the start of the altercation.

  A bald man sat on a park bench on the town green, and while there was no sound, the body language of all three men involved was plain enough to read. The air seemed alive with hostility. Clair watched as the bald man stood, walked away, and then stopped to turn and face the officers.

  Then there was a flash, and the footage ended. Clair scrolled down and saw there were nearly a thousand comments on the video. Some claimed it was footage of a ghost. The majority ridiculed the rest, saying what they saw was nothing more than a hoax. There were, according to the comments, no ghosts, and the footage’s abrupt ending confirmed that the video was a hoax. The original poster defended the footage, replying that the reason the video was cut short was the sudden draining of the phone’s battery.

  Clair, however, watched it again. And then a third time.

  Frowning, she pulled up a magnification program, applied it to the film clip, and managed to zoom in on the bald man.