The Hauntings of Cold Creek Hollow (Haunted Series)

by Alexie Aaron

  “It wasn’t me. Tom found it.”

  “Good job, Deputy Tom.” Gerald clapped his hands together. “I’ll go down first, test the air.” Gerald stood still as Sheriff Ryan secured a rope around his waist. From out of his backpack Shem pulled a self-lit breathing apparatus. He pulled it over his head, and as he moved it into place, he gave a thumbs up. The sheriff held on to one arm as Shem lowered himself and sat on the edge. He moved his feet until he found his next foothold. The team held on to the rope as Shem navigated the old stone steps. He disappeared into the darkness. The only thing showing that he was continuing downward was the steady pull of the rope.

  Gerald looked at each step as it passed his lamp. He didn’t see anything that would have impeded “the club” from escaping up the stairs. The slab after all this time was in good working order. The stairs held no solution to the mystery. When his foot hit solid bottom, he turned slowly and cast his hand-held light forward. He was in a ten foot square chamber. He took out his meter and tested the air. It was stale but breathable. He tugged twice on his rope to signal all was right and for the group to descend.

  He packed up his gear and felt the rope slack as the next team member moved downward. Gerald moved across from the stairs and moved his hands along the wall. He found something out of place. Moving the light along the protuberance, he saw a wedge made of stone jammed in the middle of a long crevice. He traced with his hands around the cracks and came to the realization that he was looking at a doorway, a doorway that was locked from the outside.

  “Gerald, where are you? Oh, there you are.” Father Santos moved towards the faint light cast by the flashlight.

  “Father, I found a doorway. It’s been wedged shut from this side. They couldn’t get out. There was no way they could move this door. See how it’s wedged in the opening mechanism? It took a mighty arm to do this. One used to hard labor.”

  “Or one very angry pastor, perhaps?” Gerald offered. “But how are the spirits getting out if it’s sealed?” he asked no one in particular.

  “The cave in England had air vents. Perhaps during the fire the smoke was sucked in, and the members down here were overcome and died.”

  “We smelled sulfur before Burt was attacked. It may have been coming up from the vents,” Mike suggested.

  “I bet the vents were incorporated into the very walls of the church. That would explain a lot,” Gerald mused.

  “Call up there to John. Tell him that we need a crowbar.”

  The word was passed. Tom climbed up the two sets of ladders and met Ted at the top.

  “Here’s the crowbar. How’s it going? Any bodies yet?”

  “You’re such a ghoul. Nope, not yet. We’re going to open the chamber in a few minutes.”

  “Not to get you worried, but that’s when the shit hits the fan in ten out of ten horror flicks,” Ted warned.

  “Thanks for the info, bud. Get ready, we’re going to get real busy soon. And stop smiling. This is real life stuff here. Oh never mind.” Tom climbed down, trying to remove the image of Ted’s Santa-is-coming face out of his mind.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  He had grown powerful despite the setbacks of the past few days. His followers were happy, and soon it would be time to move out into the world. The foolish flesh-dwellers came to him. Who shall he pick to be the carrier? There were so many young, strong ones to choose from. First his fun, he needed to sate his desire and the desires of the fallen. All but three were corruptible. Those three would die.

  Mia heard the siren call that preceded Steele. His words tried to seep into Mia’s mind. Promises of a shared kingdom on earth, of treasure only gods could give. Steele held the key to all of this. All she had to do was open her mind.

  “He’s almost here,” Mia whispered.

  “He’s making his case,” Bev said quietly, “Says he can restore my beauty, make me immortal. All I have to do is...”

  “Open your mind,” Mia completed. “The audacity of this freak. He’s showing me jewels and fancy automobiles, as if these things will help make his case.”

  “My picture show is different: money, power, and beauty.”

  “He’s an ass. You’re already beautiful.”

  Bev turned towards her. “You really think so, don’t you? Bless you. I have a question before he comes. You were dead for a few minutes, what did you see?”

  “I don’t think I was gone long enough for it to register. I was so disappointed. Whit brought me back to pain when I had just tasted paradise.”

  “Remember your own words when you have to make a choice,” Bev counseled.

  Mia looked down the street, and she saw Steele coming. He was in the form of a man of middle height, his face moving so quickly that Mia could not clearly see his features. He walked with a swirling mass of what at first looked like snakes surrounding his legs. As he got closer, she saw the mass was made of the hands and arms of his acolytes.

  “Look at the confidence on that one,” Bev pointed out. “Does he really think he has a chance?”

  “Maybe he’s trying to frighten us,” Mia said evenly. “He doesn’t seem too concerned with the men he’s passed.”

  “Ah, first the fun then the slaughter. Remember he feeds off of fear.” Bev closed her eyes and spoke, “He taunted trapped animals as a child. Poor sick little Morris had to play with his sisters, couldn’t go outside with the other lads. The sick little bastard pinched the help, shoved his hands under their chemises. He found release in their shame.” Bev probed the entity’s mind. “His father wanted an heir so badly that his mother paid off the victims. Morris learned that he could have anything he wanted as long as he had money.”

  “He keeps glancing at the sky,” Mia observed.

  “He’s afraid of lightning,” Bev picked up. “If only we had old Ben Franklin with us.”

  “What I would give for a storm cloud about now. I guess we’ll just have to make do,” Mia said as Steele slowed his progress.

  He was confused by their lack of homage. These two women, one young and juicy and the other one old but still tasty, had no respect for him. There was no fear, no way into their minds.

  He should have taken the young one when she first arrived. It was a foolish mistake to wait in order to make her panic.

  “He’s assessing you as an adversary. He’s confused,” Bev read.

  “How long can we keep him this way?”

  “As long as it takes,” Bev replied.

  The door gave a little after Gerald had chipped most of the wedge free. He had Mike, Tom and John push on the side opposite the latch, maintaining pressure. He jabbed the pry bar in once more and pulled back.

  There was a screech of stone on stone as the door pivoted around. Mike lost his balance and fell into the dark opening. His eyes adjusted quickly, and he found himself face to face with a mummified screaming face. “Holy shit!”

  Several lights shone on the mass of brown twisted limbs and bodies piled just the other side of the doorway.

  Gerald recovered first and instructed, “John, have Beth and Ted bring down the stretchers. Tell them...”

  “There’s a shitload of bodies here,” Mike finished. He stood up and stepped back. “I count five at the door. Either their clothes rotted away or the perverts were all naked.”

  Father Santos stepped forward and pushed out with his mind. “We have to hurry. Presently, the spirits are elsewhere. Start moving these five out of this tomb.”

  Mike, squeamish even though his hands were gloved, started pulling at the mass, hoping to dislodge a single body. John stepped up and ran his gloved hand over and found the other end of the body, and the two of them lifted the first of the club out of the way. They walked by Tom and Gerald who took their place. The two teams worked quickly, stacking the bon ton of Chicago like cordwood.

  Beth and Ted arrived just as the doorway was cleared. Father Santos instructed them to carry as many as they could. He helped them bind the corpses together for the trip out of the fo
undations and over to the cemetery.

  Gerald moved past the doorway and into the darkness beyond. His light tried to pierce the darkness. Keeping close to the outside wall of the room, he traveled slowly until he came across a gas lantern hung from the wall. He took it down from the hook and brought it out into the antechamber. “Anybody got a light?” he said as he lifted the glass. Mike handed him a lighter, and soon Gerald had the old lamp working. He replaced the glass and walked into the chamber. He kept to the walls and found a lantern every few yards. He lit the new one and moved on to next. After he had traveled the chamber, lighting all but two of the lanterns, he held his breath and looked inward.

  Before him was a tableau of sex, hunger and despair. Three bodies were intertwined with another one sitting in a chair observing. Which one was Steele? The brutality of the death embrace on the floor would lead him to think the topmost figure was he. Although the chair did look like a throne.

  “Poor woman, was she a victim or willing participant?” Father Santos asked as he stood beside his friend.

  “Can’t tell what exactly went on here. The others were struggling to get out, but these four...” Gerald stopped and moved forward to examine the mummified trio. “They’re manacled together.” Gerald turned and pointed at the seated form. “That’s Steele.”

  Steele surged forward, his followers scratching on the ground as they carried him. Two of the fallen formed bodies. As Burt moved to intercept the group, they attacked him. He fought them with his mind and barely managed to keep on his feet.

  Angelo moved into the path of Steele, chanting old scripts, his cadence steady. Two new beasts formed and moved off to attack him. The apparitions stood and moved around the tall man, taking turns jabbing pointy fingers into the soft areas. Angelo stood strong and continued to chant.

  Steele looked fondly at his small, strong army. “Very good. Pinch, poke, devour these men, my precious ones. There are more...” he stopped speaking as another crossed his path. “What do you intend to do, farmer, to protect the women? You couldn’t even keep your own woman in your bed,” Steele laughed at the shabby man before him.

  Mia pushed out with her mind and willed her strength into Murphy. She felt a hand grab hers as Bev joined with her.

  Murphy raised his axe and let it fall. Steele was stunned but not depleted. Once again Murphy swung his axe, this time cleaving it down through Steele’s head. The apparition shuddered and disappeared.

  Murphy looked around in confusion.

  “He’s gone back to draw power. Warn the men!” Bev shouted to Mia.

  Mia picked up her pink phone and speed-dialed Whit. “Steele is coming back, Burt and Angelo are barely holding on here,” she yelled into the phone as she ran towards Burt who was losing ground.

  Whit - who had just deposited the last of the five on top of the marble slab which was serving as a makeshift morgue, courtesy of the techies - radioed the deputies. They immediately left the salt rings to warn the group below.

  Whit looked at Beth and Ted. “This consecrated ground ain’t working.”

  Ted looked at Beth and said, “Plan B.”

  Ted took off running while Beth instructed Whit to gather as much dry wood as he could. They jammed it in between the bodies. Ted shouted a warning before tossing a can of gasoline to Beth who began drenching the corpses with the combustible fluid.

  Mia pushed at the bodies and pulled at the fingers that had a weakened Burt surrounded. She managed to get one of the mindless off him and interested in her. “Come on, you bastard. You wanted this, come and get it.”

  The mass moved towards Mia, sizing her up. It drew energy until it formed completely. Mia stood facing the hanging man from the house behind them. His eyes twinkled as he smiled wide.

  It occurred to Mia that this wasn’t one of the entombed. This was something else. “Bev, not all of the army are from the tomb,” she warned as she reached for a saltshaker.

  Gerald felt his presence before he saw the corpse move. “Father, Steele is back.”

  Steele pushed to his feet, oblivious to his state of decomposition. He moved towards a long wooden box.

  “Gerald, the child, the sacrificed Lewis boy is in the box,” Father Santos said, moving between Steele and his power source.

  Ted yelled, “Stand back!” before igniting the flamethrower. He shot the flame forward and moved around the pyre until the bodies caught fire.

  Beth looked with pride at Ted and calmly said to Whit, “Plan B.”

  “You got this?” Whit asked.

  “No problem,” Beth said. “You go help the Father.”

  Whit took off running. Ted circled the pyre and then stood beside Beth and said, “I hope this works.”

  Angelo’s attackers wavered, withered and fell to ash. Burt, who had been pinned down easily, pushed off the fading, twisting black mass. He looked around, and Mia was gone.

  “Mia,” he called.

  “She was pushed back into the house, hurry,” Bev said as she reached out a hand to bring Burt to his feet. They ran towards the house and got there just as the door closed.

  Angelo walked over to Daisy Sprigs who finally found someone who could hear her. With the fire roaring in the background, Daisy Sprigs told Angelo of a greater danger than Steele.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Steele smiled at the priest. “Father of lies, move out of the way,” he said as he reached a mummified arm out towards the priest. “I will crush your windpipe and stop your Latin. It’s all gobbledygook anyway.” The corpse laughed as he watched Father Santos drop to the ground gasping for breath.

  Gerald started toward his fallen comrade but was pushed out of the way by a mighty force. Deputy Whitney Martin, heir of Abraham, barreled into the tomb, took aim and fired. A spray of rock salt peppered the animated corpse, causing Steele to falter. Once again Whit fired, knocking the desiccated body backwards. Whit dropped the shotgun, lowered his shoulder and headed full force into the travesty that had killed his wife.

  Gerald watched in amazement as the 1998 All-Star tackle leveled Steele. Steele floundered on his back. Whit stood over him, bent down, twisted and ripped off one of the flaying limbs. He then proceeded to beat Steele with his own arm.

  Whit’s attack enabled Gerald to drag Father Santos out of harm’s way. He returned to the tomb with Tom in order to move the Lewis casket topside to the graveyard where it would no longer be a source of power for Steele.

  The men stopped, amazed at the amount of damage Whit had done to Steele in such a short period of time. The mummified remains no longer resembled a human being. Broken bone bits, trampled flesh and an entity that kept trying to manifest against the tide of Whit’s anger was all that was left of Steele.

  Tom and Gerald carefully lifted the fragile wood box and walked slowly as to not distract the justice being delivered to Morris Steele.

  They carried young Lewis to the graveyard and laid him beside Daisy’s grave.

  Tom walked over to Ted and asked to borrow the flamethrower. He handed it over without a second thought. Tom carried it down the first ladder where he ran into the sheriff.

  “We need to plug up as many vents as we can find. Whit’s down there right now.”

  John Ryan barked orders to the men. “We need to stop up any air vents coming from underground. There’s going to be some smoke rising soon which will help you to locate most of them.”

  Mike eased off a strip of moss. “Here, grab some of this moss. It will help to seal the vents once we locate them.” He picked up his walkie. “Ted, over.”

  “Ted here, over.”

  “Get over to the foundation. We are going to need a spotter from above. Over.”

  “What am I looking for? Over.”

  “Smoke. We need to locate the vents so we can seal them. Over.”

  “On my way. Over.”

  John followed Tom down the ladder and stopped to check on Father Santos who was leaning against the entry door.

  “Are you alright
, Father?” Sheriff Ryan asked.

  “Fine, I’ll be fine,” he croaked, his vocal cords still recovering.

  Tom stood in the doorway trying to grasp what Whit was doing at the moment.

  “Whit,” he shouted, trying to get his attention.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  “I see you’re busy, but I need you to leave now. Father Santos needs help getting up the ladder.”

  “Why don’t you do it?” Whit asked, grinding Steele’s finger bones under his boot.

  “Whitney Martin, get your sorry ass out of this hole, and take the G damn Father with you. Tom and I will clean up. That’s an order, son.” John Ryan walked over and got his face in front of the man having a breakdown. “You got a problem with that, Deputy?”

  “No, Sheriff,” Whit said, looking around at what he had done. “Oh shit,” he said as he stumbled out of the tomb into Father Santos’s waiting arms.

  The sheriff blew out a few lamps and poured the remaining oil on top of the larger bits of Steele’s pulverized body. He then gathered up as much of the room’s remaining decor as he could and piled it on top of the bones. Another lamp was emptied, and he backed out of the room. “Go ahead, son. Fry that sucker,” he said as he walked by Tom.

  Tom open fire on the mass in the middle of the room. Once lit, he turned the flame on every wall. The lamps burst, sending oil everywhere, and soon the tomb became an oven, hot enough to melt glass and send Steele to hell where he belonged.

  Tom stood watch near the door. He didn’t want to close off what would be the only air to fuel the flames once the vents were capped.

  Father Santos stood behind him and chanted.

  Burt could not get the door to open. He thrust his shoulder into it, and still it held. He could hear Mia running and something pursuing her. He tried kicking it and was just about ready to run back and throw all his weight at it when Murphy stepped in and cleaved the door in two with his axe.