The Hauntings of Cold Creek Hollow (Haunted Series)

by Alexie Aaron

  “Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”

  Murphy set his axe down and gave her a questioning look.

  “I’m sure there are people waiting for you on the other side.”

  Murphy shook his head and then hopped off the bench. He walked over and patted the nearest tree.

  “Trees are nice, but they’re not much in the conversation department.”

  He pointed over to her.

  “I’ll be back to work cleaning up the mess PEEPs made of the house, but I don’t want you to be lonely.”

  Murphy smiled and put his hand over where his heart would beat if he were alive. He then put his axe on his shoulder and walked off in the direction of the barn.

  Mia got down off the table and walked over to the truck. “I guess there’re some men who know what they want. Murphy’s happy here and will be here for quite some time,” she said aloud. “And I will be talking to myself for even longer than that.”

  She drove to the end of the drive and pulled out the marker, disconnected the light and tossed the wood stake in the back of the truck. Mia got back in and drove to the next marker. She worked her way out of the hollow and pulled the last marker out just as the sun set.

  ~

  Whit could barely stand by the time he decided to go home. Tom had confiscated his keys hours ago. It wasn’t far to his house from the pub so he started walking. He didn’t want to think about what was waiting for him at home. A good scenario would be that Sherry minus Steele equaled her moving on. A bad one was that she wasn’t moving on and would be tormenting him for eternity.

  He could ask for help. Mia’s people were certainly skilled, but Whit wanted to create space between him and her. He didn’t want Mia to get the wrong idea. He wasn’t going to play nursemaid to her kind of crazy no matter how justified it was.

  “Oh, fuck.” He remembered that not only did Tom have his car keys but the house keys also. Sherry used to keep an additional key on the front porch somewhere. The alcohol haze interfered with his memory of just where the key was.

  Crossing the road to his front yard, he narrowly almost became road kill as some teenagers came speeding down the street. Whit whipped around and got their license number. He scratched it in the dirt. “Oh, yes, you’re toast. Just wait until I get to work.” He got up and walked across the lawn to the front porch. He noticed that there was a light on in the foyer. He must have left the light on last night when he left for Tom’s house.

  He tried the door and found it unlocked. This would have bothered the sober him as, since living in New York, he had become a habitual door locker. But the drunken Whit opened the door and walked in. He looked around the front room, and the electronics seemed to be all there. So no one had been in to rob him. He walked into the kitchen and checked the back door. It was unlocked also. Now this was starting to piss him off.

  “Hello, is there someone here? Tom?” Whit called out as he walked down the hall to the bedroom and studio.

  His bedroom was unchanged. The last room to check out was the studio. He forced his feet to move down the hall. Reaching in, he flipped on the light. “What the fuck?”

  There was a new canvas on the central easel. The subject matter had changed. It portrayed his fight with Steele. The consuming expression of rage on his face made him barely recognizable. Steele was screaming as Whit stood over him with a raised arm. “How the fuck do you know all of this? Yeah, I’m talking to you, Sherry. Were you there? Yes, I beat the fuck out of your fucking murderer. Were you watching? Do you care?” Whit walked forward and grabbed the canvas.

  The oils were still wet, and the painting slipped out of his hands and fell to the floor. Whit bent down and ran his hands over the piece, smearing the paint. “There, now that’s something that would be hung in the fucking MoMA,” he laughed. He got up and felt a bit lightheaded. He reached out and put a hand on the wall to steady himself. Whit continued to use the wall to steady his retreat from the room, oblivious to the state of his paint-covered hands. He flipped off the light, left the room and slammed the door.

  Out of the shadows a figure emerged. It lifted the fallen canvas and restored it to the easel. The pale hands moved over the painting and traced the marks left by Whit’s dragging fingers. It moved from the canvas to the walls. Small hands joined with the painted ones. She followed the prints to the light switch. Flipping it on, she turned back to the canvas. What she had to say was vast. The small, stretched piece of canvas would not be enough. Sherry loaded a palette with paint, picked up a brush and headed to the paint-smeared wall and began to paint.

  ~

  Mia was in the garage working on returning the lights to their original boxes. She pulled out the batteries and found a larger box to contain them until the county wanted to use them again. The stakes were bundled together. Tomorrow she would take the materials to the Chamber of Commerce office. They could decide what to do with them.

  A pair of headlights illuminated the garage as someone pulled into her drive. She walked forward with her hand over her eyes, trying to determine who her unexpected guest was. The lights were cut, and as her eyes adjusted, she recognized the navy blue SUV. Mia hit the gate control, and as it opened, she stepped out of the way as the driver pulled in.

  Burt got out of the car and walked over to Mia. “I tried to call, but your phone must be off.”

  “Really?” Mia dug into her pocket and looked. “Battery’s dead. Sorry, I’m not on my A game.”

  “What are you up to?” Burt asked, walking into the garage.

  “I’ve just finished working on the markers. I want to take them in tomorrow,” she explained. Mia looked up at Burt and asked, “Thought you were headed back to Kansas?”

  “Nope, thought I’d stick around for a while.”

  “Not had enough of the Cold Creek Hollow hospitality?”

  Burt almost sputtered as he tried to keep from reacting to Mia’s sarcasm. “Guess not. Would it be terrible?”

  “What?”

  “If I stuck around for a while,” he said and lifted the bundle of stakes into the back of her truck.

  “Personally?”

  He turned to her and nodded.

  Mia thought he looked so vulnerable standing there waiting on her. “What are you asking me?”

  “Do I have a chance with you or have I blown it? Have you moved on?”

  “Yes, no, no,” Mia answered.

  “Really?”

  “Indeed.” Mia smiled. “You eat yet?”

  “Not since breakfast, and I threw that up,” he admitted.

  “I hear ya. I picked up some barbecue and couldn’t choke it down. I was thinking of some cheese sandwiches and tomato soup,” Mia said as she closed the gate.

  “Sounds good. I wonder though if it will go with the bottle of wine I brought? Does a Cab go with grilled cheese?”

  “Cabernet goes with everything. Grab the bottle.”

  Burt went back to the SUV and opened up the back door. He pulled out a box filled with food. “Just in case. I remember the last time I looked in your fridge,” he said making a face.

  “I accept all care packages. You might as well bring your suitcase in too.”

  “How did you know I had no place to go?” Burt asked amazed.

  “I didn’t. I guessed. I’m not psychic.” Mia took the box from him. “Lord, what a day.”

  “I’ve had better but not as interesting. Facing death, fighting with the paranormal, piece of cake. Rehearsing what I was going to say to you was hell.”

  Mia’s eyes watered. “I’m not that scary, surely.”

  “Oh, yes you are,” Burt said as he followed her into the house.

  Mia disappeared into the kitchen. “You want a drink?”

  “Wine would be fine,” he said, setting his suitcase down on the couch. He flipped the latch and removed a T-shirt. He threw it over his shoulder and closed the case and placed it on the floor.

  Mia walked in with two tumblers full of wine. “Sorry,
I don’t have any wine glasses.”

  “It saves time on refills.” He took a glass and said, “Here as promised.”

  “No, I thought you forgot,” Mia said barely able to contain her excitement. She put her glass down and opened up the black shirt to reveal the PEEPs logo. “I love this!” She danced around with it.

  “I guess you do,” Burt said smiling. Her glee was contagious.

  “These are going to sell like hotcakes,” Mia said, hugging it to her chest. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

  “Do you know something we don’t know?” Burt asked before taking a long drink of wine.

  “You guys proved yourselves today to the biggest paranormal investigating activist on the planet. PEEPs will soon be the hottest property in the industry.” Mia gently laid the shirt over the back of the couch. “Where’s my... Oh, here it is.” Mia picked up her glass. “To Burt Hicks, founding partner of PEEPs, may you find all your next encounters friendly ones.”

  They clanked glasses and drank deeply.

  “Whoa, I’m getting lightheaded. Grilled cheese coming up.” Mia spun around and headed into the kitchen.

  Burt followed her and offered his help. “I’m really good at opening cans.”

  “There is a sous-chef position open. Pans are under there next to the stove,” Mia pointed out.

  “I don’t understand you,” Burt started.

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “You don’t play games. You could hold everything over my head, but you don’t.”

  “I play games, badly. I figure I’m not an innocent party. I did jump to conclusions. Life’s too short, as I was reminded today.”

  “What happened to you when you collapsed? What did that demon do to you?”

  “He gut punched me.”

  “Ouch.” Burt was reminded of his own encounter. “I really didn’t think ghosts could do that.”

  “I think there is more to the hollow than just a few ghosts,” Mia admitted.

  “This group of people Father Santos assembled, what can you tell me about them?”

  “Some of them are academics. Bev’s my long lost dead aunt, don’t get me started there.” Mia paused a moment. “Sabine, did you get a chance to meet her?”

  “No, she left before I got there.”

  “Too bad, because she’s the real deal. Amber could take some lessons from that one.”

  “Amber, let’s not...”

  “Go there,” she finished. “Okay, Gerald Shem, he’s a mystery and Angelo...”

  “Yes, who or what exactly is he?” Burt asked. “Is he or isn’t he?”

  “I think he’s very perceptive. Pinned down my emotional problems this morning. Calmed me down. Mended my bruised ego and basically told me Whit was the wrong man for me.”

  “Is there a right man?”

  “He seemed to think so, he mentioned...”

  “In the graveyard when he called you over, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, my observant friend. He looked over at you and said...”

  “He’s the right man.” Burt smiled.

  “I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me, because I think we could really be good for each other.”

  “Bev seems to think so,” Burt said.

  “Everyone is in our business. Let me tell you something about my aunt Bev.” Mia entertained Burt with the story of finding out her aunt was alive ten years after being at her funeral.

  They worked together, and soon they were enjoying the food along with trying to outdo each other with stories about their relatives.

  “Most people would be trying to hide the scary parts of their gene pool,” Mia pointed out.

  “Best to know everything up front.” Burt moved and grasped the back of his neck. “I feel eighty years old right now.”

  “How about a hot bath and a massage.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready to show you my battle wounds yet.”

  “I’ll be gentle. I promise,” Mia said softly.

  “Okay,” he said and allowed her to lead him into the bathroom.

  True to her word, Mia was gentle. She helped him remove his clothing, and she fought the tears as she saw the bruised and battered flesh. Mia wrapped her arms around him.

  He didn’t want to cry, but he did. Mia held him for a while and helped him into the warm water. She didn’t speak as she gently washed the dirt from his body. When he was relaxed, she helped him out of the tub and dried his skin. She pulled the covers down on her bed. He lay down, and she turned off the lights and climbed in beside him. She curled her body gently next to his and held him until they fell asleep.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Tom leaned on the doorbell but still didn’t hear any movement from within Whit’s house. “Must have tied one on,” he said as he reached for Whit’s keys and opened the door.

  “Whit, don’t shoot me, I’m coming in,” Tom warned. He found Whit snoring away, lying in yesterday’s clothes and smelling like beer. “Ma said to be sensitive, but this is gross.” Tom reached over and shook his friend awake. “Come on, Whit, we have paperwork to fill out.”

  “What... Oh thank god it’s you... painting... fuck... my head.” Whit wiped the drool from his face. “Bad night, real bad night.”

  “I’ll make some coffee. You hit the shower and do something about your breath. We’re talking bum in the gutter breath.”

  “Okay, point me in the direction... Tom, you wouldn’t believe the shit that is going on here,” Whit said leaving the room. “I walked in the studio and... Jesus Christ!”

  Tom ran to the studio where he found Whit mesmerized by something on the inside wall. He walked behind Whit and could not believe his eyes. The wall was covered with paint. There were handprints every few feet, and out of the prints, scenes of carnage and disaster grew.

  “It’s scary,” Tom said.

  “It’s Sherry,” Whit explained. “She’s been leaving me canvases and drawings. But this is the worst yet. What am I going to do? I buried her bones in New Jersey. We destroyed her murderer. I don’t understand. Why won’t she leave?” Whit sank to his knees.

  “I think we need to talk to Mia.”

  “No, leave her out of this,” Whit snapped.

  “Father Santos?” Tom suggested.

  “Okay, but not Mia. She’s been used enough.”

  “I’ll call the sheriff and ask him to call Father Santos.”

  “I don’t want any of the other deputies here. Last thing I need is for the blabber mouths to see this.”

  Tom looked at where Whit was pointing and recognized in the scene his friend, Mia, and Sherry locked in battle. Mia wasn’t winning.

  Tom opened his phone and called the sheriff.

  ~

  Burt awoke to the smell of coffee brewing and fried bacon. He looked around him and smiled. It hadn’t been a dream. He was in Mia’s bed again. Although they hadn’t made love, he felt a closeness that transcended the physical forming. He slid out from under the covers and walked into the bathroom. Mia had set out some of the cleaner clothes he had jammed in his suitcase. At least his underwear was clean, his having purchased a pack at the grocery store. It was amazing what you could get at these Midwest grocers.

  He dressed as quickly as he could, considering the mammoth set of new battle bruises swelling along his lower back. The only thing normal about him was his eyes. They were clear. “I’ll have to settle for that, I guess,” he said to himself and tried to comb through the knots in his hair. Shaving was out of the question as he didn’t have the energy. Probably slice his throat with the Lady Bic anyway.

  He walked out into the living area and was overcome by the view. There was a strong enough breeze to whip the water up into white caps. The sun was playing hide and seek behind fluffy clouds.

  “I call it a Simpsons sky,” Mia’s voice came from behind him. “You know...”

  “Mia, honey, I’m a nerd; you don’t have to explain The Simpsons to me.” He turned around and was greeted by M
ia dressed in only the PEEPs shirt. It drooped off one shoulder and came nearly to her knees. “I can get you a smaller shirt.”

  “Don’t you dare. I love it. Very Flash Dance. All I need are leg warmers, and I’m headed for Hollywood.” Mia twirled around. “I made breakfast, come on. I’m hungry.” She danced off into the kitchen.

  “How can you move? My body is...”

  Mia tossed him a prescription bottle of Vicodin. He read the label. “Hey, these are mine.”

  “Yep, they’re good ones,” Mia smiled. “Doctor Walters must have liked you better. I only got Tylenol Three.”

  Mia handed him a glass of water. “Better get some food in your stomach soon. They’re rough on the tummy.”

  Burt wandered into the kitchen and was shocked by the sunny tablecloth decorating the round table. The curtains were pulled back, and there was an amazing lack of salt on the sills. “No salt?”

  “I feel safe because you’re here,” Mia said, bringing a plate of bacon to the table. “You want toast?”

  “Um, sure.” Burt tilted his head as he watched her in the small galley kitchen. “You’re awfully bouncy when you’re high.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed. Eggs?”

  “Are you fattening me up?”

  “Building you up. Sunnyside, over easy...”

  “Sunnyside, it goes with the day.” Burt opened the bottle and eased a dose out in his hand. “Are we going anywhere today? Because I can’t drive on these monsters, and you’re not getting near a set of keys.”

  “I decided to take the day off, you?” Mia asked as she cracked an egg into the pan.

  “If the invitation stands, I’d like to hang out here for a while,” Burt said carefully.

  “Well then, it’s a recoup day,” Mia said. She plated the eggs and brought them to the table. “What am I missing? Oh coffee, how do you want yours?”

  “Black.”

  “Wonderful.” Mia turned around and returned with two steaming cups of coffee. She set them down and smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry, a bit drifty this morning. Burt, you can stay as long as you like,” she said and sat down.