by Ron Ripley
The thump of his grandfather’s cane on the stairs sang out loudly.
Jim smiled at the sound, and he went and opened the narrow door to the hallway.
Through the darkness, his grandfather descended.
A moment later, the man stepped into the light, paused and smiled.
“I can hear you, James,” his grandfather said.
“Of course, you can,” Jim said, smiling. He stepped aside and the blind man moved easily into the kitchen. With several quick taps of his cane, Jim’s grandfather found his chair, pulled it out and sat down.
“Hi, Dad,” Jim’s mother said, bringing a bowl of mashed potatoes to the table. She set them down and gave him a quick kiss as she brushed his white hair back behind his ears.
“Hello, Karen,” he said with a grin. “Carrots, too?”
“Of course,” she said, turning to the stovetop.
He turned his head to Jim. “And you, how was school today?”
“About the same as every day,” Jim said. He grabbed the salt and pepper, brought them to the table and sat down across from his grandfather.
The man frowned. “Who did you fight today?”
“Dad,” Jim’s mother said, putting the carrots on the table. “He didn’t get in a fight today.”
“He did,” his grandfather said. “I can smell it on him. What have we said about fighting?”
“Not to,” Jim said sulkily.
“Did you?” His mother asked, surprised. She stopped by the sink and looked at him.
“Yes,” Jim said.
“Who?”
“Carlton Talbot,” he said, taking his napkin off the table and making a big production of spreading it over his lap.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because he’s a bully,” Jim said, trying not to snap at her. “I don’t like it when he pushes me. And I hate it when he pushes other people.”
“Who did he push?” his grandfather asked sternly.
“John Petroules,” Jim said.
“The crippled boy?” his mother asked as she sat down.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“What happened?” his grandfather asked. “What did you do?”
“I punched him,” Jim answered. He took a sip of his water and saw that his hand didn’t shake.
“Where?” His grandfather said.
“Kidney,” Jim replied, and before any other questions could be asked, he said, “no, I didn’t get in trouble. Mr. Couture was out of the room when everything happened.”
“Did you get hit?” his mother asked.
“Yeah. Matt Espelin hit me just before the teacher came in,” Jim said. “But I don’t care. I’ll get him tomorrow.”
“No,” his mother said angrily, “you won’t. You know how I feel about fighting.”
“Come on, mom,” Jim said. “You married dad, he’s a soldier. Grandpa was a Marine.”
“I am a Marine still,” his grandfather snapped. “I also gave my eyes for our country, Jim. Your mother and I don’t like you fighting. You know that. Do not get Matt back tomorrow.”
Jim opened his mouth to answer, but his words were drowned out by the roar of sirens.
His mother got out of her chair and left the room. She came back a minute later, and said, “A cruiser and a pair of ambulances just pulled in at the Church.”
“Do you want me to go see what’s going on?” Jim asked eagerly, pushing his chair away from the table.
“No,” his mother said, shaking her head. “I’m sure we’ll learn soon enough.”
“Your mom’s right, James,” his grandfather said. “Town’s too small for information not to rip through it. We’ll see how much of it is the truth when all is said and done.”
The phone rang, and Jim’s mom answered it.
“Hey, Alice. No … no, I don’t know what’s going on …” his mother said. Her eyes took on a faraway look, and she brushed a stray lock of brown hair back into place. “Oh, well, do they know who … really? Okay. Alright. Yes, yes, thank you, Alice, I’ll talk to you soon.”
She hung up and looked to Jim before she sat down. Quietly, she interlocked her fingers and set her hands on the table.
Jim’s heart beat nervously.
She’s upset, he thought. She only did the finger trick when she was really, really worried.
“What is it, Karen?” His grandfather asked.
“Alice Wetherbee,” Karen said, pronouncing each syllable carefully. “She said two boys are hurt in the Church.”
“Who?” Jim asked.
“Carlton Talbot and Matt Espelin,” his mother said, looking at him. “James Joshua Bogue, did you have anything to do with this?”
“No,” Jim said, surprised at the question.
“I hope not,” his mother said in a low voice. “I’m pretty sure the police are going to ask you the same thing.”
Chapter 4: The First Congregationalist Church
Brian didn’t see anyone who was dead.
And he was happy as hell about it.
He was afraid to meet the ghost who had destroyed the eyes of the two teenagers. Brian had seen enough combat related injuries in his time, but the loss of an eye disturbed him. The thought of complete blindness scared him even more than Florence had, and Florence had been terrifying.
Brian leaned against his car and smoked a cigar. He tried to keep calm as he watched the police speak with Reverend Joe. The Rev nodded and then pointed at a tall, saltbox Victorian, which stood on a corner half a block away from the Church.
Brian took his phone out and sent Jenny a quick text.
Hey Babe, can you do a search and see if any type of ghost specializes in blinding people.
He reached into the car, tapped the head of the cigar into the ashtray and turned back to the Church. The Reverend nodded to the police and then walked to Brian as the officers headed towards the Victorian.
“Reverend,” Brian said.
“Mr. Roy.” He took a handkerchief out of his back pocket, wiped the back of his neck and sighed.
“I’m assuming the injuries are permanent?” Brian asked.
The Rev only nodded.
“But, they’ll both live?” Brian said.
“I think the EMTs said so,” Reverend Joe said, with a sigh. “There’s really no way to tell. I’ve known people to die of shock from injuries such as those.”
“And I’ve seen men joking with their buddies after losing both legs below the knees,” Brian said evenly.
The Rev looked at him, shocked.
“Of course, shock could kill them,” Brian said. “My point is, I’ve seen a hell of a lot worse things happen. I think the boys will be okay. They’re young, resilient, and if they have any sort of fight in them, they’ll be fine.”
“I certainly hope so, Mr. Roy,” the Reverend said, looking at the Victorian. “I do certainly hope so.”
A stately, elegant woman stepped out the front door of the Church. With long, even strides, she walked directly to Reverend Joseph.
“Reverend,” she said, coming to a stop a few feet away.
The woman looked to be in her seventies, but Brian suspected she might be older. Her silver hair was pinned back neatly, and she wore light makeup. Pearls hung from her ears, and while the clothing she wore was aged, it was clean and well cared for.
“Ah, Mrs. Staples,” the Rev said, giving the woman a warm smile. “This is Brian Roy.”
Brian took the cigar out of his mouth and bowed slightly. “Mrs. Staples. Would you mind if I put the cigar in the car before we speak? I don’t want the smoke to bother you.”
Mrs. Staples smiled and nodded in approval.
Brian took care of the cigar and turned back to her, saying, “My apologies.”
“Not at all, Mr. Roy,” she said. “My late husband enjoyed cigars, and he put them away when I was near. I appreciate you doing the same. Before we begin, however, I came out primarily to give this to the Reverend.”
She took a cellphone out
of her coat pocket and handed it over.
The Reverend nodded. “Thank you.”
“Whose is it?” Brian asked.
“One of the boys, we presume,” Mrs. Staples said.
“I asked her to hold onto it for me,” the Reverend said, blushing slightly. “I didn’t want to risk the police seeing me with it.”
“Why didn’t you give it to the police?” Brian asked, confused.
“Because,” the Reverend said uncomfortably, “We’re not exactly sure what happened, and I’d rather see if anything is on it. Now, the video selection was on when I found it. I suspect those two were recording something.”
“As do I,” Mrs. Staples said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go and clean the office, as soon as the police are done in there.”
Mrs. Staples looked at Brian and said, “Blood is terribly difficult to clean.”
Chapter 5: Reviewing the Footage
The office was a crime scene and taped off.
Brian’s phone chimed, and he looked at it quickly.
A text from Jenny.
Nothing, Babe. Be safe. Love you.
Love you too, he sent back before he put the phone away.
Brian looked up and nodded at the Rev. The two of them sat in a pew in front of the pulpit. Reverend Joe’s hands shook as he passed the boy’s cellphone to Brian.
The smart phone was a newer Samsung model, unlocked, and easy to use. When he brought the video up, Brian muted the sound. He was pretty sure the Reverend wouldn’t handle any noises well.
Especially since they were probably going to see, if not hear, at least one of the boys being blinded.
“You don’t have to watch this,” Brian said.
The Rev nodded. “I may not be able to.”
“No shame,” Brian said. “No shame at all. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Brian hit play.
A headless figure stood just inside of the room. He wore a uniform, absent of insignia or rank, but it was khaki and looked like it came from World War Two. The dead man’s hands opened and closed.
“There’s Carlton,” Reverend Joe said, pointing at the boy in the shot, who was filming the ghost as well. “This is Matt’s phone then.”
Brian only nodded. He was more intent on the footage.
The camera remained focused on the headless man, who advanced towards Carlton. The boy, in turn, took a nervous step back.
But not far enough, and not quickly enough.
The ghost brought his hands up and grabbed Carlton’s head. The headless man buried his thumbs in the teenager’s eyes.
Reverend Joe whimpered and turned away.
Brian didn’t.
He watched the boy collapse and the ghost shake the jellied remnants of Carlton’s eyes off of his thumbs. The camera stayed on the headless man as he moved towards Matt.
A second later, the screen went dark.
Brian put the phone down on his leg and looked at the Reverend.
“It’s alright now, Reverend,” Brian said soothingly. “It’s over. What I don’t understand though, is why didn’t the second boy run? Why did he keep recording?”
Cautiously, he turned back to face Brian and avoided the phone. “I really don’t know, Brian. But I have to say, I’ve never seen anything so terrible.”
I have, Brian thought. But he kept the information to himself. “It’s bad. No doubt about it. Now, put this out of your head. What’s done is done, and it’s terrible. We need to focus on figuring out why the ghost is here. The uniform is definitely a military one, and I’ll look online to see if I can spot it. It looks familiar. Can you start talking to some of your church members and see if anyone has brought anything of a military nature into the building?”
“You think someone did this on purpose?” the Reverend asked, looking horrified at him.
Brian shook his head. “No, not necessarily. Sometimes, things happen. Ghosts cling to objects. If the object was brought here, a donation, anything, the ghost could be stuck here. Do you think you can start asking around?”
“Yes,” the Rev answered. “Yes, of course, I can.”
“Excellent. Now, can I borrow this phone?” Brian asked. “I’d like to use a still photo of the ghost to try and identify the uniform. Also, I need to listen to it. I want to hear if the ghost said anything.”
“How?” the Reverend asked. “He’s headless?”
Brian gave him a small smile. “Why not? He shouldn’t be here to begin with.”
Reverend Joe frowned for a minute, and then he smiled tiredly. “Yes. Yes. You’re right.”
He stood up and looked down at Brian. “I’ll start asking around, Mr. Roy. And I must visit the boys at the hospital. I’ll need to check in on their parents as well.”
“Could I have your cellphone number?” Brian asked. “Just in case, something comes up?”
“Yes,” the Rev said. He took a business card out of his breast pocket and handed it to Brian. “I have your number still.”
“Good,” Brian said. He put the phone in his pocket as he stood. “I’ll give you a call as soon as I find anything out.”
“I will do the same, Mr. Roy.”
They shook hands and Brian left the church.
He needed to find a place with Wi-Fi so he could do some research.
Chapter 6: An Interview
Jim wasn’t nervous, although his mother looked like she was ready to crawl up the walls. She tapped her fingers on the top of the dining table, which still had the dirty dishes from dinner on it.
His grandfather remained in his seat, his eyelids permanently closed, his hands clasped loosely together on the lap of his black pants.
Jim’s mother had put the leftovers into the fridge when the police had knocked on the door.
One was a male state police detective, the other, a female Rye police officer.
They don’t look happy, Jim thought.
The Rye cop was a woman. She didn’t have any makeup on as far as Jim could see, and her black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her dark blue uniform and the body armor under it, hid her shape, so he couldn’t tell if she was naturally big, or just a little large from the protective gear. She had thin lips, though, and there was a deadly look of seriousness in her brown eyes.
The detective looked like he should have been a school teacher. He almost had a happy-go-lucky air about him. He didn’t look anything like a detective. His hair was a light brown, short, and his face was thick. His eyes were a lighter brown than the Rye officer’s, and there were white hairs scattered through the neat beard he wore.
The man’s thick fingers idly played with a pen, and occasionally he reached out to adjust the position of a spiral bound notebook in front of him.
“Now,” the man said, “my name is Detective Dan Brown, and this is Officer Raelynn French.”
Jim’s mother nodded. “You can call me Karen. This is my father, Luke Allen, and my son, James.”
Officer French nodded, but Detective Brown grinned and extended his hand to Jim.
“A pleasure to meet you, James,” he said. He turned to Jim’s grandfather and said, “Is it rude to offer my hand?”
“It’d be rude not to,” he replied evenly. He offered his hand, waited for the detective to grasp it, and shook it firmly. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
“Same here. Now, you’re not any relation to Luke Allen, who played football for UNH, are you?” Detective Brown asked.
Jim’s grandfather grinned. “I’m the one who played.”
“Hell,” the detective laughed. “My dad used to bring me to all of the university’s home games. You were a hell of a running back.”
“When I could see,” his grandfather agreed, chuckling.
“What happened, if you don’t mind?” Detective Brown asked.
“North Vietnamese sniper,” Jim’s grandfather, said with a shrug. “Went into the Marines as an officer. The Vietnam War kind of did me wrong.”
; “Well,” the detective said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Allen. I enjoyed watching you play.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, Officer French, do you want to lead off here?” Brown asked.
She nodded, fixed her hard eyes on Jim and asked, “Do you know why we’re here, James?”
“The fight at school?” Jim offered up.
“Yes,” she said. “The fight at school. Do you want to tell us what happened?”
“Sure,” Jim said. He told the police the same story he had told his mother and grandfather.
Officer French took out her own notepad and pen, and Jim watched, mildly curious, as the two officers wrote down most of what he said. When he had finished, Officer French looked at him.
“And what about after school?” She asked.
“What about it?” Jim asked in return. “I took the bus home, came upstairs, played a game of chess with my grandfather, read a little bit, and then I helped with the dinner table.”
Officer French paused before she said, “Chess?”
Before Jim could answer, his grandfather interjected.
“You doubt I can play, Officer?” he asked.
The woman blushed, cleared her throat and said hastily, “No. Not at all, sir.”
“He’s really good,” Jim said, glancing at his grandfather. “He remembers where every piece is.”
“I bet,” Detective Brown said with a chuckle. “Now, Mrs. Bogue, can you confirm your son’s story?”
“Story?” his mother asked. The nervousness bled out of her voice. “It’s not a story, Detective. He was here. Has been here. He doesn’t go out without permission. He knows better. What’s this about?”
“Mrs. Bogue,” Officer French said, “there was an incident with Carlton Talbot and Matt Espelin. They were severely injured this afternoon.”
“Over at the Church?” His mother asked. “We saw the ambulances and the cruisers.”
“Yes,” Detective Brown said, his voice becoming serious. “We have a phone from one of the boys, and they said something about recording what happened to them, but, well, one of our forensics experts managed to trigger the auto-wipe feature on the phone, and we can’t see what’s on it. Both of the boys are in emergency surgery, and we won’t know all of the details until they’re done.”
