Deranged Souls

by Ron Ripley

  “Copy Patrol Alpha Two, this is Command. Sweep and clear.”

  “Copy, Command,” Miguel said and changed back to his channel. “Okay. Keep an eye out for me.”

  The two men nodded, and Miguel opened the gate far enough for him to enter the Village. Softly, he closed it behind him and brought his shotgun up. He approached the back of the house carefully, ducking down to avoid the windows. At the corner, he hesitated, checked it, then stepped around. Once more, he ducked below a window, then a door, making his way to the front of the structure.

  There were fresh boot prints in the snow. They led from the front door and into the gloom of the storm. Miguel prepared to call it in when the door to the house opened slowly, swinging wide. He felt his senses heighten as he took a step closer to the building. Staying to one side, he took several steps forward and peered into the structure.

  A young woman sat cross-legged on the floor, her back to him. There was a large exit wound in her back, and it took him a moment to fully acknowledge she was dead. The blood on her clothing seemed fresh.

  “Are you going to come in?” the dead woman asked, her voice causing him to drop into a secure firing position.

  Carefully, she turned around and smiled at him. Miguel’s breath caught in his throat. The ghost was attractive and pleasing to look upon. Had he seen her alive, however, Miguel doubted he would have looked twice at her. Yet, as he stared, he felt his heartbeat quicken. There was something alluring about her, an attraction he couldn’t explain.

  She looks like she’s glowing, Miguel thought. He lowered his weapon slightly and got to his feet.

  “Sitrep?” Command asked.

  “Inspecting domicile,” Miguel answered.

  She smiled at him. “Come and see me.”

  Miguel shuddered, struggled against the compelling nature of her voice, then he relaxed, smiled, and turned off his radio. “You want me to come in?”

  She nodded. “Come on. Plenty of space to sit.”

  Miguel considered her offer for a moment. She wasn’t trying to kill him, not like the dead Indians had been. She’s pretty. Dead, but pretty. It’s been a while since I talked to a pretty girl who wasn’t looking for money or a meal ticket.

  “Sure,” he said, stepping into the house. “Where should I stand?”

  “No,” she said, laughing cheerfully. “Not stand. Sit!”

  He grinned sheepishly and said, “Yeah. Sit.”

  Miguel glanced around, saw a couch, and went and sat upon it. He felt awkward as he rested his shotgun on his legs.

  “I’m Gwen,” the ghost said. “What’s your name?”

  “Miguel,” he responded.

  She gave him a playful frown. “You know, Miguel, it’s difficult to hear you when you talk with that helmet on.”

  He hesitated only a moment before he took it off. Setting it down beside him, he said, “Sorry.”

  “You don’t sound like you’re from around here,” she said. “Where are you from?”

  “Spain,” he answered. “Are you from here?”

  “Connecticut? Yes,” Gwen said.

  “Oh,” Miguel said. He tried to think of something to say and then asked, “I thought we were in New York?”

  “What?” she asked, her smile faltering.

  Miguel nodded. “Yes. This place, the Village. It is in New York State.”

  The smile returned, and she asked, “How on earth did I get to New York?”

  “Now, I don’t know how much of this is true,” Miguel said, “but we were told that your house was bought by the professor and transported here to be part of his experiment.”

  “Someone moved my house,” she said, her voice lowering.

  “Yes,” Miguel said.

  “Why would they move my house?” Gwen asked him. “How did they get me here?”

  “You’re dead,” Miguel said sympathetically. “I do not know how. It looks as though you were shot in the stomach, perhaps? You have a very large exit wound in your back.”

  Gwen stood up and reached behind her back, her expression one of shock. Softly, she said, “I’m dead.”

  “Regrettably,” Miguel said. “You are quite dead.”

  “Dead,” she whispered. Her beautiful face went slack, and she turned to look at him. “Dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” Miguel said.

  She launched herself at him, slapping the shotgun off his lap as he tried to grab it. His helmet went rolling across the floor as her hand closed around his throat and she vanished.

  Miguel got to his feet, trying to pick up both the helmet and the weapon before she reappeared. His mind raced, trying to understand what had happened, why she had attacked.

  A shimmer of movement to his right caused him to twist away, but not before one of her hands clipped his right eye. He screamed as he lost sight in the eye, and it exploded across his cheek. Scrambling for his shotgun, he managed to snatch it up only to have it kicked out of his grasp. He saw the helmet a few feet away, and he crawled for it.

  Gwen was suddenly in front of him, and as he reached for his sidearm, her right arm flashed down and buried itself in his head. For a split second, Miguel could feel her fingers moving in his brain.

  And then he felt nothing.

  Chapter 4: Chit Chat

  “You know, kid,” Timmy said, hating the wheezing sound accompanying every word he spoke. “I’m not dead yet.”

  Alex sat near him, a mournful expression on his face. The boy smiled, nodded, and said, “I know.”

  Timmy wanted to lie to the child. To tell him everything would be fine. But one look at the boy told Timmy it would be useless. Kid’s too smart. Don’t coddle him. He won’t thank me for it.

  “Looks bad, huh?” Timmy asked.

  “Yeah,” Alex said softly. “Looks really bad.”

  Timmy chuckled. “Good thing you’re not a doctor, kid.”

  “How come?” Alex asked, leaning forward.

  “You have a horrible bedside manner,” Timmy said. He coughed, shuddered and then whispered, “Hey, see if there’s any aspirin, will you?”

  Alex nodded, got to his feet, and hurried out of the room. Through the pain, Timmy heard the boy rifling around in the kitchen. A minute later, Alex returned. He had a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water. He brought them both to Timmy, who nodded his thanks. Timmy shook out a half-dozen aspirin first, popped them into his mouth, then washed them down with the water. He grimaced at the bitter taste the medicine left on his tongue. Alex took the glass and set it down on the floor nearby.

  “So, do anything special when up at your Uncle Abel’s?” Timmy asked, hissing painfully as he turned slightly on his side.

  “Caused a lot of trouble,” Alex said, smiling. “I think the ghosts hurt some people.”

  “I hope they hurt a lot of people,” Timmy said.

  The boy’s face darkened, and he nodded. “Me too.”

  “You worried?” Timmy asked.

  “Yeah,” Alex said softly.

  “Understandable,” Timmy said. “You worried about Marcus?”

  The boy nodded again.

  “Try not to,” Timmy said. “He’s a tough old bird.”

  “I’m worried about Elaine, too,” Alex whispered.

  Timmy frowned. “Why?”

  “She doesn’t look good,” Alex said.

  She didn’t look good to begin with, kid, Timmy thought. “What do you mean? She looked all right last time I saw her.”

  “She’s not,” Alex said morosely. “She’s fading. Like, really fading. There are parts of her that are, well, you know, missing now.”

  Timmy wanted to argue the statement but found he couldn’t. “Why?”

  “I think when she fought Kimberly,” Alex said, picking at a piece of lint on his blanket. “It was bad. Kimberly was really strong.”

  “The whole situation was bad,” Timmy said.

  The front door creaked suddenly, and Timmy wrapped his hand around the pistol hidden beneath his blanket
s. Alex turned around, and they watched as the door swung open. Snow billowed into the house, and Marcus stepped in, quickly closing and securing the door behind him. They watched as the man stood there for a moment, then rested his head against the door.

  After a brief time, he straightened up and slowly removed his winter gear.

  “Hell, Pop,” Timmy said when Marcus turned around. “You look terrible.”

  “Then, I look exactly as I feel,” Marcus said. Alex stood up and hurried to him, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist and hugging him. Marcus smiled and returned the hug. “Come, let us all sit and be warm together.”

  “Did you get out to the house?” Timmy asked.

  “I did,” Marcus answered.

  “Find anything?” Timmy said.

  “Yes,” Marcus sighed. “I certainly did.”

  “Bad?” Alex asked.

  “For me, it was terrible,” Marcus replied. He picked up his pipe, packed it, and lit the tobacco. Once the smoke curled toward the ceiling from the pipe’s bowl and the corners of his mouth, Marcus continued.

  “It is the Hamiltons’ house,” he said softly. “One of them, Gwen, is there.”

  “Damn,” Timmy said. “I’m honestly sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you,” Marcus said.

  They were all silent for a few minutes, then Alex asked in a low, dangerous voice, “Did she do anything to you?”

  Timmy felt certain that Marcus’ surprised expression mimicked his own.

  “No,” Marcus finally answered, shaking his head. “No, she didn’t do anything at all to me.”

  “She’s dangerous, though,” Alex said after a brief silence. “Do you feel it?”

  Neither Timmy nor Marcus answered the boy. There was no need to. Alex didn’t seem to be speaking to either of them.

  “She’s sick,” Alex continued. “Sick and angry and hurt.”

  The boy faced the two men, his face pale, and his expression grim. “She’s going to hurt us. She’s going to hurt all of us.”

  Chapter 5: Silence

  Professor Abel Worthe stood in his study and gazed at his hand, wondering why his pinky had been taken from him.

  Frostbite, you old fool, he scolded himself, slipping his hands into his pockets. He gazed out at the morning sun on the fresh snow. The previous night’s storm had left eight inches of thick, new snow atop the old.

  Turning away from the window, he walked to his desk, sat down, and picked up his cup of tea. He drank it slowly, desperately wishing for a shot of morphine to help take off the edge of the morning. With a sigh, he looked at the cracked molar on the leather desk blotter.

  “No, my dear,” he said patiently, setting the tea down. “I do not think I have a problem with morphine. I merely want more of it. I believe it is a necessity at this point. Given my physical ailments, both old and new, I think the morphine helps me function at my old capacity. Yes, well, you can have whatever opinion you like, of course. Yes, I understand you are dead. That is also one of the reasons why I need my morphine. Until I can find a way to bring you back, either completely or piecemeal, the morphine will have to suffice.”

  He chuckled, shook his head, and finished his tea.

  Oh, Meredith, he thought. I do so enjoy our conversations.

  Someone knocked lightly at the door, the sound wiping the smile from Abel’s face.

  “Come,” he called, settling back into his chair.

  The door opened, and David entered, accompanied by Armand Assante from Alfor Securities. “Hello, gentlemen, sit down.”

  The men murmured their thanks as they took seats opposite him. Smiling at them, Abel asked, “Tell me, what brings you both here so early in the morning?”

  David nodded to Armand, who looked as though he had no desire to speak. But speak the man did.

  “Sir,” Armand said. “We have had another incident last night.”

  Abel frowned. “I believe that is an impossibility. Meredith is already dead. How can we have an incident?”

  Armand glanced at David, who smiled.

  “Sir,” David said. “What Mr. Assante is saying is that we had another Alfor guard killed last night.”

  “Oh,” Abel said, nodding. “All right. Yes, I understand now. I am sorry to hear it, of course. Do we know where and how?”

  “The new house,” Armand answered. “From what we were able to gather, the guard entered the building to see about the situation after Subject B left.”

  Abel raised an eyebrow. “Marcus has already discovered the new house?”

  “Yes, sir,” David said with a tight smile. “Per your orders, we opened up the house yesterday afternoon, prior to the start of the storm. There was a slight mishap, unfortunately. One we didn’t catch until after the death of the Alfor guard.”

  “Hm,” Abel said, scratching at his chin. “What was the mishap, David?”

  “It seems, sir,” David said, “there was a short in the hardwired system for the closed-circuit cameras. We are unable to ascertain exactly how the guard was killed.”

  “How do we know he is dead, then?” Abel asked, looking at Armand.

  The Alfor commander seemed flustered by the question. “Sir, our technicians were able to locate the source of the short. It was outside the fencing, so they were able to repair it. We can see the man’s body. Currently, it is in the main room of the house.”

  “This house?” Abel asked, confused.

  “No, sir,” David said gently. “In the house from Connecticut.”

  “Ah, of course,” Abel said, shaking his head and chuckling. “Of course. My apologies, Mr. Assante, I am rather scatterbrained of late, as I am sure David can tell you.”

  Abel sighed and smiled at the two men. “Well, it seems we will have to leave the body for the time being. I would rather not risk any men trying to retrieve it.”

  Armand grimaced, but David said, “Of course, sir.”

  “Be certain, however,” Abel continued, “to destroy his belongings and whatever equipment he used on a regular basis. We haven’t much room here, and I do not wish to add any more ghosts to an already full stable.”

  Both men nodded but refrained from speaking.

  “Is there any other news, David?” Abel asked with a smile.

  “Not at this time, sir,” David said. “Armand’s people are currently searching nearby towns on both the US and Canadian sides of the border.”

  Abel frowned. “Searching for what?”

  “The escaped subject, sir,” David replied.

  “Oh,” Abel said, grinning. “I had forgotten about her! Jane, wasn’t it?”

  “No, sir,” David said tightly. “Jane was the woman she killed. Joyce is the name of the subject.”

  “Yes, yes, silly me,” Abel said, chuckling. “Well, you will let me know when something is discovered?”

  “Yes, sir,” Armand said.

  “What of Alex?” Abel asked, suddenly remembering the boy. “Have you found him yet?”

  “No, sir,” David said.

  “What of the cameras?” Abel asked. “Have they recorded anything?”

  “We’ve had trouble with the cameras inside 114 Broad,” David answered. “It looks like they were damaged during the last fight in the house. We have spotted a child, but truth be told, there’s no way to confirm whether he’s alive or a ghost. The constant assaults by the dead keep the Alfor men moving, making positive identification difficult.”

  “Don’t worry too much about the cameras,” Abel muttered after a moment. “I’m not concerned with them. Considering how potent the boy was, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn he manifested back in the Village. Let us disregard his appearance in the Village for the moment. Tell me, have you searched the forest at all?”

  “Yes,” David affirmed. “The woods around the Village have been searched, but several times the search parties have been ambushed by the Indians.”

  “Hm, yes, I suppose such an event was bound to occur,” Abel said. “Keep an eye
out for his body. I doubt he successfully returned to the Village. I know Meredith would have told me if he was alive.”

  “You’ve spoken with her, sir?” David inquired, politely.

  “No,” Abel said sadly. “However, I know she would break her silence in order to inform me about something as important as the boy. She was quite fond of him, you know. I suspect she will encourage me to adopt him if he’s alive. We will make quite the family, don’t you agree, David?”

  “You and Alex and Meredith, sir?” David asked.

  “Who else?” Abel asked, laughing. “Goodness, David. Do you expect me to marry Nurse Schomp? The good lady won’t even give me morphine to help with the pain.”

  He waved his mutilated hand at the two men.

  “Are you in much pain, sir?” Armand asked.

  “Not at all,” Abel said with a wink. “I merely have an acquired taste for morphine now. Delicious stuff. I miss it. The damned woman won’t give me anymore, unfortunately.”

  “Indeed, sir,” Armand murmured.

  “I do believe it is time for me to work,” Abel said. “I thank you both for coming to me with information regarding, well, everything, I suppose. But there is a tremendous amount of research I must do in order to prepare for her return.”

  “Meredith’s, sir?” David asked.

  “Yes, David,” Abel chuckled, shaking his head. “My friend, I am afraid you need to rest. Rarely have you asked so many questions with such obvious answers.”

  Abel looked to Armand and smiled. “You see, I have a tooth. Only the one, mind you, but I suspect it will be quite enough to bring her back.”

  “Will you be cloning her, sir?” Armand asked, a confused expression on his face.

  “A fair question,” Abel said. “However, no, I will not. I don’t have much time left, as we all know, and cloning would require waiting. In addition to the process of creating a physical duplicate of her, there would be no way to duplicate her personality. You see, we are all creatures of, not only our physical and biological heritage, but a sum total of our experiences. For her to be exactly as she was when we met and fell in love, why, she would have to have every experience, from every moment of her life. Now, who could possibly do such a thing? Certainly not myself. Anyway, I am afraid I am rambling. No, Mr. Assante, I will be bringing her spirit back via the tooth. There will be some hurdles, of course, but what good experiment doesn’t have them?”