Ghost Stories from Hell

by Ron Ripley

  Zhu hesitated, then he nodded.

  “Wait for us, then,” Lau said, “and we will be back for you after the sun rises.”

  “How do you know?” Zhu asked, his question barely audible.

  “I don’t,” Lau replied, “but that doesn’t matter.”

  Lau nodded to Jiang, and the two men and the dog made their way back to the monastery, where Feng and the dead awaited them.

  * * *

  Sherman’s Collection

  Chapter 1: Charles Talks With His Mother

  Charles Gottesman drank his coffee while his mother made her breakfast. She’d been eating the same thing for the past thirty years. A bowl of oatmeal, half of a kiwi, a cup of coffee, and piece of toast with a light coating of margarine. As she’d gotten older she’d added vitamins and various medications to her routine, but it was essentially the same one he remembered her adopting when he started middle-school.

  When she finally brought her own coffee to the table and sat down, Charles asked if anything was new.

  “Not much.” His mother smiled. “Your father’s off watching your siblings run in a relay race. Oh, I almost forgot. Mr. Sherman has died.”

  “Mr. Sherman?” Charles asked. “I didn’t know he was still alive.”

  She nodded. “He was. Evidently he had a nurse coming to check on him each day, and she found him after he passed away yesterday.”

  “What’s going to happen with his house and all his belongings?”

  “I was speaking with Mrs. Charron, and she said he had given away most of his things. All he had left was his library and the house.”

  “He didn’t have any family, did he?” Charles asked.

  His mother shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

  “Are they putting his house up for sale?”

  She nodded. “It should be on the market by Tuesday. Why?”

  “I always loved that house,” Charles said.

  “That house scares the bejesus out of me,” his mother said. “You would buy it?”

  “Definitely,” Charles answered. “I’ve been in an apartment for, what, two years now? Yes, two years since the divorce. I’m ready to be in a house again.”

  “Well,” his mother said, taking a sip of coffee, “call Mrs. Charron in the morning, she’s at Church right now. Her sister is the real estate agent.”

  “I will,” Charles said. “I will.”

  “Anyway,” his mother said, “tell me about your writing for that new magazine”

  And so Charles did.

  Chapter 2: The Nurse’s Boyfriend

  Mike sat at the computer, scrolling through the listings on Monster.com. The whole get-a-job deal was not working out for him. He still had a couple of months of unemployment left. Hell, he figured he could wait at least another month before he had to do some serious job hunting.

  But Ellen wasn’t letting up on it, and since she was the one carrying them both, he couldn’t complain much.

  At least to her.

  The guys at Rocky’s Tap and Grill would listen and understand.

  Mike sighed and clicked on the next set of 25 jobs. Plenty of CNC machining work, but nothing nearby. Mike didn’t want that much of a commute.

  The tumbler on the front door’s deadbolt clicked, and the door opened a moment later. Ellen stumbled in. She hung her keys up on the rack, dropped her bag on the floor, and closed the door behind her.

  Mike straightened up and swung around in the chair, smiling at her.

  Ellen smiled back as she took her brown hair out of its ponytail and shook it out.

  “How are you doing?” Mike asked, getting up and going to her.

  She gave him a hug before saying, “A little rough today.”

  “What’s up?” he said, letting go of her, walking into the kitchen, and getting their coffee mugs down.

  “You know Mr. Sherman?” she asked, slipping her sneakers off before walking into the front room. She flopped down on the couch.

  “Yeah,” Mike answered. He poured coffee for each of them, brought Ellen hers, and sat down in his chair. “What happened to him?”

  “He died sometime last night,” she answered.

  “And you found him?” Mike asked.

  “Yes,” she sighed. “I found him. He was a nice man.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  “You know,” Ellen said, “he used to be wealthy, but the older he got, the more he gave away. A few days ago he said that since he couldn’t take it with him, he had given it away.”

  “Really?” Mike asked, failing completely to understand how anyone could give money away.

  “Really,” Ellen said. She took a sip of her coffee. “The only things he didn’t get rid of were his books and some odds and ends in his library. That stuff, he told me, was supposed to stay in the house. Even after he died. I guess he had a stipulation put in that whoever buys the house, they have to leave the library in there.”

  “What’ll happen if they don’t?” Mike asked.

  Ellen shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think there’s any way anyone could enforce it since he’s dead. You know?”

  Mike nodded.

  “Anyway,” she said. “How was the job search?”

  “I think I found a couple of places in Milford, New Hampshire that might be a good fit,” he lied comfortably. “Jared’s supposed to be picking me up in about an hour. I want to see how long the commute will be if I have to work a second shift.”

  She smiled at him. “Cool. I’ll probably be in the bath when you leave. Are you going out to shoot pool afterward?”

  “Probably,” Mike answered.

  “Okay,” she said. She put her coffee down and stretched, and Mike smiled at her.

  ***

  Mike and Jared sat on a picnic table outside of Rocky’s, smoking and watching the October sunset.

  “You familiar with Nashua at all?” Mike asked.

  “A little,” Jared answered. “Why?”

  “You know where Sheridan Street is?”

  Jared thought for a moment before answering, “Yeah. It’s off Charlotte Avenue.”

  Mike nodded. “You know Ellen’s been doing that visiting nurse thing, right?”

  “Yeah,” Jared said. “Good money, isn’t it?”

  “Decent,” Mike said. “Decent. Anyway. One of her patients died last night.”

  “She find him?”

  Mike tried not to get mad at Jared’s interruption. “Yup, she found him. The guy used to be rich. Got rid of everything but the stuff in his library.”

  “Yeah?”

  Mike sighed. “Yeah. Jared, would you get rid of all of your money and stuff?”

  “Oh, hell, no.” Jared took the last drag off of his cigarette and flipped the butt into the sand by the back door.

  “Exactly my thought.”

  “What is?”

  “That he wouldn’t get rid of all the money and stuff,” Mike said. “I bet he had a ton of it stashed in his library.”

  “Ton of what?”

  “Jesus,” Mike said, looking at Jared. “Are you high?”

  “Little.”

  Mike rolled his eyes. “Anyway, he probably stashed some of his money in his books.”

  “So what if he did?”

  “He died alone,” Mike said. “Ellen told me the guy had no family. That’s why he was giving everything away.”

  “Shit,” Jared said. “So you think he might have hidden some cash in his library?”

  “Exactly,” Mike said with a sigh of relief. “Exactly. I bet if we went over there when it got a little darker, we could probably get in and go through the library. Guy was like ninety or something when he died. Can you imagine how much he’s probably got stashed away?”

  Jared shook his head. “Wow. Yeah. Do you want to do it tonight?”

  “Soon as it gets dark. We should probably take a ride over and figure out where on Sheridan it is, though.”

  “What number is it?” Jared as
ked.

  “Number one,” Mike answered. “Number one, Sheridan Street.”

  Chapter 3: Mike and Jared at Mr. Sherman’s

  The sun had been down for a couple of hours, and Mike and Jared sat in Jared’s Suburban, the lights off, but the engine running. They had the heater on low, and they were parked inside of Edgewood Cemetery near the back entrance. Sheridan Street was only thirty yards beyond the entrance.

  And number one Sheridan Street was on a dead end that ran up to the wrought iron fence that surrounded the cemetery.

  Not even a streetlight shone upon the old Victorian house the man had lived in.

  As an added bonus, there were a good hundred yards of woods between the old man’s house and his nearest neighbor.

  Mike hoped there was still money inside. That was the important part of this whole deal.

  “What do you think?” Jared asked. Mike’s friend had sobered up, and whatever he’d taken had worn off. The man was calm and collected. Both of them were. Neither had done any house-breaking since they’d graduated high school five years earlier, but neither of them were worried about it either.

  The house was guaranteed to be empty, and it was as isolated as you could get in the city. They’d picked up duffel bags at Wal-Mart. Whatever they found could be stuffed into the bags, tossed over the cemetery fence, and loaded into the Suburban.

  Easy as pie.

  “I think we can do this now,” Mike said.

  They left the vehicle running and got out into the cold night air. Their breath slipped free in slim vapor trails, and they put their gloved hands into the pockets of their extra-large hooded sweatshirts. They walked casually, talking in low voices, hoods down, but with knit caps on. It was cold enough to justify the hats, and they stepped easily from the cemetery onto Sheridan Street.

  If anybody noticed them at all, Mike knew they’d look like a couple of guys out for a walk, teenagers cutting through the cemetery to get home. The two of them walked like they belonged in the neighborhood, and when a car drove by, its lights bright, neither he nor Jared looked away. They kept on walking.

  Just before Sheridan Street turned into a dead end, it intersected another street, Ashland, and Mike and Jared paused to let a pick-up rattle by. When the truck’s red rear lights disappeared around another corner, the two men walked across Ashland up to the Victorian.

  They walked up the front steps of the wide porch, the wood creaking beneath their boots, and Mike stepped to the front door. He took hold of the doorknob and turned gently.

  There was a soft click and the door opened.

  “Awesome,” Jared chuckled.

  Mike could only nod his agreement.

  A minute later they were in the house, the door closed behind them as they pulled the new duffel bags out from under their sweatshirts.

  “Where do you think the library is?” Mike asked in a low voice.

  “Dunno,” Jared answered. “Maybe upstairs?”

  Their voices echoed curiously, and then Mike realized it was because of the emptiness of the place. Hell, there weren’t even any curtains or shades on the windows. The floors were all hardwood. Light from a full moon poured in through the windows and lit up the house, but it made everything colder, somehow.

  There was a rumbling and a rattling from the basement, and both men froze in place.

  A heartbeat later, a giant steam radiator shook and hissed into life.

  Mike let out a long breath. “Damn.”

  “Scared me too,” Jared said.

  “Yeah,” Mike said. “Let’s find that damned library and get the hell out of here.”

  Jared nodded.

  A large set of stairs led off from the hallway they were in, and the two of them walked up the stairs side by side. All of the doors were open on the second floor, and a moment later they found the library. It had a large window on the back wall with the moon shining directly in. The shelves were loaded with books as well curious items—a couple of old automatic pistols that looked like they came out of a World War Two movie, some swords, bayonets. Lots and lots of military stuff. Even a Nazi flag.

  “Wow,” Jared said.

  “Right,” Mike agreed. “This is crazy.” Looking closer he saw a Zippo lighter. Reaching out he picked it up off of the shelf and saw that someone had etched out the word “Iwo” in old-style letters. Nodding to himself, he slipped it into his pocket.

  “Do you think we can move any of this stuff?” Jared asked.

  Mike nodded. “Definitely. There’s a guy at that indoor flea market out in Milford that doesn’t ask any questions. And he’s always got a ton of military stuff.”

  “Okay,” Jared said, opening a bag. “Let’s do this.”

  It took the two of them less than five minutes to fill four bags with everything that looked like it might be worth something. They even checked a couple of the books to see if there was cash hidden inside, but they had no luck.

  Mike and Jared each picked up a pair of bags and made for the stairs. They had nearly reached the first floor when Mike felt something cold rip through him, and he stumbled over the last step.

  “Jesus Christ!” Jared snapped, almost tripping over Mike. “What the hell was that?”

  “Something cold?” Mike asked.

  “Yeah,” Jared said, nodding and looking around. “It’s like I stepped into a freezer or something.”

  The house shook slightly, as if an eighteen wheeler was rushing by on the street beyond. But there was nothing. Not even a car rumbling by.

  “What the hell?” Mike said.

  Behind them, something slammed, and together they twisted around. All Mike could see was a closed door and—

  Drawers flew out of a built-in cabinet to the left of the door as the doorknob turned, the door opened and then slammed viciously closed.

  Without another word, Mike turned and ran for the front door. Jared beat him to it. Jared managed to get a hold of the doorknob without letting go of either of the bags.

  “Jesus!” Jared yelled. “Help me, something’s trying to keep the door closed!” Jared strained against the door.

  Mike threw himself forward, dropping both of his bags to the floor. Mike slipped his fingers into the barely open door and pulled back, grunting with the effort. Together they managed to push the door open wide enough for them to slip out.

  They left Mike’s duffel bags on the floor as they tumbled onto the porch and fell down the broad steps. Behind them, the door swung open wide and then slammed shut, the glass in the windows rattling.

  They sprinted for the cemetery fence, Mike taking one of the bags from Jared and heaving it over the wrought iron as Jared did the same. Then they ran around the perimeter of the fence to the back entrance, and from there to the Suburban. When they reached the vehicle, they scrambled for the bags, tossed them into the back and piled in themselves.

  Jared dropped the SUV into gear and tore out along the cemetery’s road. He didn’t slow down until they were on Amherst Street, aimed towards Merrimack. Jared didn’t get onto the highway, driving up instead to Market Basket and parking in the well-lit lot.

  Mike looked at Jared and said, “What the hell was that?”

  Jared only shook his head.

  “Seriously,” Mike said, taking a deep breath, “was that a ghost?”

  “I think so. I mean, I don’t know for sure,” Jared said in a low voice. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it was.”

  “Think it was pissed we went in there and took some stuff out?”

  “No,” Jared said, shaking his head. “They don’t care about stuff like that. Right?”

  Mike thought about it for a minute and then nodded in agreement. “Yeah. It was probably upset we were there, you know?”

  Jared nodded. “Not that we took things.”

  “We lost the two bags I had,” Mike said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Jared said. “That scared the hell out of me.”

  Mike laughed nervously. “Yeah. Me too, man.”

/>   “So, what do you want to do?” Jared said. “Do you want to try and fence the goods this weekend?”

  “Yeah,” Mike said. “That’ll be the best deal, I think. That way we can do it together. You want to hold onto it until then?”

  Jared looked into the back at the two bags. After a moment he said, “Yeah. I’ll toss a tarp over’em, so nobody decides to pop a lock and go looking around the back of the car.”

  “Cool,” Mike said. “Now we’ve finished with that crap, want to grab a couple of beers?”

  “Hell yeah,” Jared said. “Want to go to Rocky’s?”

  “Damned right,” Mike said, relaxing into the seat for the first time since they’d left the cemetery. “You’re damned right.”

  Chapter 4: Mike and the Zippo

  Mike had more than a few beers at Rocky’s.

  In fact, he had more than a few pitchers.

  But he wasn’t sure.

  When he got home, Ellen was already asleep. She had popped an Ambien since she was still getting used to going from third shift to her own gig as a traveling nurse.

  Mike didn’t need an Ambien. He had at least a gallon and a half of Bud Lite in him. Easily a gallon and a half.

  He’d be lucky if he didn’t piss himself.

  Mike attempted to hang his keys up, missed the rack twice, and shrugged, dropping them to the floor. Then he sat down on the floor to take his boots off. There was no way he was going to be able to find a chair and manage to sit in it on the first try.

  No sir, not at all.

  Giggling to himself and grinning, Mike managed to take first one boot, and then the other, off. Both of his socks, however, stayed in the boots.

  Oh well, he thought.

  He rolled from a sitting position onto his hands and knees, and then he slowly got to his feet, reaching out to the wall for support. The last thing he needed was to pass out on the floor. Ellen would wake him up with a kick in the ass and a good chewing out.

  Neither of which were appealing. Plus she’d probably—