“We’ve got nothing. A week and a half later and we’ve got nothing but a stack of photographs and the ramblings of an obvious moron.”
Hughes shook his head. “Jason’s just confused. I think he actually slept right through everything and is probably ashamed to admit grave-robbers did their thing right under his nose, so he made up that far-fetched story. That’s what I think.”
“I don’t know, David. I think this guy actually believes that story he told us. He’s been fully checked out – no history of psychosis; no psychological issues on file whatsoever; no criminal record. He’s as clean as a whistle.”
“That’s a good thing; at least for him. It’s a pity the polygraph couldn’t happen sooner than tomorrow morning.”
“Typical of a small town, huh? At least in these parts,” Saunders said. “One polygraph expert and when he’s unavailable for some reason or goes vacationing, everything slows down.”
Chief Schroeder approached the detectives. “You guys still in here? You’ve got grave-snatchers and missing corpses to find! The Governor and the media are up my ass, so I need this case solved asap.”
“We understand, sir,” Saunders replied.
“And another thing... if it’s gonna be solved, you two are gonna be the ones to do it, never mind the leg crew helping you out. So, get it done!” He hurried off toward the restroom.
Saunders and Hughes looked at each other.
“Any ideas, other than this upcoming polygraph?” Hughes asked.
“Just to schedule polygraphs for every one who works at that church, including the pastor.” Saunders sighed.
Hughes thought for a moment. “Think that’s a good move? Pastor McPhee reported the crime. Furthermore, what reason would he have for disturbing the final resting place of his parishioners?”
“Everyone closely connected to that church is a suspect. No one’s untouchable.” Saunders got up and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. Ready to go?”
Hughes arched his brows. “Sure, I’m right behind you.”
* * *
Mary-Lou knocked gently before opening the door of the pastor’s office.
“Pastor, Betty Fines is here to see you.”
McPhee sighed heavily. He had been studying scriptures at his desk when Mary interrupted. “Just her?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. I know you’ve been bombarded lately by visits of those families. I asked her if she can come back another time, but she insisted that she see you today.”
“Okay, show her in.”
He stood as she entered the room. The sixty-nine-year-old widow with perfect teeth and shoulder-length white hair was a little on the short side.
“Mrs. Fines, please have a seat.” The reverend forced a smile.
Betty politely sat down and rested her brown handbag on her lap. She looked at McPhee, who had now taken his seat, with those innocent, blue eyes. “I know I’ve been here already, Pastor, but I thought by now, we would’ve heard something concerning my mother’s remains,” she said. “I keep calling the police station, but it doesn’t seem like they’ve made any headway yet.”
“I really am very sorry, Mrs. Fines, but I, like you, rely on the police for updates. I spoke with the detective on the case a few days ago and, unfortunately, he had nothing new to relay.”
Mrs. Fines lowered her head for a moment. At her age, stress was difficult to detect simply by looking at her, but McPhee could sense she was very frustrated. He got up and went around to her and discovered she was sobbing. He placed his hand on her shoulder.
“I really wish we knew where they all are,” he said. “I can only imagine the heartbreak the families of those dear souls that were buried here are feeling.”
“You can’t imagine, Pastor,” Fines corrected him. “My mother meant everything to me. When she passed away, I mourned her loss every day for many years. Each day that went by didn’t make my grief any easier, and every week faithfully, since her passing, I’ve visited her grave and placed fresh flowers on it. Now, not only is she gone, I can’t even visit her grave anymore because she’s not there!”
“Come, now, Mrs. Fines.” He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Everything will be all right. This whole God-forsaken mess will be cleared up soon.” McPhee reached over to his desk, pulled out some tissue from the ceramic holder and handed them to Betty.
“Listen, the police are committed to getting to the bottom of this. Whenever I hear anything concrete, I promise, I’ll be in touch with you right away, okay?”
“Are you sure, Pastor? I would really appreciate that.”
“You have my word.”
Mrs. Fines dabbed the tissue onto her face. “Thank you, Pastor.”
He helped her to her feet. “See you on Sunday for early morning service?”
“I can’t say for sure right now. I’ve been feeling really down since...”
“I understand, but the house of the Lord is where you need to be, Mrs. Fines. You can find encouragement here,” McPhee said.
Fines looked straight ahead through the window behind McPhee’s desk. “Not while knowing my mother’s grave out there is empty. I’m sorry, Pastor. I hope you understand.”
He rested his hand on her shoulder again. “I do. Please allow me to walk you out.”
Fines was already making her way down the walkway when McPhee, standing at the main door said, “Take care now. I’ll be praying for you.”
Betty stopped in her tracks, then turned around. “We’ll all need the prayers, Pastor. With the way things have been going lately in this town, we’ll all need the prayers.”
Her words sent chills up McPhee’s spine. They seemed both prophetic and sinister at the same time. After seeing her off, he shut the door. He could hear some rummaging sounds in the kitchen and walked in that direction. Dressed in a plain white blouse, purple skirt and shiny, black high-heeled shoes, Mary-Lou was leaning against the counter reaching up into the top cupboard.
“Let me get that for you.” McPhee offered.
Standing behind her, he reached for the container of coffee creamer and grabbed it while placing his left hand around her waist.
“Here you go.” He smiled, gazing into her eyes.
“Why, thank you, sir.” She took the creamer. “Now, tell me, what will Mrs. McPhee think if she even imagined you had your strong, masculine arm around my little waist?”
“Have you wondered what she thought before?”
Smiling, Betty shook her head, and her lover of the past twelve months planted a kiss on those soft lips which he claimed belonged solely to him. Spotting the new Groundskeeper, Matt Alleyne, out in the yard working, Mary moved away from the view of the tiny kitchen window. She then went to ensure the main entrances of the building were locked before she and McPhee went quickly to engage in yet another round of passionate love-making on the couch inside of his office.
6
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Matt Alleyne whistled as he stood on the fluffy bath mat, drying himself off. Middle-aged and still quite strong despite having major heart surgery some years earlier, he felt a sense of satisfaction that he was able to land that job as Groundskeeper of the church’s graveyard. Of course, he understood when told his duties were extended to other parts of the church grounds as well like mowing the lawn, painting etc., that temporary help could be hired occasionally when there was a definite need for it.
Advancing towards the door, something caught his peripheral vision. He immediately stepped out of the bathroom and looked into the hallway. Making quick steps, he rounded the bend into the tiny living room, and was met with silence and nothing that appeared out of the ordinary. The cottage, simply built, consisted of a small kitchen, a living room, a bathroom and one bedroom, which was good enough for Matt. After confirming the coast was clear and that his mind was simply playing tricks on him as exhaustion had long set in, Matt grabbed a cold beer from the refrigerator and headed into the bedroom where he slipped on a pair of old boxer shorts.<
br />
As dusk set in and the owls came out, a bed, draped with plain white linen, never looked so enticing. Matt downed most of his beer before switching off the side lamp and flopping onto the bed. He closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take him into another realm – of nothingness.
“Sweet Caroline...” was the song that boldly infiltrated his dreamless sleep. Matt pitched up, and glanced around the dark room before his brain suggested he switch on the lamp. 12:01 flashed repeatedly on the screen of the little alarm clock.
“Sounds like it’s coming from...” He got up and headed into the direction of the music. “Don’t remember leaving on the radio...”
Someone prevented him from taking another step. It was the man he could clearly see in the dark living room with a stout cigar in his mouth, slowly rocking back and forth in the old rocking chair.
“Who the hell are you?” Matt demanded. “How’d you get in here?” He was sure he’d locked both doors and there was barely a window around that guy could comfortably fit through.
“Sit down, old boy,” the man replied in a British accent. “We have heaps to chat about.”
“Sit down? Chat?”
“Need I repeat myself, Matthew?”
Matthew? No one ever calls me that, except for Mom, he thought.
The stranger who resembled Alfred Hitchcock, but by no means could be mistaken for the filmmaking legend, managed to hurl huge balls of smoke into the air with each puff. He was tapping his fingers on the arm of the wooden chair to the music emanating from the radio. However, as Matt looked at the black and white radio, he noticed it was not plugged in and was certain the battery compartment was empty after having inspected it the day he moved in.
“I asked who you are and I wanna know what you’re doing here,” Matt said. “Did Reverend McPhee send you? Did he give you a key to this place?”
“Oh, old reverend … McPhee. Poor old, lonely chap. No, he hasn’t sent me. Well, not directly anyway.”
“So, again… what’re you doing here?”
“Let’s say that I’m here on some official business. You see, I have a vested interest in this here property. I’ve spent many years on it, helping the weeds to grow and the grass to wither. My children, then grandchildren used to come and see me, but there are not many more that find it necessary to visit dear, old Gramps, as they all used to call me. Let’s say, their love has waxed cold.”
Matt started to feel a sudden drop in temperature and quickly folded his arms. He watched and listened as the man went on and on about his life until he realized something he hadn’t noticed before: the man never once blinked. He also wondered why that dull shade of light only surrounded the area in which he sat, like a silhouette. The temperature inside of the room continued to fall and Matt was now shivering.
“Are you cold, lad?”
Matt didn’t respond. His heart began to thump and race as an eerie, ominous feeling overwhelmed him.
“Shouldn’t you, perhaps, go and put on something warm, then return here where we can finish our little chat?” the man suggested.
Matt shook his head quickly. “No, I’m fine.” But he wasn’t. The truth was, he didn’t know how much more of the freezing air he could take, yet at the same time, he knew he couldn’t turn his back on the mysterious stranger.
“Oh, don’t you bother. Allow me to grab something warm for you. It’s right here behind me. Will be just a moment.” When he stood up and started making his way around to the back of the chair, Matt spotted something which caused him to shriek. The sizeable hole in the man’s upper back was filled with hundreds, if not, thousands of crawling worms which were gliding in and out of it. Almost vomiting, Matt knew, undoubtedly, that the Alfred Hitchcock look-alike who ran on and on about himself was actually... dead!”
The man made a sudden turn upon Matt’s reaction. “Is there something… wrong, Matthew?” The look on his face was more sinister than ever before.
Matthew quickly shook his head, then glanced in the direction of the front door.
Discerning his intention, the man said: “You don’t want to do it, my friend. You don’t want to go out there. It’s not safe, believe me. You’re better off in here with me shooting the breeze.”
Wearing nothing more than his boxer shorts, Matt made a dash for the door. He couldn’t get there fast enough. He swung the door open, ran off onto the porch and escaped into the dead of night. At least a hundred yards down into the graveyard, he stopped and leaned over to catch his breath.
“It can’t be real!” He held his head. “It can’t be frigging real!”
Then, something breezed right past him and he heard the giggles. It sounded like children were nearby, but how could that be?
“All right. Who’s there?” Matt said. “Show your face, you mother effing scoundrels! What the hell you’re doing in a frigging graveyard playing these games?”
Matt was trying to rationalize what he was experiencing. Besides, there had to be a sensible explanation for it all. There’s no such thing as ghosts, he always said to his best buddy in the world that died from cirrhosis of the liver five years ago. Randy had a fascination for the unseen world and had told Matt of countless experiences he’s had dating back from when he was a child. “Hogwash!” Matt would say. “Your eyes or your mind is working overtime – playing tricks on you!”
Even down to his last day on earth, stretched out as comfortably as human hands could make him on that hospital bed, Randy weakly uttered that he’d seen who he referred to as “Our Lady”. Of course, Matt didn’t consider the Virgin Mary a ghost, but he didn’t think Randy saw her either. He figured it was wishful thinking since the good boy was so close to death. Poor soul, Randy was. Always thinking outside of the box.
“Shhhh!” someone whispered loudly.
Matt instantly shifted in all directions to catch a glimpse of who his tormentor was. Then, he heard a strange, yet familiar sound — like something was being dug into and tossed up. On turning, he noticed a shovel digging into the ground, by its own accord, and dirt being tossed up onto a heap. Soon, the shovel fell helplessly to the level ground and he could hear a heavy scraping sound like steel against steel. Reluctantly, Matt went over to the site where the unusual activity occurred. His jaw dropped when he saw the coffin six feet down partially ajar and inside, no remains could be seen.
He stepped back and tripped over the shovel, nearly slipping feet first into the grave.
“Oh! I gotta get outta here!” he cried, climbing to his feet.
“Where are you going, Mister Groundskeeper?” a child-like voice asked from somewhere in the night. “Don’t you want to stay and play with us for a while?”
“No! No! Leave me alone!” Matt exclaimed, wondering where to turn next. Then he remembered the words of the dead Brit: “You don’t want to go out there. It’s not safe. You’re better off in here with me...”
He took off at full speed back to the cottage and on arriving, hastily locked the door behind him. His eyes immediately fell on the rocking chair, which, to his relief, was now empty. Matt closed all of the window curtains and ensured the back door was locked and bolted. Flipping the light switch, he discovered it wasn’t working, so he carefully made his way over to another, but was met with the same grim reality. He made his way into the kitchen, rummaged under the cupboard and felt for the lantern. He placed it on the table near the kitchen, then went in search of the kerosene oil and matches. Matt had grown up using a lantern for light at night when his family had no electricity, so he could very well light a lantern with his eyes closed. As the light slowly grew and gracefully danced inside of the protective glass, he sat down on the sofa and clenched his fingers together, praying for protection.
“Matthew… Matthew… Old, stubborn, extremely unwise Matthew. Did you find what you were looking for out there?” went that familiar voice.
Matt nearly wet his pants, then the rotund man came into view again – this time, standing next to the table where the lantern
stood, with that same darn light around him again.
Matt’s eyes were brimming with tears. “Please, please go away!” he cried. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I need you to just go away and leave me alone.”
A startled, confused and slightly offended expression appeared on the man’s puffy face. “Now, Matthew, that is not polite at all. Didn’t you return here because you realized I had told you the truth? You should be thanking me, not asking me to go away. How very ungrateful and impolite of you!”
“You’re right. Thank you, but please, just leave me be! I can’t take any more of this!”
The strange man stood and stared for a minute. “Perhaps, I should go then. Besides, being confined to one little space can really dampen the spirit after a while. I like to explore; see the world; do things the introverted side of me would have never done. I’m a different man today, no doubt, all things considered.” He smiled. “Well, guess I’ll be on my way, Matthew. Do have a wonderful night and I thank you for allowing me into your cozy, little home for pleasant, friendly and intelligent conversation.” He placed a black derby hat on his head that seemingly appeared out of nowhere and he proudly headed for the door. “By the way, I will, as a special favor to you, tell your mother, Sophia, you said hi and that you sent to her a great, big hug.” With a nod, he proceeded to walk right through the front door.
By this time, Matt had rested his hand across his heart. He was surprised it hadn’t leapt through his chest. Watching the apparition leave was a feeling no words could express as he was left to ponder what to do next. Was the cottage haunted or were his eyes and mind working overtime – playing tricks on him, as he often said to his best bud.
7
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The next morning…
Mira was stretched out in the lounge chair on the porch sipping a hot cup of French Vanilla coffee. The morning dew still covered the grass and the air was refreshingly crisp. Seated nearby, Sara opened the morning newspaper and the headline caught her eye.
The Cornelius Saga Series (All 15 Books): The Ultimate Adventure-packed Supernatural Thriller Collection Page 48
