by Ron Ripley
“Alright,” Jeremy said, “is there any good news?”
Shane let out a bitter laugh and said, “That was the good news, Jeremy. The bad news is that the damned thing’s about nigh on unkillable. Out of all of the research, I found exactly one mention about how you might be able to put a creature like him down. One. They boiled the damned thing to death. I don’t think you have a pot big enough for him, do you?”
“No,” Jeremy said, sighing. “We certainly do not.”
“Well,” Shane said, “you’re going to need to find a way to lock him up or something. Like I said, he’s just starting. Give him another week or so, and he’ll be killing people for miles around.”
“Could you assist us?” Jeremy asked.
“Against ghosts?” Shane said. “Sure. I could do that. Against that damned thing, you dragged up from New Orleans? No, that’s out of my league. And out of yours, frankly. Your best bet is to find someone who specializes in this stuff and have them come and give you a hand. If you don’t, you’re probably going to end up dead a lot sooner than you’re planning.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Jeremy replied bitterly.
“Listen, Jeremy, if I hear of any other way to kill it,” Shane added, “or of people who know how to kill something like it, I will let you know. And I promise you that I will keep looking. I just wanted to let you know what I had found out so far.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy said. “It is appreciated, Shane.”
“I know.”
The call ended, and Jeremy put the phone down, the glow of the screen lighting up the side of the bed, revealing the grinning face of Jean Luc.
***
A horrified shriek filled Victor’s dreams, and it took him several moments to realize they weren’t a creation of his own.
When that occurred, he woke up, sweat on his brow and his mouth dry.
The thunder of feet on the hall floor told Victor he hadn’t imagined the scream and he scrambled out of bed. He threw open his bedroom door and narrowly missed Tom. The teen’s eyes were wide and wild as he said hurriedly, “Jeremy!”
Concern and fear swept over Victor, and he followed Tom down the hall to Jeremy’s room, but the door was closed. Tom grasped the doorknob and tried to force his way in, but it was immovable. Jeremy continued to scream, and beneath the man’s piteous cries, Victor heard another sound.
The voice of Jean Luc.
Fury swept over Victor, and he threw his shoulder into the door, the wood and the frame cracking. Twice more he repeated the assault, and with the fourth, he knocked the barrier down.
The scene before him was horrific and ghoulish.
Jean Luc had a long hand wrapped around Jeremy’s neck, the nails drawing blood while those of his free hand cut into the old man’s bare chest. Bright red blood spilled down his flesh, his stomach jumping and quivering with each brutal touch.
A hand on Victor’s shoulder caused him to turn his head.
Tom smiled up at him, but he knew it wasn’t the teen looking out through the green eyes.
“Move aside, grandson,” Nicholas said through the teenager, the boy’s breath foul with alcohol. “I’ll speak with our erstwhile, supernatural friend.”
Stunned, Victor did as he was told. He watched as Tom approached the bed, Jean Luc digging his claws in deeper and scowling.
Tom spoke in a gentle, but firm tone. The words were, to Victor, unintelligible as he conversed with the goblin in patois. As the conversation progressed, and as it grew more surreal with every breath, Victor could hear the ire enter his grandfather’s tone.
Finally, the goblin and the dead man were howling at each other, rage filling their faces. Jeremy went limp in Jean Luc’s hands, and the goblin cast him aside, leaping towards Tom.
The teen caught him deftly, pinning Jean Luc’s arms behind his back.
Victor was surprised at the strength in the teen, and then he remembered that it wasn’t Tom.
It was Nicholas.
“Victor,” Nicholas said sharply, as Jean Luc writhed and kicked in the teen’s grasp, “have you any knowledge as to how we might dispose of this beast?”
“Boil,” Jeremy said, pulling himself into a sitting position. The word came out slurred, but recognizable. “Boil him.”
“Excellent,” Nicholas said over the howls of Jean Luc. “Let us go down to the kitchen.”
“In a minute,” Victor said, turning towards Jeremy.
“Now!” Nicholas barked. “We can help your traitorous friend soon enough. This one will not give us much more time.”
Victor glanced at Jeremy, and the older man nodded, shooing him away.
Reluctantly, Victor did so. He led the way out of the room, hurrying down the stairs to the kitchen. Victor ripped pots and pans out of the cabinets until he found an old, stoneware lobster pot.
And it still wouldn’t be big enough for Jean Luc.
Nicholas seemed to sense his thought, and he said, “Fill it and set it to boil. You must trust in me, and we must trust that I will not let him go.”
It took several minutes to fill the pot and to get it onto the stovetop. Water splashed out over the sides as Victor struggled to get a cover on it. Soon he had the flame going below the pot, and he shot a nervous glance over at Nicholas.
He could see how the teenager’s body struggled, the goblin’s motions becoming more frantic as if he sensed that Tom’s flesh was weakening.
Victor tore open the drawers and the cabinets until he found what he had thought he had seen.
A package of black Zip-ties.
He ran with them over to Tom, and without explanation, Victor began to bind Jean Luc. First the feet and then the hands. Then the legs together, and the arms to the legs.
During the entire procedure, Jean Luc screamed at him, throwing himself wildly from left to right while trying to break free of the dead man’s superhuman grasp through Tom’s young body. When Victor finished, Nicholas set the goblin on the floor, face down, and planted one foot firmly on the creature’s back.
Victor cleared his throat several times before he managed to ask, “Now what?”
“We boil him, grandson,” Nicholas said, nodding towards the pot.
“He won’t fit in there,” Victor said, confused.
“No, he will not,” Nicholas agreed. “His head, however, will fit in.”
It took a moment for Victor to understand what the dead man meant. Too horrified to speak, he sat down on an empty chair and stared at the beast on the floor.
Jean Luc glared at him, a hideous expression on his face.
Minutes passed. Finally, after what felt like an obscene amount of time, the water in the pot came to a boil.
“I’ll need your help,” Nicholas said.
“How?” Victor managed to ask.
“Pick him up, and mind the teeth,” Nicholas advised. “He’ll be wanting a bite. At least one last time, before we send him on his way.”
Victor wasn’t surprised to see how badly his hands shook as he took hold of Jean Luc’s right side.
Nicholas took hold of the other side, and together they lifted the goblin off the floor, the creature lighter than Victor had imagined. But Jean Luc bucked in their grip, trying to free himself. He wasn’t wasting any energy on screaming.
Instead, the goblin was focused solely on escape.
Neither Victor nor Nicholas would oblige him.
“Careful now,” Nicholas said as they reached the stove, the water boiling over the top of the pan. With a grunt, he added, “This won’t be as easy as you think.”
Before he could tell Nicholas that he didn’t believe the task was going to be easy at all, he found himself helping to lift Jean Luc up. They inverted the goblin, the creature’s mouth facing away from them as they thrust his head into the boiling water.
The liquid splashed out onto Victor’s hands, blisters rising up on the backs instantly. Yet in spite of the pain, he continued to hold on. He kept his grip firm, and his back s
traight.
It took a few minutes for the creature to stop moving.
They held the beast’s head under water until their arms were shaking, then, with a tremendous effort, they lifted him up and backed away. There wasn’t enough clearance, and Jean Luc’s forehead clipped the boiling water, launching the debilitating liquid across the room.
Together, Victor and Nicholas dropped the dead goblin on the floor. Victor took several staggered steps away and sank down to the floor, resting his back against the door of the refrigerator.
Nicholas stood by the body, a grin playing across the possessed teen’s face.
“What,” Victor asked, “could you possibly be grinning about?”
Nicholas moved to the counter, withdrew a long carving knife from the butcher’s block and said, “Let’s not leave anything to chance, grandson.”
Victor passed out from exhaustion and repulsion as Nicholas squatted down beside Jean Luc and sought a soft place in the goblin’s flesh to start his vivisection.
Chapter 50: Antipathy
It was shortly after noon before Stefan left his rented room and wandered down Fox Cat Hollow’s Main Street. He was exhausted, frustrated, and nervous.
Key elements of his life had been turned upside down.
He was no longer an only child. He had, in fact, nearly killed a sister he didn’t know he had. Not that it would have been terribly distressing; the woman had been helping Ivan Denisovich to kill him. However, Stefan’s identity was wrapped up in the secure knowledge that he had been the only child Ivan Denisovich ever spawned.
The ghost in the child’s mirror had shattered that belief, and the fear in the dead man’s voice had confirmed it.
While the removal of Ariana and the knowledge of how his father had been able to infiltrate his house were important to Stefan’s ability to sell more items, he was still left in a state of flux.
His father had lied to him.
Lied.
Stefan was in a foul mood as he stalked down the sidewalk, barely noticing the people around him or any of the stores on either side.
It was his stomach that finally brought him fully back to a conscious understanding of his surroundings.
The smell of true Boston baked beans filled his nose, and Stefan turned, trying to pinpoint from where the odor had emanated.
His eyes spotted it a few moments later.
Several storefronts up the street on the opposite side of the road, was a small diner. The name of the restaurant was Around the US. A middle-aged couple strolled out of the front door, and Stefan’s stomach encouraged him to go in and see what the restaurant was about.
He crossed the street, reached the opposite side and hurried along towards the door. His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t had any coffee.
Pulling the door open, Stefan entered as a bell above him chimed and announced his arrival.
A middle-aged waitress arrived a minute later, a battered notebook in her hand.
“Just one, sweetheart?” she asked.
Stefan nodded, and she led him to a booth labeled, New York, New York. Images of the New York City skyline were framed and hung on the wall, and a chalkboard with the words, New York City Pizza Slice written down on it.
“What’ll you have?” the woman asked.
“Coffee, eggs, home fries, and a rack of bacon,” Stefan replied.
She nodded, jotted it down, and left to get his food.
The bell above the door chimed, and he twisted to see who had set it off.
His heart skipped a beat when he recognized the man from video footage taken on Long Island.
It was Jeremy Rhinehart.
***
Jeremy was furious and barely able to contain his rage.
His chest ached, as did his neck and head. Victor had been attentive when administering first aid, but essentially ineffective.
It hadn’t helped that Nicholas had been not only freed from the cell Jeremy had put him in, but that he and Tom had arrived in Pennsylvania.
And, Jeremy thought bitterly, that I owe them my life.
Nicholas had been adamant that Jeremy be punished for his indiscretion and so-called traitorous act. Tom had remained silent, and Victor had wanted to know why Jeremy had imprisoned Nicholas.
Jeremy shook his head, then his thoughts were interrupted by Nancy, the middle-aged waitress he had come to know through his frequent visits to the restaurant.
“What’ll it be today, Jeremy?” she asked, flashing a grin of off-white teeth at him.
“What do you have available?” Jeremy asked in return.
“Just one,” she answered.
Jeremy smiled and replied, “Well, I suppose that beggars can’t be choosers. Lead on, my dear.”
He followed her to the booth, set his cane down beside him and glanced at the chalkboard with the day’s special, gumbo, written on it.
“May I have the special?” he asked her. “Surf, if you have it.”
“Sure,” Nancy answered. “But it’s only turf today. No deliveries from the coast. Something’s going on. You still want it?”
“A pity,” Jeremy said, “but yes, I’ll still have it.”
“Water?” she asked.
“Please,” Jeremy said.
Nancy gave a nod, jotted it down, winked at him, and hurried away.
***
Stefan took off his coat and listened to the woman take Rhinehart’s order, and he considered what he should do.
It was obvious that Rhinehart didn’t know what Stefan looked like, and it seemed more than likely that the man didn’t know Stefan was even in Fox Cat Hollow.
Prudence suggested to Stefan that he should eat his meal, return to his rented room, and then decide what to do next.
But Stefan had been doing an exceptionally large amount of retreating as of late, and he didn’t like it. And, if he was honest with himself, he was rather irritated over his father’s relationship with the half-sister he had never known about. Part of him wondered if he might have had a better relationship with the man if Rhinehart hadn’t murdered Ivan Denisovich.
That was only a small part.
The rest of his conscience understood that he had hated his father long before the man’s death and that there was little chance they would ever have reconciled their differences.
Still, he thought, he did kill my father.
The booths were back to back, so Stefan turned partially in his seat, called to Rhinehart and asked, “Say, what’s the name of the booth you’re in?”
***
“I’m sorry,” Jeremy said, coming out of the fugue state he had drifted into after Nancy had left. “What did you say?”
The customer in the booth behind him said, “I asked what booth you’re in.”
“New Orleans,” Jeremy answered.
“What’s the special?” the stranger asked.
Jeremy closed his eyes, wishing the conversation would stop, and answered. “Gumbo.”
***
“Gumbo,” Stefan repeated. He took a small knife out of his pocket and cut a slit into back of the seat. From the holster in the small of his back he removed the .22 caliber pistol, he kept the weapon there and wrapped his jacket around both the weapon and his hand.
“Any good?” Stefan asked, sliding the end of the barrel into the hole in the seat.
“It is,” Rhinehart answered, his voice tired.
“I’m glad,” Stefan replied, and he pulled the trigger twice.
Chapter 51: Paternal Blessings
Ariana sat in a hotel room in Philadelphia. Her injuries had been bandaged by a medical student in need of extra cash for a growing prescription painkiller addiction. She had the blinds drawn and the television off. Her entire body ached with the steady thrum of the injuries she had sustained, and she looked at the small compact on the table.
She was reticent about opening it. Ariana wanted to speak with her father, but she was ashamed of her failure.
With a shudder,
she reached out and opened the compact. In a soft voice, she whispered, “Father, remember the watch.”
In less than a heartbeat, Ivan Denisovich was in the room with her.
The solitary light by the bed dimmed, and when her dead father spoke, she didn’t hear anger, only concern.
“My daughter,” the dead man whispered. “You are alive.”
“Yes,” she said. “But I failed you.”
He chuckled. “No, I think not, my little one. It is Stefan who has failed me. From the moment he first drew breath. You, on the other hand, are my finest work. I need you, and the thought of you dying at the hands of your witless brother pains me.”
Relief combined with joy, and the two emotions swept through her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You will rest now,” her father ordered. “You will get better.”
“What of Stefan?” she asked.
“He is of no concern right now,” Ivan Denisovich said. “Bontoc is looking for both him and the lost items. Anne has been set loose, and we will, soon enough, pick up Stefan’s trail. You, on the other hand, must get better, or else there will be no one remaining to carry on our legacy. Do you understand?”
She nodded, tears of happiness in her eyes.
“Excellent,” Ivan said. “Now, listen close, my daughter. There is a man who would see Stefan dead as well. I do not know his name. What I do know is that Stefan was the cause of the death of this man’s wife. You will find out who he is, and you will stop him. Stefan will die on my order, and by a tool of my choosing. Not this stranger. You will stop him, even if it means leaving another body on the ground.”
“Yes, Father,” Ariana said in a hushed voice.
“Excellent,” Ivan Denisovich said. “Go and rest, daughter. We shall speak again soon.”
When her father vanished from the room, Ariana reached out, closed the compact and got up. She limped to her laptop, turned it on, and began to search for this new man.
Chapter 52: A Thief
Death, Victor realized dully, was a thief.
