Cold Cases and Haunted Places

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Cold Cases and Haunted Places Page 13

by Trixie Silvertale


  He'd been determined to put policing and ghosts in his rearview mirror. And he’d ended up in Crocker, Indiana, helping the local police solve the occasional murder while working for and dating a woman whose best friend was a ghost.

  Yeah, there was no irony there. None at all.

  2

  Anna and Pratt were heading out the door to grab lunch when a man entered. He had his head down and nearly ran into them. “Oh!” Pastor Frederick said. “I do apologize.” He fixed them with a look that was tight with unhappiness.

  Anna gave the reverend a hug. “It’s so nice to see you,” she said, her tone warm.

  Pratt eyed Frederick, wondering what had the good reverend so upset. He extended his hand, clasping Frederick’s hand in a firm grip. “How are you, Pastor?”

  “Tell you the truth, I’ve been better, Mr. Davies,” the reverend said.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Can we help?”

  “I was hoping you could,” Frederick responded. His gaze slid around the store. “Is the…erm…Is Mr. Joss around?”

  The pastor had helped Pratt and Anna recently when Anna had been dragged into the ether and hadn’t been able to escape. He’d basically performed an exorcism on the spot and just might have saved Anna’s life. The religious man might not have believed in ghosts before that fateful day, but Frederick had since embraced the fact that they existed. “He’s around here somewhere. Would you like to speak with him?” Pratt asked.

  Frederick frowned slightly. “Maybe you can tell him what I need help with after we’ve spoken?” He wrung his hands and glanced at Anna, a question in his expression.

  She reached out and squeezed his hands. “Of course.” Tucking a ribbon of her long blonde hair behind one ear, she motioned to the wicker seating area arranged near the large front window. “Why don’t we have a seat. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”

  “No, no. I’m good. But thank you, Anna.” He sat, his gaze sliding along the ceiling as if he expected to see a ghost gliding beneath the tin panels.

  “Tell us how we can help,” Anna said when she was seated.

  Pratt sat next to her on the small couch. “I take it you have a ghost problem?”

  Frederick frowned. “I’m actually not sure, but I believe we do, yes.”

  “We?” Pratt asked.

  The pastor flinched. “I’m here on behalf of a young man. Mitchel Mistren.”

  Pratt and Anna shared a look.

  “Do you know him?” Frederick asked.

  “No,” Pratt said. “But I was just telling Anna about the house this morning. About the strange things happening there.”

  Frederick sighed. “Yes. It was about this time of year. I guess it’s been five years now.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

  “What was about this time of year?” Anna asked. Her intelligent green eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to understand.

  “I apologize. I should probably start at the beginning.” He gave them a sad smile. “In late October of 2015, I was in the church. It was around ten o’clock at night and I was saying my prayers before locking up and going home. The front door opened, and I turned around to find a boy stumbling down the center aisle. He was bleeding pretty badly from a cut on his head.” The pastor looked off into the distance, his brown gaze far away. Although he was staring out onto a sun-drenched Crocker street, Pratt wondered if he was really seeing a shadowed nave, soft candlelight flickering against an army of dour-faced religious statuary, and moonlight filtering through stained glass.

  Pratt had gone to Trinity Lutheran Church at night once or twice when memories stirred discontent in his heart. He knew the atmosphere in the church at night was both a haven and a fearsome symbol of powers beyond human control.

  It could be intimidating.

  “Mitchel came to me because he didn’t know who else to ask for help. His story sounded far-fetched and unbelievable at the time. I’m afraid I didn’t take him seriously. It wasn’t until I experienced that terrifying spirit with you that night at the Miller’s that I realized he’d likely been telling me the truth.”

  “Truth?” Pratt asked, wondering where the good pastor was going with the story.

  Frederick slid his gaze to Pratt’s, the look all but imploring him to believe what he was about to tell them. “He spoke of a ghost. A restless spirit who lived in his home. He said the spirit had attacked him, blaming him for its death. If that was true…and I no longer have reason to doubt it was…he was lucky to survive with just a gash on his head.”

  “Did he know the ghost?” Anna asked. Her tone was as unsurprised as if inquiring whether the pastor preferred sweet or unsweet iced tea.

  Pratt almost smiled.

  Pastor Frederick shook his head. “The…creature…insisted that it was murdered in that home. It demanded that young Mitchel find its murderer, or it would make his life miserable.”

  Anna’s eyes went wide. “Please tell me Mitchel hasn’t moved back in?”

  “No. He’s been living with an aunt in Chicago. His mother’s sister. The boy’s parents lived in the house until 2017, when Jim Mistren apparently died from an accident in the home. I believe he fell off a ladder if I remember right. And the mother, Martha, moved out shortly after that. According to Mitchel, she died of cancer a few months ago.”

  “You’ve spoken to Mitchel then?” Pratt asked.

  “Yes. He came to my office early this morning. He’s back in town and he’s planning on selling the house.” Pastor Frederick sighed. “Five years ago, Mitchel begged me to do an exorcism.” He shook his head. “I should have listened to him then. But I wasn’t a believer, so I talked him out of it.” The pastor’s face flushed. “I’m afraid I thought it was the drugs talking and encouraged him to get help for them.”

  “Mitchel used drugs?” Pratt asked.

  “Yes. I don’t believe he was lost to them. At least not then. But I had no other explanation for his seemingly far-fetched tale.” Pastor Frederick scrubbed a large hand over his face. “I just keep thinking about how he looked that night. About what I saw at the Miller house when I helped you.” He finally looked into Pratt’s eyes. “I’m terrified the boy will be killed by whatever is living in the Mistren house. I tried to talk him out of going back inside. But, with the passage of time, he’s convinced himself that it’s perfectly safe. I can’t shake the feeling that…if something happens to him…it will be my fault.”

  “What would you like us to do, Pastor?” Pratt asked.

  “I’d like you to try and solve the mystery of this spirit’s death.”

  “And if we can’t solve the mystery?” Anna asked.

  He hesitated, pulling air deep into his lungs as if to draw courage from it. “I was hoping you’d bring Joss along. I’d like for your guardian spirit to make sure the one that hurt the boy can no longer cause harm.”

  3

  They stood outside on the sidewalk and stared up at the big, old house. Despite the stories that had been circulating about the Mistren home, Anna didn’t see anything hinky going on there. At least not at the moment. Granted, it was only seven o’clock at night. It was probably early for ghosts to be strutting their stuff.

  The colonial-style structure was badly in need of spiffing up. Its once-white clapboard siding sported flaking white paint that had turned gray with age. The yard was badly overgrown too, with thigh-high weeds that bent over an uneven sidewalk, nearly obscuring it.

  The house stood atop a hill, the yard and driveway plunging rather steeply toward the road below. They’d parked Pratt’s Jeep on the street rather than navigating the steep drive, particularly because there was already a car clinging to its pitted surface, and they had no desire to block anybody in.

  All up and down the street, various Halloween themes festooned the mostly-well-kept homes. The decorations ranged from a creepy array of skeletons, witches, and gravestones at the small ranch home across the street; to a collection of goofy, hand-carved pumpki
ns overseeing a witch on a broom who’d seemingly crashed into a tree.

  Anna stared up at the neglected Mistren home, her senses thrumming with a feeling that all was not right there. Since being wrenched from the ether an inch from death, she’d noticed a decidedly sharpened ability to perceive spectral entities and read their intent.

  It was a newfound skill that was both useful and eminently disturbing.

  “Of course, we had to come here after dark,” Pratt murmured in a dry tone.

  The ghost next to him turned a mocking smile in his direction. “What’s the matter, Puke? You all-overish about the wispy ones?”

  “If I was, you’d be the first to know, Cowboy.”

  Joss put hands on hips and scoured Pratt with a critical eye. “I reckon you could wait in the car. Miss Anna and me can handle this if’n yore too skeery.”

  Pratt tensed slightly, but Anna didn’t step in. She knew Pratt could defend himself much better than she could. “Joss, when we get inside, I want you to suss out what kind of spirit we’re dealing with here, okay?”

  Joss nodded, his gaze sliding back to the house. “I don’t mind sayin’ that there’s a lot o’ wrathiness comin’ off this place, darlin’.”

  “From what the pastor said, I’m guessing we’ve got a poltergeist on our hands,” Pratt offered.

  Anna frowned. “I don’t know. It sounds as if the thing was pretty violent.” She turned to Pratt. “What do you think Morty would say if we asked?”

  Pratt grinned. “She’d say, ‘Get out of my way. I’m going in.”

  Anna laughed. He wasn’t wrong. Their mutual friend, Dr. Morticia Phelps, liked nothing better than investigating a good haunting.

  Morty had a Doctor of Psychology as well as a Masters in Parapsychology and had done groundbreaking work detailing the different types of spirits. Her classifications were based on the specter’s behavior, moods, and even the role they seemed to assign for themselves. The guardian was her favorite and the rarest. The designation entailed a ghost that felt it had a duty to protect the area it inhabited, and by association any friendly living souls within the space.

  Morty had dubbed Joss a guardian spirit.

  The poltergeist was an agitated but not evil or necessarily dangerous spirit, whose temperament led to unexplained paranormal activity and spiritual temper tantrums but rarely ended in violence. Poltergeists were cranky but not vengeful.

  Dwellers were spirits with no strong emotional connection to the people or places they inhabited. For the most part, dwellers just existed in a space, without interacting or attaching to the inhabitants. They’d all agreed that Bess was a dweller, though Morty believed she had the potential to become a guardian.

  Savage spirits were just the way they sounded. They’d generally died badly and had unresolved issues that followed them to the grave. Their rage gave them power and made them dangerous.

  From what Pastor Frederick had told them, Anna believed they were dealing with either a poltergeist or a savage spirit. The difference between the two was one of degrees of both anger and ability to reason. Joss would be able to figure out pretty quickly which one they were dealing with. And how they needed to proceed.

  “Well, shall we go inside?” Anna asked, her voice determinedly cheerful.

  Pratt nodded, and Joss flashed away.

  Unlike Joss, who was likely already inside, Anna and Pratt had to knock. The car in the drive told them Mitchel Mistren was probably in the house.

  But, when Pratt knocked, the door opened with a haunting creak.

  Pratt’s head jerked up at the sound, and he looked around the front yard.

  “What?” Anna asked. “Did you see something?”

  “No,” he responded with a straight face. “I was just looking for the camera crew. Clearly, we’ve walked onto the film set of a horror flick.”

  She chuckled softly.

  Pratt pushed the door open, and they jerked to a stop. Joss was indeed inside the house. And he was already bent over a crumpled form at the bottom of the stairs. The cowboy straightened as they stepped into the entryway of the once-beautiful home. He pushed the cowboy hat back off his forehead, his expression glum. “I reckon I’m ready ta call this one, darlin’. If we don’t have ourselves a savagerous critter, the Puke over there just sprouted purple wings and a likely set o’ pink horns.”

  Mitchel Mistren lay in a puddle of his own blood, his eyes wide and already glazing with death. His arms were out-flung, fingers slightly clenched as if he’d been trying to shove something away when he’d died.

  Anna stood near the door, watching Pratt as he made a cursory examination of the dead man. Joss hung back, his handsome face sporting a dire expression. He was fairly solid despite the fact that he was outside Yesterday’s, but she still had a faint view of a shadowed passage through his tall frame. The hall was dark, with only the faint outline of some type of furniture along the wall she could see. At the back was a silvered rectangle that Anna realized was a window, lit by moonlight.

  “Dead,” Pratt said, unnecessarily. “Just. He hasn’t been dead longer than an hour. Probably less.”

  Shivering, Anna scanned the house, which was well-lit despite the sad state of the furnishings. If only they’d come sooner…

  “This is not your fault,” Pratt scolded gently. Sometimes he was too good at reading her expressions.

  She grimaced. “I should have waited for dinner. If I had…” Anna and Pratt had missed their planned lunch at Valduccios because of the pastor’s unscheduled arrival at the store. She’d been hungry, despite having eaten a couple of stale donuts to tide her over. But she wouldn’t have died if she’d waited until after their visit to the Mistren’s home to have her promised sub.

  Pratt wrapped a strong hand around her shoulder and gently squeezed. “Stop that right now. There was no way we could have known.”

  She just shook her head.

  Fortunately, for her, Pratt redirected his attention to Joss. “This man was strangled. He’s got fingermarks around his throat. Given what Pastor Fredericks told us, I believed the danger would be coming from the ether. Can you tell if this was done by a ghost?”

  Joss shook his head. Anna thought he was saying that, no, he couldn’t tell. But he went on. “Seems about as likely as catchin’ a weasel asleep,” he said. “If a spirit done that, it had ta be a mighty savagerous critter. That would take a prodigious amount of energy.”

  “But, it’s possible?”

  Joss shrugged. “I reckon.”

  Anna moved into the living room. She stopped in front of the fireplace, closing her eyes and tentatively searching for the ether with her senses. It waited just beyond her reach, a dark, blustery place that swirled and reformed in constant movement that was unsettling like nothing Anna had ever experienced. In all those moving shadows, it had been impossible to see danger until it was right on top of her.

  Anna gave a violent shudder. She had no intention of going any closer to the miasma. She remembered all too clearly what it had been like to be trapped there. A moment later Joss’ familiar scent infused her senses. Even after being dead for over a century, he still smelled like leather and horses, with a touch of pipe smoke to round it off. Being able to smell him was another perk of her recent visit to the ether, along with finally being able to feel his touch.

  Anna opened her eyes and gave him a smile. It wasn’t much more than a tight stretching of her lips, but it was all she could manage. He frowned down at her. “Darlin’ you have no business grabbin’ for the ether. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I’m not. I promise. I was just trying to get a sense of the spirits in this place.”

  He shoved his cowboy hat back on his head. “And?”

  “Other than a general feeling of sadness, I’m not getting anything. No violence. No rage.” She cocked her head. “How about you?”

  He looked around, his craggy face guarded. “Something is hidin’ here, darlin’. Somethin’ ugly. I’m gonna head upstairs. Yo
u’ll be all right?”

  Anna suddenly realized Pratt was missing. “Where’d he go?” she asked, counting on Joss to know who she was talking about.

  “The Puke’s out on the front porch callin’ the lawman.”

  She nodded. Their friend Bill Dresden was a uniformed cop in Crocker. Bill also understood that there were things in the world that couldn’t be seen or felt and that those things had a way of causing all kinds of trouble when they put their minds to it. “I’ll be fine here, Joss. You go on. If you need help, give us a holler.” She grinned at the idea the guardian spirit might need her help. But he was always bossing her around in the name of security. She figured it wouldn’t hurt to give him some of that back.

  Joss reached out and chucked her under the chin, smiling. “I reckon I can do that, darlin’.” And then he was gone.

  Anna sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. She fought a desire to glance toward the dead man, her chest tightening at the thought that she might have been able to save him.

  But Pratt was right. That way lay madness. They maybe couldn’t have saved poor Mitchel Mistren, but they’d do what they could.

  They’d find his killer.

  Something thumped at the back of the house.

  Anna jumped in surprise, her gaze sliding toward the darker space behind the stairs.

  Pratt’s earlier comparison to a Halloween horror flick sifted through her mind as she considered going to see what had made the noise. She hesitated. Was she willing to become the dumb blonde who, against good sense and prodigious evidence that she was walking into the lair of a brutal murderer, opened that door and walked right inside?

 

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