Unrequieted Vengence - 1. Chapter 1

Unrequited Vengeance

 

When the parents of Russell Wells were killed in a car accident, he and his grandfather on his mother’s side were left to fin for themselves in the stately house in town. The news came as a great shock to Russell. He was twenty-six, and his grandfather was seventy-nine at the time of his parents’ death. Doctor Roland Wells, Russell’s father; did not believe in insurance. He had said that it was a rip-off, and that he would be better off building savings in the bank for the future of him and his family. Consequently, most of Russell’s sizable inheritance of money would eventually be eaten up with payments on the house which he had inherited. If he remained in the huge home, it would have been impossible for Russell to make payments with the modest income he made as an assistant to a plumber. Doctor Wells pleaded with his son to go into the medical profession because it paid well, and said that he would gladly pay for his education. But Russell had watched his parent’s marriage grow cold because of the long hours his father spent at the hospital, and he had observed with dismay as his mother, Diana, slowly sank into depression and turned to the bottle because Roland often came home too tired for intimacy. Russell didn’t want that kind of a life for his wife when he eventually got married, so he politely rejected his father’s urging. And now it was imperative that he sell the house immediately while he still had enough inheritance to pay cash for a very small house outside of Cold Springs, New Hampshire. The estimated equity in the house he inherited far exceeded the balance owed by well over three hundred thousand dollars, therefore, when it was eventually sold, Russell would have a sizable amount to keep or apply to any upgrading on a smaller house.

 

Grandpa Jesse was arthritic and senility was setting in, so the responsibility for both of them rested entirely on Russell’s shoulders. He felt desperate. He engaged two real estate agents to help him find a house, but Russell thought that he may have found a possibility on his own when he saw an ad for an abandoned one-story house fourteen miles from town on twenty-five acres of wooded land to be sold on the auction block for back taxes. The address of the property was in the ad as well as directions on how to find it. Nine nineteen Willow Lake Road.

 

The auction was only two days away, so Russell immediately drove out to look at it. Part of the address on the mailbox by the highway at the end of a long driveway peeked through the cloak of dead morning glory vines that shrouded the mailbox and twined around the post. He pulled into the driveway a few feet and went to the mailbox to clear away enough vines to know that he had the right address. It was evident that no mail had been delivered there for years. His eyes followed the crude gravel drive that was badly overgrown with dead weeds to the front of the small bungalow with peeling paint. He heard thunder in the distance and saw a formidable bluish-black cloud moving in his direction.

I’d better hurry and walk around the house before the storm gets here, he thought. I’m certainly not going to buy it without looking first, even if the price is only for back taxes.

Because the gravel lane appeared to be in poor condition, Russell feared that if he drove his car to the house and a heavy snow or drenching rain came, he might get stuck getting out, so he decided to walk. Because it was mid February, the naked trees looked like black skeletons against the bank of dark storm clouds. A few yards from the house, Russell stopped for a look. Raggedy chinch curtains clung in pieces in the windows. Much of the paint had peeled off. When he stepped onto the front porch, boards creaked with every step. He tried the door and found that it was unlocked but jammed solid from sag. The hinges needed replacing. Then he cupped his hands to a window pane to see inside. But the oncoming storm had darkened the sky, shutting out most of the natural light. A bone jarring flash of lightning startled him, but in that snapshot moment, he could see that the house was full of furniture as if the family who had occupied the house would return any moment. Then all was dark again for a brief moment before a second strike of lightning lit the room even more than the first one. He thought he saw a faint hazy shadow of a human against the far wall, but assumed that his eyes were playing tricks on him. A heavy burst of wind caused a shutter to rattle making Russell anxious. But he shrugged it all off as merely a nervousness reaction.

 

Heavy drops of rain began noisily pounding the tin roof of a small building he assumed was used for garden and other tools.

I’d better get out of here fast, he thought.

He started walking quickly back to the car. But when halfway there, cold windblown rain came down in sheets. He gathered his coat collar tightly around his neck and began to run. But by the time he got to his car, cold wet hair streaked down his face and was soaking through his coat, making him shiver. He quickly started the truck and did a U-turn and headed back home. The storm was so dense that he had to turn on the headlights, and the wipers could barely clear the windshield enough to drive. When he pulled into the driveway of the house he had inherited, he was glad to see that the lights were on in the living room and kitchen. He hurried inside. Grandfather Jesse had fallen asleep on the couch watching the TV which was still turned on. Russell walked over to him and shook his shoulder.

“Gramps, wake up,” said Russell.

The old gray-haired slightly overweight man woke up startled.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” he said.

“Nothing is wrong. Did you take your pills?”

“Pills? What pills?”

“Darn it, grandpa! I can’t leave you alone and expect you to take your pills. I’ll get them and bring a glass of water. I guess I’ll have to start leaving notes around.”

 

The rain had ceased when the auction started the following Saturday at ten AM. Russell got there ten minutes early because he didn’t want to miss what seemed like a rare opportunity to buy property at a very low price. By ten O’clock, a few other people had straggled in in singles and pairs before the auctioneer rose from his folding chair to begin. Russell didn’t understand why only nine other people were there to bid. After all, it was fourteen wooded acres with a house and a couple of out buildings to be sold for the price of the outstanding taxes or whatever the auctioneer could get above that. Russell also thought it strange that no one talked to each other, not even to say hello. Then a late comer straggled in. Russell estimated him to be two years older than himself. At five minutes past ten the auctioneer slammed his gable on the makeshift podium.

 

“Alright, folks, let‘s get started. As advertised in the paper, the abandoned property is being sold for back taxes. Two thousand dollars and seventy-four cents is owed to the county. The property is worth far more than that. It is heavily treed property, and two huge walnut trees and one large pecan tree alone might yield nearly that price for lumber, and there large oaks too. A wise buyer would know that it’s a real bargain. Now, let the bidding on this fine country property begin. Do I hear six thousand?”

No one, including Russell, raised a hand. But some looked around to see if anyone had opened the bid.

“Come on, folks. That’s not too much for that much acreage alone. Do I hear six?”

Someone sniggered. Otherwise, no one said anything or made a bid.

“Hey, folks…, this house and outbuildings set on fourteen lovely acres in the quite country side. It’s a real good buy. Will someone at least bid five thousand five hundred?”

Still, no hands went up.

“Can’t any of you recognize a bargain? Alright. I’ll start the bidding at two thousand and work our way up to a respectable price.”

Russell heard a few whispered murmurings among the small crowd, but no one bid. Russell shot up his hand.

“That’s more like it!” said the auctioneer. “Two thousand from the young man in the heavy gray coat and red cap. Do I hear three?”

Again, no one bid. But Russell noticed the latecomer eyeing him in a way Russell couldn’t understand, except that it was definitely not friendly…even a bit intimidating. There was something crude about his appearance. A three-to-four-day stubble didn’t hide two long parallel scares that traversed diagonally across his left check. Russell was not the type to accept being intimidated, so he stared back at the stranger until the auctioneer began again.

“Gosh, people,” the auctioneer said, “you’re passing up a real value. At that price I’m tempted to buy it myself. Do I hear two thousand, five hundred?”

Russell was ready to raise his hand again if some one else bid, but no one did. The auctioneer looked puzzled and disgusted.

“Alright, darn it,” he said. “The county and state need the money. The property goes to the young man in the gray winter coat. He recognizes a bargain when he sees one. Sold!”

 

The gavel came down hard, as if the auctioneer were angry. Everyone in the crowd stared at Russell as if he had two heads. One man shook his head as he grabbed his wife’s hand and turned to leave. The crowd’s mood bewildered Russell, but he was relieved to get the property so cheaply. The man with the scars on his left check again stared at Russell and smirked before turning to saunter away. Russell would never forget that face. The rest of the crowd began to disperse without uttering a single word amongst themselves. It all seemed a bit strange to Russell, but now he and Grandpa Jesse would have a place to live that would be paid for and in the peaceful countryside too. The auctioneer brought a set of keys to Russell and wished him good luck.

“You’ll need to bring a check in full and sign papers at the courthouse,” he said.

 

So that evening and the next day, which was Sunday, Patrick Owens, Russell‘s best friend since middle school, helped him move furniture from the house in town to the country house. Russell figured that if the town property were empty and ready to move in, it would sell more quickly. They tied Grandfather Jesse’s mattress to the top of Russell’s car, and Jesse rode to the new house with Russell while Patrick followed with his pickup filled with furniture. The first thing they did was to put the mattress on the floor of the room Russell had chosen for the old man’s bedroom. Then Russell asked him to lie down and rest while he and Patrick continued working. Cobwebs were everywhere and all surfaces were covered with a thick layer of gray dust.

“My God!” Patrick said when he first entered the house behind Russell. “Look at all the old furniture you’ll have to get rid of to make room for what’s still in your other house… This stuff looks like crap. And why would the previous owners not have taken it with them?”

“I don’t know. It makes no since to me either. It looks as if the people went on vacation, but intended to come back. Anyway, we have to move their furniture to the back yard so there’ll be room for mine. All except the rocking chair, that is. I want to clean it up for my grandfather.”

“How is the old fellow doing?”

“Forgetful. Otherwise, he seems to be in fair condition for his age. Forget about him, Pat. Let’s stack the old stuff close to the kitchen outside door and then bring in my furniture. Then we’ll carry the old stuff to the back yard until I can figure out how to get rid of it.”

“Hey, Look,” Patrick said after opening a drawer in a dresser. “Pictures. Some cheap costume jewelry and other stuff that seems personal. Why would the previous owners those things behind?”

“That does seem strange,” Russell said. “Let me see. Humm. A man, a woman…presumably his wife, and a young girl. Doesn’t their attire strike you as a bit odd?”

“Yeah. Kind of Bohemian. And aren‘t these Tara Cards?”

“I wouldn’t know a Tara card if I saw one. Let’s quickly look through all the drawers and gather anything else that might tell me about the previous owners. I can look at it later. Right now, we’ve got lots of work to do. Let’s get at it.”

“Look, Russell! This drawer has lots of books. And check out some of the titles. Fortune telling made easy. And this one…Reading body language. Do you think the people may have been into the occult life style?”

“Don’t know. But that stuff I find weird, and I don’t particularly like it. Why don’t we take out all of the drawers and make two stacks of three.

 

After stacking the drawers in a corner, they busily hauled more old furniture to the back yard. After carrying the last large piece to the back yard, Patrick pointed to the southwestern sky.

“Would you look at that?” he said. “Those clouds are almost black, and they sure came up really fast. Moments ago the sky was clear and the sun was shinning. Strange! It’s a good thing that all of the stuff you didn’t want is out of the house.”

“You’re right about that storm moving in fast, Pat. Let’s get inside now. I don’t want to get soaked like I did when I came to look at the property before the auction.”

“How many times have you been out here, Russ?”

“Just when I looked at the place before the auction and this time. It rained that day too, even though the forecast said clear and sunny.”

“Really? That’s strange. Here it comes, Russ! Head for the back door.”

Patrick swung open the back porch screen door and Russell followed on his heels. A heavy gust of wind pulled the screen door open again, slamming it hard against the side of the porch. A frigid wind whistled eerily through the bare branches of the trees. The screen door slammed shut again with even more force.

“Holy fuck’n Shit!” remarked Patrick. “I hope this doesn’t spawn a tornado! This contradicts yesterday‘s forecast too. It was supposed to be sunny all day with no approaching bad weather for four more days.”

“It’s been this way every time I come here. I haven’t taken out insurance on this place yet,” Russell said. “If a tornado hits it, I’m screwed. Grab an armload of split wood from the porch to take into the house. I also haven’t started the gas and electric service. But the potbelly stove should work. Damn that screen door! It keeps slamming against the side of the porch and then slamming shut again. I‘d latch it shut, but there is no latch. It‘s getting on my nerves.”

“Your whole darn house bugs me. Did you walk through it before the auction?”

“The door was jammed, so I couldn’t. That‘s why we had to kick it in.”

They each stacked firewood beside the stove. A few drops of rain quickly evolved into a torrent of windblown sheets of rain, so heavy that it was impossible to see through the west window of the living room. A strike of lightning hit so close that it rattled the windows and startled both men. The thunder it caused was deafening.

“Do you have something to drink while I wait this storm out?” asked Patrick. “I’m not going to run to my car in this downpour.”

“Sorry, but all I have is Coke and Root beer. I need to bring out my dad’s supply of liquor.”

“I could use a stiff drink right now. Coke will do.”

“You know, at this time of year in New Hampshire we should be up to our waist or higher in snow. All this rain is highly unusual.”

“I agree. But at least no one has to shovel rain.”

 

It was only four O’clock Sunday afternoon, but the storm was so dense that it was necessary for Russell to light some of the votive candles left behind that he decided to keep, because until the electric service was reinstated there was no other source of light. He got sodas for Patrick and himself. Then he said that he had to look in on Grandpa Jesse. He went into Jesse’s bedroom and found him sitting up in bed, leaning against the pillows that he‘d stacked against the wall.

“Hi, gramps. How are you felling?”

“Who was that woman?” asked Jesse.

“Huh? What woman?”

“There was one standing by the window looking at me.”

“There is no woman in the house, grandpa.”

“She was dressed kind of funny.”

“My God! You’re seeing things now. I’m telling you, Gramps, there is no one in the house except you, me and my friend Patrick who is helping me move. What am I going to do with you? Scoot down and get under the covers and try to get some rest. Patrick and I will be in the living room if you need me.”

“Did the woman leave?” Asked Jesse.

“Stop it, grandpa! There was no woman! Now just calm down and try to get some rest…okay?”

Russell made sure that Jesse was covered well, then he went back to the living room. His own furniture was stacked against itself and nearly impossible to sit in. The house was very chilly, so he sat on the floor beside Patrick in front of the potbelly stove with a window in the front so as to see the fire and determine when more fuel was needed.

“I’m sure you’ll make this house comfortable in time,” Patrick said, “but empty like this and with no electricity and dingy walls with peeling wallpaper makes it more than a little creepy.”

“I agree. Don’t repeat what I’m about to tell you…okay?

“Okay. What is it, Russell?”

“A moment ago when I checked in on my granddad. He said he saw a woman standing by the bedroom window. I’m really worried about his condition. I may eventually have to put him in a home for the elderly.”

“I don’t envy you a… Hey, did you see that?”

“What?”

“The rocking chair! See! It’s slightly rocking on its own volition.”

“Jesus! You’re right! It’s so windy outside that maybe a draft started it rocking.”

“Bullshit! Do you feel a draft? I don’t.”

“Well, it’s stopped rocking now.”

“You’re not taking this very serious, Russ.”

“I’m taking it more serious than you think. But I’m sure there‘s a reasonable explanation. I’m cold. I wish winter were over.”

“Me too. It’s still raining cats and dogs out there. And that is just plain weird for February in New Hampshire.

“Why don’t you stay with me tonight, Pat?”

“Ah-ha! You are kind of scared and don‘t want to be alone.”

“I am not! Okay, asshole, go on home and get your ass soaked on the way to your truck. See if I care.”

“Don’t get so testy. I don’t have a problem with staying here all night. But what on? All of the old furniture is out there and soaked, and your bed is still at your other house. We should have tied the mattress to my car with your granddad‘s mattress.”

“I still carry our sleeping bags in my car since our last fishing trip together. We can zip them together so they’ll hold two people. It’ll be warmer with two bodies giving off heat in one bag, and we’ll put it close to the stove.”

“I suppose so. What about food?”

“Oh…I forgot to bring it from the car. It’s in a foam cooler with ice. Enough to make some sandwiches. We can bring the cooler when we get the sleeping bags. Let’s go get them now.”

“Are you crazy? Look at the way the wind is whipping that cedar tree. And the rain is coming down as hard as when it started. Shit! Okay, Russ. We’ll make a run for it, but we’ll be soaked by the time we get back.”

“We won’t melt. Come on, Pat.”

“Oh, alright.”

The rain pelted their backsides as they ran to Russell’s car. Patrick grabbed the two sleeping bags, and Russell grabbed the cooler. Then Patrick slammed down the trunk and they started running toward the house. When almost there, Patrick stopped dead in his tracks. Russell stopped and turned to look at him.

“What the hell is wrong, Pat? I’m already getting soaked. Come on!”

“Do you see the rocking chair? The votive light is dim, but I swear that there was someone it and it was rocking.”

Russell looked, but as best he could tell in the gloom of the room, the rocker was still and not rocking.

“It is not, Pat!”

But Patrick was not convinced. He shoved the sleeping bag against Russell.

“Take the damn things,” he said. “I’m not staying in that house. You shouldn’t either. Let’s go to my place where there‘s furniture and a warm bed.”

“And leave granddad by himself because you thought you saw someone in the rocker? I can’t do that. I’m sure that what you saw was the chair still rocking after gramps had gotten up from it.”

“I know what I saw!” snapped Patrick.

He turned and started running as fast as he could toward his pickup.

“Call me tomorrow!” he yelled over his shoulder.

 

Russell glanced in the window at the rocker once more. He saw no image or movement, so he believed that Patrick had imagined it, so he broke into a run for the house. The first thing he did was to look in on his granddad. Jesse was in his bed snoring. How could Gramps have risen from the rocker and gotten in bed and fallen asleep in the ten to fifteen seconds it took for me to run to the house and go straight to his room? thought Russell. That puzzled Russell and offered some validity to Patrick’s claim that the rocking chair had been moving. Now Russell was spooked and unnerved.

He quickly opened the front of the stove and tossed four more pieces of split firewood. Then he looked for the box he’d marked as sox, underwear and jogging sweats. He took them to the bathroom and dried his hair and himself where rain had come through his cloths. He then put on fresh underwear and the jogging sweats and unzipped one sleeping bag, and hung his wet clothes over the top of the rocker and placed it closer to the stove so his clothes would dry. Before crawling inside, he got the lit votive and set it a few feet from the top of the sleeping bag. The bag was cold because it had been sitting in the trunk of the car in temperatures nearly at the freezing point. He lay there shivering and thinking about Patrick believing he saw the rocking chair rocking. That and the stress of moving things from the house in town to the newly purchased house were taking its toll, and Russell was becoming weary. The stove had warmed his front side, but his back was still chilly, so he rolled over with his back to the stove. He found that his head was only three feet from the back of the rocking chair. He immediately closed his eyes and tried not to think about the chair. Then, to his shock, he heard Jesse in his bedroom.

“What’s your name, Miss? And why won’t you talk to me?”

Russell quaked as chills made his skin crawl.

“There’s no one in there, grandpa!” he yelled. “Go to sleep!”

A few minutes later, Russell convinced himself that the old man was loosing his mind and seeing things. If Jesse took ill, there was no phone to call for help. He lay awake worrying until he could no longer hold his eyes open.

 

On his Monday lunch break, Russell bought a cell phone and called Patrick and got the answering machine. So he left his cell phone number on Patrick’s recorder. After work on week days, he first fixed meals for himself and Jesse, then cleaned the place until time to go to bed, and all day on weekends until everything was at least clean enough to live in. He set up his bed in the room adjacent to Jesse’s room. Meanwhile, he hadn’t heard his grandfather talking to anyone, and everything seemed normal now. The electric service had been reinstated, but the gas had not because the service installer had said that the furnace was not working properly. On the sixteenth evening after taking possession of the house, a second cold front moved in with a vengeance, bringing with it howling winds and so much snow that Russell could barely see twenty feet from the house. He made sure that his grandpa was kept warm by covering him with an extra blanket as he snoozed in the overstuffed armchair, then he went to the kitchen and began washing dishes from the evening meal. He heard a door creak on its hinges, and wondered if Jesse had gotten up and gone to bed. He looked at the armchair and saw that Jesse was still there and still sleeping. He then went through the house and first checked the windows to see if one was open and causing a draft. None were. He then made sure that every door in the house was closed, and those with locks were locked. Several moments later he again heard a door creak on its hinges. That angered him, and he checked again and found one door slightly ajar. It was one of the doors that he had locked. The latch seemed to work properly, so he angrily slammed it shut, locked it again and went back to his chores. When finished, he didn’t ask his granddad if he had taken his pills. Instead, he got them and a glass of water and watched to be sure that the old man took them. He told Jesse to go to bed early because the house had become chilly, and he didn’t want him to come down ill. Then Russell remembered the photographs, costume jewelry and other things he and Patrick had found in the drawers of the old dresser and stacked in the corner of the living room. An idea came to him. He started looking through the drawers in search of the photograph he had seen when he and Patrick were going through the drawers when the dresser was out back in the yard. When he found it, he took it to his grandfather’s bedroom, hoping that Jesses was still awake.

“Gramps, I have something I want you to see. It’s a family picture of the last people to live here. Take a look. Do you recognize anyone?”

The old man’s stiff fingers took the photograph from Russell.

“That’s her!” he said.

“The woman or the girl?” asked Russell.

“The woman that sometimes comes to see me. Is the man her husband, and the little girl theirs?”

“Probably. I found some personal things to go through. Maybe then I can find that out for certain. Cover up well and try to get some sleep.”

“Sleep! Take pills! That’s all I do. Might as well be dead now.”

“I love you grandpa. Don’t talk like that.”

Russell went to the set of drawers and started going through them. There were Tara cards, books such as, “Hypnosis Techniques”, “Fortune Teller’s Handbook”, “Reading The Palm”, “Mastering Séances“, “Secrets Of The Occult” and a book titled, “The Hand Is Quicker The Eye”.

“There certainly is a theme here,” Russell whispered aloud, “and it’s rather dark in nature. What’s this?”

Russell picked up an envelope and turned it over to see who it was addressed to and from whom it was sent. The return address simply read, Sheba. The postmark dated back six years and two months, and its origin was Germany. It was addressed to, Ruben and Ingrid von Klinestadt and family. Because Russell’s grandmother and the wife of Grandpa Jesse who was of German decent, he knew enough German to know that von meant from or of, and that Klinestadt meant small town or village. Russell removed the contents which consisted of only one black and white photo with the date written across the bottom in handwriting. He studied the picture with great curiosity. All seven people posed in front of a large covered wagon with huge wheels with wooden spokes that were painted white with fancy pin striping in red. The ages of the people varied greatly except for a man and a woman Russell assumed were the parents. All were oddly and gaudily dressed. The background was heavily wooded and the dirt road was marred with ruts.

“Gypsies! That’s who they are!” Russell said aloud. “And the people who lived here were probably part of the clan abroad.”

 

Russell went to his bedroom and crawled in bed. He was extremely tired, so he quickly dosed off.

 

About an hour later, Russell lurched to a sitting position. He felt the cold ambient air against his sweaty back. He wiped the nervous sweat from his brow, then realized that his entire body was damp with sweat and that he was shivering. It was the second time he had had the exact same nightmare. The cold wind of late February howled through the cedar tree by his bedroom window creating a wistful tune as if it too wished that the winter would soon end. He could hear his grandfather snoring in the bedroom next to his. He scooted to the side of the bed that was not damp with his sweat and pulled the covers over him. As he lay there, he began to recall details of the nightmare. Screams and pleading and loud moans reverberated in some undefined dimly lit hollow space that was cool and dank. The bloody blade of a long knife sliced through musty humid air and ripped into a woman’s breast. A brief scream quickly reduced to a moan as her form folded and fell onto something damp and cold. A yell of anguish and anger of a man came to a sudden halt as the same knife sliced through his neck and windpipe. Shrill screaming sounded like that of a small girl, but that too ended abruptly. It was at that point that Russell always woke in a panicy sweat. He wondered what the dream meant, and why he had dreamt it at least twice before with very little variance in detail. His recall of the dream ended abruptly when he heard a soft rhythmic noise coming from the living room.

“Aw shit!” he said aloud, thinking that Jesse had gotten out of bed and was using the rocker. “Gramps?”

There was no response. Russell angrily got out of bed and grabbed the votive light at the base and went to the living room, passing Jesse‘s bedroom on the way. The rocking chair was rocking by itself. Russell was so frightened that he nearly dropped the votive. He stared at the chair several seconds. Then he gathered as much courage as he could muster and crept slowly toward the chair.

“Who are you and what do you want?” he said through trembling lips.

But the chair just kept on rocking.

“Why are you doing this to us?” he asked.

The chair moved forward, paused, and then rocked sharply backward as if someone had risen from it. Then it finally came to a halt. Russell backed against the living room wall so that no one and nothing could get behind him. Then he snapped his head to the left as he heard something crash to the floor in the kitchen. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might rupture. Goosebumps rose on his entire body. He gasped for air when he could no longer hold his breath. He inched sideways toward the kitchen, always keeping his back to the wall. At the kitchen threshold, he saw something white on the floor along with the broken ceramic canister that had held flour. To his further shock he saw footprints in the spilled flour. White footprints continued forward right up to the backdoor which was closed. The hinges on the back door had always creaked, but Russell heard nothing. With pulse throbbing, he made his way to the kitchen window that overlooked the back yard. The full moon was glistening on the snow. Then he saw indentations being made in the snow as if someone was walking, but no one was to be seen making them. One impression after another was leading toward a large round mound smoothly covered with snow. Russell had assumed that the mound was a storm cellar where canned foods were kept in the olden days, but he had never ventured into it. At the base of the mound, and closest to house, was a flat surface that slanted down and away from the mound. He assumed that to be the outside cellar door that hinged on one side like a lid, exposing steps that lead downward to an upright door to the actual cellar. It front of the outside door is where the impressions in the snow ended.

 

Then grandpa was right, Russell thought, there really are spirits existing in this house. This house really is haunted. And Patrick was right too about the rocking chair rocking with no one in it. What am I going to do? Why did the footprints in the snow lead to the cellar? I need to go down into that cellar and find out what’s there, but I’m afraid to.

 

Russell went to Jesse’s room to check in on the old man and ask some questions. His grandfather was wide awake and sitting up in bed with his back against the headboard.

“Gramps, did you have a visitor again?” he asked.

“Yes. Why don’t you tell me when we are going to have company?”

“Uh…because I don’t know when she’ll come to visit.”

“He! It was a man this time.”

“Oh? Why don’t you tell me all about him?”

“Like the woman, he wouldn’t talk to me. Strange people. I don’t understand why you have friends like that?”

“Never mind that. What was he wearing, Grandpa?”

“Don’t know. Too dark in here. Why do they always visit at night?”

“They’ve been here in the daytime too, just not in your bedroom evidently. Scoot back under the cover and go to sleep. If you have other visitors, I want to hear about them first thing in the morning. Good night, Grandpa.”

“Night, Russell.”

 

Russell went to the living room to put more wood in the stove. He glanced at the rocking chair and was glad to see that it was still. Then he went to his bedroom. Enough light from the moonlit snow came through the window that he easily saw the votive on the night stand he‘d brought from his town home. He lit it, but saw that it was nearly burned down. He opened the night stand drawer where he had put several more votive candles and matches. He put in a fresh one and lit it, and then undressed and slipped between the cold mattress sheet and the covers. As he lie there thinking about the situation, he thought of going to the nearest neighbor and asking questions about the previous owners without telling them about the spirits that lurked in the house.

 

Fortunately the night was uneventful. After work the next day he trudged through deep snow and drifts to the neighbor’s house and knocked on the door and waited. The door finally opened. Russell faced a tall man who looked to be in his late forties.

“Hi. I’m Russell Wells, your new neighbor. Can I come in?”

“Humph!” the man grunted. “You’re letting in the cold. Come in,” the man said without offering his hand or volunteering his name.

“What’s your name?” Russell asked.

“Frank Olsen. What do you want?”

“To talk. What can you tell me about the people who abandoned the house I bought?”

Mister Olsen stared at him coldly a few seconds before responding.

“Gypsy trash.”

“Gypsies?”

“Yeah. Pick pockets, thieves and the like. They didn’t fit around here, especially the white one. They’re bad luck.”

For a moment, Russell was speechless as he stared at Olsen’s cold dark eyes.

“Did you know that they left all their furniture behind?” asked Russell. “Why do you think they did that?”

“Don’t know. That’s all I can tell you. Now, is that all you want?”

“Well, I was wondering if they grew food and canned it and stored it in that old storm cellar. I‘ve been thinking about going down there and look around. I’m wondering if they left canned food behind too. If so, they may have intended to come back.”

Russell heard a soft chuckle and turned to see a younger man holding a bottle of beer and sitting on a couch. Russell immediately took note of the ugly parallel scars on his left cheek. It was the same man, approximately his own age that had looked at him with distain at the auction.

“That’s my boy, Herman,” said Mister Olsen.

“Hello, Herman,” said Russell.

Herman sneered and got up and left the room. Russell’s contempt for his neighbors was growing fast.

“Can you tell me more about them?” asked Russell.

“Ain’t noth’n more to tell.”

“Oh. Then I guess I’ll leave. Thanks for your generous help. You were extraordinarily forthcoming,” Russell said facetiously with a frown.

Stone-faced, Frank Olsen reached for the doorknob. Russell exited without a word and didn’t look back.

With neighbors like that, who needs enemies? Russell though as he tromped back home in the snow. He opened the door and took off his coat and heard his cell phone setting on the night stand ring. He hurried to his bedroom to answer it.

“Hello.”

“It’s me, Patrick. I’ve been trying to reach you. Can I come out now?”

“Sure. And please bring some booze…I need a stiff drink. Bye.”

 

Russell heard the back door off the kitchen slam shut.

“Not again!” he yelled. “Go away and leave us alone!”

Then he went to Jesse’s bedroom to check on him, but he wasn’t there.

“Gramps!” Russell yelled. But no one answered.

Then he had a frightening thought. He ran to the kitchen window and saw his grandfather standing in front of the outside cellar door. Russell rushed outdoors and ran toward Jesse.

“Grandpa! What are you doing? Snow is above your ankles and you’re in your house slippers and pajamas. Get in the house right now!”

“I think she wanted me to follow her,” said Jesse.

“She! The woman you saw in your bedroom?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll talk in the house. Now get in there and go to the rocker and put your feet close to the stove.”

 

Jesse eased into the rocking chair, and Russell ran to Jesse’s bedroom and returned with a blanket and wrapped it around his grandfather. He was about to ask Jesse some questions when someone knocked. When he opened it, Patrick rushed past him without a word and headed for the kitchen with Russell at his heels.

“How in the hell did you get here so fast?” asked Russell.

“I was headed out here and called you on my cell phone. I brought Seven Up and bourbon. I’ve got some news about the previous owners of this house.”

“Really! Let’s hear it.”

“Seems the owners were gypsies.”

“That I already found out. What else?”

“You know how closed minded these country people are. They didn’t like or trust them. The man they especially didn’t like. He was an albino.”

“So that’s what my asshole neighbor meant when he referred to the white one.”

“Seems they thought he was cursed or something,” continued Patrick. “But the people reluctantly tolerated them until one of the neighbors got things stirred up and organized a group to gather in front of this house at night with lit torches of sorts, and threatened to burn down the house if they didn’t move away. But they didn’t move for about a month. Then they simply disappeared from the face of the earth and left everything behind. That appeased the neighbors, I guess, and things almost went back to normal.”

“Who told you all of that, Pat?”

“You know how I like my booze. Well, I was sitting at a barstool at the bar near my apartment. I’d had two drinks when a grizzly old fart sitting next to me who obviously had a lot more than me to drink began talking to me for no apparent reason. I guess he was lonely. Anyway, I’d been thinking about your situation, and I took advantage of his drunkenness and ask him if he knew anything about the people who vacated your new house. His face went stone-like as he stared at me like I had asked him a forbidden question. He hesitated at first, but he downed all his booze in several gulps and paged the bartender for a refill. His odd reaction made me think that I was on to something if I could get him to talk, so I sipped my drink and patiently bided my time. When he got his drink, he gulped half of it down, then looked at me like he was trying to read my thoughts. Then he looked over his shoulder to see if anyone might be close enough to hear. Well, the liquor started waging his tongue. He bent my way and talked low, and told me what I told you. He also said they were harassed out of town. So now you know all that he knew…that is, if he was telling everything. Who knows how much he actually knew?”

“Did he say who organized the harassers?”

“Yeah. Some guy named Herman Olsen.”

“You’re kidding! That’s my fucking neighbor’s son. I just got back from there before you called. They were crude and rude and looked ignorant and mean. The father said they knew nothing at all about the gypsies.”

“That was obviously a gross lie!”

“By the way, you were right about ghosts,” Russell said. “They let gramps see a man and a woman, but they wouldn’t talk to him. And I’ve seen the rocking chair rock with no one in it, and doors I’ve shut open again. And grandpa followed one of them outside in the snow right up to the slanted cellar door lid.”

“I told you so! What are you going to do about it, Russell?”

“Find out what’s down there with your help.”

“Ooooh no! You’re not getting me to go down there. Forget that!”

“Then I’ll go by myself.”

“Don’t be stupid! Call the police and have them check it out.”

“They’d laugh in my ear if I told them there were ghosts in my cellar, and then asked them to come out here and check it out. No thanks. I’ll do it with or without your help.”

Patrick stared at Russell for a brief moment, and then chugged down his drink and slammed it onto the kitchen counter.

“Russell, do you have a gun?”

“Never have had one. Besides, what good would one do against an intangible object such as a spirit? Further more, what harm could an intangible spirit do except scare the daylights out of me?”

 

“I’ll leave the whiskey and pop with you. You’ll probably need it,” Patrick said.

 

He walked quickly to the front door and slammed it behind him. Jesse slowly got up and left to go to bed, and Russell took his place in the rocker. He was feeling even less sure of himself after Patrick refused to go down in the cellar with him. But he knew he couldn’t rest until he found out what was or was not down there. So he went to the kitchen and drank a full glass of straight bourbon, then put a fresh candle in the votive globe and lit it. He put on his heavy winter coat and closed the kitchen door behind him. Then he noticed a baseball bat and glove in the corner of the porch by the screen door. He picked it up and took it with him. With every step, his shoes made crunching noises in the crisp snow. His peripheral caught sight of the lit window in the Olsen house. Across the distance he saw Herman at the window watching him. When he reached the slanted cellar door, he brushed snow away until he found the handle. The snow made it extra heavy as he swung it back onto its top. He held the votive over his head and saw seven steps that led down to the main door. He crept down them slowly till he was in front of the door. He turned the door knob and pushed the door. It groaned and creaked as it swung open. A strong foul odor greeted his nostrils. It was pitch black inside. He stood there waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The odor was almost unbearable. He held the votive high and could see shelves on both sides of the cellar. They were about two-thirds stocked with jars of canned food. Then he spotted something on the floor. His heart drummed in his chest when he saw the skeletons of three bodies. The flesh and innards had rotted away leaving only a few pieces of clothes draped across the bones. A single drop of water echoed when it fell from what must have been a crack in the concrete ceiling, making a splash in a thin layer of water on the floor. Otherwise, all Russell could hear was the sound of his own heavy breathing. The coldness and dampness added to Russell’s fright as he stepped farther into the cellar. He heard something behind him, and his adrenalin shot off the charts when he whirled around to see what it was. Shadows cast by the moon announced the arrival of someone starting down the steps.

“Who’s there!” Russell shouted.

But no one answered as the black silhouette of a man moved into the doorway and stopped.

“Patrick?” said Russell.

“Herman Olsen. So, you had to get nosey, didn’t you? I knew you eventually would. I herded those Gypsies down here at gunpoint and took care of business with a knife. And now you’ll have to pay with your life and join those fucking gypsies in death.”

Fear shot through Russell, and the ball bat slipped from his hand and rolled somewhere in the darkness. He briefly saw a glint of light flash on a long fancy configured gothic-style dagger. He heard soft moaning as Herman advanced, but it wasn’t coming from Herman. It seemed to be everywhere. With each step toward Russell, the moaning grew louder.

“You won’t get by with this,” said Russell.

Herman came even closer, and the moaning became almost deafening.

“Shut up, you goddamn Gypsies!” Herman yelled, but to no avail, and the moaning continued.

 

Russell knew that he would soon be dead if he didn’t do something fast. He lunged at the taller and stronger man and grabbed Herman’s wrist that held the dagger. Both fell sideways into the thin layer of water on the floor and a struggle began. Russell slammed a knee into Herman’s crotch, and Herman grunted in pain. But being stronger than Russell, he managed to roll them over putting Russell’s back in the cold water. Russell maintained his grip on Herman’s right wrist, keeping the dagger at bay while with his right hand he pushed Herman’s head backwards. Herman grabbed Russell’s right hand and penned it against his chest and held on. The moaning of the spirits had become a nerve shattering mix of whales and screams. Herman brought his hand holding the dagger down to his side, twisting it free from Russell’s grip. The knife blade glinted in the moon light reflecting off of the snow outside as Herman raised it high overhead, ready to plunge it into Russell’s chest. Russell knew that he was doomed and soon would be dead. Then he heard a loud thud echo in the cellar tomb, and saw Herman’s head jerk sideways. Then Herman yelled loud in pain as something hit his back, and the knife fell harmlessly onto the floor beside Russell. The votive light had fallen to the floor in the struggle, and the water had extinguished the flame, but the moonlight glistening on the snow on the steps gave sufficient light for Russell to see the black silhouette of a man swing something that came down hard on Herman’s back, and Herman fell limp on top of Russell. The man rolled Herman off of Russell.

“Is that you, Russell?” It was Patrick’s voice.

“Yes. With what little light is in here and with it to your back, I didn’t know it was you until you spoke.”

“Are you okay?”

“Badly shaken, but not hurt. Thank God you came back! Help me up.”

“Your hand feels like ice, Russ. Let’s get out of here before he comes to. Who is he?”

“My neighbor, Herman Olsen,” Russell said as he climbed the stairs with Patrick’s help, and they were soon out in the open. “That’s a shotgun you hit him with!” Russell said in astonishment as he looked at the weapon. “Is it loaded?”

“Of course it is! What good is a gun with no ammo? I would have used it too. It’s my dad’s gun. Never mind that. We’ve got to keep him confined if I didn’t kill him. I had no choice but to hit him hard. Do you think we can move that big old plow and set it on top of the outside door so Herman can’t get out?”

“It looks heavy, but I think we can.”

“Hurry Russell. Let’s do it and get in the house before Herman revives. I’ll call the police on my cell phone while you get into some dry clothes and warm up. There wasn’t much light in the cellar, but did I see what I thought I saw?”

“They were the skeletons of the Gypsies. Herman said he killed them.”

“Jesus, that is sick! I sure hope I didn’t kill him, the crazy fool. It could get me in deep trouble.”

“Probably just broke a few ribs.”

 

Patrick phoned the police and was told that a couple of squad cars would be there as soon as possible. When they arrived, both cars contained a driver and a companion. The four officers came to the front door, and Russell let them in.

“I’m officer Quigby,” said the one who seemed to be in charge. “Who made the call for help?”

“My friend, Patrick Owens. I’m Russell Wells. I recently purchased this place.”

“Are you both witnesses?”

“Yes, sir,” said Russell. “But Pat is more than a witness. If he hadn’t come along when he did, that cellar would have been my crypt too. Patrick saved my life. The villain is the son of my neighbor. If he’s still knocked out, you’ll find him in the outdoor cellar floor. Follow me, and hurry!”

Russell took the officers as far as the cellar door. Then he and Patrick watched from the kitchen window and saw the officers drag Herman out in handcuffs. Officer Quigby came to the back door while the other officers led Herman to one of the squad cars. Russell let Quigby in.

“Come in, officer,” Russell said. “We were both watching from the window. I was glad to see Olsen in cuffs.”

“What we found is unbelievable. The skeletons for two adults and a child with cloths rotting off of their bones. “Quigby said. “The three of us are going to sit down and have a little talk. I want to know what in the freak’n hell is going on.”

 

Russell began telling the story from the time of the auction, and how the man that turned out to be Herman Olsen stared at him with contempt when Russell bid on and acquired the property. He continued up to when Patrick arrived in the cellar and saved him from being killed by Herman. Then the officer quizzed Patrick about what he saw and did. But neither Russell nor Patrick mentioned anything about ghosts. When the sequence of events had been told to the point of the arrival of the police, officer Quigby shook his head and sighed in disgust.

“You’ll both have to testify in court, you know” he said.

“We know,” Russell said, and Patrick nodded.

“Do the two of you own this property jointly?”

“I’m the owner,” said Russell. “Patrick is a friend who lives in town.”

“When I get back in my squad car, I’m sending for a guard to sit in the cellar overnight with the remains. He’ll be dressed for the cold and have a thermos of coffee to hold him till morning when there’ll be a truck here tomorrow to bag the skeletons individually and take them to forensics for examination and identification. Don’t bother him! And make sure that both of you are available as witnesses till the trial is over.”

 

They watched from the front window until both squad cars turned onto the highway.

“I need a stiff drink,” said Patrick. “Straight bourbon with ice.”

“Me too. I’ll fix them.”

“I suppose you’ll be selling this place as quickly as possible.”

“No, Pat.”

“Are you serious? I’d sure as hell not live in a house with ghosts milling about, frightening the hell out of me.”

“Maybe they got their revenge by the arrest of their killer. With their remains gone, maybe the ghosts will leave too. If they don’t, I’ll be forced to sell. Only time will tell. Now, let’s go work on what’s left of that bottle of bourbon.”