The First Church (5 page)

The jawbones were gone, as were most of the upper teeth.  The skulls were yellow
ed with age.

“I took those heads,” Mr. Boyd said, pausing to take a drink.  “I didn’t cut them off or anything.  Caught some
jerk
with them.  He had snuck up through the lines, almost got himself killed coming back through.  Whipped him good, took his trophies away and sent him along to his commanding officer.”

“Why’d you keep them?” Luke asked.

“Hm?  Oh, well,” Mr. Boyd said, scratching the back of his head.  “Those Japanese have some curious customs, you know?  Everything’s got to be burned together or some other stuff.  Not really sure.  Thought it was a pretty good joke on them, not being able to get to whatever their version of Heaven is.  Anyway, now
,
I keep them to remember what I went through.  And besides, I’m not going to
throw 'em
out.  Those boys were doing what they were told.  Same as me.
”
 

“Like I was saying before, boy,” Mr. Boyd said, looking at him.  “You do terrible things in war.  Terrible.  Once you realize you like it, well, you come to respect others who like it
,
too.  And some of those Japanese, well, they liked it.  They liked it a lot.”

Mr. Boyd looked around the room silently, and Luke did the same.

He felt strange, as though he and Mr. Boyd weren’t the only ones there.  A cold sensation moved along the back of his
neck, and Mr. Boyd smiled.

“Yes,” he repeated.  “They liked it a lot, boy.”

Several small cups rattled on a shelf.

They were tiny, almost like a little girl’s play tea set.  But they had Japanese flags painted on the sides and what looked to be Japanese writing.

“Yes,” Mr. Boyd murmured.  “Give me a minute.”

He looked at Luke and grinned.  “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes sir,” Luke said, smiling.

“Now,
don’t tell anyone about the skulls,” Mr. Boyd said seriously.  “I don’t need any grief from the mayor about them.  He was
a Four-F, ‘physically unfit’
to serve in the military.  Kind of funny, since Mayor Arel was the star runner in track for the high school.  Course it helps when your uncle’s the draft board’s physician.”

“I won’t say anything, Mr. Boyd,” Luke said.

“Thanks, kid
,” Mr. Boyd said.  He finished his beer.  “Come on.  I need a fresh
drink, and you should get on home.”

Luke nodded and stepped into the hall.  Mr. Boyd closed up the room, locked the door and then
led the way to the porch.

“Thank you, Mr. Boyd,” Luke said.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, grunting as he sat down and got a fresh drink.  He looked at him for a moment.  “Your pa gets a little rough when he drinks?”

Luke nodded.

“Okay,” Mr. Boyd said, popping the cap on his beer.  “Know the feeling.  Mine was the same way.  You ever need to, you come here and see me. 
Or the missus, if I’m not here.”

Luke swallowed dryly and managed to say, “Thank you.”

Mr. Boyd smiled, took a drink and then he said, “You’re welcome.  Now get on.  I’ll see you soon
, I expect.”

Luke nodded, waved goodbye, and made his way home to see how drunk his father was.

Chapter 9: At the Hotel Room

Brian sat down on
the chair in his hotel room.  He poured himself a healthy shot of whiskey and knocked half of it back before he set up his laptop.  Thirty seconds later
, he was online, and the hunt was on.

I know I’ve seen that style of uniform before
, Brian thought.  Something to do with Clint Eastwood, which made absolutely no sense, but he went with it.

He navigated to G
oogle search and focused on images. 
Then typed ‘Clint Eastwood War’ in the search bar and halfway down the page, he found it.

Clint Eastwood’s movie about the Japanese on Iwo Jima.

Brian picked up Matt’s phone, brought up the image of the ghost and compared his uniform to the uniform of the Japanese general.

Nearly identical.

Thank God for authenticity in films these days
, Brian thought.

He leaned back in the chair, finished his glass and poured himself another shot.

It was time to listen to the video, and the idea wasn’t particularly appealing.
Brian turned the volume up and got ready to stop the action as quickly as it started.  He wanted to hear the ghost speak, if at all, and he didn’t want to hear the boys being blinded.

With a deep breath, Brian hit play and listened.

An Asian language spilled out of the phone, and just as it ended, Brian stopped the video.

He couldn’t tell if it were Japanese or not, but he knew someone who might be able to.

Brian switched Matt’s cellphone for his own, brought up Charles Gottesman’s number and called him.

The call went to voicemail.

“Charles,” he said.  “This is Brian Roy.  I’ve got a language question for you.  Give me a
call back
, or shoot me a text.  I’m up in Rye on a job.”

Brian ended the call, put his phone down and tapped his fingers on the keyboard.

“Now, why,” he said into the silence of the room, “is there a headless Japanese ghost in a Protestant church in New Hampshire?

Chapter 10: The Rev and his Office

Reverend Joseph Malleus felt extremely uncomfortable in his office.

He had wanted to hire a specialized company to clean the boys’ blood up, but Mrs. Staples had refused to let him.  She had
assured him that she had cleaned worse, and then she set herself to the task.

Although he shouldn’t have been surprised at her abilities, he was. 

She had removed any trace of the incident.

It was a blessing.

However, he could still visualize the scene.  Joe remembered what the two boys looked like in their shared hospital room, the parents who sat in the institutional chairs of blue vinyl and waited for their sons to regain consciousness.

The police waited, too.

They suspected Jim Bogue, which Joe felt, was ridiculous, but he knew the boys would correct the police in regards to Jim.

Still, the question remained,
w
here had the ghost come from? 

Why was it there? 

And how could a Church be haunted? 

It was a place of worship, protected by the light of God.

At thirty-six years of age,
Joe had experienced a great many difficulties as the shepherd of his flock.  He had guided people through divorces, the deaths of spouses and parents,
siblings,
and children.  Alcoholism and drug abuse, Joe had counseled people and consoled them.  He had taught people and brought others into the light of Christ.

How can this place be haunted?
He asked himself.  Joe knew it was a bit of pride
that asked the question, but he didn’t feel it was misplaced.

A headless ghost shouldn’t be able to haunt a Church.

It definitely should not have been capable of blinding Matt Espelin and Carlton Talbot.

Joe pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.  He tried to focus, tried to understand what was in his Church.

The heating system rattled and grumbled as the furnace kicked in.

A knock sounded on the office door.

The one which led to the hall.

Joe straightened up, opened his mouth to say ‘Come in’ and then he closed it.

The Church was locked up.

There shouldn’t be anyone in the building other than himself.

The door shook with a second knock.

It’s not locked
, Joe realized.

He glanced at the exit.  Slowly he stood
up, and the chair’s wheels squealed loudly.

The knob turned, and the door swung open.

Nothing stood there.

A voice asked a question in a language Joe couldn’t recognize, and one he didn’t try figuring out.

He ran for the exit.

Something screamed behind him,
and the window to the left shattered.  Shards of glass buried themselves in his arm as he reached for the door, but Joe’s adrenaline pumped viciously through him. 

He ripped the door open and flung himself from the building.  His feet caught on the last
step, and he smashed face first into the asphalt.

Yet he managed to get up and run. 

Off to the right, he saw the kitchen light on in Mrs. Staples’ house, and he ran for it.

From the office, the unseen creature shrieked out a question Joe couldn’t understand, and with the Lord’s Prayer on his mangled lips, he sought refuge with the old woman.

Chapter 11: Detective Dan Brown Times it Right

Dan had been a cop for twenty years, and he had seen a lot.

Two boys with their eyes gouged out was a new one, though.

He rubbed the back of his neck for a minute and glanced at his watch.

Twenty to one in the morning
, he thought.  A sigh escaped his
lips, and the elevator door opened.

The hospital in Lebanon, New Hampshire was never exactly quiet, but it was strangely peaceful on the ward as he stepped out into the bright fluorescents.  Beneath the smell of cleansers, he could smell
sickness, and his skin crawled.

Dan hated hospitals ever since he’d watched his mother die of cancer when he was a boy.

With a grunt,
he pushed aside the memories of childhood trauma and walked towards Matt Espelin and Carlton Talbot’s shared room.  The night nurse looked up from her
station, and he smiled at her as he came to a stop.

“Detective Dan Brown, New Hampshire State Police,” he said in a low voice as he took his badge out.  He handed it to her so she could look at it.  The young Spanish woman jotted his badge number down in the visitor log along with his name, and smiled as she handed it back.

“How are the boys in one-twelve?” he asked.

“Quiet,” she answered, glancing over at the room.  “The mothers are in there now.”

“How are they?”

The nurse shook her head.  “Not good.  I think they may have fallen asleep, but they wake up any
time we pass by the room.”

“Not surprised,” Dan said.

A noise came from the room, and he and the nurse looked at the open doorway.

“Hello?” a voice
asked.  “Hello?”

A boy’s voice.  Tired and stressed.

The nurse stood up, and Dan followed her into one-twelve.

Mrs. Espelin and Mrs. Talbot blinked as they sat up in their chairs.  One of the boys, it looked to be Matt, sat up in his bed.  His eyes were
bandaged,
and he had unshaven blonde stubble on his face.  The pale blue
hospital johnny, he wore, hung on him.

“Matt,” Mrs. Espelin said, panic threatening to burst from her.  “Matt, I’m here, baby.”

“Mom?” Matt said.  “Mom, oh Jesus, Mom is this real?”

His voice climbed an octave.

“Yes,” she said, standing up and grabbing his hand.  “Yes, but I’m right here.”

“Oh no,” he moaned, collapsing back against his pillow.  “Oh no, no,
no
!”

Carlton continued to sleep.

Dan stepped forward and tapped Mrs. Espelin on the shoulder
.  Her head snapped
around, and when she recognized him, she nodded.

“Matt,” Dan said in an even voice, “my name is Detective Dan Brown.  I was wondering if you could tell
me what happened to you.”

The boy bit his bottom lip, and his chin trembled.

“Matt,” Dan said softly, “you’re not in trouble.  I can promise you right now.  You are not in trouble, okay?”

“Okay,” Matt whispered.

“Good,” Dan said.  “Very good.  Now, tell me what
happened,
please.  I really need to know.”

“We heard about the ghost,” Matt said in a low, husky voice.  “We wanted to see it.”

Dan fought the urge to ask about the ghost, but he waited.

“So, we had a key.  We had stolen it from Mrs. Staples.  She thought Jim Bogue had it, but we took it.  We wanted to see the ghost, so we snuck in after the Rev left and Mrs. Staples went home.  We were
there,
and sure enough, the headless ghost came in.  It spoke some weird language, and then
… oh dear God, then it went after
Carlton.  It used its thumbs,” he sobbed, “and it put out his eyes, and I couldn’t move.  I couldn’t run, and it did the same to me.”