The First Church (6 page)

Dan shook his head. 
He licked his lips several times and finally asked, “Matt, are you saying a ghost did this to you and Carlton?”

“Yes,” Matt whispered. 

Mrs. Espelin started to speak, but Dan gently touched her shoulder and shook his head.

“You’re sure it was a ghost?” Dan asked.

“Positive,” Matt said, a sob bursting out of his mouth.  “Oh Jesus, I’m blind.”

“Check the phones,” a new voice said.

Dan turned to the other bed.

Carlton Talbot lay on his back with his face to the ceiling.

“Check the phones,” Carlton said again.  “We were recording
everything.”

Chapter 12: Jim at the Burial Ground

Jim’s mother thought he was at Anthony’s house.

He wasn’t though.

He was in the burial ground behind the Church, and he waited.  Waited for the ghost to come
, the rumors of which had ripped through the kids in the youth group
. 

With any luck, he’d be able to catch sight of it.

Jim didn’t feel bad about Matt or Carlton.
  He hated both of them.  Hated them enough to want to see them dead.

Blind wasn’t enough
for him.  His grandfather was
blind, and he managed to do a whole lot more than most people.

Jim didn’t want either one of the bullies to be able to do anything more than be dead.

His mother wasn’t pleased with the situation, of course.  She knew Matt and Carlton bullied him, but there was nothing she could do about it.  And she hated it when Jim fought.

He didn’t fight for pleasure,
though. 

Jim fought to win.

And he hated both of them.

In the cold air,
Jim settled back against a headstone and pulled his hat down over his ears.  The month of April was a pain in New Hampshire.  Warm and then cold, dry and then wet.  The whole “April’s showers bring May’s flowers” rhyme he had learned in grammar school was constantly on his mind.

An endless loop of doggerel which made Jim roll his eyes when he repeated it to himself.

But the slight chill would be worth it if he could see a ghost.

He wasn’t sure how long he was going to have to wait.  The light was on in the
office,
and the Rev’s car was in the parking lot.  Jim wasn’t sure if ghosts waited until nighttime or what.  He was more of a science fiction than
a horror reader.

A scream sounded from within the Church and interrupted Jim’s thoughts.

A second later, the right window exploded inwards and then the back door was thrown open.

Reverend Joe rushed out, tripped over his own feet and landed
face first on the asphalt.  Jim
heard him whimper and quickly get up.

The Rev didn’t run for his car, but instead, raced towards Mrs. Staples’ house.

Jim watched him for a minute, and then he turned his attention back to the Church.

A headless man stood in the doorway.

He wore a uniform and in his hand he carried a pistol of some sort. 

A second headless, uniformed man joined him and he, too,
carried a pistol.  They stood in the office, and Jim felt as though they knew he was there.

The first ghost raised his pistol, pointed it at Jim and fired.

Flame leaped from the mouth of the barrel,
and the crack of the bullet was loud and abrasive. 

A hard, painfully cold sensation punched itself through Jim’s shoulder,
and he screamed in agony.  The pain pulsed through
him,
and Jim staggered to his feet.  It looked as though the ghost would shoot him again, but the other headless man slapped the first one’s arm down.

Jim stumbled his way out of the burial ground.  His left arm hung uselessly at his
side as he ran home.

The pain was intense and churned within his stomach.  He slipped, staggered, and fell against a tree for a minute.  Vomit exploded out of his
mouth,
and Jim gagged.  He spat the foul remnants of bile out of his mouth before he risked a glance back at the Church.

The doorway was empty.

The ghosts hid within the building once more.

Jim turned towards home and hurried along the sidewalk.  Horrific pain thundered through his
arm, and he dry heaved, but he didn’t stop.

He needed to get to his house.

He needed to be safe.

Chapter 13: Unpleasant News

Luke Allen knew where everything in his small apartment was.

He had mapped it out decades before, shortly after Robin had left him for a man who was ‘whole’.  Which was what she had told their daughter, who in turn had refused to leave her father.

Each piece of furniture, and he didn’t have much, had been in the same place for the past twenty-five years.

Might be repetition, but it kept him from tripping over the couch.

Luke walked to the stove, found the teapot, reached out, found the tap, and got everything ready for tea.

The house thrummed slightly under his feet.  The refrigerator hummed and downstairs
, someone came home.

The clock had recently chimed eight.

James is at Anthony’s
, Luke reminded himself.

He turned around and leaned against the counter.  Soon
, the water would boil, and there was no need to sit down until it did so.

James’ feet sounded on the stairs which led up to Luke’s rooms.

A moment later, his grandson knocked on the door.

“Come in, James,” he said.

He heard him come in, heard the distress in the boy’s respiration.

“What’s wrong?” Luke asked.

“My arm,” James whispered.

“Tell me,” Luke said.

“I … I was shot.”

Luke’s nostrils flared and instantly sought out the heavy, metallic scent of blood.

Yet, he smelled nothing.

He could hear the boy’s fear, the sincerity in his voice.

James wasn’t lying.

“Come here,” Luke said. 

James walked to him.

“Which arm?” Luke asked.

“The left,” he answered.

“Get the arm free,” Luke said, “and put my hand on the place where it hurts.”

He heard the boy whimper for a moment, and then he felt James’ small hand take his and guide it to the spot.

Luke gently
worked his fingers around the area.  Only once did James gasp in pain, and it was when Luke pressed on a spot of flesh which felt as though ice had been applied to it.

“How is it feeling?” Luke asked, taking his hand away.

“It’s starting to hurt less,” James said, and Luke could hear him putting his shirt back on.

“Tell me exactly what happened, James.”

James told him about the burial ground.  About
the
headless ghosts.  The shooting.

Headless
, Luke thought.  A dark fear spread out through him and his guts twisted in a way reminiscent of his time in Vietnam.

“What were they wearing, James?” he asked sternly.

“Uniforms,” James answered.  “I don’t know what
type,
though.  They looked old. 
They had those weird things wrapped around the bottom of their legs.”

“Puttees,” Luke said softly.  “They’re called puttees.  What color were the uniforms?”

“Khaki,” James said.

“Did you see the gun?” Luke asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Do you remember what it looked like, James?” Luke said.

For a moment,
his grandson didn’t answer, and then the boy did.  “Yes.  It looked almost like a German Luger, just not as big.”

Luke dropped his head down and rested his chin on his chest.

“What, Grandpa, what is it?” James asked.

“Was Reverend Joseph there? Did he see them?” Luke said instead of answering.

“Yes.”

“And was he going towards Mrs. Staples’ house?” He asked.

“Yes,” James said.  “Grandpa, what is it?”

“I’ll tell you later, James,” Luke said.  “For now, I need you to take me to Mrs. Staples’ house.  We need to speak with the
Reverend.”

“What do I tell Mom?” James asked.

“Tell her we’re going out
,” Luke replied, turning off the burner beneath his tea kettle.  “
Just tell her we’re going for a walk.”

Chapter 14: Brian Does some Research

Why are there headless Japanese ghosts in a New Hampshire Protestant church?
Brian thought.

That
was the real question.  If he could answer it, he might be able to figure out a way to stop them. 

He also needed to communicate with them, and he needed someone who was familiar with ghosts and who could, at least, understand Japanese.

Which was a pretty narrow niche.
  Charles Gottesman definitely knew how to handle ghosts, as did his wife Ellen, but Brian didn’t know
if either of them spoke Japanese.

Brian picked up his cellphone and sent a quick text to Jenny.

Hey
Babe, things are quiet.  In the hotel right now.  Think you could post on the site asking if anyone can speak and understand Japanese?

Jenny’s reply came through a minute later. 
Japanese?  A Japanese ghost?

Headless Japanese ghost.  Blinded two teenagers. 
Place has never been haunted before.
Brian wrote.

Great.  Yeah, Babe, I’ll post it.  Not too much whiskey tonight, okay?  You’ve been giving your heart a run for its money.  Leave it be.

Brian nodded. 
Yeah.  Will do.  Love you, Babe.

Love you, too.

He put the phone down, eyed the whiskey, and decided to wait a little while before the next shot.

With a yawn, he turned his attention back to his laptop, brought up Google again, and started to dig.

Japan
, he typed in,
Rye, New Hampshire.

When he hit enter the page exploded with results.

Long minutes passed as he scrolled through page after page until he found an article.

Brian clicked on it.  A newspaper story from nineteen sixty-one.

Local Man, Jonathan Boyd, stops a thief from making off with War Memorabilia
, he read.  He scrolled down the
page, and the rest of the story came into view.

Mr. Jonathan Boyd, a tool and die-maker at the Dartmouth Mill, recently helped to arrest a teenager who had broken into his home.

Mr. Boyd, a decorated Marine, who fought the Japanese, found the sixteen-year-old in his house, while his wife was away in the
hospital.  The young man, who is known to police for theft and breaking and entering, attempted to get away with some of the items
that Mr. Boyd brought home from the war.

Mr. Boyd, who had come home early from work following an electrical malfunction at the Mill, (see yesterday’s paper, page 12 concerning transformer issue at Dartmouth), found the young man in the act of stealing.

When Mr. Boyd finally called the police, the young man had to be taken directly to the hospital
for treatment.  The
teenager is currently there
, under guard, until he recovers from the injuries sustained while he attempted to flee from Mr. Boyd’s residence.  This reporter has learned the young man has numerous contusions, one damaged orbital socket, several broken teeth, and three cracked ribs.

His short term memory is also partially impaired.

When we questioned Mr. Boyd about the thief’s injuries, his sole response was the young man fell down the stairs.

Several times.

The police served a warrant on the young man’s home and found a large amount of property in his bedroom.  Anyone who suspects they may have been robbed is encouraged to report to the State Police Barracks 19 here in Rye, and to bring a list of missing items.  The police will make every effort to return recovered items to their rightful owners.

Brian shook his head.

War trophies
, he thought.  It would explain the presence of a ghost in Mr. Boyd’s home, but not in the Church.  Not unless the dead Japanese soldier was connected to an item
present in the Church somewhere.