Fallen Stones (16 page)

A month ago, Armstrong would have never believed such a thing possible; now he only wished it were not. It had taken a good deal of acting for the lawyer to convince Max Seiler that the chief's call to him had been the first Armstrong had heard of Washburn's death. In reality, after receiving Washburn's call he had hurried to the house and seen the carnage in the tub, but had fled the scene without taking any action.

Then he had made an anonymous call from a local pay phone to the police department. This had resulted in Chief Seiler hastening to the scene and eventually calling Armstrong, knowing the lawyer was handling Washburn's affairs. He had a feeling Chief Seiler had suspected him of being the person who had made the call, but the chief continued his pretext of ignorance during the entire investigation. Eventually, Seiler had no alternative but to declare the gruesome scene a suicide, although he had no idea what form of psychosis would drive a man to butcher himself so savagely.

Now back in Armstrong's office, the creature took one apprehensive and unsteady floating, twitching air-step after another like a newborn calf unsure of its footing. Armstrong was certain he could hear the thing's bones rattling against one another as the dreadful ghost-thing slowly made its way across the room. Then before it came into the light of the desk lamp it stopped, much to Armstrong's relief, as he did not want to have a better look at the ungodly hell-born demon.

It raised its right bony hand, pointing a long skeletal finger directly at Armstrong. Something appeared to move on its finger and Armstrong's stomach turned with revolution when he realized some sort of worm or maggot-like creature was crawling along the length of the gnarled and twisted digit.

Then speaking in a distorted multi-octave voice, the likes of which the lawyer had never previously imagined the creature said, "I've been monitoring your progress, Armstrong, and I see you have done exactly what I instructed you to do. Very good. Very good indeed... They are coming... She is coming...and so it can once again be as it was...good work, my minion...congratulations; you have earned yourself some additional time on this planet. Death will not be claiming you this day."

Armstrong sat silently, not wanting to even acknowledge the presence of the hideous specter. As the Washburn-thing hovered in and out of clarity in the dark shadows, Armstrong could see glimpses of its sagging flesh shining with some sort of thick slimy gelatinous fluid, which reminded him of transparent coagulated snot and it gave the creature a slick, wet appearance.

The lawyer suddenly realized with revulsion the countless worms and maggoty insects, which crawled freely in and out of the creature's festering wounds, must be leaving the disgusting snail trails as a slick medium to help them move about with ease. The very thought made him want to vomit.

"Don't bother trying to ignore me, Mason," Washburn said to the lawyer's downcast head. "You are wasting both your time and mine…But since I have an eternity…of damnation ahead of me, my time is meaningless…However, your time is still precious…perhaps more so than you realize." Armstrong slowly lifted his eyes trying to avoid looking directly at the creature's jaws, which seemed to move in a way resembling those of a grinning hideous death's head. "Now…did you take care of that little problem…from last evening?"

The ghost was referring to the fiery death of Jack Moran the previous evening. "Um...yes..." Armstrong said reluctantly. "I spoke with chief of police Seiler, and he has decided to rule the death a suicide. For now, Moran's charred corpse has been listed as a 'John Doe'. The car had been reported stolen and even if they somehow were able to identify Moran's blackened remains, they would simply find that he was an ex-con, and they would never be able to tie him or his death to your property. I told Seiler since your estate was my responsibility, I would take care of cleaning up the site of the...the incident.

"Chief Seiler had a local towing company remove the car from the scene and today I had a landscaper out to the property, trimming the trees by the side of the road, smoothing the gravel and basically erasing all signs of trouble. As I am sure you already are aware, I went back into the house and cleaned up the mess Moran had made in your former bedroom, putting everything back in order. I replaced the broken jewelry box with a new one, and I returned its contents to their proper place. That is to say, all except for Moran's severed finger. That particular item will never be found. So rest assured; when the Wright family arrives at the farm tomorrow for their tour, they will not notice a single thing out of place."

"They...had better not," the demanding specter moaned. "I'm relying on you...to make sure they fall completely in love...with the property...so they can't wait...to take possession…You must also be sure...to explain the contingencies of the will...so they understand they have little choice...but to move into the estate...as soon as possible."

Armstrong replied with a somewhat haughty tone, "I would make certain of that whether or not you were involved in the process. I am a lawyer after all; it is my legal and professional responsibility to make sure the Wrights have a thorough understanding of all the stipulations of your last will and testament. My integrity should never come under question."

The specter ignored the comment and replied from the shadows, "Just make sure...that you do, Armstrong...because I will be watching... and more importantly...they will be watching as well...And the only reason you are still alive and walking the earth...is because they still need you and your services... The day that particular need ceases to exist...so too will you... And the fate they likely have in mind for you...might make my agonizing death... seem like a pleasurable experience... However...if you keep them satisfied...with your performance...then great wealth and power could be yours...for the rest of your miserable earth-bound life... and I know how very important...that is to you."

The ghost began to float back toward the mirror and soon seemed to dissolve back into the glass. Just before the rippling, shimmering surface became still and the foul sulfurous stench began to slowly dissipate, Armstrong heard Washburn say one last thing, "Understand this, Armstrong...you don't ever want to let us down."

The lawyer sat at his desk with his head downcast, his hands trembling, his lower lip quivering, trying desperately not to burst into tears. He wished he had never met Emerson Washburn or taken him on as a client. He cursed himself for his own pitiful greed. He may have made a great deal of money from Washburn while he was alive, but now he was an unwilling servant to the awful spirit, or whatever the man had become since returning from the grave.

Armstrong thought back to all the money he had essentially stolen from Washburn by hiring his handpicked preferred contractors to do the work on Washburn's renovations and how he had falsified records skimming even more money from the gangster. He also recalled how the sicker and more demented Washburn became, the more he stole from the man. Now Armstrong realized he was not as clever as he had thought and was paying the ultimate price for his treachery. He was essentially dead Washburn's slave in the world of the living.

And he knew Washburn was not the only creature involved in this unholy alliance. The specter often spoke of "we" and "us" when discussing Armstrong's potential fate. As a result, Armstrong suspected there might be a sordid collection of dead spirits involved in the events taking place.

The lawyer had always justified his stealing from Washburn as something which was not wrong since Washburn, himself was actually a criminal. He constantly told himself that stealing from a thief was not actually stealing. Unfortunately, he refused to acknowledge that in the eyes of God, or morality in general or the cosmos, stealing was still stealing, regardless of the circumstances or trumped up justifications. He therefore eventually began to fear he might have crossed a line somewhere, and when his time to die finally did come, the universe might see fit so he too might be destined to become one of the same type of ungodly creatures, Washburn had become.

He also suspected that as bad as Washburn might have been in life and was still now in death, he might not be the worst of the worst. Armstrong was quite certain Washburn was not the top dog in this cadre of demons, but was simply another servant in some twisted unholy pecking order of the undead. This thought did little to ease his internal anguish since he suspected, when his time came to cross over, he would be at the bottom of that same food chain and would in turn be subjected to every torture Hell could imagine. But it was much too late to consider such a fate any longer; too much damage to his soul had already been done. His only chance for at least a temporary reprieve from such a fate was to say alive and find some way out of his predicament.

 

Chapter 8

When Jason walked into the bedroom, he could hear water running in the master bath as well as Sammy giggling and splashing merrily. Sammy was one of those kids who absolutely loved being in the tub. Before Sammy was born, Jason had all but forgotten how much fun it was bathing little ones and how much they enjoyed the splashing and playing. He still thought of Sammy as a baby even though at almost eighteen months old most people would consider him a toddler. He and Stephanie both assumed Sammy would be their last, although they still had not done anything in the realm of surgery to prevent any surprise pregnancies. Nor were they using any form of birth control. They just both had an unspoken feeling or perhaps knowledge there would be no more; as if they knew instinctively. As a result, neither of them was in a hurry to have the little fellow grow up and wanted to enjoy his being a baby for as long as they possibly could.

"Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles!" Sammy shouted as he slapped the surface of the tub trying to make the bubbles multiply as his father had taught him. Jason could smell the sweet, fresh scent of whatever bubble soap Stephanie had added to the water. It seemed that no matter how many years passed by every time he smelled bubble soap; it always seemed to bring back memories of his own childhood.

Stephanie quickly wet, shampooed and rinsed Sammy's dark brown hair then let him sit for a while in the shallow water while she stood and stretched out a kink in her back, which resulted from being bent over for too long. Then she hugged Jason and said, "Oh, honey, there is so much for us to think about."

"I realize that, baby. But I think we really should let all of this go until tomorrow," Jason replied. "Tonight we need to get a good night sleep, and I have just what the doctor ordered. Here you go, sweetie." He handed her the elliptical blue nighttime pain pill. "This should help you sleep like a baby and wake up with a clear head."

Stephanie replied, "I know I was the one who suggest we each take one, and those things always do knock me out. But sometimes I end up having very bad nightmares from them and occasionally I even wake up foggy in the brain as if the effect didn't completely wear off."

"Well," he suggested, "since we don't have a prescription for sleeping pills, I suppose it's either you take one of these or else you can take your chances naturally and possibly end up staying awake half the night thinking about the inheritance. If that happens, then you'll be exhausted all day tomorrow. For the record; I took mine earlier downstairs so I should be getting sleepy very soon."

"I suppose you're right," she agreed taking the pill from him, knowing within about forty-five minutes after taking it she would be out like a light and on her way to dreamland. She swallowed the pill using a glass of tap water from the bathroom sink, then fished Sammy from the bath, drying him with his favorite towel; the one with the rubber ducky pattern and built-in hoodie and simulated duck bill to keep his head warm. She loved how the oversized bath towel surrounded him, and it was clear Sammy did as well.

"Ducky towel!" Sammy exclaimed as he did every time Stephanie dried him with it.

As she snuggled Sammy in the towel she said to Jason, "Did you overhear what Mr. Armstrong and I were talking about just before I ended the call."

"No," Jason replied. "I was in with the kids and couldn't hear what you were saying."

"Well, it's really kind of strange," Stephanie said. "Mason had just suggested that tomorrow we should take the kids on that same mine tour. He even said he would reserve a set of complimentary tickets for us. Then just a few minutes later you brought up the tour to the kids. I don't know... it's just a funny coincidence."

Jason said, "Yeah. I suppose it is, but probably not really all that surprising. After all, the tunnel is the only tourist attraction Ashton has to offer.   Plus, I'll bet being a local lawyer; he probably gets those tickets free to hand out to clients."

"Yeah. I'm sure you're right," Stephanie conceded.  

Jason said, "I'm not at all surprised. But just give that magic pill a few minutes to take effect and by the time you finish getting ready for bed, you will be out like a light."

Once Sammy was thoroughly dried and dressed in his footy pajamas, Stephanie carried him to his bed and tucked him in. She stood over him singing his favorite lullaby as he drifted off to sleep. She could feel herself getting sleepy as well.

A few minutes earlier, Jason heard Cindy finish up in the shower and then go to her room. He was surprised to find that Jeremy had actually listened to him and was already in the bathroom. Jason went downstairs to do a final check to assure all the lights and appliances were turned off and all doors were locked.

As he walked past the large mirror in the foyer he thought for a moment, he saw something out of the corner of his eye; some sort of strange image briefly reflected in the glass. When he did a double take, looking once again the vision was gone. But for a second, he had been certain he had seen something. He recalled the similar sensation he had experienced that same morning at work in his boss's office.

He couldn't have said exactly what it was he had seen that time, but based on the quick glance he had a feeling it might have been something hideous and skeleton-thin. He thought perhaps it might have been the image of a man; one who seemed to have been looking out at him from the glass, as if it were a creature existing in some strange other world within the mirror itself.