The Grey Girl, The Van Tassel Murders

Slowly, Chloe eased the door open just a crack. Her eye roamed over the entire foyer. “There isn’t anyone out there.” She sighed as she turned to Henry, whose face was frozen in shock. As she watched, he opened his mouth but no sound came out. Then, without warning, he disappeared. Chloe glanced over at the demon seated in a chair, reading a book. Simon glanced up, raised a hairy eyebrow and shrugged, but otherwise betrayed no emotion. “Great.” Chloe frowned. “I guess I’m on my own.”

If she had offended the rotund demon, he didn’t show it. He hopped down, dropping the book he was reading on the floor, grabbed another from the shelf, then waddled over to a chair, pulled himself up, and watched her expectantly. “Is there something you would like to request?” Simon asked.

Chloe’s teeth clenched as she continued to glare at him. “You know, it would be nice,” she began. Shaking her head and rolling the tension from her shoulders, she groaned, “Never mind.” Returning to the door, she hazarded another look. The hall remained empty. She took another fleeting glance at Simon, but he had disappeared behind the book cover and was completely ignoring her. Frowning, she shook her head in disgust. She released her breath—surprised to find she had been holding it—and slowly pulled open the door until there was just enough room to slip through.

Before she could move, though, Simon spoke, sending Chloe’s nerves through the ceiling. “You do know”—his eyes were still concealed behind the book—“you could have just passed through that, don’t you?” He raised one three-fingered hand, gesturing toward the door.

Chloe glared at him, not fully understanding what he was saying. Suddenly, it hit her. “Well, thank you so much for the reminder,” she grumbled. “You fat, stinky, worthless …” Her statement devolved into swearing under her breath. Not fully believing the demon, she attempted to move her hand through the door. With little resistance it allowed her through. Anger curled her lip as she glared at the little demon, who completely ignored her. Chloe clenched her fists in frustration, shook her head in disgust, and slipped out of the room, chased by Simon’s pretentious sigh.

The hall was cold, dark, and deserted. Chloe closed her eyes, allowing the sensations she had not felt in three years to return and fill her. She was aware that her feet no longer felt the ground. She could feel the presence of the building but could not feel the air. She could see the clothes she wore but could no longer feel them on her skin. Choking back a sob, she allowed a minute to surrender to the sorrow and the loss. She let the emotions fill her, overwhelm her, then she purged them. Floating an inch above the floor, she opened her eyes as she took in her surroundings. “OK. Let’s see what’s really going on around here.”

She looked at the front door but could find nothing of consequence. Then her gaze moved to the room to her right, where the ever-present stain of Emily’s blood could never be cleaned away. Approaching the stain, a feeling began to creep into Chloe’s stomach. She expected sadness or betrayal, but she felt only anger. “Well, I’d be angry too. Actually, I was angry.” Her brows knitted at the memory. “After I understood I’d been killed.”

Shaking the memories away, she proceeded into the room. On the rug in front of the large oak desk was another stain. This one contained a malice equal to what she had felt in the Sterben house. “Why is it where Henry died, there’s nothing?” She glanced back to the front door, barely visible from where she stood. Her attention returned to the two blood stains. “But here … and here?” she muttered to no one. Her question hung in the air like the dust motes in the waning light.

Something else entered her mind. She glanced around the room to confirm her suspicion. Nothing was missing. Dusty, maybe, but everything was in its place. Like the house was just waiting for the family to return. The building had stood empty for years, yet nothing had been disturbed, no window was broken, there were not even any signs of rats or mice. She began investigating the desk. Spying a letter opener, she reached for it. “How are you”–she questioned the shiny metal object—“especially”—her hand ventured closer—“still here?”

“Don’t touch that!” a distinctively male voice shouted. Chloe pulled her hand back as if burned. If her heart could beat, it would have been racing at the shock. She spun on the spot and stumbled, off balance as she tried to take in the appearance of this new arrival. He was dressed in a baseball catcher’s uniform. By the style of his clothes, she assumed this was the man who had been killed in the 1960s. He pointed to the opener. “That is an instrument of evil.”

“What do you mean?”

“That shouldn’t be here.” He continued pointing past her. “Every time it gets taken from this house,”—He recoiled slightly—“it always returns.” His eyes searched hers, imploring. “That has taken twelve lives. If it has its way, it will take many more.”

“Who controls its power?”

“I, I don’t know. I never saw who killed me.”

“Are you trapped here as well?” Chloe asked, moving closer to him.

His reply was enigmatic. “I am only a warning.” The next instant he was gone.

“Come back!” she shouted to the ceiling. “I have questions. Please, I need your help.” Emily’s giggle from far away, deep in the house, reached Chloe. Annoyance immediately filled her chest. She was out of the room in an instant. Listening carefully in the hallway, she tried to pinpoint the source of the laughter. A glint caught her attention. It was a small ring, lying on the floor, surrounded by dust. A smile crossed her face. It was her ring. The ring Alex had given her. She reached for it, but it floated through her hand, disappearing at her touch. She could feel its warmth and knew the ring had appeared next to her body in the trunk. The impression of the ring appeared on her transparent hand. She could feel its power; she felt more, she was more than she had been. “I’m coming back. You hear me! I’m coming back!” she shouted to the empty house.

“You tell ’em!” a man dressed in the uniform of a security guard affirmed. His face held a sad smile. “While you’re at it, I suggest you look in the cellar.” He was gone before she could ask who he was.

“This way,” beckoned a woman in a faded nightgown. Chloe followed the woman’s eyes and the direction she was pointing. Up ahead she could see the shimmer of another spirit.

“Just through here,” whispered an older man. He wore wrinkled pajamas and a kind expression. She couldn’t help smile at him as he ushered her along. In a matter of seconds, she encountered several more ghosts as she made her way through a door into a dark hallway. Another woman waved her on, but she was gone before Chloe reached her.

Chloe entered the next room, in large space attached to the kitchen. It appeared to be a place to prepare food before cooking. Next to her a door creaked open. Standing in the doorway was a younger man. Like the others he was transparent and wearing pajamas. He inclined into a slight bow. He looked up at her, giving her a wink and a smile before, like all the others, he evaporated into the darkness.

Chloe stood alone at the top of a set of stairs leading down into darkness. Staring into the descending blackness, her resolve began to diminish. Fear of a trap crept up her spine. “Maybe the company of that grumpy ball isn’t so bad,” she muttered.

As if answering her, a pale light appeared at the bottom of a flight of stairs. She could just make out the face of another woman smiling up at her. This new apparition did not speak. She just stood there and smiled, beckoning with two fingers to come down. As Chloe descended, the woman disappeared. Now, standing at the bottom of the steps, Chloe was engulfed in darkness. “Um, ok, so now what?” she nervously asked the oppressive blackness.

“Light a candle, use a torch, turn on the lights.” An ancient looking man in the same pajamas as the others snickered as he appeared. “Light a candle, light a fire, burn, burn, burn.” He chuckled.

“Would you happen to have one on hand?” Chloe asked, turning her head to follow as the little man jumped and skipped around her.

“I have a hand. A hand I have. A fire to the flame, the burning is a shame.” He laughed toothlessly. “For you, my dear, a flame I shall …” He paused. Confusion furrowed his brow.

“Name?” Chloe offered.

“No.” He scratched his head, shutting his eyes tightly in concentration. “Provide.” He frowned, shaking his head as if this was completely wrong. A lit candle appeared in his hand. His face turned sour as he glared at the light. Then he handed it to Chloe and disappeared.

Looking around the cluttered area, she spied a set of candles nearby. Once they were lit, she felt her shoulders relax slightly as more of the room came into view. Boxes and old furniture were haphazardly stacked around the walls. The floor was covered with a moth-eaten, threadbare rug. One edge was folded back to reveal something painted on the floor underneath.

Chloe focused her mind and held out her hand. The battered rug twitched then flopped then finally rolled itself up to reveal a huge pentagram underneath. Chloe gasped as she took in the sight. The five-pointed star was surrounded by unusual symbols she had never before seen. “Well, this doesn’t bode well,” she muttered.