24 Beckenridge Drive
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FOUR
The following morning Larry decided to drive over to the hospital and see how the mystery girl was doing. He arrived at the hospital shortly before twelve and quickly found the doctor who had examined her after she had been admitted the evening before.
“She’s quite a remarkable young woman,” the doctor said as they walked down the hall. “I’m surprised she held up as long as she did.”
“What do you mean by that?” Larry wanted to know.
“Well, from what we could see, she had that membrane in her throat for quite some time, maybe even over an hour. She should have died within minutes.” The doctor shook his head. “What happened to her was a miracle.”
“Well,” Larry said with a half-smile, “we don’t live in such a normal house, either.”
They reached the room and the doctor stepped toward the door and put a hand on the doorknob. “Mr. Mitchell,” he said quietly. “She can’t talk. She does use what seems to be sign language to communicate, but unfortunately no one is here who knows it.” He shrugged quietly. “It probably has something to do with the membrane she had stuck in her mouth. She still seems rather subdued, so I don’t think you should stay too long.” Larry nodded and the doctor opened the door. The girl was laying in the white bed, seemingly reading a book. She looked up as Larry entered.
“Hi,” he said. She waved back, paused for a moment and the signed.
Who are you? Larry translated quickly. The doctor looked at him a moment, surprised.
“How’d you know that?” he asked.
“I took lessons during a seminar at my old church,” Larry said. “It was part of a summer training program for the youth group. We sang songs in sign language.” He turned back to the girl. I’m Larry Mitchell , he signed quickly. A look of surprise sprang into her hazel eyes. What’s your name?
Her right hand began to move, slowly spelling out her name. Erin . She paused for a moment, smiling to herself. I think I might have gotten a bit of laryngitis. I can’t speak.
That’s okay , Larry signed back. “We haven’t told her yet, but she might never speak again,” the doctor whispered into his ear.
“That seems almost cruel,” he said to the doctor, who just shrugged.
Erin’s hands began fluttering again. Why am I here?
Well, Larry signed back. My brother found you in his room last night, unconscious. We called the paramedics and they brought you here. He stopped. I must be getting a little rusty at this, he said to himself. Erin nodded, thinking.
Where do you live? she wanted to know.
The haunted mansion in Druin , he signed back. A look of recognition came into her eyes. What were you doing there, Erin? he asked.
I, she paused thinking about what she wanted to say next. I don’t know.
“What?”
I don’t know.
“I should have expected that much,” Larry muttered to himself.
What should you have expected? Erin asked.
“That you didn’t know what you were doing there,” he answered.
She cocked her head. Well, she signed, maybe I do. She settled herself a bit and looked uncomfortably at the doctor. Could you ask him to leave?
“She wants you to leave, sir,” Larry said turning to the doctor.
“All right,” the man said stepping out the door. Larry followed the doctor with his eyes. As he turned back towards the bed, he noticed something mounted on the wall: an oblong white box with a lens protruding from it. Why do they have a camera in here? he wondered.
Thank you, Erin signed. She paused for a long moment, before moving her hands again. I’m not sure when it all started, but it was some time last spring. No, it was right after the exams. I was kidnapped by two people. I don’t remember who they were. They caught me from behind when I was returning home from school. She paused for a moment. I was knocked out. When I came to I was in a little room somewhere. There was an old man in the room. He was dressed in black, and his hair was white and messy. But his eyes! She shivered momentarily. They were something else, so mad and wild.
The ghost! Larry signed quickly.
Erin shook her head. No, not a ghost, he was a man.
Was there a wheelchair? Larry inquired, suddenly thinking of the old man he had met the night before. The description matched him, too.
No, but he told me that I was there for a purpose and that he would keep me there until I could help him with something. It must have been several months. This lady brought me food. She always seemed very sad, wanting to talk to me, but not daring to. She smiled to herself. She was very nice to me. It was last night, I guess, when the old man came back again. He had a syringe with him and gave me a shot in the arm. I blacked out and when I came to I was in the back of an ambulance with a massive headache and no voice. She shrugged. Maybe my voice will come back sooner or later.
Why are you telling me this? Larry signed back to her.
I don’t know why, she signed, but I trust you. That’s why I guess.
Did you tell the police? he asked. She shook her head.
I just got free. I’ve been asking for them, but nobody here knows sign language.
How do you know it? he wanted to know.
My mother’s nearly deaf, was all she signed.
“Ah, hah,” Larry remarked, jumping at the sound of his own voice. Thank you, he signed. I’ll go and talk to the police for you, if you like. Erin nodded and he took his leave. Boy, I’m going to have quite some time convincing them of this, he thought as he opened the door, almost walking into the doctor.
“Oh,” he asked. “Are you through already?”
“Yeah,” Larry said. “Why do you have a video camera in that room.”
“Standard equipment. Every room has one.”
“Oh,” was all Larry said.
On the way home from the hospital, Larry decided to stop in at the diner/general store in the small center of Druin. The bell jingled above the door as he entered. Nick, the owner’s son and one of Larry’s few new friends, was standing behind the counter.
“Hey, Larry,” he called.
“Hi, Nick,” Larry said as he walked up to the counter.
“Heard you found Erin Frasier in your brother’s bedroom the other night.”
“How’d you hear that?” Larry asked, surprise showing all over his face.
“News travels fast around here, son,” came another voice from behind him. He turned around to find himself looking at a fairly tall man with a clerical collar. The man’s hair was silver and deep brown eyes hid behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. His mouth was turned up at the corners in a friendly smile as he extended his right hand.
“I’m Father Matthew Reid,” he said, shaking Larry’s hand. “And you must be Larry Mitchell.” Larry nodded, dumbfounded. “Won’t you join us?” the priest asked motioning towards a table.
“Yeah, sure,” Larry said, finally regaining his speech. He looked over his shoulder at Nick, who winked at him and went back to rearranging the cans on the shelf. Larry followed Father Reid over to a table where a black man was seated. The man stood up as the other two came to the table. He was tall, much taller than Larry’s six feet, and Larry wondered if maybe he was a basketball player. He was well built, his black hair cut short, and he had a mustache.
“This is Pastor Alex Jenkins,” the priest said to Larry.
“Hey, Larry,” the dark-skinned man said, gripping his hand energetically. “How’s it goin’?”
“All right,” Larry said with a smile as they sat down around the table. “Mr. Druin told me about you,” he said a soon as they were seated, “and I was thinking of looking one of you up.”
“Well, I guess we saved you the trouble,” Pastor Jenkins said, flashing an ivory smile.
“Yeah.”
Father Reid leaned forward. “I heard you’ve been having trouble with the ‘ghost.’“
“How did you know that?” Larry asked. “We haven’t told any one other than Mrs. Lundin.”
“Well, it’s just hear-say,” the older man of God said, leaning back in his chair, “but we wanted to see if maybe we could help you, if you really did have some trouble.”
“Thanks,” Larry said with a smile.
“Would you tell us about it?” Pastor Jenkins asked.
“Sure.” Larry couldn’t explain it, but he really felt at ease around these two men. Each was from a different denomination, Father Reid a Catholic and Pastor Jenkins an Evangelical, and yet they were good friends. I like that, Larry thought as he began his tale. He told them about the first encounter up in the attic, the beast in Marian’s room, the crazy piano music, Mr. Druin’s wild tale, and finally finding Erin (what was her last name?) Connor on the floor in his brother’s room. The two men of God looked at each other for a moment.
“It’s strange that the beast showed up so quickly,” Father Reid remarked. “It usually doesn’t show up until several months after a family moves in.”
“I haven’t heard about that beast, Matt,” Pastor Jenkins said.
“That’s because you only have heard one story, Mr. Druin’s. He doesn’t mention it unless he’s asked.” The black man nodded at his friend’s comment.
“Is it true that the beast kills people, sir?” Larry asked the priest.
“Yes,” Father Reid said sadly. “But it only happened once, and that was when I was a child.”
“What do you think about this ghost?” Larry asked.
Pastor Jenkins shifted his weight a bit. “I believe Mr. Druin has already told you the answer, but I’ll repeat it again. I believe it’s a demon, and a powerful one at that. The story goes that your house has been the site of many occultic happenings, so naturally there will be at least one demon there, if not many.”
“Hence the things in the chest,” Father Reid added.
“Right,” Alex Jenkins said, nodding. “Father Reid has been called to bless the house several times, but each time he did the family had had enough and left a few weeks afterward. If the physical presence of a Christian isn’t there, then there is no reason why the demon can’t come back. Are you familiar with the passage where Jesus talks about the demon being cast out and then coming back in with seven worse ones, because the person didn’t accept the Lord?” Larry nodded. “Well, at least I believe that it’s the same way with the house.”
“I don’t only believe it, Alex,” the priest interrupted, “I know it.”
“Yeah, any way, the demon tries to scare them out. I’ve heard stories of the people there agreeing to become part of a cult surrounding the house, but each of them died soon after that.” The black man leaned back in his chair. “You see, the people never had enough courage to get rid of the things you found in the attic. That way there was a physical stronghold left in the house and the demon could come back as soon as they left.”
“If I’d known about those things before this, I’d have burned them with my own hands,” Father Reid said, eyes flashing.
“You think we should do that?” Larry asked.
“Yeah, but pray first,” Pastor Jenkins said, leaning forward again.
“Prayer is a most powerful weapon,” his silver-haired friend said, nodding. “If you have it, along with God’s Word, you are invincible.” He looked at Larry seriously for a moment. “Maybe we had better pray now,” he suggested.
“Yes, let’s,” Larry said. The three bowed their heads, and prayed.
FIVE
The following afternoon the Mitchells were summoned to the police station. Erin Frasier had been released from the hospital late that morning and had instantly been invited to the police station for questioning on her kidnapping. Liz, Larry, Marian, and Brad all arrived only moments after Erin. She was pleasantly surprised to see Larry. He quickly introduced her to the rest of the family and she seemed to like them right away. She looked a good deal better than she had in hospital, since she had changed her clothes and had been able to tidy up a bit. As they were “talking” (Erin still hadn’t “regained” her voice and had to use sign language) a man dressed in an ocher suit came up to them.
“Hi,” he said, extending his hand to Erin, “I’m Detective Gorse. The inspector is waiting for you.” The detective took them down the halls to a small conference room and let them in. Two people were seated at the table, one was a stoop-shouldered gentleman in his mid or late forties dressed in a faded blue business suit, and the other one was a red-haired woman, about the same size as Erin, with the same looks, but older. She raced across the room to take her daughter in her arms, for she was Erin’s mother. A rapid exchange in sign language developed and the two looked ecstatic.
“Please have a seat,” the stoop-shouldered man said. Erin caught Larry’s eye. Sit next to me, please, she signed quickly. Larry nodded and complied. Marian sat next to him, Brad next to her and Liz on the end. Detective Gorse sat down to the right of the stoop-shouldered man, one seat away from Mrs. Frasier.
“All right,” the stoop-shouldered man said, straightening slightly and adjusting his black reading glasses. “I’m Inspector Crowell, you know Detective Gorse.” He nodded to his assistant. “Now, I’d like to take your statements on the case concerning Miss Connor’ kidnapping.” Liz flashed a questioning look at Larry, who kept his mouth shut. “We were able to get the surveillance video from the hospital. Unfortunately for us there is no sound, since you chose to communicate in sign language...”
Not chose, had to, Erin signed quickly.
“What was that?” the inspector asked. Larry translated quickly. “I guess we’ll have you function as the interpreter then young man,” Inspector Crowell said with a half-smile. He cleared his throat. “Can anyone else read sign language?” he asked.
Marian timidly raised her hand.
“All right, we’ll view the video, let’s get to work.” The video rolled. It showed Erin from a rather awkward angle, giving a clear view of her hands. I look terrible! she signed to Larry. He left it untranslated.
The video continued, with Marian and Larry translating it alternately. When it finally ended Detective Gorse turned to Erin. “Do you have anything to add to that account?” he asked.
I don’t think so, she signed. Marian translated.
“Okay,” he said, turning to the Mitchells, “tell us how you found her.” They recounted the story quickly. Finally the inspector nodded.
“Would you be willing to pick your captor out of a photo lineup?” he asked Erin. She nodded. “Let’s do it,” he said and shoved several pictures over to her. She stared at each of them carefully.
Where’s the man in the wheelchair? she asked. Larry translated.
“What?” the inspector asked. Erin looked at Larry for a moment.
I’ve found the lady here, she signed, pushing the picture towards the police officers.
Detective Gorse turned the picture over. “Annalise Lundin, widowed, 25 Beckenridge Drive, Druin, ME.” Larry turned cold. Erin continued sorting through the pictures, chancing upon a drawing. She stared at it, then showed it to Larry. He shivered, the hair on his neck rising again: he was looking at a picture of the ghost!
“Mr. Mitchell, could I have the picture please?” The inspector stood and leaned over the table. Larry handed him the drawing. He turned it over and began reading. “Horatio Druin, widowed, 25 Beckenridge Drive, Druin, ME.”
“No!” Marian whispered. The inspector fixed her with a sharp look. “You know these people?” he asked.
“They’re our neighbors,” Liz answered for her daughter.
“Well, you’re lucky your daughter is alive, Mrs. Mitchell,” the detective said. “Mr. Druin has been accused of ritualistic murder, especially of teenage girls.” Larry noticed all the women at the table pale slightly. Detective Gorse leaned back, “No one has ever escaped, but now we have a witness,” he said smiling at Erin, who was looking a bit sickly.
How were they killed? she inquired.
“Various ways,” the detective answered after Larry translated. “Most by knife wounds or asphyxiation. All were found in or on the premises of your residence, Mrs. Mitchell. We found out that you had just moved there, so we did not suspect you.” He looked back to Erin. “You were lucky they found you when they did, Miss Frasier.”
Not lucky, protected, she signed. Marian translated.
“Whatever,” the inspector said waving a hand. “Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen.” With that he dismissed them.
SIX
Mitch arrived home about an hour or two after his family had left for the police headquarters in the next town over. He sat quietly in the family room, watching a video, trying to relax from the rather trying day he had. There was a shuffling at the door. Mitch looked up from the TV and saw a mist hovering near the door. He suddenly felt the hair on his neck and arms stand on end as a metaphysical force seemed to enter the room. A crazy laughter came on like someone turning up the volume of a stereo. The mist before the door thickened, slowly forming itself into a humanoid form. A grayish face with shock white hair appeared in the mist. There was a loud sucking sound and the mist compounded, forming a thin figure dressed in black robes, eyes wild, mouth open in a mad laugh. Mitch couldn’t help being scared. He pushed himself back into his seat, wishing it would swallow him up. The figure slowly began to move forward. As it passed the TV, the picture began to swim and fizz.
“Hello, Randy Mitchell,” came a scratchy voice. Mitch blinked. Had that thing talked ? The figure moved right in front of him staring him in the eye with a crazed vision.
“I thought maybe you would want to see me, since you have denied my existence so long.” The ghost, for it was none other, laughed madly. “I wish you could see the look on your face,” it said, it’s frail frame shaking with the insane laughter. “But now to you,” it said, abruptly becoming serious. “You know who I am.”
“J-Jacob Druin,” Mitch said in a shaky voice.
The ghost nodded. “I’ve come to give you an ultimatum. Many have lived here before, but many left quickly, because they refused my offer.” It leaned in toward Mitch and he could smell a sickly odor coming from the shade before him. “I will only offer this once,” it said. “There are many of my followers here, and I want you to join my group. If you don’t then you will never have peace, but if you do you will become rich, powerful and influential. Can your God do that?” The ghost cackled again. “I will return again, and then you will be mine, Randy Mitchell, mine, all mine!” the ghost screeched, laughed and disappeared.
The door opened, making Mitch jump. The TV was back to normal and the oppression had suddenly lifted from the room. Liz stood in the doorway, a worried look on her fair face.
“Are you okay, Randy?” Uh-oh, he thought, I must really look bad.
“I guess,” he said, voice shaking.
“You saw it didn’t you?” Liz asked coming over and seating herself next to him
“How did you tell?”
“I could feel it Mitch, the instant I entered the house.” Liz shook herself. “Every time the kids said it appeared I felt something stir inside me. I can’t explain it, but that’s what it felt like.”
“Yes,” he finally confessed, “it was here.” He shuddered. “It told me that I had to become part of it’s group and that I belonged to it.” He shook slightly as Liz put her arms around him.
“That can’t be true, Mitch,” she gently whispered in his ear. “Do you remember in our junior year in college, that crusade I took you to?” Mitch remembered. “Do you remember what happened?” He nodded. “Tell me,” she said.
Mitch closed his eyes for a long moment recalling the time, the great auditorium, the speaker, a small figure in the center of the stadium, calling, “I know God is speaking to many of you here. If He is, and you want to listen to him, then I want you, hundreds of you, to come down here and pray with me.” The man launched into a prayer, warm, loving, powerful.
Mitch’s eyes opened. “I gave my heart to Jesus that night.” Liz smiled warmly.
“You were one of the first to go when Mr. Graham made that invitation.” Mitch nodded, sadly.
“But I haven’t been keeping to that commitment, have I?”
“No, luv, but it’s never too late to come back,” she said with a smile. They bowed their heads together, praying quietly.
“I’ve been praying for you for years, Mitch,” Liz said when they were finished. “Even after you made that commitment, I knew you were having trouble.”
“Thank you, Liz,” he said, holding her tight, and then kissing her tenderly.
SEVEN
That evening, Erin, her mother, and her younger sister Vicki came over to visit the Mitchells. They spent most of the balmy twilight on the patio in the back, talking and laughing. Shortly after seven Larry suddenly had this feeling as if something was going to happen. Though nearly deaf, Erin’s mother could speak and translate the sign language, so he quietly motioned Marian and the two slipped into the house. No one but Mitch noticed them leave.
“What’s up Larry?” she asked.
“This is it, Rian,” he said, as they climbed the stairs. “This is when the ghost makes his final exit.”
“How do you know?”
“Can’t you hear it,” he said pointing upwards. The famous strains of the Toccata filtered down from the attic again, making Marian blanch. They silently opened the door to the attic and the music hit them in the face like an icy wind. When they reached the top of the stairs, the ghost turned and looked at them, laughing gleefully.
“Sing along, children,” it cackled playing Beethoven’s Ninth. “ Freude schöner Götterfunken... ”
“ ...God of Glory, Lord of might, ” Larry sang. The melody shattered like a crystal glass being struck by a hammer.
“Don’t you dare mention that Name in my presence,” the ghost hissed.
“‘That Name’ now owns this house, spirit,” Larry retorted, “and for that reason you and your cohorts aren’t welcome here.”
“You have no authority here, boy,” the ghost screamed, voice deepening. Its form began to widen and darken, eyes taking on a bloody glow. The transformation was complete and a beast stood before them, part lion, part wolf, part bull, all monster. Marian screamed silently as it advanced.
Mitch’s head suddenly snapped up. Those kids need help! he thought.
“Excuse me,” he said, quickly rising and entering the darkened house. The others looked after him questioningly.
Larry took a deep breath. “In the Name of Jesus Christ, I command you to leave this house,” he said in a shaky voice.
“You have no authority over me boy, and you will be my next prey!” the beast growled.
“But I do,” came another voice from behind them. Mitch came forward to stand before the beast, his jaw set and his blue-gray eyes burning in a steely fire. “I command you to leave this house.”
“You can’t do this to me!” the ghost screamed, returning to it’s original state. “You are mine, I told you so!”
“I have been bought by the Blood of the Lamb, and you have no authority where He is present,” Mitch countered. “And now in the Name of Jesus Christ, get out of this house!” The ghost screamed, and suddenly the house was shaken by unseen winds as the ghost screamed. It slowly began to cave in on itself, disintegrating before their eyes. The with a final scream it shot out the window, blasting it open as it went through. The scream lingered for a second, then grew louder again behind them. A crazed form shot out of the back of the attic behind them, waving a staff. Mitch ducked the wild swing and caught the staff as it came back for another pass. Larry ran forward and crashed into the form, sending it sprawling beside the stairs. Mitch quickly wrenched the staff from the figure’s hands and snapped it in half over his knee. The figure leaped up, screaming again, and ran to the window.
“Don’t leave me, come back!” it implored. Marian suddenly realized the figure was going to go out the window and ran to catch it and keep it from falling, but it was too late. It launched itself out the window and landed on the patio, limbs twisted in strange angles. The four sitting below stared at it incredulously. Mitch and the two teens hurried downstairs. When they reached the patio they found the figure still laying there, face down. Mitch reached down and turned it over. The lifeless blue eyes of Horatio Druin stared skyward, his mouth sagging slightly at the corner.
“Oh, no!” Erin suddenly whispered. Larry turned and looked at her.
“You can talk!”
“I can,” Erin said in a hoarse voice, a strange feeling of joy and sadness mingling in her. “The moment he hit the ground, my voice came back.”
The police came and took the inert form from the old mansion, along with Mrs. Lundin from across the street. As they were leaving, Larry suddenly remembered his conversation with the two ministers at the diner.
“Dad, those things in the attic, we’ve got to burn them!”
“Even the piano?” Mitch asked.
“Maybe,” Larry said.
“No,” Liz said, shaking her head. “We’ll sell the piano.”
They stacked the old chest, the table and the chairs, now all carefully chopped up into little pieces, into a large pile and lit them. Larry suddenly felt a load go off him as the flames licked the dried wood, turning it to ash. Now there could be no more ghosts.
The old house still stands at the edge of Norm’s Pond in Druin. It is a large beautiful mansion, partly covered by ivy and surrounded by an ivy-covered wall with an ornate gate set in the middle. That gate is always open in welcome to the people. Many still tell of the strange tales surrounding the mansion, but no one can tell them as well as the owner, Larry Mitchell. And when he does, he’ll take you to the attic where it all started. The place has been cleaned now, the floor covered with rugs, the walls with pictures of nature, people and far off places. A large, wood-colored grand piano stands just to your right when you come in and a round card table stands in the center. The perimeter is lined with cushions of many colors and at the far end of the attic stands a small stereo system. The whole room speaks of love and friendship, not at all resembling the place it used to be.
Across the road from the mansion stands a small dark house, and though the names of the people and the strange occurrences differ, all of the tales about it lead to the same conclusion: 25 Beckenridge Drive is haunted!
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