Grave Injustice

By Paul Westwood

It had been in the Warren family for years: the ancestral home deep in the South. After the death of James's reclusive uncle, the house is now his to sell. But James is haunted by a childhood memory of a ghostly horror of a deceased young girl. With the help of his wife Beth, who is a law student, the young couple must solve a murder from the Civil War and lay to rest the spirit that still haunts the grounds. But the danger is not only in the past, but will come crashing into the present. Their lives and fortunes will be forever changed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Westwood
• Release date: Dec 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311414595

Paul Westwood

Born in a time that is quickly becoming only a memory, Paul Westwood is an author of several genres, with a concentration on horror and historical fiction in the style of the vintage Gold Medal series. A graduate of Miskatonic University, Mr. Westwood also take an active interest in jabbernowling and boondoggling. He spends most of his other hours writing, listening to obscure music, and finding a good place to take a nap.

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Grave Injustice

by Paul Westwood

Copyright 2013 Paul Westwood

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Chapter 1

James Warren was stuck in crush of rush hour traffic. His Honda Accord limped along, the creak of the rubber against the cold pavement barely audible against the low hush of the blowing heater. It was November; the leaden skies threatening cold rain or perhaps even the first flakes of a Michigan winter. It was this time of year that James wanted to curse the fates that had brought him here to Grand Rapids, home of snowy months and gray, lifeless days. He longed for warmth, for sunshine, and the sound of the wind rustling through green leaves. Instead, for half the year, he was forced to live an artificial life – one spent indoors, breathing heated air and trying to stay entertained watching television. He wasn’t the sort to have ever cultivated an interest in winter sports since his own childhood had been much further south.

The cellphone, tucked in the cubby under the radio, rang. With one eye on the car in front, James picked up the phone and looked at the screen. It was Beth, his wife. He let out a sigh of relief. The installation of a new computer server at work had been causing countless headaches. He had been expecting more bad news on that front, but a domestic issue, no matter how terrible, was a welcome distraction.

Hey, honey, he said curtly.

I forgot to pick up something for dinner tonight. Do you think you could stop and get something?

Sure.

You’re the best. I’m busy working on a paper for my legal writing class. I just don’t think I can get away. You don’t mind, do you?

No, no, he replied, trying to hide his irritation. Ever since Beth had decided to attend law school, their entire life had been thrown into chaos. She was always studying and seemed more concerned with the mountain of books than their relationship. James knew it was unfair to ask too much out of her, but he still felt some resentment for having to work a full-time job and pay all of the bills. God only knew what would happen when the massive monthly student loan payments became due. What do you want to eat? he added.

I was thinking Mexican, unless you want something else.

James said, No, a few tacos will do. I had a pretty busy day, so I’m in the mood to eat anything.

Uh-huh, Beth replied, her interest was obviously being drawn to something else.

With a sigh of exasperation, he said, I’ll be home in a little while. I’ll also pick up some of that beer you like. That will go well with the food.

That sounds good, Beth said absentmindedly. And then the phone hung up.

Cursing underneath his breath, James continued to drive. He got off of the highway. Off the ramp, the traffic around their Forest Hills neighborhood was still thick and slow. After waiting through two traffic lights, he steered the car into a strip mall. At the liquor store he bought a six pack of beer. At the Mexican restaurant, he purchased half-dozen tacos that were wrapped to go in a brown paper bag. Hustling back to the car, he saw a light smattering of snow falling from the dark sky. This sight only worsened his mood.

There was something about the first snow that seemed to frighten even the seasoned winter drivers of Michigan. Everyone started to go even slower than before as if expecting every stop to be a skidding of tire and the crumple of a bumper. James let out a sigh of relief when he finally turned on the suburban road that led to his house. Here the leafless trees stood as silent sentries. The homes stood on modest lots and were more likely to be older Cape Cod construction than the latest multi-story McMansion. After parking on the driveway and getting out of the car, James momentarily stared up at the sky and wondered how much longer it would keep snowing. Early snowfalls were usually short in duration but such an early one was a portend for an extended winter, one that would become an icy imprisonment.

Honey, I’m home! he called out after shutting the side door. This entrance led to the kitchen, a cramped space with a black and white checkered floor, plain cabinets, and the usual assortment of domestic hardware: garbage disposal, dishwasher, sink, and refrigerator. The cupboards held a motley assortment of dishes and enough food to see them through the week. But the schedule of their hectic lives had made takeout food the easier route than cooking.

I’m in here, Beth replied, her voice coming from another part of the house. In here meant the little office space she had cleared in the spare bedroom. It was now home to a crowded desk and rows of books stacked haphazardly inside rows of Ikea bookshelves.

I’ve got the food here. Did we get any mail?

Nothing good. Just some junk mail that I threw out, was the quickly spoken reply.

James reached into the greasy paper sack and pulled out the food. Unwrapping the tacos, he then placed them on two white ceramic plates taken from the cupboards. After some beer had been poured out into a pair of pints glasses, he crumpled up the bag. Opening up the lid of the garbage bin, he saw two envelopes resting on top. The first one was a credit card offer. Curious, James moved that one aside, and saw a plain white envelope from the Law Office of Maynard Flint. The address was from Clairepoint, South Carolina. The name of that town brought back a flood of childhood memories, some good and some bad. With shaking hands, he grabbed the envelope, brushed off the smear of mustard, and opened it.

Dear Mr. Warren,

This letter is in regards to William Warren’s estate. Since his unexpected death on October 31st, my office has been trying to contact you by phone to no avail. We have been forced to resort to this letter. There is an estate of some considerable size, including a house and land that must be dealt with. Since you are the sole living relative, the estate is completely yours to inherit. We only request your presence to sign the necessary papers.

Sincerely,

Maynard Flint, Esquire

After reading the letter several times, James excitedly called out, Beth, get in here!

Looking flustered, his wife came into the room. She was holding a large legal tome in the crook of her arm. What are you going on about? she demanded.

Before speaking, James studied his wife. Beth was a leggy brunette with a slim body, wide hips, and a fine neck. Her eyes, by some strange twist of genetics, were pale blue. She was good-looking, but not in such a way that drew breathless stares from strangers. Instead it was a slow burn charisma built on a strong personality, intelligence, and quick wits. James felt lucky to be married to her and knew he had beat out several previous boyfriends for the honor. Of course those days were rarely mentioned.

He said, This letter that you threw away, it’s from a law firm in South Carolina. It appears that they were trying to reach us through the old phone. That was a number that had been recently been ditched since they now both exclusively used their cellphones.

Really? I’m sorry. I thought it was just some junk mail. We seem to get plenty of it. Putting down the book, she sat down at the kitchen table to listen.

He waved the paper about. I’m glad I saw it! My uncle William died. It turns out that I’m going to inherit a house and some land. We just have to travel down there so I can sign some paperwork.

Your uncle William? I don’t remember meeting him before. In fact you’ve never even mentioned his name. Was he at our wedding?

No. He’s my father’s only brother. William was married once but his wife Ann died before the two of them had any children. I only met him once before, back when I was only nine years old. My parents took me to this house, this big old rambling mansion that looked like something from another era. I don’t remember much from the trip except how big the land around the house was. And there was a stream that went through the grounds, an old apple orchard, and even a little graveyard that had some ancient relatives buried in it. My uncle Will seemed like a nice enough fellow, but not very talkative. But as I said, it was a long time ago.

How much money do you think the house and land is worth?

James could only give a shrug. I don’t know. It’s an old house located in the middle of nowhere. I have no idea what the local real estate market conditions are. Why do you ask?

You weren’t thinking of keeping it, where you?

Her husband hesitated before answering. After a moment he said, I don’t know. After all, it is a sort of ancestral home. I mean my dad came from there along with a bunch of other past Warrens. I guess after that death of my mom and dad, I really would have a hard time letting it go of the place. I would at least like to go down there and take a look around. You know, a chance to say goodbye and all that. Once that is done, maybe we can find a good real estate agent and sell the place.

Beth’s mouth twisted into an unfriendly grimace. I still have another three weeks left in the semester, and then it is time for finals. I can’t go down south for a vacation, even though, to tell you the truth, a little vacation is exactly what I need right now.

James took a step forward, leaned over, and kissed his wife on the cheek. I know how busy you are, but I want you to be there with me. After all, you know more about this legal stuff than I do. I don’t want to be caught flatfooted and sign away my inheritance. Just think of it: all of our money problems could go away! He was speaking, of course, of the hefty student loan payments that were coming due once Beth graduated from law school. With no solid job offers that meant the monthly amount would quickly chew through their meager savings. James certainly didn’t earn enough to pay for the payment, home loan, and various other bills that made up the bulk of their expenditures. Unless something came along, they would be broke within a year.

She replied, Of course I would love to go down there. We can do it for Christmas break. Though once we get back, I’ll have to start studying for the bar exam.

That will work out. Anyway, it will be nice to go there and enjoy some warm weather. It’s not even winter yet and I’m already sick of it. I’ll go ahead and call this attorney and tell him that we’ll be down there in a few weeks. I’m sure he won’t mind a little delay.

*

The man was under an old oak that was half-dead. The bark looked used up, while the branches were heavy with age. The pale green leaves that remained only sprouted along the very top. It was as if the lifeblood of the wood had dried up long ago leaving only a memory of the vitality that the ancient tree once possessed. But he knew there wasn’t much time left to find what he was looking for. The man spat on his hands. The calluses on his palms ached from work. With a painful grunt, he slid the blade of the shovel between two massive roots, scraping away at the thin soil.

A few minutes later he gave up. There was nothing here. He moved on to another spot and began to dig.

Chapter 2

The massive wheels of the 747 Boeing folded inside the fuselage and wings. The wintry ground of Grand Rapids gave way to a mass of gray clouds. As the plane gained altitude, it broke through to the blue sky above. The seatbelt light turned off. Beth released the grip of her husband’s hand. James, she thought, always hated to fly. That was one reason that his career had stalled since he would rather stay behind a desk to work instead of traveling to do consulting.

Are you doing okay? she asked.

Yeah, he said uncertainly. But we should have taken the car. I don’t like being up this high.

You said yourself that statistics show that flying is the safest way to travel. Anyway if anything happens to you, I’ll make sure to sue the airline within an inch of their lives. She gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulder.

James managed to crack a smile. That’s not very reassuring considering you’re on the plane with me.

Well there’s no point in worrying now. We’re thousands of feet up in the air. I suggest you take a nap. You’ve been awfully tired lately.

Yeah, he replied, knowing that finding sleep up here would be nearly impossible. He was too keyed up to even consider the idea. He leaned back into the seat to give it a try. The problem with being over six feet high was that the world was made for smaller people. But that wasn’t the only reason for his discomfort. The past week his sleep has been absolutely terrible. Not knowing the real reason, his wife just considered it nerves over the upcoming trip. But to James it was something more than that – he had been plagued with terrible recurring dreams. The images were always cloudy, the details indistinct. But there was a feeling of dread as if something terrible was about to happen and he had no power to stop it. Something about the nightmare seemed terribly familiar. It was almost like he was reliving some past experience that he had only a vague memory of. He chalked it up to the fear of flying coupled with the anxiety of his wife’s future. There were some changes coming in their relationship: she was going to be more educated with a higher money-making potential. That idea somehow irked him but he dare not mention it to her.

The drink cart came by. James took a beer. Beth took nothing. Thankfully the plane wasn’t too crowded, though a few unruly teenagers, obviously heading for a vacation, made the cabin volume higher than it should be. Nonetheless, James soon found his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. The lack of sleep was beginning to catch up to him. There was no chance that he could stay awake now. He placed his head against the wall and squinted through slits to watch the wing and sky outside the window. After a few moments, he managed to fall asleep.

The dream he had dreamt before was now more solid than ever. The room he was in was a dark and dirty. The ground was dirt and the walls were made of rough wood. The only door to this enclosed space was shut. A thin line of light underneath was the only source of illumination. He was pulling on the rusty handle to no avail. He was screaming, but his voice was that of a young child. That sudden realization brought back even more details. He was trapped in the fruit cellar at his uncle’s house, unable to get out and unheard by the adults above.

Somehow the young James knew he was going to die. Why had he come exploring here? Why did he walk into this room and how had the door become mysteriously locked? He didn’t know. But he was scared. More scared than he had ever been before. Where was his father? Where was his mother? He screamed for them until his voice became hoarse. With a sob, he fell to the floor, the pants of his legs becoming encrusted with dirt.

It was then that James heard the creak of hinges. His head turned. The door slowly swung open but no one was there.

With a shriek, he ran through the doorway, feeling more scared than ever before. The main part of the basement was a collection of junk, broken appliances, and a tangle of cobwebs. James went past all of this, heading straight towards the stairs. He heard a long piercing laugh coming from behind. It had the tone and measure of a small child, perhaps a girl. But James knew that he was the only child here. His uncle had no offspring and no visitors had stopped by. Who else could be down here with him?

Curiosity got the better of him. At the bottom of the steps, James stopped and swung around to look. Standing at the open doorway of the fruit cellar stood a small girl in a white gauzy dress. She had pure white skin, long white curls that dropped to the neck, black empty eyes that took up all of the sockets, and a mouth twisted into a horrible expression of terror. James stood spellbound, his heart racing. After just a moment, as if the girl wanted him to scare him even worse, she began to scream. The volume was louder than a siren and rose in an ear-rending crescendo. James covered his ears, turned and fled up the stairs. He too was screaming, fearing for his very life. The images in front of him faded away.

James felt his arm being tugged on. Snapping his eyes open, he saw it was his wife, trying to wake him up. He felt groggy. He then noticed that the other passengers were now quiet. They were watching him, their eyes guarded.

Honey, Beth said with concern, you were having some kind of nightmare.

He nodded. I’m sorry, he managed to croak out.

Someone a few seats over let out a laugh. In a few seconds the passenger volume returned to a normal level. The fear of a possible terrorist attack had subsided.

What’s wrong with you? Beth whispered in his ear, trying to keep her voice even. There had been enough embarrassment already that she didn’t want to start an argument.

I said I’m sorry, he breathed back.

Look, I know you haven’t been sleeping well. It isn’t just this flight that’s got you scared. It’s something else. What is it? You can tell me anything, you know that.

James paused before answering. He was marshaling his answer using the correct words so his sanity wouldn’t come into question. He said, "I told you that I’ve visited my uncle’s house before. I was only ten. Well something happened