The Town of Griswold: Berkley Street Series, #3

By Ron Ripley and Scare Street

Taking a much-needed break, ghost hunter, Shane Ryan, spends a day exploring an old New England town. What starts as a hike, becomes a deadly game of cat and mouse with a malevolent ghost who preys upon unsuspecting visitors. Shane has seen his share of bad spirits, but nothing could have prepared him for the evil predator dogging his trail.

Abel Latham is the scourge of Griswold, a deathly quiet town populated by the undead. Abel stalks the hapless victims who stumble onto his unholy ground before torturing them to death. The police rarely notice who's missing until two brothers disappear and the only clues are the boys' abandoned trucks and blood. Lots of blood.

Though shaken by the gruesome details of Abel's depraved life and dreadful crimes, Shane knows his new job is to end Latham's reign of terror and his vengeance for blood. As Shane hunts his ghostly mark, he prays he won't be the next grisly artifact found in Griswold Forest!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scare Street
• Release date: Sep 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9798224984374

Ron Ripley

Ron Ripley is an Amazon bestseller and Top 40 horror author. He is husband and father surviving in New England, a place which seems to be getting colder every day. Ron grew up across from a disturbingly large cemetery where he managed to scare himself every night before going to bed. Mostly because of the red lights that people put in front of the headstones. Those things are just plain creepy to a kid.Ron enjoys writing horror, military history and driving through the small towns of New England with his family, collecting books and giving impromptu lectures on military history to his family, who enjoy ignoring him during those dreadful times.

Book preview

Chapter 1: Looking for a Place to ’Shine

John and Jimmy Quill drove along Route 111. They had ‘Irish-ed’ up their coffee with a good dose of bad whiskey, and they were feeling fine as the sun rose. John steered with one hand, held his travel mug with the other, and kept watch on his side of the road. Jimmy, younger by two years, examined everything which passed by on the passenger side.

John, Jimmy said, breaking the silence.

What’s up?

On the right, about two hundred feet, slow down, Jimmy said, rolling down his window to get a better look.

John pulled off onto the shoulder, came to a stop. A narrow road, the pavement cracked and in desperate need of repair, turned off and into the shadows. What’s this?

Don’t know, Jimmy answered.

John watched as his brother pulled out his phone, punched in their position, and waited to see what results showed up. With a flick of his wrist, John put on the hazard lights and kept an eye on the mirrors, making sure no cops showed up to ask what he and Jimmy were up to.

After several minutes, when John was finally feeling a buzz from the whiskey, Jimmy said, Here it is, bro. Place called Griswold. Used to be a lumber town. Shut down sometime in the thirties.

What’s there? John asked, peering down the tree-lined road which led into darkness.

Couple of buildings, maybe. Cellar holes. An old church, Jimmy replied. Holding the phone out, he said, Here, take a look.

John took it and looked at the crisp, black-and-white image on the screen. A clapboard church, a good-sized building, was the dominant feature in a town.

That church, John said, grinning at his brother, that church looks perfect.

Jimmy nodded, smiling. Yeah, it sure as hell does.

John took his foot off the brake, made sure no one was coming up on them and pulled wide into the street before he cut hard to the right.

The street leading into Griswold was a mess. Every few feet John’s old, restored Dodge pickup bounced along. John winced with every bump and thud.

Damn, he thought, I sure as hell better not break a damned spring.

Tree limbs slapped at the sides and the windows, but John continued to push on. The world consisted of nothing more than broken asphalt and the crowded road.

Then the forest opened up around them, and the town of Griswold appeared. Two buildings stood tall: the church, and a long but low structure with a faded sign that proclaimed it to be the Griswold Country Store. The remains of a few other buildings stood on either side of the narrow street, and empty plots stood close by. Hints of other roads branched off through the forest, which had encroached on the town. Young trees, no more than twenty or thirty years old by their size, were along both sides near the back.

We could do it here, Jimmy said, looking around.

John nodded his agreement. For a while at least. Eventually, they’ll figure it out.

Yeah, Jimmy said, sighing. They always do. But it might take a little longer here.

Will you be able to get the Chinaski brothers to help? John asked. They’ve got access to the college’s trucks, right?

Yeah, Jimmy said. Both of them still owe me for the bet they lost on the last Red Sox game. I’ll tell them I’ll get rid of the bet and the interest.

Sounds good, John said. We’ll have to come back and check it out before we set up, though. Make sure nobody’s squatting here.

Jimmy nodded his agreement as John started to turn the truck around. It took a few tries in the tight confines of the overgrown street, but he managed. As he pointed the truck back the way they had come, he looked in the rearview and almost hit the brakes.

For a second John thought he had seen a young woman by the church.

Probably a deer, he told himself, shaking his head. John pushed the thought out of his mind and guided the truck back towards Route 111.

Just a deer.

Chapter 2: At Berkley Street

The doorbell rang, and Shane stepped out into the hallway. He looked around and said, I’m serious. Best behavior. When no response was forthcoming, he walked to the main door and opened it.

Courtney DeSantis stood on the front step. She was stunning in a pair of jeans and a light gray sweatshirt, well-traveled hiking boots on her feet and a pack slung over her right shoulder. She brushed a strand of dark purple, almost black hair out of her eyes and smiled at Shane.

Shane grinned back at her, stepping aside and saying, Come on in.

She did so, eyes darting from left to right. Wow. This is a big place.

Shane nodded as he closed the door. You like it?

I do, Courtney said, turning around and kissing him swiftly on the cheek. I like you, too.

Shane felt his face heat up and thought, What the hell, it’s like I’m fourteen all over again.

She saw his expression and laughed. You’re too damned cute, Shane.

Shane chuckled. I’ve been called a lot of things, doll, but never cute.

Good, she said happily. Courtney shivered slightly and said, Are there a lot of ghosts here?

A few, Shane said.

Want to give me the tour later on, once we get back? she asked.

I’d love to, Shane said. You sure you’re okay with that?

She raised an eyebrow. After Squirrel Island? Yeah, I’m okay with your house.

Good, Shane said.

You need to pack or anything? Courtney asked.

No, Shane said, shaking his head. He gestured to the corner by the main door. His old backpack was on the floor, filled with the few items necessary for a day trip up into the North Country. Already took care of the packing this morning.

Nice, she said, smiling. So, want to know where we’re headed?

Yes, Shane said, grinning. I thought it might be nice to know.

She punched him playfully in the arm. Place called Griswold. Ever heard of it?

No, Shane said, grabbing his backpack. Small town?

Small and unoccupied, Courtney said. It’s a New England ghost town.

Sounds good, he said. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a ghost town before.

Then it’s an adventure, she said, winking. So, ready to go?

Yup, Shane said, nodding.

Great! she yelled, stepping forward and kissing him again. Let’s go!

Shane grinned foolishly, shook his head, and opened the door.

Chapter 3: Waiting on Jimmy

Three days after John and Jimmy had decided the ghost town was the place to set up their distillery, John was in front of the abandoned general store. He sat on the lowered tailgate of the pickup, some of his camping gear scattered about the bed and his rifle across his legs. The weapon was broken down, and he had taken a short break from cleaning it. He glanced at his watch, saw Jimmy was twenty minutes late, and shook his head angrily.

John picked up his phone and called his brother.

Jimmy answered on the fourth ring. What’s up? he asked.

What the hell do you mean, ‘what’s up?’ John snapped. Seriously, Jimmy? What the hell? You’re supposed to be here with me.

Jimmy yawned loudly and asked, Where?

Griswold, John said, biting off the word.

Oh, Jimmy said. Then repeated, Oh! I didn’t think it was today. I thought we were doing it Thursday.

It is Thursday, moron, John said, his anger rushing out of him. Jimmy, what did you do?

Me and Erica scored a couple of nail-heads yesterday, well, Tuesday, his brother replied.

You told me you weren’t going to do any more heroin, John said.

It was right there, Johnny, bro, Jimmy said, chuckling. Listen, Clint came over with them, he gave us friend prices and we were off and chasing the dragon. We got a little lost. I’m good now, though.

Why, you mainline it all? John asked, disgusted.

No, no needles this time, Jimmy said. Told you I wasn’t doing that anymore.

"You also said you were going to stay away from heroin completely, James," John said, the anger returning.

Christ, John, Jimmy said, his voice low and apologetic. It was just once.

I’m not watching you get another shot of Narcan because you OD’d, Jimmy, John said. Anyway, when can you get your nasty self over here?

Um, Jimmy grunted, give me half an hour. So, yeah, nine?

Okay, John said. See you then.

He ended the call and put the phone back on the truck bed.

Why is he so stupid? John wondered, sighing. He reassembled the weapon, checking the action on the bolt. When it was whole again, he set it down beside the phone and looked around the small town.

Not even a bar, he thought. Where the hell did they drink? How could you even live in a place like this without alcohol?

John shook the questions away, got off the tailgate, and stretched. He walked over to the old church and looked through the broken windows. A few pews remained inside, cockeyed and covered with the filth of years. Scurrying sounds told him there were rodents within, and that they could see him.

Have to get a cat or two, John told himself, wandering away from the building. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and followed the barest hint of a path which led around the back. The young trees were widely placed, and John moved through them easily. There was deer scat, and the bark was stripped from some of the lower branches.

Damn, he grinned, might be able to get some fresh venison out of season.

The path moved around cellar holes, the remnants of chimneys on the ground around them. Grass grew up among the red bricks and crumbled mortar. Soon, he found himself at the general store. He walked closer for a better look.

John stopped. He jerked his head to the right, towards his truck.

Someone’s here, John thought. He examined everything closely. His eyes sought out tell-tale shadows, the straight lines that gave away humanity.

Nothing, John thought. The hair on his neck was standing up, his heart beating quickly. No, there’s something here. I can feel it.

Jimmy would have said John’s ‘spider-sense’ was tingling, and in a way, Jimmy was right. John’s ability to read a situation from the subtle clues around them had saved the brothers from arrests, repeatedly.

A shadow fluctuated near the pickup. Near the back of the truck, where the rifle was. And where his phone was, too.

And the damned bullets! John thought angrily. He kept a tight rein on the fear trying to boil over in him. With slow movements, he pulled his hands out of his pockets, taking his SOG folding knife with him. He put his thumb on the quick-flip for the blade and focused on the shadow he had seen.

Even though he was only a short distance away, John couldn’t tell if there was a big animal or a small person by the back of the truck.

One way to find out, he thought.

Hey! he yelled. Get away from my ride!

The shadow flinched but didn’t leave.

Anger flared up in him, and John took a step closer to the pickup.

I know you can hear me! John shouted. Now get away!

Again, the barest hint of movement, but the shadow remained where it was.

With the barest pressure from his thumb, the blade of the knife sprang out, clicking loudly. He reversed his grip on the weapon, so the back of the edge ran parallel to his forearm.

John took a deep, calming breath, exhaled through his nose, and advanced towards the truck. He went at it wide, making sure he could see the person before they could rush at him.

When he came abreast of the pickup, he stuttered to a stop.

A young woman crouched at the back of the truck. Her clothes were tattered, a vivid red mark around her neck, and the sun shining through her to the ground behind her. John’s grip on the knife loosened and he dropped it.

The young woman’s brown eyes were wide, she opened her mouth and in a voice full of fear she whispered, Run.

John wanted to ask why, but something struck him in the back of the head, and he fell forward. The ground rushed up to greet him as he passed through the cold air the young woman occupied.

Chapter 4: Jimmy’s Late Again

When Jimmy pulled into the defunct main street of Griswold, he saw John’s pickup. But he didn’t see his brother. Frowning, Jimmy parked alongside John’s truck, turned the engine off, and got out.

John! Jimmy called out. His voice echoed off the two buildings before it was swallowed by the forest around him. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out, Johnny!

Silence answered him.

Jimmy went to John’s truck, opened the door, and saw the keys in the ignition. He walked to the back and looked in the bed. Some of John’s camping gear, his bolt-action Enfield rifle, and his cellphone.

What the hell? Jimmy murmured. He looked around the town, glanced down, and froze.

There was blood on the asphalt and the grass that grew between the cracked pavement.

Oh, no, Jimmy thought. He turned back to John’s truck, grabbed the rifle out of the bed, and went back to the vehicle’s interior. In the glove box, he found a box of cartridges and several loaded clips. He stuffed everything but one clip into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. With a quick motion, he put the clip into the rifle, chambered a round, and went to the blood on the pavement.

Jimmy dropped down into a squat and let his eyes roam slowly outward, searching the street until he spotted another splash of blood. He got up and walked carefully, eyes flicking from the pavement to the town around him. Each step was cautious, and he followed the blood trail as quickly as he could.

It led steadily on toward the store.

Was the door always open? Jimmy wondered. Or is there a squatter? Did someone get the jump on John?

Jimmy increased his speed, more blood leading him to the store’s small porch. A long streak across the old, worn wood showed where his brother was probably dragged.

Through the doorway, Jimmy could see little. The darkness seemed to undulate, and fear dripped out of the building, making Jimmy’s mouth dry and his throat tight.

What the hell’s in there? he asked himself. It doesn’t matter. John’s in there. Someone’s got your brother. Get him back.

Jimmy brought the rifle up to his shoulder and tucked his cheek against the cool wood of the stock, smelling the gun oil.

Go, he commanded, and he went.

He moved in quickly, crouching slightly to present a smaller target. A quick step to the right and he stopped, listening. The sound of something tearing reached his ears. Jimmy let his eyes adjust to the darkness, trying to focus on the sound.

To the right a little more, Jimmy thought. He adjusted his position and was able to make out a counter, and damaged shelves.

Someone whistled.

A happy tune interrupted by more tearing noises.

Behind the counter. John is behind the counter.

Jimmy moved carefully, but the floor beneath his feet was old and traitorous. After his third step, a board let out a shriek.

The whistling stopped.

You, behind the counter, Jimmy said forcefully, stand up where I can see you.

Would you see me, boy? a deep voice asked. The hatred in the words reminded Jimmy of his father and weakened his knees.

You heard me, Jimmy said, managing to keep the fear out of his voice. Get up or I come over and put a hole in you.

The stranger chuckled. How can I refuse such a demand?

Jimmy kept the rifle aimed at the counter and waited.

A heartbeat later, the individual stood. And stood, and stood.

He was tall, well over six feet. Thinner than anyone living Jimmy had ever seen. The man’s eyes glistened with the light from the doorway. He was pale and shirtless, his chest concave. His head was thin, sparse brown hair clipped short, which highlighted his long face and nose. His hands were below the counter.

Jimmy took careful aim at the man’s chest. Mister, you’re going to raise your hands up where I can see them, or I’m going to blow your back all over the wall behind you. I’m not asking, I’m telling.

I believe you would, the man said, nodding approvingly. He raised his hands up as commanded.

In his left, he held a leg. In his right, he held an arm. John’s arm.

Jimmy recognized the tribal tattoo around the bicep. It was the same one he had on his own.

Blood dripped from the limbs, and it looked as though they had been ripped from John’s sockets.

John, Jimmy thought numbly. Then he squeezed the trigger on the Enfield. The sound of the shot deafened him briefly, the flash of the muzzle ruining his vision in the dimness.

But Jimmy fired all five rounds, and even without looking he knew he put all of them in the man’s chest. Or he thought he had.

The stranger laughed, and something heavy hit Jimmy in the head, knocking him back. Jimmy tripped over his own feet, fell, and hit the floor. The air rushed out of his lungs, and his back screamed out in pain. Gasping for breath Jimmy got onto his side, dug another clip out of