Poisonous Whispers: Haunted Village Series, #5

By Ron Ripley and Scare Street

Trapped between a killer and an army of the dead, Subject B must make a final stand…

 

Marcus Holt is a decorated combat veteran, a survivor of the brutal Vietnam War. But to the brilliant Professor Abel Worthe, Marcus is known as Subject B -- a human lab rat, forced to participate in a deadly experiment. Worthe intends to see just how much fear Marcus can survive, by trapping him in a village stocked with supernatural killers.

When a new building appears in the village's dark, snow-swept streets, Marcus and his team are haunted by the cries of panicked children. After they investigate the decaying cobbler's shop, they are shocked to find twin boys, cowering in fear. Marcus is determined to rescue these helpless children from the danger that Worthe has unleashed. But the twins are not the only inhabitants in this house of horrors.

Marcus and the others soon find themselves stalked by the venomous spirit of a bitter old woman, whose touch brings a painful death to her victims. But as they flee this hateful ghost, they quickly realize they are surrounded by an army of restless spirits. And even Worthe cannot control this horde of deadly wraiths.

Marcus's back is against the wall. He swore he would fight to the death to escape Worthe's fiendish game. But against these new foes, this may be a battle he cannot win.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scare Street
• Release date: Apr 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224944811

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: Investigation

I don’t want to do this, Marty said, taking a step back toward their mother’s SUV.

Arthur’s expression was one of pure disgust.

How are we related again? Arthur asked in his most disappointed tone, the one that reminded Marty of their father.

Come on, Marty said, hating the whining tone to his voice and the way it cracked.

No, Arthur said, shaking his head. You told me you wanted to do this. I took you, and not Alison. I’m pretty sure our sister wouldn’t be moaning and complaining right now.

Marty winced. Not because it wasn’t true, but because it was.

Alison, Marty knew, wasn’t afraid of anything.

Marty’s shoulders slumped, and he mumbled, Fine.

Surprisingly, Arthur didn’t make him repeat himself. Instead, his older brother turned on the flashlight and led the way toward the old brick building.

Since the late ’80s, kids in Commack had been using the old Woolson Cobbler’s shop as a place to test their courage.

According to urban legend, the shop was haunted by the ghost of Constance Woolson, the old maid daughter of the original owner, Fezzi Woolson.

And she was the reason so many people died in Commack, Marty remembered, shuddering as they drew nearer to the decrepit structure.

He wanted to prove himself to his brother, who did everything right, but Marty hadn’t known how hard it was going to be.

They reached the back of the building, and he saw the door was propped open.

Is someone in there? Marty asked in a low voice.

Arthur shook his head. No. It’s always open.

There was no lie in the older teen’s voice, and Marty always knew when Arthur was lying.

They reached the door, and Arthur pushed it open a little farther, leading the way into the building.

The scent of old leather and shoe polish, which always reminded Marty of his father, assailed his nose. And as they moved deeper into the room, the flashlight illuminated most of it.

Old wooden shelves lined the walls, and cobwebs filled the corners and crisscrossed between each shelf. A few old pieces of shoe leather lay on the floor, as did a heel and a spilled box of small nails. Several broken chairs were gathered in a rough circle around an ashtray and a trashcan overflowing with empty beer cans and wine bottles.

But there was no trace of animals, and no trash on the floor. Not even any sign that the older teens used the shop as a place to party.

Marty licked his lips and glanced around nervously. He didn’t like the feeling in the room, and a look toward his brother showed he felt the same way.

Arthur cleared his throat.

See, this is it, the older teen said. Now, when we go back to St. Anthony’s on Monday, you can tell everyone in school that you were here.

I don’t have to bring anything with me? Marty asked. Some of the kids said I had to prove it. Take a picture or something.

Nobody, Arthur said tightly, is going to say I’m lying when I tell them you were here. Nobody. Okay?

Marty nodded vigorously.

Good, Arthur said, let’s get out of here.

The flashlight flickered once, twice, three times, and then out.

They were surrounded by darkness.

Marty heard a dull thump. Fighting back a wave of panic, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down.

When he opened them again, he realized there was light streaming in, and as he turned to find Arthur, he let out a muffled scream.

His brother was on the floor, stretched out on his back, his face frozen in a mask of terror, eyes wide, and the lips twisted cruelly back away from his teeth and the expensive braces attached to them.

Marty’s breath hitched in his throat, and while he wanted to scream, he found he couldn’t.

A moment later, a woman appeared beside his brother.

She was middle-aged, and not unpleasant to look at. Her clothes were strange, almost as though she had bought them at a store that sold old movie costumes.

You’re a handsome young lad, she said, her voice soothing and melodious, barely more than a whisper in his ear. I’ve hardly seen fairer. Is this man a relative of yours?

She pointed down at Arthur without looking at him.

Marty nodded. Um, yes, ma’am, he’s my brother.

Brother? she asked with feigned surprise. Surely you jest. I thought for certain he was your father, or perhaps your uncle. I can see the familial resemblance. You, though, you’re far more attractive.

Marty felt himself blush, and he looked down at the floor.

My, are you embarrassed by such a compliment? she asked, and her voice was pure silk. Each word wrapped around him and brought his eyes back to hers.

A little, he said softly.

Well, you shouldn’t be, the woman said. In fact, I don’t doubt that young ladies would be clamoring for your hand if you but gave them the opportunity.

Thank you, Marty said, and he scuffed the floor with the tip of his sneaker.

You are quite welcome, the woman said. Now, if you don’t mind my asking, what brought you here, this evening?

Marty was about to answer her in the same, nonchalant tone in which she was speaking when he came to a sudden, horrible realization.

Why are you here? he whispered.

Me? the woman asked happily. Why, I live here. This is my home. Where else would I live?

Your home? Marty asked.

She nodded.

Yes, mine, she said. In fact, when I was younger, I had a small garden outside the back door. I grew a magnificent plant there. It was called hemlock. Not the tree, mind you. No, the plant that grows to such fantastic heights. And do you know what hemlock can do in the right hands?

Marty shook his head.

She gave him a wink and whispered, This.

Before he could move aside, the woman lunged at him and thrust her right fist into his stomach.

Paralysis swept through him, and dimly he was aware of himself crashing backward, landing on the floor with a loud, bone-cracking thud.

The woman smiled at him and said softly, Do you feel this? This is how the hemlock felt in the body. Paralysis. Magnificent, is it not? I can mimic so many poisons, with the slightest twist of a finger here, or there.

Marty screamed as her hand twisted in him and freed his voice. Pain lanced through his spine and exploded down his legs.

Then it was gone, and he was immobilized once more.

Marty wanted to scream and twist, to flee the horrific woman kneeling down beside him.

But he couldn’t, and she seemed to know his thoughts.

I’m sorry, she said softly, brushing his hair out of his eyes, but I really cannot let you go. In time, the paralysis would wear off, but you’re not going to have that time. Neither is your brother. If it is any consolation, my dear young man, I think you would have made a fantastic gentleman. But, we must not argue with what hand we are dealt by Fate. Goodness knows I never argued about mine.

She smiled cheerfully at him. You see, true love was never to be my lot. Only death. And death, young man, was something I excelled at.

Marty watched as the woman leaned over Arthur, and then plunged her hand into his stomach.

His brother’s body shook and jumped on the floor, and no matter how much he tried, Marty simply couldn’t scream.

Chapter 2: On the Cobblestone Street

The temperature was so low that Marcus could no longer use it as a gauge to tell when a ghost was present.

He was bundled in as many layers as he could wear and still move with relative ease. Most of his iron chain was wrapped around his right fist, and only a short length of it hung free from the large mitten he wore. Jeannette was close to him, the ghost of the woman only a few feet away. Near enough so that when he looked, he often got a glimpse of the gaping exit wound in her skull.

The dead woman joked about it, of course. For not only was she dead, but she was a soldier through and through. Death, in all of its forms, was morbidly funny to her, and at times, when Marcus recalled his youth, it was funny to him as well.

Marcus shifted his weight and Jeannette looked to him.

You good? she asked in a low voice, her form shifting to something resembling translucence.

He nodded. Yes.

Nervous? she asked.

Of course, Marcus replied.

Good, Jeannette stated flatly. Now, the Emmett House has a small library. I managed to get into the building the day before yesterday. I thought I saw a few titles on stars, but I can’t be sure. It gets hard to understand some of the writing I see.

Her voice was neutral, but Marcus could hear the pain beneath the words. Jeannette seemed to slip away more and more, as if despite her being bound to the dog tags Alex wore, there really wasn’t much for her to stay for.

When it becomes too much for her, Marcus thought with grim realization, I will have to ask the boy to cast them aside.

Who is in the Emmett House? Marcus asked.

That, I do not know, she replied. I wasn’t part of the acquisition team for that particular property, and I didn’t run the test subjects through it. We didn’t exactly talk shop when we were off-duty.

I suppose there is only one way to find out then, Marcus said.

Yup, Jeannette agreed. You sure you’re up for this, Marcus?

No, he answered, grinning at her as he straightened up. But what choice do we have?

None, she said.

Exactly, Marcus said. He sighed, adjusted his grip on his chain and said, If you would be so kind as to lead the way.

Jeannette smiled and crossed the cobblestone street.

Marcus followed.

***

Professor?

The voice came from the intercom, and for a moment, Abel Worthe couldn’t remember who was on the other end.

Yes, David, Abel said tiredly. Have you news for me?

Yes, sir, David answered. We have the guards on the gate reporting movement in the Village. It appears Subject B is advancing on the Emmett House with Jeannette.

Abel frowned at the mention of the dead woman.

Do you want offensive action taken, sir? David asked.

Abel hesitated, then said, No. Not yet. I want to know what he’s trying to find. I want a printout of everything listed in the Emmett House brought to me.

Right away, sir, David answered, and the intercom went silent.

Abel reclined in his chair and stared up at the pressed-tin ceiling of his study. He interlocked his fingers behind his head and wondered what Subject B was searching for.

It cannot be food, Abel thought. I have not cut back on that, although I have reduced the amount of ‘comfort food’ I have sent along. The boy certainly doesn’t lack for entertainment, and I’ve sent along several books for each of them. So, Subject B, what on earth is it you hope to find in the Emmett House? What am I missing?

And how will you deal with Chatham Lake? A smile spread over Abel’s face. He is not the gentlest of ghosts, not in the least; a man quite skilled in the use of his hands.

And one certainly not likely to tell you anything you might want to know.

Abel closed his eyes and hummed a bit of Schubert as he waited for the report.

***

Marcus stopped at the front door of the Emmett House and waited as Jeannette slipped through the wood, then reappeared a few minutes later.

He’s in there, somewhere, Jeannette said, eyes flicking back toward the door. I just don’t know where. It’s his house. He can hide if he wants to.

Is the door unlocked? Marcus asked.

You could try the doorknob and find out, she said with a wry grin.

Marcus smiled nervously and said, Yes, I suppose I could at that.

He reached out with his left hand, gripped the knob as best he could, then twisted. The expected resistance wasn’t there, and Marcus nearly fell into the house.

As soon as he was inside the main hall, he closed the door without allowing it to latch shut. Letting his eyes adjust to the pale lighting, he listened as best he could through the thick hat he wore.

Nothing reached him, and he glanced at Jeannette.

In a whisper, he asked, Where are the books?

Second room on the right, she said, her own voice pitched low.

Marcus took a deep breath, and then walked up the narrow hallway, stepping carefully to avoid any loose boards. When he reached the room, he peered in and felt his hopes sink.

Jeannette’s information had been disturbingly succinct.

Only fifty or so books were on a single shelf behind a large desk. The other shelves were occupied by various pieces of taxidermy. Squirrels and birds, small animals and a plethora of rodents.

He didn’t know what the previous owner’s fascination with taxidermy was, nor did he want to. As he took a step closer, Marcus tilted his head in confusion.

The animals weren’t merely set into various positions, they were also wearing clothes. There was, in fact, an entire scenario where a trio of gray squirrels was playing poker and smoking small, meerschaum pipes.

Squirrels or books, Marcus, Jeannette said. You really need to make a choice.

Yes, yes I do, he murmured and turned his attention to the books.

Many of them were on the stars and other celestial observations.

Pulling off his left mitten, Marcus took down the first book that bore a title focused on stars in North America and flipped through the beginning until he found a table of contents. He spotted several chapters that looked promising and stuffed the book into the bag at his side. Several more books went into the bag, which grew heavier at his waist, before Marcus nodded to Jeannette.

I have enough, at least for now, he said. I want to leave before the resident realizes he has guests.

That’s a good idea, Jeannette responded. She glanced at the ceiling. I think he’s moving around up there, so the sooner we’re gone, the better.

Marcus tugged on his mitten, turned and walked swiftly to the doorway. Once there, he paused, glanced up and down the narrow hall, and when he was satisfied all was safe, he stepped out.

Something hard struck him in the face and sent him spinning back into the room, where he crashed to the floor in a haze of black pain.

Chapter 3: Moving the Meat

Nice to see you, Luis said, extending his hand to Jane.

The thin woman nodded, shook the offered hand and sat down across from him in the booth. Around them, the restaurant was dull and dim. At two in the afternoon, there wasn’t much traffic.

So, Jane said, I hear we have to sanitize the site first?

Yes, Luis said. I arrived this morning. The locals here, they’re a little more difficult to buy off.

She raised an eyebrow in surprise, and Luis continued.

I was surprised, too, he said. I thought for certain they would be happy to see the building go. And some of them are, but for the most part, they like the nature of it.

An urban deathtrap? Jane asked.

Luis nodded.

Seems they have some curious rite of passage tied up with it, he said, sighing. You know. Go into the scary building and all of that crap.

Ugh, she said in disgust. Yes, I know. So, they don’t want the Professor moving it?

Not only that, Luis said, but it was like pulling teeth to get the damned security fence up around it. I even had to hire a private agency to guard it.

Isn’t that going to make the sanitation of the building difficult? Jane asked.

No, Luis said, shaking his head. Not at all. This security company, let’s just say that they work with some colorful people of Italian heritage.

Ah, Jane said. Well, I’m ready to see the place, if you’re willing to show it.

Always, Luis said.

He left payment for his lunch and a tip on the table, stood up, and picked up his briefcase. With it grasped firmly in his hand, he led the way out of the restaurant. They walked a few blocks east, then turned right, where a large, galvanized steel, chain-link fence wrapped around a small, battered-looking lot.

A pair of men, clad in dark blue uniforms, stood guard at the entrance to the lot, and two other pairs patrolled the interior.

Overkill? Jane murmured as they neared them.

No, Luis said. Especially not when you see what’s inside.

He stopped, took out his identification and handed it to a guard. The other man took it, scanned it with a small device, and nodded.

All clear, sir, the guard said, handing the identification back.

Thank you, Luis replied. Together, he and Jane walked through the gate and toward the old cobbler’s shop.

I don’t know why, Jane said in a hushed voice, "but that’s got to be the creepiest one we’ve picked