Black Jack: A nail biting, hair-raising thriller (Jack Ryder Book 4) (15 page)

M
ay
2016

The trees in front of the house were packed with ravens. Black noisy creatures. Shannon hated birds and really didn’t want to have to get out of the car, but for the sake of her son, she did.

The ravens surrounded Betsy Sue as soon as she got out. They were sitting everywhere on her. In her hair, on her shoulders. She laughed and petted them like she knew them.

Shannon shivered and tried to stay her distance from the girl so none of the birds would get in her hair. That had always been her biggest fear that they would get tangled up in her hair like that time when she was a kid. The thought made her shiver again.

“You think this is the place?” she asked and approached Jack.

He shrugged. “The girl asked us to stop here, so we might as well check it out. Come Betsy Sue.”

Jack grabbed the iron railing and signaled the girl to walk with him up the stairs to the house. Betsy Sue followed him to the front door, two birds sitting on each of her shoulders and one on top of head. Shannon stayed a few steps behind.

“Hello?” Jack yelled while knocking on the front door.

The front porch had big flowerpots that had recently been watered and everything was very neat and well maintained.

It took a few seconds before the door opened slightly, and a man appeared in the crack.

“What do you want?”

Jack held up a picture of Tyler so the man could see it. “We’re looking for this child.”

The eyes in the door crack looked at the picture, then spotted Betsy Sue behind Jack, who was still infatuated with the birds. His eyes blinked a few times, then the door opened completely. He was as immaculately dressed as his house looked, his blue t-shirt tucked into his pants.

The man looked at Betsy Sue. “The girl. The ravens like her.”

Jack looked at her too. “Yes. She has a way with the birds.”

Shannon didn’t like the way the man looked at the girl and pulled Jack’s sleeve. “Jack we need to go.”

“Not yet,” Jack said. “Say have you seen this girl before?”

The man didn’t answer. “Ravens are a bad omen,” he said. “They bring death with them. Some people believe that ravens are damned souls or sometimes even Satan himself.”

Shannon stared at the man while a wave of shiver ran down her spine. “He doesn’t know anything, Jack,” she said. “Let’s move on.”

“Well I heard they were very smart animals too,” Jack said. “Can even learn to say a few words. At least that’s what I read. We don’t believe in the supernatural, bad omens and all that.”

Speak for yourself, Jack. Geez!

The man groaned while staring at Betsy Sue and the ravens. “Death follows in their trail. They’ve been here for several days now. I try to keep them off my backyard with my shotgun, but they always return. It’s like when my father died. The days before he fell to his death, the ravens circled his house non-stop.”

“So you haven’t seen the boy?” Jack continued obviously not interested in the man’s strange stories. “Do you know if anyone around here might have had a baby recently? Maybe you’ve seen them walk around with stroller, maybe you’ve hard a baby cry lately?”

The man shook his head. “It’s best you leave now.”

“This was a mistake,” Shannon said. “We’re sorry to have disturbed you.”

Jack handed the man his card just before they left. “Call me if anything comes to mind. Anything, all right?”

The man took the card, then closed the door.

“That was weird,” Jack said as they walked back to the car. “Lots of strange people in this town.”

Shannon wanted to get away from the birds fast. She hurried into the car and closed the door, while Jack talked to Betsy Sue outside, before he went in too. Betsy Sue stayed out for a little while longer.

“What is she doing?” Shannon asked.

“Saying goodbye to the birds,” Jack said with a scoff.

Shannon stared at the little girl that seemed to be talking eagerly to the birds before they all took off at once filling the air with their screams.

Shannon felt chilly when Betsy Sue finally got back in the car and put on her jacket.

“Now what?” she asked looking at Jack for answers.

D
ecember
1990

“What book?”

Kimberly followed Rosa up to the attic. Rosa went to her reading corner that Kimberly had decorated for her and picked up an old book. She handed it to her mother. “This one. I found it in the corner over there, tucked in behind the rafters.”

Kimberly looked at it. She opened it and flipped through a few pages. It was all handwritten. So rare to see anymore.

“Who wrote all this?” Kimberly asked.

Rosa shrugged. “I haven’t read much of it. Just the story of the general and his daughter. I flipped through the first pages and fell over the story. There’s even a picture of them here, see?”

Rosa pulled out an old photograph and handed it to Kimberly. It was torn and yellow in the edges. It showed the general, sitting proud in a chair, leaning on a cane, behind him stood his wife and daughter. Kimberly stared long at the family, her heart throbbing in her chest.

The general was dressed in a black suit with a butterfly and in his mouth he had a cigar. His hair was combed back.

He looks just like Joseph!

“Do you mind if I take this book downstairs and read in it?” she asked.

Rosa shook her head. “Sure.”

Kimberly leaned over and kissed her daughter, then left the attic. She walked into her bedroom and sat on the bed, the book between her shaking hands, reading the book, starting with the beginning. The first page told her it was all written by her late Aunt Agnes. Kimberly felt a shiver thinking of her aunt speaking to her through this book, from beyond the grave.

‘If you’re holding this book, that means you’re living in the Blackwood-residence. These are the tragic stories that people living in this house have encountered, read them so they won’t happen to you. Consider this book a warning.’

The first story was the one of the general. It told the tale of how he had built the Blackwood house to fit him and his family after he had retired from the army. It also told how he got involved with con men and gamblers after his retirement and how his wife suffered from the way he changed as soon as they moved into the house.

‘She hardly recognized him anymore. He changed the way he dressed, he changed the way he spoke and took up smoking even if he had always sworn he would never touch any of those things. He drank bourbon and played cards and she hardly saw him anymore. Always was he cooped up in the basement where she had no clue what he was doing. It was no longer the same man she had married.’

Kimberly could hardly read the words. She found it hard to breathe. Yet she turned another page in the book and yet another one. She couldn’t believe how much these descriptions resembled her own life. Even how the general’s wife believed the house was haunted and tried to get rid of her. Kimberly read and read and hardly even noticed the steps outside her room. When the knock sounded on her door, she screamed startled.

Joseph opened the door and peeked inside. “What? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said while chewing on that awful cigar in the corner of his mouth.

Kimberly breathed, her hand resting on her chest, her eyes closed for just a second. “You startled me.”

Joseph gave her a lopsided grin and rubbed his chin. “Sorry about that.”

“What’s going on?” she asked remembering that Joseph usually never came out of the basement these days, unless it was to eat or to leave the house.

“I have something to show you,” he said still smirking from ear to ear. “Down in the basement.”

M
ay
2016

We drove around all afternoon in the neighborhood and knocked on a lot of doors showing the picture of Tyler, but without luck. To be honest, Betsy Sue was not of any help at all. She didn’t recognize anything. I was frustrated when Shannon finally managed to convince me to stop and go home. I threw my jacket on the floor and kicked off my shoes when we entered the house. Abigail and Austin came running down the stairs towards the back entrance that we had used to not be seen by the few reporters that were still camping outside.

“Did you find him? Did you?” Abigail asked and threw herself in my arms.

Looking into her blue eyes made my heart melt.

“You didn’t, did you?” she continued.

“Not yet,” I said. “But we’re not giving up.”

“Does that mean Betsy will stay here for one more night?” Abigail asked.

I looked at Shannon who shrugged.

“I guess so,” I said and put Abigail down.

Austin stared at us from a distance. Angela came up behind him. Poor sweet sensitive Austin. He had a hard time dealing with this. I grabbed him and pulled him close. “We’ll find him, I promise you we will,” I said hugging him tight. “Your dad doesn’t give up. You know that.”

Austin sniffled and nodded. I messed up his hair and send him along. Angela saw the chance and put her hand in his as they walked back up the stairs.

Abigail grabbed Betsy Sue’s hand and pulled her. “Come on. We’re playing hide and go seek.”

“Do you want something to eat?” I asked Shannon.

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Neither am I, but we got to eat, right?” I said.

Shannon followed me out to the kitchen where Sarah had left the pot with stew on the stove for us. I grabbed a couple of plates and poured some on them. Shannon and I ate in silence.

“You think we should ask Betsy Sue if she’s hungry?” I asked remembering that she hadn’t eaten since this morning either. I couldn’t stop worrying that Bellini would stop by and find the girl here. It would get us in a lot of trouble.

“Maybe we should just bring her back to her parents,” Shannon said. “I am beginning to think it wasn’t such a great idea after all.”

I nodded. She was right. “I just have this feeling that if I could get more time with her, then I could get more information…”

“We’ve been with her all day,” Shannon said. “It brought us nowhere.”

“I just know the house has to be there somewhere,” I said. “It has to be in that neighborhood.”

“I’m tired,” Shannon said, tears to her eyes. “I am so exhausted Jack. I need to sleep but I can’t. I need to eat but I can’t. My throat feels swollen when I try and I can’t swallow. I want so desperately for this to be over. I am so tired.”

I grabbed her and held her for a long time while she rested in my arms. Like me she couldn’t even cry anymore.

“What are we going to do, Jack?” she asked looking into my eyes again.

I opened my mouth to talk, but no words came out. Not because I couldn’t speak, but because I didn’t know how to answer her.

For once I had no idea what to do.

S
TAND
: To stop asking for more cards

M
ay
2016

The sound of the bus driving up the street had the Doctor’s attention immediately. It happened every day at this hour. The Doctor told the girls to be quiet and put them in all in the living room, handing them each a book. Rikki Rick was sleeping in his crib and the Doctor hoped he wouldn’t wake up from all the noise from the street.

The Doctor checked all the curtains to make sure they were closed, but not without keeping a constant eye on the baby. The Doctor had hardly slept the past two nights, but it was worth it. It was what had to be done.

“The next house on our tour is very exciting,” the Doctor heard the tour guide say over the speakers inside the bus. The passengers took out their cameras and phones and took all their usual pictures.

“I think I saw something,” one of them said her voice trembling in excitement. “I think I got a picture of it, see.”

“What is it?” someone else asked.

The Doctor’s eyes rolled behind the curtain.
Always the same.

“It looks like a girl. Up there in that top window!” she shrieked.

“Yes,” the tour guide said. “Many people have seen the little girl in the window. The story goes about this house that it was built by a general back in eighteen-sixty-five.”

The Doctor watched while the tour guide once again told the old tale of how the general had put the girl in the chair and listened to them all gasp as they realized the terror of how his daughter died in that chair.

The Doctor shook the head. It was always the same. No one knew the real story, and no one was ever going to.

“It is said that if you keep very still, then you can still hear her scream,” the tour guide ended her story.

The entire bus went quiet. “I think I heard it,” someone said with a gasp.

“Me too,” another said.

The tour guide laughed, obviously satisfied that once again her tour was a great success and that these people would go back to their families and friends and tell them about what they had seen and heard and soon more would come.

“But as if the sad tale of the general and his daughter isn’t enough,” the tour guide continued, “there are other mysterious tales surrounding the Blackwood-house. In nineteen-fifty-eight, a family from Pompano Beach, Florida, moved in with their four daughters. The adults went out one evening, and when they returned later they found three of the girls dead along with their nanny. Two of them were still inside the house, and one was sprawled on the front porch, as if she was slain while trying to escape. The youngest daughter, age four, was the only one still alive. The sad and senseless triple murder was never solved. In the nineteen-eighties, the house was briefly rented out and a lot of college students from nearby Savannah College of Art and Design lived there. They heard pounding, heavy pacing, crying and, even more mysterious, a lot of giggling. I once spoke to a local resident who sometimes feels such a negative emotion emanating from the house that she can’t even walk past it. In nineteen-ninety a family of three moved into the house for a time, but they all disappeared while living there.”

“So it’s empty now?” a passenger asked.

“Except for the ghosts,” the tour guide said cheerfully. “I mean who would want to live there, right?”

All the passengers agreed that they certainly wouldn’t and spoke between themselves while more pictures were taken. The bus’s motor started up again, while the tour guide continued:

“You’re lucky you got the picture,” she said to the woman. “On other tours I have experienced odd things at exactly this point, in front of this house, like cameras breaking when trying to capture a picture of the girl, several batteries suddenly dying simultaneously, even once a camera went up in smoke right here.”

The crowd gasped and giggled nervously, some were trying to decide just how serious to take these things they were told.

Then the driver rang his bell and the bus was off once again. The Doctor watched as it disappeared down the street, then turned to look at the girls. They all seemed so sad, so the Doctor started to sing to drown out Little Miss Muffit’s bone piercing screams from upstairs.