A Halloween Treat for Duche55
Title: A Haunting in the Neighborhood
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2915
Prompt:
duche55, I hope you enjoy your Halloween treat! Thanks for participating and I hope you have a great Halloween! My additional thanks to sparky955 for all her help and feedback
1923
The two older women walked arm-in-arm together, lost in a world of their own. It was a crisp fall day and, while winter lurked around the corner, for now it was sunny and promising.
“Perhaps after tea tonight, we should start a new chapter in that book.”
“Oh, I’d like that. Maybe it’ll be a little saucy.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you devil!” They laughed and one kissed the cheek of the other. “I would, too.”
In five hours, they would both be dead, mutilated and violated, their body parts strewn inside 455A Sackett St. House in Brooklyn. They say they never actually found all the body parts. Until they did, the curse would never end.
1933
They’d been such a happy household when they moved into the three-story apartment. There was plenty of room for their growing family and Mason couldn’t be happier Katie, their only child for the moment, was on Cloud Nine, dashing between floors to tend to this or that.
Then their daughter was discovered, brutalized and broken, upon a haphazardly constructed altar in their basement. No one was ever arrested for it and that preyed upon the young girl. She wandered from room to room, her mind gone. It was too much for him and one night Mason ended her suffering with a bullet to her brain. Then he turned the pistol on his pregnant wife, her parents his, and himself.
455A Sackett St. House was left to fend for itself. They say the stains on the hardwood floors never came out.
1943
Jack watched the match flare up and inhaled the sulfur deeply. Only then did he feel safe. He hated this house and the shadows that lurked in it. His parents didn’t believe him and demanded he grow up. The match died and he threw it aside.
He glanced up to see if Nurse was watching. She was busy talking on the phone with her boyfriend. He’d rather be out at the park since winter was soon going to turn the fall afternoons cold, but the phone kept Nurse busy for hours.
The burning match licked his fingers and he instinctively dropped it onto his lap...
Jack lingered for two days with burns over 80% of his body and 455A Sackett St. House nearly needed to be gutted to repair the damage from the fire.
They say that, even so, there were still strange piles of soot everywhere.
1953
Wilbur wasn’t much of a legend around his house or his school, but in the neighborhood, he reigned supreme as the Hide-N-Seek champion. He had a knack of finding the best spots and never coming out until the Ollie Ollie Oxen Free shouts were heard from a frustrated loser.
Needless to say, few people took him up on a game of Hide-N-Seek, but then a new kid came to the neighborhood. He was everything Wilbur wasn’t. Smart, handsome, at least according to the girls, and fun… and like Wilbur, he, too, played a mean game of Hide-N-Seek.
Wilbur pushed aside a ‘Trespassing! Keep Out’ sign and slipped into the building. He wedged himself inside a nearly invisible closet, pulling away from the light as much as he could. The closet door slammed shut and he made a face. He took out a book of matches and dropped them. Groaning, he bent over and picked them up… except it wasn’t his matches. They felt like fingers…
He started to choke, struggling for air. Nothing he could do would open the door. He gagged and gasped using what little energy he had left to pound on it
Had he lingered a few minute longer he would have heard the workmen. “Are you sure the gas leak is in here?”
“Not sure.” Some pallets and trash were shoved aside, up against the closet door “Maybe the basement?”
While an extensive search was made for Wilbur, he was never found in the tiny forgotten closet of 455A Sackett St. House.
They say he never left - ever.
Now
“Oh, stop the car, Mr. Solo! Stop the car!” Martha Waverly waved her handkerchief at him from the back seat and Napoleon did the best he could to stop without creating an accident. “Oh, dear, you’ve passed it.” She turned and looked over her shoulder.
“Passed what, Mrs. Waverly?” He signaled and took a side street. Thankfully he knew these Brooklyn streets very well.
“That house back there. It would be perfect for our Halloween party.”
“Which one, Ma’am?”
“Um, it’s back on Sackett Street. I don’t know the number, but there was a for rent sign on the door.”
He got back around and moved more slowly down the street. At this time of the day, traffic was fairly light and he only got yelled at a few times.
“There! That one 455A.”
He made note of the phone number and reached for his communicator. “Open Channel D, please. Illya, are you there?”
“At your beck and call, my liege.” His partner’s voice made him grin and he could see Illya sitting at his desk, buried in file folders.
“I have a little task for you.” He studied the building, but there was very little to make it stand out from the structures to either side.
“It’s not more performance reviews, is it?”
“Nothing that bad. I just want you to call thi number and get some information.” Napoleon paused. He could have sworn he saw movement behind the dirty window. It seemed like a small figure. “It’s for Mrs. Waverly.”
“She’s found a spot, has she?”
“Yes, it’s 455A Sackett Street.”
“I’ll let you know what I find.”
***
“And I’m telling you that the rental agent was a bit odd.” Illya worked the key in the heavy padlock. “And look at this thing? It’s out of the last century.”
Napoleon barely paid any attention to his partner’s grumblings. He’d felt off about the place from the start, but Mrs. Waverly insisted. They’d signed the necessary lease agreement, strangely enough the agent was very willing to go month-to-month, and he’d gathered a cleaning force. Mrs. Waverly’s parties were legendary, so there were always plenty of volunteers. There was also the benefit of getting in good with The Boss, both himself and Mr. Waverly.
Illya got the door unlocked and pushed it open. Years of neglect often did their worst with these old buildings, as did the squatters, but this place seemed strangely untouched by either. In fact, it was as if the most recent residents had just decided to step out for a moment.
“Well, at least we have some basic furniture to work with.” Napoleon did a quick tour through the first floor with the volunteers. “I think this will be enough space. Why don’t we rope off the second floor and we’ll concentrate down here?’
Illya nodded and caught something in his peripheral vision. His impression was that of a young woman, but when he looked, there was nothing.
“Something wrong?”
“I’ve been staring at files too long. I’m seeing things.” He reached for a broom and Napoleon caught his arm.
“A… a child?”
“No, a young woman.”
Napoleon grinned at that. “Well, that’s all right, then!” He slapped his hands together and the group of men and women paused in their chatting to listen to him. “Okay everyone, I’ve worked up a duty roster.” At his partner’s glare, he amended. “Well, Illya did. If we are quick about this, we should be done by sunset!”
“Napoleon, do you know where the fuse box is?” April Dancer brushed the hair off her forehead with the back of one hand.
“I think it’s in the basement.” Napoleon wiped his face with a handkerchief and caught his breath. “At least I think that’s what the real estate agent said. Are you sure we need it to be working?”
“We’re either going to need a generator for the lights or the fuse box to be repaired.” She dusted off her hands. “Where is the basement door?”
“I think behind those stacks of tables and chairs.” He pointed to a large pile of rented furniture.
April groaned. “They couldn’t have left them someplace else?”
“We were lucky they were willing to bring them in at all.” The delivery cost Napoleon big time.
“Do you have the feeling that someone is playing a trick on us and nearly everyone knows?”
He shrugged as Illya approached with a sheet of fresh drywall. He reached for his hammer again as Illya settled the piece in place. “I think there’s an outside access to the basement. Do you want me to go?”
“No, I could use some fresh air. It’s stifling in here.”
April stepped out onto the stoop and sighed. It was a glorious afternoon and she would much rather be in the park reading or just wandering the streets.
She followed the metal fence around and groaned at the mess. Junk and other things she didn’t want to think about were piled up against the exterior basement door. She kicked away what she could and reached for the doorknob.
Napoleon jerked around at the scream and the sound of gunfire. A breath later there were a dozen armed agents headed for the door.
“That sounded like April, she’s in the basement,” he shouted. He didn’t even manage to get outside before a disheveled and crying April Dancer was helped in by her partner, Mark Slate.
“April, what happened?” Illya held out a glass of water and she shook her head.
“It’s was all so fast. Someone grabbed me down there. He was going to…” April trailed off, crying softly.
“Agent, report!” Napoleon’s voice seemed harsh, but it cut through the emotions to her training.
“He was going to offer me as a sacrifice to something. I didn’t catch the name, but there was an altar and candles. I can still smell the incense he was burning. He… he said was going to have some ‘fun’ first - fun for him, not for me. I reacted instinctively.”
“Meaning?”
“I kicked him in the crotch and pulled my weapon. I fired twice. Mercy bullets, I think.”
“Either way, he couldn’t get very far. Illya?”
His partner nodded as he guided April to a seat and eased her down. Mark handed the glass to April, then surreptitiously motioned to Napoleon.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as soon as they’d stepped aside.
“I was down there before the smoke cleared, Napoleon. There wasn’t anyone else in that basement, just April.” He took a deep breath, as if betraying a confidence. “I’ve never seen her this shaken before.”
“Why don’t you take her home and stay with her.”
“Right.”
Napoleon watched them walk down the stairs even as Illya was coming back.
“Mark is right, Napoleon. There is nothing down there. I found two bullet holes in the wall, but that was it.” He rubbed his eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just a headache.”
“I have some aspirin in my coat pocket.” He pointed over to the chair where the jacket hung. “April said there was an altar?”
Illya paused and thought, then shook his head slowly. “I saw some boxes, but that was it. There had been someone there, though.”
“How do you know?”
“Place stunk of incense.”
“There’s something going on here, Illya, and I’m liking it less and less. Let’s finish up and get out of here. There’s no way I want to get stuck in here after dark.”
The Russian nodded and wiped his hands together. Napoleon watched him move away and for some reason, felt strangely comforted by the familiar weight of his weapon beneath his arm.
He walked briskly into the library and frowned. He could smell smoke and that concerned him until he realized the window was open and a couple of Section Three agents were taking a break.
“Everything going okay?” He leaned out the window and the closest man held up a bottle.
“All’s well. We are just about finished up in there. We opened up the window because it was smoky in there.”
“What?” Something tugged his shirttail and Napoleon spun. There was a little boy standing there, aflame, flesh charred from his bone. Napoleon looked for something to throw over the boy only to have him bolt out of the room.
Napoleon followed and was suddenly encased in darkness as a door slammed shut behind him. He tried to back out, but the door held firm. Worse, he could smell something. Something that said death and danger to him. He pounded on the wall, but to no avail.
“Illya!” It was getting hard to breathe and then he remembered his gun.
Illya stepped back to admire his plastering handiwork and caught movement again. This time he spun fast, so fast that he almost caught the person. She raced away and he followed her as she slipped into the library and then out through a doorway.
By the time he got to the spot, the doorway had vanished, leaving a wall with a radiator in front of it. “What the…”
Two Section Three agents ran in. “Illya, where’s Napoleon?”
“What do you mean?”
“He was just here. Someone came up behind him and he left.”
“I was just outside the door. He never passed me.” Illya looked over at the wall again. “Toss me that hammer, will you, and give me a hand with this?”
He walked back to that spot where the girl disappeared and the three of them wrenched the radiator away from its spot.
“Where did all this soot come from? The wall isn’t burned.” Henry was easy going and hard to rattle. “We smelled smoke, but couldn’t find anything.”
“There was a fire here once, though.” His partner, Sammy, hooked a finger over his shoulder. “We found some timbers in the servants’ quarters that had been burned.”
“Owner wouldn’t bother repairing the area if they could avoid it.” Illya tapped the wall with the hammer. “This wall is false.” His hammer went through the plaster and he turned, “Get those sledge---“A shot rang out and a bullet whizzed by the tip of Illya’s nose.
“Who’s shooting? Get down!” he yelled dropping to the floor, closely followed by the two agents. They didn’t move for a long moment.
“Off to the sides,” he murmured and they nodded, letting the hammers fly. This time there were no shots and they rapidly broke through the false wall to the wall below. Sure enough there was a closet door there and the three of them attacked it.
Within a few minutes, it was gone and Illya shone a light inside. “It’s Napoleon!” Illya coughed as they dragged his partner free of the closet... “And gas. Clear the room. Call an ambulance---” Then he stopped. “And the police.”
“Police?”
“Unless I’m mistaken, there’s a skeleton in that closet.”
****
Napoleon took another deep breath of the oxygen through the mask and closed his eyes. Illya draped the man’s jacket over his shoulders.
“Better?”
Napoleon nodded and sighed. “Another few minutes, though, and it would be The Lament of the Dead Agent they’d be playing.”
“They say it was the gas that caused all those visions we had. They have no idea how long that small leak has been going on, but there was a young boy who vanished back in the early 50’s and they think it might be his.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to relieve his headache. “It was probably the gas that killed him.”
“What was he doing in the closet?” Napoleon offered the mask to Illya who shook his head.
“Hiding for a game.”
The police came out and approached them. “You fellas doin’ okay now?” His badge said ‘Reynolds’ on it.
“We are, Officer Reynolds. Thank you.”
“What were you doing in that place anyhow? Everyone in the neighborhood knows to steer clear of the place, especially this time of the year.”
“Gotta say, you got more guts than common sense.” That was Reynolds’s partner. “Everyone knows this place is haunted.”
“Haunted?” The UNCLE agents exchanged wary glances. It wouldn’t be the first time New York’s finest had tried to put something over on them.
“Big time. A kid burned to death and a young girl got raped and went crazy. The dad ended up shooting whole family, including his in laws and parents.” A stretcher with a tiny bag was carried down the steep staircase to the ambulance. “And now this. All because of prejudice.”
“Prejudice?”
“Two old ladies lived here. The rumors were they were lovers, but it was never proven. They were slaughtered by a group of bigoted fools and the story goes that they put a curse on the place that would never be lifted until all their body parts were found.”
“Body parts?
“Illya, I think we’d better just rent a hall for Mrs. Waverly’s party.” Napoleon’s voice was deadpan. The two cops walked away, smiling slightly.
“I think we’re being had, but you are right. I’m not vetting a place with a gas leak for my boss’s wife.” Illya made a face. “I’m desperate. Do you still have that aspirin?”
Napoleon nodded and reached into his pocket. He jerked his hand out and dropped what he was holding. In the dimming light, they were just able to make up the first and second twisted and gnarled fingers of a hand.
“What the hell?” Illya found his voice first.
“Ollie, Ollie Oxen Free,” Napoleon whispered.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 2915
Prompt:
duche55, I hope you enjoy your Halloween treat! Thanks for participating and I hope you have a great Halloween! My additional thanks to sparky955 for all her help and feedback
1923
The two older women walked arm-in-arm together, lost in a world of their own. It was a crisp fall day and, while winter lurked around the corner, for now it was sunny and promising.
“Perhaps after tea tonight, we should start a new chapter in that book.”
“Oh, I’d like that. Maybe it’ll be a little saucy.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you devil!” They laughed and one kissed the cheek of the other. “I would, too.”
In five hours, they would both be dead, mutilated and violated, their body parts strewn inside 455A Sackett St. House in Brooklyn. They say they never actually found all the body parts. Until they did, the curse would never end.
1933
They’d been such a happy household when they moved into the three-story apartment. There was plenty of room for their growing family and Mason couldn’t be happier Katie, their only child for the moment, was on Cloud Nine, dashing between floors to tend to this or that.
Then their daughter was discovered, brutalized and broken, upon a haphazardly constructed altar in their basement. No one was ever arrested for it and that preyed upon the young girl. She wandered from room to room, her mind gone. It was too much for him and one night Mason ended her suffering with a bullet to her brain. Then he turned the pistol on his pregnant wife, her parents his, and himself.
455A Sackett St. House was left to fend for itself. They say the stains on the hardwood floors never came out.
1943
Jack watched the match flare up and inhaled the sulfur deeply. Only then did he feel safe. He hated this house and the shadows that lurked in it. His parents didn’t believe him and demanded he grow up. The match died and he threw it aside.
He glanced up to see if Nurse was watching. She was busy talking on the phone with her boyfriend. He’d rather be out at the park since winter was soon going to turn the fall afternoons cold, but the phone kept Nurse busy for hours.
The burning match licked his fingers and he instinctively dropped it onto his lap...
Jack lingered for two days with burns over 80% of his body and 455A Sackett St. House nearly needed to be gutted to repair the damage from the fire.
They say that, even so, there were still strange piles of soot everywhere.
1953
Wilbur wasn’t much of a legend around his house or his school, but in the neighborhood, he reigned supreme as the Hide-N-Seek champion. He had a knack of finding the best spots and never coming out until the Ollie Ollie Oxen Free shouts were heard from a frustrated loser.
Needless to say, few people took him up on a game of Hide-N-Seek, but then a new kid came to the neighborhood. He was everything Wilbur wasn’t. Smart, handsome, at least according to the girls, and fun… and like Wilbur, he, too, played a mean game of Hide-N-Seek.
Wilbur pushed aside a ‘Trespassing! Keep Out’ sign and slipped into the building. He wedged himself inside a nearly invisible closet, pulling away from the light as much as he could. The closet door slammed shut and he made a face. He took out a book of matches and dropped them. Groaning, he bent over and picked them up… except it wasn’t his matches. They felt like fingers…
He started to choke, struggling for air. Nothing he could do would open the door. He gagged and gasped using what little energy he had left to pound on it
Had he lingered a few minute longer he would have heard the workmen. “Are you sure the gas leak is in here?”
“Not sure.” Some pallets and trash were shoved aside, up against the closet door “Maybe the basement?”
While an extensive search was made for Wilbur, he was never found in the tiny forgotten closet of 455A Sackett St. House.
They say he never left - ever.
Now
“Oh, stop the car, Mr. Solo! Stop the car!” Martha Waverly waved her handkerchief at him from the back seat and Napoleon did the best he could to stop without creating an accident. “Oh, dear, you’ve passed it.” She turned and looked over her shoulder.
“Passed what, Mrs. Waverly?” He signaled and took a side street. Thankfully he knew these Brooklyn streets very well.
“That house back there. It would be perfect for our Halloween party.”
“Which one, Ma’am?”
“Um, it’s back on Sackett Street. I don’t know the number, but there was a for rent sign on the door.”
He got back around and moved more slowly down the street. At this time of the day, traffic was fairly light and he only got yelled at a few times.
“There! That one 455A.”
He made note of the phone number and reached for his communicator. “Open Channel D, please. Illya, are you there?”
“At your beck and call, my liege.” His partner’s voice made him grin and he could see Illya sitting at his desk, buried in file folders.
“I have a little task for you.” He studied the building, but there was very little to make it stand out from the structures to either side.
“It’s not more performance reviews, is it?”
“Nothing that bad. I just want you to call thi number and get some information.” Napoleon paused. He could have sworn he saw movement behind the dirty window. It seemed like a small figure. “It’s for Mrs. Waverly.”
“She’s found a spot, has she?”
“Yes, it’s 455A Sackett Street.”
“I’ll let you know what I find.”
***
“And I’m telling you that the rental agent was a bit odd.” Illya worked the key in the heavy padlock. “And look at this thing? It’s out of the last century.”
Napoleon barely paid any attention to his partner’s grumblings. He’d felt off about the place from the start, but Mrs. Waverly insisted. They’d signed the necessary lease agreement, strangely enough the agent was very willing to go month-to-month, and he’d gathered a cleaning force. Mrs. Waverly’s parties were legendary, so there were always plenty of volunteers. There was also the benefit of getting in good with The Boss, both himself and Mr. Waverly.
Illya got the door unlocked and pushed it open. Years of neglect often did their worst with these old buildings, as did the squatters, but this place seemed strangely untouched by either. In fact, it was as if the most recent residents had just decided to step out for a moment.
“Well, at least we have some basic furniture to work with.” Napoleon did a quick tour through the first floor with the volunteers. “I think this will be enough space. Why don’t we rope off the second floor and we’ll concentrate down here?’
Illya nodded and caught something in his peripheral vision. His impression was that of a young woman, but when he looked, there was nothing.
“Something wrong?”
“I’ve been staring at files too long. I’m seeing things.” He reached for a broom and Napoleon caught his arm.
“A… a child?”
“No, a young woman.”
Napoleon grinned at that. “Well, that’s all right, then!” He slapped his hands together and the group of men and women paused in their chatting to listen to him. “Okay everyone, I’ve worked up a duty roster.” At his partner’s glare, he amended. “Well, Illya did. If we are quick about this, we should be done by sunset!”
“Napoleon, do you know where the fuse box is?” April Dancer brushed the hair off her forehead with the back of one hand.
“I think it’s in the basement.” Napoleon wiped his face with a handkerchief and caught his breath. “At least I think that’s what the real estate agent said. Are you sure we need it to be working?”
“We’re either going to need a generator for the lights or the fuse box to be repaired.” She dusted off her hands. “Where is the basement door?”
“I think behind those stacks of tables and chairs.” He pointed to a large pile of rented furniture.
April groaned. “They couldn’t have left them someplace else?”
“We were lucky they were willing to bring them in at all.” The delivery cost Napoleon big time.
“Do you have the feeling that someone is playing a trick on us and nearly everyone knows?”
He shrugged as Illya approached with a sheet of fresh drywall. He reached for his hammer again as Illya settled the piece in place. “I think there’s an outside access to the basement. Do you want me to go?”
“No, I could use some fresh air. It’s stifling in here.”
April stepped out onto the stoop and sighed. It was a glorious afternoon and she would much rather be in the park reading or just wandering the streets.
She followed the metal fence around and groaned at the mess. Junk and other things she didn’t want to think about were piled up against the exterior basement door. She kicked away what she could and reached for the doorknob.
Napoleon jerked around at the scream and the sound of gunfire. A breath later there were a dozen armed agents headed for the door.
“That sounded like April, she’s in the basement,” he shouted. He didn’t even manage to get outside before a disheveled and crying April Dancer was helped in by her partner, Mark Slate.
“April, what happened?” Illya held out a glass of water and she shook her head.
“It’s was all so fast. Someone grabbed me down there. He was going to…” April trailed off, crying softly.
“Agent, report!” Napoleon’s voice seemed harsh, but it cut through the emotions to her training.
“He was going to offer me as a sacrifice to something. I didn’t catch the name, but there was an altar and candles. I can still smell the incense he was burning. He… he said was going to have some ‘fun’ first - fun for him, not for me. I reacted instinctively.”
“Meaning?”
“I kicked him in the crotch and pulled my weapon. I fired twice. Mercy bullets, I think.”
“Either way, he couldn’t get very far. Illya?”
His partner nodded as he guided April to a seat and eased her down. Mark handed the glass to April, then surreptitiously motioned to Napoleon.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as soon as they’d stepped aside.
“I was down there before the smoke cleared, Napoleon. There wasn’t anyone else in that basement, just April.” He took a deep breath, as if betraying a confidence. “I’ve never seen her this shaken before.”
“Why don’t you take her home and stay with her.”
“Right.”
Napoleon watched them walk down the stairs even as Illya was coming back.
“Mark is right, Napoleon. There is nothing down there. I found two bullet holes in the wall, but that was it.” He rubbed his eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just a headache.”
“I have some aspirin in my coat pocket.” He pointed over to the chair where the jacket hung. “April said there was an altar?”
Illya paused and thought, then shook his head slowly. “I saw some boxes, but that was it. There had been someone there, though.”
“How do you know?”
“Place stunk of incense.”
“There’s something going on here, Illya, and I’m liking it less and less. Let’s finish up and get out of here. There’s no way I want to get stuck in here after dark.”
The Russian nodded and wiped his hands together. Napoleon watched him move away and for some reason, felt strangely comforted by the familiar weight of his weapon beneath his arm.
He walked briskly into the library and frowned. He could smell smoke and that concerned him until he realized the window was open and a couple of Section Three agents were taking a break.
“Everything going okay?” He leaned out the window and the closest man held up a bottle.
“All’s well. We are just about finished up in there. We opened up the window because it was smoky in there.”
“What?” Something tugged his shirttail and Napoleon spun. There was a little boy standing there, aflame, flesh charred from his bone. Napoleon looked for something to throw over the boy only to have him bolt out of the room.
Napoleon followed and was suddenly encased in darkness as a door slammed shut behind him. He tried to back out, but the door held firm. Worse, he could smell something. Something that said death and danger to him. He pounded on the wall, but to no avail.
“Illya!” It was getting hard to breathe and then he remembered his gun.
Illya stepped back to admire his plastering handiwork and caught movement again. This time he spun fast, so fast that he almost caught the person. She raced away and he followed her as she slipped into the library and then out through a doorway.
By the time he got to the spot, the doorway had vanished, leaving a wall with a radiator in front of it. “What the…”
Two Section Three agents ran in. “Illya, where’s Napoleon?”
“What do you mean?”
“He was just here. Someone came up behind him and he left.”
“I was just outside the door. He never passed me.” Illya looked over at the wall again. “Toss me that hammer, will you, and give me a hand with this?”
He walked back to that spot where the girl disappeared and the three of them wrenched the radiator away from its spot.
“Where did all this soot come from? The wall isn’t burned.” Henry was easy going and hard to rattle. “We smelled smoke, but couldn’t find anything.”
“There was a fire here once, though.” His partner, Sammy, hooked a finger over his shoulder. “We found some timbers in the servants’ quarters that had been burned.”
“Owner wouldn’t bother repairing the area if they could avoid it.” Illya tapped the wall with the hammer. “This wall is false.” His hammer went through the plaster and he turned, “Get those sledge---“A shot rang out and a bullet whizzed by the tip of Illya’s nose.
“Who’s shooting? Get down!” he yelled dropping to the floor, closely followed by the two agents. They didn’t move for a long moment.
“Off to the sides,” he murmured and they nodded, letting the hammers fly. This time there were no shots and they rapidly broke through the false wall to the wall below. Sure enough there was a closet door there and the three of them attacked it.
Within a few minutes, it was gone and Illya shone a light inside. “It’s Napoleon!” Illya coughed as they dragged his partner free of the closet... “And gas. Clear the room. Call an ambulance---” Then he stopped. “And the police.”
“Police?”
“Unless I’m mistaken, there’s a skeleton in that closet.”
****
Napoleon took another deep breath of the oxygen through the mask and closed his eyes. Illya draped the man’s jacket over his shoulders.
“Better?”
Napoleon nodded and sighed. “Another few minutes, though, and it would be The Lament of the Dead Agent they’d be playing.”
“They say it was the gas that caused all those visions we had. They have no idea how long that small leak has been going on, but there was a young boy who vanished back in the early 50’s and they think it might be his.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to relieve his headache. “It was probably the gas that killed him.”
“What was he doing in the closet?” Napoleon offered the mask to Illya who shook his head.
“Hiding for a game.”
The police came out and approached them. “You fellas doin’ okay now?” His badge said ‘Reynolds’ on it.
“We are, Officer Reynolds. Thank you.”
“What were you doing in that place anyhow? Everyone in the neighborhood knows to steer clear of the place, especially this time of the year.”
“Gotta say, you got more guts than common sense.” That was Reynolds’s partner. “Everyone knows this place is haunted.”
“Haunted?” The UNCLE agents exchanged wary glances. It wouldn’t be the first time New York’s finest had tried to put something over on them.
“Big time. A kid burned to death and a young girl got raped and went crazy. The dad ended up shooting whole family, including his in laws and parents.” A stretcher with a tiny bag was carried down the steep staircase to the ambulance. “And now this. All because of prejudice.”
“Prejudice?”
“Two old ladies lived here. The rumors were they were lovers, but it was never proven. They were slaughtered by a group of bigoted fools and the story goes that they put a curse on the place that would never be lifted until all their body parts were found.”
“Body parts?
“Illya, I think we’d better just rent a hall for Mrs. Waverly’s party.” Napoleon’s voice was deadpan. The two cops walked away, smiling slightly.
“I think we’re being had, but you are right. I’m not vetting a place with a gas leak for my boss’s wife.” Illya made a face. “I’m desperate. Do you still have that aspirin?”
Napoleon nodded and reached into his pocket. He jerked his hand out and dropped what he was holding. In the dimming light, they were just able to make up the first and second twisted and gnarled fingers of a hand.
“What the hell?” Illya found his voice first.
“Ollie, Ollie Oxen Free,” Napoleon whispered.