Haunted Page 27

  For now, though, he turned his thoughts back to yesterday's events. At the lighthouse, he'd seen something that he couldn't describe. It was both paranormal and metaphysical, part B-horror movie and part divine enlightenment. He turned the magazine page. What he had experienced was, he realized, beyond his comprehension.

  The headless ghost, resplendently shocking, had stood in the open doorway, almost as if it was waiting for them. Eric had immediately gone to it, totally unafraid. David expected it to pass through the young man as Lizzie's wraith had done to him last month, but rather it embraced the young man, as if it were a real physical being. Then it let him go and when Eric stepped back, David saw that there was no blood on his clothing, though it oozed, wet and slick, on the phantom's shirt front.

  Carefully, Eric had placed the doll's head in the entity's extended hand. The creature had stroked it with one finger, in a gesture very nearly tender, before closing its fist around the orb. David heard the sickening crunch of breaking china, saw blood drip from the ghost's fist onto the floor of the lighthouse, and watched the broken bits of glass pepper the red puddle on the floor.

  It was then that the most amazing thing happened. As he and Eric stood by, a swirling darkness appeared above the creature's neck. In awe, David saw it form into a primitive face, a shadowy suggestion of mouth and eyes and nose, then slowly, resolve itself into a perfect replica of the doll's features, with the same bushy brows and thick brown beard, the same captain's hat. The eyes, bright blue, focused on him. David would have sworn that they not only saw him, but that they held sparks of keen intelligence.

  He'd never seen anything like it. The sailor's face was friendly, but sorrowful in a way that nearly overwhelmed David with emotion. "Captain Wilder, I presume?" he asked softly.

  In reply, the spirit doffed its hat with old-fashioned gallantry, then gestured for him to approach.

  "Can't he come out of the lighthouse?" David whispered.

  Eric shrugged. "He wants to talk to you. Go ahead."

  David took a tentative step forward. The spirit waited. Finally he took another, then another, and then he was inside the bright and shadowy lighthouse. The phantom reached out and grasped his forearms, pulling him toward itself. Its touch was cool, but not unpleasantly so and, as David was drawn into its embrace, he was relieved to see that the uniform was now without blood.

  He thought that the creature would ingest his energy, as Lizzie had done, but he was wrong. Instead, he saw pictures, fleeting images, sent from the captain's mind to his, images of a woman in green with flashing eyes and fiery hair, feelings of love, of sadness, sounds of laughter and tears; so much and so many that he thought he would faint within this whirlwind of emotion.

  Then the phantom let go of him and the images drained away, but David retained the sights and sounds and he still felt the richness of the emotions of a man dead over three quarters of a century.

  "Mr. Masters? Are you all right?"

  David's brain snapped back into gear as he took in the speaker's white jacket. Stethoscope arms hung around his neck, the business end in his pocket, like a chameleon on a leash. "I'm fine," David said as he rose. "Just gathering wool."

  "Keith Shayrock," the man said, extending his hand.

  "David Masters," he replied, taking the hand.

  "Sorry about the wait," Shayrock told him as they shook hands.

  "No problem," David told him. Shayrock was a young man, tall and lanky, handsome in an unusual way with his strong jaw, piercing green eyes, and thick carroty hair that he'd tried, not altogether successfully, to imprison in hair spray. When the man smiled, dimples appeared, making him look about twelve years old.

  "Let's talk in my office."

  Down the hall and past the exam rooms, Shayrock's office proved to be a sprawling masculine throwback to Victorian times. A brass lamp with a green glass shade illuminated the massive walnut desk, and bookshelves lined the wall behind it. Several duck decoys peeked out from among the books.

  Paintings of fishing boats and trawlers, simply and elegantly framed, ornamented the wall above a tufted leather couch on the left wall. The carpet was deep forest green and a humidor on the desk held half a dozen pipes. The room reeked of testosterone.

  "Have a seat." Shayrock gestured at the leather chair in front of the desk as he moved to his own, behind it.

  David sat. "Nice office."

  "Thanks." Shayrock took a pipe and began filling it. "I'm fond of it." He lit the pipe and leaned back in his chair. "So what is it I can help you with?"

  "I'm researching the Body House murders and Craig told me all the records, including your grandfather's, were destroyed."

  "They were." Shayrock puffed his pipe. "So I probably can't help you much."

  David nodded. "I was hoping to talk to you about the 1968 murders."

  "Swenson would have the police reports, and the coroner's reports. That's more than I have."

  "Yes. I was hoping for a more personal touch. I wanted your impressions, but..."

  "I'm too young?" Shayrock stroked his chin. "My father was the doctor of record. He died five years ago."

  "I'm sorry."

  "But I saw the bodies," Shayrock added softly.

  "You did?" David didn’t bother to hide his surprise.

  "I did. I was in the fifth grade at the time, but I watched my dad do the autopsies."

  David felt his jaw drop. "You were, what, twelve years old?"

  "Ten."

  What kind of a sadist would bring a child into an autopsy room? "If I'd seen something like that at that age, I'd have ended up in therapy for life," he said slowly.

  The doctor chuckled. "You don't understand. I wanted to be there. The only thing I ever wanted to be was a doctor. At first I had to beg him. Then he began teaching me. He'd quiz me as he worked. Sometimes he even let me assist."

  David shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry. I just can't imagine a child wanting to see a dead body."

  "Frankly, I preferred watching surgical procedures." Shayrock smiled nostalgically. "Though he wouldn't let me assist, of course."

  "That's... incredible."

  "What's so incredible about it?"

  "Bodies are.. disgusting. I'd lose it. All that blood. All those organs."

  Shayrock twined his long fingers together on the desk blotter, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "The human body isn't disgusting. It's beautiful, inside and out. A work of art." He paused. "You know how you moved into that haunted house?"

  "Yeah?"

  "You couldn't get me to spend a night in that place for a million bucks. I'd end up in therapy for the rest of my life." He shrugged. "You know, different strokes."

  "Point well made." David smiled. "So, what can you tell me about the bodies?"

  "What do you want to know?"

  "Craig mentioned that he was pretty sure the murders were very similar in style to the ones in 1915."

  "Very likely, but I can't give you any solid facts. My father only knew what his father told him, and he was very young when Grandfather died. The 1915 murders and the 1968 killings were both done with, you might say, a certain Jack the Ripper ambiance."

  "Does anything particularly stick out in your mind about the bodies you saw?"

  "Yes. They were all killed within a one hour period. The most interesting, professionally speaking, was one that had been operated on with almost surgical precision. It was a heavyset male, found on the dining room table. He had been eviscerated with great skill." Shayrock paused, studying David. "The intestines were strung on the chairs all around the table, like a garland. The victim's tongue had been removed-- Dad found it in the victim's rectum. Is this too much for you?"

  Obviously, Shayrock hadn't read any of his books. "No. It's right up my alley. So to speak. I'm only squeamish when it involves me personally. Please, go on."

  "The scrotum had been opened and the testicles removed. The man's eyes were placed in the scrotal sack and the testicles were in the eye sockets. The pe
nis, which showed signs of recent ejaculate, had been sliced in two, from tip to root."

  David crossed his legs. "The victim was killed before he was mutilated, right?"

  Shayrock, who had been staring at the ceiling as he recited the death report, looked at David in surprise. "Yes. How did you know?"

  "It sounds crazy."

  "I won't tell."

  "Well, a friend of mine, a gifted psychic, has seen the apparition a number of times in the dining room. He usually describes it as crawling on its hands and knees along the table. It's a sloppy, fat male with brown hair and beard and baggy jeans that hang too low. He calls it "Buttcrack the Ghost" and it's evidently a pretty silly sight."

  "You've described the man," the doctor said. "But how did you know he died before the injuries were inflicted?"

  "If he had lived through the torture, chances are good that my friend would see something like you described. Something to kill the appetite. That trauma didn't happen, so it's not there to replay." David smiled crookedly. "Now you think I'm crazy."

  "No." Shayrock chuckled. "I might, if you said you’d seen it, though. I doubt if that victim ever even knew he was in trouble. He had enough LSD in him to trip all of Red Cay and part of Pismo."

  Nodding, David asked, "What about the body of the girl found in the downstairs bathroom? Was she tortured to death?"

  "The psychic has seen her too, I take it?"

  "Yes. Not a pretty sight."

  "Of all the six people killed that day, she was the only one who died after torture instead of before. She was also the only female in the group. She was in the tub. Her body had been opened from the base of her neck to the pubic bone, and her heart had been torn--not cut--from her chest. Her fingers had been severed and one of her big toes." Shayrock grimaced. "Whoever did it had a black sense of humor because the toe had been stuck in the tub's faucet."

  "What about the rest?"

  "Her heart was in her mouth and her fingers were found in her vagina and rectum. Her eyes had been removed and set into her breasts. I can make a Xerox of the reports for you if you want. I, ah, also have the photographs on file, if you want to see them."

  Despite himself, David felt ill. "Thanks." He didn't want to look at the photos, but knew he should, assuming they were reminiscent of the 1915 killings.

  "Excuse me a moment." Shayrock rose and moved to a pair of tall oak file cabinets. He unlocked one and began rifling through it. "Aha." He took a thick manila folder out and handed it to David. "Take a look at this, decide what you want copies of, and I'll be right back. There's something else you might like to see, but it's upstairs. In my house," he added. "I'll be back in five minutes."

  "Thanks."

  The doctor left, and David rather reluctantly opened the folder. The simple clinical descriptions of the atrocities were bad enough, but the photos were the stuff of nightmares. David flipped through them quickly, just so he could say he'd seen them, then returned to studying the descriptions which, he decided, were all he really needed.

  Swags of intestines across doors and windows, genitals severed and switched with other organs, it was all there, all sick, and beyond the comprehension of a normal human. The sudden sound of the door opening practically sent him through the roof.

  "Sorry, it took me a moment to find this." Shayrock placed a thick, antique photo album on the blotter. "Do you have any more questions about the 1968 murders?"

  "Yes. Do you have any personal opinions on those killings?"

  Shayrock sat down and rubbed his chin. "I suppose I do. First, the commune members were indulging in some sort of black magic."

  "I didn't know that."

  "It was kept out of the papers. They'd chalked circles and other symbols on the floor, we found a few dead chickens, some goats' horns, some crystals, stuff like that. The police thought that one of their own members did in the others, but they never found anyone. The commune had probably been indulging in their magic shortly before they were killed. And the most interesting aspect of all this is that whoever murdered them was not consistent in his methods. Some bodies were mutilated with surgical precision, others were hacked and torn. I had the feeling, even then, that the killer got frustrated for some reason."

  "Fascinating," David said. "I really appreciate the information."

  "You're welcome," Shayrock said, consulting his watch. "My next patient will be here in a few minutes and I want to show you this first." He opened the leather-bound photo album and turned it toward David. Black and white photos, slightly browned with age, covered the black paper pages and captions had carefully been penned in with white ink. "These photos date from about 1910 until 1920. There's my grandfather, Louis, with Robert Lee, the chief of police, in 1912."

  Keith Shayrock was a chip off the old block. Same hair and build, same jawline. Robert Lee was a handsome man, also quite tall, with rather Nordic features. He looked slightly familiar. "Are the Lees and the Swensons related?"

  Shayrock laughed. "Everybody's related around here, even if they don't acknowledge it. Robert Lee's only daughter, Sarah, married Charles Swenson in 1920." Eyes twinkling, he added, "Of course, many of our citizens have parents or grandparents who were conceived in Body House, but they won't admit that, either."

  "Who's this? I can't make out the caption." Hiding his excitement, David pointed at a photo of Louis Shayrock with a portly, balding man with white whiskers.

  "Let's see. I believe that's Harrison Cox. He was a public official. The Coxes have always been big in politics. As the story goes, he ran off with his secretary." Shayrock studied David. "You appear excited."

  There was no real harm in talking about the dolls, he decided, and he wanted to give the doctor something in return for his information. "I've found some pieces from Lizzie Baudey's doll collection." He pointed at the photo of the mayor. "Including one of Harrison Cox."

  Shayrock beamed with delight "She made dolls of her customers, right?"

  "Right."

  The doctor chuckled, shaking his head. "If you want, I can come by with this album and we can try to identify some of the others. I've got to warn you, though, there are some old families here, particularly some of the Coxes, who think butter won't melt in their mouths. You can do some serious boat-rocking if you care to."

  Judging by the eager expression on his face, Shayrock thought this was a grand idea, and David guessed that the Shayrocks and the Coxes still had problems. "That might be interesting," David said finally. "Though, I'd prefer to keep the collection a secret until it's all put together."

  "Naturally. I've got an appointment now," the doctor said, checking his watch. "But I can come by a bit after five today, if you're not busy."

  "Five is fine." David stood, shook Shayrock's hand. "See you later."

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Body House: 12:51 P.M.

  Amber had spent the morning buying groceries, straightening the kitchen, and finishing up waxing the floors because she wanted to make absolutely sure that Dad wouldn't get frustrated and ask Minnie Willard to come back. If, as he'd said, they didn't stay here much longer, she could handle most of the housekeeping: the sacrifice would be worth it.

  As she was rinsing out the mop for the final time, the phone rang, and she raced to catch it before the machine did. "Hello?" she asked breathlessly.

  "Hi! It's me."

  She felt a little thrill at the sound of Rick Feldspar's voice. "Hi, Rick. What's up?"

  "Want to go to the movies tonight?" He paused. "Just you and me? You know, a real date?"

  Yes, yes, yes, oh yes! "Um, that would be fun," she said, trying to sound cool. "I mean, I think I'm free." Yes, yes, yes!

  "Great! Do you need to check with your dad or anything?"

  "I'll check, but he won't mind."

  "How about I pick you up at five and we'll go get pizza first. The show's at seven-thirty."

  "What's playing?"

  "The Rialto in Pismo Beach is this great old revival theater. They've got
a double feature: It Happened One Night and Ruggles of Red Gap." He hesitated. "Of course, if you'd rather see the new Schwarzenegger movie, we can do that."

  Rick was perfect: he even liked the classics better than action movies. "Let's do the Rialto," she said warmly. "See you tonight!"

  Hanging up, she went to her dad's office door and knocked.

  "It's open," he called, and she let herself in.

  He had dragged all the crates that had contained clothes into the center of the room and now sat on a stool in the middle of them. "You haven't seen the ugly male doll in black, have you, kiddo?" he asked, looking up quickly.

  "No. Is it missing?"

  "Yeah." He scratched his head. "I can't figure it out Yesterday, it was right here with the broken one."

  "When did you see it last?"

  "Let me think. It was on the desk when Eric came running in yelling, 'He wants his head.' "

  Amber snickered at her dad's bad imitation. "I wish I'd been here."

  He smiled. "Me too. Anyway, Eric got the false bottom open and we got out the dolls and then the head and..."

  "And?"

  "And we went to the lighthouse." His mouth set into a grim line. "And when we came back, Minnie was in here, snooping around."

  "She took it, Dad," Amber stated without hesitation.

  "She didn't have anything in her hands." He paused. "It's hard to believe she'd do something like that. Just because she's a gossip, it doesn't mean she's a thief."

  "Come on, Daddy, grow up! She stuck it down her girdle or something. She's so fat, you'd never see it."

  "I just can't believe it ... But I've spent a whole hour looking for it and it's just plain gone."

  "She's got it."

  "I suppose," he said finally.

  "Call Chief Swenson. Have her arrested."

  "Gee, Amber, you're really gunning for her. Why is that?"