Chapter One
Kathleen Freeborne opened her eyes slowly to bright lights shining intrusively from overhead. Where am I? How long have I been here? What happened? She strained her aching mind to try and make sense of events but initially nothing came to her that made any sense, only disconnected images, some violent and surreal. She knew one thing—her head throbbed from a hangover.
I’m in you and you’re in me.
She felt her heart rate quicken, took deep breaths to try and slow it down, something her counselor Betty Shifert, a recent addition to her life, had told her would help. She blinked and studied her unfamiliar surroundings, a private hospital room. Where? She picked up a food menu sitting on a serving table next to her bed, flipped it over and read the back: King’s County Memorial Hospital, Montague, PEI.
Shit, I’m in the hospital. How did I get here? Then she remembered. She and boyfriend Mark Riley, along with paranormal team members and friends Angela Dodson and Jacob McCreery, had gone to Poverty Beach last night, July 1, 2012, to celebrate Canada Day, the date in 1867 that Canada was officially united into a single country.
The evening had begun innocently enough, the four sitting on a small blanket around a small campfire, laughing, drinking, enjoying the evening stars and listening to the ghetto blaster belt out rock ‘n roll tunes from Ocean 100 radio station. But then something had gone terribly wrong. A strange old woman had appeared out of nowhere, offering them a drink of some potent moonshine she was drunkenly swilling.
Angela, Jacob and Kathleen had no interest in the potion, but Mark had decided to indulge. After a few swigs he had ripped off his t-shirt, started some ritualistic chant while dancing around the fire, his eyes wild and far away. The old woman, who had not offered her name to the best of Kathleen’s memory, had disappeared by that time. And her memory of the woman’s physical description had been vague at best. It had been dark. She had been drunk.
Mark’s chants became more violent as he danced, at one point extracting a fiery torch and waving it dangerously close to his friends’ faces.
Finally his chants, some incomprehensible gibberish, had transformed into shrieks of rage and his eyes had widened, turning a fiery red. That’s when he had started poking Jacob with the torch, taunting and threatening him.
“Burn in hell, you son of a bitch,” he had said, poking the torch closer, closer to Jacob, at one point starting the cuff of his pants on fire.
That’s when Kathleen had lost it and began yelling at her boyfriend to snap out of it. She remembered Angela extract a cell phone from her pocket, run a short distance from the fire and begin dialing, probably Detective Blaine Redmond, who involuntary had become a knight in shining armor in many of Prince Edward Island Paranormal Investigators (PEIPI) cases.
Kathleen remembered becoming angry and upset at the sight of her boyfriend attacking Jacob with the flame and that’s all she remembered. I must have had a panic attack and passed out. That’s why I’m here. Mark and the others. Where are they?
Her physician Frank Heeling walked into the room holding a chart and greeted her with a smile. “How are you?” he asked.
“My head hurts. But otherwise okay. Mark, the others, do you know what happened?”
“I just had a conversation with detective Redmond in the hallway,” the doctor said, absently running a hand through his wild Alfred Einstein style mop of hair. “He may want to talk to you later, if you’re up to it?”
There was a moment’s pause as Kathleen nodded.
She knew instinctively something was wrong and felt her heart rate quicken.
Heeling took a seat bedside and put a hand on her arm. “Deep breaths,” he said. “I’m sure everything’s going to be okay.”
“Tell me what happened, please,” she said, eying the doctor anxiously.
“Angela and Jacob are fine. But right now Mark Riley is missing.”
Kathleen felt the pain in her lower back first and winced as it slowly trickled up her spine. Not another one. Fight it.
Heeling produced a Thorazine pill, placed it gently in her hand and offered her a glass of water. “Here,” he said. “Take this.”
She swallowed the pill quickly, closed her eyes and fought to control the panic attack rising up, threatening to send her into a catatonic and useless state. Hang in there dear. You’ll be okay, a voice inside her head said. She recognized Elizabeth Pelletier’s voice and shivered. Will this woman ever leave me?
Not until it’s all over, came the response. For now, I’m in you and you’re in me.
“Are you okay?” Heeling asked, deep concern etched in his furrowed brow. Kathleen’s eyes had become distant, unfocused.
“I’m fine,” she said, struggling to regain control of her senses. And she had no idea if she would ever be fine again in her life.
Chapter Two
What kind of a messed up life is this? Mark thought, tugging at the rope that bound his arms the next afternoon. It only cinched tighter and he winced in pain. He had just opened his eyes and slowly become aware of his surroundings. He was in a dark cellar, his arms outstretched and tied to iron hooks that had been drilled into the concrete. His legs were bound tightly together with rope. He blinked, adjusting to the darkness in the room. But for a ray of sunlight penetrating a crack in an old wooden exit door at the top of some rickety stairs, the cellar was black. It smelled damp and musty. The only sounds he heard were the faint chirping of birds outside, merrily discussing the merits of summer.
He could also hear the faint barking of a dog, a large dog judging by the bark.
How the fuck did I get here? But for a pair of torn denim shorts, he was naked. He tried to recollect the events that might have brought him here. He remembered partying with his friends at Poverty Beach but not much else. They were celebrating not only Canada Day, but the fact he had just bought a house with Kathleen with an insurance settlement, the result of a rear end collision that continued to give him back pain.
They were also celebrating the union of Angela and Jacob, who had also bought a house together, after Angela had finally sold the haunted house she inherited from her deceased grandfather. After one too many threats, and in two cases actual physical violence from a psychotic apparition intent on having his way with her, she decided it was in the best interest of her mental health to sell the property. Her realtor had even noted in the public comments on the Multiple Listing Service, the home “comes complete with Casper the friendly ghost.”
A ghost inhabited the property all right. But he was pretty far from friendly.
We were drinking and having a great time but then what? Slowly his mind started to fill in an important gap. An old woman had appeared, offered them some moonshine. Did the others drink it? He couldn’t remember. But he did remember sampling it, indulging in more than one large swig.
But he couldn’t remember a single thing after that. Was it the alcohol? He couldn’t be sure but he suspected there was more to it than that. And the old woman. Hadn’t he seen her before, walking down Main Street Montague pushing a shopping cart, a collection of clothing, other odds and ends inside it? He thought she looked familiar. What was her name?
The door suddenly creaked open and Beatrice Maling slowly hobbled down the rickety stairs, a black cane thumping alongside her. The cellar was illuminated briefly as a large yellow sunbeam shone inside the dark hole but was enveloped in blackness again as the door slammed shut behind her. She fidgeted with the only source of light, a dangling light fixture, finally turning the bulb on.
Momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the incandescent light, Mark blinked, trying to see the hunched over figure hobbling toward him. Her wrinkled face, crooked grin, thin grey long hair, slowly came into focus.
“What do you want with me?” Mark said as she approached.
“You and your group made a big mistake,” she said, waving the cane dangerously close to his head.
“What are you talking about?”
“You put an end to my great grandfather, reverend James Maling,” she said, smacking him hard in the nose with the rubberized butt end of the cane, like an angry old teacher cross with a student caught cheating on an exam.
Mark screamed in pain, felt the warm blood from the cut on his nose drip down his face, onto his chin, neck and chest. I think she broke my nose.
The memory of James Maling was too fresh in his mind to forget it anytime soon. In fact, he thought even with the passage of many years he would never be able to forget how that evil, devil worshiping apparition had possessed and cold-bloodedly murdered almost a hundred residents of this otherwise peaceful island province. A macabre and grisly scene worthy of a million horrific nightmares.
If it wasn’t for PEIPI and detective Blaine Redmond, who knew how long the murderous rampage would have continued? Of course it was the apparition of Elizabeth Pelletier, who had been brutally raped and murdered by James Maling in the late 1800’s, who had possessed Kathleen, led Detective Redmond to the whereabouts of the demented psycho apparition and, with the power of the ancient sword, finally released him back into the spirit world—condemned him to hell with any luck.
Was he back? Mark didn’t know. But he knew one thing. One of Maling’s descendants was here and hell bent on revenge. Mark shuddered at the thought, fought hard to control the panic rising up inside his chest. Isn’t it my girlfriend who suffers from panic attacks? Where is she? Does this psycho have her? Better play along. “Don’t hurt me. I’ll help you. What do you want me to do?”
“You don’t have a choice in the matter young man,” she said, cackling long and hard. She turned, hobbled to a small wooden table that Mark noticed for the very first time. It was full of small vials, larger bottles of liquid, a number of small dolls, the accoutrements of black magic, modern day witchcraft.
She returned with a small doll, sewn of cloth and vaguely resembling Mark. Me. No, that’s not me. That’s a fucking doll. This can’t be happening.
She produced a pin from the pocket of her black granny dress, held it up and paused, waiting for some acknowledgement from her prisoner.
The thin metal glinted in the incandescent light, the light fixture still swaying slowly from its cord.
“No,” Mark said, feeling an adrenaline rush of fear. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll help you.”
She pierced the small pin into the right muscle of the doll and Mark winced and screamed in pain, noticing a small puncture wound in his right bicep that was now beginning to drip blood on the dirt floor.
She extracted the pin, smiling wickedly. “Are we on the same page now?”
Mark felt another bolt of pain, his eyes narrowing. “Yes we are. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to lead your friends to another paranormal investigation,” she said. “The whole team.”
He paused momentarily and she pointed the pin at the doll’s head.
“Okay, okay,” he said quickly and fearfully. “Where and when?”
“The woman’s name is Eva Santire and she’ll be calling you in a few days. She’ll give you the address and explain everything.”
“Okay, I’ll do it. Who are you anyway?”
“None of that is important right now. You’ll find out soon enough, once you’ve been indoctrinated,” Beatrice said.
She pointed to the wooden table on which four or five other dolls were placed. She threw the injured doll hastily on the table and Mark felt a bolt of pain shoot up his lower back.
“Careful with that,” he said after the pain had subsided a little.
She picked up another doll. “Do you know who this is?”
“I think I can guess.”
“Go ahead.”
“Kathleen.”
“Right, and if you deviate from the plan in any way, or open your mouth and tell people, she gets this pin here right through her heart.” She waived the pin threateningly. “And your other friends will meet the same fate. And don’t think for a minute you won’t be watched.”
Beatrice turned to the table, lit a small candle, brought out an empty vial, emptied powdery and liquid contents from the other vials into it and started uttering phrases, incomprehensible to Mark, but evidently they had some connection to the potion she was mixing up. Her eyes glowed eerily as she neared the end of her chant, holding the concoction in front of her face, saying, “this spell will last until the magic word is spoken, and then and only then will it be broken.”
She picked up the Kathleen voodoo doll by the throat, held the potion in the other hand and approached Mark. “Drink this now without a fuss and I promise I won’t throttle your little missy.”
Mark’s jaw dropped and eyes widened as she approached, the crop of goose bumps starting at his ankles and sprouting quickly over his entire body.
He nodded his head and swallowed the potion, wondering grimly if his life would ever be the same.