River: Ghosts Of Our Fathers Part 1

Ghosts of Our Fathers.

By Michael Richan.

For Irene and Rhoda.

Chapter One.

Steven sat bolt upright in bed, frightened.

Someone was in the house.

He grabbed his robe and walked out of the bedroom. He'd done paranoid patrols before, awakened by a sound only to find the house was fine. This time was different. It felt different. He felt something was in the house.

The large windows that overlooked Lake Was.h.i.+ngton were covered with thin blinds that let moonlight into the house, and it was enough to navigate without turning on lights. He walked down the hallway that led from his bedroom towards the living room, wiping the sleep from his eyes and straining them to let in as much light as possible.

Steven rounded the corner of the hallway and slowed, scanning the living room from the hall. There was just enough light to make out all of the furniture as dark shapes. He felt a chill go up the back of his neck; there was a man sitting on one of the chairs.

He froze, unsure of what to do. He couldn't make out any features on the man. He was as dark as the shadows in the room, more of a silhouette. He watched him for several seconds, hoping more of him would be exposed, but he sat still. He was beginning to wonder if it was a mannequin or a statue.

Steven blinked, and the man was standing. He'd gone from a sitting position to a standing position and Steven hadn't seen the movement.

What do I have to defend myself? Steven thought. I can backtrack to the kitchen and get a knife.

He walked backwards into the hall, keeping his eyes on the standing silhouette in the living room, watching for more signs of movement. A few steps and he was out of sight of the figure, so he turned and walked back down the hallway. At the end was a turn into the kitchen.

As he entered the kitchen he glanced right to look down into the dining room and living room, to see if the figure was still there. It wasn't.

s.h.i.+t, he thought. Where'd he go?

He looked around the kitchen and his eyes fell on the knife block on the counter. He walked toward it, determined to secure a weapon.

The windows in the kitchen were large and without blinds, as they faced the private backyard. There was a wrap-around deck outside them. More moonlight streamed in here, and Steven could clearly see the knife block and the knife he selected. As he pulled it from the block he glanced up to the window. The man was standing on the deck, just a few feet from him on the other side of the gla.s.s.

How did he get out there? Steven thought. There are two of them!

Steven backed away from the window, holding the knife. He watched the figure. It didn't move. As in the living room, it looked like a statue. Since it wasn't moving, he stared at it, trying to make out facial features so he could give an accurate description to the police. He couldn't make out any. All of the image was dark. Where the moonlight hit it directly, it was s.h.i.+ny.

He's wearing some kind of body suit, Steven thought.

He blinked, and the figure was gone. He turned to scan the rest of the kitchen, and it wasn't there. He turned to the right to look into the dining room. It was standing three feet from him.

Steven jumped and an involuntary yelp escaped his mouth. He brought the knife up and walked backwards towards the hallway. The figure did not move to pursue him.

Steven's heart was racing a million beats a minute. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He felt his mouth suddenly dry, and he licked his lips in response.

I'll back into the bedroom, he thought. My cell phone is in there, I can call for help.

When he reached the bedroom door, he opened it from behind and slipped into the room, shutting the door. When he turned around, he saw the figure sitting at the foot of his bed.

He instinctually reached out to turn on the light switch. The room filled with light and the figure vanished. But Steven could still feel it. It was still there, on the bed. He turned the light back off and as his eyes adjusted he saw the dark shape come back into view. It was still sitting at the foot of the bed as still as a statue. It hadn't moved.

It's not a man, Steven thought. At least, not a normal man.

Steven was terrified, but this wasn't the first time he'd encountered strange things. Over the course of the past year he'd learned how to deal with ghosts and a variety of manifestations that haunted the house. The first thing to do was to enter the River and see if it would tell him more about who or what was sitting on his bed. He kept the knife at arm's length, pointed at the figure.

The River was a moving flow, intangible and invisible to most people, but for those with "the gift" it was something to jump into and exit at will. It offered a different perspective and allowed him to see things that normally weren't visible. He entered the flow, and the light and images in the room changed around him. There was a loud repet.i.tive clicking sound, like the ticking of a clock.

The figure on the bed was now a man, staring at Steven. He looked like he was in his mid-thirties. He had steely blue eyes, a small beard on his chin, and hair that was cut short. He was completely naked. He didn't move. Steven noticed something s.h.i.+ny covering him.

He took a step toward the man. He could see the lips of the man moving, but he couldn't hear him. Steven noticed the man was behind something; something was covering him. Steven realized with horror the man was trapped inside a gla.s.s sh.e.l.l shaped like a body.

He walked closer to the figure, and as he did he could begin to hear the man's words. The man couldn't move his body inside the gla.s.s sh.e.l.l; it held him rigidly in place at the foot of the bed, but the man's eyes and facial features moved, and his lips. He appeared angry. He was clearly trying to say something to Steven.

Steven put his ear next to the man's lips, listening.

"You're a dead man," the man said from inside the gla.s.s sh.e.l.l.

With no observable moment, the man's hand was now around Steven's neck, squeezing. He felt his windpipe being crushed; he couldn't breathe. He reached to the hand to pull it away. It had a smooth surface that wasn't moving, but inside the fingers were s.h.i.+fting, trying to increase the hold. Steven couldn't get a grip on the hand; its surface was too smooth, his fingers would simply slide away from where he was trying to grab. He raised a foot to the gla.s.s figure and pushed. He couldn't gain a foothold against the figure either, his foot merely slid off. He felt his head begin to grow light and his vision begin to blur. In desperation he exited the River.

He felt a familiar slicing pain shoot up the back of his skull. The pain often accompanied departures from the River. In this case he had left so abruptly he'd not managed the exit very well, and the pain was particularly sharp. It added to the pain in his throat.

The dark figure was still there, but now he was able to push it away with his foot. It fell back onto the bed, motionless, its arm still raised as though he'd kicked over a mannequin. As Steven held his throat, checking to see if everything felt normal, vertical shafts appeared in the figure exposing the bed covers underneath him. The shafts appeared, disappeared, and s.h.i.+fted, but they kept occurring until the figure was completely gone.

Steven was breathing heavy, wincing from the pain in his head and throat. He stumbled to the bathroom next door and swallowed aspirin. He looked in the mirror to inspect his neck where the figure had grabbed him. It looked OK but it hurt like h.e.l.l. The clock in the bathroom read 4:30. There was no way he was getting back to sleep considering the adrenaline in his system and the pain he felt.

He walked into the kitchen and sat down on a chair at the kitchen table. In a moment he'd get up and make some coffee, but for now he held his head, waiting for the pain to leave, and thinking through what he just saw.

Steven was too unnerved to go back into his bedroom that morning, but he did manage to fall asleep on the kitchen chair. He awoke around seven, determined to call Roy now that it was a decent hour.

Roy was Steven's father. Roy had the gift too, and he'd been showing Steven how to use his latent skills to deal with some problems that had popped up in his life. Through most of his childhood and into his adult years Steven hadn't been close with Roy, but that all changed when Steven found himself living in a house that was severely haunted; Roy had stepped in and helped Steven resolve the problem. Since then they had become much closer, relying on each other in new ways and building a new relations.h.i.+p.

After the fifth ring Steven remembered that Roy wasn't at home he'd gone sailing with his friend Dixon and wouldn't be back for a couple of days. Roy didn't have a cell phone and he didn't know if Dixon did either. He felt abandoned. Roy would know what they should do about the figure that threatened him last night, but Roy wasn't going to be able to help for a while.

Eliza, he thought. I'll call her.

Steven picked up the phone and called Eliza, remembering her smile from the last time he'd seen her. Eliza lived in Northern California and had helped Steven and Roy deal with a ghost problem in Oregon. She was a strong woman, a little intimidating, but Steven had liked her the moment he met her, and now she was a good friend.

"Eliza?" Steven asked when the phone picked up.

"Yes, this is she," Eliza replied.

"Eliza, it's Steven. How are you?

"Oh, Steven! It's good to hear your voice!" She sounded as if she was groggy.

"Did I wake you?"

"Being honest, yes, you did. But it was time I got up anyway. How are you?"

"Well, that's why I'm calling. I had a rather strange visitation last night."

"A visitation?" Eliza perked up. "That sounds interesting and a little ominous. Tell me about it."

Steven recounted the events of the previous evening, trying to give her as many details as he could remember.

"Steven, I've never heard anything like it," Eliza said. "It's disturbing. I really don't have any idea what to tell you, I'm a little stumped by it."

"d.a.m.n, I was hoping you'd have some insight on it, or know what I should do about it. Roy's not around, and I feel a little out of my depth."

"You said you heard a ticking sound once you entered the flow?"

"Yes, it sounded like a loud metronome."

"Well," Eliza said, "I might know someone who could give you more advice. The metronome makes me think of time, and when I think of things time-related, Daniel's the guy. He's a kind of expert on time. He lives in Spokane. I could give you his number?"

"Would you?" Steven asked. "I've got a pen, go ahead."

Eliza relayed the number and Steven jotted it down.

"Do you think it's too early to call him?" Steven asked.

"Let me give him a call first," Eliza replied. "Let me explain some of what you've told me, and I'll tell him you're going to call him yourself within the hour."

"Thank you," Steven said. "When you say he's a time expert, what does that mean exactly?"

"He's like you or me," Eliza said, "he's got the gift, and he practices. But when he was younger he was drawn to aspects of it that related to time, like s.h.i.+fting time, time signatures, time anomalies, that kind of thing. He focused on it over the years, became a sort of expert. It may not help at all, but running it past him won't hurt."

"Great, you're going to call him as soon as we hang up?"

"Yes, I will, and Steven?"

"Yes?"

"Don't worry. We'll get this figured out."

"Thank you, Eliza. Roy is out boating with Dixon and I really didn't know where to turn. I feel better knowing you're in on this."

"I'm with you one hundred percent Steven. I'll do whatever I can."

"Thanks," Steven replied. "I'll call you after I talk with Daniel?"

"Please do."

"Goodbye."

As he hung up Steven realized that having Eliza supporting him lightened him, as though a heavy weight had been removed from his shoulders. Her innate confidence and spirit made him take courage in his situation. He felt lucky to know her.

He waited the full hour before he picked up the phone to call Spokane, hoping that would give Eliza enough time. The voice on the other end of the line was deeply masculine and had a low rumble to it that made Steven want to clear his throat.

"Is this Steven? Eliza said you'd be calling."

"Yes, it's me. Thanks for taking my call."

"Eliza told me a little bit of what's going on, but why don't you start from the top and fill me in. Don't leave anything out."

"Sure," Steven said, and began to recount the events of the previous night once again. He tried to relay every detail he could remember, hoping something would give Daniel a clue that might help.

"Was the gla.s.s sh.e.l.l clear or translucent?" Daniel asked.

"It was clear," Steven replied.

"Were there any markings on the gla.s.s?"

"I don't recall any. I didn't inspect it all, and I really only saw it for a few seconds."

"Did you notice any smells?"

"Smells?" Steven said. "Yes, there was a smell, it smelled like rope. I've only ever smelled it once or twice before, but I remember the smell from when I was a kid. It smelled like a length of rope my father used to keep in his garage for tying up boats."

"You mentioned vertical shafts," Daniel said. "Can you tell me anything more about them?"

"When a shaft appeared," replied Steven, "you could see the bed behind him. It was like the shaft had removed part of him. Then the shaft would disappear, and a new one would appear, in a different place. Eventually so many appeared his image was gone."

"OK, I have an idea of what it is," Daniel said, "or at least what it partially is. I don't mean to alarm you."

"Trust me, I'm on full alert already. I'd rather hear the full scoop, don't hold anything back."

"All right," Daniel said. "The vertical shafts indicate to me that this being you saw is from some place other than here. Could be the past, could be the future, might be a different dimension, that kind of thing. The shafts are a common visual appearance when the s.h.i.+ft is happening."

"And the gla.s.s sh.e.l.l?"

"That's a symbolic thing," Daniel said. "He's trapped. His soul is literally trapped. He either bound himself or someone bound him. The gla.s.s sh.e.l.l limits the ability of his soul to move or to do things. Some bindings are permanent, others expire after a while."

Steven let the phone hang at his ear, unsure where to go next.

"Listen," Daniel said. "It is dangerous, no question about it. You're being threatened by a soul that's been bound for who knows how long. The fact that the gla.s.s is clear tells me the binding is about to end. You need to find out who this is and why he wants to kill you before the binding gives way and he's free. You saw his limits last night, but with the binding gone he will find a way to follow through on his threat, and terrify you in the process."