Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Colby eyed the trunk tucked snugly into the lectern. He couldn’t imagine any old-timey preacher who would stand in this cavern of a space and speak to a congregation from behind this piece. No, this wasn’t for a congregation.

This space was for evil.

He could definitely feel it, even as Brynn came to stand beside him. The shadows of the room pressed closer, as if to keep them from seeing the truth of what had happened here.

Colby wasn’t ready to admit that the table—altar—whatever it was had given him the heebie-jeebies, but it seriously had. He’d seen plenty of blood in his time. Fresh blood, dried blood, old blood. He knew what it was without a doubt. Everything inside of him screamed to get Brynn out of here.

She bent down for a better look. His body automatically followed. She reached with one of her fingers and traced the initials on the lock. “Sadie Asher. This was my mother’s.”

Her voice didn’t carry far, but he could still pick up notes of apprehension mixed with sadness. They knew they needed to move forward, but all around them were memories of the past. Her past. And a past he didn’t really want to know about.

But he had a feeling they were about to get a solid glimpse.

Something fluttered on the edge of his vision, causing Colby to glance to the right. Over Brynn’s shoulder, he caught another hint of movement.

He smothered a gasp, not wanting to scare Brynn. His heartbeat pounded in the base of his throat.

Whatever it was moved closer to the stage. Close to the far end of the altar table. He saw the flimsy outline of a girl in a shapeless dress, shadowy, translucent. So much so that he couldn’t make out her features, just the impression of long hair, arms hanging by her sides.

She remained there for long moments as Colby crouched frozen at the sight. Then ephemeral hands raised to cover her face. The faint sound of weeping reached his ears.

“Colby?”

Brynn’s voice caused his gaze to snap to her, but he immediately glanced back to find the woman—ghost—spirit had vanished. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then focused in on Brynn.

“Let’s take it upstairs,” he said, sliding the trunk forward from the small space.

The weight was moderately heavy as he lifted it, but handles on each side made it a lot easier to carry. Brynn followed behind as he crossed the room and started up the stairs, using the flashlight to illuminate the way.

He wanted out of the basement right now and wanted Brynn out too.

Colby went straight through the kitchen and into the noticeable warmth of the living room. After setting the trunk down, he took his time adding wood to the fire, both for heat and for light. The sun going down outside had darkened the space, the wind picking up as if to warn them that something was coming.

He only hoped it was something they could both handle.

Pulling the trunk a little closer to the fireplace, he studied the lock. “I think Maria has some bolt cutters in the toolbox on the back porch.”

“No need,” Brynn said. She crossed to where her purse hung on the hook next to the front door. Within seconds she was back at his side with a key ring. “I think it’s on here.”

There were a couple of smaller keys, but one medium-sized one stood out. Colby slid it easily into the lock. “Not too big, not too small,” he murmured.

The key didn’t turn as easily as it had gone in, but he eventually managed to work it enough to get the lock to pop open. He glanced over at Brynn and met her shadowed gaze. “Ready?”

She hesitated a moment before she nodded her head.

He couldn’t imagine what this moment was like for her, especially after watching her dad die. But maybe now she’d have some answers.

Colby lifted the lid, then immediately lowered it back down, but the image he’d seen was still burned in his brain.

A young girl, maybe early teens, laid out on an elevated surface. A black robe covered her body, except for her chest where the robe had been lowered. Her eyes were at half-mast but noticeably open.

He didn’t know what it meant, and didn’t think he wanted to know. But he couldn’t escape the image burned in his brain in those few seconds, so he opened the lid again.

Next to him he heard Brynn gasp as she caught the same sight he had.

She reached out for the photo, but several others underneath came with it. Carefully, she pulled at each layer. “Looks like they’re stuck together. Either from moisture or mold. I’ll have to be careful.”

“Is there a way to get them apart?”

“There is, depending on the extent of the damage, but I don’t have the materials I need with me to do it safely.”

They pulled out several more stacks and carefully found the ones that weren’t adhered to each other.

“Looks like photos of city events, if I’m remembering correctly,” Colby said. “Annual Fourth of July picnic. Church events. Not sure what this event is but that’s the hospice house on the grounds of the Catholic church in town.”

It was Brynn who pointed out, “These same men reappear in a lot of the photos.”

“I recognize a few of them.” Which worried Colby a lot. “They’re the town leadership from that time period.”

“Town leadership?”

He squinted as he flipped through some picnic photos. “County council, I think. The mayor. County judge.”

Beside him Brynn shivered. Somehow he knew it wasn’t from the chill in the air. “What about these girls?” she asked. “They are repeated too. This one in the floral-pattern dress, though these appear to be from two different events.”

“I wonder...” Colby tried to think back. “I believe at one time this was one of those homes for unwed mothers. You know, where people sent their daughters if they became pregnant out of wedlock.”

Brynn nodded. “Maybe she didn’t have another dress,” she murmured.

So she had to wear the same one to every event. “The girls were probably included in any church events.” Now that she’d pointed it out, he saw several of the same women in various stages of pregnancy on the church grounds, but not in the town celebration pictures.

“I also don’t see pictures on the grounds of the other church.”

Brynn glanced up from the photo she was studying. “What do you mean?”

“There are only two churches in town, which is unusual for the South, really. Usually there’s one on every corner. Large and small. But our town has two—the Catholic church and the Baptist one. It’s just my personal opinion, but church here has less to do with religion and more to do with your station in the town.”

“How so?”

“The Catholic church hosts middle to lower income classes. You’ll see some of the church leaders at events, but they don’t ‘do’ church there. They support programs like a food pantry and”—he raised one of the photos—“homes for unwed mothers.”

He leaned back, thinking out loud. “The Baptist church is where the upper class go on Sundays. It’s a bigger, fancier church on the eastern side of town. They have fancy picnics on the grounds. A Valentine’s Day dance. Catered dinners, as opposed to potlucks. And put on a Christmas event every year that has to cost thousands. It's the difference between night and day.”

“We never went to church anywhere, so I really wouldn’t know, but that sounds like an odd thing. At least, for it to last so long.”

“It’s been that way since way before I was born, according to my grandfather.”

Brynn glanced behind them to the stained-glass window. “Makes me wonder which kind of people attended this one.”

Colby wasn’t sure he wanted to know, considering the blood stained altar downstairs. “There are some film reels in here too.”

Brynn pulled one out to study the negatives. She grimaced. “It’s all covered in grime. Dad did do some filming, but none that I ever had to work with. We specialized in his photos and prints. I’d have to do some research on how to clean these.”

As he glanced at the photo that had been beneath the reel, Colby cursed.

“What is it?”

He was vaguely aware that his hand shook as he pulled a final photo from the bottom of the box. The lighting of the picture told him it was either shot at dusk or dawn from quite a distance. A row of figures in black walked along the edge of some woods, but Colby didn’t recognize the setting. What hit him hard was the one face turned back toward the camera.

A face in a golden mask.

“No,” he breathed.

“What is it?” Brynn demanded.

He handed the photo to her. A frown appeared as she studied it. “I don’t understand.”

“Did your dad ever tell you stories of the ghosts in the golden masks?”

He could tell she was trying to remember, but nothing was coming to her.

“It’s an old legend in this town. That there are ghosts that wear golden masks that haunt the woods in the national forest, and those areas where it is forested closer to town.”

“That may be vaguely familiar.”

“Most parents use it to deter their kids from sneaking out at night. It’s kind of morphed into an urban legend here now, because with phone cameras and social media, people—mostly teenagers—claim they still see them and post snapshots of them online.”

She held up the photo. “That must be cramping someone’s style.”

“I’d never seen one myself, and most of the photos are pretty sketchy. But this one...” He reached out a finger to touch it. “Do you know how old this would make that legend?”

“It appears real to me.”

“And what if it’s tied to this?” He laid his hand over the first photo they’d seen without looking down at it. He didn’t want it in his consciousness any more than it had to be.

They were silent for a few moments as Brynn shuffled through another stack. Colby’s brain was doing the same with an overload of information that he felt had to be tied together, but he couldn’t make out any of the connections. What had happened to Brynn’s dad? And what did it have to do with the town leaders? Or a generations-old urban legend?

If this was his evidence, what did it all mean?

Brynn sucked in her breath, drawing Colby’s attention. “What’s the matter?”

She offered him a photo that wavered because her hand shook. Colby took it from her to study it.

Another picnic. Later in the day by the looks of the lighting. A young girl stood in the center, straight and tall. Her rigidity spoke almost of defiance. A man bent over her, talking down to her.

A black circle had been drawn around her, the edges now turning yellow from deterioration. Across the top was written NEXT? .

Even the fuzziness of the distance between the photographer and the objects of the photo didn’t hide the man’s frustration as he interacted with the girl. Colby could almost feel how the man wanted to reach out and grab her arm, admonishing her for not being more respectful. “Who is she?” he murmured.

His throat tightened as Brynn answered, “It’s me.”