Walter’s Rifle
Haunted Collection Series Book 2
Written by Ron Ripley
Edited by Emma Salam
Copyright © 2017 by ScareStreet.com
All rights reserved.
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Keeping it spooky,
Ron Ripley
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Bolt Action
Chapter 2: Searching for Something
Chapter 3: A New House
Chapter 4: Seeking
Chapter 5: Conversations
Chapter 6: Setting the Bird Free
Chapter 7: The First Clue
Chapter 8: “All Gaul is divided”
Chapter 9: Along a Road in the Evening
Chapter 10: Something’s Wrong with Julius
Chapter 11: Stopping a Panic
Chapter 12: Lunch and Death in Vermont
Chapter 13: A Meeting of Strange Fellows
Chapter 14: A Visit with the Patriarch
Chapter 15: In Darkness, He Despairs
Chapter 16: An Argument Unresolved
Chapter 17: A Conversation
Chapter 18: Dawn Arrives
Chapter 19: The First Bit
Chapter 20: Hot and Uncomfortable
Chapter 21: No Safe Place
Chapter 22: Discovered and Recovered
Chapter 23: An Unfortunate Disturbance
Chapter 24: Walter and Brown, Sitting in a Tree
Chapter 25: A Question of Some Importance
Chapter 26: A Conversation
Chapter 27: Unnecessary Risk
Chapter 28: A Phone Call in Boston
Chapter 29: Alone with a Good Book
Chapter 30: Jeremy Rhinehart in the Waiting Room
Chapter 31: Therapy
Chapter 32: Finishing the Tale
Chapter 33: Retribution
Chapter 34: Brown’s Bad Information
Chapter 35: Voices in the Darkness
Chapter 36: Anger and Poor Decisions
Chapter 37: A Painful Decision
Chapter 38: An Education
Chapter 39: Searching for the Boy
Chapter 40: Norwich, CT
Chapter 41: Along a Winding Road
Chapter 42: Patience is a Virtue
Chapter 43: Handing off the Problem
Chapter 44: Tactics
Chapter 45: An Unforeseen Occurrence
Chapter 46: Displeased
Chapter 47: Another Scene
Chapter 48: Unpleasant News
Chapter 49: A Hard Walk
Chapter 50: A Knock on the Door
Chapter 51: A Growing Paranoia
Chapter 52: Preparations against Invasion
Chapter 53: Duplicity
Chapter 54: Lambtown Cemetery
Chapter 55: Walter’s Rifle
Chapter 56: Jeremy’s Home
Chapter 57: Outrage
Chapter 58: A Marine and His Rifle
Chapter 59: Conversations and Decisions
Bonus Scene Chapter 1: A Definite Improvement
Bonus Scene Chapter 2: An Unwelcome Visitor
Bonus Scene Chapter 3: From a Distance and Efficient
Bonus Scene Chapter 4: A Successful Trip
Bonus Scene Chapter 5: Mother’s Little Helper
Bonus Scene Chapter 6: A Drop in Temperature
Bonus Scene Chapter 7: His Father’s Dead
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Chapter 1: Bolt Action
Walter slid the bolt action back and advanced the round with one, smooth motion. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and looked out onto the road.
Trees lined either side of the street, their leaves brilliant with the colors of fall. Shades of orange and red that blazed in the early morning light. The world was quiet and peaceful; the stretch of Vermont in front of Walter was a calm oasis away from the insanity of modern life, a refuge from the unrelenting demands of others.
Walter felt at ease, stretched out in the prone position on a poncho. From his place on a slight rise, he watched the length of asphalt below him over the iron sights of the rifle. Around him, the birds were silent, and the squirrels as well. The chipmunks that lived in the old, tumbled down stone wall Walter had settled behind remained hidden. Even the insects were silent.
All Walter could hear were the sounds his body made. The steady rhythm of his heart, the smooth inhalation and exhalation of breath, the rumble of his stomach. He had eaten only a small amount at breakfast, and he would do the same at noon.
But not any sooner.
He was in a good place. Physically and mentally.
Where the road curved, a shape appeared.
It was a runner, and as the person drew closer, he saw it was a man. The stranger kept a strong pace, the slap of running shoes on asphalt reaching Walter’s ears. Each muscle on the runner was well defined, his look focused, and there was no wasted movement as his form was perfect.
Walter pulled the trigger, the rifle bucking against his shoulder.
The round slammed into the runner, sending the man tumbling onto the asphalt. A moment later, a high-pitched shriek filled the morning air, and Walter smiled. He stood up, slung the rifle over his shoulder, and bent down to roll up the poncho. Soon he had it tied and under one arm. The runner continued to scream, but Walter knew it would do little good. The particular stretch of road he had chosen was a favorite for runners and long distance cyclists, but not drivers. Too many potholes, too much debris from old trees.
Walter hooked a thumb under the sling of the rifle to keep it steady, and picked his way down the small hill he had positioned himself on. The closer he got to the road, the louder the cries of the wounded runner became.
Walter rolled his eyes and shook his head, disgusted with the loud complaints of the injured man.
When he reached the road, Walter stretched and shook his legs out, then took long strides towards the runner. He covered four hundred and twenty-nine feet before he reached the man and he was impressed with the amount of blood that had already leaked out. The runner’s face was pale, his lips blue, and his entire body shaking. Blood loss would claim his life in a matter of minutes if the shock of the injury didn’t do it first.
Smiling, Walter squatted down beside the man and waited.
Chapter 2: Searching for Something
Victor sat at the desk in Jeremy’s Boston apartment and tried to focus.
He had little luck with the effort.
It was October 21st, Erin’s birthday. His plans to celebrate the event were to bring roses to her grave.
Victor rubbed at his eyes, sighed, and stared at the laptop screen in front of him. He had pulled up eBay, and was scrolling through the hundreds of ‘guaranteed’ haunted items listed for sale. Victor wasn’t concerned with the sheer number, but whether or not any of them were being offered by the killer. The unknown seller who was dumping truly haunted, horrific items onto unsuspecting buyers.
There was no way to be sure though. It was nothing more than a guessing game, and one that he hated playing.
Victor’s cellphone rang, and when he saw it was Jeremy, he answered it.
“Yes?” Victor asked.
“I found them,” the older man said, his voice filled with excitement.
Victor straightened up. “You did?”
“I did,” Jeremy confirmed. “I thought I had gotten rid of them, but I hadn’t, thank God. I’ve loaded them up in the car, and I’ll be heading back from Norwich shortly.”
Victor sighed with relief. “Fantastic. Now we can get somewhere.”
“So I hope,” Jeremy said, “and I will reach out to Leanne again as well. She may have other catalogs listing items the Korzhs purchased. We may well get ahead of this seller, my friend.”
“I hope so,” Victor said. “How long until you get here?”
“Three hours,” Jeremy said, “perhaps four, if there is traffic. One can never tell.”
“Okay,” Victor said. “I’m going to hold off on looking anymore. This is driving me crazy.”
“A wise decision then,” Jeremy said. “Perhaps you should explore the city?”
“Boston?” Victor asked with a laugh. “No, no I don’t think so. Anyway, I’ll talk to you when you get here.”
They said their goodbyes and Victor hung up. He stood, stretched, and walked to the window, looking out onto the street below. Boston held hard memories for him. Of nights spent with Erin wandering around Newbury Street, visiting the bookstores and the vintage clothing shops.
No, Boston was off limits. At least for the time being.
Victor turned away from the window, went to the front door, and grabbed his keys off the hook. He needed to see her grave before it got any later. It was time to wish her happy birthday, even if he still wasn’t able to say goodbye to her.
Struggling with his sadness, Victor left the house in silence.
Chapter 3: A New House
Stefan still walked into the walls.
He had been in the new house for a few months, but continued to forget where walls and furniture were. The dead continued to complain when they thought they could get away with it, and he had been forced to isolate several of them. It wasn’t until he had secured them in lead boxes that the others finally toned down their disobedience.
Toned down, but did not stop.
Stefan poured himself a small glass of vodka, knocked it back and then went into the security room. He had multiple monitors positioned on the walls. Each screen showed feeds from six different cameras. The exterior of the house was under constant surveillance, as was the long driveway and parts of the road. Soon he would leave and return to see his father, and to learn what the dead man had heard through the ether.
Stefan stifled a groan at the thought of the pending visit to his father, and sat down at his computer. He powered it up, logged on, and was surprised to see an email waiting for him from someone named Stefan Korzh. Frowning, he clicked on it, confident his security software would prohibit any malignant program from infecting his system.
The email contained two words, Thank you, and a link to a news article. Rather than click on the link, he went to his search engine and typed in the name of the website. It was for a small newspaper out of West Lebanon, Vermont.
The article spoke about a runner who had been shot in the stomach and left to bleed to death on a small stretch of rural highway. According to the piece, the police had no suspects, or any information at all. They were requesting that anyone who was in the area that morning to come forward and speak with them.
Stefan wondered what the article could possibly have to do with him, why the person who had sent the link thanked him, and finally, tried to figure out how they emailed him from his own account.
Frustrated, he dug around on the internet for the better part of two hours, and then found it. Listed in the Dark Net, for a fee that Stefan was willing to pay, there was a backdoor entrance into the Vermont State Police’s computer system. Once there, Stefan rummaged around for another hour and found the report he wanted.
It spoke of the victim, and of the injury that the man had suffered. A large caliber rifle round, a .303 to be precise, and the person who had filed the report stated that the weapon used was more than likely a Lee Enfield rifle.
A smile spread across Stefan’s face.
The smile was followed by a chuckle, and then a cheerful laugh. He knew exactly what weapon it was and while he was surprised the new owner hadn’t killed himself with the rifle, which had been Stefan’s intention, the idea of it being used against others was equally pleasing.
Stefan offered the unknown buyer of the weapon a salute, shook his head, and turned his attention back to the hundreds of other items he had to eventually sell.
The world, he knew, wouldn’t destroy itself on its own.
Chapter 4: Seeking
Micky Anderson squatted near the stone wall and looked at the crime scene. From where he was, Micky had a perfect shot at someone running along the road. The leaves that covered the ground gave the impression of having borne some weight.
Standing up, Micky turned to Sergeant Rafferty.
Rafferty called it in, and when he finished, he looked at Micky and asked, “This the place?”
“More than likely,” Micky said, nodding. “Perfect firing lane. Sun would have been behind him. Not that the victim would have been looking for a shooter. Who would?”
Rafferty shook his head. “Think we’ll get anything from here?”
“If we’re lucky,” Micky replied. “I doubt it though. Guy seems to know what he’s doing. I doubt he’d be stupid enough to leave anything to chance at this point. Hell, there’s no shell casing, no sign of a tripod. And that’s a long shot. Coroner thinks the rifle he used may have been an old military issue.”
“I heard,” Rafferty said.
Several members of the forensics team climbed up the hill, and Micky told them where to set up. Together, he and Rafferty left the specialists to their work and returned to the road.
“Think this is a one-off?” Micky asked, lighting a cigarette.
Rafferty raised an eyebrow, asking in return, “What do you think?”
“Course not,” Micky said. “I’m pretty sure he’s just getting started.”
“My gut’s telling me the same thing,” Rafferty said.
“Mine’s telling me I’m hungry,” Micky said, leaning against his car, groaning as he did so.
“You’re looking a little too thick around the middle,” Rafferty observed. “Maybe you ought to cut back on the morning pastries.”
Micky snorted, coughed and said, “Yeah. Sure. And maybe Eileen will come back too.”
“Lose some weight. Stop smoking. Maybe see a shrink,” Rafferty said. “All pretty reasonable requests.”
“Sergeant,” Micky said, sighing, “shut up.”
Rafferty chuckled and said, “Sure thing, detective. I’ll tell Eileen you said that when she’s over with the kids tonight.”
Micky groaned.
“My sister’s going to come and see us whether you two are still together or not,” Rafferty said. “And I know better than to argue with her about certain concerns. Figured you would have learned the same after ten years of being together.”
“Evidently not,” Micky said. “Well, let’s get back to the station. We’ll have a bit of paperwork to go through if I’m not mistaken.”
“You’re not,” Rafferty said, going around to the driver’s side. “Need to stop anywhere on the way back?”
“Corner store,” Micky said, getting into the car.
“For what?” Rafferty asked as Micky stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray.
“Cup of coffee and a couple of donuts,” Micky answered. “I’m hungry.”
“How about the organic store off Main Street?” the sergeant asked.
“Donuts,” Micky said. “Donuts.”
“Organic store it is,” Rafferty said, and shifted the car into drive.
Mi
cky closed his eyes and shook his head. The day was not looking good.
Chapter 5: Conversations
Walter wiped the barrel of the rifle down once more, then set it on the table beside other pieces of the weapon. He had cleaned them all, oiling the wood of the stock and the leather of the strap. The shell casing had been reloaded, a fresh .30-06 round placed within it, waiting for the simple, chemical reaction that would send it hurtling down the barrel towards another target.
“Why do you love it so?”
Walter shifted his attention from the disassembled rifle to Brown.
The dead man stood by the back door, half hidden by the shadows. What Walter did see of Corporal Jonathan Brown was more than enough. The former Marine Corps sniper had suffered a brutal death on the island of Peleliu, and his ghostly form reflected that.
“Why did you?” Walter asked in return.
Brown chuckled. “Fair enough. When do we go out again?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Walter replied.
Brown stepped forward, the kitchen light passing through the gaping hole in his chest. The tattered remains of his left arm hung from the upper portion of his sleeve. A large portion of the corresponding hip was gone as well, the dead man walking with a curious hitch.
“Are you sure you don’t want to turn it on yourself?” Brown whispered. “Don’t you want to know what it would feel like, that round punching straight through?”
Walter felt an uncomfortable tug. Part of him did want to know. He could only imagine how it might be, the sensation of barrel pressed into the soft, under portion of his chin. The build-up of pressure in his finger as he prepared to pull the trigger.
Walter laughed and nodded to Brown, who chuckled in return. The dead man came forward and sat down at the table. A curious act considering Brown was a ghost.
“If you didn’t want to kill so much,” the dead man said, “I’d be able to convince you to blow your brains out.”
“I figured as much,” Walter said. “You know, I didn’t think the rifle was really haunted.”