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Chapter 13

Author: Rhonnie Fordham

“Doctor Of Death…” Amanda stated it with the frightening reverence such a name deserved. A moniker intended to evoke the queasy unease and shock-fueled fright that such an exploitative name promised.

Not missing a beat, Bridget went on like a dutiful news reporter. “This all happened in the early fifties. Dr. Artis Carpenter… he was a big name in Stanwyck. He’d been working at the hospital for ten years, but no one knew what he was doing. No one really caught on until much later, that is.”

“What happened?”

Focusing on Amanda like a cop with bad news, Bridget looked right into Amanda’s eyes. “It turns out he’d been killing his patients.”

“Are you fucking kidding me…” Disgust flowed with the nervous trepidation in Amanda’s voice.

“No one really knew at first, but the numbers just kept growing,” Bridget said. “The wrong procedures, the wrong prescriptions. Patients dying mysteriously under his watch.”

“Did anyone do anything about it?”

Bridget shook her head. “No, they decided to keep it quiet. It wasn’t a cover-up really, but no one wanted to dig into it because of his reputation and family. His name.”

“Fucking sick pieces of shit!” Amanda spouted.

“Dr. Carpenter was a major part of the community,” Bridget explained. “He was a family man, a churchgoer. He was always handing out donations. He was the hometown kid of Stanwyck.”

Amanda didn’t say anything. She was pissed yet the story was compelling.

Like a know-it-all tour guide, Bridget motioned toward the house. “He’d built this house a year before they finally caught him. They’d caught him red-handed giving an old woman a deadly dose of morphine.”

“Wow…” Amanda exclaimed.

“Yeah, she was a big socialite in town.”

Amanda stared off at the house, her eyes really honing in on it. “What’d they do to him?” she asked. She looked over at Bridget. “Did they just let him walk?”

Keeping her serious poise, Bridget took a step toward Amanda. “No,” Bridget stated. She stole a glance at the Christy home. The house seemed to invite both her gaze and soul. “All the local bigwigs and police went and talked to him in private. They didn’t wanna make a big scene out of it… through it all, they still seemed to respect him. After all, it was Dr. Artis. He’d treated their kids and given them lollipops. He’d sponsored a Little League team. He was one of the good guys.”

Amanda scoffed.

“They talked to him, but somewhere during that interview, he apparently lost it. He claimed he was only killing off the wicked. The “demons” as he saw them.” Bridget faced Amanda. “They didn’t buy it, of course. And the sad thing is they probably would’ve bought any old excuse if he had just played dumb.” With only cynicism and not a trace of sarcasm, Bridget looked toward the gate, looking off at the neighborhood. “This was Stanwyck. They didn’t want to believe Dr. Artis was a cold-hearted killer.”

Intrigued, Amanda grabbed Bridget’s shoulder with the force of a fan wanting to hear their favorite storyteller’s next word. “So what’d they do to him? Did his family know about this? Did they know all along?”

Bridget hesitated, too scared of what the answer to question number three could be. “I don’t know, honestly. But as for Artis… well, the police had to do something. But they were respectful. They were gentle to this particular killer.”

Amanda didn’t react to this slice of sarcasm.

“To save his family and his own reputation, the police gave Artis an option,” Bridget continued. “The only way he could save them from what his horrible acts would bring. The only way to stop the story from going public.”

Anxious, Amanda looked over at the garden, wanting to avoid eye contact. But Bridget’s eyes never left her.

“They found Dr. Artis hanging in his basement the following morning,” Bridget said. “The press reported it as just a tragedy. A mindless suicide.” She looked back at the house, some hint of melancholy descending into her distant eyes. “No one ever reported what he actually did.”

Timid, Amanda looked at Bridget.

“Instead, his crimes were largely forgotten,” Bridget continued. “The “Doctor Of Death” title he deserved only came to exist in urban legends and local rumors.” She looked right at Amanda, further frightening Amanda with her intensity. “Even though it was all true.”

Stuttering on her fear, Amanda struggled to talk. “So it’s him? It was him all along.”

“I think so,” Bridget replied with confidence. “I saw him down there in the basement.”

“Shit,” Amanda said in fright.

“I know I did. I think I’ve heard him too.”

Overcome in fear, Amanda looked toward the ground. She was a helpless and pitiful sight. An anxious gardener.

Trying to reassure Amanda, Bridget rubbed her shoulder. “That’s not it though, I’m afraid.” Bridget made sure to keep her voice at a soft, gentle clip. She knew the eerie truth was already too much for Amanda. But then again, this would all be too much for anybody, Bridget realized.

Dread in those green eyes, Amanda faced her.

“He left his family one dying request,” Bridget said. “Dr. Carpenter’s final wish.”

“What was it?” Amanda asked.

“He had his wife dissect his corpse before the cops arrived. Her and the children. They smeared his blood over each and every wall in that house.”

Speechless, Amanda’s horrified expression said it all.

Bridget lowered her hand away from Amanda’s shoulder and took an uneasy step backward. “It was a fucking red paint job,” she stated. “It was everywhere. Dr. Carpenter’s wife, their two children. They did all this willingly.”

“No fucking way…”

“The police got there and found the body. But they didn’t wanna say anything. I mean they couldn’t. So it was just a suicide. That’s it… hardly any crime scene photos were ever made public.”

Haunted by the story, Amanda looked back at the house. It loomed in the distance like always. Always beckoning her curious eyes. “It’s like he never left,” she said in a weak voice.

“Exactly,” Bridget said. “The walls must’ve soaked up his evil. All of his malevolence.” She glowered at the house. “His fucking spirit.”

Bitter tears slid down Amanda’s face. Like she was embarrassed, she swiped the teardrops away. “The Doctor Of Death,” she said in quiet anger.

Like a teacher emphasizing their lesson, Bridget pointed toward the house. “He’s still in there, Amanda! It’s him that’s in that fucking house!”

Amanda glared at Bridget.

“He’s the one who possessed John and now he’s after you!” Bridget yelled.

Outraged, Amanda snatched Bridget’s arm. She looked right into her eyes with those stunning green irises. From wounded victim to pissed-off Southern Belle in a split second. “Why didn’t you tell me from the start!” she screamed.

Out of shame, Bridget didn’t say anything.

“Why!” Amanda yelled.

Bridget caved in. “We weren’t sure if it was true at first,” Bridget said defensively.

“This whole time we were living with the Doctor Of Death!”

“We didn’t know!” Bridget replied. “Plus we didn’t want to freak you out anymore or…” She paused, trying to think of how to say her next reason.

“Or what!”

“We didn’t want you trying to act anything out. Like play along with the story, pretend you were seeing him. You get what I’m saying.”

“I know.”

Like she needed an extra push to continue, Bridget looked over at the Christy house. Even just standing there with innocent indifference, the house seemed to intimidate her. Like it was teasing her with all the horror she’d seen within it. And all the horror that awaited them. Bridget reflected on her experiences for a moment. “Because I didn’t tell you anything, I knew you were telling the truth when I saw him,” Bridget said. “I saw his body. I knew he was there, I knew it was him.” She faced Amanda. “I knew the legends were true.”

Calmer, Amanda let go of Bridget’s arm. Bridget’s sincerity was obvious. Behind the cynicism and sarcasm, Bridget cared.

“You see, this house,” Bridget went on. “The evil in it. All of it mixes together.” She grabbed a hold of Amanda’s hand, wanting her full attention. “Think of it like timelines. Or a time warp!”

“What do you mean?” Amanda asked, the house’s lore both scaring and puzzling her.

“Every traumatic incident that happened here is trapped inside those walls forever.”

“How…”

“Think about it,” Bridget went on with a passionate fervor. “Artis hanging himself, the Christy family massacre.”

The horror overwhelming her, Amanda looked away.

Persuasive, Bridget pulled on Amanda’s hand, making Amanda look right at her. “John and the children.”

“No!” Amanda tried to break away. The legends were making her panic in a freak out of madness.

Bridget grabbed her by the shoulders. “Amanda, it’s why we keep seeing them. Why we keep hearing them! Their spirits are trapped inside that house. Where all the evil occurred. Artis’s evil. It’ll always live on in there.”

Amanda looked right at her focused eyes. “He got into John, didn’t he,” Amanda said.

“It’s Artis’s spirit!” Bridget proclaimed. “It permeates through the living. People like John or Steven, they were easier for him to take over because of their pasts. He can influence them-”

“Oh God!” Amanda cried in anguish as she staggered away, breaking away from Bridget.

The concerned Bridget reached toward her. “Amanda.”

Fighting off tears of regret, Amanda confronted her, stopping Bridget in her tracks with the stare of a broken woman. “I should’ve known! I could’ve saved them, I could’ve gotten us out of this house!”

“You couldn’t have known, Amanda. No one would.”

“No, I knew it! Deep down, I knew something was changing him!”

Bridget shook her, trying to snap Amanda out of this overemotional hysteria. “No, you couldn’t, Amanda! I promise! There was no way!”

Amanda’s frenzied eyes stared right at Bridget. She was trying to yell more, but Bridget’s stern demeanor kept her in check.

“The story was hidden so deep,” Bridget continued. “Hardly anyone knows about Dr. Carpenter living here, much less his killing spree. Hell, no one probably would’ve believed you anyway. You didn’t even know about the Christys.” She caressed Amanda’s shoulder with a gentle touch. “The whole house’s built off of secrets and lies. You couldn’t have told anyone or moved John out of that house. It had him under control, and once it did, there was no going back.”

“I should’ve tried though,” Amanda stated with sadness. “I could’ve…”

“I’m sorry,” Bridget said. Sincere, she squeezed Amanda’s shoulder in a soothing grip. “But there was nothing you could do, Amanda. No one told you the truth about this place.” With comforting calmness, Bridget let go of Amanda’s shoulder. “None of you had a chance.”

Her nerves relaxing, Amanda nodded.

“We’re all here with you now,” Bridget said. “Just one more night and you’ll be out of here for good.” She gave Amanda a warm smile that offset the suffocating fear o their current situation. “Then you can leave all this behind. The evil, the memories.” She glanced over at the Christy place. “The house.”

“But what if he follows me?” Amanda asked, visible unease still present in her veins.

Bridget turned and faced her, pondering the question.

“You said it earlier,” Amanda went on in a trembling voice. “John wants me. He’s not gonna stop even if I leave. He’s gonna keep coming after me.”

“I think there’s a way to break that,” Bridget replied.

“What?” Amanda asked, vague hope shining through her ever-present anxiety.

Bridget hesitated. She wanted to sound confident even if she wasn’t a hundred percent certain. “Just think of it like closure.”

“What do you mean-”

“Look, just hear me out,” Bridget interjected. She did her best to showcase her demeanor as the leading authority on all things paranormal. Or at least she wanted to sound like it. Her constant, excited hand gestures were a nice selling point. “In order to move on and get away from John’s spirit, I think you have to have this final night. You have to stand up for yourself! Like you were saying.”

The words stuck with Amanda. Bridget could tell she was intrigued. And not just because it was hope that she could escape an evil spirit. Amanda looked like a woman being introduced to the concept of self-sufficiency. Like a 1940s housewife being exposed to radical feminism for the first time.

“I told you everything about the house,” Bridget stated. “You know the legends, the stories. I think that by understanding all that, you can at least face John one last time. You know what he is. What caused this to happen.”

“I know,” Amanda said quietly.

Bridget placed her hand back on Amanda’s shoulder as she leaned in closer. “It wasn’t your fault. Just remember that, Amanda. It wasn’t your fault. You can let go of that guilt and stop blaming yourself. Then you can fight back. You won’t be afraid of him, he can’t hurt you.”

Hesitant, Amanda looked over at the house with a little less dread than usual. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“I think it’s worth a shot,” Bridget quickly replied, masking her uncertainty quite well. “You can stay and fight back. Stand up for yourself and face him.”

“Easier said than done,” Amanda stated. She confronted the Christy home once more. The sight of John’s spirit. The sight of the torment. The sight of her worst memories. “But it’s my only choice. I knew that all along.”

“It’s just one night.” Bridget rubbed Amanda’s shoulder, reassuring her with the encouragement of a life-long friend rather than professional psychiatrist. “I’ll be right there with you.”

The two were silent for a moment. “It’s time I did it,” Amanda said, her eyes never straying from the house. “I need to say goodbye.”

*

The kitchen was quiet. No longer the scene of a developing Kevin Riley deal or of a Linda Kane rationale for why the paranormal investigation should go on. Instead, Tony Winston sat there all alone at the kitchen table, his back to the kitchen doorway. A half-eaten tray of cookies lied on the table in front of him. Stale cookies at that. In fact, all the dinners at the Christy home had been nothing more than canned goods and out-of-date snacks. Remnants from Amanda’s family life. She wasn’t ever in the mood to cook anymore. Not that it mattered much to Bridget, Kevin, or Linda since they all had more important things to occupy their minds via ghost hunts and business negotiations. Apparently, Tony was the only one clamoring for a real meal.

At this point in the evening, Tony wasn’t so much bored as he was restless. Kevin and Linda had disappeared on him, and he wasn’t really sure if he wanted to know where the two lovebirds went. But still… being left alone anywhere in the Goddamn Christy house wasn’t exactly comforting either.

Doing his best to stay distracted from whatever lurked around him, Tony scrolled Reddit on his phone. Idiotic GIFS of idiotic people doing idiotic things, unreasonable rants from internet warriors, cozy videos of cute old people with their grandchildren. It was brainless time-killer, but none of it was ailing his anxiety. Sighing, Tony looked away from the stream of frivolous content. He felt like he was killing more brain cells than time at this point. He eyed the tray of cookies. Only one row was left, and they all looked to be gathering dust. Not the most appetizing meal Tony had ever had.

“Fuck it,” Tony said. He reached for the row of treats.

Murmured whispering played toward him like terrifying music to his vulnerable ears. Tony stopped and looked all around the room. The whispers of children continued. Not just children, but playful children. Like they knew something Tony didn’t. A game of hide and seek in the dark in which the hiders were conspiring against a terrified seeker.

Tony looked all around the room but didn’t see a thing. Soon, the whispering faded away. The room was quiet once more. “What the fuck,” Tony said to himself in heightened fear. “What the fuck was that…”

Above him, the lights flickered momentarily. Another taunt from the Christy home.

Scared, Tony looked right up at the blinking lights. They lit the scene in hypnotic flashes.

Holding hands, Michael and Amy creeped past the kitchen doorway. Blood all over their clothes and young skin. They never once turned as they disappeared into the living room.

Feeling a presence, Tony turned around real quick. But nothing was in the doorway. The children were gone. Tony stared at the spot with simultaneous suspicion and unease. All the while, the lights continued beaming down in fragments upon him. Combined with the dread-induced silence, the flickering illuminated the room like an abandoned stage.

“Hello,” Tony said aloud.

The lights went steady. Somehow, they were even brighter. Tony turned and looked up at them. They bared down on him like otherworldly spotlights. Cringing, Tony shielded his eyes from their immense glare. “Shit, man.”

Right behind him, John lumbered past the doorway, his steps so heavy and stern. He turned and glared at the oblivious Tony, blood still smeared all over John’s dead face. Disappearing just as quick as his children, John followed them into the living room.