Chapter Eight
The Plight of Aldorhaven
As Mr. Allen gave them the tour of the inn, Oliver tried to focus on the layout of the building instead of catching the attention of the dog that trailed at the older man’s feet. The brindle mutt was built like a hippopotamus with a wide snout and a rounded body, though much like a hippo, he moved quickly when he wanted to. Argos zipped from Mr. Allen’s side to the tree line to boof at a squirrel when he opened the door in the kitchen to show them the outhouse and clothesline should they need them. The inn itself was rather small with a cramped kitchen, a dining room large enough to accommodate half a dozen people, a locked room off the entrance that may have once been a front parlor but had been converted into Mr. Allen’s bedroom, and a sitting room tucked at the back like an oversight.
Oliver couldn’t imagine many people used it. It had the distinct look of a shared space that had been slowly taken over by one person. The walls were decorated with too many paintings of dogs and horses, and while the furniture was in decent shape, it was far too big for the room and the cushion on the chair nearest the fire was stacked with books and a magnifying glass. Years ago, the parlor may have been meant to be used by guests, but over time, it had gone from cozy to cluttered with knickknack shelves stuffed with ceramic and wooden creatures that creeped onto the mantle along with photographs and several racks of decorative pipes. At least the man chose pipes over cigarettes , Oliver thought as he eyed the pipe with a grinning green man’s face; of all the tobacco smoke, pipes were the least offensive.
“You’re a veteran, Mr. Allen?” Felipe asked, nodding toward a tintype of a young man in a union calvary uniform as Mr. Allen paused to poke at the banked fire.
“I was seventeen when I joined the War Between the States. First Ghost Regiment of the Pennsylvania Cavalry.” Mr. Allen’s features flushed with pride as he straightened. “That painting up there is of my horse. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t think I would have gotten through the war.”
In pride of place above the mantle was a framed pastel drawing of a large, brown horse with a white diamond on its nose. The horse stood in an encampment littered with tents, looking far more regal than it ought on a battlefield. Beneath the painting hung a Henry repeating rifle with a horse etched into its stock.
“The ghost regiments… Those were special all paranormal units, weren’t they?” Gwen added as she took a seat on the sofa.
When Mr. Allen picked up the pile of books and sank into the spindly chair near the fire, Oliver and Felipe sat a safe distance apart on the loveseat. “Yes, ma’am. Everyone in my regiment had some power or other. I have a touch of invisibility, so they sent me on reconnaissance missions or to deliver messages. I didn’t see much in the way of actual fighting and killing, but they kept me busy. Those missions had their own dangers,” he replied, patting his injured leg.
“I can definitely see that. You know, the New York Paranormal Society has made a point to record the stories of soldiers who were in the ghost regiments to preserve them in our archives. Before we leave, would you be willing tell me about your time in the army, Mr. Allen? ”
“I would be happy to.” Looking between the three of them, Mr. Allen’s smile faltered into a frown as he fingered the pipe in his hand. “With all of you here, I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you why I sent a letter to the paranormal society.”
“That would be helpful.”
No matter how many times Oliver watched Felipe shift from his life partner to his investigative partner, the subtle change never ceased to fascinate him. He was the same person, yet he felt more present and focused but also guarded. It was like seeing him through a prism or a pressurized version of him. Pulling out his pencil and notepad, Oliver waited for him to begin.
Leaning forward in his chair, Felipe cleared his throat and leveled his gaze at the innkeeper. “We read your letter and the scant report left by the second group of investigators from the New Jersey Branch of the Paranormal Society, but we couldn’t glean much from it.”
“The second pair, ugh. A bunch of ninnies. The first pair barely did anything, but the second— I know Aldorhaven isn’t the norm, but they had already made up their minds they weren’t staying before they even got here. They took one look at what was going on, packed up the other investigators’ stuff, and flew out of town like the hounds of hell were chasing them.”
“So what is going on?”
Mr. Allen drew in a tense breath as he filled his pipe with tobacco. At his feet, Argos glanced up at him with doleful eyes and hunkered closer to his legs. He smoothed a hand over the top of the dog’s wide head as he slowly replied, “I feel like you all are going to think I’ve lost my mind when I tell you. The first investigators certainly thought I had. If they don’t see things like this at the New Jersey Branch of the Paranormal Society, somehow, I doubt you see things like this in Manhattan.”
“Oh, we’ve seen our share of strange things.”
“But Aldorhaven is stranger than most. See, the problem is the dead aren’t staying dead.”
Oliver looked up from his notes to search the other man’s features for any signs of joking, but he was engrossed in lighting his pipe. “When you say the dead aren’t staying dead , do you mean that people are seeing ghosts, or do you mean the dead are actually coming out of their graves?”
“The second one.”
“Like actual corpses leaving their graves and going for a walk?”
“Yep.”
“And how long has this been happening?”
“About five years.”
The point snapped off Oliver’s pencil and rolled into his lap. “Five years! Five years you’ve had dead people popping out of their graves, and you only thought to write now?”
He knew his voice was rising an octave above where it should be, but he couldn’t help it. The whole thing was absurd. Five years ?! Either these people were having them on or Aldorhaven’s population had become far too desensitized to queerness. If the dead walking didn’t scare them, what did they live with normally? As Oliver dug in his jacket pocket for his pen, Felipe flashed him a pointed look of warning.
Clearing his throat, Felipe asked Mr. Allen far more gently, “What changed that made you concerned about the dead?”
“Well, for one, they started attacking people. At first, we would find them out of their graves or trying to escape their mausoleums. We would just put them back when we could and those we couldn’t, we buried beside the church. Then, all would be quiet for a time. We didn’t know if there were vandals or pranksters messing with them. You see, no one saw it happen because it only happened at night. We just found them in the morning wherever they ran out of steam. Until recently, it didn’t happen often, and they never got very far. Someone years ago once told me about those Medieval danse macabres, and I assumed it was something like that. Eerie but manageable.
“Then, things changed. I don’t know what, but they’re able to get around far easier and faster. They’ve now made it past the cemetery gates and gone after people. At first, we thought it might have been a freak accident or that the person who was attacked summoned the dead somehow, but then, it happened again and again. Those people swore up and down that they had done nothing to provoke an attack. After the second attack, there was talk of burning everyone in the cemetery to keep them from rising, but once that idea was thrown out, people started downplaying it. Someone got it into the others’ heads that they’re overreacting, and the dead just attack people sometimes. I lived outside of Aldorhaven for part of my life. This does not just happen, and it didn’t happen here when I was a child either. Something is going on. Something changed. That’s why I wrote to the Paranormal Society because no one here will do anything about it.”
Oliver’s pulse pounded in his ears as he jotted down everything Mr. Allen said. This was far worse than he had expected. Part of him still hoped maybe Mr. Allen was exaggerating and it might still be someone playing a prank or a vampire panic, but somehow, he doubted it. It all felt too complicated for that. Oliver tapped his pen against the paper. He had never heard of a case where the dead somehow left their graves without a necromancer’s help. That had to be it: a rogue necromancer was terrorizing the town. Quickly rereading his notes, Oliver silently sighed. This sort of thing was why his powers were stigmatized. It wasn’t funny to play on people’s fears, and it wasn’t right to manipulate the dead like that. Once he found out who it was, he and Felipe would put an end to it.
“You said this started about five years ago. Did anything happen then or did anyone new come to town?” Felipe asked.
Mr. Allen puffed on his pipe thoughtfully and shook his head. “No, no one new has moved to town as far as I know, and I’ve been back for twelve years now. People used to come here looking for work, but not anymore, even though we still have the ironworks and a mill. When I came back, I thought people weren’t staying because of the woods and such, so I converted my family’s home into an inn to let visitors acclimate since we’re at the edge of town. I thought if the industrial folks and their families stayed long enough, they’d get used to it.
“But Aldorhaven has changed for the worst since I left, and nothing seems to fix it. It used to be a booming town. It attracted magical people like us, but no one uses their gifts anymore. They have the mill and ironworks, so why bother? Then, the town stopped bringing people in and started refusing to let the ones already here go. People don’t leave town for more than a day or two, just enough to sell and buy what they have to before they return, but it wasn’t always like that. That only happened to a few people whose roots went too deep, and now, it’s everybody. It also seems to repel people who are trying to come in, which would explain some things. The first pair of investigators said it took them multiple tries to find the turn into town.”
Oliver frowned. He had felt the jolt when they crossed the magical threshold in his sinuses, but they had had no issue finding the turn.
“But you left?” Gwen said softly.
“Years and years ago, and it was difficult to leave then. As you can see, I’m back and haven’t left since, despite this walking dead nonsense. I’m as stuck as the rest of them.”
Felipe nodded thoughtfully. “Mr. Allen, do you think you could show us around town? We would like to start interviewing people soon and take a look at the bodies of those who came back before it gets dark.”
“Don’t expect cooperation, inspector. You’re not from here, and as far as they’re concerned, the dead coming back to life is somehow proof of Aldorhaven’s industriousness. Even our dead never sleep ,” Mr. Allen parroted with a roll of his eyes as he pushed to his feet. “But, yes, I’ll show you all around. Let’s go to the cemetery first. It’s the closest, and it will be better if you can start your investigation before anyone realizes you’re in town and interferes. I’m sure Luther Stills will have something to say about it.”
Before Mr. Allen could make it to the door, Felipe asked, “One last thing, do you have any idea what happened to the first pair of investigators?”
The innkeeper froze, his hand tightening on the head of his cane. When he turned back to them, he looked far older than he probably was. “Yes and no. After I told them what I knew about the dead, they went off on their own to investigate. I should have insisted I go with them, but they gave me the brush-off when I tried to tell them what had happened, and I was annoyed. When they didn’t come back for dinner that night, I assumed they ate at the Fool’s Fire since that’s where most of the single men in town eat. After I got up in the morning, I realized they still hadn’t returned, so I went looking for them. Mrs. Owens, who runs the general store, said she last saw them going into the woods around two o’clock. I told them not to go into the Dysterwood under any circumstances, but they didn’t listen. I kept looking and asking after them, but I never saw them again.”
“Did anyone go into the woods to look for them?” Oliver asked.
“Son, there’s only one family that can go in those woods, and they aren’t helping anyone but themselves. Once something goes into the Dysterwood, it belongs to the Lady, and there’s no getting it back,” Mr. Allen replied before turning and leaving the sitting room with Argos on his heels.
***
Oliver hugged his coat closer against the fall chill as he followed Felipe, Gwen, and Mr. Allen up the hill to the cemetery. His mind turned over every ominous thing Mr. Allen had told them since they arrived. The dead rising, the town trapping people, the unnamed dangers lurking in the woods, and god knows what else. He wanted to ask him about everything, but the man had disappeared to suit up for their trek into town and hadn’t volunteered anything since.
All of them were on edge. Even if he couldn’t feel Gwen’s thoughts, Oliver could see the pensive set of her mouth and the way she narrowed her eyes at nothing as she did when her research wasn’t adding up. While Felipe’s face had become an impassive mask, every once in a while, Oliver felt a pang of dread as if he had run his heart across cold steel. He wasn’t certain what had upset Felipe more, the possibility of dealing with a rogue necromancer or the way Mr. Allen talked about the forest. He assumed the latter. Felipe hadn’t wanted to visit the murder town for a reason, and that forest was as good a reason as any to stay away. It could have been hyperbole and superstition, but why chance it? The first pair of investigators either aimlessly wandered around the Pine Barrens until they succumbed to the elements, or they had been killed by something the day they trespassed into the woods. Either way, they had probably met a bad end.
At the top of the hill, Mr. Allen stopped at the cemetery’s iron fence. Through the bars, Oliver could see an expansive lawn with graves and tombs as far as the eye could see. In the center further up the hill, stood a ramshackle building that might have once been a church, but only feet behind it, the trees of the forest loomed. The oaks and pines at the periphery of the forest leaned forward, dusting the taller graves with their shaggy boughs. Their shadow fell over the dead, but what gave Oliver pause was the way the trees moved with an unseen wind. They shivered and danced, reaching forward with a renewed fervor as Mr. Allen tugged a bar loose from the fence and motioned for the three of them to slip inside. The older man gave the trees a wary look half a second before a shiver passed down Oliver’s spine. Oliver looked around for the source of the sensation, but all he could find was the smell of sweet grass instead of dry leaves. Rubbing his itchy nose, Oliver passed through the gap and held Felipe’s Kodak while he helped Mr. Allen through the gap in the ironwork.
“Stay close, try to be quiet, and remember what I said about the woods,” Mr. Allen instructed, setting the bar back in place.
“So are we supposed to stay away from all the trees or is there a specific part that’s considered the Dysterwood?” Oliver asked, eyeing the trees as their susurrus murmurings finally ceased.
“The Dysterwood encircles the whole town apart from the far end of the river and the sliver of road by the inn, and even there, it’s growing closer. It wasn’t always this close, but it’s gotten greedy and is encroaching on town more and more. Over here, it used to start a ways back, beyond the farthest grave. As you can see, it’s climbing the hill, eating up everything in its path.” Mr. Allen tutted and shook his head. “Nothing to do about it now. Come this way, folks. We put the bodies in the church for safekeeping.”
Oliver and Felipe exchanged a silent look as Mr. Allen strode forward with Gwen at his side as she peppered him with questions about the types of trees. Oliver could understand why the other investigators brushed him off. As they silently crossed the lawn, Oliver hung back a step, scanning the names and dates on the tombstones for anyone with the name Joanna. Maybe if he could find her grave, he would be able to find his father’s surname without having to ask. By the time they reached the church, he had found one Joanna, but the spelling was wrong as were the dates. Oliver pushed down his disappointment; he could always come back and look later.
Up close, the old church looked even worse for wear. While the windows were somehow still intact, the cupola appeared singed and shattered, and paint peeled off the sides of the building like birch bark to reveal the rotting boards beneath. Oliver sniffed the air and recoiled. There was definitely something dead in there. At a sharp poke of anxiety flashing across the tether, Oliver turned to find Felipe looking peaked already. Digging around in his gladstone, Oliver pulled out a thick handkerchief and handed it to Felipe, who immediately stopped to wrap it around his nose and mouth.
“How about I take a look at the bodies by myself first,” Oliver whispered to Felipe as Mr. Allen stopped to dig around in his pockets. “I’ll call you in when I know for sure what I need photographs of, and while I’m examining the bodies, you and Gwen can talk to Mr. Allen about the dead and the people they attacked.”
“If you’re sure, then, I’ll—”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Gwen hiss-whispered. “You are not relegating me to question duty, Oliver Barlow. Remember, you need my vampire expertise, and I need corpse experience for my book. They’re the most important part. Besides, if I’m with you, I can take notes, and then you won’t get your notebook corpsy.”
“I was trying to save you from the smell.” When she gave him a hard look, Oliver sighed. Better Gwen than Felipe. “Fine, but if you feel like you’re going to vomit, please do it outside.”
Rolling her eyes, Gwen shook her head and strode toward the church. Oliver made to follow when Felipe caught his arm and pulled him closer. Oliver forced his hand to stay at his side, resisting the urge to rest it on Felipe’s hip while he spoke like he did at home.
“I’ll stay and talk to Mr. Allen about the victims, but I don’t like you going in unprotected.”
“I promise I’ll be careful.”
“I know.” Leaning close enough that Oliver could feel the flutter of fabric and lashes on his cheek, Felipe added, “Three tugs for an emergency. Two tugs if you need me. One for I love you.”
The press of his lips on his cheek was so quick Oliver might have missed it as Felipe stepped away if it weren’t for the single tug on the tether. Oliver’s cheeks heated as he gave it a tug in return and ducked his head as he dug through his gladstone for the parcel of cheese he had brought with him. He knew convincing Felipe to go back to the inn or visit the tavern when they just began their investigation would be impossible. So far, Felipe’s hands were steady and his face unmarred by dark circles, but it was only a matter of time before they appeared if he didn’t stop to eat.
“Here, I brought this for you. Eat a little while I’m in there.” When Felipe looked like he wanted to argue, Oliver shoved it into his hands. “I don’t think it will be edible for long if it stays in my bag.”
Felipe said nothing as he pocketed the waxed paper full of cheese, but Oliver smiled at the sluice of warmth across the tether. When he turned back to the church, Mr. Allen stood waiting and watching them from the door.
“Everything settled, then? Good,” he said as he pulled out a heavy, iron skeleton key that was as old and weathered as the church. “The others wouldn’t want me to let you in here, but Luther forgets I have a key as well. My father was the sheriff and the groundskeeper here for many years. He had keys to everything.”
When Felipe reached for his gun, Mr. Allen waved it away .
“You’re safe in daylight but keep an eye out for a balding man in a frock coat. He’s far more of a danger to you than the dead are right now, but don’t pull a gun on him, or I’ll never hear the end of it.” As Mr. Allen slipped the key into the lock and tugged on the door handle, he grimaced. “I would brace myself if I were you. I haven’t opened the building in almost a fortnight, and the bodies weren’t all in the best shape to begin with.”
When the old church doors swung open, Oliver wondered, not for the first time, what he had gotten them into.