Echoes (Whisper Trilogy Book 2) (3 page)

“I… I don’t know if we should be building there,” Celia said, glancing at Rollins for support.

“What’s the matter?” Marshall chuckled. “Don’t tell me you believe in all this curse talk?”

“No, of course not,” she stammered. “It’s just I don’t see how this will keep people away. If anything it will draw them in.”

“That’s where my brother comes in. He presents one of those ghost-hunting shows on TV. We have him over on opening night to do one of his investigations in the hotel. When he turns up empty-handed, it will make people think twice about coming out here at all. Everybody wins.”

“I don’t think this is a very good idea,” Rollins said, the authority in his voice still present from his days in the military. “I can’t see how in good conscience we can agree to this. For one, we just can’t afford it. We don’t have the resources to authorize a building project, not when we are stretched so thinly. Besides, you don’t even know who owns the land there. This seems like a non-starter to me.”

“Actually, I do.”

Marshall was greeted with raised eyebrows at that.

“As you know the land belonged to Will Jones, who was left it by his father, and his father before him. When he passed, nobody was sure who would own the land, as Will had no siblings, or at least none he knew of. I managed to trace an unknown descendant, a son born via his first wife who is the rightful owner of the land.”

“You have proof of this?” Celia asked.

“Not yet, but he’s agreed to a DNA test to confirm. He has also agreed to sell the land to me personally.”

“We still can’t afford to invest any of our resources in building!” Rollins snapped.

“No, I understand. Which is why I intend to fund the build myself. All I need from you fine people is the permission to go ahead with the construction.”

He was greeted with stony silence as they looked at him. For the first time, his smile faltered.

“Look, Henry…” Dennis said, offering a slimy grin of his own. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, however I think I speak for all of us when I say this situation is a little disconcerting.”

“For what reason?”

“Even if you do buy the land and build the hotel, what if it fails? Worse, what if it succeeds and brings more of the tourists we’re trying to get rid of?”

“The town is dying. All I need is permission to build.”

“What’s in it for the town?”

Everyone looked at Rollins, who was in turn staring at Marshal with barely veiled disgust.

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean, councilor Marshall, is exactly what I said. You build the hotel. You reap the profits from any income it generates. You get rich. Where does the town benefit? As far as I see, it will leave us in much the same predicament as we’re in now. Besides which, I hardly think we should be hacking down such lush woodland without good reason.”

Marshall opened his mouth, however couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Fury raced through him as he glared at the retired Major. It was only Celia’s interjection which stopped it from happening.

“In theory, I’m not opposed to this,” Celia said, ignoring the icy stare from her fellow councilors. “I don’t see what harm it would do to try. Things can’t get any worse.”

“Well, I definitely oppose this!” Rollins barked.

“As do I,” Dennis added.

Marshall didn’t outwardly react despite the anger which raged in him. He needed a majority vote, and whilst they were split, nothing could happen. Forcing himself to remain calm, he folded his hands on the table and took a deep breath.

“I appreciate your concerns. As for the benefit to the town, I thought I made it clear from the offset. It will be a place, a specific place for tourists to go. If they can drive from wherever they live and stay at a hotel before going home, they won’t need to stay here, which mean these new businesses won’t take any money, which means they’ll close and our own townsfolk can put their businesses back in order. True, I’ll be making a profit from the business. To that I say why shouldn’t I? If I’m investing in both the land and the build without asking the town for any funds to contribute, then I don’t see a problem. At least take some time to think about it. The landowner is coming into town later this week to look over the site and finalize the sale. I suggest we reconvene on, let’s say Thursday morning?”

“I can’t do Thursday. I have a meeting with the chief of police,” Rollins said, his lips pursed as he stared at Marshall.

“Okay, how about Friday? Any objections?”

Nobody replied, and so he stood lifting his briefcase onto the table.

“You know, maybe the best way to deal with this isn’t to sweep it under the carpet but to meet it head-on. Right now all we have done is close the stable door well after the horse has bolted.”

He glared at Rollins and Cleaver, and was surprised to see Cleaver at least squirm. The retired Major however, remained calm and impenetrable.

“All I want is a chance to give us back the town we grew up in. God knows, all you have to do is look out of the window and see what it’s become. I’m sure none of us want to live like this. I’m just offering a solution. Please, think it over. Give me a chance to try to fix the problem.”

“No matter how many times we reconvene Henry, I won’t change my mind,” Rollins said, fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket and slotting one into the corner of his mouth. “Too much has happened up there over the years. The best thing we can do is let it die.”

“You do that,” Marshall shot back as he gathered his briefcase, “And the rest of the town goes with it. It’s only a matter of time. Friday morning. Nine sharp.”

He didn’t look back as he left. Even so, he could feel the eyes of his colleagues on him as he walked towards the door. He hoped they would side with him, but was also prepared for the possibility they wouldn’t. Although the council was supposed to be fair, he had learned over the years there were always ways to bring people around to your own way of thinking. Rollins was the key. If he could be swayed, Cleaver would follow suit like the obedient dog he was. Fortunately, he knew just which skeletons to pull out of the closet of Edgar Rollins, even if to do so wouldn’t be very pretty.

CHAPTER 3

Ever since the Hope House fire a two mile perimeter had been cordoned off around the site and labeled as a no access zone. Large chain-link fences lined the perimeter of the land and house, which had been officially condemned soon after that winter night when a local realtor called Donovan killed two people before setting the house ablaze and almost killing the occupants. The fences were patrolled regularly by two security guards accompanied by vicious attack dogs to deter any would-be souvenir hunters.

Even though the forest was starting to claim the metallic fences as its own, it still couldn’t prevent the curious from wandering about the site, and as a result it had become something of an urban legend. A myth, a thing passed down by word of mouth until it had grown into obsession for some. There were those who believed the fire hadn’t been started by Donovan, instead it was due to violent spiritual forces which were said to inhabit the woods.

Sixteen year-old Cody Reynolds crouched in the undergrowth on his haunches, ignoring the maddening tickle of the long grass on his arms. His friend, Scott, crouched beside him, and both smirked as they watched the security guard amble past the fence some forty feet away.

“You got the wire-cutters?”

“Yeah,” Cody replied, pushing his red-streaked fringe aside and tucking it behind his ear. “And the camera. This is gonna make us famous.”

He checked his watch and handed the wire-cutters to Scott.

“Okay, we’ve got seven minutes until the guard comes back around. Remember to cut the wire close to the edge of the fence panel so we can squeeze through without anyone knowing about it.”

The pair watched the white shirt of the guard disappear into the trees, then jogged forward half-crouched as they approached an exposed section of the fence. Cody watched while Scott went to worked the cutters, making a hole big enough for them to squeeze through.

“You think there’ll be anything left?” Scott asked, turning to his friend for a second.

“Definitely. Buddy of mine came up here a couple of months ago. Said there’s all kinds of shit left up there they never bothered to clean up. Come on, hurry up.”

A gentle breeze swayed the tall grass, making it sing. Cody and Scott both froze, listening and staring into the tangle of trees, then, catching each others eye, laughed and returned to their tasks.

“Do you believe it?” Scott asked as he cut through another stubborn wire. “What happened up here I mean.”

“About the ghosts? Are you kidding me?”

“You must have seen the stories though, about… about the trees.”

“Yeah, we’ve all heard them. But it’s the middle of the day. Nothing scary about this place apart from the thought of the security guard coming back and setting his dog on us. How are we doing with the fence?”

“Just about… got it!” Scott said cutting through the final section of wire. The pair pushed against the mesh, bending it inwards at the bottom corner to allow them access.

“I can’t believe we’re really going up there. Nobody will believe us.”

“Why do you think I brought the camera? Now get on in there before this asshole and his dog come back,” Cody said, giving the woods another nervous check. He would never admit to it, but he was already feeling spooked. He followed his companion through the tiny gap in the fence, pausing to push the wire back into place and hide evidence of their trespass. Satisfied their tracks were hidden, the two boys plunged into the dense woodland ahead, and were swallowed up by its depths long before the security guard arrived.

“Which way is it?” Scott whispered. Now on the other side of the fence, he felt infinitely less confident. His face was already sweaty, his brown eyes keeping a weary watch on the dense tangle of trees as they trudged through the forest.

Cody pulled his phone out of his pocket, and launched the maps application.

“I preloaded the location on the GPS. Give it a second.”

They waited in the shadow of a huge oak as the GPS pinpointed exactly where they were, showing the woodland stretching around them.

“I don’t see it on the map,” Scott said, again giving a nervous glance at the dancing foliage being manipulated by the breeze.

“It’s unmarked,” Cody replied as the satellite pinpointed their location.

“How will we find it?”

“You see that?” Cody said, pointing to a brown line cutting through the green overhead map displayed onscreen. “It’s the access road which used to lead to the house. If we keep the road on our right and the river on our left, we can’t miss it.”

“I uh, I don’t know if we should be doing this,” Scott mumbled as the trees again rustled in song, the wind slicing through their boughs.

“Don’t tell me you’re pussying out on me?” Cody said, flashing an arrogant grin.

“No, it’s just if we get caught…” he trailed off and stared at his shoes.

“We won’t get caught. Besides we’ve done the hard part in getting through the fence. Come on, let’s go.”

Without waiting for his Scott’s approval, Cody set off into the woods, periodically checking the GPS on his phone to ensure they were in the right place.

From the moment they’d set off earlier that morning, the pair had been chatting and joking. Now they walked in silence, Cody leading with Scott just behind. The forest was disorientating, and as much as Cody seemed to grow in confidence the deeper they went, Scott appeared to become more and more withdrawn.

“I think I see it!” Cody shouted, unable to hide his excitement.

The forest ahead had come to an abrupt end, and was now filled with shimmering golden sun. They entered the clearing, squinting at the sudden change from dark to light. The crystalline air was cold and crisp, their breath fogging in front of them before being dragged away by the slight draft. The clearing was dense with thorns and tall grass, long overgrown, and as the wind moved the trees it left mottled kaleidoscopic patterns of bright light dancing across the floor. Just ahead, looming like a black, rotten tooth jutting out of the ground, was the reason they’d come here – the charred remains of Hope House.

Cody sucked in breath as he stared at the blackened, fragmented structure. He pulled the video camera out of his bag and started to shoot. The corner of the building still standing was daubed with graffiti, and the ground around the house was littered with evidence of campfires and parties. Empty beer bottles lay strewn across the debris field, their shattered remains glimmering like tiny islands of fire when they were caught by the sun.

“Check this out,” Cody said with a grin, pointing to a faded porno mag pinned to one of the blackened roof beams now lying on the ground.

“You can still smell it,” Scott mumbled, kicking through crushed cans and shattered wine bottles.

Cody nodded. It was true. The crisp air was tinged with the sooty aroma of fire, making the experience all the more real.

“Hey check this out,” Scott said picking up a crumpled, mould-covered photograph from the debris. “You think this is them? The homeowners?”