Pumpkin Pie Waffle: Book 5 in The Diner of the Dead Series Page 7

  “Is Sammy in trouble?” the poor woman whispered behind the beginnings of tears.

  “We don’t know for sure,” Sheriff Thompson replied calmly. “We just think he may be with a girl who we’re looking for.”

  “Oh,” she replied with a somewhat nervous sigh. “What girl?”

  “Marissa Hamilton,” Sonja chimed in.

  “I see,” the woman replied knowingly.

  “Were you aware that he may be with the young lady?” Sheriff Thompson asked.

  “No, I wasn’t. I’m not surprised, though. He’s been obsessing over that girl for weeks.”

  “Do you know what direction he might have gone?”

  Mrs. Sander, just like Mrs. Hamilton, looked sickly. Sonja reached out and touched her arm. “We just need your help,” she comforted her. “Sam will be fine.”

  The mother nodded. “Alright. If you say so, Sonja.” Gulping down her nervousness, she finally spoke. “I told him I’d meet him in the school parking lot when he finished trick-or-treating. We’re supposed to go get donuts and hot chocolate afterward. It’s sort of a tradition.”

  Sonja nodded. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  Pulling into the parking lot, Sonja instantly spotted the outline of two of teenage boys standing under the school’s only lamp post. “There,” she said, pointing at the group.

  Sheriff Thompson instinctively turned on his flashers and beeped the siren once. Instantly, the group of kids broke off and ran into the darkness.

  “Why did you do that?” Sonja exclaimed, “You scared them off.”

  Getting out of the car, Sonja called out, “Sam.”

  When neither of the two figures turned around or responded, another idea popped into Sonja’s head. “Dillon. Brian,” she yelled.

  Just as she had suspected, both figures stopped running, realizing they were caught. “Boys, come back here. We need to talk to you,” Sheriff Thompson informed them. As soon as the two boys came back into the yellow light, Sonja instantly recognized them as Sam’s two best friends.

  Walking up to the two, Sheriff Thompson placed his hands on his hips. “Can you boys tell me why you were running away just now?”

  Both boys looked down at their feet, obviously ashamed of something.

  Sonja folded her arms. “Dillion, Brian, whatever it is may be important. Please, just tell us what you were doing.”

  Dillon looked over at his friend and then up at Sonja. “We thought we were in trouble when the sheriff turned on his lights. We know we aren’t supposed to be out without our parents.”

  “And where are your parents?” the sheriff insisted.

  “I told my parents I was going to be with Brian and his dad,” Dillon admitted.

  “And I said I’d be with Dillon and his dad,” Brian added.

  “Do you realize how serious this could have been?” Sheriff Thompson demanded.

  “Yes, but we can’t afford to be in trouble with our parents—not on Halloween,” Dillon argued.

  “Well, you’re a little late for that,” he scolded. “Your parents are going to hear all about this.”

  “What about Sam?” Sonja asked.

  Both boys looked up with slight confusion on their faces. “Sam? He’s not with us.”

  “We believe he may be with Marissa Hamilton,” Frank asserted.

  Their confusion turned to utter shock, eyes wide with surprise. “You think he’s with Marissa Hamilton?” Dillon asked.

  “I don’t believe it,” Brian muttered as he folded his arms.

  “You haven’t seen Sam?” Sonja pressed, trying to move the conversation past petty middle school romance and rumors.

  “No, he said he didn’t want to hang out with us this year, said he was going to hang out with Marissa,” Dillion admitted.

  “But we didn’t believe him,” he added. “There’s no way a girl like that would hang with him.”

  Even earlier that day, Sonja would have agreed, but after seeing the multiple e-mails to and from SS, Sam Sander, she was beginning to believe they were having some sort of secret romance—most likely at Marissa’s suggestion in order to preserve her high social status. If she was caught dating a sci-fi nerd, her reputation would go down the drain.

  If she had decided she’d liked Sam, then she would need to keep it a secret.

  “Do you have any idea where they might be?”

  “Nope,” Dillion replied a little too quickly.

  “Yeah, we have no idea,” Brian added on just as fast.

  “Not like he wanted to come with us to the coffin,” Dillion spoke, but instantly went pale.

  Sonja shook her head. “What did you say?”

  “Way to go, dude,” Brian muttered.

  Dillion shrugged. “Sorry, it just sort of slipped out.”

  “One of you had better explain,” Sheriff Thompson ordered, “or you will be in even more trouble.”

  Brian sighed. “He was talking about the Simpson Mausoleum.”

  Suddenly, it hit Sonja. “Oh my gosh,” she muttered. “I’ve been so stupid.”

  “What? Did you remember something?” Frank pressed eagerly.

  “During the Halloween party,” she recalled, “I overheard the girls, Marissa, and her friends, talking about being brave enough to fulfill tradition.”

  Sheriff Thompson’s jaw dropped as he also realized. “The glass coffin.”

  “Yes, every year, it’s a rite of passage to go to the old Simpson Mausoleum and touch Mr. Simpson’s glass coffin. I can’t believe I didn’t think of checking there first,” she exclaimed. She felt horrible for forgetting her mental note to tell the sheriff to keep tabs on the mausoleum. In all the hectic investigating, she had completely forgotten.

  “Come on,” Frank said, opening the trunk and grabbing some flashlights. “We’re going to that coffin.”

  CHAPTER 19

  They left the two boys in the back of the cruiser, calling in one of the deputies to come pick them up and escort them home, and then headed into the woods.

  “I swear,” Frank muttered as they walked in the darkness, flashlights bouncing off of trees, “if she has been down at the mausoleum the whole time, I’m going to be furious. The kids know they're supposed to stay away from there.”

  “It still doesn’t explain the man with the skull mask,” Sonja commented, “or why he was in the haunted house.”

  “True, or why he seems to keep popping up near you,” Frank added.

  Sonja hadn’t considered that. She had just assumed she kept catching him but had never assumed he might be stalking her.

  “Maybe it’s not the Halloween Kidnapper,” she muttered.

  “I hope not,” he noted. “If Marissa and Sam really are out at the coffin, making out or something, then I’ll go as far as to say that the Halloween Kidnapper never even came to town and that the man with the mask is probably someone else.”

  Sonja nodded, only wishing she could agree. No, the missing person’s case aside, there was still something very odd about the man in the skull mask.

  Almost as if someone had read her thoughts, Sonja’s flashlight beam illuminated something strange among the trees. She blinked, not believing what she had just seen, but when she tossed her light at the same spot again she saw someone moving—someone in a long black cloak and a skull mask.

  “Frank,” she shouted, “there he is! The man in the skull mask.”

  Spinning around, the sheriff spotted the man darting between trees. “Just when I thought we had this under wraps,” he complained, running in the direction of the cloaked figure. “You head toward the mausoleum; I’ll take care of him.”

  “Got it,” Sonja shouted, darting in the direction they had originally intended. As she ran, she tried to keep an eye on the sheriff and the cloaked figure, but after only a few moments they had both all but disappeared, a fact that made her less than comfortable.

  * * *

  It was about ten minutes later when Sonja spotted the old mausoleum sit
ting among the trees.

  Everything was still and dead silent as she approached it. The silence was eerie, almost unearthly—no crickets or birds making their normal nightly calls.

  Sonja had never done the challenge of bravery on Halloween night and she had no desire to do it now. Instead, she shined her flashlight across the old, worn stone of the small building, the beam eventually catching the metal doorway. Peering through the night, she could tell the door sat slightly ajar, but there appeared to be no light from inside.

  “Marissa?” she called out. “Sam?”

  Only the death of silence answered her back. She cursed the man in the skull mask, Halloween Kidnapper or not, for forcing her to do this alone.

  Breathing deeply, Sonja walked up to the small building and tried to see inside through the cracked door. Shining her light in, all she could make out were more old stones. She would have to actually go inside.

  “Shoot,” she whispered to herself. “Okay, you can do this.” Moving forward, she placed the palm of her hand on the metal doorway—and pushed it open. Shining her flashlight in, it caught on the glass of the coffin and bounced back toward her. Blinking away the light, she lowered her beam.

  It appeared the coffin was situated upright and against the back wall instead of flat on its back, a strange decision by the builder—Mr. Simpson’s wife. It was impressive she had built the whole thing herself.

  “Marissa? Sam? Are you in here?” Again, only the quiet night responded.

  Gulping down a lump in her throat, Sonja stepped inside. Lifting her flashlight again, this time the light penetrated the glass box illuminating the gaunt, skeletal face of Mr. Simpson—dark and stained from the years of natural mummification and decomposition. Gasping in shock she stumbled a little and fell onto the cold, hard stone of the floor.

  “Just a corpse,” she whispered again to herself. “You’ve seen them before.” And it didn’t seem to matter how many times she’d seen a corpse, it still scared her silly every time.

  A cool sensation brushed over her skin, and at first, she suspected it was the beginnings of another supernatural phenomenon, but then realized she was feeling a cool breeze—a draft of air.

  The sensation wasn’t coming from behind her through the door, it was coming from in front, from the coffin. “What the...?” she whispered.

  Standing up, she moved closer to the coffin, and the breeze grew stronger. Tilting her flashlight up, she noticed the coffin sitting slightly out from the wall. Sonja shifted her fingers under the crack between the coffin and the wall and pulled.

  With a somewhat surprising ease, the coffin swung out from the wall, as if on hinges. Underneath it, carefully crafted into the floor, was an underground tunnel.

  CHAPTER 20

  Sonja debated waiting for Frank to arrive before pursuing any further but realized that if there was any real danger to either Marissa or Sam that she had to go now. The door and coffin both being ajar indicated that someone had just recently come through.

  She had to follow.

  Slipping her flashlight into her belt loop, Sonja carefully lowered herself down into the hole. She slipped her flashlight back out and shined it down the corridor. The tunnel was short and made completely out of stone, an impressive feat if it was created at the same time as the mausoleum.

  Sonja couldn’t help but wonder at the old story. Mrs. Simpson was reportedly unable to manage the farm alone—but she managed to build an entire mausoleum, as well as a tunnel? It just didn’t add up.

  Pressing forward, Sonja began to notice just how far this mausoleum tunnel went. It wasn’t for another ten minutes—when she was getting ready to turn back—that she noticed what appeared to be the end of the tunnel. A creaking noise made her jump and quickly turn off the light.

  She waited patiently to see if she heard the noise again, and as her eyes adjusted, she noticed small hints of light coming down into the tunnel.

  A creak came again and, looking up, Sonja realized she was underneath some sort of wooden floorboards. Footsteps above helped her realize that there was someone inside. Another noise caught her attention as well — a girl’s muffled crying.

  Sonja’s heart thudded in her chest like a heavy drum. The muffled crying made her believe whoever it was, was probably gagged, and if so, probably tied up.

  If Marissa was above her, tied up, in whatever the room was, that meant the Halloween Kidnapper really did come to town and really did kidnap Marissa. The footsteps also indicated that he was up there with her.

  Did Frank just lose him in the woods, or had the kidnapper done something to Frank? Something horrible?

  She tried to push the thought out of her mind and focus on Marissa instead. If she wanted to save her, she needed to act quickly.

  Sonja reached down and felt the small container of pepper spray in her pocket. Getting the spray ready she searched for a trapdoor or another way into the room above—whatever it was. Quickly, she found it at the very end of the tunnel.

  “Alright,” she whispered. “Here we go.” Bracing her hand on the underside of the door, she threw it open and jumped out in one swift motion—pepper spray held out in front of her, for protection.

  She quickly noticed she was in some sort of little hut or cabin—all sorts of strange trinkets, bones, and animal skins hung from the ceiling. A fire burned in a center fire pit and a black cauldron sat atop it.

  Marissa sat, tied up and gagged, in a chair near the fire, struggling to get free, her eyes wide with fear.

  “Hello, Sonja,” a voice came from behind.

  Spinning around, pepper spray stretched out in front of her, Sonja came face to face with the kidnapper—Beatrice, Belinda’s aunt.

  CHAPTER 21

  “Beatrice,” Sonja gasped, staring at the woman. She looked slightly different, slightly older, and wore a dress of rags and a witch hat made out of many different colors of cloth.

  “That’s right, my dear. I had a feeling you were on my trail.”

  Sonja refrained from admitting she was surprised to see Beatrice, but now things were beginning to fall into place. “Is that why you wanted me to stay away from Belinda?”

  “My stupid little niece was giving away too many clues to you, telling you I was a witch.”

  Sonja’s jaw dropped. “Belinda knows about this?”

  Laughing, the old woman waved a hand. “Definitely not, my dear. But her stupid sixth sense for the supernatural made her more aware of my powers than I realized.”

  “So, you really are a witch?”

  The woman smiled wickedly, her eyes illuminating like fire. “I think you’d know me better as Sheela Simpson.”

  Sonja’s eyes widened. “Sheela Simpson? But that’s impossible.”

  “I’m surprised you, yourself, didn’t pick up on my supernatural power—what with your ability to communicate with the dead, far better than my Belinda.”

  “It isn’t possible,” Sonja whispered. “Sheela Simpson has been dead for over a hundred and fifty years.” Somehow, however, Sonja knew that Beatrice was telling the truth. She was right, the woman gave off an unearthly glow she hadn’t noticed before.

  “It is very possible,” she corrected. “You see, I killed my fool of a husband and trapped his soul inside of that glass coffin, a simple construct of my powers. That first sacrifice entitled me to eternal life—but unfortunately not eternal youth.”

  Sonja gasped, taking a quick glance at the young girl tied up to the chair.

  “That’s right. Every fifty years or so, I have to drink of the youth of a child. Unfortunately, for the spell to work they have to come to me willingly.”

  “SS,” Sonja replied. “You’re SS.”

  The old witch curtsied. “At your service.”

  “You’ve been emailing with her back and forth, convincing her you were her friend.”

  “I told her I’d teach her the power of witchcraft, even sent her my spell book,” she picked up the book from the counter, “bound in my ow
n husband’s skin.”

  Sonja’s mind raced, thinking of all the things she had found in Marissa’s room—the salt in front of the door and window, the incense—they were things she was using to practice spells from the book.

  Walking over, Beatrice picked up a rune-encrusted dagger and stroked Marissa’s hair with it.

  “Stop that,” Sonja whispered.

  “She even read out the spell for me, the one to create the potion I need to absorb her youth. The last ingredient to add . . .”

  Suddenly, the door behind the witch burst open and a figure ran in, knocking the old woman from behind. Shrieking, the witch toppled forward, her spell book and dagger went flying from her hands and landed at Sonja’s feet.

  Next thing she knew, she recognized Sam quickly untying Marissa.

  “You rotten little brat,” Sheela screeched.

  Once Marissa was loose, she shouted, “The book, Miss Sonja, the book!”

  Swiftly, Sonja dropped the pepper spray and picked up the book and dagger. She then held the leathery book over the boiling pot.

  “No,” the old woman shouted. “Give me that back. That belongs to me.”

  “Destroy it,” Marissa shouted. “Destroy it!”

  Without another thought, Sonja dropped the book into the thick boiling liquid, not knowing what to expect next.

  The witch screamed an unholy scream that pierced the night air. Before their very eyes, they watched as the old woman grew older and older by the second, her skin sagging over the bone. The screaming continued even as the woman’s flesh began to rot away, turning to ash and falling in between the floorboards.

  Finally, the screaming stopped and all that was left behind was a white skeleton.

  CHAPTER 22

  “She’s dead?” Marissa whispered, looking at the skeleton.

  “I think so,” Sonja responded, realizing she had no idea how she was going to explain this to Frank. Before tonight, hiding her encounters with the supernatural had been relatively easy—but this time, it looked as if she would have to be creative.