C.H.A.R.O.N., page 12
CHAPTER SEVEN
Doc Medved was waiting for them in the vestibule of the morgue’s after-hours entrance. “Thank you for bringing food. Let’s eat in the break room and talk so the food has time to settle before we go to the autopsy room. I’m still waiting for the bodies to be cleared.”
They sat at the small table, and Medved brought sodas for them from the fridge. “Tony knows my weakness—the diner’s fried chicken isn’t good for my arteries, but it soothes the soul.”
They washed down the chicken with cold Coke and enjoyed the pieces of pumpkin pie that Brent had added to the order, along with hot coffee.
“What do you hope to find in the autopsy reports?” Medved asked. “After all, I wrote nearly all of them for the past many years.”
Travis cleared his throat, knowing what he was going to say sounded insane. “We’ve got a loose working theory that Dr. Wyrick at St. Benedict’s might have been doing psychological experiments on veterans. Experiments that blended science and magic.”
“Go on.” Medved didn’t look as freaked out as Travis expected.
“Have you ever heard of ‘thought forms’?” Brent asked. “Some people refer to them as tulpa.”
Travis glanced at his partner, intrigued by the suggestion. He had considered the possibility himself and found it validating that the idea occurred to Brent as well.
“Can’t say that I have,” Medved replied.
“I’m sure you’ve heard people talk about visualizing what they want and making it happen,” Brent continued. “Thought forms are an extreme version of that theory. It comes out of mystic traditions, which draw from legend and old magical lore. Some people believe they can will an entity into existence and sentience—like a ‘real’ imaginary friend.”
“I’m not sure that I follow.” The way Medved held his coffee in front of his face made Travis wonder if the doctor wasn’t subconsciously shielding himself from a frightening theory.
“Travis and I haven’t worked out the details yet—and it’s still a theory, so we need to prove it. But…what if Wyrick was using patients with latent psychic abilities to see if they could manifest imaginary creatures into reality?” Brent proposed.
“And what if his funding came from a secret government special ops group that deals with supernatural threats in some very unethical ways?” Brent continued. “So they weren’t just interested in testing whether or not thought forms—tulpas—could be created. Their end goal was to weaponize them.”
Medved’s eyes widened. “That sounds like something out of the X-Files.”
“Our lives are a lot like that—with a few other shows thrown in for good measure,” Travis replied in a dry tone.
“We’ve looked into the history of the properties for three of the recent attacks,” Brent continued. “They all echoed past events—and we believe it’s likely that there were similar deaths over the years. I think Wyrick wanted to find out if the natural dark energy that’s given South Fork its reputation for bad luck could be manipulated. If the government agency could do that here—and harness tulpas—then they could theoretically look for places in hot zones that had similar energies and use them in battle.”
Brent sat back and shot a questioning look at Travis, who nodded his approval.
I had several of the pieces floating around in my head, but Brent pulled it together into a theory first. It’s a fucking terrifying idea, but I wouldn’t put something like that past CHARON—or the Sinistram.
After a few moments, Medved put down his cup. “I met Wyrick a few times. We didn’t have professional reasons to run into each other, and as I recall, he kept to himself. He wasn’t from South Fork—got brought in to handle the psych cases for the veterans’ program. I don’t remember hearing anything bad about him, but I wouldn’t have said he was popular with the staff. He had an air of superiority that rubbed folks the wrong way.” Medved looked from Brent to Travis. “What you’re speculating—that stuff really happens?”
“We don’t just stop restless ghosts,” Travis said. “We’ve hunted and exorcised demons, handled malicious magic, and killed real monsters. So while we haven’t come across anything exactly like this, we’ve seen things similar enough to make some educated guesses.”
“This part of the state has never been heavily populated, even in its heyday,” Brent said. “The forests in Central Pennsylvania are almost as wild as they were two hundred years ago. Plenty of room for creatures and natural energies to exist like they always have without being noticed. When there aren’t people around, no harm’s done. But when folks put down roots in the wrong place, worlds collide.”
“What happened to Wyrick?” Travis asked.
Medved frowned. “He fell out of his office window in a tragic accident.”
Travis and Brent exchanged a glance that spoke volumes.
Medved’s fingers drummed against his coffee cup. “If you’re right, how do you fix it?”
“We’re working on that,” Travis said. “First, we need to confirm the theory. Then we can work on reducing the danger. One step at a time.”
Medved put his cup in the sink and carried the trash to the garbage. “It could be a while before the bodies are brought over. Then it’ll take me a couple of hours to autopsy each one. Might have to wait for the morning on that, depends how late they come in. I’ll give you a hand looking through the reports and tell you what I remember about the weird ones.”
Before they opened up the files, Medved excused himself to use the restroom, leaving them alone.
“If it were the Sinistram behind this, I’d point out that the Vatican has a long and storied history of defenestration,” Travis said.
“I’m sure CHARON has pushed its share of people out windows too,” Brent replied.
Medved rejoined them a few moments later, holding his phone. “Got a weather alert—and a safety warning from Public Works. More roads are washed out, and the river’s rising fast. Good thing none of us are going anywhere tonight.”
Medved made a fresh pot of coffee, and they sat around the conference room table with files spread out.
“The patterns are there when you know to look for them,” Medved said with a sigh of resignation after an hour of searching through reports. “New deaths that are identical to old ones but with very different circumstances. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Travis replied. “It’s not the kind of connection that rational people expect to find.”
“I knew there were strange deaths, but for a long time, there was time between them. Why do you think it changed?” Medved sounded like he still blamed himself for not noticing the connections.
“When Wyrick died, my guess is that any control he exerted over the original entity or the tulpas ended. They’re acting on their own now, true to their nature,” Travis replied.
His phone pinged, letting him know he had a text. A glance confirmed what he hoped. “Tammy sent me the history files that she was compiling,” he told the others. “I’m going to switch over to reading these and see if we can find something useful.”
They spent the next few hours working through the files. Brent and Medved whittled down the boxes of reports to a few smaller piles. Brent added details to his spreadsheet and scribbled reminders while Travis typed up his notes on his laptop.
Finally, Travis looked up. “I think the original entity was a Shubin. It’s from Ukrainian lore—not surprising since many of the miners who came to this area were from that part of Europe. The legends are a little confusing. Sometimes they say a Shubin is one particular ghost, and other stories say it’s a type of spirit that shows up in mining areas.”
“That’s one I haven’t heard of,” Brent said.
“My grandmother spoke of them—in the ‘old world,’” Medved said. “It’s a mine spirit that often appears as an old man in a fur coat who walks the deepest tunnels. The good ones warn of bad air or cave-ins. The bad ones lure miners to their deaths or set the gases on fire.”
Brent leaned back in his chair and cradled his coffee. “So, it came here with the early settlers?”
Travis shrugged. “Some people believe that each hill and mountain has a spirit. Perhaps the Shubin merged with whatever land spirit was already here. Even the First People recognized that some locations had bad energy. Of course, settlers who wanted to dig coal and harvest lumber didn’t care.”
Brent tapped his pencil against the desk, frowning in concentration as he studied his spreadsheet. “There’s a dark spirit native to this land, and immigrants bring their Shubin with them. Mining, logging, sawmills, and railroads are dangerous jobs, so there are a lot of accidents—plenty of blood.”
Travis nodded. “Over time, the spirits adapt. They grow stronger from the ghosts and the death energy. And when the original industries that provided the deaths change—and medicine reduces the natural deaths, the entities are left hungry.”
“Krystyk’s ‘hungry ghosts,’” Brent said.
“Crazy Krystyk? Seriously?” Medved protested.
“He’s the one who put us on to Wyrick,” Brent replied. “He might not be as crazy as everyone thinks.”
“When the mining and logging and the other dangerous jobs went away, the entities needed blood,” Travis continued. “They created replacements by influencing the mortality rate at the hospital and creating ‘accidents’ that mirrored what happened before. They’re trapped in an echo.”
“Then Wyrick starts poking around and not only juices up the Shubin/place spirit, he starts creating tulpas,” Brent speculated.
“People created their imaginary creatures from the campfire stories they heard growing up. Their will and belief brought the tulpas into existence, but Wyrick’s patients couldn’t keep the tulpas under control—and neither could Wyrick,” Travis picked up the speculation.
“Then the energies foraged to replenish themselves because they didn’t have a master. Except—I think we’re missing something big,” Brent said. “There was a tipping point somewhere in there that we missed. Maybe too many people left South Fork or died, but I think somewhere in the process, the tulpas went feral and started to do whatever was necessary not to fade away.”
“How do we stop them?” Medved asked with a bleak expression.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out,” Travis said, resolve firming his tone.
Just after one in the morning, two ambulances pulled up with the bodies. Calabrese met them at the entrance and stood with them while the ambulance crew delivered the corpses to the morgue.
“Find anything?” Calabrese’s voice sounded like a growl, hoarse from the rain and cold weather.
“We’ve been able to confirm pattern replication in the killings across many years,” Travis said. “New deaths mimicking old ones under different circumstances. So—they’re not natural.”
The sheriff snorted. “There’s a surprise.”
Travis thought he caught a glimpse of motion in the shadows that vanished as quickly as he noticed it. “This is going to sound a little paranoid—”
“Probably not.”
“More than once, Brent and I thought we saw dark shapes moving in the shadows. We didn’t get a look at them, but it’s happened too many times to be our imagination,” Travis warned. “I don’t know what they are, but it might be a good idea to call curfew and require the buddy system.”
Calabrese took the information in stride. “I’d already put a curfew in effect because of the floodwater. I can add for people not to go out alone due to the possibility of mudslides and collapses.”
“Any word about the dam?” Brent asked.
Calabrese shook his head. “No, and that should scare the shit out of me, but there are too many other things to worry about. The pump house itself is solid stone, so Pete can hunker down, but no word on whether he can release the pressure from the rains. He’s stuck there until we can get a rescue craft to him, because we’ve got civilians in immediate danger.”
“How are things out there?” Travis could see that Calabrese seemed to be running on empty.
“Bad. Lots of areas are flooded—this is hitting the ‘hundred-year flood plain’ markers. A sinkhole swallowed a car and half of the road on the main route to Johnstown, so that’s closed. Lost the driver. The hole looks like it goes all the way to Hell.”
Calabrese brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Liz and her pals have the senior center running an emergency shelter. Tammy is keeping the library open all night too. It never seems like there are many people left in town until you’ve suddenly got to find them all somewhere to sleep.”
Brent stepped away and returned with a hot cup of coffee, which Calabrese accepted gratefully.
“Hey—do you know anything about a Dr. Wyrick who fell out of a window at the hospital?” Travis asked. “Was there an investigation?”
“Wyrick? Yeah—but the Washington feds swooped in and took control, so we only did the preliminary investigation,” Calabrese said with a note of bitterness. “Struck me as highly suspicious.”
“Would there be anything in the files or evidence room related to Wyrick’s death?” Travis pressed. “I know you’re in the middle of an emergency, but we think Wyrick helped to bring on the supernatural activity that’s causing the deaths.”
“Melinda Barnes, the department’s secretary, is covering the phones along with some volunteers tonight. She knows how to access the inventory system. I can ask her to see what she can find and give you a call. If homicide was ruled out, then Wyrick’s case would have been closed, and personal effects returned to the family—if there were relatives,” Calabrese replied.
The ambulance crew wheeled their empty gurneys back to the entrance, and Calabrese gave them a nod as they headed to their vehicles.
“I’ve deputized all the firefighters, EMTs, and the Public Works crew,” the sheriff said. “And both of you as well—in case anyone asks. By the time this is over, I’ll have half the town deputized just to keep the peace and deal with emergencies. That ‘Sight’ I mentioned? It’s telling me that things are going to get worse before they get better. And that I should trust you. So…”
He didn’t have to finish his sentence for Travis to understand the responsibility on their shoulders to figure out a way to rid the town of the energies Wyrick set loose.
“We’re on it,” Brent assured him.
Calabrese’s phone rang, and he gave an exhausted sigh. “It’s been one damn thing after another. Gotta go. I’d suggest not leaving the building until daylight. If Melinda finds that evidence box, I’ll see if there are photos she can share. Stay off the street tonight.”
With that, he slogged back to his Jeep, answering his phone on the way. Travis and Brent went downstairs, and a glance through the window of the autopsy room’s door told him that Medved was already prepping Kelson’s body.
“Nothing we can do while Doc is autopsying, so we might as well go back to the files,” Travis said. “Pretty sure he’ll let us know if he finds something he doesn’t expect.”
They refilled their coffee cups, made a fresh pot, and returned to the conference room. Brent yawned and stretched, blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes.
“Find anything interesting in what Tammy sent over? Sounds like she’s going to be awake if you have any questions,” Brent said as Travis sat at the table.
“She found a lot on local folklore, and it seems to tie directly into the kinds of things we’re seeing. Mine disasters. Gruesome logging or sawmill injuries, and back when South Fork was in its heyday, railroad accidents,” Travis replied.
“It reminds me of those stories about how the old gods wanted a blood tribute to spare the majority of villagers. Put together with the morgue records, it looks like there was a constant trickle of violent deaths over the years—fewer before Wyrick, more after he started awakening tulpas,” Travis mused.
“Then the dangerous industries went away, and the entities still needed blood and death energies,” Brent said. “What are you hoping to find if the sheriff has evidence from Wyrick’s death?”
Travis sat back in his chair. “I don’t think Wyrick died by accident, and I doubt it was suicide. That means either a rival special supernatural ops group decided he was too dangerous, or CHARON thought he knew too much. But what if Wyrick suspected he was in danger? I’m sure he had to file reports and that his minders confiscated his data. But what if he made a copy? He could have done it for insurance, blackmail—or control. If he didn’t leave a trace, CHARON might have thought they got everything and missed it.”
“And the sheriff wasn’t looking for research notes, so they might still be in the box,” Brent added.
Travis shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”
Brent’s phone rang. Travis glanced at the time and realized it was after two in the morning.
“Hey, Tammy. Sounds like we’re all having a busy night. Mind if I put you on speaker? What’s up?”
“Whenever things slow down, I do a little more digging,” she said, sounding tired but energized. “Except for the whole emergency thing, researching this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. And I think I’ve found something.”
“How are things going at the library? Sheriff sounded like you had a full house,” Travis asked.
“Crazy. But everyone rallied. We’re calling it a slumber party. Volunteers are reading to the kids, the teens have organized their own craft projects, old folks are reading or playing cards or sleeping, and we have enough cracker packs and coffee in the staff room to tide people over for the night,” Tammy replied.
“But—let me get this out before someone comes looking for me,” she said. “When I researched local ghost stories and urban legends, three sites kept coming up. The Coal Miner Monument, Jonah Sanders’s mansion, and St. Benedict’s Hospital. I expected the old railroad tunnel to make the list, but it didn’t.”
“Fill us in,” Brent said. “Sounds promising.”
“The Coal Miner Monument has the names of all the miners who were lost in the South Fork mines over the years. There were a lot—nearly a thousand, which considering that South Fork was never that big a place even at its peak, is saying something. Cave-ins, accidents, explosions, bad air—lots of things went wrong. There have been plenty of ghost stories about the mines themselves, but the monument seems to be a focal point.”
