Fallen Stones Read online

  Stephanie answered, "We have to go up to the coal region, which is about an hour away to take care of some important business." As she said this, she noticed Jason was busy at his desk doing something on his laptop.

  "What the heck is the coal region?" Jeremy inquired, "It sounds like a dirty place...coal is dirty right?"

  "What kind of business?" Cindy chimed in. "Why do we have to go? We're big enough to stay home."

  Stephanie had anticipated this sort of response. Lately, both of the kids were insisting they were too old for baby sitters and could take care of themselves. But despite the fact that they were both quite mature and responsible for their ages, Stephanie was not ready to cross that particular line just yet. Whenever she and Jason wanted to go out together for special occasions and they didn't want to take the kids along, they would hire one of two seventeen-year-old neighborhood girls to watch them. Either of the girls, Lynn or Janet were each very reliable. And thanks to their generation's love of technology, both of them had smart phones and whenever they were babysitting, Stephanie could reach them instantly when she wanted to check in on the kids.

  Stephanie countered, "You two may think you're old enough, but believe me you aren't. Come on, kids; don't give me a hard time about this. We don't have a choice. We have to go see someone tomorrow morning, and I promise I will tell you all about it on the way up there."

  "But it's Saturday!" Jeremy complained. "I was going to play some multi-player online games with my friends tomorrow."

  "Well you'll just have to postpone that until we get home. So, Cindy, get your butt upstairs right now and get that shower!" Stephanie said more sternly.

  Cindy turned reluctantly, obeying her mother as she trudged out of the room dragging her feet all along the way. Stephanie figured in a few years the eye rolling and door slamming would start, recalling her own frustrating teen years.

  "Cindy? Wait a minute," Jason said from across the room. "I have a great idea for tomorrow. If we can finish up our business in time, how would you both like to do something you've never done before? It's something exciting and probably a bit scary, that is if you're both not too young to try it."

  Stephanie looked at Jason perplexed. She had no idea what he had in mind, but it was clear that he had gotten both kids' attention. He continued, "How would both of you like to go down into a real coal mine?"

  Both children's eyes got as wide as saucers, and then Stephanie realized what Jason had been doing on his computer. He must have found the web site for the "Miners' Tunnel" tourist attraction in Ashton.

  At first, Stephanie was startled by this latest coincidence. Not five minutes earlier, she had been discussing the exact same topic with Armstrong over the phone. Also, that afternoon before she had even read the lawyer's letter, she had been thinking about the attraction herself. And here was Jason not only telling the kids about the same thing, but he was also making plans to visit the mine the next day. Now in hindsight, it all seemed so strange and serendipitous to Stephanie, as if she were a passenger in a vehicle being driven by someone else and unable to determine its mysterious, unknown destination. Initially it was a bit unsettling to her, then she remembered her own philosophy of life, and the way things always seemed to happen to her for a reason. This idea comforted her and she relaxed, deciding to just go with the flow as people often said.

  "I checked on the web, and there's an honest-to-goodness authentic coal mine in the town where we are going, and they take you down into the mine, like a mile under the earth in real mine cars," Jason told the kids enthusiastically. "The place is open until 5:00, and I'm sure we will have our business finished in time to go there. I don't know if you two are up for it, but I think it would be a really cool thing to do. That is, if you guys aren't too scared to try it. But if you are, I understand and we can skip it." Stephanie was enjoying watching Jason trying reverse psychology on the kids. "There is also an old steam train ride there and a coal mining museum. They both sound interesting too but not nearly as neat as the mine tour."

  Jeremy said boldly, "I'm not afraid. I can do it. So can Cindy. Ain't that right, Cind?"

  Jason corrected Jeremy's English, "Isn't that right. Not ain't. Ain't isn't a word, Jeremy."

  "Ain't fell in a bucket of paint and now there ain't no ain't." Jeremy recited, "Ok...we AREN'T afraid. ISN'T that right Cindy?"

  "Uh...yes...I guess..." Cindy said a bit more reluctantly and with a noticeable edge of uncertainty in her voice. She was not exactly sure what a coal mine was or what the uncertain and mystifying experience might be like, but she knew neither Jason or her Mom would take them anywhere which that be potentially dangerous. They were both very protective of their children and never let the kids participate in any activities in which they might be in danger of getting hurt.

  "Alright then," Jason said. "It’s a deal. We'll make sure we finish up our work in time to take the mine tour. Now, Cindy, get upstairs and get your shower; we have an early start tomorrow and won't have a lot of time to get ready."

  Cindy left the room quickly, now thoroughly motivated to finish and get ready for bed. Stephanie picked up the baby and started up the stairs after Cindy. Jason said to Jeremy, "Mom and I are going up to give Sammy a bath in our bathroom a while. So as soon as Cindy is finished, I want you to shut off the TV and get your shower."

  "Can't I stay up a little later? I'm twelve!" Jeremy complained.

  "Nope. Shower then bed," Jason insisted. "And if it's any consolation, Mom and I are heading to bed right away as well. We have to get up early, drive far and we have a very busy day ahead of us. Everyone has to be well rested." Then after a moment's thought he said "And don't think of trying to pull a fast one on us either. As soon as Cindy is done, I'll be checking to make sure you have gotten into the shower. Understand?"

  Jeremy said reluctantly, "Yes, I understand." Then he got a gleam in his eye and asked "Are we really going down inside of a coal mine tomorrow?"

  Jason said, "You bet." Then he bent down and tousled Jeremy's hair. "I'll see you before bed, buddy. “Gotta go give the little stinker a bath."

  "Ok, Dad," Jeremy replied. "I'll watch TV until Cindy is done. I can't wait to see what the inside of a mine looks like."

  Jason wondered if telling the kids about the mine was such a good idea. He and Stephanie had chosen not to tell them about the inheritance so they wouldn't become wired and too excited to sleep, and then he opened his big mouth and mentioned the mine tour. In hindsight, he was starting to doubt the logic of his possibly poorly planned announcement. He suspected there was very little that didn't get young kids excited. Regardless, the damage had already been done, so all he could do is hope the kids were tired enough to go to sleep. Otherwise, he suspected Jeremy and Cindy would both be asleep during the hour trip north the next day.

  He checked to make sure the front door and the kitchen door was locked, then he grabbed two nighttime pain tablets, one he immediately took and the other he was taking up to Stephanie. He turned out the lights in the kitchen and headed up the stairs.

  Chapter 7

  H. Mason Armstrong lowered the telephone receiver gently back down into its cradle, which was situated in the exact place it had previously been atop his large mahogany desk. He sat with his hands folded in front of him, hunched over with the elbows of his suit jacket resting on his clean and unblemished desk blotter. He was deep in the throes of contemplation. He was distressed, burdened by the troubles, which had plagued him during the past month starting shortly after the suicide of Emerson Washburn.

  Armstrong was by nature an extremely neat and orderly man with a desk organized to a level most people might consider obsessive. The fact was if he were blind and sitting in his large leather armchair behind his desk, he would be able to effortlessly reach out and instantly grab a phone, a paperclip, a pen or any other office supply he required. Armstrong's motto regarding office decorum was "a place for everything and everything in its place".

  The desk was exactly as
it had been since he started practicing law many, many years ago. He didn't even allow the advent of new modern technology to infringe upon the way his desk was organized. When he eventually decided to become part of the computer revolution, he made sure he purchased a separate table for the device so it would not interfere with his system. It was still easily accessible from his large, comfortable office chair as well. He was not exactly opposed to new technology, but he simply would never allow it to infringe on his traditional organizational preferences.

  His carefully arranged desk and for that matter his entire personal office space, would rival some of the most stringent of the modern attempts at office organization such as the "Lean Office" initiatives of the early twenty-first century. And ironically, Armstrong had never even heard of such methodologies. He simply had always been a man who liked things to be exactly where they belonged and right where he could find them with ease.

  His soul, on the other hand was anything but ordered. In fact, it was in utter chaos, filled with overwhelming trepidation due to the unknown series of events he suspected he had just set into motion. As he had been instructed, Armstrong had sent the certified letter to Stephanie Wright notifying her of her inheritance, which was also his legal responsibility as executor of Emerson Washburn's estate, but he had neglected to tell her everything.

  He had not warned her about the dark and tragic history surrounding the property. In the spirit of full disclosure he should have told her about the numerous catastrophes which seemed to plague the homestead, starting with its original owners, her great grand-parents, and ending with her Uncle Emerson's suicide just a month earlier. But despite his legal responsibility and the heavy weight of despair his conscience was now forced to endure, he knew he would not be speaking a single word about the property's tragic history to her nor to anyone else. He would not because he could not. He understood that whether alive, dead or otherwise, Emerson Washburn would never allow such an infraction to occur.

  Then dreadfully as if on cue, Armstrong heard an odd yet frighteningly familiar noise coming from the darkened rear of his office. It sounded like a thousand worm-like insects were squirming madly atop a crinkled sheet of aluminum foil, their writhing bodies sliding in their own slimy secretions, creating a sickening wet yet hauntingly metallic sound. Armstrong looked at his desk clock and saw it was about ten o'clock.

  He felt as if he had just hung up the phone from speaking with the Wright woman, but that would mean it would have only been about six thirty or so. However, according to his desk clock and the fact that his office was in total darkness, save for the light from his desk lamp, he must have fallen asleep or perhaps fallen into some type of hypnotic trance while contemplating his numerous problems. That had to be the only viable explanation for the loss of several hours.

  In the meager light from his brass banker's light with its translucent green glass shade, H. Mason Armstrong could see a slight reflection of the semi-dark room around him in a long mirror mounted on a door leading to his private bathroom in the back of the office. Just outside of the room was a closet where Armstrong kept several suits and changes of clothing so that he would always be ready for whatever sort of business or social event he might be required to attend.

  More times, than he cared to mention, his busy schedule had required him to freshen up and change clothes at work. His children were all grown now and had families of their own. They also no longer lived in the area, having scattered themselves all around the country. And with his wife now dead and gone as well; he often slept in the office on the large leather sofa, not particularly wanting to go home to his empty house. The bathroom as well as the tall mirror had assisted him to quickly become presentable for important appointments. But now, that same mirror was serving a much more sinister and unwelcome purpose.

  Staring intently at his barely visible reflection in the glass hanging on the open door, Armstrong noticed the surface begin to ripple in the shadows, as a voice seemed to call from deep below the surface. At first, the sound was a distant, barely audible whisper but all too soon, it became more clearly defined. He was not shocked by the voice as he had been on the very first occasion he had heard it but he was nonetheless terrified not only by the voice itself, but by what it represented.

  As the hardly visible ripples increased their intensity back among the shadows, as did the unsettling noise, Armstrong saw an all too familiar thin, bony bare foot extending from the mirror and setting down hovering just above the luxurious oriental carpet adorning his office floor. It never came in direct contact with the carpet but seemed to float an inch or so in the air just above it.

  As his eyes reluctantly followed up along the length of the limbs, Armstrong could catch occasional glimpses of the all too familiar skeletal legs as the hideous creature stepped naked from the mirror into the shadows of his back office. Thankfully, Mason had never seen the abysmal creature in its entirety before and hoped he would not do so tonight, since the thing was still floating largely silhouetted at the back of the room. From what Mason could determine, the wretched being was gaunt and hunched, and Mason barely recognized the nude and emaciated specter as his recently deceased client Emerson Washburn.

  When Washburn had first purchased the property and contacted Armstrong to handle his legal needs, the man had been tall, well over six feet in height and as broad as a refrigerator. He had looked to Armstrong very much like a typical Hollywood interpretation of how an enforcer for the mob might appear. Although Washburn had been dressed in an expensive top of the line business suit at the time, there was an obvious underlying sense of brutality to the man, which Armstrong suspected would find its way through any sort of expensive attire Washburn might use in a feeble attempt to cloak his real persona.

  As such, Armstrong had been able to see right through the gangster’s attempted ruse. He realized the mysterious new client who seemed to have more money than the lawyer had ever imagined, was not a well-educated gentleman, although he seemed fairly well-spoken in a self-educated sort of way. But Armstrong sensed he was actually some sort of hardened street-smart thug; likely a criminal who had acquired his money through illegal means.

  Armstrong had requested a very brief and discreet background check on Washburn as he did with all potential clients of obvious means. Although he had discovered many unsavory tidbits in the man's past, he nonetheless accepted Washburn as a new client. H. Mason Armstrong understood his place in the world. He knew at best, he was a small-town lawyer who currently had scarcely enough paying clients to make ends meet. The simple fact was with the addition of Washburn to his client list he would receive a windfall of funds to help his ailing business. So Armstrong chose to overlook any apprehension he might have about Washburn and immediately began handling his legal needs.

  As a result of the various often high pressure demands of his new client, Armstrong often found himself going beyond the call of duty on Washburn's behalf often performing tasks, which some might consider outside of the scope of a typical lawyer's responsibility to a client. Mason did his best to try to think several steps ahead of Washburn so he didn't inadvertently find himself in a less than legal situation on his employer's behalf. Washburn was shrewd and street-smart, but Armstrong was intelligent and quite cunning himself.

  One service Washburn had requested was for Armstrong to coordinate the renovation of his property. During the remodeling, Armstrong handled the disbursement of funds and payment to the army of contractors Washburn had requested he hire. These sorts of activities were things he normally didn't do for his clients, but when called on to do so he often worked with local banks and sometimes would even subcontract an area accounting firm. However, Washburn had demanded that Armstrong handle everything personally with no outside help.

  Armstrong also found himself coordinating all of their construction activities, and acting as a middleman between the workers and Washburn. This type of construction project management and liaison efforts were definitely outside of Armstrong's
comfort zone. But he was able to quickly adapt to the role.

  The lawyer found a great deal of satisfaction, of both a personal and financial nature, in carrying out his duties as project coordinator throughout the renovation. It had been, in fact, Armstrong himself who had recommended most of the contractors used on the project. And it was far more than coincidental that those same contractors also happened to be Armstrong’s clients. As such, in as much as they began to prosper so too did he further prosper. At first, he had balked at the idea of doing everything himself, but once he was able to realize the financial benefits of the arrangement, he wouldn't have changed a thing. He liked being the fox in charge of that particular financial hen house.

  Emerson Washburn had requested Armstrong find and hire the best of the best to do the work on his property, but Armstrong was always careful to never hire anyone who was not one of his clients, or any contractor who would not agree to sign on with him in order to get the work, regardless of their superior skills.

  Since Washburn was a stranger in the area while Armstrong was a well-known pillar of the community with a great deal of assumed influence and political power, none of the contractors dared to challenge him. They always agreed to his terms. One more than one occasion, it became apparent to Armstrong that he and Washburn were not so different after all. Washburn had used threats and physical coercion to make his fortune in his criminal enterprises, while Armstrong used his own brand of persuasion to get what he wanted.

  But in Armstrong's case, he believed what he was doing was legal, or at least straddled the line between legal and illegal, if not completely ethical. He figured if he was the project manager in charge of everything, it was his right to hire whomever he chose to hire, and Emerson Washburn would be none the wiser.