The Night of The Revealing Wall

[qohart]

Many thanks to my beta reader, Pet, who set me straight on a few things and couldn’t convince me on a few others. She said you can’t convince a stone.

The Night of The Revealing Wall
by Cris Hart

The violent storm thundering down the mountains into the wooded valley did not outwardly affect the three pale figures moving hurriedly toward their home. The violence pursuing them was of much more concern to them. After so many years fleeing from it, they were determined their plight would end this night. This Halloween night, the truth would finally be revealed.

The shrieking wind whipped the topcoats of the two horsemen, forcing them open to billow out behind them. Both men held their heads slightly down trying to keep the stinging rain out of their faces as they struggled to pull the coats closed again. It was a delicate balance keeping rain out of their eyes and still prevent it from sliding into their collars and down their backs. Thick limbs swayed and reached their bare talons toward them as the storm picked up in intensity and one man hurriedly raised a hand to his hat to keep it from being snatched off his head.

James West and his partner Artemus Gordon were slowly making their way west directly into the maelstrom. Jim pulled the collar of his coat higher as rain streamed from the brim of his hat down into his clothes. He saw Artie shiver and knew the cold water was trickling down his back as well. More cold rain and wind whipped through the black as pitch woods around them. On this Halloween night, there were no treats and the only trick now was getting safely through the trees.

Booming thunder and bright, white flashes of lightening crashed directly above their heads causing their mounts to shy skittishly. Lightening struck a nearby tree as they passed. The horses whinnied franticly and reared. The agents struggled to keep them under control. Blackjack spun two complete circles before Jim was able to calm him and regain control. His soothing words were barely audible over the roaring wind so he leaned forward to stroke the black’s neck as he calmed him.

Jim looked around for his partner and saw Artie picking himself up from a large puddle of mud. He still held Mesa’s reins and now stood directly in front of the rearing animal pulling down on them gently until the horse kept all fours on the ground. Jim waited patiently as Artie retrieved his hat and mounted up again.

"We have to find shelter," Artie yelled over the whine of the storm.

"Agreed. Keep your eyes open for anyplace we can hole up for the night. Then we’ll push on at first light," Jim shouted back as they continued on carefully, ducking whipping branches.

The storm made it difficult for them to see more than a few feet ahead of them. Jim spotted a narrow path, veering off deeper into the woods. He pointed it out to Artie using gestures instead of words, and they followed it. The farther they rode the fiercer the storm grew. The thunder peeled so loud it made the agent’s ears ring. The lightning sizzled all around sending waves of shimmering static tickling up their spines. Another tree was struck its trunk exploding into two.

After what seemed an eternity later, the path led them to a crookedly leaning abandoned house. As lightning flashed brightly, the windows in the structure, two upstairs and four downstairs, lit up in reflection. In that moment, the house appeared to be laughing at them.

Jim rode up to the front steps, Artie hung back warily, not liking the looks of the house. Lightning crackled so close behind him the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and Mesa threatened to dump him again. Reluctantly he moved forward to join his partner.

Jim had brought his horse up onto the porch offering it a bit of shelter, and tied him to the railing. Artie dismounted and led his horse up tethering it near Jim's. Simultaneously thunder roared as loud as cannon fire and lightning flashed. Artie ducked as though the storm itself had physically swung at him and Jim grinned at his partner’s reaction. He tried the door, which opened awkwardly.

They stepped into the dark interior. The house had the musty smell of being long empty. Almost immediately Artie tripped over a dark lump in the narrow hallway.

“You all right?” Jim asked unable to see in the utter darkness.

“Yeah,” he heard his partner grunt as he got up from the floor. “Get the candles from the saddlebags, will you, Jim?” Artie asked unwilling to move any further without some light.

“Be right back,” Jim answered and Artie heard him step out the door and return moments later.

"I guess this is home for the night," Jim said, his voice echoing into the emptiness. He struck a Lucifer and lit a tallow candle casting a dim yellow glow.

"How about just until the storm lets up," Artie answered peering around the foyer. A shattered chair lay in a pile of kindling in the middle of the floor. Arte pushed it over to the wall with his foot clearing the way.

Jim lit the other candle he’d brought in, which offered a little more light, and handed it to his partner.

They peered around at their surroundings. The foyer was small with a room to each side and a staircase centered at the back. Artie moved left and Jim went right. Artie opened the door and took a quick look into the room. It was empty with a thick layer of dust covering the floor and cobwebs hanging in long strands almost forming a curtain they were so dense. He could just make out a door on the far right wall and he weaved his way through the cobwebs to look in. A small cast iron stove was all that this room contained. Artie closed the door and made his way back to the foyer.

“Appears to have been a dining room,” he said brushing clinging cobwebs from his arms and hair. “There’s a stove in a small kitchen beyond it.”

“Parlor on this side,” Jim answered. “Want to take a look upstairs?”

Artie grimaced as he looked up the staircase. “For what?” he asked.

Jim shrugged and didn’t pursue it any further. He led the way into the parlor.

"At least there's a couple of chairs in here," Jim announced putting the candle on the mantle and taking his soaked coat off. He shook water from it and draped it across the back of one of the chairs.

Artie did not answer as he set his candle on the mantle and pealed out of his equally wet coat placing it on the back of the other chair. He shivered, as he looked around the dimly lit room feeling ill at ease.

"What's the matter?" Jim asked watching his partner.

"This place gives me the willies," Artie answered quietly. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms trying to generate some warmth.

Jim chuckled, "It's shelter, that's all I care about," he replied. He found a few remnants of candles in the drawer of a writing desk and lit them off the first. The room brightened a little more. “We better get the horses settled,” he suggested.

“Where?” Artie asked.

“They’ll be all right on the porch. It’s not ideal but its shelter for them,” Jim offered.

Together unsaddled their horses and rubbed them down as best they could then closed the door and returned to the parlor.

Jim tossed their saddlebags down next to the chairs. “That’s done,” he commented.

Artie suddenly turned to face the far wall. "Did you hear something?" he asked Jim.

"No. What did you hear?" Jim asked coming alert.

"Sounded like something scratching in the wall," Artie answered staring at a spot on the far wall.

Jim relaxed, rolling his eyes. "What did you expect? There's probably a family of squirrels in the walls," he said coming up behind his friend. He laid his hand on Artie's shoulder making him startle and whirl to face Jim.

"What's the matter with you!" Artie shouted at Jim.

Jim began to laugh outright. "Relax, Artie," he said through his laughter, "I was just going to suggest we start a fire in the fireplace and warm up."

"Oh. Good idea," Artie answered, glancing over his shoulder at the wall. "What are we going to use as fuel?"

Jim looked around. The room was nearly empty except for the two arm chairs facing the fireplace and the writing table with a broken leg leaning against the wall by the door where he’d found the candle stubs.

"That's already broken," Jim pointed to the table, "Let's start with that."

“And there’s that splintered chair in the foyer,” Artie added going to retrieve the pieces.

They broke the table into pieces and stacked them and some of the pieces of chair in the fireplace. Artie reached in and opened the flue, a shower of long abandoned bird's nests remnants fluttering down on him. Disgustedly he brushed them off his arm and used his toe to push the dried twigs under their stack of furniture parts.

Jim lit them and soon the dried wood caught and began to blaze. They stood in front of the fire letting it warm their cold bodies.

"Think anyone still owns this place?" Artie wondered extending his hands over the flames.

"Doesn't look like it. If someone does, they're not going to be happy we burned their writing table," Jim joked. He suddenly turned to look toward the wall Artie had heard scratching from before.

"You heard it?" Artie asked expectantly.

"Yeah, Artie, I heard it," Jim agreed. "Like I said," he began but Artie cut him off.

[qohart]

"A family of squirrels, I know, so you said. If that's a squirrel, I'm a mouse," Artie protested. "That's too loud to be a squirrel, even if it does have a family."

"So maybe it's a raccoon or opossum," Jim dismissed his partner's protest.

“Or rats,” Artie added with a wicked grin.

Jim stopped, shifting his eyes toward his partner. “I hate rats,” Jim replied barely above a whisper.

They both heard the scratching again, louder this time.

“That’s not an animal, Jim,” Artie stated firmly.

“Not an animal? Artie, what else could it be? You’re letting your imagination get the better of you,” Jim reasoned his eyes twinkling. “Maybe it’s a ghost,” he teased, “It is Halloween after all.”

"Fine," Artie answered dismissively.

"Well what do you think it is?" Jim asked chuckling.

"Let's just drop it, ok?" Artie said motioning a halt of the discussion with his hands.

"This place has got you jumpy because of the storm, that’s all," Jim observed.

"I guess so," Artie agreed with a forced smile. He knew it wasn’t the storm but he could not fathom what it was that made him feel so uncomfortable in this house.

“Think we can get some coffee going?” Jim asked.

“Sure, I’ll make it,” Artie answered rooting in the saddlebags pulling out coffee, a small pot and their tin cups.

Jim was happy to see that this simple task seemed to calm his partner’s jitters. Soon they were sipping the hot brew sitting in the chairs in front of the fire.

The scratching sound came again, even louder this time. They both looked in the direction of the sound.

Jim went to the wall and listened closely. He heard nothing, but saw a long tear in the wallpaper, low on the wall. "Take a look at this, Artie," he called to his partner.

"What is it?" Artie asked warily approaching. Jim pointed to the tear in the wallpaper. "So, the wallpaper's torn," Artie stated.

"Freshly torn, Artie. The edges are clean and not yellowed," Jim told him.

"Uh huh," Artie responded.

"There is something in the wall," Jim confirmed.

"Uh huh," Artie repeated.

"Is that all you can say?" Jim asked eyeing him suspiciously.

"Nope. I've got a question," Artie told him.

"What?"

"If something's in the wall, how'd it tear the wallpaper and not leave a mark on the outside of the wall?" Artie posed.

Jim furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. His partner was correct. The wall was unmarked. "Maybe there's a rat or something trying to get the paper for its nest," Jim reasoned.

"Uh huh," Artie said a third time.

"Back to that,” Jim muttered. “Well what do you think?" he asked.

"I don't," Artie answered.

"You don't have an opinion? Since when?" Jim half joked hoping to draw an answer of some sort from his friend.

"I haven't seen any animals in here have you? There's no place for an animal to hide in here. So I don't have any opinion on what did that," Artie explained pointing at the torn paper. He backed up a step, turned and returned to the fire.

"Aren't you the least bit curious?" Jim asked joining him.

"No I'm not. I remember another abandoned house a while back and I don't care to repeat the experience," Artie answered emphatically.

They heard the scratching sound and turned to the wall once again. The paper was tearing up the wall with nothing there to be tearing it.

"Let's leave," Artie suggested nervously.

"Do you hear that storm out there? It's getting worse," Jim told him.

"I don't think I care anymore," Artie stared fixed at the wall.

The paper had stopped tearing but the scratching sound continued. He suddenly strode over to the wall and slapped it about where the sound was coming from.

"Stop it!" he shouted at the wall.

The sound immediately stopped and the room was silent. Only the sounds of the fury outside could be heard.

"Hey, it worked," Artie grinned at Jim.

As he took a step toward his partner, a loud bang came from the wall behind him as though someone had pounded against it. Artie took one more quick step forward and turned to face the wall. There was a small section that now mounded outward, like a fist mark from the other side. Jim joined his friend and they stared at the mark.

"The only animal that could do that, is the human kind," Jim said. He drew his pistol and headed toward the foyer. Artie drew his own pistol, picked up the two candles, handing one to Jim, and followed his partner into the foyer.

There was no room next to the parlor. The mysterious wall was an outside wall. The agents looked at each other. If that was an outside wall and the fireplace was on an outside wall, the foyer made up the third wall, and the side of the staircase the fourth wall, how could anyone be punching into the parlor?.

The two agents went to the room across the foyer. It was empty except for the disturbed cobwebs and Artie’s foot prints from his earlier inspection of the room. They went upstairs and searched the two rooms there and found nothing except a moldy mattress in one of them so they returned to the parlor.

They stood in the middle of the room looking at the wall. All was silent. No scratching, no tearing paper, no pounding. Nothing.

Jim walked over to the fireplace and put his candle back on the mantle. Then he seated himself comfortably in one of the chairs and closed his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Artie asked coming around to stand in front of his partner.

“I’m tired, Artie. It was a long and difficult trip, we slogged through that rain for hours, I’m hungry, but most of all I’m tired. I’m going to get some sleep.” Jim stated.

“What about…” Artie stole a glance at the wall again.

“It’s squirrels or raccoons, or opossums or even rats. I don’t care anymore.” Jim sounded annoyed. “Good night, Artie,” he added and stretched his legs out and leaned into the corner of the chair looking for all the world like he was at home in his favorite napping spot.

“Good night, James,” Artie answered quietly. He sat in the other chair staring into the flames thinking. Eventually Artie dozed and began to dream.

”Can you help us?” a child’s voice asked him. ”Please help us, mister”, she begged.

”How can I help you? Who are you?” he asked looking around. He could not see the child.

”It’s Papa…” the child started then a man’s deep baritone voice broke in.

”I’ll find you!” he shouted angrily.

And the child screamed shrilly in obvious fright.

Artie awoke with a start, the child’s terrified scream still echoing in his ears. He was more startled to see Jim standing in front of him glaring down at him, arms folded across his chest. “Jim?” he asked tentatively.

Jim looked odd. His eyes were glazed and he smiled evilly. “Found you,” he announced quietly.

Artie could smell whiskey on his partner’s breath. In fact the odor hung heavily in the room. He tried to stand but Jim pushed him back into the chair. “Are you all right?” Artie asked concerned.

In a quiet, calm, voice that was not his own Jim sneered, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Artie knew it was impossible but Jim sounded drunk. The scent of liquor was strong on him. “Are you drunk?” Artie asked him directly.

Jim sprang at his partner and closed his hands around his throat. “You’re always accusing!” he squeezed his fingers into Artie’s flesh. “Always saying I’m boozing or whoring, well I won’t have it!” he shouted as he shook the body he was strangling.

Artie tried to pry Jim’s fingers away. The attack had been so sudden and forceful he’d had no time to take a breath. His vision was blurring as he was deprived of air.

[qohart]

Suddenly Jim let go. He took two steps back and stared at his hands. What the devil was I doing? he asked himself. The sound of his friend gasping and choking spurred him into action. Jim knelt in front of Artie.

“Artie, are you all right?” he asked worried. What happened to me? Why did I try to kill Artie?

Artie was nodding even as he held his aching throat and drew in great breaths. “I’m all right,” he croaked. He raised his eyes to Jim’s and saw they were clear now. The whiskey smell was gone. “What happened?” he asked and was overtaken by a coughing fit.

Jim poured a cup of coffee and returned to Artie. “Here, sip this,” he instructed and held the cup for Artie to take a sip. When the coughing stopped and Artie held the cup on his own, sitting back in the chair eyes half closed, Jim answered.

“I don’t know what happened, Artie. I was dreaming I think,” he explained.

Artie opened his eyes all the way. “That was no dream, partner. I can attest to it being very real.” He gently massaged his throat with one hand.

“Not that part,” Jim replied looking embarrassed and horrified at the same time. Finger shaped bruises were already rising on Artie’s throat. “I was dreaming before. I don’t remember the dream but all of a sudden it was like I was someone else. I…,” Jim hesitated, unsure if he could finish. “It was like I hated you, like I had to kill you. Stop you. I’m so sorry, Artie, I don’t know what happened,” Jim finished sounding confused and contrite.

Artie handed the cup to Jim. “I thought you were drunk, Jim,” he began, “I smelled the liquor on your breath, all around you in fact.”

“I’m not drunk, Artie. How could I be?” Jim protested.

Waving a hand at him, Artie continued, “I said I thought you were drunk. I knew you couldn’t be but the scent of whiskey was so strong.” He sat up straight and Jim moved to sit in the other chair. Both leaned forward elbows on knees. “I was dreaming too,” Artie ventured and told Jim of his dream of the little girl and the man’s voice the child had identified as ‘Papa’.

“He yelled ‘I’ll find you’ then the girl screamed and I woke up,” Artie concluded. “You were standing there glaring at me and said…”

“What did I say?” Jim wanted to know.

“You said, ‘Found you’, like it was a continuation of the dream.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes thinking over the events that had transpired.

Then Artie heard a sound and jumped up. He walked to the middle of the room staring at the wall.

“Jim,” Artie called but Jim remained seated, head down.

The scratching sound had now become a scraping. A large section of the wallpaper lay on the floor. He could see marks rising along the blank wall running top to bottom where the paper was torn away. They looked like the reverse side of gouges.

"Something's scratching its way out," Artie muttered to himself, "Something large," he added drawing his gun as the scratch marks elongated almost to the floor.

“What? What are you talking about, Artie,” Jim asked stirring from his deep thoughts. Getting no response he looked around, rose and grabbed a candle and joined his partner in the middle of the room.

“What’s going on?” Jim asked noting his partners defensive stance and drawn weapon.

"Something's scratching its way out," Artie repeated, "Something large."

"Well we're armed," Jim observed pulling his own gun, "and we'll be here to greet it when it breaks through."

Artie did not answer. He was fed up with the not knowing, curiosity having taken over any misgivings he may have harbored earlier. Any jumpiness had been supplanted by the support of his partner, the near shared dream and the events that followed it, and now they were here together ready to stand and fight. But he was wary about what could be behind the narrow space behind the wall.

The marks became true gouges as flecks of plaster began to rain down onto the floor. The plaster began to crack as the sound of scraping and tearing grew frantic. Now chunks of plaster hit the floor and still they could see nothing behind the wall. They raised their weapons and aimed at the hole that opened wider from the top down.

Everything stopped as suddenly as it had started. The room grew cold and silence surrounded them. Even the sounds of the furious storm outside seemed muted. Jim and Artie exchanged a glance and took two steps closer to the wall, side by side.

Suddenly, the wall exploded outward belching a cloud of plaster and dust at them. A jumbled heap of bones shot from behind the wall and pelted the agents. A skull rolled to their feet, spinning on its crown before them. Then there was nothing more. No sound, no movement, nothing.

"What do you make of this?" Jim asked quietly breaking the silence.

"They're skeleton's," Artie stated the obvious looking down at the empty eye sockets staring up at him. He shivered, the increasing coldness of the room seeping into him.

"Obviously. Let's take a look behind that wall," Jim stepped over the bones piled between them and the wall. He pushed the candle in the gaping hole and looked left then right.

"What do you see?" Artie asked a bit hoarsely from right behind him.

"Nothing. The space ends on both sides and there's floor above," Jim said pulling his head out of the opening. He too shivered as the temperature continued to fall.

"Nothing else?" Artie asked his breath a visible puff of white. His voice cracked sorely on the last word and he swallowed painfully.

Before Jim could answer, they heard their horses screaming and whinnying in terror. “They’ll hurt themselves out there,” Jim shouted and ran into the foyer Artie two steps behind him. “We’ve got to let them loose,” Jim called reaching the front door.

Artie was right beside him and put out a hand to open it. Blackjack was kicking franticly on the other side of the door, furious at his inability to escape. As Artie’s hand closed on the knob, Jim grabbed him by the arm and pulled him aside. Blackjack’s heavy hoofs punched a hole in the door at the level of Artie’s chest.

“Thanks,” Artie breathed realizing his narrow escape from serious injury.

“You’re welcome. Let’s get out there quick,” Jim acknowledged. He pulled open the door speaking in a soothing voice to their horses trying to calm them. The agents managed to release the looped reins freeing their mounts without man or beast being injured. The terrified horses bolted out into the storm.

Jim and Artie watched them disappear into the maelstrom then stepping back into the house, easing the damaged door closed. The agents heard a man's voice echo through the house.

"I'll find you," it bellowed and was followed by the ghostly sound of running from above them.

The two men looked up marking the progress of the running across the ceiling as they slowly returned to the parlor. The room was frigid even though the fire still blazed in the fireplace. Artie moved farther into the room stopping near the bones piled on the floor.

The sound of feet pounding down the stairs filled the parlor. A young child’s scream, the little girl,Artie thought, and the cries of another, older child and a woman rang through the air followed by three gunshot blasts.

Another skeleton blasted from the hole in the wall landing with its arms draped over Artie's shoulders. He flung the bones away from himself and wiped down his arms and the front of his jacket. The skeleton fell apart as it hit the floor, mixing its parts with the bones already there.

"You all right?" Jim asked concerned but almost grinning at his partner's reaction.

"Wonderful," Artie answered sourly his teeth nearly chattering from the unnatural cold.

Jim headed for the foyer again. "Now what?" Artie asked him.

"We search again. More thoroughly, this time," Jim replied determination in his tone.

Soon they were back in the parlor again having found nothing. Everything remained quiet except the raging storm outside.

“What next?” Jim mused aloud eying the pile of bones on the floor.

“Hopefully nothing,” Artie sighed. “Wait for dawn so we can leave?” he asked.

“Nothing much else we can do, I suppose,” Jim agreed.

“The horses are long gone though,” Artie sighed again.

"I’m sure we’ll find them in the morning. Why don't you get some rest," Jim suggested noting Artie’s slumped tired posture. He pulled his pocket watch from his vest and checked the time. “It’s midnight,” he told Artie.

"Rest!" Artie croaked incredulously, "Maybe never again in life," he muttered. He offered a weak grin. "You get some rest," he offered shivering again, “I’m really not tired.”

"Scared?" Jim grinned at him though he shivered from the cold as well.

Artie shrugged. "Cold. And disgusted," he told Jim. "That skeleton grabbed me. Ugh," he commented with a grimace.

"Well I am tired and cold. Why is it so cold in here?” Jim asked.

“I don’t know. The fire is burning and should be keeping the room warm,” Artie murmured with a shake of his head, “I don’t understand it. Makes no sense.”

[qohart]

“Must be gaps in the clapboard. This is an old house,” Jim mused aloud, “I think I am going to try to get some sleep if you're not," Jim answered. He hesitated a moment before adding, “I’m sorry, Artie.”

"I know,” Artie assured his friend. “I have a feeling this is about over though. I'll wake you if anything happens," he promised. The feeling of unease from earlier in the evening was gone. He regarded the bones thoughtfully as he rubbed his hands together for warmth.

Jim dragged himself tiredly to the chair by the fireplace and sat stretching his legs in front of him, "I'm sure you will," he murmured crossing his arms trying to stop from shivering. He recognized the look on his friend’s face and closed his eyes. [i[Artie’s going to solve this puzzle if it takes him all night,[i/] he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later it was dawn and Jim opened his eyes to find that the storm was over. It still rained steadily but not the raging storm it had been the night before. The room was no longer cold. He saw that Artie had used the rest of the broken chair to keep the fire burning. He stood and stretched and saw Artie crouched down next to the bones, which were now laid out in four complete skeletons. Two sets were smaller than the other two. Jim went to his partner.

"Good morning,” he greeted his partner.

"Good morning, James," Artie answered as he stood.

The livid bruises on Artie’s throat made Jim wince. “How’s your throat?” he asked quietly.

“Better. At least my voice isn’t so harsh this morning,” Artie answered, “I finished off the coffee, I think that helped.”

Jim nodded. “So what have you been up to?" Jim asked knowing the answer.

"I've been trying to piece together last night's events, or at least who these people were."

"Come up with anything?" Jim was curious. His partner's intellectual curiosity never ceased to amaze him.

"Take a look at this," Artie said going to the foyer. He pushed a panel by the stairs and it swung open. "Leads through the walls and comes out upstairs in the room with the mattress. And there's this," he said fishing a paper from his inside jacket pocket and handing it to Jim.

It was a flyer. 'Markham's Lumber. Finest Quality Wood. Reasonable Prices' it proclaimed. Jim read it and turned it over looking for something more.

"So?" he asked.

"I found this while exploring last night and I remembered where we were and the whole story came back to me,” Artie told him. “About twenty five years ago, old man Markham was found wandering his property with his shotgun yelling ‘I'll find you’." Artie told Jim. "His family was nowhere to be found. Never were found in fact. Markham spent his days here in this house alone for years after that. He never went back to his business and it eventually failed and closed. No one saw him for years and when the town folk came looking he was gone too. His body was never found either. People speculated that he had gone insane with grief over his missing family and wandered away into the woods and died there. You've never heard this?" Artie asked curiously.

"Twenty five years ago, Artie, I was seven," Jim reminded his friend smirking. He thought over what Artie had just told him. “If that’s the case then what happened to all the family’s possessions? This house is just about empty,” Jim posed logically.

"I forget sometimes that you're a mere babe in the woods," Artie teased before continuing, “This house has been abandoned for a long time, Jim. I suppose people just helped themselves to whatever there was as time passed,” Artie answered. “Besides, what did we do with the little furniture we found?” he grinned at his partner.

Jim chuckled, “I wonder how many people have taken shelter in this drafty old place over the years. Is there more to the story?” Jim asked.

"Yes, I remember it clearly, now that I’ve had all night to think about it. Markham had contracts as far west as Ohio and all up and down the east coast. It was in the newspapers for months as authorities all over searched for his wife, son and daughter. After Markham went missing people started to talk. Markham was a heavy drinker. Friends of Mrs. Markham told of her stories of his drinking and…uh, visits to houses of ill repute. The school teachers recalled the son and daughter often coming to school with unidentified bruises. The authorities checked into the stories and concluded that Markham had beaten his kids, stepped out on his wife and that she took the children and left him. Markham supposedly got so drunk he walked into the woods looking for them and never returned."

“That’s quite a story,” Jim commented.

“It is. But I have a different theory than what the authorities concluded.”

Artie swept his hand over the bones in a gesture of introduction. "Jim, meet the Markham family," he said.

"How does this explain what happened last night?" Jim queried.

"It doesn't. I have absolutely no explanation for what happened last night. I’m not sure I want an explanation. I may never sleep again if I heard the wrong thing," Artie joked, "But I'm pretty sure this is Markham and his family.”

“Remember the dream I told you about last night?” he continued, “I know it sounds crazy, but I think we were somehow…I don’t know, contacted by the daughter?” he shook his head in disbelief, “and you were…possessed by Markham.” Artie looked at Jim to see if he thought he was insane.

“It’s wild but in an odd sort of way, it makes sense,” Jim reassured him.

Artie nodded his thanks. “The way I figure it, old man Markham went insane and went after his family. They hid from him as long as they could while he searched for them yelling ‘I’ll find you’ and when he did find them, he shot them and plastered them behind the wall," Artie laid out his theory, “Years later, who knows why, guilt or drink or insanity, Markham opened up the wall again and plastered himself in with the remains of his family. Then he shot himself.”

“What makes you think that, Artie?” Jim was completely engrossed in the tale his partner was presenting.

“Look here,” Artie went to the wall and showed Jim the edge of the hole. There were signs of several layers of plaster some newer than the rest. “See how smooth this is on the inside? Like it had been plastered from the inside. And then there’s this,” Artie reached into the hole and pulled out a rifle. “What’s this doing behind the wall?”

Jim shrugged and Artie continued. “Now come take a closer look at these bones,” he motioned for Jim to follow him. Crouching down, Artie pointed out marks on the chest bones and ribs of the two smaller skeletons and one of the larger ones.

“Bullet marks?” Jim asked.

“That’s my guess,” Artie agreed as he picked up the skull of the largest skeleton. He handed it to Jim. “This is Markham I think. Notice the hole in the top of the skull? Take a look inside the mouth,” he instructed.

Jim turned the skull and looked at the area behind where the top teeth should have been. “You think he put the barrel in his mouth?” he asked.

“I do. I can’t reach them but there are some teeth lying on the floor in there,” he thumbed back at the wall, “and I think the force of the blast knocked his teeth out.”

"I’m impressed,” Jim said laying the skull in its rightful place. “How old is this house, do you know?" Jim asked curious.

"Over 100 years old. It was in Markham's family a long time," Artie answered solemnly.

"Maybe all the rain and the passage of time softened the wall and the pressure of the bones pressing on it caused it to crumble and reveal its secret," Jim theorized on how the bones had become dislodged. He still hoped for a reasonable, logical explanation.

"That doesn't explain everything we heard or had happen to us last night, Jim," Artie looked skeptical.

"Ok, then, how about, this. The ghosts of the dead Markham's wanted their remains found and they scratched and scraped their way out," Jim posed with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he realized nothing about the night before had been reasonable or logical in any way.

Artie found that that theory felt like the truth given their dreams of the night before. He did not voice that opinion though. "I think I prefer you're first theory," Artie answered seriously. “And I suggest that’s what we tell the authorities in town,” he added.

"Agreed,” Jim answered. They stood looking down at the four skeletons. Artie may prefer my first theory, Jim thought, but he doesn’t believe it. And neither do I.

“What about the cold? When did it start warming up again” Jim wondered if Artie had come up with a theory on that.

“Started to warm up sometime after I figured out about Markham and his family,” Artie shrugged obviously having no explanation.

Jim drew in a deep breath and released it in a sigh. “Ready to leave?" he asked his partner grabbing his coat from the back of the chair and scooping up his gear.

"Right behind you," Artie answered snatching up his coat and tack and following Jim to the front door. He glanced back at the dark, still, parlor before closing the door behind him.

The rain had stopped and the sun had broken through the clouds. They found Blackjack and Mesa waiting patiently for them in the dooryard. The agents tacked up and mounted their horses then turned in the direction of their original destination, the train. Giving the house one final glance, the sun glinted on the windows.

Last night the lightning had made it seem the house was laughing at them, this morning, the sun sparkling on the windows made it seem to smile gratefully.

Wind suddenly rushed from the direction of the house and swirled around the agent’s faces feeling like an icy caress causing them to shiver and the horses to prance and shy nervously. Then it blew past them and their mounts calmed and the temperature returned to its normal November chilliness.

Artie cast a glance at Jim who shook his head and shrugged. As they rode away, an eerie murmuring that sounded suspiciously like a child’s giggle and a whispered 'Thank you' was clearly heard by them both.

The end