The Thirty-First

The Thirty-First1

I guess I'm good at writing. I actually consider myself to be pretty good with the pen, although most people know me as an orator. I spend most of my time explaining things to people. 2

I really don't like doing it, though. There is no good reason for it. I think I just prefer when Rich writes it, because although he's always rather complementary I can point out my own missteps from his work. Steve, on the other hand, is an ass, but that's why I have him chronicle every now and then. It's fun. He's an ass on purpose, and we can always use that bright point of view in our line of work.3

However, since neither of them were going to be with me this time, or any of the other ESPER's, it was up to me to record my own adventure.4

Now, I was hoping things were going all right on the poltergeist investigation I had sent them on. For all I knew, they would find nothing and go home. I was hoping it would be like that for them on their first time out on a professional, chartered investigation. 5

Probably not.6

I didn't have time to worry about that. I had a job of my own to take care of, and I was sure procrastination would have some pretty serious consequences.7

"So how long have you lived in Clinton, Ms. Gillette?"8

The woman sitting before me was pretty and petite for her late forties. She was... I don't know, tinny. She had a small, high voice and extremely blue eyes which darted around the room as though she expected ninjas or terrorists to rappel through her kitchen windows at any moment. She was sitting at her kitchen table, her hands crossed in front of her and her face drawn into a sad frown. 9

"Since my husband died, three years ago," was her reply. The entire story shot into my head at that moment. Her husband, Mr. Gillette, was the primary breadwinner for the family, but after his death the single mother of five had moved into the tenement housing where I now stood interrogating her.10

"Tell me about your children," I asked politely. The ice clinked around in the full cup of lemonade she had given me which I had not yet touched.11

"My Tommy is the youngest, and his older brother Jack are the two still at home. They're eight and ten. Then, there's Myra, my daughter, who's seventeen and moved out with her boyfriend last month. My oldest, Scott, is 21 and has been living on his own since he dropped out of high school five years ago. And then there's my Denny."12

"Tell me about Denny."13

She looked rather distant for a second, but composed herself long enough to go into the answer. The answer seemed to be dragging everything she had out of her, and I half expected her to drop over dead at the conclusion.14

"My Denny is sixteen, the same age Scott was when he left. Denny has always been a good boy, and very smart in school. He always was so sweet, and brought me home pictures he'd drawn for me and crafts he'd made me at school. He loved Art class, and all of his teachers told me how special my Denny was. Very good grades, and high marks on his conduct every report card. He wanted a dog more than anything else, and he wanted me to get another Daddy for him."15

"Tell me, if you don't mind, about that. Are there any men in Denny's life?"16

"Not since his father died."17

"And how was that, did you say." She looked back at me quietly, her face drawing tight again. I apologized softly and she spoke again.18

"He was murdered."19

I stopped to process all the information I had been given. Then I took the first sip of my lemonade. It wasn't as bad as I had expected it to be.20

"When did you last see Dennis?" I asked after she seemed a bit more relaxed.21

"In his bed, two nights ago. I tucked him in, and sang to him, and he smiled and kissed me... And it was the last time I ever saw him." She broke back down, and I decided the interview was over. I took the digital recorder from the table and hit the stop button, then replaced it in my jacket pocket. I put the lemonade down on the table and moved up to the sobbing woman. I put a hand on her shoulder and stooped slightly.22

"I will find your son. If anyone can, it would be me."23

I was shortly thereafter back in my car, and I moved the equipment on the seat next to me to make room for my laptop. I opened it and transferred to sound clip I had just redcorded onto my hard drive. Then, I opened up the news clipping I had saved off the internet which had engaged my interest in the case.24

Clinton: A young boy has gone missing from the Clinton area. Dennis Gillette, son of widow Mrs. Rosemary Gillette, was not found in his bed the morning after his mother put him to sleep. Upon arising, Mrs. Gillette's screams woke neighbors, who upon rushing to her house found it locked from the inside and inaccessible. Police later determined that all windows were also closed and locked and there was no source of external entry. The Gillettes, a loving single-parent family of four, are in shock today as police detectives hunt down the missing boy.25

It was obvious that the boy was not kidnapped. One might wonder why a simple runaway case might engage one of my particular... areas of interest and expertise. I even wondered that myself, but my actions were very much supported by good reasoning.26

Clinton is next door to Random, and I believe most of you remember my particular grudge with that little community.27

Not to mention that the current date was October the twenty-eighth. Three nights hence would come the holiday known by most as All Hallow's Eve, or Hallowe'en. To me, however, it was Samhain, and the moon would be full.28

I had spent quite a bit of time going over local newspapers, from Colony Hills all the way to Ransom on one side and Douglas on the other, but didn't find any news stories that sparked my interest. I knew what to look for, though, and eventually my persistance paid off as I came across the clipping from the Clinton Daily Researcher. The trip wasn't too long, and although I was living out of my car no lack of accomodations could keep me from doing what I knew I needed to.29

There came a knock on my window, and when I turned I saw Denny Gillette standing there looking in at me. Hmm, I thought rather crossly, case closed. I rolled my window down only to realize that this was one of the younger brothers. Photos of the family showed that they all looked alike, but I wasn't prepared for how much. If it were possible, I would say that ten-year-old Jack was the younger of a pair of identical twins born six years apart. Behind him was Tommy, and I was further awed. Closing the cover of my laptop, I looked out the window to the boys.30

"Hey, kids, what's up?"31

"I drew this for you, Mister MuckDurmitt." He handed a lined sheet of paper through the window, clearly torn out of a notepad. The crayons he used to draw it were still in the delivering hand. I almost snickered when I saw a cartoonish but well-drawn rendition of a ghost.32

"That's very good," I stated, not lying. The boy's smile grew larger.33

"Thank you for helping my mommy. I miss my brother."34

Damn, I thought, they weren't kidding when they said this was an affectionate family. I couldn't believe a sixteen year old boy still allowed himself to be tucked into bed at night, no less have songs sung to him by his mother. I would say it was whack. Yea, verily, even wiggiddy whack might best describe it. I might have left home at fifteen, and thus was not well-familiar with happy homes, but neither had I ever seen any others quite like the Gillettes. Obviously, Scott and Myra had grown weary of their mother's nagging lovey-dovey-ism, and wanted out. But these boys and their mother seemed to be an insanely tight-knit group. Could it be that denny was going the way of Scott? Without an older male role-model in his life, maybe he was taking after his older brother. But no, I thought to myself, rebellion grows over time. This kid would have long ago developed behavioral problems if he had a beef with his mom. 35

So then what was the problem?36

"Look, kids. I need help. I've never been around here before, and I didn't know your brother. What exactly was he like in the time before he disappeared?"37

It was the younger brother who answered.38

"He was the same as always. Denny was always Denny." That made sense, I guess.39

"He wasn't sleeping right," said Jack. "He kept waking me and Tommy up, all night long."40

"The night he disappeared?"41

"No," said Tommy, "but for a long time before."42

"Did he ever sleepwalk?"43

"Yeah," said Tommy. "He somnambulated all the time."44

I think my eyes crossed. Smart little bugger. Now, either he had soaked this up from his mother having researched it or the family doctor having explained it to them. 45

"But not always? Just for a while before this all happened?"46

"Like, a month," said Jack.47

"Okay. Now, did you notice any strange marks on his body? Any signs that he might have been going out somewhere with other people?"48

"He did!" Tommy shrieked, and very excitedly he ran back inside.49

"He drew pictures," said Jack, and by the time he finished the statement, Tommy was already back at my window with a fistful of lined writing paper covered in crayon scribbles.50

"I can see that," I said as I pulled the drawings apart to inspect them one by one. There were many different ones.51

"These are all signs that showed up on his body at some point or another?"52

"No, just this one." Tommy pointed. The picture that he showed me was a very familiar sight. It wasn't the one I had been expecting, but when I saw it cold recognition opened up in my mind. I had half expected to see a pentagram, like the one that had developed on my arm in Ransom when I was just a boy. There were a few other identifying marks I had been looking for that would show that Denny had been claimed by a cult. Ritual Satanic Abuse, although not practiced by mainstream religious cults, was not the thing of fiction that many tried to make it out to be. All the signs pointed to Denny having been hypnotized to travel under cover of night to the coven meeting spot, and I knew he would probably have received some kind of identifying marker. What the drawing showed was not a marker of claim by a coven, but a marker of claim in the name of the Dark One himself. A cross was prominently displayed in the middle of a circle, but the hook on the bottom portion acted as a question mark. God is a good God? God is a loving God? God is a God of Peace?53

Then why is this child branded for sacrifice? That is what this sign meant to me.54

The Cross of Confusion was not only what I have here said, but also imitated the design of an ancient Egyptian weapon and was thus also inherrently a picture of death. I knew the boy did not have long for this world unless I was somehow able to intercede on his behalf.55

"And these other pictures?" I asked, again shuffling through them to show some of them back to their artist. "What are these?"56

"I didn't draw them," said Tommy, and on looking to Jack I received the same response verbatim. The boys read my questioning look, and it was Jack who spoke up.57

"Denny drew them."58

I looked at the pictures and decided if this were so that all the boys shared not only similar appearance but also similar talent. All the drawings that I had seen so far demonstrated a superb skill and attention to detail. The picture of the Cross was the least of them all, and even its simple stick figure was drawn with straight lines and a careful hand.59

"Does this look familiar to you?" I asked, flashing a picture of a rock.60

"Yeah," said Tommy. "Denny took us there once."61

Just then, Mrs. Gillette came to the door. "Boys," she called, and I could hear a twinge of worry in her voice, "time to come in!"62

The boys turned to run inside, turning to wave as they left. I gave them a quick salute in response and started my car.63

"What?" The cry of my old friend over the cell phone's headset stung my ears, and I knew from the get-go he had done it on purpose. I tuned the volume appropriately and replied.64

"Phil, I need some information."65

"I'm your man."66

"I need a comprehensive report on cases of SRA in the Clinton area as far back as you can find it."67

"Clinton? Where the hell is that?"68

"Clinton's outside Ransom to the East."69

"Is that where you are now?"70

"It is. I followed a lead on a case and it seems that's what we're dealing with."71

"I'll get right on it." He hung up without a word more.72

SRA is the abbreviation for the term Satanic Ritual Abuse, and is all but a myth in the United States today. Many people claim that Satanism is an organized religion, as are all of its offshoots. People from the Church of Satan, the Black Dragons, the Cult of Set, and all their related organizations would deny that ritual abuse takes place at all, but the truth of the matter is this: not all Satanists are part of an organized religion, and not all members of the organized religions stay entirely within the boundaries of that religion.73

I know from experience. I have seen things I could never list here. Take my word for it... SRA is real.74

Having made this determination, I drove the hour-long drive to Ransom's library, where I understand the team got some good information on the old Montega house. Clinton had no library, although it did have an insane asylum and even a major hospital. Hopefully, any clues I needed to find would have carried over to the nearest library rather than having just not been published at all.75

A half-hour into the ride, my phone rang. I plucked the earpiece from the seat and put it in my left ear, pressing the connection button as I did so.76

"What!" I yelled, but there was no way I could be as annoying as Phil. He had it down to a science. My attempt to mock him (and possibly deafen him) went altogether unnoticed.77

"I have the information you requested. I'm emailing it to you now."78

"I'll be in Ransom in about a half an hour, but I doubt I'll get internet service there."79

"Remind me to come up with a way to use your cell phone as a modem."80

"It's possible, but I don't think I'll be geting good cell phone reception too much longer, either."81

That was it. I'd lost him. My phone beeped twice and gave up the signal, and I pulled the earpiece back out. Hopefully, I would be able to get the email, because that was probably the only way I'd be able to get my information now.82

When finally I pulled into the familiar old library, it was cold and windy and stepping out of the car was not a very nice thing to do. Nevertheless, I removed my jacked along with the "added weight" it carried. I carefully folded it over itself and slipped it into the backseat, taking out my laptop carrying case and slinging it over my shoulder.83

Regardless of how cold it was, the day was clear and the sky cloudless. The bright green grass and the boughs of the trees above which were slowly changing colors gave the library a very peaceful quality, and the yellowish brick building with its large bay windows looking in on the reading area looked almost like the  kind of place you would want to come to. Unfortunately, such pastoral scenes held little interest for me, especially here in Ransom. I knew that what I was seeing was solely whited sepulchres, and that there was a dark underbelly to this town that made even this pastoral looking library a place I did not want to be.84

I strode through the front door. With only my hat and a black suit I looked like an out-of-place cowboy at a formal dinner. Definitely not the look I was going for, but I wasn't leaving my hat AND coat. After all, forty percent of the body's heat escapes through the head, and it was, like I said, very cold. Besides, like my duster, my hat held several surprises. 85

I walked over to the microfish station, signed a false name on a signup sheet located on an adjacent desk, and activated the machine. As it began to warm up, I took out my laptop and plugged it into the spare wall socket. 86

"Let's see what we've got," I whispered as I flipped open the lid and started it up. The hum of the cooling fans started up, and three green lights appeared across the top of the keyboard. So far, I was goodto go, but87

FLASH a tall dark figure without a name walking toward me he saw me he knew I was here we were aware of each other FLASH88

I felt a cold tingling in the pit of my stomach and knew it hadn't just been a standard everyday run-of-the-mill flash. The tall dark figure really was here. Almost frantic, but trying not to let it show, I looked around the room for the source of my discomfort, but couldn't find him right off the bat. Whoever had caused the disturbance, I knew from the feeling that he was around somewhere.89

I wasn't getting any signal on my wireless, but there was no getting around the fact that I needed that email from Phil. I HAD to get it if I was going to have any reason for even being at the library. I walked over to the reception desk.90

"Pardon me, ma'am," I said with the best Texas accent I could muster and assisted by the broad black brimmer I wore, "could ya help a young fella out?"91

"Most certainly, sir. What do you need?" As she spoke, and as I replied, I found the telephone on her desk and followed the wires. I figured out as best I could, based on the locations of the two telephones and other such equipment throughout the library, how the wire layout in the cieling must look. To mask the short amount of time this took me to process, I coughed a little. The librarian looked at me expectantly, waiting for my question.92

"How do I get t'the little boy's room?" It came very close to actually causing me physical pain to say this, but I stomached it for appearances' sake.93

"Very simple," she said, pointing in the direction I had followed the wiring. "Right across there, by Children's." 94

"Thank ya much, ma'am," I drawled, tipping my hat to her and making a mental note to never speak like that again.95

I followed the direction she had pointed, all the while noting that most devices that required a phone line were along my path. After reaching the Children's section, I made a quick dash into the men's room. Unfortunately, it was not a single bathroom, but I locked the door behind me anyway. The room was recessed into the side of a hill, so the only windows were thin slits higher on the wall. Judging that no one would be able to see in, I entered a handicapped-accessible stall, closed the door behind me, and set up my laptop on the baby changing station. I then clambered up onto the toilet and pulled aside a cieling tile. Up inside the drop cieling, just as I had suspected, a thick bundle of wires passed by directly overhead. Slipping my penknife out of my pocket and uncapping it with my teeth, I carefully cut the zip-tie that held it and pulled down the white wire I had been following. I got as much slack as I could and then severed the wire, then spliced it directly into my modem. Within a moment, I had my email and repaired the wire, tucking it back up into the cieling and replacing the tile. This was all rather simple and the process took a mere minute of time. However, once I sat back down on the toilet to inspect the emails I had received from Phil, things began to change drastically.96

It was of course only in my mind, but the room seemed to grow dark as the pain in my stomach once again began. I heard footsteps on the tile, and to my right I observed a pair of black wingtip shoes approach me and enter the adjacent stall. The door closed and the action of the shoes showed me that the individual wearing them had turned around and sat down on the toilet. I heard the distinct rustling of heavy newsprint as the man unfolded a paper and began to read.97

"This story about the missing boy is very interesting, don't you think?"98

My stomach was in knots, and I found it difficult to continue. Apparently sensing this, the other person continued.99

"I miss my house, Mr. McDermott. You should not have burned it down."100

"You..." was all I managed to groan out as my intestines performed their acrobatics within me.101

"Yes. It is me."102

"Who..." Again, I could say no more.103

"Delve no further, McDermott." The paper folded back up as I folded in half, the pain inside me burning like I had never felt pain do before.104

"Damn... you..." I muttered. I could not look with my eyes as tightly closed as they were, but I knew from the sound that the wearer of the expensive shoes opened his stall door and walked toward the exit. I noticed this time that I had never heard the door open on the mysterious man's entrance, and I still did not on his exit. 105

Regaining my nerve and intestinal fortitude, I stood and packed quickly, half-rushing out of the stall after my mysterious visitor. I felt some urges I can't here describe, but all of them were more violent than I cared to deal with at present. I slung my laptop case over my shoulder and ran up to the door. I reached to pull it, but almost threw my arm out of socket when I did. It was still locked...106

...From the inside.107

At this point I wisened up and realized I probably was not going to catch my "mystery man," and sat down at the microfish projector again. Back out came the laptop, and I turned it back on. I began my research, but my mind was not in it at all. Instead, my thoughts wandered to the man who had visited me in the locked bathroom...108

...Montega.109

In three hours I had finished up as much as I could do at the library and retreated back to my car. At this point in time the sun was growing heavy in the sky and I made my way to the little Denny's we ate at whenever we came to this town. It was the only chain establishment in the entire area, the closest being a McDonald's thirty-five miles away in Widener County, back toward Colony Hills. The wind was still whipping and I bundled back up in my coat as I exited the car to go have dinner.110

"Hey, sweetie," came a voice, and I half expected to see our regular waitress when I turned. The voice actually belonged to a girl who was a little younger, probably just old enough to have gotten this job. She looked green, and I just hoped she wasn't the one making the coffee. I ordered some, and then looked back up at her.111

"Sweetie? You've been taking lessons from the older waitresses, haven't you. Just a quick note: 'Sweetie' isn't appropriate for everyone, especially not when being said by a girl of your age to a man of mine."112

She looked back at me, and failed to see that I was being rude. Instead, she thought it was a joke and laughed. I tried to refrain from rolling my eyes in shame for sharing her species.113

"Mister, I guess I'll just call you 'Honey' and forget about the 'Sweetie' thing, huh?" Oh my, I thought, is this thing for real? She seemed to actually be flirting with me in her own no-personality sort of way. I decided this was amusing and forgot about being rude to her.114

"I guess that's a little better," I sighed. She smiled at me and twisted her long hair around a finger. I didn't know whether to hit on her or just hit her, but since her age was against me in both those regards and her gender was one I was not often prone to go around knocking out, I refrained from either. Instead, I just resumed being rude.115

"Can I have my damn coffee now?" I growled. She actually chuckled and said "I'll be right back with it, sugah. Keep a light on."116

"What the Hell was that?" I found myself saying out loud, and then pulled out the case file and my notebook and left the matter alone. It didn't leave me alone, however, as the girl whose nametag read Julia came slinking back toward me. I plopped the case file upside-down on top of my notebook and looked to her with a fake smile. 117

"Here's your coffee, sweetie, but I doubt you'll need any sugar for it..." 118

I took a sip of the coffee and muttered "Ten years older than you" into it. She didn't notice.119

"What'cha got there, hon?" She said coyly as she actually sat down and started going through my paperwork.120

"WHAT THE HELL!" I screamed, garnering the attention of every living being in a mile radius. She looked shaken, staring at me with wide eyes. I continued in my tirade. 121

"Do they pay you to bother their customers?" I growled, just loud enough to not let anyone else hear. "Do I tip you so I can have a damn six-year-old flirt with me? Do you want to get a room?" She looked at me and started sniffling.122

"I... I..."123

"Do you want to know what's in the paperwork? Do you? This little boy has been kidnapped by a cult and is due to be sacrificed two nights from now." I pulled the picture of Denny out and shoved it in her face. "And you know what's funny? Huh? You work for this kid... His name's..."124

"Denny!" She said, pulling the picture out of my hand. She said this loud enough for everyone to hear, and I quieted her down a bit before continuing.125

"You know him?"126

"He's my little brother's friend. He's always over our house!"127

"When's the last time you saw him?" I almost pleaded, changing my view of her from an annoyance to a vital lifeline. I grabbed at her apron and begged her, "Tell me, damn it!"128

She looked confused, but stuttered in compliance, "Exactly a week ago today."129

"At your house?"130

"At the park, with my brother."131

"Just you three?"132

"No, all their friends were around."133

"No one else?"134

"I... I..."135

"No one else!!!"136

"There was a guy, about your age... Actually looked a bit like you, but he was thinner and didn't wear glasses."137

"What was he doing?"138

"He was showing the kids some magic tricks."139

"Like what?"140

"Card tricks... You know... Disappearing pennies behind the ear..."141

"That's all?"142

"Yeah. I was watching too... They were really good tricks."143

"And then?"144

"And then we all went home."145

"Did Denny go home with you?"146

"Yes."147

Before she got too scared of me to keep going, I got out of her that the kids were talking about the man the whole way home and almost all the way through the sleepover. They called him "Martin the Magnificent," and were convinced that being like him would be the coolest thing in the world. Now, as a good investigator I know that, as Sherlock Holmes used to say, it's not good to theorize in advance of the facts, lest you begin to suit your facts to fit the theories rather than the other way around. I knew I'd probably regret it, but in my mind I already conceived everything that had happened.148

I threw a five down on the table and left Julia to sit there and cry. The other waitresses gave me the evil eye as I walked out, and I was kind of glad our regular girl wasn't there or else no ESPER member would ever be able to show their face in there again. I had what I needed, though, and headed over to the hotel.149

None of us were rich, myself least of all. Thus, ESPER was used to using the worst possible hotels for our "excursions." I felt, though, that the Streetside Inn in Ransom should become the Official Lousy Hotel of ESPER. After all, we stayed there all the time. I was greeted by name as I entered.150

"Hello, Mr. McDermott, it's good to see you again."151

"Oh, hi, Becky. Where's Samir this evening?"152

"He's away for a month to his own country to see his family."153

"Ah. He must have just left. I just saw him two weeks ago."154

"He left a day or two after you did."155

"Well, I need the regular room."156

"Here you go!" Smiling she handed me the set of keys I had personally used a dozen times in the past year. How many times the other ESPER's had used them, I didn't know, but it was a significant amount.157

"Now, Becky," I said, leaning in to her. The plump, motherly woman leaned back in toward me as though we were about to share some secret.158

"What's up?" 159