A/N: A quick teaser: the rest of this should go up within the next day or two, once I've put the finishing touches on it and polished it up. Thanks once again to PDXWiz, jtbwriter and Harry2!
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§ § § -- April 14, 2002 – Susanville, California
"I dare you to go in there, scaredy-cat." The four boys looked at the new kid on the block, waiting with smirks on their faces for him to chicken out. The boy who had spoken was their leader, with a swagger that he thought made him look older than his ten years but in fact only painted him as the bully he was.
The new boy stared uncertainly at the vacant lot. They were standing at the very edge of the overgrown grass, sneakers on the pavement but toes just overhanging the edge, as though to go any farther invited ghosts to come flying up out of the huge pile of debris in the middle of the small meadow. There actually were supposed to be ghosts here, the new boy had heard. Since moving here a couple of weeks ago, he'd discovered that this empty lot was a huge attraction. The other kids in the neighborhood were either too frightened to get any closer to it than the other side of the street, or constantly daring one another to venture into the yard. The new boy shoved his hands into his pockets. This group he was with claimed to be the only kids in the neighborhood who'd not only gone into the yard, but actually hunted for treasure in that pile of junk in the middle.
He turned and peered at the leader, feeling a little nervous but trying very hard not to let it show. "You ever find anything in there?" he asked, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at the debris.
The bully shrugged while his cronies snickered. "Found some silverware, but that's all. Look, Colson, you want in the group, you gotta go in. And not just in the yard, but in the ashes." For that's what it was—a giant heap of ashes, packed down by countless snowfalls and rainstorms and the passage of time. The new boy, Ryan Colson by name, turned back to eye it again, wondering what the ashes had once been. Probably a house, he imagined, since it was the only vacant lot on an entirely residential street. It was obvious even to him that those ashes had been there far longer than he'd been alive—heck, his mom and dad were probably little kids when this place burned down. But despite that, it seemed wrong somehow to go in there and poke through whatever was left. Somebody had to have lived here once, and it would feel too much like going through their private stuff.
"If you find anything in there, Colson, it belongs to the whole group, not you," one of the other boys said. "So don't steal anything."
Ryan turned and scowled at him. "If we take anything out of there, it's stealing anyway," he informed him. "You ever think of that?"
"What're you, some dumb old goody-two-shoes?" scoffed the bully. "You're just scared, Colson, and you know it. You'll never be good enough to get in the group. C'mon, guys, let's get outta here and let the scaredy-cat think about it." The group moved off down the street, leaving Ryan standing at the edge of the yard feeling uncertain, yet drawn in spite of himself. Once more Ryan's gaze strayed to the hill of ashes, and curiosity slowly began to supplant his trepidation. What was really in there? Maybe he could find something interesting, some sort of clue that might tell him more about what had happened here way back whenever. Ryan was a big Hardy Boys fan and had often wished for a mystery of his own to solve; now it looked like one had fallen right into his lap. He shot one last glance down the street, after the retreating backs of the gang he'd been thinking about joining, then took a deep breath and stepped into the grass.
He felt a little like a hunter on a safari. The grass was almost as tall as he was and he had to half wade through it, parting the stalks ahead of him as a swimmer cleaves the water, plowing determinedly straight ahead. The lone tree in the front yard cast stark shadows on him and he eyed it sidelong. It must be dead; all the other trees on the street had leafed out, but this one was just a trunk and a spidery mass of branches. Ryan turned his back on it and forged ahead till he very abruptly emerged from the long grass and almost tripped over the edge of the foundation. "Whoa," he blurted and windmilled his arms frantically, finally regaining his balance.
His eyes grew wide with amazement as he took in the scene before him. "Whoa," he said again, this time with awe. The large squarish depression in the ground contained more than just that giant pile of ashes. Now he could see the half-rotted remains of blackened timbers in a few places, weedy-looking plants sticking up out of the mess, even a small tree growing in the far corner. Nearly at his feet he could see a scorched doorknob glinting dully up at him. Excitement overcame him, and he completely forgot to be afraid of anything, even the ghosts they said were here. Ryan jumped eagerly into the foundation and picked up the knob, brushing off dirt and ashes and turning the thing over and over in his hand. There wasn't anything special about it, and after a moment he lost interest in it and dropped it again before moving forward, one giant step at a time, scanning the ground for anything that might look interesting.
An idea occurred to him and he goose-stepped over to one of the timbers, working away a broken sliver long enough to use as a digging stick. That other kid had said they'd found silverware here. Wouldn't it be cool if he found something really important? Something that might be worth reward money or something? Maybe he could get the new GameBoy he hadn't received for his birthday last month. Even if not, he might still solve the mystery surrounding this weird vacant lot with its burned house.
Ryan spent the next half hour digging through the ashes in random spots, without turning up very much. It crossed his mind once that he might even find human bones lying in here somewhere, but after a moment's stark terror he realized that none of the other kids had said anything about anyone ever finding any. If they had, that probably would've been the first thing he'd have heard about when he got the story of this place. He returned to his poking around, turning up some more of the silverware the bully had mentioned but not bothering to pick it up. He did uncover a broken dinner plate, but that held little interest for him either and he moved on.
His sneakers were sinking into the mucky ashes and he made a face. His mom'd give him heck if he didn't clean them off before he went into the house. Trying to back off into a shallower section near the edge of the foundation, away from the main heap, he felt his ankle turn under him. Ryan let out a yelp as he tumbled onto his side, then cried, "Ow!" when he hit something hard. Scrambling to his feet, he tried to see what he'd landed on, but there was nothing immediately visible. Frantically he brushed ashes off his jacket. "Mom's gonna kill me…" he groaned.
A gust of wind sprang up and eddied the ashes he'd knocked loose in his fall—and as they spiraled into the air in a miniature whirlwind, he froze and gaped. There really was something in there. He could see it! Grabbing the stick, he scraped away at the dirt and ash surrounding the object till he finally uncovered it enough to get a good look at it. Ryan's eyes went huge with amazement again. "Awesome," he breathed. "A safe!"
It was, in fact, a small household safe, resembling the ones he sometimes saw in rich people's houses on TV. All sorts of wild ideas danced through Ryan's mind. There could be money in there, or jewelry, or stocks and bonds…stuff that could make the finder rich. He had to get it out of here…but how was he going to get it home?
A car horn honked on the street and a voice called, "Ryan! Ryan, where are you?"
Startled, Ryan straightened up. "In here, Dad!" He jumped as high as he could but still couldn't make himself seen above the grass, especially standing in the foundation as he was. He shouted louder. "In here, Dad! In the vacant lot!"
"Coming," his father's voice yelled, and several minutes later Ryan's dad emerged from the overgrown grass and stared at his son with some exasperation. "Ryan, what're you doing in here anyway? You really shouldn't be messing around in here."
"But Dad, look what I found!" Ryan exclaimed, hyperactive with excitement, pointing at the safe. "It's a real live mystery, just like the Hardy Boys! Can we get it out, Dad?"
His father stared at him, then at the safe, and frowned. "I suppose we could," he said, "but it's not ours to keep, Ryan. It's got to belong to somebody."
"But I found it," Ryan protested. "Finders keepers, right, Dad?"
"Not this time," his father said. "That's too big and too valuable an item to just lay claim on." He looked around the lot and whistled low. "I had no clue any of this was back here. Melinda Sansome said there used to be a house here that burned down, but I didn't realize the ashes were still here. What an unholy mess."
"Da-aaaad," Ryan pleaded impatiently.
His father sighed. "All right, Ryan, all right, but we're taking that thing to the police and you're going to tell them how and where you found it. You understand? That safe, and whatever's in it, belongs to somebody, and if the police know whose it is, they can get hold of that person and let them know you found it for them. Come on, let's see if we can get this thing out of here, and then we're heading to the station with it."
Ryan dug away more ashes with his stick while his father jumped into the foundation and grasped the safe, wiggling it loose and making a stab at lifting it. "This thing's heavy," he muttered, bracing himself and heaving it off the ground. "You know, young man, if I leave you in here trying to solve one of your everlasting mysteries, you might turn up a skull next. Come on."
Ryan and his father made their way back across the overgrown lot to the car, where Mr. Colson wrestled the safe into the back seat and then urged Ryan to get in. Ryan bounced in his seat all the way into downtown Susanville and was the first out of the car at the police station. His father had to restrain him before they went inside.
The receptionist looked up. "Can I help you?"
Ryan's father cleared his throat. "Yes…I hope so. My name is Ken Colson and I live a little ways out of town, on Banner Street. My son Ryan here found something he wants to bring to your attention."
The receptionist smiled at an eager Ryan. "What'd you find?"
"A safe, miss," Ryan blurted. "Just like something out of the Hardy Boys. There's this vacant lot on our street, and some of the guys were daring me to go in there, but I waited till they were gone…thought maybe there was something worth a lot in there and they might try to take it, y'know? Anyway…I was pokin' around in the ashes, and I found a safe, a big one too! My dad could hardly carry it, it was so heavy! He said we hadda come here and show it to the police, 'cause it might belong to somebody. Hey, is something wrong?" The receptionist wore a strange look.
"A vacant lot? On Banner Street…?" she asked, staring up at Ken Colson.
He nodded. "Yeah…uh, is there something we should know about?"
"Wait just a moment." The receptionist stood up and glanced down a hallway at her right, then called, "Sergeant Calabrese? Could you come out here a minute?" She bit her lip and sat down at her desk. "The sergeant will be right with you."
Ryan stared at his father. "Wow, Dad, maybe that safe was stolen!"
"I don't know, son. Let's wait and see," Colson said, now strangely ill at ease. Ryan stood on his tiptoes as if that would allow him to see around the wall that blocked their view of the hallway, fidgeting impatiently.
After another minute or so, a middle-aged woman whose hair was just starting to go gray emerged from the hallway. "What's up, Kate?"
The receptionist gestured at the man and boy. "This is Ken Colson and his son Ryan. They say they found a safe…and get this, Sergeant, it was in that vacant lot on Banner Street—the Hamilton property."
The policewoman stood quite still for just a moment; then she glanced at the receptionist before clearing her throat and shaking Colson's hand. "Hi, Mr. Colson, I'm Sergeant Michele Calabrese. Would you, uh, show me this safe?"
"It's in the back seat of our car, Sergeant," Ryan blurted, still overly excited. "You can come right out and see it there."
"Is there something illegal about all this?" Colson asked nervously.
Calabrese drew herself up short and then laughed a little. "No, it's not illegal…it's just sort of a legend around here, I guess. Never thought something would come out of that place again. I thought it was a closed book."
"The kids say that lot's haunted," Ryan told her solemnly, following her and his father out the door and to the car. "They said there's ghosts there."
Calabrese peered at him. "Can't say I'd be surprised." Colson opened the back door of his car, and she eyed the dusty, dirty little safe sitting in the back seat. "You don't know about that lot, Mr. Colson?"
"We just moved to town," Colson explained. "What's the story?"
Calabrese stared into the middle distance, lost in memory. "You probably figured out there was a house fire there," she said, and Colson nodded while Ryan bounced on his feet nearby, hanging on every word. "Well, there's a really sad story behind it. Happened back in September 1978. The guy who owned the house deliberately set it on fire, evidently trying to kill his family—wife and three daughters. The wife and two of the girls did die, but the guy himself died too—the oldest girl was the only survivor." She shook her head. "I can still see the kid now…blank-eyed and shocked beyond imagining, staring at the place like she was waiting for her mother and sisters to come out. I was here then—handled the whole thing with my partner at the time." She blinked and returned to the present, seeing Ryan's openmouthed fascination.
"Wow," Ryan breathed, drawing out the word. "Awesome."
"Not for the girl," Calabrese said gently. "She didn't have any other family. I can't remember whatever happened to her. She stayed with another family for a few months, then I guess the county dealt with her case and she disappeared. Haven't heard anything about her since then."
"Uh, Sergeant?" They looked around to see Kate the receptionist in the door; she looked to have been there for some time. "I guess you didn't keep up with it. I've been here all my life and I thought that was the saddest case I ever heard of. The girl…she was sent off to Fantasy Island. That safe probably belongs to her."