Page 9 of Dead Evil
“Not for anything church related,” Jude said. “There’s the usual domestic abuse, assault and battery, along with property crimes; theft and criminal trespass. KOD has been able to use those charges to fundraise. Shackleton cries ‘witch hunt’ and the money pours in.”
“Asshole,” Ronan muttered. He was about to ask Jude another question when each of their phones dinged with an incoming text alert. It was a message from convention organizers.
“Holy shit!” Jude half-shouted. “I can’t believe it! Agatha Louise is gonna make an appearance at Paranormal Phantasmagoria!”
“Who the hell is Agatha Louise? Some ridiculous influencer who’s Insta page is loaded with duck faced pics?”
“Shut up! Don’t say that!” Jude warned, looking scared. “Are you fucking crazy?”
Ronan exchanged a confused look with Fitzgibbon. “No, but I’m beginning to think you might be. Who the hell,heck, is Agatha Louise?” It wasn’t like Jude to look this rattled, especially not after being so excited to see this person. Maybe she was an ex of some sort? Or a former boss?
“Before I tell you the story, do not laugh at anything I’m about to say. Keeping a straight face could save your life. Got it?” Jude asked. He looked back and forth between Ronan and Fitz until both men nodded. The scared look on his face faded. “Agatha Louise is a haunted doll, but not just any haunted doll. She’s a K-I-L-L-E-R.”
Who obviously can’t spell, Ronan thought to himself. “Who or what has she killed?” Ronan fisted his hands and dug his fingernails into his palms. He was on the verge of laughing and wanted to live to dance with Everly on her wedding day. It was better to be safe than dead, at least until Jude finished his bizarre story.
“She’s killed seven people so far,” Jude said, his voice just above a whisper. “Which technically makes her a serial you-know-what.”
His tone reminded Ronan of telling ghost stories around a campfire. If he were twelve years old, he’d be scared half to death. “How did a doll kill seven people?”
“Agatha Louise’s murderous rampage started in 1964. She was owned by a seven-year-old girl named Poppy Richardson in Dover, Delaware. One cold December night, just after Christmas, Poppy’s house caught on fire. Her entire family, with the exception of Poppy, escaped.”
“How the hell did that happen?” Ronan asked.
“The mother thought the father had grabbed her and vice versa. By the time they realized neither of them had gotten her out of her room, it was too late. Poppy’s body was brought out of the house by the paramedics after the fire had been put out. Under her arm was Agatha Louise. The doll’s clothes were dirty with soot and ash from the fire. Some of her orange curls were singed off and half of her face was burned.”
“What a horrible story,” Fitzgibbon said.
“That’s just the beginning. On the night of Poppy’s funeral, her father dropped dead in the hotel room the family was staying in. Massive heart attack. He was only thirty-three years old and until that night, had been fit as a fiddle. One week later, Poppy’s mother and older brother were in a horrific car accident. She was hit head on by a garbage truck that had swerved into their lane. She died instantly. The brother was in a coma and woke up three days later, shouting Agatha Louise’s name. His maternal grandparents were in the room with him and were holding his hand ten minutes later when he died.”
Ronan shivered. His teenage self would definitely have been sleeping with the lights on after hearing this story. Hell, if thetale got much worse, his adult self would be too. “You said she killed seven people. That’s only three.”
“When the grandparents packed up the hotel room after the double funeral, they took Agatha Louise with them. They’d been the ones who bought the doll for Poppy and they wanted something to remember her by. Everything was fine at first, but then the grandfather saw the doll move.”
“Move?” Fitz asked, his eyes wide.
“Only one of the doll’s eyes survived the fire. One was a perfect green, while the other was blackened and permanently melted shut. Poppy’s grandfather saw the doll’s good eye roll back in her head, which began to spin around a full 360 degrees. Her arms reached for him. The grandfather was freaked out. He called his wife who allegedly also witnessed the doll moving. He grabbed a trash bag and his wife’s dishwashing gloves and used them to stuff the doll into the bag. After the bag was securely tied shut, he threw her in the trash. Fifteen minutes later, he was dead. Massive stroke. Medical examiner said he was dead before he hit the floor. The grandmother rescued Agatha Louise from the trash, gave her a bath and cleaned her up. She promised the doll would always be safe and welcome in her house.”
Ronan turned to Fitz, whose mouth hung open in obvious shock. “Did she kill the grandmother too?”
Jude shook his head. “No, she lived for another thirty years, died in 1994 from natural causes, and left the doll to her next door neighbor in her will. The neighbor’s name was Cindy and she and the grandmother had been enemies for decades. Cindy thought the doll was an olive branch from the grave, but it turned out to be a one-way ticket to the morgue. She died the day she took possession of the doll.”
Fitzgibbon snorted. “Okay, so if everyone who owned the doll was dead, how the hell did the story get out?”
Jude grinned at Fitz. “I’m so glad you asked. Poppy’s grandmother left a letter in a sealed envelope with her will. Her lawyer was given instructions to open it after Cindy’s death. The letter inside detailed Agatha Louise’s entire history. The grandmother confessed to using the doll to kill her neighbor. The letter ended with a macabre warning that whoever owned the doll next would meet the same fate as all the others.”
Ronan was absolutely stunned. He would have found this story beyond belief it had appeared in a Stephen King novel, never mind in real life. “I hate to mention math, but with Poppy’s parents, grandfather, brother and the neighbor, that makes five. I thought you said she was responsible for seven deaths.”
“You’re right. This is where things get really interesting.” Jude smirked at Fitz and Ronan.
“I’m not sure my poor heart can handlereally interesting,” Fitzgibbon said.
“Word of the letter got out and Devin Forrest paid a ridiculous amount of money to buy the doll,” Jude said, pausing, as if he were waiting for some kind of recognition.
“Devin Forrest?” Ronan asked. “Why do I know that name?”
Fitz gasped. “Jesus, he owns that freaky museum in Florida. The one that has a collection of serial killer memorabilia.”
“Curiosity Cabinet,” Ronan said. “Christ, he’s got one of those creepy clown portraits painted by John Wayne Gacy from death row, forks from Jeffrey Dahmer’s kitchen and a huge collection of haunted dolls. We met him during a case Tripp Cahill and Marlowe Bond worked for their ghost hunting YouTube channela couple of years ago. Devin took possession of a cursed doll named Violet.”
