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“I’m beat,” announced
the fit young man in the back seat of the silver Chevy Monte Carlo. “I
don’t want to see any more fish, squid or whales for at least a month!
Right now I just wanna sleep so I can jazz the glass tomorrow.” “Not even vampire squid, batfish, ghostfish
or spider crabs? chuckled one of his companions. “It’s Halloween,
buddy.” “And the kids’ll be here
soon,” added the driver. They’ll be expecting treats. Come on, Stu,
you wouldn’t wanna disappoint the kids, would you?” “Yeah and we live in this
great old Victorian. We can really do things up right. The kids’ll
love it.” “Yeah, the kids will love it. Why can’t I just leave all that to you
guys? Halloween’s not really my favorite holiday.” “Come on, Stu, it’s really
about the kids…” “Yeah, think about the
kids…” “All right, already, enough
of the guilt trip. Drop me off at the house and you guys go get the
stuff. I’m gonna take a
shower and have a nice cold pop.” It took only minutes for the
trio of bachelor crewmen from the submarine Seaview
to reach the outskirts of “Creeeeaaaaakkkk!” The
wood and leaded glass door never failed to remind the house’s
occupants that it was over one hundred years old and even though he
anticipated it, Riley always found the noise a little unsettling.
Shaking off a shiver he tossed his bag on the entrance rug and scooped
up the mail that had accumulated beneath the slot. As
he set the bundle on the table, he had an uneasy feeling that someone
was watching him so he peered over his shoulder then slowly turned
around. His jaw dropped and his eyes grew wide at the sight before him.
The parlor that typically served as the TV room was draped with white
thread-like material that resembled a massive spider web. Hanging from
the chandelier was what appeared to be a human head, partly covered in
blood. Though his first impulse was
to ignore his friends’ handiwork he decided instead to take a closer
look at the display. The strands were some type of cotton batting that
had been carefully pulled apart and twisted into a web-like mat. The
head turned out to be a painted plaster mask but the expression on it
was very sad and very realistic. Even the gaping wound across the lower
cheek and nose was life-like. The blood appeared real, so much so that
Riley thought he detected the odor of iron. The fact that it was still
dripping added an eerie touch. The blond scratched his head. I
have to admit those guys did a pretty good job but when did they have the time to do
all this? We just got back from the cruise. Then something else
occurred to him. Mrs. Quigley is
gonna have a cow over them spilling that stuff on her rug! “I think I’ll go get that
shower and change,” he announced to anyone who might be hiding nearby
before grabbing up his bag and ascending the stairs two-at-a-time. After
a brief stop in his room to gather some towels he made his way to the
back of the house where the shower was located. It didn’t take long
for him to discover something was very wrong. The outside of the
bathroom door was smeared with blood. Swallowing hard, he pushed the
door open with his fingertips and poked his head inside. Bile rose in
his throat as he saw the extent of the so-called decorations. Several
masks similar to the one in the parlor were floating in a tub filled
with blood. On the floor beneath the tub was a pig, or at least what was
left of it. A clearly spooked Riley backed
down the hall then scooted down the stairs and for the next few minutes
he paced the front hallway wondering what, if anything, he should do. If
he overreacted his friends would tease him mercilessly, yet there was
something sinister about the exhibits and he couldn’t help but feel
threatened. With some trepidation he stepped to the kitchen and popped
his head through the doorway. After looking around and finding no signs
of blood or animal parts he let out the breath he had been holding,
opened the refrigerator and grabbed a can of cola. The presence of red stains on
the dining room carpet again raised his hackles and when he took full
measure of the macabre display his mouth gaped open. Taped to one wall
were a number of old sepia-toned photographs, each a portrait of a badly
maimed man and some were soldiers in uniform. Next to each portrait was
an obituary, the text written in what he recognized as French. On the
opposite wall, smeared in blood were the phrases “faces of war” and
“repent your crimes”. Needing
no urging he ran for the telephone and grabbed up the receiver. Like a
scene from a bad b-movie he found no dial tone and dropped the handset
as if it was on fire. After practically running to the front door he
flung it open. His heart nearly leapt from his chest when he was met by
three pint-sized ghosts. “Trick or treat!” *****
Seaview’s XO, Chip Morton,
was elated to finally have some time away from his duties. After their
mid-afternoon arrival in port he had been held over at the institute by
the boat’s owner Admiral Harriman Nelson. The flag officer had grilled
him on preparations for the next cruise before Nelson and Seaview’s
captain, Lee Crane, set off for a meeting in Due to the late hour, Chip
opted not to partake in any Halloween related activities, deciding
instead to head home for a long, relaxing shower. He spent nearly
twenty-five minutes in the cascading water before he was satisfied that
the grit and stress from the cruise had been sufficiently washed away
and he flipped off the water. After grabbing a towel from the rack he
vigorously rubbed his short blond locks and became immersed in more
pleasant thoughts about the very special female friend with whom he had
made plans for the upcoming weekend. He was so distracted that when the
doorbell rang several times in succession he was startled. The blond padded over to his
nightstand and picked up his watch. At 2100 hours it was too late for
trick-or-treaters so he grudgingly slipped on a pair of jeans and a polo
shirt, ran a comb through his hair and went downstairs to answer the
door. He flipped on the porch light and peered through the peephole,
grimacing as he recognized the visitor as Sharkey, Seaview’s Chief of
the Boat. It was never a good sign when the “Chief,” Chip said flatly.
Sharkey winced. “Sorry, Mr.
Morton, but this is something you gotta know about.” Chip sighed to himself and
waved the “Ah, Riley, sir…” “What did the others drag
him into?” “To be honest, it’s not
him, exactly.” Sharkey handed over one of the old photographs. “Sir,
some of these and some old obits were stuck up on his wall when he got
home. And there was a mask hangin’ from the light.” Chip studied the photo then
flipped it over to look for any writing. “So it’s a grisly photo. It
could be a Halloween prank. The men have been known to be pretty
creative.” “None of the guys are ownin’
up to this one, even after I told ‘em I’d be callin’ you.” The corners of Chip’s mouth
turned up ever-so-slightly. “Riley thinks it’s kinda
creepy and I gotta agree with him.” “Is it possible there’s an
angry girlfriend out to get revenge?” “That’s what I figured at
first, but they all said no way. When I saw the masks, and the
blood….” Chip furrowed his brow.
“Come on, Chief; better tell me the rest of it.” Sharkey reached into his
inside jacket pocket and pulled out several Polaroid photos of the
damages. “Sir, that’s just how Riley found it. I called security and
Mr. Gordon said to wait and let you decide how to handle it since it
could be some kinda threat.” Chip glanced at the latest
pictures and winced. “Okay, Chief, head back over there and keep an
eye on things. I want this kept quiet for now and tell the men not to
touch anything. I need to do some checking first but I’ll be over
later.” Sharkey wagged his head.
“I’ll take care of it, sir.” After sending Sharkey on his
mission Chip found a clear plastic bag and placed the soldier’s
photograph into it. He then studied the image carefully, noting the
insignia and the cut of the jacket. While he wasn’t a historian, he
had studied military history and determined the photo was that of an
infantryman, likely from the early part of the century. Armed with that
information he shrugged on his own uniform and headed for the Nelson
Institute and the one tool he knew would have some answers at any time
of night: Seaview’s high
powered computer. ****
“It is French, World War I
era. The French had several different versions of the uniform, from gray
to blue to khaki then gray again. This one looks to be from around
1917.” Sharkey looked at the
two-by-five inch piece of newsprint hanging by one of the photos.
“That would make this guy maybe twenty five when died, if this notice
is his.” “That’s not much older
than me,” whispered Riley. Chip nodded. “In trench
warfare there were a lot of face and head injuries due to machine gun
and artillery fire. The injuries were hard to hide and since many men
were blinded they couldn’t get work to support their families. Early
deaths and suicides by those men were common, unfortunately.” Riley studied the remaining
photos. “Mr. Morton, who would want to keep a morbid collection like
this?” “Some joker with bad
taste,” declared Sharkey. “Family members, collectors
of war memorabilia, even photographers might have had an interest.
Before I go I want to take a look at those masks.” After first checking out the
one the living room, the three men made their way upstairs. Though Chip
was surprised by the bizarre presentation he didn’t show it and leaned
over the carcass and closely studied the items in the tub. He was drawn
to one mask in particular. It had a gaping scar running down the cheek
and across the throat. “Sir, those masks look real,
kind of like they were made from the faces of real men.” Chip nodded. “Real men with
real injuries. I was thinking of that myself, Riley.
I’m guessing the masks and photos are related somehow.” After they made their way back
to the downstairs hall Chip turned to the men. “While the artifacts
are interesting we need to work on finding out how all this got here and
why it’s here. Chief, where did the other men go?” “I sent ‘em to stores to
get some supplies to clean all this up. They should be back soon.” “When they do, have them
stay put until I get back in touch. Take a lot of pictures but leave
everything just as it is.” Chip reached for his briefcase and pulled
out a satellite radio set and handed it to Sharkey. He reached in again,
this time retrieving two pistols. “It may take a day to set up but I
have an idea how to smoke out whoever did this.”
****
Riley looked through the
picture window and panicked. None other than the woman from whom they
rented the house was strolling up the front sidewalk and she always
carried a key. Knowing that if no one answered she would let herself in,
he quickly stepped outside and yanked the door closed so hard that it
rattled the glass. “Stuart, that door should not to be slammed like
that. You disappoint me.” “I…I’m sorry, Mrs.
Quigley, but I was just going out. It’s work, an emergency.” Quigley looked around.
“Without a car, Stuart?” “I…I need to…I’m
waiting for the guys to pick me up. They’ll be here any minute.” The woman eyed him
suspiciously. “Hmmmm.” “Is there something I can do
for you, Mrs. Quigley?” “My carpenter left a piece
of crown molding on the back porch and I want to try and have it
matched. Could you get it for me?” “Sure thing, Mrs.
Quigley.” Riley scurried
around back but found the screen door latched. He was attempting to pull
the wood strip from around the screen so he could reach in when Quigley
snuck up behind him. “Stuart, stop that this
minute. Why don’t you just go through the house?” “I’m sorry, Mrs. Quigley,
I was in a hurry and locked myself out.” Before Riley knew what was
happening, Quigley took off. When he caught up to her he practically
begged her to let him unlock the door. “Nonsense,” she said as
she turned the key. In a last ditch effort to keep
her out of the house Riley pushed past and closed the door in her face.
He raced to the porch but after half a minute of searching he was unable
to find any loose pieces of wood. Girding himself for yet another tongue
lashing he took in a breath and stepped into the hallway. To his chagrin
Mrs. Quigley was staring into the parlor, hands on her hips. “Stuart!” ****
Martha Quigley knew her
tenants worked for the prestigious Nelson Institute but had never
inquired about what they did there, so when she had been informed by
Riley that his boss would be stopping by to pay for any damages, the
last person she expected to see was a tall, handsome naval officer. She
ushered him inside and offered him coffee, which he declined. “I
hope Stuart isn’t in too much trouble. He really is a nice young man.
All of them are.” Though Chip found her comments
amusing, he maintained his stoic facade. “The men will receive
discipline appropriate for what they did. Again I apologize for the
damages and I’m prepared to pay whatever you consider to be a fair
price to repair or replace the rug.” Quigley wrung her hands.
“That rug is antique. I will need to see if it can be cleaned without
removing any of the dyes. That will require a specialist so I’m afraid
at this point I cannot give you an exact cost.” Chip reached into his
briefcase, pulled out a bank check and handed it to her. She slipped on
her reading glasses and glanced at the document. Her raised eyebrows
told him she liked the number. “I believe that is sufficient but if
not, please let me know.” He then handed her a business card. “If
I’m not in, ask for Beth, my administrative assistant.” “I certainly will,
Commander.” “All I ask is for you to
give us a couple of days to clean up the rest of the room before sending
someone over.” “All right.” Before closing his case Chip
removed what he considered to be the least offensive of the soldier
portraits and held it out. “Ma’am, do you by any chance recognize
this photograph?” Quigley studied the image
carefully. “No, I can’t say that I do but my instincts tell me
it’s very important to you. Family?” “Not my family but I am
looking for the owner.” Chip rubbed the back of his neck. “I have to
admit that before I came over I checked into your background and I
learned you were very involved in historical preservation. I thought you
might have seen it or one like it, maybe in someone’s collection?” “I appreciate your honesty.
It’s true that local history is a passion of mine, but no, sorry,”
she said as she returned the photo. Chip stood to depart. “Thank
you, Mrs. Quigley, and again, my apologies.” As he sat in his car Chip
contemplated his next move. With his plans to make the rental house
appear unoccupied scuttled by the landlady’s impromptu visit, and no
real leads on the source of the decorations he was tempted to contact
the local authorities and let them handle the investigation. However,
something about the collection was nagging at him; something that just
would not let go. ****
“Mr. Morton, I never would
have known that was there!” Riley looked at the narrow opening of what
used to be a dog door and scratched his head. “I thought it was just
another piece of the paneling.” “We better check out the
rest of them to make sure they’re sealed up. The carpenter says some
of these old places had secret passages and storage nooks. Any one of
them could have been the burglar’s point of entry or a potential
hiding place.” For nearly two hours the men
knocked on panels and ran hands over creases looking for anything that
might indicate a trap or pocket door. They finally found their quarry in
an old pantry that had been converted to a mud room. A sharp rap on a
piece of the bead board revealed a hidden latch, one that allowed the
panel to be slid to one side. Riley grabbed a flashlight and peered
inside. “It leads under the house.” He pulled his head out of the
opening and looked at the others. “I can see a pile of candy
wrappers.” Chip nodded for the other men
to go check out the crawlspace. In less than five minutes they had
located an underground root cellar. “Anything?” “No, sir, it’s empty,
except for a lot of trash.” For Chip the picture was
becoming much clearer. “Riley, are there any kids that live nearby?” “Sure, Mr. Morton, lot’s
of ‘em.” “Any teenagers? Maybe some
who have it in for the military?” “There’s a family with two
boys, around the corner and couple of houses down. They have anti- war
bumper stickers all over their car. Sir, you don’t think…” “Large amounts of candy,
small space, anti-military message. It all adds up. I don’t want to
tip them off, but I need to check them out. Have they ever spoken to
you? Introduced themselves?” “No, sir.” “Somehow they figured out
you men were military. They could have been hiding and heard you
talking.” At the thought of some person
or persons lurking under the house listening to his personal business
Riley bit his lip. “I’ll head back to the
institute to run a background check. You three keep a low profile. I
want the masks, photos and news clippings boxed up but go ahead and
clean up the rest.” As Chip stepped off the porch
a familiar car pulled up in front of the house. He quickly walked
towards the street to meet the driver. “Mrs. Quigley, I thought you
were going to give us a couple of days.” “I am
the landlord,” she said with a smile. “That photo of yours, it was a
French soldier, am I right?” “Yes, ma’am, World War I
era.” “I have a friend who’s a
local newspaper archivist and I took the liberty to tell him about your
photo. I asked him to check for any local connections to injured French
soldiers during that time frame and he recalled seeing something about a
couple who had served with the Red Cross in France settling here in
Santa Barbara. He was able to find this pretty quickly.” She
held out a photocopy of a news clipping dated August of 1936. “It says
that the couple both served but Anna Coleman Ladd, a sculptress, founded
the American Red Cross Studio for Portrait Masks. She made masks for
disfigured soldiers. Her work earned her the Légion d'Honneur Crois de
Chevalier and the Serbian Order of Saint Sava.
I think this Anna Ladd might be your photo’s owner.” While Chip was amazed by the
history surrounding the photos and masks he was awed by the research
done by Mrs. Quigley in such a short amount of time. “That is
fantastic. Thank you very much for your help.” “We’re not done,
Commander. You need to find out where Mrs. Ladd lives, and it just so
happens I have connections at the deeds office.” Chip smiled broadly. “Mrs.
Quigley, why am I not surprised?” ****
While ironic, it was no
coincidence that the former residence of Anna and Maynard Ladd was the
very same house now occupied by a Jonathan Griggs and his family.
Research had revealed that Griggs had been a leader of anti-war protests
in the “What do you want?”
demanded the clean-shaven man in a suit who stepped out onto the porch. The man’s manner of dress
was not what Chip expected, but his attitude was on target.
“I believe I have something
that you or your boys will recognize.” “What are you talking about?
My boys have no business with the Navy.” Chip reached into his canvas
bag and pulled out one of the bloodied masks. “This…” Griggs cocked an eyebrow. “…was found in a house,
and I believe your boys put it there.” “It’s a bloody Halloween
mask! Trick or treat! Maybe someone just pulled a trick on your me…
“ “On who, Mr. Griggs? How did
you know whose house I meant?” “Unless you have proof my
boys did something you better leave.” “I happen to know this house
was once owned by a woman who made these masks, so they can be traced
right back here to you.” “If you don’t leave I’ll
call the cops.” “And tell them what? That
I’m accusing your boys of burglarizing someone’s house? Where they
cut up a pig and let it bleed out all over the floor? Where they left
several of these masks inside the house in a tub of blood? Where they
left threats for my men? How do think all that will go over with them,
Mr. Griggs?” Griggs stood in angry silence. “I’ll make a deal with
you. You turn over all the rest of the items, anything belonging to the
former owners and your boys
stay away from that house and we’ll forget this ever happened.” “My boys didn’t …” Chip held out a business card.
“Think about my offer, Mr. Griggs. Think hard.”
**** After Chip had been informed
by the institute attorney that Anna Coleman Watts Ladd had died in 1939
without a will he sifted through the contents of the small trunk that
contained some of her personal papers and photos. He couldn’t help but
be inspired by the woman’s war service and her dedication to its
fighting men. Without plastic surgeons or modern techniques she and
others like her created copper prosthetic masks to cover missing noses,
cheeks and eyes. An artist, she had carefully painted each mask to match
the individual soldier’s skin tone and eye color, even stippling the
areas where facial hair would be expected. It was no surprise to find
out she followed up with each man she helped, and had paid for each one
to have a portrait made with his new face. As he stacked up the letters
to return them to the trunk Chip came across one that was labeled
“unfinished business”. Lifting
the flap of the envelope he pulled out the single piece of paper and
unfolded it. It was a letter labeled “Last Will and Testament”,
written in Ladd’s own hand and dated It was the final statement in
the letter that really grabbed Chip’s attention. “Any remnants of masks or
molds from my work in the Great War, be they copper, clay or plaster,
are to be buried with the men to whom they belong. If that is not
possible, it is my wish that these items be destroyed.” For several minutes Chip held
the letter in his hand and considered his options. An un-witnessed will
was not legally binding but Ladd’s wishes were made crystal clear and
he intended to do everything he could to ensure they were carried out. **** Seaview
had barely docked in Marseille when Chip Morton asked his captain for
permission to go ashore. Since Chip had never mentioned knowing anyone
in the port Lee was instantly curious. “Are you sure you don’t want
me to go with you?” Chip shook his head. “Not
this time. It’s something that I’ve needed to take care of for
awhile.” “Sure you don’t need me to go?” The blond held up a small box
“I don’t think delivering this package for a friend will be a
particularly hazardous mission, but thanks. I’ll see you later.” After clearing customs, Chip
caught a series of buses that took him to an older neighborhood up in
the hills south of the center city. He climbed the last hundred yards on
foot then stood outside the two story cottage, gathering the courage to
knock. The middle aged woman who answered the door studied the officer
curiously. “Madame Etéle?” “Oui.” “Madame, j'ai quelque
chose à vous
donner, pour votre père.”
(I have something to give you, for your father.) Finis If you are interested in
reading more about this unfamiliar bit of history here are a couple of
links: http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history-archaeology/mask.html
http://www.projectfacade.com/index.php?
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