by A J Rivers
I stand up. “Well, I can and I must go get another cup of coffee.”
Eric groans as I head into the kitchen. When I come back, the investigator is still talking, and I roll my eyes.
“What?” Eric asks.
I gesture to the TV. “What do you mean what? Are you listening to the same thing I am? This is ridiculous. Did you hear him? ‘Because we can. Because we must. Because we need to know.’”
Eric doesn't look impressed by my impression of Ken Abbott.
“You know, in all the time I've known you, I really thought you were more open-minded than this,” Eric says.
“Me, too,” Sam says.
I swallow my sip of coffee and set the mug down on the table in front of me, throwing my hands up in the air as I lean back against the couch.
“I'm not closed-minded. Not about real life, anyway. And I'm not being closed-minded about this. I'm being realistic,” I say.
“You mean to tell me you're not even curious? There isn't even a little part of you that thinks there's something else other than what we see right here?” Eric asks. “I mean, how different is this from you poring over old case files trying to find out what really happened?”
“This is different!” I insist. “Those are real cases with real events and real people and real evidence. Not… ghosts. Are you saying you believe in ghosts?”
“If that's what you want to call them,” he shrugs. “Ghosts. Spirits.”
“Poltergeists. Spectral phenomena. Phantoms. Wraiths. Phantasms. Kelpies. Apparitions. Spooks,” Xavier says. He realizes we're all staring at him and stops. His eyes slide back and forth between Eric and me. "I thought we were playing a game."
"Banshee," Sam adds.
Xavier points at him. "That's a good one. I forgot that one."
“My point is, ghost stories are fun for Halloween.”
“And Christmas,” Xavier says.
I nod, remembering that whole conversation. “Yes. And Christmas. But it isn't either of those times of year right now. It's summer. It's going to be the Fourth of July soon. I just think it's kind of silly that they are going up to some campground to poke around and see what goes bump in the night. Especially considering the campgrounds at that park are really popular. I can't imagine they’re going to get too much peace and quiet.”
“Like I said,” Eric says. “That campground has been abandoned for years. The whole reason they're going is for the thirteenth anniversary.”
“Oh, yes,” I say dramatically. “The thirteenth anniversary. Because that somehow has more significance than any other year that's passed. So, maybe the campground’s abandoned. There are abandoned campgrounds in every park in every part of this country. There's nothing there but a bunch of trees and some old fire pits. It just seems ridiculous to pretend they're doing something so important and dangerous. Or as if they're going to make some huge discovery that has some major significance to the scientific community. As though we're all out here waiting with bated breath for them to catch the perfect selfie with Casper.”
“So, you're telling me you don't ever wonder if your mother is still around?” Eric asks.
That yanks the breath out of me.
Chapter Two
I stare at him for a few seconds as I try to refill my lungs with air.
“Honestly,” I say. “I don't know. Of course, I like the idea that she hasn't gone completely. That some part of her is still around, and that she was with me during the hardest times of my life. But I don't know what that means. I believe she is watching over me. I believe she does see me and knows the person I am now. But does that mean I think she's invisible and floating around somewhere right now? Do I think she's still in that house in Florida because that's where she died? If that's the case, then I hope not. I don't want to think she's stuck in that room because of what happened to her."
"That doesn't always happen. There are theories that spirits are able to move where they want to, and essentially continue to live, just on another plane," Xavier tells me.
"Well, that's a little bit better," I say.
"Emma, I've heard you talking about energy. Feeling the people who have been hurt or killed in a place. You've told me you feel like the place someone was killed has been scarred," Sam says.
"I know," I say. "And that is how I feel."
"What do you think that is?" he asks.
"Empathy?" I suggest.
"It's more than empathy," Sam says.
"Alright, how about people hearing footsteps in their attics. Or having things move around their houses?" Bellamy pipes up. "All the different members of the family hear them. Even people who are just visiting and nobody told them. What could that be other than the ghosts of the people who were in that house before? Or who had a house there before?" Bellamy asks.
"Am I seriously finding out right now that I am surrounded by people who believe ghosts are just floating around us all the time?" I roll my eyes.
"Murderers in the attic," Xavier says.
"There. At least I have Xavier. Wait… what?"
"Murderers in the attic. Bellamy asked what it could be other than ghosts when people hear footsteps in their attics and have things moving around in their houses. A murderer in the attic is what else it could be," he says.
"Is that just a guess that you have?" Sam asks. "Or is this first-hand knowledge?"
"On March thirty-first, nineteen twenty-two…"
"Of course, he has an example."
"In Hinterkaifeck…"
"Well, that doesn't sound local," notes Eric.
"Bavaria," I explain.
"The land of pretzels," Xavier nods.
"Was that an ethnic culinary generalization or are we back on your food planet?" asks Sam.
"How did you possibly know where that was?" Bellamy asks.
I shrug. "I've been around Xavier so much it's entirely possible I've started absorbing stuff from him."
"Actually, that's not possible at all," Xavier says.
"But a person's soul falling out of his body and floating around into perpetuity is totally plausible?" I ask.
"Ghosts aren't souls. They're collections of energy and manifestations of consciousness,” he retorts as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“All right, back to the pretzels,” attempts Bellamy. “Ooh, I could go for a pretzel.”
“There aren't actually pretzels,” he says. “But yes, Bavaria is known for their pretzels.”
“Xavier,” I say. “On March thirty-first, nineteen twenty-two…”
“Why are you encouraging him?” Sam sighs.
“In Hinterkaifeck, five members of the Gruber family along with their maid Marie were brutally murdered. When they were discovered four days later, the bodies of the maid and the two-year-old were discovered inside the house, while the other four members were found in the barn, stacked in a haystack,” Xavier says.
“Stacked in a haystack?” Eric frowns.
“Post-mortem,” Xavier says.
“Well, I highly doubt anybody would stack four people up and then kill them,” Sam shrugs. “He quickly holds up a hand. “Please, don't give me any examples.”
“I don't have any,” Xavier says.
“Good,” Sam says.
“During the investigation…”
“Oh, we're still doing this,” Sam says.
“Police uncovered it was the maid's first day at work,” Xavier says.
“Wow, that is a seriously bad first day of work,” Bellamy comments. “And I thought my first day working at the Cat Cafe was unpleasant.”
“She found out she's allergic to cats,” I tell Xavier.
“A lot of people got coffee sneezed on them that day,” Bellamy says.
“So, it probably would have been helpful if you had a maid that day. Which was probably the thought process of Mr. Gruber when he hired Marie,” Xavier says.
“You've got to give it to him,” I say, looking over at Sam. “He can segue.”
“Right you are,” Xavier says. “About six months before the murders, the family maid quit. The prevailing rumor was that she frequently heard strange voices and sounds in the attic.”
“And there it is,” I say.
“Then a couple of days before the murders, Mr. Gruber noticed a newspaper he didn't buy in the house. He also noticed some footprints outside in the snow,” Xavier continues.
“Somebody was seriously in the attic,” Bellamy gasps. “I thought there was going to be some sort of weird metaphorical leap we were all going to have to take.”
“No,” Xavier says. “Literally a murderer in the attic. And that is grammatically correct, even if he had not killed anyone else prior to the events of that night. Evidence including eyewitness accounts indicates he continued to live with the corpses for the four days after the murders. Presumably, he did enter the attic at some point during that time, as that would be where he was keeping his belongings. Therefore, a murderer was in the attic. Not just a potential murderer.”
“Why did he only bring four of them to the barn?” Eric asks. “If he was cleaning up after himself or making it more comfortable to stay in the house, why would he leave two of them there?”
“Well,” Xavier says, “the theory is they were likely in the barn already when they were killed. They were just then moved into the hay. The footsteps Mr. Gruber saw led to the tool shed, and there were surface scratches on the door indicating somebody was trying to get in. This suggests that the murderer did not have access to a weapon. He—or she, but most likely he—wouldn't have been able to get the murder weapon and bring it into the house. That means it's most likely the adults of the family were in the barn for some reason already, and the murderer entered, grabbed the murder weapon from the barn, and killed them.”
“What was it?” I ask.
“Emma!” Sam snaps.
“I'm curious,” I tell him.
“A mattock,” Xavier says.
“What's that?” Eric asks.
“Like a pickaxe,” Xavier explains.
“Holy shit,” Sam mutters.
"I tried not to mention it."
"I don't think the baby should be hearing this," Bellamy says.
"You really think she's going to escape hearing things like this once she's out of there?" Eric counters. "Might as well start her now."
"You're going to be the father who gives her ice cream before dinner, aren't you?" Bellamy asks.
"That's actually a good method of parenting, both from physiological and psychological perspectives. Not only does it show that you are fun-loving and want to give your child happy memories of her childhood and that you understand the fleeting and inherently ephemeral qualities of said childhood, but studies have indicated eating sweets prior to a main meal has health benefits. It generates a stronger appetite, which you want before eating regular food, not after. It also promotes a desire for salty or bitter food, which would encourage eating of vegetables and proteins. For an adult, eating a small dessert prior to dinner promotes eating a smaller amount at the actual meal, which can be beneficial. And it's delicious," Xavier says.
"You won't eat a peppermint curved into the shape of a cane at any point in the entire year before you've eaten Thanksgiving dinner, but you'll throw down a hot fudge sundae before your Wednesday night burger?" Sam raises an eyebrow.
Xavier holds his hands up to signal he has no control over the situation and has resigned himself to it. "It's the way of the world, Sam."
Chapter Three
"Seriously, though," I say. "Xavier, you believe in ghosts?"
"I believe that there are things in life that are beyond our capacity for understanding or reason. I think we try to rationalize everything and make our existence neat and orderly because it's more comfortable for us. We want to think that we as living, breathing human beings are the most important and powerful beings because it at best makes us uncomfortable to think anything else. At worst, it terrifies us."
"Like the vending machine," I say, remembering my first encounter with Xavier. He nods with a bright smile.
The days when he was still trapped in the prison, caged for something he didn't do and tormented by the person supposed to be watching over him, seem so long ago. And at the same time, there are moments when I look over at him and get such a sense of relief that he's here. That he can smile, and I can reach out and touch him.
Even more important than that is knowing even when he's not at my house, he's not alone. When he goes back home to Harlan, Dean is with him. They have each other. I don't have to worry about either one of them nearly as much as I used to.
Except when I look over at Dean right now, I realize he hasn't said anything. The whole conversation has been unfolding around him, and he's just sitting, looking at us, but not seeming to see us. I wait for him to notice I'm looking at him, but he doesn't. Something is going through his head. I can see it. I just don't know what it is.
"But there's no real proof that anything like that exists," I say.
"What proof do you have that I exist?" he fires back, as if the question was already locked and loaded, ready to fire.
There's a lot of nuance to that question I don't think I'm going to get into at the moment. Despite myself, I press the bridge of my nose in frustration.
"Oh my god, Xavier. Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Um… I can see you. I can hear you. We interact with each other. Other people around me can see and hear and interact with you, too," I say.
"Alright OK. There are people who say they have seen ghosts. They've heard them. They interact with them. And often there are groups that have the same experiences at the same time, or maybe at different times but they are still having the same experience."
"People are easily led. You hear somebody talk about something happening in a place or something strange going on, and the next person who goes to that place is going to be more susceptible to experiencing something he or she will then attribute to that thing. If people just went into a place without any knowledge of anything that might have happened there, without any preconceived notions, without any influence, they’d hear something and know it's just the building settling. Or they’d feel something and know it's just air coming from a vent. You heighten their fears by telling them ghost stories, and suddenly that's footsteps and a ghost touching your face," I say.
"There are photographs of shadow people and figures that weren't there when the pictures were taken. Audio recordings of unexplained sounds. Video of objects moving in response to questions or commands. People all saying the same thing happened and hearing the same words being spoken without conferring with each other. You think it's more likely that all of these people are experiencing mob mentality, cooperative madness, or even just participating in ongoing hoaxes and conspiracies, than that there is actually something else happening?" he asks.
"There have been plenty of instances when people have made a big deal out of something happening to them and saying it was ghosts or demons or whatever, then they come forward later and admit they made it all up and faked all the evidence. Like the Amityville haunting. Or the picture of the Loch Ness Monster that turned out to be a chunk of a tree sticking up from the water," I reply.
"And then there are countless others that are never withdrawn and are so widely accepted, people put up warnings to protect others. Bobby Mackey's Music Hall has a sign outside that warns patrons of the potentially demonic activity inside and that they enter at their own risk. The real Annabelle doll had so many bad things linked to her she was put in a glass case with a notice that no one was to open the door."
"But it's all superstition," I insist. "Which can be fun. But that's all it is. Entertainment. It's not really real. I can't understand how anybody could believe things t
hat sound so outrageous. The simpler ones like footsteps, maybe. But when you get into the haunted dolls and portals to hell and sea monsters… it's just too outlandish."
"I suppose I can understand your hesitation. Maybe it is difficult to take it seriously when one person tells you about something he’s seen that you can't imagine, or that goes against what you've been told is real. It's easier to accept someone describing a furry four-legged animal with sharp teeth and a fluffy tail, than if he says he saw a multicolored creature taller than a house with horns and a two-foot-long purple tongue and three hearts," Xavier says.
"Exactly."
"That's a giraffe, Emma," he says softly.
I stare at him, not even able to put together a response to that.
"Maybe it's easier for me because I don't see anything the way people tell me I'm supposed to. I'm used to the world not being what I'm told it is and experiencing things that other people don't. So, it's not as hard for me to believe that there could be many more things outside of my grasp. You know things are real without ever having seen them. And it is impossible to prove something doesn't exist. You can prove that it does, but you can only speculate that it doesn't. There's so much emptiness and pain in this world, Emma. So much that gets taken from people every day. I don't want to discount any possibility that could offer hope."
“You think that demons and evil spirits offer help?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “But what they are here to fight against does. The only reason something like that would exist is because there's something good in this world that goes beyond what we can see. I know it makes me feel better to think we aren't alone. That there's more. When we were standing in the woods behind the cabin in Feathered Nest, I told you I believed without a shadow of a doubt that this world is not it. That there is so much more. It's comforting to me to believe that this existence and the next aren't completely separate. We put so much emphasis on our importance as human beings. On our value. If we are so valuable, so precious, how could we just cease to be?”