Bump in the Night

by Meredith Spies

  Jacob grinned at me over their heads. “We’re starting a few hours early.”

  Fellowes held up a hand to silence us and, after taking a long, deep breath, exhaled slowly. He picked up the bowl of salt and poured it carefully onto the disc, then lifted his pendulum. “Are you here?” he asked softly, holding the chain in a loose grip between his thumb and forefinger. I watched as weighted end began to swing in a lazy arc between him and Ezra. After a few seconds, it settled into a steady, straight motion. “Thank you. Now, I’m going to give you a chance to say more than yes and no. Sound good?” Again with the back and forth. The camera man lifted his attention to me for a moment, Jacob making motions behind him for me to move and sit with Fellowes and Baxter. I thought about shaking my head, rolling my eyes, but the memory of those zeros on my contract made me move, albeit grudgingly, to join their little circle.

  “Is this okay?” I asked, not bothering to lower my voice.

  Baxter bared his teeth in a rictus grin parody of a smile, but Fellowes just nodded. “Of course. This isn’t some sort of sacred space you need permission to enter. We’re just chatting with… Dear,” he said, turning his face away and towards the dark pools of shadows beyond our circle of camp lights, “would you like to tell me your name?” The pendulum swung fast and hard in circles.

  “No?” I asked.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Sometimes they don’t. I’m a stranger, after all.” He lowered the pendulum so the tip touched the salt-covered disc. “Now, I know you’re not thrilled with all this activity in your house,” he began, then stopped as the pendulum jerked in his hand. The chain was pulled straight, like someone was holding on to the weighted end. It started to move through the salt, drawing out a messy but legible phrase: Not mine.

  “Not your house,” he murmured. “Right.”

  Beside me, Baxter was recording on his phone. He caught me looking and frowned. “This is for our records. We don’t get the footage they’re shooting and we like to keep track. Besides, I’d think you’d appreciate the fact this,” he shook his phone slightly, “will cover our ass in the case of any accusations of manipulation of footage by the production company or viewers.”

  “Shhh,” Fellowes hissed. He’d smoothed the salt back to flat and was holding the pendulum over it once more, the chain no longer taut. “This isn’t your home,” he began, and the chain jerked again.

  Not house. HOME.

  “Not their house but it is their home,” Baxter put together. “A servant? A child? Someone who is splitting hairs and doesn’t claim ownership of the house but acknowledges they lived here and it was their home.”

  Fellowes tilted his head gently side to side before moving the pendulum back and smoothing out the salt. “Weems, what do you think?”

  “I think…” The camera’s eye felt like a physical weight against my face. I licked my lips and had a flicker of something warm and exciting when I noticed Fellowes’ eyes on my mouth, even if it was just for a heartbeat. “I think I’d like to see that disc of yours,” I said. When his brows shot up, I smiled tightly. “Skeptic, remember.”

  He snorted. “Of course. You can check it all you like when I’m done. Feel free to inspect any of my tools.”

  My face flushed hot at that, and it was all I could do to maintain eye contact. He widened his eyes fractionally and returned his attention to the pendulum, suspending it over the disc and salt once more. “Are you a child?” Nothing. Not even a tremor in the chain. “Did you work here?” Again, nothing. Fellowes frowned and glanced at Ezra. “They’re still here. I can feel them.” He asked a few more questions: Did they know what had happened to CeCe (he called her the pretty lady, something I’m sure she’d appreciate when viewing the footage later)—Yes. Could they tell us? No. Was it an accident? No response. In fact, the next several questions, all about the incident, received no response.

  Ezra sighed. “Do you want to—”

  “No,” he said abruptly, then added, “Not tonight anyway.” He flicked a glance at the camera still filming us. “Do you have any other messages for us right now?” He visibly held his breath. We all stared at the pendulum. I found myself leaning forward before I realized what I was doing, just as interested in the response as the others. The pendulum twitched in his loose grasp, then made a very small, singular circle, the metal tip tracing the motion through the smooth salt. It went still again, as if someone grabbed it by the bottom and held it in place. Snap, just like that.

  Jacob shifted beside the camera man, dropping into a crouch out of the shot. “Are you sure they’re gone?” he asked in a near-whisper. He sounded eager, a kid on Christmas who just knew that big box was a bike.

  Fellowes gave him a sympathetic smile. “They’re not gone, but they’ve decided not to answer any further. Perhaps we’ll have better luck tomorrow,” he added. Jacob nodded, motioning at me with a sort of flick of the wrist, eyes wide and expectant.

  “What?”

  He looked from me to the disc and back again, then rolled his eyes towards the camera man. I followed his gesticulations, I’m sure with my mouth agape as I tried to process his gestures. Baxter had mercy on me. “He wants you to examine the tools for the camera.”

  “Oh. Now?”

  Fellowes was carefully brushing salt back into the small bowl beside his knee, the pendulum already tucked away in a small silky bag resting on his thigh. “Well, I would like to get at least a few hours of sleep so now is good.” He handed me the smooth metal plate and sat back on his heels, openly waiting.

  I suppose it was as good a time as any to admit I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. “Okay,” I murmured. “So, metal. Magnets… I need something like a paper clip or a needle. Small and metal.”

  “Here.” Baxter held up a paperclip. “It was in my pocket.”

  “Perhaps in the spirit of transparency,” Fellowes said, “he should find something neither of us has on our person. Less chance of someone claiming conspiracy later.”

  That was a fucking excellent idea. And I wished I’d thought of it. Baxter made a sour face, tucking the clip away, as I searched the immediate area for something that would work. “Here we go.” I grabbed the first aid kit that had been left on the floor while CeCe was moved. A bit of rummaging produced a thin metal clip, the sort used to fasten elastic bandages into place. No matter what I did, it wouldn’t stick to the disc or the pendulum. I even tried it with the salt. The disc was too thin for electromagnets, something I mentioned aloud for the camera, and sort of breaking it into pieces, there was nothing else I could do to inspect the thing, at least not in the middle of the night in a dark foyer. Beside me, Baxter thumbed off his camera and yawned crackingly.

  “Are we done? Is this everything?”

  Jacob was already playing back footage on the digital camera. “For now, yeah,” he muttered. “Be ready early. I want to get some shots of y’all in the booths before and after the first day really gets trotting.”

  “Booths?” Fellowes asked me as we rose to our feet. “What booths?”

  “Ugh. I’ll tell you on the way upstairs.”

  True to his word, Jacob was knocking down doors at dawn.

  “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  Jacob’s smile didn’t dim. “Nope,” he popped. “Day one, Jules. Get a move on!”

  “I’ve been in bed for an hour!” I shouted after him. He waved back with one finger. “Seriously?” I was talking to a closed door. I could hear him pounding on Fellowes’ door across the hall, even over the heavy and thunder that seemed to flood every corner of the house with rushing white noise. At least, I thought, the power had come back on for the time being. It had stayed off until after I’d gone to be just barely an hour before, flickering to life as soon as I’d closed my eyes. The night before had been exhausting, so much so that I decided I gave zero fucks about the bright overhead light blazing in my face and just pulled the blanket up over my head. I was tempted to do it again, just burrow down into a blanket burr
ito and stay there until I felt at least slightly rested, but another strident knock on my door told me there’d be no way in Hell that would be an option any time soon. “Fuck off,” I called, rolling to my feet and striding to the door in nothing but my skivvies. “I’ll be down in a few. Let me get pants on first!”

  “Um.”

  Shit. “Sorry, Fellowes. Thought you were Jacob.” I stood in the open doorway in my tighty-whities and stared. Fellowes was dressed to the nines in a bottle green velvet frock coat, snow-white shirt, and trousers so tight I feared for his ability to have children. And he wore another damn cravat.

  “And you still wore that to open the door.” I barely restrained myself from doing a gut-suck and chest-thrust maneuver when he swept a glance over me from head to toe and back again. “Bold choice.”

  “Well. We’re a pretty informal bunch.” I’m in my underpants in front of a cute guy. Shouldn’t I be more excited and less embarrassed? Oh, right. I didn’t mean to be in my underpants so this is definitely a low key freak out. “I’ll, um. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “We’re meeting in the library.” He gave me another, slower once over and turned to head for the stairs.

  Baxter, who I hadn’t noticed lingering in the corridor behind Fellowes, gave me a grim imitation of his friend’s perusal and shook his head. “Oz is brilliant,” he said in a low, tight voice. “But he’s very stupid sometimes. He might not see what you’re up to, but I do.”

  “I wish someone would tell me what the hell I’m up to,” I muttered as he turned and followed Fellowes down the stairs. “I have no fucking clue.”

  “I have a horrible feeling that this is going to involve spooky sounds and a weird smoke effect,” Fellowes murmured as we perched on the antique velvet settee. The library was a hive of activity, lights blinding us as someone with a meter waved it over our faces and pronounced us good to go, Jacob shouting at someone to make sure the generators were on stand by.

  Fellowes snorted softly, almost a laugh. “Ezra made sure to include that in our contract, you know. Must have the most ridiculous, stereotypical special effects in the history of special effects whenever I’m on screen. Orbs, random lens flare, the slightly too loud background noise of moans and heavy bass music.”

  “Ah, drat. I wish I’d thought of adding something to my contract.”

  “Like what?” he asked, leaning a bit closer so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice over the sound of Jacob arguing with Ernest about access to the upper floors.

  “Well,” I said, pretending to give it a lot of thought. “Probably the same thing but I’d have to look really skeptical about it.” His laugh was sharp and loud. So was Baxter’s huff of annoyance.

  “Alright, gentlemen,” Jacob boomed. It did nothing to silence the room but everything died down to a dull, anxious rumble. “Comfy? We’re going to get started in a minute here but I want to go over a few things first.” He waved a large note card at us. “I’ll be asking you a few questions so we have some nice footage to drop in if need be, and then we’ll have…” he trailed off, his gaze bounding from me to Fellowes and Baxter, then back again before he gave a small, curt nod. “We’ll have Oscar read this.” He held out his hand and one of the minion handed him a thick sheet of cream colored paper.

  Fellowes took it with a look like he’d smelled something foul. “What the Hell is this?”

  “A bit of an intro to the case you’re investigating.” Jacob was positively giddy.

  “Who’s Haunting Hendricks House. Seriously?”

  Jacob nodded, shooting me a challenging look. “We’re going to use a clip from your reading last night, edit it in before this bit.”

  Fellowes and Baxter exchanged an entire conversation in just a few looks. I felt oddly left out. Middle School Julian had reared his pimply head and was sulking at being ignored by the cute guy in science class. Stupid Middle School Julian. “I’d like to remind you,” Baxter said genially but with a bite to the words, “that we have final say on all scenes depicting Oscar’s Gift in use.”

  Jacob’s smile tightened just a smidge. I didn’t think anyone else would notice, but Fellowes raised a brow. “Is that a problem?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” Jacob said.

  He was lying. I knew it but I couldn’t accuse him out loud. Besides, I thought, maybe I was reading him wrong. Cec was still laid up, the storm was still threatening to get worse despite the pause in the deluge for the time being, and we were filming in a historic home with strict rules about how we could and couldn’t interact with the site. Maybe he was just stressed. Jacob busied himself with his mic as a lady with an armful of wires and dangling equipment fussed over the three of us on the sofa, making sure we were wired for sound ourselves. Someone tapped my arm, their breath tickling the back of my neck as they leaned close to whisper, “Hey, make sure you pay close attention to Oscar, okay? He knows what he’s doing. You can trust him.”

  I turned to face them and saw a woman in a dark blue dress retreating to the door. She glanced over her shoulder at me and offered a tiny smile and finger wave, her bright red hair brilliant in the strong lighting set up for the shoot. Two of the crew members, the ones in charge of moving the heavy stuff by the looks of them, moved between us and, when they’d finally passed less than a second later, it was just in time for me to catch the edge of her skirt and her long ponytail whipping around the edge of the door, heading towards the kitchen side of the house.

  “You ready?” Fellowes asked, his voice startling me.

  “Yeah, just getting last minute direction,” I joked. “Do you know who the red headed lady is on the crew? I forgot her name.”

  He shook his head. “I have no idea. Jacob,” he started, but the camera man was already counting us down.

  “We’ll start with Oscar,” Jacob said. “In three, two...”

  I eased out into the foyer but the red headed lady was gone. A few of the locals who’d been hired to flesh out the on site crew were stocking the snack table with baskets of fruit and small veggie platters next to a fresh stack of mismatched china cups and saucers. The floor was clean of debris from the night before but the way the two crew members kept looking around and whispering to one another, jumping at every creak of the floorboards or thwap of branches against the sidelight windows, I knew the rumor mill had been at work and Hendricks House’s reputation as haunted was definitely alive and well. One of the two setting up, a dark-haired woman with a severe undercut and three nose rings jumped when I reached past her for a cup. “Sorry,” she giggled, “I’m just freaking out. Is your sister okay, Doctor Weems? I heard the ghost threw her down the stairs and she landed on the table!”

  “No,” the guy helping her set up—Matteo of the epic snores—clicked his tongue at her. “That’s not what happened. It was an accident.”

  “Thank you,” I muttered, easing around Lydia to get to the urn of hot water.

  Matteo continued, “Yeah, the ghost was trying to kill her so it could use her life energy to regain a solid form.”

  “What? No!” Ever do that thing where you shake your head like a dog trying to get water out of it’s ears because whatever you just heard was so messed up you hoped to dislodge it from your brain? Yeah. I did that. “There was an accident. She fell. She cut her leg on a broken piece of china.” I waved my own empty cup at them for emphasis. “Y’all need to be careful who you say things like that to-that’s how rumors get started.”

  Matteo made a face I’d often seen my freshman students make. The ugh, can you believe this asshole face. “Dude, I know you’re the skeptic and all,” he gave the word air quotes which, frankly, totally fair, “but Mr. Ernest has seen the ghost down here. There’s a reason he won’t come here anymore, man. He says that ghost is dangerous and who do you think I’m gonna believe? The dude who lives here, or the skeptic?”

  Kids. Christ.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Oscar

  There were at least four appropriate ways to eat a
peach and Julian Weems used none of them. I could see him, just past the small crowd staring at the monitor as I was arranged and posed by Jacob’s co-producer, Stella, who also seemed to be the sound engineer, make up artist, and head of catering. Jacob called her his right hand, and I had to wonder how CeCe felt about that. Stella seemed dead chuffed whenever Jacob beckoned her over to ask her opinion on something, preening a bit whenever he praised her. I was torn between paying attention to what she was asking me to do as she consulted with Jacob on each and every move, and watching Weems demolish that poor peach with what seemed to be an unholy level of enjoyment.

  Seriously. It was criminal, what he was doing. Stella nudged me a bit to my left, closer to the hearth, and had me lay my arm along the marble shelf. “No,” she muttered. “Too Hef. Here.” She rearranged me so I was casually leaning against the back of a plush velvet chair, brought in just for the occasion as Hendricks House overseers were quite adamant about leaning on their upholstery.

  Perched as I was in the awkward half-leaning, half casually lounging posture, I could clearly see as Weems licked a trickle of juice that dared to run down his thumb. He had the audacity to catch my stare and brandish the peach at me, all wet and sticky in his hand. “Want one?” he asked. “I’ll grab one off the snack table.”

  “He can’t,” Stella snapped. “He’s about to be on camera again.”