by Carrie King
Angie had purposely blocked herself off from allowing any communication with any spirits whatsoever on her drive toward the manor, but still, one had managed to connect. Often, she figuratively opened a doorway in her mind prior to an investigation. It was to get an idea of the place, to allow spirits, unsettled or at peace, to begin to form open lines of communication. Her spirit guides often warned her of "really bad places" before she arrived, enabling her to put up extra mental barriers to protect herself. They had been silent up to now.
Welcome to Greyfield Manor.
The voice came out of nowhere but she knew it originated from her head, spoken by a spirit who had managed to slip past her mental door. She cocked her head, staring at the house. Took a guess. "Is that you, Angus?"
Aye, it is. You are in danger here. Go away.
She stared through the windshield, her gaze riveted to an upstairs window. "You know I can't," she murmured.
Deliberately slamming the door to end further communication, at least for the moment, she exited her vehicle and stepped to the boot. Unlocking it, she removed an overnight bag and a small gym bag containing the accouterments of her profession.
She was not just a physical medium, but a demonologist as well. She studied the supernatural, had been tutored by some of the religious experts of the Vatican and other faiths, and was well versed in the history and study of demons and demonology from a variety of religious perspectives. Now on occasions, the Vatican called her back, but she was expected to be discreet.
The strangeness of her profession kept her on the outskirts of most social interactions, especially after people found out what she did for a living. Who wanted to be close to a person who communed with evil, or who invited them into her environment? Contrary to opinion, she was not without faith. In fact, Angie considered her faith and spirituality to be very strong and very necessary for the work she did.
Still, her faith was not always enough to keep her safe. Evil was real. Very real and often very frightening, even for her. She didn't conjure demons… she confronted them. Only a very few close family members had ever known the truth about her gifts and she kept it that way on purpose. With her brother's death, the last connection to a family who knew had been severed, but perhaps that was for the best. She had few friends or acquaintances. Now Diana was gone there was really no one she could talk to. Most people tended to avoid her or even being around her, they were afraid of being attacked, possessed, or followed by the evil entities she confronted. They didn't know she was a demonologist, but merely a medium. That was bad enough and she didn’t want people to find out about the rest?
Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself mentally and physically for the coming hours. She would do what needed to be done to cleanse this place of any spirits or worse—if any resided here. She also knew that chances were any demon here already knew of her coming. The realm of demons often identified those that fought them and focused on their destruction. They had a grapevine of their own and it was powerful. Demons didn't like humans meddling in their affairs.
Leave.
The voice broke through her barrier. She knew immediately that it didn't belong to Angus. This one was deeper, guttural, and threatening.
Go, go now, while you can. The Soul Taker knows who you are.
That one belonged to Angus, and he was probably right. Still, she owed it to Diane, to Grant, and to Jeremy. She wasn't sure if Diane had crossed over or if she too was trapped in this house, possibly even reliving her brutal murder. And what about the others that had died here? Were they trapped here? If so, she owed it to them to release them. Then there was another consideration, she had no idea how the activity, or whatever was going on in this house, would affect her godson as he grew. She wanted to put an end to it now, once and for all, before one more person was harmed.
The sound of a car distracted her and she turned to watch as a black jeep drove down the dirt path from the distant highway to the yard. Her videographer, Marcus Rawlings was here. The man came with her on every investigation and documented every move she made. He was the bravest man she knew, and she admired him greatly. If things had been different, maybe she would even have allowed him to get closer; a closeness that he had hinted at several times over the last few years. But in her business, getting close to anything or anybody was not a good idea.
In a matter of moments, Marcus pulled up in his Jeep and stepped out, wearing his typical attire of jeans, T-shirt, and leather biker boots. Because of the chill in the air, he had deigned to wear a long-sleeved flannel shirt, unbuttoned, over his tee. His often wild and unruly dark brown hair was only somewhat tamed by the blue bandanna tied around his forehand. Looking at him, no one would guess that he was one of the best paranormal investigators in the region. He looked like a construction worker, with the deep tan of someone who spent most of his time outdoors.
Angie had "gone through" a number of apprentice candidates years ago, looking for a videographer and documentarian to accompany her on these investigations, but none of them had lasted long. Even though some had been experienced ghost hunters for years, what she did often went beyond mere documenting or communicating with spirits who had yet to cross over and it scared even the seasoned. It got to a stage where she had despaired of ever finding a partner. Then one day, Marcus arrived at her small office, tucked into an alleyway in London, and proceeded to tell her how his presence on her investigations would benefit her. Not himself, but her.
She had been immediately taken with his good looks, as she was now, watching as he waved a greeting and then bent to tug a backpack and a suitcase containing several of his cameras from his vehicle.
The first time she had met him, he told her that he'd been following her activities, not like a stalker, he quickly amended, but as someone looking for a mentor. Someone who had skills, not only in documenting visual and audible proof of the spirit world, but one who wanted to gain a deeper understanding of it.
Angie had decided to give him a try and it had been an amazing success. Now, she couldn't imagine anyone better to work with. Last year she had made him a fiscal partner in her business. Someday, maybe their professional relationship would become more than that, but for now, it was all she could handle.
As Marcus strode toward her, his long legs eating up the ground separating them, his gaze fixated on the manor house. He paused several paces away and looked down at her. Given that Angie was rather petite— and short— he towered over her. Lanky, he was nevertheless very strong and his presence had offered her a sense of physical as well as emotional protection on more than one occasion.
"I don't like it here," he said, his gaze darting over the stones and up to the second story of the manor house.
She said nothing, knowing that he would eventually explain. He did.
"When I pulled up, I saw a shadow in that far window upstairs to the right. Did you see it?"
"I saw it earlier," Angie said. "And if you don't want to stay, I won't force you. You know that."
He made a face.
She knew he wouldn't leave. He never had. "There's more than one spirit here; I know that already. And there's something darker, more malevolent. We need to be careful."
"Aren't we always?" He gestured with his chin toward the house. "Where do you want to get set up?"
"The owner sent me a copy of the blueprints. There's a front sitting room, just to the right of the foyer. Let's put all of the equipment there for now and then we'll decide once we have a feel for the place."
She was aware that not long ago, a physical medium and empath named Jessica something or other had also been contacted by the owner to see if she could figure out what was going on, but she had never gotten back to him. She had just up and disappeared.
When police investigators had come to investigate Diane's murder, nothing had been found belonging to Jessica. None of her equipment, none of her clothing, nothing. It was obvious that she had left, but where she had gone, no one knew. Disappearing like th
at was not terribly unusual in her field of work. Sometimes, gifted people like herself simply needed to isolate themselves. It hadn't been that long ago, so chances were that Jessica would show up sooner or later… Angie didn’t really believe that, part of her knew the woman was most likely dead and it saddened her.
Angie sighed. It was the one major downside, at least socially, of her line of work. People like her were either viewed as gifted or crazy. Rarely did people understand what it was like to be "gifted." Angie had known this since she was a little girl. Her parents had often seemed afraid of her. Only Jeremy hadn't seemed affected at all. If he had, he wouldn't have asked her to be Grant's godmother, would he?
"Did you hear me, Angie?"
She startled and turned to Marcus. "I'm sorry, what?"
"What's your plan of attack with this one?" He continued to stare at the house.
"I've already made contact with the man I believe is the original owner, Angus Greyfield. I know there are others here too, but they seem reluctant to communicate. For now, I'll focus on Angus. Maybe he can provide me with more information about what's going on."
Marcus nodded, shifted his backpack on his shoulder, and headed for the house. One of many things she admired about Marcus was his gumption. They'd been to a few scary places over the years, but never, not once, had he hesitated. That wasn't to say that he never grew afraid, because he did. So did she. Dealing with entities, spirits, or a demonic presence was often scary. They, were only human, after all. But he had never cut and run.
Gazing at the house, she stiffened her spine and resolved that she would do what she had come to do. Find answers, if possible. And if the spirits didn't resist, she would set them free. And if there was something bad, something evil, something demonic in there, she would do her best to deal with that too.
So why did a shiver run down her spine as she looked up at the building?
Chapter 66
Angie took the room at the top of the stairs on the right, Marcus the room across the hall. It was comfortable, if rustic. No television, no phone, no electricity. A generator behind the house operated the refrigerator and that was about it. She only had a very weak to non-existent cell phone signal.
Weary from the drive up here, she sat down on the bed for several moments, just looking around the room, trying to get a sense of the place, to open her channels to allow thoughts, feelings, or visions to come through.
She didn't allow her channels to open enough to put herself into a trance. That was something she didn't like to do unless Marcus was present. It was a matter of safety. When she went into a trance, or even sometimes when she communicated with spirit, her heart rate slowed drastically, as did her breathing. At times, she lost sensitivity to touch or even pain. At such times, she experienced—and felt—the emotional and physical trauma of the spirits with whom she communicated.
Marcus had documented on numerous occasions the various states of consciousness Angie shifted through when in a deep trance. He had recorded a drop of a few degrees in her body temperature. She displayed no rapid eye movement or REM, and very little awareness of what was going on around her in real time.
She didn't particularly like the feeling; when in such a trance, in fact, she felt trapped between the physical realm and the spiritual realm. She was always afraid of lingering too long in the spiritual realm, afraid of losing pieces of herself that she might not be able to get back when she returned to her full state of awareness.
What if—she felt a chill course through her body. Goosebumps. The hair on the top of her head stood upright, her scalp tingling.
He's not going to like that you're here.
Angus. "Who's not going to like it?" she asked softly.
The Soul Taker. He came uninvited. I think I brought him here myself.
"How? What happened to you, Angus?"
I killed her.
Angie felt her heart rate and pulse accelerate. "Who did you murder, Angus?"
Beatrice. And her lover. They killed me, they threw me over the cliff. They paid for their betrayal.
"Your actions trapped you here? And brought the dark spirit?"
I think so. She's here too.
"Who?"
Beatrice. She won't leave. She likes it here. Or did.
"Is she here with us now?" Angie listened carefully, her head cocked, eyes closed, but she heard no more. After several moments, she realized that Angus was gone. Most of her interactions with spirit were short, often leaving her with more questions than answers.
She did know through experience that sometimes a person's own actions trapped them in the earthly realm and prevented them from crossing over due to a sense of guilt, a sense of unfinished business, or even revenge.
Nodding her head, she knew she had her work cut out for her here. Having done a little bit of homework, she knew that the home had been built in the early 1700s. If Angus Greyfield had been trapped here that long the chances were that something had a hold over him. From what he told her, he had been murdered, and in such cases, the spirit would often be consumed with a sense of vengeance, of hatred, of anger. The kind of emotions that evil thrived upon, fed upon, and used for its own strength.
Angus must have—
Get out!
The voice came through at the same instant she felt a rush of air against her ear. This voice sounded female. Angie glanced around the room. "Beatrice, is that you?"
She heard a noise and glanced over her shoulder toward the window. A crack appeared in the glass, starting at the right upper edge of one of the nine panels of glass in the window frame. The sound scraped on her nerves as it extended diagonally downward, one small centimeter at a time. Breath held, heart pounding, she didn’t move. Physical manifestation was rare. That meant a powerful spirit. Maybe even something worse was here.
There were footsteps behind her and she sensed Marcus in the doorway, likely watching the same thing as she did. As suddenly as it had appeared, the moment passed. She stared at the crack in the glass a few moments longer and then turned to Marcus, one eyebrow lifted. He had a small handheld video recorder in his right hand, pointed directly at the window.
"Got it," he said. "I was pulling some stuff out of my backpack when I heard you talking. Who did that?" He pointed to the window.
"Apparently, that was Beatrice, or at least I think so."
"Spirit number two?"
Angie nodded. "The wife of Angus Greyfield. From what he said, she and her lover murdered him. Apparently, he returned the favor."
"Uh-oh."
She nodded. "Uh-oh indeed."
Chapter 67
They set up some equipment throughout the house, but much of it Angie didn't rely on. It was there mainly to document her movements. Equipment was useful but she relied on her senses, her intuition, and her gut.
During the initial investigation or 'walk-through' as she called it, Marcus documented everything. Walking behind her with his small video camera he recorded the scene, her impressions of what she "saw" in various rooms, he documented what she was told by the spirits. Sometimes, he asked questions, prompting more detailed information or background and context.
Her videotapes were not just to document her investigation or to show to clients, but were often studied by paranormal societies and experts trying to gain a deeper understanding of a realm that very few, even today, understood.
People either believed in the paranormal or not, it was rare that she could change their minds and she had stopped trying. Only an encounter could do that. Even then as time passed people began to find a logical explanation for what they had seen.
Some believed that she had no faith; that no one who had faith could do what she did. She had quit trying, long ago, to explain that she honestly believed that her gift was a gift from God. She knew that some people had gifts, whether they were psychic, empathic, or merely "sensitive."
Sometimes she cursed her gift, but she had learned long ago that it was better to embrace it than to t
ry and fight it. She’d tried. The harder she tried, the harder the spirits tried to get her attention. When spirit wanted to be heard, she found it impossible to tune them out. Since childhood, she had gradually learned through trial and error how to filter the almost constant noise. She had learned how to connect with one, perhaps two or three at a time, but whenever possible, no more than that. The doorway that she placed in her mind helped. Often, she could shut them out but not always.
Every investigation left a physical, mental, and emotional impact on Angie. Not only was she left mentally drained, but she often felt the fear, the sadness, or the anger of the spirit with whom she communicated. She often "met" them in their death state, learning how they had died. As such, she felt the physical toll of cancer, chronic illness, or a traumatic injury. She experienced their terror, their agony, and sometimes even their death.
This was one investigation that she wasn't looking forward to. Angus, the original builder and owner of the property, seemed willing enough, and maybe even relieved, that he could communicate with her. She knew that Beatrice would not be so easy, and if there was a darker spirit here, the Soul Taker, as Angus called him, things could get ugly very quickly.
"Where to first?"
She glanced at Marcus, who stood ready with his camera.
A feeling of dread came over her and she didn't want to, but decided to get it over with.
"To the kitchen."
She had to see the place where her sister-in-law had died. She prayed that Diane had crossed over, but steeled herself for the possibility that she hadn't. Often, when a person was killed suddenly, their spirits tended to linger. Sometimes simply out of utter confusion. Other times because they didn't realize they were dead. Very rarely, because they liked that "in between" state between life and death.