by Micah Thomas
They’re dead, Henry told Cassie. Maybe he was paying attention after all.
“What for?” Cassie asked. This wasn’t the same as the other times she’d stopped. There’d been no bodies then. She saw enough through Henry’s eyes to know this was a mistake.
Don gave her a glance that said something sad about the humanity of it all before he stepped out to take a look. Cassie stayed in the truck and watched Don confirm what she already knew: dead—
long dead. They’d chosen this route exactly because there wouldn’t be much traffic. No important transit routes this way. No checkpoints. No one to come clean up accidents.
Don reached into the busted car and came back with a child’s stuffed animal and a map.
“It doesn’t look like they were headed to join up with the movement. Map marks the roads to NYC. My guess, they were scared and wanted to be closer to the military protection.”
Don placed the stuffed bear behind his seat with a surprising gentleness.
“Don, was there a kid in there?”
He wiped his eyes where tears had formed. “Yeah. Not even a proper burial for the little guy.”
Henry, Cassie said in her mind, When we are out of sight, can you…?
Yes, he thought back. He’d ensure no animals fed upon these broken bodies. He’d done as she asked, waiting until they’d cleared a mile of turns before he shot his mind back to the cars, concentrating on a contained inferno until it was burned to ash.
They continued driving, crossing into western Massachusetts as darkness fell. While they passed no more accidents, they had an unspoken agreement not to stop should one come upon the horizon. There was a daily limit as to how much heartache a person could bear, and the group was already way over.
They’d only been driving thirteen hours, but it felt much longer. Travel by the truck instead of the motorcycle, travel with company instead of being alone, these things added up for Cassie, who was more accustomed to being alone with Henry.
“Okay, we’re getting close. Decision time. Do you want to make camp someplace or carry on to our destination and see what accommodations might be there?”
“I’m good to drive if you need a break.”
“It’s not that at all. I just don’t know what we’re gonna find.”
“Let’s keep going,” Cassie said, knowing she’d rather find a bed than use the tents Don had packed. She was done sleeping outdoors for a while.
Don took them off the map, using farm roads to get around the small towns. His sense of direction was incredible, and Cassie wondered about his premonitions. Maybe Don had a little touch of the gift, too. Not enough to see big things—he was clearly unaware of Henry’s presence—but there was only so much the old maps could have told him about the way to go.
Unless he’d been here before. That was another option. However, Cassie trusted him. Don wasn’t lying about what he knew, but he probably didn’t know how to say how he knew.
Along a lonely road lined with dark trees and far from any other structures, they eventually came to a massive, wrought iron gate, which was baroquely twisted and ornate with spiked fleur-de-lis. Proud beneath its skin of rust, the gate was an ugly blackened orange in the headlights; the color of dried blood. Don hopped out and tried to give it a swing to no avail. He shrugged towards the car. As he came back to the cab, Henry and Cassie sent a fast burst of power at the hinges—not enough to even make a flash, but the gate popped from its bed and fell with a loud clang. Don jumped and let out a yelp.
“I guess you needed to loosen it,” Cassie said with a laugh as she joined him.
“I just about shit my pants. If that thing had fallen on me, I’d be squished.”
“Aww, you’re pretty spry. You’d leap out of the way.”
“Maybe. I swear, it didn’t budge an inch when I tried.”
“Maybe it’s a sign welcoming us in?”
The estate was visible from where they stood. Henry’s take was the same as Cassie’s: tall, dark, creepy. Cassie added “austere”, but all words pointed to a haunted house. Dark windows peered down at them. Who doesn’t look at a house and not feel eyes on them? Cassie couldn’t tell if it was a feeling, a vibe, or an authentic psychic moment. Her touch was inconsistent to say the least.
Henry, love? You feel anything? Anyone in there?
Henry sent his awareness over the estate and reported back, Birds in the field beyond. Rats in the basement below. Ghosts throughout. Residue. I can’t see much of anything. A lot of history here.
Henry’s vision abilities had been stumped before. In Mexico, they’d visited an old mission. Built with the blood of the Indians, it had been part of the colonization. Too much history for Henry to see the present. They’d have to take the risk blind.
On one hand, Cassie’s instincts told her to expect danger. She’d been a soldier once and hyper-vigilance was part of her DNA. On the other hand, she’d developed a confidence in Henry’s protection. Anyone lurking with bad intentions could be incinerated in an instant. Unless there was an entity here. Something from Black Star’s projects lying in wait and more powerful than Henry’s fire. That was always a possibility.
“Okay,” Cassie said to Don. “Let’s pull up closer. I don’t expect anyone else will be driving out here, but it’s best to be on the safe side.”
Don parked beside the main entrance beneath a covered portico. When he cut the engine, he collected his kit; flashlight, kerosene lantern, a backpack full of instant meals and water. To Cassie, he looked like a bargain basement Ghostbuster. Strapping his pistol to his waist, he offered his small backup pistol to Cassie, who declined. She knew her way around firearms, but she hoped to never touch one again.
They tried the front door. Cassie expected it to be locked, but it wasn’t.
“Hello?” Don’s voice echoed in the dark foyer.
Cassie wished they had arrived during the day.
Don’s lantern cast long shadows down the hall, revealing a staircase. There was some dust, but no signs of vandalism. No tell-tale signs of squatters’ senseless destruction and rage poetry against the world on the walls.
I could give us a little light, Henry offered as they made their way slowly inside.
“Shh,” Cassie said out loud.
“What?” Don asked.
“Nothing.”
Don’s face was a spooky mask of shadows and light. He was scared. Cassie didn’t need to be a psychic to know that. She let Henry know to, Um…you know, stop a bullet if Don’s fear pulled the trigger.
“We don’t have to explore the whole thing tonight,” Don said. “Let’s find a room. Brace the door and set up camp.”
“Yeah. It’s camping.”
“We could sleep in the truck again,” Don offered.
“Dude, with your farts, I don’t think so,” she joked.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
“It’s cool. I shared a room with my brother growing up,” she said, aiming her flashlight down the hall. “I think these are bedrooms.”
Some rooms were empty and bare. Others were filled with computers and filing cabinets, intruders against the mural-covered walls, and old mattresses were stacked to the ceiling. Cassie entered one of the latter. Someone’s life had been shoved aside to make room for research equipment. Cassie flipped through a notebook sitting on a monitor; Dates, results, subject names. There was too much information to digest by flashlight.
“Let’s at least check upstairs,” Don said.
Cassie almost expected him to start talking to the ghosts. All they needed was a microphone and a thermal camera and this would be a paranormal investigation. Then, at the top of the stairs, she did see a ghost: a soft, blurry face, pale with blond hair, had peeking over the railing.
Que chingados fue eso! Cassie nearly shit herself. Henry, did you see that? I’m so freaked out I’m thinking in Spanish.
I don’t know what I saw. There was a flicker. A phantom. Want me to go after it? He wasn’t alarmed. Th
is should have comforted her, but it didn’t.
No, but can you project yourself by me?
Cassie felt nothing, but this illusion took place in her mind. Henry’s skinny form shimmered into a pale existence and she felt immediately better. You need to shave, she said.
Henry flashed her a crooked smile. I wondered if you would notice.
He is image wore loose t-shirt and skinny jeans, just like when they met. I missed seeing you. Henry nodded, as if to say, Same. Seeing him, the real unreal after seeing a ghost was comforting. They had magic, too.
“Yeah,” Cassie addressed Don, “let’s go upstairs.”
“Lead the way,” Don obliged.
“Um…you have the gun, so you lead.”
The three of them walked up the creaking stairs. Don shone his light across a stately portrait on the wall. A bearded and distinguished gentleman sat at a massive desk. It was well done. He could have been a statesmen or General Lee. “That’s the old man. Doctor Smeltzer himself. You were right before. Henry didn’t start this. This guy did.”
When they reached the top, Cassie saw the ghost again. She looked to Henry, then to the ghost. How could two phantoms be more different? With Henry, she saw every detail, transparent, but with the weight of being present. This ghost was something else. The figure was blurred. Grainy. Her movement stuttered. Even though it posed no apparent threat, Cassie got chills when she saw it. Hell, I know her.
The ghost was the woman from the diary. This was her house. There were no doubts. This wasn’t where she died, but she was haunting the place. Cassie watched as the woman walked into a room, the figure’s hands clenched at her midsection. Cassie ignored her own comment about letting Don lead the way and walked towards the room, passing other doors and knowing they were less important.
No one there. The ghost was gone. Henry sat on the bed. Incorporeal, he didn’t make a dent. This was her room. While the experiments took over her house, she stayed up here.
Cassie nodded. A stranger in her own home.
Don came in, a bit out of breath. “Great. A bedroom. You take the bed. I’ll lie out on this fancy chaise lounge. I bet this was the girl’s room. The daughter,” he said, holding the light up to the book shelf to peruse the titles. “Do you need anything from the truck? I’m heading back to grab my bedroll.”
“No. We’ll make ourselves at home up here.”
Don raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing and left.
You almost blew our cover, Henry said.
Sometimes when I can see you, I forget that no one else can.” Cassie said, and looked out the window, seeing only darkness there. We could live in this big house. Plant a garden.
Cassie. We’re not alone.
She turned, and in the doorway stood a slight man. At first she thought it was another ghost until he spoke.
“Do not be alarmed, please.” He was grey in that dark room. An old man, short in stature, dressed in loose-fitting sweats. He looked calm.
Cassie wasn’t afraid of him.
“May I come in?” he asked.
Cassie nodded.
He made his steps quiet as he entered. Was it Cassie’s imagination, or did he move aside to sit next to Henry? She wasn’t sure.
Don walked in and dropped his bedroll and everything else—snacks, a gas hotplate, and all—to the floor with a clatter. He fumbled with the gun at his hip, “Cassie, who is this?”
“It’s okay, Don. I don’t think he means us any harm.”
“I do not. Call me Xavi,” the man said with a Latin accent, not Mexican, South American. “I live here.”
***
They spent the night. Cassie slept fine. No big deal sleeping in a haunted house. Sleeping in a house where you were not alone. Sleeping when there were so many questions unasked, unanswered. Xavi told them little in the night beyond the location of clean linens, promising more information in the morning. Don accepted this. Cassie accepted this. Henry felt no reason to fear. After all, if the old man tried something, he’d make a nice little candle out of him.
Don was there when Cassie woke, sitting at the desk in the bedroom and reading through a stack of green journals.
“Been up long?” she asked.
“Not really. I guess I slept with one eye open in case our host came in to extinguish us in our sleep.”
“Come on, he’s just an old man.”
“This house has secrets. Look at this from 1977: ‘Subjects report a terrible presence blocks their way. It has no voice, nor gender, nor tangible qualities, but it exists. Without exception, they all encounter this guardian. The harm it causes some is irreparable. They are either unable or unwilling to make another attempt.’ What is this stuff? This isn’t science, it’s metaphysics. Gods and demons.”
“These are research subject notes. Unreliable drug trip stuff. Didn’t you ever get high and have revelations that made sense until you sobered up?”
Xavi entered the room carrying a silver serving tray loaded up with cups, a coffee pot, and all the trimmings. “It could have been hallucinations, but it wasn’t,” he said, answering Cassie’s question.
“Let me help you with that,” Don said, taking the tray.
“Thank you, friend. I have not entertained company in the years I’ve been here. I hope you take your coffee strong as I do.”
Don said, “Boy, oh boy,” unable to conceal his excitement.
They had their coffee and between Cassie and Don, they shared the story of their journey. Xavi listened, nodding at key parts.
“Before I share my own story, such that it is, may we venture downstairs to one of the laboratory rooms? Donald, there is a generator here—and petrol for your vehicle. One has only to drive around to the carriage house. We even have a pump for our convenience. Would you be able to utilize these things and meet us in the east wing rooms after? The flow of electricity will allow me to demonstrate more than my words.”
Cassie was astounded by the poetic flow of Xavi’s language. In some ways, she heard a bit of someone else in them and it unsettled her.
Don said, “Absolutely.”
Cassie let Xavi lean on her arm as they made their way downstairs.
“Does he know?” Xavi asked.
“Does he know what?”
“There’s no need to lie to me,” Xavi chided her. “I was here before the Wiseman was found. I’ve seen that other place and it took my mind from me. I was lost at sea, you see. You are in great pain.”
“No. He doesn’t know, but he might suspect something.”
“And the one inside? Does he want to talk?”
Hey, Henry said to Xavi telepathically.
“Greetings. I would know how you two came to this state.”
“It’s a long story,” Cassie said.
Xavi smiled. “Yes. I see it is so.”
Don joined them downstairs. “It was right where you said. I fueled up the truck and the generator. We should have plenty of juice for a few hours.”
“Good. Let’s see if these computers still operate.” Xavi opened three-ring binder for reference as he followed the checklist for boot up and network initiation. The hard drives whirred to life with a forgotten sound of antiquity.
Don was ready to hear Xavi’s story. “Ms. Cassie and I have our own theories about what happened here, but—”
“I know what happened,” Xavi cut him off. “You see, until the event two years ago, I was…my body was in a vegetative state. One which started in a room in this house.”
“You’re Xavier Martin,” Don said.
Xavi looked at him with a curious expression. “Yes, but my friends call me Xavi. Though there are few if any left, present company excluded.”
“I read Lily’s journal. I know what happened to you,” Don said.
“Oh my heart, that sweet girl. I cannot ask what became of her.”
“She passed away a long time ago,” Cassie said, sparing Xavi the whole truth.
“I was a young man of 25 when I
fell asleep. It’s taken me this long to realize that I’m old. I must accept these things. Sometimes, I believe she is here with me, a ghost in my heart.”
Cassie knew the feeling. “Yeah,” she said, wondering if he had seen her ghost, too.
“So, you must know that I was incidental,” Xavi continued. “Unplanned. I was part of the initial research group as a grad student, but we were light on volunteers. The 1970s saw a decline in the interest in psychedelic drugs—at least in a clinical setting—so I volunteered to be a subject. Such an exciting time. There must have been a happy accident, for the drugs unlocked something in me I didn’t know was there. You follow?”
“Telepathy? Psychic abilities?” Cassie asked.
“Yes. To some small degree. Under their influence, I was able to access another world. The Russians had been exploring remote viewing. You understand the concept? A military application for minds such as mine. Discovering the location of your enemies, spy craft—the good doctor had no such interests, while he very well could have done so for great profit.”
Henry was humming the tune of some song in Cassie’s mind. His boredom was irritating and persistent.
Nice guy, Cassie thought to him.
Yup. He continued humming.
A monitor came to life with a green command line against a black background. Xavi said, “Ah, we are operational. Let us see if the past has anything interesting for us.”
Xavi pulled his chair up to the terminal and input commands on a clackity keyboard. Don and Cassie inched closer, looking without understanding the data moving across the screen.
“This is the beginning. The initial data load. Statistics on duration of experience on a variety of formulations of the pharma and averages on the participants over the initial runtime which lasted several months. You see, we misunderstood so much. LSD and its various regent materials produced long trips—nine, ten hours of psychedelic experience—but they weren’t fruitful. It was incredibly difficult to convey the experience, and after all, no one in the drug scene had produced interesting results. It was amusing.”
He pointed to a data point on the graph. “Here. This was when things changed. This was the new formula. Shorter duration; down to four hours.”