The Shem Bay Haunting (Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Book 3)

by Robin G. Austin

  Oh, right, the landline. That’s why Pratt called me on the landline. He knows I don’t have my phone because he has it. I have no choice, I’ve got to go back inside and call the police then I can hide in the jeep. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I tell Mojo. He’s happy to stay inside.

  I run across the property to the main house. Just as I’m about to step onto the porch, a gust knocks me forward and I twist my ankle. I hobble up the stairs and go inside, locking the door behind me.

  My foot is throbbing. Where’s the phone? I heard it from the third floor. It has to be downstairs somewhere. As I hobble across the entryway, another gust hits the house and the lights go out again.

  “Give me a break,” I scream, just as I see flashes of light in the front window.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  §

  I take a few steps and run into the banister. When I hear noise outside, I bolt upstairs– more like a rapid adrenaline limp. Once upstairs I freeze. Now what? I should have stayed downstairs.

  I hug the wall and start to head to the fourth floor then figure that’s a place Pratt will check. Right now the surveillance cameras can’t see me, but the lights could come back on again any second. I’ve got to find something to wrap around my swelling ankle before I’m unable to walk.

  When the front door opens, I grab the first doorknob I find and shut the door behind me. I can tell by the musty smell that this isn’t a room that’s used often. I slide against the wall and try to figure out what’s in the room.

  I’m stopped in my tracks by stacks of boxes and move into the center. It seems to be empty so I move back towards the wall and follow the boxes, a metal cabinet, more boxes.

  There are muffled voices downstairs. Pratt is inside and someone is with him. I hope that someone is Mackenzie, but that doesn’t mean she’s safe. I’ve locked the room’s door behind me; a dead giveaway as to where I am so I unlock it. I can only hope Pratt thinks I’m in the guest house and won’t look for me here.

  I limp around the boxes and find the window. It’s only two stories down with insane winds and one good ankle. No problem. I try to open the window but it’s not cooperating. I’m better off hiding, waiting until they go to bed so I can sneak out the door.

  As silently as possible, I work my way around the room before tripping on an oversized chair. Then I move past a table with more boxes and find the closet. It would be a great place to hide if it wasn’t jam-packed.

  I go back to the table and move a few boxes out, climb underneath, and pull the boxes back. Hopefully, Pratt will go to bed soon then I just have to get down the stairs and back into the jeep to stay until the storm relents. The jeep where Mojo is waiting with the door unlocked. I thought I’d be a few minutes calling the police. I’ve left him in harm’s way, though he’ll likely fare better than me if found.

  I need a weapon and something to wrap my ankle, so I open the boxes around me. Books, dishes, papers– and clothes. I rifle through and find a thick sock. Better than nothing so I tie it around my boot. I keep searching and find trophies; not the most convenient weapon but one will have to do.

  The house is quiet, so I assume they haven’t come upstairs yet. There’s a loud slam downstairs that I think is the front door. Pratt was probably outside getting Mackenzie’s things. Unless he went to the guest house. If he used his key to get inside, he knows I’m not there. If he opened the door to the jeep, I’m sure he experienced Mojo’s wrath; I don’t even want to think that something else happened.

  There’s yelling downstairs. It definitely sounds like Pratt’s voice, but I can’t tell what he’s saying. The winds are whistling and thrashing the rain against the house.

  I’ve got my ear pressed to the wall under the table and hear a door upstairs slam shut. It’s too close to be Pratt’s room. Mackenzie must be upstairs now… with her cell phone. Pratt’s probably in his study, sitting in the dark, getting intoxicated. I decide to wait a little while to make sure he doesn’t come upstairs then I’ll go to Mackenzie’s room.

  Problem is I have no way to know how long I’m waiting so I start counting to distract myself from being totally terrified. I’m in a house with a murderer. Even if he was watching his surveillance footage from his phone, I doubt he saw everything as he was driving. I hope the last thing he saw was me leaving the house, unless he was forcing Mackenzie to watch and report what was going on.

  I’m thinking and counting and scaring myself with all sorts of imaginings when I hear footsteps in the hallway. Doors are being opened and shut; he’s searching for me. I slide farther down and pull the boxes closer. There’s a streak of light as the door opens. A flashlight scans the room, stops, and scans it again. I’m holding my breath.

  “What are you doing?” It’s Mackenzie’s voice.

  “Go back to bed.” This is Pratt, and he’s shining the flashlight out of the room now.

  “When is the electricity coming back on? Can’t you fix it?”

  “I said go back to bed. It should be on again in the morning.”

  “I want something to drink. I’m going downstairs for a glass of water.”

  “Mackenzie,” Pratt’s voice is loud and sharp. He slams the door and I take a deep breath. He’s telling her to go to her room and he’ll get the water.

  I have a few minutes at the most. One is wasted getting out from under the table without making too much noise. I slip out of the room and listen. One minute left. I can’t hear anything downstairs.

  There’s a light flashing from Mackenzie’s room. I hobble down the hall. “Mackenzie, it’s Jack,” I whisper in the doorway.

  “Hello, Ms. Raven.” She’s got a little flashlight and is flicking it on and off at my face. Every time it goes on, I see an eerie smile behind the light.

  “I need your phone and that light right away. Before your father comes back. Give them to me.”

  “Are you looking for the shadow man?”

  “Yes. Please give me the light and your phone. Quickly.”

  “Are you going to call the shadow man?” She’s laughing now and too loud.

  “Mackenzie, keep your voice down. I watched the CD you left me. I’ve lost my phone. Please, before your father comes back, give me the flashlight and your phone. I need to call the police.”

  There’s a crash downstairs and I step back into the hallway.

  “He’s coming. Would you please cooperate and give me your phone and the light? I watched the CD. I know what’s going on. I have to get help before your father hurts anyone else.”

  “Yes, I assumed you would think that the solution. However, I’ve been reflecting and have become quite fascinated by the probability that we are living in a simulated reality. I hypothesize that what is happening here is merely a simulation of an alleged reality that is actually beyond our immediate control. Control is something we humans invest a great deal of time in trying to manufacture, isn’t it?”

  “Mackenzie, this isn’t a game. What happened to your mother was real. What’s happening right now is very real.”

  She laughs and turns off the flashlight. When she turns it back on, it’s positioned under her chin.

  “Yes, our species is very fond of reality. That doesn’t explain the shadow man’s appearance though does it? I’ve been so puzzled by it until now. Of course, my propensity for reality was what confused me; an outdated model that requires an explanation. We humans exert much effort to come up with explanations. Don’t you think? Still, it would be disingenuous to deny I succumbed to the primordial aspiration, initially.”

  I see Pratt’s flashlight downstairs; it’s coming this way then turns in the direction of his study. That should keep him occupied for more than a few minutes.

  Mackenzie is still turning the flashlight on and off under her chin. “Are you listening?” she says, but doesn’t wait for an answer.

  “Scientists conclude such phenomena are but a figment of our collective imagination. You contend that they are manifestations from some s
upernatural portal. Very spooky, Ms. Raven. Then of course, Mrs. Jankovic had her lidérc. She was such a foolish woman. If only she hadn’t been so annoying too… and nosy despite her low intelligence. In the end, that was her downfall.”

  The child is holding the flashlight still. She gives me a wide, innocent grin before she tilts her head to her shoulder and pokes her tongue out to one side.

  I rest my hand on the door frame to steady myself. The room and the little girl are spinning, my senses are on overload. My mouth is open, and I don’t recognize my voice when I ask, “How did you get Mrs. Jankovic to hang herself?”

  Mackenzie laughs. I see Pratt’s flashlight in the entryway and run to his bedroom without feeling my ankle in the least. Then I lock the door and push a chair in front of it.

  Pratt and Mackenzie are talking. I can’t hear what’s being said, but I don’t doubt I’m the subject of the conversation. The talking stops and Pratt’s trying to open his bedroom door then he’s pounding and calling my name.

  I open one of the terrace doors. It slams against the bedroom wall, and I get knocked back by wind and rain. Pratt is yelling and pounding.

  I climb over the railing and look at the twenty plus feet beneath me. Pratt has stopped beating on the door. When I hear a blood draining scream, I leap onto an evergreen and grab branches too thin to hold me.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  §

  After tree limbs break in my hands, the wind shoves me and I grab onto thicker branches. Breathe, calm down, I tell myself as I consider how I’m going to get down.

  There’s no time to think though. I’m stuck in a tree in the worst storm I’ve ever seen, next to a house with two psychopaths inside. And maybe only one that’s still alive. The scream I heard sounded like someone’s last, and I’m certain that someone was Mackenzie. But I’m not going to blame that on Pratt just yet.

  I’m still processing how the child got Jankovic to hang herself while trying to convince myself that such a thing didn’t really happen. But I can still see the mock face she made of the woman as well as the gray shape that stood behind her. Evil was glaring at the girl, and I don’t doubt it egged her on in convincing Jankovic that death was the only way to escape the lidérc that lives in the house and dare I believe, a little girl.

  I begin working my way down the tree while checking for signs of Pratt– who’s likely below looking for me. My mind is muddled by the cold and fear and my hands are raw and likely bloody. If I wasn’t so panicked, I’d probably be frozen to death. I need to get to the jeep and figure out what I’m going to do next.

  Where’s Pratt? I slide down the tree then drop the rest of the way to the ground and wince in pain. I can’t feel my foot anymore. I can’t put much weight on it either. I glance around the corner of the house and see the man’s car is still in the driveway, maybe with the key in it.

  It’s safer to go around the back of the house to get to the jeep, but if the key is dangling in the ignition, I can’t risk missing the opportunity. The winds die down and my muscles almost relax.

  I make my way to the car. I’m about to open the door when the house lights up like a Christmas tree. Perfect, now the electricity is back on.

  The front door opens and Pratt steps out like he’s sleep walking. I crawl to the front of the car to watch him. He’s a few feet across the porch when Mackenzie steps out. I’m relieved that she’s alive, fearful too.

  The outside light spreads across the quickest path of escape. They’re leaving? Now all I have to do is crawl away as soon as they’re in the car, and before Pratt drives it over me. If he doesn’t see me first.

  Mackenzie is carrying an umbrella and something in her other hand. Pratt has his hood over his head. He walks behind the car and Mackenzie follows. I wait for the car doors to open. I don’t see the interior lights or hear anything so I check the other side. They aren’t there so I inch back to the front and see that Pratt is walking towards the cliff.

  I hear his voice but not his words. Mackenzie is behind him, nearly invisible under the umbrella until a gust whips it out of her hand.

  What are they doing? I check the passenger side of Pratt’s car; no keys in the ignition. I don’t want to risk going back in the house, but I’ve seen Pratt’s keys on a table in the entryway before, so I limp inside. The keys aren’t there so I start looking for the landline.

  I’m headed to Pratt’s study when I remember an alcove on the side of the stairs. I think I see what looks like a phone on a shelf, but I need a chair to reach it. Who puts a phone out of reach?

  As soon as I grab a chair, I hear what sounds like an explosion. I can’t tell which direction it came from, and I don’t have time to figure it out. I’m on the chair reaching for the phone when I hear her voice.

  “Ms. Raven, please leave the phone where I put it and step down from the chair. You’ve ruined the upholstery. Understandable in your current state, but still it was most inconsiderate to track all this mud into my house.”

  Mackenzie is standing several feet away, pointing an automatic pistol straight at me. She’s shot her father. If she isn’t possessed by something, she’s crazy.

  “What are you doing, Mackenzie? I’m the one who’s going to help you. Isn’t that why you left me the CD? We need to contact the police now and show them what your father did.”

  “Touché, Ms. Raven, for playing the save-the-little-kid card. But you know better, don’t you? Please go to my father’s study. If you’re going to drip, you can do it in there.”

  Mackenzie is keeping her distance and in my condition, I doubt my ability to make a quick move in order to snatch the gun from her. I go to Pratt’s study and she tells me to sit in his chair.

  “There’s no need to be concerned,” she says, as she sits on the sofa across from me. “As I was saying before, this is nothing but a simulation. The concept is probably over your head. Think of it as you would a video game. You lose this round, but maybe you’ll win the next. We’re all just living a fictional existence. Amusing really.”

  She sighs and gives me a buggy look before laughing. “You talk to the dead. Of all people, you should know that death is but an illusion.”

  “That gun in your hand seems very real to me. Did you shoot your father?”

  She shrugs and rests the gun on a pillow, still pointing it at me. “The bad guys can’t win. I’m merely role playing.”

  “Isn’t good and bad an illusion too?”

  She laughs and pulls a blanket from the back of the sofa over her shoulders.

  “I understand how traumatic it was for you to watch the footage on the CD. How traumatic it must have been for Blake to watch it. This is a police matter now. We need to let them handle things.”

  “It was good wasn’t it?” Her eyes are glassy now, she’s looking into her own mind while running a finger up and down the barrel of the gun.

  “What do you mean?”

  She jerks her head up and smiles. “I mean I did a good job. It was only my second attempt. Not many could have created such a believable rendition, don’t you agree? Other than to analyze video games, I have no interest in them. Yet learning their construction turned out to be a means to an end.”

  “A simulation of a murder that didn’t happen?”

  Once again those dimples make her look so innocent. “Touché again, Ms. Raven. But enough of this banter. Now we are going to do the séance as I asked you to do before. My curiosity will not let this night end before it is done. Do try to leave the spook factor out. You should know by now that it won’t persuade me.”

  “I need my things from the guest house, but I’ve lost my key.”

  “I took the liberty of getting your Ouija board earlier. You know you left the other items you use in your little ritual in my bedroom, so please don’t insult my intelligence. The jar with the cactus needles is quite primitive. Voodoo? Very entertaining. Everything is set up in Father’s room waiting for us. Please lead the way upstairs.”

  “And i
f I don’t?”

  “Then I’ll shoot you, of course.”

  Her soft steps follow me up the stairs. She closes the terrace door and turns up the heat before sitting across from me. I take the pendulum from the pouch.

  “No, I want to use the planchette. I want to experience the energy. Please contact Blake and don’t try to pretend you’re him.” She rests the gun in her lap with one hand over it as she places three little fingers on the planchette.

  “This isn’t a good idea. You’re not in the right state of mind and neither am I. We could open a portal to something even more dangerous and powerful than you could ever imagine.”

  “Do you ever tire of your antediluvian misconceptions? Strive to master your amygdala, Ms. Raven. Fear is the burden of the reptilian brain. I prefer to take the role of an observer. I suggest you do the same.”

  “I suggest you clear your mind. Do you believe in God?”

  “If belief must be a factor here, I will concede to there being a universal consciousness; more precisely, an infinite computer brain. Will that do?”

  “Only if you can pray to it.”

  She giggles and looks as excited as a five year old with a new pony despite the menacing gray force that clings to her.

  I light the candle and smudge stick, open the potion jar, and dip my finger in the cold, sour wine. I consider upending the table on the child; instead I draw a cross on my hand and another on Mackenzie’s. With partially closed eyes, I say a prayer to the Great Spirit, to God, and to the computer brain while watching Mackenzie blow the potion on her hand. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, I’m quite ready. Please proceed.”

  “We call forth the spirit of Blake Pratt, son of Douglas Pratt, son of Jean Landy, brother of Mackenzie Pratt. We ask that you honor us with your presence in joining our circle and speaking what truth you have left unsaid. Please come forward and make your presence known.”