“She’ll be fine on her own for a bit, right, Kat?” Dad smiled encouragingly at me, and I nodded.
“The theater’s not all that big,” Lidia added. “You probably saw the entrance to the tunnels by the bar—they still do organized tours, so stay up here. Oh, we’ve got a laptop set up by the projection room upstairs. The connection is slow, but you should be able to get online if you want. That’s probably where Oscar is.”
Roland let out a groan that sounded half-amused. “Oh God, we’ve got two thirteen-year-olds. This place is gonna be hormone central.”
“Don’t worry,” I said dryly before anyone else could respond. “I’m pretty sure I can control myself.”
Everyone laughed, and even Roland grinned a little. “Good to know. Nice shirt, by the way.”
“Great shirt,” the girl with the eyebrow ring said fervently. “Do you like the comics, too?”
I glanced down at my shirt, where the Crypt Keeper leered up at me. Mom hated this shirt. Well, she hated all my horror shirts. But this one especially. “No, I’ve only seen the show. Are the comics good?”
She swung her legs off the table, combat boots clunking on the floor. “Good? They’re classic. They—”
“Hang on, Mi Jin,” Jess interrupted. “Meeting, remember? We need to get started.”
“Sorry,” Mi Jin said cheerfully. “We’ll talk Crypt later, Kat.”
“Okay!”
I closed the door quietly. Everyone seemed nice enough, and not nearly as weird as I’d worried they might be. Well, Roland was kind of annoying. Hormone central. Right. Now, if Grandma had been there in the same room as Sam Sumners, that would’ve been hormone central.
All the same, I couldn’t deny that I was curious about Oscar.
When I got to the top of the stairs and saw the laptop Lidia mentioned, my thoughts turned to something far more important than Oscar—the Internet. I sat down eagerly, but paused with my hand over the mouse.
The PRINT window was open, and the arrow hovered over “Yes,” as if someone had left in the middle of a printing job. I stared at the screen, thinking. The crew probably used this laptop for work, and I didn’t want to accidentally mess something up.
Still . . . I hadn’t been online in, like, twelve hours.
I grabbed the mouse. Whoever had left this open clearly wanted to print it. I’d just do it for them.
A green light flashed on the little portable printer next to the laptop, and the first sheet began sliding through. On the screen, the print window vanished. The word processor was still open, but to a blank page.
“Weird.” Shrugging, I closed it, then opened a browser and logged into my e-mail account.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: COME BAAAAAACK!!!!
seriously, it’s only been a day, and life is intolerable without you. what’s rotterdam like? is the cast nice? is sam really ditzy? mark wants to know if they’ll let you be on the show. (would they?? it’d be so crazy to see you on TV!) your blog looks awesome—can’t wait for the first ghost story!
can we video chat soon? it’s weird not having you here. :(
<3 trish
Reading Trish’s e-mail was strange—it made me smile, but my throat got kind of tight. I pulled up my blog and scrolled down to find three comments on my first post. But before I could read the first one, a muffled click made me jump.
I looked around. The door to the projection room was closed, and I was fairly sure it had been open when I got upstairs. I’d almost forgotten about Oscar. Standing, I’d taken only a step when the paper sticking out of the printer caught my eye.
It wasn’t blank.
Glancing at the door to the projection room again, I grabbed the page.
KEEP HER AWAY FROM THE MEDIUM
“Oookay.” I glanced around but didn’t see a trash can. Folding the page a few times, I stuck it in my jeans pocket and opened the door to the projection room.
Boxes and old pieces of equipment cluttered the floor. Straight ahead, I saw the small window overlooking the auditorium, and in front of it, the projector. And next to the projector . . . a boy.
His back was to me, head bowed, shoulders hunched.
“Oscar?”
He didn’t move. Slowly, I took a step forward, then another. Was he crying?
“Hello?” I tried again, louder this time. Nothing. When I was within arm’s reach, I touched his shoulder lightly. “Are you okay?”
At last, he turned around. And I found myself staring into black, empty sockets.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT CAME FROM THE LASER PRINTER
Post: Travel Is a Beating
Comments: (3)
trishhhh: miss u! seen anything spooky yet?
MARK: ghost pics?
EdieM: Sam pics?
He had massive yellow fangs, too. And blood smeared around his mouth.
“You’ve got something on your chin,” I informed him, keeping my voice as flat as possible. Reaching up, he pulled the mask off—brown eyes, black hair, normal teeth, blood-free mouth—and glared at me.
“Geez, you didn’t even scream.”
I shrugged. “Why would I scream at something so obviously fake?”
“It worked on Mi Jin,” he said defensively. “She screamed so loud, Jess said you could hear her out on the street.”
“Well, either she was faking it or she scares insanely easy,” I retorted. “I’m Kat, by the way.”
“I figured. Nice to meet you.” His voice indicated it wasn’t nice at all. “I’m Oscar.”
“I figured.”
We didn’t shake hands.
“Okay, then,” I said after a few seconds. “I’m going to use the laptop for a while. Unless you need it?”
“Nope.”
“Okay.” I left the projection room without another word.
Sitting back down behind the laptop, I pulled up the comments on my blog post, smiling as I read. If Grandma thought I’d be taking stealth photos of Sam’s butt, she was dead wrong. Just before I clicked REPLY to tell her so, Oscar appeared at my side. He leaned against the table, setting the gruesome mask next to the mouse.
“So how long do you think your dad’ll last?”
I stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“You know, hosting,” Oscar said. “He’s the fourth host. The job’s cursed.”
I snorted. “Right, I forgot about that.”
The most haunted show on television was, of course, “cursed.” The curse was that they couldn’t keep a host. Because it couldn’t just be that the low budget and lower ratings drove people to quit. Nope, must be evil spirits.
“You should check out the P2P forums,” Oscar told me. “They’re all taking bets. Most of them think he’ll be gone after two episodes.”
“Whatever.” I turned back to the screen, taking care to sound as indifferent as possible. But his words nagged at me. It was weird to think that a bunch of fans online were gossiping about my dad.
Oscar leaned forward, squinting. “The Kat Sinclair Files?”
“My blog,” I said, resisting the urge to close the laptop so he couldn’t see. “Mostly just to keep in touch with my grandma and my friends Trish and Mark.” Oscar’s hand twitched, and his expression went from surprised to oddly closed in a heartbeat. I stared at him curiously. “Something wrong?”
“No,” he said flatly. “I had a friend named Mark, too, that’s all.”
“Oh.” I clicked REPLY, wishing he’d go away. “Had? What, is he dead or something?” After a few seconds of typing, I looked up to find Oscar staring at me.
“Oh God, your friend didn’t actually die, did he?” I said nervously. “I was just kidding, I didn’t—”
Oscar rolled his eyes. “Quit fr
eaking out. He’s not dead.”
“Oh.” I waited, because it looked like he was going to say something else. But he just stood there. I turned back to my screen just as the door swung open.
“Hey, guys!” Mi Jin stepped inside. “Meeting’s almost over—Jess is still going over some stuff with your dad, though.”
“Okay,” I said. “So you got stuck teaching us, huh?”
Mi Jin laughed. “I guess. It’ll be fun, though. Your dad and Lidia told me you guys both have pretty good grades.”
“I tried this out on Kat,” Oscar informed her, twirling the mask around his finger. “Your reaction was way better.”
“Yeah, I’ll be starring in a slasher movie one day, just you wait,” Mi Jin said with a grin. “My mom used to say my scream could shatter glass.” She nodded at the door. “We just ordered some lunch if you guys are hungry.”
My stomach rumbled again. “Starving,” I said, closing my window on the laptop. Then I remembered the page I’d printed. “Should I leave this on? I think someone was using it before I came in.”
Mi Jin shook her head. “Nah, we’ve all been downstairs all morning. You and Oscar are the only ones who’ve been up here.”
“But there was a . . .” I trailed off, glancing at Oscar. He stared back, his expression blank. “Never mind.”
I followed them out of the room, watching Oscar twirl that stupid mask around his finger and thinking of the message folded up in my pocket. KEEP HER AWAY FROM THE MEDIUM. Another prank, no doubt. He’d probably typed it up right before I got upstairs, then hid to watch my reaction. Apparently he was into playing jokes on people. Very unfunny ones, too.
And I was stuck with him as a classmate. Awesome.
After lunch (sandwiches with cold cuts and probably the best cheese I’d ever tasted), I slammed into a wall of exhaustion. Oscar had spent the whole meal having an intense debate with Mi Jin about some video game. Jess was going over the Crimptown story in detail with Dad and Lidia. It actually sounded really interesting, but my eyelids drooped like my lashes were weights. When my head slipped off my hand and I jerked awake, Oscar snickered.
“I need some air,” I announced in the most dignified voice I could muster, righting the jar of pickles I’d knocked over before heading for the door.
Roland was outside of the theater, sitting on a backpack with a sucker sticking out of his mouth. I sped up, hoping he wouldn’t want to talk.
“So, Kat,” Roland said. Groaning inwardly, I stopped and turned to face him. Time for some awkward conversation. Dislike. “Parents just split up, huh?”
I blinked, startled. “Uh . . . yeah. My dad told you?”
Roland lifted a shoulder. “He mentioned it. But it wouldn’t have been hard to guess.”
Before I could respond—and I had no idea what to say to that, anyway—Sam Sumners wandered around the corner of the theater. His eyes looked glazed over, like he was half-asleep. I could empathize.
“It was her brother,” he said to no one in particular. Roland pulled the sucker out of his mouth and shot Sam a purplish grin.
“Her brother? Really? You usually say it’s a boyfriend or husband. These things are always about jealousy.”
Sam nodded vaguely. “Usually, yes . . . but not this time.”
I cleared my throat. “What are you guys talking about?”
Turning, Sam squinted at me with a strange expression, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether I was real. I had the sudden crazy idea that he could see ghosts better than living people. “Sonja Hillebrandt,” Sam said. “Her presence is quieter than the pirate’s, but more rooted to this place. The pirate wants to roam.”
“Um . . .” I glanced at Roland for help.
“Sonja’s one of the Crimptown ghosts,” he explained, crunching down on the purple sucker with a sharp crack. “Sam’s trying to figure out why she’s still hanging around. Apparently, it has something to do with her brother.”
Sam frowned, his eyes glazing over once more. “Protective . . . she’s very protective . . .”
I stared as he wandered off around the corner of the theater without another word. “He looks like he needs some sleep.”
“He’s fine,” Roland replied. “That’s just how he acts when we’re on-site. It’s an occupational hazard when you’re a medium. Hard to communicate with the dead and not walk around looking like a zombie.”
Crossing my arms, I studied Roland. He sounded mocking, although I wasn’t sure if it was me or Sam he was making fun of. “You’re a parapsychologist, right? Like a paranormal psychologist?”
“Parapsychologist, like a scientist who looks for evidence of any sort of paranormal activity, such as clairvoyance, precognition, and telepathy.” Roland yawned widely. “Or, you know. A spook shrink, if you prefer.”
Was he making fun of himself now? This guy was so weird.
“Okay, I have to ask,” I said. “Do you really believe in all this?”
“All what?”
“You know, this.” I gestured to the theater. “Ghosts, haunted tunnels, a walking Ken doll who thinks he can talk to dead people.”
Roland let out a snort of laughter. “Walking Ken doll. Nice.”
I winced. “Sorry, it’s a joke I have with my grandmother. She’s got the hots for him pretty bad.”
What? Seriously, brain. Time to start controlling the words coming out of my mouth.
Roland was still chuckling. “Oh no, your grandma’s a Sumner Stalker?”
“A what?”
“That’s what Sam’s ‘fans’ call themselves.” He made little air quotation marks with his fingers on the word fans. “They get pretty intense.”
I made a face. “She’s not that bad, I promise.”
“Glad to hear it,” Roland said around his sucker. “You should see some of his fan mail—it gets pretty creepy. And he never realizes when they cross the line. He’s way more tuned in with the dead than with the living. Pretty sure that’s why he gets those kinds of fans, actually.”
“What do you mean?” I asked curiously. “He’s got fans because he’s . . . well, good-looking.”
Roland shrugged. “True, but he’s also haunted. You don’t make a career out of contacting the dead without a reason. And people are drawn to that.”
I frowned. He had a point. I knew Sam’s story from all the interviews Grandma showed me—how he’d fallen into the deep end of a pool when he was little and it was a few minutes before someone found him and gave him CPR. He’d nearly drowned, and ever since then, he claimed to have a connection with the spirit world.
But Sam wasn’t the only one who was haunted by something. Everyone on Passport to Paranormal had, for one reason or another, decided to chase ghosts for a living. Maybe everyone had a Thing that haunted them, that they wanted to escape.
“Our first host was a Sumner Stalker,” Roland was saying, his expression sour. “Emily Rosinski. Total nutjob. Wasn’t sorry to see her go.”
“What about the other two?” I asked, thinking of the so-called curse. “The hosts?”
“Carlos was fired. Bernice just got freaked out and quit.”
“So you don’t believe in the host curse, then?” I asked. “Or any of this ‘most haunted show’ stuff?”
Roland shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. That’s not what the show is about.”
“Really? I kind of thought that was the whole point of your job,” I said. “Finding proof of paranormal activity.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Proof? Like what—video of a ghost? A photo? You seem like a smart kid. What do you think would happen if we put that on the air?”
I thought about it. “I guess people would say you faked it.”
“Exactly.” Roland tossed the sucker stick into a trash can. “It’s a no-win situation.” He pulled another sucker out of his pocket.
>
“What’s with all the suckers?” I asked, watching as he ripped off the wrapper. This one was red.
“We just had lunch,” Roland said matter-of-factly. “Normally I’d be having a cigarette right now, but I quit. Therefore . . .” He waved the sucker at me before sticking it in his mouth. “I’ve got more. Want one?”
“No, thanks,” I said. “So what did you mean, it’s a no-win situation?”
Roland leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. “If we prove ghosts exist—people think it’s fake. If we find nothing—people think it’s boring.”
“Well, you find some creepy stuff sometimes,” I said thoughtfully. “I mean, I don’t think everyone who watches the show believes in ghosts, or wants proof or whatever. I think most of them just like being scared. They want something to talk about.”
“Dead on,” Roland agreed. “That’s why we do our best to make things . . . entertaining.”
“What do you mean?”
The door opened again, and Lidia stuck her head out. “We need you guys in about five minutes,” she said, then looked around. “Isn’t Sam out here?”
“Wandered off,” Roland said. “I’ll find him.” Once Lidia was gone, he stood up, shouldering his backpack. “So what about you?”
“Huh?”
Roland looked at me expectantly. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Nope,” I replied firmly.
The corners of his mouth twitched up a little. “Good. You’ll have more fun that way.”
I stared after him as he sauntered around the corner where Sam had vanished. Slipping my fingers in my pocket, I pulled out the piece of paper again. KEEP HER AWAY FROM THE MEDIUM. I frowned. I’d clicked print, but the document had been blank on the screen. Even if this was just another one of Oscar’s pranks, how could he have managed that? It was more like a computer glitch . . . but then again, someone had typed this message. This warning about a medium.
Was it about Sam? And who was supposed to stay away from him?
Dead Air Page 3