by Stuart Jaffe
“And these paranormal investigators didn’t help?”
“They’ve done plenty. They said that our house has definitely got something inside it — a ghost, I guess. But the head of the team, Libby Broward, she said that she needed help, that whatever is after us goes beyond her team’s capabilities.”
“I see. So, she suggested you hire us.”
“No. She’s never heard of you. In fact, she wants to check you out before we agree to hire you.”
Drummond leaned toward his coat pocket and whispered. Max often forgot that the damaged soul of a former ghost hunter, Leed, resided in Drummond’s pocket. In fact, Max only noticed when he would catch Drummond talking with Leed. Something about that little blob of soul unsettled Max — far more than ghosts, witches, and curses ever had.
Drummond gave Max a quick nod. “You know this sounds fishy, right? I mean, Leed says this Broward lady is probably legit — if she were running a scam, she wouldn’t suggest getting outside help — but the fact that she never heard of us seems wrong.”
“That’s okay,” Max said to Wayne. “We’re not the most visible group in this field.”
“That may be,” Drummond said, “but I still think it’s fishy.”
Sandra gestured toward Wayne — a subtle enough motion to quiet Drummond down. “Perhaps you could explain how you found out about us?”
“Oh, that came from a fellow librarian — Leon Moore.”
Max bristled. Leon worked at the Z. Smith Reynolds Library at Wake Forest University — Max’s favorite place to do research. Leon had spent many hours spying on Max for the Magi Group, an organization devoted to fighting the Hulls and anybody else who abused magic. Though Max was happy to have others fighting the Hulls alongside him, his experience with the Magi Group left a bitter taste. He didn’t trust them. If for no other reason than the fact that they used magic, too.
“Ditch this case,” Drummond said. “It’s got nothing good surrounding it. And these two are really holding back. I don’t like that.”
Max had to agree. He felt bad for Shawnee. Nobody wanted to face a ghost attack, especially pregnant, but this all felt a little off like a painting slightly askew. Leon Moore’s involvement, even tangential involvement, meant that this could be trouble.
Placing his fingertips on his desk, Max said, “Mr. and Mrs. Darian, I think this case —”
“— is perfect for us,” Sandra said. “We’ll take it.”
Shawnee released a tense sigh. “Really?” She looked at her belly. “Thank you.”
Max shot Sandra a sharp look but she kept her eyes on Shawnee. Wayne cleared his throat with a bashful face. “Ms. Broward still wants to meet you before this goes any further. We don’t mean to offend you. It’s just that, well, as she said it, there are a lot of frauds in this line of work, and because our problem is real, she doesn’t want us getting hurt.”
“We understand perfectly,” Sandra said. “Let’s meet her as soon as possible and then see the house.”
“How about later today?”
“Great. Have her call us.”
“Oh, thank you.” Wayne hesitated. “Um, what about your fee?”
“Let’s see what we’re dealing with first. Then we can give you a fair estimate.”
Wayne and Shawnee offered more thanks as they left the office. When Sandra closed the door behind them, she faced Max and Drummond staring at her. She put a defiant hand on her hip and set her jaw. “What?”
Neither said a word in response.
Chapter 3
Max knew better than to pick a fight with Sandra. She obviously wanted this case. Besides, he had made unilateral decisions for them before, so he had no ground to stand on.
They spent the rest of the morning quietly going through the paperwork of running a small business. It amazed Max how many forms they had to fill out and papers they had to file. Even with computers, the busywork never seemed to lessen. Having to be creative in their descriptions and explanations only slowed the process more. Each case had to be reclassified in order to be palatable to those in government who would balk at the idea of dealing with the supernatural as a business expense. By the time lunch arrived, Max was anxious to meet Liberty Broward just so he could get away from filling out government forms.
They met at Mr. Barbecue on Peters Creek Parkway, not too far south of the city. Max had to give Ms. Broward points for choosing a Lexington BBQ place. Max, Sandra, and Drummond entered the restaurant which was adorned with a long counter right at the front. Seating was off to either side.
A tall Japanese woman wearing a blue business outfit waved at them from the back corner. Seated with her was a chubby man with a thick beard and thicker glasses. Max and Sandra waved back, ordered their food, and walked over.
“Liberty Broward?” Max asked.
“Call me Libby,” the woman said, offering her hand. “This is Jack Deere, my audio man.”
Jack did a half-wave, half-salute without getting up.
Drummond crossed his arms. “Well, ain’t they a piece of work.”
“Please,” Libby said, “have a seat. I have a few questions for you before I offer up any of the case. I’m sure you understand.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Wayne and Shawnee?” Max asked.
“They won’t be joining us. This is not something they need to be bothered with. I think we can all agree they have enough to contend with.”
Drummond gestured toward Libby, and Max needed nothing more. He could tell on his own that Libby forced her friendly attitude because her clients had forced her into this situation. Sandra noticed, too, but she seemed unwilling to react to it.
Libby had a pile of papers and folders which she neatly placed to the side. Clasping her hands together so that her bracelets jingled against the table, she pursed her lips and nodded. “As I understand things, the Darians have requested your aid, but they are willing to let me make the final decision on whether or not to include you.”
Max wanted to bite into his sandwich, but instead he forced a smile of his own. “Look, we’re not trying to steal your business. They came to us, and we want to help. That’s all.”
“I hope so. Let’s start with a simple test. I want you to prove to me that you really do see ghosts.”
“I thought you didn’t know anything about us?”
Drummond clapped his hands once and pointed at Libby. “See. I told you not to trust her.”
Libby gave her bracelets a single shake. “I do my research, too. When the Darians first mentioned you, I didn’t know your names. But you’ve helped out a few people with their ghost problems, and that kind of thing gets noticed in certain circles. It wasn’t too hard to find out a little about you. Unfortunately, what I have learned isn’t enough to prove whether you’re frauds or not.”
“Frauds?”
Sandra put a hand on Max’s arm. “She’s just being cautious.”
Libby went on, “My client is my top concern — not your egos. There is a serious problem going on at that house and it threatens that family. I won’t let just anybody who claims they can see ghosts to jump in and start mucking about. This has to be handled professionally.”
“Of course,” Sandra said. “How do you want to test us?”
Libby held Sandra’s gaze for a moment before frowning. She turned to Max. “I was told you were the one who sees ghosts, but your wife seems to be the one ready for the challenge.”
“I only see one ghost,” Max said. “But he’ll tell me whatever you want to know.”
Drummond chuckled. “Only if you’re nice to me.”
Libby returned her attention to Sandra. “There is a ghost in here that I want you to identify.”
Sandra didn’t bother to move her head. “There are many ghosts in here. Public places often have quite a few.”
“Yes, but this one is connected to me.”
With a slight shift, Sandra let her eyes roam across the dining area. “There’s only one Japanese ghost in here
. Would that be who you are looking for?”
“Any fraud would take one look at me and guess that the ghost should be Japanese. You’ll have to do better.”
“He’s wearing slacks and a straw hat — like a porkpie — and when we entered he was swirling around the kitchen. Since then, he’s taken notice of you and comes back every so often to watch you.”
Max could tell Sandra had passed the test with her details, but he wanted Libby to know that he wasn’t a fraud either — not because of ego, but because they needed to establish some trust in order to work together. “Drummond, do me a favor and ask this Japanese gentleman for his name.”
“You got it,” Drummond said.
A moment later, Max told Libby the ghost was her Uncle Yosh. Libby dashed a tear from her eye. “That’s him. He loved the food here — not just this restaurant but all Southern food. Okay, you both are legit. Let’s get started on the case.”
Her audio man nudged the stuffed folder back in front of her. She opened it, turned a few pages, flipped a few photos, and stopped on a typed paper with the clear heading CASE REPORT.
“The client came to us three weeks ago complaining of unusual experiences in their house. Dreams that often repeated. Shadows moving just out of sight. And noises. Music playing where it couldn’t be.” Libby went on to cover their interviews with the Darians which matched the information Max and Sandra had received.
“We already know this,” Max said.
Libby gripped her files tight and held her mouth even tighter. “Continuing on, I have a detailed list of questions we prepared for the presence in the house based on our hypothesis.”
“Excuse me,” Max said. Sandra put a hand on his arm, but he bolstered on. “What exactly is your hypothesis?”
Libby glared at Max. “I’m not about to give you everything we’ve worked hard to achieve. You are here to help us, not the other way around.”
“Well, if you think we’re going to be filling out reports for your file, you’re crazy.”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking for you to behave professionally.”
“Hey, we’re plenty professional. But we’re not ghost hunters playing at finding out about the supernatural and hoping to get picked up for some reality TV show. This world goes so far beyond ghosts, you have no idea.”
“We care about our clients. We’re not trying to get a TV deal or anything like that.”
“You’re poking a stick at a lion and you think all this paperwork and professionalism is going to shield you, but you’re wrong. So, instead of testing us, maybe you should take the backseat and let us lead.”
Sandra waved her hand between them. “That’s enough.”
“Aw,” Drummond said. “Don’t stop them. That was fun to watch.”
“Max, it doesn’t matter who is in charge. We’ve been hired to come in and use our unique skills to save a pregnant woman, and that’s what we will do.” Sandra lowered her voice and spoke in a sharp, deliberate pace. “You, too, Libby — the Darians hired us to come in and use our unique skills to help them, and that’s what we will do. Understand?”
Libby bristled as she packed away her papers. “Fine. But you should know that I take this very seriously. If you do the slightest thing to jeopardize what we have accomplished to this point, I won’t hesitate to do all I can to pull you off this case.”
“Fair enough.”
With a sheepish grin, Jack Deere flicked some earbuds across the table. “Man, you guys are so intense; you’re going to go nuts over this. Check out what we recorded last night.”
Max and Sandra tentatively picked up the earbuds and listened in. Jack tapped on his smartphone for a moment. “What you’re about to hear was an EVP recorded around two-in-the-morning.”
“EVP?”
Libby subtly rolled her eyes. “Electronic Voice Phenomenon. The best is Class A which requires no editing or enhancement.”
“Very rare,” Jack said growing more excited as he spoke. “Class B has some enhancements and might include discrepancies that are open to interpretation. Class C means heavier editing and thus, more discrepancy.”
“Anything beyond that is too questionable for our standards.”
“This recording we made last night needed only one gentle filter pass to take out some of the extraneous noise. This is Class B bordering on Class A. It’s freaking incredible.”
Max felt a nervous edge cross his skin as he covered his ears in order to hear better. He had fought witches — both dead and alive — knew a ghost and had dealt with magic on numerous occasions. Yet eavesdropping on the dead triggered an uneasiness in his stomach.
It was as if he was a kid watching a horror movie late at night, and somehow he both knew and was oblivious to the approaching steps of his mother. If she dared to utter a sound, he would hit the ceiling with a churlish scream. But she wouldn’t. This existed in his head, and she would forever be approaching.
Finally, Jack pressed his phone’s screen, and Max could hear the sound of Libby’s recorded voice.
LIBBY (tired): What is it?
JACK: Camera 2 is picking up something.
LIBBY: Carl? You got anything?”
CARL: Nothing.
JACK: Shh. Everybody shut up.
The group became still. Max could hear soft breathing. He pressed his ears tighter. He thought he heard a ticking clock.
The music that blared full-volume caused him to jump out of his seat. Sandra startled, too. A roaring blast of trumpets and trombones. A rowdy, big number that screamed of the 1920s. As Max’s heart settled back down his throat, he could practically hear the flappers doing the Charleston.
The song lasted no more than ten seconds. After that, silence.
Stunned, Max and Sandra removed their earbuds. Libby flicked back her hair with a bit of triumph. “You see? This is serious.”
Wide-eyed, Jack continued, “We’ve never recorded something like that before. I mean we have voices, but they’re barely audible. This — man, you would’ve thought the band was right in that room.”
“And that means that whatever is attacking Mrs. Darian, it is strong and determined. A moment ago, Mr. Porter, you asked for my hypothesis. I’ve changed my mind. I will tell you because I want you to grasp how dangerous this situation is.”
Max did his best to hold back any sarcasm from his voice. “Please do.”
“I think a woman died in that house during a party in the 1920s. I think that woman was pregnant. And I think she’s angered and confused by Shawnee Darian’s pregnancy. If we can get this ghost to realize she’s dead and that it’s okay for Shawnee to have a baby in the house, we might be able to get the dead woman to move on and stop haunting our client.”
“We understand,” Sandra said.
“I don’t think you really do. A case like this could take quite some time to finish. That’s the final part of the commitment I’m looking for from you two. I don’t want you promising Shawnee your help, dropping in the house, talking with the spirits for a little, and then leave declaring everything fixed. None of this will be done until Shawnee’s baby is born. Even after that, we might need to do regular follow-ups to make sure nothing starts up again. Are you prepared to help the Darians through this whole ordeal? Until the very end of it?”
“You have my word,” Sandra said.
Drummond shrugged. “Why not? I ain’t going anywhere.”
Libby looked to Jack for a moment. If they communicated anything in that look, Max couldn’t tell. But then Libby turned back. “Okay. The house is close by. Elizabeth Street — just up the road and off Academy. You can follow us. Carl, our videographer on the team, he’s already there.” From beneath the table, she pulled out a briefcase and stuffed her files inside. “We’ll show you everything. Let’s go.”
Chapter 4
When Max had turned ten years old, he learned to roll with whatever the day brought. His special day began with the death of the family collie, Blondie, followed up with three hours
caught in traffic, and ended with him being a half-hour late to his own party. As miserable as he felt at that moment, all his friends were waiting, and the party was a blast. Particularly because it ended with his first kiss — Sarah Wain.
The current day had started bad and only grew worse by the minute. He would push on, though. Perhaps the day would end on a better note. As they drove along Elizabeth Street, however, Max didn’t feel so confident.
It was a quiet neighborhood lined with old houses pressed in close. The road traveled up and down short, steep hills, and the pavement needed work. Old maples stretched their branches overhead.
Everything about the area pointed to a lovely place to settle down. It chilled Max’s skin to think about what really went on behind the closed doors. He had seen enough of the city’s underbelly — the witches alone could cause nightmares. But here he would have to deal with a haunting. Despite how nonchalant he had felt when the Darians presented themselves at the office, approaching the house awakened his nerves.
Max saw Libby’s car pull into the drive of an aqua-blue home with white trim and an American flag posted from the porch. He parked across the street. They were near the bottom of a downward slope which staggered the homes on a series of landings like steps. Cracks lined the concrete sidewalks.
Drummond stood by the car and stared at the house. “This is the big, scary house? We’ve seen far worse.”
“Yeah,” Max said. “Maybe that’s what bothers me.”
Libby and Jack met them on the porch and ushered them in. The door opened to a living room with stairs on the left leading to the second floor. The walls were baby blue. A tattered sofa had been parked beneath the window and faced a large, wall-mounted flatscreen. A chipped coffee table sat between them, covered in newspapers as well as a shoebox. The air smelled of dog.
“Charming,” Drummond said as if could still smell.