by Anthony Ergo
"Did you kill it?"
"You can't kill something that's already dead," says Zara. "We need to move, fast. We don't have much time. Can you run?"
My legs feel watery, like jelly that hasn't set.
"I'll run out of here!"
"Then let's go."
As we leave the forest clearing, I relive the last sixty seconds in my head: the silence, the darkness, the ghost. Although nothing happened to me in the depths of the forest, I feel like I've been in a fight, and the Hangman Ghost won.
Chapter 12
Tuesday 17 September 8:02pm
Zara half-drags me through the dark woods, cutting a determined path within the thick undergrowth. Tall trees lean menacingly torward each other like boxers, somehow making the outdoors feel claustrophobic. I'm barely breathing, fighting to contain my asthma while trying to take everything in. My senses work overtime as I struggle to understand what I witnessed moments earlier. I can feel the asthma gathering in my lungs like a fungus. Zara notices my erratic breathing pattern and stops in a clearing at the edge of a pond.
"Take this."
She hands me my blue inhaler and I gratefully take two pumps. The wet gas courses down my throat and eases my tight chest.
"How did you find me?"
"Let's just say I knew you'd be here."
"Because you're a Precog, right? Blake told me that you can see the future."
"I have glimpses of future events. I saw you and the ghost in the forest, which is why I prepared the protective circle. I needed you to complete the circle to empower it. We're safe for now, but we don't have long. Sasha, you have to listen carefully and trust me."
Zara Gordon is the one person I'm able to trust and the only person Dad could rely on.
"Get in the pond."
She nods toward the cold, dark water.
"What?"
"We don't have time for questions. Act now, think later. Get into the water."
Too dazed to argue, I start to remove my clothes.
"No you don't."
Zara pushes me into the ice-cold pond before I have a chance to remove so much as a shoe. I gasp at the shock of the freezing water against my skin.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Sorry about that," Zara says as she hauls me back out of the pond.
I fix her with an angry stare as the dark water drips from my hair.
"Are you insane?"
"Get over it," she says, wholly unsympathetically. "It was the only way to scramble the bugs."
"You're telling me I've been bugged?"
My teeth start to chatter as the coldness takes grip. Zara takes off my soaked hoodie and replaces it with her black jacket.
"Afraid so. Now, listen. I'm your dad's understudy at The Agency. He's in trouble, and I don't just mean trouble of the ghostly variety."
"He told me to find you." I stammer as I try to rub some warmth back into my cold arms. "He told me to give you this." I pull the old paper from my jeans pocket. Strangely, it's perfectly dry.
"It's a hangman game," I explain. "It keeps asking me to play."
"Don't open it," says Zara. "Keep it folded up."
I slip it into my back pocket, nestled behind the small knife.
"Zara, what's going on? I feel like my head is about to explode. A few days ago I found this bit of old paper and since then my world has been flipped upside down. My dad's in a hospital, I've had to stay at a haunted house and I'm being chased by a ghost. So please, please, tell me what's going on."
Zara huffs, like having to explain things is a hassle she doesn't need.
"We must to get going, we don't have much time. Can you walk and listen?"
"Erm, I think so," I reply with half-hearted sarcasm.
Zara walks on, only speaking once I catch up alongside her, my shoes squelching with each step.
"Let me give you a crash course in Paranormal Investigation. There are three types of ghosts. The first type is a Spirit. Spirits can be seen or unseen and are nothing more than energy left behind when someone passes over. Spirits are pretty harmless."
"Harmless is good," I reassure myself.
Zara continues, speaking emotionlessly and without breaking stride. "The second type is an Apparition. They are always visible… such as the Grey Lady or Headless Horseman. Apparitions can be harmless, or malevolent."
"That doesn't sound good," I say, almost tripping over a thick branch.
"Apparitions are visual but can't physically hurt you, although they've been known to induce respiratory attacks purely by their appearance."
"Sounds nice."
I rub my chest, all too aware of how easy another asthma attack can strike.
"Well, they're not. I've dealt with quite a few and let me tell you, you never get used to it."
"So what's the last type?"
"The last kind is what I think your Hangman Ghost is. A Poltergeist."
The word sends a whole new wave of shivers over my body, much worse than the icy cold pond water did.
"Are they harmless?" I ask hopefully.
"No. They are always malevolent and usually very dangerous. They can be seen or unseen, and can also interact physically."
I feel like I'm collecting bits of information and storing them in my mind like a paranormal guidebook on how to survive.
"You mean they throw things?" I ask.
"More than that. They have the power of possession."
Never has a single word made me want to throw up like that just did. I cringe at the thought of a ghost being able to touch you; being able to actually seep inside you and take control.
"So how many Poltergeists have you dealt with?"
"Including your Hangman Ghost? One."
My heart sinks. Zara Gordon is my only hope but her answer does nothing for my confidence in her.
"It's only my second year at The Agency. I haven't quite worked my way up to Poltergeists. I guess we'll learn as we go along."
"Right, like on-the-job training."
I try to make light of the horrendous picture Zara is painting.
"Poltergeists feed on fear," she continues. "They want a reaction: screaming, crying, fleeing. But you gave it nothing. How did you know that?"
"I didn't."
"You have a sixth sense, you just don't know how to use it yet."
I roll my eyes in frustration.
"Now you're starting to sound like my dad."
"Lou Hunter is a great man; the finest Paranormal Agent I've known. You're lucky to have him for a father."
"Well, I don't feel lucky. I never feel lucky."
The words of Menzies Blake come back to me about Zara's mother being imprisoned. I feel a pang of guilt; Dad isn't perfect, but at least he's not a criminal. Despite her cold nature, Zara seems to have a faith in me that I don't have in myself. She's calm under pressure, intelligent and strikingly beautiful; everything I'm not.
She's also a hard person to figure out. On one hand, she took a risk to help me and she's clearly fond of my dad. But on the other hand, I get the feeling that she somehow resents being around me, like I'm an annoying little sister. As begrudging as Zara seems, she is an ally and right now I need all the help I can get. She might have saved and debugged me, but Menzies Blake is hardly about to let me walk away from this place easily. Not to mention the small matter of a Poltergeist known as The Hangman Ghost. I'm in trouble, and I know deep down there is only one person who will know what to do.
"I need to get to Dad."
I'm half-running, trying to keep up with Zara.
"We're on our way, but we need to go and see somebody first."
"Not Menzies Blake!"
"No, he's the last person we want to bump into. Let's just say Blake and your father don't see eye to eye."
"Why's that?"
I can tell by the way Zara picks up her pace that she is tired of me firing questions at her.
"When the last Team Leader retired everyone thought Agent Hunt
er would get the job. Somehow Menzies Blake wormed his way into the position. He's not liked within The Agency, not least of all for being a Necromancer."
The word chills me, even though it doesn't sound as creepy as when it rolled off Blake's rasping tongue.
"He told me he can summon the spirits of the dead."
"Unfortunately, that's true. It's a very unique ability, but one that can be used for evil as well as good. I can't figure Blake out, which is why I don't trust him. You have to wonder why he feels as though he needs his own personal bodyguards."
"You mean Ludvig, Blake's driver?"
"Yes, and there are others. Blake is nothing more than an egotistical power-tripper and a bad influence in The Agency."
I could add a few other descriptives to that list.
"So who are we going to see?"
Zara quickens her pace.
"Someone who can tell us exactly what the Hangman Ghost wants."
+ + +
I'm intrigued by the thought of who this person is and how he can possibly help us. Maybe The Agency has some kind of spiritual guru; a sage-like master of exorcism who can make the ghost disappear for good? It might be wishful thinking, but hope is all I have left. My only concern is that other than Zara, Blake and Ludvig, I've not seen any other Agents here. This place is just one big mystery.
Zara leads the way through the gardens, ever mindful of the CCTV cameras. We descend some steps down to the mansion's basement and toward a dark, windowless door.
"This is the lab," says Zara. "Wait out here while I make sure that the coast is clear."
Zara enters the room, but leaves the door ajar, just enough for me to see through the crack between the hinges. It's a shrine to science: shelves sag under the weight of textbooks; black-and-white anatomical diagrams cover the walls; in the corner, a display cabinet is crammed with glass jars filled with murky liquid. Dozens of computer screens provide a strange luminous lighting and a permanent background hum.
I watch through the gap in the door as a lone man sits hunched over a desk, working studiously under a table lamp. Zara gives a deliberate cough to attract his attention. The man spins in his chair, revealing a weirdly large eye. I gasp before I realise it's nothing more than a monocle-style magnifying glass. He's wearing a fitted tee shirt and jogging pants, with a towel draped around his neck. As he moves into the light I recognise the olive skin and the dark fringe. It's Aaron. I know that I probably owe him an apology. He won't get one, of course.
I remain hidden behind the door while Zara approaches him to talk. His biceps tense as he grips the loose ends of the towel, clearly proud of his physique. Aaron is not exactly the spiritual master I had in mind.
"Hey, Zara! A bit late for a chess rematch, isn't it? Are you that desperate for another beating?"
"No chess tonight, Hart. I need a favour."
Aaron rotates his head stiffly.
"I need a favour myself. I could do with a shoulder massage right now. . ."
"Grow up," says Zara, with a sigh.
I bet he's like this with all the girls. I fight the fact that I have some kind of attraction to him, and the feelings of jealousy. He slides torward Zara on his wheeled office chair, not bothering to remove the magnifying lens from his eye. He yawns and I can't help but return it, having had a sleep deprived night and a long day.
"Who's out there?" asks Aaron suspiciously.
"Sasha, you might as well come in now," says Zara over her shoulder.
I creep around the door guiltily. I knew I'd be no good at this secret agent stuff. When I lock eyes with Aaron I feel something unfamiliar stir inside of me, and I'm not happy about the warm tingle I get in my belly.
"It's you," he says. He doesn't seem at all surprised to see me. "You're not going to knee me in the nuts again, are you?"
His question douses those feelings in my tummy and I pin him with a stare. "It depends, " I reply sharply.
He folds his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair.
"I tried to help you. It's not my fault you're so stubborn. Pretty, but stubborn."
He called me pretty, and on come the butterflies again.
"Enough," interrupts Zara. "You two make me feel like I'm back in the school playground. Hart, we need your psychometric help with something."
Menzies Blake described Aaron Hart as an "Empath"; someone who can pick up feelings based on touch. I'm reminded of our first encounter and how he reacted when our hands brushed. Aaron looks me up and down as though he's studying my every detail through his magnifying glass-eye while thoughtfully scratching his chin. I feel like an insect underneath a microscope: helpless and insignificant.
"It's kind of urgent," says Zara, trying to hurry things along. "Show him the hangman game, Sasha."
I hand the old, yellowed paper to Aaron, not daring to open it myself.
"I've seen this before," he says, rubbing the folded paper between his thumb and forefinger. "Agent Hunter asked me to run some tests on it for him. He didn't tell me anything about it. Just like he never told me he had a daughter with a lethal right knee."
Aaron gives me the twenty yard stare until Zara makes an obvious cough.
"Are we still bitching, Hart? Because if you don't want to help─"
Zara reaches out to take the hangman game, but Aaron pulls it back torward him.
"Not so fast, Zara. I didn't say I wouldn't help. You know I should probably clear this with Blake?"
Zara frowns. "Any chance we can do this off-the-record, Aaron?"
He makes a mock frown, clearly enjoying his moment of power, then breaks into a grin.
"What's it worth? Twenty quid?"
"Dream on," says Zara.
I can't believe Aaron. We're in the middle of a life-or-death crisis and he's playing games. He rotates his chair idly, like a bored child.
"Got it," he says, bringing the chair to a stop. "What about you take me on a field trip? I'm sick of being stuck here."
"Deal," says Zara, waving her hand in the air impatiently. "Now can we get on with it?"
Aaron gives a fist pump, then wheels back torward his table to examine the ancient paper under his desk light.
"It's old," he says, peering through his eye glass. "Probably a few hundred years old."
Zara huffs with impatience.
"I could have told you that."
"Hey, do you want my help or not? You know I have a system, Zara. I always use my five regular senses before relying on my sixth."
Zara taps her foot impatiently.
"If you don't mind, we're on a bit of a tight schedule."
Aaron switches off the desk lamp, leaving the room in near total darkness. When my eyes adjust I'm able to watch as he rests the palms of his hands over the folded up paper then takes in a large breath and closes his eyes. It reminds me of how my dad acted at the old house just before the Hangman Ghost appeared.
"This paper has been held by the hands of a killer." Aaron's voice is low and serious. "In life he was responsible for many deaths. It's not so much a game; more of a clue to his identity. He wants you to unmask him. I can't make out a face or name; it's like he's an enigma."
Aaron becomes silent for a moment, then sits back in his chair and flicks the desk light back on.
"Wow" I say, a little inappropriately. "How could you tell all that without even unfolding the paper?"
"I didn't need to. Psychometry is all about picking up on energy and emotion. The thermometer measures temperature, the electrometer measures electricity. I am a psychometer: I measure the psyche, or the soul."
I wonder what he felt when he touched me. I've spent the last few years living in my own bubble, one which I've not allowed anyone else to enter. Yet with the brush of his hand, Aaron was able to read me. No wonder he ran off when I invited him in for a cup of tea.
Zara takes out a mobile phone, activates the voice recorder and places it on the table in front of Aaron.
"Ready when you are, Hart. Now, do you k
now what the ghost wants with Sasha and her father?"
Aaron opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a wooden board with numbers and letters inscribed on it.
"Let's ask it."
Chapter 14
Tuesday 17 September 10:43pm
The wooden board is decorated with an ornate black design around the edges. In the top left it has the word "Yes" and in the top right the word "No". The centre of the board is made up of two rows of letters in alphabetical order written in ancient calligraphy, with a line of numbers below. The word "Goodbye" is written at the bottom of the board and across the top is a strange word in big, grand letters spelt "OUIJA".
"It's pronounced wee-ja," says Aaron, having spotted my failed attempt to pronounce the unusual looking word. "It's a talking board, used for communicating with the other side."
"But aren't we already communicating with the ghost using the hangman game?" I pocket the folded paper game, my personal burden. "It keeps asking me to play."
"That's only one way communication, and it's controlled by the ghost." Aaron pulls two chairs over and invites us to sit. "It's time to take control and call the shots."
"Do we have time for this?" I ask, worried about how long we've been under the same roof as Menzies Blake.
"That's the problem with the living," replies Aaron nonchalantly. "Always worried about time. Your ghost, on the other hand, has a whole eternity to kill."
I only wish that killing time was the ghost's sole motivation.
"I don't see us being disturbed just yet," says Zara, reminding me of her Precog skills. "If we're going to help your dad we need to find out what it wants."
I'm not sure whether I'm more anxious about communicating with the ghost or being found by Menzies Blake. Aaron places a small, heart-shaped wooden pointer, similar in size to a computer mouse, at the centre of the Ouija board.