Seth Laverty paced his office. “We go in, film it, and leave. Easy in, easy out. Everyone’s happy.”
The circular office was devoid of personal mementos, and if Seth were anyone else Oliver Bagley would have been troubled by it. Even still, Oliver suppressed a litany of psychological questions that bubbled to the surface.
“Got it,” Oliver said. “When do we, you know, see the ghost?”
“What ghost?”
“The ghost of Vivian Newby.” He crinkled his nose. “How do you not know the folktale of this house? It’s famous.”
Seth sighed. “We’re not going to actually see a ghost. We just film a couple hours. The crew creates some spooky sounds to add in the soundtrack later, and we choreograph our surprise. Simple.” Seth looked back at the psychologist and his newest guest on his show, and he sat up straighter in his seat. “Look, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I figured a scientist would know there’s no such thing as ghosts. It’s television. We pander to the people.” He waved his hand dismissively.
“But you are familiar with the story, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Everyone who grew up in a thousand-mile radius of the place knows the story. Tortured teenage girl killed her dad who now haunts the cabin. Told and retold. If it didn’t put Havencrest on the map, the story would’ve died out ages ago. We’ve got to go or we’ll be late.”
The two men stood up. Seth snatched his briefcase containing his notes and ghost hunting tools. Oliver grabbed his overnight bag filled with more gadgets than clothing. They walked outside to the white, unmarked van waiting outside. The transportation crew, with the cameras and light equipment, was waiting for them.
“Oliver,” Seth said, “this is everyone. Everyone, Oliver. Okay, let’s get this started. I have an appointment tomorrow I can’t miss. Onward.”
The van hurdled away from Fallwood City, and as they travelled further the cities became towns and the towns became villages. At last, the villages gave way to hamlets. After four hours driving, they pulled the van into a driveway leading to a dilapidated cabin on the edge of Havencrest, a place in which few people visit and fewer leave. The crew helped Seth and Oliver unload the personal camera equipment. After all the bags were laid out on the front porch, the two men watched as the transportation crew drove away with the promise of their return at dawn.
“More like noon for these guys,” Seth said, “but they’re good people. You’ll see. Grab a bag, will you?”
Seth picked up his briefcase and a large suitcase filled with different lenses, and he pushed his way into the cabin. Dust fell from the rafters from the force of his entry, and Seth coughed into his shoulder.
The cabin was smaller inside than it appeared outside, and they fully explored their new home away from home in under ten minutes.
“I give it one star,” Oliver said as he inspected the mantle over the fireplace.
“You’d give it any stars?” Seth asked. “Look at this dump. At least there aren’t any ghosts here, though. Imagine being tethered to this place for all eternity. I’d haunt it, too. We should set up the equipment. I’ll show you how I record the raw footage.”
Oliver made another rotation around the cabin, this time allowing him to stop and examine the details. If layers of dust didn’t coat everything, it’d look like a family currently lived there. Framed pictures were stationed on every surface. Perma-smiles greeted Oliver; however, when he picked a picture to examine he saw the edges of the young girl’s smile were pulled taut and her hands were clenched at her sides. He replaced the photograph on the bedside table and met Seth in the living room. Seth had managed to set up the cameras and lights, and he was now busy setting out his gadgets.
“You have an infrared video light,” Oliver said as he neared Seth.
“A necessity in this field. It’s the only way to film in pitch darkness. I hope you’re not afraid of the dark.”
“What other goodies do you have in that briefcase?”
“Not much, really. I have a K2 meter to detect electromagnetic energy changes, mostly for the people watching at home; a full spectrum mini-camera; and a pair of walkie-talkies, which reminds me that you need one of these.”
“And you capture ghosts with just this?”
“Remember? There are no ghosts.”
“Well, you wouldn’t be able to detect them with just this anyway, even if there were some.”
Oliver sprinted to the porch, leaving Seth to stare after him. Oliver returned with his overnight bag, and he lugged it to where Seth sat on the floor.
“Here, let me show you what you really need,” he said and unzipped the bag. He started to pull out different equipment.
“Oliver, my man. You’ve lost it. What the hell is this stuff, anyway?”
“Check it out. These are infrared thermometers. They’ll pick up just about anything. And over here there are electronic recorders to pick up the ghost’s voices and other noises. This is essential. I’m shocked you don’t have one.” He spoke so quickly that his words began to slur and slide into each other. “And this,” he enunciated, “the anonometer is one of my favorite things. It –.”
“Hey, calm down. We don’t need an anemone or whatever that is. We just need a basic camera that can film in the dark and some cozy blankets. We’ll film us exploring the cabin for what the audience will believe is the first time. We’ll pretend to hear a noise, make a commotion over it, pretend to measure it and get excited, and we’ll go to sleep. We’ll wake up in the morning and buy some coffee. Got it?”
Seth grabbed the handheld camera and the extra walkie-talkie. “We’re not really going to be separated, but it makes it look real on television if we carry these around. Ready?”
Oliver followed Seth’s lead as they exited the cabin. The quarter moon illuminated the porch, casting odd shadows of the spindly trees surrounding them. Oliver shook as a breeze permeated his sweater and the coldness seeped into his bones. Seth turned on the camera and nodded toward Oliver before walking inside.
“Oliver, our guest psychologist,” Seth said, angling the camera toward himself, “is a ghost hunting enthusiast, and he’s here to help track the ghost of Leonard Newby, a cruel man who tortured his daughter before she murdered him. The cabin, the scene of the murder, opens with the living room here, and it looks like no ghost activity is detected. Do you concur, Oliver?”
“I do,” Oliver said. He balled his fist and pounded his chest and coughed. “I do,” he repeated.
“Now, Oliver, you take that bedroom over there and I’ll inspect this bedroom here.”
Off-camera, Seth gestured wildly at Oliver to continue in the bedroom alone, and when Oliver entered Seth clicked off the camera.
“Aren’t we going to film this?” Oliver asked.
“Not right now. Remember, I’m supposed to be in the other bedroom. I just can’t leave you here alone because insurance reasons.”
“Insurance companies don’t pay out for ghost-related accidents?”
“Get over it. There are no ghosts to cause accidents. There are, however, rusted nails and unstable floorboards, so watch your step.”
“Okay, so what do we do in here if we aren’t looking for a ghost?”
“We eat. Follow me.” Seth turned around and walked back to the living room to the only area that wasn’t caught on camera, place where their bags were stacked. Seth rummaged through his bag and produced two peanut butter sandwiches. “Here. Midnight snack.”
“Shouldn’t we get back to filming?” Oliver asked. He let his eyes wander to the bedroom he was supposed to be inspecting. He felt himself pulled there, and he was filled with equal parts unease and anticipation.
Seth checked his watch. “Sure, it’s getting late, anyway. Got your equipment? Let’s go.”
Oliver walked, almost in a trance, back to the bedroom and opened the door. As he crossed the threshold, the hairs on his arm raised as if a breeze passed. He walked to the opposite side of the bedroom and looked out the window. On th
e panes of glass was a dusty film that coated it, allowing Oliver to see only fuzzy outlines of trees. In the distance, he saw a light bobbing up and down and he squinted to make out the figure. There wasn’t another house for miles, and it was too late for hikers. As Oliver leaned closer to the window, craning his neck to see outside, the bedroom door slammed shut. Oliver whipped around to look at the door. It looked menacing. The natural lines in the wood looked darker than they did minutes before, and as Oliver walked nearer the dark lines weren’t black at all but a brick red color. He thrust his hands in his pockets, but they were empty. He had forgotten his walkie-talkie in the living room. He grasped the copper door handle and turned it, but it wouldn’t budge. Thoughts swirled in his head and he tried to inhale as deeply as he could. He pounded on the door.
“Seth! The door’s locked. Open it up from your side. I’m trapped!”
Oliver kept pounding on the door between shouts, and every second his pleas went unheard the walls around him closed in. The blue wallpaper unsealed itself from the walls and grabbed at him, inching closer and closer every second.
Finally, Seth pounded on the door. “Oliver? What the hell are you doing in there? Why did you lock the door?”
After several attempts, the bedroom door flew open as if it weren’t locked at all. Seth rushed in the bedroom and surveyed the damage. A panel of wallpaper peeled from the ceiling, and it dangled. Translucent white curtains blew in the wind. The queen-sized bed’s comforter was rumpled. Oliver’s face was ashen.
“Do you mind telling me what in the hell happened in here?”
“I wish I could tell you. I came in to check something out,” he said, not wanting to divulge the tugging sensation to Seth, “and the door closed and I couldn’t open it. So I shouted.”
“Why’d you lock the door, then?”
“I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. Look, something happened in there. I can’t explain it; I’ve never seen anything like it, but it wasn’t good. I don’t think we should stay tonight.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that ghosts don’t exist? Wind exists. It was probably wind that blew the door shut, and it’s so old that it was probably just stuck in the latch. Not a big deal.”
As Oliver listened, his fears abated and his heart rate slowed to normal. Still, though, the bobbing flashlight shone like a beacon in his mind, but instead of providing protection against the darkness, it served as a warning of what was to come. He lingered in the bedroom a few seconds longer than Seth before following him to the living room again.
“You sure you’re not hurt, though, right?” Seth asked, and Oliver couldn’t help but notice it was the first time Seth had shown any compassion toward him.
“I’m fine. The other bedroom, then?” He grabbed his walkie-talkie and electronic recorder and pocketed them.
The two men walked to the bedroom on the left side of the cabin. Each step Oliver took was coordinated with the bobbing light in his mind. Seth entered first.
“See?” he said, walking around in a circle. “There’s nothing to be scared of in here. Okay, let’s film. I say we sense the ghost in here. I’ll bust out my K2, and you can act horrified. You’re still pale from earlier, so just go with it.”
Seth opened the camera’s face and turned it on. He talked about the room, but Oliver tuned him out. He was focused on the windows, trying to spot the light again.
“I think there’s something in here,” he heard Seth say. “What do you think, Oliver? Feels a bit spooky in here.”
A low groan shook the floorboards, and a growl ruptured through the walls. Framed paintings crashed to the floor, and the nails scattered on the hardwood floors. Oliver yelped, and Seth whirled around to capture Oliver’s face. He gave Oliver a thumbs up. The moan-growl morphed into a deep howl. Seth motioned to Oliver to stop making the noise, but Oliver had fallen to the floor in terror. Oliver covered his head with his hands and curled into the fetal position.
“Oliver! Stop! I stopped filming. That sound is horrifying; quit it.”
The growl echoed, and Oliver, still balled, whimpered. “I’m not making it,” he whispered through sobs.
“Get up. Get up! You’re freaking me out, so stop, you hear? Aren’t psychologists supposed to be calm? You, Oliver, are not calm.”
Seth grabbed Oliver’s right arm and tugged Oliver to his feet.
“Are you okay?” Seth asked. He leaned close to Oliver’s face. Oliver still had that faraway gaze in his eyes, and he wobbled back and forth.
“What was the dad’s name again?”
“What dad?”
“Vivian’s.”
“Seriously? You collapsed, nearly fainted, and went insane, and you’re worried about a dead man’s name? Now, get over it. There are no ghosts. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“He’s scared. A man named Leo is scared, and he needs our help.”
Seth stared at Oliver. When Seth first met him, Oliver looked like a regular man. Oliver held some oddball ideas about psychology and the human mind, but he sounded sane at least. The man standing before him resembled nothing of the man who stood in his office not even ten hours ago. While the man he met earlier was polished, refined, and intelligent, the man who now wobbled in front of him looked more at home in a psychiatric ward rather than in front of a camera.
“Leonardo,” Seth emphasized, “is dead. He doesn’t need anyone’s help because he’s not alive. And, even if he were alive, he certainly wouldn’t need your help. You can’t even help yourself right now. Look at you.”
“Won’t you help me free him? He says he’s trapped. Alone.”
Seth sighed and covered his face with his hands. “Okay, listen for a minute, will you? If I were to say there were such a thing as ghosts, and let me assure you I am not, I wouldn’t help one that tortured his daughter and died because of it.”
Oliver, wide-eyed, stared at the bedroom window. The bobbing lights were back, peeking through the tree line of the forest. He turned and raced to the bedroom door, Seth right behind him. He jumped over the moth-eaten couch and dodged an end table that looked worse for wear. He sprinted toward the front door, tunnel vision causing him to only see what was in front of him.
The blow came from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Oliver flew like a rag doll through the air and landed against the far wall with a sickening thud. A rush of residual wind blew through Seth’s hair, and he ran toward Oliver, who was a small form on the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth and seeped into the floorboards.
Seth whipped around to face the direction from which he thought the blow came. He saw nothing. His eyes scanned the room, looking back and forth to find anything, to no avail. As soon as Seth turned back toward Oliver’s body lying limp, a gray form materialized next to the couch. It hobbled toward Seth while gliding inches above the floor.
“Help me,” it rasped.
The figure extended one hand toward Seth. The form solidified into a man, old and wrinkly, and Seth was rooted in place. His eyes darted wildly around the room. Only two escape paths existed, and one was blocked by the apparition. Adrenaline coursed through Seth, and he stole glances at Oliver, who was motionless. The blood had stopped pooling, and it began to soak into the carpet. With a final look at the man who baffled him, Seth sprinted toward the back of the house, hoping he could outrun the elderly ghost. Instead of jumping over furniture, he slammed his body against it and used brute force to shove it aside.
“Don’t leave me,” Old Man Leonard croaked.
Seth willed his body to move faster. The cabin, once small, appeared to extend and distort in front of him. The hallway to the back door seemed to extend forever, and regardless how fast he ran Seth managed to stay in the same position. Except Leonard edged closer and closer. The ghost reached out to grab Seth, and Seth yelped, his heart leaping into his throat and spurring him into action. Seth reached the back door and grabbed the doorknob. The brass felt too cool to the touch, and Seth recoiled from it befor
e looking backward. Leonard continued to chase him.
“Save me. Take me away,” Leonard pleaded.
Leonard lunged for Seth just as Seth ripped open the back door and stepped into the pitch darkness. Seth ran outside at a full pelt, and only when he reached the edge of the property did he turn back to look at the house. Leonard’s ghostly figure, all bright and translucent, hovered in the back door. The ghost howled a warning to Seth, but instead of listening, Seth sought safety in the thick trees. He ran through the forest until his side was full of stitches. It felt like he’d been running for nearly an hour at top speed, but when Seth checked his phone only a few minutes had passed.
He waved his cell phone around, trying to find a signal to call his team. The phone kept mocking him, blinking “No Service” repeatedly. Wind whistled and leaves crunched. Low-lying branches whipped back and forth, splintering the wood. Too scared to stay still for too long, Seth started walking through the forest, hoping he was walking in a straight line. Trees towered over him, and in that moment he’d never felt so insignificant.
Almost as if he stepped on a trip wire, a figure stepped from behind a tree. She was translucent but not as bright as Leonard. Sickly, silver strands of what Seth could only imagine as blood in a past life dangled from the body. Vivian. She could have only been, at most, sixteen years old, and her clothes dated her back in the 70s.
If Seth wasn’t already so utterly terrified, he’d have reminisced about his own bell-bottomed jeans. As it was, though, his heart caught in his throat, pounding harder than ever. He felt his entire chest quake from the rhythmic beating. He looked up at the girl’s face. Her smile was lopsided. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth, and ghostly saliva dripped to the ground and mingled with the dirt. His limbs, once frozen, now pulsed with electricity, and he bolted in the opposite direction toward the unforgiving trees. He knew that every step he took led him further and further from the house. He didn’t know where safety was, but he knew he couldn’t stay there. In the distance, Seth could hear Leonard’s indecipherable pleas that sounded like a constant low wail. He pumped his legs further, unsure whether or not he was truly running in a straight line; the forest of dark trees loomed over him and looked identical.
A shriek pierced the air. Birds – ravens, owls, and warblers – crashed through the canopy and took flight, thousands of wings beating above him. Seth grabbed the nearest tree trunk and clutched it as he sunk to the ground in a heap. The night sky darkened as clouds obscured the moonlight, and after nearly a full minute, the forest was illuminated. Seth scanned the forest. Small rodents scampered near him, seeking the safety of shelter. He stood up, his heart rate normalizing, and walked deeper into the woods. He checked his phone, still claiming he was in a no service area and saw that, again, only three more minutes had passed.
Bobs of light danced near him. The bulbs of light rose and dipped, as if beckoning him deeper in the forest. When Seth approached them, he could see the lightning bugs twirl over a large pool of muddy water. A cracking boom resonated through the forest, momentarily scattering the flashing bugs before they huddled over the water again. Seth whipped around in the direction of the noise. Trees toppled over as something with the force of a hurricane leveled them, approaching him. The bugs’ dance grew more fervent, bobbing ever closer to the water. The darkness coalesced into a human form. Seth, frozen, watched Vivian blaze a trail, her misplaced anger directed toward him. He turned to start to run, but the bugs attacked his face and dove toward the muddy pool. Seth took a tentative step toward the muck, and just when the sound of splintering wood was behind him, he jumped into the water where he sunk deep into the earth, mud coating him like a second skin.
The Ghost of Rose Cottage
Marjorie Hembroff
Ghostly Writes Anthology 2016 Page 48