The Third Eye of Leah Leeds

by Christopher Carrolli

  Brett listened as the sound seemed to be mutating, changing from one noise to another, as though it were a collage of sounds trapped together in some ghostly formation. Then, a sound they were all familiar with had come forth from that collage, overwhelming all others. It was the sound of wind rushing through a tunnel, that sheer resonance of air being sucked through some form of space, followed by the whistling din of a cosmic tea kettle.

  The first recorded EVP was heard by all.

  “Help...”

  It was quick, a flash of a voice, carrying the echoing sound of travel between opposite realms. It sounded aware, as though time had not stopped for the voice, only repeated. It was the fast sound of that sharp awareness that spooked them all into jolts of sudden surprise.

  “Did everyone hear that?” Sidney asked. “It said ‘help.’”

  They listened as the sound of whistling wind somewhat softened. Again, the voice spoke.

  “Help me.”

  Brett found it odd. The voice didn’t sound urgent. It was merely asking in a certain tranquil repose. He mentioned this observation to Sidney.

  “Who are you?” Sidney called out, and they waited. “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Lily.”

  “I know of you, Lily,” Sidney said. “I’m here to help you. Can you tell me how you died?”

  The ghostly sounds persisted. Again, they waited for a response.

  “Evil...Help me.”

  “Lily, why can’t you leave here?” Sidney pressed. “Can you tell us why you stay?”

  The voice they’d silently identified as that of Lily Hanker, the first girl to go missing, had taken a different tone. What they all heard was faster, fearful, and pleading.

  “Trapped...”

  Then, the voice was gone, passing urgently with the onset of another sound, one far more sinister. A seemingly distorted fusion of an agonizing groan and an inhuman growl grew into a roar that bellowed and echoed against the walls surrounding them. It was chasing the desperate plea that preceded it.

  “What was that?” Cory’s voice combined the tones of fear and disbelief.

  “Whatever it is,” Brett said. “It’s not good, but I’m sure we’ll find out.” Brett had heard many EVP’s throughout his research, and now he tried to remember any incident that equaled the EVP he’d just heard. He swallowed hard, realizing there wasn’t anything in his time as a paranormal investigator that paralleled the demonic sound that had just made its presence known from within Cedar Manor.

  Then, faint, hissing whispers danced through the air around them. The whispered words were overlapping each other, becoming indecipherable as they fell upon straining ears.

  “Does everyone hear that?” Brett said.

  “The voices are whispering,” Dylan said. “Either they’re trying to tell us something, or they’re whispering among themselves.”

  “Listen,” Leah said, stepping closer to the amplifiers. Susan stood next to her, poised to write down the words that were heard next.

  Their silence seemed to provoke the whispering voices to grow louder. The quick words were spoken with strange pitches sounding eerily strained. One dead voice followed another.

  “The child...”

  “I see her.”

  The next word was uttered with a drawn and raspy hiss, pronounced with careful clarity.

  “Here!”

  They jumped when that last spoken word produced another loud bang from somewhere in the house. There was no shaking this time, only slightly frightened faces that searched each other for answers. They listened as the voices intermingled again, catching certain words through the rambling chaos of screeches, whispers, and sounds.

  “Leah.”

  “Father...”

  The team moved closer to Leah. The sounds had now grown in decibel, projecting an intense cacophony of screeching, wailing, and what sounded like anger.

  “These aren’t spirits,” Sidney said. “They’re something else.”

  Brett could see the beads of perspiration form on Sid’s forehead, a visual testament to the tension and silent fear they all felt. Tahoe stepped forward into their gathering as he’d listened from afar, pondering in his own psychic reflection.

  “What you’re listening to are not ghosts, nor spirits,” he said. “It is evil to which you listen. They are demons.” He stepped forward even closer to Leah and the amplifiers. His gaze reached upward into the air that surrounded them. Brett could tell that he was seeing something.

  “Whatever you are that dwells in this house,” Sidney called out again. “Identify yourselves!”

  The sounds continued of their twisted, distorted melody. The screeching, hissing, and random, unidentifiable noises sounded strung together, repeating, imprisoned in the web they were caught in. Then, a voice among the damned spoke with wrathful clarity...

  “Legion!”

  The word was clear, the voice rasping and squealing in disembodied evil.

  Brett noticed that Tahoe had closed his eyes, envisioning what was unseen, but being recorded on the spinning discs. Seconds followed the next word.

  “Many!”

  Brett realized that the extent of paranormal activity was far more than he, or anyone else except Leah and Paul, had imagined. It was just as Tahoe had predicted. This was not so much paranormal activity as it was demonic activity. It was possible, in Brett’s mind, that Cedar Manor could be one of the many gateways to Hell itself. And here they were, standing within it.

  “Who is it that you see before you?” Sidney’s job was to keep the EVP rapport going as long as he could; it was important to obtain as many EVPs as possible. Brett was aware that Sidney’s words were now trying to coax the demon into mentioning Leah again, to get it to continue acknowledging its interest in her.

  “Tell me,” Sidney said. “Who in this room do you see, right now?”

  The demon’s next word stole the breath from Brett’s lungs. He felt his heart stop beating.

  “Shifter!”

  His eyes met Tahoe’s as they opened and stared straight at him. There were no spoken words between the two of them, only the meeting of souls through the eyes.

  “Shifter,” Sidney said. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Good question,” Dylan said.

  “Doesn’t make any sense,” Leah said with frustration.

  The strange sounds died down, as the malignant energy had dissipated, leaving them now with only the low hum of the amplifiers with which they’d started.

  Eyes that had stared across the room at each other now looked solely upon the floor.

  * * * *

  The visions that had appeared to him were of Leah as a child, jumping rope, playing in the house. Faces flashed before him, young women striking sensual poses, and then suddenly screaming out in terror. Tahoe saw the face of Angus Marlowe, bearded, wild-eyed, and disheveled beneath the black hood. He saw the flames from the pyres again, rising up amid the limestone walls. Through it all, he saw the face of an older woman, careening back and forth in a rocker.

  When the demon had mentioned the word, “legion,” Tahoe had seen the twisting, writhing entity of souls once again with his third eye. They were once human shapes merging and mingling together in some floating mass, mutated faces peering out of it with painful expressions. Only they weren’t just lost souls, they were demons. They coexisted together, trapped in some eternal prison, awaiting release. Now, he understood. He turned to them.

  “In the Bible, Christ confronts a group of demons that refer to themselves as ‘legion.’ It has since become known that when demons group together, they form what is called ‘a legion.’ There is such a legion in this house, as I have said. Ironically, a night such as tonight may not bode well for them.”

  Tahoe explained that he referred to not only the marking of Christ’s entry into the world, but also the anniversary of Sheila Barton’s murder. Such an anniversary was one where lost souls would seek vengeance against those that had
murdered them. That legend had been passed down throughout his family for ages, and he fully adhered to it.

  He took Leah’s hands once again.

  “It’s not what your third eye sees that places you in danger, Leah,” he said. “It’s what your third eye does not see that blinds you. I cannot tell you what that is, for you must see it for yourself to defeat it. But soon, you’ll know.”

  Cory had been writing down Tahoe’s words to Leah, and now in the moments of stillness that beheld them all, he spoke to Tahoe.

  “So, for the record, I hear you’re one of the world’s most renowned psychics,” he said. “Would you like to project an outcome of tonight’s investigation?”

  Tahoe turned and looked sternly at him. He felt his face, for the first time, turn rigid in its composure.

  “I see that things may not bode well for you, young man,” he said. “If I were you, I would leave.” Tahoe watched as the features of Cory’s expression sank to his chin.

  He also noticed that his words had caused the investigators to exchange looks of concern.

  * * * *

  Leah didn’t like the sound of that one, Tahoe spouting a prediction that spelled certain doom for Cory. She knew that Cory Chase would become a liability on this investigation. The thought of having to worry about the safety of his sorry ass had crossed her mind earlier. Now, thoughts of Cory began to distract her from what she needed to think about: something that her third eye fails to see, in her past, in her present, in her surroundings.

  Right now, she felt like that could’ve been just about anything. Her mind raced in countless different directions. It was pointless. She felt like she was trying to decipher a riddle while standing in the midst of a gathering twister.

  And no sooner than that thought had crossed her mind, she and the others heard the howl of the wind outside. It was the sound of a thousand banshees singing songs of doom through the night. No doubt the storm had picked up again. The wind’s ferocity was strong enough to surge through the entranceway and pound upon the heavy front door.

  “Well,” Cory said, walking over to the front door. “It doesn’t sound like my leaving here might be such a good idea.” He held out his hand to the door, indicating the storm behind it. “Let’s see, shall we?” He opened the front door and held it back wide.

  At the end of the entranceway, a raging, blustering, mass of white blocked the front walkway and everything else from view. It was just what she’d feared. Cory and Dylan walked outside and returned moments later.

  “There’s a massive white-out, outside,” Dylan said. “It’s hard to see anything. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen snow fall that fast. It’s coming down in torrents.”

  “Oh, no,” Susan said. “How many inches do you think is out there?”

  “Hard to tell,” Cory answered her. “It looks like maybe seven, maybe eight, so far.”

  “We need to check the weather reports,” Susan said. “Try to find out anything about Green Valley, especially about the bridges and roadways.”

  Brett tuned in with the mobile television on his tablet. He eventually found a local weather report, where the forecaster pointed again to the white and green screen. He was recapping when the volume reached loud enough to hear.

  “This storm has picked up, again, around the Green Valley area. The snow has created white-out, blizzard conditions across the area and is moving eastward at this time. Residents of Green Valley are reporting approximately eight inches on the ground, right now, and the snow is still coming down at a record rate on this Christmas Eve. All are advised to stay indoors, if at all possible. And for those of you looking forward to a white Christmas this year—”

  “Turn it off!” Leah said, jumping up from her seat. Brett turned down the volume. “What good is it going to do us? We’re already here! It’s too late. We have to finish this, I have to finish this. If anyone wants to leave, go right ahead.”

  “Look,” Dylan said, “no one’s leaving, alright?”

  “No,” Sidney said, his attention directed elsewhere. “It doesn’t look like it.”

  Leah stopped and looked to where Sidney was pointing—at the chandelier. She moved closer to what she was seeing. Her heart resumed its incessant pounding.

  “Does everyone else see what I see?” She always asked out of protocol, but this time Sidney had seen it, so she was sure the rest of them had. And she was right; all eyes saw the sight that took place above them.

  The candles of the chandelier had ignited, and six small flames now danced upon old wicks, lit by a phantom hand. The cobwebs that veiled the candelabra now burned away with a crackling, sizzling sound and floated to the ground as blackened strands of ash. She looked closer as the small flames reached upward, dancing higher and hotter in the air.

  The sound of their gasps filled the grand hall along with the continuous click of the camera’s shutter as Brett began taking pictures. The candles had begun melting, and they all were witnessing it. Six white candles melted in what looked like a fast-forwarding sequence, and the hot, white wax dripped to the floor below. The melting occurred so fast that it smothered the flames, and now a deformed mass of white wax smoldered in the elegant masterpiece.

  “Brett, did you get that on video, as well?” She asked without removing her eyes from it.

  “I did,” he said.

  She thought so; the video cameras were supposed to be set on continuous recording. She began to move away just then, when a long deceased sound came to life on its own. It had always sounded like both a chime and a gong as it rang throughout, and now she looked at the grandfather clock as it pealed to life with its echoing tine.

  Gasps erupted again as it rang out a total of nine times, marking the precise hour and those that had already passed without them noticing. The last peal of the chime took forever to fade, echoing an eerie, ambiguous message that time at Cedar Manor had begun again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Every time his eyes met the lower balcony, visions of that morning would flash through his mind. How he’d blindly jumped up and down in vain attempts to catch hold of her as she dangled, how he’d madly run up the stairs in a fruitless effort to try and disentangle the noose, and the face of evil itself as it looked upon him while on the staircase.

  He tried to avert his eyes from the balcony now, but it felt impossible. His eyes searched around for the face he would never forget, but he saw nothing except what had just taken place. The candles melted by the sudden flames and the grandfather clock coming to life seemed like almost nothing to him. But, what chilled his spine were the voices. He’d heard them; they’d said ‘Leah’ and ‘father.’

  He remained resolute that the evil of this house would not claim his daughter. It was he who had unresolved issues with this house, and he would give his life to even the score. This, he silently avowed, but now the need for his inhaler caused him to tremble and gasp for air.

  “Are you alright, Paul?” Susan had seen him shaking, and suddenly, she was at his side. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder and ordered him to take deep breaths. “Let’s sit for awhile in the drawing room.”

  “Dad, are you okay?” Leah was beside him.

  “I’m fine, really,” he said. “I just need my inhaler.”

  He and Susan entered the drawing room, a much needed relief from the grand hall that was permanently etched into his mind. There weren’t many places he could look without remembering. Once they were seated, he took two puffs from his inhaler and held them deep inside his lungs, letting the mist fill his bronchial tubes like air filling deflated balloons.

  Paul took a needed break, feeling the need to retain his energy...for when the time came.

  * * * *

  Nothing stirred following the melting candles and the grandfather clock chiming to life on its own. There were no sights, offbeat sounds, or disturbances. Brett took advantage of the interlude by checking the photographs from the various cameras, especially the ultra-violet ones. One by one,
he clicked through them on his laptop, and every click of the mouse showed a slideshow progression of photos as they were captured in sequence. Then, something caught his eye.

  A white haze showed on one of the ultra-violet photographs, and through it, Brett could make out the impression of a face. The rounded eyes stared directly at the camera, while the lips were slightly parted in what looked like either surprise or attempted speech. He strained to see the delicate features that told him the face belonged to a woman.

  He called out to the others, and they gathered around the laptop. He turned to Leah, who stood to his right.

  “I doubt you’d recognize the face,” he said. “But, do you see it?”

  She leaned over and stared into the picture on the laptop screen. Brett magnified it to its fullest form without blurring the image, and then zeroed in on the shape of the face.

  “Not clearly,” she said, ogling the circular form that silently spoke out from the picture. “But it’s definitely a face—no doubt.”

  Brett clicked the mouse again, revealing the next photo. As he did, the sound of astonishment rang out in murmurs through the hall. The picture showed an irrefutable figure of a woman, a ghostly presence full in form and strong enough to become visible within the realm of ultra-violet. She was a woman who hadn’t been there when the camera was clicking away.

  They could detect the light-brown of her hair, see the curves of her body, and discern the features of her face. Her facial expression was pleading, reaching out through dimensions with an unspoken message. Brett felt the chills race down his spine, absorbing the desperate stare from eyes that broke the secret barrier of life and death to be seen. The ghostly image they beheld was one of the most remarkable and by far, the most poignant ever captured by the team.

  Brett clicked on the next photo, and there, a shadowy silhouette loomed just around the grandfather clock. Murky in its appearance, its color was dark, but whether black or gray was indiscernible. The shape seemed to reach toward the clock’s face, as though it were the hand that had triggered the time keeper’s resurrection.