The Wantland Files

by Lara Bernhardt

  Stephen knelt beside him and used the moment of stillness to maneuver the toddler into his Pull-Up and pajamas.

  “Stephen?” Danielle called from the back bedroom.

  He rolled his eyes and stood. “Next crisis,” he murmured and ruffled Drew’s hair before he walked away.

  “No tat!” Drew giggled and stared at Sterling as if waiting to hear it was a joke.

  “Well, not a real cat.” Sterling ducked his head and flushed. “I was playing pretend.”

  “Pretend tat?” Drew made a face.

  “Sorry, buddy. Just pretend. I was only playing.”

  Drew shrugged. He picked up an engine and choo-choo’ed it along the track, crawling beside his circuitous railway until he bumped into Sterling. The boy blinked at the man. “Tat tan help.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t . . .” Sterling looked to her for rescue, as if she possessed some ability to interpret toddler-speak. “Kimberly?”

  Drew turned his head in her direction and mimicked the adult. “Kimuhly?”

  Danielle appeared from the hallway, Josh balanced on a hip. “That’s Ms. Wantland to you, mister. Remember your manners.”

  Drew dropped his head. “I sorry, Miss Wan-land.”

  “No, he’s fine,” she said, heart breaking at the sign of his crestfallen face. “Drew, can you tell your mommy what you told Mr. Wakefield?”

  The boy raised his head to his mother, nodding with each word and speaking distinctly. “Tat tan help.”

  “Cat can help? What does that—is he talking about Felix?” The young mom gasped, eyes wide.

  Kimberly suspected the boy was, in fact, referring to Felix, but she downplayed the connection for Danielle. No sense alarming the woman at bedtime. “Who knows? He and Sterling were playing pretend.” She smiled and left it at that.

  Danielle seemed to accept her story. “Bedtime, Drew. Let’s go read your night-night story and go to sleep. Say good night.”

  Drew stared intently at his train engine, pressing it against the track and devoting all his attention to rolling it.

  “Drew, come on. No fussing tonight. Let’s go.”

  The boy shook his head.

  “Mind me, young man.”

  Drew whimpered. “No bed, Mommy. No Dark.”

  Her heart melted at the boy’s words, as did Danielle’s apparently. The woman softened her tone. “I know you’re scared. But Ms. Wantland will be here tonight. She’s going to make The Dark go away for us. Tonight.”

  Hearing the promise spoken aloud to the toddler caused her heart to skip a beat. What if something went wrong? What if she couldn’t? The boy’s reaction only intensified her anxiety.

  “Miss Wan-land tan stay?” The boy looked at her as if he didn’t believe the words.

  “I’ll be here with you all night. I won’t let anything happen. Okay?”

  Drew stood and placed a hand on Sterling’s shoulder. “Good night.”

  “Good night, buddy.”

  He shuffled to the dining room table and crawled in her lap, laying his head on her shoulder and squeezing tightly with his chubby toddler arms. “Good night, Miss Wan-land.”

  “Good night, Drew. Sleep tight.”

  He climbed down, popping two fingers into his mouth. He reached for his mother’s outstretched hand, but then turned back. “Tat tan help, Miss Wan-land.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He disappeared down the hall with his mother.

  She got up and moved to the screen that allowed them to view the toddler’s room. “Are we sure we can see enough of the room?” she asked Stan, who was running sound checks at each station.

  “I focused the camera mainly on the bed, like you said. So we can keep a close eye on the boy.”

  “The dark entity seems to come from the closet typically. I’m worried we won’t see it coming.”

  Stan glanced at the screen. “Looks like his mom is tucking him in. You want me to go set up another camera?”

  She twisted her hands together. “No, I don’t want to scare him. Let’s leave it. We’ll just have to be careful.”

  Her crew already in place for the evening, she paced from one screen to the next.

  Stan turned toward the living room, where Sterling lay on his side by the train track, examining a purple train engine with huge eyes and lengthy eyelashes on its painted face. “You want to go ahead and record your Confidential Corner now while we’re just standing around waiting for the excitement to start?”

  Sterling placed the train on the track and sat up. “Nah. I’ll record a final rebuttal when we wrap. Let Kimberly have her night. She’s flustered enough as it us.”

  “I am not flustered,” she insisted.

  He tipped his head at her. “If you say so.” He stood, stretched, and joined her at the table.

  Danielle finished reading a book to Drew and tucked him into bed. The young mom disappeared from one screen and reappeared in another, where she rocked Josh to sleep before easing him into the crib.

  Sterling still watched Drew, who tossed and turned in his toddler bed. “Poor kid. I suffered from night terrors when I was little, too.”

  “He’s not suffering night—” She stopped, remembering his interactions with Edna Miller’s spirit the night before. “Do you still have them?”

  “No, I . . . outgrew them.”

  She noticed his downcast eyes. “Did you?”

  “Mostly.” He shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat. “Hope this little guy outgrows his.”

  “His night terror is going away tonight. I’ll make sure of that. Tell me about yours.”

  “My night terrors? Nothing to tell. I was just a kid. My mom could probably tell you more than I can remember.”

  “Maybe someday I’ll get to ask her. What can you remember?”

  “I don’t—just feeling like something was in the room with me, watching me, creeping closer to me. I’d wake up screaming. My mom said it was the worst thing she ever heard in her life.”

  “And you’ve completely outgrown them?”

  The doubt in her voice prompted a hard stare from him. He studied her face, then softened. “I might still have one every now and again. But everyone has nightmares.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that maybe you detect presences? Like Drew feels the dark entity menacing him?”

  “Don’t be absurd. They’re just very vivid, awful dreams. I’m sure that’s true for Drew, too.”

  She knew better but had no proof with which to convince him. So she dropped the subject. She’d planted the idea.

  She picked up her coffee cup from the table and circled the ring of screens, watching the family of four grow still as they dropped into sleep. Her heart twinged at the sight of Danielle and Stephen on opposite edges of the bed, backs to each other. Hopefully, with this disturbance settled, they would focus on repairing the marriage.

  She lost track of time. Nothing happened in either bedroom as she finished her coffee and downed cup after cup of tea.

  She grew dizzy and restless from parading round and round the table, fixated on the screens, the green night-vision images eventually blurring into nothing. Rubbing her eyes, she crossed to the living room and sat on the couch.

  Sterling flopped beside her. “What if nothing happens tonight?”

  She tamped down the growing anxiety prompted by the little voice in her head that currently asked the same thing. “Something will happen. It has to. It will.”

  “But what if—”

  “She’ll come. She’s been searching for the kids while they’ve been at the hotel. She won’t be able to resist.”

  “And you don’t feel the slightest bit guilty using them as a bait?”

  “I’m here. They’re safe.”

  “Well, you know I don’t think they were ever in any danger. As long as you’re good with it, that’s all that matters.”

  “I just need her to show up.”

  Several minutes ti
cked by. Sterling glanced at his watch. “So maybe she’ll show at midnight? The Witching Hour?”

  “Now that’s a myth about spirits you can bust all you want.”

  “I knew it! It’s really three a.m., isn’t it?”

  She eyed him. “And why do you think that?”

  “Well, it’s just . . . usually when I wake from a night terror, it’s right after three in the morning.”

  So he did suspect more than just bad dreams. He just couldn’t admit it to anyone. Not even himself.

  “Interesting.” Did she dare push the subject? “Every time?”

  He nodded. “Usually 3:03 a.m.”

  “Huh.” She mulled this over. “You should keep a diary. Write the date and time and the content of the dream as clearly as you can remember it. Keep the journal by your bed so you can record the entries immediately, when the memory is most vivid.”

  “A dream diary? How will that help?”

  She hoped the journal would help him see a pattern. Perhaps even convince him to consider an outside influence at work rather than a nightmare. But she couldn’t explain it to him in those words. “It could help you determine what’s triggering them. Include what you ate that day. Indicate if you experienced any stressful events. Or if you noticed anything unusual or out of the ordinary.”

  “Anything unusual? You’re still convinced it’s a ghost.” He seemed to ponder the idea. “You know what? I’ll try it. But what do I do with my data once I’ve recorded it? Call you to come analyze it? My own personal investigation?”

  Butterflies danced through her stomach at the intense heat in the look he pierced her with. But she didn’t break eye contact. “I would. I would try to help if you asked.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Even at three in the morning?”

  She nodded.

  He leaned closer. “I’ll be sure to keep your number in my favorite contacts, then.”

  She felt certain he intended to kiss her. Heart thumping, she sat perfectly still, realizing how much she hoped he would. Grateful the couch was around the corner from and out of sight of her crew, she closed her eyes. Then she came to her senses. This was not the time or the place. She couldn’t allow anything to distract her tonight.

  She opened her eyes and pulled away. “Anyway, the Witching Hour is a myth. Spiritual entities are not aware of or bound by our clocks. They appear at their own whim, whenever they can collect enough energy to manifest.”

  Sterling straightened in his seat. “Gather energy? From where?” She thought she detected disappointment in his eyes.

  Before she could reply, she heard a soft, trembling voice from the hallway call, “Miss Wan-land? The Dark is here.”

  31

  Kimberly jumped from the couch and dashed to the dining table. “Why isn’t someone watching Drew’s room?”

  TJ, already on his feet and pulling his headphones off, waved her to his screen. “I heard the little guy, too, but there’s nothing there. See for yourself.”

  She glanced at the screen. No movement. No images.

  Stan, camera in hand recording the events, gestured to another screen. “Nothing on FLIR, either.”

  “That can’t be. I knew we should’ve made sure the closet door was in the frame. Too late now.”

  Sterling joined her. “Maybe he had a nightmare. Or is unnerved and wants attention and comfort.”

  She shook her head. “The boy knows what he’s talking about. If he says she’s there, she’s there.”

  Michael stood from his chair at the table. “You didn’t feel the presence? But the boy could?”

  She squirmed, embarrassed to admit she hadn’t been paying attention, and glanced at Sterling. “I wasn’t . . . Sterling and I were talking—”

  A whimper diverted everyone’s attention. “Miss Wan-land.”

  Forgetting everyone else, she sprinted through the kitchen and rounded the corner into the boy’s room. Light from the moon and streetlamps illuminated the room enough to make out shapes and shadows. His toddler bed sat in the corner of his room. The boy had pressed himself into the corner, his bear tucked under one arm, a threadbare blankie under the other, eyes squeezed shut.

  “Drew,” she whispered. “I’m here.”

  She felt the icy presence sweep over her but saw nothing. Something was different tonight. She calmed her breathing and attempted to pinpoint the location of the spirit. She stepped sideways toward Drew’s bed. “Where is she?”

  He popped his fingers out of his mouth and pointed toward the closet. But he didn’t open his eyes.

  The closet. Of course. Which explained why no one noticed anything on the cameras. The Dark hovered in the closet. For now.

  Why?

  “What are you doing?”

  She jumped at the voice and turned to discover Sterling directly behind her, attempting to see into the room. Stan and TJ stood behind him, cameras in hand.

  “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she whispered. She clasped her crystal and breathed deeply in measured breaths.

  “Just wondered what’s happening. You okay?” he asked.

  “Drew pointed to the closet. I’m attempting to ascertain the situation.”

  Michael pushed past the others. “Everything okay?”

  “So far. Can everyone please be quiet and let me focus?”

  “Just checking. Having the family in the house makes me nervous.” He returned to the hallway.

  Sterling, however, remained near her. “I’m not going anywhere. Someone needs to watch you for signs of another seizure.”

  “I don’t have seizures.”

  Both cameramen followed her as she proceeded into the room, Sterling on her heels. She heard Michael giving directions.

  “Elise, EMF?”

  “Spiking. Almost as if the entity is feeding from a source.”

  She stopped moving halfway to the closet. “What source? We mapped all electrical sources before we started the investigation.”

  “The closet in this room contains the control box for the home security system, but it isn’t armed. The Williamses said they couldn’t afford the monitoring fees.”

  “Not armed is not the same as not powered. And if it’s still powered, she could be drawing energy from it.”

  Sterling snorted. “Sure. Imaginary beings can do whatever you want them to do. Even eat electricity.”

  She crossed to the closet, ignoring Sterling’s snark. “Stay by the boy.”

  “Careful, Kimmy,” Michael cautioned.

  She grabbed the doorknob and swung the door open half expecting an enormous, gaping maw ready to devour her. TJ raced to her side to catch the moment.

  Nothing.

  Drew whimpered.

  “Kimmy? You have a reading?” Michael asked from the doorway.

  “No visual.” The Dark had to be somewhere. Drew, having spent the last few months terrorized by her, would know better than anyone.

  Sterling appeared at her side. “Ready to admit the boy just had a bad dream?”

  The frigid blast hit her, not a tidal wave crashing over her, but an iceberg, solid and powerful. And furious.

  The icy shock took her breath away. She gasped.

  The entity dropped from above and sailed past, blowing her hair behind her.

  Strong, warm hands grasped her arms, intent on steadying her. She shook free as Drew screamed.

  “I told you to stay with the boy!” She crossed the room in three steps and knelt beside the toddler bed.

  Drew no longer sat in the corner.

  “Kimmy? What’s happening?” Michael called from the door.

  “Just keep recording! She’s here. She’s powerful. Keep the cameras rolling.”

  Danielle’s voice joined the fray. “What’s wrong? Drew! What’s happening?”

  “Stay in your room,” she commanded as forcefully as she could with lungs chilled by the dark entity. “Stay with your baby!”

  Her fingers trembled as she searched the bed. Every square inch of
the miniature thing. Her chilled hands were not so numb that they would miss a toddler’s body. Where was he?

  Frantic and scared, she lost control of her extrasensory perceptions. She stopped running her hands over the bed and held still. Clutching her crystal, she breathed deeply. Where was the entity? Where was the boy?

  “Someone tell us what happened! My wife is freaking out!” Stephen yelled from the bedroom.

  “Michael,” she whispered.

  “On it.”

  She heard his steps hurry down the hallway. She also heard Danielle’s stifled whimpers. Michael’s soothing voice calmed the young mom. No doubt he assured the woman that everything was under control.

  It wasn’t. The entity shunned her, denying all attempts to connect.

  But she heard breathing. And . . . finger slurping?

  Under the bed.

  Of course. The boy had dove under the bed to hide during all the excitement. She lay on her stomach and peered underneath. Far too narrow for an adult, the tiny space accommodated the child.

  And something else.

  A pair of red eyes watched her from beside the boy.

  “Drew?” she whispered. She heard him extricate fingers from his mouth.

  “Hi, Miss Wan-land.”

  “You were smart to go under the bed,” she praised.

  “Tat!”

  “Is Felix with you? Is that him?”

  “Yes. Tat tan help!”

  “Did he help you? Did Felix tell you to get under the bed?”

  The boy didn’t say anything, but she heard shuffling against the carpet that sounded like nodding.

  She lifted her head. “TJ? Bring the FLIR. I think Felix is under the bed with Drew. Try to catch some images.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” The young cameraman dropped to the floor, camera pointed under the bed. “I see the boy’s heat signature but nothing else. You sure about the cat?”

  She frowned and leaned down for another look, swiveling her head left and right. Nothing. “I saw red eyes a moment before I called you.”

  “Sorry, Ms. Wantland. I don’t see anything now.”

  “I don’t, either. It’s gone, I guess.”

  “Sorry, Miss Wan-land,” Drew mimicked.