In the Shadows

by Kim Smith

  Thank you for reading, In the Shadows. Time is often at a premium in our fast-paced world and your attention to this work means a lot to me. I would love it if when you complete this short little story, you would go out and rate it. (Please and thank you!)

  Ratings help authors build careers and are so important I want to put a zillion exclamation points here.

  Instead, I will just say thanks, and I hope you enjoy this one.

  Kim

  If you enjoy this story, you can find other books in this series at Amazon.com at my Author Central Page. See back matter for specific links and information on upcoming releases.

  About the author

  Kim Smith is a lifelong Mid Southerner and loves to drink coffee and people watch at any place that has some good java. She’s written and published twelve works before this one, and has a lot more coming down the pike. She’s written fantasy, mystery, and romance, and hopes that whatever else is in her bizarre brain doesn’t stop any time soon.

  In The Shadows

  By Kim Smith

  Copyright 2016 Kim Smith

  Published by Kim Smith for Kindle

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person. Please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return it to Amazon.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Piracy puts authors out of work.

  Cover Photo by Kim Smith – A1 Author’s Assistant, Book Covers by Kim

  IN THE SHADOWS

  A SHANNON WALLACE MYSTERY

  SHORT STORY

  BY KIM SMITH

  Dedicated to my pal, Kristi Rose, who is a far better writer than I.

  K, without your encouragement and friendship, this whole series would have landed in the garbage and never seen the light of day.

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love and support you have given to me through the years.

  In the Shadows

  When Dwayne and I started up our business, Video Angels, I took on the job of booking agent. People call, and I take their information and decide if it is a job we want to do. As a general rule, we will take on most anything that pays.

  Have camera will travel.

  One sunny day early in October, a man with the voice of a lifetime smoker called, said he was from The Manny Owens show, aired on network television. We had never done a big-time television show before, and so this was the most exciting thing to ever come our way.

  The job required a shoot in a small town north of Memphis. Someone claimed to be living in a haunted house out in the country; I didn’t hesitate to accept the job. We agreed on a $200 per hour rate. If it took four hours, it would be Video Angels’ rent.

  Telling Dwayne about our booking was a different story. Dwayne Brown has been my friend since college, and he’s afraid of ghosts. Not just a simple shivery fear, either. He won’t even watch scary movies without my previewing them first and giving him the all clear.

  With a happy zing to my voice, I announced, “We have a job!”

  He stopped his trajectory into his office and pivoted into mine. “What kind of job?”

  “The Manny Owens show called. They want us to shoot a segment for them.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve watched that show. Full of trailer trash and made up stories to get an audience. What do they want us to shoot?”

  Here it was. The moment I’d been dreading. And I couldn’t lie. He’d find out soon enough, and then there would be hell to pay. I rubbed my eyes and tugged on my tee shirt while dredging up the courage to tell him.

  “Okay, I don’t like the pause here, Wall-ass. What’s up?”

  Uh-oh. His antenna was up.

  “It’s a segment they want to do on hauntings. This old place up near Langfurd … the lady says …”

  His face immediately showed the conflict between shooting for a network television program and marauding ghosts. “Uh-uh. I don’t think so.”

  I stood and stretched. “Come on, Dee, it’s just another one of those garbage stories they are running to get an audience. You just said so yourself. You know there is no such thing as a haunted house.

  He paced back and forth, arms crossed. “So you say, but as for myself, I don’t know.”

  “What’s there to know? They’re a big name, cutting us a big check. Rent is due soon. It’s a j-o-b.”

  “Hello? Ghosts? That’s what lives in a haunted house. And I do not do dead, Wall-ass. You know this. And ain’t Langfurd up near Bells? I heard stories about that Bell Witch. Uh-uh, I don’t think we should do it.”

  “No, this is close to Bell Grove. It’s not the same place as the Bell Witch. And this is not for real, Dee. There is no such thing as ghosts.” I sat down and glared at him.

  “What if this is the real deal for the first time in the history of that stupid show? What if there really are ghosts in this place? I believe in them, Shan. I truly do.”

  I paused to think. We had to take this job. I began running plans through my mind as to who could shoot in Dwayne’s place if he flaked out on me. Katie Henderson, my bestie, could handle a camera. I might have to coach her on how to handle a client though. She had a bad tendency to say what she thought sometimes.

  He stopped pacing. “But let’s just say for the sake of this crazy thought, I agreed. How much money they paying?”

  I grinned. Money would always change his mind. “I finagled almost a grand.” Well, it would be if I could make the shoot last a long time. I didn’t enlighten him on that score, however.

  His mouth dropped open, but he quickly recovered and paced some more. “I don’t know, Shan.”

  “Look, we just go in with two handheld cameras, shoot the areas where the lady says she saw a ghost, record her retelling events, and shoot some B roll stuff. Presto change-o, we are out of there.”

  Maybe she would be a slow talker. I would have to find a way to make this shoot last four hours.

  “Presto change-o, my ass. There’s a lot of distance between the lip and the cup on this one.”

  The longer we discussed the possibility of ghosts the harder it became to convince him. “Come on, Dwayne. Don’t do this. You are a professional. This is a chance to make our rent. Can’t you overlook the subject matter and just do your work as usual? I mean if we got a job shooting an indie film and it turned out to be porno, you wouldn’t have anything to say about it, right?”

  He whirled to face me. “I beg your pardon. I am a man of honor. I do not shoot porno. And I really ain’t up for damn haunted houses, either. Overlook the subject matter is easy for you to say. You don’t believe in nothing that don’t slap you upside the head.”

  “That’s right. And have you ever seen a ghost?” It was time to get to the bottom of this.

  “No, but I heard one.”

  I leaned back in my chair. This would be good. “Ghosts don’t talk.”

  “They can make a lot of noise when they want to, though.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like move chairs and break vases. They can open and shut doors— “

  I interrupted quickly. “I thought they just floated through doors?”

  “Naw, girl. They slam the damn doors.” He clapped his hands to emphasize. “Bam, bam, bam.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “My auntie. She had a ghost.”

  “Her ghost was a door-slammer?”

  He nodded. “Sure was. It broke a vase, turned over a chair, and slammed a door.”
/>   “There is likely a reasonable explanation for all that.”

  “My auntie said it was the ghost of the man who built the house.”

  I fell silent. What could I say? He’d been believing this story since grade school.

  He sat in my extra chair—reserved for clients—and raised his eyebrows.

  “Okay look, this lady we’re contracted with is probably a whack job. There’s not going to be a ghost pop out and wave at our cameras. You said yourself that the Owens show was a bunch of trailer trash or other such stuff that nobody believes. This is no different.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Exasperated, I held up my hands. “Damn, Dee. I can’t promise you anything. It’s a paying job for a network television show. Do you really want to miss that kind of chance? Work with me here.”

  He stood and paced again. “What if the ghost decides it likes us? And … and … I don’t know—attaches itself to us. What if we bring the thing home with us? I’ve heard of that happening. There was this man I met one time who has these dolls that are possessed, really scary sh--”

  Oh, brother.

  I interrupted. “If anything moves, speaks, or appears out of nowhere, we’ll leave. Deal?”

  “I think we need some holy water,” he said in reply. The look on his face was deadly serious.

  “Why?”

  “Keeps spirits away. Really Wall-ass, you don’t know much about paranormal investigations, do you?”

  “Like you do, Mr.-I-am-terrified-of-things-that-go-bump-in-the-night.”

  “I don’t go out lookin’ for these things, I can only report what others have said, Ms. Skeptic. I’m goin’ for blessed liquids, no matter what you say. My granny uses it on my house every time she comes for a visit. Says I need a good dousing once in a while. If it’s good enough for me, well, it likely wouldn’t hurt someone with spirits flouncin’ around.”

  I sighed and returned to my ledger book. “The client likely won’t approve of you tossing water all over her house, but whatever.”

  He jingled his keys. “I’m going to that place over on Park Avenue. Psychic place. They’ll have holy water.”

  “So will the local Catholic church, but you apparently veer to the dark side first.”

  He started toward me mouth already working up a reply.

  I waved him away. “Bring me back a soda. And make sure you’re back before ten. Curfew for children, you know.”

  “Smart ass,” he said over his shoulder, as he did an about-face and strolled out.

  “Ain’t got a diploma hanging out yours, I see.”

  The door shut with a loud click.

  Later, when Dwayne returned, my curiosity overcame me. I wandered into his office to see what magical potions he had returned with.

  “Well?” I asked by way of inquiry.

  He didn’t take the bait. “Well, what?”

  “What did you come back with? You went to visit the head shop over in Memphis.”

  “Oh that.” He waved nonchalantly at the idea. Then, when I quirked an eyebrow at him, he pulled a small clear vial from his pocket.

  “Holy water?” I asked.

  He nodded and set it in front of him. Then he pulled open a drawer and produced a small Bible, a crucifix, and some pretty cool red prayer beads.

  “Are we shooting a video or doing an exorcism?” I motioned at the display of objects in front of him.

  “Don’t diss my protection, girl. You might just find yourself doing this one solo.”

  I turned to leave. “What—and miss seeing you play Father Brown? Not!”

  His grumbling followed me as I headed back to my office.

  “Better find a place to stow all that stuff,” I yelled out at him. “We have to leave in a couple of hours.”

  Shortly, he appeared in my doorway with a can of soda in his hand. “We’re going there in daylight?”

  I nodded, taking the canned drink from him. “Well, yeah. We’re not going to a séance, Dee; we’re shooting video. We need all the light we can get, remember? You taught me all this stuff. “

  He looked heavenward and shook his head. I could see the wheels working in his little pea-brain, so I decided to take a different tack.

  Scowling, I tapped my temple. “Where is your mind? You’re the brains of this organization, aren’t you?”

  I loved saying that to him because he always threw it up to me when he could find a situation that fit. And if I made him the lead on this job, he would be more pliable.

  “Oh, well, in that case,” he said, patting his pockets. “Maybe I won’t even need any of this stuff.”

  I saluted him with my can. “We’ll take the holy water any way. I might get thirsty.”

  As he turned away, I grinned. He was like putty in my hands.

  Driving to the haunted house, I recited some details about the client that the rep from the Manny Owens show had relayed. I watched the red prayer beads swaying from his rearview mirror. I guessed he came fully armed for ghosts.

  “First, do not questions her about anything she says,” I said. “The story will be aired as a kind of question for the audience. You know, like, is it real or imagined – that sort of thing. If we go around grilling her about all of it, she might get off track. She might even get mad and we don’t want to get booted off this job.”

  Dwayne nodded. “Right. I’m not talking anyway. You can do all the talking. Women like to gab. Let her gab at you. I’ll be too busy watching for anything spooky.”

  “Secondly, “I continued, ignoring his insistence on the reality of this haunted house gig. “Do not touch anything. If we break anything she could hold the show responsible because as far as she knows we are their employees.”

  “Well, duh, Shannon.”

  I shot him a grieved look. “I mean it. If she says a ghost appeared in a mirror, don’t go over and try to see what’s up with the mirror. It’s our luck it’ll fall off the wall and we will have to replace it.”

  “Not to mention the seven years of bad luck,” he said. Then, he added, “I won’t touch nothing. Hell, I’m not leaving your side. You know this.”

  I could tell he was going to behave if only due to his utter terror.

  “What else?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Just be prepared for this to be real, I guess. If anything appears, just don’t freak out. We’re professionals.”

  “Real? Oh, now that we’re halfway there you say it might be real?” He shot me a worried glance. “We ain’t professional ghostbusters, gal. And I won’t be freaking out. I’ll be too busy fainting.”

  “Yeah. Don’t do that either.”

  He straightened and a thoughtful look crossed his face. “The chances of us getting a byline for any of this is probably nil but you never know. Let’s do a jam-up job and make Manny Owens and his peeps drool over our southern shooting style. “

  “I like the way you think, Dee. I surely do.” Maybe he finally had resigned himself with the haunted house problem. I sighed a breath of relief.

  “Lawd, please don’t let there be no ghosts.”

  Or not.

  When we arrived at the house, I was a little let down. Manny Owens’ assistant had led me to believe this place was a nice cottage-style home with begonias planted in elaborate planters on the outside of it. In reality it was a 1950s-era bungalow with faded plastic flowers in fake moss sitting underneath the metal awnings.

  We got out of the car, and the first thing I noticed was the driveway made of pea gravel. I wore sandals thanks to the lingering heat wave of summer. October in the Mid-South could be pretty unpredictable. One year it was like August, another like December.

  Pea gravel drives and sandals often don’t make good companions. One step and I would be carrying tiny stones in my footwear. It would be pretty easy to skid on the petite stones too, so I doubled my efforts to take care. It wouldn’t do for the client to see me land on my derriere in her driveway.

  I helped Dwayne unload ou
r cameras and gear. We had monopods for the camcorders to aid in steady shots. He placed the cameras on them and handed mine to me. I gazed at him as he wrangled with his. Good thing we had brought the monopods. His hands trembled already. Either he had low blood sugar or else just the thought of entering a possibly haunted house was dousing him in its mojo.

  I had also packed a video light just in case we had to go into a closet or attic area. I didn’t want our Manny Show folks to toss anything we shot due to poor lighting conditions. My naïve mind believed that they would call us again for another job in the future if we didn’t screw anything up. And bad lighting would be a definite screw-up.

  I intended to shoot as much as we possibly could, even if it got cut. It was always better to have too much footage than too little.

  Dwayne motioned for me to get up to the door and knock. I hefted my equipment and stepped onto the shallow porch. More of a stoop, really. It was painted concrete, and the paint, once a baby blue, was peeling in a big way.

  While I waited for an answer, I examined the bushes lining the porch. They were bedraggled from a lack of water. Rain had been pretty scarce for the last few weeks. The shrub beds were void of any mulch or anything else either. No wonder they looked so scraggly.

  After a respectable pause, I knocked again, glancing at Dee. He now wore the red prayer beads around his neck and I could see the bulge of holy water in one pocket and the crucifix in the other. Well, he was well-protected, at any rate.

  When the door opened, a red-haired woman blinked at the bright sunlight and the strangers on her stoop. We stood eye-level, her hazel peepers behind wire frames.

  “Hey there,” she said in greeting. “Y’all must be from Manny Owens. I’m Mary Keith.”

  I nodded in greeting. She stepped aside and motioned for us to enter.

  “Welcome to Hell,” Dwayne muttered under his breath.