by Polen, Teri
While putting the posters and games back where they belonged, I remembered the comment Lindsey had made earlier about pictures and videos and an idea began to form. I jogged downstairs to the coat closet in the foyer and fumbled through extra blankets, gloves, and umbrellas before finding what I’d been looking for. Dad’s old camcorder. Before he began using his phone to record, Dad’s camcorder had been like an extra appendage at soccer games or family outings and he’d taught me how to operate it. Which was exactly what I planned to do.
Chapter 7
The next morning, I was awakened by Mom gently shaking my shoulder. “Cain, sweetie, you overslept and you’re going to be late for school. You need to get up. Didn’t you set your alarm?”
“Mom? What time is it?”
“It’s ten minutes before you normally leave. I would have gotten you up earlier if I’d known you’d overslept, but Maddie was having a wardrobe malfunction and I was dealing with that in her bedroom. You get dressed and I’ll fix a quick breakfast you can take with you.”
Crap. After setting up the camcorder last night, I’d forgotten to turn on my alarm and now I’d have to wait until this evening after soccer practice to watch the recording. Luckily, I’d showered last night, so I threw on some relatively clean jeans lying on the floor, grabbed the first t-shirt I saw, and pulled my hair back.
Stumbling through the debris on my floor, I went over to the dresser to turn off the camcorder. It was gone. This was where I’d set it up last night, so what could have happened to it? I looked on the floor in front of the dresser and behind it thinking Eby, with his infinite supply of curiosity and grace, might have knocked if off, but it wasn’t in either of those places. I turned around, my eyes combing the room, searching for the camcorder among the discarded food bags, empty Gatorade bottles, and dirty clothes.
Then I froze as my gaze fell upon it, lying on its side in front of my closet door. Which was on the other side of the room. Eby definitely hadn’t done that.
. . . . .
“You’re saying you recorded yourself sleeping?” Finn and I were walking through the student parking lot to the field house after school to change clothes before soccer practice. “Don’t you think that’s a little kinky? Do you do things in your sleep I should know about? Wait – don’t answer that. I probably don’t want to know.”
“I positioned the recorder on my dresser so my bed and the attic door were both in the frame, but then this morning, it was lying on the floor across the room. After the mess I came home to last night, I’m hoping we’ll see something when I play it back.”
Finn opened the locker room door, releasing the revolting odors of practice clothes long past their expiration date, musty lockers and showers, and stiff towels in desperate need of washing. It was surprising that after so many years of spending time in there, my sniffer still functioned at all.
Finn looked at me, disbelief written all over his face. “Wait, you’re saying it was lying across the room this morning. And you don’t know how it got there.”
“Yep,” I said, popping the p.
“Alright, you’re my excuse. I’m supposed to be with my other parental figure tonight, although it’s even a stretch to call her that, but I’ve been looking for a reason not to go. Did I tell you she’s living with a new guy? The guy from last month, Glen, moved out.”
“I thought his name was Joel.”
“He was the guy from last spring. It’s hard to keep them straight. Sometimes I’m not sure she even knows their names, there’ve been so many. Anyway, not that I’m looking forward to observing your nocturnal habits, but I hope we can solve the mystery of your attic door and how the camcorder came to be across the room with a logical explanation.”
“Well, good luck with that,” I said, slamming my locker door closed.
. . . . .
“Bro, your mom’s shrimp and grits are legendary. You have to let me know when she makes this. I’m serious. Every. Time.”
We’d been anxious to watch the recording, but our empty stomachs cried out for sustenance, so dinner came first. Mom was so used to Finn showing up, she always made extra then gave him leftovers to take home to his dad. Unless Finn kept them for himself.
Finn connected the camcorder to the television in my bedroom and, considering I hadn’t gone to bed until 1 am and then was awakened by Mom at 7 am, we only had six hours to rewind. As we watched from the gamer chairs, the first hour showed me tossing and turning before finally settling down, and then Eby showed up soon after, jumping onto the bed, sniffing my head, then curling up at my side.
Other than me shifting in sleep, nothing out of the ordinary happened until around 3 am. Eby’s head shot up, his gaze focused on the attic door, then he slowly stood, back arching, tail bushy and tall. He let out an eerie yowl I’m surprised didn’t have me shooting out of the bed in a panic, then leaped off the bed and out of the frame.
As we watched the attic door open inch by inch, I didn’t know if I’d be able to hear any audio over the blood pounding through my veins and wiped my sweaty palms on the sides of the chair. In hopes of making visualization a little easier during playback, I’d left a light on in the bathroom while I’d slept, but the details were still a little murky.
Despite what Finn had said about malfunctioning air ducts and pressure from within the house, in the back of my mind I’d always known that wasn’t the cause. Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part, hoping to make contact with something otherworldly, but seeing it on screen while I lay helpless and unaware in my bed had me rethinking that hope.
The attic door stopped abruptly when it was nearly completely open, and we saw no other movement. At first.
On the screen, I was lying on my back, one arm thrown overhead, the other hand resting on my bare chest, my face partially obscured by a few strands of hair. Then, my hair gently moved away from my face, although I hadn’t moved, not even a subtle shift of my body.
Okay. That happened.
“Alright, that isn’t proof of anything. You’ve got wavy hair and maybe the weight of it just shifted from when Eby jumped off the bed.”
“Shut up and watch.” I was anxious and wanted to make sure we didn’t miss seeing or hearing anything.
Barely a minute passed before the hand resting on my chest rose until my arm was extended diagonally, then moved subtly back and forth. It looked almost like….but it was impossible. Wasn’t it? Tremors shot down my spine. Seeing myself doing this on the screen was surreal, like I was watching someone else.
“Dude, it looks like you’re stroking someone’s face,” Finn said, which was exactly what I’d been thinking. “What are you doing?”
“I’m wondering the same thing.”
Suddenly, my arm dropped heavily back to my chest, the covers shifted on the edge of the bed beside me, and a t-shirt lying at the foot of the bed shot up into the air, then flew across the room, striking the front of my desk and falling to the floor. No more than a couple of seconds later, the camcorder jumped a few inches to the right, causing both Finn and me to let out startled yelps.
Something seemed to pass in front of the camcorder and for a moment, the screen was milky white, then everything became blurry and indistinguishable. There was a loud crack as the camcorder hit the closet door and fell to the floor, where I’d found it this morning. The screen went to static, then black.
Chapter 8
When the recording went black, other than the hiss of the air conditioner, the room was silent as Finn and I continued to gape in shock at the television screen. He spoke first.
“Cain, how did the camcorder get on the other side of the room?”
I snorted. “Finn, if I knew the answer to that, would
I have asked for your help?”
More silence. “What caused your t-shirt to fly through the air and moved the blanket on your bed?”
Sighing heavily, I said, “I need answers, not more questions. You think I’m not wondering the same thing?”
“Alright, I have an idea. Where the screen went filmy white, I want to rewind to that part and freeze it to see if we can make out anything.”
While Finn forwarded and rewound several times, trying to find the right frame, I stared at the attic door. All had been quiet this evening after the chaos of last night. What we had on the recording was proof something was in the attic – and in my room. Shuddering involuntarily, I thought about whatever it was touching me while I slept. And I must have been sleeping like the dead last night not to have woken up. Okay, maybe not the best word choice.
Finn swore, bringing my attention back to him. “Um, Cain? I have something, and you’re probably not going to like this.”
Turning my head, I studied the screen, my mouth dropping open. I really shouldn’t have been so surprised. Staring back at me, her face contorted in anger, was the semi-transparent figure of Sarah Butler.
“Okay.”
“Woah.”
“Yeah.”
“This is real, and she’s living in my attic.”
“What should we do now?”
“Finn, you’re just full of obvious questions tonight, aren’t you? Could you maybe use that brain power to come up with some answers?”
“Hey, whose idea was it to freeze frame Sarah? Oh, that’s right, it was me. It’s your turn to come up with an idea.”
Subconsciously, I’d known what would happen if we managed to prove Sarah, or something else, was here, but I’d pushed it to the back of my mind because I wasn’t sure how to go about it. And wasn’t really sure if I wanted to. “We have to figure out how to communicate with her.”
Finn leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Cain, Sarah didn’t look like Casper the Friendly Ghost in that frame, you know what I’m saying? Are you sure you want to try and contact her? Maybe we should just get a priest or something.”
“She hasn’t tried to hurt me or anyone else. Maybe she just didn’t want to be recorded, I don’t know. We’ve been here all these months and things are just now starting to happen, so there must be a reason for it. What if she wants us to get a message to her parents or let us know what happened to her?”
Finn uncrossed his arms, his shoulders dropping slightly. “Yeah, that could be a possibility. Okay, should we invite her downstairs for tea and scones? Play some video games? Get a Ouija board? I’m a little unclear about the etiquette here.”
“I guess we could, um…well…..I’m a little unclear myself, and I’ve never used a Ouija board. Maybe we could Google it? Doesn’t Google have answers for everything?”
“Sure it does. We’ve got to start somewhere. So, we’ll both do some research tonight, see what we’ve come up with in the morning and make a plan. I’ll grab those leftovers in the fridge and head on home, unless you need me to stay. You got this covered or do you need a wing man?”
“Nah, I’m good. We’ll talk in the morning.”
I didn’t need Finn to stay over, but there was no way I was staying in my room tonight, not after what I’d seen on the recording. Thinking about Sarah being in my bedroom while I slept, touching my hair and sitting on my bed, seemed a little stalkerish and just plain freaky to me, so after Finn left, I did my nightly reading with Maddie, then made myself comfortable on the living room couch for the rest of the night.
. . . . .
The next morning offered a better start to my day. I’d remembered to set my alarm and was out of the living room before Mom could ask any questions resulting in some pretty awkward answers. From our earlier conversation, I knew she didn’t believe in ghosts and wasn’t superstitious and the last thing she needed was something else to worry about, so I was determined to handle this on my own.
When I went upstairs to shower, my room looked undisturbed from the previous night. I’d been thinking about how to communicate with Sarah and had decided to try a direct approach, which is probably something I should commit to in other parts of my life.
I cleared my throat and wiped my hands on my pajama pants. “Um…Sarah? Are you here? Can we talk?” Admittedly, I felt a little ridiculous standing in the middle of my bedroom talking to a ghost who may or may not be able to answer me. But I guessed it was no different than talking to Eby. Except, of course, that Eby answered me, and we’d had some very enlightening conversations. After a couple of minutes with no response, no doors opening or pockets of cold air, I gave up and went into the bathroom to shower.
Maybe I’d stayed in the shower longer than I thought, because when I pulled back the curtain, it looked like a fog bank had rolled in. After wrapping a towel around my waist, I raised my hand to wipe off the mirror and froze, the blood in my veins turning to ice. Written in the condensation on the mirror were four words.
‘I’m here. Help me.’
. . . . .
It took several beats of my heart – at least, I think my heart was still beating – before I could move my arms and legs again. Ho-ly crap. Could things get any more bizarre around here? Okay, Cain, stop tempting fate. You’re just begging for a bigger creep show than you’ve already got.
I lifted my hand to the mirror, but the condensation trickling down the silvery surface was distorting the message. Opening the bathroom door a couple of inches, I peeked into my room on the off chance someone was messing with me, playing a trick. As expected, no one else was here.
But the attic door was standing wide open - something that didn’t shock me at all.
. . . . .
During lunch, I gave Finn a brief account of what had happened this morning before the Wicked Witch of the West got here. Communicating with Sarah tonight had to be put on the back burner, because of the soccer game this evening.
“Incoming on your left. She decided to ride her broom today instead of carrying the pitchfork,” Finn said, nearly causing me to snort milk through my nose. Wouldn’t have been the first time.
I glanced sideways and saw that Erin was wearing ridiculously high heels that couldn’t have been comfortable, and an expression that gave her a constantly surprised look. Finn said it had something to do with over-plucked eyebrows. How he’d know that, I didn’t care to ask.
She sat beside me, but kept looking over her shoulder at the table where her posse were watching. “Cain, did you bring your jersey for me to wear tonight?”
“Good afternoon to you too, Erin, and how was your weekend?” Finn asked, his face the picture of innocence.
“Finn, you know I never answer your questions and what I did over the weekend is so not any of your business.”
“Well, Cain and I would prefer not to see your face at our lunch table every day either, but I don’t recall you giving us a choice.”
Erin turned to me, her lips pressed in a hard line. “Is that true, Cain? Don’t you want me to sit with you at lunch?”
“Well, um…” I looked to Finn for help, but he held both hands out, looking very pleased with himself, like he’d just served me Erin’s head on a silver platter.
“Cain?” Keeping in mind my inability to read women, I decided to err on the side of caution and attempt to calm the wild expression in Erin’s eyes that made me think she bordered on creating a very public scene.
“I never said that, Erin. Finn’s just playing around.” Finn sighed loudly, probably planning to look for a new best friend who wasn’t such a coward.
“And what about your jersey?” she spat.
“I’ll bring it to the game tonight.” Flipping her hair over her shoulder and giving Finn a triumphant smirk, Erin picked up her tray and marched across the cafeteria toward her friends, high heels clacking in her wake.
“Next time, rethink the eyebrow wax, sweetheart,” Finn called as she strutted away, turning to make an obscene gesture at him before she sat down. “Dude, I gave you the perfect opening, and you threw it away. If you want to wallow in misery, that’s your stupid choice. But Lindsey won’t wait forever.”
. . . . .
The competition was brutal. We were playing smart and hard, but by the end of the first half, the score was tied at 1-1. Five shots on goal, and we’d only scored once, when I’d headed the ball into the upper left hand corner. Finn had made three saves, his body twisting in positions that looked physically impossible.
After a motivational speech and some new strategic moves from Coach Simms at half-time, the team was locked and loaded, ready to get back on the field. We fought hard, dribbling and swerving around opponents, blocking kicks, passing and stealing the ball, but when it came down to the last two minutes, the score was still tied. And then we got lucky when their right mid fielder fouled me, receiving a yellow card and giving me a penalty kick.
Taking a deep breath, I studied the other team’s keeper as he crouched in preparation, readying himself for my kick. I could do this. Charging forward, I feigned a rightward direction and the keeper bought it, lunging to that side a half second before my foot connected with the ball, but it sailed directly over him, hitting the back of the net.
The crowd roared and my teammates ran over to congratulate me, but we couldn’t celebrate yet - we still had over a minute left. The center forward on the other team dribbled down the field and got past our mid fielders, passing to another player close enough to take a shot on goal, but Finn easily caught the ball, found me on the field, and kicked it in my direction, placing it a couple of feet in front of me. As I got it under control, I turned and dribbled down the field toward the goal, the opposing team’s defenders lined up in front of me.