by Hunter Shea
Dedication
For Jack Campisi, my horror co-pilot, Monster Man and brother from another mother.
“The will to disbelieve is the strongest deterrent to wider horizons.”
—Hans Holzer
Ghost—the soul of a dead person, a disembodied spirit imagined, usually as a vague, shadowy or evanescent form, as wandering among or haunting living persons
—Dictionary.com
“Sleep with one eye open, gripping your pillow tight.”
—Metallica, Enter Sandman
Chapter One
The girl walked alone.
She was oblivious to the world outside the confines of her own daydream. Pink, padded headphones blasted pop music while she texted on her phone.
Because of the false summer, she was wearing a halter top with a V-cut that just showed the swell of her firm breasts. Her shorts, denim with frayed ends, bunched up to the tops of her thighs. The olive skin of her shoulders was unblemished, perfect.
Her hips swayed as she walked, the roll of her buttocks exuding an oblivious sexuality that could only be achieved by the young and naïve. Such power, unharnessed, supercharging the air, leaving ripples of popping sparks in her wake.
It was a struggle to mirror her movements.
In the darkness, where no one else could see.
Watching, always watching.
And on days like today, imitating.
She stopped at the corner, paused to look down at her sandal and bent down to adjust the strap.
With a sudden movement, she straightened up and looked behind her, eyes narrowed.
There was no need to worry. She would only see shadows.
And in the shadows, a pair of eyes narrowed, one hand on a hip, a mirror image, a newly developed negative of the beautiful girl.
Watching…and waiting.
Chapter Two
This was the way it always started. The body reacts faster than the mind can comprehend, and a person with experience learns never to ignore what the stiff hairs on your arms are telling you. The house was quiet, had been eerily hushed for the past three hours. Silent, dark and empty.
Jessica Backman moved from her position at the end of the bed and headed to the hallway. She felt the first prickles of gooseflesh break out across her arms and the back of her neck, until every follicle on her scalp was tingling with anticipation. The sharp whine of a monitor went off in the living room below, stopping suddenly, as if smothered by someone or something that didn’t want its presence to be known. Jessica’s heartbeat raced as the first jolt of adrenaline coursed through her system. She had to force herself to inhale slowly from her mouth to dampen the noise of her own breathing in her head. Here, in the dark, her sense of hearing was her greatest tool.
She carefully clicked her penlight on, shining it onto her notebook so she could mark the time.
2:36am—Living Room EMF/Trifield alarm…short burst…goose bumps…not alone.
Craning her neck, she could see out the window into the empty driveway. Sometimes clients made surprise visits in the middle of the night, throwing a fat monkey wrench into the works. Unless they walked from Bedford to Bronxville, an almost thirty mile distance, the McCammon family was not the cause of the sudden change in the atmosphere. Jessica sat as still as a stone, waiting.
Pap.
Just outside the bedroom door, a slight tap, like the sound of a pebble bouncing off the carpeted hallway. The night vision camera sat on a tripod in the corner of the room, pointing at the doorway. If something had fallen onto the floor, the camera would, if she was lucky, capture it. Jessica waited for more, could feel the building tension in her chest and head. It was as if the house were gathering its strength, building and building until the air was redolent with static electricity and the pressure in her ears was ready to pop.
The sound of scratching on the walls, like a large, determined cat trapped between the rafters, echoed throughout the house. Jessica couldn’t tell where it originated.
It stopped the moment she rose from the bed and took her first step back to the door. She paused, waiting a few moments for it to resume, then continued into the hallway. Leaning forward over the steel banister, she looked down into the living room and adjoining dining room.
Everything was as she had left it.
Earlier in the night, she had placed glow-in-the-dark masking tape around the perimeter of each piece of furniture, as well as the framed pictures on the walls. The glowing yellow squares, circles and rectangles gave the dark living room the appearance of an alien landscape found in the ocean depths, populated by sleeping, iridescent sea creatures. She had tacked down tape around all of the moveable objects so she could easily see what had shifted from its proper place during the course of the night. By virtue of being alone, she was assured that no one else could disturb the contents of the house.
One of the drawers in the kitchen could be heard slowly sliding open. Jessica darted down the stairs and into the kitchen, careful not to bump into anything along the way. This was her seventh night in the McCammon house and she had taken great pains to memorize every detail of its layout.
The middle drawer to the left of the sink was half-open. Jessica took a picture of the open drawer with her digital camera, shielding her eyes from the flash. A quick breeze whispered along her back in the sealed up kitchen. She had closed every window and door five hours earlier, sealing them shut with special tape as well so any manipulations by passing air could be eliminated. She shivered.
She looked once again at the drawer, the exposure of its contents mocking her, daring her to find the secret hidden within the walls of the Tudor house.
One of her Trifield meters in the upstairs bathroom squealed for several seconds before tumbling to the floor. She heard the plastic device smack the hard, unyielding tile, bouncing twice before settling to a standstill. The Trifield meter was used to measure changes in electromagnetic, electric and radio/microwave fields. She wasn’t sold on its efficacy, but it was the best of the limited lot available to paranormal research. And now she was down one.
“Oh, I see,” Jessica said aloud. “You want to play your games, just not with me. Can it be that you’re afraid of a nineteen-year-old girl? I’m all alone and I have all night. In fact, Kristen and Tim and the girls left the house to me all weekend, so I have nothing but time.”
Jessica’s ears popped a split second before she saw the couch in the living room move a few inches to the right. The legs scraped across the hardwood floor and the EMF meter on the table next to it wailed like a siren.
She decided to coax the presence in the house a little further.
“Moving furniture in other rooms doesn’t impress me. You did that once before and I was bored then.”
Slam! The kitchen drawer shut itself with enough force to crack the wood face.
Jessica considered the intensity required to do such a thing. This was new. The EB was either getting stronger or angrier…or both. Good. At least now she knew what this presence was not, and that was more than she had hoped for tonight.
She pulled her digital audio recorder from the custom-designed leather holster around her waist and clicked it on. Even though there were more cameras down here, one in the kitchen and two in the living room, she wanted every piece of equipment she had at the ready to record her observations. She had also placed IR lights around the room to expand the scope of her cameras. IR lights boosted the distance her cameras could record in night-vision mode.
“Kitchen drawer just closed so hard, the wood cracked. Time is two-forty-eight a.m. I dared the EB to be more demonstrative and it’s taking up the challenge. The air smells funky, like burning wires. No signs of smoke.” She stopped. Something started tapping on the walls around her.
Tap, pause, tap-tap-tap, pause, tap-tap.
Jessica continued, using meditative breathing exercises to calm herself, “I hope I caught that. It’s tapping out in a sequence.” Tap-tap. “One tap, followed by three, then two. I’m not sure if it’s some form of Morse code or the beat to a song or what. It just keeps tapping, and the burning smell is getting stronger,” she whispered into the audio recorder. Then, much louder, “Are you trying to tell me something? If you speak into this recorder in my hand or any of the cameras, I may be able to hear you. What does the tapping mean? Or are you just trying to scare me?”
A heavy rumble shook the floor beneath her feet.
Tap-tap-tap.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Jessica put the recorder close to her lips. “I’m going to have to check the outlets. The burning smell is getting intense. Something—whoa!”
The recorder was knocked from her hand and skidded across the linoleum floor. The hand that had been holding the recorder felt as if it had been dipped in a tub of ice. She gave it a few sharp shakes to halt the pins-and-needles sensation that followed.
The house was once again silent and the darkness seemed to intensify. Even though her eyes had acclimated to the night, she was finding it harder to make out the shapes of the furniture around her. It was as if a heavy, black gauze had oozed throughout the house like an obsidian blob. Sharp outlines became hazy glaucoma visions.
She took a few tentative steps toward where she assumed her digital recorder lay. The air itself was heavy and she knew she was far from alone. She fought hard to fight back the tingling dread that threatened to dance up her spine. A part of her was sure that something was very close behind her. Silently, it approached with arms wide open, edging closer with each deliberate step. If she were to turn around now, she would come face to face with all of her worst nightmares brought to life.
If only she dared to take one simple peek.
In the dark.
So close she could feel the ripples of its intrusive essence caressing the back of her neck.
Jessica stopped when she reached the threshold of the dining room and closed her eyes. She felt like a blind person in a crowded room of silent guests, no one daring to breathe lest they reveal their presence, yet eager to pounce if she gave the slightest inkling that she was aware of their claustrophobic proximity.
Her heart skipped a beat as she breathed deep. The fight-or-flight instinct was battling for control. Her body was in the throes of the primal, physical ache to flee. It would be so easy to run now. The front door was twenty feet away. Just turn a couple of locks and she could be outside.
The floorboards creaked behind her, a slight groan of wood protesting the weight of a single, heavy footstep.
Three more breaths. Her heart rate slowed to a steady rhythm.
Another creak, this time to her right, near the breakfront.
Jessica smiled and she felt the tension release its grip from her shoulders.
Breathe in, hold, breathe out.
Something hard and small smacked into the glass top of the coffee table.
Breathe in, hold, breathe out.
The sound of glass under stress, spider cracks crunching their way across the surface of the table.
Now.
Jessica spun and shouted, “Boo!”
She opened her eyes and faced the empty darkness behind her. The coffee table top exploded in a shower of crystal pebbles. Bits of glass bounced harmlessly off her leather jacket. A picture frame flew from the fireplace mantle and crashed into the opposite wall. All of the kitchen chairs slid out from under the table at once, one of them clattering to the floor. Jessica turned back toward the dining room in time to see the blinds on the front window part as if someone ran a finger from top to bottom. Upstairs, it sounded as if a brawl had broken out. The ceiling fan shook under the pounding of footsteps and falling objects.
The house was alive and it was not happy.
Jessica ducked as a couch pillow came her way. Another picture frame flipped off the wall and broke into pieces on the floor. She laughed out loud.
“That’s it, get it out of your system. Get mad, madder than you’ve ever been. You’ve done enough to the McCammons. It’s just you and me now. Tell me your name. I’d like to know who the gutless wonder is that hides in the shadows and terrorizes little kids. I’ve told you who I am.”
An apple that had been in a bowl on the kitchen table flew at her in a lazy arc. She turned just in time to reach up and catch it.
“Nice try. Now, back to my question. Who…the fuck…are you?”
Chapter Three
“I have your final PK test results. I figured you’d want to hold on to these, maybe put them in a scrapbook someday.”
Eddie Home dropped his suitcase on the bed and took the report from his roommate. He arched an eyebrow at his exit psychokinetic test, the last of more than he could ever count.
“Did I pass?” he asked, smiling as he dropped the report into the bottom of his suitcase.
“When do you not pass?” Tobi Cruz said. “It’s really a shame you’re leaving. Now I have to find another partner in crime.”
“That should be pretty easy. I wouldn’t exactly compare us to Steven Tyler and Joe Perry.”
Tobi sank into his computer chair. “Yeah, you’re right. Neither of us has Tyler’s jack-o-lantern mouth.”
They laughed as Eddie emptied the contents of his shirt drawer into his suitcase in one big heap. Tobi shook his head at the mess.
“At least we have one more night before you leave the lovely city of Durham. I’ve arranged a little get together at Pat’s Tavern so we can send you off properly.”
Eddie rolled his eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t invite any of the professors. I’ve done my bit for science. I’d like one lab-coat-free evening before I hit the dusty.”
Tobi leaned forward in his chair and said, “I don’t know. You tell me.”
Eddie cocked his head and sighed. “Do I really have to do this?”
“I’m afraid so,” Tobi replied with a crooked smile.
“Fine.” Eddie closed his eyes. He waited a moment to clear his mind.
He felt the familiar presence.
His eyelids fluttered open. A sharp intake of breath steadied his concentration.
An ethereal corpse stood behind Tobi. It rested a weightless hand on his shoulder.
Tobi shivered, but remained quiet.
The man had died when he was forty-one. His skin was pale and bloated. Dark, pink, blubbery seams had erupted here and there along his neck, legs and torso. Water was unkind to the human body.
The corpse looked down at Tobi with black, hollow eyes. He shook his head slowly.
Eddie smiled.
“Lucky for you, Bob says you didn’t.”
Tobi looked up. “Thank you, Bob. Man, I love that you can do that.”
Bob’s spirit flashed a request into the center of Eddie’s mind. A brief but sharp pain made him cringe.
Eddie looked to a pile of balled up socks he’d set aside. He imagined the socks pelting Tobi in the face. A second later, without his touching them, they elevated off the bed and dashed at his friend.
“Oh, real nice,” Tobi said when the fourth pair bounded off his forehead.
“Don’t blame me, blame Bob.”
Bob Wilson had lived in the house next door in the 1980s. On a fishing trip with his buddies, a hard-drinking band of brothers who had known each other since grade school, he tipped over the side of the boat. His head hit into one of the propeller blades. He slipped into unconsciousness, drew in cold water and died. His body was found floating near the shoreline several miles away and nine days after the accident.
He’d been their invisible roommate ever since Eddie had moved in. Bob was quiet, but loved to be around them. He was ghastly to behold, but Eddie had connected with him on levels much deeper than his appearance. It was still a mystery why he kept returning to their do
rm room.
Most times, the dead kept their secrets.
Bob was also a good snitch when it came to keeping Tobi in line.
For his part, Tobi could always feel when Bob was around, but he couldn’t see or communicate with him like Eddie.
Tobi said, “So, I’ll see you at Pat’s?”
“Of course. Who can turn down a night of free drinking thanks to his bud and roommate?”
“I don’t remember anything about free drinks.”
“You have a bad memory. You might want to stop at the ATM before you go. I’m pretty thirsty.”
“You’re killing me, dude. Fine. I’ll see you later.”
“Don’t forget to say goodbye to Bob.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tobi said, giving a half-hearted wave.
Bob’s bloated, purple lips grinned and he faded away.
Eddie looked around the room he had called home for the past year. Tobi’s side of the room was neat to the point of being Spartan, while his side was a sweeping display of carnage.
“Might be easier if I just threw a match on it.”
Eddie went into the bathroom to collect what he could and tossed it all into his toiletry bag. He combed his jet black hair back and smoothed the sides with his hands. At six foot two, he was lean but not skinny with a strong jaw line he inherited from his father and bright blue eyes bestowed upon him by his mother. In part because of the things he’d seen and experienced over the years, thanks to his many so-called gifts, his eyes carried the weight of a man much older, wiser and warier.
He went back into the room and removed his lacquered Duke University diploma from its place of prominence above his work desk, using his index finger to remove the layer of dust that had settled along its topmost edge. His entire four years at Duke were paid for by the nearby Rhine Research Center, the country’s premier parapsychology research lab. Founded by botanist J.B. Rhine in 1935, The Rhine, as Eddie liked to call it, was dedicated to the serious study of parapsychology and human consciousness.
J.B. Rhine was an explorer in every sense of the word, devoting his life to the study of what the rest of the world considered to be the paranormal. The goal of Rhine, and now his ongoing research center, was to study and discover the truth behind things such as telepathy, ESP, psychokinesis, ghosts, poltergeists and even the existence of life after death. It was Rhine who coined the ubiquitous term ESP, as well as many of the standardized tests that are still used today to test the extra-mental capabilities of the select few chosen to take part in the institute’s research.