“All of them.”
Emily followed Bob and Debbie into the kitchen. They sat at the table and checked in who she knew Bob thought were really weird guests. The rest of the cats followed and spread out. Rachel, as usual, made her way to Bob’s lap. Isabella and Jacqueline walked across the keyboard of his laptop. Emily chuckled, watching Bob as he digested this dark and diverse group of guests as they overran Murcat Manor.
More than a dozen Goths and Vamps were now raiding the refrigerator and rummaging through the cupboards and pantry. Bob did not look happy.
“Dinner’s at five o’clock for the first crew,” Debbie said, using a merry homecoming tone. “Six thirty for the second. You’re on your own for lunch.”
“I don’t care,” a male Goth said, closing a freezer. “There’s nothing good here. Just a bunch of healthy food. Got any Hot Pockets?”
Bob closed his laptop and stood. “What’s your name?”
“Um, Phil.”
Bob pointed out into the living room. “Phil, get out of my kitchen.”
“Is it true five people were murdered here,” a second young male asked, who looked barely old enough to drive. He was dressed in a black leather jacket with countless studs and pins. Ink black hair fell over his forehead and covered one eye.
Bob placed his hands on hips and looked at the delinquents dressed completely in black. Their faces were covered with white makeup. Their dark hair, black lipstick, eye liner, and fingernails made them look like death microwaved. He was clearly disturbed this was the kid’s first question.
“Five people died here. Yes. But they were not murdered,” Bob said deadpanned. “Don’t believe everything you read.”
Phil made a disrespectful facial expression and looked around the kitchen, then out to the living room. “This house, it’s not so scary,” he said in a sniveling tone. “Looks like my mom’s home. Only bigger.”
A female elbowed her way in front of him. “Hi. I’m Brooke. Phil and I are staying in the Medieval Torture Chamber.” There was much excitement her voice. “How many people died there?”
Bob looked down into dark yet anticipating eyes. She wore a spiked dog collar and matching wrist bands.
“None.”
Their faces and shoulders dropped.
A sneer formed across Bob’s mouth. “Tell you what. You two can be the first, okay?”
That wisecrack remark appeared to re-excite them, much to Bob’s consternation.
Debbie gave an askance look at Bob, then handed the guests their room keys. “Raymond already took your luggage upstairs. Your rooms are at the far end of the hall.”
Emily sat upright just inside the kitchen door and watched with vigilance. Next to check in were the six people from American Ghost Stories. The Goths and Vamps remained, mesmerized as the crew entered the kitchen. It was as if they were in the presences of demigods.
Madelyn researched the group, and had set up Bob’s laptop while he slept so they all could watch episodes on YouTube. Was the crew for real? Or were they all show and in it for the money?
Emily’s verdict: inconclusive. The fact they initially walked past without noticing her didn’t help their credibility.
But Emily wasn’t letting her guard down. They may have supernatural gifts of discernment. Regardless, she would remain patient. Since American Ghost Stories was broadcasting their show live, Emily and the others would give their two million viewers a show they would never forget.
The producer stepped forward and shook Bob’s hand. “Hello Mr. and Mrs. Stevens. My name is Johnny Rocket. Thank you for allowing us to stay here. We’re truly grateful, especially on such short notice.”
Johnny introduced the rest of the crew. “This is Ned Leeds. To his left is his brother Henry. And this is Denise Forsythe.”
Bob received Ned’s handshake. “We’ve seen your show. Welcome to Murcat Manor.”
“You and your crew will stay in the Paranormal Room and the Serial Killer Room,” Debbie said with more enthusiasm. “I still find it hard to believe you’re taping a live show here. After seeing you in person, I have to admit this is so exciting.”
Johnny Rocket scrolled through notes in his iPad without looking up. “The Paranormal Room is where the Johnsons died last week. It used to be the Disco Room, right?”
Emily could see Bob fighting the urge to throw up. “That’s right.”
“Very good. We’ll get right to work,” Johnny said. “Mr. Stevens, I assure you we won’t disrupt your normal business. We use two cameramen that follow us around and a dozen or so stationary cameras. That’s it. We’ll be as discreet and respectful to your property and guests as possible.”
“Thank you,” Debbie said. “As much as we’d like to be a part of this, Bob and I are locking ourselves in our bedroom with a couple bottles of wine. We don’t want to get in the way of your show.”
Denise Forsythe, the face of the show, smiled approvingly. But Emily sensed she was glad Bob and Debbie would be secluded in their room. The first thing Emily discerned about the incredibly popular hostess of one of Cable TVs biggest shows was Denise had an immense problem with pride. Emily had found a great weakness, and would exploit this against her and the crew in incredible ways.
“I understand,” Denise said, stepping forward and brushing her fingers through her long flowing rust colored hair. “Just be sure to watch the show. After all, you live here. If there’s anything paranormal going on, you’ll want to see me and my cast expose it.”
Bob let out a laugh but caught himself. “I’m not superstitious. No offense, but I really don’t expect anything to happen here tonight.”
Ned Leeds, the host of the show, stepped forward. “Mr. Stevens, we’re a lot alike. We’re skeptics at heart, as are most paranormal detectives. We do our best to weed out the instances of people imagining—or even staging, making up—what they’ve experienced as real. Then, if anything remains, we’ll explore that as possible paranormal activity.”
Bob sat and fidgeted in his chair, staring into his half empty glass of Coca Cola. Emily knew he was trying to be polite, while at the same time letting the crew know he thought they were full of shit. Emily appreciated the conflict. Sometimes, Boring Bob surprised her.
“Well, I’m still not a believer,” Bob continued. “I mean, I am. But, just not in what you’re promoting.”
“I can understand your reluctance,” Denise said. “But there is far more to our world than what we can perceive with our five senses.”
Bob lifted his glass in salutation. “If you can prove that tonight and present your findings to Detective Darrowby, I’d greatly appreciate it.”
Johnny Rocket brought his hands together in a loud clap. “We’d better set up. We have a lot of work to do,” followed by two more quick claps in rhythm. “Chop-chop. Let’s go.”
Emily needed to know more about the crew since the show was being shown live in just nine hours. Especially Denise Forsythe. Ned Leeds was clearly the leader as he was the host, and Johnny Rocket was the producer. But the energy emanating from the TV hostess was much stronger than the rest, and she was the eye candy the audience related to.
Emily planted a question in Debbie’s head.
“I have to admit,” Debbie said as she stepped in front of Johnny and addressed Denise. “I’m a little more open than my husband to spectral incidents. What’s your background, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Denise, never one to shun the spotlight regardless of the audience, was happy to oblige.
“I was raised in Happy Valley, Pennsylvania. My father’s a Pentecostal preacher. You could call him a holy roller.” She laughed. “Heck, if—you know those Picture Dictionaries they have now? Heh. Look up ‘Holy Roller’ and my dad’s image will be the meaning. His brothers were the church elders. They believed in healing, casting out demons, and miracles.”
Johnny raised his wrist in the air and tapped his watch with an impatient dramatic flair. Denise smiled as she purposely ignored her pro
ducer and recollected her childhood in a succinct manner.
“Dad and his anointed elders did things that, to this day, I can’t explain by logic or normal physics. People would come up to the stage, get prayed over and have hands laid on them, and then toss aside crutches and rise out of wheelchairs, dancing and running across the sanctuary of our church. I’ve seen just about every type of phenomena that falls outside of the traditionally accepted realm of the five senses.
“The blind saw. The deaf heard. Limbs grew where before they were stunted. The healed laughed for the first time in years and spoke with new tongues. My father, well, I can assure you he had no fear. He didn’t care what the skeptics thought about him. Their results healed and converted people.”
Debbie’s nod was slow and somber. Emily had to keep the questions and answers coming. She planted a second question.
“That is certainly interesting,” Debbie said. “Fascinating, actually. How did you three meet?”
Denise’s eyes darted to the two twins. “I met Ned and Henry in college while at Penn State. We were in a philosophy class together.”
“Unlike Denise,” Ned interjected. “I don’t believe in any particular religion. I do, however, believe in the existence of extra dimensions. This is where angelic and demonic spirits could live. These living beings could convert from energy to mass and then back to energy, freely crossing back and forth from their realms into ours.”
Bob squelched a grin by pressing his lips into a firm straight line. “Um, okay. If you say so.”
Emily looked up at Ned’s brother. He was the quiet one. Okay Henry, you’re next.
Debbie shook her head and laughed “Amazing. You lead such intriguing lives. A far cry from anything I’ve done. Henry, your turn. What’s your story?”
Henry stepped forward. “When I was sixteen, I was out with friends on a Friday night and we were in a horrible car accident. They died. Three of my best friends. I had a near death and out of body experience. I remember vividly looking down on myself as the ambulance took me to the hospital. I saw the doctors and nurses working on my broken body. I died three times on the operating table. But miraculously, they were able to save me. After the third revival, I reentered my body.”
Debbie looked awestruck. “That’s just, wow, I mean that is truly incredible.”
Bob sighed and looked away.
“It took me a full year to recover from my injuries. I had plenty of time to read and research out of body experiences. I know they’re real. I’m living proof.”
“So that’s our story,” Denise said. “We have different backgrounds and belief systems. But the one common thing we want to do is show the world life exists in a miraculous and elegant manner beyond the confines of what most people have been brainwashed into thinking is the one and only reality—that which we see on the surface.
“And worse?—duped into believing,” she banged her hand on the hard wall surface. “This material ‘real’ world is all that there is, and nothing else can exist beyond their man-made intellectual borders—borders?—hell, more like conceptual imprisonment.”
Johnny shoved his way between the much stockier Leeds brothers. “Okay, people. We really need to get a move on. We got us a ton of work to do before tonight’s show.”
Emily started to get up and leave but, wait, Denise, what’s she doing? The atmosphere and collective mood in the room became charged. Denise had her eyes closed, her head tilted back, and took a slow deep breath as she leaned backward. Her hair rolled off her back and seemed to flow as she swayed back and forth in place. She began humming a barely audible tune, beautiful and melodic.
Emily thought the scene was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic, the way Denise swayed to and fro with her hair following a moment after; like a weeping willow with its long branches swinging in a gentle breeze. She was amazed the woman held the pose and didn’t fall. Both cameramen turned on their hand held cameras and zoomed in on the emerging starlet.
Emily focused on Denise Forsythe, trying to discern what was transpiring in Debbie’s kitchen. Was she a fraud, acting out for the audience? Or did she possess paranormal gifts that helped discern elements beyond her normal five senses. She strolled around the table and settled in one of the cat beds for a better look.
Bob started to say something. Ned put his forefinger to his lips to signal silence. Even the Goths and vampire wannabes were held spellbound, eyes and mouths wide open. Anticipation replaced Emily’s usually patient demeanor. After a few minutes she planted a thought in Bob’s head to break the silence.
“Is she okay,” Bob whispered.
Ned let out a near silent laugh. “Yes. Denise does this when she senses something supernatural.”
Debbie looked worried. She grabbed Bob’s arm tight. “Does she perceive something out of the ordinary?”
“Some people would think this is very normal,” Denise responded, keeping her eyes closed.
Ned spoke. “What is it? Are you getting something?”
Denise responded without opening her eyes. “That would be a definite yes. There’s a major disturbance in the basement. It took a few minutes to recalibrate my senses. But trust me, my insides are on fire. One thing is for sure. Murcat Manor is the mother lode of supernatural activity.”
Denise maintained her swaying posture, but her head cocked to the side and her forehead creased. “Strange. I’m not sure what it—that—means.”
“What do you see,” Ned asked.
“I’m embarrassed to even say it. It sounds so stupid.”
“Don’t keep us in suspense. Just blurt it out.”
Denise scoffed as she spoke. “I see large dented cans of fruit cocktail. Lots of them strewn across the basement concrete floor. It’s as if they were pushed from a higher elevation. Repeatedly.”
Emily’s senses were on fire. Denise wasn’t a fraud. She was now officially a threat.
Bob turned to Debbie, who was already locked onto the paranormal crew. She looked petrified when Denise mentioned the dented cans.
Bob shook his head, as if this was the dumbest thing he had ever heard. “Well, there’s nothing down there except supplies.”
“Heh heh, and thirteen cats that often congregate there,” Debbie added.
Denise opened one eye. “Thirteen?”
“Um, yes. Thirteen. That’s right,” Debbie responded.
The hostess stood up straight and fixed her hair with her fingers. “What a convenient number,” she said through a sly grin.
Denise panned the kitchen and looked at the cats, then to Emily’s surprise, focused on her. Her grin widened as if she had exposed an evil hidden secret the house was trying to hide. Denise Forsythe nodded her head and let out a subtle laugh as if to tell Emily checkmate.
“Guys,” she continued. “We need to set up cameras in the basement, too. Tonight, we find out what’s causing all these deaths at Murcat Manor. And, if we’re lucky, what caused the fires on the two previous properties here.”
Emily didn’t need to see anything else. “Emergency meeting. Everyone. But not in the basement. Once the crowd disperses, we’ll make our way to Bob and Debbie’s bedroom.”
Emily waited as Raymond helped the crew to their rooms. The Goths and Vamps followed up the stairs like zealots in a cult who’d found new idols to worship.
The twelve cats, led by Rebecca, made their way through the animal door into Bob and Debbie’s bedroom. Emily felt a sense of relief once the kitchen was quiet. She and her followers would devise a scheme to destroy the cast of American Ghost Stories.
As she strutted toward the bedroom, one last guest arrived. An elderly man. Alone.
His presence in the kitchen caused Emily to stop mid stride. She slipped under a chair and studied him from the other side of the kitchen table. Something about him was different, yet very much familiar.
Friend or foe?
It was as if she knew him. But from where? She sensed from when might be a better question.
Chapt
er 39 Joseph Meicigama
Emily watched from a crouched position as Bob and Debbie welcomed their last guest. Bob extended his right arm and shook the visitor’s hand. “Hello. Welcome to Murcat Manor.”
“You’re the last booking,” Debbie said. “You must be Joseph Meicigama. I hope I pronounced that correctly.”
“Close enough,” the man said with a docile smile as he looked around the kitchen. “You have a wonderful place here.”
“Thank you,” Debbie said as she spread her arms out. “I call the kitchen my home away from home. I spend so much time here cooking meals for everyone.”
The elderly man smiled graciously. “I’m looking forward to some home cooked meals. I’ve done more than a little research on this place. I understand your dinners are what help make this bed and breakfast a favorite destination.”
Emily rolled her eyes when Debbie blushed at the old man’s charms.
“Are you local, Mr. Meicigama?”
He winked. “Yes. Generations of my family have lived in this area longer than just about anyone else.”
“We’re happy to have you stay with us,” she said with much respect. “You’ll be staying in the Frontiersman Room. I’m sure you’ll love the accommodations.”
Every fiber in Emily came to life. She carefully deliberated the strange man whose presence triggered her internal alarm system. Early to mid-seventies, but in great shape. His mind was clear and sharp. Soft spoken, but dauntless. He had dark weathered skin contrasted against ghost white wavy hair. He combed it back over his head behind his ears and tied it into a long lock drawn against the back of his head.
The stranger wore blue jeans and a light blue buttoned up collared denim shirt. Cowboy boots completed his attire. He could fit in any crowd and not stand out. Except the Goths and Vamps.
But Emily wasn’t fooled. He was trying to conceal himself in plain view as an unassuming, yet charming senior citizen.
But the old man did wear something odd around his neck; a thin silver braided chain. She discerned there was something mystical attached to it hidden under his shirt.
She sent out a communication to her followers. “Hold up, ladies. There’s one more arrival. He’s alone and trying to fly below the radar. I’m convinced he came in last to avoid attention. I don’t trust him.”
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