The Supernaturals

by David L. Golemon

  Kennedy turned to Lonetree. “Did you get any feelings down there?”

  Lonetree shook his head.

  “I got something,” Jenny said. “Bobby Lee popped in for a minute. I just thought it was just my memory of him, but it was like he was curious about something. It went away as soon as it appeared, but it was there.”

  “And John’s a Dream Walker; he wouldn’t have picked up on what I did. I’m telling you, something is down there!”

  “Professor, can you join us, please?”

  Kennedy looked up and saw that Peterson was looking at them. His eyes went from the small group to his watch. Kelly was standing with her head low and Julie Reilly was fuming, ignoring the makeup girl who tried to get her face. Kennedy walked up to the group, followed by the rest of his team. He saw Leonard Sickles standing in the ballroom doorway watching curiously. Not far behind him was Wallace Lindemann, draining a glass of whiskey, content that his house had been proven clean of anything that went bump in the night. One of the security men gave Leonard a large yellow envelope, but Peterson interrupted his thoughts before he could wonder about what was inside. Leonard held the envelope at his side and returned to the ballroom with it.

  “Professor, since an embarrassing hoax has been perpetrated on my network, the board has decided to pull the special from the air. Ms. Reilly here will go live and explain that we are having technical problems and cannot continue, and we will switch to alternate programming.”

  “You bastard, you know I had nothing to do with this. If it was anyone, it was Kelly,” Julie said. Kelly Delaphoy didn’t make any attempt at denial at this point. Kennedy turned and looked at Father Dolan who was still sitting on the stairs. He was wringing his hands and making a point of not seeing the argument taking place right in front of him.

  Julie Reilly held her ground.

  “Now, I don’t believe this house is haunted, but I would not have sabotaged what may have been an even bigger story: Professor Kennedy being held responsible for his missing student’s disappearance.”

  Kennedy saw Damian Jackson step away from the coat check room with his overcoat in hand, smiling from ear to ear. He stopped short of the group and just listened.

  “Look, whoever was responsible, it’s a moot point at this juncture,” Peterson said. “I’m sure the board will want a full investigation—we’ve lost them forty million dollars in revenue alone. For now, let’s get this wrapped up and get the hell back to New York. I want everyone in the office at nine in the morning. And I will not be accepting any resignations.”

  Julie and Kelly, along with Harris Dalton, knew then that they wouldn’t be spared. They would be fired and their careers were done.

  “Okay, all non-essential personnel clear the house. Ms. Reilly you have five minutes. Father Dolan, you are excused. Please clear the area, everyone. I want our intrepid reporter to do her standup at the staircase.”

  Dolan stood without looking at Peterson, and moved to the side of the staircase. Kennedy smiled, and the others of his group looked at him, clearly wondering what he found humorous about all that was happening.

  “I think we have our culprit, boys and girls.” Most of the eyes in the room went to Father Dolan, who couldn’t bring himself to look any of them in the eye. “James, you and your friends were the only ones allowed into the house before the broadcast team arrived. Would you like to do a little confessing?” Gabriel asked.

  “Look, we know who is responsible for this fiasco, there is no need to call Father Dolan’s reputation into question,” Lionel Peterson said.

  “I thought you would come to the defense of the good Father, Peterson,” Kennedy said. He looked toward Julie Reilly. He knew she wasn’t a part of what happened in the basement, but he also knew that like a shark, she was smelling blood in the water. He was going to take advantage of that.

  Julie caught the unvoiced instruction. She half turned and whispered into her microphone.

  “Get the audio out to New York. Hurry.”

  “The two women with you this afternoon, James, they weren’t from any paranormal society at all, were they?” Gabriel asked, stepping even closer to Father Dolan. “Or if they were, they were also experts at rigging up houses. Am I right? Is it so they can say they produce evidence?”

  Father Dolan finally looked up at Kennedy. His eyes roamed from the professor to Lionel Peterson, and then to Wallace Lindemann, who stood in front of the ballroom with an empty glass in his hand.

  “I see where you’re going with this, Kennedy, but you’re on the wrong tack. Our culprit is right here,” Lionel said, nodding toward Kelly.

  Father Dolan shook his head. “The supernatural, these shows, people all over the world turning away from their faith. I thought that—”

  At that moment, every door upstairs on the second and third floors opened and slammed against the walls. Then, all at once, they slammed closed again. The lights flickered and the house shook. Lionel Peterson, about to follow the technicians out of the house, stopped and turned. The smile on his lips was wide and mocking.

  “Really, it’s a little late for that isn’t it?”

  Just as the words exited his mouth, the front doors slammed shut, hitting the last of the makeup girls in the back of the head and sending her flying onto the front porch of the house.

  “Good God!” Father Dolan stepped forward, his confession all but forgotten.

  The lights flickered again. Then they went out, and a grunt accompanied the sound of someone falling. Then the lights started flashing on and off. In the strobing illumination, Father Dolan lay sprawled on his stomach. Gabriel and Lonetree started forward to assist the older man to his feet, but as they neared him, something took the Father by the feet and started pulling him up the stairs. The cameraman who had been following Lonetree and his group in the cellar thought fast and sprang forward almost at the same moment as Kennedy and Lonetree. He immediately started filming.

  “Harris, Harris, get us back on the air, Goddamn it!” the cameraman yelled into his microphone. This was no elaborate hoax.

  Gabriel and John reached Father Dolan and grabbed his hands. In the flickering light they all saw the panic on the old man’s face as he was pulled away. Finally George and the second cameraman joined the two men trying to pull Dolan back, actually throwing their bodies on top of the black-clad priest.

  The tug of war continued. On the twentieth step leading to the second floor, the small red indicator on the ambient light camera started to glow red.

  “We’re going live!” the cameraman shouted.

  At the front door, Lionel Peterson stood motionless. Then he also sprang into action, taking Julie Reilly’s headphones from her. In front of the ballroom, Wallace Lindemann let the tumbler of ice slip from his fingers as he watched what was happening on the stairs.

  “Who gave you the go ahead to go back on the air, Dalton?” Peterson shouted.

  As they all watched, John Lonetree was shoved down the stairs. Gabriel was hit hard enough that his head slammed into the wooden banister. The cameraman and George Cordero were tossed back down the stairs with enough force that the gathered men and women heard bones break as they hit the tiled floor.

  Kelly Delaphoy screamed. In the flickering light, she watched Father Dolan being pulled up the stairs hard enough that his head bounced against every step. It was all silent as he disappeared over the second floor landing. Then as suddenly as it had started, the house quit. Then they heard the laugh, deep and booming, coming from upstairs.

  Yes, Summer Place had awakened.

  twenty

  New York City

  The screening room was silent, save only for the sound of ice striking the bottom of a glass. Everyone started, turning away from the large screen for the briefest of moments to look for the source of the sound. Abraham Feuerstein looked up in mock apology and smiled, pouring his own drink for the first time in years—at least, in front of others. He nodded toward the screen.

  “Inform Harri
s Dalton that we’ll stick with the special for the time being. Also inform Lionel Peterson he is not to leave the house, he’s to stay inside with Professor Kennedy. We do have the state policeman on hand?”

  “Yes sir,” his assistant said as she helped the old man back to his chair.

  “Good. That should preclude anyone calling the authorities.”

  “Sir, what if—”

  The CEO stared at the man who fronted for Lionel Peterson until the skinny little man closed his mouth.

  “I believe our good Professor Kennedy made everyone aware of Mr. Peterson’s culpability in the basement hoax. He stays, and the special goes forward. Instruct Dalton that he has control of commercial interruption time.”

  The audio and the visuals that had come in from Summer Place had shocked everyone.

  “It looks like Halloween may just turn out to be something special after all.”

  The men and women in the screening room had never seen the old man looking so smug.

  They all heard the moan coming from upstairs. It was Kennedy who acted first, swiping blood away as he gained his feet. John Lonetree acted second, standing and eyeing Jenny, his unvoiced command making her stand in place and not follow him. Both men bounded up the stairs just as the lighting inside the house came on strong. Everyone else remained in the foyer, motionless. Lionel Peterson heard the command coming from the production van that instructed everyone to keep their places. Not only was the special to continue, it would do so without commercial interruption at Dalton’s discretion. But by far the most shocking news was the order that Harris passed on directly to Peterson himself, and this order made everyone that heard it over their headphones smile: he was to stay inside the house with the investigating teams. Peterson tore the earpiece from his ear and threw it to the ground. A soundman collected it and placed it in his own ear as he and the first cameraman bolted after Kennedy and Lonetree.

  Inside the production van, Harris Dalton was practically screaming for the camera and sound men to catch up with the professor. On monitor number one, the picture was jumbled as the cameraman took the stairs in pursuit, jostling the camera about. They had switched from ambient light to regular exposure and the lens finally caught sight of the two men kneeling before a prone figure on the second floor landing. The picture jostled once again as someone pushed past the two technicians. It was Damian Jackson, who went to Lonetree and Kennedy.

  “If this man is hurt because of anything you pulled, Kennedy, I swear to God I’ll place you in handcuffs in front of the entire fucking world!”

  Gabriel didn’t even look up when the state policeman bumped him. He was busy feeling for a pulse. When he found it, he finally spared the lieutenant a glance.

  “Shut up and help us get him out of here. He needs a doctor. I think his neck’s broken.”

  All three men lifted the Father as carefully as they could. The movement made the old man moan and then there was silence. They brushed by the camera and soundmen on their way down the stairs. The others gathered around the staircase as the three men went through the foyer with Father Dolan in their arms, and on to the front doors. Lonetree let go of one of the Father’s legs and reached for the door handle. He turned the knob and pulled, but nothing happened. He looked to make sure it wasn’t locked and then tried again. This time the left side opened about six inches and was pulled closed, yanking the handle from the big Indian’s grasp. He tried again and this time had it almost all the way open with the assistance of three or four people in the front porch. The door was pulled from his grasp once more.

  “To hell with this,” Damian Jackson said. He helped lower Father Dolan to the expensive carpet. Then he went to the large plate glass window on the side of the double doors. He took a large wooden chair that had flanked a small table, and with all of his strength he raised it above his head and slammed it into the window. The glass spiderwebbed, but held it shape and form. The heavy wooden chair splintered in Jackson’s hands. Nonplussed, the detective picked up the second chair from the small table set and repeated the process. This time the chair bounced backward, almost hitting the policeman on the rebound. The spiderweb cracks not only held, it looked as if they were shrinking. As if the glass was healing itself.

  “What the hell?” Jackson exclaimed. The curtains blew with an unfelt breeze and, before all of them, the glass became whole again.

  “It’s not going to let us out,” Gabriel said. “John, you and George take Father Dolan into the ballroom and make him as comfortable as you can.”

  Damian Jackson heard the instructions, but his eyes were on the window. It looked as if he had never assaulted it with two heavy wooden chairs. Through the sheer curtain, Damian could see other people on the front porch as they tried communicating with him through the glass. Then as everyone watched, a coldness came through the first floor of Summer Place. It went past Jackson and slammed into the front wall. They watched as the pane of glass frosted over.

  “Kennedy!” Jackson called. “This has gone too far. Call off your people, wherever you have them hidden, we have an injured man here.”

  Gabriel shook his head as he joined Jackson at the window.

  “You just won’t understand, will you? This house is waking up. Get that through your head, damn it. For now, we have to figure out what awakened it.” He turned and ran for the ballroom, followed by one of the two sets of camera and soundmen.

  With the two film crews going on instinct and with no real direction, and Julie sequestered in a far corner of the ballroom to speak quietly with the production van, Gabriel checked on Father Dolan, who had been stretched out on one of the large billiard tables. Jennifer Tilden and George Cordero had the elderly priest awake and it looked like he had suffered no more than a broken right leg and possibly a concussion. In the corner, Julie cut her conversation with Dalton short when she saw that Gabriel was approaching Father Dolan. She waved the closest of the camera and soundmen toward the billiard table. Lionel Peterson saw the gathering and moved off to join Damian Jackson as he entered the ballroom.

  “How is he?” Gabriel asked Jenny.

  “For someone who was dragged up a flight of stairs, he’s doing remarkably well,” she said. She was wrapping the Father’s leg in one of the sheer curtains from the ballroom’s window.

  “Keep him warm. In case you haven’t noticed, winter’s set in down here.” Kennedy blew out a deep sigh to demonstrate the frosting of his breath.

  “Professor, I’m sorry for what I did,” Father Dolan said, struggling with his words.

  Gabriel placed a hand on the man’s chest and patted it. “You just lay still, we’ll try to get you some help.”

  “I have a feeling that may be more of a problem than you know.” Dolan raised a hand and pointed toward one of the plate glass windows. Wallace Lindemann was using one of the ornate barstools to smash at the glass, but every time he struck the frosted glass, the barstool would rebound as if he were hitting a pane of pure rubber.

  Julie Reilly stepped up with the camera crew right behind her.

  “Professor, can you absolutely rule out a set-up? You and your team members were actually in a tug of war with something on that staircase. What can you tell us?”

  Gabriel smiled and shook his head. Then he looked around the room. It seemed that everyone was watching him, waiting for the explanation that would make sense of the sudden shift in Summer Place.

  “Something changed in the few minutes leading up to the attack. An element may have been introduced that brought this slumbering beast to wakefulness.”

  “So what is the plan for the Supernaturals, Professor?”

  “First, we have to try and get Father Dolan and the non-essential personnel out of the house. Failing that, we will have to secure them in the ballroom.”

  The lights flickered once more and a whoosh of wind traveled from upstairs. It hit the ballroom doors with such force that it slammed both doors closed. Wallace Lindemann was so taken by surprise that he dropped his
barstool and quickly made his way over to Damian Jackson and Lionel Peterson.

  “Jesus, it must be thirty degrees in here.”

  “This woman, ladies and gentlemen, is the producer of Hunters of the Paranormal, Ms. Kelly Delaphoy. She has decided to join the inside team,” Julie said. The camera, with its regular light lens, zoomed in on Kelly’s face. She looked frightened, but exhilarated.

  The second camera team moved closer to the detective and Lionel Peterson just as Wallace Lindemann joined them. Damian interrupted his conversation long enough to push the camera and its operator back.

  “I told you, I am not to be on the air. Now get away,” he hissed.

  The camera and soundmen backed away just as the lights went out, and then just as suddenly came back on. Outside the house, the harsh rumble of thunder immediately followed a flash of lightning.

  “As we make plans for how to handle the sudden awakening of Summer Place, it seems we have an enormous storm cell moving into the valley. I am informed by our production crew that the winds have picked up and the sudden heavy rainfall has caught several of our support technicians off guard,” Julie explained, moving around the ballroom with her camera team in tow.

  Inside the production van, Harris Dalton allowed Julie to run with it. He looked to the preview monitor and saw that they were cued up for an extended commercial run in case something happened that required them to do things they didn’t want the viewing audience to see. Thus far, New York had confirmed that they were indeed going out live and that ratings were still falling. That meant that no matter what, the CEO was telling him in no uncertain terms that they would sink or swim on what Kennedy had to say.

  Harris looked around and saw the empty spaces where a half hour before Lionel Peterson and Wallace Lindemann had been sitting. Kelly’s chair was also empty and he smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. He was alone with complete control and no one looking over his shoulders. He would now go on his gut instinct, which was telling him this was his moment in the sun—the once in a lifetime event that would send his name into the stratosphere. He smiled again and spoke into his microphone.