by Ike Hamill
“Was it damaged at all when you burned it?” asked Gary. He handed the hand back to Bill, who placed it back in the freezer.
“Not that I can tell,” said Bill. “But it was always black, from the first day. I think it was probably black by the time they got it to the hospital.”
Mike tried to regain his composure. “Any other activity?”
“Sure,” said Bill. “Tons.”
“Such as?” asked Mike.
Bill stubbed out his half-finished butt on his shoe and tossed it away—“Come find out. You have any cameras or recorders or anything?”
“I probably have some in the trunk,” said Mike, patting his pockets for his keys.
“No, don’t,” said Bill. “In fact, if you’ve got cell phones with cameras or anything, you should probably leave them here.”
Mike sighed and glanced to Gary.
“When people say that, it usually means that they’ve got their house rigged for special effects and stuff, Bill,” Gary explained.
Bill laughed. “Yeah, okay. Go ahead then, take your cameras. You won’t get any good pictures, but I guarantee that you’re camera’s going to get fucked up. This thing does not want to be documented. You’ll see some shit either way, but it might be expensive for you if you take equipment.”
Gary shrugged and Mike nodded.
“Lead the way then,” said Mike.
“Okay,” said Bill. “Let me just say: aside from the carpenter, nobody has been physically hurt. Plenty of people have had the shit scared out of them. Literally, in one case. Just keep your cool and don’t let it know you’re afraid.”
“Got it,” said Mike.
Katie brought up the rear and paused when she caught up to Mike. “Should I come too?” she asked.
“Of course,” said Mike. “It’s your case.”
Bill grabbed the handle of the door to the house and turned to address his company again—“This is the last time we talk openly about it,” he warned. “Once we’re in that house, nobody is to acknowledge anything they hear or see. It only makes it more feisty, and I have to sleep here tonight.”
Gary and Katie nodded.
“Got it,” repeated Mike.
“Okay,” said Bill. “Keep your wits. When you’re ready to go, you ask me to see something out in the garage.”
“Got it,” Mike said a third time.
Bill narrowed his eyes at Mike and nodded slowly. He pulled open the door and showed them into the house. Once through the door, they found themselves in a small mud room with two steps up to a modest kitchen.
Mike scanned the room and found it clean and well-appointed. He glanced at the light fixtures and the ceiling corners, but found no sign of dust or cobwebs. His eyes darted down to the floors. The old wide-pine boards showed wear from the years, but were well-finished and as clean as the counters.
“So you live alone?” he asked.
“Yup,” said Bill.
“How old is the house?”
“This part is eighteen-seventies,” said Bill. “The living room is older, maybe eighteen-ten, but that sunroom and the garage were added about twenty years ago.”
“And the second floor is being remodeled?” asked Mike. He was attempting to extract further information without violating Bill’s request to not mention the entity.
“Yeah, you want to see?” asked Bill, playing along.
“Sure,” said Mike.
“Right this way,” said Bill. He led them past a warm dining room to the front stairs. He gestured for them to head up. Mike went first, looking up and around as he scaled the stairs. He gripped the handrail tight.
Halfway up the stairs, Mike was stopped by a noise from above. He heard a child’s giggle, reverberating in a large, open room. He slowed but didn’t completely stop and looked down the steps to Bill, who kept his expression neutral at the bottom of the stairs. Mike shrugged and continued up the steps, followed closely by Gary and Katie.
As he continued his climb, Mike noticed a significant drop in the air temperature. He couldn’t feel any wind, but he felt a pressing cold and exhaled through his mouth, but failed to see his breath.
“Chilly up here,” he said to Bill.
“No insulation,” Bill said from the foot of the stairs.
“You coming up?” asked Mike.
“Right behind you.”
When Mike’s foot hit the top step he heard a quick patter of a child’s footsteps, running away through one of the gutted rooms. The second floor looked nearly as he had expected—hollow walls made of two-by-fours, bare of any drywall. The space was lit by several work lights, clamped to studs and rafters. He stopped at the top of the stairs.
“This doesn’t even look halfway done,” said Mike.
“Yeah,” said Bill. “Contractor quit.”
“You found another one?” asked Mike.
“Not yet,” Bill replied.
“What’s that?” Katie asked, pointing through an unfinished wall to the adjacent room.
When Mike looked in the direction she pointed, he wondered how he could have missed the swinging orange cable. He stepped between the studs and approached. From the rafters, a hangman’s noose, made from a thick extension cable, swung at neck level. He circled the noose and leaned in to look at the dark stains on the lower part of the loop.
“WHAA!” Katie shrieked from the stairs. She twisted to her right and clawed at her back pocket with both hands, spinning until she dug her cell phone from her pocket and cast it to the floor. Gary leaned down to look at the phone, placing his hands on his knees and peering intently.
“I think it’s melting,” said Gary.
“It was hot!” exclaimed Katie. “It burned my ass.” She clutched at her buttocks.
“You need ice?” asked Bill.
“No,” said Katie, “it’s not that bad. I guess I was more surprised than anything else."
Katie and Mike joined Gary around the phone. Bill stayed at the top of the stairs and leaned against the wall. Gary reached forward and touched the corner of the phone.
“Yup,” he said. “That’s really hot.”
“What would make it do that?” asked Katie.
“Bad battery?” suggested Mike. “Or maybe some kind of electro-magnetic radiation." He looked up at Bill.
“Don’t look at me,” said Bill. “I don’t even have power run up here. I’ve got extension cords for the lights.”
“I don’t think you could melt the case with EMF,” said Gary. “Must be the battery. Look—it’s getting hotter every second.”
Bill rummaged around at the back of the house for a second and then approached. He held out a fire extinguisher for Gary, who took it with a question in his eyes.
“Go ahead,” said Katie. “I don’t think it’s ever going to work again anyways.”
Gary pulsed the fire extinguisher at the phone-puddle a couple of times until it looked mostly solid. They watched it for another few seconds before they were convinced that it wasn’t going to erupt in flames. Gary wiped his shoes on the back of his jeans to clean off the white dust.
“Why don’t you give us the tour?” Mike asked Bill.
“Sure thing,” said Bill.
A burst of child laughter from the far corner of the house caught Mike’s attention. He moved decisively and ducked through a couple of walls to try to see the source, but when he reached the corner he found nothing but plywood and unfinished walls.
Mike returned to the group still gathered near the phone.
“Did you see anything?” asked Gary.
Bill held up a cautionary hand.
“Hey,” Mike said to Bill, “do you think we could see that thing out in the garage.”
“Sure,” said Bill. “After you,” he said, pointing the trio towards the steps.
They marched back through the house without comment until Bill had pulled shut the garage door behind them.
“You shouldn’t have asked if he saw anything,” Bill said, pointing to G
ary. “You just acknowledged that you both heard something.”
“Sorry, man,” said Gary. “I didn’t mean anything. It just slipped out.”
“That thing gets off on being noticed,” said Bill.
“Yes, we know, Bill,” said Mike. “He just slipped up, that’s all. Is there any chance we could check out the place alone for a few minutes?”
“What do you mean?” asked Bill.
“Exactly that,” explained Mike. “You jump in the car and run down to the corner store or something. Anything to get you off the property so we can understand if its power is connected to your presence.”
“That happens a lot,” said Katie, backing up Mike.
“I don’t think so,” said Bill. “What if something happens? I don’t want that responsibility.”
“We’re not going to agitate it, or even acknowledge it. Trust me, we know that lesson. We just have a couple of possibilities that we can only rule out if you’re not here,” said Mike.
“Like what?”
“Well, it could be a doppleganger. Those don’t have their own representation, they’re just a reflection of a person. It’s said that if you’re good, your doppleganger will be evil, and vice versa. But either way, it’s connected to you, and has no power without you.”
“So you’re saying that I’m haunting the second floor?” asked Bill.
“No, not at all,” said Mike. “We just have to discount the possibility that this thing is using your own energy to manifest. It won’t take long, just give us ten minutes to poke around and then we’ll decide when to come back with the full equipment.”
“I want your word that you won’t try to antagonize it,” said Bill.
“You’ve got it,” agreed Mike immediately.
“Okay then, but this is on you,” Bill crossed to the front of the garage and lifted the outside door. “I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you so much,” said Mike.
While Bill pulled the overhead door shut and then started his car, Mike talked about the type of equipment they would bring back to investigate the house. Once they heard Bill pull away, he turned to address his colleagues seriously.
“We don’t have much time. What do you think?” he asked.
“I don’t think it’s a hoax,” said Gary. “I didn’t get that vibe at all. People who try to hoax us usually go overboard with shit.”
“Maybe he’s not a very smart fake,” suggested Katie.
“You’ve really turned the corner since the phone call,” Mike noticed.
“That phone thing pisses me off. I think he had a hand in that,” she said. She glanced around the garage. “What if this place is bugged?”
“Could be, but don’t worry about it,” said Mike. “If the place is bugged then he’s definitely a fake. If he calls us out then we pull the plug.”
“So what did you think?” Katie asked Mike.
“I didn’t have any sense of foreboding or danger,” said Mike. “That swinging noose was cheesy. He could have done that a million ways. I vote for hoax. Maybe some hidden speakers in a couple of spots. He practically begged us to go provoke a response. I say we go back in and call the thing out and see what happens.”
“Let’s do it,” said Katie.
“Good,” said Mike. “Gary, how about you check around the building? Look for an accomplice or any kind of remote controls. Let us know if he comes back while we’re still in there.”
“Got it,” said Gary.
“After you,” Mike said, holding the door open for Katie. Gary headed for the door to the outside.
Pausing in the kitchen, Katie flipped through a stack of mail on the counter.
“There’s a bunch of stuff addressed to Trudy. Do you think she still lives here?” Katie asked.
“I still get stuff addressed to my grandparents, and they’ve been dead for years. I think he lives alone.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Katie.
“He’s got one plate and one fork there next to the sink,” said Mike. “I do the same thing. I have one plate that I eat from and then clean it right after I eat. I never go in the cabinet or use the dishwasher.”
To prove his point, Mike opened the dishwasher. The interior gleamed—dry and empty.
“What about pots and pans?” asked Katie.
“Don’t need them,” said Mike. He hunted through the cabinets until he found the trash can. When he pulled it halfway out of its space, he found what he expected. “Just frozen dinners and fast food. He’s a man after my own heart.”
“Ugh,” Katie stuck out her tongue. “How do you survive?”
“Fat and happy,” said Mike, patting his belly. “Do you feel anything weird in here? Any feeling of dread?”
“Not really,” said Katie. “But you and Gary seem to have a radar for that stuff. I’m like oblivious most of the time.”
“Really?” asked Mike, leaving the kitchen and heading back to the front stairs. “What about when we’ve seen legitimately paranormal stuff? Like Bruce’s grandmother.”
“Nope,” she shook her head.
Mike paused at the bottom of the steps. “Try to open yourself to it. Try to lower your defenses and just feel.”
“Okay,” Katie nodded.
They mounted the stairs and rose deliberately, looking up as they stepped. Mike noticed the cold shift in the air again as he crossed from the lower floor to the upper. He held up a hand and stopped, three steps from the top.
“Something feels different,” said Mike.
Katie passed him and ascended to the top, turning slowly and surveying the floor.
“I don’t feel anything,” she said. “This was what I was talking about.”
They heard a low giggle from the back part of the house. “Huh-huh-huh.”
Katie whipped around and moved her head from side to side, trying to see between the studs. She crept away from the stairs towards the source of the laughter and Mike jogged up the last few stairs to join her. They walked between rows of framed walls—what would eventually be a hallway—until they reached the outline of a future doorframe.
“I think it came from back here,” said Katie. She pointed towards the corner of the framed room. They stood in the back part of the house, where new construction had raised the roofline to accommodate this space. In the corner, the old pitch of the of the roofline made a triangle with the floor for the last couple of feet before the wall. In contrast to the bare rafters overhead, the rafters of the old portion were thick, hand-cut beams, darkened with age and chinked with dirty insulation.
Mike led the way to the corner and ducked down to his hands and knees to investigate the narrow space. “I wonder if there’s a speaker or something tucked into the old part of the ceiling here,” said Mike. He pressed back the insulation and pulled it away from where the ceiling met the plywood flooring. He found nothing but dust and cobwebs. “Could be under the floor I guess.”
“That laugh was odd,” said Katie. “It sounded like a kid’s voice, but it also sounded sad and, I don’t know, mature or something?”
“Weary,” Mike agreed. “It sounded weary from a hard life." Mike gave up his search in the corner and pressed up, out of the narrow corner to a seated position, facing Katie.
His young assistant stood a few feet back with her arms folded.
“I’m not sure,” she said slowly, looking up and focusing on nothing, “but I might be feeling something.”
“Oh yeah?” asked Mike. “What does it feel like?”
“Cold.” She breathed and hugged her arms in closer. “When I was little my dad used to hunt a lot. He’d drive back home with a deer in the back of his truck and then hang it up in the garage to gut it and bleed it out. I don’t know how to describe it, but this is how the garage would feel when a deer was in there. Sometimes I could feel it even in the summer when I was out in the garage. It just felt lonely.”
“That’s good,” said Mike. “You’re opening up. You’re a
llowing yourself to reach out with your senses. Keep going.”
Katie shuddered and blinked several times. “I’m not sure I want to,” she said. “It feels too desolate.”
“You can do it,” Mike said. “Just give yourself permission.”
Katie relaxed her shoulders and lifted her chin. Mike watched as she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and opened them again softer, less focused.
“Good,” he whispered. “What do you feel?”
“It’s cold,” she sighed, “like before. But there’s a spot that’s colder than the rest. It pushes the warmth away. It’s not just cool, it’s like the enemy of heat.”
“Excellent,” said Mike. “You’re doing great. Now reach out to the cold spot and describe it.”
“Okay,” she began. “Wait. I think it’s moving. Yes, but it doesn’t actually move itself. It’s like the world moves around it. I think that…” she trailed off.
“What do you…” Mike was interrupted when the lights shut off. An afterimage of the bare bulb burned in his eyes. He glanced to where the nearest light hung and saw the quickly dimming orange glow of the filament.
Before he could speak a loud series of thumps cascaded from Katie’s direction. When she screamed, he could tell her voice came from floor level. The thumps had been caused by her young body tumbling to the unfinished plywood floor.
“Aaaahhh, no! Birds! Birds!” she shrieked from the floor, several feet into the darkness in front of Mike. Her voice trailed as she wailed, but not because her words diminished in energy. He heard her rapidly moving away from him, into the unfinished hallway, and then towards the stairs.
Mike rose to his knees, prepared to make chase through the utter black when a second loud sound rang out in front of him. He heard the unmistakable whoosh of a heavy door swinging rapidly, followed by a thunderous slam as it clapped shut. Mike jumped to his feet and ran in the direction he expected to find the entry cut into the stud wall. Instead of space punctuated with naked pine studs, Mike’s outstretched arms crashed into a thick wooden door.
Something about the paint which coated the door made him recall his childhood bedroom. He found the cold brass knob, but it wouldn’t turn or pull. The door didn’t move even a hair as he pushed and pulled at the handle. If he hadn’t just heard it shut, Mike might assume it was an ornamental door, bolted to concrete.