The Eton Bluff Haunting (Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Book 4)

by Robin G. Austin

  I pick up the bag she left me and take it to the man. He’s not looking any happier than me.

  “She dropped this,” I say, setting it next to him.

  He grunts and unlocks the door. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you like kids?”

  I’m still standing there looking at him when he slams the door in my face.

  Chapter Nine

  §

  Maybelle’s meddling handiwork, I’m thinking as I take the rest of my stuff back to the room and lock the door behind me. I’m not impressed, but I am unnerved and that’s the last thing I need right now. The dead can sense rattled nerves a mile away and they feed off them.

  I take a beer from the mini-bar, balance my really good food on my lap, and turn on the television to distract myself. All three work wonders and thirty minutes later, I’m checking the photos on my iPhone– all twenty of them, appropriately numbered. Loren sent them with an accompanying email with details about each, appropriately numbered. She’s very organized.

  Number one is the barn from ten feet away, two is the door from four feet away, three is the door handle from one foot away. This could take all night. I cut to the chase– number seven, the loft from where Morgan fell to his death.

  There’s actual hay in the barn. I thought it was a converted office building. I click through the photos. Hay is everywhere. How much trouble would it be to sweep the place out? There is probably more than one rat’s nest under that hay.

  I go back to the loft photo. It looks to be a good twelve feet high with a skinny ladder I wouldn’t want to climb if I was sick. Why not just go out to his car to take a nap or curl up in the hay downstairs? Better yet, why wasn’t his fall prevented by the ladder or the railing that surrounds the loft? I should have gotten these photos before I left home.

  I put my fingers on the loft and try to get a sense of Morgan sleeping up there. When I don’t, I go back to the photos of the partners. There are four desks arranged in a circle. Then three photos of each desk with their respective users: Zeda, Todd, Owen then sadly, a close up of Morgan’s empty chair.

  Again, I try to get a sense of the guy and once again, I get nothing. I told Loren to include a photo of the kid so I keep clicking until I find him. The last three photos are of a party, if the cake and balloons are clues.

  The photo of Morgan is a lot clearer than the one on the news website. He was a tall kid with lots of bushy brown, curly hair and a pointy chin. He looks like he was having a good time. I put my fingers over his photo and close my eyes. He was having a good time that day and in life. Easy going, not a care in the world, thought he would live forever. Who doesn’t?

  “What happened, Morgan? Did you fall or did Charlie the ghost push you from the loft?” He doesn’t answer and I’m sensing he doesn’t know. I’d like to think that his departed loved ones surrounded him after his fall, and he’s basking in the glow of the white light right now.

  The next photo is Morgan with his arm around Zeda. Owen is standing and staring at Zeda, looking… what?

  “What’s up Owen? Why the sad face?” In my mind, I see a field of tall grass that turns into four-leaf clovers. Luck, good fortune, happiness? Not with that look on his face.

  Owen had been unusually withdrawn on our Skype call. Other than answering Todd on the Spirit Searchers, I don’t recall he said much else. I’m not getting anything malicious from his photo so I’m going to assume that he’s just the serious type or seriously medicated. I’ve got to find out what went on with the Ouija board.

  I’d also like to find out how long Owen has needed meds to calm his nerves. Malicious spirits are overly fond of those with mental disturbances. Drugs and alcohol open their own devious portals to the spirit world.

  The last photo of Morgan is at the same party. He’s got his head thrown back and a spider inches from his open mouth. Todd and Zeda appear to be egging him on. So much for vile and disgusting. Interesting.

  Todd had confirmed what Loren said about Morgan going to the loft for a nap while the other three left to get lunch. I wonder who was the last to leave the barn and make a mental note to find out.

  In my twenty plus years of communicating with spirits, I rarely find one that’s out for blood. They do like to spook people and who wouldn’t? But kill? Not other than by fright. Ghosts prefer the living alive. That way they have the home court advantage. When a ghost gets accused of murder, I have my doubts. My bet is always on the living, and I fear poor Charlie is getting a bad rap here.

  Plus, I have enormous reverence for the Great Spirit and all the gods in the universe. So while I want nothing to do with the spiders that are following me around, I’m not discounting their message even though their hairy lips are sealed in revealing that message.

  It could be that the coroner overlooked spider venom in lieu of too much cold medicine. Charlie’s vile and disgusting habit of decapitating spiders may actually be his way of trying to warn the kids and save them from a deadly bite. Problem with that theory is that when ghosts bite, they usually like to chomp on humans. So who else could be doing the decapitating?

  I google poisonous spiders in Minnesota. The Northern Black Widow is fifteen times more deadly than a rattlesnake, according to one website. Symptoms are cramping, vomiting, increased blood pressure, irregular heartbeat, spasm, and tremors. Any number of those symptoms could have caused Morgan to slip and fall off the ladder. Charlie’s definitely getting a bad rap so I’m staying far away from the police investigation.

  I focus back on the photos and what Loren is calling hot spots. According to her email, there are two of these in the barn. One along the east wall and one near the entrance. And none at all in the loft.

  I spend time trying to sense menacing energy from the other photos. I’m forty minutes into the task and am falling asleep when I get to the one in the east corner. There’s a big bale of hay marking the spot or maybe covering it up. I put my fingers over it and jerk them away. Not because I felt something, but because I heard a shout.

  “Did you hear anything?” I ask Mojo, who is stretched out on the bed next to mine. He ignores me.

  I listen awhile then try the photo again, this time with my eyes and ears open. No shout, but my fingers feel like they’re melting through my phone. Definitely a hot spot.

  “Give me a vision,” I ask the gods. I feel jerked right off the bed even though I haven’t moved an inch. It seems like I’m watching a movie in reverse, one that’s in shadowy black– very Draculodeon. Whatever happened in the barn, happened years ago. I can’t see anyone, but I can feel the old energy and the angry voices and fear. Then I’m running and I don’t think I’m in the barn anymore.

  Tears are streaming down my face when I open my eyes. What happened? An argument that turned into a fight with one person escaping? And maybe one person left in the corner of the barn, dead and haunting it still. So why the tears? And whose are they because I know they’re not mine. It feels like it was a lovers’ quarrel, one more hostile than loving.

  I go to the bathroom and splash cold water over my face. I’m out of breath and feeling like I really did run from the barn. Two sad lovers and only one who left that night. Whatever happened in the barn, it left a good deal of residual energy behind, and apparently, one very unhappy apparition to keep the memory alive.

  It’s late and my psychic vision has left me exhausted and deeply saddened as only a heartbreak could. It’s time the poor spirit left this earth and its broken heart behind. I get ready for bed while trying to clear my mind of this bitter tale.

  Once in bed, I reach for my phone to set my alarm. “Did you do this?” I ask. Mojo raises his head and stares at my phone. Then he grunts and closes his eyes.

  I go back to the bathroom and use a tissue to wipe what’s left of a tiny decapitated spider off my phone. “Message received,” I tell the spirit gods. “No need to send more spiders to get my attention. I’m on the job– body, mind, and broken heart.”

  I get in bed and turn o
ff the light. Mojo’s doing puppy noises in his dreams. The few cars on the road in front of the hotel are making a soft and hypnotic sound like swish, hum, swish, hum. Two days of my own driving evaporate into the bed. When I’m too deeply relaxed to move a fraction of an inch, tiny, hairy legs rush across my face.

  Chapter Ten

  §

  Spider Central is thirty minutes from the hotel. I get a sausage and egg sandwich at a drive-thru and a mandatory coffee at Caribou, the latter is mandated per Loren in her email. According to her, I can’t leave Minnesota without at least one cup of the best coffee on the planet. She’s a hoot.

  Caribou Coffee is to Minnesota what Starbucks is to the rest of the world. Their registered tag line is Life is short. Stay awake for it. Not very poetic, but I have to agree and I’m ready for it to work its magic on me. It doesn’t disappoint.

  Unfortunately, my GPS does disappoint. When I turn off the highway onto a dirt road, it thinks I’ve arrived at my destination. There’s no barn in sight. I find Loren’s directions on my phone. They say to go a mile after I turn off the highway at the Free Range sign then curve to the left and drive another five to fifteen minutes depending on how fast I go.

  Nine minutes later, I see the big red building. The photo didn’t do it justice. It looks like it should have been condemned a few years ago and not just because it’s leaning to one side– a lot. There are two cars parked at the side and a hand painted sign above the double doors of a black spider that looks like a tattoo. Very high tech.

  I park the jeep and am drawn to the field in back of the barn. My queasy stomach tells me this is the same place where I ran last night in my mind. I close my eyes and try to get a sense of the energy. The air is warm and filled with sweet hints of jasmine and wild ginger and pesticide-free grasses. I should feel relaxed, but I feel out of breath. Still, I have an uncomfortable urge to run for my life.

  “Can we help you with something?”

  Some fifty feet behind me is the Spider crew looking puzzled and nervous.

  “Look guys, it’s Jackie.” This comes from Zeda.

  I wave and walk back to them. Mojo slips out of the tall grass and the boys retreat.

  “It’s Jack,” I say. “And Mojo, wolfdog and certified ghost tracker.”

  The boys relax. Zeda is showering the wolfdog with hugs. He’s giving me the evil eye; he’s not a hugger.

  “Shall we go inside?” Todd says. The kid’s bouncing on his heels.

  I follow them into the barn. It’s still filled with hay.

  “Welcome to Spider Central,” Todd says, throwing his arms wide open. “You are one of the few who will ever see our humble beginnings. No photos without assistance from the staff, please.” He laughs, but I can tell he means it.

  The first thing I think of the place is that the building inspector better not see it or their beginnings will be short lived. It’s a wonder the police didn’t report the place or that the workers’ comp inspector let it re-open.

  It’s a barn, one not even fit for horses or cows. Plywood’s been nailed in random places where sunlight still sneaks through. Electrical cords are draped haphazardly and secured by wire clothes hangers for the computers, lights, and space heaters; the latter of which are surrounded by hay.

  “I meant to ask you where you came up with the name Spider?”

  Todd and Zeda exchange wide grins and Todd says, “Spider webs. Capturing visitors. Not letting them off the website. It’s brilliant.”

  A brilliantly bad omen, I think.

  “This way,” Todd says, sweeping his arm. He’s probably twenty, twenty-two at the most with a rail thin body, spiky black hair, and according to a bright orange glow swirling around his head, he’s on a quest for success.

  I follow him to the back of the barn where Mojo is already sniffing for mice or rats or spiders. Zeda is chatting beside me about random things. I’m sensing an attention disorder. Owen’s gone to his computer and he’s looking medicated.

  “This is a Charlie hang out,” Todd says, pointing at a stack of hay.

  “The east corner Loren said was a hot spot?” I ask

  Todd nods. “He doesn’t like us being back here. There’s the hot spot at the entrance, but he’s okay with us using the space—

  “It’s where he leaves some of his… bounty when he isn’t putting it elsewhere,” Zeda says.

  Todd groans. “The headless spiders. I think they’re a satanic offering or something.”

  We go to stand next to the front door. I kneel down to look at a dozen or more spider bodies. They look to be more the workmanship of humans than ghosts, though I’ve seen stranger things.

  “Where’s elsewhere?” I ask.

  Todd says they find headless spiders in their coffee cups, coat pockets, and donut boxes. He warns me to keep my boots on. We go around the back corner to a card table– otherwise known as the lunchroom.

  They have donuts and cookies and more Caribou coffee for me. They regret not having anything for Mojo and promise to make it up to him tomorrow. The wolfdog’s attitude softens when he hears this, and he leaves us to get back to the rodents and spiders.

  Todd points to the four desks across from us that are positioned in a circle. “That’s our work area.” He cautions me not to look at their computer screens since what they are doing is top secret, though he doubts I’d understand any of it anyway. The few years age difference between us has me feeling like his grandmother.

  “And that’s the loft,” Todd says. Zeda hangs her head.

  “No activity up there?” I ask.

  “None before that we noticed. We’ve all been up there. Not anymore though.” Todd glances at Zeda. She’s got a donut and is picking the sprinkles off one at a time and according to color. “Maybe it’s a hot spot now.” He looks at Zeda then back to me and yells, “Sit down.”

  Zeda goes to microwave the coffee. She tells me to check inside– top too– if I use it. “Spiders explode when you microwave them.”

  “So how’s this going to work?” Todd asks.

  I explain that I need to get a sense of the energy in the place, and see if I can make a connection with the spirit. “Like I said in our phone conversation, it’s best that I work when no one else is here.”

  “We got you a key,” Zeda says, pulling it off a ring. “It was Morgan’s. I hope it doesn’t have any bad energy.”

  “Actually, it might help me connect with him.” I regret my words when I see tears in her eyes. I cringe and wait for her to ask me if I’ll try, but she doesn’t so I go on. “Then I’ll need to learn the barn’s history. Did you find out anything on it since we spoke last?”

  Todd nods. He talked to the Silvers and they gave him the phone number of the guy they bought the barn from. Todd says he’s an old guy who’s lived around here a long time so he’ll probably know a thing or two. He gives me a scrap of paper with the number and the man’s name.

  “This will really help, thanks. So the Silvers have returned to the area?”

  “No. They’re back to meeting with investors.”

  Interesting. I go on to explain that spirits don’t haunt a place without cause. “They have unfinished business or they’re confused. I have to know who they are so I can help them.”

  “Just like they’re real people,” Zeda says.

  “They were real people and now they need help to crossover. I help them go to the light.”

  “Or the dark, as in Charlie’s case.” Todd’s eyes get beady.

  I ask if there are any updates on the investigation on Morgan’s death. Zeda jumps up and says Todd is my designated ghost guide then grabs a handful of cookies and goes back to her desk.

  “They aren’t telling us anything. We don’t ask that detective either because we already know who did it. She’s wasting everyone’s time.”

  “Tell me again why you’re so sure it was the ghost.”

  Todd shrugs, “Who else could have done it?”

  “The cold medicine? A pois
onous spider? He slipped and fell?”

  “There was no cold medicine anywhere and if the spiders were poisonous, we’d all be dead. Morgan was pushed.”

  “So why do you stay here?”

  “This is our business. What else can we do? We make sure that we look after each other. Nobody stays here alone anymore.”

  “Okay, but I’ll need time to myself in order to work. When do you leave for the day?”

  Todd says they work fourteen hour days in order to compete in the social media market. He says they’ll give me a couple of hours while they break for lunch and that it’s all mine at night, but that I better be careful.

  “Have you talked to the Spirit Searchers?” I ask.

  “Nope.”

  “Aren’t you concerned about them?”

  He shrugs. “They were a little flakey. The first time they came, they showed up with tuning forks and crystals then did some chanting. I’m sure they’ll come back to get the equipment when they need it.”

  I ask for their phone number and he says they only communicated online. I take a deep breath, glance over at Owen, and ask in a near whisper, “Tell me about the night you used the Ouija board.”

  Todd’s eyes get big and he glances over at Owen too. “We wanted to convince Loren about Charlie. You know, so she would pay you to come here.” He’s playing with the donut sprinkles, and I want to slap his hand.

  “It was here at this table. We had the board and a candle. It was spooky enough just doing that.” He’s talking so low now I have to lean in.

  “We asked to speak to Charlie. We asked him if he was haunting us so that we’d leave. We asked him if he was killing the spiders. He wouldn’t answer. The thing you use on the board never moved an inch. We decided to give up. Then Zeda asked him why he killed Morgan. She was really mad at him. She yelled at him and the candle went out. We heard a gunshot inside the barn and we all got under the table.”