by Rod Redux
Francis looked from face to face. He seemed surprised by the concern he saw in their eyes. He finally managed to shake off his malaise and answered in a rush:
“I’m not sick. I got attacked by a ghost!”
2
“I’m having second thoughts about this,” Robert Forester said reluctantly, and Billy, who was unsurprised by the man’s declaration, tried to decide how best to sooth the troubled man’s fears.
The house’s new owner had asked to speak with Billy in private shortly after they escorted Francis into the parlor. He had sidled up to Billy after they had Francis situated and said it under his breath. Forester had walked away to let Billy tell the others, waiting anxiously in the hallway with his hands in his pockets, and then the two men had removed themselves to the kitchen.
Raj had fired Billy an anxious glance as he left the group, worried that Forester was going to say exactly what he just said five seconds ago, but Raj trusted that Billy, whom Forester seemed to have taken a shine to, could talk the man out of any hasty decisions. He didn’t insist on joining them. Instead, the director had silently joined the rest of the team to help finish putting the “command center” together in the parlor. That, and check in on Francis, who was still pretty shaken up.
It was probably the smartest thing Raj could have done, Billy reflected. Forester didn’t seem the type to respond well to Raj’s brand of cool rationality. Billy just hoped he could charm the house’s owner out of changing his mind.
The kitchen of the Forester House, like the rest of the rooms in the sprawling estate, seemed smaller than it actually was. It loomed, Billy thought, like it was getting ready to pounce. Yet it was in surprisingly good repair, despite the years of abandonment. The walls and ceiling and windows and doors were all just the tiniest bit off kilter from decades of creeping subsidence, but the placed looked completely livable, if in need of a good spring cleaning.
There had to have been someone working for Robert’s aunt, Billy thought absently. A handyman keeping the place up, and recently, too. Billy had been in enough abandoned buildings to know just how fast they fell into decay once they were deserted. But Forester had no idea who, if his aunt had contracted some local to look after the place, that handyman might have been. A brave soul, that was for sure! The fellow Rob had hired to help him prepare the house for the shoot had walked off the job shortly after starting, Rob had said.
Not that Billy could blame the guy, not the way the house seemed to shift subtly toward you as you moved through its gloomy halls. It was an optical illusion-- due to all the odd angles -- but it was disturbing nonetheless.
But back to Forester.
“Second thoughts? What’s the problem exactly?” Billy asked, running a finger through the dust on the surface of the chopping block island. He felt like a heel, pretending to be surprised. He knew exactly why Robert Forester was having misgivings. He wiped his hand off on his jeans.
“What’s the problem?” Forester snorted. He said it without anger, which was good. At least he wasn’t blaming them.
Forester ordered his arguments, then said, somewhat apologetically, “You haven’t even started yet, and there have already been two incidents!”
“Two incidents?”
“Yes! First, your ladyfriend—“
“Jane.”
“Yes… Jane. She was really rattled last night. Hell, so was I! And now that little fellow in there! He looks like he’s ready to keel over any second!”
Billy smiled. “Well, first of all, Francis always looks like he’s going to keel over any second. He has a genetic disorder. It’s so rare there’s not even a name for it, actually, but that’s why he’s so small and pale. I know he looks like he’s about sixteen years old, but he’s one of the most renowned mediums in the world. He might be scrawny, but he’s pretty resilient. Whatever happened to him down at the highway, he’ll pull out of it. In fact, I think you’ll be amazed what that little dude can do if you give him a chance. I mean that sincerely. I was just as skeptical of all that psychic stuff as the next guy… until I saw it with my own eyes.”
“That’s part of the problem,” Robert interjected.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not a skeptic. I believe in all of that shit. If you say that guy’s a top of the line psychic, I believe you, but that just supports my argument. He couldn’t handle what this house threw at him, and your ladyfriend Jane was run off the road last night, and I know it was this house that did that, too. You guys might be old hands at this ghostbusting stuff, but this house is an old hand at busting you ghostbusters. It did it in the twenties, with my great uncles and their gang, and it’s already starting on you guys, too. I’ve always known the history, but I didn’t realize just how malicious this place was. Not until today. Not until I saw that little guy out there. He’s white as a sheet. It looks like something drained the life right out of him.” Forester fixed Billy with a pleading look. “I just don’t want to be responsible if anything were to happen to any of you guys. You all seem so nice. I don’t think I could live with the guilt.”
“I know you think it’s a big deal what happened,” Billy countered. “Jane seeing something and running off the road, Francis getting sick, but we’ve dealt with these types of ‘incidents’ before. It’s part of what we do. You could say it’s our job, even. But I’ll be honest with you, Rob, and I hope it puts you a little more at ease: we’ve seen worse. I don’t want to offend you, but this kind of stuff is par for the course for us.”
It wasn’t exactly true, but it was close enough to the truth for Billy to feel no guilt saying it. He had never seen Francis look so helpless, or known Jane to get rattled like she supposedly had, but they had all had their spooks over the years. Billy himself had seen a specter glaring at him through the bars of an abandoned jailhouse cell. Just a white face with eyes like two raisins shoved into dough, but it had given him nightmares for months. Unseen hands had pushed him down a flight of stairs once, though he had suffered only minor injuries. Scraped knees, a couple bruises. He had had his shirt yanked, felt tendrils of cold run across his flesh in a haunted New Orleans voodoo shop. It was unnerving sometimes, but he’d never once considered quitting the show. Not seriously.
“Really?” Rob asked. “You’re not just saying that to get what you came for?”
“I admit, this is a big opportunity for us,” Bill replied. “This house is world famous, and it’ll be great for our rep, not to mention our ratings, but if I thought we were in real danger, I’d be the first one to suggest we pack it in. It’s just not worth it, and I know everyone else feels the same way.”
Forester didn’t reply, just stood with his shoulders hunched, looking at Billy doubtfully.
“I swear,” Billy insisted, palms open. “And I’ll talk to the others. Tell them what you’re worried about. Make them promise to be extra careful.”
Forester nodded. His shoulders drooped. “Okay,” he sighed. “I guess I believe you.”
“Great.”
“But if things get any crazier, I’m going to call the whole thing off.”
Billy nodded. “If we feel it’s become dangerous, you won’t have to. We’ll pack our stuff and go.”
Forester came around the kitchen island then, approaching the door that Billy was leaning against. Billy stepped aside, thinking he wanted to pass. The heat in the kitchen was stifling, despite the layer of dust caking the windows, and Billy swiped his brow with the back of his arm.
Forester stopped a pace away, looking down at his feet.
Thinking the man needed just a bit more encouragement, Billy put his hand on the homeowner’s slumped shoulder and asked, “Do you have any other concerns, Rob?”
Forester nodded without looking up. “Just one,” he murmured, so low Billy leaned in to hear the rest.
The house’s owner grinned up at him then and said in a stage whisper, “I’m concerned you won’t fuck me before you guys head back home.”
Then he re
ached out with his left hand and squeezed Billy’s cock through his jeans.
3
“Whoa!” Billy yelped. He jumped away instinctively, but the door was to his back. He couldn’t leap far enough to get out of reach.
Forester didn’t let go either. His hand lingered on Billy’s crotch, squeezing him firmly.
“I want you to fuck me tonight,” Rob whispered. “When you guys are doing your sleepover bit. I’ll meet you down here in the kitchen. You can say you came down for something to drink and met me by accident, and we went in back to talk. If anyone notices you gone, that is. There are servant’s quarters back there, through the mudroom. We’ll have plenty of privacy.” Forester removed his hand as he spoke, cocked a thumb toward the door of the screened in porch, which was at the far end of the kitchen.
Wetting his lips, Billy stammered, “Rob, I can’t… that is to say, I’m not…”
Forester shrugged. “It’s all right, man. I’m on the downlow, too. If you aren’t interested, it’s no big deal. I just thought...”
Billy looked nervously over his shoulder. He knew no one was listening through the door, but he couldn’t help himself.
What are you doing? he thought. This is crazy!
If word ever got out, his brothers would disown him. It could affect the show, possibly even damage his career after Ghost Scouts had run its course. It might even kill his mother. And he had a beau--! Ben was not thrilled that Billy had chosen to stay in the closet, but he understood his reasons and wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the choices Billy had made. Despite their issues, and they were innumerable, Billy knew he could trust Ben to keep his secrets.
And yet—Christ, it’s hot in here!—he was very attracted to Forester.
Rob, Billy corrected himself.
Billy’s horrified paralysis alarmed the house’s new owner. Rob stepped away, bringing his hands up. “Hey, if I stepped over the line…”
Billy put his heel against the door behind him, then reached out and grasped the front of Forester’s shirt. He pulled him close and mashed his mouth to the other man’s lips.
Beads of sweat trickled down his cheeks and brow. His heart pounded in his chest. Billy didn’t know why he was doing this, taking such a risk, but it felt good. It felt liberating. For one brief moment, he didn’t care if the whole world found out. Fuck them, he thought.
And fuck Rob, too.
A smile twitched at the corners of his lips and he put his tongue in the other man’s mouth.
Yeah, fuck him…
“Whistle when you walk past the door… but soft, okay?” Billy rasped when their kiss broke, then he wiped his mouth and rejoined the others.
4
The sleepover Robert Forester referred to was a long running feature of the Ghost Scouts program, one that had proven to be quite popular with viewers.
It was something that set them apart from other paranormal investigation programs. Unlike their competitors, who filmed a few hours and then called it a day, the Ghost Scouts slept at the sites they investigated. The network promoted this unique feature of the show with advertising campaigns like “Would you stay the night in a haunted house? The Ghost Scouts do!” and an annual Halloween contest for the fans called Slumber Party With the Ghost Scouts.
It was really just an excuse for some tame voyeuristic titillation, as the Ghost Scout team changed into their jammies-- some quite revealing or made of very thin material-- and bunked down in front of the cameras. It also made for some mild suspense, as each member of the team had, at one time or another, been startled by strange occurrences and unexplained bumps in the night.
Their perceived vulnerability heightened the tension, while the partial nudity, as modest as it admittedly was, helped to speed up viewers’ heart rates.
There had even been a couple minor wardrobe malfunctions over the years. Tish’s nipples had shown clearly through a silky pj blouse one episode, and in another, Allen, who had been wearing boxers, was awakened by a loud thump and jumped out of bed to investigate. As he swung his legs out of bed, for a very brief instant, a bit of skin could be seen in the gap of his shorts leg. There was a big hullabaloo online over whether it was his penis or scrotum showing. One thing was for certain: the ratings shot through the roof, as viewers vied to be the first to catch another flash of Ghost Scout flesh. Billy had even heard that some of their fans advanced through the sleepover segments frame by frame on their DVRs, hoping to be the first to post a nipple slip or the clear outline of someone’s schlong on the internet.
It was a genius stroke of marketing, the whole team agreed, even though none of them particularly enjoyed being objectified like that.
Who would? Not to mention, they often had to sleep on pallets on the floor in cold creepy structures.
They faked it on occasion, if their surroundings were too miserable or dangerous, bunking down only long enough to get the footage they needed for the segment. They were careful with that, though. It would hurt their credibility if it were ever discovered.
Despite the undercurrent of sexuality that made the sleepover segments so interesting to their viewers, Billy didn’t believe any of the team had actually done anything overtly sexual during their overnighters. There was plenty of vulgarity to laugh at when they went over the raw footage—sleeping farts and scratching, mainly… the occasional boner—but those were always edited out. Little Dan claimed to have hooked up with some family’s college age daughter once, but his account of the incident was highly suspect.
Billy wondered, as he returned to the parlor, if he dare try to hook up with the Forester House’s owner, and why he would risk exposing himself for something he wasn’t even sure he wanted to do.
Raj glanced up from the command center monitors as Billy entered the parlor, Rob Forester a pace behind him. Tish and Jane were tending to Francis, who was looking much steadier now, thank goodness. At the far side of the room, near the fireplace, Allen was helping Little Dan with one of the Sony HD cameras while Big Dan watched over their shoulders.
“Everything all right?” Raj asked. Very casual.
Billy smiled. “Everything’s fine. But Rob wants me to ask you all to do him a favor…”
Establishing Shots
1
“You know what creeps me out the most about this place?” Big Dan asked as he walked around the corner to the east side of the house.
“What’s that, big guy?” Allen asked distractedly.
Dan Jakes stopped and faced Allen, lowering the Sony HD camera in his hands. He was a huge man with thinning red hair and jowly features, a Viking who had long since passed his prime, but standing in the shadow of the Forester House, he was strangely diminished. It was like a forced perspective shot.
“It’s this fucking silence!” Dan stage whispered. He glanced toward the house out of the corner of his eyes, as if he feared the building might be eavesdropping.
Allen laughed, forgetting his own troubles for a moment. “I can probably explain that,” he said.
“Please do,” Dan replied.
Dan and Allen had come outside to do some exterior establishing shots while they still had some daylight. Hoping to mollify the house’s owner, Raj had promised Forester that no one on the team would venture off alone if it could be helped. Allen believed it would become a nuisance very quickly, but he understood why Raj had made the concession. This was just too big an opportunity to let Forester’s paranoia gum up the works. There’d be hell to pay with the big boys back at the network if they were forced to pack their bags and come home empty-handed.
Allen turned now and swept his arm across the surrounding hills. Forester House stood at the apex of a rugged ridge, giving it a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. Acres of dark piney forest marched into the misty distance, one sharp rise after another. In the summer haze, the trees looked like tired soldiers trudging across a smoky battlefield.
“It’s the way the land lays,” Allen explained. “You know how they use tha
t ridged foam in the sound studio, the stuff that looks like a bunch of ice cream cones?”
“Yeah,” Dan said dubiously, squinting across the receding hills.
“Well, it’s like the foam panels in the recording booth. The geometry of the land is obviously diffusing the sound waves, channeling them around or away from the house.”
Dan arched his eyebrows and nodded, as if to say, “Ah! Now I understand!” but he was unconvinced. Yes, the atmosphere at the top of the ridge was strangely muted, but his ears could detect the difference between natural audible phenomena and this property’s… peculiar silence. He might be getting older, but he wasn’t that deaf yet.
Perhaps it was because he lived in the suburbs. Allen, as well as the rest of the crew, lived in the city. They were used to city sounds, or more appropriately, they were used to ignoring city sounds: the constant rumble and honk of the traffic, the babble of human voices, the clangs, the squeals, the sirens. Dan lived in the ‘burbs, in a big house next to a park, at the end of a long and quiet residential street. Every now and then, he heard a solitary car cruise along the street nearby, but that was the extent of the traffic noise he had to endure. When he wasn’t working, he usually sat on the back porch with his wife, listening to the frogs croaking and the birds chirping as he drank beer and farted around with crossword puzzles. He didn’t even have to put up with female conversation, as his wife Rhoda was a quiet woman who was content to sit and smoke and enjoy the solitude with him.
The city slickers he worked with thought the quiet here at Forester House was due to the lack of urban white noise, but it wasn’t just the absence of traffic sounds that disturbed Dan. It was the absence of nature’s sounds that made the alarms go off in his head. There were no frogs croaking, no birds twittering, no insects buzzing. There was just the sound of the wind in the treetops, and the creaking of their boughs as they shifted in those slow and invisible tides.