by Rick Suttle
“I’ll have to check my schedule, but I think I can.”
“Well, make it a priority. We’ve got to get ready for next Sunday.”
“Okay, boss.”
“And knock off the boss crap.”
“Sorry about that kids,” said Joyce, when she entered the office five minutes later. “Now, let’s talk about your investigation.”
I told Joyce about most of the incidents we’d encountered. Of course, I left out the annex stuff. Joyce seemed even more frightened about the school when I finished our briefing twenty minutes later. Next Monday, we’d have a full reveal for her, which would include recordings, videos, pictures and sketches. A reveal was simply a full account of everything that happened, including evidence.
“I need to download all the vocal and video recordings before I can tell you more.”
“Okay,” said Joyce.
“I’ll call you in the middle of the week.” Joyce nodded. Just then, the lights flickered. A piece of ceiling tile fell down, struck the table and bounced on the floor.
“Oh, dear,” said Joyce.
CHAPTER 14
It goes without saying that most investigations really wipe us out, especially Sarah, because encountering spirits takes its toll on her. That’s why we all hit the sack when we arrived home at ten a.m.—after a breakfast of hotcakes and eggs at Perkins. I didn’t wake up until five in the afternoon and, by then, it was too late to hunt for a summer job. Mike awakened about ten minutes later. He scared the heck out of me when I opened the bathroom door, after a quick pee, and saw him standing in the doorway—head down and hair askew. I guess I was still in ghost hunting mode, though he resembled a zombie more than a spectral being. He brushed past me and closed the door.
I was still half asleep myself as I walked downstairs, doing my own unintentional impersonation of The Walking Dead, and saw Sarah talking to dad in the great room. He appeared to be questioning her about the investigation—still aware of her spasmodic episode at dinner last night. Knowing Sarah, she wouldn’t say anything, although lying to a preacher was probably a cardinal sin.
I walked into the kitchen as the scent of oregano and tomato sauce stirred my nostrils and pried my eyes open. Mom had just dropped the spaghetti into a plastic colander in the sink, when I reached for a plastic cup in the cupboard, pulled the sink tap to the left to avoid splashing the spaghetti and filled my cup with water. I watched the steam rise from the spaghetti as mom shook the colander and watched the last drop of water seep out.
“Hi, sweetie,” she said. “How was your ghost hunting trip?” I gulped the water down and sighed, then filled my cup up again. I was still dehydrated from the humidity of the school.
“It went well. We got some good evidence, but I still need to check my recordings and video shots.” I chugged the water.
“Can you help that woman at the school?”
“I think so,” I said, “but we’ll have to go back.”
“Well, good,” she said, as she set the colander on the sink counter and walked over to the stove. She stirred the sauce a few times, then twisted the burner off. She turned and pointed to the far cupboard.
“Could you get some plates and utensils out for everyone,” she said.
I set my cup down in the sink, pulled what I needed from the cupboard and drawers and set the table.
“Hey, that’s my job,” said Sarah, as she entered the kitchen.
“You can get the glasses, hon.’”
“Okay.” Sarah looked at me and snarled in a kidding way. I shook my head and grinned.
“Sarah told me you had quite an investigation,” said my dad, as he buttered some toast at dinner. I glanced at Sarah, not wanting to volunteer any more details than she had.
“Yes, the school definitely has some spirits.”
“Did you sense anything unusual?” He twirled some spaghetti on his plate and scooped it up. He then eyed me as he held his fork above the plate.
Like last night, unusual meant demonic for my mom’s benefit.
“No. We sensed some children.” My mom’s eyes widened as she stared at me, but she didn’t say anything. She had a built-in filter for such discussions, but still seemed a bit fazed when I mentioned children.
“I see,” said my dad. He munched on his spaghetti and drank some milk. “The children could be a front, you know, so be careful.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mike still looked like a zombie at dinner, so I didn’t pressure him to go to the Green Township library. It was open till nine. But I needed him to get the research done tomorrow so we could start figuring out who the spirits were.
Later that night, I strolled into his room and found him slumped in his desk chair, with his hands covering his face. The Drayson Schoolhouse website peered at me from his computer screen.
“You okay?” I said, as I walked over to his desk. He removed his hands from his face, folded his arms in front and swirled his chair around. He stared at me as he leaned back—his eyes a bit reddened.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just exhausted.”
“We all are.” He nodded.
“I just read several articles about the Drayson Schoolhouse—both on the site and in several online newspapers.” He paused.
“And.”
“Two female teachers died at the school in the 1920s—one in 1924 and the other in 1928.”
“And Sarah sensed two adult females when we came out of the rest rooms.”
“Right.”
“Did it show any pictures?”
“Not anywhere that I looked.” Mike jumped up from his chair. It stunned me as I took a step back. “I bet that book at the library that Joyce mentioned has some pictures in it.”
“Yeah. There are several books actually. Make sure you check them all out.”
“I will,” he said. “And I found a historian in the area who knows a lot about the schoolhouse. A Jake Dansfield.”
“Make an appointment to see him.”
“I just sent him an email.”
“And get some snapshots of any pictures that are relevant to our case.”
“Yes, boss.” Mike saluted me.
“What did I tell you about that boss stuff?”
I left Mike’s room and saw Sarah heading for the bathroom. She was brushing her teeth when I walked in.”
She eyed me in the mirror as she finished brushing. She stuck her mouth under the faucet and rinsed the toothpaste out. She shook the toothbrush over the sink and placed it on the toothbrush rack.
“Can’t a girl get some privacy around here?” she said. She turned and glared at me.
“Sorry. But the door was open.”
“Whatever. What do you want?”
Sarah was always irritable after an investigation because spirits drained her energy, especially when she was jumped, as she’d been in the annex office—and in the basement of the schoolhouse.
“What did dad ask you earlier?” I said. She shrugged.
“Not much. He wanted to know what I saw.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I mentioned the kids and two men.”
“Did you say anything about the evil man?”
“No,” said Sarah. “Of course not.”
“Good. Because I don’t think we need to involve him in this.”
“I know.”
I went to bed just before eleven, after dragging myself into the bathroom to floss and brush my teeth. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, but awakened a short time later in a panic. My sheets were soaked, as if I’d just broken a fever, and my heart was pounding. I didn’t remember what I’d just dreamt but it had scared the life out of me. And I wasn’t sure the dream was just coincidental. It took me thirty minutes to get back to sleep, as I scanned my dark room over the sheet, which covered me up to my nose.
Along the back wall, near the closet, I noticed a shadow that seemed out of place. I’d slept in this room every night for two years and had never seen
that particular play of light and shadow. I turned my pillow over, placed my face on the cooler side and pulled the sheet over my head. I prayed for daylight.
CHAPTER 15
I woke up Tuesday morning around ten, ate some oatmeal, got cleaned up and hit the streets looking for a summer job. I called Longhorn’s, where I’d already applied, on my cell. They needed two waiters, but the manager said he’d hired two people yesterday. So, my ghost hunting had interfered with my employment. It was Longhorn’s loss.
I filled out applications at several other casual dining establishments, including Friday’s, Applebee’s and O’Charley’s. Just as I turned out of the O’Charley’s parking lot, it started raining.
The clouds darkened even more ten minutes later, unleashing a torrential downpour that flooded my windshield and made driving above fifteen miles per hour impossible. The skies lightened a half hour later, about the time I ran out of Outback Steakhouse. But I still got drenched on the way to my Jeep, nearly falling in a puddle halfway to my parking space.
I jumped in the Jeep and patted the rain off my face and neck. My shirt was now soaked and my hair was a mess. I checked my watch. It was 3:30 p.m. A few minutes later, the rain relented to a mere drizzle. But after three hours of filling out applications, I decided to call it a day.
Sarah was in her room when I got home. She smiled as she ended a call on her cell and hopped off her bed. “Hi, Dylan.”
“You’re in a good mood,” I said, as I reached the center of the room. I glanced at the walls and noticed Sarah had added another male poster—another teen I didn’t know.
“Hannah and I are going to Kings Island tomorrow. She invited a couple boys from our school.”
“What about the investigation,” I said, as Sarah’s smile melted. Her eyes widened.
“I’ve been working on it, but I need a break. It’s my summer vacation.”
At thirteen, my parents didn’t force her to get a job, so she could goof off most of the summer. Mike and I had college expenses to pay for—those that the scholarships didn’t cover.
“Do you have the sage and other potions you need to get rid of the evil spirit?”
“Yeah, I bought a half dozen smudge sticks earlier today. Mom drove me over to Winston’s Health Food Store.”
“White or black?”
“Both.”
Sage is an herb and smudge sticks are thick bundled masses of sage or other herbs. Some are not much bigger than cigars, but most are several times thicker.
Smudge sticks were used by Native American Indians to ward off spirits. They carried abalone shells or bowls while dispensing smoke from smudge sticks, and waved a feather to spread the smoke around. The smoke and smell was supposedly intolerant to spirits and forced them to leave homes or buildings. But it didn’t always help the good ones, like the children, move on. We planned to use sage on the evil man but didn’t want to harm the child spirits with it. Sarah believed black sage would help remove any demons attached to the spirit. But it was only one tool in our arsenal.
“What else do you recommend?” Sarah brushed past me. She looked back as she reached the doorway, plopping her left hand on the jamb.
“I’m heading to the mall with Hannah,” she said. “We can discuss this later.”
“Okay. But Sarah.” She had walked away but reappeared.
“Get some sketches of some of the people you saw—if they’re still vivid in your mind.”
“I already did that,” she said.
“Good. That way we can compare the sketches with any pictures Mike finds.”
“Duh.” Sarah pointed her finger at her temple and tilted her head, making a moronic-looking gesture with her mouth and eyes. I laughed.
“You’re the expert,” I said. “But we’ll discuss it later tonight.”
“Yes, boss.” I rolled my eyes as she walked away. I was getting tired of the boss comments but knew they were in gest.
No sooner had Sarah left, Mike appeared at the doorway.
“What are you doing in here?” he said, holding a stack of papers and some pictures.
“I was asking Sarah about the sage and stuff.”
“Oh. Well, I’ve got some information for you, but I still have to talk to the historian. He can’t see me until Thursday.”
“What did you find out?”
“Take a look at these two pictures.” He handed me his cell, which he had used to photograph a book or newspaper clipping. I couldn’t tell. I soon found myself staring an attractive brunette and homely blonde.
“Who are they?”
“Two women who were killed on the grounds of the Drayson Schoolhouse.”
“Were they murdered?”
“Yes.”
“At the school?”
“No. They died on the land years before it was built,” said Mike. “And the murders were never solved.”
“That’s not going to help much.”
“Yeah, but Sarah can get them to talk. And then maybe they’ll say who murdered them.”
“That’s true. But she can’t even get them to appear, let alone talk to her.”
“Sarah has her ways. You know that.”
Mike was right. Sarah never told us everything she planned to do at investigations, but her techniques always seemed successful. It wasn’t that she lied. She just wanted to have the upper hand on the spirits, in case some were listening.
My haunch about Sarah proved true again, when we met at twelve a.m. in my room. Mom and dad were already asleep and would’ve had fits if they knew we were still up, considering we’d already sacrificed a night’s sleep on Sunday. But I had to review the recordings to see if anything else was revealed during our investigation. I’d complete my review of the tapes by Thursday. Mike showed up five minutes late. I closed the door after he marched in. Only my desk light remained on.
“I just wanted to see how our plans were progressing,” I said.
“I still have to talk to Mr. Dansfield Thursday,” said Mike.
“I know. Keep your voice down.”
“Oops.” Mike covered his mouth with his hand and grinned.
“Did you find out anything else about Danbury?”
“Not much,” said Mike. “That’s why I’m hoping Dansfield will know something.”
“So, you have nothing else to report?” I was a bit ticked because Mike should’ve gathered a few more details about Drayson. But he’d been listening to his metal music most of the evening.
“Okay. Hopefully your source will tell you more Thursday.” Mike nodded.
“What about you, Sarah?” I said. “Do you have those sketches?”
Sarah held up an envelope with the drawings. She pulled two of them out and showed them to us. I set it on my desk under the light to get a better look. Mike peered over my shoulder.
The first sketch was of the young girl Theresa. Mike didn’t have any pictures of children other than a group photo. But Sarah didn’t recognize any of them. Then Sarah showed me the sketch of the bearded man.
He wore a coat, vest and bow tie in the drawing. His head seemed a bit flat—with a thick mat of hair and narrow eyes. He grinned through the black swirly mass of gray and white in the drawing.
“I think this is Byron Ferguson, the school’s founder,” said Sarah. Mike reached for some pages from the website that he’d copied and placed on my desk.
“Here’s a photo of him from one of the books,” he said. He placed it next to the drawing.
“It does look like him,” I said. The man in the photo sat in a chair. He wore a dark suit and vest with light-colored pants, and had a chain with a medallion around his neck.
“It’s him,” said Sarah. “He was the one who chased us, and then hid in the annex building. I didn’t get much out of him, but I think he knows something about the other man—the evil guy.”
“What about the other man who guided you back there through the mist?”
“He also knows something, but I couldn’t tell who
he was.”
“Okay,” I said. “Now, what about our trip back to Drayson . . . can you tell us what items you’re taking?”
“I’ve got most of them.”
“That’s not what I asked. What are we using besides black sage to get rid of that evil spirit?”
Sarah looked at me and shrugged. Suddenly she started shaking. Her head shot back and she opened her mouth.
“Where’s . . . my . . . mommy?” The girl or boy speaking through Sarah sounded about five or six. Then another girl came through.
“Help us . . . Please help us.”
Sarah’s head jerked back up. She glared at me, then at Mike. This time a man’s voice came through—a deep resonant one: “DIE! . . . You . . . will . . . DIE.”
CHAPTER 16
I awakened Thursday morning with a slight headache. I went into the bathroom and grabbed some ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet. I showered, ate a quick breakfast of oatmeal, toast and juice and checked my cell phone messages. A Mark from Outback Steakhouse had called me about a waiter job.
I dialed the number to the restaurant and waited as their phone rang four times.
“Outback Steakhouse. This is Judy speaking. How may I help you?”
“Hi, this is Dylan McCauliffe. A manager named Mark just called me about a job. Is he in?”
“Just a second.” Judy put the phone on pause as some elevator music played in the background. “Dylan.”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to switch you back to Mark’s office. Hang on.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Hello, this is Mark Wilson. Can I help you?”
“Yeah, Mark. This is Dylan McCauliffe. You called me earlier.”
“I did. I wanted to arrange a time for you to come in and discuss the waiter position. Are you still looking for a job?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“What’s a good day for you?”
“Today, if possible.”
“Okay. I can see you at two.”
“I’ll be there.”