3 Gates of the Dead (The 3 Gates of the Dead Series)

by Ryan, Jonathan

  I smiled. “I’m assuming you’re going to explain all this to me?” I motioned at the tech swag.

  “Of course. Each group gets a camera. One of those is actually infrared, and we keep them on at all times.”

  “And you are hoping a ghost appears for its Andy Warhol?”

  Reg smiled. “Exactly.”

  “And the digital recorders?”

  “They capture, at least we hope, a phenomenon known as EVP or Electronic Voice Phenomenon.”

  “You lost me.”

  “It’s like this; we sit in a room of the house and ask questions.”

  “To the ghosts?”

  “Correct, and the recorders pick up any answers.”

  “Can you hear the answer out loud?” I picked up one of the recorders.

  “Not usually. The frequency is lower, undetectable to the human ear for some reason.”

  Even though I thought the whole thing was full of shit, it was interesting. I pointed to the other devices I didn’t recognize. “What are those?”

  “This meter reads electromagnetic fields. It’s thought by most in paranormal investigation that when a spirit tries to manifest itself, it sucks up energy, creating a detectable electromagnetic field.”

  “If that thing spikes and there is no earthly reason for it, it will more than likely mean a ghostie is around.”

  I laughed and shook my head.

  “What?” Reg asked, puzzled.

  “I guess I just didn’t expect all this high-tech stuff.”

  “What did you expect? Divining rods? Séance tables?”

  “Well, to be honest, I did.”

  Reg nodded. “Most people do.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  “No worries, preacher. Most people are skeptical about the paranormal and wonder if what we do is legitimate. That’s why we try to be as scientific as possible. I’m a skeptic myself, but since I’ve been with the group, well, I’ve seen some interesting things.”

  “Interesting things?”

  He stared at me expressionless. “I only use the word ‘things’ because I have no other word for it.”

  I thought of the footprints. “I understand, Reg.”

  He handed me a voice recorder. “You can pair up with me to start. I’ll take it easy on you.”

  “Do you all go in the same pairs?”

  “No, we try to change it up during the night.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Forces in haunted places often react differently to different people. No one really knows why, but we try to keep mixing it up. Plus, it’s an issue of safety.” Reg gave me a half smile.

  “Safety?”

  “Yeah, we don’t want the forces focusing on particular people. That can get a bit dangerous.”

  “How so?”

  Reg paused and gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Well, we have had people attacked before.”

  “Attacked? As in beaten?”

  “Yeah. Damnedest thing I ever saw. Last year, Zoe got thrown into a wall. Poor thing received some nasty looking bruises.”

  “I don’t even know how to handle that.” I admitted.

  “You and me both. I’m a scientist by profession, you know.”

  “What?” I exclaimed.

  He smiled. “Physics professor at Ohio State University.”

  “Seriously? And you are on a ghost hun ... I mean paranormal investigation?”

  He smiled. “You would be surprised at how many physics professors are into some wacky things.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Well, the nature of physics, especially in the theoretical realm, invites some pretty mind-blowing speculation, which drew me out of atheism. But let’s just say my colleagues don’t know what I’m doing on the weekends.”

  “So, you go to Father Neal’s church?” I asked.

  “Occasionally. I’ve not made the trip to the ol’ baptismal fount though.”

  “Why not? Wait, sorry, that’s probably a little personal.”

  He chuckled. “Not at all. I guess you could say I’m still being convinced, kind of like Anthony Flew.”

  I mentally sorted through my famous atheists knowledge from my reading. Flew, a well-known British philosopher and atheist, had converted to deism recently, much to the dismay of many atheists, especially Dawkins. Basically, he came to believe God created the world and then let it go.

  “Makes sense,” I said.

  A voice crackled over Reg’s walkie-talkie. “Zoe wants everyone on the porch. We’re all ready to go.”

  “The boss lady calls,” I said.

  We went out to the porch and all gathered in a circle. As the vapor from our breath rose above our heads, I couldn’t help thinking we looked like a bunch of naughty teenagers with a shared cigarette.

  I stood next to Kate, the nervous grad student. She had scars near her eyes that looked like they had been caused by long talons. “Hi. Kate, right? I’m Aidan.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, in a low, timid voice, without looking me in the eye.

  I tried not to stare at her scars, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “I was attacked,” she said in a dry, flat voice.

  “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to stare.”

  Kate smiled at me then looked away. “It’s okay, most people do. No harm in it, really.”

  “Did they catch the guy?”

  She looked at me with the expression of pain I had seen a few times in counseling situations as if she would crumble at the slightest touch.

  “No. No, they didn’t.” She hugged herself and looked away.

  “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

  She nodded, and I caught the glint of a tear rolling down her cheek.

  “Aidan?”

  Zoe waved at me. “You are going in first tonight with Reg. Just stick with him.” She then paired up everyone else, except for Father Neal and herself. “Now, I know not everyone here is a Christian,” Zoe said. “But I hope you don’t mind if I ask Father Neal to bless us.”

  Everyone nodded without hesitation.

  Father Neal put aside his cane, stood up straight, and held out his arms. “May the Power of the Father, the Love of the Son, and the protection of the Holy Spirit guard you all, in front of you, beside you, and behind you. May the Holy Trinity send Michael Militant, protector of God’s people, to surround you. In the Name of the Blessed Trinity, Amen.”

  The poetry of the prayer struck me. In my conservative evangelical church upbringing, our prayers were punctuated with “Father” a billion times, and “just do this, God” at least two million.

  Reg slapped me on the shoulder. “All right, preacher boy, are you ready?”

  “Always.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “The first thing we do is turn off all the lights,” Reg said, walking around the house flipping switches.

  “Why is that? Ghosts scared of the light?” I turned off an old-fashioned lamp as Reg headed back to the living room.

  He laughed. “I have no idea. But our infrared cameras sure are.”

  “Ah, right. What’s next?” It was hard not to feel some kind of excitement. The streetlights cast shadows on the walls, and the whole house had the surreal quality you felt when you got home late and everyone’s gone to bed.

  “Let’s start upstairs and work our way down.” Reg headed to the staircase.

  “Fine with me.” I strained to find my way in the dark. With the light from outside filtering through the window, it certainly wasn’t pitch black. But it was dark enough for my shins to connect with a stray chair. I fought the urge to utter a stream of profanities.

  “Are you okay?” Reg said.

  “Yeah, just hit my shin. What room do you want to try?”

  “Might as well go to the nursery.”

  We ascended the stairs into a realm of darkness. No light penetrated inside the nursery.

  “First, we scan the room with the inf
rared camera,” Reg whispered. He bumped into me as he panned the room, the blue-green glow of the furniture swirling in the screen.

  “What are we looking for?”

  “Anything that doesn’t belong here,” he muttered.

  “Okay, just what would that be?” I said, trying to figure out what to do.

  “Odd heat signatures. Shapes of people. That sort of thing.”

  “Should I be doing anything?” The dark made me antsy.

  “Start asking questions with the digital recorder.”

  “What, like, what is your quest? What is your favorite color?” I fumbled with the recorder as I got it out of my pocket.

  Reg chuckled. “No, more like, is there anyone here with us tonight? What is your name? Do you mind us being here?”

  I held the recorder out. No going back now. “Who are you?”

  No response.

  “Why are you bothering a baby?” Reg asked in a protective father’s voice.

  A loud beep nearly sent the bones right out of my skin. “What the hell?” I shouted.

  Reg rattled with the device in his hand. He frowned at the greenish reflection of the display screen. “The EMF reader just went haywire,” he said, turning to me in the dark.

  “It just spiked at 3.0.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “Usually, with the EMF, 0.6 is a big spike and 1.0 is nuclear. There can’t be an electrical box in here, but turn on the light a sec to see if there are exposed wires near the walls.”

  I found the switch, and we both put our hands to our eyes.

  “Sorry about that.” Reg grimaced.

  He scanned the EMF over the walls, trying to find electrical sources. I looked for exposed wires, but we found nothing.

  “Okay, turn off the lights again,” Reg said. As the darkness invaded, he scanned the room. When he passed over the crib, the EMF beeped at 4.0. His brow creased. “This can’t be right.” He pulled out his walkie-talkie. “Zoe, I need another EMF, I think this one is broken.”

  “Be right up, Reg.”

  We waited for Zoe and listened to the sound of each other breathing. I leaned over to whisper something to Reg. Before I spoke, my breath reflected in the dim moonlight now peeking through the window. My arms broke out in goose bumps as cold air washed over my body. “Reg, did someone open a window?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  The cold completely took over the room, and my chest muscles tightened as if someone reached into my lungs and began to squeeze. I started to cough and fought to take deep breaths. Something grabbed my arm and spun me around. I stumbled into Reg who kept me from falling to the floor.

  “Aidan? Are you okay?” He sounded far away, like he was in another room.

  “Can’t … breathe…”

  “Do you have asthma? Where is your inhaler?”

  “Don’t … have … asthma,” I wheezed.

  “Then get out. Now!” Reg commanded.

  As I turned, something brushed past me, and the EMF gauge hit the floor making a loud clatter. The red electronic numbers penetrated the darkness with 10.0. Faint whispers followed me as I kept gasping for air.

  “Aidan, get out now!” Reg bellowed as he shoved me through the door.

  My chest muscles relaxed, and I gulped in massive amounts of air. Reg came up behind me.

  “Careful, don’t hyperventilate,” he whispered as he patted me on the back.

  I massaged my chest and took long, slow breaths. “Reg, what the hell just happened?”

  “Something slapped my hand. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I felt like something was squeezing my lungs.”

  Reg put a hand on my arm. “Do you need some fresh air?”

  “No, I’m okay. I’m sure I just got over-excited. I’ve suffered from panic attacks before.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” he said as he picked up the walkie-talkie. “Never mind on the EMF, Zoe, we are coming out.”

  “Reg,” I protested. “I’m really fine.”

  “Sorry, preacher, standard rules. Whenever something physically happens to someone, we go downstairs to discuss it.”

  We went outside where everyone was waiting in the van.

  “What happened?” Zoe asked, coming to me.

  “He couldn’t breathe, like something had cut off his air,” Reg said.

  Father Neal stepped close to examine me. “Are you okay, Aidan?” he asked in a low voice.

  I waved my hand, a bit annoyed by everyone’s gawking. “I’m fine.”

  Their faces registered more than a little disbelief.

  “I’m serious. See?” I took a few deep breaths, parting my coat so everyone could see my chest rise. “Maybe I just had an allergic reaction to something.”

  “Do you have any allergies?” Darrin asked, fiddling with his cigarette.

  “None that I know of, but I mean, I’ve never lived in an old house, so maybe it was the dust or something.”

  The looks of disbelief melted into polite skepticism, but they didn’t question me any further.

  “Let’s switch it up a bit,” Zoe said. “Kate and Darrin, you’re up next.”

  “You got it, Zoe,” Darrin said, taking Kate’s arm. “Shall we, my dear Katherine?”

  She smiled at him, her scarred eyes relaxed as they went inside.

  “So, are they dating?” I asked Reg as he handed me a cup of coffee after we piled back into the van. I hoped he wouldn’t ask any more about what happened. I didn’t want to talk about it at all.

  “Well, they should be, but they are very coy about it,” Reg replied. “I think Darrin wants to, for sure. They should just get on with it. They certainly have shared a lot together.”

  “Like what?”

  He kept sipping his coffee.

  “Reg?”

  “Not my story to tell, Aidan.”

  “Fair enough.” I sat back against the van wall and closed my eyes. I tried to process everything that just happened; the grabbing of my arm, the shortness of breath. I couldn’t find any rational reason for any of it. Thoughts whirled in my head as different teams went in and out of the house for the next two hours. I started to nod off when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  “You and me, P.A.,” Darrin said, handing me another digital recorder.

  “I’m ready.” I stepped outside into the cold. The air shocked me awake. I looked up at the house, and my stomach tensed.

  “Let’s start in the basement this time, unless you are scared,” Darrin teased. “I double dog dare you.”

  I laughed as the knot in my stomach released. “As long as you don’t ask me to stick my tongue to a flagpole.”

  “Hmmm, the preacher knows his pop culture references.”

  “A little, my dear Watson.”

  “Ah, and his late nineteenth-century literature ones as well.”

  “I can even put a dash of profanity in there too, if you wish.”

  Darrin laughed. “Always.”

  We entered the kitchen and opened the wooden green basement door. The stairs creaked as we headed down. Once we hit the bottom, Darrin swept his light forward so we wouldn’t stumble.

  The layout reminded me of my grandma’s basement, but cleaner, with blue painted concrete floors. Stacks of boxes, unused furniture, books, and garden tools lined the walls, leaving the middle of the floor empty except for the heater. A moldy smell soon had me wiping my nose, but didn’t cause any more breathing attacks.

  “So, do you see where everything is?” Darrin asked.

  “Yeah, should be easy. Are you going to shut off your light?”

  “Yep, here we go.”

  With a click, we entered into complete blackness. “Hello, darkness, my old friend,” Darrin sang off key.

  “I bet you’re a karaoke champ,” I said, groping in the darkness to orient myself. I touched the cold metal of a support pole.

  “Sarcasm in a preacher? Is that possible?” Darrin said from my right.

&n
bsp; “It is for this one.”

  Darrin fumbled around in the dark and then handed me another digital recorder. I could hear him flip out a camera and press the power button. “Well, preacher, start asking questions while I film with the night vision.”

  I smirked. “What did you think of Darrin’s singing?”

  “Funny,” Darrin grunted.

  “Is there anything you want to say?”

  No answer. Expected result, I thought.

  “Do you want us here tonight?”

  My head snapped to the side as something struck my cheek. I dropped the recorder and fell to the floor with a thud. The darkness seemed to press down on me.

  “Aidan, are you okay?”

  “I think I walked into something.”

  “Let me see,” Darrin said, pulling out his flashlight. He held it up to my face as I righted myself.

  “You have a huge red mark on your cheek.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, you must have run into a pole. Where were you standing?”

  “Right by that pole, so it couldn’t have been that.” I pointed to the general area.

  He shined the light where I had pointed. Nothing. There were no shelves, no poles, or anything hanging from the ceiling.

  I stared at the beam of light. I knew something had hit me. I could still feel the heat on my cheek, and I rubbed it. It felt rough, like it had been scraped with something.

  “You seem to be a magnet tonight,” Darrin said, offering me a hand.

  “That’s me, Aidan the ghost magnet. I wonder if that will work with the chicks.”

  “It doesn’t, trust me.”

  “Kate?”

  He looked at me over the flashlight.

  “Sorry, too personal?”

  “No, too perceptive.”

  “Got it. Let’s go upstairs.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You can take a break, you know.”

  “I know, thanks, but we can’t keep the ghosts waiting.”

  I followed Darrin to the steps and kept rubbing my cheek, disturbed. What had hit me? I could feel the creeps beginning, like bugs crawling under my skin.

  “Doin’ okay, preacher?” Darrin said from the top of the stairs.

  “Yeah, sorry. I’m coming.” I began up the wooden steps, making sure I didn’t trip. When I reached the halfway point, something caught my foot and pulled it back. As I struggled to keep my balance, I felt fingers grip my other leg and pulled harder. I fell, face down, onto the stairs, and my chest bore the brunt of my fall. The air in my lungs emptied, and I gasped, struggling to breathe.