Ghost Hunt 2: MORE Chilling Tales of the Unknown

by Jason Hawes

  “Can’t say I blame her,” Mike commented. He slid an audio recorder into place on the kitchen counter. “Okay,” he said. “I think we’re good to go.”

  At that moment Lyssa, Angie, and Grant walked into the kitchen. “I don’t know how much more I can take,” Angie was saying.

  “What will you do if nothing changes?” Lyssa asked. “If you keep having the dreams?”

  “There’s only one thing I can do,” Angie said. “I’ll have to move out, even though I promised Ellen I’d stay. I can’t go on living like this. I hardly get any sleep. I can’t stand being so terrified all the time.”

  “If you do move and the dreams stop,” Jen said, “that could be proof that they really are related to Eloise.”

  “I have a vacation coming up,” Angie said. “I’m thinking of spending some time with my sister. She has this great place on the coast, and—”

  “Guys,” Mark suddenly said, “I hate to interrupt, but…” He pointed to the opposite side of the kitchen; the silverware drawer was slowly sliding open. The doors to the cupboards right above it were already swinging back and forth.

  And all in perfect silence. They didn’t make a single sound. Not even a squeaky hinge.

  “Angie,” Lyssa said. “Is that—?”

  “Yes.” Angie nodded. Her face was pale but composed. “That’s what I dreamed. That’s it exactly.”

  For several moments, the TAPS team stood perfectly still, watching the activity in the kitchen. It showed no signs of slowing down. Back and forth. In and out went the cupboards and drawers in a bizarre and silent ballet.

  “I don’t know about anyone else,” Lyssa finally said, “but I think someone is trying to get our attention.”

  “It worked,” Jason said. “Whoever it is has definitely gotten mine!”

  “All right,” Grant said a short time later. “Here’s how it’s going to go down. Lyssa, you and I will take the living room. Jay and Mark will cover the rest of the downstairs. Mike and Jen, you take the second floor. Everybody, check back in here during the night.”

  “Roger that,” Lyssa said. “Angie will be sleeping in the spare bedroom. That way, you guys can investigate her room. Mark and I set up several cameras in there, and audio as well.”

  “Excellent,” Jen replied as she moved to stand by the light switch on the dining room wall. All the other lights downstairs were already out.

  “Let’s see if we can’t figure out what’s going on around here,” Jason said. “On three. One. Two. Three… And we’re dark.”

  Jen turned off the switch. The house was plunged into darkness and the team split up.

  “This is Grant and Lyssa. We’re entering the living room,” Grant said in a quiet voice.

  There was a recorder on the mantel just below Eloise Cavanaugh’s portrait. Lyssa had put it there herself. She aimed her flashlight at Grant as he walked across the living room. He was heading right where she figured he would—to Eloise’s portrait.

  Even though the room was dark, Lyssa could see Eloise’s face by the light of the streetlamp outside. Those blue eyes seemed to hover in the air. Watching. Waiting.

  All of a sudden, Lyssa shivered. She remembered Angie talking about how cold it was in her dream.

  “It seems a lot colder in here,” Lyssa said. She knew that a drop in temperature could mean a spirit had entered the room.

  “It is cold. I feel it, too,” Grant said. “Why don’t you try to establish contact?”

  “All right.” Lyssa swallowed past a big lump in her throat.

  “My name is Lyssa, and this is Grant,” she said. “We’d like to make contact with the spirit of Eloise Cavanaugh. Eloise, if you’re here, would you give us a sign?” She thought about what Angie said had happened in the dream. “Can you make the window shade roll up?”

  Lyssa paused. The air got even colder, and thick and threatening, the way it did right before a thunderstorm. Except this felt even worse, as if something terrible was coming toward them. Lyssa’s chest felt tight. She could feel her heart begin to pound.

  She forced herself to go on. “We don’t want to disturb you, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

  Maybe Eloise didn’t like being called by her first name. The woman was quite old when she died. Maybe she expected more respect.

  “We just want to understand what’s going on. Angie Larson, the young woman living here, is very frightened. Can you help us help her? Can you give us a sign to let us know you’re here?”

  WHUMP!

  Lyssa jumped at the sudden sound, then spun toward it. Her flashlight danced crazily across the living room wall. She was just in time to see the pull-down shade in the center window shoot up to the top of the window frame.

  “Whoa,” Grant said.

  WHUMP! THUMP!

  One by one, all the other window shades in the room began to roll up. They spun around and around, whacking against the tops of the window frames.

  This time the sound was so loud that Lyssa wanted to cover her ears.

  “This is just what Angie said happened in this room in her dreams,” Grant said.

  Lyssa could feel her breath coming in and out in short, quick gasps. When she exhaled, her breath made white clouds. Lyssa’s fingers ached—either from the cold or from gripping the flashlight so tightly.

  “What do we do now?”

  Before Grant could answer, there was a scream from upstairs.

  “No. No. NO!”

  “That’s Angie!” Lyssa cried as she spun toward the sound.

  Lyssa raced out of the living room. Grant was right behind her. At the bottom of the stairs, they met up with Jason and Mark.

  “Where’s Angie?” Lyssa asked. She started up the stairs, calling out as she climbed. “Jen and Mike, are you with Angie? What’s going on up there? Is everything all right?”

  “It’s okay. Everything’s okay, Lyssa,” Angie’s voice called down. She appeared at the top of the stairs with Jen and Mike on either side of her. “I had another dream, and I…”

  All of a sudden, Angie began to sob.

  Lyssa rushed to Angie’s side and put her arms around her.

  “I saw her, Lyssa,” Angie sobbed. “I really saw her this time. Eloise Cavanaugh. She was standing right beside my bed, looking down at me. She hates me. She hates me so much. I could see it in her eyes. She held her hands out.”

  “She held her hands out?” Lyssa repeated, puzzled.

  “Yes.” Angie took a deep breath. “She held them out and then she lowered them over my throat. She was going to strangle me. That’s when I screamed.”

  Angie pressed her hand over her mouth to hold back another sob. When she spoke again, her voice was strangely quiet.

  “Now I know what she wants. Eloise Cavanaugh wants to kill me!”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Lyssa soothed her. “You’re okay. We’re here with you now.”

  “But you won’t stay,” Angie said. “And she’ll try again. And sooner or later whatever happens in the dream will happen for real. I just know it. Eloise Cavanaugh is going to strangle me. And I won’t be able to stop her.”

  “Come downstairs, please, everyone,” Jason called out. “Let’s regroup.”

  With one arm still around Angie’s waist, Lyssa started down the stairs. Halfway down, she stopped.

  “Listen,” she said, her voice intent.

  “What? I don’t hear anything,” Mark said.

  “That’s what I mean,” Lyssa answered. “The window shades in the living room. They’ve stopped.”

  “You’re right,” Jason said. “You’re absolutely right. Command Center. Everyone. Now.”

  “I’m trying to be brave. I honestly am,” Angie said when they’d all gathered in the Command Center, in the dining room. The house was still dark. The only light in the room came from the row of computer monitors.

  Angie sat in one of the dining room chairs, twisting her hands together in her lap. Lyssa knelt by her side.

  “I’m sc
ared. I’m just so scared,” she said. “I’m not sure I can take much more of this. I just don’t understand why Eloise hates me so much. I haven’t done anything to her! All I’m trying to do is live in the house.”

  “Maybe that’s just it,” Lyssa said slowly. “Maybe it isn’t you at all. Maybe it’s just that Eloise thinks there’s a stranger in her home.”

  Angie shook her head. “I’m no stranger. I’m Ellen’s friend. I even visited this house when Ellen lived here.”

  “You’re not a blood relation,” Mark explained. “Which might be why Eloise thinks that you don’t have a right to be here.”

  “But I love this house!” Angie protested. “I’ll take good care of it, if only she’ll let me.” She gave a long sigh. “I wish I could tell her so.”

  “Maybe you can,” Grant said.

  “What?”

  “As part of our investigations, we often try to make contact with a spirit,” Grant explained. “Lyssa and I did this in the living room and got a pretty big response. We definitely got Eloise Cavanaugh’s attention. And she’s definitely got yours. Maybe it’s time for you to try to get hers.”

  Angie sat still for several moments. Then she gave Lyssa’s hand a quick squeeze and stood up. She didn’t look so frightened now. Instead, she looked determined.

  “You’re right,” she said. “Maybe it’s time I had a talk with her.”

  “Outstanding,” Grant said. “Let’s give this a try.”

  A little while later, Lyssa and Angie were sitting side by side on the couch. The fireplace was directly in front of them. Eloise’s portrait hung right above it.

  Grant and Jason sat in chairs on either side of the couch. They had pulled the window shades down. The Hammond twins were back upstairs, continuing to investigate the second floor. Jen was in the Command Center, keeping an eye on everyone.

  “Okay,” Grant said. “Here’s the way I’d like to proceed. Lyssa will try to establish contact. She may get a response. She may not. But then she’ll introduce you, Angie, and you can say what’s on your mind.”

  “Remember that ghosts are just people,” Jason put in. “Talk to her directly and politely.”

  “Okay,” Angie said. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She shook her head. “I still don’t understand how you guys can do this all the time.”

  “Go ahead, then, Lyssa. You begin,” Jason said.

  Lyssa sat up a little straighter on the couch. “This is Lyssa,” she said in a clear, polite voice. “We spoke once before. There’s someone with me who would like to speak to you, Mrs. Cavanaugh. Her name is Angie Larson. She’s the young woman living in your house.”

  “I’m getting a little EMF change, but not much,” Jason murmured in a low voice. “Go ahead, Angie.”

  “Hello?” Angie said. She cleared her throat. “My name is Angie, and I… I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered to Lyssa. “I feel so stupid. How do I know if she hears me or not?”

  “You’re doing fine,” Lyssa said. “You might not know. Lots of times, we don’t get an answer. That doesn’t mean we stop trying. Just keep at it.”

  “Some things have been happening lately that really scare me,” Angie went on. “I don’t know whether you’re making them happen or not. But maybe you can make them stop.

  “I’m sorry if you’re upset that I’m living in your house,” Angie continued. “Your house is really beautiful. I can see why you love it so much. I promise that I will take really good care of it. Can we find a way to live here together? It’s just for a year. Then Ellen will come back…”

  She took a deep breath, held it for a minute, then let it out.

  “I think that’s all I wanted to say.”

  They waited a good ten minutes. But there was no answer.

  “Okay,” Jason said. “Let’s call it a night.”

  After her attempt to talk to Eloise Cavanaugh, Angie went back to bed in the spare room. The TAPS team continued investigating throughout the night. There were no other incidents.

  Now it was a bright, sunny morning. Lyssa and Jason stood on the front porch.

  “You’re sure about this?” Jason asked Lyssa.

  The equipment van and SUVs were all loaded up. The TAPS team was heading back to the office to review the evidence they’d gathered. All except for Lyssa.

  “I’m sure,” Lyssa answered. “I promised not to leave Angie alone. At least not until we can figure out what she should do.”

  Jason nodded. “I think we’re all convinced that there’s paranormal activity in this house—and it could be dangerous. Be careful, Lyssa.”

  “I will be,” Lyssa promised.

  Jason walked down the steps and got into one of the waiting SUVs. The team drove off.

  Okay, Lyssa thought as she turned back to the house. Now it’s up to me.

  The day passed quietly. Lyssa and Angie didn’t talk much. We’re both waiting for the same thing, Lyssa thought. Nightfall. When the spirit of Eloise Cavanaugh comes out. When the nightmares get real.

  Nine o’clock came and went. Then ten and eleven. It seemed to Lyssa that she could feel some kind of pressure building in the house. Like steam in a pot ready to blow its lid.

  “I’m sorry, Angie,” she finally said. “I have to get some sleep. Besides, we’ve both got to go to bed sometime.”

  “It’s all right,” Angie said quickly. The two were sitting in the kitchen, drinking mugs of cocoa. The living room was much more comfortable. But neither Lyssa nor Angie really wanted to spend any time there. Not with Eloise’s portrait staring down at them.

  “I’m tired, too,” Angie admitted. “I’m just so afraid to go to sleep. I wish I knew whether or not I got through to Eloise Cavanaugh last night.”

  Together, the two young women climbed the stairs. Lyssa’s feet felt like lead weights. Angie would sleep in her own room tonight. There wasn’t much point in her moving to the spare bedroom. Eloise had proved she could—and would—find Angie anywhere.

  “I’ll leave my door open so I can hear if you call out,” Lyssa said. “If the slightest thing happens, you give a yell and I’ll come running.”

  “No problem. I’ll scream so loud, the rest of the team will be able to hear me back in Rhode Island,” Angie said. Her lips curved upward, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “Great,” Lyssa said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Angie turned away and walked down the hall to her bedroom. Lyssa stood at the top of the stairs and watched her go.

  Sweet dreams. That’s what Lyssa’s mom always said.

  “Sweet dreams,” Lyssa whispered, but what she really meant was, Please, no dreams at all.

  “Lyssa! Lysssaaaa!”

  A bloodcurdling voice screaming her name jerked Lyssa wide awake. She bolted upright, her heart hammering. She hurled back the covers and swung her feet over the side of the bed.

  “Hold on, Angie, I’m coming!” Lyssa shouted.

  She raced down the hall toward Angie’s room.

  Then she saw something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up. Angie’s bedroom door was opening and closing all by itself.

  It slammed shut so hard, the pictures in the hallway bounced on the walls. Then it flew back open.

  Lyssa skidded to a stop just outside Angie’s bedroom door. In the quick glimpses she got when the door was open, Lyssa saw Angie lying on the bed. Her mouth was open in a silent scream. Her arms stretched straight up, with her palms flat. As if she’s trying to push someone away!

  Was last night’s dream coming true? The dream of Eloise leaning over her, about to close her hands on Angie’s throat. About to strangle her…

  Slam! Crash! Slam! Crash! Angie’s door pounded open and closed. Lyssa tried to leap into the room, but each time the door slammed shut in her face.

  Lyssa stood, frozen, in the hall. Cold sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades. Her stomach churned with panic. If she didn’t come up with so
mething soon…

  The portrait! she thought.

  Eloise Cavanaugh was the key to what was going on inside this house. And the portrait just might be the key to Eloise Cavanaugh.

  Lyssa turned and sprinted back down the hall. She took the stairs two at a time. Once she reached the main floor, she dashed into the living room.

  I’ve got to get Eloise’s attention, Lyssa thought. Get her away from Angie. Make her leave Angie alone.

  Lyssa dragged a footstool over to the fireplace. She climbed up onto it. Seizing Eloise’s portrait by its heavy gold frame, Lyssa yanked the painting right off the wall.

  “I’ve got your portrait, Eloise!” Lyssa shouted. “And I’ll tear it apart, I swear I will, if you don’t stop this right now!”

  At her words, the house went wild. The window shades banged up to the top of the frames. The living room sliding doors began to slam open and closed. The television came on, sound blaring full blast. Lights flickered on and off. Magazines from the coffee table flew up and through the air straight at Lyssa.

  Lyssa held the portrait out in front of her like a shield. She stood on the footstool like a statue on a pedestal.

  “I mean it, Eloise!” she yelled. She tightened her grip, fingernails digging into the back of the canvas.

  “Keep it up and your portrait is toast. But I’ll make you a bargain. Leave Angie Larson alone. Let her go right now! Let her come downstairs to tell me she’s all right, and I’ll put the portrait back. Then I’ll talk her into leaving your house. She will leave and never come back!

  “Do we have a deal or not?”

  Lyssa heard what sounded like a hurricane wind. The next second, two of the tall windows shattered. Sharp pieces of glass rained down all over the room. Lyssa gave a shriek of alarm, but she didn’t let go of the portrait.

  The wind ripped through the room. It toppled chairs, sending one crashing into the coffee table. Then, with a whooshing sound, the logs in the fireplace caught fire.

  The fire crackled and danced as the wind fed it. Lyssa watched in horror. Instead of going up the chimney, the fire was reaching out, into the room. Any second now, the whole house would go up in flames. But Lyssa didn’t move.