by Alexie Aaron
Burt watched Mia from the window. That must be some conversation she was having, looked like fun. Fun he could use about now. April turned out to be an anal, house-proud client. Yes, they could come in. No, they couldn’t move the furniture. No, they couldn’t attach anything to the furniture. Yes, she expected results. No, they couldn’t eat on the premises. Yes, cameras were fine. And no one uses her john.
“Lady, what if we have to pee?” Mike asked.
“Outside.”
“We have two female investigators, and they are not going to pee outside,” Burt informed her.
“Well, okay.”
Mike was tired of being told things so he stood up. “You realize that we’re here to help you out, free of charge.”
“I understand that I’m not charging you to film my ghost.”
Lord, what a bitch, Mike thought but said, “We understand your concerns and will do everything in our power to document your haunting.”
“Get rid of it,” April ordered.
“You understand that this may not be possible depending on what kind of a haunting it is.”
“I don’t understand.”
Mike put his hands up to steady his temper. “There’s residual haunting. That’s when something happens over and over again as if it’s a video in a loop. There’s not much we can do about this kind of ghost. It doesn’t interact so there’s no communication. An active responsive ghost is another thing. But if it’s an unnatural haunt, you will have to bring in the church. We don’t do them.”
“What kind of ghost do I have?”
“We haven’t seen it yet,” Burt said calmly.
“Come here at three am and you’ll see it.”
“So we have a deal then, all we need is for you to sign here... and here,” he pointed out the places on the contract.
April picked up the document and sat down to read it first. Burt excused himself and went out on the porch. Mike just fumed.
~
Murphy pushed himself up off the picnic table and picked up his axe. He nodded towards the house, and Mia saw that Burt had exited and was walking their way.
Murphy waited until Burt passed him before hauling off and sinking his axe into a piece of firewood. “Crack!”
Burt jumped, confused by the sound, and looked warily around him.
“You lose something?” Mia called.
“Nope, just a bit jumpy that’s all. You on the phone?” he asked, tapping his ear.
“Not at the moment,” Mia said, unhooking the device and storing it in her pocket. She patted the table beside her. “Have a seat. You look like you could use one.”
Burt smiled and hauled his butt up on the table and, like Mia, used the seat for a footrest. “What I could use is a drink, but I’m driving.”
“Me too,” Mia commiserated. “So, tell me what brings you out here.”
“Fresh air, no cloying scent of Lysol.”
“No, I meant here as in Cold Creek Hollow,” she explained.
“I’m sure it will get out eventually, but if you could keep it under wraps I would appreciate it.” He waited for her to nod before continuing, “April Johnston is convinced her house is haunted.”
Mia caught Murphy out of the corner of her eye swinging his axe and prepared herself for the crack.
“Really, I guess it’s possible. Heard some funny things around here.” Mia made a face in Murphy’s direction.
The farmer raised his axe overhead and let the weight fall onto a long forgotten tree stump. The crack reverberated off the neighboring trees and up over the hillside.
“Did you hear that?” Burt’s brown eyes opened wide enough for Mia to see his soul.
“The chopping sound?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds like...”
“Someone is cutting wood with an axe,” Burt supplied.
“Is that what April is hearing?” Mia fished.
“No, not to my knowledge.”
“Oh. Maybe she’s heard the hoof beats coming from the ghost horse that the Indian rides as he haunts the hillside?” She raised her eyebrows to elicit a reaction.
Mia waited for Burt to speak again. He didn’t.
“So what does a possible haunting have to do with you guys?”
“Mike and I have an investigative paranormal show we hope to sell to the network.”
“You’re not...”
“No, not them. We’re just starting out, but we have been involved in quite a few investigations, part-time of course.”
“Doesn’t pay well?” she inquired.
“Don’t get paid anything. But if we get picked up then...”
“Sponsors, payday,” Mia listed.
“I hope so. I’ve sunk my life’s savings into equipment.”
“Cameras?”
“Sure, cameras, digital recorders, full-spectrum cameras, infrared...”
“All that equipment to do what?”
“Document a haunting. Like your lone Indian... About what time-ish does he ride?”
“Every day at four, rain or shine,” Mia said offhandedly. “So, just saying a place is haunted ain’t enough?”
“Nope, you need pictures, sound recordings and sometimes a priest.”
“Priest?” Mia looked nervous. “What do you need a priest for?”
“Mia, you may not believe this, but there are things out there that are evil.”
“Oh, I believe you, but a priest sounds a bit drastic to me. Hell, everyone around here is Lutheran, ’cept the Harrisons and they’re Baptist.”
“Baptists with a demon become Roman Catholics instantly.”
“You really believe that?”
“Nah, just saying.” Burt smiled, and Mia fought the urge to trace his laugh lines with her hands.
Mia started laughing and jumped as Murphy whacked his axe for the Baptists.
Burt looked over at her and accused, “You do hear that. Do you know what’s making that sound?”
“Can’t say,” she tap danced around the subject. “There are a lot of unexplainable things here in the hollow.”
“Well, in two weeks we’re going to try to explain what is going on in yonder house,” Burt said proudly.
Mia got up and put on her Bluetooth. “Well, good luck to you. If you will excuse me, I have to take this call.” She patted her pocket to indicate a cell phone, hopped down off the table and walked away towards the barn.
Burt looked after her and was a bit concerned with the argument she was having with the voice on the other end of the line.
Chapter Three
Whit’s conversation with Mia didn’t settle well with him. He shouldn’t have told her about wanting one of the Restoration Realty houses. Sherry was going to be mad. She considered Mia to be a nut job first class.
Mia wasn’t nuts, just cursed. He had met Mia on the first day of kindergarten. She was a cute, plump little thing with light blonde hair and moss green eyes. Her hair had more of a golden hue to it these days, and she was way too skinny to be healthy. He brought up her thinness to her once, and her answer was always the same, “I eat a lot, I swear I eat. It just doesn’t stick.” It didn’t stick because she was always running.
Mia told him once that she could see things other people couldn’t see but he wasn’t to tell anyone. He hadn’t, but in this small town her little slips were accumulated by the gossips, and poor Mia was labeled a nut job before she hit the fifth grade. Mia was raised out in the Bedford place before it burned down. It was a lonely existence for an only child. Going to a party or two of a schoolmate would have helped, but no mother was going to let their kid be exposed to the child who couldn’t set foot in the cemetery without screaming.
He didn’t know whether she still screamed in the cemetery, but he knew she never drove by one. She would go miles out of her way to avoid them.
Whit had run the plates on the SUV and found it registered to a Burt Hicks of Summerville, Kansas. Burt was a long way from home. He wondered why April Jo
hnston had visitors from Kansas, and why Rose had Mia take them deep into the hollow. Johnston had bought the newly renovated Murphy homestead, at least the house. He wasn’t sure who owned the farmland and surrounding woods. He had been there a number of times as a child. Also as a teen, he, Mia and a couple of kids camped out at the Murphy place. They didn’t stay the whole night.
It had been abandoned for a while. There were rumors as to why no one wanted to live there. Rundown, overgrown and remote, the Murphy place had become the dare spot. Who could spend the night in the creepy old barn? Sure, there was drink involved, and sure, someone was going to get lucky, but no one really expected to see a ghost. Not a ghost with an axe. Holy shit, he still had nightmares of just getting his hand under Sally Buford’s shirt and inches from her breast when a crack sounded. He remembered whipping around in the direction of the sound and seeing a man with an axe raised over his head. Sally screamed, left Whit to the mercy of the axeman and ran.
Mia was the only one who believed him. She gave him her flannel overshirt to wrap around his piss-stained jeans. “Whit, there are things out here no one should have to see,” she said, comforting him. Her moss green eyes held understanding and sympathy.
You would think that he would have fallen for Mia, but because of the weird vibe she had, he was happier keeping her at arm’s length. He soon lost track of her until after he got out of the service and landed the deputy job. By then he had Sherry in tow, and Mia had all but isolated herself on the peninsula of Big Bear Lake.
Whit pulled up into the cul-de-sac created by Restoration Realty to give the buyers the impression that these three old houses were built out here by people who wanted privacy but not total isolation. Truth was, these were the only houses left of a settlement that was burned to the ground. There was a church not fifty feet from where Whit was standing now. Mia had said that the community did something terrible, and God turned his back on them and set the church on fire with a lightning bolt. The only houses that survived were upwind from the fire. He didn’t know how she knew these things, but he knew better than to question her.
Whit walked over to where a little park had been built, a pleasant little clearing that faced the trio of two and three-story brick, clapboard and stone homes. Restoration had put in a couple of park benches and planted a few lilac bushes that were budding. He sat down and took a deep breath. It was quiet there, almost too quiet. He tried to envision him and Sherry in one of the houses. There would be a couple of toys on the lawn, a bike laying in the drive.
Who would his neighbors be? Would they be friendly, maybe having a Fourth of July barbecue with each house contributing?
It was a week ago that Sherry had run into the house all excited. He was cleaning the trap under the half bath sink. She found him half in and half out of the pressboard cabinet. He barely got a hello out when she started talking. “You will not believe where I’ve been.”
He started to respond, but she cut him off.
“Restoration Realty has three kick-ass houses up for sale. The price is ridiculously low...”
“We can’t afford a...”
“I’ve been to the bank, and yes we can,” she interrupted. “My mother will kick in ten, count them, ten thousand dollars as a belated wedding present, and...”
“Oh no, we aren’t taking money from your...”
“Yes, we are. My consolation prize for going through that debutante thing... Anyway, I talked it over, and we can more than swing the payment, even on your salary.” She walked over and knelt beside him. “I feel such a vibe out there. No Saturday night drag races to mess up my chi. I can have a studio.”
“You have a studio.”
“That converted master bedroom is in no way a studio. The lights...” she proceeded to list all the faults of the room, not stopping with just the studio. She even pulled the kid card, “We can’t raise children here off that busy road...”
Whit was amused by the busy road angle. Thirty-five miles an hour max. The little house was within walking distance to the elementary school, grocery stores and two churches.
He lifted himself out of the cabinet and took a hard look at this manic creature he used to call Sherry. “This means that much to you?”
“Oh, yes. And you can pick out the house. We can afford any one of them. Hell, in this economy we could probably afford two,” she said, grinning ear to ear.
~
He got up and walked over to house closest to him. It had a big wraparound porch. Rose said it had three bedrooms. The attic could be opened up for Sherry’s studio, just take a little work. Whit backed away to get a better look at the roof line. Maybe a dormer would be needed or a skylight to bring in the light Sherry craved.
Whit took mental notes as he backed further away into the empty lot beside the house. He wondered if there were plans to build in this lot. It was all that stood between this house and the old foundations of the church. He kicked away some brambles and connected with something hard which sent pain shooting up his leg from his foot. Whit stooped and brushed away old leaves and whatnot until he found the source of the injured toe.
He stood straight up and began to examine the lot frantically. Bushes were uprooted and moss scraped away until Whit was satisfied that he now knew who his new neighbors on this side would be. He was standing in a forgotten graveyard. These neighbors wouldn’t be contributing to the barbecue. Nope, nothing at all.
Chapter Four
Mike wasn’t pleased which made Burt nervous. Their partnership was a tentative one. Mike was, when it came to marketing, a real go-getter, but he had no patience for the human element of paranormal investigations. Burt, on the other hand, was both technically proficient and liked people.
They had twelve investigations in the can, and the network wanted thirteen before they would even ponder putting Paranormal Entity Exposure Partners, or PEEPs as they would like to be called, on air. To Burt’s amazement, people readily opened up their doors to his team, some with legit problems, most just wanting the exposure.
“That April is a piece of work,” Mike complained.
“I applaud you for making the concessions in order to get us in there.”
“I thought she was going to freak when she read that we would be in her house for a week,” Mike said as he tapped a cigarette out and fumbled around for his lighter.
“Do people actually think you can get results in a night?”
“She’s pretty certain that her ghost shows up at three am.”
“Well, according to her log, the entity forms in the living room, and as it moves towards the windows by her computer station, it becomes a fully formed apparition,” Burt read from his notes. They hadn’t left April’s front yard yet. Mike needed a smoke, and Burt allowed no smoking in the SUV.
“How many times has this happened?” an unexpected female voice asked, causing Mike to lose his cool.
“Christ-all-mighty! Where the ef did you come from?”
Mia calmly pointed to the picnic table. “Thought you two might want to head out. I just felt a plow wind, and that means rain is coming.”
“Sure, fine,” Mike dismissed her.
“How many times?” Mia repeated. She wasn’t going to be pushed off.
“Six nights in a row,” Burt supplied, aware that Mike was going to tear him a new one for it.
“Oh, and on the seventh...”
“She rested.”
“It’s a she. Cool beans.” Mia smiled. “If you fellas are ready, let’s hit the road.”
“Ghosts don’t seem to bother you,” Mike said, aghast at her casualness.
“Oh, they bother me. I just try not to let them upset me.” Mia opened the door of the truck and climbed in.
Mike and Burt trotted over to the SUV just before the first raindrops hit their windshield.
“She knows her weather,” Burt commented, starting the SUV. He waited for Mia to turn around before following her out of Ms. Johnston’s place.
“Did you noti
ce that our Mia said ‘they bother me,’ ‘them upset me.’”
“Oh, yeah. I think we should find out who this Mia is. Call Beth and have her do a search on our tour guide,” Burt instructed.
“Yes boss, right away, boss,” Mike said with an edge.
“Hey, someone has to take point,” Burt explained.
“Just thought it was my job,” Mike growled.
“That’s the trouble with having two alpha males being partners.”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. We cool?” Mike put his fist up.
Burt touched his fist to Mike’s. “We’re cool. Now make the call.”
“Already dialing.”
~
Mia looked back at the SUV with an uncomfortable feeling. She checked that Murphy hadn’t decide to hitch a ride with the pair. She adjusted her rearview mirror and felt some relief as she didn’t see Murphy. At least he wasn’t sitting between the two.
So who was the woman that was floating around in Murphy’s house? He was no help. Murphy didn’t go in the house. He spent his afterlife chopping wood and taking care of his homestead the only way a ghost could, by making sure the right people owned it. If not, Murphy would start up with his little tricks and move on to the truly nasty ones if the offender didn’t skedaddle. Where he got ahold of pine tar still was a mystery to her. Mia laughed and sped up. The sooner she reached the main road, the sooner she got rid of the paranormal investigators.
Chapter Five
Rose Malloy had a weakness. It wasn’t for booze or cigarettes. It was for gossip. She herself, she claimed, wasn’t a direct spreader. Rose was a collector. It all started when she was five and she heard something she shouldn’t have. If the adults talking hadn’t said, “mindful of little ears,” she wouldn’t have suspected a thing.
No tidbit of scandal was too small for her. Each small discovery added up, and, mixed with other dirt, it would soon bloom into a full-blown scandal. Most things she overheard, but some things she went at great lengths to obtain. She once laid four hours on the cold stone floor of Saint Michael’s Church under the second pew in order to hear the gossips of the flower committee. Now that was dedication.