by John Mimms
They inspected the radiation detector, and then, for the rest of the afternoon, they played with the ENVIROMUX. They agreed this was too much of a mouthful to say so they decided to dub it ‘Emux’ going forward. It was a remarkable piece of equipment. Data collection would now be much easier and accurate. Jeff downloaded the software to his laptop, before hooking the receiver to a USB port. They placed the probes mounted on tripods at the four corners of the room and watched. The data flowed seamlessly in real time.
“This is just too cool for school!” Jeff proclaimed.
“Awesome!” said Elvis.
“Well, it’s neater than hoot owl babies!” Debbie exclaimed. This brought a round of laughter from the room.
“Neat,” Pac said with an indifferent shrug. He preferred the FLIR.
“I’m pleased you all like it!” Dr. Staples said with pride. “Hopefully, we’ll get to use it soon!”
After they had played with the equipment for a while, Jeff sat down at his laptop and pulled up a file. “Pac, you want to walk us through this?”
Pac threw his chest out importantly and strode to Jeff’s side. He grabbed the closed ear headphones and placed them on his head. He then rolled his index finger impatiently for Jeff to start the recording.
“Pac sent this too me a couple of days ago,” Jeff explained as Pac listened. “I clipped out the thirty seconds where the voice was captured and cleaned it up a little, but it didn’t really need much. It’s as clear as any I have heard.”
Pac’s eyes lit up and he rotated his index finger in the opposite direction for Jeff to rewind. After repeating this two or three times, he took off the headphones and proclaimed, “Listen carefully at the fifteen second mark.”
Everyone took turns listening, but they agreed nobody would say what they heard until everyone had a turn. They all stood around in dumbstruck silence until Jeff said, “Okay, don’t say what you heard.” He grabbed a pad of Post-it notes from his bag and passed them around with a pen. “Write it down, fold it up, and put it in here,” he said, grabbing an old dusty coffee mug from a nearby shelf.
“Why are we doing this?” the doctor asked.
“I don’t want anyone influencing anyone else’s answer,” Jeff said.
“Of course,” Dr. Staples said, lifting his eyebrows thoughtfully as he jotted down his answer. He was the last one to place his in the mug.
Jeff pulled them out one at a time, read them, and then placed them face down on the desk. After checking the last one, he said, “Well ... it’s unanimous.”
“Well?” Debbie asked.
“It’s a Class-A EVP all the way,” Jeff said, turning up the volume on his speakers and rewinding the recording. He hit play and everyone leaned in to listen.
At first there was ambient noise in the room and then they heard Pac say, “Come on, you chicken shit!” A few moments later, a gruff, angry voice growled, “Death to you!”
Thanks to Jeff’s editing, the recording ended right before Dr. Staple’s scream.
“It was right after this part where you had your experience?” Jeff asked.
Dr. Staples nodded.
“What did you see?” Debbie asked.
“I thought I saw eyes, red glowing eyes, coming towards me from across the room,” Dr. Staples said. “I emphasize, thought.”
Debbie shuddered as if she had caught a chill.
“Wow,” Elvis muttered, goose bumps running up his arms. He had asked Jeff what the doctor reported the night of the investigation, but Jeff refused because the doctor was uncomfortable with it.
“What does it mean?” Debbie asked.
“It means there’s a bad ass spook there,” Pac grinned.
“It means we should definitely go back and check it out again,” Jeff said. “It might be difficult because we were lucky to get in once, but if I share this with the owner, he may agree to another investigation.”
By the time they broke for the evening, Jeff and Debbie had arranged a dinner date. Jeff followed Debbie home where she fed Lily before they left. She even got Jeff to lug the industrial sized bag of dog food inside from her trunk. Debbie had opened it in the trunk and used a Tupperware container to bring in rations as needed.
When they got in Jeff’s truck, he slipped the key into the ignition, and then frowned.
“I haven’t been able to get a hold of Mrs. Schwender to see how she is doing. Do you mind if we drop by there first?”
“Not at all,” Debbie said. “I hope she is okay...she was such a sweetheart!”
Five minutes later, they parked by the curb in front of Mrs. Schwender’s. They got out and walked to the door. The nearer they drew to the house, an ominous feeling crept over them. Something was wrong.
For one, it was dusk and not a single light appeared to be on inside the house. The only exterior lighting came from a street light about fifty yards away. When they reached the door, Jeff knocked. There was no answer. He waited several moments and knocked again - still no answer.
“I wonder if she has gone somewhere.” Debbie said.
“I don’t know. If she has, it has been a while,” Jeff said pointing to the small mailbox by the door overflowing with letters and circulars.
“I don’t like the looks of that either,” Debbie said, pointing to a spattering of five or six newspapers lying about on the porch.
Jeff knocked once more, a little harder this time; still no answer.
“Something doesn’t seem right,” Jeff said.
“Do you know any relatives or anybody we might be able to call?” Debbie asked.
Jeff shook his head.
“No, all I have is her phone number and she hasn’t answered all week. I assumed she didn’t answer because her phones are still unplugged.”
He ran his fingers through his hair and pursed his lips. “Hold on a second, I’ll be right back,” Jeff said, before walking back toward his truck.
“Wait...,” was all Debbie could say before Jeff was halfway there.
She didn’t feel comfortable staying by herself on the dark porch of an even darker house, but Jeff was back quickly. He had a pen and stack of large Post-It Notes with Nuverian Health logo.
He scribbled on the top note:
‘Mrs. Schwender,
Jeff and Debbie stopped by to check on you. We are the ‘ghost people’. Please call my cell at any time. 417-555-2675.’
Jeff peeled the note off and placed it above the doorknob.
“She should see it there,” he said.
“If she’s okay,” Debbie fretted. “Maybe we should try the back door or check the windows...you know, to be sure?”
The nearest window was about a foot to the left of the porch railing. The problem was, it sat above a large and prickly holly bush. Jeff leaned over the railing and braced his hands on the windowsill. He needed to find a suitable position where his arms wouldn’t be turned into pincushions by the spiky shrub. He pressed his face on the storm window pane above the screen. At first, he could only see inky blackness. He turned his head to one side, enough to let a narrow beam of light from the street lamp into the room. When Jeff focused his eyes, his heart froze.
Chapter 24
JEFF ALMOST TOPPLED headlong into the thorny bush. As he held on and caught his breath, he knew he had seen the face of Mrs. Schwender gazing back at him. Summoning his strength and refocusing his eyes, he peered in the window again.
A large portrait of Mrs. Schwender sat on an accent table behind the sofa. The picture faced the window, so they had not noticed it on their previous visits. Jeff thought it odd, as most people would, that the portrait faced away from the room. There was no more than two-feet between the portrait and the window. A very small and awkward viewing area.
“Are you okay?” Debbie called.
“Yeah,” Jeff laughed. “I saw Mrs. Schwender.”
“What? Is she okay?”
Jeff lowered his feet back onto the porch.
“I don’t know, I saw a picture of he
r and I thought...no, I didn’t see her.”
“A picture?” Debbie scowled.
Jeff pointed over his shoulder at the window. The portrait shone like a ghostly reflection in the street light.
Debbie shuddered.
“Somethin’s not right; it gives me a chill just standin’ here.”
Jeff put his arm around her shoulders.
“Well, it is a cool night and you left your jacket in the truck,” Jeff said, planting a kiss on Debbie’s forehead. “I’ll check back tomorrow, in the daylight,” he said. “She has probably gone somewhere to visit family, that’s all.”
“You promise?” Debbie said.
“Of course, ... you can come with me if you want,” Jeff said.
“Okay,” Debbie sighed, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder.
The dark, empty presence of the house sent the tiny feet of phantom mice scurrying up and down her spine. Jeff felt uneasy as well, but he wasn’t ready to assume the worst yet.
They had another wonderful evening together, ending in the customary way with a little longer kiss on Debbie’s front porch.
Jeff drove home in a cloud. He pulled over on the shoulder of the two-lane highway leading away from town to his house. It was a cool night with a light breeze rustling through the pastures flanking the highway. Jeff didn’t notice the cold, and didn’t hear the whisper of the wind. It was like his whole body, his consciousness, was on a different level of existence from everything else. He lowered his tailgate and sat down with his feet dangling above the payment. He gazed up at the stars and took in their beauty, a beauty only witnessed in the dark solitude of rural areas or through the eyes of the romantic. He breathed in a long drag of cool, fall air.
“My God...I love her...I really love her,” he whispered to the heavens.
Little did Jeff know, Debbie had made a similar profession to Lily as she stroked her soft coat before drifting off to sleep. Love can produce a host of physical symptoms to those fortunate enough to find it. While Debbie experienced a fast heart rate, she also felt blissful. Her euphoria had given her calm; a piece of mind and a sense of well-being no amount of therapy sessions could provide.
She had a peaceful night’s sleep, which was becoming more common as of late. The dream was not gone. It had made an encore appearance twice in as many weeks, but her nocturnal incontinence seemed to have passed. Debbie no longer dreaded sleep; she welcomed it. She now had something to look forward to in the morning.
AS HAPPY AS JEFF AND Debbie were, a friend was in pain across town. Elvis had learned all too well the terrible anguish that can afflict those who love. He missed his Vicky.
The big guy lay on his side in bed, as he had on so many other occasions, gazing at the portrait resting on the ownerless pillow. Tears flowed down his cheeks in a volatile mix of grief and frustration. They pelted his pillowcase like dreary, lonely raindrops.
Tonight, however, they were not alone, not exactly. Elvis’s digital recorder rested on the sheet between him and Vicky’s portrait. The red recording indicator button cast a pinkish glow in the dimly lit bedroom. He usually began his nights with this framed stand-in for his wife, but tonight would be different. Tonight, he hoped it would be real.
“Vicky, I miss you,” he sniffed. He waited a few moments and asked, “Can you talk to me?”
The room was silent except for the faint whir of the ceiling fan above the bed.
“Can you tell me if I am doing the right thing?” he asked, drying his eyes on the sleeve of his pajamas.
Whir-whir-whir from the ceiling fan.
“I’m doing what I am so I can give myself some peace about losing you,” he said, his voice trembling.
Whir-whir-whir.
“Please talk to me and let me know if you approve,” he sobbed.
Elvis knew he wouldn’t receive an answer, at least not tonight. He knew this, yet he listened to every faint waft of breeze from the fan. He hoped to hear her comforting whisper. He fell asleep in a salty pool of tears with one hand on the frame of the portrait. The recorder would document a night’s worth of rumbling snores. He would listen tomorrow, perhaps she would speak to him in the night, giving him the comfort and approval he so desired.
When he woke the next morning, he showered and put on his best suit. He believed Vicky wanted him to go to church. At any rate, he thought he should go so he could “get right,” as Vicky used to say. It made him feel better and alleviated any blame he was carrying. He still felt guilty for his experiment with the poor little boy. He wanted to tell Jeff, but he was ashamed. He left for church to hear the words of God, but he hoped to return home to hear the words of Vicky on his recorder.
JEFF AND DEBBIE RETURNED to Mrs. Schwender’s later in the day. Neither of them could get their mind off a new milestone in their relationship. Debbie had called at sunrise to ask him to Sunday lunch at her Grammy Lee’s house. This was a big step in their relationship for both because, for all intents and purposes, Grammy Lee was Debbie’s mom. As Debbie hoped, Grammy Lee adored Jeff.
Debbie was astonished when Jeff offered to paint Grammy Lee’s house for her. She had noticed it needed painting weeks ago, but had completely forgotten to check into having it done. This was an enormous undertaking for one person to assume, but Jeff happily agreed.
“I better do it soon or I’ll have to wait till spring,” Jeff told her. “The paint won’t dry right if it’s cold.”
Jeff promised the next sunny weekend, he would be there.
“Pick your color and I’ll slap it on!” Jeff grinned as Grammy Lee gave him a huge bear hug before they left.
“You’ve got a keeper, honey,” Grammy Lee whispered to Debbie before pecking her on the cheek.
Debbie smiled and whispered, “I know.”
When they reached Mrs. Schwender’s door, they had the same foreboding feeling. Even though it was a bright and sunny afternoon, the house still had an unexplainable darkness. The same eerie silence met their knocks and phone calls. Jeff leaned over the porch railing to see if he could see better inside with the daylight.
“Peeper! Pervert! Peeper! Pervert!”
The shouts startled Jeff so much, his left arm and shoulder landed in the holly bush. He cried out in pain before pulling himself out of the shrub. He whirled about as soon as his feet were on the porch.
A little boy and a little girl, no more than ten years old, rode bicycles in a circle near Jeff’s truck. They continued to shout their taunt.
“Peeper! Pervert! Peeper! Pervert!”
Debbie walked halfway down the sidewalk and called to the little ruffians. “Do y’all know Mrs. Schwender?”
The brats answered her question with more incessant taunts. “Peeper! Pervert! Peeper! Pervert!”
Debbie walked to the gate to ask her question again. This move startled the kids. In perfect formation, the little smart alecks peddled up the street, giggling and hooting.
She turned to see Jeff coming up the walk. He gingerly blotted holly bush pricks on his left hand and arm.
“How’s the arm, peeping pervert?” Debbie asked, taking his injured hand to examine the tiny punctures. Luckily for Jeff, he had been wearing a long sleeve shirt. His hand and wrist seemed the most injured.
“I’ve had worse,” he said as he began to apply pressure to another spot on his wrist starting to ooze a thin stream of blood. “I guess the only thing we can do now is ask some of the neighbors if they know her, or know where she is.”
There were no neighbors across the street. A field of waist tall grass obscured the view of a pair of old railroad tracks. Their patinaed rails made them appear as if they hadn’t been used since Berkshire steamers travelled the country.
Two, almost identical, houses flanked Mrs. Schwender’s house. They began their canvassing there.
Paranoid old women greeted them through fortified doors with the same message. They were to get their posteriors off the property, or they were gonna call the cops.
Jeff and
Debbie left with apprehension weighing heavy on them. They spent the rest of the evening discussing what to do. They decided that Jeff would contact the police after work tomorrow. If they could report her as a missing person, even if they weren’t sure if she was actually missing, they didn’t know.
Jeff didn’t think the police could break down her bank vault of a door, and enter the house without a warrant. Maybe they could locate some of her relatives and get in touch with one of them. Or...perhaps she was with one of them. They had no way of tracking them down, so it seemed the police were their only option.
Jeff drove to work the next morning rehearsing what he was going to say to the police. He had never done this before. He figured bringing up their paranormal investigation was inevitable. He envisioned himself being ridiculed, and then the police would hang up on him.
Jeff’s rehearsal time proved to be pointless; because a little after ten o’clock, the police called him.
Chapter 25
JEFF INTENDED TO CALL the police on his lunch hour. He was on his way to the break room to enjoy his favorite break time snack of chocolate milk and Zingers, when his phone rang. He wasn’t too worried about the no cell phone policy in the office, especially since Old-Skunk-Head wasn’t in town. However, he was still in violation and had forgotten to turn off his ringer. He snatched it from his pocket and ducked into an empty conference room.
“Hello?” he rasped.
“I’m trying to reach Jeff Granger,” a man’s deep, grating voice said on the other end of the line.
“This is Jeff.”
“Are you Jeff Granger...the ghost guy?’” the man asked in a humorless tone.
“May I ask who is calling?” Jeff said.
“My name is Captain Bronson Dean of the Springfield Police Department.”
Jeff felt as if his heart and Adam’s apple were now competing for throat space, paralyzing his vocal cords.
After a few moments of silence, Captain Dean asked, “How do you know Mrs. Julia Schwender?”