by JL Bryan
“That’s not a bad idea,” I said. “Just remember we have to break down everything before sunrise, if the neighbors aren’t cooperative when we visit.”
“One multisided grid projector, coming up.” Stacey walked to a storage closet.
“I feel like I should come with you,” Calvin said to me.
“Come if you want,” I said, “But we’re still just observing. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to move on to trapping.”
He nodded. “Any new ideas about how to trap this one?”
That was unnerving—my boss and mentor looking to me to figure this out. The responsibility felt a little too heavy.
“Maybe we’ll turn up a human identity for the boogeyman,” I said.
“If there is anything human under there,” Calvin said.
“And if he’s a pure demonic? Do we call the priest?” I asked.
“He’s not a priest anymore,” Calvin said. “Just a demonologist. I should give him a ring to make sure he’s available.” Calvin paused, reflecting. “And at least half-sober.”
“We’re all geared up for our mission, sir,” Stacey said when she returned, giving me one of her mock salutes.
“Stop calling me ‘sir.’ You sound like Marcy from Peanuts,” I said.
“Maybe I was talking to Calvin,” Stacey said.
“Let’s get to work,” I said. “I want to squeeze in some serious library time this afternoon, too.”
“Oh, please, let’s.” Stacey shook her head as we approached the van.
“Watch out for ghosts,” Calvin said. I glanced back, giving him a grin, but he wasn’t actually smiling. His look was dead serious. “Call me if you need anything.”
I nodded. It wasn’t like him to act so worried, but this was an unusually dangerous case. I was determined to make things right, to finally capture the ghost that had put Calvin in that wheelchair.
Chapter Ten
We spent another fantastic afternoon digging through old title deeds, property records, and faded photographs, still establishing a chain of ownership for all the houses around Alicia’s home. There was much sighing and eye-rubbing on Stacey’s part.
In the evening, we returned to Alicia’s place, ready to set up more gear in the basement.
“Hi,” Melissa said, answering the front door. In the big entrance hall-turned-living-room behind her, Mia was practicing handstands while watching cartoons, while Kalil sat on the couch reading a book called Guns, Germs, and Steel. “Alicia won’t be home until after nine. Come on in. Need any help?” Melissa eyeballed the gear in our arms.
“We’re good,” I said, stepping inside and setting down a couple of tripods. “We just need to refresh the battery packs on the cameras.”
“Did you see Fleshface?” Mia asked, swaying as she walked toward us on her hands.
“Or the aliens?” Kalil asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he looked up at me.
“We picked up some good evidence,” I said. “We’re definitely on the trail of the one that’s been bugging you. It’s not really Fleshface or aliens, did I explain that? It’s a thing that can pretend to be whatever you fear.”
“But what is it really?” Kalil asked.
“It’s a thing made of energy,” I said. “It feeds itself by drawing out the fear in people. The best way to weaken it is to recognize that it’s tricking you and resist the urge to be afraid.”
“What’s the second best way to make it weak?” Mia asked.
“Showing it courage,” I said. “Even if you really feel afraid on the inside...act like you’re not afraid. That’s what courage really is, anyway. Shine a light on it. Throw a pillow at it. Shout at it to go away.”
“But what if that just makes it mad?” Kalil asked.
“At first, it might try to get even scarier,” I said. “But if you keep standing up to it, it will go away and sulk, or try to find someone else to feed on. Because when you show it courage, you’re refusing to feed it. If it does try to make itself bigger and scarier, that means you’re winning, because you’re making it use up more of its energy.”
“But what if you can’t help being scared?” Mia said.
“I’ve faced a lot of ghosts,” I said. “I still get scared. Your natural reaction is to go very still, to make no movements or sound and hope it goes away. With this type, that’s exactly what they want you to do. Take some action. Scream for your mom or your brother, scream for Melissa or me or Stacey if we’re here. And hit it with a big blast of that spotlight Stacey set up for you. Ghosts hate light.”
Kalil nodded and jotted notes on a pad on the table.
“All done down here,” Stacey said. She’d been working on the camera that pointed at the door to the dead-end stairs. “I moved it for a broader view of the living room. Zoomed out as much as I could.”
“Did you get the—”
“It was hard to get the ceiling because it’s so high,” she said. “I did get the stair railing, since Alicia saw it climbing there. Kind of a steep angle, but it’s something.” She shrugged.
“Looks good,” I said, after checking the display screen. “We’d better get moving. Melissa, we need to change the batteries in your apartment, too...”
“Go on up. My brother’s home.”
“Things sure would go faster if you took care of the third-floor cameras, Ellie,” Stacey said.
“I’ll tell him you’re coming.” Melissa was suddenly texting on her phone, her purple thumbnails flashing and tapping.
“Wait—” I began.
“Hey, Ellie, think fast!” Stacey said. I turned to see her tossing a camera battery right at me, and I barely had time to snatch it out of the air before it could wham into my ribs.
“Thanks a lot,” I told her. “I said wait. I should go try to talk to the other neighbors first, before it gets too late to knock on their doors. Stacey, you take care of all the gear.”
“Except the third floor, right?” Stacey winked.
“Hey, what was that?” Melissa looked between us, then focused on me. “Are you into my brother or something?” She had a weird little smile, like she was trying to decide whether to laugh.
“No.” I felt my cheeks flush. “I mean, I’ve just met him.”
“You’re not into him?” Stacey asked.
“I’m into working. Which is what you should be doing, Stacey. The sun’s almost down, and I don’t want to be setting up in the basement at midnight.” I walked to the front door, trying not to look like I was in a big hurry to leave.
I paused outside on the porch to take a deep breath of warm evening air. The sky was dark purple above us. I hated the idea of waiting until long after sunset to set up our gear in the clearly haunted basement, but we didn’t have much choice if the neighbors didn’t give permission.
I circled the house, past a fence thick with honeysuckle vines that blocked the view from the neighbor’s yard.
Behind the house lay a small garden enclosed with high brick walls, a pleasant area edged with blooming pink roses. A bench and a covered wooden-bench swing faced a stone birdbath at the center. A pair of hummingbirds floated in the air near a sugar-water feeder on an old oak tree.
Narrow rectangular windows were set just above the ground, in the stone foundation of the house. They were dusty and dark, totally failing to provide any preview of the basement apartment or of Mr. Gray himself.
A pair of slanted doors were built into the back of the house, leading into the cellar, marked with a brass letter “D.” Mr. Gray’s apartment. From what I’d heard, it would be easier to talk to him than the Fielding family, so I figured I would start with the easy stuff and then let my evening go downhill from there.
I knocked on one of the slanted doors, feeling weirdly like I was visiting the home of some troll who lived underground.
No response came. I glanced at the little windows along the ground, but no light turned on, and there was no sign of activity.
I knocked again. “Mr. Gray?�
�� I called. “Mr. Gray, are you home?”
Nothing. The evening gloom grew darker around me. The hummingbirds were gone, and three bats circled above in the rising moonlight, slurping their way through a cloud of mosquitoes.
I gave it a third knock, but the third time was not the charm. Mr. Gray didn’t seem to be home, and if he was, he clearly wasn’t planning to answer the door anytime soon.
I took a business card from my purse, circled my cell number, and wrote PLEASE CALL on the back, in the most girly handwriting, and drew a little smiley face. I thought it might reassure him that I wasn’t there to harass him or anything negative. Then I stuck it into the crack between the cellar doors and walked away.
It was time for another deep breath as I ascended the porch steps, walked through the side door into the shared hallway, and knocked on the door to the Fieldings’ apartment, which had a brass letter B mounted beside it.
The door creaked open. A woman stood there, wearing an inch or so of makeup, her hair an unnatural shade of yellow, her lips a garish shade of red. She was the type who was pushing forty but dressed like a teenage girl in desperate need of attention—high heels, low-slung shredded jeans, skimpy bra top to show off her tanned abs and the cobra tattoo crawling up her left hip. She was chewing gum as she looked me over, and her lips showed some distaste. I could hear a baby crying in the background, and American Idol blaring from a television.
“Who are you?” she snapped, by way of a greeting.
I told her my name and occupation, handing her a business card.
“Is this about the lawsuit?” she asked.
“What lawsuit?”
“The class-action against them birth-control bastards.” She shook her head. “What do you want?”
“I’m investigating several houses in this neighborhood,” I said. “I’ve been hired by some of your neighbors to look into possible disturbances. Are you Lulinda Fielding?”
“Who’s there? Is it Joey?” A chunky kid emerged into the small foyer where she stood. He was pale and out of breath, draped in a Transformers shirt, his girth a weird contrast to his hardbody mother.
“It ain’t Joey! Get out of here!” she shouted at him. She turned back to me, but the boy lingered behind her, slowly munching down a bag of Skittles while he stared at me like I was a vaguely interesting cartoon. “I have a lot going on. Would you hurry up?” Lulinda said to me.
“Sorry, ma’am,” I said. “Some people in the neighborhood have complained of strange things happening in their homes, particularly at night. They see moving shapes, or things that appear to inhabit their closets—”
“What, like possums?” Lulinda asked.
“Nothing so easy to explain,” I said. “We’re talking about activity that seems...unnatural. Paranormal, even.”
She stopped chawing her gum. “You mean ghosts?”
“Essentially. Though they may not actually be ghosts,” I said. “These kinds of experiences can result from a number of explainable sources. Power lines, for example, can interfere with the brain, making it see things that appear to be—”
“Does that mean we can sue the power company?” she asked.
“Well, that’s just an example,” I said. “What we’d like to do is investigate your home for any possible supernatural activity.”
“Uh-huh.” She straightened up, stiffening her back and looking down her nose at me. “And how much does that cost?”
“I’m not trying to sell you anything—”
“Oh, yeah. Don’t try to hornswaggle a hornswaggler. We are not buying anything from you.” She began to close the door.
“Please, ma’am.” I placed my hand lightly on the door, slowing it but not stopping it entirely—that would be a touch too aggressive. I felt like an old-timey door-to-door salesman, trying to hawk vacuum cleaners to housewives. “Haven’t you or anyone else in your home seen scary or unsettling things at night?” I glanced from her to the kid who stood several feet behind her, slowly crunching his Skittles.
“Falcon, how many times have I told you not to eat outside the kitchen!” she snapped. “And chew with your mouth closed.”
The huge kid, tragically named Falcon Fielding, frowned at his mom. “But—”
“Quiet!” Lulinda snapped. She turned back to me. “Why are you still there?”
“Would you mind if we just set up some of our gear in other areas of the house?” I asked. “We already have permission from the other tenants in this house. Just common areas like the back garden, or maybe—”
“I told you, we are not buying a thing. Good night!” Lulinda slammed the door in my face.
At least she hadn’t thought to say no.
I walked around to the front door and let myself back into Alicia’s apartment. Stacey was upstairs, reloading and double-checking the gear in the kids’ rooms. I heard Kalil and Mia peppering her with questions.
“How did it go?” Melissa asked. She sat up on the couch and paused the TV.
“I met Lulinda Fielding,” I said, and she cracked up. “She didn’t exactly refuse to let us set up a ton of electronic monitoring equipment down in the basement, but I’m not sure she understood the question.”
“Ugh, I hate the basement,” Melissa said. “Are there ghosts down there?”
“Yes. That’s where they all are, I think.”
“I knew it! I totally knew it. You can ask Michael, I told him that yesterday.”
“Any luck?” Stacey called down from one of the row of archways that looked out from the second-floor hall.
“They didn’t say no,” I said. “Nobody told me much beyond that.”
“Jacob’s going to be here any minute,” Stacey said. “And you forgot to run the battery upstairs.”
“Okay.” I grabbed up the replacement battery from our little pile of basement-bound gear. Melissa narrowed her eyes just a little at me—I couldn’t tell if she meant it playfully or not. Then she waved as if dismissing me and started her movie again.
“See you real soon,” she said as I left. I don’t know why that made me uneasy.
I carried the battery up the four flights to Michael and Melissa’s apartment, slowly coming to understand how they could wolf down spaghetti and garlic bread dinners without gaining much weight. Their apartment was neat, and in a decent location near a big park, but I would hate to carry a couch up those stairs.
Michael answered the door. More of that blues music played from the stereo. He wore some ratty, worn-out khakis and a black t-shirt, but also a little pair of half-glasses that looked totally wrong on his face.
“Uh, hi,” I said. “Ghost exterminator.”
“Come in.” He grinned as he closed the door behind me. “How’s it going? Caught any yet?”
“No, but we’re getting some bites. I just have to change out the battery in Melissa’s room, then take the camera out of yours.”
“Why’s that?” His smile faltered a little, as if he were almost disappointed.
“We need a night vision for the basement. Your bedroom is the least active place in the house, so I’ll grab it from there.”
“You’re saying there’s not enough activity in my bedroom?”
“Right, there’s—” I paused and blushed at the idea that he might be making a joke. “Not.”
“I mean, you only monitored for one night. A Monday night.”
“Are weekends more exciting?”
“Always. That’s when I do most of my clock work.”
He followed me to his sister’s room and watched through her hobbit door as I switched out the camera batteries. “So...does this stuff really work?”
“This camera? Only if the battery’s full.”
“No, I mean...” He hesitated, looking at me with a little grin playing around the corners of his mouth. “You know. All of it. The ghost-hunter stuff.”
“Are you asking if I’m a scam artist?” I crawled back up through the door. He offered me his hand to help me up, and I accepted. Why
not? “Is that what you’re getting at?”
“I guess. Not exactly. Yes.” He smiled, as if expecting to remove any offense just by being kind of handsome. It helped. A little.
“If I were conning people, why would I admit it?” I asked.
“Maybe you’d have a moment of brutal honesty. A crisis of conscience. That kind of thing,” he said.
“Nope.” I ducked into his room and collapsed the camera tripod to make it easier to carry. He waited in the living room for me.
“Can I help you carry that down?” he asked, reaching for it as I approached the door.
“So you can spend a little extra time calling me a crook?”
“I’m not calling you anything yet. I just don’t personally believe in, you know, horoscopes, or palm reading...” He took the tripod from me and followed me down the steps. Let the accusations fly. I’d heard it all before.
“I wouldn’t say I believe in those things, either.”
“What about UFO’s?” he asked. “Or reptilian Illuminati?”
“Oh, definitely not UFO’s,” I said. “That’s just a conspiracy by the reptile people.”
“I knew it.”
“So now you know I’m legit.” I glanced back at him as we rounded a landing.
“Alicia and her family have been through a lot,” he said. “I just don’t want them to get hurt. Or ripped off.”
“They’ll get more than their money’s worth,” I told him. “We have a sliding scale.”
“And easy financing, I’m guessing.”
“Zero percent interest for the first twelve months, actually. You should hire us. You’re definitely living in a haunted house.”
“Definitely, you said?”
“We have footage of two distinct entities,” I said. “One in the basement, one in Alicia’s apartment.”
“Can I see it?”
“I’ll show you later.”
He laughed. “Sure.”
“I mean it,” I said. “This whole neighborhood has a history.”
We reached the shared hallway, and he started for the basement door.