No Ghouls Allowed (3 page)

The van fell into companionable silence as Gilley drove us through Valdosta’s beautiful
streets. I had a sudden pang of homesickness for the place that, only a dozen years
before, I couldn’t wait to get away from, and found myself leaning my head toward
the window to catch the lovely breeze and the sweet smell of fresh peaches, which
was so much a part of my history. Summer was just gearing up and the smell more than
the sights of my home city was taking me back to a time when I was young and carefree.
Before Mama died and the gray cloud of sadness settled into our lives.

“Hey!” Gil exclaimed, jerking me from my thoughts. “There’s Christine’s place—Porter
Manor! They cut down all the trees along that ridge, M.J.”

I turned to look out Gilley’s window, and sure enough, the massive house could now
be clearly seen at the top of a ridge that’d once been thick with trees. The Porters
had been a very private family, and they’d done nothing in the hundred and fifty years
of owning the manor to make it more visible to the people of the town. “Huh,” I said,
a little sad to see all the trees gone, but also impressed by the size of the place,
which I’d never realized was as big as it now appeared.

“Whoa,” Heath said. “It’s at least as big as any castles we’ve investigated overseas.”

“It’s the largest single home in Valdosta,” Gil said smartly. “Mama sent me the listing
when it went on the market. It had all the historic details, and the square footage
posted at ten thousand square feet.”

Heath whistled his appreciation. “That’s huge. Have either of you ever been inside?”

Gil pulled over just below the ridge and we all gazed up at the manor. “No,” Gil said.
“But I’ve always wanted to take a peek.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “You have?”

He nodded. “Haven’t you?”

I squinted up and nodded. “Yeah. I suppose I have.”

“Well, we told Christine that we’d investigate it today, so we’d better get to it,”
Heath reminded us.

Gil put the van into drive and pulled away from the curb. I could see his curiosity
was getting the better of him.

Gilley had gotten a little braver about interacting with spooks in recent months and
I thought that his boyfriend, Michel, was responsible for the change. Michel wasn’t
fazed by much and that seemed to calm Gil down considerably on all fronts. Of course,
I fully expected him to wait in the van until Heath and I completed the investigation
and gave the all clear, but still, his enthusiasm for a ghostbust was something to
be noted.

After winding our way up the hill, we finally arrived at the bottom of the drive leading
to Porter Manor. The entrance of the manor was a dirt drive flanked by two huge crumbling
brick pylons. The drive was at least a quarter mile long and lined with ancient oak
trees dripping with Spanish moss. At the end of the road was the manor, a regal-looking
three-story Greek Revival plantation home, with white paint and black shutters, which
was now a bit haggard with age and neglect. Only a large section of the middle was
visible through the trees. Even so, what could be seen was impressive. As Gil hesitated
at the bottom of the drive, I felt goose pimples rise up along my arms and I glanced
back at Heath only to see his brow furrowed.

“Cool, isn’t it?” Gilley said, his enthusiasm never waning.

“It is,” Heath agreed, his gaze darting to me, and when I held out my arm to show
him the goose pimples, he smiled and nodded. The place was ringing with spectral energy
all right. “Let’s have a look, then,” Heath said.

Gil took his foot off the brake and we made our way slowly down the drive, kicking
up a good cloud of dust as we went. The closer we got, the more intrigued I became.
The house was even bigger up close than it had appeared from down below at the bottom
of the hill. It loomed like a behemoth at the end of the drive, growing in size as
we approached until, when we parked near the front door, it seemed to block out the
sun and cast us in shadow.

An involuntary shudder snaked its way down my spine and I couldn’t help but smile.
I’ve spent many years now creeping through haunted spaces, and what I used to fear,
I’ve now come to appreciate in a way that only repeated experiences with the spirits
of the dead can foster: namely, a wealth of admiration for historical landmarks that
soak up the memory of the living so intensely that some spooks find it hard to leave.
I love the mystery of digging through the ether to figure out the history of a haunted
space; the identity of the ghosts haunting the hallways and why they haven’t moved
on are the mysteries that continue to captivate me.

“Do we have anything in here for protection?” Heath asked from the backseat, and I
saw him looking over his shoulder into the back of the van.

“I doubt it,” Gil said. “M.J. made me get rid of everything not nailed down in here
before we set out from Boston.”

He said that like it was my fault we didn’t have any of the magnetic spikes or the
gear we normally used to ward off the more aggressive spooks. “The van was filthy,
Gil, and you know it. Besides, I only told you to clean it out, not get rid of everything
useful in it.”

“How was I supposed to know we were gonna do a ghostbust down here?”

I put a hand on his arm. “You didn’t. So this isn’t your fault or mine.”

“Do you want to wait?” Heath asked, turning back to me.

I eyed the house. “Nah. At most it’s probably some crotchety old relative of the Porters
who just needs a good talking-to. We’ll be fine.”

Gil offered me a level look. “You know who else always says stuff like that?”

“Who?”

“Velma, right before she, Shaggy, Scooby, and the rest of the gang go running for
their lives.”

I chuckled. Since our show,
Ghoul Getters
, had started to air on cable, Gil had become obsessed with the comments section of
the show’s Web site, and a few of the “fans” who had compared us to
Scooby-Doo
. I’ll admit that it’d stung a little at first, reading their less than kind jabs,
especially when I kept getting compared to Velma, but now I could actually see the
humor in it. Gil was also starting to come around, to a lesser degree of course, but
that was likely because most everyone compared him to either Shaggy or Scooby.

The three of us stepped from the van in unison, and in silence, each of our chins
tilted upward toward the second and third stories. High overhead was a circular balcony
and my attention seemed drawn by it in particular. As I squinted to the black ironwork
railing, a flicker of movement made me suck in a breath.

“What?” I heard Heath ask.

I pointed toward the railing and said, “I thought I saw something up there.”

Heath said, “Huh. I saw something in that window.” And he pointed toward a large picture
window to his right.

In the next second I felt a great force hit me from the side and I was airborne, flying
sideways into Heath, who let out a grunt of pain as we both tumbled to the ground
in a heap. Somewhere behind me I heard a loud crash, and a spray of rocks bit painfully
into my back and shoulders. “What the . . . ?!” I cried, just as I realized Gilley
was also lying next to me, his arm still wrapped around my middle.

Bewildered, I watched him shake his head and try to untangle himself from me. “You
okay?” he asked.

I brushed a little of the debris out of my hair and lifted my left arm to allow him
some room. “What happened?”

Gil brushed at his own head, and small chunks of black debris clinked to the ground.
Instead of answering me, he pointed behind him. “That planter,” he said, a little
out of breath. “The second you turned your head, it came off the balcony and headed
straight for you.”

My eyes widened. The remnants of a large black planter lay smashed and broken exactly
where I’d been standing. If that thing had hit me, there’s no way I would’ve survived.

“Whoa,” Heath said, but I was too shocked to speak. “Em, you okay?” he asked after
a moment.

I nodded dully, still amazed that I’d come that close to death and hadn’t even known
it. And then I focused on Gilley, who was looking a bit pale and shaken himself. Throwing
my arms around him, I hugged him fiercely. “Thank you, sweetie!”

Gil let out a small chuckle. “It was nothing,” he said humbly.

I released Gil, and Heath helped me to my feet. We all moved tentatively over to the
planter to inspect it, our gazes moving from the planter up to the third-story balcony,
where it must’ve come from.

“I’d say that somebody in there isn’t so happy we’ve stopped by,” Heath whispered.
“Maybe we should go and come back another time? Like when we’re covered in magnets.”

“You know,” I said, still staring up at the balcony, “I think that’s a great idea.”

The three of us turned back to the van and got in. Gil’s hands were shaking a little
as he reached down to turn the key, but all of a sudden there was another gigantic
crash and the front windshield imploded.

I screamed and so did Gil. In the next moment the three of us were back out of the
van, and Gilley and I were shaking the broken glass off us. “Guys!” Heath said, pointing
our attention back toward the van. “Look!”

I was so stunned that all I could do was stand there with my mouth agape. On the top
of the hood was another huge planter, which had cratered itself on the hood and imploded
the windshield.

“Another six inches and it would’ve killed us!” Gil exclaimed.

“There’s no way we can drive out of here now,” Heath said. He was right. The van was
at best inoperable and at worst totaled.

“So what the hell do we do?” Gil squeaked, his gaze moving from the van to the house
and back again.

I turned toward the front door of Porter Manor, anger fueling my thoughts. “We find
the son of a bitch throwing planters at us!”

“We can’t go in there!” Gil screeched, and suddenly there was another loud crash and
I ducked low, covering my head with my arms. Slowly I craned my head to look back
at the van, which had been struck on the right front quarter panel by a third planter.

Heath came up next to me and grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the front door. “At
some point whoever’s up there has to run out of pots.”

Hurrying to the door, we were passed by Gil, who streaked up to the porch and trembled
pathetically next to the door. “What the hell is going on?” he practically shouted
when we joined him.

“Don’t know,” I said. “You might wanna stay right here, though, honey. At least until
we know what else could come flying off the balcony.”

I then put my hand on the door and Gil said, “What if it’s locked?”

I hadn’t thought of that, and tried the knob only to discover it was locked. “Dammit,”
I muttered. “I should’ve gotten a key from Christine before we left.” No sooner had
I finished that sentence than the front door suddenly clicked and swung open with
a loud creak.

“Whoa!” Heath whispered again.

We stood there for several beats, frozen to the spot while we contemplated the fact
that the door had just unlocked itself and opened wide. “I think maybe I should make
a run for the road,” Gilley said, his eyes wide with fright.

I grabbed his arm to stop him; something told me not to let him out of my sight. “Hang
on,” I said, that foreboding getting stronger. A moment later a paint can came flying
from somewhere above, hit the drive, and paint splattered everywhere. A second after
that, several bricks smashed to the ground, kicking up debris that found its way to
the porch and hit our legs.

Both Gilley and I shrieked while Heath grabbed me around the waist and hauled my butt
through the door. As I was still holding on to Gilley, he had no choice but to stumble
along with me. The second we were through the door, however, it slammed behind us
and we were plunged into the dim interior.

“What the hell?!” Gil cried, his voice now quavering with fear.

I let go of him and pulled away from Heath to go back to the front door and give it
a tug. I wanted to know what’d happened outside, but the door was now locked again,
and no matter what I did to the lock, it wouldn’t open.

“It’s stuck!” I growled, yanking on the handle.

Heath moved up next to me and I let him try, but he couldn’t get it to open either.

I put a hand on his shoulder. “Leave it. We’ll find another way out.”

“I don’t like this place, M.J.!” Gil said, sidling up next to me close enough to share
my shirt.

I took his hand again and squeezed it. “It’ll be okay, Gil. We just need to find another
exit and we’ll be on our way.”

“How’re we gonna get out of here, though?” Gil pressed. “We can’t drive the van in
that condition.”

I lifted my cell phone. I’d been clutching it the whole time we’d been at the house.
“I’ll call Daddy,” I said. But as I pressed the
HOME
button, the screen remained dark. I pressed it again, with no luck. I muttered under
my breath and tried to think of what to do.

“Please don’t tell me your phone’s dead,” Gil whispered when I covered my eyes with
my hand.

“Try yours,” I told him.

Gil reached into his back pocket, but his hand came up empty. Then he began to pat
himself. “Where’s my phone?”

“You don’t have it?” I asked.

Gil shook his head even as he continued to pat himself down.

“Here,” Heath said, handing me his cell. I pressed the
HOME
button, but his phone wouldn’t come on either. Meanwhile, Gil had dashed to a nearby
window to peer through the pane. “It’s out there!” he wailed. “I must’ve dropped my
phone when I pushed you fools out of the way.”

“We’ll get it back,” I reassured him, moving up next to him to look through the pane
to see where he’d dropped his cell.

“Come on,” Heath said, taking charge. “Let’s find an exit and get the hell out of
here.”

I took his hand and grabbed up Gil’s hand too. Silently I berated myself for being
so foolish as to arrive here so unprepared and unprotected. “We should’ve geared up
before coming here,” I muttered angrily.