The Ghost Chronicles (18 page)

My pendulum pulled straight down. It was apparent that whoever it was finished speaking with us.

“I have another question,” Rusty screeched.

“I’m sorry, it’s gone. We’re not going to get any more answers today,” I said.

Taking my cue, Ron said, “Would you look at the time. I think we should head out.”

“Yeah. I think we’re done here. At least for now,” I replied, trying to hide my glee.

“No, I want to talk some more. Can’t you make her come back?” Rusty asked.

“No. Besides, it doesn’t work that way. If I get anything on the photos I took, I’ll give you a call,” Ron said, as he followed me toward the door.

Once outside, we all stood between the front bumper of the Ford and the Harley that was parked halfway into the garage bay.

“Hey,” Moose said, “why do you think the little girl’s breaking all our crap?”

The ringing of Rusty’s cell phone disrupted our conversation. “Holy shit! See, I’m not lying about the spirit wreaking havoc in my life. When have you ever seen a caller ID look like this?” he said, sticking the LCD screen of the still-ringing phone in our faces.

My eyes became transfixed on the caller ID, which read 000-000-0000. “Oh—my—God,” I said, bile rising in my throat. He was right; I had never seen anything like it. I couldn’t say for sure whether it was of paranormal nature or not. What I did know is how it made me feel. One look at the odd number and gooseflesh riddled my forearms.

“Come here, Maureen. I want to talk to you for a minute.” Rusty grabbed my arm, and all but dragged me past Ron’s car to the end of the driveway.

I cringed. What the heck did he want from me? I glanced over my shoulder at Ron, who appeared to be in an awkward conversation with Moose. Rusty regained my attention by digging his fingertips into the soft flesh of my upper arm. “Ouch.”

“Sorry, about that.” He lessened his hold. “Maureen, can you come back?”

I looked up to the house where Ron and Moose stood, waiting. “Ron and I…”

“No. Not Ron. Just you.” He spoke in a low, grating voice.

“I, ah, I—” He’d caught me off guard. I was at a loss for words, which, for anyone who knows me, seldom happens. “I don’t understand,” I said, close enough to gaze at the skull and crossbones etched into his flesh. Call me crazy, but I wasn’t getting a warm and fuzzy feeling about this.

“I told you about the little girl. What you did in there, communicating with her, got me thinking.” He hesitated. “I think the little girl was afraid of Ron. I bet she’ll talk to you alone. Can you come back tonight?” he asked, a look of hunger on his face.

Tonight? What is he, crazy?
I wasn’t ever coming back.

“I didn’t want to bring this up,” he started. “I’m not sure it has anything to do with anything…”

“What?” I asked, the word slipping out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

Rusty, still gripping my arm, looked side to side, as if in search of a private moment. “I just got out of jail.”

Almost afraid to speak, I asked, “For what?” My voice sounded hoarse, even to me.

“Murder,” he said, his voice low. It sounded like a threat.

My body tensed in response. Slowly, cautiously, I removed my arm from his grasp.

Obviously reading my body language, he got defensive. “He was a friend of mine. I didn’t mean to kill him. Just hurt him.”

A wave of nausea washed over me, and I found myself wondering if he were so callous with the life of a friend, how would he treat his enemies? I chose my next words more carefully. “Rusty, I’m not avoiding you, but maybe it would be better if Ron and I came back with the rest of our team to do a full investigation.”

“I don’t think she likes Ron,” he said again, and I could sense his impatience. “I only want you here.” He paused. “What’s your phone number? I’ll call you tonight.”

Call me? Oh no. No, no, no.
The skin along my back and neck crawled, like there were a million insects doing the mambo on me.

Just then there was a sound from behind; I turned to see Ron walking toward us, with Moose in tow. “What do you say, kid? We have to get going before the traffic hits,” Ron said.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.
Thank God
. I was never so happy for an interruption in all of my life. Rolling my watch over on my wrist, I checked the time. “Yeah, you’re right, we had better get going.” I forced an apologetic smile on my face, one that I didn’t feel, and said, “Sorry guys, we really do have to go.”

Ron pulled a business card from the back pocket of his Dockers, handed it to Rusty, and said, “Give me a call on the Ghost Line if you encounter any more issues. In the meantime, like I said before, I’ll develop my film, and we’ll see what we get.”

We nearly ran to Ron’s car and climbed in. I held my breath as Ron backed out of the driveway and onto the street.

“What was that all about?” Ron asked, as he put on his right blinker and pulled up to the stop sign. For a moment, Ron sounded like a little boy. A boy that had been the only one not invited to a classroom party.

“He wanted me to come back tonight, alone.” I looked at Ron. “Without you.”

“What are you, crazy?” Ron yelled. “You’re not going back. Right?”

“No freaking way!”

“You didn’t give him your number, did you?” Ron said, waggling his finger in my face. “Don’t ever call him from your cell phone, home phone—anywhere…”

“No worries. I’m not calling him.” I sighed heavily. “Did you know he just got released from prison?”

Ron turned, with a look of apparent guilt on his face, “Um, maybe?”

“What the hell were you thinking? I could kill you!”

“Well, he needed help. Besides, I thought you wanted to help people.” Ron grinned sheepishly.

“Yeah, at what cost?”

Ron returns to the now abandoned Stone House. Does evil still lurk there?

I
slapped a coffee cup on the desk while I waited for the lethargic computer to boot. Another morning with the New England Ghost Project.
Damn, I hate mornings
. The cobwebs cleared in my head as I began to check my emails. As usual I scanned the list, looking for anything of interest, when one caught my eye.
Hmmm, what’s this?
I read it out loud to myself, “A cry for help…”

To: [email protected]

From: Evon

Subject: A cry for help!

Dear Ron—Hi, this is Evon, Maureen’s sister. She told me to contact you directly, so I am. I work at a government building where a lot of strange things have been occurring. Not only do we have an unusually high attrition rate, it seems that everyone is at each other’s throats. At first we thought it nothing more than coincidence. But now, we’re not so sure.

We have been experiencing horrific odors that appear out of nowhere and mysteriously disappear as quickly as they come. On several occasions we’ve had electrical problems, computer problems, and infestations of various insects.

As if that weren’t enough, we’ve had a series of unexplained events, cold air swirling around our legs, knockings in the
walls, and while on conference calls, the phone buttons will all light up, suggesting someone or something is listening in.

We’re desperate. Please, please, please, help us to find out what is going on. The only problem is my manager wants this to remain anonymous.

We appreciate any assistance you can offer.

Please contact me as quickly as possible.

Evon

Realizing the seriousness of the situation, we accepted her challenge. And here’s where our story begins.

* * *

Tension filled the air as we made our way up the winding dirt driveway. The moon hung low in the sky, illuminating the menacing stone structure, making the two front windows appear like a pair of evil eyes, lurking in the distance. An uneasiness swept over our group. As we exited the cars, I looked at my friend Bety and my daughter, Sabrina; since it was their first time out on an investigation with us, I attempted to gauge their reactions to our surroundings.

We cautiously entered the building.

“Hi, Evon!” I wrapped my arms around my sister, whom I hadn’t seen for a month or so, and gave her a big hug.

“Maureen, so glad you came,” she said in a quivering voice.

I turned to face Ron. “This is my sister, Evon, and her manager, Deborah.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand in a greeting. “Is there somewhere we can set up?”

“Yeah, you can use the conference room off to the left.” She hesitated. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, that sounds great,” Ron said.

Typically I wait until we’ve walked the premises to get a feel for the place prior to making any judgments. This time it was different. I didn’t need to walk through the old stone house. I’d barely stepped over the threshold when the first waves of trembling energy brushed across my forehead, sending a shiver up my spine. The eagerness for investigating that I’d felt a mere moment ago was replaced by sudden doubt. I was all too familiar with the risks associated with investigating the paranormal. It was one thing subjecting myself to the danger; it was another altogether to expose my own flesh and blood to it. I looked at Sabrina, my daughter, and for the first time since we’d left my house, I regretted bringing her along.

Moments after completing our setup, Deborah returned, mugs in hand.

“So, what’s the story on this place?” Ron asked, scanning the surroundings.

Deborah handed Ron a cup of coffee. “In preparation for you guys coming I did a little research. The building is over one hundred years old and was originally built by a local businessman for his mistress.” She paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. “It took two years to complete the house, and at that time, he married his mistress and moved in with her. Three months later he died mysteriously. During World War I it became a home for the wives of servicemen whose husbands were away. In 1959, it was bought by a religious order, which held retreats and had a camp for difficult children. We are currently leasing the building from the order.”

No sooner had she finished her story than Leo, our photographer, yelled, “What the heck is this?”

While Leo was drinking his coffee, a large, fat fly appeared out of nowhere and, as if in some weird kamikaze trance, made a spiral nosedive directly into his cup. Was this some type of omen?

Ron started grabbing equipment. “Hey, Evon, would you mind giving us a hand?”

“No, not at all. What can I do?” Evon asked eagerly.

Ron handed her the remote infrared camera. “Take this. It’s the infrared camera,” he said, reading her quizzical gaze. “The monitors at base camp display everything you’re seeing. So just make sure to keep it level and aimed at us.”

We left Sabrina at base camp, and with Deborah in the lead, we walked through the foyer toward the back of the building and made our way up the carpeted stairs to the second floor offices.

As I walked into the large office at the end of the hallway, I felt a low-level current of energy hum across my skin, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. “Someone’s here,” I said. Ron, with his EMF meter in hand, began to sweep the area at shoulder height.

“Are you sure? I’m not picking up much of a reading.”

Evon, clutching the mobile infrared camera, asked, “Ron, how close do you have to be to detect a spirit?”

“Fairly close with this type of meter,” Ron answered.

I concentrated a little more. Instinctively, I knew why he hadn’t gotten a reading. “Your meter is up too high. Here, around hip level.” I gestured with an arcing motion of my hand. “It’s a little boy.”

Ron lowered the meter. The EMF meter blinked wildly “Wow. Look at that!” he said.

Suddenly I felt strongly that the young boy was trying to warn me.

I looked up into the concerned eyes of our guests. “Can you guys feel this? It’s so thick. Heavy.” I struggled to breathe, my chest constricting. The harder I tried to reach out to the little boy, the stronger the energy became, as if something or someone stood in the way. I ignored my gut instinct of impending doom and used my pendulum to reach out to the little boy once again.