The Forgotten Child

by Melissa Erin Jackson

  “Mariah.”

  “Right. Mariah.” His mouth bunched up on one side. His thinking face. “But you’re all here. Seems like if anyone would believe you, it’s them. They’re already believers.”

  Logically, Riley knew that. She did.

  She thought of Heather and her friends in the lobby. How they’d looked at her like she was a foreign creature for experiencing the very thing they had come to experience.

  “I think part of the appeal is the unknown,” said Riley. “There’s evidence—like those videos they showed us earlier—but it’s faulty at best. People are intrigued by the idea of lingering spirits because of what that could mean. Because of how it makes us think about our own mortality. People like to be scared by the ‘what if.’

  “But as soon as someone who’s experienced this stuff talks about it, people look at them differently. Are they making it up? Are they delusional? Are they seeing something that’s explainable, but putting a paranormal spin on it that doesn’t exist?

  “As much as they all believe it, I don’t want to run the risk of telling Jade and having her look at me like I’ve lost it.” Riley’s cheeks flamed. She hadn’t intended to say that much when she started. “Sorry.”

  “For a person who’s so inept with human interaction, that was surprisingly well-said.”

  Lightly smacking his arm, she laughed. “Shut up.”

  “I don’t think you’ve lost it, by the way,” he said. “Remember the clairvoyant cousin?”

  She managed a small nod. “Thanks.”

  With a sigh, he said, “We should probably go back, huh?”

  She followed him inside.

  The investigation of the guesthouse had been wholly uneventful, sighting-wise. Pamela and Mario had moved back into the main part of the guesthouse when Michael and Riley returned. Pamela had arched her brows in question, but Riley just shook her head.

  Since Mario would be camped out in the guesthouse all night, he’d bid them a happy hunt in the cellar, then gone about checking tapes and batteries. All the equipment stayed in one location, so after they deposited their thermometers, EMF readers, and tape recorders in Mario’s care, the trio left the small cabin and made the trek back to the main house.

  “How’d it go?” Riley asked Pamela.

  “It was a little disappointing not to see or hear anything,” she said, “but Mario gave me a lot of really helpful tips on using the equipment. I’m super excited that we get to go to the cellar next.”

  Riley’s stomach was the exact opposite of “super excited.” Whatever relief she’d felt earlier was gone entirely now.

  “On a scale of one to ten,” Michael said to Pamela, “how excited are you?”

  “Twenty-five!”

  Riley couldn’t focus on anything they said after that. The crunch of gravel under her feet sounded too loud. Blood pounded in her ears. What waited for her in the cellar? She could get out of this. She knew that. Michael and Pamela could tell Nina that Riley couldn’t attend for personal reasons and that would be the end of it.

  But maybe she’d see Pete again. Maybe he could tell her where to find his body—bring closure to a family who’d been grieving and wondering for years. Decades.

  Sighing in resignation, Riley followed them into the lobby.

  Angela popped up from behind her desk when they walked in. Napping? Reading a book? Glancing down at something for a moment, she then angled a smile at the trio. “Oooh, the cellar.”

  Pamela did a little jig.

  “Follow me,” Angela said, walking straight back from her desk, then turning right at a pillar, and toward a nondescript door in the wall of the staircase. Once they were all behind her, she opened the door with a flourish and gestured them inside. The door didn’t make a peep as it swung open.

  Pamela confidently strolled in first, then Michael, and Riley brought up the rear. In the narrow hallway, Riley’s shoulders almost touched the cream-colored walls. Michael’s did. A single, bare, low-watt bulb in the ceiling provided the only light.

  “Good luck!” Angela called out, shutting the door and taking more of the light with her.

  The hallway banked left for a short distance, then ended at another door.

  In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

  “You guys ready?” Pamela asked, glancing over her shoulder. She looked like a little kid who’d just been told she could go into a candy store and pick whatever she wanted.

  “Go for it,” Riley said. “But … just … if I wig out in there, I’m going to bolt, okay?”

  Pamela’s cheerful expression slipped a bit, clearly having forgotten, again, that Riley was a chicken shit. “Okay.”

  Michael offered Riley a tight-lipped smile. She couldn’t quite read it.

  Pamela opened the door, revealing a set of dark cement steps. A wooden railing ran along either side of the wall. The lighting was weak here, too. The dancing shadows on the wall hinted at candles more than anything electronic.

  “C’mon down,” Nina said, suddenly appearing at the base of the steps, surrounded on two sides by walls; the space at the bottom of the steps was more of a short landing. “Just take the stairs slowly; they’re steeper than they look.”

  Once Pamela reached the bottom, she turned left and disappeared from sight. Riley heard her say, “I can’t believe we’re finally here.”

  When Riley was two steps from the bottom, Michael reached the ground floor and vanished around the corner.

  Nina stood in the little alcove, waiting for her. The woman backed up a step when Riley reached her. Taking a deep breath, Riley turned to face the room, bracing herself to find a space filled with angry ghosts and torture devices and blood-spattered walls.

  It stood largely empty.

  The room was far deeper than she expected, even larger than the massive kitchen above it. Muted-red bricks made up the walls, the floor the same dark cement as the stairs. Three walls were lined with wooden shelving, presumably to hold wine or jars of food. Riley tried to picture it as the world’s largest pantry, filled with drying herbs and bags of onions, potatoes, and garlic, cans of non-perishable food, and cases and cases of water. The kind of place that could be stocked to the gills for the zombie apocalypse and keep a family fed for a year.

  Though the shelves were empty now, save for the occasional thick candle perched on curving metal stands, Riley had flashes of what used to be here—just like she had when she’d touched the doorjamb of the Hyssop Room. How was she receiving snapshots without touching anything? Why did the rules of this ability she didn’t understand keep changing?

  She saw shelves packed with old books. Massive tomes, several with loose sheets poking out. Displays of tools lined shelves and tables—scissors, scalpels, forceps, saws, knives of all lengths, and a variety of glass syringes that looked like they’d come straight off the set of a horror movie. A black, plastic apron hung on a wall, reddish water dripping from one edge.

  Riley followed the thin stream of pink as it wove its way over the bumps and curves of the uneven floor. Watched as it snaked its way into the cracks in the cement, staining them. Watched as the stream disappeared into the large, round floor drain in the middle of the room. Two enormous steel tables sat end to end. The surfaces gleamed, reflecting the lights from the small bulbs running along the space where wall and ceiling met.

  Was it bulbs or candles lighting the room?

  She glanced back at the wall. The apron wasn’t there. There was no pink water. There were no books or primitive-looking medical tools.

  Breathe, Riley.

  She realized then that Nina had been talking for some time. On one of the steel tables lay three cassette recorders and four sets of dowsing rods. The rods were L-shaped copper bars, the handle side not much longer than the width of Riley’s hand, the long side triple that. Riley had only ever seen them on shows like Paranormal Playground—a non-electronic way to pick up the presence of ghosts. Spirits could
cause the rods to swing in or out to signify a yes or no to a spoken question. It had to be less energy-taxing than manifesting as an apparition, Riley guessed.

  Since she had originally only taken a few steps into the room before she stopped, she inched her way toward the others now. One step and then another. Lord, how she didn’t want to be in here.

  This room, unlike the guesthouse, had a feel without effort.

  She’d only made it five or so more steps before it felt as if something heavy, like a boulder, dropped onto her chest. It crushed her lungs. She gasped for breath, but couldn’t suck any air in. As if the air was molasses. Something thick and clogging and a thing that shouldn’t be in lungs. A thing that stopped lungs altogether. Riley gasped again, her attempts coming in short, quick bursts. She’d suffocate.

  Run run run! her mind screamed at her. Everything in her told her this thing, this energy, was wrong. Unnatural. Did the thing want her out or was her body trying to force the flight response? Run, flee, get out while you can.

  Hands clamped onto Riley’s elbows and she flinched away, but her wild, darting eyes found the startling green ones of Nina.

  “Breathe, Riley,” she said.

  “I … can’t …”

  “Yes, you can,” she said, voice firm but not unkind. “Don’t let it force you out. Breathe.”

  Riley closed her eyes, pushing out the worried sound of Pamela asking if Riley was having a panic attack. She’d never had a panic attack before, so she couldn’t say this wasn’t one.

  “You okay, Riley?” That was Michael.

  She didn’t know how to answer that.

  Giving Riley’s elbows a squeeze, Nina said, “In and out through your nose. Slow and steady.”

  Riley slowly pushed her breath out through her nostrils, the tension easing in her chest a little.

  “In. Fill your lungs.”

  She did. Again and again, until she could breathe normally. Opening her eyes, she met Nina’s gaze. “I think I’m okay.”

  Slowly letting go, Nina took a step back. “The same thing happened to me the first time I came down here. I was alone, desperate to see the place. That feeling hit me—like something shoving me in the dead center of my chest and screaming ‘Out!’”

  “Yes,” Riley gasped.

  “I bolted out of here seconds later,” she said. “Took me two weeks to come back in.”

  “Why did you?” This was the first and last time for Riley. Without a doubt, something was in here with them. Watching. Circling. Assessing.

  Riley couldn’t tell if it didn’t like the interruption or if it was simply malicious. Goosebumps broke out across her skin. The presence of something lurked behind her. Ignore it. Ignore it. She whirled around. Nothing.

  She took several more steps into the room, closer to a silently watching Michael. Was the thing herding her further into the room? Glancing at Pamela and Michael, she could tell they were only concerned about whatever in the hell was happening to her. Didn’t they feel it?

  The crushing feeling had been replaced by this lingering presence. The creator of her maybe-panic-attack.

  “I came back,” Nina said, “because if you don’t let the spirits call the shots, then you always have the upper hand.” She watched Riley for a moment. “Do you sense it?”

  “Yes,” she said. “God, you do, too? The … entity or whatever?”

  Nina nodded. “He’s always here.”

  “He?”

  “Orin.”

  Riley’s mind filled with the memory of her dream. Of Pete trying to crawl away from the looming figure of Orin in that camouflage jacket. How could he have seen Pete’s sweet, innocent face—a boy who loved Scooby Doo and his parents—and thrust a knife into his side? Had he let the boy bleed out there in the forest? Had he brought the body back here to cut him apart like a piece of livestock, Pete’s blood oozing across the table’s surface before dripping into the floor, snaking its way into the floor drain?

  Bile rose up in Riley’s throat, hot and acidic.

  “Let’s try something,” Nina said. “Everyone pick up a pair of dowsing rods. Hold them from the shorter end and try to hold them steady. The most comfortable position for me is to keep my bent elbows flush with my sides, so my arms are at ninety-degree angles.”

  Taking the rods from Nina with a bit of skepticism, Riley’s hands shook, the rods slowly swinging toward each other and away. They all looked rather silly, she thought, metal rods pointing out in front of them like over-sized, ineffective copper guns. Riley stood near the head of the table, Michael to her left, and Nina and Pamela to the right. Nina had turned on the EMF detector and hit the record button for possible EVPs on the cassette recorders.

  “We’ll start with simple yes or no questions,” said Nina. “The rods will swing toward each other for yes, and apart for no. Try not to move your wrists. Hold as still as you can while keeping relaxed. Holding too tightly or too loosely can cause fluctuations.” Blowing out a slow breath, Nina asked, “Is today Saturday?”

  All four sets of rods slowly swung inward.

  “Did it rain today?”

  They all slowly swung out.

  Dowsing rods held a similar stigma to Ouija boards, as both could easily be manipulated with the slightest movement. Someone could know the answer to a question and subconsciously move their hands just so to get the desired response. Riley didn’t think anyone here would purposefully cheat, but the mind could easily trick itself.

  “Is my son’s name Warren?”

  Riley’s rod swung out. Michael’s didn’t move much at all. Pamela’s swung in, just slightly. Nina’s swung out.

  On and on it went like this, questions with obvious answers getting unanimous replies. Less obvious ones getting mixed responses.

  “Okay, now just Riley and me,” said Nina.

  Michael and Pamela glanced at each other and shrugged. Then they placed their dowsing rods on the metal table with clinks that sounded too loud in this quiet room.

  The presence still circled. Watching. Waiting.

  “Each of you grab an EMF reader. Michael with me; Pamela with Riley.”

  They did as instructed, while Riley and Nina continued to hold the rods. Riley’s arms started to get shaky.

  “Now, each of you keep your EMF reader trained on your partner and take note when—if—there are spikes in the electromagnetic field as the rods respond to questions.”

  Riley shot a glance over at Pamela, who nodded. Her expression implied that she took this very seriously, like she’d just been given the nuclear codes and had sworn to protect them with her life.

  “Riley?” Nina asked. “I want you to ask the questions.”

  “Why me?” It was like she was thirteen again.

  “He’s never responded to anyone in this room like this before. Only me. And never this strongly.”

  Blowing out a slow breath, all she could see was the overturned craft bookcase in Rebecca’s childhood bedroom, the word “Mariah” written over and over. The Ouija board planchette’s flight across the room. The horrified looks on Rebecca’s parents’ faces.

  But then the image of Pete popped in her head. Of him looking wide-eyed and scared, unable to find his mother. The way he’d bunched up the bottom of his Scooby Doo shirt in his hands.

  “Was Gabriella Ramirez your first victim?” It was out of her mouth before she realized she was going to ask it.

  Nina, Pamela, and Michael all seemed startled by the question.

  Riley willed her hands not to shake, either from fear or muscle strain. Several seconds ticked by with no movement, and when Nina opened her mouth to presumably tell Riley to ask another question, Riley shook her head. Just give him time. A hesitation laced the silence.

  Ever-so-slightly, the rods swung outward. Nina’s didn’t move.

  “Whoa,” said Pamela, “the meter just fluctuated like crazy.”

  “Keep going,” Nina said.

  “Did you kill Peter Vonick?”

&nbs
p; Riley could feel the eyes of her companions on her, but she kept her focus on the rods in her hands. The rods shot inward with such force, they clacked together. Shit. “Why?” she wanted to ask. “Where is he?” But she was limited to yes or no questions.

  Suddenly switching her dowsing rods for one of the still-running EVP recorders, Nina said, “Ask a series of questions and give up to twenty seconds for him to reply.”

  Riley’s hands sweated, but didn’t put the rods down; she was too scared to move.

  “Why did you kill them?” Pause. “Where is Pete’s body?” Pause. “Why was Pete first?” Pause. “Why are you still here?” Pause. “Are you stuck here?”

  “Provoke him,” said Nina.

  Riley’s attention snapped to her. “Are you serious?”

  “Don’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” Michael said.

  Riley had almost forgotten anyone else was there. Her stomach knotted. She wanted this to be over. She hated the idea of a second night of this. Hell, she still had two more locations to go after this one.

  “Take your time,” Nina said.

  There wasn’t much Riley knew about the middle victims. She knew Gabriella’s name because she’d been the first. And she knew Mindy’s because she’d been the last.

  “How did Mindy escape?”

  “Tougher,” said Nina.

  Riley wanted to whack Nina over the head with one of her dowsing rods. Perhaps Nina was jealous. She’d been trying to get this spirit to interact with her for months, and all Riley had done was stroll into the room once. Well, stroll was generous.

  “Why did you let Mindy escape?”

  The wooden handles of her dowsing rods seared her hands and she yelped, letting them clatter to the cement floor. Two red, puffy lines ran down her palms.

  “We need to get out of here,” Riley whispered, so low she wasn’t sure anyone heard her.

  Goosebumps broke out across her skin again as the temperature plummeted. The room, a little chilly before, now grew frigid. The string of round bulbs lining the ceiling flickered.

  Nina looked up, a twisted kind of joy on her face. The kind of thing she’d been waiting for.