The New Paranormal

by Jackson Tyler

“Fine.” Isaac scooped his long, impossibly shiny hair into a fist and bared the back of his pale neck. “Put it on for me?”

  I wanted badly to do what he asked. I ran hot at the thought of touching his fragile, silky skin and sweeping my fingers over that fine hair that grew on the back of his neck.

  “You can put it on yourself.”

  “Come on, if you’re going to give me jewelry, you’ve got to do it right.”

  I untied the knot that closed the necklace and stepped behind Isaac to loop it around his neck. This close to him, I could smell the incense in his hair, the musk that clung to his skin.

  “Is that a good length?” I asked.

  “Maybe a little lower?” said Isaac.

  I gave more slack in the leather strip.

  “That’s good,” said Isaac.

  I was getting high off my proximity to him. My fingers trembled as I tied the necklace closed. Being this close to Isaac made me dizzy. I wasn’t sure if I liked the feeling, but I wanted more of it.

  “There you go,” I said. I made myself step away. I immediately missed being inches away from Isaac’s skin, but my breath was starting to come back.

  He turned to face me. “How do I look?”

  Heart-stopping. The necklace looked better on him than it ever had on me. The leather strap was heavy on his delicate collarbones, and the peridot pendant matched the green of his eyes perfectly.

  “You look good,” I croaked.

  “You know I’m wearing this to humor you, right?” said Isaac, trademark smirk firmly in place. “I don’t think this is going to protect me from shit. But I do look pretty.”

  My mouth was too dry to speak, which was good. If I tried, I knew I would say something pathetic like ‘you always look gorgeous.’

  “You’re not going to be able to interview Mr. Partridge today. I think you should get out of the hotel.”

  “I would usually argue,” said Isaac, “but you don’t have to worry about me today. I already have plans with a friend.”

  ***

  It was a lonely, miserable drive to Elliot’s place. Being away from the hotel put me on edge, especially after what had happened to Mr. Partridge this morning. Being away from Isaac and leaving him with nothing but a crystal around his neck for protection made my skin itch with anxiety.

  The fifteen-minute drive seemed to take an hour. I usually liked being alone with my thoughts, but today those thoughts kept spiraling back to one thing.

  I’d been fired.

  Now I was only able to continue my investigation because a fake psychic found me amusing. If Isaac got bored, that would be it for my inquiry into the Cressley Hotel. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t leave without getting answers.

  Grey clouds sagged low and heavy over the road. The closer it got to rain, the more my melancholy grew. I had enough money saved up that I didn’t need to think about getting a new job right away, but my grace period would be short.

  By the time I got to Elliot’s, it had started to drizzle, but the skies hadn’t opened. Lucky for me.

  Elliot kept his spare key hidden inside a pile of fake dog crap around the side of his house. Elliot had used his poop security measures as long as he’d lived here, but I always winced on my way to pick it up. I’d only picked up the wrong pile of dog crap once, but that had been enough. Elliot was so suspicious that he collected real dog feces and put it on his lawn as a decoy — and he didn’t have a dog.

  If anyone thought I was paranoid, they needed to meet Elliot.

  Inside Elliot’s house, it was dim and dirty. His blinds were pulled shut, as usual. He didn’t like anyone being able to look inside. I worried about what Elliot’s state of living might mean about his mental health, but if he wasn’t willing to talk about that, I couldn’t bring it up. The one time I’d tried, and it hadn’t gone well. Elliot and I were friends who fucked occasionally, but he never opened up to anyone about his deeper, darker feelings. Pushing him would only make things worse.

  Elliot’s desk was cluttered with old newspapers, blurry photographs, and a scribbled note in his distinctive handwritten code. I could only understand part of what he’d written, but I gathered it was about crop circles.

  I tried not to nudge anything out of place as I took a seat on Elliot’s expensive leather desk chair and logged into my account on his computer.

  I was accessing the hidden cameras and scrolling through timestamps when my phone rang. I was set to ignore it until I saw the name onscreen. It was Kyle. He must have heard what happened at the Cressley.

  “Hello, Kyle.”

  “Where are you? Did you seriously get fired?”

  “I’m at Elliot’s house.” I sighed. “And yes. Ben’s had it out for me for a while.”

  “Roman, we need you here.” Kyle was the only one who believed me about the paranormal activity in the Cressley. I realized that even though he had never been anything other than my drunk manager, I would miss seeing him every work day. Everything was different now.

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got a way in.”

  “If you sneak in, I-”

  “Relax. You don’t have to do anything. I’m not going to sneak in.” But I didn’t want to tell Kyle my exact plan. I knew he would tease me about Isaac.

  “Do you think Mr. Partridge fell? Or do you think it’s- It’s what you think it is?” said Kyle. I knew from the tone in his voice what he hoped my answer would be. Kyle was afraid of ghosts and terrified of the thirteenth floor. He had been looking for a new job the entire time I’d been working at the Cressley, but no one wanted to hire a sixty-something-year-old alcoholic, so he was stuck there until he retired or, more likely, died.

  I felt the opposite way. I wanted nothing more than my job back at the Cressley, and I wanted confirmation of the supernatural — although I would rather no one got harmed on my way to finding it.

  I didn’t have an answer that would satisfy either of us. I was a rational man. I couldn’t chalk up an old man falling down the stairs to paranormal activity unless I had proof. But I couldn’t say he hadn’t been pushed either.

  “I don’t think anyone is in danger as long as they stay away from the thirteenth floor,” I said. I clicked around on the computer until I found the hidden file I was looking for.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I can never be sure.”

  There was a long silence from the other end of the phone. It lasted so long, I was compelled to speak again. “Kyle, calling me to talk about this could put your job in danger. Ben is out for blood.”

  “I wish I didn’t know about your investigation.” Kyle sighed static down the line. “But I do. Please keep me updated.”

  I promised I would, and the conversation was done.

  Elliot finished work at four most days, but it was five thirty and he hadn’t shown up. That wasn’t unusual. Despite his eccentric private life, he was one of the best up-and-coming dentists in Seattle, and he often got delayed at work.

  After I got off the phone with Kyle, I tried to call Elliot to see what was keeping him, but I got his voicemail. He was probably in an appointment.

  Elliot and I met during a basic biology course in our first year of college, back when I was planning to become a physiotherapist. He spotted me reading a book about parapsychology, sat next to me, and immediately started talking to me about his own theories. It wasn’t long until we were good friends, and it wasn’t long after that I dropped out of college.

  I might never earn as much as I would have earned as a physiotherapist, but I didn’t regret dropping out for a moment. I loved what I did now.

  I fast-forwarded the footage of the stairwell. The camera was hidden behind a plastic plant, and a smudge of green covered the corner of the lens — an unavoidable inconvenience. I watched for anyone who walked with Mr. Partridge’s distinctive hobble. The old man was in denial, but he definitely had hip problems.

  When Mr. Partridge teetered onscreen, he was walking carefully, slowly, ho
lding tight to the banister. Why wasn’t he taking an elevator? I could only blame hubris.

  He was about halfway down the flight of stairs when he tumbled sharply forward. His shoulder hit the steps first, then his head. I winced. That looked like it hurt. He rolled down the rest of the stairs until he was slumped, motionless, on the landing.

  I had found him like that, but it was jarring to watch the fall. It was so violent. I watched as I showed up on screen, running after him. Isaac showed up only a few seconds behind me.

  I hadn’t been focussed on Isaac when I’d been helping Mr. Partridge, but now I could clearly see the expression on his face. Genuine fear. I couldn’t have imagined Isaac’s face ever freezing like that. I wished I could reach through the screen and soothe him.

  I rewound the footage and watched Mr. Partridge fall again, this time in slow motion. I squinted at the screen.

  It might have been confirmation bias, but from the way Mr. Partridge lurched forward, it looked to me as though he had been pushed by some invisible force. He fell with his shoulders first, forcefully, surely more forcefully than he could have moved on his own. It was possible that he slipped or stumbled, but he might have been pushed. And that was enough to disturb me.

  Elliot showed up around the thousandth time I was watching the footage. I’d told him a little bit via text, but I filled him in on the details while he drank his after-work beer and nodded along seriously.

  He paused for a long time after I finished speaking.

  “Do you have any opinions?” I asked.

  Elliot drained the last dregs of his beer and put the bottle to the side. I held my breath as a precariously balanced tower of paper wobbled then settled back in place.

  He swallowed then smacked his wet lips with a little gasp. No matter what Elliot’s faults, he did have nice lips.

  “People are getting hurt now?”

  I nodded.

  He picked a notebook off the floor and plucked a biro from behind his ear. “Show me.”

  I rewound the footage that was already burned into my mind, frame-by-frame. “Look at this. Tell me it doesn’t look like he was pushed.”

  Elliot watched silently. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, waiting for his reaction. He was quieter than usual, a serious and somber scientist.

  I paused the video when Isaac and I showed up. “That’s it.”

  Elliot lifted his pen to his bottom lip and tapped it, the way he did when he was thinking hard. “Play it again,” he said.

  I obediently did as he said.

  “It could be a fall,” said Elliot slowly. “Or he could have been pushed. It’s hard to say.”

  “He says he felt like he was pushed. But he’s also… Unwilling to admit that he’s elderly.”

  “Hmmm. Interesting.” Elliot picked up his beer and went to take a sip, before realizing he didn’t have any left. He frowned at the bottle and set it down on the floor. “We should get some EVP recordings. If the spirits are strong enough to push people downstairs, they’re strong enough to talk to us.”

  “They’re definitely strong enough,” I said darkly. “But they don’t want to talk to us. I’ve tried.

  “We should try again anyway,” said Elliot. “When’s your next shift?”

  I cringed. I had left out a crucial detail in my messages to Elliot.

  “I’m, uh, not working there anymore.”

  Elliot raised a critical eyebrow at me. “Explain yourself, Roman Bula.”

  “Ben fired me.”

  “Ben fired you? How are you-”

  “I still have access to the hotel. Isaac is helping me.”

  “How?”

  “I, uh- he’s inviting me over as his guest.”

  “As his guest?” Elliot’s sober expression had vanished, replaced by glee.

  “He convinced Ben that we’re dating.” I tried not to show any expression, but excitement crept into my voice — and didn’t go unnoticed by Elliot, whose grin widened.

  “I can’t wait to see how this pans out,” he said.

  To be honest, neither could I. But I was terrified as well. “There are serious things going on in the Cressley Hotel. Don’t you think we should focus on that?”

  “You’re right,” said Elliot, “I think it’s time for a shopping trip.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Isaac

  My plan was to ignore Roman and go straight to work after he left to see Elliot and his hidden cameras. But his rambling had gotten under my skin. The moment I reached for my tarot cards, it was as though a long bony finger stroked down my spine, and I shivered, suddenly ice-cold. My imagination was playing tricks me.

  This morning had been a whirlwind. Between Mr. Partridge falling down the stairs, Roman getting fired, and our new “relationship”, my brain was on the brink of shorting out.

  No wonder I was too edgy to think logically. I needed to take a break from the Cressley Hotel. That was why I’d made my way to Olivia’s apartment an hour earlier than we’d agreed to meet. She hadn’t responded to my message yet, but I had nowhere else to go. It was her day off, so she was probably asleep.

  I felt lighter outside the oppressive environment of the Cressley. Back in 1405, I always felt like I was half-suffocating. The air was thick and fetid there. I kept feeling a stranger’s gaze on the back of my neck, even though my room was empty except for me and Hannibal. Hannibal was more smoochy than usual, too. He barely left my side; he mostly sat on my pillow purring as I stroked him. He was guarding me.

  I banged on Olivia’s door.

  No answer. I banged louder. “Olivia?”

  “Coming!” A patter of feet ran to the door. Moments later, it swung open. Olivia stood in front of me, long red hair sticking to her scalp. Her shoulders sparkled with water. A thick beach towel was tightly looped around her chest and hung down to her knees like a blanket.

  “Isaac,” she said breathlessly. “I just got out of the shower and saw your message. Yes, you can come over to my apartment early.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  When Olivia told me she lived in a tiny one bedroom apartment, this wasn’t what I had expected. Sure, it was tiny. The living area was smaller than my hotel room, and it was almost entirely taken up by a California king bed. The paint on the walls was chipped, and I could see some holes that had definitely been filled with spackle.

  But despite how little space she had, Olivia used it well. Her bedspread was covered in neon pink and purple swirls that created the illusion of more room, and the shelves on her walls were stark and minimalist.

  “Sit yourself on the bed,” she said. “I don’t have enough room for real furniture, so my bed is also my sofa.” She gave me a giant smile and ducked into the bathroom to get dressed.

  Sprawling on Olivia’s bed was like lying on a cloud with lumbar support. I’d never touched a mattress this nice. I stared upward. Olivia’s apartment was tight and narrow, but the ceiling was high. It would take at least three of me, stacked on top of each other, to reach it.

  I wondered if Roman would think it was haunted. Probably. He’d say that there was ectoplasm in the fuse box or something equally ridiculous.

  I couldn’t believe how deeply that man had managed to burrow into my mind. Now, he was lodged there like a splinter, and so were his nonsensical ideas.

  “Hey dude, what’s up?” asked Olivia, as she came out of the bathroom, dressed in jeans and a loose blouse. “Why the early start?”

  “I had a bizarre day,” I said. That was putting it mildly.

  “Does this bizarre day involve your sexy ghost hunter?” She raised her eyebrows.

  I shrugged. “He’s freaking me out with all this ghost stuff.”

  Olivia plopped cross-legged on the bed in front of me.

  “Is everyone’s favorite skeptic changing his mind? This Roman must be some guy.”

  “No, I’m not changing my mind!” I protested. “It’s just weird there. I keep hearing things. I can’t sleep. I’ve started se
eing things as well, and there are cold spots, and-”

  “It sounds to me like you are changing your mind.”

  “No,” I said firmly. “I’m working with Roman to prove he’s wrong.”

  “You’re working with Roman now?”

  “I have to. He got fired. I’m his only way into the hotel.” I stared at a swirl on Olivia’s bedspread, avoiding eye contact. “I’m pretending to be his boyfriend.”

  “Oh my god.” Olivia’s voice lit up with excitement. “You’re pretending to date a hot ghost hunter? That’s the dream.”

  I sighed and flopped onto my stomach. I propped my chin on my hands and stared at Olivia. Her perfectly arched eyebrows were halfway up her forehead.

  “That’s the dream?”

  She shrugged. “It’s probably someone’s dream.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not like that between us.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes.

  I felt for the weight of Roman’s pendant against my chest, and my whole body tingled at the memory of his fingers on my neck. Maybe I wished it was like that. But it wasn’t.

  “He only spends time with me because I’m standing between him and his ghosts.” I shrugged. “Even if I like him, I don’t want to be second best to the dead.” I’d been second best before, and I didn’t enjoy the feeling.

  Olivia scrunched her brows in concentration. “Did you want me to set you up with Thomas, then?”

  I looked at her blankly. “Who’s Thomas?”

  “That guy I work with? The one I said would be perfect for you? He’s cute, and he’s funny, and he’s sincere, and he deserves someone great.” She looked at me expectantly.

  I shrugged. “Why not?” I needed to get get rid of my hopeless crush on Roman one way or the other.

  After that was sorted, we talked for a while about Olivia’s upcoming promotion at work and her directorial debut at the community theatre.

  But before long, the conversation turned back to the Cressley.

  Olivia chuckled. “I can’t believe you, of all people, are starting to believe in ghosts.”

  “I’m not starting to believe in ghosts,” I said, although I wasn’t as sure of that as I had been a few weeks ago.