So Fell The Sparrow

by Katie Jennings

  “It’s attacked her?” Alex frowned, eyeing Ian again. “We have to help this lady, Ian.”

  “Our plan was to go to Nevada to check out that old mining town,” Ian reminded him, shaking his head and sipping more coffee. “I don’t feel like heading east.”

  “It’ll only take a couple of days,” Alex protested, standing firm. “C’mon, don’t tell me you’re not a little bit curious.”

  Ian rolled his eyes and said nothing, which Alex took as a yes. “All right, Cassie. Send me all the info and directions on how to get there and tell her we’re on our way.”

  * * *

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

  “Actually, I do.”

  “Just admit that you’re wrong on this.”

  “Nope.”

  Alex shot a disparaging look at his partner. “You’re telling me you seriously think Jason has a cooler mask than Michael Meyers?”

  Ian fought back a smile and kept his eyes on the road as he drove them the last few miles to their destination. How he’d gotten suckered into driving so Alex could tinker with his new infrared device, he had no idea. But he certainly had no intention of losing this argument. “Jason is by far cooler, period. And he has a machete.”

  “Jason is lame, dude. So lame.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if he had his machete to your throat.”

  “It wouldn’t matter because I’d go Michael Meyers on his ass and slash his throat first.” Alex beamed triumphantly.

  Ian only shook his head. “Good luck with that. Jason would have you flat on the ground in shreds before you even knew what hit you.”

  “Regardless of how dead I would be, that doesn’t change the fact that Meyers has the better mask. It’s a freaking face. You just can’t compete with that.”

  “Anybody can put on a face mask and scare people. It takes skill to wreak havoc in a hockey mask,” Ian insisted, tapping his hands on the wheel in time to AC/DC’s Highway to Hell. “Just admit that I’m right.”

  “The day you’re right is the day Hell freezes over and starts selling ice cream,” Alex fired back with a daring grin. “We both know I’m the brains of this outfit.”

  “If you’re the brains then what does that make me?”

  “The brawn. Though, I pretty much have that covered, too.” Alex turned back to toying with his new gadget, his excitement building the closer they got to the coast. “You know, we’ll be within a couple of hours of Salem. We’ll have to stop in and see Aubrey and the guys.”

  Ian nodded, pleased with the idea. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

  “At least a year or more.” Alex gave up and tossed the device on the backseat carelessly. “And Halloween is coming up. You know what that means…”

  “Witches and magic and ghosts…” Ian smiled. “We can do a few extra hunts while we’re out here, get some more footage and evidence for the show.”

  “Took the words right out of my mouth.” Alex beamed. “See, I told you this trip was a good idea. Admit I was right.”

  “No.”

  “Aw, c’mon.”

  “Nope.” Ian pulled off the highway at a weathered off ramp leading them past an old fashioned wooden sign that read: Welcome to Mad Rock Harbor. You’ll Want to Call It Home.

  Alex eyed the sign curiously. “Who the hell came up with the name for this place?”

  “Probably the same person who named your dog back in high school.”

  “Elvira is an awesome name for a pet,” Alex defended as they continued on a winding, forest road leading toward the sea. “You’re just jealous because I thought of it first.”

  “Yep. That’s definitely it.” They drove past a small, fifties-style diner on the left. A huge flashing sign above it read Nora’s Cafe. There were several cars parked out front, including a bright red Jeep with a smiling corgi sitting patiently in the open front seat.

  Alex continued to stare at the Jeep as they drove past, wondering how the owner got the dog to stay put like that.

  “We’re almost there,” Ian announced, glancing at his GPS unit. “A couple miles more.”

  Alex faced the road once again with an eager grin. “Let’s go find us a B.G.G. Bad Guy Ghost.”

  Ian sighed. “This better be worth our time.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Her obsession with the boxes from the basement consumed her.

  Grace didn’t know if it was her mind’s way of shoving aside the grief she’d been trying to ignore for weeks, or if she was just going crazy. Because no sane person obsessed over a few boxes of old trinkets and pictures.

  Even though the rational side of her brain told her to let it all go and head home to Chicago, the desperate, lonely side fought with all its might to keep her in Mad Rock Harbor. To keep her in the Sparrow House. At the moment, that side was winning the battle.

  She spread out on the sofa in her living room, one of the boxes from the basement on the coffee table. She attempted to organize the photographs, grouping them by date, people, and location. Whenever a common thread was spotted, she latched onto it as a possible clue to explain what happened at the Sparrow House. Why no one had ever wanted to live there. Why they wouldn’t sell the place. It made no logical sense to her.

  If only her father were still alive…but if he was, then she would have no knowledge of the house. So what difference did it really make?

  “None at all,” she muttered to herself. The pain of remembering him choked her with grief and she forced it away. She withdrew a slim, weathered leather case from the box. It was roughly the size of a postcard and folded open like a book, revealing an old-fashioned tintype photograph. Her own reflection stared back at her in the metallic, silvery image of a little girl.

  She was young, less than five years old. There was no date or inscription, but by the lacy white dress she wore, Grace estimated the date as mid to late 19th century. The girl’s soft blonde hair framed a cherub face, innocent and lovely. Vivid eyes stared back at her, colorless in the grayed image. Somehow, Grace knew they would be blue.

  A bright, happy blue.

  Was this the child her father supposedly saw inside the house? The one Nellie claimed to have seen beside the staircase and that she had been hearing in the dead of night for days?

  Grace shook her head and set the photograph aside, irritated at the thought. There was no little girl ghost parading around the house, crying in corners, and laughing on the stairs. It was ridiculous. She knew better than to let herself get caught up in Nellie’s paranoia and superstition. But the chill she felt stayed with her even as she distracted herself with more photographs from the box.

  There was a sudden, cheerful knocking on the front door, causing Grace to jump. Irritation filled her as she glanced over at the entryway.

  She set aside the photographs and wandered to the door just as the persistent visitor knocked yet again. “Really?” Grace grumbled, her eyes aflame as she threw open the door. She stared at the two men on her porch. “Yes?”

  “Hey! How’s it going?” the man on the left said with an overtly friendly grin and a wave of his hand.

  She leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms. “Can I help you?”

  The man gave her a blank look, and she frowned as she took in his carefree sandy hair and nerdy good looks, as well as his bright yellow It's On Like Alderaan T-shirt and faded jeans, both a little loose on his tall, lanky frame.

  The man next to him clearly took himself way too seriously. He had the strict, tough-guy stature of a soldier, yet there were silver skull rings on his fingers and tattoos on his arms visible beneath his black T-shirt.

  She stared at her own reflection in the mirrored aviator sunglasses he wore, puzzled by the bored, irritated look on his face.

  “You don’t know who we are?” Alex asked. He glanced at Ian, who shrugged indifferently.

  One of Grace’s eyebrows slid up. “Should I?”

  “You called us. Well, you called my siste
r, and she sent us to help you.”

  “Are you sure you have the right address? I know street names and house numbers can be confusing,” Grace mocked, feeling more amused than annoyed. She hadn’t had the chance to break out her sarcasm in a while. It felt good.

  The other man’s jaw visibly tightened, but he said nothing.

  “Aren’t you Nellie?” Alex stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. He continued to smile, in good spirits despite the confusion.

  An annoyed look crossed Grace's face as understanding hit her. She looked past them and spotted their black van. As she read the logo, she laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What’re you, the Ghostbusters? Did she call you? You know ghosts don’t exist, right?”

  “I take it you’re not Nellie,” Alex confirmed, surprised by Grace’s reaction. Ian let out a frustrated grunt and immediately stalked back to the van, leaving Alex alone on the porch.

  Grace watched him go. “Might want to reign in the temper on your stallion there, buddy.”

  Alex sighed, then flashed a charmingly crooked grin her way. “Excuse me a moment.”

  He took off after Ian, catching up with him as his partner started to climb into the van. “Seriously? What are you doing?”

  “I don’t have time to waste on skeptics,” Ian growled. The woman had the sarcastic sass of an entitled socialite and he wanted nothing to do with her.

  “We came all the way out here, we can’t turn back now,” Alex reminded him, grabbing Ian’s arm firmly and forcing their eyes to meet. “Take that chip off your shoulder and make some dip, okay?”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  Alex shrugged. “Who cares. Now let’s go back and apologize to the nice lady.”

  “Nice, my ass,” Ian grumbled under his breath. After a moment’s hesitation, he shut the van door and trudged after Alex to the front porch where they found Grace still leaning against the doorframe.

  Ian watched her closely as they approached. He noted her casual, white blouse with rolled up sleeves, black tights covering long legs, and bare feet. She’d tied back her dark hair, leaving strands of it free to frame her angular face. He figured she would be considered beautiful by some, if she didn’t look so sour. Cool gray eyes regarded him with similar scrutiny as he came to a stop before her.

  He grudgingly held out his hand. “My name is Ian Black. I’m the founder of Great American Paranormal. This is my partner, Alex Gallagher. We’re here to check out reports of paranormal activity within your home and try and help you if we can.”

  “You’re ghost hunters,” Grace stated flatly, accepting his hand for a brief shake. She eyed them both with a mixture of sympathy and amusement. “I’m Grace. And just so you know, my house isn’t haunted, so you can run along now and hunt ghosts elsewhere.”

  “Nellie says it is,” Alex insisted. “Is she home?”

  Grace sighed. “She’s my neighbor and has no business calling you people to snoop around my property.”

  Ian removed his sunglasses and stared her down. “You haven’t experienced anything unusual in the house?”

  She met his cobalt eyes and winced at the restrained anger she saw in them. God, did she offend people so easily these days? “No, I haven’t. I’m just out here on ‘vacation,’” she made quotation marks with her fingers, “and would love to be left the hell alone. I don’t know why she called you.”

  “Because there’s an evil spirit in that house,” Nellie interrupted as she charged up the steps. She smiled brightly at Alex and Ian and reached out to shake their hands. “Thank you both so much for coming. Please, come inside.”

  Alex followed her in. Ian hung back and studied Grace. He found it odd that Nellie shoved Grace so easily aside, especially with her temper. He pushed past her and entered the house, his thoughts returning to ghosts.

  The first thing he noticed was the staircase. It was long and narrow with a second-floor balcony open to the entryway. He eyed the balcony curiously, his gaze drifting to the ancient wood floor at his feet. It was beautiful—knotted and weathered and filled with history. He imagined a hundred years of feet pacing over the wood planks, leaving behind traces of energy. He could almost see it trailing throughout the house; glowing lines like freeway headlights following the paths of the past. He had every intention of following those same paths and rousing the energy that lay within them.

  In the living room, Nellie was busy explaining in great detail to Alex what she had witnessed. Ian casually listened in as he toured the first floor on his own, noticing that Grace had made her way to the sofa and was busying herself with a box of photographs. He watched her as he wandered through the kitchen, sensing her refusal to believe.

  He’d come across skeptics many times in his career, and she was as hard-nosed as any of them. Convincing her to go along with an investigation might be tricky. Then again, she seemed beholden to the old woman. He wasn’t sure what their relationship was, but he was more than happy to exploit it to get the evidence he needed.

  “Hey, Ian.” Alex waved him over, a mile-wide grin on his face.

  Ian approached, nodding politely to the older woman. “So, what’s the story?”

  “Nellie saw an apparition of a little girl standing by the stairs over there,” Alex pointed to the entryway. “And she also saw a shadow figure run along the wall over by the basement door.”

  “It came out of the basement following me and Grace,” Nellie added, her hand on her chest as if the memory gave her heart palpitations. “It walked right back into the wall when I noticed it.”

  “She was also pushed by an invisible entity on the upper steps of the basement staircase, so hard that she had the wind knocked out of her.”

  Nellie nodded furiously. “Grace thought I was having a heart attack. I was frozen with fear. I’m surprised I was able to stumble to safety.”

  “Anything else?” Ian asked, arms crossed as he worked over the details in his head, already plotting out what equipment he wanted to use and what locations to use it in.

  “Grace has heard her…the little girl,” Nellie blurted out.

  All eyes turned to Grace, who muttered something distasteful under her breath and tried to ignore them.

  “When did you hear her? What did she say?” Alex asked eagerly.

  “What I heard was an animal making noises. A bird or a cat or something. It wasn’t a little girl,” Grace insisted.

  Alex smiled kindly. “I know it’s natural to want to rationalize stuff like this, Grace. But that’s why we’re here. We want to find out if what’s been happening is paranormal, or if it is just animal noises and imagination. That’s our job.”

  Grace held his eyes for a moment, all her years of medical school and science courses playing over in her mind. She shook her head slowly, bemused by him. “You really believe this stuff, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” Alex declared, the first hint of heat flavoring his voice. She saw a temper simmering beneath his easygoing demeanor, and felt her hackles rising to challenge it.

  “Well, I’m sorry to break this to you, but you’re wrong.”

  “You have to understand, boys. Grace is a doctor of science. She finds all of this very hard to swallow,” Nellie quickly added.

  Ian sighed, convinced this wasn’t going to be an easy investigation. “We have to consider the possibility that what we’re dealing with here is demonic. It may be wise to bring in a medium after we do our investigation to cleanse the house. Get rid of the bad energy.”

  Unable to contain herself, Grace started laughing. “Demonic? Really?”

  “I know you claim you don’t feel it, child. But I do,” Nellie charged, her usual sass back in her voice. “You just sit down and shut up and let these boys do what they do. Not like you have anything else going on.”

  Grace blinked, momentarily speechless. Ian tried not to laugh at the flabbergasted look on her face. Clearly, she wasn’t used to people turning her rudeness back on her.

  When s
he recovered, she said, “Fine. But you’re wasting your time.” She returned to the photographs in her lap and continued to thumb through them, sorting them into piles.

  Ian stared at the photographs, an idea hitting him. “Where are those from?”

  “The basement,” Nellie supplied with a shudder.

  He walked over and lifted a stack of photos, including the tintype of the little blonde girl. He opened its case and eyed it curiously. “Good. We’ll use these as trigger objects.”

  Grace’s brow creased with suspicion as she stared up at him. “I don’t know what the hell a trigger object is, but you do not have my permission to use these photographs for any ghost experiment. I won’t let you damage them.”

  A cocky smile spread over Ian’s lips. “Calm down, Doc. I won’t hurt your pretty photos.”

  Alex sensed a fight brewing and jumped in. “A trigger object simply means an item we place in a room to try and attract a spirit who may remember it from their mortal life. We will take good care of them, I promise.”

  Grace rose to her feet and snatched the photographs from Ian’s hand, gathered the other pictures, and stuffed them back into the box. She lifted the box into her arms and clutched it against her chest protectively. “No.”

  Ian was taken aback by her behavior. He watched as the fiery distrust in her eyes faded to some lingering, deeply rooted misery. He would have berated her some more, but found he couldn’t. Not when faced with that. Christ, the woman had some major baggage hidden in those gray eyes of hers.

  “All right, how about I make a deal with you,” he began, changing tactics. He needed to level the playing field and meet her on ground he figured she could appreciate. “We spend tonight in the house and do an investigation. You can stay or go, whatever you want. If we find nothing then I will personally apologize to you, renounce the ghost business for good, and declare that ghosts aren’t real. But if we do find something, then you agree to let us investigate further until a solution and better understanding of what’s going on can be established.” He paused, pleased he had her attention. “Our track record of uncovering spirits and assisting occupants with cleansing their homes is impeccable. I will not fail you if you give me the chance to help.”