Ghost Hunter's Daughter

by Dan Poblocki

  “Hold, please.”

  A tone pulsed from the earpiece for a few seconds before a gruff voice answered, “Motel!”

  “Hello,” said Claire. “I’m wondering if you have a guest staying with you named Miles Holiday?”

  “Who wants to know?” asked the man on the other end.

  “His daughter. Is he there?”

  There was a pause, and then, “Checked in a couple of days ago.”

  “Could you connect me to his room?”

  The man sighed. “Hold on,” he said. There was silence and then a ringing sound. Once. Twice. Three times. Four.

  It went on and on with no answer.

  Claire felt her neck stiffening. She hung up, then called the main number again. The same man answered, “Motel!”

  “Hi, um, it’s me again, Miles Holiday’s daughter.” She waited for the man to scold her, or at the very least, grunt, but only the sound of a bad connection hissed in her ear. “There was no answer. Can you connect me to the room of his assistant, Clementine Beyers?”

  “Hold on—” the man started to say.

  But Claire shouted an interruption. “Wait!”

  The man cleared his throat.

  “Can I leave a message with you as well?” Lucas’s words rang through Claire’s mind … He might be in real trouble. “Can you tell my father to call me as soon as possible?”

  The sound of pen scratching against paper came through the receiver. “That it?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Do you still want me to—”

  “Put me through? Yes, please.”

  Clementine’s phone rang for a while, but the woman did not answer either.

  Claire placed the receiver down, feeling worse than when she’d picked it up. She glanced at the clock. It was a little after four. The wait for the motel manager to pass along her message might send her down a familiar, terrifying spiral of worry.

  Waiting was the worst.

  Why had Lucas planted such an awful seed in her head? What a horrible thing to do. He didn’t know her at all, didn’t have a clue about the countless nightmares in which she lost her father. Claire never told anyone about her deepest fears. Her friends would have only looked at her funny, as if she were some pathetic creature whose crate was marked Special Handling. Then not only would she be the ghost hunter’s daughter, but she’d also be damaged.

  There was another number Claire knew she could call. She dragged open several desk drawers until she found what she was looking for—a card with the number for the television production office—the people who made her father’s show, Invisible Intelligence.

  A woman with a cheerful voice answered.

  “Hi, Debbie. It’s me, Claire.”

  “Claire?” Debbie’s voice went cold. “What can I do for you?” It felt like snow was coating Claire’s shoulders, and it sent shivers across her skin.

  “I was wondering if anyone’s heard from my dad. I can’t seem to get in touch with him.”

  The receptionist was quiet for a long time. Just when Claire began to worry that the call had dropped, Debbie answered. “Has no one reached out to you yet?”

  “Reached out to me about what?” The shivers became pinpricks.

  Debbie paused. “Let me put you on with the boss lady.”

  Seconds later, Miles’s producer, a woman named Layne Redon, was spurting words into her ear. “Claire, I’m so sorry, we meant to call you as soon as we heard, but we’ve been in touch with the authorities and—”

  “Authorities?” Claire interrupted. The pinpricks were making her skin feel numb. “What are you talking about?”

  Layne sighed. “Clementine Beyers contacted our office this afternoon. Apparently, your father took off on his own yesterday morning. She hasn’t seen him since.”

  “He … disappeared?”

  “Disappeared? Oh, no, no, no, sweetheart. I’m sure it’s nothing like that. We told Clementine to stay calm, but she insisted on going to the police. So now we’re in touch with them too. No one in Hush Falls seems to be worried.”

  “Except for Clementine.”

  Layne was quiet for a moment. “Miles will return, Claire. This isn’t the first time he’s gone off chasing clues by himself.”

  The numbness was spreading down Claire’s legs, binding her feet to the ground. “I … I hope you’re right, Mrs. Redon.”

  “Of course I’m right!” Layne exclaimed. “Listen, is your aunt Lizzie there? I’d like to let her know what’s going on too.” Claire answered yes. “Great. We’ll be in touch with you as soon as Miles makes contact, and we’re not leaving the office tonight until we get word from at least someone in Hush Falls.” She forced a chuckle. “Don’t you worry. Okay?”

  Later, after Aunt Lizzie hung up with Layne, after she’d visited Claire in her bedroom to reassure her (poorly) that there was nothing to worry about, Claire sat alone at her desk, staring out the window at the silent neighborhood.

  The sky grew pale before darkening—the sun already deep below the horizon.

  Claire felt like her soul had been split in two. Part of her was flat certain that Layne was right, that her father would be calling in to say good night at any moment. But the other part of her was a jutting mountain unable to bear its own weight, ready for a landslide.

  Aunt Lizzie had made a meat loaf for dinner, but Claire couldn’t bring herself to go down to the dining room. Her stomach hurt. Tears were welling inside her head. She clamped down on the feeling, refusing to let it choke her.

  Outside, stars winked into existence. A black crown, covered in a million silver jewels, slipped down onto the dome of sky. Claire wished she could be up there in a ship, fighting evil aliens with the characters in the book in her backpack.

  At least during space wars, you knew when you were supposed to be scared.

  Just over the spindly line of trees across the street, a pair of stars seemed to blink at her. Claire perked up. The stars swayed in the sky. They winked away for a second and then came back again. Little bumps rose on the back of Claire’s neck as she realized that the lights were not stars. In fact, they weren’t even located in the sky.

  The glowing pinpoints were a reflection in her bedroom window.

  A pair of glistening eyes.

  Eyes fraught with tears.

  Someone was standing in the bedroom.

  Right behind her.

  Claire spun in her chair, swiping at her desk, scattering pens and pencils across the floor.

  But there was no one else in the room. She was alone.

  In the window, the pinpoint lights had disappeared.

  “Mom?” Claire whispered. “Is that you?”

  She held her breath.

  “Mom?” she asked again. “Did you visit Lucas with a message for me? Is Dad really in trouble?”

  She waited for an answer.

  “Mom?” Claire tried. “Mom? Are you there?”

  LATER THAT EVENING, Lucas sat down to write a letter to his parents.

  Hello, parents!

  I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. I hope you’re both safe. Gramma is good, and so am I. How’s the work coming along? Do you think that more people will be able to move back to the city soon? Are they really going to have to tear down that big skyscraper I read about in the newspaper?

  I miss you a ton. There are some things happening here I wish we could talk about. When will the phone lines to the city be up and running again? Isn’t that one of your projects, Mom? I’d take a bus down to see you, but Gramma would literally murder me. Besides, I’d have to sneak through gates and barriers, and I’m pretty sure all the toxic junk along the coast—

  A soft rapping at the front door nearly knocked Lucas out of his chair at the kitchen table. His pen went off in a long black jag across the paper. His mind whirled as he turned to the front door.

  Another visitor already?

  He tried to make out a silhouette behind the gauzy curtain, but then Irene called t
o him from the living room, “Are you expecting anyone, Lucas?”

  “No,” he answered, his body turning from ice back into water.

  Maybe the knocker was an actual living, breathing human being …

  Irene got up from the couch where she’d been reading a mystery novel and peered out the front window. Lucas heard her let out a little gasp. She unlocked the door quickly and opened it a crack. “Claire Holiday? Is that you?”

  Lucas stood up. He felt suddenly lost—the familiar surroundings of his grandmother’s kitchen were unrecognizable.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I really need to talk to Lucas. Is he home?”

  Irene peeked back at him and then swung the front door open wider. “It is late,” she said, a sharpness in her voice.

  Embarrassment flooded Lucas’s cheeks with red. “I’m here!” he called out over Irene’s shoulder.

  “Come in, come in,” said Irene brusquely, waving the girl into the foyer. “Before you catch cold.” Lucas raced to meet her. When he saw Claire’s pallid face, there was a tingling inside his bones. Desperation. But, he wondered, did this feeling belong to Claire or to himself? Irene squinted, glancing between them. “What are you two up to?”

  Lucas hadn’t told his grandmother about Mrs. Holiday’s visitation. Irene had been curt the morning after Otto had knocked. Lucas had wanted to see if he could figure out this knocking stuff on his own. “Homework!” he blurted. Irene and Claire both stared at him as if he’d gone nuts. “We have a project tomorrow, and—”

  Irene clicked her tongue. “Why are you lying? Don’t you know who you’re talking to?” She turned back to Claire and raised an eyebrow. “How’d you get here? I didn’t hear your aunt pull into the driveway.”

  “My bike,” Claire answered in a whisper. “My aunt doesn’t know I left the house.”

  Irene sighed, but when Claire’s lip started to quiver, she softened. “Oh, it can’t be as bad as all that.” She led her to the couch in the living room. “I’ll make some cocoa,” she went on soothingly while looking quizzically at Lucas. “You can chat with Lucas about what you need to chat about. I’ll leave you alone.”

  “I’m sorry, Lucas,” Claire said after a moment. “I know it’s late. I could’ve called, but … I was worried you would’ve told me we’d talk tomorrow. I couldn’t wait that long. You were right. My dad is missing.” Lucas nodded, trying to seem sympathetic and not I-told-you-so-ish. She told him about her call to the motel. And to the TV production office. “But the scariest part was when I was alone in my bedroom about an hour ago.” Claire shuddered. “I felt my mom watching me—her eyes were on my back. Was there anything else she told you? Anything that might point me in the right direction?”

  Lucas shook his head.

  Claire slumped down into the couch. “What can I do except wait for all the grown-ups to figure it out? You said that my dad’s in trouble now. If he’s missing, I don’t want to wait. I can’t wait.”

  Lucas’s throat went dry. “Sorry. I’m … I’m new at this.”

  “But your grandmother isn’t,” Claire answered. Dishes rattled in the kitchen. The microwave let out a loud beep.

  Lucas flushed. “I didn’t tell Gramma what I saw,” he whispered.

  Claire pressed her lips together. “Is my mother here now? Can you ask her what I need to do?”

  He shook his head. “They come with a knock at the door. I have no clue how to flat-out summon them.”

  “Summon whom?” Lucas’s grandmother came through the doorway juggling three steaming mugs of cocoa. Lucas and Claire were quiet as she set the mugs on the coffee table. After a moment, Irene plopped down on the couch between them. “No one wants to answer? That’s fine.” She was using her this-is-not-fine voice. “Claire, would you pass me the phone on the table beside you? I think it’s best I let your aunt know where you are.”

  “Gramma!” Lucas murmured through his teeth at the same time Claire blurted out, “Lucas saw my mother.”

  Lucas’s lungs clenched.

  But Irene only squinted at the cocoa mugs and nodded. “I figured it was something like that.” She turned to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to make a big deal,” he heard himself say.

  “But it is a big deal,” said Claire, sitting up. “My mom came to him. She told Lucas that my dad is missing. I checked with the producers of Invisible Intelligence. They said that Lucas was right. My dad disappeared in a town called Hush Falls Holler while scouting for an upcoming episode. My friends and I have tried contacting spirits ourselves before but we … haven’t really had any luck.” At this, Irene raised an eyebrow, and Claire hurried to add, “Lucas says he doesn’t know what to do. Mrs. Kent, can you help me?”

  IRENE STARED AT the steaming mugs of cocoa.

  Lucas watched Claire watch his grandmother. Her glasses were large and round, and behind the thick lenses, her eyes looked watery. Her hands were clenched in her lap, her fingers fidgeting.

  “Gramma?” Lucas tried, but she waved him off. She was concentrating, looking inward. He’d seen her do this a handful of times, usually after she’d delivered a spirit message to the intended recipient.

  Suddenly, Irene stood and hurried to the kitchen. Claire turned and leaned over the back of the couch, peering after her. Lucas whispered, “That means yes.”

  “She’ll help?”

  Lucas nodded. Claire settled down and then bit at her lip. There was a clamor from through the doorway—a great banging of metal pots, pans, and tins—as Irene dug inside messy cupboards. “Lucas!” she called out. “Go into my room and fetch a bottle of india ink from the desk.”

  By the time Lucas returned to the living room, his grandmother had placed a large silver platter in the center of the coffee table. The cocoa mugs were off to the side, now growing cool. Irene stood over the platter, holding a frosty glass container filled with milk. She poured out a small amount onto the platter, just enough to coat the bottom with white. She held out her hand to Lucas, and he passed her the small bottle wordlessly.

  Kneeling beside the table, Irene unscrewed the cap and removed the slick black dropper from inside the bottle. Squeezing its end, Irene dropped three spots onto the milk—making a triangle—before closing the bottle and placing it beside the platter. “Come closer,” she whispered to them.

  Lucas squatted across the table from where Claire settled. Together, the three of them formed another sort of triangle. Irene unfurled the fingers of her other hand, revealing a strange-looking instrument attached to a long silver chain. Its tiny loops were so compact, the chain looked almost like mercury. An oblong-shaped crystal was attached at one end. It glinted darkly in the dim living room.

  “What is that?” Claire asked.

  “A pendulum,” Lucas answered. “It’s supposed to—” Irene flicked a glance between them. Claire flinched. Lucas blushed. His grandmother needed silence.

  She grabbed the end of the chain and lifted it away from her palm. Once the chain was taut, the crystal dangled slightly from the pendulum’s base. She placed its point inside the trio of ink blots, then moved her hand in a figure-eight motion. The crystal swirled the ink, combining the lights and darks, turning the silver platter into a shifting piece of abstract art. Irene stared down at the swirls as if watching for a sign.

  Then the focus of her eyes shifted. She was seeing something in the ink patterns that Lucas could not. And as the pendulum swung, a sense of fear infiltrated her gaze. Irene’s eyes grew wide. Then wider. Her lips parted, and she let out a small breath. “No,” she whispered. “Oh no.” Her head dipped closer to the platter. Then the pendulum leapt away from the ink and milk. The chain slipped from her fingers and clattered to the coffee table.

  Irene gasped. Lucas and Claire flinched backward. When he glanced at the platter again, the ink had spread away from where it had been swirling and clung darkly to the platter’s silver edges, leaving the remnants of milk gleaming upwar
d as if it were an opaque mirror. Irene rested her fingertips on the lip of the table and released a long sigh. Whatever window she had opened was now closed.

  Lucas dared to speak. “What did you see?”

  “I saw … something that should not be.”

  Claire’s skin had a greenish hue. She pressed her lips together. “Is my father okay? Is he safe?”

  “That, I could not say. But the town he was scouting, Hush Falls. It is a bad place.”

  “What did you see that should not be?” Lucas asked.

  “I sensed … spirits. Many spirits. But there was only one … identity.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Claire.

  “One identity?” Lucas echoed.

  “There are many dead people in Hush Falls. But, there is a single spirit, an evil man, whose presence is powerful. His soul is like a magnet. Keeping all the other spirits there.” Irene pressed her fingers against the coffee table. “I tried to connect with them. To get a closer look, but the man … he pulled at me. It hurt.”

  “Gramma, are you okay?” Lucas asked.

  Irene nodded. “Just a bit of a headache now. But if I had stared for much longer …” She grimaced and pushed the silver platter away.

  “What does that have to do with my dad?” Claire insisted.

  “I doubt it has anything to do with him. Except—” Irene stared at Claire. “Your mother, Penelope …”

  “Yes?” Claire implored.

  “She protects you. She protects your father. But in this case … she can’t.” Irene cleared her throat. “And if she were to try, she could become stuck there like the others. She might lose herself. She might … forget.”

  “So then”—Lucas sat up straight—“Penelope came to me because she needs us to go and help Mr. Holiday.”

  “No!” Irene snapped. “We’re not going there.”