This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.
Copyright © 2019 Caryn Larrinaga
All rights reserved.
A Twisted Tree Press Publication
North Salt Lake City, UT
www.TwistedTreePress.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Thank you!
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Caryn Larrinaga
The Soul Searchers Mysteries
Donn’s Hill
Donn’s Shadow
Other Books by Caryn Larrinaga
Superhero Syndrome
Hide and Seek
Galtzagorriak and Other Creatures:
Stories Inspired by Basque Folklore
For Mom & Dad, who taught me the power of a good book
Chapter One
The cabin glared at me through a gap in the trees. Two glassless windows flanked the door like eyes on either side of a narrow nose, their frames sagging downward in an expression that managed to be both accusatory and appreciative. In the harsh light from the afternoon sun, the place looked more dilapidated than I remembered, and wisps of negative energy oozed out from between the rotting logs that made up the cabin’s exterior.
I shivered.
“Chilly?” Kit Dyedov reached for the temperature knob on the van’s dashboard. “I’ll turn up the heat.”
I shot her a grateful smile and shrugged deeper into my hoodie. Like the cabin, Kit’s van had seen better days, and the crisp October air slipped its way through the cracks and seams in the body to pinch at my cheeks. I told myself the weather was the reason I hadn’t yet unbuckled my seat belt, but in truth, this place terrified me.
“Do you want me to drive closer?” Kit asked.
“Do you want to drive closer?”
“Not really.” She blew a gigantic purple bubble, sucking her gum back into her mouth with a loud snap. “I didn’t want to come here at all, remember?”
“Me neither, but a kid almost died,” I said.
“I know. But I don’t get why we couldn’t just finish planning this thing from the kitchen table.”
It was the third time today she’d suggested that course of action, and I found myself agreeing with her. We could easily have pulled up the footage from our last two visits to this haunted place to remind ourselves what it looked like. Why had I insisted we drive all the way out here just to stare at it through the windshield?
Because you owe it to that kid, I reminded myself. The uncomfortable lump of guilt shifted from my chest to my throat, swelling until I swallowed it down.
Kit seemed to read my mind and pushed her hands through her wild, green hair with an exasperated sigh. “It wasn’t your fault, Mac. Stop blaming yourself.”
I silently disagreed.
Five months before, ScreamTV had aired two back-to-back episodes of Soul Searchers, the television show Kit’s dad produced and starred in. Half paranormal investigator, half sympathetic-but-unlicensed grief counselor, Yuri Dyedov created the show to help people in mourning or distress come to grips with whatever was happening in their home. Sometimes, it was a spirit that needed to move on. Other times, it was the living who needed to do the same.
Kit and Yuri had invited me to join their crew shortly after meeting me the prior spring. I wasn’t sure if I was a ghost sensor or ghost bait, but either way, the team caught more apparitions on video than ever before. Spirits like Richard Franklin, who’d been haunting these woods for over fifty years, luring campers and teenagers into dangerous situations that usually resulted in their deaths.
We’d visited the cabin twice, and each time, I’d found the body of one of Richard Franklin’s recent victims. The footage thrilled the network, and the episodes pulled in record numbers of viewers. But the executives in Los Angeles didn’t have to deal with the nightmares or worry about the consequences of drawing so much attention to a place this dangerous.
I should have come back and cleansed the cabin before the episodes aired, but my last encounter with the spirit here had left me shaken. He’d manifested in the form of swirling dust and leaves, and had somehow conjured a windstorm powerful enough to uproot an enormous oak tree. He’d wielded it like a cudgel, smashing a gaping hole in the roof and nearly killing our entire crew.
Suffice it to say, I hadn’t been in a rush to come back here.
Then, two weeks ago, a group of amateur paranormal investigators from the nearby city of Moyard had descended on the cabin with electromagnetic field meters and cell phone cameras. They’d been hoping to record something compelling for their video podcast, but their plans were derailed when a partially downed tree had fallen on top of one of their team members, a nineteen-year-old college freshman named Connor Miles.
Last week, the doctors had downgraded Connor’s condition from critical to stable, but he remained inpatient at Moyard General. I checked his family’s social media posts obsessively, dreading the day they would figure out what I’d realized the instant I heard about the “accident” on the news: his injuries were my fault. If I’d done my job sooner and forced Richard Franklin’s spirit to move on from this place, I could’ve prevented anyone else from getting hurt.
Coming here today was part of my penance. I’d asked Yuri to let me take the lead in planning this episode, and he always scouted our filming locations in advance… and in person. I owed it to Connor to be brave enough to do things the right way.
Of course, brave didn’t mean foolish. That’s why we’d stopped before the crumbling asphalt road widened into a graveled parking area. We eyed the cabin from a safe distance.
When I didn’t respond to Kit’s attempts to lessen my guilt, she sighed again and flipped open her sketchbook. Nestled between drawings of the things I’d seen on our investigations and a diagram of the cabin’s interior was a checklist. Tasks like “clear investigation with Driscoll County” and “price additional camera rentals” had already been crossed off with thick, red marker, and only a few items remained.
“Okay, we’ve got the gear all lined up. I wish we’d been able to find a better field mixer, but I think the sound quality will be fine with the one we have. Um…” She ran her finger down the list. “Oh. Are we filming outside or just in the cabin?”
I squinted through the trees, assessing the space in front of the rotting structure. “We should get some B-roll footage, show the way this place keeps deteriorating. But I don’t want to set up lights and everything out here. We can do all the interviews inside,
same place as the séance.”
She made a note and nodded. “Good. That’ll speed things up. How about transportation? Is there enough parking?”
The last time I’d been here, the little parking lot in front of the cabin had been packed with emergency vehicles and swarming with sheriff’s deputies.
“Plenty,” I said. “Our team will be in the van, and I think the extras are carpooling in from The Enclave.”
“And you’ve got all those people lined up?”
“Yeah.”
“Took you long enough.”
I resented the jab. Kit had years of experience planning and producing the show, but even she had never pulled together this many people for a single episode. Coordinating with other psychics, especially ones with their own businesses to manage, was like trying to grab hold of a ghost. Options kept slipping through my fingers.
“There’ll be four including Graham, right?” she confirmed.
I nodded. I was basing the structure of the séance on the only one I’d ever witnessed in person, which had been hosted by my former mentor, Gabrielle Suntador. She’d insisted on nine attendees. I insisted on the same. Our small crew normally had five members: Yuri and me, who both appeared on camera in most episodes; Kit, who ran the production and typically handled sound; Mark, our cameraman; and my tortoiseshell cat, Striker. I’d convinced my boyfriend, Graham, to join us, which left three slots for outside talent.
“Who’d you get?” Kit asked.
“A few locals. I’d been hoping some of the mediums who come in from New York or Boston for the Afterlife Festival would come back for this, but it’s too short notice.”
She nodded. “Yeah, this is all way faster than we normally move, even for smaller investigations.”
“We have to do it soon,” I reminded her. “Somebody else could get hurt.”
“I get it, I get it.” She held up her hands, palms out, and bowed her head. “Get off your soapbox and just tell me who they are so I can get them the consent forms.”
“Do you know Nick and Daphne Martin?”
Kit’s head jerked up and her eyes widened. “Nick Martin? How did you manage that?”
“Your dad took me up to their house last week, and we invited them together. They seemed excited, especially since your dad will be here.”
“Yeah, they love Dad. But still… This is a huge get.” She wrote their names down at the bottom of her list. “Nick is blowing up right now, and Daphne’s about to launch this huge traveling psychic circus. The network will freak out when they find out the Martins are on board.”
“Yeah, that was your dad’s line of thinking too. He wanted some big names to add some extra credibility to the episode.”
Kit’s body tensed as I spoke. Staring down at her clipboard, and with far too much casual air in her voice, she asked, “Who else?”
“Graham’s friend, Stephen Hastain—”
“The Irish dude? Rune caster?” Kit interrupted.
“Yeah. You know him?”
She nodded, and her posture relaxed as she added his name below the Martins. “We volunteered together for the summer art program at the high school. I like him.”
I’d known Kit barely half a year, but it’d been an intense six months. We worked together, and her apartment was on the floor below mine. Our friendship had already been tested by lies, arguments, and the discovery of multiple dead bodies. As far as I was concerned, it’d reached “lifelong and indestructible” status, which conveyed upon me certain rights and responsibilities. As her best friend, I had a duty to find out why she’d been so tense a moment before, and, depending on the reason, to make fun of her mercilessly for it.
“Whose name were you worried I might say?” I asked, not bothering to hide my verbal leer.
Her eyes flashed. “I wasn’t worried.”
“Tell that to your face. And your shoulders. And that pen you’re snapping in half.”
“I just don’t want to screw up the show by bringing on the wrong people.”
“That’s fair. Who are ‘the wrong people?’”
She sat in silence for a few moments, flexing her ballpoint pen between her hands. “Look, this stays between us. I don’t want any of this to get back to my dad.”
“Deal.”
“He’s been getting super chummy—”
“With Penelope. I know. It’s weird.”
Kit made a noise halfway between a gag and a growl, and the pen finally broke. I flinched, bracing for a spray of ink, but it never came. She just threw the jagged halves of the ballpoint down into a cup holder on the floor and moved her hands to the steering wheel where they twisted at the faux leather cover.
“That’s not who I’m talking about, but thanks for reminding me.”
“Who, then?” I honestly couldn’t think of anyone else her dad would get close to. It was strange enough that he’d been spending so much time with Penelope Bishop, the middle-aged deputy mayor of Donn’s Hill. Between running the Soul Searchers and helping Penelope with her endless projects to increase tourism to the town, I couldn’t imagine him having time to spend with anybody else.
“There’s this douche magician ScreamTV signed for a new show. The guy is the worst, but Dad just loves him. A few weeks ago, I overheard Dad trying to convince the network to pay for some kind of crossover episode.”
I thought back to the people Yuri had suggested I consider for the cabin cleansing. Apart from the ones I’d chosen, there’d been a palmist from Donn’s Hill and a medium from Boca Raton. So far as I knew, neither one of them moonlighted as magicians.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “ScreamTV specializes in horror and paranormal stuff. Why would they want a magician?”
“Why would anyone want a magician?” She rolled her eyes.
I shrugged. “I like magic tricks.”
“Well, you wouldn’t like this guy. He hates psychics and paranormal investigators. He told me, to my face, that we’re hacks and scam artists.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“Did your dad hear him?”
“Of course not. He knows the network loves Dad, so he pretended to love the show anytime Dad was within earshot.” She made a few more notes in her sketchbook before lifting her chin toward the cabin. “Need to do anything else while we’re here?”
I hesitated. Ordinarily, we’d go inside the location and scout it for things like electrical outlets, layout, and anything that might require us to bring additional equipment. But we were already planning to run off batteries and had spent more than enough time inside the cabin to know which rooms we’d be using. I gave a firm shake of my head, eager to be away from the strange atmosphere in these woods.
She ginned. “Thank God. Wanna grab lunch? I’m craving fish and chips from the Ace of Cups.”
My stomach growled and my mouth watered at the thought of fried cod and salty french fries from one of the new restaurants in town. The Ace of Cups anchored The Enclave, the local occult community’s answer to a strip mall that had opened a few months before. Sadly, a prior engagement took precedence over my gluttony.
“I can’t. I promised Penelope I’d go check out the renovations on the inn.”
The mention of her father’s girlfriend sent Kit’s ears aflame, and she muttered something to herself as she started the engine. It was too low to hear, but I thought I caught the word “hag” nested between a few choice words of profanity.
“What was that?” I teased.
“You heard what I said.”
“I really didn’t.”
She gave me a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know what everyone sees in her all the sudden. You two were, like, mortal enemies when you first got here, and now you’re all buddy-buddy and checking out her new place?”
This wasn’t about my relationship with Donn’s Hill’s most influential woman. Kit and I both knew it, but the ever-darkening shade of red that spread from her ears and into her cheeks convinced me it wasn’t
a clarification worth making.
“She apologized for the way she treated me before,” I reminded her. “Besides, she’s Graham’s aunt, and she’s doing him a huge favor right now. The least I can do is look at what she’s been working on.”
“Bet she lured you there with that fancy new coffee maker.” Kit narrowed her eyes. “She knows how to manipulate everyone in town.”
“Hey! I am not easily manipulated by coffee.”
“No, but I heard they serve chai tea and french pastries over there, too.”
I opened my mouth to continue my protests—sure, Penelope’s invitation had included a promise to show me the new café in her inn’s lobby, and yes, I assumed I’d be allowed to sample the goods—but my stomach got in the last word, rumbling audibly and startling us both.
The tension in the van broke and Kit shook her head, grinning at me. “You can’t hide your weaknesses from me, Mac. I know your belly calls the shots.”
I returned her smile for a moment, but it faded from my face as she coaxed the van into making a twelve-point-turn on the narrow dirt driveway. A view of the rotting cabin filled the passenger side window, and a deep crease formed between my eyebrows as I gazed at the structure. It stared back at me through the trees with defiant window-eyes, zapping the levity from a moment before into nonexistence. We might be pulling away now, but in a few days, we’d be back here. I’d be attempting to banish the most dangerous ghost I’d ever encountered, and I’d be doing it with the largest crew I’d ever worked with.
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