Panting, his arms up, ready to strike, Kevin barged into the room, a thin line of blood on his right hand trickled down his middle finger and threatened to drip on the carpet. Jessica grabbed the alarm clock off her nightstand—the only blunt weapon readily available—and held it up with one arm for protection.
“What are you doing in my room?” she yelled. “I’ll scream again if you come any closer.”
“You already screamed,” Kevin shouted back. “No one else can hear you.”
She raised her arm, ready to throw the alarm clock.
Kevin shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “What are you doing? You screamed for help. I came.” He held up his right hand, rotating it to show her the wound. “I had to break the kitchen door to get in.” He took a few gulps of air, closed his eyes for a second, and took a half-step back. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, his voice calmer, his palms now both half-raised and open, as if in surrender. “I’m here to help. I thought you were being attacked.”
She slitted her eyes and looked at Kevin, who was wearing pajama bottoms and a loose fanboy T-shirt under an open bathrobe, which had a couple of holes in it. The truth was, he didn’t look scary at all. “Oh,” she said.
“What happened? What’s the matter?”
He’d come to save her; she owed him an explanation, so she gave him one. She told him about Crystal, the dark shadows, and the odd feelings of intense dread that often overtook her. She knew he wasn’t a shrink—heck, he was barely in high school—but she had to tell somebody.
Kevin listened politely, but his face screwed up when she got to the part about dark shadows and overwhelming feelings of dread. He only asked one question: “You game at all?”
“Huh?”
“You know, video games. Worlds of War, First Person Shooter, The Commando Conspiracy—that kind of thing.”
“No,” she replied. “Why?”
“Infrasound,” he replied, as if that explained anything. When she didn’t respond, he continued. “I read about it online. Certain wavelengths beyond the lower range of human hearing—between seven and nineteen hertz—can induce fear, dread, or panic in certain people. The military’s done some experiments with it, for things like non-lethal ways to disperse crowds. It works, just not on everyone. It’s one of the reasons the lower note ranges of big pipe organs creep some people out—some of the pipes are actually vibrating in the infrasound range and those people happen to be susceptible.” He shrugged. “Some of the game companies have talked about incorporating it into their games, you know, to add atmosphere.”
Jessica pursed her lips together, shut her eyes, and tilted her head to one side, straining to control herself. “Their games? You think this is a game? I’m scared out of my wits, unable to sleep, and it’s because you’re across the side yard playing stupid shoot ’em ups on your computer?”
Kevin again held his hands palm forward. “Hey, not me. My console’s sound card doesn’t even reach that range. That’s why I asked about whether you game.”
“Oh.” Jessica’s anger dissipated and the dread began to grow again. “No.”
Kevin looked around the room. “Could be some other source.”
“But…the shadow,” Jessica sputtered.
Kevin scrunched up his nose. “At the top end, say eighteen point nine hertz, infrasound can resonate with the human eyeball, causing smeared vision or even dark, moving shapes. This one guy did a study on this supposedly haunted cellar and found out all the panic and spook sightings were caused by a supposedly ‘silent running’ exhaust fan.”
Jessica perked up. “Like an attic fan?”
Kevin nodded. “That could do it.”
She grabbed his hand and marched to the doorway. “C’mon. There’s some wires I need you to pull.”
She led him into the hallway and yanked the attic door down. It popped open, throwing down a folding ladder. “You first,” she said.
Jessica followed Kevin into the attic, which stretched across the top of the house. She pulled a string to illuminate a naked lightbulb above the entry. A haphazard line of plywood sheets spanned across the joists in both directions. Jessica pointed at the attic fan set in the eaves of the long roof line, right above her room. The fan blades moved silently, creating a steady breeze of cool air that gave her goosebumps.
“There,” she said, pointing at a knot of red and yellow wires hanging down from the edge of the fan motor. “Pull those.”
Kevin reached up, but the wires were too high. She watched as he stood on tiptoe, but still couldn’t grasp the wires. “Uh, we could just take out the fuse down in the basement,” he suggested.
“No,” she replied. “I don’t want Dad to notice and ‘fix’ things later.”
Kevin looked around, obviously trying to find something to stand on.
“C’mon,” said Jessica, interlacing her fingers and bending down. “I’ll give you a boost.”
“Okay.”
The process was uncomfortable. The folds of Kevin’s robe kept wrapping around her head, but there was no way she was going to ask him to take it off. She didn’t need to know whether his pajamas had as many holes as his robe. It was awkward enough they had to face each other as she bent down far enough he could get his right foot in the basket of her hands, then stand as their bodies slid along each other. Somehow, she didn’t think Kevin minded.
He grabbed the wires and pulled. There was a small spark and the attic lightbulb blinked out.
“Crap!” mumbled Kevin, as she felt him fumble in the pocket of his bathrobe. She was so startled when he flicked on a small flashlight, she almost dropped him. “Mom worries the power will go out when she’s working nights,” he explained.
The fan coasted to a stop.
Suddenly, Jessica didn’t feel uneasy any more…well, except for the fact she was pressed up against the boy next door in the dark when her parents were out of state.
They managed to awkwardly extract themselves from one another and make their way back to the ladder to the hallway. They stood at the bottom for a moment, before Kevin, blushing, said, “Well, I better go back home. The guys in my squad…er…my gaming group will think I abandoned them in the middle of a firefight.”
Jessica nodded. “Thanks.” Kevin turned to leave, but as he did, she gave him a little hug on the shoulders from behind.
When she let go, Kevin turned to face her, but said nothing.
She shrugged. “Like I said, thanks.”
Kevin didn’t move, but he blushed even redder. High school boys always read way too much into way too little.
“Look,” she continued, picking her words carefully. “If you’re waiting for me to whisper ‘My hero!’ in your ear or invite you to make out, you’re going to be disappointed. That’s not the way it works in real life. I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m a neighbor…a friend…who needed some help. And, you…you helped a friend ’cause you’re…well…a nice guy. At least you seem to be.” She smiled and fluttered her hand in the direction of Kevin’s house. “Now go be a hero by killing monsters with…your friends…your other friends.”
Kevin nodded and gave her a little wave as he turned and stumbled down the hall toward the stairs.
Maybe she didn’t need to live in fear after all.
Kevin cut across the grass to the kitchen door of his house, then snagged a sandwich from the fridge on his way back up to his bedroom. Mom always left him sandwiches when she was working a double shift at the nursing home. He climbed the stairs and entered his room, lit only by the glow of the game in progress on his computer screen. He reached into his robe pocket and deposited his mini-flashlight on the desktop. He reached in again and pulled out a small remote, fingering it for a moment.
No. Best to leave the sonic subwoofer off for at least a few days. He set the remote down, too, next to an old dog collar, then turned and pressed a button on his keyboard. The screen view switched from his ongoing game to a shot from the wireless nanny-cam secreted in a
bowling trophy next to the window. Jessica’s shade was still down, but the lights were on. He stared at the shadows for a moment.
It would have been better if she’d kissed him. Better for him and much better for her. But she trusted him now and that was a good first step. She would be even more afraid when the waking dread began anew. She would come to him. No one else would believe her.
Well, Crystal would. But Crystal wasn’t talking to anyone ever again.
Except maybe her dog.
Back to TOC
Witness
Taylor Ker
Mari had officially been dead longer than she had been alive, and I still couldn’t cope with her absence. The TV blared, trying to bring me back to reality, but my eyes kept on slipping off the screen. It wasn’t fair that Mari wasn’t sitting next to me, laughing along at her favorite show. It wasn’t fair that I was sitting through her death day all by myself.
Her cold case haunted me, reminding me of my emotional wound that would never close. My heart ached when I remembered that her ghost hadn’t been seen. Ever. Here in Mornstead, our police force had gotten lazy, since by law murder cases needed ghosts as the primary witness, so they just sat waiting for ghosts to hand them the culprit.
I turned away from the TV, curling into my mother’s puke-green couch. I closed my eyes, eager to block out the world. Noises faded and I embraced the loneliness.
My phone buzzed in my hand and my eyes snapped open. I stretched out and noticed the end credits were playing. My tired eyes glanced to the window; rain came down hard against the glass and the evening’s light had faded. Exhaustion pulled at my body.
I unlocked my phone, expecting a scolding message about dropping out of college, and was met with a text—no, texts plural—from Nathan.
Nathan Finch, 9:03PM
are you there? i have some news about Marian’s murder
Nathan Finch, 9:05PM
hey sid. are you awake? it’s getting cold out here
Nathan Finch, 9:12PM
ill be sitting on the porch
He’d told me that he wanted to be alone for Mari’s death day to “collect his thoughts” and to “think things out by himself”. I had never been truly alone on Mari’s death day before. Nathan had always been there to comfort me, letting me sob into the crook of his neck. Then I’d do the same for him.
I was beyond angry when another knock came. I skidded across the hardwood floor in my socks, throwing open the door and staring out into the rain. I hadn’t spoken to my best friend with actual words in months, and the first thing out of my mouth was, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Nathan stood up and turned around to face me, illuminated by the porch light. His baseball cap was entirely soaked, his normally pale face splotched with red. He stared up at me with all too familiar bloodshot eyes.
“I brought company,” he said, lifting a six pack of Bud Light. “Are you going to let me in or are you going to let me catch my death of cold out here?”
I stepped aside. “It’s not cold,” I said, letting the warm spring air waft in through the door as I watched the rain fall from dark clouds onto the dark street below.
He came in, and I let the door slam behind him.
“You said something about Mari’s murder?” I kept my voice clipped and cold, despite the fact that I wanted nothing more than to hug him and cry. He stared back at me from his place on the couch, never breaking eye contact as his fingers pulled a crumbled piece of paper from his pockets. With my arms folded over my chest, I started to tap my foot against the floor. “Well…”
He tossed the paper-ball to me left handed, and I remembered he used to be a pitcher before his mental breakdown on the playing field last year. He’d never told me the details, so I let it slide and opened the note.
The wet ink bled through, but the words were still decipherable.
I know who killed Marian Crane.
I think you can figure it out, too.
—Witness
“You don’t think this warrants a fucking phone call?” I crumpled the paper in my hands.
The possibilities raced through my mind. If there had been a witness, then her murderer could be put to justice. If there was a witness, then her ghost wasn’t needed. If there was a witness, then why the hell hadn’t they spoken up before?
I almost wanted to be angry. Why give the note to Nathan?
For a half second I thought maybe it had been Mari’s ghost, then I remembered that she would lack a tangible physical form—well, probably. No one had ever seen her.
He took off his cap and wrung it. “I figured it would be better to show you face-to-face—to let you see it for yourself,” he said, his voice almost cracking. “I thought, uh, I thought we could investigate like we did when we were kids. This is a bad lead, but it’s a start.”
I grabbed my phone and dialed Detective Ayers. It was only after I had hit the bright green “call” button that I realized it was 9:30 p.m., but I wasn’t going to hang up. It wasn’t that late.
It rang three times—maybe he wouldn’t pick up.
“Who are you and what do you want at this ungodly hour?” The detective’s classic New York accent was always a comfort.
“It’s Sidney Wilkins, I don’t know if you remember me, but I have some info on the Marian Crane murder case.” What I remembered about Detective Ayers was the stench of cigarette smoke that followed him and the fact that he actually treated Nathan and me like humans deserving of respect.
He didn’t respond for a couple of moments. Children shrieked and crash rang out on the other side of the line.
I switched to speakerphone. Nathan shot me a quizzical look. “Detective Ayers,” I mouthed.
“So, eh, you’re the girl with the files, yeah?” Detective Ayers laughed. “Yeah, I remember you. Now, whatcha saying about the Marian Crane murder case?”
“Nathan, my friend, found a paper from someone—” I then realized I had no clue how Nathan had come across the paper. I mouthed, “Where?” to him and he looked like a deer caught in headlights.
“Porch.”
“He found a paper on his porch. It’s signed ‘from a witness.’ Uh, it says they know who killed Marian.”
Ayers paused, started to say something, cleared his throat, then started again. “Was this really worth calling me, Sidney?” He sounded like my father. Weariness and disappointment dripped from his words like molasses. “I’ve told you before, that case is as cold as ice.”
“This is a new lead, Ayers! After years, there’s a witness so we can finally bring her murderer to justice. This didn’t show up out of nowhere. It’s a sign of something bigger, I know it.” The hope boiling in my chest turned down to a simmer. “We can bring the paper to you tomorrow and—”
“Look, Sidney, I know she was your friend. I know you’re torn up about this. God, kid, I wish I could tell you that it’ll get better soon. But here’s the deal: Marian’s Crane murder is a local legend with middle schoolers. It’s break and the kids have a bunch of free time on their hands. I bet you that whatever letter Nathan found was planted there by some hellions, just to spook him.” Detective Ayers stopped his lecture for a second, yelled at someone to “keep it down!” and then continued. “You know what? Tell Nathan’s mother that I’ll put down five hundred dollars at our betting pool. That’s how sure I am.”
My eyesight blurred and darkness tickled at the edges of my vision. “You’re a detective, Ayers. You know this isn’t just a prank.”
He sighed. I imagined him pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not even a homicide detective anymore. I switched to the ghost crimes division. I’m not the right person to call about this. But, kid, it was a prank. Don’t worry about it. Don’t go investigating it. Don’t open old wounds just because of some asshole middle schoolers. Trust me on this.”
Before I knew it, I said, “Thank you, Detective Ayers. Bye.” I hung up the phone and hurled it at my mom’s flat screen TV.
The
screen cracked, splintering out into a small spider web. My phone was firmly lodged in the center. The lights behind the screen flickered then turned to black. The menu screen music continued to play, unceasing and apparently unconcerned with the thousands of dollars in damage that I had managed to cause within two seconds of lost self-control.
I cautiously turned my gaze to Nathan, waiting for him to flip out on me. Instead, he cracked a smile. “Counseling hasn’t done much good, has it? There’s a reason I quit.” He looked back down at the pages he was sifting through—notes and pictures I had gathered together years back. “Anyway, I’m supposed to be the pitcher.”
A pitcher who quit pitching, I thought.
I laughed, leaving the wreckage behind to deal with when my mother got back from her business trip. I grabbed a sharpie and walked over to the empty wall. My mother had taken down the pictures in anticipation of me painting the wall, but I never had.
“Heh, don’t knock counseling. At least I’m out of bed in the mornings.” I uncapped the sharpie and started to draw on the wall, outlining four sections. Facts, suspects, evidence, and notes. “Although, my newest counselor thinks that my ‘obsession with Mari’ is ‘unhealthy’ and that aiming to be a librarian based on a suggestion from twelve years ago isn’t a ‘healthy life plan’ and that I should ‘rethink’ my college choices.”
“I say drop out, Sid. I switched to computer science, but following in Mari’s footsteps isn’t a bad plan.”
I listed out the main suspect from Mari’s murder, trying to keep my handwriting as neat as possible. Calvin Helm and Belinda Crane. The adults with the means and motive to kill her.
“That’s all stuff we already know.” Nathan’s hand was on my shoulder and his weight leaned into me. “I think we should try and figure out who the witness is, first.”
I licked my chapped lips and wrote “death by bludgeoning” in the fact section. “The witness doesn’t really want to be found, do they? They said we can figure it out, so our best bet is to compile all of the facts and evidence we have and go out searching. It’s twelve years too late to investigate the scene of the crime, but we can visit the Helm’s house and gather info that way—”
Mystery! Page 17
