by Kim Hornsby
Mrs. G’s house was empty, and Rachel had a key, so I imagined she wanted me to walk around inside and try to contact her dead neighbor. I’d give it a go, but being empty of medium juice, I anticipated the only feeling I’d get was the creepy feeling of walking around inside a dead person’s house at night without permission. I told my mother I’d come over that night.
“That’s more like it,” she’d said, which had me grinding my teeth.
Maybe I’d walk in with no hope of feeling anything at Mrs. G’s and get something awesome because I wasn’t trying.
“I’ll take you over,” Eve said, setting down her cup of coffee.
I couldn’t deny that I was excited about investigating again. Not pulling in ghostly thoughts sucked but at least there’d been activity at Cove House, just like we hoped. Potential loomed for Eve, at least. I could take it as slowly as I liked, use the house to keep trying.
“Tomorrow is Roslyn?” Carlos asked.
“Aye aye. All hands on deck,” I answered in boat talk. Our preliminary investigation at The Eatery gave me hope because the ghost had appeared many times to people without psychic abilities. Even patrons of the restaurant had seen that ghost.
Eve had made Huevos Rancheros with the tortillas and salsa Carlos’ grandmother had sent over and we ate while talking about our upcoming cases. Wraps, I’d discovered, worked better than chasing food around a plate with a fork. These days, I put almost everything in a wrap to eat it. I even wrapped a baked potato recently, complete with sour cream, bacon bits, chives, and butter.
“When’s Hodor coming home?” Carlos asked.
“Twenty-five days,” I said.
Every day without Harry’s dog was a difficult one. I’d always wanted a dog, ever since I could remember and when I met Harry and heard he had a Black Lab, the package deal seemed too good to be true. These days, Hodor was training to be a service dog, something everyone who was near me in the last five months recommended. I’d sent him off with a lovely lady from Seattle who’d taken him to a school in Oregon for training at a place called The Seeing Eye Service Dog Academy. Truthfully though, I didn’t care if he learned anything there, I just wanted my dog to come home. Hodor was a connection to Harry.
I’d researched the history of Cove House that morning and discovered enough about the original inhabitants to believe that there had been some shady business dealings coming from the owner. Smuggler’s Cove had a museum in town and I’d spoken with the curator, a woman named Joan Hightower who seemed agreeable to divulge what she knew.
The builder of the house, a Mr. Cuthbertson, had made his money in timber, and with a wife who hadn’t exactly wanted to come west, he’d built her the home of her dreams. Then, she’d died of typhoid fever. A child, too. The house was sold to a shipping man named Stevens when Cuthbertson moved back to Philadelphia.
I hadn’t mentioned a ghost to Mrs. Hightower, only that I inherited the house from Mrs. McMahon and would be in the area next week to visit. “I’m trying to find out all I can about the history of the house,” I’d said.
“Cove House has quite a story,” Joan said, her voice reaching an excited level. “I’ll look forward to meeting you. I think you’ll find Smuggler’s Cove a charming little town.”
I didn’t mention that I’d already been to look at the house, nor did I mention that Eve described the outside of the museum as a dumpy little log cabin.
“Do you plan to move to Cove House?” Joan had asked.
“I’m not sure,” I’d said, trying to be evasive. I didn’t know who knew what about me or Belinda McMahon in the town of Smuggler’s Cove.
I told Eve and Carlos about my conversation with Mrs. Hightower while we ate breakfast. “She might be useful to us,” I said, hopefully.
“We have five thousand new subscribers since Oregon,” Carlos said, his mouth full of food.
We’d loaded some teaser footage from Oregon to indicate a new case was being filmed. “That’s pretty good, right?” I asked.
Eve was in charge of this area, and of our social media accounts. She also kept track of our marketing. “We just loaded the footage, and our numbers will climb for the next few days,” she said. “Five thou is nothing to sneeze about.”
As the talent, I never wanted to talk money, numbers, or advertising. Or do the camera work. I just wanted to show up, contact ghosts, and clear the house of spirits. We all had our areas of expertise. Originally, Harry had helped me set up the channel, and as it grew, I found I needed to hire someone who knew more than I did about YouTube. Eve was that person. Then, when Carlos came on board, our video of the ghost went viral and the business took off.
“The new footage we uploaded,” Carlos said, “looks spooky.”
“Like I said, Carlos, don’t post any shots of me, even from the back, unless I look like I’m contributing something. I don’t want our fans to know I’m blind or to think I’ve lost my loco mojo.” Something dribbled down my chin and I wiped it with a napkin from my lap.
“I’m extra careful,” Carlos said. “The latest footage was the outside of Cove House, a walk to the bedroom, and Eve talking about the bloody wall. Less than five minutes, and only your voice and the back of you on camera. We’re building suspense.”
“That should satisfy them for another few days,” I said.
A noisy motorboat drove by my dock too fast and we felt the house bob on the waves. The speed limit off the dock was five knots and that sucker was doing at least twenty. Harry used to report anyone speeding by the house if he was home to catch them. I could only shake my fist in the window and hope they saw me.
“Tomorrow, we’ll have more footage from The Eatery and can load shortly after, maybe space it out, in case we get nothing at Cove House.” Carlos was speaking with his mouth full, something that drove Eve to distraction. I imagined the look of disgust she was giving him across the square wooden table.
The main room of the houseboat served as a sitting room and small dining area, connected to the galley across a counter. Being the chef of the family, when I’d moved in with Harry, I’d reworked the kitchen, putting in a pretty backsplash, painting the cabinets white and outfitting the space with pots and pans and gadgets I’d collected over ten years of cooking. I fully intended to get back in that little kitchen to cook elaborate meals again.
I took my empty plate to the kitchen, listening to Eve and Carlos talk about the ghost in The Eatery and wondered if I even needed to go on this one.
For now, I’d continue to go along, manage things. Moody Investigations was my business and I had to show up, even if it put extra work on my two employees leading me around.
**
Mrs. Giovanni’s house was dark, completely shut up, with no one inside since her death. Her daughter lived twenty miles away in another town, and as my suspicious mother and I let ourselves in the back door and moved through the kitchen, I felt guilty for intruding this way.
“Sorry Mrs. G,” I said.
“What are you sorry about?” my mother asked as we entered the living room. “She’d want me to be sure she died naturally.”
My mother had brought a flashlight to light her way to the bedroom and I took her arm for guidance. It was a small rambler, like my mother’s house, but this place smelled musty. Like no one had lived here in years. Not clairvoyance, just an observation.
“Her bedroom is in here.” We turned left and my mother all but shoved me through the doorway. “Are you getting anything?”
I took a deep breath and concentrated on the bed in the room, presumably in front of me. “Mrs. Giovanni, it’s Rachel and Bryndle. Are you here with us?”
“Terri? Did your no-good daughter poison you?” My mother had a nice way with words.
I didn’t feel anything but wanted to give it more of a chance. I took two steps forward until my thigh hit something. I reached down to feel the edge of the bed. I rested my hands on the top cover. “Mrs. Giovanni, are you here? Rachel thinks you might have been poiso
ned. If that’s true, can you give us a sign?”
We waited.
Nothing.
Finally, my mother, who had the patience of a puppy, added her two cents. “I’m feeling that she was murdered.” My mother did not have the ability to pick up on stuff like this. That’s why she’d always sent me in. I knew she was lying but decided to leave it at that.
“I’m not getting anything. Let’s go.” I turned, and Rachel took my arm to guide me out of the room.
“I got the feeling her daughter killed her for the insurance money,” Rachel said as we left the house.
“OK, then tell the police you suspect her daughter.”
“Didn’t you feel that, Bryndle? Maybe you weren’t trying.”
We walked back towards my mother’s stylish rambler with the timber and river rock front. “I tried but I’m a bit rusty, I guess.” I wasn’t about to tell my mother that I suspected my ability had flown out the window with my eyesight. “I haven’t done anything in months.”
Eve was waiting on the porch for me. “Find anything?” she asked.
Rachel took this one. “I got the sense she was murdered but Bryndle didn’t try.”
“I tried. Come on, Eve.” I wasn’t about to hang around and get into it with my mother. “And you’re welcome. I drove all the way over here to help you.”
“For nothing,” she said.
“I can’t help it if I’m out of practice.” My voice sounded like I was ten years old.
“I’m just saying your livelihood will be in the toilet soon enough if you don’t pull up your big girl pants and get back into it.”
Eve took my arm. “See you later, Aunt Rachel.”
We turned and walked to the car.
“Tough love, Evelyn,” my mother called to us. “Gotta be tough!”
“Is she saying,” I whispered, “that she’s trying to dole out tough love or that you should?”
“Or that she’s tough to love,” Eve giggled as we got in Austin and drove away from my toxic mother.
Chapter 5
It was just after one a.m. and the three of us were standing in the darkness of The Eatery, an historical building on the main street of the tiny town just over the mountains from Seattle.
Eve had described the outside as “an old red brick building, old windows, two-story, with a big sign advertising the ‘Best Food in Town.’” Jim the owner, was with us, “looking nervous,” Eve had just whispered in my ear.
We walked past a long bar on the left and tables along a wall on the right, and turned to descend steps into a second room with a large stage at one end. I was wishing I’d worn sensible shoes but with the camera rolling, I needed to look like Moody, who had a very distinctive brand that straddled Rock Chic with Punk Witch.
Tonight, I’d worn a clingy long dress of purple jersey with a high collared trench coat and tall boots to look the part of someone with so much talent it was ridiculous. It was my belief that just as many followers tuned in to see what I wore as those to see if I found a ghost. Comments on our show’s site often remarked on my weird clothes, strange hair, or gaudy jewelry. I wasn’t just a medium and ghost whisperer. I was an entertainer fashionista who took my role as such very seriously. I wanted to give the people a show.
The restaurant smelled of dinners served hours earlier, not the usual dank, mustiness of a haunted building. The restaurant was not warm, the heat having been turned down for the night, but it was not the chill of a paranormal presence.
The second room we walked into was full of tables and booths. This was where the ghost usually showed up, on stage, or over near the stairs leading to the basement. The apparition of a young woman in a long dress had been seen many times in the last decade but most recently two months ago. The ghost had frightened a pair of women heading to the restrooms in the basement. They’d seen the apparition floating up the stairs towards them, then turn and make a hasty retreat through the wall.
Frightened customers were never good for business and although Jim didn’t necessarily want to get rid of the ghost, he wanted something, he said. “Maybe just to know more about her. I can’t decide if she’s good for business or bad,” he’d said when we arrived.
Carlos set his equipment on a table at the back of the stage room while I sat on the edge of the stage, listening, waiting, kind of trying. Putting mental feelers out to see if anything was drifting by, like a sea anemone in a current, hoping to pull something in to feast on. So far, I was still hungry.
Eve had told me the room was dark and everyone but me wore night vision headsets. Jim wore mine. I’d decided to be seen on camera without the goggles and that would explain if I bumped into something. Carlos was on the other side of the room clicking, plugging in, clearing his throat, breathing in his rumbly fashion.
When Carlos gave the signal, we moved to the hall near the staircase. I got a fix on where the camera was located and stared in that direction. Carlos adjusted so it looked like I could see that camera and when he said the shot looked good, I nodded.
“Remember, don’t get the Frankenscar in the shot.”
“The makeup is taking care of that,” Eve said. “It’s hardly noticeable.”
“Then, count me in.”
“4, 3, 2 . . .”
“Investigation number sixty-five, The Eatery, Roslyn, Washington, March 23, 2018.” I paused so Carlos could edit that part out of the uploaded film. “Good Evening, Mood Peeps. We are in the town of Roslyn, Washington at a restaurant called The Eatery. The ghost appears to be a woman who floats around after hours and was most recently seen on the stairs to the basement during working hours by two customers on their way to the restroom. The spirit appeared as a white, transparent apparition in a long dress who disappeared through the wall when encountered. Jim, the owner of The Eatery, has asked us to investigate. It’s just after one a.m. and we’re ready to begin. Carlos, set your meters. Mood Peeps, prepare to get freaked out.”
This is how I began every video. And, this was the argument Eve used to encourage me to attend tonight’s session, saying I was the star of the show and they needed me as part of the team. Earlier, her tears of disappointment made me take her in a hug and vow to do my best to contribute tonight in Roslyn.
Carlos walked the room, taking readings while Eve stationed herself over by the door leading to the basement. I presumed Jim had obeyed my order and was seated at the back of the restaurant. We didn’t usually let the clients attend investigations, but he’d seen the ghost several times in six months and she seemed to want to tell him something. Maybe Jim would draw her in.
Twenty minutes in, I did another spot from the stage.
“Count me in,” I said in the darkness.
“4, 3, 2…”
“I’m going to try to contact the ghost.” I paused and looked off to the right. “Is anyone out there who’d like to talk to us?” I said. “We’ve traveled here to help you, to meet you. Are you here?”
We waited.
“My name is Moody. I talk to ghosts to figure out what they need. Who are you?” I listened. Several times, we’d had a ghost say their name at this point and captured it on EVP. Some ghosts loved to distinguish themselves.
“Are you with us tonight? Let us know if you can hear us.” I held my breath, listening. “We mean you no harm but only want to know who you are.”
Ghosts often made objects rustle, or drop, or tap, but as we listened, we heard nothing.
“Do you know Jim, the owner of this establishment? Jim is here tonight to make contact.” I raised my voice. “Jim, say something.”
He spoke from the back of the room. “Ah, hello. I want to know who you are and what you’re doing here. Are you listening?” His voice was shaky and didn’t hide his embarrassment at talking to a ghost. Speaking to someone not of this world did feel strange at first.
Eve’s footsteps moved away from me as she headed down the hall towards the stairs to the basement.
It wasn’t unusual to take a long t
ime to make contact, or to not get anything at these investigations. Sometimes, it took days and sometimes the ghost just did not want to communicate. Not every investigation produced a ghost. But in the past, all my investigations had produced information about the ghost, back when I had strange feelings as soon as I opened the door.
So far, I felt nothing from the other side.
Carlos and Eve continued walking around the restaurant. I didn’t move much except along the length of the stage. I could hear Eve head down the stairs and was impressed with her bravery. When she first started to work with me on investigations, she often stayed behind me for protection. A year later, she was walking down creepy old stairs trying to find the ghost of a two-hundred-year-old building. My heart swelled with pride.
Carlos moved from one side of the room to the other, the clicking of his EMF meter my gauge of where he was. He was too far away for me to smell Eau Sauvage.
I called towards the hallway. “Eve, try speaking to her.”
Although Carlos had the toys-- the meters, and recorders for electromagnetic levels, and disturbances in the atmosphere that might signal something close, Eve and I were mediums and relied on talent. Or had. Now, I was wondering if I should carry equipment. My talent was on an extended lunch break. Maybe I’d end up carrying around one of those Boo Bears, tied to my utility vest while Eve dressed in flowing clothes and leather.
I heard Eve’s timid voice on the stairs saying something like what I’d just voiced to the room about making contact. Her footsteps were light, getting softer as she disappeared down to the next floor.
“Are you with us?” her soft voice asked.
Carlos headed towards her. I monitored all this from my stationary spot in front of the stage like a general sending soldiers out to battle.
“I feel you with me.” Eve said, her voice louder than usual. “Are you here?”
I moved along the stage, my hands feeling the speakers, a table and finally the wall. I’d left TapTap in The Marshmallow, not wanting it to sneak into a shot, but was wishing I had it now just to get around the corner and into the hall. I bumped in to a table and chairs, then continued, trying to follow Eve’s voice.
