Ghost Town

by Jason Hawes

  Jenn couldn’t be responsible for this. But who . . . ? Then it came to her. There was a film crew in town, working on some kind of documentary about Exeter. They’d probably set this up, most likely as a “dramatic re-creation” of some supposedly true paranormal event. They’d probably put hidden cameras in the store so they could capture her unrehearsed reaction to their idiotic special-effects show. It was a shitty thing to do, but . . . Then she realized. There were no strings or wires holding the books aloft. Some kind of hologram, maybe? The books looked solid enough, but with the right technology, you could make anything seem real these days. Of course, why someone would spend a ton of money installing holographic projectors in a rinky-dink bookstore—and where they’d conceal the damned things—was beyond her. But that wasn’t important right then. What was important was proving that it wasn’t real.

  Slowly, she extended a shaking hand forward into the whirling mass of books.

  For a moment, nothing happened, and Tonya congratulated herself on exposing the flying books as fakes. But then a hardback edition of Montague Summer’s The Vampire: His Kith and Kin, slammed into the back of her hand, and she cried out in surprise as much as pain. She cradled her throbbing hand to her chest, and without thinking, she took a step back from the mass of books streaking in front of her. Unfortunately, this put her directly in the path of those books flying behind her, and bright light flashed behind her eyes as a pair of volumes smacked into the sides of her head.

  She fell to the wooden floor, but despite the fierce pounding in her head, she managed to pull herself onto her hands and knees. She wanted to stand, wanted to run for the back door, and she tried. But her head hurt too much, she was too dizzy, and instead, she slumped onto her side. Books continued swirling around her, drawing closer with each pass they made. She covered her head with her hands, curled into a ball, and squeezed her eyes shut.

  She heard a woman’s voice then. Not Jenn. Someone she didn’t recognize. It spoke a single word.

  “Stop.”

  Books began pelting her then—paperbacks and hardbacks—each one slamming into her over and over, striking and then darting away, only to dip back down and strike again. They continued smashing into her long after she was dead.

  TWO

  “No appetite this morning?”

  Amber Lozier gave Trevor Ward a questioning frown, and he nodded toward her plate. Trevor and Drew Pearson had both finished their breakfasts, but she had barely touched her scrambled eggs and wheat toast, although she was working on her third cup of coffee.

  Drew answered for her. “Bad dreams.” He reached under the table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

  “Really?” Trevor sounded intrigued. “Regular bad dreams or, you know . . .” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Dreams?”

  The three of them were sitting in the dining room of Eternal Sleep Bed and Breakfast. Like those of so many businesses in Exeter, its name was designed to appeal to tourists drawn by the town’s reputation as a paranormal hot spot. Amber was thankful that its interior didn’t match its name. The house looked perfectly normal inside, which suited her just fine. Not that she would have been bothered by spooky décor, but given the sort of dreams she often had, the last thing she needed was any more fuel for the darker side of her imagination.

  “Not everything is a paranormal experience,” she said. “Sometimes a dream is just a dream.” She paused. “Still, it was weird.”

  Drew and Trevor gave her a look, and despite herself, she laughed.

  “OK, my dreams usually are weird, but this one was stranger than most. It was about books.”

  “Books?” Trevor sounded disappointed. “Doesn’t sound all that weird to me.”

  “They were flying, their covers spread out like wings. Dozens of them were circling around me.”

  Trevor grinned. “I read somewhere that any dream that has flying in it is really about sex.” He looked at Drew. “Is that true?”

  “That was Freud’s interpretation, but dreams are far too complex for simple diagnoses like that. Besides, wait until you hear the rest of it.”

  Amber continued. “The books started attacking, slamming into me over and over. It was one of the most painful and terrifying things I’ve ever experienced. I wanted to run away, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t. The books knocked me to the floor, and I couldn’t get up. They just kept hitting me over and over until everything went black.”

  No one spoke for a moment after Amber finished. Finally, Trevor said, “You’re right. That is weird.”

  “There was something else.” She frowned as she tried to remember. “Right before everything went black, I heard a voice. A woman’s voice, I think. I can’t remember what she said, though.”

  “The voice might not have said anything,” Drew pointed out. “It was just a dream. And even if the voice did say something intelligible, I doubt it was some cryptic message, full of meaning.”

  Trevor scowled. “I thought what we experienced at the Lowry House had cured you of being such a skeptical buzzkill, Drew.”

  Drew smiled. “Just because I’m now willing to consider paranormal explanations for strange events doesn’t mean I think every bad dream is prophetic.”

  “But to dismiss the possibility out of hand . . .”

  Amber reached out and patted Trevor’s arm to calm him.

  “Don’t mind Drew. He’s a bit ambivalent about being here this weekend.”

  Trevor looked at his friend. “Oh?”

  Drew took a sip of coffee before speaking. Amber had been dating him long enough to know he did it to stall for a few seconds so he could gather his thoughts.

  “I took yesterday off work so I could drive down here. When my supervisor asked why I wanted Friday off, I told her it was because I was presenting at a conference. She asked what conference.”

  “Let me guess,” Trevor said. “She was less than thrilled to hear that you were presenting at an event called Esotericon.”

  “Her exact words were, ‘Are you out of your mind?’ ” Drew took another sip of coffee. “She wanted to deny my leave request, but I had too many vacation days saved up. She did, however, tell me that if I persist in associating with ‘pseudo-scientists and charlatans,’ she would have to ‘reevaluate my relationship’ with the hospital.”

  Trevor had set up the presentation with the conference organizers several weeks ago, and he had invited Drew and Amber to join him. They were to talk about their experiences with the Lowry House, not least because Trevor wanted to do some prepublicity for the book he had written about what the three of them had gone through there, both as teens and as adults.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Trevor said. “If I’d known it would cause you trouble at work, I wouldn’t have asked you to present with me today.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Drew said. “Dr. Flaxman has had it in for me ever since I was hired. She’s the stereotype of the cold, unemotional clinician who views human beings as barely one step above lab rats. We’ve never gotten along, and ever since she was promoted to director of the ward I work on, she’s been looking for an excuse to fire me.”

  “Maybe so,” Trevor said, “but that doesn’t mean you have to give in to her.”

  “That’s what I told him,” Amber said. She turned to Drew. “See? Trevor agrees with me.”

  Trevor held up his hands. “Whoa! Hold up there! I’m thrilled that the two of you are an item, but I don’t want to get sucked into playing relationship referee for you guys. Just think of me as Switzerland: I don’t take sides.”

  Amber laughed, and Drew smiled.

  “We’ll do our best to respect your neutrality,” Drew said. “But I wasn’t about to let Dr. Flaxman bully me. That sort of behavior shouldn’t be rewarded.” He finished his last sip of coffee and put the cup down on the table.

  Amber had never met Connie Flaxman, but from what Drew had told her, the woman was, to put it bluntly, an ice-cold bitch. Drew was warm and caring
, and he would do whatever it took to help his patients. Not only was he Flaxman’s polar opposite, but he was a far better psychologist, beloved by both patients and the other staff. No wonder Flaxman had it in for him. At least, that’s how Amber saw it. She knew she wasn’t exactly the most objective person when it came to Drew.

  He continued. “Besides, after what we went through back home, I’m more open to . . . expanding my horizons. I figure Esotericon is a good first step in that direction.”

  Home was Ash Creek, Ohio, where the three of them had met and become friends in high school. They had discovered that they had a mutual interest in paranormal phenomena, especially the idea that it might be possible to discover proof of the existence of life after death. They had begun conducting amateur investigations of sites around town that were rumored to be haunted. They had experienced some interesting things, but nothing had prepared them for investigating the most haunted place in town: the Lowry House. What had happened there when they were younger had so traumatized them that they had suppressed the memory for fifteen years. They had returned in early September, ostensibly for their fifteenth high-school reunion but really to confront their past and banish the demons—some psychological, some literal—that had been plaguing them. In the end, they had succeeded and regained their memories but at a high price: the death of a fourth member of their teenage group, Greg Daniels.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t written any books about Exeter,” Amber said to Trevor.

  “I did a few articles on it, back when I was dating Jenn. After we broke up . . . well, I didn’t get back to town much, you know?”

  Trevor tried to sound matter-of-fact, but Amber could detect sadness in his tone. She wanted to say something to comfort him, but she decided it was best to let the matter go without comment. Coming back to Exeter had to be difficult enough for Trevor. No need to stir up old feelings any more than necessary.

  Trevor Ward was of medium height and a bit overweight, with thinning brown hair. He usually had a smile on his face, and he exuded boyish charm and enthusiasm—especially when it came to anything related to the paranormal.

  In contrast, Drew Pearson was taller, thinner, and more handsome. But then, Amber might be just a bit biased in his favor, considering that they had become lovers a couple of months ago. He had soft brown eyes and light brown hair that always looked a bit tousled, no matter how many times he brushed it. Although outwardly he seemed more reserved than Trevor, he was a deeply caring person, and it was one of the qualities she loved most about him. When he listened to you, he really listened, focusing his entire attention on what you were saying as if it truly mattered. And to him, it did.

  The last couple of months had been good for Amber. She and Drew still lived in different cities—she in Zephyr, Ohio, he in Chicago—but they saw each other as often as they could. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that her life had been a mess before they got together. She had suffered sleep disorders, migraines, and depression, and she had been on disability for several years. All of her troubles had stemmed from the trauma she, Drew, and Trevor had suffered the night the Lowry House burned down. The buried memories of that night had affected each of them in different ways. Trevor had gone to college, gotten a degree in journalism, and begun writing nonfiction books and articles on the paranormal. Drew had abandoned his interest in the paranormal and become a psychologist who specialized in working with people who had suffered severe trauma. And Amber . . . well, she had barely been able to keep herself together, enduring a series of low-paying menial jobs, a series of lousy boyfriends, and more than her fair share of health and emotional problems.

  But that all changed when the three of them returned to Ash Creek to confront their past. The memories they had regained were sometimes hard to deal with, but knowing was better than not knowing, as far as Amber was concerned. Best of all, she and Drew had finally admitted their feelings for each other and had been dating ever since. Amber was off most of her prescription meds, and while she still had bad dreams from time to time, in general she slept better than she had since she was a teenager. Her skin had more color, and she had put on some weight. Not too much, but she no longer looked anorexic. Her shoulder-length blond hair was now shiny and healthy, and when she saw herself in the mirror these days, she liked the woman looking back at her.

  “Am I dressed OK?” Amber asked. “I’ve never presented at a conference before, let alone attended one. I have no idea what people wear.”

  She had tried on a couple of different outfits that morning and had finally settled on a comfortable long-sleeved purple blouse, tan pants, and black shoes. She had decided to forgo earrings as too dressy, and she had used a light touch with her makeup. Drew had told her she looked fine before they came down to meet Trevor for breakfast, but she still wasn’t certain.

  Drew wore jeans, running shoes, and a navy-blue sweater over a white dress shirt. Even when he was working, he tended to dress on the casual side. He thought it put patients more at ease. Trevor wore a brown suit jacket over a white shirt—no tie, though—with blue slacks and black shoes. Maybe it was just his journalism background, or maybe he wanted to offset his boyishness, but when he worked, he tended to dress in a professional manner.

  “It’s been a few years since I attended Esotericon,” Trevor said, “but in my experience, people dress in all kinds of ways. Attendees and presenters both range from casual to professional to . . .” He paused. “Interesting is the word, I guess.”

  Amber frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Drew smiled. “He’s trying not to say that there’s a significant kook contingent at this conference.”

  “I am not!” Trevor thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, maybe I am. But that’s part of what makes Esotericon so much fun.”

  “You’re not making me any less nervous.” She glanced at Drew. “And neither are you. Both of you might be used to presenting at conferences, but I didn’t go to college. I’ve never even held a professional-level job, unless you count waitressing as a profession. I’m still not sure what we’re supposed to do.”

  “We don’t have to do all that much,” Trevor said. “We’re free to wander around the conference and attend whatever sessions sound interesting. But the only event we’re scheduled for is our presentation. I’ll show some pictures, and then we’ll answer questions. Nothing to it.”

  “Maybe for you two,” Amber said. “Drew talks to people all the time in his job, and you interview people for a living. Plus, you enjoy being in the spotlight. But the last time I spoke in front of a crowd was during Mr. Vagedes’s speech class back in high school. And you guys remember how that turned out.”

  Both Drew and Trevor fought smiles.

  She had managed to get through less than a fifth of her speech—which had been on the merits of good nutrition—when she’d had to flee the classroom. She had barely made it to the restroom before throwing up.

  Drew took hold of her hand again, and this time he held it tight. “You’ll be fine. We’ll both be there, and you won’t have to talk any more than you want to.”

  “Besides, you know me,” Trevor said. “I’ll probably end up doing most of the talking if you two don’t shut me up.”

  Amber smiled. Drew and Trevor had their own methods of trying to reassure her—Drew with emotional support, Trevor with humor—and together they never failed to make her feel better. Sometimes she wished the events the three of them had experienced at the Lowry House—both when they were teenagers and a couple of months ago—hadn’t happened. But one good thing had come out of it: the three of them had bonded more deeply than ever.

  “As part of the presentation, I’m going to be giving a preview of my new book. I still haven’t decided on a final title yet. Right now, I’m leaning toward Dark Legacy, but my agent likes Among Shadows. The manuscript is with my editor right now, and I’m waiting for her to weigh in on the title. But the book’s not in production yet, so there’s still time t
o make any changes you two might want.”

  Amber and Drew exchanged a look. They kept their expressions neutral, but Amber wasn’t surprised when Trevor wasn’t fooled. He knew them both too well.

  “You didn’t read it, did you? I sent you both copies via e-mail last week.” He sounded more hurt than angry. “And don’t tell me you’ve been too busy to read it yet. I dedicated the damned thing to the two of you . . .” His voice softened. “And to Greg.”

  Amber knew how much this book meant to Trevor. He’d wanted to write about the Lowry House for years, but it was only after they had regained their memories that he had started working on the book in earnest. Once he had begun, it was as if a dam had burst, and the words poured out of him in a torrent. He’d finished the first draft of the manuscript in less than a month. Both his agent and his editor were excited by the book and thought it could be a huge boost to his career.

  “It’s not that we don’t want to read it,” Drew said. “It’s just that it’s too soon. For you, writing about the Lowry House was cathartic. But for us . . .”

  “We’re not ready to relive all that,” Amber said. “It’s going to be hard enough talking about it today at the conference. But to read about it in detail . . .”

  Trevor didn’t look mollified, but he said, “I guess I can understand that.”

  “There’s nothing worse than waiting for feedback on a new book, eh?”

  The three of them turned toward the man who had spoken. He stood in the entrance of the dining room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and smiling. He looked almost as if he were posing for a picture, or as if he were an actor who had just stepped onto a stage. He was a tall, lean man in his early sixties, with thick white hair that looked professionally styled and a neatly trimmed white goatee. His smile was wide, displaying teeth so white and even that Amber had trouble believing they were real. His eyes were a bright, startling blue, and they projected a good-humored intelligence, along with a hint of shrewd calculation, as if the man were sizing up the three of them. He wore a gray suit and a blue tie with small white blobs on it that Amber at first thought were oblong polka dots but soon realized were cartoonish ghosts.