by Ike Hamill
On the stairs, Gary leaned close to Mike’s ear and spoke—“Hey, I really did feel something weird up there.”
“I know you did Gary. I believed you, but I want us to seem like completely cold, unaffected scientists until shit starts happening,” explained Mike, keeping his voice low as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh,” said Gary. “You should have told me that.”
“I didn’t expect that acting like a scientist would be a special order,” said Mike. He reached for the door and held it open for Gary. The newswoman, Leslie, waited with her producer by the van.
“Are you guys conducting an investigation here, or is this some kind of informercial to drum up business?” the producer accused Mike.
“Whoa, you’re way out of line, buddy,” said Mike.
“Am I? What was that all about then?”
“First of all,” explained Mike. “We don’t make a dime from this. Ask Bill. Second, I just want to make sure we don’t waste your time with our personal experiences. I know you’re here to see irrefutable evidence of paranormal activity, and Gary’s feelings are not measurable.”
“Just so we’re clear,” said the producer. “We’re not here to shill your future business, whether or not you happen to be charging for it right now.”
“This is not a scam, and it’s not a business. We’re conducting research. We just want to have an impartial, credible third-party here to help us document the event in case we have some success.”
“Good,” said Leslie. “That’s a good answer.”
“But,” said the producer, “we’re not going to give your name or any contact information as part of the story. We’ll identify you as a researcher and say you wanted to remain anonymous.”
“Yeah, okay,” said Mike. He figured he had pretty good odds that cases would find their way to him whether or not his name was announced.
“Let’s move forward then,” said Leslie. “We’re all on the same page.”
“Great,” said Mike. “We’re about to calibrate the instruments and then we’ll be ready to begin the tests.”
Leslie and her producer turned and walked off.
Mike watched them go before climbing into the van. Gary sat in front of the controls and mouthed a sincere “sorry” to Mike. “Thanks,” Mike whispered back.
“What are we looking at?” asked Mike.
“Cameras are five-by-five,” reported Gary, “and I already told you about the New Hampshire bias.”
“Right, I remember,” said Mike. “Any levels on the property?”
“Nope,” said Katie. “Everything is offsite. Just normal background noise.”
“Same as daylight readings?”
“Yup.”
“From everything Bill has said, that makes this an unusually quiet day,” said Mike. “Where is Bill, anyway?”
“I think he’s still going over those circuit diagrams you gave him,” said Gary.
“More power to him,” said Mike. “So what do you guys think? Are we ready?”
“Yes,” said Gary.
“Sure,” agreed Katie.
“Wonderful,” said Mike. “Remember, as soon as we start transmitting, I want everyone sharp for any kind of movement. We’re looking for any unexplained motion at all.”
“Bad idea,” said a voice from just outside the van. Mike looked and saw Bill listening in.
“What’s that?” asked Mike.
“You just told it what you want,” explained Bill. “That’s a great way to guarantee it’s not going to show you any motion. It’s kinda a contrarian. I thought I was pretty clear about that.”
“We’ll see,” said Mike. “Leslie?” he called as he got up and exited the van.
“What’s up?” Leslie asked, reappearing with her producer and cameraman in tow.
“We’re going to start the first sequence,” said Mike. “Are you guys ready?”
“Yes,” said Leslie. “You said that he’s going to announce the levels?” She pointed to Gary.
“That’s right,” said Mike.
She turned back to her crew and led them several feet away from the vans. “I think we should start here, and I’ll narrate while we hear that guy counting.”
“Excellent, Leslie. That sounds like a great idea,” said her producer. “Any time, guys,” he said, calling over his shoulder to Mike.
Mike leaned in the van and nodded to Gary.
“We’re here tonight to document a paranormal investigation taking place at this modest rural home,” Leslie explained to the unblinking camera. “These researchers were brought here by claims of unusual activity on the unfinished second floor.”
“One point zero,” Gary called out from the van.
Leslie nodded as if to acknowledge Gary’s level. “The man you hear is announcing the power being sent to a unique piece of equipment,” she spoke into her microphone. “This is a paranormal pump, if you will. Imagine that a ghost is like a flashlight whose batteries are almost completely drained, so you could just barely make out the beam. They claim that their machine acts like a fresh set of batteries, and when they power it up, we’ll be able to capture the ghosts on these cameras.”
The cameraman moved with Leslie as she crossed the yard. “This machine works by lending power to supernatural entities so they can manifest visually, or affect our physical world. The creators are scientists who wish to remain anonymous until their findings can be verified, but they’ve allowed our cameras here today to help them document this investigation.”
Mike tore himself away from the filming to check in with Gary and Katie.
“Four point three,” Gary read as Mike climbed into the van.
“Any response yet?” Mike asked Katie.
“Completely flat on the meter, but we thought we caught some movement on one of the cameras.” Katie pointed to the third monitor.
Mike configured one of the review monitors to display the camera Katie indicated and moved through the footage backwards at fast speed. Mounted on a tripod and pointed at an empty room, the video show the same unchanging scene with the occasional dust mote floating by.
Mike saw something flash by the right side of the screen. He backed the video several times and watched the movement in slow motion.
“Four point four,” announced Gary.
“What do you think it is?” asked Katie.
Mike rubbed his chin and regarded the video again—“I think maybe it’s fabric from something just off-screen. Why did we point the camera this direction anyway?” he asked Gary. “If we had gone just a tiny bit to the right, we could see the entrance to this room.”
Gary shrugged and read the next number.
“I’m gonna go reposition number three,” said Mike, placing a hand on each knee and getting ready to stand.
“That’s a little hinky,” said Gary.
“Yeah,” agreed Katie.
“But that’s the corner,” said Mike. “Or it should be. That camera is almost pointing at the same corner that Gary complained about. If there’s something there, I want to catch it. It was just a stupid mistake that we didn’t repoint the camera before.”
“Four point six,” said Gary.
“I’ll tell those guys and do it really quick,” said Mike.
Gary shrugged again.
Outside, the producer coached Leslie—“Let’s go from the top again. Just dumb it down a tiny bit more this time. Give it to me so my grandmother would understand what you’re saying. Just ghosts, and making them stronger.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” said Mike. “I have to go move one of the cameras.”
“Let’s get that,” said the producer, nodding at Mike.
“Okay,” Mike trotted over to Bill’s front porch as Leslie moved further down the face of the building to get a clean shot of the house.
Upstairs, Mike turned the tripod to cover the area where Gary had felt a cold spot. Mike moved in front of the camera, trying to reproduce the feeling that his assi
stant had mentioned. He reached down for his radio, so he could ask Gary and Katie if the camera was repointed well. His hand found his belt, but the radio usually clipped there was absent. Mike felt panic flood up over him as he realized that he was out of communication with his team.
Remembering the microphone placed near the camera, he leaned down and addressed his team—“Can you guys hear me? I left my radio down there. I’m wondering if the camera is placed well. I guess there’s no real way for you to let me know. I’m coming back down.”
Mike nearly wet his pants when Katie’s voice rang out.
“Check your back pocket,” said Katie. “I saw it when you were walking towards the house earlier.”
Mike reached back and blushed when he found the radio clipped to his back pocket instead of its normal location.
“Thanks,” he said into the radio.
“Did you move the camera? We don’t see any difference here,” said Gary over the radio.
“Yeah,” said Mike. “I sure did. What do you mean, no difference?”
“We still have the exact same scene as when you left,” said Gary.
“Are you sure you’re looking at the live feed? Sounds like you’re looking at replay down there. I’m currently in front of camera three.”
“What’s that, Mike?” asked Katie. Mike heard his assistants discussing the camera position before Katie released the radio send button.
“I said that I’m in front of the camera,” Mike spoke slowly and with a slightly raised voice.
“That’s negative Mike,” said Gary. “We’re looking at live feeds and we have no visual of you on any camera.”
“Impossible,” said Mike. He moved quickly between the bare stud walls and waved his hand in front of a different camera. “How about now?”
“Still nothing,” said Gary. “Stay put, I’m going to bring a cable tester to you.”
“I’m at camera five,” Mike said into his radio.
“Got it,” replied Gary.
Mike walked around the bare floor and glanced at the readouts of the different cameras. Everything appeared to be operating normally, and no camera showed any signs of a communication problem with the van. Gary crested the stairs after a few seconds and tracked down Mike.
“Did you tell the news guys?” asked Mike.
“Yup, don’t worry,” said Gary. “I gave them the whole story.”
“Let’s get this fixed,” said Mike.
Gary removed the cable from the fifth camera and plugged into a handheld device as he explained to Mike what he was looking for. “We could just be seeing a digital lock on this signal,” he said. “Any loss of signal on these digital devices can make the signal totally freeze up.”
“You know what’s weird about that?” asked Mike. “I reviewed the footage and I saw plenty of dust and random noise in the image. It didn’t look like a still frame at all. There were plenty of normal video artifacts.”
“Maybe it happened after you came up?” suggested Gary.
“Did you leave the amp on?” asked Mike.
“Yeah,” said Gary. “Four point something,” he said.
“Five point five,” Katie announced from Mike’s radio.
Gary furrowed his brow. “That’s too much,” he commented.
“Go ahead and shut it off for a second please Katie,” Mike.
They waited several seconds before she responded: “It won’t shut off.”
“What do you mean?” asked Gary slowly.
Mike felt all the hair on the back of his neck stand up and a deep chill, as if his bones had turned to ice. A frigid breeze passed by the men, fluttering Mike’s shirt. The skin on his arms tightened as Mike shuddered against the sudden blast of cold.
“Guys?” Katie sounded panicked over the radio. “What’s going on? Two of the cameras just shut off, and this thing will not …” her voice dissolved into static. The radio chirped and buzzed with feedback until Mike reached over and turned the knob.
“What was that?” Gary whispered.
Mike whipped around but found nothing moving or out of place. “Stay calm,” said Mike touching Gary’s elbow.
Gary’s unfocused eyes didn’t react, but he pulled his arm away from Mike’s touch.
“Gary? It’s time to go,” said Mike. He felt uneasy and spooked by the cold, but couldn’t determine a cause for Gary’s sudden stupor. He wondered if his friend could hear him at all. The color had left Gary’s face.
Mike shoved the radio in his pocket and moved behind Gary, guiding his shoulders and pushing him back towards the stairs.
“It’s huge,” slurred Gary, a line of drool escaping the side of his mouth. Mike felt another chill as he regarded the profile of Gary’s empty expression. The lights flickered twice, coming back on just as the filaments of the bare bulbs glowed red, and then powering back up even brighter than normal.
“Let’s get going, Gary,” said Mike. His shoves only elicited shuffling steps from the unresponsive man. “Come on Gary. We need to get back out to the van.”
Gary froze and pushed back against Mike’s prodding. When he looked him in the eye, Mike wished Gary had stayed catatonic: his eyes were wild, and filling with tears.
“Mike, we can’t leave now. It will kill us both,” said Gary. His mouth stayed open; his lips peeled back, baring his teeth.
“What are you talking about? We’ve just got an equipment failure and we’re going back to the van to fix it,” said Mike. He tried to sound convincing.
“But it’s huge,” Gary responded. He clamped his jaw shut and shook his head sending spit flying. When he looked up the intelligence had returned to his eyes. “Mike, we have to get out of here.”
“Yes,” said Mike, taking a deep breath for the first time since Katie’s last transmission. “Stairs,” he said, pointing through the rough-framed door opening and down the short hall.
They rushed together through the door and out to the hall. Gary reached the steps first, but pulled up and stopped again, turning to face Mike. “Hey Mike?” he asked.
“What, Gary? Let’s go,” said Mike.
“But remember when I said it was huge? I think it might have bit me,” he said, as he looked down to his own side.
Mike followed Gary’s gaze down, but veered off to glance at his friend’s crotch, where a dark wet spot was spreading across his jeans. The acrid hot smell of Gary’s urine stung Mike’s nose and then another wet spot caught his eye.
It was a dripping pool of blood forming under Gary’s right hand. Actually, Mike corrected himself, it was a dripping pool of blood forming under the stump where Gary’s hand had once been attached.
Mike gagged back vomit as Gary slowly raised his stump, pumping thick ropes of blood to the floor through a tangle of sheared bones and glistening gore.
“I think I might…” Gary didn’t finish his sentence.
Mike’s puke burst up his throat just as he tried to drag in a breath. Most of the retch became redirected out his nose, but a fair amount flowed into his lungs, dropping Mike to the floor in a coughing, vomiting mess. He looked up between spasms to see that Gary still stood between him and the stairs and still regarded his own stump thoughtfully as blood gushed down his arm. Mike choked on a fresh torrent of recycled lunch and clawed a wide arc around Gary to reach the stairs.
“But Mike,” said Gary. “He loves hands.” His voice was low and threatening, but that’s not what caused Mike to look back over his shoulder. What drew his attention was a popping, crackling sound. His eyes confirmed what his ears had already guessed—rolling flames had engulfed the rafters, flowing around the insulation and wiring. The fire licked down the bare studs, dripping like water down the knotty pine.
Mike flipped over on his back, pushing himself away from Gary. He only had a few feet separating him from the stairs, but what he saw drained the strength from his limbs. Flames dripped down and touched Gary’s head, turning his hair into a torch. Gary stared at Mike’s eyes and a sinister smile p
assed across his lips.
Gary didn’t acknowledge his burning and smoking hair. As he spoke, the flames reached Gary’s collar and flames moved down to his shoulders—“It’s time for us to join him Mike,” said Gary. “Down in the crawl space.”
Mike could barely hear him over the crackle of the flames.
Gary reached out his stump as if to help Mike to his feet, but instead a fresh glob of blood jetted out, hitting Mike’s waist.
Mike watched in horror, unable to scream or move away from his possessed friend or the searing heat. Gary’s body stiffened and his face curled, as if he suddenly smelled something disturbing. His jaw dropped open and a guttural, ripping scream tore from Gary’s throat. His legs pumped and Gary ran over Mike’s prone body, around the stairs and towards the front of the house. Mike’s eyes followed the flaming man. Gary’s run fanned the flames and his shirt burst into flames just as he hit the window at the front of the house.
Momentum alone would have carried Gary through the window, but he leaned forward and thrust himself through, launching himself and taking his scream out into the night.
Fresh air burst through the window and the fire exploded down at Mike. He could smell his own hair and clothes smoldering, so he pulled towards the stairs and tumbled down the treads, rolling, crashing and banging to the landing. A whooshing sound preceded the crash of exploding windows above on the second floor. Mike rose to his knees and spit out a mouthful of upchuck.
The doorknob grew in size as he reached for it. By the time his hand reached it, the handle was the size of a softball; he had to grab it in both hands to make it turn. Several things occurred to Mike simultaneously: the knob was at eye-level, but he was no longer on his knees. He wore his favorite green pajamas from when he was a child, and this knob belonged to inside of the bedroom he’d shared with his brother, Charlie.
“Don’t leave me, Mike,” sobbed Charlie.
Mike turned around but already knew what he would see—his brother’s bruised and fragile face. Charlie’s balled fist was pressed against his temple. He was about to cry.
“You died of leukemia, Charlie. It already happened,” said Mike. He tried to sound confident, but his little-boy voice sounded tentative.
