“Like King Tut?”
“Yeah, him. Is there really a risk of being a victim of the curse?” My question dripped with disbelief.
Randall moved closer and pointed his camera at me. “No idea, man. Think we should take something and find out?”
So much for staying out of the way.
“No. Just curious.” Great. I bet I looked dumb on TV.
Eric cleared his throat and shot Randall a drop-it look. Randall’s eyes filled with laughter. He straightened and gestured zipping his lips. He shouldered his camera like a soldier would carry a gun and marched with a high-step. Eric shook his head and turned around. I tried not to laugh at Randall’s antics and kept my mouth shut while we continued going through the never-ending first floor with rooms at every turn. My map of the building took the shape of one large square with rectangular off-shoots and an open courtyard in the middle of the castle making the floors look like a race-track with sharp corners. Statues and stone tables littered the green space inside the castle. While the grounds outside the castle were trimmed, the courtyard was overgrown and tinged with neglect.
We made it back to the front entry and climbed the sprawling staircase to the second floor.
“Twenty-year-old Janice Murphy, a local socialite, lost her life when she fell from this very balcony.” Eric leaned against the marble railing, spreading his arms as if he was flying. “Her broken and bloody body was discovered sprawled across the starburst inlay.”
Randall panned from Eric down to the floor.
They walked down the hallway, and I leaned over the edge. The dizziness I always got when I took allergy medicine washed over me, making me tense. I gripped the railing tighter and forced myself to look down. There was no way anyone could fall from the railing and hit the starburst. At least not without help.
And what about the guy Frank said had died? Or the other one, who got hurt and was now in a coma? Where had they been found? I shivered. This castle was a death zone. But the two had probably been drinking and hit their heads or were screwing around doing something stupid. Or maybe they tried to take something and invoked King Novak’s curse.
Bang. Bang. Bonk.
“Did you hear that? What was it?” Eric’s voice got higher. “Let’s go.”
They ran down the hall, heading toward whatever was making the noise. I tried to keep up but quickly fell behind. I passed doors to unexplored rooms on my right, and on the left, window after window overlooked the overgrown courtyard.
Farther down the hall, the windows to the courtyard were replaced with more rooms. I reached the back wall of the castle, where the guys stood. Everything was silent. The wall was constructed almost entirely of decorative windows. I stared at the biggest one. A coat of arms at least six feet wide and etched in stained glass showed a lion standing on a clock face with two battle-axes crisscrossing behind it. A sword hung along the back of the shield.
Bang. Bang. Bonk.
“There it is again. It sounds like it’s coming from below us.” Eric leaned his forehead against the glass.
“The owner said there are hidden stairs in the turrets. Come on.” Daniel took off running.
“Dudes, film as you go. I’ll stay put and keep shooting in case it comes up here.” Randall was capturing the colorful windows.
“Okay.” Eric raced after Daniel.
I stayed out of Randall’s way. Sunlight streaked in the windows, and colored prisms from the coat of arms danced along the floor and across my boots. I had an eagle’s-eye view of the patio, grass, trees, more trees, and the tops of other buildings. The blue water of the St. Lawrence Seaway rolled into another set of docks and what was most likely the boathouse. I did have to admit—spooky castle aside—the view was spectacular.
We waited close to ten minutes in silence, then Randall turned to me. “I don’t hear anything anymore. Do you?”
“Nope.”
Eric and Daniel came back, clutching their sides and out of breath.
“We debunked that.” Eric pocketed his camera. “It was a window on the ground floor. Thing had come unlatched, and it took both of us to get it closed.”
“Moving on then.” Randall filmed Eric and Daniel walking down the hallway in the other wing of the castle that ran parallel to the one we already explored.
I started to join them, but a flash of red caught my attention. Squinting, I made out a small motorboat near the back docks. A dark-haired guy wearing a red coat powered the boat close enough that I could make out his features. He tilted his head up toward the window like he sensed I was there, watching him.
He was gorgeous—at least from this distance—and he looked about my age.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He steered the boat farther up the shoreline and out of sight. Hopefully, he’d come back; then maybe this week wouldn’t be a total bomb.
I rejoined the team in the master bedroom and stood to the side, next to a suit of armor. The bedroom was big enough to fit three of my family rooms inside and was designed with a heavy medieval theme. Swords, axes, and long-barreled guns hung all over the walls.
Daniel waved dramatically at the decor. “Welcome to Stephen Novak’s bedroom.”
“Wonder how much bloodshed these weapons caused?” Eric plucked a battle-axe from the wall, posturing for the camera. “Maybe some of the victims are still attached to them. During our stay here at the castle, we intend to make contact with any and all spirits that will communicate with us.” He brandished the axe like a gladiator. “Come on. Do you want to fight me? Bring it on. I challenge you to a duel, Mr. Novak. Do your worst.”
He waved the axe around, battling an invisible enemy.
“Let’s see what other secrets Defiance is hiding.” Eric stopped and held the blade up to his cheek, and used his slow show voice. “The castle has a dark history. Stephen Novak was rumored to be a serial killer—”
“What?” I blurted, then covered my mouth. “Sorry,” I mumbled through my fingers.
Randall aimed the camera at me.
Eric came to my side. “For this investigation, we’ll have a number of special guests joining us. The first is my niece, Sam, the skeptic. Maybe we’ll be able to change her mind. The others will be arriving this evening.”
He hung the axe back in its spot, then removed a short sword. Slowing his movements, he ran his hand along the blade. “Stephen Novak was a serial killer who supposedly lured young women to his castle with the promise of romance, but instead, gave them torture and death.” Eric waved the sword, turned, and gave the camera a penetrating stare.
Serial killer? Victims? Torture? Death? I’d thought the castle was a normal castle, supposedly haunted by its past owner, not the scene of gruesome murders.
“We hope to make contact with some of those victims. Look at the killer.” Eric pointed the sword at an almost life-sized portrait on the wall. “What kind of man keeps a painting of himself above his bed?”
The man in the picture wore a white shirt and a black suit that made him appear tall and fit. He had dark hair and a mustache with a short beard that came to a point in the middle of his chin. His round eyes had been painted a cold steel gray, and a jolt of deja vu hit me.
The tips of my fingers turned to ice. Even though I didn’t believe anything paranormal was here, the history freaked me out. I wanted to go home. I walked across the oriental carpet covering the wood floors and looked up at the portrait again. The penetrating eyes of the murderer stared back.
I turned away and spotted another clock.
Another one stopped at 2:13.
Eric moved the blade in a slashing motion in front of his neck. The crew turned off their cameras.
“Think that was dramatic enough?” Eric hung the sword back on the wall.
Randall laughed. “Man, the chicks’ll love it.”
“When I picture Jack the Ripper, that’s what I imagine. The hair. The eyes. The beard.”
Eric’s words amped up the creepy-crawly sensation raising the
little hairs on my arms. I rubbed my arms and walked to the front of the fireplace. A gray, metal version of the same coat of arms in the rear window hung above the fireplace.
Demons flying, crawling, squatting, and standing covered the entire fireplace. All the eyes were red stones that flashed in the sunlight. In the far left corner, under the mantel, one demon had been broken off. I slid my index finger down the wing of the biggest demon.
Pain rushed from my finger up my arm and slammed into my shoulder.
“Ow.” I jerked away.
Blood—real blood—dripped down my palm.
I got the weird feeling someone was staring at me. I didn’t want to look, but I had to. I glanced up.
The portrait blurred, and the serial killer smiled.
6
I wanted to scream, but only managed to choke out, “No.”
“What happened?” Eric rushed to my side.
The painting hadn’t changed. Novak was still sullen and evil looking, not smirking at me. I inhaled. I hadn’t imagined anything. I’d gotten a little woozy at the sight of my blood because of the fountain. Yeah, that was the explanation.
Eric grabbed my elbow. “Sam, answer me.”
Randall aimed the camera in our direction.
“I sliced my finger on a sharp edge.” I sucked on the cut.
Daniel aimed his camera at me too. “Pricked by a demon. Not a good sign.”
“It’s nothing.” My finger hurt like I’d stuck it into a fire, but I wasn’t telling that to the cameras. There was no way I was going to look like more of an idiot on TV than I already did. I needed to start making a list of things that would need to be edited out.
“Defiance Castle draws first blood on our investigation. What’s next?” Eric said in his news anchor voice. “Or who? We need to do an EVP session.”
Daniel pulled a small black recorder from his pocket. “This device can record EVP—electronic voice phenomenon, communications, and other noises we can’t hear.” He spoke to Randall’s camera. “It’s always good to wait a few seconds after you turn it on before talking. Between questions, wait for an answer before continuing.” He clicked on the recorder and held his hand up for quiet.
He waited for a count of ten, then spoke again. “I’m talking to any spirits here in Defiance Castle.”
Daniel asked unanswered question after unanswered question.
The cut burned and sent electric tingling sensations up my arm. My brain went into overdrive. The cut was real. The weird feeling? I didn’t know. I needed to leave the room and get some air. “I’m going to grab a Band-Aid.”
Eric pointed at me. “Hang on. Randall always carries some.”
Great. I needed to be alone, and Eric wasn’t going to let that happen.
Randall handed me a bandage, and I put it on, then backed up into the doorframe, ready to bolt once Daniel finished.
The cut still burned and the tingles continued to race up my arm. I took another step back, so I was standing outside the bedroom. The burning and tingling stopped.
I moved into the room. The burning and tingling returned.
Holy crap. What was happening?
I retreated and glanced at Novak’s portrait. It hadn’t changed. The unsettling idea that the picture was tracking my movements and causing the tingling was ridiculous. Moving faces in paintings and sensations from beyond the grave belonged in Stephen King novels, not real life. There was a reasonable explanation for the freaky feelings. And I was pretty sure the answer rested between my ears.
I spun my bracelet.
“End of EVP session in master bedroom.” Daniel clicked off the recorder. “Should we decide on our rooms for the week?”
We picked bedrooms on the second floor. My room was at the end of the hall, five doors down from Eric’s. I gave the musty-smelling room a quick look. The queen-size canopy bed was decorated with purple and gold linens. A once gold, now more mustard, rug covered most of the hardwood floor. This room—like all the others—didn’t have a TV or WiFi. A pair of gold candlesticks, without candles, sat on top of a small antique dresser. There was an empty closet, an attached bathroom, and another dead clock stuck at 2:13.
Eric poked his head in. “Are you ready to get back to business?”
“Yup.” I gave the clock one last glance.
“Guess they don’t wind the clocks anymore.” Eric picked it up and turned the handle. The time didn’t change, and he set the old thing back on the dresser. “It must be broken. Daniel’s going to place the rest of the cameras. Can you give him a hand while Rand and I run cables?”
“Sure.”
We went to the command center, then I helped Daniel haul and place all the stationary, constantly-filming cameras.
“After we put one in the boathouse, we’ll be done.” Daniel picked up a black case and the tool box.
We went out the back door, across the patio, and into the grass. We crossed the lawn, then followed a white stone path to the right.
“There’s a hedge maze and gardens over there.” Daniel jabbed the case to his left. “Have to film them tomorrow.”
“A maze? I’d get so lost.” I bet at least one woman had probably raced through there while being chased by a murderer. “Stephen Novak was really a serial killer?”
“That’s what they killed him for. He wasn’t given a trial. The police came to the island to question him about the disappearance of a woman. They caught him dismembering a body in the dungeon. He threw a knife at one of the officers, and they shot him.”
Dungeon. Dismemberment. Death. My stomach soured. “There’s a dungeon here?”
“Yup, and it’s supposedly full of torture devices.” Daniel stopped, set down his stuff, took his jacket off, and slung it over his shoulder. I handed him back the case and took the tool box.
Trying not to stare at the tattoo of a cross on his bicep, I glanced around. A wall of evergreen trees stood on the hill to my right, blocking the view. “How come I never saw anything about him on TV if he was a big serial killer?”
Daniel raised one shoulder and held it there before dropping it, as if admitting defeat. “Not sure. I mean they only proved he killed the one woman, but lots disappeared after meeting Mr. Novak. And crime-solving was still in the dark ages. No DNA or computers.”
We passed a small, weathered, two-person wooden motorboat tied to the dock.
Daniel looked at it. “What a pile of junk.”
I didn’t know if the boat was junk or not, but I wasn’t going to argue. I was just excited to see a way off the island.
We entered the boathouse. This end held shelves of tools and a section filled with equipment, while water and docks filled the opposite end.
I set the tool box down. “Will you have cameras everywhere?”
“The place is too massive. We don’t have enough. If we had a big film crew, like Ghost Guardians does, we could. But we’ve always prided ourselves on doing our own filming.” He said the last line like he had to constantly repeat it. “We’re focusing on the rooms where the owner said her dad reported the most activity. The grand hall, the master bedroom, the boathouse, the library, the dungeon. I’d love to get the top observatory room, but we don’t have enough camera cable to reach four stories up. We only have one battery remote unit, and we’re using it here in the boathouse.”
Daniel searched the equipment area. “Perfect. There’s a ladder. I would’ve had to boost you up to attach the camera otherwise.”
The thought thrilled and terrified me.
He dragged the ladder over to the corner and spent the next few minutes attaching the camera.
“Can you take the remote monitor out of the case?” Daniel climbed down.
I grabbed the tablet-sized screen and held it out to him.
He adjusted the settings, pushed buttons, and handed it back. “Would you take this up to where all the trees are? Check if you can see me and the picture is clear.” He pointed to a button on the side. “Turn it on there.”
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br /> “Okay.” I took the device and went outside.
The wind cut through my hoodie and snapped my hair across my cheek. I walked to the trees and pushed the button. Daniel came into focus. I let the video run for a second, then clicked it off. Another gust of cold air blew through me. I was contemplating raiding Eric’s suitcase for a warmer shirt when a snip snip snip sound came from within the trees.
I moved closer to the sound, but the trees refused to reveal the source. Another waft of cold air sliced into my already half-frozen body.
“Hello?” I called and hated how my voice shook. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hello. Who’s there?”
The trees rustled, and my nerves exploded. I spun around and ran back to the boathouse.
“Hey, hold up,” a male with a deep voice yelled.
My mind screamed for me to keep going, but I stopped moving. With my heart slamming against my ribcage, I turned around.
He was real, not my imagination. He jogged to a stop in front of me. All six feet of him. He was dark-haired, broad-shouldered, and wore a red jacket. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Kyle.”
It was the guy from the boat.
An icy heat surged through my veins, my muscles, my bones, and pooled in my abdomen, making me twitch as if zapped with a jolt of electricity.
What the hell? I crossed my legs, shuddered, and prayed he wouldn’t notice my bizarro behavior. Hopefully he only thought I had to pee, not that I was a lunatic. I forced myself to stand normally.
“Samantha. Call me Sam.” I could barely talk. “What are you doing here?”
He held up a pair of hedge clippers. “I could ask you the same thing. I’m working.”
“You trim bushes?”
Kyle brushed aside a wayward strand of longish hair. I stared at his darker-than-coffee eyes. He was gorgeous. Like a rock star, but way cooler. And proving almost my entire school wrong, the red fleece jacket didn’t detract from his hotness.
“Landscaping. I take care of the grounds. Or more precisely, I’m filling in for my dad. It’s his job, but he hurt his back. He didn’t say anybody was going to be at the castle. Please don’t tell anyone you saw me. He could get fired if they knew I was doing the work instead of him.”
The Shattered Seam (Seam Stalkers Book 1) Page 4
