The Shattered Seam (Seam Stalkers Book 1)

by Kathleen Groger

  “Let’s go, boy.” I slapped my thigh and ran toward the stairs, hoping Chauncey followed. It was a joke. The guys being funny. Had to be. The assholes had probably seen me down here on one of their cameras. They did it to scare me and jeez, they’d done a good job.

  I raced up the pitch-black stairs, scraping my arm against rough stone. Only a few more steps.

  Steps. That was it.

  There had to be another set of stairs to the basement, and someone had used them to screw with me. For their ratings.

  Or my stupid imagination was on hyperdrive again. Regardless of what Eric said, ghosts weren’t real. A small thread of anger tangled with my doubts and fears.

  I burst into the sunroom, bent over and clutching my side. Chauncey darted into the kitchen, howling. I straightened and went after him.

  “Samantha!” Eric yelled from somewhere in the castle. “Sam! Where are you?”

  “The kitchen,” I called back.

  It took seconds, minutes, a lifetime until Eric ran into the room with everyone else at his heels.

  Chauncey stopped his mournful wail and wagged his tail.

  “Sam? What happened?” Eric grabbed my scraped arm, making me wince. “Are you okay? Where did you go?”

  Swallowing the wedge of desperation closing my throat, I nodded. “I’m … okay … in … basement … and …” I stopped.

  “What happened?” Daniel pulled a chair over, and Eric practically pushed me into it.

  “Nice … joke … I was by the pool … in the changing area. I … splashing.” I couldn’t form a complete sentence. I gripped the seat of the chair.

  “What do you mean, joke? The pool’s empty.” Daniel gave Eric a look I couldn’t interpret. “And none of us were in the basement.”

  “Then Chauncey ran past the pool, and when he got by the fountain, I … I …” Remembering the cameras, I glanced around. Randall filmed me from a corner.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  I took a deep breath and loosened my grip on the chair. I needed to appear calm, not scared or angry. Another breath, and I faked a Zen-like relaxation that was waaay beyond my current mental state.

  “I’m sorry. I think I freaked out. Chauncey ran downstairs. The basement’s spooky, with cobwebs everywhere, and I was alone. It was probably just the pipes or something.” No way was I mentioning the footprints with the camera focused on me. I would tell Eric later when Randall wasn’t around. Maybe. Because it was possible I’d imagined them, like the shadow and the blood.

  “You’re okay though?” Eric patted my shoulder.

  “Fine. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Let’s check it out. Maybe we can get something on the thermal imaging camera.” Eric went back into deep-voiced TV mode. “We’re descending into the basement …” He walked into the sunroom, still talking. In moments, I was alone with Brett, who leaned his hip against the counter.

  “At least you had Chauncey with you.” He pulled a treat from his pocket and gave it to the dog. “Good boy.”

  I didn’t point out that I wouldn’t have been in the basement if Chauncey hadn’t led me into the tomb-like depths.

  Brett pushed away from the counter, lifted the lid of his cooler, and pulled out a beer. He used the edge of his shirt to twist the top off and let it clang to the tile floor. “I’d offer you one, only you’re not old enough. How about a water? Marisol brought like three friggin’ cases. I mean, seven days, three cases, that’s like how many a day…? Hell, I don’t know, let’s just say a lot.”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  Brett opened a rolling case and tossed me one. “Why are you here?”

  I unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. “What do you mean?”

  “What are you doing here on a ghost hunt? You are obviously too young and a nonbeliever. You should be someplace warm, getting a tan.” He drank half the bottle in one long swallow, then polished it off in another while he fished a second from the cooler.

  “I know, right? I used to stay with my grandmother during spring break.”

  Brett tipped his beer toward me. “My condolences. Eric told me his mom passed recently.”

  I nodded. “And my parents had booked an anniversary trip to Jamaica. Since they wouldn’t let me stay home alone for a week, I got stuck with Eric. Mom thought I’d have fun.” I banged the bottle against my palm.

  “Are you?”

  “Not really.”

  Brett lifted a corner of his mouth and grinned a movie-star smile that might have been sexy if he wasn’t so old. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth. No. Ghosts weren’t real. I didn’t believe. Never had. Yet, the idea of something after death was more appealing than me being bat-shit crazy. People moved on after they died. They didn’t get stuck here. Then again, Eric had collected some evidence that seemed genuine. One of the other paranormal shows had been caught faking evidence. Eric swore he didn’t, but their ratings were going down—

  “Is that face a yes or no?” Brett finished his second beer and reached for another.

  “It’s an I don’t know. Do you believe?”

  Brett twisted the bottle and picked at the label. “Yes, I do.” He took a swig. “It will be fifteen years this Friday. That’s when everything changed for me. That’s the day I lost my wife way too young.”

  “I’m sor—”

  He waved me off. “I refuse to think that once we die it’s over. I want to hold on to the idea that our souls really continue to be, and even though we don’t have the physical bodies we do now, we still exist. We can still communicate and think. Still love.” He wiped an eye with the back of his hand.

  Brett took another swig. If he kept pounding the beers, he would be drunk before we finished our existential discussion on life after death.

  “The flower garden and maze outside remind me so much of my wife. She loved places like that.” He looked at the ceiling and got lost in his memories for a minute.

  I stayed silent.

  He cleared his throat. “I’d like to find out what happens though. That’s why I’m here. I want answers. I’ve asked priests, pastors, rabbis, and shamans what happens after our physical bodies die. No one has a concrete answer. I thought maybe, if I was able to talk to someone who’d passed, I might find out. And the Horrors & Hauntings guys seem to be the closest to making real contact.” Brett shrugged and polished off the rest of his drink.

  “I haven’t given it as much thought as you have.”

  “That’s because you’re still young. Death isn’t something you should be thinking about. You think too much about death, you tend to drink too much. Take it from me.” He toasted me with his empty bottle.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  Brett ran his hand across the salt-and-pepper stubble along his chin. “There aren’t any cameras here. Tell me. What really happened in the basement?”

  My cheeks burned, even though goose bumps erupted across my arms. What had happened in the basement? Had I hallucinated again?

  “I—”

  Eric and the others stormed back into the kitchen. “We didn’t get anything.”

  Randall grabbed bottles of water from the case and tossed them to the guys and Marisol.

  Eric bounced on the balls of his feet. “I want to go back to the grand hall and do more EVPs.”

  Brett slid his empty bottle across the countertop. I clutched my sketchbook and went behind Marisol so if Chauncey took off again, Brett would have to catch him. Once in the room, I sat in one of the chairs in a far corner, out of the way of the cameras. Chauncey curled in a ball at my feet. Brett came in last and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

  “EVP session in the grand hall.” Eric paused. “Is there anyone here?”

  Marisol sat on top of a table with her legs crossed. She tilted her head to the right, and her face contorted like she was in pain. She closed her eyes, then opened them wider than I thought humanly possible.

 
; The looks that crossed Marisol’s face were a blend of torture and comedy. I flipped to a clean page in my sketchbook and, as quickly as I could, drew one of her twisted-face expressions.

  Marisol jumped to her feet and held up her left hand. Eric stopped talking.

  “Marisol, what is it?” Randall directed the camera at her.

  She opened and closed her hands, then rubbed them down the sides of her purple pants. “There’s a woman here who won’t stop talking.”

  “Is she one of Novak’s victims?”

  I closed my book and leaned forward. Chauncey moved closer to me and kept his focus on Marisol.

  “I think so. She doesn’t want to talk about that.” Marisol shook her hands like Nana had when she was trying to loosen up her arthritic fingers. “She’s in her mid-twenties and dressed like a flapper.” Marisol waved her hands in front of her chest. “She has on a blood-spattered, cream-colored fringe dress.”

  “What’s she saying?” Daniel asked.

  Randall shifted to get a better angle of Marisol.

  “She wants to know why the girl is ignoring her. She keeps asking ‘Why won’t she talk to me?’ over and over and over.”

  “What girl?” Eric asked.

  Marisol looked at something I couldn’t see, then turned to face me. The medium’s green eyes bulged again.

  “Sam. She wants to know why Sam won’t talk to her.”

  9

  “Me?” I choked on the word. I jumped up and took a step toward the door. “Why me?”

  Randall swung the camera at me, capturing the shocked look that had to be plastered on my face, and came closer.

  “Why would I talk to something I can’t see? Or don’t believe is real?”

  Marisol boxed me into the corner. She raised her hand and made a movement, as if to touch my cheek, but stopped inches from actually grazing my skin. Heat radiated from her and seeped into my pores.

  What was she doing?

  My heebie-jeebie factor exploded through the roof, and I wanted to pull away. Away from the funky heat radiating off Marisol’s palm. Away from the way her green eyes focused on me like they were looking into me instead of at me. Away from the strange electric feeling slithering through my nerves. But I stayed put and stared back at her, ignoring the warnings flashing in my head.

  Eric ran across the room, Daniel and Brett right behind him. “What’s going on?”

  Marisol looked up at the ceiling, breaking eye contact.

  I had to get out of the corner. I inhaled her mint-laced breath and ducked under her arm. Marisol took a step back.

  “How long have you known?” she asked. “Your skills are strong, and you’re very powerful. Maybe even more powerful than me.”

  “I don’t know anything. I don’t have any skills. I’m not powerful,” I screeched.

  Eric slapped the closest table. “Sam? Marisol? Someone answer me.”

  Marisol and I stared at Eric. I didn’t know what to say. What she was proposing was crazy.

  Marisol rotated her neck. “Sam can communicate with the dead.”

  “What?” Shock and anger filled Eric’s face. “You’re a sensitive? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “No.” I almost shouted the word. “I’m not.” I couldn’t be. Nana had hallucinations. So do I. I couldn’t see ghosts.

  “Hmm.” Marisol tilted her head. “Maybe your talents haven’t manifested yet. Most of the time, the gift shows itself at an early age. There are always exceptions. Yet with your skills, you have to know.”

  “Sorry, but you’re wrong about me.” The chills returned, and I jammed my hands into my pockets. It was nuts. If I was a medium, wouldn’t I know? Wouldn’t I be like that kid in the “I see dead people” movie?

  “I don’t think so.” She wiggled her fingers like she was typing on an invisible keyboard.

  “Daniel, do you have the spirit box on you?” Eric asked.

  “Yeah.” Daniel pulled a black device twice the size of a phone out of his cargo pants pocket.

  Eric turned to Randall’s camera. “The spirit box uses radio frequency sweeps to generate white noise. Then entities can use the white noise to speak. Marisol, what’s her name?”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Elizabeth, can you use this device and speak so the rest of us can hear you?” Eric took his hand off the top of the device, and it emanated an annoying sound like the static between radio stations, only louder.

  I wasn’t sure if Eric wanted to change the subject or if he thought he could contact the spirit Marisol claimed needed to talk to me. Either way, Randall had stopped focusing his camera on my face. I was going to have to convince Eric to not use the footage. Mom would freak out. And school. I was already the butt of too many jokes. Having everyone ask me if I see dead people would be the never-ending daily question. My non-existent social life would be ruined forever.

  “Talk.” A mechanical voice resonated from the device in Daniel’s hand.

  “Look at that. It said ‘talk.’” Eric pointed at Randall’s camera, then to the spirit box. “Very good, Elizabeth. Let’s talk. Why are you still here?”

  Marisol paced the room, and her fingers continued the invisible typing.

  “Seam,” the device said.

  “Are you trying to say Sam?” Eric’s voice crept higher.

  My legs shook. Was there a ghost actually communicating with me? No. I dropped into a chair. Chauncey jumped on my lap. I wrapped my arms around his warm body and buried my face in his fur, but holding the dog didn’t stop me from shaking.

  Marisol moved in front of my chair. She brought both hands to her head and bent over at the waist.

  “Marisol, what’s wrong?” Eric jogged to her side and Randall aimed the camera at her.

  She straightened and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I have to leave this room. I need air.” Before anyone could respond, she darted out the door.

  “Let’s keep going.” Eric turned back to Daniel and the device. “Elizabeth, can you say anything else?”

  No response.

  “What year is it?”

  No response.

  An electric charge filled the air. The hairs on my arms stood on end.

  “Whoa. Do you feel that? We need an EMF reading.” Eric pulled a detector out of his pocket. “Check it out. Two point five. Elizabeth, can you make it read three?” Eric held up the device. “Three point six. Holy crap.”

  I had to touch something to get rid of the charge surging through my skin. I reached out to the table closest to me. A spark jumped from my finger and arced to the wood.

  “Zero again.” Eric walked the entire length of the grand hall three times. “It’s staying at zero. Whatever it was is gone.”

  A spicy, woodsy scent wafted through the room. Nothing the guys wore.

  “I’ve had enough. I’m going to bed.” I needed to get away.

  “Not alone you’re not. I’ll take you to your room.” Eric put his hand under my elbow. “I’ll be back in a few. See if you can get anything else in here.”

  Eric guided me to the command center, where he picked up my suitcase and sleeping bag. We climbed the stairs in silence, but I knew it was coming.

  “What do you think about what Marisol said?”

  “I think she might be crazier than I am.”

  Eric stopped walking and stared at me. “You think you’re crazy?” His voice held a note of concern I’d never heard before.

  I looked away from his pity-filled gaze. I didn’t need Eric feeling sorry for me too. I got enough of that from Dad. “Yeah, well, you know.” I marched to my room.

  He tossed the sleeping bag on the bed. “She hasn’t told you, has she? Damn her.”

  “Who? What?”

  Eric lifted my chin. “Sam, Nana wasn’t schizophrenic.”

  I twisted out of his grasp. “The doctors said. Mom said. Nana said she was.”

  “Nana knew what she was, and she wasn’t crazy.”

  “What are you saying?
”

  He sighed and twisted the cross ring on his pinkie. “Nana confided in me and your mom. She told us she had visions and could communicate with spirits.”

  “No. She would have told me. Mom would have—”

  “Your mother refused to believe her. She forced Nana into the hospitals. The medication. Threatened my balls if I said anything to you. My sister’s attitude put a huge strain on everything and everyone.”

  I pictured the horror-filled look my mom wore whenever I’d told her about seeing something. Everyone had known I wasn’t crazy but me. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “Your mom didn’t want you to be labeled a freak, like Nana. Like she was for being the weird lady’s daughter. She was ashamed of Nana. Ashamed of her own mother.”

  Anger simmered and spiraled upward in my chest. “A freak? A freak? What does she think everyone at school already calls me? She let me believe I was nuts and not someone with … with …” The anger turned to tears, and I couldn’t stop them from flowing down my face.

  Chauncey rubbed against my legs.

  “With a gift.” Eric finished for me. “After Nana told me, I was determined to prove she wasn’t crazy and ghosts are real. That’s why I’m so obsessed. I want to prove my mother right and my sister wrong.”

  I used my sleeve to wipe my cheeks. “I can’t believe it’s true.”

  “Have you seen stuff?”

  “Here or ever?”

  “Start with after you got here. Have you seen anything without Marisol mentioning it?”

  I made a noise between a hiccup and a cough. “Blood and shadows.”

  Eric pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. “We can deal with this. We can talk to other mediums and get you the guidance you need.”

  I pulled back. “What about Marisol?”

  Eric laughed. “She may not be the best spirit teacher, but she makes great TV.”

  I didn’t know what to think. If Nana had been a medium, she would have told me. She wouldn’t have let me believe I was crazy. “I need some time to think this through.”

  I also needed to figure out if Eric had suspected my hidden talent and that’s the real reason I was here on the island.

  For his ratings.