by Hunter Shea
Teddy drank his beer in deep contemplation. Judas walked over to the kitchen and poured some cold tap water into a jelly jar with a parade of cartoon characters marching around the glass. He stared at the centerfold for Miss March pinned to the refrigerator but his mind was back at the house. Even the smiling image of a gorgeous brunette with high, tight breasts and long shapely legs couldn’t offer him a much needed distraction.
“Is there anything in Indian legends that would explain something like that?” he finally asked Teddy. “I mean, if you believe everything you read and see, Indian spirits are like everywhere, especially up here in nowhere land.”
Teddy shook his head. He was part Dakota, part Chitimacha. His grandparents had moved to Shida in the early sixties and the Hawkins family over the decades had woven themselves into the fabric of the Shida Native American community. Shida had become a sort of refuge for members of every imaginable tribe. There were plenty of rumors about the twisted roots of the family trees about town, but silence about the past held sway in Shida.
“I’m as clueless as you,” Teddy said. “All I can think of are the variations on the story of a portal within a deep cave that selected braves descended through to get to the underworlds to battle demons or confront gods. A lot of tribes have pretty much the same story. That’s as close as I can get but hey, I’m just a burnout. I could always ask my grandmother. If anyone would know, it would be her.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Judas’s head hung low and he slumped onto the couch next to Teddy.
Teddy dropped his beer on the coffee table and slapped his hands.
“Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t we go out there right now and check it out?”
“What?” Judas exclaimed with an incredulous glance.
“It would be a piece of cake. You said yourself that the alarm isn’t even on. It wouldn’t be the first time you broke into a house.”
“Man, I did that crap when I was a kid. If I got busted for that now, my ass would be thrown in jail.”
Teddy elbowed his side. “Come on, there isn’t another soul within earshot of the place.”
“You don’t understand,” Judas said. “I don’t want anything to do with that house. I’m still sleeping with the lights and the TV on, bro. I can’t smoke or drink enough to get that place out of my head.”
Judas’s body shifted to the side as Teddy pulled his weight from the couch. He waddled across the room and grabbed their coats, throwing the black leather jacket on his friend’s lap. He reached into a wicker basket by the door and pulled out a set of keys.
“If you want me to ask my grandmother, I’m going to have to see for myself. It’ll take five minutes, tops.”
Judas sighed and slipped into his jacket. There was no use arguing with Teddy, especially since he was willing to help find an answer. Maybe if there was a name to what he experienced, something tangible with a history, maybe then he could find peace of mind. If not, his electric bills were going to skyrocket.
They loaded into his truck and drove out to the house in a silence heavy with fear and anticipation. It was very late but still relatively light outside, more like an extended dusk. Shida had closed up for the night. The faint blue glow of televisions flickered in only a handful of windows as they made the turn out of the center of town and headed for the more remote areas of habitation. Out here was where the more eccentric populace of Shida lived their quiet existences. Crazy old men and their hunting dogs, an old woman who claimed to be a witch, whole families of three or more generations who lived off the land during the spring and summer, only to be seen in town during the cold season once a month or so to gather provisions. Their children didn’t go to school and the adults would never be found sitting in the pew next to you at church or sidling up to the counter at Cheryl’s.
Judas started to make the turn up Fir Way without seeing the crooked road sign. God, he’d lived here too long. Even the least traveled paths were part of his subconscious road map. He couldn’t get lost or make a wrong turn if he tried.
“There it is,” Judas said as he slammed the brakes and put the truck in park. The house was like a depthless shadow nestled among the fir trees. It was ten shades darker out here than anywhere else. The house was completely encircled by tall, full evergreens that blocked out the moon and seemed to create their own stygian atmosphere.
“It looks big.”
“It is big. Let’s get this over with before I lose my nerve.”
Their feet crunched along the gravel and the night was alive with the sounds of singing insects and the rush of nocturnal animals going about their business. At the front door, Judas used his pocket knife to pick the lock while Teddy took a walk along the wraparound porch. The door was open by the time he made it back around.
“After you,” Judas whispered. He needn’t have kept his voice low since there wasn’t another soul for miles but something told him it was best not to wake sleeping spirits.
When Teddy crossed the threshold, the ache of groaning wood echoed like a bellman’s cry to every corner of the house. The mop and bucket were scattered along the living room floor, exactly where Judas had left them, along with some loose change and the two double A batteries that had popped out of his Walkman.
Teddy slowly moved towards the mop with Judas close behind. Neither of them had expelled a breath since their entrance into the house. An owl hooted nearby in the enveloping forest. “What’s next, a bolt of lightning and a screaming cat jumping at us?”
Teddy snickered.
Judas snorted to himself. Maybe he was being ridiculous.
Then again, he did fall through the damn floor. The proof was in the overturned bucket and mop. There was no way he imagined that.
Judas watched Teddy bend over with a loud grunt and retrieve the mop. He straightened up then tilted his head to gaze at the ceiling. Even in the dark, he could see that the fitted logs above were as solid as they day there were installed. Judas considered pocketing his change and batteries, but decided he didn’t want anything that had been in the house.
“Looks fine to me.”
“Looked the same to me the other day.”
“Guess we have to go upstairs,” Teddy said matter-of-factly.
Judas paused and looked at the staircase ascending into pitch black. He grabbed Teddy’s shoulder and half whispered, “Forget it. Let’s just get out of here. You don’t have to ask your grandmother anything. I don’t give a shit anymore.”
His friend moved forward, undaunted.
“You don’t have to come up, man,” he said. “Just tell me which room you were in when it happened.”
Judas’s eyes were glued to the bucket. All of the dirty mop water had evaporated, leaving a filthy stain on the wood. “Last room down the hall.”
Teddy nodded and started to climb the stairs. He was almost at the top when Judas decided it was better to be up there with a friend than alone downstairs.
When he got to the top, Teddy asked, pointing, “That it down there?”
“You see any other rooms at the end of the hall?”
He smiled. “Sarcasm. That’s good, dude. Much better than wetting your pants in fear. Let’s not make this a death row waltz.”
Teddy strode down the hallway with purposeful strides, never slowing down to peer into the side rooms or reconsider his quest to see the dreaded room. Judas kept pace, strengthened by his friend’s confidence. When they entered the room, they couldn’t make out a thing because the lone window was boarded up. Teddy pulled out a penlight and swept the floor with its tiny ball of illumination.
“Whereabouts do you think you fell?”
Judas followed the little ball of light until it swept past the center of the room.
“There. Stop.”
“Hold this.” Teddy handed him the penlight and took two steps towards the lighted area.
“Here goes everything,” he said and cocked his arm back so he could strike the floor with the mop handle. Judas winced and the li
ght danced as the handle struck solid wood with a loud thunk.
Teddy grunted, then proceeded to tap the floor again and again as he paced around the room. Judas followed his progress with the penlight. After he had covered every square inch, he propped the mop against the door frame and exited into the hallway shaking his head.
“That floor is as hard as frozen moose shit.”
“I can’t believe it.” Judas marched into the dark room. He walked back and forth, even jumped hard onto the spot he had mysteriously fallen through. Nothing happened. The sound of Teddy’s laughter echoed down the hall as he made for the stairs.
“I knew you had to be stoned,” he chuckled.
“It happened, dammit!” Judas shouted into the darkness.
A strong breeze gusted outside and whistled through a partially open window in one of the upstairs rooms. Judas suddenly realized he was alone in the inky blackness of a house that, despite their little test, had something very wrong with it. He sprinted into action and clambered down the steps. He cast a backwards glance, sure that something was just behind him, an inch away from grazing the back of his neck. Tiny needles of terror started a parade that originated at his lower back and danced up his spine. His breath was knocked out of him for the second time in the house when he walked smack into Teddy’s immobile figure in the front doorway.
“What the hell, man?” he said when he regained his footing.
Teddy motioned for him to come closer with one hand without turning his head or body. Something was happening outside that had him spellbound. Judas’s heart sank as a vision of the sheriff’s car parked next to his flashed across his brain.
All of the saliva in his mouth dried up as he reluctantly edged around Teddy to face his fate. He could almost feel the harsh pinch of the handcuffs, hear the monotone of his rights being read to him.
Except there was no sheriff’s car.
Judas’s old Ford was right where they had left it, alone in the night.
“What’s the deal?” he asked.
“Look at the truck.”
“I did. Was there a bear near it or something?”
“Look again.”
Teddy was breathing in quick, syrupy gulps. Judas moved his gaze back to the truck and squinted hard.
And then he saw them.
Moving shadows, some flitting across the hood, others oozing up from the ground and undulating around it. They swirled, formed a single mass, then broke apart into dozens of pulsating black globs, a sentient dance of darkness.
Judas gasped and the shadows froze.
Chapter Nine
Ed Smythe had a nervous habit of rubbing his hands together like a raccoon washing itself. His bug eyes, made larger than life under a pair of coke bottle glasses, darted between John and Eve as they stood before him in his ordered living room.
John made one last pass around the room with his electromagnetic field detector while Eve took notes. The needle on the hand-held black box jumped slightly when it faced the fireplace. John motioned his arm away, and swung it back again. The needle remained calm and steady.
“Is that telling you anything?” Ed Smythe asked them, his voice high and bordering on whiny.
“As of this moment, no,” John said. “The EMF readings have been pretty normal throughout the entire house.”
“EMF?”
“Electromagnetic fields. There are those that say ghosts cause a disturbance, a kind of ripple, in ambient electromagnetic fields.” He tilted the box so Ed could see the small meter. “The needle will jump when it comes across high EMF frequencies. Of course, many things in a common household can give a false-positive reading, such as major appliances, outlets, computers, even digital alarm clocks. Just about everything has its own electromagnetic frequency. What I look for is something out of the norm, that is, after eliminating possible sources for the anomaly. And from what I can see here, everything looks normal.”
Eve looked over John’s shoulder to see the meter and made a note of its position on her pad. She had accompanied John on a handful of these initial investigations over the years, mostly as a note taker and in one case, as a buffer between John and a hysterical woman who swore her bedroom blinds were possessed. Eve was the only other person that had been allowed to accompany John on his few field investigations. Even Jessica wanted to come along on her father’s trips, moaning and groaning every time when she was told she was too young. Eve wondered if there was anything that scared the little girl. Not that there was anything actually scary about this, in Eve’s experience.
“I hope that’s not all, because let me tell you, something is definitely happening here. Just yesterday my TV turned itself on and off and I heard banging in the rooms upstairs.”
“Do you have any pets, like a cat or dog?”
Ed Smythe looked puzzled. “No.”
“Sometimes what people mistake for spirits walking around their houses turns out to be the family dog. I have to check everything,” John explained. This seemed to relieve Ed’s puzzlement. “And you live alone?”
“Yes.”
“How many years have you lived in this house?”
“Five. I moved here from Ardsley so I could be closer to my mother. She’s getting older and she hasn’t been well.”
Eve looked up from her notepad and said, “That was very nice of you to do that for your mother.”
“I’m her only child and my father passed away a long time ago. She has no one else. What else could I do?” He gave her a small smile.
John walked over to the large metallic trunk he had laid out in the foyer and extracted a tripod and video camera. He assembled the tripod and mounted the camera on top with only a few well-practiced motions.
“Mr. Smythe, I’m going to leave some pieces of monitoring equipment here for the weekend. I’ll set this recorder up in the bedroom upstairs. You say that’s where you get the hot and cold flashes and where most of the sounds seem to emanate from?”
“There and the guest bedroom. Actually, it’s just a storage room. I don’t have guests very often, especially to stay the night.”
Eve had to repress an urge to give a pitiable sigh.
“Okay. This camera is fitted with an infrared lens, which basically means it can see in the dark. I’ll also place a digital recorder in the storage room and one in the kitchen. All I ask is that you press record before you retire for the night. Eve and I have taken EMF and temperature readings and when I come back on Monday, I’ll bring a few more instruments and see what we get. Hopefully, we’ll find something on the recorder tape that’ll point us in the right direction.”
“Do you mind if I take some pictures?” Eve asked.
“Sure, go right ahead.”
Eve grabbed camera from the metal case and started taking pictures of all the rooms in the house.
Ed started rubbing his hands together again. He said to John, “If there is a ghost here, can you get rid of it?” He looked like a child waiting to hear his school’s name mentioned on the radio in the early morning of a snowstorm.
“Sorry to say, I couldn’t. It’s not what I do. If you like, I could put you in touch with people who claim they can.” He leaned in closer, as if to impart a well-kept secret. “Personally, I don’t believe there’s any sure way to eradicate what we call a ghost. It’s my belief that they’re a sort of trapped energy, and short of discovering a way to convert this energy into something else, I’m not sure what can be done. Now, that’s not to say that you’d be stuck living with a ghost for the rest of your life. In many cases, it seems to stop as suddenly and as inexplicably as it starts.”
John was taking a chance speaking so bluntly to Ed, but sugar coating his true feelings was never his strong suit.
Ed digested his words for a bit, and said, “Will prayer work? I read Mark Roman’s book on poltergeists and it said prayer or exorcisms are the only solution.”
John shook his head. “As I said before, I believe we’re dealing with forms of energy. Jus
t like prayer won’t turn a light bulb on, I don’t believe it can turn a paranormal presence off.”
Ed chuckled but his eyes told John that his words, however truthful, had deepened the man’s growing sense of apprehension. Ed Smythe was a middle-aged, bookish bachelor under a lot of stress. Caring for a sick, elderly parent, especially the last living parent, took its toll on a person. Odds are, the nighttime manifestations that had begun six months ago were simply the workings of a tired mind that couldn’t shut itself down. John could sympathize. If he could show Ed that his house was indeed not inhabited by a mischievous entity, maybe that would be enough to calm his overactive imagination.
Then there was the other side of the coin. Perhaps something not of this reality was in Ed Smythe’s house. Something brought on by his anxiety, attracted to it like a gnat to sweat-soaked skin. It could be a physical symptom of the pent-up emotions that Ed kept locked inside as he did his best to cope with a lonely existence, his dead end job and his sick mother. Or maybe it had always been there, lurking unseen, unheard, unfelt, making itself known now for reasons as yet undetermined.
It was these two possibilities that brought John not just to Ed Smythe’s house, but to this line of work. People like Ed were the reason he took a fascinating, private hobby and made it public; frightened, confused, in need of someone to talk to that wouldn’t laugh or worse, take advantage of them. Winning the lottery made it possible to pursue his passion without the need to extract money from those in need of comfort.
Plus, there was always the chance of coming face to face with the unexplained. He had come close a few times, but nothing on a grand scale. There was the occasional odd reading on his various meters, a faint, disembodied voice on an audio tape, stepping into a cold spot that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Those moments kept him going.
Most field work was pretty boring and a lot of effort went into finding nothing.
He’d been asked more than once if he was, in fact, searching for Anne. He prayed that her spirit had moved on and dreaded the possibility of finding something to the contrary. In the beginning, he had made attempts to see if a part of her still lingered in their home, but all he got in return was videos of empty rooms and recordings of static. He had to make the assumption that her spirit was where it was supposed to be, no matter how hard it was to accept that he could no longer hold her in his arms.
