Following his gaze, at first, she had no idea what he was talking about. One antique didn’t look any more significant than the other. But then she saw it. “Is that…”
Without either finishing her question or waiting for an answer, she floated through the stacks of old junk until she reached her prize: a wicker bassinet, once white but faded and weathered with age. A vintage mobile still hung from the hood.
“Now we know there was a baby here,” Joe said softly behind her.
“There’ve probably been a lot of babies here since this thing was last used. It doesn’t really prove anything. But it definitely suggests something.” She reached out and gave the mobile a nudge, causing it to spin squeakily. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. “I wonder which room used to be the nursery.”
“Let’s be sure to ask the lady once we get her to sit down and have a civil conversation with us.” As if to underscore his dubious tone, a mournful wail floated up from somewhere below.
“Shh!” said Ron.
“I was done talking.”
“Shhh!” She held up a finger and listened. The crying sounded far away, but it was unmistakable—not the least of which because of how it was already making her feel.
After a moment, Joe pushed her finger down gently and pointed to a window on the other side of the attic. They both transported themselves to it and looked out over the front lawn. They spotted her at the edge of the pond. She was hard to see, as faint as her cries, but the more she cried, the more solid she grew. And the more solid she grew, the louder her wailing became.
Ron sighed. “Guess we’d better get down there.”
“We got a plan for once we’re there?”
“Shout her down, try to talk some sense into her. Don’t let her go in the water.” She looked at Joe. “I figure maybe she’s stuck in a loop, like you were. Forced to relive her suicide over and over.”
His mouth drew into a grim line. “I don’t reckon any amount of interference would’ve broken that loop.”
“Except it did. Once we took Sarah out of the picture.”
He considered this. “All right, then. Guess it can’t hurt to try.” He took her hand and then added, “I hope.”
“You and me both,” she muttered before they beamed themselves down to the pond.
The time they’d wasted talking allowed the weeping ghost to grow stronger. She looked almost as solid as a living person, and at close range, her wail hit Ron like a sonic grenade. She staggered but managed to stay upright as her mind groped desperately for happy thoughts to latch onto like a life preserver. Joe squeezed her hand, reminding her of her biggest reason to be happy.
It was only a crack in the wall of despair enclosing and threatening to suffocate her. But it was big enough to allow other cracks. Their engagement and impending wedding. Her dad’s remorse. The fact she would be there to witness Chris’s future. She stacked these things up in her mind like a shield, blocking out the despair and summoning enough strength to shout as loudly as she could, “Hey!”
The wailing stopped. The sudden silence was palpable. The white lady looked stunned as she stared out at the pond, as though she’d only just registered the other spirits’ presence. Slowly, she turned toward them, looking as though she’d never seen them before.
Ron and Joe both relaxed and let go of each other’s hands. “Thank you,” said Ron. “That makes this much easier.” At the other spirit’s confused look, Ron placed a hand on her chest. “My name is Ron. Veronica, I mean. And this”—she held out a hand to indicate Joe—“is Joe. We only want to talk to you. We want to know how to help you.”
The woman looked utterly confused. Ron tried another tactic. “What about your name? Can you tell us that?”
The ghost only continued to stare, tilting her head as if trying to understand, like a dog trying to comprehend a new sound. Or a predator sizing up its prey.
Ron started to get a bad feeling. Overcome with the urge to hurry this along, she took a step forward and reached out, intending to put a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. But as she moved, the woman’s face distorted and she let out an ear-splitting shriek, the force of which blew Ron’s hair back as if she were a living person in a gale-force wind.
Fear gripped her as she realized she’d made a very big mistake. She’d assumed this was a human ghost. It had likely started out human—like Sarah—but as Sarah’s evil nature had twisted her spirit into something else, so might this creature’s spirit have been twisted by her despair. Ron reached out for Joe’s hand, but before she could find it, the white lady lunged and gripped her by the arms.
And then she wasn’t standing at the pond anymore.
“Ron?” Joe whipped his head around, scanning the yard, the pond, and the woods beyond for any sign of where they’d gone. “Veronica!” he shouted.
Nothing.
“All right,” he told himself aloud. “Don’t panic.” He closed his eyes and focused on her, expecting to be drawn to her location. But nothing happened. He couldn’t get a sense of her anywhere.
“Okay, now it’s time to panic.”
He transported himself back to the attic. No sign of them there. From there he moved on, scouring the house room by room, moving at the speed of thought, slowed only by his unfamiliarity with the house’s layout. She wasn’t on the second floor. Nor the first. He had an aversion to basements, but that didn’t stop him from searching there, too.
Ron was nowhere to be found.
Joe swore as he considered what to do next. He went back outside, where he intended to search the woods, and then the bottom of the pond if it came to that. But the sound of tires crunching on the long gravel drive made him hesitate. Should he keep looking, or should he tell Chris what happened?
He didn’t know what good it would do to tell her. There wasn’t anything she could do about it except worry, and she already had enough to deal with. Besides, he might still find Ron, and he could search farther and faster on his own. No point in telling Chris anything until there was something certain to tell. With his mind made up, he plunged into the woods, calling his fiancée’s name.
Chapter Twenty-Two
They were halfway up the long, winding drive when the wailing began. It sounded faint but still loud enough to be heard inside the car at quite a distance from the house. At the first sound, Marsha’s grip on Chris’s hand tightened. Whether she could actually hear the crying or only feel its effects, Chris didn’t know.
“I don’t suppose anybody happened to bring earplugs,” said Derek, suggesting the former.
“Can all of you hear that?” she asked. As they each affirmed that they could, she dug into her pocket and found the plugs she’d worn that morning. She handed them to Marsha. “You should wear these so we don’t have any repeats of this morning.”
Letting go of Chris’s hand, she took them with a grateful nod and went to work putting them in.
“What about the rest of us?” asked her dad.
“You can have mine,” said Derek, handing them over.
“Okay. But what about you two?”
“I guess we’ll have to take our chances.”
“I don’t like that idea.” He glanced at Chris in the rear-view mirror. “I thought your sister was going to take care of that thing.”
“She was going to try. Maybe we should circle around, give her more time.” The wailing stopped. Chris hadn’t even realized she’d been affected by it, but suddenly, she felt lighter. “Or maybe she’s right on schedule.” They all fell silent and listened. Suddenly, a shriek split the air, making everyone jump.
Marsha pulled out an earplug. “What was that?”
“I don’t know.” Chris kept listening. She thought she heard Joe shouting, but she couldn’t be sure. After that, everything went silent again. Grateful they managed to get the job done, Chris could only hope the two of them were okay.
“What do we do?” asked Drew.
“Keep going. The faster we get to the house, the
faster we can get this over with.” She hoped that was true.
After another minute or two, they rolled up in front of the house and parked.
Everyone spilled out of the SUV. “Let’s get Marsha inside,” said Chris.
“Where inside?” asked Marsha.
“Where do you feel safest?”
She thought about it a moment. “The kitchen.”
“Then let’s start there.”
Drew put an arm around Marsha and they led the way to the front door. Falling in beside Chris, Derek leaned close enough to be heard as he kept his voice low. “So did you come up with a plan on the way over?”
“Not as such.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“I’ve observed a few exorcisms and house cleansings before. I think I can remember how they go.”
“You think?”
She shrugged. “The gist of them, at any rate.”
He eyed her skeptically. “And how certain are you this won’t end up getting us all killed?”
“About eighty-five percent?”
“I guess we’ve faced worse odds.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened the video camera. “Might as well provide some bona fide found footage for the authorities to piece together what happened to us.”
Inside, they followed her dad and Marsha to the kitchen, turning lights on along the way. The large chef’s kitchen somehow managed to feel cozy despite its vastness, with its oak cabinets and granite counter tops and a large fireplace taking up an entire wall at one end. Marsha motioned to a rustic wooden table tucked into a breakfast nook in one corner. “Have a seat. I’ll put on some tea.”
Derek trained the camera on her, following her as she went to the stove.
“What are you doing?” Drew asked him.
Derek glanced at him. “Documenting. It’s what I do.”
“I’m well aware.” Drew’s voice held an edge that startled Chris.
“Dad,” she said, but he cut her off.
“I’ve turned a blind eye to how you’re exploiting my daughter on that YouTube channel of yours—”
“Dad!”
“Exploiting?” Derek lowered the camera and turned to face Drew. “What are you talking about?”
“If you think I’m going to let you make a profit off what’s happening to my fiancée—”
“Whoa.” Derek tucked his phone in his pocket and held up a hand. “That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’m a journalist, remember? The whole point of my channel is to prove that your daughter’s the real deal. People have a right to know that this stuff is real.”
“Not at Marsha’s expense, they don’t.”
“Drew,” said Marsha, “it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine!” His voice rose as he took a step toward Derek.
Chris stepped in front of him. “Whoa, Dad! Let’s all calm down, okay?”
“I’ll calm down if he stops filming.”
“I already have!” said Derek, waving his empty hands.
“Everybody calm down!” Chris said again, shouting this time. They all looked at her, and she took a deep breath before speaking. “The last thing we need is angry vibes drawing Marsha’s poltergeist to us like a magnet.” She gave her dad a stern look, and he looked a little chastened. “For the record, Dad, Derek isn’t exploiting me. He doesn’t show anything on his channel that I don’t approve first. And I’m proud of how well his channel’s doing.”
She looked at Derek, who looked mildly embarrassed at the praise. “He’s done a really good job with it.” She looked back at her dad. “So if this is going to be a source of contention, you really need to get over it.”
Drew went from mildly chagrined to fully contrite. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I guess I’m angry at this whole situation and I needed somebody to take it out on.”
“That’s understandable,” said Derek.
“But I’d still prefer you didn’t film any of this.”
Derek appeared to want to argue, but he nodded. “Okay. Fair enough.”
“But I want him to film it,” said Marsha.
Drew turned to her, surprised. “Why?”
“So people know I’m not crazy. And that I’m not making it all up.” She nodded to Derek. “Go ahead. The rest of you, have a seat. I’m going to make that tea.” She picked up a copper kettle from the stove, carried it to the sink, and filled it with water. Returning to the stove and placing the kettle on the burner, she glanced at Derek, who was about to take a seat next to Chris at the table. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“I said you could film me. So why aren’t you filming?”
He held out his empty hands as though it should be evident. “I’m not sure how much footage of you boiling water is going to help.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She opened a cabinet over the stove and reached for a box of tea. Then, the kettle flew off the burner, smashing into her and dousing her with water. She screamed.
Drew was the first to her side, but Chris and Derek were right behind him. “I’m okay,” she reassured them, pulling her soaked blouse away from her skin and shaking it out. “The water was still cold.”
Derek took out his phone. “What can I say? When I’m wrong, I’m usually really wrong.”
“So much for the tea break,” said Chris. “I guess we should get started.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Marsha.
“Do you have any salt?”
Nodding, she went to the kitchen island to grab a salt shaker but screamed as it flew off the counter and smashed on the floor.
“We need more than that, anyway,” said Chris, doing her best to stay calm.
“There should be more in the pantry.” She pointed at a narrow door set in the wall next to the fridge.
“I’ll get it.” Derek headed for the pantry while Chris turned back to Marsha.
“What about a Bible? Is there one around here by any chance?”
“The family Bible. I think my granny keeps it in her room.”
“I’ll take her to get it,” said Drew.
“No,” said Chris. “Wait for Derek. We’ll all go together.”
He emerged from the pantry carrying two cylinders of table salt. “Will this do?”
“Perfect. Let’s go.”
Lights surged and flickered as they retraced their steps from the kitchen to the grand staircase. Chris led the way up the stairs, with her dad and Marsha following close behind, her dad keeping a protective arm around Marsha the whole way. Derek brought up the rear, managing to juggle the salt containers with his phone as he kept recording.
When they reached the landing, Chris paused and waited for the others to join her. “Which way to Granny’s room?”
“It’s the master suite.” Marsha pointed down the east wing. “All the way at the end.”
In the other wing, a door slammed shut. And then opened and slammed again. Other doors followed suit.
“Okay, go.” Chris waved the others ahead of her. Her dad and Marsha passed her and started down the hall, but Derek paused to film the slamming doors and hand the salt off to Chris.
“Now would be good,” she told him.
“Yeah, go on. I’m right behind you.”
“Together would be better,” she said, letting an edge into her voice.
He looked like he was about to argue, but when he glanced at her he must have seen something in her face that made him think better of it. Probably the nauseating fear that had gripped her. He nodded. “Let’s go.”
Turning away from the angrily animated doors, he put an arm around her and they hurried after the other couple. Suddenly, the doors fell silent. A moment later, something passed over—passed through—them both with an audible whoosh! They were both knocked to the ground. The salt containers Chris held went rolling.
A scream came from up ahead. Before Chris could get her bearings, she heard her father shoutin
g and cursing. There was more screaming from Marsha, and then another door slammed—this one up ahead.
Derek got to his feet first and help Chris to hers. As she rose, she saw her dad sprawled on the floor.
“Dad!” She ran to him and knelt beside him. He was breathing. He began to move, pushing himself groggily onto his hands and knees. “It took her,” he said. “I couldn’t stop it.”
“Took her where?”
He pointed at a closed door. Behind it, they could hear Marsha’s muffled screams. Derek tried the handle. It was locked. Chris pounded on the door. “Marsha! Can you hear me?” Inside the room, the screaming subsided into whimpering. “If you can hear me, open the door!” Another scream. Chris swore and pounded the door again in frustration.
“Here, stand back.” Derek backed up to the opposite side of the hallway to give himself a running start. He rammed his shoulder into the door and then muttered curses as he bounced off it, wincing and holding his arm. “Man, those are solid doors.”
Her dad staggered over, wobbly but upright. “Maybe if we both try.” Derek nodded. This time, they both backed up, squared their shoulders, and charged the door together.
And both ended up hurt. Solid oak door two, fleshy men zero.
“We’re clearly not getting in that way,” said Chris.
“Have you got a better suggestion?” her dad asked.
“The Bible. Do you know where it is?”
“No, but I can find it.” He turned toward the master bedroom.
“How’s the Bible going to help?” Derek asked.
“By getting my dad out of the way,” she muttered, kneeling before the door. She motioned down the hall to where they’d fallen. “Get me the salt.”
He turned in the direction she’d indicated but halted. “Uh, Chris? We have company.”
She turned to look as a woman reached the landing and turned toward them. A much older woman, with hair the color of slate, dressed head to toe in black leather, moved toward them with purpose. “Out of my way,” she said, and Chris and Derek at once complied.
The woman marched up to the door and pounded on it with her fist. “Ezekiel!” she shouted, her voice booming. “You release her, right now!”
Bound Spirits Page 17
