Phantoms

by Terence West

  Rivers smiled uncomfortably. He was sitting in a plush leather chair opposite Stephen. His hands were folded neatly in his lap. Rivers liked Stephen's office. It looked like you would expect it to look. Framed posters from his various projects littered the white walls, while a row of shelving behind his glass desk held the sundry awards he had won, or bought, depending on who you asked. He nodded at Stephen.

  Stephen leaned back in his black padded chair and steepled his hands in front of his face. He stared at Rivers for a long moment before moving. "Let me ask you this," he said thoughtfully, "why do you see fit to run most of our directors off the set?"

  Rivers thought for a moment. Even though he outweighed Stephen by at least seventy pounds, Stephen had a commanding presence about him. "I don't intentionally do anything to–"

  "Bullshit!" Stephen shot forward in his seat. "You're a fucking raving egomaniac! You think you're too good for this show." Standing up, Stephen pointed to the door. "If you're so fucking wonderful, Gallows, then get the fuck out of my office. You can obviously find better work than I'm offering you, so go." Stephen sank back into his chair. He was a master tactician. All he had to do now was wait for the result he wanted or start looking for a new host, but he believed the former to be more likely.

  Rivers sat in the chair for a long moment. He was speechless. His mighty ego had been sent tumbling to the ground and now, the only thought on his mind was how to salvage some of his dignity without seeming weak. "I don't think you should talk to me like that, Stephen." Rivers cringed as soon as the words left his lips.

  "You fucking pussy," Stephen roared. "Get out of my office. I don't want to see you on this set ever again." He leaned over and lifted the telephone receiver up to his ear. He quickly punched in a four digit code. "Yeah," he said finally into the phone, "get me casting."

  Rivers, insulted and belittled, stood and began to march toward the door. He wasn't going to take Stephen's shit anymore. He would find a new job, and then he would rub that little fucker's face in… Rivers stopped. He suddenly remembered his agent's words from before. Maybe he was right; maybe this was all he was capable of. Rivers swallowed his pride and turned around. "Stephen," he said solemnly, "man, I'm really sorry."

  Stephen's face brightened. He immediately hung up the phone. He was tired of listening to the dial tone anyway. He stood and walked across the room toward Rivers. Stretching out a hand, he patted Rivers firmly on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Riv. It takes a big man to admit when he's wrong."

  "I just get a little full of myself at times," Rivers admitted like a beaten child.

  "I know," Stephen said sympathetically. He motioned for Gallows to sit down. Stephen moved around his desk and slid back into his plush chair. "Let's talk, shall we?"

  Rivers nodded silently.

  "First of all," Stephen said as he shuffled a stack of random papers on his desk, "if you ever do that to another of my directors, I am going to make sure you are blacklisted in this town, is that understood?"

  Rivers slumped down in the chair. "Yeah."

  "Second," a wide smile crossed Stephen face, "I've been mulling an idea around that I think is going to take this show all the way to the top, and a situation has just arisen that will blend perfectly with that."

  Rivers perked up.

  "Ready?" Stephen asked.

  Rivers nodded.

  Stephen held his hands in front of him, palms facing out, "I call it ‘Paranormal Reality Television'." He waited for effect. "What do you think?"

  Rivers nodded his head and placed his index finger on his chin. "I like it," he admitted after a moment of mulling.

  The smile faded from Stephen’ face. "You don't get it, do you?"

  Rivers let out an audible sigh. "No."

  Stephen leaned back in his chair. "Most reality shows take people and stick them in places, make them do things they wouldn't usually do. The Australian Outback for eight weeks?" Stephen scoffed, "Only if you're a fucking kangaroo. I want to take people and put them in situations they would face in normal life, and living in a haunted house is one of those."

  Rivers became intrigued. "So we send a bunch of schmucks into a house and tape it?"

  "A haunted house," Stephen reiterated.

  "So we get a tape full of these people being freaked out. What's the big deal?"

  "That is the big deal. Human emotion in its most raw form is fear and it's absolutely mesmerizing to watch. Let me give you the big picture," Stephen smiled, "allow me to put all the pieces of the puzzle in their correct locations." He stood up and walked across his office and began to pace out of habit. "Ghost Chasers, Inc. is a televised paranormal news magazine. We cover all the strange shit that goes on in the world in a basically standard news format. We interview witnesses, talk to presumed abductees, show locations, and so on and so forth." Stephen began gesturing with his hands. "It's all very matter-of-fact in presentation, and that was fine for a while. We drew in viewers just by sheer curiosity and by presenting the most complete picture of an event that we could, but that's not enough now. We need something new, and this is it."

  Stephen stopped and looked at Rivers. "We'll be able to throw down with the big ‘reality shows’ currently dominating the airwaves."

  Rivers was sold. "Great, when do we start?"

  "You start today."

  "Me?"

  "Think of it as attrition to me," Stephen said with a smile. "I've already booked you on the ten o'clock flight out of LAX."

  "Destination?" Rivers asked.

  "Stone Brook, Florida."

  "Never heard of it."

  "It was the site last night of a vicious triple murder," Stephen admitted with glee. "One of the detectives at the local precinct filed a report this afternoon that had some very bizarre shit in it."

  "Like what?"

  "Like a pair of fucking red glowing eyes!"

  Rivers felt his stomach become unsettled, "And you want me to take a bunch of people into this place?" Rivers swallowed hard. "What does the local law enforcement think of this idea?"

  "They can think whatever they want. I have the Mayor of Stone Brook on my side. He thinks this is a great idea."

  "Is this guy some kind of fucking ghoul? Why would he want his town presented on national television as a place where triple homicides happen?"

  Stephen laughed as he rubbed his beard. "Press is press, good or bad, and if we can prove this place is actually haunted, he thinks it'll put them on the map. Might even make the town a bit of a tourist attraction. Make them the new Amityville."

  Rivers was silent for a moment. "Isn't there some kind of serious storm brewing right now in Florida?"

  "Tropical storm Katrina," Stephen said.

  "Won't that be dangerous to fly into?"

  "Oh, come on, Rivers, grow a pair, for God's sake," Stephen snapped. "Just think of it as making your experience all the more real, plus the storm will add a real flavor to the piece." Stephen checked the gold watch on his wrist. "You have exactly five hours to go home, get packed and meet the crew at LAX. You better get going."

  "Who's directing this episode?" Rivers asked against his better judgment.

  "I've assigned Chloe."

  "Chloe Andrews?" Rivers asked.

  "One and the same."

  "You know Chloe and I don't get along, Stephen," Rivers whined.

  Stephen laughed. "Just because you couldn't keep the warhead in your pants with Chloe doesn't mean she isn't a great director. Tough it out."

  Rivers stood and looked at Stephen. He could swear his pride had oozed out of him at least five minutes ago and was hiding somewhere in the corner. He extended an open hand to Stephen. "Thanks for giving me another shot. Most producers wouldn't do that."

  Stephen shook his hand in return. "I know."

  ****

  The flight from Washington D.C. to Stone Brook had been, to say the least, bumpy so far. The "fasten seatbelts" sign had gone off shortly after takeoff, then clicked back on about twenty
minutes later. It seemed tropical storm Katrina was wreaking havoc up and down the entire eastern seaboard.

  Bishop leaned back in his seat and propped his hands behind his head. He looked around the small cabin, which was mostly empty. Two rows of dark blue seats were packed along the edges, while a small strip of carpet separated them. Bishop counted around ten people scattered about. He was near the rear of the cabin, while Dawn and Cane had each claimed a row in front of him. Cane had immediately stretched out over the two seats, despite the complaints of the stewardesses. Dawn, meanwhile, was working diligently at her laptop. She glanced up only occasionally, and then usually just to ask for another drink. Bishop was getting the feeling Dawn didn't like to fly.

  Sitting forward, Bishop peered through the small porthole next to him. Early in the flight, the pilot had to increase their altitude due to the storm. Now only a dark sheet of clouds could be seen below them, along with the occasional blue flash of lightning. Above them, Bishop could see a beautiful ocean of stars uninterrupted by clouds. They had reached the airport in time to catch their flight, only it wasn't on time. It had been delayed for several hours while the air traffic controllers waited for a break in the storm. Bishop thought for a moment. He couldn't remember the last time he had witnessed such a severe storm front.

  Glancing across the seats, Bishop noticed Dawn had pushed her laptop into the seat next to her. He quickly unbuckled himself and slid across the aisle. He caught sight of a stewardess emerging from the dark curtain that separated the cabin and the cockpit and quickly dropped into the seat next to Dawn. She slowly craned her head to the left to look at Bishop. She was wearing a small pair of prescription reading glasses.

  "What are you doing?" Dawn asked, her speech slightly slurred.

  "I wanted to talk to you."

  "About what?"

  Bishop shrugged. "Anything," he admitted. "You've been with the OPR long enough that you must've seen some bizarre things."

  "Yep," Dawn replied as she slapped Bishop on the leg, "I have seen some crazy shit."

  "Like what?" Bishop smiled.

  "Like this one time, I saw this… this," she searched for the word, "thing."

  "Best leave it alone. She's drunk."

  Bishop saw Cane sitting up with his back to the cabin wall. His eyes were just barely visible over the back of the seats. "How many has she had?"

  Cane laughed. "It's not about quantity with her. She just can't hold her liquor."

  "Cane," Bishop said tentatively, "can I ask you a question?"

  Without any hesitation, Cane agreed. "Of course."

  "Why did you join the OPR?"

  "That's a long story," Cane admitted, "And we've only about an hour left in this flight."

  "Why do you stay with the OPR then?"

  "Just full of questions, aren't we, Mr. Bishop?" Cane laughed. "I'll submit my resume to you when we get back."

  "No," Bishop said. He was slightly perturbed Cane wasn't taking any of his questions seriously. "Seriously, I want to know what you find appealing about working for the OPR."

  "Having career doubts on your first day of work? That's not a good sign." Cane looked over the top of the seat to see the resentment on Bishop's face. "Just teasing," Cane reassured him. He looked down at his rugged hands, "I'm not as young as I used to be, but then again, who is?" Cane laughed at his own joke. "There's not a lot I could do anymore. I've been a ghost hunter most of my life. I don't think I'm qualified to do anything else."

  "You could always learn a new trade," Bishop offered.

  Cane shook his head and pointed to himself, "Old dog."

  "Is that the only reason you're still with the OPR?"

  "No," Cane paused and then smiled, "I love this shit."

  A bright bolt of lightning crashed through the clouds just below the plane. The flash startled Bishop. He looked over at Dawn. She had crashed. Her head was leaning awkwardly to one side as she lightly snored. "Dawn's out cold."

  "You may as well try and get some sleep too. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

  Bishop scooted forward in his seat. "What exactly is our game plan when we arrive at the site?"

  "What's the fun in knowing?" Cane asked. "Wait until tomorrow and be surprised!"

  Bishop slumped back into his seat. He thought about a witty retort for a moment, but decided against it. He had been taught partners were the people that helped you, the one's who informed you, but these two were just being a pain in the ass. He felt the thud of Dawn's head as it fell on his shoulder. Shaking his head, he turned to look out the window.

  Chapter 6

  The front door to the apartment flew open and a young woman skittered inside. She grabbed the door handle and began to force the door shut against the wind. Finally succeeding, the young woman began to pull off her raincoat and sneakers. She dropped them both lazily next to the door and ventured into the living room. She shook her head once to get rid of the rain soaking her hair. She tapped her girlfriend on the shoulder as she walked past.

  "Did you hear what happened to the Grants?" Kelley asked.

  Joanne Stone looked up from her book to acknowledge Kelly. She was curled up in a large plush maroon chair wearing a pair of tattered sweat pants and an old tank top set off by a gold heart-shaped locket. Her curly brown hair was pulled up away from her neck. She pulled off her glasses, "To whom?" The chair was nestled in the far corner of the eclectic living room. On the far side sat a dated nineteen inch television/VCR combo with a mass of black videos surrounding it. It was cramped, but cozy.

  Kelley Windel had just walked into their small two bedroom apartment from work. She was still dressed in the green nurse's uniform from the hospital. She ran her hand through her short blonde hair and plopped down on the old gray couch that faced Joanne.

  The light sounds of classical music were filtering through the apartment from Joanne's bedroom.

  "You know Dr. Grant that I worked with?" Kelley asked.

  "The name rings a bell, but I can't quite place him," Joanne admitted.

  "He was the tall guy with dark hair that was the patient's favorite."

  Okay," Joanne said slowly, "I remember now." She closed her book and set it on the table next to her. "What happened?"

  "He and his family were found murdered this morning," Kelley said gravely. "I heard he had been completely eviscerated, while his wife had been decapitated."

  "Didn't they have a son?"

  Kelley nodded. "I used to babysit their son, Charlie, when he was younger."

  "Was he home when it happened?" Joanne asked.

  "Afraid so. Apparently, they found him dead next to the body of his mother."

  "Dear God," Joanne muttered. "Did the police catch the guy who did it?"

  "The word at the hospital is they didn't," Kelley answered gravely.

  Joanne let out a long sigh, "That means some psycho is running loose on the streets tonight," Joanne said more to herself than Kelley. She quickly stood and walked toward the front door. Pressing hard against it to make sure it was securely closed, Joanne flipped the latch on the deadbolt.

  Kelley lifted herself off the couch and walked slowly across the living room. She reached out and pulled Joanne into her arms. "I don't think we have to worry about anything, Jo."

  "Why not?" Joanne asked as she laid her head against Kelley's chest. "This nut could be anywhere."

  "Tell you what," Kelley said after a moment, "I have some vacation time saved up. I think we should get out of town for a week or so. What do you think?"

  Joanne looked up at her lover's face with a smile. "I think that's a wonderful idea. Let's leave tomorrow."

  Kelley craned her neck and kissed Joanne gently on the forehead. "Sure, we'll pack up in the morning."

  "Where do you want to go?"

  Kelley shrugged. "How about Miami?"

  "I don't really like it there. There's too many…"

  A sharp noise cut her off. Both women stood silently as they listened.


  "What the hell was that?" Kelley asked after a minute.

  "I don't know."

  Both women were on edge. They could feel their hearts thumping in their chests while adrenaline pumped through their veins.

  "Probably nothing," Joanne reasoned. "This damn storm probably knocked open a shutter or something."

  "You're probably right," Kelley agreed. She slowly slipped out of Joanne's embrace, "But I think I should go look, just in case something's broken."

  "Be careful," Joanne cautioned.

  Kelley took Joanne by the hand, "Why don't you come with me?"

  "Safety in numbers?"

  "Yes," Kelley said with a mischievous smile, "But the bedroom's back there, too."

  Joanne laughed loudly. "Tramp."

  Kelley ran her hand across Joanne's face, "Slut."

  "Such affectionate nicknames we have for each other," Joanne confessed.

  "Yeah, but you know I love you."

  Joanne pressed her hand against Kelley's. "I love you, too."

  The two forgot about the noise for a moment, as they were lost in each other's eyes. Hand in hand, the two slowly moved through the living room and into the connecting hallway. Reaching toward the wall, Joanne felt around clumsily for the light switch. Her hand brushed across it, then she flipped it on. The small hallway, barely large enough for one person, let alone two, was flooded with a soft white light. The two quickly made a visual inventory of the pictures on the walls. Nothing appeared to have fallen or was broken.

  They looked up ahead of them. The hallway had a small bathroom at the end, with two doors on either side that led into the two bedrooms. They stopped when they reached the bathroom. To the left was their bedroom, a hole in the wall with only enough room for a bed and a nightstand. On their right was their computer room. They had set up a small desk and two tall bookcases. An older gray computer sat idly on the desk, it's colorful screen saver flashing in the darkness.

  Kelley glanced over at Joanne. "I'll take the computer room, you take the bedroom."